#bc that’s exactly what I’d call her just to flirt with her

[moonlightspencie]

bloodmoonlit

Description: Six years of friendship with more simmering beneath the surface. They thought they had no chance (but that’s romance).

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: drinking (a lot of it tbh), both of em being massive dorks, 18+ pls bc it gets mildly spicy at the end

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: glitch is one of the best songs on midnights & nobody can convince me otherwise. anyways i didn’t proofread this sorry but i’m selfish

She was a hunter. He was… Also a hunter. Classic meet-cutes get a lot less cute when you’re meeting over the corpse of a wendigo.

Dean looked at her with awe and wonder after watching her use a flamethrower to take down a few wendigos that had started in on him. She lowered it like it was nothing after they stopped screeching into the night.

“Hey,” she greeted with a little smile. “You’re one of the Winchester boys, aren’t you?”

“Dean.”

“You’re like a modern-day folklore story, you know that?”

He chuckled, sure to make a comment about the flamethrower at the first chance. He got her number at the second chance.

They made fast friends at that point, both relentlessly flirting. Both never quite sure to what degree the other meant it.

Dean always found himself making trips towards wherever she was more often that what may be considered necessary. She never intentionally ran into him, but if she saw that impala roll up to a case, she always obliged her time. Especially if that meeting happened in a crowded bar where she could relish in the feeling of his attention being placed on her rather than anyone else who would immediately say yes to a night at his motel. Those green eyes sparkling as he chatted her up like they were the closest of friends.

Until they were the closest of friends, of course.

“How’s, uh…” Dean trailed, trying to think. “Was it Matthew?”

She snorted. “Didn’t last long.”

“Why not?”

“Never do,” she said curtly, sipping at her drink. “Non-hunter relationships don’t exactly work for me. They end up with too many questions too quick.”

He hummed, looking down at his own drink. She watched him for a moment, letting herself take a moment to admire the way neon lights bounced off his face. He always seemed to look extra pretty that way.

“Situationships,” she stated as a start, “That’s what pretty much everything I get into ends up as. Whatever works in the moment, no real strings.”

“And yet you always talk about wanting to be tied down,” he said with a smirk.

“Always is a big word,” she replied with a laugh. “I think someday I’d like that. Just don’t think it’s compatible with who I am right now.”

“You think you’re gonna change?”

“I’m always changing. That’s life, right?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve changed much.”

She laughed.

“I’ve known you for a year, and even in that time you’ve gotten a little different.”

He quirked a brow. “How so?”

“Laugh a little less, but still seem a bit happier. More accepting of life as it is, I guess.”

He sat with that for a moment, then nodded.

“I’ve had to. Every time I get stubborn, I end up screwing everything up.”

“Hey,” she said softly, pulling him out of his own head before he dug too deep, “You’re always learning. Always growing. Don’t beat yourself up.”

He smiled softly, letting her words carry him out of that out. They tended to do that more and more as he faced everything the world threw at him. His affection slowly morphed into more, and he tried not to panic about it. He did what he always did best: buried it as deep as it could go.

She realized her own feelings shifting, but her realization slammed into her like a truck. They were supposed to be just friends.

It all started with little chance meetings which turned into weekly calls which turned into “Do you want to stay with Sam and I? We’ve got a permanent place now”.

She ended up moving in shortly after the boys did. Three years of knowing them, she never expected to be living with them. Especially after all they’d gone through.

Granted, she helped with some of it. She was there when they had to cram Sam’s soul back in his body. She was there for the rise and fall of Dick. She was there when Dean came back from Purgatory.

She just wasn’t constantly with them. Only a kind of side-character in their grand adventure. Now, however…

“I think that’s all,” she said, dropping a few bags on her bed.

“Oh, right, because this isn’t over-doing it at all,” Dean said, humor lacing his voice.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then looked back around the empty room.

“I just— I’m excited to feel at home. I haven’t had a real place in…” she stopped, sighing.

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean spoke up, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “I was so excited to have my own bed, you have no clue.”

“I have some clue. You sent me like fifteen messages about it within the span of ten seconds,” she laughed.

“I love that memory foam, what can I say?”

“How about you get useful and help me set up shop here?” she asked, smiling at him as he already started pulling items out of the bags.

The bunker was like a hunter paradise in her eyes. She got the chance to have a place to call home. She got her own room, a million lore books, Dean, a place to do some baking, her favorite mug…

Wait. She couldn’t find her mug.

“Dean, where’d you put my mug?” she called out before he even got to the kitchen

“Stop calling me out before I’m even in the room. It’s creepy,” he said with a chuckle, walking in.

“Can’t help it. I know how you sound walkin’ around in here.”

She turned from the kitchen counter where the coffee was brewing. He watched her for a moment, smile still stuck in place.

“So?” she asked.

He raised a brow. “So…?”

She sighed. “My mug?”

“Oh,” he exclaimed, walking further towards her to open the fridge. “Made soup the other day and didn’t have any clean bowls.”

He pulled out the soup-filled mug, handing it in her direction. She quirked a brow, looking inside of it.

“I ain’t cleaning that out.”

He sighed dramatically, walking towards the sink.

“Guess I’ll do it. Princess can’t handle a few chunks of chicken in her precious mug.”

She smacked his arm lightly, scoffing.

“You’re the one who put chicken in it in the first place. You know that’s my favorite mug.”

He smirked, silently cleaning it out for her. When he was finished he turned, handing it off as he leaned against the counter.

“If my coffee is soup-flavored I’m going to have Cas smite you,” she mumbled, pouring it full.

She filled up another mug she’d pulled down in the meantime, sliding it to Dean.

“And yet, you still get me my coffee,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She hid a smile, shaking her head as she prepared hers.

“You know you love me,” he sang to her, heading towards the library.

She followed after, not even realizing what she was doing until she was halfway there. It was like they were attached at the hip.

They practically were over the following months, never not wanting to do everything together.

“Come on, Sam,” she whined. “You’re no fun.”

He smirked, attempting to leave the kitchen.

“Not all of us want to get plastered on a Tuesday night.”

“Speak for yourself” Dean said with a sparkle in his eye. He looked at Y/N. “You love getting screwed by me, right? Oh, sorry, with me.”

“Oh, yeah. My favorite activity, actually,” she said back with a smirk.

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes as he stood.

“I think I’m about done listening to you two flirt, anyways.”

“Aww,” she started, leaning closer to where he stood. “You gettin’ jealous, Sammy?”

“I’m getting grossed out,” he laughed. “Goodnight.”

The two at the table said a quick goodnight, turning back to their drinks and their jokes in an instant.

“Maybe we just need to sweat it out,” he jokes, brows dancing suggestively.

She laughed. “In your dreams, Winchester. We’ve gone almost six years without a slip-up, do you really think now’s a good time to break that record?”

He contemplated for a moment, fully believing it was a good time to break it. He couldn’t think of a better time with the exception of five-and-a-half years ago. But, he decided to actually use his brain.

“Guess you’re right.”

She smiled, pretending not to be thinking about the fact that she definitely thought she was all wrong. She really though that he should have known better than anyone that she believed records were made to be broken.

“I’m always right.”

“Now you’re dreaming,” he said with a chuckle, tossing back the rest of his drink.

He poured two shots, sliding one to her.

“Here’s to almost six years— what, like, five years and ten months? Something like that?”

She nodded. “July 7th.”

He stilled a moment, not thinking about the fact that of course she would remember the day they met.

“How many days is that?”

She hummed, playing into his little game as she pulled out her phone. She typed away until she got her answer:

“2119 days if I did the math right.”

“Nineteen or ninety?”

“Nineteen.”

“What do you say we have a special celebration if we get to twenty one ninety, then?”

She snorted. “What do you constitute as special?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he winked, tossing back his shot.

She mirrored his actions, then quickly typed away again.

“What do you know? 2190 is exactly the six year mark,” she smirked. “Alright. Deal.”

Weeks passed, and life was shockingly normal in that time. Well, normal for their standards, which still included all the things that go bump in the night. After a particularly long hunt, getting back to the bunker was a relief.

All three of them went to their respective rooms to get some rest, but, as had become a pattern, Dean went knocking on Y/N’s door. She opened with a tired smile, inviting him in.

They sat around, talking about whatever topics came to mind, listening to music playing in the background. When conversation fell quiet, an idea struck her like lightening.

“Come on, Dean. A little dancing wouldn’t kill ya,” she said, moving a little to the music.

He laughed, watching her from her bed. She held out her hands, and finally took them after a few seconds. She could be very convincing, he thought.

They jumped around the room in an un-choreographed, ridiculous, messy dance that left both of them giggling and out of breath. Her music wasn’t always his style, but he sure didn’t mind listening to her sing every word with a passion as if she’d written them herself.

“See? You love this,” she exclaimed as the upbeat song faded out.

“Only because you’re making me,” he smiled.

She laughed again, starting to turn when a slow song started going. He didn’t let her get far, however, pulling her back into his chest by the hand. He played it off all nonchalant at first, ignoring the smile on her face as a bit he always liked to play anytime he started being affectionate in an unconventional way.

“Really?” she asked.

She reached up, fingertips brushing against his jaw so that he’d look at her again. He smiled softly when she did, just watching her for a few seconds.

“You wanted to dance. We’re dancing,” he said, swaying along to the melody.

“Such a gentleman.”

He smirked, not letting up in the dance. She gave in, resting her head against his shoulder as the music played. He closed his eyes, resting his cheek against her and letting the smell of her perfume lull him in the dance more than the song could. Her gentle humming put a smile on his face that he was grateful she couldn’t see: he was certain he’d look like a lovesick puppy.

As the song faded out, she finally pulled away enough to see him again, both of them still moving as another faded in. She looked at him with a glimmer in her eyes. He took in a slow breath, watching her face for a few moments, their movements slowing. He wanted to kiss her more than anything. So, he took an action:

“I’m gonna grab a drink.”

He untethered himself from her, quickly making an exit to leave her alone and deeply confused.

She sat in the library a few days later, reading a book she found on werewolf mating habits.

“What do ya got, there?” Sam asked, walking into the room.

She glanced up, a brow raised. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

Sam snorted. “Alright.”

“You need something?”

She closed the book, setting it down on the table.

“Yeah. Do you want to hang out? I just hooked up a new TV in my room.”

“Sure,” she shrugged. “When?”

“I’m making popcorn right now.”

She laughed, agreeing as she got up. She got comfortable in his room, back against the headboard of his bed. He walked in a minute later, handing over the bowl of popcorn as he settled in.

“Is Dean coming?” she asked.

“No. He went out for the night.”

“Ah,” she said softly after a beat.

Sam straightened up, looking at her.

“He didn’t invite you?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“He always does. Why not now?”

She sighed, settling into the cushions, still looking ahead.

“I think I freaked him out. We were in my room the other night, and I asked him to dance with me. He did, but then… I don’t know,” she shrugged. “After a couple songs he left fast and he’s definitely been pulling away from me since then.”

“Hey,” he called, grabbing her attention. “Anyone who doesn’t appreciate you isn’t worth your time. You know that, right?”

“Thanks, Sammy,” she smiled, looking down again. “I just keep getting in my own head.”

“When aren’t you?” he joked.

“You jerk,” she said, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “I’m trying to be, like, open right now.”

“I know,” he drawled, leaning his head against hers.

She brushed a few pieces of his hair off her forehead.

“Maybe I just need to go out and have some fun myself,” she said after a moment.

He perked up.

“Dude, yeah!”

He stood abruptly, holding out his hands for her. She took them, standing slowly, and looking around the room for some stray confidence so that she wouldn’t back out.

“Tell you what,” Sam started, giving her the hope she wanted, “You go get ready, and we’ll head out together. I’ll be your wingman.”

She smiled. “That sounds great. I immediately wasn’t sure about heading off by myself.”

“I could tell,” he laughed.

She got ready in record time, putting on her favorite dress for good measure. They left the bunker, hitting a nearby bar that didn’t have an impala parked anywhere close.

“They’re just… giving me nothing,” she said with a sigh, slumping in the seat next to Sam at the bar.

“What do you mean? That last guy looked really into it.”

“He was. He was also into talking about his ex-girlfriend within the first few minutes of conversation,” she snorted. “I think I’m asking too much. I should just find someone and make out with ‘em.”

“You sure about that?”

She looked at Sam again, a smile breaking out.

“No. But if we do another shot, I might be.”

He sighed, obliging her only because he knew she’d do it without him anyways. They threw back the shots, and he wished her luck as she went off in search of someone who wanted nothing but a good time.

Well, kind of a good time. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to take some dude home.

She went onto the dance-floor, deciding she’d let someone come to her rather than prowling for herself, and got her wish pretty fast. A moderately attractive man caught her hand as she swayed around by herself, asking for a dance. She plastered on a smile as she agreed, letting him take the lead.

“What’s your name?” he asked over the music.

“Do you really want to know?” she teased.

He smirked. “Guess it’s more fun not to know, huh?”

She smiled again, pulling him down to her lips as they moved to the music. She closed her eyes, appreciating the ease at which she got what she wanted. The only problem is that she couldn’t help imagining it was Dean instead of Unnamed Bar-Goer.

Regardless, she justified that they were merely using each other, so who cares if she let her mind run a little wild?

She only backed away when he started getting a little handsy for her tastes. She thanked him for his time, walking away and back to Sam. He raised his brows when she came back.

“Hey, looks like you got it,” he said, watching her sit. “Also looks like you aren’t too happy.”

“Still giving me absolutely nothing,” she said with a sigh. “Not a damn thing.”

He chuckled. “Maybe this plan didn’t work out so well.”

“Still got to drink with my favorite giant,” she noted with a wink and nudge.

“Ha ha. Real flattering, thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, but let himself smirk when she wasn’t paying much attention. They sat talking at the bar for another hour or so before Sam decided to call it a night. She linked an arm around Sam’s as they walked out of the bar, definitely a little more drunk than she intended to get.

Dean walked into the bunker, spirits effectively dampened. His attempt to get his mind off of his I-almost-kissed-her moment didn’t work in the slightest, and now he was in a sour mood as a result.

His mood only worsened when he saw Sam and Y/N stumbling into the kitchen, the latter a drunken mess in an outfit he liked a little too much. He watched as Sam helped her into the room, practically propping her up against the counter.

“What the hell?” Dean asked as his brother got a glass from the cupboard.

“What?” Sam defended, filling up the cup with water.

“For one, why is she laughing at herself against the kitchen counter?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “We went out.”

He walked over to Y/N, handing her the glass. She sipped at the water, then set it down just as quickly.

“Done,” she cheered.”

“No, you’re not,” Sam said, picking up the water and giving it right back to her. “Come on, you’re going to be hungover tomorrow.”

She refused the drink, kicking off her shoes. Then, she turned to level her gaze at Dean as he sipped on a beer.

“And where did you go run off to?”

He raised his brows. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” she stated with finality.

“Out.”

“Get lucky?” she asked, more bitterness in her tone than she meant to let out.

“No.”

She rolled her eyes, then glanced at Sam again.

“Wanna go hang out and read? I found a book about how werewolves get it on,” she said, giggling as she ended the sentence.

“What?”

Dean spoke up again. “Since when do you go out and get drunk without a reason?”

She snapped back to him. “Since I was celebrating me. I’m done chasing after guys who don’t want— What was it, Sam? Like if they don’t appreciate me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked back, setting down his drink.

“Sammy, I wanna talk to Dean by myself,” she managed to say, hardly looking at him.

“I don’t know—”

“Sam,” she cut him off, watching him.

He put his hands up in defense, walking out of the room. She watched until he left, then looked at Dean again. He glanced sideways at her as she swayed slightly while she stood.

“You know, those six years are coming up real soon, De,” she said, staring from across the counter.

“Are they?” he asked, wondering where this was going.

“Mhm. One more week I think,” she hiccuped. “Sorry.”

He furrowed his brow. “You’re drunk.”

“I tried kissing someone today,” she said, words tumbling out fast like she couldn’t control them. “I hated it.”

He paused, unsure why she was saying this. His heart hurt more than he thought it would, hearing her admit that.

“Why?” was all he could manage.

“Why’d you go out without me?” she countered. “You never go out without me, not since we met.”

He sighed, eyes closing as he braced himself against the counter. He heard her as she got closer, eventually leaning her head against his arm.

“I’m glad you didn’t go home with anyone today.”

He swallowed, unable to look at her. “Yeah. I— I was gonna try, to be honest, but…”

“I’m gonna throw up,” she said, suddenly moving to the sink.

He followed after swiftly, helping her as best as he could. He pulled her hair back gently as she emptied her stomach into the kitchen sink.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he said softly, rubbing her back with the hand that wasn’t holding her hair. “Get it all out.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, sniffling.

“I’ve seen you worse,” he said with a smirk. “That upset about what I said?”

If she had been a touch more sober, she might have realized he was joking. Unfortunately, she took it completely literally.

“I didn’t mean to. I just thought about you and some—”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on, I wasn’t—” he paused as she stood again, running the sink to clear it out. He turned it off again, impatient. “What are you talking about?”

“What?”

He watched her as she straightened herself out, pulling down the skirt of the dress she was in where it had ridden up.

“You threw up over me mentioning—”

“Dean.”

“Why?”

She sighed, leaning down to rest her head on the counter.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You kissed someone. I didn’t even get that far.”

“Why do you care?” she asked, standing again, and nearly falling over.

He caught her gently, but kept his hard tone as he responded to her.

“Why do you?”

“Because I just do, Dean.”

“You’re so freaking stubborn,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“You’re one to talk. This is all your fault anyways.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, annoyance in his voice.

“It’s your fault,” she said, punctuating the phrase with a slap to his chest.

“Yeah? And how’s that?”

“You should’ve just kissed me instead of chickening out and running away like a little boy.”

He was stunned into silence, his anger dissipating and then quickly returning.

“If you hadn’t made me dance with you, I wouldn’t have been all in your face in the first place,” he shot back.

“You’re such a dick,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Six years of not chasing anyone but you, and for what? You’re acting like a bitch.”

“Well, jokes on you, sweetheart,” he exclaimed, opening up his arms. “Hasn’t even been six years.”

“Great! Let’s hope we never get there, then!”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one who ran off to get a hookup because I couldn’t handle my feelings.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, you just ran off to make out with someone because you couldn’t handle your feelings.”

“Why do you feel the need to make everything so difficult?”

“Because you’re the most difficult person I’ve ever met,” he said, voice raising to an octave you didn’t often hear. “How else am I supposed to deal with you?”

She groaned in frustration, pushing past him to leave. She stalked out of the kitchen, only making it so far as the hallway before she was getting pulled back.

“Stop it, Dean,” she all but yelled.

He rolled his eyes, pulling her closer and leaning down to kiss her. One hand found her face, a surprisingly gentle touch in comparison to how intense the kiss was. She felt like she couldn’t catch her breath, a smile on her face as he finally gave in. He pulled back a moment later, though not without an internal struggle.

“The douchebag at the bar kiss you like that?” he mumbled against her lips.

“Not exactly,” she sighed. “What took you so long?”

“You weren’t making moves either, loser,” he said with a laugh.

“You didn’t exactly make yourself out to be available, De.”

“And you did? You literally told me I wouldn’t get you in my wildest dreams a few weeks ago.”

She paused, a smile spreading to her face.

“Touché.”

“How about now?”

She quirked a brow. “You propositioning me, Winchester?”

“If I was, what would you say to that?”

“I’d say that I think there must be some technical malfunctions in the universe for me to get that lucky.”

He smirked, slowly backing her until she was pressed against the wall.

“Early celebration?”

“Only if we still celebrate when we hit twenty one ninety,” she said with a smile. “Gotta safeguard, here. Easier for me to make sure this doesn’t become a one-time thing.”

“You think I’d be able to stop after one time? It’s you,” he said, moving in closer. Her arms wound around his neck. “I’ve been holding out for six years.”

“Not quite.”

“Mm. Close enough.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, this time slow and soft. She kissed back, glad to finally know what his lips felt like against hers. He let his hands wander, holding to her hips and sliding down further.

“You look real pretty in this dress,” he mumbled between kisses.

“Was hoping you’d see it and like it,” she smiled, nipping at his lip. “Just don’t rip it if you decide to take it off me.”

He smiled against her as he leaned back in. He kissed her, deepening it immediately as one hand dragged down her leg. He slotted his own thigh between her legs, adding a little friction that had her gasping into his mouth. He started hiking up the skirt of the dress further. Slowly, purposely teasing her with it. Teasing himself just as much.

Then, heavy footsteps started coming down the hall. They separated quickly and ducked inside the kitchen, hoping Sam would walk past. Unfortunately, they were wrong.

Dean stood behind Y/N quickly, concealing a problem he didn’t exactly have time to fix.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, seemingly not noticing a thing. “I didn’t hear yelling coming down and needed a drink. You two all good?”

She nodded. “Great.”

“Awesome,” Dean said at the same time.

Sam nodded, giving a tight smile as he walked past.

“We were actually about to head to bed, so…” she said, looking at him as he stood at the fridge.

“Okay,” he nodded, nonchalant. “Night.”

“Night.”

Dean waved a quick goodbye, following after her quickly. They broke into his room, giggling like a couple of drunk toddlers.

“He didn’t hear yelling,” Dean said, closing in on her once the door was shut.

She reached for his belt, quickly undoing it as they got closer to the bed.

“He didn’t.”

He grabbed her by the waist, tossing her down on the mattress, slowly climbing on top of her.

“Wanna test and see if the walls in here are just as soundproof?”

She looked up at him as he finally tugged her dress up around her hips.

“I love a good experiment.”

She laid back in the early morning hours, not even bringing herself to be annoyed that she was being suffocated by a large man on top of her. Mostly because if Dean killed her that way, it certainly would suck, but what a way to go.

She sighed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as he rested against her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair until he eventually woke up with the sweetest sleepy smile point at her.

“Hey,” he said, adjusting himself to see her better.

“Hey,” she greeted, accepting a soft kiss. “I think we should’ve done that forever ago.”

“I don’t know. Might be like a wine situation. We let it sit so long that it got even better by the time we actually got some.”

“Very poetic.”

He smiled, a hand coming to rest on her side as he kissed her again. It was slow and lazy and altogether too sweet. She was almost embarrassed that she had to be there to witness how mushy that moment was, if not for the fact that she was on the receiving end of the mush. She pulled away from him first, leaving him to whine.

“You’re so dramatic,” she said in a whisper. “Whining?”

“You were doing plenty of that last night,” he smirked.

“Okay,” she rolled her eyes playfully. “Why don’t we get some breakfast. I’m starving.”

His hand started moving downward, inching up the shirt of his that she was wearing.

“I could eat.”

“Dean,” she warned.

He started scooting down the mattress slowly, not giving up.

“Come on. Kitchen.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

“Cut it out,” she laughed. “Kitchen for actual breakfast. I don’t waste time when it comes to breakfast.”

They made it to the kitchen for that breakfast successfully! Twenty minutes later, anyway.

“Hey,” Sam greeted, not looking up.

“Morning, Sammy,” Dean said, going straight towards the cabinets for cereal.

She realized suddenly that there may have been something she forgot in his room.

“Is that Dean’s shirt?” Sam asked.

She looked down, realizing that it was clothes she had forgotten. Sam paused, raising a hand.

“On second thought, I don’t want to know. Glad to know you’re at least not fighting. Just— Maybe some pants next time.”

She laughed, following Dean to the table as he set down two bowls of cereal. They all sat eating in a comfortable silence. Then a slightly less comfortable silence as Dean grabbed her thigh halfway through breakfast. Sam quickly excused himself after that, a knowing smile on his face as he left.

“So… We’re in the kitchen,” Dean said, leaning towards her. “I don’t think Sammy’s comin’ back anytime soon.”

After definitely not doing anything weird in the kitchen and then totally not feeling bad and scrubbing down the entire room for the day, things fell into a new rhythm. It was comfortable and surprisingly less of an adjustment than they were expecting. All of those years of relentless flirting must’ve made for an easy transition.

Dean cleared his throat a few days later, grabbing her attention as she lounged in the room he’d set aside for TV-watching (with the fun new addition of a couch).

“Yeah?” she asked, looking away from the screen to see him.

“Guess what?”

“Hm?”

“2190 days.”

She smiled. “Yeah? Is that today?”

He hummed, giving a nod.

“What were those special plans of yours?”

He raised a brow. “You really wanna know?”

She merely nodded. He paused the show they were watching.

“I, uh— I was gonna tell you how I felt if I didn’t chicken out.”

“You’re kidding,” she replied after a beat.

“I’m not,” he said with a chuckle.

“Man. Almost twenty two hundred days of a blackout before we finally lit it up, huh?”

He laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.”

She paused, turning to put her feet in his lap. He immediately, started rubbing her leg, enjoying the uninhibited ability to touch her.

“Wanna know something funny?”

He raised a brow in question.

“Years ago someone told me they knew we’d end up together.”

“Who? Bobby?”

She shook her head. “Garth.”

He rolled his eyes as she laughed, poking him in the arm a moment later.

“Got to give it to him, he’s always been perceptive,” she noted.

“Guess so,” he nodded, reluctant to admit it. “Freakin’ Garth.”

She watched him a moment, then retracted her legs. He looked at her, almost hurt with those big puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh, poor baby,” she cooed. “Don’t worry, I’m comin’ closer.”

She crawled over to him, settling in his lap. He ran his hands up her legs, a small smile returning to his lips.

“I can think of a few other ways we can celebrate today, you know?”

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning into the cushions.

“Five words: apple pie in the freezer.”

“Oh, baby, you know how to talk dirty to me,” he groaned, pulling her down for a kiss in a fit of laughter.

FULL MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

—————

dean winchester taglist:

@deanwithscissors @hyunjaebaby

#dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester spice #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic

[melswifeasf]

i saw your request for asks so i thought i’d try, if anything makes you uncomfortable/is weird to write then change it ofc and thank you if you do write it :) 

okay so i really love pissed off sam and was thinking about this: reader and sam are together but are keeping it a secret bc sam wants to (reader isn’t extremely happy about it but okay with it), reader goes with tara to this party from the beginning of scream vi and when sam comes to get both tara and reader back home, she sees someone flirting with reader but can’t do anything about it which pisses her off, reader shuts the flirting down but sam is still pissed, once they are alone reader tries to talk to sam and calm her down with a hug and sam lets her but then kisses reader and turns it into sex and leaves a pretty obvious hickey and tells reader not to cover it up

Marks (nsfw)

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: you’re Sam’s secret, it’s not your choice but you’ll deal. until Sam realizes being her secret means there’s nothing holding others back from chasing you.

Warnings: (18+) MDNI smut, breath play.

notes: i love jealous Sam. also let’s act like they aren’t attacked by ghostface after the party for the sake of this imagine. this might be kind of mid cause i’m not that used to writing smut yet but i hope you still enjoyed it:)

(not proofread)

(word count: 3433)

this was never part of the plan. being in a secret relationship was never really your choice. you felt like her dirty secret but you loved her so you couldn’t find it in you to say no. she had to told you she didn’t want others to know the second things began getting serious. you understood why, her ex boyfriend turned out to be a psychotic freak who wanted to kill her and her sister because she was the daughter of a famous serial killer.

you were Chads friend in high school, he was on the football team and you were a cheerleader so it was easy to be mixed in with the same people. he was nice in your opinion, you found it funny that his name was literally Chad but he was always nice. thus started the friendship between you two and you slowly became part of their friend circle, you were a year older than them but even after you graduated you stuck around. you wanted to take a gap year between high school and college to figure out what you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

that meant you were there when the ghostface situation happened. that when you met Sam, you instantly thought she was beautiful. you’d heard stories about her from Chad and Tara but never in depth, it was a sensitive topic for the young Carpenter girl.

you had even been there when they were all attacked. you didn’t want to go to the party at first, it felt insensitive but Chad and Mindy had told you it’s what Wes would’ve wanted to you decided why not.

you regretted that pretty quickly.

you’d been stabbed twice, once in the stomach and the other in the back when you had been trying to attack Amber. it was shortly after that you and Sam began getting closer. she had thanked you for staying and not running when you had the chance.

unlike Chad and Mindy, she didn’t see you as her little sisters friend, she hadn’t seen you grow up and she had just you so she didn’t feel guilty to think you were rather attractive. being in cheer since you were a kid helped your body become more toned and Sam found no shame in checking you out whenever you were alone. she knew you had a crush on her, you weren’t exactly subtle, not that you even wanted to be. you were never the type to hide your feelings. it was on a random Friday night that those feelings really came to light, you had called her to come over so you could tell her how you really felt. one thing led to another and you hooked up. that continued up until you moved to New York when she finally asked you to be her girlfriend.

you always thought she wanted to keep it a secret for various reasons. one, you were Tara’s friend and four years younger than her. secondly, she wasn’t ready to have an open relationship after the shitty one she had before. so you accepted what you got and moved on.

once you all moved to New York you decided to go to college like the other three teens. at first you were going to form with a girl who was in a band meaning she would be up late practicing or writing music which was horrid. Tara had been the one to offer you to move in, you immediately turned to Sam but she quickly said it was a good idea. you’d be helping with the rent so she used that as her excuse. they only had three rooms and Quinn already lived with them so you slept in the living room (of course you’d sneak into Sam’s room once everyone was asleep and sneak back out in the morning) until you got enough money to get your own apartment. Mindy had said she’d be willing to move in with you during her sophomore year and you figured a couple more months of an uncomfortable couch couldn’t hurt. besides, sometimes Tara would offer her room as well.

loud music blasted around the house as young adults were talking to one another in small groups. you were talking to a girl who was getting a little too flirty in your opinion. you didn’t want to be there, you wanted to be with Sam out on a dinner date or at the movies - really anything as long as it was with her and you were out of her small room. but she had therapy so when Tara invited you to go out you didn’t have any excuse to say no.

you were dressed in one of your old cheer uniforms. it was basic but you didn’t care much for the party and you weren’t going to go out to buy a costume.

you listened to the brunette beside you talk about her high school years. truly you weren’t actively listening but you didn’t want to be rude by shutting her out or walking away. the brunette was cute, sure, but she wasn’t Sam Carpenter and you weren’t interested. she didn’t seem to be taking the hint though.

Mindy and Anika stood from their spot on the couch as they saw Tara about to walk away with some frat guy up to his room. you tried to move away from the brunette but she was still talking and you figured Mindy would be getting Chad which meant they did not need your help. you tried to seem like you were listening up until Chad approached you guys and aimed for the stairs where Tara was about to leave with the guy she met.

“hey partner” you heard Chad say. “Tara’s good down here”

you saw the douche glance at Tara and take a step down, “i’m sorry what? i didn’t catch that”

Chad chuckled, “uh, yeah. you did”

“Chad” Tara said quickly and walked down the steps until she’s up close to him, “it’s fine. i want to”

the dark haired boy mimicked Tara, “see Chad? she wants to” he said and turned grabbing Tara’s arm roughly to drag her up the stairs “come on”

“get your fucking hands off her” Chad was quick to grab the asshole and drop him down the steps making him bump into a stranger.

you quickly pulled away from the girl and walked up to Mindy as Chad and whatever his name is, began to shove each other roughly.

suddenly your girlfriend appears making them both stop to look at her. “guys. i’m sorry to interrupt i’m just gonna tase you in the balls real quick” you gasped in both surprise and awe. “don’t ever lay hands on my sister”

god she was hot.

you were finally standing near them and heard the asshole on the floor curse at Sam making you roll your eyes. what wasn’t so amusing though was Taras voice earning everyone’s attention, “Sam. are you fucking kidding me? you’re stalking me now” the younger Carpenter said and stormed off.

you sighed and watched your girlfriend look at her sister worriedly. you were so busy trying to make sure Sam was okay you didn’t realize the girl that had been latched into you the this whole time walk up to you with a flirt smile. shit.

“so,” she said flipping her hair to one side, “can i maybe get your number?” she asked with a smile that probably would’ve worked on her if she wasn’t completely enamored with someone already.

you cleared your throat now noticing Mindy and Anika looking at you in slight confusion. you just hadn’t realized Sam was watching the whole interaction as well. “im sorry,” you said with an apologetic smile, “if i gave you the wrong signals but im not looking for anything right now”

the brunette didn’t seem offended or she didn’t show it and simply smiled before taking her leave. you felt a sense of relief wash over you, you weren’t sure what you would’ve done if she didn’t take your rejection so lightly.

your thoughts were cut off by a voice, “holy shit. it’s that psycho girl” a random guy said making you glance at Sam, there were people with their phones out recording everything causing the girl to shake her head and walk away. you, Mindy and Anika immediately followed.

you weren’t sure if Sam saw someone ask for your number so you made yourself invisible throughout the whole walk to the apartment. you didn’t say anything when Tara blew up on her and you tried to hold yourself back when some bitch threw their drink on Sam.

when you guys got back to the apartment the door of Sams rooms slammed shut with the girl on the other side. you sighed softly as Quinn got out of her room with a questioning look but as soon as she saw everyone’s face she knew what had happened. you saw Tara quickly follow her sisters actions minus the door slamming.

you took your time before going to Sam’s room, waiting until everyone was doing their own thing and finally opening the door and closing it behind you. there the raven haired girl was, an obvious pissed off look on her face as she sat on her bed looking into space. you sighed softly and approached her.

“im sorry” you said although your not sure why. you couldn’t help that another person was flirting with you, although you were sorry that people were shitty and there was nothing you could do about it.

Sam doesn’t respond making you frown, you knew this was all extremely upsetting. you couldn’t imagine being in her position, already having to suffer something so traumatic and then having to hear people say that it was all her fault and she was the real murderer. instead of saying anything else you sit on the bed beside your girlfriend and wrap your arms around her. she stiffens at first but slowly relaxes into your touch, her own arms wrapping around your waist.

“i love you” the words leave your lips like a breath of fresh air.

“i love you too” Sam responded in a slight murmur, her lips pressed against your neck. a smile appeared on your lips at the feeling. you expected the moment to be short and sweet but instead you began to feel her press open mouthed kisses from her shoulder up to her neck.

a breathy whimper escape you, “Sam” you said and tangled your hands in her hair, “everyone’s outside. they might hear” you said in a hushed tone and glanced at the closed door.

but the older girls lips didn’t leave your skin and slowly her kisses began to grow sloppier and rougher, her lips nipping and sucking at your skin which your sure will leave a mark.

“fuck Sam. i’m serious, we said no hickeys” you said trying to push the girl off of you.

“why? are you trying to hide the fact that your mine?” she said in a low tone. you could tell she was still pissed.

you rolled your eyes, “seriously? your the one who wants to keep us a secret”

Sam raised her head from your neck, “maybe it’s time we change that” she said and brought her lips down onto yours in a rough kiss. her action was swift and quick not giving you the chance to even think about her words.

her hands roamed your body until they were on your thighs where she began to squeeze roughly. the feeling of her lips alone were enough to turn you on. her lips were rough and hungry, her tongue invading your mouth without giving you a chance to return the intensity of it.

you wanted more, needed to feel her hands on you in more ways than just one so you moved your body to straddle her but she quickly stopped you. “no” she said and pulled away completely. “stand up” she demanded.

you were slightly confused at first but the look on her face made you hold back any questions as you followed her orders. soon you felt her warm body pressed against your back. you understood pretty quickly why she wanted you like this as you stared at your own reflection. there was a body length mirror in front of you.

“you look so pretty in this” she whispered softly into your shoulder as she pressed small kisses on it. even though her words were sweet you knew that wouldn’t last long.

her hands moved up your body and under your shirt to cup your breasts, she squeezed them roughly making your legs press together. you just needed her to fuck you. it seemed as if she had read your mind as her right hand left your shirt and moved down your body until she reached your skirt. her hand maneuvered under your skirt making you shiver. she grabbed your panties and roughly pulled them down your legs surely leaving a mark on your thighs by the roughness of her touch.

“why are you so wet baby?” she whispered as she began to rub your clit with two fingers. a soft moan left your lips making you bite your lip quickly after, you didn’t want anyone else in the apartment to know what you were doing. “did that bitch turn you on? huh?” she asked aggressively and both her hand on your chest as well as the one rubbing you matched her tone.

you shook your head to the best of your ability, “no, no baby.” Sam chuckled darkly.

“who makes you this wet?”

“you. always you” that seemed to please her and she slowly entered you with two fingers instantly making you moan louder than you should have. you right hand slapped against your mouth to contain your moans but that seemed to piss Sam off even more.

she slapped your arm making it fall beside you again. her pace was rough and fast and your knees were beginning to give in but you tried your best to stand upright. the pleasure was so intense your eyes were closed but every so often you would blink them open and see your girlfriend leaving hickeys on your neck with one hand in your shirt twisting your nipples and the other up your skirt. it only made you wetter and the allude sounds echoing throughout the room was proof of that.

“baby fuck” you whimpered and tangled your hand in the girls hair as you pressed her into your neck, this felt too good for her to stop.

“you like that?” she whispered and added another finger. you nodded quickly.

“yeah”

“cause your all mine baby. only i can make you feel this way. not that bitch at the party. me” you frantically nodded your head at every word that left her lips.

“only yours baby. only you make me feel this good” your answer pleased her even more as she began to curl her fingers inside of you making you see stars. the feeling was too intense and you weren’t sure how much longer you could last.

“such a pretty little slut” she whispered and softly bit your shoulder. tears were beginning to form in your eyes by the intensity of it and by how hard you were trying to keep yourself standing.

“please don’t stop” you whimpered desperately making Sam chuckle. her hand left your shirt and trailed your chest until she reached your neck. an excitement began to build in your chest at the anticipation of what was coming next. her hand squeezed your neck making you open your eyes.

your cheeks were flushed, your forehead glistening with sweat and the veins on Sams hand were beginning to show as she choked you.

“that’s it. open your eyes, watch how pathetic you look when i fuck you” your face was hot from both the humiliating words leaving your girlfriends lips as well as the sensation of your oxygen being controlled. she had complete and utter control of you then and there, her hand only letting a small amount of oxygen inside of your lungs every couple of seconds before she squeezed even more. you were beginning to grow lightheaded. you wouldn’t be surprised if she left a hand print on your neck from the aggressiveness.

it was too much for you. “i’m gonna cum” you choked out to the best of your ability.

Sam shook her head, “tell me who owns you”

you moaned and threw you head back onto her shoulder as her thumb began to circle your clit slowly. she was making this incredibly hard. you weren’t sure if you could stop yourself from letting go.

“you. you own me. i’m yours and only yours” you quickly said a lot clearer than you had before considering she’d loosen her grip.

Sam had a pleased smile on her lips at your response, “come for me baby” she finally said making your body unravel at once. your hand slapped against Sams arm and you squeezed tightly as the other pulled at her hair. your legs began to shake and Sam tried to hold you up with her body.

her name was thrown out into the room breathily and your eyes squeezed shut. her fingers continued to pump inside you slowly as she helped you come down from your high.

her hand competent left your neck and she wrapped it around your waist to keep you standing. once you felt like you had riches the ground again you began to whimper as Sams fingers were still inside of you.

“sensitive” you whispered and she quickly pulled out of you. slowly she helped you walk backwards until you reached the bed. she sat down and shortly after she pulled your front toward her and down onto her lap.

you were blissed out as you laid your head on her shoulder.

“i love you beautiful” she said gently and rubbed small circles on your back. even with the state you were in, a small smile formed on your lips at her words. she was always so sweet to you.

“i love you too” you murdered.

“are you okay? did i hurt you?” she asked pushing your body softly so you’d look at her and you pushed your head up so you were making eyes contact with her.

“im okay. i promise” you guys stayed like that for a little while, just basking in each others presence.

until you couldn’t stop yourself from bringing up the elephant in the room. “you reek like Cherry coke” you admitted with a soft smile.

Sam laughed as you pulled away to look at her once more, “you don’t like it?” she raised a brow teasingly.

“absolutely not” you laughed. “come on. shower. i don’t want you smelling like coke when we’re sleeping”

she chuckled softly and patted your thigh to signal you to stand. you did so with slightly shaky legs but your girlfriend was quick to place her hands on your waist to level you.

once you told her you’d be okay she pulled away and went to her dresser to get clothes.

you fixed your appearance a bit as well, you’d make the offer to shower with her but you’re sure everyone else was still in the apartment and you needed to leave Sams room before it got suspicious.

you turned your body to look in the mirror, your intention was to fix your hair and makeup but instead your eyes were focused on the huge mark on your neck.

“Sam, what the fuck” you whisper yelled and flipped your hair to the side of your neck as you turned toward her. she looked at you questioningly until she realized what you meant. she smiled.

“what? it’s about time people know your mine” she shrugged as if it’s no big deal.

“that’s great babe. really. but you didn’t have to give me five fucking hickeys the size of my neck in the progress!” you exclaimed.

Sam chuckled with a slight shrug. “they’re cute” she said simply and walked into her bathroom.

she’d be the death of you. you’re sure of it.

turns out all you needed was a little jealousy for her to tell everyone about you. as soon you walked out everyone noticed the hickeys on your neck and when they asked what the hell happened, Sam simply pecked your lips and sat on the couch as if it were no big deal.

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #scream #lesbian #scream series #scream vi #scream x reader #sam carpenter smut #sam carpenter imagines #sam carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter #mindy meeks martin

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

here's something short and goofy for you guys bc this song has been stuck in my head all morning.

“So, Eddie?” Steve asks while he, Robin, and Eddie are lounging around Family Video on a slow Tuesday afternoon.

“Yes, Stevie dear?” “Where did the ‘Big Boy’ thing come from?”

Steve watches as every bit of Eddie freezes under his gaze. 

“Uh..”

“Yeah, I’d like to know too, what’s up with that Munson?” Robin says, leaning forward on the counter beside Steve, pushing all of her right side into Steve’s left.

Poor Eddie.

“Oh, uh, well…” Eddie’s brow furrows for a moment before something seemingly comes to him in a moment. “You know how loud the rumor mill can be, Steve-o.”

“Whattya mean?” He knows what he means, he just wants to see what Eddie will say. He also knows It’s gotta be a tortuous question for the metalhead, especially one who’s crush is the one asking him. 

That was the other thing; after Eddie’s accidental pain-med induced schmoozing of Steve and the prompt forgettening of ever saying anything, Steve (and Robin) had come to the conclusion that he’s super into Eddie too.

Now it’s just a matter of getting Eddie to admit it, and having fun flirting and making him squirm a little in the meantime.

“Well, the phrase itself is from a song, but you do know your lovely conquests would talk, right?” The blush on his cheeks just makes him look cuter.

“And you believed them?” Robin states more than asks.

“Well there’s no way I’d ever know one way or the other!” Eddie laughs, his cheeks darkening.

Ignoring the myriad of things he could say to that, Steve instead asks “What song?”

“Huh? Oh, uhm, it’s from this random tape that Wayne picked up on the road a couple years ago. Has this weird art on the cover of some guy and like, skeletons and stuff? Dan something? It’s all yellow-y orange and blue..”

“That sounds so familiar…” Robin mumbles when Steve asks, “How does it go?”

“What?”

“The song.”

“Uh…” Eddie zones off into the distance and starts mumbling to himself.

Robin is still mumbling to herself too, “That sounds so familiar, what the hell?”

Eddie presumably finds the lyrics then, because he starts singing. “Big Boy, real cool, you can tell he’s no one’s fool, And he tries so hard to come off like a star.” Eddie starts dancing around in front of the counter, “You can tell by the way he combs his hair, by the cocky grin and that moody stare. By the way he leans and juts out his hip...” He sings, pointing at how Steve is doing exactly that.

Steve laughs, waving him off, “Okay, okay, I get it! You can st—”

“Elfman!” Robin calls out suddenly.

Steve and Eddie share a look. “Who’s an elf?”

“The Dan guy from your song, Elfman? Was his last name Elfman?”

Eddie snaps his fingers at her, “That’s it! Danny Elfman!” “The guy from Oingo Boingo!”

There are a few beats of silence.

“Don’t look at me like that, he’s the singer in Oingo Boingo! My parents love their stuff, and they did that song in Weird Science!”

“Which song?”

“..Weird Science.” she says as if that was obvious.

Something clicks in Steve’s head at the name, too. “Wait, I know I've seen that name somewhere else...” He rounds the counter and toward the shelf he knows the tape he's thinking of lives; it’s a goofy movie, he’s watched it before on some of his long solo shifts and it’s honestly kind of grown on him.

He grabs up the first copy he sees, one of the Family Video plastic clamshells, and brings it back to the counter, popping the tape into their tape player.

The opening credits start up, and at the title card: “Oh hey, Pee-Wee's Big Adventure! I love Pee Wee!” Eddie says, excitedly jumping up to sit on the counter in front of the TV (and Steve).

“Yeah you do..” Robin mumbles.

“Shut up,” Steve grumbles, elbowing her a bit harder than necessary, “Look.” he points up to the text on the screen. 

“Damn, this guy’s everywhere!”

“‘Music composed by Danny Elfman’. Holy shit! Good memory, Dingus!”

“Thanks! Now what is this about Eddie loving Pee Wee?”

#askdfhjaslkfda #i like danny elfman okay? #i was going to have Steve remember him from the michael keaton batman but that doesn't come out until 1989 #but pee wee is just as good #i love pee-wee's big adventure #it's such a dumb movie #my family refrences it all the time lmao #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #the three muskequeers #steddie #(kinda?) #pre-steddie #st #stranger things #danny elfman #oingo boingo #weird science #pee wee's big adventure

[urmommies--girl]

All I have in my head rn is how different marvel women would react to being called mommy/mistress for the first time in the bedroom. Like, idk, every time I come on here all I can think of is mommy kink bc of “mommies girl”😂Also ily too darling, glad you’d drank some water💖 -🐸

A//N: I miss you 🐸 please find my new account 

Also I can add more these are just my personal headcanons based off the ones I simp for

Marvel Women being called ‘Mommy/Mistress’

Warnings: 18+ only, suggestive content, mistress kink, mommy kink, daddy kink, humiliation, public sex, collars, 

Word Count: 646

Natasha Romanoff

Mommy kink.

Natasha wants control but in like a soft way

So when you call her mommy for the first time she just smirks and fucks you harder

“Hell yeah baby.”, “be a good girl for mommy.”

Every time you call her mommy she goes feral

If you called her mommy outside of the bedroom she’d just have this smirk on her face

She loves that people know she’s your mommy

(We love possessive Nat)

Wanda Maximoff

Mistress. 

Wheelchair. Immediately wheelchair.

You’d never walk again after you called Wanda mistress

She’d make you say it over and over again just to hear it

If you said it outside of the bedroom she’d have you on your knees in a second

Even if you’re in the middle of the grocery store she force you on your knees to make you eat her out in the middle of the supermarket

She’d also get you a collar (because we all know she has a collar kink) that has ‘Mistress’ engraved on the front and her phone number on the back to let people know you’re hers

Hela Odinsdottir

Mhmmmm Mommy kink.

Be prepared to be tied up and edged for hours just so she can hear you scream the title

“That’s right, pet.”, “I’m your mommy”, “You don’t want to disappoint your mommy now do you?”

Hela would drag you around and every time you needed something while she was talking she’d make you address her as mommy just to see the humiliation it brought you

She’d get you a set of lingerie and each piece of fabric would have ‘mommy’s pet’ on it

Agatha Harkness

This one was difficult…

Neighbour kink

No I’m kidding, I’d say Mistress

Like Wanda they’re both mistresses of magic and have control issues

So hearing you call them mistress absolutely kills them

Agatha would be surprised when you first said it but she’d be into it after you said it a few times

She’d love the control and power it gives her to know that she could tell you to do something only to have you respond with a ‘yes mistress’

“Don’t be disobedient.”, “Do exactly what your mistress commands.”

Agatha is much more reserved about your sex lives

However if someone flirted with you then she’d just let them know that she is your mistress

And you’re loyal to her

Carol Danvers

Carol was also hard because she’s like a hard dominant

I’d say mommy kink 

Carol isn’t super keen on it until she realises the effect it has on you when she teases you about it

She’d purposely bring it up in a casual conversation just to see your thighs clench and face heat up.

“Mommy, aye?”, “You want your mommy to help you?”

It would be like a playful dominance out of the bedroom

Belittling you and treating you like an actual baby

“Oh no, baby! Let mommy do that for you.”

She’d have this stupid fucking smirk on her face every time she said it

Valkyrie 

Tell me otherwise Valkerie wants to be called daddy

The first time you said it would make her go absolutely feral

Don’t expect to walk the next day

I also feel like she would make you call her that outside the bedroom (just for a bit of casual dominance because we love that)

She’d also tease and make so many jokes about it

Like even though she’d be into it too she’d like get you a shirt that said ‘daddy’s girl’ or something

Valkerie would never let you live it down so have fun

#natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff headcanon #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #dark wanda x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda maximov #wanda x you #Wanda Maximoff fluff #hela odinsdottir #hela x reader #hela smut #hela odinsdottir smut #carol danvers #carol danvers smut #carol x reader #carol danvers x reader #captain marvel #valkyrie #valkyrie x reader #valkyrie smut #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #Agatha Harkness smut

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Meeting the Family // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hello there, could I please request Anthony bridgerton and reader fic where hes introducing the reader to his family for the first time and shes really nervous but the family ends up loving her more than him? Thanks, I absolutely love your work!! Please dont overwork yourself darling❤ - @lespaceboi

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I had so much fun with this request, I love it so so much. I only hope you do too! Lowkey posting this early bc I’m watching the euros final tonight and I won’t have time. 

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, light angst, some worries, lots of fluff, family fluff, Anthony being cute, dialogue heavy, declarations of love.

Word count: 3.6k

Her hands shake uncontrollably as the carriage clatters through London. Taking calming breaths, (Y/N) does her best to stop her shaking hands by gripping her shawl tightly. Her maid, Jayne, looks over at her in concern. “We can always turn back, my lady,” Jayne whispers, “I’m sure Viscount Bridgerton won’t mind postponing to another day.”

(Y/N) smiles warmly at her maid; grateful for the care in her voice. However, she shakes her head. “I’m afraid it can’t wait any longer, Jayne. Anthony’s sister and her husband have travelled all the way from Scotland.”

Jayne sits back against the carriage bench, nodding her head understandingly. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” She offers in comfort.

“I can only hope,” (Y/N) whispers, casting her gaze out of window and into the London streets.

She had met Anthony Bridgerton when shopping for ribbons. An unusual time and place to meet anyone, but Anthony had strolled into the shop and asked to see the best ribbons in the place as nothing would be better than the absolute best for his nieces. (Y/N) had giggled at the tone of his voice; unused to seeing such a powerful figure in such intimate settings. Her laughter had drawn his attention to which a conversation began. By the end of the Viscount’s visit to the ribbon shop, he had asked to see her again.

The visits continued in secrecy, or in as much secrecy as one could afford when holding a peerage. The relationship blossomed; what was once considered a friendship was turning romantic, and (Y/N) could not help her feelings for the Viscount. He had captured her, body and soul. She counted every blessing that Anthony felt the same.

The first glimpse of Bridgerton House steals her breath away. The red brick stands out amongst the paler buildings; Anthony’s wealth already obvious but further personified by the sheer scale of his home. The sweet scent of the violet hyacinths perfume (Y/N)’s carriage; their aroma bringing a small smile to her face as she remembers a masquerade party in Chiswick, a balcony and Anthony’s hands on her waist.

Her carriage rolls to a natural stop; (Y/N)’s heart in her throat as she tears her inquiring gaze from Bridgerton House to Jayne. Jayne smiles and squeezes her lady’s hand, a silent offer of support for the afternoon.

“They’re going to love you,” Jayne whispers, bolstering (Y/N) as best she could as the door to the carriage is opened by (Y/N)’s footman.

Now closer, Bridgerton House is much grander. The deep green iron gates pronounce the family’s wealth further. (Y/N) gulps as she takes step after step down the path to already open front door. Her steps falter slightly as she catches sight of Anthony waiting in the entrance; his hair the usual untameable mess that endears her so.

“You came,” Anthony breathes in greeting; his eyes wide with barely concealed surprise as he takes in the sight of her on his doorstep.

“I came,” (Y/N) answers just as breathlessly. Even the sight of him was enough to leave her gasping for breath; there were moments in their prolonged courtship that she couldn’t quite believe he had chosen her, that he wanted her. As Anthony stands there, his white shirt unbuttoned from the collar with his waistcoat undone, she realises that this is the most casual she had ever seen him. His outfit wasn’t proper, but she doesn’t want it to be. She wants to see him from every angle; she wants to know every Anthony there is. So far, she had found herself besotted with each and every one.

Both remain silent as Anthony offers his arm to her. (Y/N) uses the silence to quash the nerves rioting in her gut; she had never been this nervous, not when she was presented in front of the monarch for her season, and not when she danced with the Prince of Wales at his birthday celebrations two years ago. Now, however, her nerves were beginning to get the better of her.

Anthony pauses their journey. “Are you okay?” He asks, a note of concern in his voice.

“I’m nervous,” (Y/N) confesses bashfully, “What if they don’t like me? What if they hate me so much that you end things? I’m having so much fun with you, Anthony. I don’t want this to end.”

“Hey,” Anthony whispers, taking her face in his hands, urging her to look at him, “You’re going to be fine. They’re going to love you, I know it. I’ve spoken about you so much they feel they already know you.”

“You talk about me?” (Y/N) asks, her voice small.

Anthony presses a kiss to her forehead. “Constantly. I’m surprised they haven’t kicked me out with how much I talk about you.”

“You’re really very sweet.”

“Only because of you,” He flirts, pushing his luck by kissing her quickly.

(Y/N) laughs softly against his mouth. “You’re incorrigible.”

Anthony laughs gently, pulling away from her lips but keeping hold of her hands. “I’m as nervous as you,” He confesses, “But I have you by my side to help me get through just as you have me through this too. Any time you want to go, let me know and I’ll call your carriage back round.”

“Thank you,” She whispers before Anthony continues on down the hall, his hand squeezing hers tightly.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Anthony asks, double checking, voice wavering as they stand outside the door to the drawing room. “My family can be a bit much to meet all at once.”

“We’re nothing of the sort!” A masculine voice shouts from behind the door.

A surprised laugh leaves (Y/N) lips. She covers her mouth to bring back the mask of perfect decorum, not wanting to insult a member of Anthony’s family. “I’m ready when you are,” She whispers, smiling at the eldest Bridgerton.

“Sooner rather than later,” Anthony whispers before opening the door, giving her the first glimpse at his family.

The Bridgerton brood sit around the large drawing room. Sisters and brothers, husbands and wives – they all mix together as they wait for Anthony and his new beau. Each all fall silent as Anthony and (Y/N) enters the room; their first glimpse of her, their first conversation with her. Anthony had spoken about her constantly but refused to let any family meet her until they were both ready.

Now that moment had arrived.

“Mother,” Anthony introduces to the silent room, “This is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) exclaims, smiling at the Bridgerton matriarch. “I’ve heard so much about you all,” She continues, casting her gaze around the room.

“It’s a pleasure for us too, dear (Y/N),” Violet announces, “Anthony has been nothing but a ball of nerves since he announced you would be joining us.”

(Y/N) nods at the matriarch, feeling herself become speechless as she takes in the sheer size of Anthony’s family. It isn’t hard to tell who the Bridgertons are among the group are; they each have the same eyes and smile. “It’s lovely to meet you all,” (Y/N) announces, repeating her earlier words, unable to keep the nerves from entering her voice this time.

“I’m Benedict,” The second eldest introduces, jumping up from his seat on the couch, holding his hand out for her to take.

“The artist!” (Y/N) gasps, “I’ve seen some of your work. You’re exceptionally talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict blushes, excusing himself with a pat to Anthony’s shoulder, a silent sign that Benedict already approves.

“Help yourself to some tea,” A younger woman exclaims in the brief silence between conversations, “I’d get up to greet you, but it would take twice as long as the conversation itself.”

“Please don’t strain yourself,” (Y/N) offers graciously, “Congratulations on your pregnancy.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m Daphne, and this is my husband, Simon.” Daphne introduces, her hand landing on the thigh of a handsome man.

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) greets, making her way to an empty seat at a nearby table. There she pours two cups of tea, one for her and one for Anthony, knowing he would be dropping by in a minute or two. The tea steeps as (Y/N) helps herself to one of the many biscuits, taking a small bite of the buttery concoction before reaching for the milk and sugar. This is a routine she has practiced many times before, knowing exactly how long to stir her tea so it wouldn’t burn the tip of her tongue with every sip.

It’s takes less than two minutes for someone to join her at the table. (Y/N) offers the young woman a polite smile, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Eloise Bridgerton,” introduces the young woman.

“A pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) repeats, feeling herself already grow tired of the words.

“Are you educated, (Y/N)?” Eloise enquires; her keen blue gaze dancing over the young woman.

(Y/N) finishes her sip of tea before nodding at Anthony’s younger sister. “I am,” She answers, “I studied under a very thorough governess, and I am fluent in French and Latin, but I’ve also been fortunate enough to sit in on some lectures at Oxford and Edinburgh.”

“How?” Eloise all but demands, ignoring the stern stare of her mother as she leans forward, elbows on the table. “You must teach me your ways.”

(Y/N) represses an amused smile at Eloise’s antics. “My favourite cousin, Sylvester, was a student at both. I often annoyed him into letting me attend in secret whenever I visited.”

“Did you attend any interesting lectures?”

(Y/N) nods, happy to further indulge the brunette. “Sylvester was a student of medicine, beginning his education at Oxford before continuing on to Edinburgh where he lives now. I’ve attended a few medical lectures, but I pressured him into letting me attend a philosophical debate surrounding Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Woman.” (Y/N) shakes her head, amused at the memory, “Sylvester didn’t find that one nearly as thrilling as his medical lectures.”

“Anthony!” Eloise calls, gathering the attention of all her brothers, “I’m keeping (Y/N) for myself. You’re going to have to find a new beau, I’m afraid.”

Anthony chuckles, leaving his brothers to their own conversation. “Pray,” He begins, “Just what are the two of you talking about.”

“(Y/N)’s education. Did you know she’s sat in lectures at both Oxford and Edinburgh? I daresay I might attend a few myself.”

Anthony’s hand lands on your shoulder; a warm squeeze has you turning to meet his stare. His smile is fond; his eyes are bright with happiness. “Are you inciting further rebellion in my little sister?”

“Of course not,” (Y/N) playfully scoffs, “Just letting her know that should she want to attend any lectures, I have a connection for her.”

A laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he catches sight of Eloise’s excited wiggle in her chair. “I’m glad you’re getting along,” He murmurs to (Y/N) quietly, dropping an unexpected kiss to her hair before entering a debate with Eloise, explaining why she cannot go about interrupting lectures at prestigious universities.

Leaving the siblings to their bickering, (Y/N) stands from table, wanting to stretch her legs and discover more to the drawing room. By this point in the afternoon, the appeal of company has worn off. The large family now broken off into their own conversations; Francesca and Michael remain sat close together on the couch under the window, Lady Violet remains sat by her eldest daughter – the matriarch keeping a weather eye on her pregnant daughter.

(Y/N) smiles fondly at the scene before turning to one of the many fixed bookshelves in the room; leather bound volumes line the shelves. There wasn’t much for light reading, she thinks to herself as she reads the spines. Much about the War of the Roses and the subsequent Tudor reign, not much in the way of Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron.

“You’re very pretty,” A young girl announces from behind (Y/N). She turns to find two girls, both no older than four or five, their hair matching pigtails, curled into ringlets.

(Y/N) kneels to their height, ignoring the pinching of her corset as she smiles at the young children. “Why thank you,” She states gratefully, “But you know what I would really like?”

“What?” The eldest of the two asks, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Gorgeous pigtails like yours,” (Y/N) smiles, gesturing to their hair.

Both girls break into wide smiles, already won over. “What are your names?” (Y/N) asks.

“I’m Amelia,” The eldest states proudly, “I’m five and a half.”

“I’m Belinda,” The second girl introduces, “I’m four.”

“Well it is lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) compliments, “My name is (Y/N).”

“We know,” Belinda chimes. “Uncle Tony talks about you all the time.”

“He does, does he?” She murmurs amused; catching sight of the brunette doing his best not to intervene on the conversation taking place with his nieces.

Amelia nods. “All the time!” She cries happily. “He talks about your hair, your eyes, your smile.” She breaks off, leaning towards (Y/N) to whisper in her ear. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“Do you think?” (Y/N) questions, unable to keep the eager hope from her voice.

“I know,” Amelia nods sagely, “I heard Uncle Tony tell Mama and Papa.”

(Y/N) presses her lips together to keep the wide smile from growing across her face. She had known that Anthony felt very deeply for her though he had never uttered a word. With a quick glance in Anthony’s direction, she gestures for the two girls to come closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

Amelia and Belinda nod silently; too excited to hear what (Y/N) has to say. “It just so happens,” (Y/N) whispers to the two girls, “That I also love your Uncle Tony.”

“You do?” Belinda squeaks.

“I do,” (Y/N) nods seriously, “I love him very much.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Amelia asks; her blue eyes wide with burning curiosity.

“I think on some level he already knows, but I plan on telling him very soon.”

Both girls squeal in happiness, leaving (Y/N) behind as they run towards their parents. Daphne and Simon greet their children with open arms, wide eyed at their level of noise as they demand their voices to be heard over the hubbub of the rest of the family.

“I don’t suppose you’d enlighten me to this particular conversation,” A warm voice sounds from behind her. The way his arm slips around her waist, as if it were his home, tells (Y/N) that Anthony has found her once more.

“A secret for another day,” (Y/N) teases, turning to face the man that had captured her heart so wholly.

“Will you tell me later?” He asks, pushing out his bottom lip in a pout that has her giggling.

“Perhaps,” She whispers, leaning ever closer to the Bridgerton. “Only if you promise me something.”

“Anything,” He whispers seriously, “I’d give you the world if I could.”

“I know you would,” She murmurs, “But all I’m asking for is for you to not pester your nieces over what I told them.”

“How did you know?” Anthony asks, voice glum.

(Y/N) brings a gloved hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Because I know you, my dear.”

Anthony leans into the touch, turning his face slightly to press a kiss to her wrist. “I like being your dear.”

“I like being yours too,” She replies earnestly. “Now, I’ve spoken to most of your siblings. Do me the honour of introducing me to Francesca, she came all the way from Scotland, it’s rude that I’ve neglected her.”

“Yes, my darling,” Anthony responds, taking her hand and leading her to the couch where Francesca sits with her husband, Michael.

The day continues in a similar fashion. Bridgerton House had never been quiet when the whole family was in attendance; raucous laughter and loving bickering filled its many corners with noise. The life and laughter of the family bringing the house to life.

As the grandfather clock ticks closer and closer to the evening, (Y/N) finds herself lamenting the fact that she must leave the Bridgerton family so soon.

“I must take my leave,” She announces to sad cries to Amelia and Belinda, already so attached.

“So soon?” Benedict asks, frowning as he wonders when he’ll get to continues his conversation with her. So few wanted to talk about art nowadays.

(Y/N) meets Anthony’s gaze, hating how sad he looks. “I’m having dinner with my parents and their friends. An occasion I simply cannot miss, I’m afraid.”

“Do we know them?” Violet asks in an attempt to delay the inevitable. She had grown fond of the young woman over the course of the afternoon, seeing how perfectly she fit amongst her family, how she brought out the best in her eldest son.

“The St. Clair’s?” (Y/N) enquires, drawing her shawl around her shoulders. “My father has worked with Lady Danbury’s family for a long time. Gareth and I are old friends.”

“Have a wonderful time,” Violet announces, “But please visit us soon.”

“I would love to,” (Y/N) smiles, crossing the room to be by Anthony’s side.

Offering her goodbyes to the large family, (Y/N) takes Anthony’s offered arm, hooking hers through his as they descend the grand marble staircase to the foyer. “Your family are lovely,” (Y/N) compliments as she takes care not to trip over her skirts on the stairs. “You all care for each so much, it’s clear the moment you enter the room.”

“My mother and siblings are the best people I know,” Anthony murmurs, walking beside (Y/N) at a steady pace in order to delay her departure by a minute.

“I can only hope they liked me,” She worries, her teeth biting into her bottom lip in a way that has Anthony restraining himself by gripping her arm tighter.

“You were wonderful,” Anthony murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheekbone before helping her into her carriage.

“Thank you for today,” (Y/N) calls, sticking her hand from the window to prolong the contact between Anthony and herself. She wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye; wasn’t quite ready to leave him.

“Thank you for coming,” Anthony answers, kissing her hand before tucking it back through the window of her carriage. If they didn’t say goodbye now, they wouldn’t say goodbye at all. If she didn’t leave, he would most likely offer marriage on the pavement than somewhere proper.

Nodding to her footman, Anthony watches her carriage leave. He stands on the doorstep to Bridgerton House until her carriage is no longer in sight. Only then does he let himself release the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Weariness washes over him as he turns to face his childhood home. Inside, in his mother’s drawing room, await his family. Each one ready to give their verdict on the woman he has had the good fortune to fall in love with.

Sighing, he kicks at the ground, knowing he cannot delay this any longer.

His mother and siblings are where he left them; his mother’s drawing room. They fall silent at the sight of him; each clearly unwilling to make the leap and be the first to broach the elephant in the room.

“What do you think of (Y/N)?” Anthony asks; voice loud in the ever so silent room. He meets the eyes of each of his siblings, not missing the way Daphne leans into Simon or the way Michael reaches for Francesca’s hand. They’ve all found their love matches; it was now Anthony’s turn.

Colin takes the fall for his family, standing to face his eldest brother and titled peer. He clears his throat, fidgeting on the spot before he eventually pauses all movement, breaking into a smile to declare, “We all loved her!”

“You do?” Anthony asks, falling onto a nearby couch in shock.

Violet smiles at her eldest son. “We do. (Y/N) is a sweetheart and looks to be just as taken with you as you are with her.”

Blush begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. “I can only hope, dear mother.”

“It’s true,” Amelia chimes, her young face bright with joy. “She told Belinda and I.”

“You have found your love match, my darling boy,” Violet states warmly.

“It does help that (Y/N) is a trifle more tolerable than you, dear brother,” Benedict teases, laughter bright in his Bridgerton blue eyes.

“And so educated!” Eloise gasps, “We had an enlightening conversation about Wollstonecraft’s Vindication on the Rights of Women.”

“She was wonderful with Amelia and Belinda,” Daphne murmurs, her hand falling protectively over her pregnant stomach.

“Why do I get the feeling that you prefer (Y/N) to me?” Anthony murmurs, mischief bright in his eyes and evident in his voice.

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Gregory points out, “I only hope (Y/N) can keep up with your obsession with Pall Mall.”

“A worthy obsession,” Anthony argues, mind wandering to the games he could play with (Y/N).

“She’s wonderful,” Violet interrupts, a large smile on her face as she takes the final say.

Anthony smiles widely at his mother; constantly grateful for her love and care throughout his life. She had been lost after the death of his father, as had Anthony, but Anthony had never truly understood what it would feel like to lose someone you love as wholeheartedly as his mother loved his father.

Until now, that is. The mere thought of losing her sends a lance of pain through his chest, cutting short his breath and increasing his panic. Anthony shakes his head to rid himself of such thoughts and feelings.

Calm enough, he faces his family once more. “I plan on proposing to (Y/N),” He announces, showing his family the ring box that has been sitting heavily in his trouser pocket all day.

“Thank goodness,” Francesca murmurs, smiling indulgently at her big brother. “I cannot wait to call her sister.”

“Indeed,” Anthony murmurs, a loving smile on his face, “I cannot wait to call her my wife.”

******

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @sexysirius @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley @spideysz​ @iammirrorball​ @writeroutoftime​ @joyfullymulti​ @nuttytani​ @multifandomfix​ @freyathehuntress​ @lespaceboi​

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#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagines #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton fanfic #Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton fluff

[marvelwoman-sugarbaby]

powerbroker!sharoncarter x fem!reader (i hope its fine for this to be totes smut!) Sharon is negotiating an important business deal on a phone call at one of her parties and the reader is getting needy because shes been working non stop for the past week. So reader basically distracts her by bending down in a VERY short dress, twirling her hair, softly moaning in her ear, the works. Sharon gets annoyed but gives the reader what she wants bc shes a simp. Possibly with a strap? I dont mind ty :)

You Wanted This

Requested Powerbroker!Sharon x Fem!Reader

This is my first smut I’ve written ever 😬 I hope you like it and I did it right.

Words: 2432

Genre: Smut, Bit of Fluff at the end

Warning: Smut 18+ only, strap on, name calling (slut, whore), cunnilingus, vibrating dildo, a knife is there for 2 seconds, flogger, ropes, semi-public sex, if there’s anything else tell me and I’ll put it up.

Summary: look at the request box above

Y/N POV

Right now, I’m at a party that’s being thrown for Sharon’s birthday. Everything is excellent. The guests are partying as if their life depends on it, There’s so much drinking, and so far, only two people have been thrown out for being jackasses. But everything isn’t excellent. Instead of joining a party meant for HER, the birthday girl is on the balcony taking an “important business call.” Usually, I would be okay with this. But she’s been doing just work for the past week and needs to do something. Honestly, I’m at the point where I would like her to fuck me till I drop or cuddle me till I pass out from being squeezed too hard. Though I’d like it to be the first option. Right now, I’m starting to put together how I’ll take her attention off her phone and onto me, and of course, it begins with my entrance.

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

Sharon hates it when I wear things too revealing at public events. She loves seeing me in them. She just doesn’t like when other people see what's hers. So I’m in a black strapless v neck that hugs my body and stops mid-thigh. Many people stop to look at me as I enter, but I’m looking for Sharon. Sure enough, she’s on the balcony watching me like a hawk, so I use it to my advantage.

I start to flirt with a random guy who doesn't know who I am because he wouldn’t be flirting back if he did. I start to get touchy with him. I’m placing my hands on his chest and jaw. At this point, I feel Sharon’s eyes burning holes in the back of my head. Not surprising, his hands are basically on my ass. Just to finish pushing her over the edge, I “drop” something. I look to make sure it’s only Sharon behind me. Then, I bend down to get it, showing I have no panties on. When that doesn’t finish the job, I get a glass of water to hand to her. When she takes it, I go behind her ear and moan into it. “I apologize. I have to go right now, but I will call you back as soon as I can.”

As soon as she hangs up, she takes me by my forearm and pulls me into the bathroom. She pushed me against the counter and pinned me. I’ve had a slight smile on my face since I started this.

“You think you're so cute, don’t you. Slutting yourself to a random person like that, as well as showing people what’s mine, whore.” She slaps me across the face, and I have to hold in a moan. “I bet this is exactly what you want, huh.” She doesn’t give me the chance to respond before her lips crash into mine. She pulls me in by the waist and forces her tongue into my mouth. Her hands start to wander downward. When they get to the hem of my dress, she pulls it up and starts groping my ass as I moan into her mouth. Once breathing becomes a problem, she kisses me down my neck.

One of her hands on my ass makes its way to my abdomen. She moves her face right above my breast and uses the hand on my ass, and she moves the tops of the dress down. She starts to lick at my nipple. Her hand on my abdomen starts to move down. Her fingers trace my lips and skim over my slit, never giving me what I want. “Please.” She takes her mouth off my breast to look me in the eye. “Please what, baby girl.” She pinches my breast with her free hand, earning a moan from me. “Fuck me, please. I’ll be your good girl again. I won’t whore myself out anymore. Just please fuck me.”

As soon as I finish, she shoves two fingers up my cunt. Then, not even taking a second to get used to the feeling, she starts pounding into me as hard as she can. “Is this what you wanted, baby? You wanted me to give you this attention?” I knew it was a rhetorical question, so I just continued to moan. I moaned louder when I realized anyone could walk in on us at any time.

Using her hand on my breast, she uses it to put me on the counter. As soon as I’m settled, she starts going faster, and her face makes its way down my body. First, kissing and licking my breasts then skips over my dress to my abdomen and kisses all the way down until she reaches my clit. Once she kisses it, she starts to devour it like someone who hasn't eaten in days. I’m about to shout before I cover my mouth my hand. She uses her free hand to take mine away from my mouth. “I want to hear your pretty moans, so don’t even think about doing that again.”

She gets right back to eating me out, adds a third finger inside me, and starts pounding my g spot. “FUCK! I’m about to cum! Please, can I cum!?!” “No.” She starts to work even faster as I try to hold back my orgasm. “PLEASE!” “Cum now.”

When my orgasm washes over me, and I think I’m about to come down from my high, Sharon doesn’t stop. She takes her fingers out of me and gets to fucking me with her tongue. I start to whine and am about to tell her to stop until her fingers that were inside me are shoved into my mouth. I moan around them.

She starts using her tongue to take as much of my juice as she can into her mouth. She then moves up to my clit and starts nibbling and sucking on it. Since she never stopped after my first orgasm, I feel another starting to come on. “I need to come! Please let me cum!” I say around her fingers. “Do it.”

She helps me come down from my high, then she comes back to eyes level with me. “That was amazing.” “Aww, you sweat baby, you think that was it. That’s adorable. Stand up.” When I do, it’s on shaky legs, so I use Sharon to prop me up then fix my dress. “Come on. We’re going to our room.” She put her hands around my waist and led me to our room.

As soon as we entered and she closed the door, she ripped off my dress. “Hey, I liked that dress.” “You keep talking, you’re getting more than just a ripped dress. Besides, I can buy a new one. Now get on the bed with your ass in the air.”

She went into the closet where we kept all our sex toys, and when she came out, I moaned so loud. She was naked, and had on our biggest strap, with a flogger and vibrating dildo in one hand and silk rope in the other. “Let's think about this for a second, shall we. First, you go to the party, leaving nothing to the imagination. Then, you start flirting with the first man you see. After, you proceed to bend over, wholly aware you have on no undergarments giving anyone the chance to see your slutty cunt. Finally, when I think you’re done, you moan in my ear. You may think you were being quiet about it, but the women on the other end heard you loud and clear.”

My face turned bright red after hearing that. Sharon made her way up to my side and started rubbing my ass. “So, how many do you think you deserve?” At this point, I just wanted her to shove her cock in cunt, so I just spit out the first number that came to mind. “20.” That came as a surprise to both of us, but I already said it, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it hot when she was giving me spankings.

“Are you sure, baby girl?” Her voice and features turned soft. The fact that she will turn soft right in the middle of sex to check on me is just one of the reasons I love her. “Yes, love, I’m sure.” In a second, I see her eyes go from soft to hard she puts the vibrator and rope on the side table for later. “You’re going to count, and if you mess up, we start from the beginning.” I feel the flogger go down hard. “One.” I say with a slightly pained moan. It comes down again, and she pushes two fingers in my cunt to distract me from any pain. “Two, fuck.”

When she finishes, she rubs my ass so the pain will ease. “Flip over. I want to see your wet cunt.” I push myself, so my head is at the top of the bed, then I spread my legs. When I do, I hear a grown come from Sharon. “Fuck, you better prepare because I’m going to be ruining that cunt.” She takes the dildo, puts it directly onto my clit, and then turns it up to max in a second. “Holy FUCK!” Then she shoves the dildo inside and takes the silk ropes, and ties my legs to the corners of the bed; she also ties my hands to the headboard. She starts to pump the dildo into my cunt and hits my g spot constantly while playing with my clit.

It becomes so much I don’t even ask to cum. When I came down from my high, I realized what I had done and looked at Sharon. Her eyes are dark, but she isn’t looking at my face. She’s looking at my cunt. That’s when I realize I squirt and start to get embarrassed. “I’m sor-” I don’t get to finish before she interrupts. “Don’t finish that sentence.” She looks back at me, and her eyes are so dark with lust I can’t see her actual eye color. “We are not going to stop tonight until you do that again.”

That was my first time squirting, so the likelihood of it happening again is low. “Are you sure, you st-” “If you try to take this away from me, I will stuff your ass and cunt with a dildo and leave it there until you pass out from pleasure.” I let out a moan and spread my legs as wide as the rope would let me. In an instant, her lips were on mine and lining up her strap-on with my cunt and pushing in as far as she could. She watches as the strap pumps inside me, then grabs the dildo, turns it up to its max, and places it on my clit. She starts to hit my g spot, and before I know it, I’m about to cum. “I’m so close. Please let me cum, please.” “Cum for me, little whore.”

When I came, I didn’t squirt, so she didn’t stop and kept going. Usually, I wouldn’t be so sensitive, but with how many times I’ve already come, and she didn’t give me time to come down from my high, I start to get overstimulated. “Oh fuck, wait, it’s too sensitive.” “Sweetheart, you’re the one that asked for this. I’m just listening, and now I’m not stopping till you squirt again. Do you really want me to stop?” I could say our safeword if I wanted to, and she’d stop in a second, but I love this feeling, so I don’t want to. I shake my head. “No, keep going, please.”

As she pounds into me, she reaches for the drawer and takes out a knife, and uses it to cut off the ropes so she wouldn’t have to deal with it, putting the knife back when she’s done. She takes out the strap and flips me over, bringing my ass into the air, and continues to pound into me. She uses one hand to keep my head on the bed and the other holding the dildo against my clit. I can tell I’m getting close, and she does too. “Cum whenever you want.” After a few pumps, I’m squirting again. As soon as I do, her face is on the same level as my cunt, and she starts to lap at it.

I collapsed on the bed, and she rolled me over so she could continue to eat me out. Tho, it gets too much at one point, so I move her head. Reluctantly she stops and kisses me. I can taste myself on her, causing a moan to fall from my lips. “Did you just make me squirt again because the first time you didn’t start eating me out like a mad man, and you were upset?” She gives me a cheeky smile. “Of course, I did. What did you expect?” I roll my eyes and then yawn.

She leaves for the bathroom for a bit and comes back. “Come on.” “I can’t feel my legs.” She smirks and picks me up. When we get into the bathroom, I see that she's made me a bath. When she puts me inside, she gets up to leave. “Take a bath with me.” “I will just give me some time.” It takes forever before she finally comes back into the bathroom and gets in. I lean on her. Sharon takes a loofah and starts washing me all over. When she gets to my core, I hiss. “I know. Just give me a second.” She says while peppering my face with kisses.

When she gets out, she grabs a towel and wraps it around me. Picking me up, she takes me into the bedroom. Which I see she changed the sheet and took out one of her hoodies and sweatpants for me. Once in the bed, there's a knock on the door. Sharon answers, and when she turns around, she has water and mac and cheese. Coming over to me, she sets it down on my lap. “You didn’t eat at the party, so I had the chief make this for you before you go to bed. Now eat cause you’re not going to bed before you do.”

Once I’m done, she takes the dishes leaving them on her side table to take down in the morning. I turn with my back to her, and she spoons me from the back. “I love you, baby girl.” “I love you too.” Satisfied and happy, I fall asleep in Sharon's arms.

#sharon carter x reader #sharon carter #sharon carter x you #sharon carter x y/n #sharon carter smut #sharon carter fluff #power broker #the falcon and the winter soldier

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You���re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

[narraboths]

you know that catco employees are already groaning whenever Kara walks into the office with a new hairstyle or a new outfit bc they know they're going have to put up with their boss staring like she's never seen a woman before

Kara Danvers is, objectively speaking, an incredibly worthy object of one’s workplace crush.

Most of CatCo’s employees will readily admit that they’ve all been there: Kara Danvers is lovely and kind, she has the nicest laugh, she’s practically sunshine personified. She remembers people’s birthdays, brings them coffee unasked, and attempts to temper Cat Grant’s wrath whenever it threatens to strike. Even when she gets bumped to junior reporter, she’s still the same charming goofball, only she now rushes in and out of the building chasing stories  with a vengeance instead of lattes. Who could ever resist a crush on her?

Most of CatCo’s employees, however, will also hasten to point out that they could at least keep their infatuation to a reasonable level.

When Lena Luthor first walks into the CatCo bullpen, heading towards Kara without sparing a look for anyone else, the bullpen falls so deadly silent for a second, the clicking of her Louboutins is the only sound that can be heard. Then they all go back to acting totally, extremely normal, as if the most notorious new citizen of National City (a billionaire tech genius at that) isn’t flirting up a storm with a cub reporter right before their very eyes. They only snicker about the gala invitation in a very restrained way, with the appropriate amount of concern and jealousy, Luthor sure knows what connections she needs, Danvers better look out and You’d be trying to make that connection too if you were in her position.

Then the visits become a regular occurrence. 

Lena Luthor, CEO of a Fortune 500 company and a staple of 30 under 30 lists, shows up every week, and patiently waits around till Kara, who earnestly says golly and has to be reminded that exclusive is spelled without a ‘k’, stumbles across her. She beams at Kara’s rambling, laughs delightedly at her bad puns, calls her darling in a tone of voice that makes eavesdroppers blush, and bites her lip like she knows exactly what it is that she’d like to devour, and it’s certainly not the vegan bar that she’s dragging Kara away to for lunch. (CatCo refuses to publish the paparazzi shots that surface every third day of the week, but other outlets are not so squeamish.) And Kara meets her every step of the way, face lighting up whenever she sees Lena (even on TV, some note), hugging her tightly with every hello and goodbye even longer than necessary. She gushes about Lena’s projects and meets Lena’s own compliments to her writing with bashful smiles and fidgeting hands. Properly and utterly enamored.

The office settles into the new status quo, young love and all, though it seems to be incredibly slow-burning, with the entirety of CatCo (and likely half of L-Corp) getting front-row tickets to its process. Snapper mumbles about professional boundaries. People start a betting pool, and stare at Kara with a bit more hopeless yearning when she storms past them to greet Lena with a wide smile.

But then, there’s something else that changes with their courtship: Kara starts to get dapper.

She’s already looked unreasonably dashing in thin cardigans and pastel button-ups before, drawing dreamy sighs from the interns she’d stroll past. Now, it’s starting to verge on it’s a public menace to look that hot. The shirts get tighter, more crisp, and with it, her biceps and powerful shoulders considerably more accentuated. Well-tailored jackets start to make an appearance in her wardrobe, along with slim ties (their quirky patterns a testament to Kara’s nature), and elegantly knit jumpers come winter. And Kara starts to stand a little taller, too, shoulders squared and chin held high, her steps ever so slightly wider and more confident every time she has to chase after Snapper in one of their daily bouts.

The effect of it in the office is most profound. A rolled-up shirtsleeve and a hint of tensing muscles, and Jen at the art department almost scraps a magazine cover in her stupor. An unbuttoned collar and loosened tie at a late night editorial meeting, and Mackenzie nearly pours her coffee into her lap. 

And the very cause of this upheaval is certainly not immune to Kara’s newfound charms, either. There’s already been plenty of physical affection between the pair, as most of the office and a whole wealth of pap photos would attest, but now, it’s bordering on handsiness. Lena takes any opportunity to squeeze Kara’s arm, run a hand over her shoulder, or rest a hand on her forearm as they talk, and the bullpen grows green with jealousy.

When Cat Grant departs for the White House and L-Corp swoops in for the acquisition, the mood turns explosive.

Any illusions about the lovebirds keeping things more strictly professional with the change of management are shattered when Kara strides into the boss’ office with a gift-wrapped planner, all giddy, only to be greeted with their usual hug. Someone lets out a groan.

It only gets expectably worse.

It’s no fault of Lena Luthor’s overall management style – she’s a decent boss, a shockingly good one, even, if one considers the family name and all its implications, and infinitely milder than Miss Grant had been. But there’s only so many times one can witness their chief blushing in the middle of a meeting, or get lost in impure thought staring through the glass walls of the boardroom, out into the bullpen where the office heartthrob is currently stretching, providing an ample view of her entire upper body musculature. There’s only so many times they can watch Lena lean against Kara’s desk and reach down to gently smooth out her shirt’s collar or fiddle with the lapels of her jacket as they talk. At some point, Lena helping Kara tie the bespoke silk tie that she’s recently gifted her after a trip to Italy, batting away her “Lena, you really shouldn’t have” with “Nonsense, darling” and then stopping to fiddle with the damn thing, staring up at Kara with that unmistakably smitten expression becomes just another Tuesday morning at CatCo.

To say that there is a sigh of relief once news of CatCo once again changing hands start to spread is no understatement.

Andrea Rojas seems like a hardass and people start to feel a sense of comfort. She’s a businesswoman through and through, one whose ideas about running the place might be battled, but one who certainly won’t be head over heels for a pair of pretty blue eyes and jacked arms.

Antsiness and relief thus both settle over the first office-wide meeting Ms Rojas calls, preparing to address the entire staff. The first couple of sentences are delivered smoothly, with none of the longing looks cast into the crowd towards a certain blonde that they’ve had to get used to before, and people are starting to feel safe.

Then, getting to the meat of her speech, Andrea Rojas takes a breath and turns towards where the cream of CatCo’s crop is gathered, with Kara Danvers standing at the very front, arms crossed, navy suit hugging her imposing figure tightly, forehead crinkled in annoyed concentration.

Andrea Rojas looks, then looks again, and skids to a halt, lips parting as she takes in the view. Twelve seconds go by, an agonizing eternity, before she’d continue her speech, her gaze returning to Kara again and again.

“If you have any questions about the future of CatCo, I’d be happy to hear them now,” she finishes. “Or in my office, if you’d prefer to sound your concerns in private.”

She looks around, almost haughty before she’d turn her gaze to Kara again, biting her lip as they lock eyes, and someone in the back finally decides to give voice to what they’re all feeling:

"Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

#my fic #supercorp #mostly. anyway im unfunny but this was clawing at my last two braincells #Anonymous

[altsvu]

a little jealous, i suppose?

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!female!reader

wc: 2.8k

summary: after being called in for a case in the middle of a romantic date, you and hotch have to talk to the lieutenant on the case, but they end up flirting with you at the same time. hotch gets a little jealous and proves it when you and him get back to the hotel room.

tw: sex talk, A SHIT TON OF SMUT, some fluff, swearing.

a/n: this is a long one lovelies! i had so much fun writing this! jealous hotch can be a bit naughty... but this is my first (completed) smut fic with hotch and i hope it doesn’t sound super weird or whatever bc i lowkey suck at smut

criminal minds masterlist! ✯ taglist! ✯ text messages!

✯✯✯✯

You and Hotch had been dating for almost a year and a half now. Upon dating, the two of you had decided that it was best to not say anything to the rest of the team. Although you wanted everything to be kept under wraps, everyone wanted the two of you to be together though, and they picked up on the many interactions that you exchanged with each other. It had been easy to keep the relationship a secret, or at least the idea of either you or Hotch being in a romantic relationship, until now when you came into the BAU floor wearing a revealing dress and a full face of makeup.

“Well, well, well,” Morgan whistled. “Looks like someone’s going on a date.”

“Shut up Morgan, you’re just jealous it’s not with you.” you laughed. “I am not jealous at all. You do look really good though.” he responded, in which you blew him a kiss.

“You look so beautiful! Your date is definitely gonna fall head over heels for you.” JJ squealed, coming up to give you a hug. You knew exactly who she was talking about. Hotch. She was the only person you were able to confide in about your relationship with him even though you had practically become best friends with everyone on the team. “Thank you JJ.” you smiled.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Reid asked.

“Or girl?” Penelope said.

You looked for some of your items from your desk, trying to avoid the team’s burning questions. “All I can say is that he’s... definitely older.”

“Well, you know what they say, the older the wiser.” Emily suggested.

“Yes, this man is very wise.” you replied, putting your badge and gun in your purse. Little did everyone know that they were talking highly of Hotch.

Rossi came out of his office. “Well, you’re not going on a date with me.”

“Unfortunately-“ you frowned, then paused mid sentence when your phone rang. You pulled it out and broke away from the group to make sure they couldn’t see the name.

“Sweetheart, you know I can’t wait to see how beautiful you look.” Hotch mused. You could tell he had a smile on his face. “Well babe, lucky for you, I’m about to leave. See you in 5 okay?” You replied.

“Of course.”

You hung up and dropped your phone in your bag, grabbing your coat. “Alright everyone, I’m off. Don’t miss me too much, I’m a big girl, I’ll be okay.”

“Walk you to the elevator?” JJ asked. You nodded sincerely. You then said your goodbyes to everyone and walked out with JJ.

“He’s lucky to be with a woman like you.”

“Yeah, I like to think that. I’m just glad he doesn’t treat me like a child, ya know. I may be the youngest here, but when we’re alone, everything’s just different.”

JJ lifted an eyebrow. “Ohhhh, I see.”

You playfully smacked her on the shoulder as the elevator door opened. “Girl stop. It’s more than that.” You walked into the elevator, blowing a kiss at JJ.

“Have fun!”

✯✯✯✯

“You look absolutely amazing, did I tell you that already?” Hotch complimented as you got out of the car.

“Yes you have, about 5 times already, but I appreciate the compliments. You look quite handsome yourself, Aaron.”

“Thank you, my love.” he said, kissing you on the lips.

The two of you went inside the restaurant and followed the waiter to the reserved table, which had seating next to each other instead of across and the environment was pretty chill since there weren’t a lot of people inside, so it felt even more romantic. It gave you more freedom to perform many forms of PDA, which was something that Hotch wanted to experiment more with.

“So... everyone on the BAU floor is questioning who I’m dating,” you started. Hotch looked up at you mid bite. “Really? What’d you say?”

“I’m dating an older man who’s very wise.”

Hotch sneaked an arm around your waist. “I’m glad that you think I’m wise.”

“I can think of a lot more.” you whispered. You then crept your hand up to the nape of Hotch’s neck and pulled him closer to you, planting a passionate kiss on his lips.

“Mmm, I know what I’m gonna do to you when we get home.” Hotch murmured into your ear after kissing you back. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re gonna be shaking when you walk into the BAU tomorrow.” His fingers tickled your bare skin, and you hoped you weren’t getting an orgasm from his touch.

“Oh what a naughty, wise man you are.” you mused, taking the opportunity to kiss and nibble on the soft skin that was Hotch’s neck. You sucked on it hard, leaving a dark red mark.

You went back to enjoying your meal and chatting when you were interrupted by a phone call.

“It’s Garcia.” Hotch whispered. He then proceeded to answer the phone. When he got off the phone with her, he looked disappointed. “What is it?” you asked.

“We’re being called in.”

“Fuck.” you muttered under your breath, hearing your phone ring too.

Hotch took your face in his hands. “It’s okay. We can finish date night another night.”

✯✯✯✯

You had texted JJ that you would be meeting them on the plane to avoid suspicions from the rest of the team and you would be briefed when you arrived. JJ had grabbed your go bag for you as well.

“Y/N, how was your date?” Emily asked.

It was tempting to smile and look at Hotch but you were able not to. “Despite it being cut short, it was amazing. We had... plans after dinner.”

“Oooo, risqué.” Morgan cocked his head to the side. You pinched his cheek and collapsed in one of the chairs, wanting to sleep. In a way, you were a bit upset that you and Hotch had to be called away from your date, you seriously wanted him to be all over you, kissing you, sucking on your skin, massaging your forbidden spots.

“Very. Where are we headed?”

The rest of the team then briefed you on the case and when you landed, you’d have to go with Hotch to talk with the lieutenant that was the lead on the case and set up at the field office.

While you were looking through your copy of the case file, you got a text from Hotch.

SSA Hotchner BAU ❤️: That hickey on my neck won’t be going away for a while, Rossi’s already asking about it

SSA Hotchner BAU ❤️: he thinks i had “a little rendezvous” before being called in.

You stifled a laugh.

You: well... you did. With me of course

You: Keep him wondering, I’ll give you more in our hotel room 😘 and i’m also holding you to that promise

SSA Hotchner BAU ❤️: the things i want to do to you... i wouldn’t even be able to count

You bit your finger and looked out the window, wanting the day to go by fast. Hotch was sitting across from you, so he looked up at you for a slight second with a grin on his face, which caught your attention quickly. He gave you a wink and looked back down. Moments later, the jet was arriving at the team’s destination and you were eager to just change out of your date night clothes.

“Do we have time for me to stop by the hotel we’re staying in?” you whispered to JJ while getting off the plane.

“My beloved friend, we’re on a time crunch.” JJ started. “But, I’ll let you come with me to get the keys for our rooms.”

You sighed in relief and smiled a thank you.

✯✯✯✯

“I kinda wished you didn’t have to change out of that dress.” Hotch admitted. You side eyed him, knowing that he was joking. That was until you turned to look at him and he was staring at you, examining you almost. “Me too,” you smiled, turning to look at him. “But obviously that would be super inappropriate.”

“Well of course it would be.” Hotch growled, pulling you closer to him.

“There’s cameras,” you hissed.

“Good.” One of his hands grabbed your ass and you let out a gasp. Clearly Hotch did not care whatsoever about the cameras, all he cared about was you, and how amazing you looked in front of him. That, and closing this current case as soon as possible. He took your face in his hands and kissed your lips ever so passionately, stopping just in time for the elevator door to open. As you were approaching the lieutenant, you straightened your shirt in hopes that he wouldn’t think that anything suspicious was going on.

“Lieutenant Baker, I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is SSA Y/N .” Hotch said, shaking hands with Baker. When he got to you, a smile creeped up on his face and he lingered a bit after shaking your hand. A bit odd, you thought. “Thank you for coming,” he finally replied. “These suspicious murders have been going on for too long and I’d like to put an end to them as much as you do.”

“And that’s why we’re here.” Hotch agreed. “Is there a place for us to settle?” He led you and Hotch to a conference room with an evidence board, and as you were walking, you felt a familiar hand on your back, creeping to your waist. Goddammit Hotch. You glared at him to stop before he got caught and he only looked back at you with a smile on his face.

The rest of the time in the field office wasn’t bad, but you had a very huge feeling that the lieutenant was trying to make some moves on you.

It’s not like you weren’t used to this, men just found you super attractive. But you only found one man that was attractive.

Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey.” you turned around to find the lieutenant standing next to you. “Is there anything that I can help you with?”

“Nah, just putting these pictures and visuals up. Hotch and I are gonna review the case files until the family comes in to talk to us.”

“Ok, that sounds good.”

You noticed that Baker was still standing in your vicinity. “Is there something that you need from me, Lieutenant?”

“No, not at all. Let me know if you need anything from me, I’ll be trying to round up some potential witnesses.” Baker said, squeezing and rubbing your forearm for a moment and walking away to his office. He had a side grin on his face.

You, on the other hand, stood in your spot truly dumbfounded. Your mouth slightly gaped, you turned and watched Baker walk away. Suddenly your eyes made their way to Hotch, who was looking at you across the room, a grin also on his face.

“What was that about? He ask you if you were dating anyone?”

You rolled your eyes and finished putting up the map for Reid to use later. “Please, no.” Hotch was then standing by your side, leaning against the wall beside the evidence board.

“That wasn’t just any touch there.”

“Yeah well, it didn’t mean anything to me. Did you forget that I love you or something?”

Hotch pulled you into a kiss. “Of course not.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Then what’s the issue? A little jealous, I suppose?” You put emphasis on jealous.

“Agents? The victim’s mother is here.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Hotch replied. He turned back to you. “We’ll talk later.”

✯✯✯✯

It was nearing the end of the day, and everyone was tired. It was only the team’s first day in a small Nevada town, but a lot was accomplished.

Riding in the car with Derek, Emily, and JJ back to the hotel room, you let the breeze flow through your body. Nervousness washed over you as you thought about the morning upon arriving at the field office.

Hotch always had underlying meanings to even the simplest things he would say, which is why you couldn’t stop wondering if he was the slightest bit upset at the lieutenant for advancing on you, the person he loved with all his heart.

“Hey.” JJ poked at your arm. “What’s going on? Trouble in paradise?”

You smiled a bit. “No, uh, I guess there was a bit of tension since the lieutenant was flirting with me.”

“He was actually good looking, I think he’d be a great match for you.” Emily suggested, turning around.

“Y/N does attract almost every male species.” Derek commented.

“Guys, stop, I’m just... not interested in him.” You said simply, turning back to the window. The only thing running to your head was what Hotch had planned for tonight.

When you got to the hotel room, you found things the way they were, only Hotch’s go bag next to yours. You pulled out your robe and shower essentials from your go bag - you hated using hotel soap - and started to strip. When Hotch came out of the bathroom, you were only in your underwear, slipping on your robe, and he was only in a towel.

“You didn’t say when you came in.” Hotch whispered, planting a small kiss on your head.

“I know, I didn’t wanna bother you. I’m gonna shower quickly okay?” He nodded and you then went in the bathroom. When you were done, Hotch was in bed wearing a white shirt and grey boxer shorts. God, he looked so hot.

“What conversation did you want to have earlier?” You asked, wrapping your robe around a bit tighter.

Hotch gestured to you to lay next to him. “You know how I get when it comes to people flirting with you.”

“Yeah, you go feral. Internally, of course.” You paused. “Wait. Is Aaron Hotchner... mad?”

His hand snuck inside your robe, trailing up to your chest, cupping your right breast, sending chilling shockwaves to the rest of your body.

“Let’s just say I wanna show you that you belong to me.”

Oh, Hotch was jealous alright.

You turned to face him and that’s when he worked his magic. One side of your robe slipped off, and next thing you knew, he was teasing your clit, making you wet. Your shallow breaths and whimpers filled the emptiness of the room. He continued teasing you for a bit, then you watched as he pulled out his cock, stroking it a bit while staring at you dead in your eyes. You knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to make sure you knew he was the one in control, and that he would do anything to get off on your pleasure.

He made extra sure of it when he started cockwarming you.

Oh fuck you Aaron, you said in your head as small whimpers escaped your mouth.

“Yeah, you like when I do that to you?” Hotch- well Aaron, asked roughly. “You like feeling my cock inside you, don’t you?”

He was enjoying the sight of you, close to him, almost orgasming on the spot. But he wasn’t gonna let you get off that easily.

“What’s wrong, my sweet girl? Hmm?”

“I- I need you, Aaron,” was all you could croak out.

Aaron shifted on top of you and you curled your legs around him.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to speak up for me to give you what you want.” Aaron teased, taking of his shirt.

“I need you Aaron,” you repeated a bit louder.

Aaron smiled and thrusted hard and fast into you, in which he took no time. “Good girl.” He let out a fierce groan when he did so.

“Who makes you feel good?”

“You do,” you moaned. “You make me feel good Aaron.”

He kissed you fiercely in response with one of his hands gripping your neck and the other holding on to your leg. “God, you look so sexy under me, my sweet, sweet girl. You take me so well.”

He knew you wanted to come, your flushed face gave it away. But when you asked, ever so politely, he responded with a firm no.

“You don’t get to come until I do.”

“But Aaron, plea-“

“No.”

As he was going faster, you felt yourself nearing an orgasm, and all you wanted to do was melt under him.

He pulled out just after he reached his high and smashed his lips against your clit, stimulating you even more. When he finally let you come, it came on strong and heavy, and a loud, broken “Aaron” escaped your lips. You did not care whatsoever if two of the other team members in the next room heard you. Aaron on the other hand was enjoying every moment of it. “Oh, my sweet girl, you taste amazing.” he mused.

When he was done he collapsed next to you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just... that was super hot.” you breathed, moving closer to him.

“It was. I think now you know who you belong to.” Aaron whispered, caressing your cheek.

“Much more than I did before.”

Aaron offered to clean you up, and after, the two of you slept soundly for the rest of the night.

✯✯✯✯

taglist: @averyhotchner @storiesofsvu @ssaic-jareau @blackbeautifulqueen @dr-omalley @morcias @mstrinnyb

#altsvu #altsvu oneshots #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch fic #hotchner x y/n #hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #cm #cm x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fluff #fanfiction #cm fic #cm fanfic #criminal minds fandom #cm fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #tw fluff #tw smut #hotch fluff #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch smut

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #gcn23 #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #jungkook fic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fic #bts smut #a big weight is off my shoulders

[mandareeboo]

ok now im curious what your most petty thing is (regarding the dp post)

Oooh boy, here we go! Buckle up fuckers this is gonna be a longer one.

My senior year of high school, I took a creative writing class. Partially because I needed to fill the slot, mostly because I wanted to improve my writing (spoiler: I did not). Now, my high school was a three floor building- first was mostly gym, second was general, and the third was senior lockers and art classes. I spent a good chunk of my schedule senior year on the second and third floor, going between an art class to my earth science (I took that one entirely as filler, but also bc I like science) to my locker and so on.

Creative writing? Creative writing was in the fucking basement. Go to the first floor, go to a corner generally used for health and development classes, to another corner, follow a ramp and some stairs, and boom there it is kind of basement. (Side note but this teacher was REALLY into attendance and would get you in trouble if you were late which was really annoying since basically no other class was in that part of the building).

My creative writing teacher wasn't bad, per se. I've had worse teachers. I had an algebra teacher who delighted in making freshman girls cry and mocking them for it. I had a journalism teacher who would use her class time reporting how Hilary was secretly ill during the election. I had a history teacher say trans people weren't real to an openly gender nonconforming student (I didn't know them well enough to ask for specifics on their alignment, but they were using they/them at that point) and set up assignments just to mock students on the take they were told to make. It was more that she was uncreative and took it out on the kids doing creative writing.

She gave us two books to read. Basically “how I write” by published authors. I don’t remember the first one well enough and I donated it ages ago, but the second was Stephen King’s “On Writing”. It was 3/4′s personal stories about his life and 1/4′s “also write a bit every day”.  I mostly remember the first author bc she had those fake dreadlocks white people do when they destroy their hair and she gleefully told a story about making her son have a meltdown at a party or wedding or something bc he got overwhelmed and she wanted him to learn that “sometimes you don’t get what you want”. So. You know. Not much there.

She also instructed us to write in a journal every day, which she would check every few months or so. It had to be at least half a page. She would leave little comments in every one else’s journals when she checked them, but not mine- I realized pretty quickly she was a bit uncomfortable with LGBT+ content, so I made it my mission to make every journal drabble as gay as possible bc I was bored and she couldn’t mark them WRONG when she just stated we needed to write.

But it doesn’t end there! Through the entire class, we got exactly five writing projects. Stories that follow very specific guidelines that we would then read in front of the class, group proofread, and then have the teacher give final grades for. These things were approximately like a thousand words a piece, and I was writing out my 10,000 word “It Starts off Small” story in class when I got bored, so it wasn’t difficult. 

Our first project was a character going through a difficult decision. Or... something? I honestly forget the criteria. Anyway, I was HYPE. I’d had this idea for a long time now a human choosing between peaceful death or reincarnation, and this gave me the push to write it! I had a whole thing planned with death being a deer and reincarnation being a wolpertinger (bc reincarnation leads to many possibilities, ed boy, so a Frankenstein bunny made sense to me). Anyway I poured my heart and soul into this bastard and, bright eyed and bushy tailed, handed it in. My classmates all thought it was pretty good. Not to toot m’own horn, but there was some pretty bad ones going in, so I thought I’d get a solid B or something.

I got a D. I guess the struggle was too metaphorical, or it didn’t perfectly fit her criteria. I was devastated. Then I was mad. Bc I was a bored senior who thought they’d made something pretty decent for this completely optional class and her refusal to see that really hurt me at sixteen (I was always a year younger than my other classmates, so despite being a senior I didn’t turn eighteen until almost a year after graduation)

Well, fuck it, I decided. I’m going to parody the shit out of this class.

Our next project was a fantasy story. I was bitter and grumpy. The other fantasy stories read aloud were stuff like “yeah this dude fought a wizard and got a girl, then they went home and banged” (this was not hyperbole, he would’ve written and read the smut if allowed, I knew him personally) and “this girl that NO ONE UNDERSTOOD was called CRAZY but this S@!$ cheerleader who Stole Her Boyfriend so she killed them all” (fun fact: the girl who wrote that was my age and a sort of half-friend from middle school. She was a yaoi fangirl who didn’t mind lesbians as long as they, you know, didn’t FLIRT with her or something.) 

So I get up there. It’s the last day of presentations. And I present with a polite cheer. My story is about two magical shepherd type figures who are called Sister Brighten and Brother Dick as they chase down a werewolf who was drunk off his ass and accidentally bit someone else. They then revealed they were basically supernatural designated drivers for the whole town. I made Brighten mention that Dick’s name wasn’t even Richard. I titled it “His Favorite Brand is Grayhound”. It fit every single criteria. I got an A. I could tell she didn’t want to, because there was no comments or anything like everyone else’s, but she had to follow her own criteria.

Our third was a conjoined effort thing so I didn’t pull any fuckery there, but the fourth one was about common myths and spinning them into real or fake. One girl did the hook-handed door handle thing and the boyfriend ended up above his truck hanging (somehow???). I think someone did the age-old adage of a haunted wedding dress? I kind of read through those presentations. 

Now, I’m salty-salty at this point. I wasn’t expecting His Favorite Brand is Grayhound to get me a good grade. I half-assed a lot of it. I am in full Not Happy Teenager at this point. I grab a daddy long leg and settle in.

My fourth story of the year is “Paperskin.”

Paperskin is about a boy named Billy with the thinnest skin membrane ever. Just full on body horror. You could see his teeth behind his lips. Billy gets bored one day and wanders out of his house, tries to kick a soccer ball, and breaks a leg. As he’s laying in the grass a daddy long leg bites him- and his skin is so flimsy the fangs sink in and he dies. I’m actually still pretty proud of Paperskin. It’s a horrifying, Edgar Allen Poe of a monstrosity, but it made people squirm, which was the point. The teacher is clearly a bit unnerved at this point, but she gives me another A. 

I wrote a more “normal” story after that of a contentious objector forced to house kids going to see if any confirmed soldier deaths were any of their parents as my final one and I could feel her spite as she gave me a B.

So, yeah. That’s the story of when I tormented my creative writing teacher with The Gays and my weird ass sense of humor after she called one of my best works at that age a piece of shit.

 Here’s a google drive of these bad boys, because yes I do still have these things. I turned these fuckers in for grades, people.

#Ask #Anon #Question Mandar #Life #Humor #Writing #I was a good kid I swear #I didn't make much noise and I didn't argue much #It was just this one lady

[robinofinashiro]

request from anonymous: “could i request a ushijima fic where the reader nor him ever admit their feelings for each other until one day Ushijima gets jealous bc someone from another school tries to flirt or get with you? can it be kuroo as the other person?” 

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x fem! reader

note: ahh !! i’m at 300 followers !! thank you guys so much!! seriously, this means a lot!! i hope i can keep providing all of you guys more content. you guys are the best!! 

request status: CLOSED

“NICE WAKATOSHI!” you screamed for your captain as he managed to make the save. you stood on the bench, cheering loudly for your team as they blew the whistle, indicating that Shiratorizawa won the practice match. 

you clapped some more, cheering even louder, making sure the other team knew that they just lost to one of the top three schools in Japan. being the only Shiratorizawa manager had its benefits and sometimes, those benefits included getting away with being petty every now and again. 

you finally climbed off the bench, your coaches giving you a semi disappointed look for your actions. you grabbed the water bottles and towels to hand over to the team as you congratulated everyone on their win. 

Tendou and Semi creeped behind you, both of them wrapping their arms around your shoulders making you roll your eyes. you knew what was coming considering what they were about to say was something they constantly pestered you about. 

“heard ya cheering loudly for the captain, aren’t ya ( your name )?” Tendou poked as Semi nodded, “I think the entire gym heard you screaming Ushijima’s name,” you sighed, trying not to roll your eyes even harder than you just did.  

you walked back to the team, distributing more water to everyone who asked for seconds. you handed some to Ushijima as you heard the grunts and yells coming from everyone who was still playing their matches inside of the gym. 

Shiratorizawa, for once, accepted an invitation to one of the winter tournaments. Shiratorizawa, ever since Ushijima started there, never felt the need to attend the tournaments considering they were ranked one of the top three schools in all of Japan.

others schools such as Seijoh, Fukurodani, Karasuno, and Nekoma were also in attendance and because of that, you instantly made friends with their managers, confiding in each other whenever their teammates got to be way too rowdy. 

“you’re doing well for your first tournament, ( your name ),” Ushijima complimented. you smiled, this time trying to keep your nervousness at bay, “thanks. it’s been pretty stressful, not even going to lie and the week isn’t even over yet,” you exclaimed, hearing your coach call for you. 

you waved off Wakatoshi and ran to Washijo who needed help understanding something you had written down. in the time that you were talking to him, Ushijima was watching the others, not bothering to pay attention to Tendou who had made his way over to him to pester him about the same thing. 

eventually, Washijo left you to manage the team as he went outside to get something from his car. you were about to gather all the dirty towels and throw them in the communal laundry basket to get washed until you saw a few people approaching you. 

Ushijima’s attention turned to you when he saw Fukurodani’s captain as well his counterpart from Nekoma following along. their seconds years were trailing behind them, seemingly trying to stop whatever it was that they were about to ask you. 

“is that a jealous Ushijima I sense?” Tendou said as he watched the two boys towering over you. he paid no mind to the red head as he tried to figure out what the boys were telling you. 

you were surprised to see Bokuto and Kuroo standing in front of you with grins covering their faces. you remained silent, not knowing what to say to them. 

“hi, you’re Shiratorizawa’s manager, right?” Bokuto asked. you nodded slowly, “ahh, we’ve been meaning to talk to you! see, our managers were wondering if you wanted to come out to with us and a few others tonight. the third years were planning on sneaking out to a restaurant after hours and figured a cute girl like yourself should be asked on this outing,” Kuroo explained. 

you laughed, pushing his arm a bit flustered, “who’s a few others?” you asked them. “oh will it’s our third year manager, us, Daichi, Kiyoko, and Sugawara from Karasuno, and believe it or not, Iwaizumi from Seijoh, who didn’t take that much convincing to come along,” Bokuto said. 

“um, sure? you know that if this plan fails, we’d all get into some serious trouble for it, right?” you told the two. they waved you off before looking behind you with slight fear in their eyes. 

you turned around, wondering what the hell made them so scared all of sudden. “Ushi, what’s up?” you asked before looking to Tendou, who held a smirk on his face that just reeked of mischief, and Semi. “we were all heading back to the rooms and wanted you to come along so you wouldn’t get bothered,” Ushijima stated as you nodded vigorously. 

“um, Kiyoko has my number so if you want to grab it from her so you could text me the details?” you told the two. Kuroo nodded, as he looked you up and down once more before watching you leave with Ushijima. 

Tendou on the other hand stayed but remained silent while looking at them, “something wrong?” Bokuto asked a bit bothered by the look Tendou was giving them. Semi shook his head no, “Shiratorizawa doesn’t exactly appreciate the looks you were giving our manager just now and as a warning, she’s our captains girl,” Tendou exclaimed before the two of them walked away. 

+

the walk back with Ushijima was a bit awkward. more than usual that is. you could tell something was bothering him but you couldn’t figure out what it was that was making him upset.

“hey, something wrong?” you asked, stopping yourself from walking any further. Ushijima stared at you before shaking his head, “are you sure? you seem kind of out of it. Shiratorizawa won all of their practice matches today so I can’t imagine that it was that,” you explained.

Ushijima sighed, not wanting to give you the actual reasoning but he knew that if you didn’t get an answer, you’d never let it go. he murmured that he had a headache and that’s why he was in a mood.

“oh, well there isn’t anything planned for the rest of the day so how about you lay down. I have a few things to do for the team before the night ends.” Ushijima waited on if you were going to tell him on the outing that Tendou had told him about but it seemed as if you weren’t, “if I don’t see you at dinner, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow!”

with that, you went on your way to your room. Ushijima knew that he had to figure out a way to get you to confess that you were going out later. it wasn’t that he didn’t trust you because he did but knowing that Kuroo was going was not sitting right with him.

he knew of Kuroo, obviously not personally, but from what others spoke about him. Kuroo was smart, hell, even damn near a genius when it came to science. Ushijima had no idea if it was the envy with Kuroo that made him dislike Kuroo but the idea that Kuroo could talk to you without getting nervous made him a bit annoyed.

the night fell faster than Ushijima had hoped. he still hadn’t gotten you to confess what you were doing tonight but he knew the only way he could now was if he came to your room to ask you an innocent question and would see you all dressed up. 

Ushijima made his way to your room, knocking softly so he wouldn’t scare you or cause other in the hall to wake up. you unlocked your door and only poked your head out. 

“Ushiwaka! what has you in my room so late?” you asked, your hands getting sweaty. he eyed you for a moment, “I wanted to talk about our stats from today. I figured you were busy earlier so that’s why I didn’t talk to you before this,” he said, lying almost too perfectly. 

you bit your lip, “um, I’m actually a bit busy right now. can we talk in the morning?” you asked hoping he didn’t pry. you saw Ushijima’s face fall and had it been anyone else, they wouldn’t have seen it but you knew Ushi like the back of your hand and caught it instantly, “Toshi, I’m going to let you in but you have to SWEAR to me you won’t tell anyone what you see or hear from me right now.” 

Bingo.

Ushijima nodded as you opened the door and yanked him inside. he saw you fully dressed up in black jeans and an overall nice top. Ushijima knew that you didn’t bring clothes for going out to a volleyball tournament so he assumed that you tried to put your best outfit together. 

“you look.....nice,” he muttered making you laugh nervously. “uh, yeah. about that! a bunch of us are kind of sneaking out tonight to catch dinner at a restaurant not too far from here so that explains the outfit this late at night,” you tried to say as casual as possible. 

Ushijima nodded, not knowing how to respond, “I’d totally invite you to come along but I know how you are about your sleep schedule, especially on days like this so I didn’t bother asking,” you added on. “who’s all attending?” he asked knowing the answer. 

“oh! Kuroo from Nekoma, Bokuto from Fukurodani, a few from Karasuno, and Iwaizumi from Seijoh!” you said as you saw your phone ping up from a text message. you quickly read it, seeing that Daichi had messaged you about them waiting for you at the back entrance from your dorm, “I need to head out. they’re waiting for me and all of us are already scared shitless about getting caught.” 

Ushijima nodded, walking out of your dorm after you, “I’ll walk you to the door to make sure you’re okay. what restaurant are you going too?” he asked. your eyebrows fluttered in confusion, “uh, I think it’s a ramen place a block from the tournament grounds! why do you ask?” 

he didn’t say anything until he saw Kuroo looking at you with that smirk that made him want to wring his neck out for even looking at you in such a way. “make sure to notify me if you’re okay every so often,” he reminded you, almost as if he was your boyfriend. 

you nodded before basically darting to Kiyoko and slipping away into the night. Ushijima knew you could handle yourself but something inside of him made him on high alert for tonight.

+

you made sure to keep texting Ushijima every so often, telling him that you were okay and that you would be ready to go first thing in the morning but that soon changed when he got a frantic knock at his door two hours later. 

“Tendou, it’s late. what are you doing here?” he asked his red hared best friend. he showed Ushijima his phone. he had gotten an attachment from Sugawara about how ‘close’ you were getting with Kuroo. he had made friends with the silver haired boy for this reason exactly and was glad he did. 

Ushijima’s eye twitched in annoyed seeing as how it was more Kuroo making moves than you. you sat next to the two girl managers but Kuroo seemed to have been wanting to make a move on you in the attachments that followed the first photo.

“where are you going?” Tendou asked as he saw Ushijima slipping on his running shoes. “to the restaurant,” he stated making Tendou’s eyes widened. he was quick to text Semi, telling him to bring his ass down to Ushijima’s room or else. 

“why? it’s nearly midnight?” Tendou said as he followed Ushijima out the door. he didn’t respond as he saw Semi running towards them, “what’s wrong, what happened?” Semi asked Tendou. he quickly explained the situation as he tried to get Ushijima to calm down and get him back to his dorm, “hey, she’s okay! remember if you blow this out of the water, you’ll be even worse than you started off with her!” Semi reminded him. 

Ushijima heard nothing as they all escaped through the back door. Ushijima practically jogged to the restaurant, not bothering to wait up for his two teammates. 

once he got there, he saw you with Kiyoko at the bar, getting what he assumed was a soda before going back to the table. you had sat between her and the other manager like the picture had shown but it was quite obvious that Kuroo was still trying to pull his moves on you as he had asked Kiyoko to switch places with him. 

Ushijima stared holes into Kuroo. he knew that if looks could kill, Kuroo would be dead where he stood. the only rational thing he could think of was to text you to meet him outside so he wouldn’t cause a scene inside of the restaurant and get all of you into trouble. 

you saw your phone ping up, seeing that Ushijima had texted you. Kiyoko smiled softly at you, “Ushijima again?” she asked. you nodded, “yeah, he just wants to make sure I’m okay,” you replied before reading the message. 

“can you come outside for a moment?” 

you instantly showed the message to Kiyoko and Fukurodani’s manager as they quickly made up a lie that all of you wanted to go outside for some fresh air. “hey, why is he here?” Kaori asked you urgently. you shrugged your shoulders before heading outside. 

“Ushijima, what’s wrong?” you asked, giving Tendou and Semi a wave. Kiyoko and Kaori being the lovely friends they were pulled the boys back so they wouldn’t eavesdrop on the conversation, “Ushiwaka, seriously, what’s wrong?” you asked again as he didn’t respond. 

it didn’t take long until Bokuto, Kuroo, and the rest of the boys made their way outside, wondering where all of you were. Kuroo laughed, seeing Ushijima standing right in front of you. 

“ahh, so the threat the red haired boy gave us earlier wasn’t a lie, was it?” Kuroo said. you gave a look to Tendou who scratched his head sheepishly, “excuse me?” you asked him. Kuroo gave you a hearty laugh, “something about watching my back because you were your dating your captain,” he said with no indication of explaining further.  

you turned to Tendou, waiting on him to explain himself before Ushijima stood before Kuroo, almost threateningly. there wasn’t much of a height difference but the way that Ushijima was standing before Kuroo made it seem as though Ushijima had the upper hand in an imaginary fight. 

“hey, calm down Toshi,” you told him, grabbing his hand softly. Ushijima shrugged you off, “you should have listened to Tendou. would have saved us the trouble,” Ushijima told Kuroo. 

Kuroo laughed standing behind you and placing his arm over your shoulder. 

“as far as I know, your manager is single. I don’t see why you’re here and why you’re so upset,” Kuroo replied. you sighed, trying to stop both of them arguing, “drop it Kuroo. Ushijima, let’s go before it gets any worse,” you pleaded, grabbing his hand. 

Ushijima was taken by surprise by you holding his hand but regardless, he complied and let you take him away. not without bumping shoulders against Kuroo, “see you on the court,” he threatened. 

the walk back was quiet. too quiet. Tendou hadn’t spoken a word and Semi was pretending to be occupied on his phone so he wouldn’t have to talk. Ushijima on the other hand hadn’t let go of your hand and let walked behind the two boys so they wouldn’t see him angry. 

once all of you reached the dorms and the boys went back inside. you stopped Ushijima from walking in, basically yanking him to stay in place. 

“spill. I didn’t make you say anything in front of Tendou and Semi but it’s just me now.” 

he sighed knowing you had a point. 

“I didn’t like you going out with Kuroo. I hate the way he looks at you and I get a nasty feeling every time he does it” 

you laughed, knowing exactly what he felt, “Toshi, that feeling is jealousy. you were jealous of Kuroo,” well, when you put it that way, it made a lot more sense. “Toshi, do you like me? you know...like romantically?” you asked. 

Ushijima nodded almost instantly. 

“well, how about this? when he get back home, you can take me out on a date? and for the time being, I’ll make sure to stick by your side so Kuroo or anyone else doesn’t get ideas. deal?” 

“deal.” 

#haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi imagine #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x you #anime #sport anime #sports anime #anime imagines #anime imagine

[awhst-alt]

I HAD THE BEST BYLER DREAM LAST NIGHT AND I REALLY WANNA SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL

it's so long (literally 2k words) so im gonna put it under the cut haha <3

so basically this would take place after mike and will start dating or something, idk exactly the time frame (i picture them being like 18 or something and this is the summer before college) and will goes to this summer arts program for like 2/3 months (i dunno how long american summer is but something like that) and its all the way far from home so there is dorms and stuff and he's "not in hawkins anymore" (no pun intended)

mike and will decide after will finishes his school they'd go to college together (cuz they're gonna be comic book artists together bc thats boyfriend shit) so throughout these months he's practically just waiting for will (<333333)

so one specific scene i remember from my dream involved will and mike getting off the bus to the school and then they hug and then mike grabs wills hand and brings him behind the bus and then he gives will a biggg kiss bc he won't be able to kiss him for 3 months. then they say they love each other and will gives him another quick kiss and is like "two kisses". they agree they'd call each other every day.

so will goes inside and mike goes back on the bus and goes home.

and basically the whole day is a whirl, until the end of it, in which mike is sitting in the kitchen near the phone waiting for like 3 hours for will to call, and will doesn't end up calling.

AND THEN IT GETS SPICYYYYY

so meanwhile at the arts program will asks like the front desk or something if he can call mike and they say phone is offlimits and they don't let him call mike

so then will goes to sleep and he's paranoid that he thinks mike is gonna hate him or something like that

mk than the next day in class there is this girl (they didn't reveal her name in the dream, ill call her stella) so stella is basically looking at will the entire class but will doesn't know it

so when they exit the class stella's like "hi" and will says "hi"

then stella says "i like your painting."

will is like rlly weirded out so he goes "thanks?"

"i um- hope this doesn't sound weird but i have no friends, do you want to be mine?"

"sure"

and then end of scene (this does not sound like a normal conversation but it's my dream so it doesn't have to make sense"

so BACK AT HAWKINS mike is still sleeping even tho it's like 3 pm because yk depressed boyfriend shit but then the PHONE RINGS and mike gets out of bed frantically and goes to the phone and he picks it up and is like "will?" and then it answers "it's el, idiot"

i feel like this is important for context but el speaks english very well now and hoppers back and she lives with hopper and not the byers anymore. ANYWAYS

el says "how's will?"

mike says "idk he didn't call"

"he didn't?"

"no, he didn't"

"okay. well maybe he will call later"

"yeah mb"

"wanna come over"

"ok"

so mike hangs up and gets changed and goes to el's house bc they r a couple o' besties and when he gets there it's like a therapy sessions bc mike usally talks to will every single day and he can't for like 3 months (unless will calls, but he's not going to) so he accepts he's gonna be depressed for 3 months and he's just talking to el about how he's gonna miss him so much and no be able to see his face and that shit

so el's like "well do u wanna do something to take ur mind off of him"

and mike's like "no im not gonna replace will" (I SCREAMED IN MY DREAM SRSLY)

but than el says "okay. guess im gonna go to the mall by myself" (ig starcourt is rebuilt by now)

and than mike bolts up and is like "fine"

"we can by something for will"

"okay yay"

so then they go to starcourt yasss!!

anyways back at the art school will is having lunch and stella is with he friends (even tho she said she doesn't have any friends) and one of her friends is like "omg did you see _____ he's so hot"

and another friend says "YESS! but ____ is cuter"

"what abt u stella? who do u have ur eyes on"

she says "byers" BUT NOOOOOOO WILL IS MIKES MAN

and they say "ew that kid who came back to life"

she says "yea. but he's cute, and shy, and once i wrap them around my finger i can get them to do anything"

so then she goes to sit down next to will at lunch

"hi will"

"hi"

"hru"

"im good"

"okay. good." and she gets upset because will goes ask how she is but she keeps her urging rage inside. and than they have this weird conversation and will is uncomfortable the whole time bc shes all like flirting with him and will is seeing someone obvi

but then she puts a hand on will's shoulder and he's shaking and then says something (idk what it is it wasn't explaining in my dream) then will stands up and runs to the bathroom. so he's just sitting in the stalls crying.

okay back at starcourt this part wasn't shown in my dream but im just gonna make up that mike and el go looking around starcourt for something for will (sort of like the mike/lucas/will montage where they were looking for stuff for el) and then i guess they find something for will and i don't have the slightest idea what they could have got for him BUT THEY GOT HIM SOMETHING GOOD

so mike's all happy but they'res still that depression inside of him lol

so fast forward a week, it really isn't explained but ill just make up that will still hasn't called mike, and he's super sad and all sleeping in but decides to look through his good ol binder full of will's drawings and in the arts school will and stella have a few more interactions im sure which are still very uncomfortable

okay so it's lunch again in the cafeteria and somehow will and stella are talking again but somehow it ends in stella kissing will and will like pulls away immediatley and is like "what is wrong with you!?"

and she says "what?"

"i'm seeing someone!"

"oh i uh- i didn't know."

the whole cafeteria is staring at them

so will's freaking out almost on the verge of a panic attack "idk what to do, he's gonna hate me and-"

"he?"

will has the look on his face like shit shit shit oh fuck no

"you're gay?"

"i-"

and will runs off once again. and everyone in the whole cafeteria knows that he's day and ofc with everybody being homophobic will knows it's not good at all bc everyone's gonna bully him

so then the next day he goes to class and the teacher is like "does anyone care to tell me where ___ is?" (it would be like a math question like 'where x is' but in art idkkk) and then the teacher calls on "will? can you tell me where ___ is?" and they'res a pause and then the teacher says "or perhaps you'd want to find your boyfriend instead?" (giving me anne with an e vibes prolly cuz i did a rewatch last weekend but i won't explain more in case some people haven't watched it but) anyways will stands up from his seat, everyone is looking at him, and he's shaking and so concerned but then he goes "fuck. you" badass will yeaaaa thats my boy

so then he runs out of the classroom and out of the school in a really cool montage way but then he realizes he's like 2 hours away from home but he runs and runs and he goes to a random bustop (it's not even garanteed if it takes him to hawkins but whatever) he gets on and tries to go back to hawkins.

and soon enough, he gets there, and immediatley goes to the wheelers because he needs to see mike and apologize for everything. so he's at the wheelers, and rings the doorbell, realizing he's still in his uniform lol but karen answers and mike is upstairs in his room sulking (i picture it would be 8 pm by now) so will asks for mike and karen calls mike. mike groans obviously because he doesn't know it's his boy, but he comes down, karen gets out of the way and as soon as he sees will they have a really big hug and it's super sweet and my heart UFHEIOSKA

mike says his usual "are you okay?" and mike is still confused as shit but will says "i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry" and mike says "you don't have to be sorry for anyrhing" but will says "ill explain"

so then they go to will's room, side-by-side on his bed and will starts explaining everything

(this is mostly improvised by me but it's still pretty similar to the dream)

"i hated it."

"the school?"

"yeah. there was no you, (mike blushes lmao), everything was terrible, i felt so lonely, they didn't let me call you-"

"what?"

"they said the phone was off limits. i wanted to talk to you so bad and i thought you'd hate me"

"i could never hate you, will, even if i tried." will smiles

"and then there was this girl, and she hit on me and i didn't know what to do bc i'd be the face of the school if i told her i was dating you and was gay and today she kissed me"

"WHAT"

"im sorry im sorry i didn't kiss back and i was so scared bc i never was in a relationship before and i was so scared it was considered cheating-"

and mike LAUGHSS

"what? mike? what's wrong?"

"if you don't do anything back, it's not considerd 'cheating'"

"oh. good. are you mad at me?"

"what? no! no never!" so mike opens his arms and says "come here" so will and mike hug or something like that and then mike says "do you need me to beat her up?"

and will says "you can't even beat eggs. besides, your noodle arms wouldn't be able to do harm to even a fly"

so mike laughs and says "i'm glad your home"

so will blurts "i cursed out a teacher"

"you? cursing?"

"yes."

"might have to start calling you a bad boy now"

will just smiles and says "i love you"

and mike says "i love you too"

AND THEN END AND IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF BC I LOVE THIS DREAM LIKE I CAN'T BELIEVE MY BRAIN THOUGHT OF THIS BUT IM OBSESSED

ALSO ONCE I FINISH WYBMFFAE ILL PROBABLY WRITE THIS INTO A FULL BLOWN FIC BUT AHIHFUSAH

edit: i have no idea what mike did with the present him and el bought for will but i guess they ended up giving it to him lol

#byler