#oh good ol days whisk me away | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jk97 · 2 months

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Unprofessional Attraction | TWO

♡ pairing - yunho x afab!reader ♡ word count - 18.2K ♡ warnings for this chapter - fluff and explicit content (mdni), teacher/student relationship, other members are featured, halloween, drinking alcohol, perverted!yunho, bigdick!yunho, pet names (angel, pretty, smart girl, etc), pinch of sexting and unintentional phone sex, office head (giving and receiving), fingering, praise, unprotected sex, riding, jealousy, blackmail, good ol' porn with plot ♡ A/N - my goodness thank you for 1000+ notes ♡ sorry it's so long but I appreciate the patience!! the school semester timeline in this is kinda unrealistic but ignore that, fictional romance has no bounds LOL. This might end up 4 parts instead of 3, we'll see what my brain figures out.

Part 1 | Part 2 | ?

“I’m starting to think you’re kidnapping me.”

For the past 30 minutes into this drive, something Yunho had initially assured you wouldn’t take long, you’ve been alternating between staring out of the window at your surroundings slowly becoming unfamiliar and the small bouquet of flowers sitting in your lap. Even as you gaze at him inquisitively, he doesn’t move his attention away from the road. When he doesn't answer for longer than what you deem appropriate, your brows flicker up in amusement. That gets his attention.

“Oh, right, that’s a bad thing,” he clears his throat dramatically, though you know he’s just poking fun at your impatience, “I suppose I could ruin the surprise if you’re getting restless.”

“No, I’m not! I’m just very curious why it’s so far away,” you stop him quickly. That’s absolutely a reasonable question and Yunho decides to give you the answer.

“I know I said I wanted to be discreet but…” he pauses and sighs, shaking his head, “I just can’t. Figured the next best thing would be to just leave our area for the day and do something fun around strangers instead. I just want us to be comfortable, I guess.”

“You really weren’t kidding about being thoughtful, huh?” You hum softly, hand finding his own sitting on the gear shift. He allows you to thread his fingers between yours without hesitation.

“I meant everything I said, yes.”

“I guess I can be patient then,” you feign annoyance, rolling your eyes.

The earnest laugh that your silliness evokes from him fills the car and makes the atmosphere even warmer than before. The gift of flowers had already charmed you upon getting into his car, so you can’t imagine that there’s something even better waiting for you at the end of the drive. As much as you’d love to know what this man had settled on within the last few days, you allow yourself to indulge in the feeling of being whisked away and surprised instead. In the meantime, you busy yourself again by humming to his radio and continuing to survey your surroundings passing by quickly the further you drive.

There are many things Yunho is good at and he’s a very intelligent man, but cooking is just not one of those things. Because of this, he generally eats out instead of bothering with making food. This is particularly one of the reasons why he never had an issue when it came to eating dinner with you outside of his home. He supposes if he wants to be a proper and worthy bachelor, he should learn one of these days not to add too much salt to soup, or how to properly fry an egg without burning it to a crisp. Today’s decision to take you both to a cooking class is motivated by those circumstances. Sushi shouldn’t be that hard to master, right?

It begins easily enough.

Each group has an individual station, and the class starts with a simple seaweed salad as an appetizer. He makes sure to follow all the instructions to a T, his only deviation being adding a dash of red pepper flakes because he likes spice. Yunho’s already so used to you asking for a taste of his food that he immediately goes to share his final product without you even asking.

While you’re still mixing your own he beckons for your attention, holding out a bite with his chopsticks, “Open.”

This is something you’ve done before, yes, but only a few times. It’s a bit more embarrassing though while doing such a thing in front of other people, and he can’t help but notice how you can’t look him directly in the eyes while obliging him. You’re so cute when you’re shy.

“How does it taste?” He asks before you can even get to chewing, but he’s a bit nervous that you might spit it out before he does.

When you do get to chew and swallow, he’s surprised to see your eyes light up, “Wow that’s delicious, Yu!”

Asking him for another bite inflates his ego just a pinch too much, but he can’t help it when you’re praising him for his work. Maybe to hide his inability to cook anything else he’d simply make you seaweed salad for the rest of your life. Yeah, that sounds nice… He tries to suppress the confident smirk tugging at his lips and hypes himself up for the rest of the lesson. After everyone in the room has wrapped up that portion of the lesson, the instructor moves forward with beginning the sushi crafting.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you meet your friends?” You inquire in a low voice while the instructor carries on about how much rice is an appropriate amount, clarifying, “Mr. Park and Mr. Choi.”

“I met both in college, but I met Seonghwa first,” he muses, “I was a sophomore and he was a junior, and we both happened to choose the same music elective that year.”

“What the hell is a linguist doing in a music class? Felt adventurous that year?”

“I’m quite the singer actually,” Yunho reveals with a confident smile, but his arms cease their rice flattening when he hears you try to stifle laughter. His brows crinkle as he peers over at you with a prominent pout tugging at his lips, “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No, I do, it’s just–” You give him a once over. “I’m imagining this angelic voice coming out of you and it’s really cute.”

“Angelic…” he muses, then turns back to flattening his rice and smiles to himself, “I guess I’ll have to show you one day and you can determine that for yourself.”

“I’d love that, actually.”

The instructor announces that next you’ll be slicing up salmon and avocado to put inside your rolls. You and Yunho work diligently on splitting the filet of salmon provided between each other to see who can do it best and follow her lead once more.

“Continue the story,” you whisper to him once the instructor gives the last of her enthusiastic pitches on how to glide the knife through in one stroke for each piece, “What happened after music class?”

“Well, we became friends after pairing up for a duet project… and then we met San the following year after he hired Seonghwa for tutoring in history.” Yunho pauses for a moment to put an immense amount of concentration into his first slice, which still definitely ends up way too thick. “He did things like that on the side for money sometimes. Put up posters in the cafes and everything.”

Even though you’re also concentrating, you nod so he knows you’re paying attention. Unlike Yunho, you seem to have picked up on the cutting technique pretty quickly. His eyes keep flickering back and forth between your work and his, and he huffs in dissatisfaction.

“Sheesh, that was quite some time ago,” you state absentmindedly.

“Excuse me, are you calling me old?”

“Possibly.”

For the nonchalant jab at his confidence, Yunho nudges your cutting arm mid-slice and causes you to abruptly cut the current piece in half. The flabbergasted look on your face and the way your mouth drops open at a loss for words makes him giggle.

“I’m so sorry beautiful, it’s these old brittle bones,” he feigns remorse, lips pulling into a dishonest pout when you glare at him, “Can never keep my balance these days with them, you know?”

“Maybe they’re also the reason your slices look as big as filets,” you quip back, “Might as well throw those on the grill, right?”

Yunho’s pout turns genuine. You only apologize because he looks like a kicked puppy, and you both agree to let you cut the salmon while he works on the avocados instead. It doesn’t take long before you’re finished placing the necessary ingredients onto your rice and following the instructor's words on how to successfully roll it all together. This is something that Yunho is actually able to do decently, and he marvels at the way he’s got a genuine sushi roll in front of his eyes made from his own hands. Moving forward, his mind is consumed with cutting it into perfect bite-sized pieces when you tap his shoulder.

“Hey, do you like soy sauce on your sushi?”

“Sometimes, why?” He replies, and when he turns around to peer down at you he’s met with a pair of chopsticks holding up something for him to try.

You smile in place of instruction, but he opens his mouth without even having to be told to do so. Unlike you, he doesn’t mind holding eye contact while you feed him. It feels intimate even with strangers around you. Dozens of butterflies manifest in your stomach and go into even more of a frenzy when he sighs in contentment. He’ll be nice and pretend he didn’t see the way you swallow the lump in your throat.

That’s when you notice you put just a little too much soy sauce on his piece, and your thumb casually swipes the excess from the corner of his mouth. It’s an action that should be helpful and innocent, but you put your thumb in your mouth to lick it clean without even thinking. He absolutely takes notice. Every time Yunho thinks he’s got the upper hand in wooing you, you make him lose his cool so easily.

“Your face is red. Was it too salty?”

Yunho clears his throat and shakes his head hastily when he sees you’re genuinely concerned. He really wants nothing more than to kiss you at this moment, but that would have to wait until you both are alone. The rest of the class goes by quickly when tasked with making a different sushi roll and some strawberry-matcha ice cream for dessert. Yunho thinks he might see a hint of disappointment on your face when things come to an end and you have to take off your aprons.

“There’s a park not too far away from here if you’re okay with walking for a bit. Burn off some calories?” Yunho proposes when you both finally leave the building, and you nod eagerly. For the second time today, you link fingers and begin your venture.

The walk ends up being a bit longer than you both expect, but it doesn’t take much time to find a secluded spot where you could have some privacy when there. It’s fairly brisk today, so when Yunho removes his jacket to grant you a clean place to sit on the grass, you immediately tell him you don’t mind sitting on the ground at all, that you’d rather him be warm. He assures you that he’s not cold at all (a big fat lie) and doesn’t mind getting a little dirt on his pants, so you give in and situate yourself on his jacket. The silence between you both is comfortable, filled with the sounds of people playing somewhere nearby and birds occupying trees in the branches lingering over you. You debate about striking up more conversation about his past, but he beats you to the punch on speaking.

“I haven’t done this in a while you know,” Yunho suddenly divulges, “Have you?”

“Gone on a date?” When he nods you shake your head, “No, actually. Haven’t met anyone worth going past the texting phase, to be honest... Well, besides that one day.”

You feel a bit guilty when still having to lie about that phony date that led to your first dinner together, but it’s not like it’s something you can change now.

“As bad as it sounds… I’m glad you got stood up that day,” his eyes fall to his lap when he mumbles this. He hopes that doesn’t come across negatively.

The corners of your mouth tug into a smile at his honesty. Maybe one day in the future you’d gain enough courage to tell him it was a lie. You wonder if he would genuinely be upset… Though, you suppose you’re thinking way too far ahead into the future for those kinds of worries.

Instead of dwelling on it, you simply say, “I am too, Yu.”

“You’ve been using that nickname more often,” he points out after a moment of thought, “Any particular reason?”

“It’s just a habit when we get alone… helps me separate you from how I know you on campus,” you reply and glance over at him apprehensively, “I’m sorry, it probably sounds too childish, right? I can stop.”

“No no, I prefer when you call me Yu,” he admits, palm digging into the grass as he leans back on his arm with a sigh, “Everybody else calls me Yunho, Mr. Jeong, whatever.”

“Am I not in the same category as everybody else?”

“Not at all,” he professes without any hesitation, lolling his head to the side to finally peer back at you. The soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth makes your heart stutter.

“Duly noted,” is all you’re able to mumble back. When his eyes go from surveying your face for any unease at his bluntness to zeroing in on your lips, you can’t help the heat manifesting in your cheeks.

“Are you comfortable if I kiss you?”

“I feel like we’re way past that step, no?” You quirk a brow.

“Was more so asking since we’re technically in public, but I suppose that’s also true,” he laughs softly, leaning over and pressing his lips to yours before you can reply to him with any nonsense.

His lips are always so soft and plush, and it’s so juxtaposed with the way he kisses you with intensity and clear intent. He’s never really hesitant of himself when you both kiss, never thinking twice about selfishly stealing your air, despite any anxiety he may have about your situation inside of himself. He’s a bit too enamored with the way your tongue still tastes like strawberry matcha to realize that his free hand has dipped under the hem of your dress, fingertips creeping and leaving a trail of heat as they inch further and further up your thigh. As much as you’d love to indulge him, your nerves won’t let you, no matter how secluded your spot might be.

Your hand wraps around his wrist gently, giggling onto his lips as you warn him, “Don’t get any funny ideas. Like you said, we’re in public.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he sighs reluctantly. He can’t deny that he’s slightly embarrassed for even letting his hands move with a mind of their own. There’s just something about you that makes him feel like he doesn’t have to think so hard when you’re around, and it makes him lose his senses in the process. Everything just feels natural. An affectionate smile plays at his lips while he rubs the material of your dress between his fingers, “It’s getting pretty late, the sun is setting.”

“Let’s head back before the traffic gets too crazy then, yeah?” You propose and he nods silently before pushing one last peck to your lips.

The drive back to your apartment feels much quicker than it did leaving, and this stirs up a hint of despondency in your stomach. It feels like your time with him has ended just as soon as it started, but you suppose you should appreciate the full day you did get to spend with him. Still, you know something like today won’t happen that often, and it makes you a bit sad the closer you get to your building.

Like the gentlemen he is, Yunho walks with you up to the second floor and to your door, hands shoved deep in his pockets while he debates on how to say bye. He doesn’t know if he should kiss you goodbye when anybody could be watching now that you’re back in the area. Then again, he supposes even walking you up to your place was risky to begin with. While he’s debating over these things in his mind, you’ve already opened your front door. He doesn’t even realize you’re staring at him until you call his name, to which he’s subsequently sputtering a bunch of apologies after being caught overthinking.

“Why don’t you come inside for a little bit,” you hum, more as an instruction than a request.

Yunho’s tongue prods at the inside of his cheek in rumination over the various prospects of what exactly coming inside could entail, but the way you’re gazing at him with those beguiling eyes is already luring him in before his thoughts can get the best of him. His feet move on their own, taking tentative steps into your abode with an overwhelming feeling of excitement pooling in his chest. The sound of the front door being locked is followed by you coming up behind him and wrapping your hands around his torso. It’s very sweet, the way you bury your head in his back and squeeze him in an endearing hug.

“I really enjoyed today,” you tell him as best you can with your cheek still squished against his back. You feel the warm chuckle he lets out reverberating through his back. He wishes he could reciprocate your hug, but it seems you’re intent on staying behind him.

He settles for saying, “Thank you for giving me the chance to fix things, ____. I just wanted to show you that you mean a lot to me.”

Then, there’s a beat of silence, and he wonders if everything is okay. Maybe that was too much…

“What’s your day look like tomorrow?” you suddenly ask softly, and Yunho's eyes fall to watch as your hands drop and ghost around his belt.

His Adam's Apple bobs anxiously before he answers in an equally soft voice, “Sundays I… I usually prepare my slides and lesson plans for the week. Meet with the boys in the evening after I’m done for some drinks…”

Your hands gently undo his belt as he’s talking, humming “ mhm ” every few words to let him know you’re indeed listening.

“Maybe you should leave in the morning then,” you propose, fingers gently popping open the button of his pants. You can feel him take a deep inhale the moment you finally gently tug at his zipper.

“Yeah, maybe I should.”

That night, Yunho learns several things about you.

He gets to learn the ins and outs of your gag reflex. You have a slight affinity with deep-throating your partners, and he falls in love with the view of you even trying to with tears in the corners of your eyes. The way your lips stretch around his thick cock… It’s an image he stores in his mental album of you for later use.

He gets to learn about the tattoo you have hidden on your back as he’s fervently driving that same thick cock of his into you from behind. He traces it delicately with his fingers before reaching forward to grab at your hair, pulling it back for some well-needed leverage while his sweaty thighs smack against yours over and over.

He especially loves learning that you like being talked through things, and he’s already made you cum twice by utilizing his voice. Rinse and repeat, the way your greedy cunt squeezes and milks him for all he’s worth when says, “Remind me, what’s my name?” And when you moan out that nickname that he likes so much, he replies with, “That’s my smart girl. Looking so pretty, you feel so fucking good around me. You gonna cum for me again, pretty? I can feel you squeezing, go ahead and give it to me.”

Needless to say, it was a very long and educational night.

In the morning, Yunho’s desires get the best of him, and he manages to inconspicuously steal a pair of panties from the laundry pile in your room, shoving them into his pants pocket while you’re in the bathroom. He makes sure to take a plain-looking pair, something he’s sure you won’t notice is missing. There’s a slight feeling of guilt once he’s nearly home, though.

It’s okay, it’s just a one-time thing, he tells himself over and over, I’ll return them the next time I’m over.

—

“YOU WHAT?”

Yeosang slaps his hand over his mouth but, to be fair, his reaction is entirely involuntary. He had promised you he would remain calm, but how could he with this kind of information? You repeatedly sputter that, while you may be in the back of the library, he is very much going to cause a disturbance if he doesn’t shut his fucking mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he exhales, leaning in with eyes as big as saucers, “You came in too hot, I need the foreplay first.”

“Don’t phrase it like that, good Lord,” you groan.

“What else am I supposed to say when you tell me you’ve fucked him and none of the lead-up? Fuck, did he even take you out to dinner first?”

“Of course he did,” you defend him quickly, “We’ve spent a lot of time together actually. Mostly dinners and things of that nature.”

“I’m mostly shocked that it took you this long to fuck him. Seems like you hooked him fairly easily.”

“Well…” you cover your face just enough to where an eye can peep out between your fingers, and Yeosang eyes you curiously, “No, that wasn’t the first time…”

“Obviously you hate me, ____,” your best friend immediately states, clasping his hands together, “This is the only suitable explanation of why you wouldn’t tell me this until now. I literally begged you for info like an idiot weeks ago!”

“I’m sorry! It was just—”

“Nah, denied,” he holds a hand up to shush you, “Worst best friend ever.”

“Yeo, I explicitly told you progress was being made. Did I not?”

“You failed to tell me that it was being made between your legs,” he snaps in a whisper-yell. “How many times?”

“Only twice, okay? You haven’t missed much, I promise.”

Yeosang sits in silence with his head perched on his palm, seemingly marinating in all of the information he’s been slammed within the last 10 minutes. There are very few times you’ve seen him at a loss for words, but this moment surely makes the list.

“I didn’t think he would cave that easily, honestly.” He finally speaks. You release all the pent-up air in your chest that you hadn’t realized you were holding in waiting for his words. “What did you do to him ____?”

He pleads for the final time for you to start from the beginning and explain, and you finally grant that to him without getting too into the nitty gritty. You’re a bit bashful recounting some of the lengths you took in setting this all up, but Yeosang simply nods in understanding at each one. If anyone was going to be supportive, it was always going to be your frontline cheerleader.

After taking in the full story, he thinks it’s only proper to ask, “What’s your plan beyond this point?”

“Well, exactly what I said to you a long time ago,” you tell him frankly, “If all goes well, I want to be in a relationship with him after I graduate. I don’t see him saying no to that with the way he’s already treating me...”

Yeosang notices the way your demeanor has changed with this answer. Previously, the humorous lilt in your voice was much more prominent. Those same sentiments and that joking attitude seems to be long gone. He can see it in your eyes, the way you’re taking this more seriously. He wonders what Yunho could’ve possibly done to turn you into such a romantic over him. The answer to that would simply be: everything.

“You know, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if you were telling the truth about wanting things beyond sex at first,” Yeosang tells you honestly. He may be a goofball, but he’s able to be serious when needed. And despite the foolishness leading up to this statement, his voice is earnest when he says, “I can see this working out for you as long as you’re careful.”

“I hope so, Yeo. I really do.”

—

On the following Wednesday, you and Yeosang are both seated in Yunho’s class wasting time on your phones as class is set to start. Usually, Yunho is very punctual with starting because his lectures are so long, so you’re curious as to what the hold-up is today. You peek over your laptop and spot him talking to a guy you’ve never seen before and, as far as you know, you’ve never recognized him in this class. They nod at each other before you see Yunho clear his throat.

“Everyone, I want to take a few minutes at the top of the hour to introduce someone important,” Yunho begins, loud enough that everyone can hear and cease chatter. “I’m sure some of you recognize him from other classes. For those who don't, however, this is Wooyoung Jung. He’ll be serving as my teacher’s assistant for the remainder of the semester.”

“I’m happy to be able to help any way I can,” Wooyoung proclaims to everyone with a sweet smile before turning back towards Yunho, “And thank you Mr. Jeong for allowing me the opportunity.”

You wonder if this is something Yunho truly chose or whether it was sprung upon him; it’s fairly late into the semester for something like this to be introduced. He does have quite the workload though, you muse. Surely with new hands to help, he’ll manage his time a bit better. You wonder if that’ll mean you get to spend more time with him while Wooyoung is taking care of things that would usually dig into his free time. As if Yunho knows you’re thinking about him, his eyes find yours while Wooyoung is taking his seat at the front of the class. Something about the ambiguous gaze he gives you when others are around makes you itch for his attention even more than normal. He doesn’t ever fail at making it look natural, like he could be looking at anyone for nothing in particular. Those little moments keep things fun.

The answer to your previous queries would end up being that, yes, this was something Yunho chose himself. When presented with an opportunity for a student specializing in his major to offer assistance after being accepted into the Work-Study program later than most, of course he said yes. San had been telling him since he began working at the university last semester that he should take on a TA while he got acclimated to teaching, but Yunho had convinced himself that he could do it all on his own. While Yunho had been pretty open about how terrible his workload was, considering he has 3 class sections, he was never completely honest with you about how much stress this caused him on a day-to-day basis.

He was excited that this would free up some of his previously stolen time and take some pressure off of his shoulders. He was also looking forward to being able to spend some of that newly open time with you, especially. That’s why when you unknowingly throw a wrench into those intentions before leaving his class Friday, he has a hard time keeping the dejection he feels from showing on his face.

“It might be a while before we’re able to hang out again,” you sigh, “Midterms are stressing me out but I don’t want to psych myself out right before I graduate—”

“____,” Yunho places his hand on your head tenderly, silencing your rambling in the kindest way he can. He doesn’t like seeing you so stressed out. “Focus on yourself and do your best, okay? Don’t lose sight of the finish line. Being prepared and passing is much more important than us seeing each other.”

You gaze up at him with some of the prettiest dispirited eyes he’s ever seen. How is he supposed to remain selfless when you look like this? Of course, he’d love to be selfish and fill your time; he knows you’re a smart girl so you’d have nothing to worry about for his midterm at least. He’d take care of it. Nevertheless, you’re still a student of others as well, and he has to extinguish that greed as fast as it ignites.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course, pretty. You know where to find me whenever you’re ready,” he smiles and gives your cheek a teasing pinch before opening the lecture hall’s door, “See you next Wednesday.”

As expected, two weeks of studying and taking tests consume your entire schedule. Yunho is not much better, and he’s consistently cursing at himself for making the test he gave out to all of his sections so long. Even though he wants to truly know if his students understand all the material thus far, he forgets how time-consuming making the test so extensive can be for him as well. Having Wooyoung around helps quite a bit, even though he feels slightly guilty for putting such a large amount on him when he becomes overwhelmed. Wooyoung never complains though, so Yunho is grateful to have gotten a TA who actually does the work and does it well. During this time, you both try to keep regular contact, offering words of encouragement to each other and discussing what you should do to celebrate when you get your passing grades back.

Directly following the end of midterms week is the weekend before Halloween. Jongho had sent out a text the week prior that he was holding a party at his parent’s rental house, which is currently unoccupied for the season. The man had friends from several different circles because he was involved in many different extracurriculars outside of his studies, so you were certain this party was going to be fairly large.

Naturally, as best friends do, you and Yeosang decide to wear matching costumes for his party. Procrastination had gotten the best of you both with midterms added into the mix, however, and the best thing the two of you were able to come up with before the weekend was a sexy nurse and doctor duo. Simple, but effective.

You both rode along with Hongjoong, who had chosen to be the designated driver for the evening. It’s uncomfortably brisk outside, too brisk to be dressed like you are; however, upon opening the door, you can barely get two steps into the property before Jongho stops everyone in their tracks. His hands hold out exactly what you knew would be coming before even arriving at the house. It’s Jongho’s signature thing.

“You know the rules,” he says with that mischievous smile of his you know too well.

You must take one tequila shot to be admitted past the door.

All three of you quickly take the shot glasses from your host and toss them back without even giving cheers. The burn of alcohol and the robust taste of bitter poison stains your tongue. It hurts a little on the throat on the way down and you salivate to adjust to the pain, immediately making a face of disgust.

“God, it never gets easier,” you cough.

“I’ll grab you something easier,” he laughs while rubbing your back, “Same flavor as usual?”

“Please and thank you.”

As promised, he comes back with two bottles of honeydew melon soju in tow and some fresh shot glasses. It doesn’t take too many heavy-handed shots before laughs and giggles begin to bubble up in your throat for no real reason. You forgot that you didn’t put anything on your stomach before leaving the house, and it’s becoming very apparent every time you feel your head shoot up to outer space and come back down just as quickly. That’s a non-issue though because Jongho’s catered this party with enough food to feed a small village. Anyone watching you stuffing your face with Halloween-themed carbs and sweets is the last thing on your mind. Round two of shots is followed by the intense feeling of needing to dance. Even while intoxicated, you’re perceptive enough to notice various sets of eyes on you whilst dancing with your friends. Every so often, an owner of a set will make his way over and try to chat you up. Like clockwork, you say the same thing to every new person:

Sorry, I’m not single.

You say this sentence so many times in the span of an hour that it begins to feel real. Then again, isn’t it already? As far as you’re concerned, you were spoken for until Yunho said otherwise. You wonder if he feels the same about himself... When you start having a small internal existential crisis about whether Yunho thinks the same, that’s when you know you’re approaching your limit for the night. You step away to grab some water and begin the process of flushing your body. When you make it back to your circle, things have changed. Mingi, with his girlfriend in tow, lets everyone know that they’re going to find a private room before taking off up the stairs of the house. You know it’s irrational and probably motivated by the alcohol in your system, but you can't help but feel jealous that they can do something like that so easily. If you could see Yunho and drag him to a room anytime you were horny, you’re sure a lot of your life’s problems would be solved.

The moment they’re gone, Hongjoong leans in and quickly lets you know he’s also going upstairs to join some other acquaintances in karaoke. You’re just about to panic until Yeosang tugs on your arm to beckon for your attention.

“Going to the bathroom if you want to join,” he leans in and proposes, “I really need to pee.”

Everyone seems to have wanted to go their separate ways, but he’d never leave you alone all by your lonesome. And especially not with alcohol in your system. You grab onto his hand with a nod and let him lead you through hoards of people to the closest bathroom. Luckily, it’s empty and there’s no wait. It’s not long before you’re both locked away from the sound of music thumping from behind the door. While you search through your pockets for your lipgloss for reapplication, Yeosang jets for the toilet.

“I’m drained,” you mutter, “Being bombarded by strangers.”

“You showed up to the party looking like that and expected not to catch some eyes?”

He’s right, honestly. The red and white romper you’re wearing leaves nothing much to the imagination with the way your asscheeks are hanging out of the bottom or the way your breasts are squished together at the top. Your makeup and hair, your stockings and heels, everything just exudes pure sex appeal. All topped off with a little hat and a play syringe you’ve been using occasionally for “alcohol shots”. To be fair, your friend group mainly consisted of men, and many men found it intimidating to approach you with them always surrounding you in settings such as this. People must be feeling especially bold tonight with as much alcohol being drunk, you muse. He giggles to himself because he knows that typically you’d entertain some of the suitors for fun, but you seem devoted to the one man on your mind these days.

“Bet you didn’t send your boyfriend a picture of your costume though, huh?” Yeosang teases, slurred words morphing into a laugh as he finally pulls down his pants. The subsequent sound of him peeing draws a laugh from you.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you scoff and nudge him in the back. He nearly loses his footing.

“Stop, you're gonna make pee go everywhere!” How he is even still peeing with such ferocity is beyond you. This doesn’t stop him from adding in quickly, “I dare you to show him. It’s only fair, right?”

Alcohol-induced pride is something dangerous, but you’re never one to back down from a dare, even when sober. While he’s finishing up, you find your text thread with Yunho and send him the image you and Yeosang had taken together at the beginning of the party.

[Y/N: 1 image]

[Y/N: Matchingg with my besssttieee]

Coincidentally, Yunho is home and lonesomely watching YouTube videos when his phone pings. Oh wow…

He replies with several texts in a minute—one making sure to compliment you both, but the rest shamelessly thirsting over the way your costume is so lewd. Many other men may have made passes at you and offered plenty of flattery throughout the night, but none of them could make you get flustered as much as Yunho. This is the only man you care about hearing compliments from, the only man whose words matter. Maybe it’s that last bottle of soju making you so confident, but your hands move faster than your brain.

“Don’t turn around just yet,” you tell Yeosang quickly before pulling up your camera. You unzip your romper enough to pull one of your breasts out fully, squeezing it teasingly with one hand while the other takes a quick selfie. It’s a tad blurry, but it’ll do its job. After fixing yourself just as quickly, you give Yeosang the okay so he can wash his hands.

[Y/N: 1 invisible ink image]

[Y/N: Would you let me stick you???]

When he gets this notification, Yunho stares down at his throbbing cock already in his hand and laughs. He was already turned on enough by the other picture to pull it out from his sweatpants, but this? He’s usually not one to send nudes, but good God, he wants nothing more than for you to see exactly what you’re doing to him right now. Against his better judgment, he does just that.

[Yunho: 1 invisible ink image]

[Yunho: only if you let me reciprocate after]

When you uncover the picture, your breath catches in your throat: his hand is firmly wrapped around his aching, flushed cock. It looks as though he’s already been stroking himself eagerly, the way it’s glossy with lubricant and an angry shade of red. God, the things you would do to have him pick you up from this party and let you fuck him to your heart's content… Even though that could never happen, a girl can dream, so you decide you have to tell him exactly what’s on your mind. Yeosang’s too drunk to do his job of taking away your phone while you’re so many drinks deep.

“Ready to go back?” Your best friend asks while drying his hands.

Holding your phone tight against your chest for privacy, you sputter, “Do you mind giving me a few minutes alone? I won’t be too long, promise.”

Yunho’s shocked when he sees your name come up on his phone for a call. He was beginning to get slightly nervous when you failed to respond to his attempt at sexting, but that didn’t stop him from staring at your photos and feverishly stroking his cock in the meantime.

“Hello?”

“Hello there, handsome,” you giggle, and Yunho immediately hears the intoxicated tremor laced in your words.

“Having a fun night?” He asks with a laugh of his own, trying to refrain from breathing too heavily into the phone every time he squeezes his leaking tip with a little extra pressure.

You’re too drunk to realize what he’s doing anyway, and you unknowingly feed into his journey toward an orgasm when you outright say, “Yes but… I want you so bad right now, Yu.”

Yunho’s breath nearly catches in his throat, and his face flushes bashfully as his hand glides faster up and down his cock.

His voice trembles a bit when he replies, “I wish I could make that happen for you, angel.”

“Well… you wanna know what I’d do if I was there?” You push further, closing your eyes and tuning out everything outside the door to focus on Yunho alone. He agrees promptly, head kicking back as he closes his eyes in the same way, tuning in solely to your voice. “Been wanting to ride you so bad lately. Keep imagining the way you’d sound when I bounce up and down in your lap… You make the prettiest noises, Yu, I swear.”

He physically swallows any of those aforementioned pretty noises trying to manifest in his throat, burying them deep in his chest before he responds with the only thing his brain can manifest.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, but…” You lower your voice to a whisper, “Do you think I could make you cum all by myself, like no help?”

Yunho is so close, he can barely hold himself together.

“I bet you could. Just seeing you feel good while using my dick would be enough to, honestly.”

The tiny drunken giggle that tumbles from your lips goes straight to his heart, “I say we test that out then.”

“Just let me know when you want to and I’ll be more than ready,” he assures you, accidentally punctuating that sentence with a soft, “ Fuck .”

“____, Jongho’s looking for us,” Yeosang calls out through the door. “They’re about to play a drinking game or something.”

For some reason, the knowledge that you’re talking so filthy like this while anyone on the other side of the door could perhaps hear you pushes him over the edge. With his phone on his chest, Yunho presses a tight hand over his mouth to suppress any noise threatening to come out, instead heavily breathing through his nostrils as spurts of cum sully his abdomen.

You sigh, “My liver is being summoned, gotta go. Bye-bye, handsome.”

The call ends before Yunho can even open his mouth to reply, but that’s fine because he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to come up with a coherent sentence anyway. He settles for dazedly texting you to let him know when you get home safely. The long and uncomfortably hot shower he takes to wash away the filth from his mind and his body leaves him feeling oddly refreshed. It might be because he hasn’t had a conversation with you not relating to the stresses of the previous weeks up until today. It’s silly that something so depraved ended up being the product, but God, does it feel fresh and exhilarating.

Now that midterm season was over and a good amount of grading had been taken off of his hands by taking on a TA, Yunho found himself with enough time on his hands to give his place a good cleaning. If he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s doing this to give himself more confidence in inviting you over again. It had been some time since he last had you there, but that was partially due to the treacherous state that it was in currently. You had been free from midterms for a week now, there were no excuses as to why he couldn’t spend private time with you in his place. The perfect opportunity arose directly after he accomplished his goal, when you mentioned in passing that you were one assignment away from being able to go out.

“How about you come do your work at my place instead?” he had offered, “I’ll order us dinner and we can relax together afterward.”

It didn’t take much convincing for you to end up on his doorstep half an hour later with your backpack slung over your shoulder. You’re so beautiful when you’re done up, there’s no denying that, but there’s something about you when you’re dressed so comfortably casual that makes Yunho get heart palpitations. When you look like that while lounging at his kitchen table, hands typing away at God knows what assignment, it just feels so domestic to him. You look like you belong there. He tries not to stare too much and gives you your space to work though, busying himself with some random medical show he pays no real mind to on Netflix while lying on his couch. Quite some time later, he hears you let out a hefty aggravated sigh.

“Words are starting to blend together,” you murmur while rubbing your eyes. “Hate when this happens.”

“Take a break then, beautiful. Come sit with me?”

It started off innocent, it really did.

Sitting curled up under Yunho’s arm in his lap has now entered the top ranks on your list of favorite positions to be in. It’s soothing, the way his fingers play with the frayed strings of your pants in between rubbing calming circles into your tense muscles. If you weren’t careful, you’re sure this man could lull you to sleep.

“I didn’t know you liked doctor shows,” you mumble against his chest.

“I don’t,” he laughs, “I figured the girl who dressed up as a sexy nurse over the weekend would be interested.”

“Oh hush, you know Halloween is for foolishness.”

But, upon entering a conversation about Halloween, it leads to a conversation about your photo exchange. Yunho has been meaning to ask if he’s allowed to save that image for obvious reasons. Aside from it being sent while you were intoxicated, he also wants to be respectful about deleting it if need be. You reassure him that it’s okay for him to keep and use it whenever he likes, as you do not doubt in your mind he’d never let something like that slip from between you both. That’s when the phone call also comes up.

“Are you usually that horny when you’re intoxicated?” Yunho inquires, “Calling me up and talking like that was surprising.”

You sit up immediately, “I called you? You’re lying…”

“You don’t remember?” His brows hitch in surprise.

“No, I don’t recall that at all,” you gaze back at him, dumbfounded, “What did I say?”

“Nothing much,” he lies, but he knows you’d never take that as an answer. Especially not when his cheeks are dusted in pink at you even asking.

“Please, tell me!” You nearly plead, “Oh God, was it embarrassing?”

“You really want to know that badly?”

The innocent nod you give him makes him give in. He remains focused on the TV to prevent himself from becoming too sheepish by looking into your eyes while recounting such words. Yunho is a bit more conservative with his words as he recalls your remarks about riding him. He’s unable to go into as much detail as you did of course, he doesn’t want to work himself up just thinking about it; moreover, he can’t even say some parts without fleeting thoughts of how he already jacked off simply to your voice telling him such things. It’s embarrassing to him how he lacks willpower when it comes to you, he’s a grown man for Christ’s sake. To be fair, you’re not much help. He doesn’t even notice how you’re toying with his sweatpants’ strings while he talks. When he finally tears his eyes from the TV and meets yours, the gaze you share has you finally moving from your spot.

Who knew Yunho’s living room couch was so comfortable on the knees? Surely not you, until yours are digging into it while you straddle his waist. It’s hard to focus on the way his lips are devouring your neck while his hands are simultaneously frisking every inch of your body he can reach. You don’t know at what point during the last minute you ended up with your joggers thrown a few feet away on the floor, or when he ended up with his sweatpants and underwear pooled around his feet. He can’t focus on anything else but the feeling of your bare cunt sliding back and forth over his cock, watching you teasingly smear your slick all over him with his mouth hung open. He can only take but so much of watching you work him up before he finally peers up into your eyes.

“God, you’re way too good at being a tease,” he sighs as he leans up to ghost his lips over yours. You can feel his little gasps every time you apply a little more of your weight on top of his painfully hard cock. He’s a patient man though, so he doesn’t mind letting you toy with him for however long your heart desires, “I’m not in a rush.”

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to remind me how to fit it in me,” you joke, gasping as his hands busy themselves by massaging your sensitive breasts under your sports bra, “It's been a while since the last time, you know?”

The raspy laugh he lets out hits you right in your core, and even more so when he says, “You’re a very smart and capable girl, I know you can do it all by yourself.”

The way he enunciates the last three words makes your core throb. When you finally lift your hips to wrap your hands around his length, his hands move from your breasts to your waist for support. You give him a few gentle pumps before lining him up with your sopping entrance.

“There you go,” he encourages when you push yourself open on his tip with a needy moan.

You slide down his shaft gradually, inch by inch until you’re fully seated. The deep, shaky exhale you let out against Yunho’s neck makes him chuckle because you’re such a trooper even without any prep beforehand.

“Give me a second.”

“Want some help?” He asks genuinely, massaging the plush of your thighs and chuckling when he feels you clench at the offer.

He’d lay you down and take care of things himself if you wanted him to, as he’s never one to deny a pillow princess being the service dom he typically is. To his surprise, you begin moving your hips, lifting and sliding back down at a casual pace. His head kicks back and he sighs at the feeling of your warm walls swallowing him in and pushing him out, over and over. You can’t keep in the sounds of pure need and arousal that spill from your lips every time you feel his cock curve up and prod against that spot that makes your stomach do flips. When the sting from the initial stretch subsides, every glide feels breathtaking. You keep your head buried in his neck to focus on your hip movements instead, gasping and moaning in time with every sound of your ass striking his thighs.

You were right, he thinks, it had been quite some time since you both slept together that night of your first real date. Yunho’s been dreaming about that pretty cunt of yours since then—nearly daily—unable to match the feeling of the way you squeeze him with his hand, especially during the nights he works himself up enough to where he needs release. He didn’t want to seem too brazen or shamefully horny by reaching out and asking if he could show you more of what he could accomplish with that cock of his buried inside you, the sounds he wants to try and evoke. Nevertheless, he doesn’t want you to think that’s something that matters the most to him.

Admittedly, the general nerves regarding your extracurricular activities with each other had subsided after the Halloween stint. Yunho gained a lot of confidence after that night. He previously felt guilty during midterm weeks because, even after he had expressly told you to focus on yourself, he was also so sure that there was plenty of midterm stress he could’ve helped you relieve, and vice versa. In many, many ways. Regardless, he decided to let sex with you occur naturally instead, such as last time. It was worth the wait though, if the way his teeth are sinking so deep into his bottom lip to stop himself from whimpering at this pleasure is anything to go by.

“Fuck, mhm, just like that baby,” he hisses when you arch your back and begin rolling your hips against him, “Really gonna make me cum all by yourself, huh? Knew you were ambitious, angel.”

You feel yourself nearly gush with every word. This can’t be the same man who stands in front of you twice a week and talks about semantics, right? On the opposite end, how is he supposed to maintain any composure when the sounds of your sopping wet cunt sucking him in so easily are now battling the TV? Your arousal is so loud and it’s driving him crazy. He tends to firmly pinch at the meat of your bouncing ass and chuckle every time it elicits a helpless yelp from your throat, only to keep his antsy hands busy. Still, he makes an effort to let you do things by yourself, as you expressed.

“Yu?” you whimper into his skin a moment later, and he grunts to let you know he’s listening even if his mind is foggy with lust, “I wanna kiss you.”

Yunho’s heart nearly bursts out of his chest, cheeks flushing at how innocent the request is. His hand tenderly grabs you by the chin and leads your mouth to his while murmuring, “Stop hiding then, sweetheart.”

Time and time again, you’re reminded about how good of a kisser he is. There’s something addicting about the way he loves intertwining tongues and doesn’t care about being messy that turns you on to the highest degree. You can feel heat prickle over every inch of your skin when he pulls back your bottom lip with his teeth. When you begin to bounce faster and grow more eager to cum, Yunho’s hands finally grab underneath either cheek of your ass and begin to help you, hips rutting up in time with every quick hop of you on his cock. It doesn’t take long before his breathing becomes ragged, his own orgasm nearing, and you both break the kiss to gasp for air. Your hands grip onto his biceps when you feel your legs starting to give out from fatigue.

“I’m sorry I–”

“You can relax, sweetheart,” he pants, “Just a little more, I’ve got you.”

Yunho wraps his arms around your back, holding you steady and spreading his legs a bit farther apart before taking over and pistoning his hips into yours. The frenzied babbles of his name in his ear make his eyes roll to the ceiling. Your orgasm blindsides you entirely, hitting you right after a particularly sinful thrust directly into your G-spot. There's no time to indulge in the way you’re making some of the most euphoric sounds he’s ever heard himself pull from a woman because the feeling of your walls contracting and convulsing around his cock gives him the final push to finish himself. Right before he lets go, he lifts you off of his cock with strong arms and cum paints his t-shirt a few seconds later.

“I say we go take a shower…” Yunho begins tentatively, reworking his thoughts after you both are breathing calmly again, “And then, we can order some food because I’m honestly starving. What do you say?”

“And where does finishing my assignment come in, hm?” You pinch his cheek.

“Ugh, you’re right…” he groans, “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time before the food is delivered, right?”

“I’m not even looking at that food until my work is done, and I mean i—” Your voice clips off when he suddenly stands to his feet with you maintained in his arms.

“That shower isn’t going to run itself then,” he counters, lips tugging into a large smile as he happily strides towards his bedroom with you in tow.

Yunho had informed you beforehand that this next week was going to be a busy one for him, induced by training workshops the university decided to spring upon a few colleges. The Dean of his particular college thought that it was a good idea to shove all necessary sessions into the first week of November. He apologizes multiple times every time he thinks about it. You know he shouldn’t have to ever explain his business to you—he’s doing his job as a teacher, which comes first and foremost—but it’s nice that he considers you when his schedule is in conversation. You tell him time and time again that he shouldn’t concern himself with what you may or may not feel about his unavailability. He was nothing but patient with you during midterms, and you were more than happy to reciprocate that now that the time has come.

The first day you have class with him that week, you choose to stick back while everyone else is bustling to get out of the door. It doesn’t take longer than a couple of minutes for the room to completely empty, save for you and your teacher. Normally, his eyes would light up noticing such a thing, but today he seems to be drowning in fatigue with the way his face doesn’t even budge. That doesn’t stop you from heading to his podium with tentative steps while he pulls on his blazer and packs up to continue his schedule.

“Got a minute?”

“For you? Always,” he hums without even looking up. He’s in the middle of shoving the last of his things in his briefcase when you hold up a tied-up plastic bag that catches his attention.

“I know you have a loaded day, so I brought you lunch,” you break the news before he can question it. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but you’re sure it’ll be enjoyable to eat regardless. “Just wanted to save you from having to make an extra stop across campus.”

“You’re amazing, ____,” Yunho utters in a soft voice before taking the bag from you carefully. He’s having a hard time mustering up any kind of physical joy today so he hopes that, for now, his words can at least convey what he’s failing to provide otherwise, “I know it doesn’t look like it but I really do appreciate this. Thank you.”

“You seem tense today,” you point out while moving to join him on his side of the podium. “Did something happen?”

The lecture hall’s doors don’t have any slit windows for prying eyes, so you reach up and rub a comforting hand over the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and sighs. If there’s anyone’s touch that could cure his problems, he’s sure it’s yours. Still, he doesn’t want to make himself too comfortable with the location you’re in.

“You wouldn’t believe how many things are going wrong today. I also have to meet with the head of my department for a performance evaluation based on the midterm grades. Everyone generally did very well but,” Yunho massages the bridge of his nose to help collect his thoughts before continuing, “It’s only my second semester, so the impression I’m making with these kinds of things is very important. I know I have nothing to be worried about but it’s hard not to be anxious.”

“Making yourself sick with stress isn’t going to help either,” you remind him.

“I know, I know. I’m just ready for this week to be over.”

“Maybe we should go out of town again this weekend,” you muse, hand moving to squeeze his shoulder affectionately, “I saw online some fall festivals are happening that might be fun to check out. I remember you saying you’ve never been to one.”

He peers down at you, lips splitting into his first genuine grin of the day, “She takes notes in and out of the classroom, how cute.”

“Only when it comes to you. What do you say?”

There’s a knock on the doors, but before Yunho can muster any words to answer it, the owner comes in anyway. Upon entering in a huff, Wooyoung stops dead in his tracks. His eyes flicker between the two of you before he hitches a brow. You offer him a mild-mannered smile and pull your hand away from Yunho’s shoulder slowly so as not to seem suspicious.

“Good afternoon Wooyoung,” Yunho says so naturally, though you’re groaning in your head, “Did you need something from me?”

You know it’s ridiculous of you, but you’re starting to envy Yunho’s TA. Recently, you’ve come to realize that you hate how Wooyoung gets an immense amount of time interacting with Yunho daily, but it’s still never enough. There’s always something more he needs. You get it, he’s technically an employee to make your teacher’s life easier. That’s something you should be cheering on, right? Deep down, in the most selfish part of your mind, you’re just tired of people always interrupting and interfering in the minimal amount of time you have with Yunho on campus, even unknowingly.

“I remembered I had some questions about your grading criteria for the recent essay that I needed some clarification on before leaving,” he says, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker at you briefly, “But if you’re busy…”

“He’s not. We just finished chatting about what’s due next class,” you answer for Yunho instead, much to his dismay. He notices the tone change in your voice, but as much as he’d like to resolve that, he can only watch you grab your bag. He’s slow to catch himself frowning before fixing his face in front of his TA. While slipping past the younger gentleman to finally leave, you make sure to call out, “See you Friday, Mr. Jeong.”

It takes everything in you to not give Wooyoung the finger to the back of his head, but you decide it’s best not to let such things aggravate you. Again, Yunho is a teacher and this is part of his job. You shouldn’t be so angry at his assistant for doing what he needs to do to make his life easier.

You and your linguist do end up leaving the area again that weekend to attend a festival together. This particular town is covered in thick colorful trees that have yet to lose their leaves. Along with the overwhelming smells over different smells of various food carts and so many people laughing in enjoyment, the entire scene does a number on Yunho’s brain. It scratches a deep itch he didn’t realize he had. Playing little games with you for prizes makes him realize he hasn’t had this kind of fun in quite a long time.

Yunho’s shocked with himself when he asks if you both can take a selfie together in front of all the colorful leaves before leaving for the day. He’s been thinking about something like this for quite some time, a bit dispirited by not being able to savor memories in pictures like everyone else can. Realistically, he knows he really shouldn’t be offering such blatant evidence of your romance to be left on either of your phones. Texts can easily be manipulated and argued, but selfies with you both in them don’t lie. These kinds of thoughts still nag at him in the back of his head even while he puts on this goofy grin, chin affectionately sitting atop your shoulder as he snaps his first photo with you ever. He wishes he could put something like this as his wallpaper. Even if he could, in a world where peeping eyes weren’t an issue, he wonders if that would be too much. Do you like the people you’re involved with to be that mushy?

He doesn’t have the luxury of overthinking about these things for too long before you’re pinching his cheek to bring him back to reality. Reluctantly, Yunho decides to let his brain rest and focus on the rest of the time he has left with you. He’s unable to stay the night or do anything intimate that evening because of prior obligations taking up the rest of his night, but that doesn’t stop him from boldly leaning over his center console and surprising you with a slow, romantic kiss while parked right in front of your complex. He knows he should care, but he can’t find it in himself to be bothered with the risks when he just wants to show you that he appreciates you helping him relax today before he has to depart. You hear him loud and clear.

The following week, Seonghwa finds himself seeking out Yunho’s office after packing up for the day. Yunho’s thumbing at his phone’s keyboard when the courtesy knocks come and nearly scare him, but grants permission to enter.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” Seonghwa marvels when he finds his friend still perched in his office chair. “Your classes are usually over early on Thursdays, no?”

“I had to rework my syllabus and switch modules around because of some issues getting through lectures last week. Completely slipped my mind that I still needed to revise my lesson plans and slides for tomorrow until this morning,” Yunho sighs, “If I go home it’s definitely not getting done, so I have to stay.”

His friend surveys the ways his cheeks are slightly flushed as he glances back down at his phone briefly and tries to type something quickly. Sure, it could be from frustration or exhaustion caused by his tasks for the evening, but something seems different in the way he’s fidgeting in his chair.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Seonghwa inquires out of the blue, causing Yunho to lift his eyes from his phone abruptly. He offers a knowing smirk when Yunho’s brows furrowed in confusion, “You’re smiling a lot more these days— kinda glowing. Seems like you finally made it out of the dry spell and got laid.”

Yunho subconsciously tucks his phone in his lap, unconsciously confirming Seonghwa’s suspicions.

“Nobody special,” he replies, finding this white lie to be more suitable than lying outright, “Nothing much I can say.”

“Well, where’d you meet her? You don’t talk to anyone when we go out anymore so it couldn’t have been at the bar.”

Yunho hesitates for a brief moment before saying the first thing that comes to his mind, “Tinder.”

“I thought you deleted that app a while ago,” Seonghwa’s brows crease.

“I redownloaded it a while ago out of boredom,” Yunho explains quickly. He knows he’s not the best liar, but there is quite literally no way he’s going to tell his friend the truth about this situation whatsoever. Now, he almost wishes he had just fully lied at the start.

“And you can’t tell me more about a Tinder match?”

“I just–”

“I’d understand if I was San, but someone you can’t even tell me about?” Seonghwa jokes, but Yunho can tell this question is not entirely unserious.

He understands where his friend is coming from. Their relationship runs a bit deeper than Yunho’s with the third addition to their friendship, even though all three are nearly brothers now considering the years they’ve been friends. There’s never been something that Yunho hasn’t been able to come to him about, and they’re both generally always open with anything between each other. Needless to say, Seonghwa always knows when something is off.

“It’s not like that Hwa, just that it’s nobody worth discussing,” Yunho insists, “Who knows where it’ll lead, you know? I’ll let you know if it goes anywhere.”

Seonghwa’s eyes linger on him for a few extra seconds before he simply hums in acceptance. There’s a particular look in his eyes as he sips his water bottle briefly, though.

“Alright... I’ll leave you with these words, though,” he begins, and his voice is earnest. The one he usually uses with Yunho when he needs some tough love. “You’ve worked hard to be where you’re at now. Be careful brother, okay?”

Yunho maintains a fairly neutral expression when he nods, careful to neither confirm nor deny Seonghwa’s thoughts, whatever they may be. Seonghwa is perceptive but surely he’d never pin Yunho as the type to have gotten involved with a student. At least, he hopes.

“You finished for today?” Yunho asks while Seonghwa searches for his keys in his pockets.

“Yeah, thank God.” When he finally finds his keys, he adds, “Don’t work yourself too hard and stay too late, ‘kay?”

Yunho assures him that he definitely won’t, and they both exchange goodbyes before he finally departs the room. He’s pretty sure that he should be the only teacher left on his side of the building in their office right now. He finally brings his phone out of his lap and shoots out the text he was in the process of sending before his friend entered his office.

[Yunho: are you almost done for the day?]

[Y/N: I’m walking to our lot now actually. Everything okay?]

Fuck. Yunho feels bad for summoning you like this on short notice but he can’t take it anymore. His mind has been thinking about one thing all day, and if it doesn’t get taken care of now he might go insane.

[Yunho: if you’re not too far can you come to my office..?]

[Yunho: pls]

You cease your walking, redirect yourself towards his side of campus, quickly typing back to let him know you’re on your way. You don’t get to see him that often, so you’d never deny the opportunity to make that happen. On your venture back to the building, you end up crossing paths with Seonghwa while he’s on his way to the parking lot to head home. The ambiguous glint in his eyes as you both acknowledge each other in passing doesn’t strike you as unusual, but you do take notice.

The building is fairly empty when you enter, which isn’t surprising for the time of day. You take your time going up the elevator and striding to his office since it didn’t seem like this request was an emergency. You also figure it’s fine to enter outright since he specifically requested you to come immediately, but the door is locked upon turning the handle.

“Mr. Jeong?”

You use formalities after you knock just to be on the safe side; you’re not entirely sure who could be hanging around this late. Moreover, maybe he’s locked the door because he’s meeting with someone else briefly before you. Before you can even unlock your phone to text him and make sure he still needs you before leaving, you hear the door’s lock click open. He opens it a second later, enough for you to enter.

“Never seen you lock your door before.” You’re more preoccupied with shoving your phone in the side pocket of your bag as you enter to notice anything off. “Something happen?”

“I’m really sorry, I just didn’t want anyone else seeing me like this,” he explains quickly.

You’re just about to ask him what he means, but Yunho doesn’t give you much of a chance to get too far before he circles his arms around your waist and swoops down to capture your lips. It’s an immensely needy kiss, one you’ve never received from him before. Unintentionally, when the aching boner in his pants brushes against you, he releases a soft groan into your mouth– Oh! The sound of him locking the door sends a chill down your back.

You manage to pull away from him and laugh, brows furrowed in confusion, “Excuse me, have you forgotten where we are?”

“My colleagues are already gone for the day,” he reasons while walking you backward over to his desk. His face is flushed as he implores, “I need you to do me a favor, okay?”

“Of course,” you nod quickly, gazing up at him with expectant eyes. Why does he look so…desperate?

This moment doesn’t feel entirely real. You’re becoming increasingly wet just thinking about the things you could do now that you two were alone in his office if what he says is true. You’ve both exchanged plenty of fleeting, amicable touches when out in public, ones that not many would think twice about, but you’ve never tried something like this when you’re still on campus. Yunho fails to finish his request, too captivated with peppering your neck in wet open-mouthed kisses while he physically coaxes you to sit on his desk. You have on a skirt today, and he’s so thankful not to have to deal with the extra work of pulling off jeans.

“What do you want me to do, Yu? I’ll do anything,” you insist and wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning for his attention, “Just tell me.”

When he stares directly into your eyes, trying to gain enough courage to speak, you reiterate once more that he can ask you for anything.

“I want you to let me go down on you,” he finally spits out before sitting back into the chair you usually sit in when visiting.

“But… Right now? Here?”

“If you’re comfortable,” he adds.

It takes a few seconds for the words to fully sink in, and you hesitate briefly before lifting your skirt against your stomach and begin lying back. Yunho scoots his chair forward with an immense amount of anticipation building in his chest; he wasn’t sure earlier if this would take more convincing, but he’s grateful it didn’t.

“That’s really all?” Your brows crease while propping yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him inquisitively.

Your confusion makes him chuckle. For someone so good with words any other time, he surely has some trouble expressing himself well when it comes to you most times. Today, though, he decides to let his desires spill freely. He gets ahead of himself and licks a warm strip up your panties, briefly tasting the arousal that’s creating such a big wet spot in the seat of the garment.

“I don’t think you understand ____,” Yunho begins, voice low as he pulls your panties down your legs. The rise and fall of his chest quickens with excitement once you’re bare and spread open by his hands. “Fuck, I’ve been dreaming about doing this again for the longest time.”

“Eating my pussy?” He nods hastily, pressing searing kisses onto the insides of your thighs. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

He sighs when you run your hand through his hair, coy eyes gazing up at you from between your thighs, “I didn’t want to be too forward about it. How do I properly beg you to suffocate me?”

“Just like that,” you laugh, but that’s cut abruptly by him roughly yanking you by your thighs closer to his face. As much as he’d love to entertain the rest of this conversation, he’s too impatient when you’re laid out in front of him like this, all wet and ready for his mouth. He flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks another long stripe upward, the initial taste making him sigh. The breathy moan you let fly at the brief contact makes his dick twitch in his pants.

“Been touching myself to the thought of these thighs around my head,” he admits, repeating the action but putting a little extra attention on your clit, “I was so hard today that I couldn't even stand up during my last lecture. You did that.”

You would crack a teasing joke about Wooyoung having to do his job for him, but any words lingering in your head are stolen the moment Yunho buries his face in your cunt, nose prodding at your clit. He licks and laps messily at your heat like some famished gentlemen consuming a meal for the first time in days. The obscenities that spill from your lips amongst cute, helpless whines only make him nod his head. He wants you to learn—good and well—that this is something he’s self-admittedly very talented at and always ready to do if you ever find it within yourself to ask him. If you didn’t learn that the first time he briefly ate you out, you sure were going to learn now. Yunho’s tongue finds itself buried as far as he can manage in your hole, pushing in and out and savoring the way you taste.

Your hands fly to your mouth because, even if Yunho is sure that you both are alone, you still don’t want the sound of you falling apart on his tongue seeping through the door with the way you’re progressively getting louder. He doesn’t mind you suppressing yourself, he’s set on filling the silence himself. The sounds of him slurping and sucking and kissing are so loud when bouncing against the walls of his small office.

“I love the taste of you,” he groans against your heat, sending vibrations against your sensitive cunt. You gasp and go to close your legs, to move away instinctively, but Yunho is too quick. His fingertips dig deep into the meat of your thighs as he makes an effort to keep them open, refusing to let you squirm away. “Let me finish this time,” he says, voice stern and brows furrowed.

God, that commanding voice he rarely uses could make you cum on the spot. Embarrassment flushes your face when you feel a new wave of arousal from those words gush and drip down your skin. He’s not going to let any of that go to waste though, sparing no time getting back to his ministrations. You don’t even realize that after a while you’ve begun to grind yourself against his face. He feels like he’s in heaven, his hands pulling and encouraging your hips forward as if silently saying yeah, keep going, just like that.

When he feels your legs become more tense, he decides to thrust two fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt and latch his mouth onto your clit, set on abusing that spot inside of you that will finally give him exactly what he wants. He ignores the ache in his jaw because every yelp and whimper spilling from your lips spurs his endurance until he finally hears his favorite words.

“Y-Yu, m’gonna cum,” you sputter before he feels your thighs close in over his head. He doesn’t mind this time, this is right where he wants to be when you tip over anyway.

Yunho lets out one last groan of his own onto your clit before he feels your legs go rigid, a signal he knows well now. Your back arches off the desk and he indulges in the feeling of you bucking against his face. He swallows everything you have to give him, mouth open and jaw slack as you tremble through your orgasm. It takes you what feels like forever to let go of his head, not like he’s complaining. When your legs go limp, Yunho slumps back in the chair with a huff. He’d get lock-jaw multiple times a week eating you out if you let him. He supposes this is something he should suggest eventually.

“You’re so hot, it’s unbelievable,” he heaves, staring at the mess he’s made of your cunt. There’s slick and cum and spit and everything in between ruining his desk, but he can’t find it in himself to care about the cleanup right now. When you’re finally able to sit up and breathe properly, he grins at you with that messy mouth of his, “Thank you, seriously.”

“Let me give you head too,” you offer eagerly, though you’re not even sure your knees are strong enough for that right now. To your surprise, Yunho shakes his head. “Please, I want to reciprocate!”

“You don’t have to,” he replies instead, finally fully gaining his breath back. The pout prominent on your face could make him melt into a puddle, he feels so bad but…

“But you deserve to cum too—”

“I… did already, ____,” he divulges and bashfully covers his face before you can see his cheeks flush with heat. You slowly glance down at his crotch and your eyes go wide. Yunho has indeed cum completely untouched, right inside his pants, as evident from the large wet spot soaking through his brown slacks.

A man who loves eating pussy so much he gets off just from your pleasure…

You push his arm away from his face and pull him in by his cheeks for an endearing kiss, one that you hope shows your appreciation and adoration.

“I’ll take care of you another day,” you promise him against his lips upon breaking. Regardless of the embarrassment coursing through him at the moment, he nods in acceptance. Anxiously walking to his car with his briefcase pressed firmly against his crotch to hide the aftermath of committing various sins in his office after finishing his work for the day is not something he ever expected to do, but somehow it still feels gratifying all the same.

It’s around this week that Yunho begins to sit down and seriously start examining his feelings. A quiet night in his home where he’s alone leads him to decide to sort out the swarm of thoughts he’s been accumulating in his mind for the last couple of weeks.

There’s no doubt in his mind that you both share a connection he’s never experienced with another woman before. When this all first began, although he explicitly let you know that he genuinely likes you, he initially wondered if maybe that was coming from being so attention and touch-deprived for some time. That maybe he was latching onto something because you filled a void, a subconscious selfish attachment to you to satisfy the things he lacked. None of that ended up being true, not even close. You both had spent a considerable amount of time exploring this thing… he supposes that’s where the dilemma comes in. What is this “thing”? He knows things are complicated considering the circumstances; but, are you both technically dating, just without the official title until that resolves itself? You hadn’t necessarily made that clear. What if you found someone closer to your age who made you feel the same way as he did within that time? Someone who you could be normal with and not have to sneak around or hide to enjoy.

This is where his selfishness comes in.

He thinks about how he would indeed be jealous and perturbed if he even saw you with another man like that, even if it makes your life easier. He doesn’t want to even think about you giving another man the same heart palpitations or sweaty hands he gets when he’s around you. He doesn’t want anyone else on that campus to know what it feels like to kiss you. He doesn’t want anyone else to know how good and fulfilling it feels to be the object of your desires. It’s been nearly three months of dates, spending time together, and learning the ins and outs of each other (in all five senses and beyond). How could he not feel infuriated if that were to happen?

That’s when it clicks for Yunho: he’s fucking in love with you. The moment this loud thought crosses his mind, Yunho’s chest tightens in fear. The last time he thought he felt this way about a woman, she hurt him in a way that took him some lengthy time to heal from. And, as he always has to remind himself, you are not just some woman. You’re also his student. This isn’t as simple as unmatching someone on Tinder because things didn’t work out, or blocking someone after a heartbreak. Though, the more he thinks about that word — student — the more he realizes it doesn’t matter anymore. You are much more than that. And soon enough, that word would no longer be in your vocabulary anyway. The only thing he cares about now is that you end up his officially at the end of the day. He was going to do whatever he could to make the rest of your semester smooth and stress-free, so you both could be happy together when it’s over.

And, as if you know you’re being thought of, Yunho’s phone buzzes with a text from you asking if he’s asleep. He debates with himself about whether he should bite the bullet and ask if you can both talk about things in the near future, but he ultimately decides against it. For now, he’ll indulge in the way you call his phone before he can even type a response and tell him that you want to fall asleep to his voice.

Some days later, you find yourself knocking on Yunho’s office door in the early afternoon. Unlike some people, you wait until he answers with a confirmation to enter.

“Good afternoon,” he beams after realizing it’s you, wiping his hands clean with a napkin.

“Ah, I’m just in time,” you chirp with clasped hands when you spot his empty tupperware. “I was worried I was going to interrupt your eating.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered anyways, pretty. You’ve seen me eat many times.”

“You deserve to eat in peace at least once a day like everyone else,” you reason while sitting down across from him as usual, “I sprung this meeting on you last minute anyway.”

“Speaking of which, I’m still quite confused about why you wanted to come here for this,” he replies while spinning his chair from side to side, “I told you my home is always open for you, especially for things like this.”

“This” being discussing your final paper. The same thing that put you right into his lap in the first place.

“Just felt a little nostalgic I guess,” you grin, adding in a quieter voice, “And maybe a little jealous too.”

His brows furrow, “Jealous?”

His confusion is expected, as you’re sure he hasn’t paid attention to much of the interruptions you’ve experienced while with him the last few weeks on campus. It’s not simply Wooyoung either, but everyone who gets his attention on campus when you have to stay away for one reason or another. The way other women on campus look at him or speak to him, unaware that he’s already devoting his attention to you. It eats at you a bit sometimes.

Yunho may be greedy but you’re much greedier, as if that wasn’t evident enough by the things you did to attract him in the first place. Even then, he’s never failed to oblige any of your requests, whether that be with his endearment, his time, or his… assets. He deserves everything in the world, and you can’t wait to give that to him when the time arrives. For now, you’ll behave to the best of your abilities.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just rambling,” you deflect, “Seeing you in your element is just nice, that’s all.”

Yunho’s curious about what’s going on in your mind but he decides not to pursue further answers.

“So, what do I have the pleasure of helping you with today?”

The apples of his cheeks are even more prominent today as he smiles while asking this. You know he loves his job, but you’re sure he doesn’t get this much glee during office hours with anyone else.

“Last session at your house we talked about my analysis section and I remember you telling me that I was overthinking, but I’m still second-guessing myself on some of my points. I guess I just need to run some things by you to be one hundred percent sure I’m in a good direction.”

“You’re almost as bad as me,” he declares. As the self-proclaimed King of Overthinking, he’s the only person allowed to say such a thing to you. Still, it makes you pout.

“To be fair, we both know this is not my best subject, so this final might be more important to me than any of my others,” you confess. This is partially true; a small part of you wants to impress your handsome linguist by showing him a final product worth reading.

“You know I’d take care of things regardless, right? You don’t have to stress about that.”

“I appreciate that, but I want to earn this grade genuinely,” you clarify. He lets you know he understands, but you want some extra reassurance when you say, “Promise me you’ll grade me genuinely, okay?”

“I get it. I promise pretty lady,” he guarantees you with a soft, affectionate smile. “I know I tell you all the time in the most inappropriate scenarios… but I mean it when I say you’re a smart woman. I know you’ll do fine.”

If he could see you right now, Yeosang would surely be laughing at you for being such a lover-girl and telling you that you’re an absolute idiot for passing up an automatic A+ on your final, but you never genuinely pursued Yunho for that kind of leverage anyway, regardless of the initial jokes. This was something you genuinely hoped Yunho was aware of when it came to communicating your feelings.

As always, he takes all the time you need to help you with a list of things you want a second opinion on, sources you want to make sure are up to par, and everything in between. He thinks it’s cute when you pull out your little checklist named “Things To Ask Yu”, and diligently check each off as they’re completed.

A relieved sigh leaves your lips the moment you check off the final thing on the list. You both meet eyes for a brief moment, and the look donning his face is something oozing with pure adoration. You hold his gaze for what feels like forever before glancing at your watch. You’re making good time, it’s been almost an hour.

“When you look at me like that, it makes me want to throw away all my responsibilities and stay here all day,” you mumble.

He lets out an airy chuckle, “Am I keeping you from anything in particular?”

“I do have a class in about half an hour.”

He stretches his arms over his head with a grunt, “Sounds like we should end things for the day and meet here again in a couple of days then, Miss Nostalgia.”

“Well…” You trail off as you stand to your feet and make your way to the office door.

Yunho watches your fingers lock his door before you stroll back over to his side of the desk. Something stirs in his gut as he looks up into your eyes when you finally reach him, calculating the way you gaze back at him playfully. The small mischievous smirk playing on your lips… God, he just knows he’s in trouble. He turns his attention toward his laptop when you sit yourself on top of his desk right beside him.

“Well?”

“Remember how I said I would take care of you at another time?” The feeling of the edge of his desk sinking into your thighs elicits a soft sigh while you recount that day, as if him eating you out like a Christmas dinner wasn’t already ingrained into your mind. “This seems like a moment where that would be fitting.”

“Do you remember where we are?” He mimics your statement the last time you were both intimate in his office, in the same cadence and everything. His fingers delicately click at his mouse as he tries to think of anything else other than your thighs peeking out of that pleated skirt you’re wearing, directly next to his hand.

“If I remember correctly, that didn’t matter last time…”

“The circumstances were very different,” he immediately counters.

It’s true, to an extent; the timing was more on par for solitude. Regardless, he knows he sounds like the biggest hypocrite at the moment, even more evident by the roll of your eyes he catches out of the corner of his. He leans back in his chair and runs his hands through his hair. Sometimes he wishes he was more adventurous, less concerned about the consequences, and more accepting of the thrill of things. When he’s thinking of these things, it’s not even for his sake, but yours. He can’t handle the thought of you losing your degree due to his selfishness. And yet, he can’t help the arousal building from those thoughts about your mischievous side. You’re able to pull that side out of him so easily.

“And yet, you’re hard,” you say quietly when your eyes fall to his ever-so-inviting lap, a blithe little chuckle following. Subconsciously, he covers himself over his slacks. “Are you scared of getting caught even with the door locked?”

“____, it's 2 PM and we're in my office with many people passing by every minute. Not to mention my other students who could request me at literally any time,” he explains with a flustered smile, “This is immensely risky, you know that very well.”

“But–”

“You also know very well I’m extremely bad at being that quiet with you,” he interrupts your attempt to plead your case. Only then does he roll his head to the side and give you this look with low hooded eyes that finally make you glance away. His sentiments make goosebumps lace your skin because— fuck —yes you know he didn’t like being quiet. That was honestly an understatement. The heaving, moaning, and endless praise were only the start of what you could pull from the man during your escapades.

You ponder for a brief moment, contemplating just letting it go, but end up pursing your lips and resorting to those famous eyes you give Yeosang when you want something unattainable.

“Please Yu, just let me give you a good blowjob. It'll be quick and quiet, I promise.”

He just can’t say no when you look at him like that, so he sighs, “I guess…”

“I also have an idea.”

Yunho is not sure what he initially expected when those words came out of your mouth, but surely it didn’t include the way your hands slip under your skirt and tug your panties down your legs. He’s sure his entire face is a deep shade of scarlet when you hold them out for him. It doesn’t help that they're visibly wet.

“Maybe this can help you stay quiet, you know?” You suggest this while motioning to your face. He understands, of course, but he feels like this will just make things worse. So much worse. It’s confirmed when he feels his pants tighten from merely holding them in his hands. Still, he agrees and nervously pushes his chair back. After sinking under the desk, Yunho pulls his chair forward with enough room for you to sit on your knees comfortably. At least there was no way you would be seen if something strange were to arise.

Undoing his belt is one of your favorite parts, the anticipation visible in his ansty hands when he doesn’t know where to put them while you work it off. Your fingers tug lightly at his pants zipper before you dip your fingers past the hem of his waistband and pull them down quietly. He makes sure to lift his hips a little for you to slip them past just enough. You take one glance at his slightly flustered face before you pull his length from out the hole of his boxer briefs. It’s so hard that it hurts, leaking a copious amount of precum and making quite a mess.

“There are people outside the door,” he voices his nerves again at the last minute, peering at the shadows of feet passing the door, and then back down at you.

“Didn’t know you had such an exhibitionist kink then,” you poke fun at him in a whisper, noticing how much he’s twitching once the words leave his lips. A teasing laugh slips from your lips and he groans in frustration, his empty hand moving to cock to stroke himself lazily.

“I do not have an exhibitionist kink,” Yunho snaps back with a huff. His cheeks are so flushed with chagrin, and it amuses you because if he really was that scared, he’d simply tell you no. He’d turn you away with that stern voice he rarely uses and suggest a different place and time. But Yunho wants this as much as you want it, despite what his mouth may say in the meantime.

“Ready?” You remove his hand and let a long string of saliva fall from your tongue onto his tip, just enough for lubrication. Then, you place your hands around his shaft and start stroking him yourself, mixing the spit with his dribble of precum. “You seem pretty turned on by the idea of being caught, Yu.”

The endless string of soft gasps and strangled noises of air coming from him as you work your hands on him just the way he likes is enough to drive your pride up the wall. There was always something different about how you touched him that he’d never be able to fulfill himself. He’s indubitably addicted to you.

"Shit, ___–”

“Shhhh. Unless you’d prefer to get caught?” You quirk a brow curiously as you increase pressure on him so he can’t supply an answer. Instead, he kicks his head back and lets out a soft, satisfied moan that sounds similar to your name. You follow that with a tsk! and shake your head disapprovingly. “My mouth hasn’t even touched you and you’re already a mess.”

He lowers his eyes to meet yours with a pointed glare and a chill runs down your spine, “Taking your sweet time is not helping.”

You go to taunt him again but can't even finish the first word before his free hand rakes through your hair and pushes your open mouth down on his cock instead. Yunho twitches and throbs under you with a low, constricted grunt while you clutch his thighs with your nails. He’s in love with the way you look up at him so innocently, your plush lips wrapped around his length and tears prodding the corners of your eyes at the sudden intrusion. It amazes him how you’re still able to smile, eyes half-lidded as if he had just blessed your mouth.

“I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself… Can I?” He sighs out, implying letting him use your mouth as he sees fit.

The hum you release around his length and the way you relax your jaw confirm his request. Yunho holds you gently on either side of your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks tenderly before guiding you up and down his cock at a leisurely speed. Occasionally, he accidentally prods at the back of your throat and elicits a choked moan. He whispers his apologies each time even though he has nothing to be sorry about, but it’s just a habit. He winds his hand in your hair and pulls his cock out a bit to focus your mouth on his tip, bucking his hips in short, hasty thrusts and reveling in the way it draws sloppy noises from your mouth while you seal your lips around his tip to keep from making things too messy. The panties pressed to his face with his other hand aren’t doing much to repress those grunts that come from deep within his chest.

“Feels so good,” he pants softly from under the fabric, lips fixing to whimper, “Am I going too fast?”

You moan around his length once more, shaking your head and blinking away any remaining dampness from your lashes.

“If it’s ever too much, tell me to stop and I'll stop,” he insists affectionately, but those dark brown eyes are fixated on yours with blown-out irises and deep carnal cravings.

He can’t expect you to ever want him to stop when he looks like that, right? Of course not. You take everything he gives you like the good girl he already knows you are, the sounds of your squelchy throat filling the silence and bouncing off the walls of his office. As much as you try to keep things clean, you can’t help the flood of saliva dripping onto his underwear the faster he fucks into your mouth. You can tell his orgasm is growing closer and closer by the way his thighs start trembling.

And even though Yunho thinks he hears a sound closer to his office door than his comfort would allow, he continues his pace. Your eyes are closed, focused solely on breathing, so you aren’t aware of the way his attention is elsewhere. His eyes stayed trained on the silhouette of feet at the bottom of the door’s threshold, and there’s a fleeting thought of whether he should stop. That thought is overwritten with pure lust, spurred on by the way you reach up and begin to massage his balls the best you can from your position. Yunho bites down on your panties, muffling the whine bubbling from his chest. A moment later, your panties fall from his mouth and his hips lose all rhythm.

“Fuck ____– cumming,” he groans a little too loudly, but his head is somewhere deep in outer space, brain screaming at him for release, “Where?”

You open your mouth just the slightest bit wider to emphasize that you want him to cum down your throat. Yunho halts his hips altogether and you feel his cock throb in your mouth as he finally releases everything he has to offer. He’s no longer concerned with who may or may not be lurking at the door; the only thing he can focus on is the way you lock eyes with him while swallowing his essence and sucking him clean after the fact. Nothing else matters at this moment but you.

Friday’s class ends earlier than normal when Yunho gets through his lecture for the period faster than expected.

“I need you to help me dye my hair soon if you have some time,” Yeosang says the moment people begin to stand and leave. You glance over to find him grimacing while looking into the camera of his phone, “I think I need to go back to pink or something, the brown is just not doing it for me.”

“I knew it wouldn’t last long,” you snort while filling up your backpack, “You’re just not used to having natural colors anymore.”

“I can’t even argue with that, my love.”

You ruffle a hand through his tresses before he finally stands to his feet, and you follow suit. Then, you toss a couple of things around in your mind about your schedule as you both walk down the lecture hall stairs before suggesting, “Actually, you could come over tonight if you already have the supplies.”

“Fuck, you’re the best. I’ll bring dinner too?”

Before you can even answer, a voice calls your name and steals your attention. Surprisingly, it’s Wooyoung of all people approaching you both. You can’t even hide the disinterest you feel in acknowledging him, it’s written all over your face.

“Do you mind if I speak with you privately for a moment?” he inquires, motioning towards his chair.

Yeosang meets your eyes inquisitively before stepping away and telling you he’ll meet up with you later. The class has emptied when you both venture over to Wooyoung’s seat, and he begins searching through his bag for something in particular.

“Is there an issue with something I submitted?”

“Not necessarily,” he replies. “I suppose I just want some insight.”

He pulls out the notebook he uses for tracking grades in this class and places it on the table. People always find it a bit weird that he prefers to do things by hand first before electronically and, sure it might be more work than necessary, but he prefers to have both methods.

“I’m a pretty meticulous person, ____. I noticed that there’s a discrepancy in the grades for last week’s short essay assignment,” Wooyoung begins in a honeyed voice, “Though, the only discrepancy was on yours.”

“I’m not sure why you’re coming to me about this when Mr. Jeong handles things like this,” you respond indifferently. “I would ask him about the mistake.”

Wooyoung smiles and leans forward on his elbows, “That’s the funny thing, I did. He told me that he had made the change himself and not to worry about it. No other explanations.”

“Well again, he’s the teacher, so it sounds pretty open and shut then.”

“It’s never that simple, ____. I looked back and noticed this has happened a few times throughout the last month, actually.”

“If you’re just going to keep badgering me about grade changes I have nothing to do with then I’m gonna end this conversation here.” To be honest with yourself, there’s a part of you deep down that’s cursing profusely at Yunho for messing with your grades, and so openly at that. This is something you had explicitly made clear you didn’t need or want, but he had done it anyway. This is something you would have to chastise him about later in a very serious conversation. That’s the only concern on your mind as you start taking steps toward the doors and wave with a flick of your wrist, “Anyways, I’ve gotta go. I have other obligations for the day.”

“You mean like sucking off your teacher again?”

You cease all movement and turn back towards him, “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, that came out a little blunt, didn’t it?” He holds his hands up in remission. “It’s just not hard to put two and two together when your ear is pressed to a door and all you hear is choking, you know?”

“I have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about, but I’m offended you think I’d need that to pass a class anyway,” you reply indignantly. Still, there’s this slight feeling of panic pooling in your stomach.

Wooyoung gives you a knowing look, “You’re going to play stupid, really?”

“Look, I really don’t have the time for this—”

“I suppose we could ask the Dean what she thinks about things then? He said your name quite a few times, luckily,” Wooyoung interrupts you and suggests instead. His eyes flicker down to his phone and a pure look of fear at the thought that he possibly has a recording of you and Yunho’s depravity slates your face. “Oh, that got your attention.”

His laugh that follows that statement hits you right in your gut.

“My God, you’re an absolute asshole,” you seethe, but stop yourself before you can say anything worse. You’re well aware that being mean won’t get you on his good side. Instead, you calm yourself and rub your temples before asking, “What do you want to keep quiet, money? I don’t have much to offer but I can figure something out.”

“Listen, ____,” he says as he leans back in his chair and clasps his hands together, “I have a simple proposition that could make all of this just disappear.”

“Spit it out already then.”

“I want you to pretend we’re together for a little bit, publicly. Just enough time to make my ex want me back. Then, we can call it quits and go about our lives as if none of this happened.”

You can’t help the scoff that comes out of you, “You want me to fake date you to make your ex jealous, or else you’re going to essentially ruin my life. Is that what I’m hearing?”

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound evil,” Wooyoung points out with a hefty sigh. He slumps in his seat, “I’m not an evil guy, I would just like some help. That’s all. And you’re just not really in a position to say no, unlike others I’ve asked.”

“There’s a reason why those people said no, obviously,” you retort bitterly. He lets your sharp words roll off his back and simply smiles; there’s nothing you could say that would help your position and he knows this. It’s mid-November and graduation is in approximately a month. Surely it shouldn’t take that long for this plan of Wooyoung’s to finish, he knows this. The thought of it going on longer than necessary makes you feel physically ill though. Not to mention what Yunho would think about you having to interact with Wooyoung intimately.

“I want to make something clear as well,” he begins as if he’s forgotten this himself, “You cannot tell any of this to Mr. Jeong either. I don’t want my money for my assistant position to be compromised, obviously.”

Your brain begins to short-circuit at the thought of having to date Wooyoung openly without Yunho being aware it’s fake. The logistics in itself would cause you immense stress that you surely don’t need while closing out the end of your semester. You should very well be focusing on graduating and nothing more. Nonetheless, the last thing you want is for Yunho to lose his job because you couldn’t keep your mouth to yourself when he was already concerned about being caught that day. You don’t even care about the consequences for yourself, you’d feel immense guilt forever for ruining Yunho’s career and reputation. But, if Yunho heard that you were dating his TA, he’d surely break things off with you anyway. That thought scared you even more.

“So, would you like to exchange numbers?”

Halting your panic-stricken daze is Wooyoung’s hand surrendering his phone to you, a blank contact screen ever-so-inviting. You feel defeated, and you know this is going to end up turning out poorly, but you just can’t risk Yunho losing his job over you. When your anxious fingers snatch his phone and begin typing your information, Wooyoung sighs in contentment.

♡ taglist: @yeos-bunny @sharksandminhos @sannieluvrr @txt-yaomi @thisisntmyrightera @oreoqueen @jadeneliz @atinism @uarmytess @nopension @aaaaajonghooooo @tmtxtf @ateezallday @bloomyroses @shingene @likexaxdaydream @innsomniacshinestar @st4rhwa @eixila @sunflower-png @jadeneliz @witchlaughwoo @ashlurrr @justthattheatregirl @bts-army380

I apologize if I missed anyone! Thank you for reading ◡̈

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five-rivers · 2 years

Text

Life’s Great Lie 3

Normally, Tony would have blown off Fury's "briefing."

After years of being Iron Man, he had a system. He knew how to track stuff. Weapons, combatants, refugees, radiation, snowstorms, you name it, he could find it. None of his current tools were built or calibrated for what the tesseract gave off, but with Dr. Banner's papers, he could fix that within a week.

He didn't have anything personal against ol' stars and stripes, and he was a fan of Dr. Banner's work. His issue was with SHIELD. More specifically, it was with blindly trusting a mysterious shadow government.

He'd been burned badly enough trusting his own company. His desire to play that game again for infinitely higher stakes was just about nil, and since Fury and Romanoff's opening moves boiled down to lying to him about everything, he had a pretty good idea what would happen if he did.

But these weren't normal circumstances.

He landed on the deck of SHIELD’s major budget expense (seriously, where did they get the money for this? Tony knew how much cutting-edge technology cost. He was cutting-edge technology) with a metallic clang. Let a bunch of Fury’s goons pick him up in a small, military vehicle? Where he’d ride in the back? And some nerd would probably ask for his photo and throw up a peace sign? Haha. Yeah. No.

“Dr. Banner!” he called, stepping out of his armor and cuing it to retract into its briefcase form. “It’s great to meet you.” He closed the distance. “Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. Also, I’m a huge fan of how you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

Tony glanced at the other man. “Captain.”

The one and only Captain America crossed his arms. “Stark. Fury didn’t tell me he was calling you in.”

“Yeah, that’s about par for the course for these guys.”

“No hello for me?” asked the massive pain in Tony’s neck.

“I save my greetings for people I actually want to see.”

Romanoff rolled her eyes. “Well, then. Gentlemen, you might want to step inside, it’s going to get a little hard to breathe. Tony, feel free to stay.”

Rodgers peered over the side, at the ocean. “What, is this a submarine?”

“Nope,” said Tony.

“Then what would it—Oh, no,” said Banner. They steadied themselves as the helicarrier lifted from the water. “This is much worse than a submarine.”

“You’ve got to love the safety procedures, too,” said Tony, cheerfully. “Not even a takeoff alarm, huh?”

Sadly, Tony didn’t get much time to bond with Dr. Banner (short, smart people had to stick together) before he was whisked away to the lab. At this, he was again tempted to ditch Fury. He was confident his help would make the search go faster, even if most of his help would be from the engineering and programming side of things, Banner really was brilliant, and Tony’s late-night reading could only do so much—

Point being, Tony didn’t ditch.

“So, hit us with it, Fury,” he said, throwing himself into the nearest spinny chair. Given that this was also the chair at the head of the table, it might have been meant for Fury, but Tony didn’t really care.

“Please,” said Fury, voice dripping with sarcasm, “take a seat.” He picked a remote up off the table. “Two days ago, a SHIELD research facility was attacked by this man.” A picture of a black-haired man appeared on the screen. “Goes by the name of Loki.”

“Wait,” said Rodgers, “man? Singular? Is he enhanced?”

“Yes to the singular,” said Fury. “No to the enhancement. He’s an alien.”

“What, like from space? Or from Mexico? Because I never bought into the whole—”

Fury sighed. “Yes, like from space. He also attacked a small town in New Mexico two years ago.”

“Sweet. And what did he want?”

“The Tesseract.” Fury flicked to the next slide of the screen to show a glowing blue cube. “It’s also how he reached the facility. The Tesseract is—”

“A door to the other side of space, yeah, yeah, been there, heard that,” said Tony. “I’m sure capsicle here knows all about it.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” said Rodgers, “but I’m not surprised the weapon of mass destruction cube is of interest to an evil alien.”

“Oh,” said Tony, “he has a sense of humor.”

“Boys,” said Romanoff.

“Dr. Banner is working on finding the Tesseract,” said Fury. “The problem is what to do when we find it. Along with the cube, Loki took several of our people.” The screen flicked to several portraits. “He seems to have some kind of mind control capability related to his main weapon, which can also produce several other effects.” A small video clip of the black-haired man blasting things with energy played. “Using this, he—”

“Wait,” said Rodgers, “was that a child on the last screen?”

“Sure was, boy scout,” said Tony. “Daniel Fenton, right? Listed as being taken right next to Selvig, Barton, and all your super spy guys in that packet. Only one of them with a social media presence. Real easy to look up, right next to his ghost hunter parents. You want to tell us about him?”

“Just to clarify,” said Rodgers, leaning forward. “This is an actual minor we’re talking about. He doesn’t just look like a kid?”

Tony turned. “Really?”

“Look, the future is weird. I don’t know what to expect.”

“The Fentons,” said Fury, “were brought in as consultants. They have experience with interdimensional portals. Daniel Fenton in particular has experience with portal travel.” He flicked rapidly through several slides until he landed on one that showed pictures of Daniel Fenton alongside a figure with white hair. “He is also enhanced. Lab accident, like Dr. Banner.” He went to the next slide, which started playing videos of the boy wielding green energy against various monstrous creatures. “Although he has taken some effort to conceal his abilities from others, including his parents. We took that into account when we brought him in to consult.”

“Why did you bring him in to consult?” asked Tony. “You expecting him to fight things for you?”

“We brought him in,” said Fury, tensely, “because the Tesseract was behaving oddly. We had no—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Tony, raising both hands, “you’re telling us that when you invited the twelve-year-old—”

“He’s fifteen,” corrected Fury.

“—the prepubescent interdimensional portal expert to your super-duper top secret interdimensional space portal lab to ‘consult’ with you on your malfunctioning interdimensional space portal, you had no idea that the space portal was going to act like a space portal.” Tony spread his arms in a dramatic shrug. “I’m not going to lie and say I’d never get a kid involved in my nonsense, I’m irresponsible like that, but at least I wouldn’t pretend I didn’t know what I was doing. Just saying.”

“You’re just upset that he was called in to consult before you,” said Romanoff.

“You’re missing the important part of this,” said Fury. “The boy’s powers—”

“Actually,” said Rodgers, pointing across the table, “I’m with Stark on this one.”

“Oh,” said Tony, spinning his chair, “that’s nice. Is this bonding? Are we bonding?”

“Are you done?” snapped Fury. “Daniel Fenton is a living weapon of mass destruction. That’s before getting into Barton’s skill set and Loki’s apparent capabilities. We’re unsure if Loki knows what he has. From his actions at the facility, he seems to have been after the Tesseract. But Fenton’s presence changes things.”

“My God, you’re really hollow under there, aren’t you? No remorse about getting a child kidnapped? Just ‘oh no, he’s a national security threat.’” He spun his chair to face Romanoff and Rodgers. “Who wants to be that when he says they took the kid’s secrets into account, he actually means blackmail? Do his parents know what happened to him?”

“The Fentons have provided us with several weapon prototypes and capture devices intended to be used on the extradimensional entities they refer to as ghosts. These devices should work on Daniel Fenton as well. Don’t,” said Fury, cutting off Tony, “underestimate him because of his age.”

There was a small beep. “Director Fury, sir, the Fentons say they’ve recorded a blip. It’s in Germany.”

“Well, gentlemen. I think it’s time for you to suit up.”

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2022 #dannymay 2022 day 21: hollow #dp/marvel #op!danny x marvel

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artigas · 1 year

Note

HI I AM SO FUCKING OBSESSED BY YOUR FIC STRIKING THE MATCH!!!!! I literally finished Midnight Mass this afternoon and was going insane over the fact John and Hassan literally speak once in the whole show. There isn't that much fics about this ship out there, so your fic was a very good surprise!!!! It gave me brainrot...

haha, omg, thank you!! I'm so, so, so glad that you found that fic entertaining -- listen!! listen!! yes I know they only speak once in the entire damn show, I know it and it haunts me!

(punches the air)

The fic I wrote is pure self-indulgence, but after I watched the show, I just couldn't shake off the parallels between them. They're foil characters. They have so much in common, yet they couldn't be more different if they tried. Yes, of course, the differences are quite obvious -- John is Terminally Catholic and Hassan is the only muslim in town. But they're both men who are defined almost entirely by their devotion to faith and family. They're both fathers of a single child. They're both committed to the mothers of their children in these huge, life-defining ways. They're both desperate to connect with and love their children, but they’re both grappling with the threat of complete estrangement from them -- Sarah because she doesn't know the truth of her parentage, Ali because he's being whisked away into the town fanaticism. They're both working in institutions that are absolutely evil as a whole lmao

And yet they go in completely opposite directions!!

Hassan is all about dignity, all about accepting the past and letting it guide him to a future that honors what he's lost. John, on the other hand, is so stuck in the past that he will literally massacre an entire town for another shot at what time stole from him.

What would've happened if that had been put in conversation?? What could the show have looked like if good ol' mike had put them in direct odds with each other? Yes, Riley is a great foil to John because he's an atheist -- but man oh man, there's so much being done with Hassan as a foil and nothing came out of it onscreen!! religion versus genuine faith! selfishness versus selflessness! a man who is willing to burn the world down for his daughter, a man who is willing to run into a burning building for his son! I am haunted! The potential!!

. . . Oops, you got me monologuing ♡

I'm so grateful you read the fic and liked it -- you don't know much it means to me that you read it but also that you took time out of your busy day to tell me you liked it! what a gift, for a rinky dink lil writer like me!

#personal #midnight mass #also i know that man is out here so please my god i know i dont have to say this but lord i pray he never finds this #sheriff hassan #father paul #striking the match

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kermitscavern · 10 months

Text

Alley Cats Cont'd

in which Steve is an annoying little matchmaker, but a damn good wingman

Find it on AO3!

Chrissy couldn’t have been more relieved when the bell for lunch rang. She didn’t think she’d survive another minute of statistics. She packed up as quickly as she could, Ms. Leslie continuing shrilly about the homework as people fled the classroom. She chirped a quick “thank you, Ms. L!” as she made her own escape, because really, people didn’t appreciate their teachers enough.

She greeted Robin and Dustin as she sat down at what the Party had commandeered as “their” table, frowning at the empty place in front of Robin. “Are you going to grab something to eat, Rob?” She asked, picking at her own soggy burger bun. “I know the school lunch is pretty gross, but you’ll want your strength to get through American Lit.”

Robin shook her head. “Don’t worry, Steve’s bringing me something.”

“Steve? But h-“

“Hey Robin! Chrissy, Henderson.” Steve greeted in turn, plopping a brown paper bag in front of Robin as he sat down on her other side. “How’s it hangin’?”

“Steve! What are you doing here? You graduated?” Chrissy asked, leaning over to talk to him.

“Yeah, but I bring Robin lunch sometimes. Besides, sometimes it’s nice to come back to the ole stomping ground, y’know?” He explained with an easy smile, laughing as Dustin slapped his hand away from where he was trying to steal a fry.

“You miss this hellhole? Yeah, right.” Robin snorted, rifling through the bagged lunch. “No pudding cup? Really, Steve?”

“How about, ‘Oh, thank you Steve! Thank you for taking time out of your day to make me a turkey sandwich and bring it to school for me, Steve! I appreciate you, Steve!”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I appreciate you, dingus.” She said, unwrapping her sandwich and stuffing an impressive third in her mouth.

Chrissy, still confused, but resolving to sit with the Party more, began to eat her own lunch as Dustin and Steve struck up a conversation around her. She jumped when Max slammed her lunch tray down, but when she looked up to say hello to her and Lucas, froze dead in her tracks. There, across the lunch room, she spotted Eddie laughing with Will and Mike as they headed over to the table. She ducked her head and went back to resolutely stuffing fries in her mouth, not making eye contact as she felt the blush creep up her neck.

“Harrington! To what do we owe the pleasure?” She heard Eddie proclaim, heard the screech of his chair as he reclaimed his seat at the head of the table.

She finally looked up and over at Steve as he snorted, leaning over the table and raising his voice to catch the group’s attention. “Well…” he began, the rest of the side conversation around the table petering out as everyone looked at him. “It’s Friday. Which is—shut it, Henderson—bowling night!”

Robin whooped, clapping her hands, as the freshmen collectively groaned. As she scanned the table, everyone seemed to know what Steve was talking about. Chrissy was almost relieved to see Eddie looking just as confused as her.

“Usually I just show up at their doors to whisk them away to Alley Cat’s, but seeing as you’re here and I came by to drop off Robin’s lunch anyway, I’d like to formally invite you to bowling night.” Steve grinned. “And you too, Cunningham. If you’re interested.” She could have sworn his eyes flicked to Eddie before returning to hers with a wink.

“Yeah!” Chrissy squeaked. “Sounds fun!” She had never been bowling in her life, but what was the harm, right?

Eddie sounded like he choked. “Actually, I think I have plans-“ it sounded strained, even to her.

“Oh yeah? What?” Steve challenged.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Jonathan and his buddy… were gonna come by… partake in some devi-“

“Nope!” Steve interrupted. “Jonathan and Argyle are coming to bowling night. Just caught them in the hall. You should come too.” The look in his eye was bordering on maniacal.

Eddie gulped. “Yeah. Okay. Must’ve gotten the days mixed up…” he chuckled awkwardly. “…I’ll be there.”

“Yeah, you must’ve… meet us in the parking lot after school.” Judging by the look on everyone else’s faces, they had no idea why Steve was being so downright conniving. Chrissy was just grateful, if a little infuriated, by his matchmaking.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #st fic #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #Kermits creations #ao3 #stobin #they're so codependent I love it #also I liiiive for Eddie/Johnathan/argyle scenes they're such a great combo I need mOAR

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queen-of-the-boos · 3 months

Note

GHOST AMBASSADOR MARY IS HERE FOR THE TAKEOVER!!! HOIIII!!!!!!! (Please go easy on lil ol me XD)

To Pearl!! HI!!! YOU ARE VERY COOL!! AND AMAZING!!!!!!!!! Have you ever thought about composing a song for Aori?? How did it go if you did?? And if not…are you planning to…?? O^O

To King Boo…CONGRATS ON BEING THE THE INSPIRATION FOR QUEENIE’S MANY OTHER LOVED ONES!!!! You treated her good enough for it,so I haves to at least thanks you for that!! Congrats!! You are a very lucky ghost king!!!

…You best be treating her like the queen she is every heckin day,okie?? °v° <- (Attempt at blank looking,”creepy” face…will it work on him?? Who knows!! XD)

Also while we’re here… *Hands over a banette* This bingus got lost on his way here!!! He followed me!!! I think he wanted to come over here,but I’m not sure…he wants to stay by me all day tho!! Maybe if he sees Queenie…I mean Aori!! I MEAN-!! I dunno if you’re okay with the different names she goes by in each universe she’s in!! XD

Hey YO! MC WHIMSY ON THE MIC! Question for me? NOW we're talkin'!

OOOH a good question too. Yeah, I've kinda done that. Wouldja count me secretly writing lyrics about her into some Off The Hook songs? That counts, right? Like in Into The Light, I said her real life nickname in that one. Hard to spot, but that's cause it's only for her to notice!

...Oh right. You got a question for the big cheese too, huh? Hol' up.

AYO MARSHMALLOW!!!

I TOLD YOU NEVER TO CALL ME THAT-

....Oh, it's you. Hello, Ambassador. My Queen has persuaded me to be a bit nicer to you. I'll try.

Now that the sentient shortcake has had her turn, it's back to me now- And you're...congratulating me? I suppose congratulations are in order for such a feat! Eeeheehee! I'll find my Queen in every universe, that's a promise.

I am extraordinarily lucky...

...

What's with the face? Are we having a staring contest? Hoo-hoo! You're either awfully brave or awfully stupid to challenge the likes of me to such a frivolous game! I'll win!

READY SET GO.

Hi everybody! I'm back from the clown convention-

BANETTE?!

MY BANETTE NOW. KING SWEETIE WE HAVE A NEW SON.

MY PRECIOUS BANSHEE BLOSSOM! YOU'RE BACK! WELCOME HOME WE'VE ALL MISSED YOU TERRIBLY!

New son? Another one? He is a ghost, so I suppose naturally yes.

NOW COME LET ME WHISK YOU AWAY!

Different universes? Say WHAT? I am not pickin' up whatever y'all are puttin' down.

....HEY DID HE JUST CALL ME SHORTCAKE?

#for anyone scrolling thru the tags yes this is self insert content and i am silly keel going #THAT CONCLUDES THE TAKEOVER #What a fun ask though 💕#royal phantoms #strawberry sodapop🍾

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

( another gif by @unearthlydust from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

( PREVIOUS | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky x reader

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joontopia · 3 years

Text

Forget Me Not | KNJ Oneshot

pairing: kim namjoon x female reader

genre: smut, slight angst, dashes of fluff, basically porn with a dollop of plot

au: exes to lovers, valentine’s day

rating: explicit, nsfw, 18+

word count: 20.3K

warnings: slight angst, assumed cheating, cursing, alcohol consumption, dry humping, some heavy petting, heated make out sessions, daddy kink, slightly bratty reader, dom namjoon, pet names, dirty name calling, slight degradation, cocksleeve kink, use of sex toys (vibrator), unprotected sex, condom got lost in the mail, cumshot, creampie, oral sex (m & f), blowjob, throat fucking, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, clit slapping, spit play, namjoon got a big ol’ cock, nipple biting, marking, biting, overstimulation, orgasm denial, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, wall sex, some gentle choking

banner made by: @kimtaehyunq

a/n: My day for posting has finally come! This fic is twice as long as I thought it was going to be. Big, big hugs and smooches to Maggie and Tina for beta and editing this beast at the last minute for me. You two are a lifesaver and I love yall so much. And thank you again, Maggie, for recruiting me to be a part of this valentine’s day collab! I had such a great time!

Beta readers: @kimtaehyunq @escapingreality4now

This is a part of the Be My Bangtanvine Collab - go check out the other fantastic writers and their stories!

“So what’s your name, anyway?” The once cute, bleach blonde male asks you as he leans in closer, his breath reeking of the IPA he is nursing. You lean away from him in your seat at the bar, rolling your eyes as you grab your drink. “What does it matter?” you say taking a big sip. “You’re not going to remember it anyways.”

“What makes you say that?” He slurs, leaning even closer to you. His eyes half closed from drunkenness and a lazy smile on his face. You push him away from you gently, a soft huff coming from his mouth as his back hits the bar.

“Because I’ve told it to you four times already?” Your tone doesn’t match the smile you give him as he lets out a laugh. You take another sip from your drink, your eyes roaming around the bar again looking for your best friend, Tina. She invited you out tonight, with the promise of some much needed girl time. Guilt tripped you with the fact that she hasn’t spent much time with you outside of work or your apartment after your breakup six months ago. You were four episodes deep into a new TV show when she came barreling through your door, taking full advantage of the spare key you had given her weeks earlier for ‘emergencies only.’ She dragged you off the couch, going on and on about how “Enough is enough. You need to get out and be around people. Not sitting here moping over some stupid guy.”

Hauling you into your bedroom, she dolls you up in the black, sparkly bodycon dress you bought for your anniversary dinner with your ex but never got to wear. Promised that tonight was just going to be you two girls. No boys allowed. No worries of running into a certain someone because “it’s not like he ever had the time for things like this anyways.” It didn’t take long until she was whisked off to the dance floor by some silver-haired beautiful man with the plushest lips you have ever seen. You willingly let him sweep her away. You didn’t have the heart to say no, not with the absolute lovestruck look in Tina’s eyes.

Unfortunately, it left you alone at a crowded bar top, susceptible to being bothered by drunken bar patrons looking for an easy score. You first didn’t mind when this one came up to you. He seemed charming, up until the point he was asking for your name thrice in five minutes. Your nose crinkles as he leans back in again, placing a hand on your shoulder to balance himself as he almost stumbles forward on to you. “Come on, tell me your name. I promise I’ll remember it this time.”

Rolling your eyes, you finish your drink, readying yourself for the long back and forth once you tell him you’re not interested. You place your empty glass on the bar top and brush his hand off your shoulder. Your eyes widen as you see your drunk intruder start falling forward from his loss of balance, only then realizing you should’ve made sure you had supported his hand on something else. You brace for impact, eyes closing shut while your arms are out in front of you as you wait for him to come crashing down. Hoping you’d be able to push him off of you in time before he takes you crashing to the floor with him. But the body weight never comes, only replaced with a deep, honey rich voice that you haven’t heard in months causing your eyes to snap open. There the owner of the voice stood, his arm out in between you and your drunken company, pushing the latter back towards the bar top and away from you. “N-Namjoon?” you sputter, completely caught off guard to see your ex-boyfriend standing beside you.

“Excuse me, but I think it’s about time you left her alone,” Namjoon says, his eyes narrowing at the drunken gentleman as the sides of his mouth turn up into a tight, polite smile. He feels taller than what you remember, towering over the other bar patron by almost half a foot.

The drunken man looks between you and Namjoon, puffing his chest as he crosses his arm, trying to make himself seem taller than he really is. “Chill, dude. We’re just talking, having a good time. What are you? Her boyfriend or something?”

You shift in your seat just slightly, Namjoon noticing out of the corner of his eye as he clears his throat, moving to place his hand on the back of your chair. “Or something…” he says, his cheeks rosy-ing just a bit as he side-eyes you again, waiting to see if you were going to interject. You stay quiet, looking at him with wide eyes as you’re still trying to process the fact that he’s here in this bar with you. What is he doing here?

He takes your silence as permission to continue, turning his full attention back to the other man. “Thank you for keeping my friend company while I was away. Now if you excuse us, we’re going to try and enjoy the rest of our night.”

The drunken man hardens his gaze at Namjoon for a moment, slightly swaying back and forth and you wonder if he’s about to lose his balance again. He breathes out, rolling his eyes as he scoffs at Namjoon, turning to walk away from the bar. “Whatever man,” he mutters, walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

“Everything okay, Joon?” The bartender asks, having walked up shortly after the drunken man took his leave.

“Yeah, man. All cool. Can you get us another round?” The Bartender nods, turning to start a new round of drinks for the two of you. As soon as he walks away, Namjoon turns to you, his cheeks rosy-ing once again as he lifts one of his hands, scratching the back of his head. “Uh, hey Y/N. Interesting running in to you here.”

“What are you doing, Namjoon?” You feel your face warm up with annoyance. Never once in the year that you were together did he ever come out to a bar with you. Always too busy with work to make it out with you and your friends. But now here he is, in front of you being treated as if he’s come here his whole life.

He chuckles nervously, his feet shuffling just a bit as he clears his throat. “What do you mean?” His seemingly innocent question makes your annoyance and frustration grow even more, and you try hard to hold back the bite in your tone.

“What are you doing? Here, just now. You hate bars.”

“I don’t hate bars. I just never had the time for them.” His voice trails off at the end, the ghost of arguments past flashing before his eyes.

You scoff at him, rolling your eyes as you cock your head to the side. “Oh, what? And you do now? Work finally not keeping you so busy anymore?” The resentment dripping from your tone makes Namjoon squirm just a bit in his spot. You’d feel good about it, knowing how uncomfortable he was feeling right now, if it wasn’t for the little fact that he just saved you from a potentially embarrassing incident. You briefly scold yourself, telling yourself to at least show him some level of gratitude before biting his head off again.

“Sorry, that was rude--” You’re interrupted by the return of the bartender with your drinks, placing them on the bartop as Namjoon turns to grab them. You take the brief break in his attention as a chance to calm and compose yourself. Knowing his sudden appearance didn’t allow you to react the way you wanted to after seeing him again for the first time in months. You let out a sigh, letting your shoulders deflate just slightly, taking you out of your defensive mood. You allow yourself to take a better look at Namjoon, trailing your eyes from the floor up to his face. You can’t help but notice how good he looks. He looks like he just came from a work meeting, wearing dark grey slacks and a whilte long-sleeve button up. The form fitting sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, showing off the toneness of them. “Has he been working out?” you think to yourself. You look back up at his face, his dark brown hair pushed back out of it, giving you a nice view of his jawline as he’s turning back around from grabbing your drinks.

He holds out the drink to you, your eyes now on his hand as it’s holding the glass in front of you. The way his long fingers are wrapping around the glass stirs something inside your groin. Memories from long-heated nights of the two of you together coming forth in your mind. Memories of the very same hand creeping up your body and wrapping firmly around your -- “Y/N?”

Namjoon eyes you curiously, an eyebrow quickly shooting up as he looks at you and you hope he’s not able to easily read your face to know what you’re thinking about. “Jesus, Y/N. Calm yourself,” you think to yourself as you mentally facepalm.

You clear your throat, your cheeks warming as you grab the drink from his hand and take a sip. “Thanks,” you mutter, clearing your throat again as you regain your composure. “And thank you for a minute ago. I didn’t think I was ever going to get rid of that guy.” You both chuckle. Namjoon’s dimples poking out as he smiles, nodding his head as he murmurs a “you’re welcome.” Your eyes flicker to his cheeks, a ghost of a smile on your lips as you take in the sight of his adorable features. You feel a flutter in your stomach, realizing how much you missed just being able to look at him.

“So…” you start, pushing your hair behind your ear. “What are you doing here?” you ask him curiosity sinking back in as the possible reasons start popping up in your mind. Is it work related? Did he quit? Or get fired? Does he actually have time to go out now? Oh God, is he here to meet another girl?

“Actually, I’m kinda here because of work,” he says, taking a drink of his beer.

“Of course he is,” you think, your eyes rolling involuntarily, causing Namjoon to jump quickly into further explanation.

“I’m out with a few people from work,” he spits out quickly, a nervous chuckle slipping past his lips at the end. “A couple of the guys asked if I wanted to go out with them a couple of weeks back and I thought it would be a nice change. That’s actually one of them over there, dancing with your friend.” He nods towards the dance floor and you turn just in time to see the silver haired dreamboat locking lips with your best friend. You turn back towards Namjoon as he continues, “I knew you liked going to places like this. Just wanted to see what I was missing.”

You hum in response, taking a sip from your drink as you look at him. He’s staring right at you, eyes meeting yours as they glint with a deeper meaning. Could it be that he’s been just as miserable these last few months as you? “And how has that been going?” you ask him.

“Turns out what I’ve been missing is you.” You smile wide at his words, cheeks warming up as you look away. He looks down as you both let out a little laugh.

“Well,” you say as you cross your legs in your chair, your foot now grazing the inside of his thigh. “Here I am.”

Namjoon’s eyes flicker down to your foot, his eyes trailing up your leg and growing wide as if he’s finally taking in the form fitting dress that you’re wearing. “Here you are,” he says with a smirk. “You look amazing.”

You’re not sure how it happened exactly. The events leading up to right now, how you agreed to meet Namjoon for brunch the night after seeing him again for the first time. The multiple drinks and shots you took with him more than likely the sole perpetrator.

One minute you’re still at the bar, drinking and laughing with your ex-boyfriend. Catching up on the last few months spent apart. Next thing you know, you’re thrown up against the brick wall in the back alley behind the bar. Namjoon’s one hand on your ass as the other has both your wrists secured above your head. Your own legs wrapped tightly around his waist to help keep you from falling. The rough bricks scratch at your exposed skin, but you hardly notice, your attention stolen by Namjoon’s tongue down your throat. The definite bulge in his pants grinding against your core takes any feeling of discomfort away. You don’t remember how long you two were like that when Namjoon pulls his lips away from tours, allowing the two of you to catch a much needed breath.

After the burning in your lungs starts to subside, you lean in towards him, trying to capture his lips into another kiss, only for him to pull away again. A little pout forming on your face, causing him to chuckle.

“Wait, wait,” he says, his chest still expanding rapidly from his heavy breaths.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as he lets go of your wrist, your hands dropping to his shoulders as he unwraps your legs from around him. Still holding on to you as he helps you balance yourself on the ground.

“Nothing, uhh…” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his head as he looks away. “This, um, just wasn’t exactly the way I had planned for it to go.” He lets off a nervous chuckle as he looks back at you and you smile at him. “You see, I had this whole scenario planned in my head of what I would do if I saw you again.”

“And having me pinned up against a wall dry humping me wasn’t part of it, I’m guessing?” You cock a brow at him, smiling when you notice his cheeks growing scarlet.

“No, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a nice surprise.” You both laugh as a cool breeze sweeps down the alleyway. You rub your arms, your body finally acknowledging the chilly temperature outside.

“I wanted to ask you out for coffee,” he says, his palms moving to rub your arms on instinct, trying to help keep you warm. “Wanted to get a chance to talk to you, ask for you to give me another chance.”

“Okay.”

He blinks at you, looking at you as if he was confused by your short answer before it hits him. “Okay?” he repeats, a smile growing on his face causing his dimples to reappear.

“To coffee,” you clarify. “There’s still a lot we need to talk about before I say yes to a second chance.”

And that’s how you found yourself here, walking into Namjoon’s favorite coffee place. The very one you avoided the last few months because you didn’t want to run into him. As you enter, you look around the cute little shop. Your face lights up with a smile when you see Namjoon already here, sitting in a corner booth with two cups of coffee on the table in front of him. As you approach, he looks over as if he sensed your presence, smiling as he stands up to greet you by giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m happy you’re here. Kinda was a little worried you’d change your mind,” he says, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“It crossed my mind.” Namjoon’s eyes grow wide and you giggle, letting him know it was just a joke. You grab the drink in front of you as Namjoon smiles shyly.

“Two scoops of sugar, a pump of caramel and toffee nut flavoring with creamer on the side, right?” He asks, the question rhetorical, as he pushes a few cups of creamer towards you.

“You remembered,” you whisper, smiling as you stirred in some creamer to your coffee. He smiles, taking a sip of his own Iced Americano. You both sit there for a few minutes, neither one of you talking. The silence being broken by the waitress coming over to take your food order. Namjoon, once again remembering your usual order and you smile wide, saying a thanks as the waitress walks away.

“I’ve missed you, Y/N. I’ve missed this,” he says suddenly, catching you slightly off guard. You knew this was why you were both here, but you didn’t expect him to start the conversation so suddenly. “I really want to get back together.”

You let you a soft sigh, pushing a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t know, Joonie.”

“Why not?” he asks softly, eyeing you intently as he gives you his full attention.

“We broke up for a reason, Joon,” you say as you look up to meet his eye. You see the adoration and the deep determination in his gaze. His deep, chestnut eyes pull you in as you get lost in them, almost making you forget the reasons why you broke up. Almost.

You look away, the memory of your break up resurfacing. Your mind starts to wander to that early fall evening. Namjoon showing up to your apartment late from work. Too late for the dinner reservations you had made for your one year anniversary. You were already out of your dress, lying in bed in your pajamas when he came knocking on your front door. You had let him in, not wanting your neighbors to hear the argument that was sure to come. And came it did.

You had said something about being tired of coming second to everything with him. How he spent more time with work and not with you. Always going in early and staying late, never making time for you unless it was for sex. He countered with how important his work was to him, how you said you admire that about him when you first got together. How he was doing this to secure his future, a future that he saw with you. This was his passion, and he didn’t get how you couldn’t understand that. He didn’t get what the big deal was that night, simply forgetting what day it was. Told you that if it was that serious to you, if you really couldn’t put up with his shit anymore, to just break up with him.

So you did. The moment the words fell from your mouth, so did the tears. Namjoon just stood there in the middle of your living room staring at you. Tears still falling harder from your eyes as he turned, snatching his work bag from the floor and walking back out of your apartment, slamming the door behind him. No rebuttal, no attempt to fight for you back. He just left. No communication or to be seen again until last night.

“I know,” he says, his voice bringing you back to the present. ”I had a lot that I needed to work on. I neglected you, put more effort in my job than our relationship and I know it took a toll that night. I took you for granted.”

‘It wasn’t just that… That night was our --” you start softly before he interrupts you.

“Our one year anniversary, I know.” He lets out a huff and he rubs his face with his hands. You look up at him, blinking owlishly. “God, I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I realized it the moment I left and I should’ve turned back around. I should’ve fought harder to keep you.”

“You didn’t fight at all,” you state meekly, your tone just above a whisper. Namjoon looks down at the table softly nodding his head.

“I was an idiot. And too stubborn to know what I had.” You both sit there for a minute, staring at your own coffee drinks, not saying a word. You went over his words, happy to hear him admit the things he faulted in your relationship. A little flower of hope blossoming in your heart that just maybe you two could work things out.

“Why now?” you ask, breaking the silence. “What made you want to try again?”

“You remember the producer position at work that I wanted?” He looks up at you. You nod your head, remembering how he used to talk so passionately about that being his dream job. “Well, one of the producers left, allowing for a position to come available. I got it.”

A huge smile grows on your face as you reach and grab his hand, not even realizing you had done it. “Congratulations, Joonie! That’s so awesome!”

He smiles back at you, covering your hand with his other as he looks down where they are joined. “Thank you,” he says with a smile. “It was a bittersweet moment when I had gotten the news. Of course, I was happy when I got it, but I had no one to celebrate with. And the only person I wanted there was you.”

You feel your heart swell, your smile only growing bigger as you look at him. He gives your hand a squeeze, smiling back at you before continuing, “I realized that if I wanted you back, I was going to have to change. I want to be better for you.”

“It wasn’t just you who needed to change, Joonie.” You give his hands a squeeze back as he looks back up at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I could’ve been more understanding. Maybe we can work on it together.”

His eyes light up, growing wide for just a second as he sits up in his chair, leaning forward into the table towards you. “Yeah?” he asks, his tone dripping with hope and enthusiasm.

You giggle, smiling at his reaction. “Yeah. Let’s give it another shot.”

You spent the rest of the brunch date eating your own meals and talking. Outlining the issues you two needed to work on, setting rules and guidelines for trying again. The conversation carries over and continuing on your walk home Namjoon joins you on. Namjoon promises to make more time for you, you promise to be patient and a little more understanding. You also set the rule of no sex, at least until you both are confident that you two can make this work. The moment you state the rule, Namjoon lets out a whine, causing a giggle to escape your lips from his cute reaction.

“No sex?!” he exclaims, as you enter the door to your apartment complex causing an older couple to turn and give you two a scolding glare. “Not even fooling around?”

“No sex,” you say after shooshing him, giggling again as the older couple walk into their apartment. “Kissing is fine, but no sex. Not even fooling around.”

“But if I recall, sex was never part of our problems.” Namjoon wiggles his eyebrows at you, leaning up against the wall as you make it to your front door.

“Namjoon!” You slap his arm, playfully glaring at him and scolding him as you dig for your keys out of your purse.

“I’m just kidding! Kind off...:” he says, winking at you as you unlock your door. “Fine, no sex. I can do that. It’s worth it to prove to you that I’ve changed.” You flick on the lights to your apartment, placing your purse on the side table by the door as you turn to look back at Namjoon. He’s now standing in your doorway, leaning up on the door frame as he looks down at you, smiling. “So I guess I’ll call you later then.”

You give him a nod, once again finding yourself mesmerized by his presence and unable to speak. You never thought you’d be here with him again, having him drop you off at your doorstep after a date. He leans in towards you, his hand rising to cup your face as his lips meet yours for a soft kiss. Your body is electrified with the feel of his lips on yours and you feel yourself melt into his touch. He deepens the kiss just briefly before pulling away. You fall forward slightly, your lips still puckered as the chase after his, wanting more. Namjoon smiles, a knowing look in his eye as he walks backward away from you. “I’ll see you later, baby.” He doesn’t even wait for your response as he turns around, walking back down the hall and out into the street.

“Tease…” you mutter as you close the door behind you. Your fingers brushing your lips slightly as you smile, still feeling the softness of his lips on yours.

“You agreed to WHAT now?” Tina shouts as she follows you into the breakroom at work. Eyes wide as she watches you pour yourself a cup of coffee before the Monday morning staff meeting, having just finished going over your weekend events after she had left you alone at the bar. “Are you out of your mind? Why would you agree to a second chance with him?” she asks, her loud tone causing passing coworkers to peak into the break room as they pass by.

“Can you chill out?” You say to her, walking past her and back out to the hallway. She follows you, walking side by side as you both make your way to the conference room. “He’s changed, Tina. He’s recognized the areas that he needs to work on and has promised to do so, together. Why shouldn’t I give him another chance?”

You enter the conference room, finding two empty seats at the large oval table adjacent to each other and you both sit down. One by one, your fellow co-workers file in, filling up the table. “Fine,” Tina huffs, rolling her eyes as she leans back into her seat. “But I’m watching him. I won’t say I told you so, but I will be the first one to kick his ass if he breaks your heart again.”

You give her a smile, taking a sip of your coffee as you wait for the meeting to get started, jumping just a bit when Tina sits up quickly and grabs your arm, smiling when she turns to you. “Oh! Remind me to fill you in on my weekend with Jimin. Over lunch. My treat.”

You snicker at her, wiping the little droplets of your coffee that fell on the table. “You owe me lunch for abandoning me on our girls night anyways. But not today. Namjoon is taking me to a cute little sushi spot near his office.”

“Wow, look at Mr. Work-a-holic finally taking a break from busy, busy schedule,” she mutters under her breath, followed up by a soft “Ow” from the light kick you give her under the table.

“He’s trying, Tina,” you whisper to her as your boss walks in, seating himself at the head of the table and kicks off the meeting.

“Right, okay, sorry. I’ll give him another chance too.”

Lunch time sneaks up on you, too busy being nose deep into an article for the magazine you work for, putting in the finishing touches before sending it to your editors to get ready for the February Issue. Your phone buzzing on your desk alerts you to the time of day. You check it to find a text from Namjoon, announcing his arrival at the front of your office building. 12:30 PM on the dot. You lock your work laptop, waving bye to Tina as you place your phone into your purse and head to the elevator bay. Once down in the lobby you quickly walk outside, spotting Namjoon leaning up against a taxi waiting for you. You wrap your arms around his neck, greeting him with a kiss before he opens the car door for you, following you into the back of the cab.

The little sushi place he takes you to is delicious. Being your first time there, Namjoon orders a whole spread. Each roll consists of something you like, from tempura shrimp to avocado in the middle. Some rolls topped with eel. You eat your fill, feeling satisfyingly full once the two of you are walking out of the little restaurant.

“What time do you need to be back?” Namjoon asks you, taking your hand into his as you walk down the street.

“Maybe not for another hour? I’m already done with my article, so I’m in no rush to need to get back.” You walk alongside him with a smile on your face, the feel of his hand in yours bringing you a comfort you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Would you want to stop by the studio with me then? I got something I want to show you.” You smile at him, nodding your head as he smiles back, quickening his steps as he pulls you toward his office building.

Arriving at Namjoon’s work, you were excited to finally step into the world that had preoccupied so much of his time when you were together. You had been here multiple times in the year you were with him, coming here to drop off food for your overworking boyfriend. Never making it past the lobby desk until now. You follow him through the lobby, past the front desk and towards the elevator. You turn towards the long hallway you remember he would appear from during your prior visits when he instead guides you to the elevators, hopping on to an open cab and pressing the button for the 5th floor.

You pull your phone out of your purse, sending Tina a quick text saying that you might be late coming back to the office. After a few exchanges of where you were, she asks you to say hi to Jimin for her before you slip your phone back into your purse and turn towards Namjoon. “Since when did you move off the first floor?” You ask as the elevator continues to move upwards.

He smiles at you, a glint of excitement in his eye as the cab stops, the doors opening to the new floor. He leads you out of the elevator, his hand pushing gently on the small of your back. “That’s what I want to show you. Remember that promotion? It comes with some new perks.” He continues to lead you down the hallway and you look around, taking in the new scenery as Namjoon stops you in front of a closed door.

“Y/N!” You hear your name being called from the other end of the hall. You turn to look at the newcomer, a dark haired man jogging down the hall with his arms open towards you and Namjoon. His wide, heart shaped smile bringing an equally wide one to your face.

“Hobi!” You giggle as he wraps you in a big bear hug, picking you up off the ground and spinning you around.

“It’s good to see you again,” you say as he steadies you back on the ground.

“Likewise! It's nice to see you and Joon together again. He’s been a real stick in the mud while you guys were apart.”

You let out another giggle as Namjoon glares at his co-worker, opening the door and guiding you in. “Thank you for that, Hoseok,” he mutters, following the two of you into the room.

You take a look around the room, various recording equipment litters the room. There’s a lone couch against the wall opposite a large desk fitted with mixing equipment and a computer. You watch as Hobi plops down on it, pulling out his phone as you continue to observe the room. A guy around your age with mint colored hair sits in front of the computer and mixing equipment, headphones on as he’s bopping his head up and down to whatever is playing. You see the ‘Recording in progress’ sign lit up and realize he’s in the middle of recording someone. Namjoon closes the door behind him, walking over to pat the mint haired man on the back. The mint haired man looks up, his features growing into a gummy smile as he looks at Namjoon, taking his headphones off his head and pressing a button on the switchboard in front of him.

“Ah, Joon. Just in time. Jimin’s finishing up one of his tracks for his debut,” the mint haired man says, standing to give Namjoon a quick hug before pressing another button on the switchboard and speaking into a mic, “Jimin, come on out.”

“Jimin’s in there?” You ask without thinking. Realizing you have yet to officially meet the man that swept your best friend away on your girl’s night out. The mint haired man and Namjoon look over at you and you realize you interrupted their conversation, causing your cheeks to flush slightly.

“Yeah, he is,” the mint haired man says to you. “Big fan?”

Hobi snorts from the couch, “Watch out, Joon. Might have some competition.”

You smile while you shake your head. “No, um, he’s kind of dating my best friend.” You watch as his eyebrows shoot up, nodding his head as Namjoon places his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Let me not be rude,” Namjoon says as he gestures between you two. “Yoongi, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Yoongi. My coworker and fellow producer.”

Yoongi reaches out to shake your hand, giving you another gummy smile as he addresses you. “Nice to meet you, so you’re the girl Namjoon has been lovesick about. Heard all about you. Nice to finally put a face to a name.” He gives Namjoon a nudge with his shoulder, the both of you looking at each other with matching cheeks as a door on the other side of the room opens up. A familiar silver haired man walking out, his unforgettably plush lips spread wide into a smile.

“Sup guys. Ah, Y/N. Good to finally meet you,” he says, walking over to you and giving you a hug. It catches you by surprise for a minute before you return it. Jimin breaks away from you at the sound of Namjoon clearing his throat, giving you a wink as he moves to sit by Hoseok on the couch.

“Anyways,” Namjoon says as he walks over to you, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “I just wanted to introduce you guys before I showed her my office.”

“You have an office now --”

“Oh, Joojoo, I thought I heard you in here.” You were cut off by a tall, petite girl who just entered the room. The pencil skirt and blouse she was wearing a little too short and form fitting to be considered professional. You look at her, noticing how pretty she was and the way she was looking at Namjoon, all wide eyed and dreamy. You instantly become annoyed, too focused on the awful nickname she just used to notice the brief look of distaste on Namjoon’s face at the sound of it. You instinctively lean more into Namjoon, crossing your arms as the new girl continues to talk, barely aware of your presence. “Joojoo, I need help getting something down from the supply closet. Can you help me?” She coos while batting her eyelashes. Her eyes move from his face to the arm around your shoulder, clicking her tongue against her teeth as she looks you up and down. “Whose this?”

“Oh, Areum. This is Joon’s girl, Y/N. Y/N, this is our floor assistant, Areum,” Hobi jumps in, quick to the introductions with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

Areum looks at you, eyebrow raised in confusion. “Y/N. Like, your ex-girlfriend, Y/N?”

“We’re working things out,” you snap, wrapping one of your arms around Namjoon’s waist as he looks down at you, raising an eyebrow of his own. A ghost of a smirk hiding in the corner of his lips.

“Whatever,” the girl mutters before turning to Namjoon again, an annoyingly bright smile adorning her face. “Joojoo, could you help me?”

“I got it!” Yoongi shouts, already moving past the group of you and out the door. Areum lets out a soft “Oh” as she turns to follow, briefly looking back at you and Namjoon before exiting the room.

Your lips twitch up in a smirk as you turn to look up at Namjoon. “So, what’s this office you were talking about?”

“Yeah, Joon. Why don’t you show Y/N your office,” Hobi teases as he gets up from the couch, following after Yoongi and the office assistant. Namjoon sputters and you let out a giggle, grabbing his hand and walking out of the recording room.

Namjoon regains his composure, leading you back down the hallway, Jimin following closely behind, taking the chance to strike up conversation. “So what do you guys say to a double date this weekend? Give us a chance to get to know each other and have some fun. Tina talks very highly about you, Y/N.”

“That sounds great. What do you think, Joonie?” You ask just as Namjoon stops in front of another door, digging a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocking it.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he says, flicking on the lights to his office. The three of you barely enter into the little space when Hoseok shows up at the door, looking straight at Namjoon.

“Hey Joon, looks like we need your help after all. Yoongi severely underestimated how high up this box was.” Hobi lets out a laugh as he walks back down the hallway. Namjoon turns to you, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead as he tells you he’ll be right back before slipping out the door way.

You let out a little huff as soon as he’s out of sight. “Has she ever heard of a step ladder,” you mutter under your breath as you take a look around Namjoons office, his ever growing Kaws figurine collection decorating the shelves on his walls.

You hear Jimin snicker and you jump just a bit as you had forgotten he was there. “We have a step ladder, actually. Areum, tends to misplace it a lot,” he says, air quoting around the words misplace it as he rolls his eyes. “She has the biggest crush on Namjoon. Tends to always need something from the top shelves just to have an excuse to talk to him.”

Your face contorts into a scowl, causing Jimin to laugh and throw his hands up in defense. “Don’t worry. Namjoon barely even notices. He’s always been wrapped up in his work. Or talking about you. Yoongi, however… Well, he has it bad.”

You nod a little, taking comfort in Jimin’s reassurance. He gives you a small wave bye as he leaves you alone in Namjoon’s office. You sit down in the empty desk chair, noticing a picture frame by his laptop. You pick it up, recognizing the picture to be one of your favorites of you and Namjoon. A cute selfie you took in the comfort of his apartment a few months into you two dating. You place it back on the desk, humming gently in content as you push the brief incident with the office assistant to the back of your mind. Reminding yourself that you promised to be understanding and you try not to dwell on if there was anything there that you would need to worry about.

Your first week back with Namjoon was nothing short of amazing. You were amazed and surprised by how attentive he is to you, fully prepared to expect him to still be busy with work, especially with a recent promotion. But, alas, he is keeping true to his promise so far. The two of you spent more time together in the past week than you did in the last few months you were together. The both of you have been making great progress with the things you both promised to work on. Holding true to the rules and guidelines, you had set out, the no sex rule included.

You’d be lying if you said it hasn’t been hard to not break that rule. Namjoon being right when he said that sex was never a problem between the two of you. It didn’t help that the both of you gained pure enjoyment out of teasing the hell out of each other. Between the gentle brushes of his hand across your ass or the strategic placement of your hand on his thigh when you’re sitting next to him, it is easy to get one another flustered. It is equally just as hard to keep each other’s hormones at bay.

No other time have you two come close to breaking that rule than you have tonight. Laid out on your back on your living room couch, Namjoon on top of you. The both of you in the middle of a heated makeout session. His hand up your shirt while yours is on his ass, pushing him closer into you as he grinds his clothed bulge into your core. You know you should stop. No fooling around being part of the rules you both had set, but it all just feels too damn good to stop. Your living room is filled with the soft sounds of your shared moans, the movie Namjoon brought over for your night in playing softly but forgotten in the background. You both had opted for a night in instead of going out to dinner. Your planned double date on Saturday and the fact that you had to work late helping your fellow writers finish their articles playing a big part in the decision making. Namjoon had picked up takeout and a movie for the two of you, waiting at your apartment for you to get home to spend as much time as possible with you tonight before he would have to leave to go to sleep.

What started out as an innocent foot rub after your dinner has speedily turned into a tickle fight. That very tickle fight quickly escalated to the situation you find yourself in now; Namjoon’s tongue wrestling with yours as he cups your breast with his hand, finding your nipple hidden by your bra and giving it a quick pinch. You let out a muffled moan, one he quickly swallows with his lips still on yours. You slide your other hand down, reaching in between you two to grab a hold of the button on his jeans. You almost have it undone when Namjoon suddenly pulls away from you, grabbing your wrist as he breathlessly asks you to hold on. He pulls his hand from out under your shirt and lets go of your wrist as he sits back on the couch, running his hand through his disheveled hair to try and put some of it back in place.

“We should probably chill out a bit. Don’t want to get too ahead of ourselves,” he says, scooting just a bit away from you to give you room to sit up on your side of the couch. You stay as you are, looking at him with a pout on your lips as he chuckles at you. “Besides, I probably should head out soon. Need to run into the office tomorrow before our date.”

He stands from the couch, holding his hand out to help you up and you take it, wrapping your arms around his neck as you stand up in front of him. “Why don’t you just spend the night? Leave for work from here in the morning?” you ask in between kisses. He chuckles at you again, grabbing your hands from around his neck and walking you to the door.

“And break the rules you clearly set out for us? I would never,” he teases you, laughing at you as you let out a whine. “I’ll see you tomorrow baby. I’ll let you know when I get home,” he reassures you as he slips his shoes on and opens your front door. He turns back to you, slinking an arm around your waist to catch your lips in a deep kiss as he pulls you towards him. He releases your lips, leaving you breathless once again as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. “And we’ll continue this later.” He smiles at you, giving you a wink and another quick kiss before releasing you completely and closing the door behind him.

You let out a little huff. “Tease…” you mutter as you smile, shaking your head as you lock up the door before turning back towards your living room, getting ready to clean up and go to bed.

The double date with Jimin and Tina went better than you expected. The whole mini argument you had with Tina in her apartment as the two of you got ready proving to be inane. Her plans of giving Namjoon the third degree to check to see if he’s really changed never came to fruition, much to your relief. The moment the two boys arrived at her doorstep to pick the both of you up, all thoughts of interrogation were forgotten, her attention solely on Jimin and Jimin alone.

The steakhouse you attend for dinner is delicious. The drinks you all share help keep the conversation light and entertaining. You are happy with the way work has stayed away as a topic for the evening. The only exception was the mention of Hoseok’s mixtape release party that is taking place the following Wednesday. When leaving the restaurant, talks about needing to do this again came up. You mention a new Italian restaurant that just opened up down the street that you all should try next, if you guys were ever lucky enough to get a hard to book reservation.

Namjoon holds your hand the entire cab ride back to your apartment. Not much conversation taking place due to the numerous glasses of wine at dinner making you feel warm and sleepy while leaning up against him. You nearly doze off before you make it to your apartment, Namjoon nudging your shoulder slightly to let you know of your arrival. He’s still holding your hand as he walks you to your door, making sure you were safely inside before letting go. He stands in your doorway, smiling at you as you brace yourself against the wall to balance as you take off your heels.

“What are you smiling about?” You tease him, crossing your arms as you walk back towards him after removing your footwear.

“I’m just happy to be doing this with you again. Walking you home, making sure you get here safe.” You can’t help the smile that graces your face from his confession, leaning up on to your tiptoes to place a quick kiss on his lips.

“So,” he starts, still smiling at you as he hovers over you in your door frame. “Hobi’s release party is this Wednesday.”

“So I heard,” you cooed, your heart warming at the flash of his dimples from his smiling growing wider from your teasing.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go with me,” he asks you, pausing momentarily before continuing, “As my date.”

You smile wider, leaning up to give him another kiss. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The next few days flew by in a breeze. You weren’t able to see much of Namjoon other than lunch breaks or a quick dinner date as he was helping Hobi and the company prepare for the release party. You and Tina spent your free evenings shopping for the perfect dresses. Finding two cute matching bodycons with keyhole cut outs and heels to match. Wednesday evening comes before you know it. Namjoon had ordered a car to pick you and Tina up, him needing to be at the venue early to help get everything set up. Not wanting you to feel rushed, he arranges for your transportation to drop you off right at the venue doors, allowing you and Tina to enjoy a full red carpet experience for the release party.

The party venue is located at one of the nicest hotels in town, taking place in one of the ballrooms fitted with a DJ booth, a mini dance floor, and a well stocked open bar. Namjoon is there to greet you at the door, catching the eye of every woman (and man) walking by him with the way he’s fitted in his well-tailored suit. His hair is pushed back, styled out of his face. You can’t help the smile that grows on your face as you look him up and down, walking towards him. Knowing that this beautiful man is all yours. The moment he notices you walking towards the ballroom, his smile matches yours, if not, brighter. His mindset also matches yours as he shamelessly looks you up and down as you grow closer.

“Hey Handsome,” you say to him, throwing your arm around his neck as you give him a kiss.

“Good evening, baby. You’re looking exceptionally beautiful tonight.” He kisses you back, slipping his hand around your waist.

“How nice of you to say, Joonie. I didn’t think you noticed,” Tina teases from beside you. Namjoon rolls his eyes, giving you another kiss before taking your hand in his.

“You look exceptionally beautiful as well, Tina,” he says, gesturing his hand towards the inside of the ballroom. Tina gives him a thank you before winking at you and walking forwards into the ballroom, now on a mission to find Jimin. You giggle, following behind her and Namjoon as he leads you toward the bar.

After grabbing a round of drinks, Namjoon walks you and Tina over to your reserved table for the evening. Jimin is already sitting down, snacking on a small plate full of the various finger foods being served around the event. You barely sit down yourself when the petite office assistant, Areum, pops up out of nowhere, instantly clinging herself onto Namjoon’s arm. The dress she’s wearing contains too many cut outs and too much sheer covering to your liking, the lack of actual fabric barely classifying it as a dress instead of lingerie. Her heels, too tall to be considered comfortable to walk in, let alone stand in, you know we’re chosen to accentuate her barely covered (and annoyingly perky) ass. She doesn’t pay you or anyone other table occupant any mind, her focus only on Namjoon, much to your annoyance. Batting her eyelashes, she addresses Namjoon, her tone too high pitched to be tolerable, making the use of her god awful nickname for Namjoon sound even worse. “Joojoo, the DJ is having issues with connecting his equipment. Can you help us?”

He sighs, giving her a polite smile as he responds, “Sure.” She let’s go of his arm and you swear she gives you a smirk before turning and running off. You glare at her retreating backside. An involuntary scoff escaping past your lips. Namjoon hears it, turning to you with a questioning brow raised in your direction. A smirk, once again, dancing on the corner of his lips.

“You okay, baby?” He asks, trying to hide the smile threatening to break out on his face, always finding it cute when you show little signs of jealousy.

“Nothing, she’s just very… touchy.” You take a sip of your champagne, trying to wash away the bitterness in your mouth. Namjoon chuckles at you as he leans down to hover over you, one hand braced on the table and the other on the back of your chair to steady himself.

“She’s just friendly, baby,” he says, leaning in closer to rub his nose on the tip of yours.

“Yeah, to you,” you mumble, Namjoon’s shit-eating grin finally breaking loose on his face as he laughs.

“You’re cute,” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead. “You got nothing to worry about, baby. I only have eyes for you.” He gives you a long, soft kiss on your lips before standing back up. Telling you he’ll be right back, he disappears into the growing crowd toward what you assume is the direction of the DJ booth.

Feeling eyes on you, you look to your left to see Tina observing you, a mischievous smirk on her lips as she meets your gaze. You let out a sigh, jumping to a defensive tone as you try and predict what she’s thinking. “It’s a work party, Tina. It’s expected that he’s going to have to do some work.”

She shakes her head slowly at you as she leans forward, placing her elbow on the table and propping her hand under her chin. “Oh no, I’m wondering when you’re going to put that in its place.” Her reference is vague, but you know exactly what, or rather who, she’s talking about.

“I’m not. I don’t need to. Joonie says there’s nothing to worry about so there’s nothing to worry about,” you state matter-of-factly. Hoping your tone sounds convincing enough to end her “hoe-be-gone” plotting before it starts. You just don’t know who you were trying to convince more: Tina or You.

“If you say so,” Tina sing-songs, leaning back into her seat and into Jimin. Jimin gives her a quick peck on her temple and smiles at her.

“You little instigator,” you hear Jimin whisper to her before catching her lips in a real kiss. You roll your eyes slightly, smiling softly as you scan the now crowded ballroom, trying to spot Namjoon amongst the sea of people.

You contemplate for a minute on whether you should actually say something to Areum. You know you’ll be able to control yourself and your tone. Know you’ll be able to conduct yourself as polite, but firm. She just seems like the type to you that would cause a scene when she doesn’t get her way and you don’t want to be involved in anything that might ruin Hobi’s special night. Besides, you promised to be more understanding and trusting Namjoon on this falls under that umbrella. So you take another sip of your drink, swallowing down the sweet tasting liquid, hoping the bitter taste of your growing anxiety goes down with it.

The rest of the night followed the common theme of Namjoon being swept away by various staff members seeking his help. It never failed that once he found his way back to you, someone else was there a few minutes later to take him again. He apologizes to you every time, his kisses growing harder and deeper with each departure. You reassure him each time that it is fine, and really it is. You are enjoying yourself, spending the majority of the night with Jimin, Tina, and various alcoholic drinks. Near the end of the night, Namjoon was finally able to spend a little more time with you. Grabbing you from your reserved table and walking you over to meet his boss and to say bye to Hoseok before you leave.

As you approach the two gentlemen, Hobi’s eyes light up the moment he sees you.

The second you reach him, he’s wrapping his arms around you in a big hug, placing a quick peck on your cheek. His heart shaped smile on full display as he addresses you, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath as he talks. “Y/N! Thank you for coming tonight. What would I do without my favorite fan?” he slurs, his rosy cheeks pushing into his eyes as he continues to smile at you.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Hobi,” you coo, giggling as you back out of his hug. As you stand back in your place next to Namjoon, you turn to the other man, Hobi and Namjoon’s boss, and introduce yourself.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N,” he says. “Sorry, I’ve been pulling your boyfriend away from you most of the night.”

“He’s no--” you start before quickly redirecting your response. You feel Namjoon’s shoulders deflate just slightly beside you and you feel a twinge of guilt. He isn’t your boyfriend. Not yet, at least. But isn’t that exactly what you two are working back towards? “It’s okay,” you start again. “He’s been a hot commodity tonight and a hard worker. I wouldn’t want him any other way.”

Namjoon looks at you, a quick ‘blink-and-you'll-miss-it’ flash of surprise colors his features before the corners of his lips turn upwards into a smile.

“A hard worker he most certainly is. I’m going to have to also apologize in advance for the next week. We’re in the finishing stages of our next trainee’s debut and going to need all hands on deck for it.” The boss gives you a big smile, probably thinking it would lessen the blow of his news.

“Yeah, Jimin’s debut is next!” Hobi chimes in, his voice carrying a little too loud due to his intoxicated state.

“That’s right,” their boss confirms. “I promise to try and have him free by Valentine’s day.” The boss lets out a hearty laugh, slapping Namjoon on the shoulder before walking away. Excusing himself to thank the other guest for coming to the event.

“Valentine’s day…” you hear Namjoon mutter softly. You turn to look up at him, noticing his wide-eyed look as he stares into space. You grab his arm, looping your hand around it and lightly squeezing, bringing him back out of his head. His eyes focusing on you.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’ve been busy and I forgot it was coming up, too. We got a week, we’ll figure something out,” you try to reassure him, forming a soft smile on his face to try and show that it was really okay.

“Yeah,” Namjoon responds, his tone apprehensive as he rubs the back of his neck. Taking in his demeanor, the little seed of worry from earlier starts to blossom slowly in your mind. You open your mouth to say something, ask him if he’s okay when the call of your name breaks interrupts you. Looking behind you, you see Tina approaching you and Namjoon.

“Hey, you ready to go? Jimin had our car pulled around up front for us,” she asks, stifling a yawn behind her hand.

“Yeah, sure,” you say slowly, turning your head to look back at Namjoon. The unspoken question on whether you guys need to talk lingering between you. It goes unanswered and any signs of apprehension or anxiety are gone from his face. His prize-winning, charming smile is the only thing you see.

“Go ahead. I have to stay and help clean up anyways. I’ll call you later, yeah?” He gives you a quick kiss, waving bye to Tina as he walks away, disappearing into the thinning crowd.

His departure doesn’t sit right with you. Something about his behavior seems off and it only adds to your growing anxiety, much to your annoyance. You try to shake it off, following Tina out of the ballroom and into the lobby. Stopping abruptly, you realize you’ve forgotten something, calling out to Tina as you turn back towards the ballroom. “Hey, I forgot my phone and purse on the table. I’ll meet you in the car.”

Running back in to grab your purse, you notice Namjoon standing over by the bar talking to an older gentleman. You take a step towards him, planning to ask him if everything was okay before heading back to the car, only to stop once the older man steps to the side out of the way of a server. Revealing the annoying little office assistant clinging to Namjoon’s arm. You freeze, watching as Namjoon shakes the older gentleman’s hand before the same man places a kiss on top of the little leech’s head and takes his departure from the group. Namjoon, smiles down at Areum, his dimples adorning his cheeks and you immediately feel sick. You turn around, walking swiftly out of the hotel before they’re able to see you, reaching the car and hopping quickly into the seat next to Tina. She glances over at you curiously before looking back at her phone. “Everything okay?” she asks you as she begins typing away, probably sending a text to Jimin.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Just… I thought it was about to rain.” You give her a forced chuckle, hoping she doesn’t sense the lie in your tone. She hums in response. The car starts to pull off into traffic. You turn, looking back at the hotel as it fades into the distance. Hoping fiercely that what you think you saw and what was actually going on is just a big misunderstanding.

You barely hear from Namjoon the rest of the week. The weekend being no different. The “all hands on deck” call to finish up Jimin’s mixtape for his debut is the only explanation you receive from Namjoon to excuse his absence. Majority of your communication is exchanged over text messages, but even those were slowly growing few and far in between. Your daily lunch dates are replaced with specially picked Uber eats orders sent to your office. The sentiment is there but you couldn’t help but feel like he is avoiding you. The scene of Areum clinging to Namjoon’s arm replaying over and over in your mind. “Who was that man?” and “Why was Namjoon smiling at her after meeting him?” were the main questions plaguing your mind. The constant thought of maybe you DO have something to worry about causes a big negative shift in your mood that you’re unable to hide the longer you go without talking to Namjoon.

Tina notices the change in your attitude at work on Monday. Not-so subtly mentioning how your negative energy was killing her vibe. You grumble an apology and she spends most of the day trying to help bring you out of your sour mood.

“Maybe he really has been busy. His boss did say he was going to be taking up a lot of his time this week.” You let out a huff, knowing what she was saying was more than likely true, but it still didn’t make you feel any better. Noticing no change in your mood, she continues. “If it helps to know, I haven’t been able to see or talk to Jimin much, either. We can only hope that they’re making good progress and they’ll be done soon. That way we can get our men back,” she chirps, her voice going up at the end to try and drive the point of positivity with her words.

You feel bad, but the news of her not hearing from Jimin just as much does make you feel better. At least you knew you weren’t the only one and made the idea that they’re both just really, really busy easier to accept as the truth. You look over at her and give her a small smile, “Thank you. For trying to help me feel better. It’s just… I can’t help but feel like this is all too familiar territory.” Among other things. You follow up in your head, not wanting to voice it out loud and carry on that conversation here at work.

“I thought you said you were going to try and be more understanding,” Tina states, her comment catching you by surprise.

“Wait, what?” you stammer, blinking owlishly at her as she rolls her eyes at you. She sits up straighter in her seat as if she was preparing to give you a presentation.

“You were right, Y/N. Namjoon’s changed. He’s trying. Even I’ve been able to see that,” she says to you, her voice taking on a reassuring tone. “You promised that you would be more patient and understanding. Now’s the time to show that you’re trying too.”

You let out a sigh. You knew she was right and didn’t really want to admit it. You did promise to be more understanding and you definitely weren’t doing that right now. That realization does nothing to fix your mood. Only changing the reason why it was still so sour.

Tina notices the change, knowing you swapped to beating yourself up. A smile breaks out on her face as an idea blooms in her mind, reaching over and grabbing your hand in excitement as she details it to you.

“Let’s have a Galentine’s Day this weekend. The boys will probably still be busy, and if they finish up early and are able to spend time with us again, we can cancel it. Easy peasy.” She looks at you, her eyes begging you to say yes as her excitement courses through her. As if her hold on your hand was a conduit, you feel her excitement transfer to you. The infectious happiness in her smile breaking through your negative demeanor and causing a smile to form on your face. You couldn’t find it in you to turn down her offer. Her squeal of excitement rings throughout the office the moment you tell her yes.

The thought of not having to spend Valentine’s Day alone does perk you up a little. The background chatter of Tina planning out your Galentine’s day helping you get through the rest of the work day. Come clock out time, you head out of the office and make your way towards the train for home. You feel your phone buzz, alerting you of a new text message. Checking your notifications, you see that it’s from Namjoon. His name and the context of the tweet bring a smile to your face. His short text of “Miss you” with the kissy face emoji gives you a small burst of motivation to keep the promise that you had made a few weeks earlier. “Patience and understanding. You got nothing to worry about,” you tell yourself, sending back a matching message to Namjoon before slipping your phone back into your pocket.

The rest of the week drags. The still brief only-over-text conversations with Namjoon and Tina’s absence from the office due to a sinus infection being two things that have contributed to the week feeling like it’s taking forever and a day to move along.

Friday morning comes and you already feel an instant boost of happiness when you see Tina at her desk as you walk into the office. You skip to your desk, placing your computer bag down and taking out your laptop as you strike up a conversation with your best friend.

“Good morning! And welcome back! So I was thinking… There’s this cute little candy shop over on Cherry Lane that we should order some sweets from for our Galentine’s day.” After not hearing a response, you look up from your desk. Tina’s brow furrowing in confusion as she looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t Namjoon tell you?” she asks, her question making the anxiety you’ve been pushing down all week start to instantly crawl back up your throat.

“Tell me what?” you respond slowly, pulling your phone out to see if you might have missed any phone calls or text messages from Namjoon. Nothing.

“Jimin said they finished everything up on Wednesday. The mixtape is done.” You feel the color drain from your face. Tina’s eyes grow wide as she notices and quickly adds on to her news. “But maybe he meant HE was finished with everything. Joon and Yoongi probably still have things to finish up on the production end.”

You nod your head meekly. Forcing yourself to breathe in and out as you try not to jump to conclusions and hope that her assumption is right. “Yeah, maybe.” Your voice comes out squeakier than you like. A brief flash of pity shows in Tina’s eyes as she gives you a soft smile. Clearing your throat, you straighten up in your chair, plastering a fake smile on your face as you start on your work. “No, you’re right. He’s probably just finishing up the rest of his part. I’ll probably hear from him later today.”

Tina nods her head slowly, turning back to her computer as she gets back to work. You struggle to maintain your smile throughout the rest of the day, doing your best to not to show a break in your mask every time Tina snuck a quick glance your way.

The end of the workday finally arrives and still no word from Namjoon. You skip out of the office the first chance you get, waiting for Tina to have walked away from her desk so you could sneak out without her noticing. You knew she would ask about Namjoon and it wasn’t a conversation you were really wanting to have right now. Walking towards the subway, you decide to stop at the Chinese restaurant along the way to pick up some takeout, not really in the mood to try and fix something at home. After placing your to-go order, you take a seat in the lobby, scrolling through your phone when you hear someone call your name. Looking up from your phone, you’re surprised to see Yoongi standing in front of you, having just exited the bathroom on the other side of the lobby. “I thought that was you. Picking up some food for you and Joon?”

“Ah, no. Just me.” You smile back. “Are you heading back to the office? This was a long way for a dinner break. This mixtape must be working you two into the ground.”

Yoongi shakes his head, the slightest hint of confusion painting his features. “Actually, I live around here. Just grabbing a bite to eat with some friends. We actually finished up on Wednesday. Didn’t Namjoon tell you?”

Your eyes go wide for a second as you feel your heart drop straight to your stomach. You force a closed lip smile on your face, trying to fight back the anger and frustration rising in you. “Yeah, right. Sorry, must have slipped my mind.”

Yoongi goes to say something else, only to be cut off by the restaurant host calling out your name, announcing that your to-go order was ready. You jump up from your seat quickly, grabbing your food from the host and turn to rush out the door. “It was good to see you, Yoongi. Have a great night!” You run out the door before he can respond. Once again trying to avoid an uncomfortable conversation revolving around Namjoon.

The moment you make it around the block, you stop right above the subway entrance. Grabbing your phone out of your purse, you quickly dial Namjoon’s number, taking deep breaths in and out of your noise to try and calm the boiling anger inside of you. The phone rings twice before the call is picked up. You’re ready to start your onslaught of the many questions that you have the moment he speaks, but the voice you hear at the other end knocks the breath straight out of your lungs. The perky, high pitched voice unmistakably belonging to the one person you would have never thought to be answering Namjoon’s phone. Areum. “Hello, Joojoo’s phone.” Her sickening sweet tone makes your stomach churn and you take in another deep breath to keep yourself from vomiting.

“Where’s Namjoon?” You applaud yourself for how level you keep your tone, not wanting to let her know that the very fact that she answered his phone bothers you.

“He’s busy. Can I take a message?” God, you really don’t like her.

“Just let him know that his girlfriend called,” you say, emphasizing around the word girlfriend.

“Ex-girlfriend. But I’ll let him know. Bye bye now.” She hangs up before you could say anything else. The abrupt ending and her emphasis on the word Ex not helping your growing irritation. You toss your phone back into your bag and continue on your way home.

You don’t look at your phone the whole subway ride home. Not daring to take it out of your bag until after you make it home and finish eating your Chinese. Pouring yourself a glass of wine, you finally retrieve your phone from your bag, noticing the one missed call and the three text messages from Namjoon.

Namjoon: Hey, Areum said you called. Everything okay? Namjoon: Y/N? Baby, you okay? *Missed call from Namjoon* Namjoon: Call me back when you get a chance.

You take a deep breath before typing out your response, repeating “patience and understanding” like a mantra in your head. You tell yourself to give him the benefit of the doubt. Give him a chance to explain. He hasn’t given you any reason to doubt him. At least not until now.

You: Hey, sorry. Was eating dinner. Namjoon: Hey, it’s cool. Everything okay? You: Yeah, I didn’t mean to worry you. Just hadn’t talked to you today. I miss you. Namjoon: I miss you too baby.

You pause for a moment. Contemplating how you want to continue the conversation. You wanted to call, not leave the interpretation of your tone through your text message to be misconstrued. But you feel like he wouldn’t give you a full explanation if he had anyone around him.

You: Why did Areum answer your phone? Namjoon: She did? I don’t know. I had left it on the desk when I ran to the bathroom. What did she say? You: That you were busy. What was she doing with your phone? Namjoon: We were working on something in the recording studio. Guess I left my phone in there when I had run to the bathroom. Please don’t think too much into it. You: I’m not. Just curious. Is she helping with Jimin’s Mixtape? How’s that going? Namjoon: Uh, yeah. It’s going well. Hoping to have it down by tomorrow night. I should probably get back to working on it. I’ll call you later, baby.

You read his last text over and over. Your body starts to shake as angry tears begin to spill from your eyes. He lied. He just told you a flat out lie. You don’t even respond back, throwing your phone on the coffee table as you fall onto the couch. You curse at yourself, feeling like such a fool for believing Namjoon had actually changed. He hasn’t changed at all. If anything he picked up more bad habits along the way. Adding a liar and a cheat to your list of reasons why you two won’t be able to work things out. “Well, not a cheat,” you think to yourself. “It’s not like we were back to being boyfriend and girlfriend.” The single thought makes more tears spill down your cheeks as bitterness coats like an undissolving film on your tongue. You turn to your side, curling up into yourself on the couch, the soft sniffles from your crying slowly lulling you to sleep.

Saturday goes by in a blur. You spent the whole day moping on your couch, ignoring every call or text that came your way. You once again cry yourself to sleep. The two glasses of wine and the Valentine’s themed rom coms playing on the TV helping contribute to your tearful state. You wake up Sunday morning after your crying session the night before. Determined to not waste another day moping over your failed relationship, you jump in the shower, giving yourself a quick pep talk as you refuse to let some stupid boy ruin the rest of your weekend.

Getting dressed, you slip on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, forgoing a bra. You aren’t planning on leaving to go anywhere anytime soon. Perfectly content with spending your day alone in your apartment with trash tv and a bottle of wine. You continue to ignore Namjoon’s calls and texts throughout the day. Turning your ringer on silent and placing it face down on your kitchen countertop. The subtle buzzing noise from the vibrations is not as aggravating to your nerves like the noisy ringtone.

It’s just nearing 6PM when you open your fridge, pulling out the unfinished bottle of Moscato from the night before when you hear your phone buzz again. Your curiosity as to why he has called and texted you more in the last 24 hours than he has in the last week gets the best of you. Snatching your phone off the countertop, you see Namjoon’s name flashing on your screen. You swipe to answer the call and bring the phone up to your ear.

“What?” You bite into the phone, the current mood you’re in does not allow you to feign any sense of civility for the start of this conversation.

“Wow. Hello to you, too. Everything okay?” Namjoon speaks cautiously on the other end, worry and confusion evident in his tone.

“Everything’s peachy,” you say, popping your ‘p’ as you pour yourself a glass of wine and take a big gulp. “How’s the mixtape going?” You know Namjoon is able to feel the sarcastic bite to your words, but he doesn’t call you out on it. Continuing on as if he doesn’t notice.

“About that. I wanna show you something. Can you meet me at the studio? And, uh, wear something nice.” His easy tone and his blatant disregard for your obvious annoyance angers you. You take another big sip of your wine and decide to not hold back your frustration any longer.

“Why don’t you show Areum,” you respond, your voice doing a terrible mimic of hers when you say her name.

“What?” Joonie questions. “Y/N. What are you on?”

“You tell me, Joon,” you bark into the phone, your voice starting to raise in volume as you lean back against your kitchen counter. “She’s the one you’ve been spending all of your time with lately. Considering Jimin’s mixtape was finished Wednesday.”

You hear him curse underneath his breath, letting out a sigh before he speaks. “Who told you?”

“Does it matter?” You wait, allowing for time to see if he would at least speak up to try and defend himself. Throw out whatever random excuse to talk his way out of this. But you’re only met with his silence. Every wordless second from him pushes a dagger into your heart. Your chest constricts from the pain and it makes you want to hurry and end the phone call right then and there. “Anyways, I can’t come and meet you. I have company. For a Galentine’s Day.”

“Y/N, I know Tina is out with Jimin. Just please come and see me,” Namjoon says, his tone beginning to sound exasperated.

“I have other friends, Namjoon.” You don’t. Not really. At least not anyone that you’d be hanging out with outside of a work function, but he didn’t have to know that. Nor did he need to know about your canceled Galentine’s plan.

“Come on, Y/N. You’re being ridiculous,” Namjoon huffs into the phone, his tone scolding. You can picture how he looks right now. Fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to control his simmering frustration with you. “Just please come meet me at the studio and I’ll explain everything.”

“No, but I agree. It was ridiculous of me to think you’ve changed. It was ridiculous of me to even try and give us another chance.” You pause your speech as your voice begins to crack. Taking a deep breath in and out of your mouth before continuing. “Now, I have to go. The very deliciously ripped male stripper has arrived. Have a fun life with Areum.”

“For the last time, nothing is going on… Wait did you say a fucking strip --” You end the call, cutting Namjoon off midsentence. A sly smile stretching across your face as you turn off your phone. The smile only lasts for a few seconds until the realization hits. The fact that you and Namjoon are once again ‘no more’ sinks in as quickly as your heart sinks to the bottom of your chest.

Grabbing the wine bottle off the counter, you pour yourself another glass as you walk to your living room, plopping down onto your couch.

You must have dozed off sometime after you finished your last glass of wine. The loud knocking on your door ripping you from your wine induced nap as you’re quickly sitting up on your couch. Your head starts to spin from the quick movement. You stand up, grumbling under your breath that you’re on your way as you walk to the door, unlocking and wrenching it open. “Can you cut it out?” You yell before even looking to see who the crazy visitor was. The moment your eyes focus on the obsessive knocker, they grow twice in size, your mouth dropping open just as wide. “Namjoon?!”

There in your doorway, dressed in the same button up and slacks from the bar weeks before, stands your ex boyfriend. Jaw clenched as he storms into your apartment, throwing the bag he is holding on to your couch as he takes a look around before letting out a scoff. “You cheeky little brat. You lied about the stripper just to make me angry, didn’t you?”

Your face flushes with anger at his accusatory tone. You, the liar? He’s really going to point that finger at you? “Seriously?” you screech, slamming your front door in frustration before walking up to him. “YOU are going to scold ME for lying? How about you explain why you lied about you and Areum before you say ANYTHING to me about lying.”

“Nothing is going on between me and Areum!” He yells back, the growing frustration evident in his tone. The top two undone buttons of his shirt gives you a peek of the red flush growing up his chest and neck from his anger.

“I saw you at the release party with her. I saw the way you had smiled at her as she was clinging on to your arm,” you bark back, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” His questions coming out through a disbelief laugh.

“After you thought I left. I came back in to grab my purse and I saw the two of you all close and personal while talking to some man.” You cross your arms, waiting to see the “oh shit” look flash on to his face knowing that he’d been caught. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he lets out a sardonic laugh, shaking his head as his hands move to rub his face.

“That was Areum’s father. He owns that Italian restaurant you’ve been wanting to try. She was introducing me to him so I can secure us a Valentine’s Day reservation. You know, for tonight!”

Your mouth drops down into an ‘Oh’ before you quickly shut it. That explains the night of the release, but it doesn’t answer for his behavior this last week or the fact that she was with him Friday night. “Then why lie to me about the mixtape? Why have you been spending so much time with her at work?” Your voice is softer, but the underlying hurt is still evident in your tone.

“I promised her father to help Areum create some demo tracks in exchange for him squeezing us in for a reservation,” he says, dropping his hands from his face to look at you. He takes in your teary expression, his shoulders deflating slightly as he softens his own town before continuing his response. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. And the pressure to try and get Jimin’s mixtape and her demo done before tonight made me tunnel vision on just that.”

You don’t say anything. You stand there just looking at him as he leans up against your couch, guilt creeping into the pit of your stomach. When you don’t say anything, he takes it as a chance to continue. “I thought I had shown you up until then that I’ve changed. I thought I could trust you to be patient with me. That you’d be more understanding.” He looks away from you at the end of his words, clenching his jaw as he looks down at his feet.

“Wow,” you breathe out, not able to think of anything else to say. You both stand there for a few minutes in silence, neither one of you looking at each other as you take in everything he said. It dawns on you that Namjoon wasn’t in the wrong here. Not really. Things could’ve been handled better by him but the same goes for you.

Things were going so well. You had lost yourself in the comforting warmth that came with having him back in your life. The bliss and happiness from experiencing his instant change in attention to you and your relationship overshadowing any thoughts of doubt that existed in your mind, practically making them appear nonexistent. You start to wonder if, in the back of your mind, you were trying to look for something he was doing wrong. Your underlying fear of failure jumping into action the moment anything wrong exposed itself. Latching on to your subconscious and leaking negativity and doubt into you like a poison. Knowing it was your fault that the night he had planned for the two of you was ruined, you knew it was up to you to try to fix it. To try and turn it around. And you have a small inkling of just how you could do that.

“I’m sorry, Joonie,” you say to him as you take a step closer, leaning in with your hand on his chest to give him a quick kiss. He turns away from you just slightly, jaw still clenched as you place a small peck on his cheek. You feel terrible, knowing you should have given him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t reverting back to his old ways. That he was really trying to prove to you that he changed. You place another kiss on his cheek, following it up with a few quick kisses on his neck that you feel make him shiver. Your lips twitch up into a smile, knowing you’re breaking through his cold demeanor.

Suddenly, an idea pops into your head. A name he loved that you called him, one that you used to your favor to help get you out of trouble. You make your way up to his ear, nibbling on it just slightly before you whisper seductively, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

You feel his body stiffen as you trail your hand down his chest and to the front of his jeans. Your palm barely grazes his growing bulge when he grabs your wrist in his hand, snatching it away from him causing you to back away in surprise. He wraps his other arm around you, his palm pressing at the small of your back to keep you close to him. Your eyes flicker to his and you let out a small gasp as you meet his hooded gaze. The beautiful swirls of cinnamon and honey that paints his irises are gone, disappearing behind a dark, seductive shade of lust. Falling deep into the dark depths of his lustrous gaze, you barely notice the smirk he gives as he leans in towards your ear.

“Oh, no baby. It seems like someone has forgotten her manners.” The deep timber of his voice sends shivers down your spine, straight to your core. You feel the wetness of your arousal leaking from you and you involuntarily rub your thighs together to try and find some relief as he continues the seductive assault on your ear. “Only good girls get to call me Daddy. Disobedient little brats call me Mr. Kim.” He pulls back just slightly away from you, his dark eyes meeting your gaze once again. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

You cock your head to the side, licking your lips before you give him the most innocent smile. “I am so, so sorry, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon narrows his eyes at you. His dark orbs piercing into you as he clicks his tongue against his teeth. “You know,” he sneers, pushing himself off the back of your couch. Still holding on to you as he walks you a few steps backwards. “You’ve been acting like a real brat lately. I guess that’s something about you that will never change, hmm?”

He lets go of you, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt as he steps away from you, turning to walk around your couch. You take a step forward to follow him, stopping in your tracks when he raises his finger at you. He wags it back and forth, making a tisk noise as he continues his way around the couch. “Nuh-uh. You stay right there until I call for you, brat.”

The deep, domineering drawl to his voice has your knees weakening. A fresh gush of arousal seeps out of you, pooling in your panties as you continue to rub your thighs together. Still searching for some sort of relief. You know if you were to look right now, you’d bet your underwear would be almost completely soaked. The way the cotton fabric is sticking to your lips a clear indication that your guess is right.

You watch as Namjoon finishes unbuttoning his shirt, leaving it on but open as he stands staring at you with the couch being the only thing between you. He reaches down, placing his hand on top of his growing bulge. He starts moving his arm back and forth, slowly palming himself as if to taunt you. Teasing you with every slow stroke he takes up and down his long, clothed length. His dark orbs scour your entire body. You feel your body tingle as your skin grows hot from his piercing stare. The feeling of hot flames of lust licking at your every nerve ending as his hungry eyes graze over your body. Slowly tracing every dip and curve of your standing figure. You bite your bottom lip, trying to stifle a needy whine that threatens to escape. The verbal reaction, betraying you, rumbling up your throat and slipping past your lips. His eyes flicker up to the subtle movement. His pupils dilating with want at your feral sound. The tension in the air thickens. Your hand twitches from the need to touch him; your mouth beginning to water from craving his taste. Your legs feel restless, the urge to close the distance between you two cause your knees to gently buckle. The need to wrap your legs around him, to push him deep inside you growing stronger by the second.

Namjoon cocks his brow at you. Silently daring you to move before he calls for you. Testing your resolve, your patience, as he continues to stroke himself. You knew this game, loved it. It was one you two played many times before in the year you were together. You knew if you behave, play by his rules, there would be a pleasurable payoff for you in the near future. “Good girls get rewarded,” he once purred into your ear. The memory of past earnings sends a shiver down your spine. But with the way he was looking at you, the anger from your argument still fresh on his mind, you know you would have to work for your reward. Your punishment for misbehaving would come first. The idea of receiving a punishment from Namjoon for the first time in months excites you. The walls of your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing with just the thought of what he has planned for you. You would never admit it to him, but sometimes you enjoy the punishment a lot more than the reward.

Satisfied with your obedience so far, Namjoon smirks at you. Turning his back to you as he sits down on the couch, digging into the bag he threw on to it just moments earlier, taking something out before pushing the bag off the cushion. The bag hits your living room floor, the remaining contents making a noise as they knock together. “Did he bring a bag of toys with him?” you think to yourself. Your thoughts are soon cut off by the sound of him calling out to you, “Come here, baby.”

Your legs move on instinct, your body just a slave to his voice the moment he ignites your carnal desire. You move slowly around the couch, standing in front of where he sits as he continues to stroke himself through his pants. You don’t sit down, no matter how badly you want to straddle him. The position he’s in is the perfect one for you to be able to grind down onto his member. The command is only to come to him. You know doing anything more before he says will just add on to your punishment. The waking brat in you tells you to do it anyways, but you don’t listen to her. Not yet.

Namjoon watches you through his hooded gaze, his eyes roaming over your body until they stop at your chest. Your perk nipples visibly straining through the thin fabric of your tank top. He licks his lips, his voice deep and raspy as delivers another command. “Strip, now.”

You do as you’re told, slowly slipping your sweat pants and panties off at the same time. You take your time standing back upright. Kicking your discarded clothing off to the side as you grab the bottom hem of your tank top. Slowly moving it up your torso inch by inch. “Don’t tease, baby,” Namjoon growls, his dark eyes shooting up to yours as your walls clench again from his warning.

You smile innocently, pulling your tank top up just a little faster. You let the bottom hem catch under your breast, causing your tits to bounce free once you finally lift your tank top over your head, throwing the item up and over Namjoon’s head. You continue to stand, reveling in the way Namjoon devours your curves with his eyes. He meets your gaze once again, taking his hand off his length and placing on the arm of the couch. “On your knees. You understand what to do from there. Right, brat?” He punctuates his words. Eyes never leaving you as you sink to your knees, your hands rushing to free him from the confines of clothing. You grasp the top of his undone pants and boxers. Namjoon lifts his hips just slightly, allowing you to pull his clothes down. His long, thick dick breaking free and slapping against his abdomen.

Your mouth instantly begins to water again. You forgot how big he was. Your eyes trailing up his impressive length, refamiliarizing yourself with the long veins that decorate his beautiful cock. The large mushroom tip, angrily colored red as drops of precum leak out. The need to taste him intensifies. You waste no time in taking him into your grasp. Your small hand wraps around the base of his cock, fingertips no where near touching due to the absurdity of his thickness. You slowly start pumping him, gathering each drop of precum as you reach the top to help lubricate your hand going back down. Namjoon lets out a humor content, eyes still hooded as he watches you stroke his dick. You lean forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you roll your tongue around his tip. You hear his breath hitch, not giving him a chance to catch his breath before you take him into your mouth. You move your head up and down, starting out with shallow bobs as you get accustomed to his length. Taking him in deeper with each pass until you feel his tip graze the back of your throat.

Being out of practice, you gag slight on reflex the moment you feel him touch the back of your throat. A deep moan rumbles through Namjoons chest as his eyes flutter close. His hand moves to your hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail as you start to move faster. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, his hips starting to rut up, matching your pace. His groans motivate you, urging you to take him in deeper, faster. Your throat relaxes as his tip moves past your gag reflex. Namjoon starts guiding you with the hand in your hair, slightly pulling up and pushing down rapidly to quicken his pace. You let him take control, bracing your hands on the couch as your apartment fills with the obscene sounds of Namjoon fucking his dick into your mouth. You feel a messy layer of spit forming around your mouth, mixtures of drool and precum dribbling down your chin as Namjoon continues to pump his length into you. You start to gag again, your lungs burning with the need for air.

Out of nowhere he slams his hips up into you, shoving half his length down your throat. Hand firm on the back of your head to keep you in place. Your eyes start to water. A single tear escaping down your cheek as you close your eyes, concentrating on breathing through your nose to try and catch a much needed breath. You feel Namjoon’s cock twitch deep in your throat. You swallow, the sounds of his appreciating deep groans shooting straight down to your core. Another gush of arousal leaking out of you and you feel it drip down your thigh and on to your floor. Namjoon asks you to do that again through a breathy moan and fulfill his command. Receiving a slurred, “that’s my good girl” as he starts moving your head up and down again. You preen under his praise. His words sparking a fire in you and you take back control of the pace in which you suck his dick. Moving faster and taking him in as deep as you can with each pass. A slew of curses fly past Namjoon’s lips as he clenches your makeshift ponytail tighter.

“Slow down baby or you’re gunna make me cum. I’m not ready yet,” he moans trying to pull up on hair to take back control. You ignore him, bobbing your head faster before you hear a growl roll through his chest. Namjoon yanking you off his dick by your hair as you let out a whine. “I said slow down, you little brat,” he growls, his chest moving rapidly up and down as he tries to catch his breath. You look up at him, a smirk on your lip as you lick around your mouth, gathering up every drop of his salty taste that still lingers. Before you can swallow, Namjoon reaches for your face. Pulling down the corner of your mouth, causing a pool of your precum mixed spit to dribble back down your chin. “You’re just my filthy little cockwhore, aren’t you?” He chides and you hum in approval.

He releases your hair and face, leaning back into the couch and taking his length back into his hand again as he passes out another command, “Turn around, come sit on my dick.” His abrasiveness only further turns you on, hopping up off the floor quickly and turning your back to him. He quickly removes the remainder of his clothing. Tossing his pants and shirt over the couch to join your previously thrown top. He grabs your waist with his free hand, guiding you down in his lap as he positions himself at your core. He pauses your descent, rubbing his tip teasingly between your slick lips as he holds you up. You let out another whine, trying to push yourself down onto him as you speak without thinking. “Don’t tease,” you whine. You feel him move his tip away from your entrance, not allowing you a second to try and figure out where he went when you feel a harsh slap land on your pussy. You cry out, the sensation a mixture of pain and pleasure. “You don’t get to give the orders tonight, brat,” he growls into your ear.

Once again repositioning himself at your lips, resuming his teasing back and forth strokes. You whimper in need, trying so hard to be patient, not wanting to give him anymore reason to lengthen his teasing you. As if he heard your inner plea, he stops his tip right at your entrance, slowly lowering you down onto him. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan, eyes closing shut as you feel the slight sting from the stretch of his large size. The hand you braced on the arm of the couch slips, causing you to fall slightly into Namjoon’s lap, taking more of him in. He lets out a deep moan, the vibrations from his chest rumble on your back, causing another wave of arousal to leak from you. Allowing the last few inches of Namjoon’s absurd length to slip in you until he’s buried to the hilt inside you. “Fuck, I’ve missed this tight little cunt,” he groans and you sigh in satisfaction. A small wave of relief flowing through you now that you have him inside you once again.

A minute passes by as you both sit there not moving; Namjoon’s grip on your waist making it hard for you to move. Your frustration starts creeping up again and you feel your clit pulse with need. You grind down ever so subtly in his lap, trying to create some sort of friction. Your unapproved attempt doesn’t go unnoticed. Namjoon’s hand coming down on you once again, this time the harsh slap landing on your clit. You cry out again, the sting from the slap still lingering but it’s like your body doesn’t even notice, the action only making you grow more wet.

“Impatient little slut,” Namjoon huffs under his breath as he picks up a blue silicone object and slips it on to his finger. He presses a button near the bottom, a faint buzzing sound from the now vibrating silicone ring following shortly after. He presses his covered finger to your clit, still keeping his cock motionless inside of you. You let out a low moan as the low vibrations lick at your little bundle of nerves. Namjoon makes small, slow circles around your swollen bean as he leans your head back with his freehand. He nips at your earlobe. Sweat forming across your brow as he continues his slow circles. A subtle tension forms like a slow coil in your core. The burning need of your growing orgasm, faint but it’s there. It only adds to your frustration, the need to beg for more resting on the tip of your tongue. Namjoon nips at you once more before whispering into your ear, “This little thing has three settings. The more you behave, the higher it will go. Now, are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?”

You nod your head frantically, words escaping you as you try to focus on the low vibrations tickling your clit, trying to find a way to increase the pressure without moving. Namjoon moves the vibrator off you, quickly replacing it with another slap to your clit. You cry out again, your walls clenching around his length causing a low moan to crawl up his chest. Namjoon presses the vibrator back on your clit, still buzzing at the lowest setting. “Use your words, brat,”he commands through clenched teeth. “Now,” he asks again, “are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Kim,” you stammer, your body starting to shake for the need of just more. Namjoon’s free hand trails up your stomach and cups your breast. He takes your hardened nipple between two fingers, rolling it before giving it a pinch. You let out a choked moan as he chuckles in your ear. “That’s my good girl,” he purrs before clicking the button on the vibrator, bumping it up to the mid level as he presses steady circles into your sensitive bean. You can’t control the wanton moans that fall from your lips. Your thighs start shaking in pleasure as the coil in your pit grows tighter, more of your juices leaking onto Namjoon’s cock and down your thighs. You feel your insides start to flutter, the walls of your pussy clenching around his length ever so often. You hear him let out a soft moan each time, his cock twitching inside of you. You lean back against him, arching your back as he keeps up his steady circles on your clit; showing no signs of his finger growing tired. Your head drops back on his shoulder as your eyes flutter shut. You slowly start rolling your hips forward, pushing your clit harder into the vibrator on his hand. The coil in your pit grows tighter, rolling your hips faster as Namjoon kisses your neck. Sucking red welts into your skin as he twirls his fingers faster, pressing the button on the toy and putting it on its highest level. Both of your breaths start to quicken. You feel your impending orgasm right at the precipice of release, all thoughts leaving your head. The only thing barely pulling your focus off chasing your release is Namjoon’s breathy groan in your ear, his velvety baritone pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You gunna cum, baby?” he rasps, meeting each roll of your hips with his own. You nod your head, your mouth falling open as you feel your orgasm creeping up your body. You feel a rumble roll up his chest, a dark chuckle slipping past his lips as you feel his free hand wrap around your throat. “Well. that’s just too damn bad.”

He rips the vibrator away from you as he stops the roll of his hips. You start to whine in protest only for no noise to slip past your lips from the hand around your throat tightening ever so slightly. You feel his breath on your ear, tears forming at the corner of your eyes from the pain of your orgasm slipping away. “Disobedient whores don’t get to cum,” he bites into your ear, releasing his hand from your throat as he grabs a hold of your waist. You barely regain your breath when he starts fucking up into you ferociously, selfishly chasing his own release. You feel your orgasm rapidly build back up, shutting your eyes as you concentrate on its warmth. You try to force the knot inside of you to snap, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your goal as Namjoon shifts his hips. The tip of his cock at just the right angle to hit repeated strikes to the rough patch inside of you. You can taste your release, Namjoon’s pace and precision bringing you right to the edge before he rips you off of him, falling back onto his stomach. You cry out from the sudden loss, your walls and clit pulsing painfully from the departure of another missed orgasm. Strings of his cum shoot up from his twitching length, coating your legs and stomach with his release.

He loosens the grip on your waist. You slid your body off of him and on to the vacant part of the couch. Your legs still quiver as your back meets the soft cushion. Namjoon looks over at you with hooded eyes, his chest heaving as his cock begins to soften to a semi-hard state. The corner of his lips twitches up into a smirk, causing his dimple to appear just briefly as he moves to crawl on top of you. He hovers over you, his face parallel with yours as he touches your face with his hand, wiping away the tears still clinging to your eyes. “You took your punishment well, baby,” he coos, closing his eyes as he places his forehead against yours, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, catching your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

You move your lips in tandem. Namjoon lowers himself on to your body, grinding his rehardening cock against your core. He swallows your moans, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips. Your movements become more frantic. Namjoon licking into your mouth as he continues to rut into your pelvis, your kissing turning into nothing but tongue and teeth. He pulls away, a string of spit connecting your lips as you both come up for air. He sticks his tongue out, cutting the string as he wraps it around his wet appendage. Pulling it back into his mouth, his eyes darken with lust once more as he peers down at you. “Open,” he commands through gritted teeth.

Your eyes widen slightly, sparkling with anticipation as you open your mouth wide. You stick your tongue out, waiting patiently for whatever he has to give you. After a quick suck in of his cheeks, he forms a ball of spit from his lips, pushing it out with his tongue. It’s slow in its descent down to you. It lands perfectly on your tongue and you quickly pull it into your mouth, swallowing it down before sticking your tongue back as if asking him for more. His eyes light up with mirth, leaning in to place a quick kiss on your lips, trailing more quick kisses down your neck and to your chest. He kisses each of your nipples before settling on one, rolling his tongue around the hardened bud before lightly sucking. You arch into him, his face being smothered by your ample bosom as he continues to suck.

Sneaking his hand down in between you, he cups your heat. Tracing the outsides of your nether lips as you let out a light gasp. You ground down into his hand, silently begging for him to give your more. Your walls and clit are still throbbing, aching for the not one, but two denied orgasms. He releases your nipple with a pop, briefly grazing his teeth across the surface as he peers up at you. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Please let me cum, Daddy,” you whine, your tone embarrassingly high from need. You don’t have to wait long for him to answer your plea. He gathers your neverending leaking arousal on two fingers. Slipping both inside of you at once, easily able to reach knuckle deep due to your level of wetness. He pumps them in and out of you slowly, taking your other nipple into his mouth as he starts to pick up his speed. It’s not long before the knot beings to reform inside of you, your hips starting to match his pace as you fuck yourself onto his fingers. You let out another whine as he bites on your nipple, taking the opportunity to also slip a third finger into your pussy. He pumps them into you faster, curling them ever so often as he finds the sensitive spot inside of you. Your thighs start to quiver as your toes curl as you reach the edge of your release. Your inner walls begin to flutter, warning Namjoon of your impending orgasm. He curls his fingers again, the well timed graze across your rough patch is enough to snap the knot inside of you. Namjoon’s name falls from your lips like a mantra. Your orgasm washes over you in waves as he slightly lessens his pace, helping you ride out your pleasure as long as possible.

At the first sign of you coming down for your high, Namjoon releases your nipple. He resumes his previous pace with his fingers, quickly moving further down your body and taking your swollen clit between his lips. Your hands shoot down into his hair as he begins to suck. You pull at him, overstimulation causing your body to react on it’s own and try to push him away. He releases your clit, leaning up just far enough to land another slap on your pussy. Another choked cry escaping from your throat. “Behave,” he snaps. The one word the only thing he says to you before taking your bud back into his mouth. Feeling your walls begin to tighten again, he fucks into you faster. He curls his fingers with every thrust into you, flicking his tongue against your bud between different pressured sucks. An unearthly screech rumbles up your throat as your second orgasm hits you fast, harder than the one you experienced just a few moments before. Your gushing release forces Namjoon’s hands out from inside of you. Your juices splashing onto his chest as he releases your clit, moving down just a little lower to your clenching hole. You let out a moan as he runs his tongue between your lips. Obscene slurping sounds ringing throughout your living room as he laps up your juices, drinking down every drop like a man starved.

Oversensitivity kicks in again. You push at his head, your body barely able to put any force behind it as it still tries to recover from the back to back bliss. Namjoon releases you from his mouth, chuckling at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Evidence of your release still dripping from his chin as he moves back up your body to kiss you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, wrapping the muscle around your’s, painting it with the leftovers of your release. The taste of your arousal re energizes you, sucking his tongue between your lips to taste yourself even more. Still kissing you, Namjoon maneuvers your legs around his waist. He breaks the kiss, murmuring for you to hold on. He stands up off the couch, lifting you up at the same time. You let out a playful squeal as you throw your hands around your neck to keep you from falling. His hands are under your ass as he carries you towards the hallway leading to your bedroom. He kisses you as he walks, his hand groping your ass as he balances you with each step. His cock, nestled between your pussy and his abdomen, twitches with arousal from your continued moans.

He barely makes it to your closed bedroom door before pushing you up against it. You use the hard surface to support yourself, leaning back into as you grind your core on Namjoon’s cock. Your slick lips coating his length with your arousal as he ruts up into you, matching your movement. He leans in for a kiss and you catch him off guard. Catching his plump bottom lip between your teeth, biting it every so softly as you suck on it. Namjoon letting out a choked moan as you let it go. He pushes you further into the door, using the extra support to allow himself to position his dick at your entrance. “You think you can cum for me one more time, baby?” He asks you through a smirk, his slightly taunting tone poking at your inner brat, coaxing her to come out and finally play.

“Of course I do,” you state cockily. “The real question is can you make me cum one more time. Baby.” Namjoon lets out a deep growl and you feel the vibrations shoot straight to your cunt. Mixtures of adrenaline and excitement burning inside you as anger sparks like a flame in Namjoon’s eyes. He slams his thick rod to the hilt inside you. You let out a strangled moan from the sudden intrusion. Your fingernails digging into his shoulders as he pushes off your door. He starts fucking up into you. Gravity brings you down harder on him as he bounces you on his cock.

“Next time, I’m gagging the little bratty mouth of yours,” he growls. He makes a quick grab for the doorknob, opening the door and stumbling into your room and towards your bed.

Namjoon is still speared inside you as he drops you both onto your bed, scooting you up the mattress until your head meets your pillow. He grabs you under your knee, lifting it up and into your chest, allowing him to fuck into you at a deeper, more delectable angle. “This pussy was fucking made for me,” he grunts. Sweat coloring his brow as he continues plowing into you. His balls slapping your ass each time he drives himself to the hilt inside of you. Your hands grasp at the sheets, your eyes rolling back into your head as you feel your orgasm growing once again. Wanton moans fall from your lips with every delicious stroke of his cock against your velvety walls. Your pussy is still sensitive from your previous two orgasms, slight oversensitivity kicking in but it only heightens the pleasure. You open your eyes, your lids fluttering from the pleasure as you blink to focus your vision on Namjoon. The street light peeking through the window falls on his face, allowing you to see him, eyes closed with his mouth dropped open, losing himself in the pleasure that is you. As if he feels your stare, he opens his eyes and peers down at you. His pupils are blown with lust yet his gaze brims with so much love and adoration as he continues to stare at you, causing a warm comfort of matching affection to start to bloom in your chest.

Dropping your knee, he slows his thrust. Changing to grinding deep into you as he moves his hands to cup your face. Kissing you deeply, he rests his forehead on yours again, speaking to you softly between labored breaths. “You know you’re the only one I want like this. Or like anything. I only want you.”

Your lips spread wide in a smile, your hands release their grip on the bed sheets, moving to the back of his head. You bring him in for another kiss before returning his sentiment. “I feel the same way, Joonie,” you huff out softly. “Now fuck me.”

Namjoon’s lips break into a quick smirk before pressing a rough kiss into yours. He pushes himself back up. A hand on your waist and his other pushed up against your head board as he starts deeply thrusting into you at an unrelenting pace. Your hands claw at his back as you arch up into him. The sensation of him striking your g-spot quickly brings another orgasm into fruition. A delicious warmth pooling in your core as you feel his movements start to stutter. “I’m close, baby,” he confesses through gritted teeth. His voice is strained as he tries to hold on just a bit longer to his release. Breathy whines asking him to ‘Don’t stop’ the only thing you're able to say in response as you creep closer and closer to the edge. He moves his hand on your waist between you, finding your clit with his thumb and rubbing it in quick circles. “Come with me, baby.” He only lasts a few more pumps into you before he’s driving into you deep, tip pressed firmly into your rough patch as he loses himself to his release. You’re quick to follow him, that last thrust the last push you need to send you over the edge. His seed spilling into you in never ending spurts, filling you up to the brim as your pussy clenches around him. He collapses on top of you, the rhythmic pulses of your walls continuing to milk him for all he’s worth, soaking up every last drop of his release.

You both lie there, chests moving rapidly up and down as you both try to catch your breaths. Namjoon's softening cock still nestled inside of you as you lightly trail your fingers up his spine. After a few minutes, he leans up, pulling himself out of you as you both wince from the loss. The mixture of your combined release starts to slowly leak out of you, dripping onto your bedsheets. He rolls to lay beside you, sliding his arm under your shoulders to pull you into him. The stickiness of your skin from your labored sweat feeling slightly uncomfortable on his, but you don’t care. Still wrapping your arms around him, your head on his chest as he rests his chin on you.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored you like that. Or lied about why I was staying late. I just really wanted to surprise you and I’m terrible at keeping secrets,” he says, nuzzling his face into your hair as you scoot in closer to him.

“I know, Joonie. And I’m sorry, too. I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt. I promised to be more understanding and I didn’t do that.” He loosens his hold on you, allowing you to lie back on the bed, still facing him.

“Then let’s start over. Try working on things again. This time, as boyfriend and girlfriend,” he asks, smiling down at you as you smile back at him. Propping up on an elbow, you raise your head up and catch his lips in a deep kiss. His smile while kissing you back lets you know that this was an acceptable enough answer. Breaking apart, you lay back down as he moves to trail kisses across your shoulder. “I brought a whole bag of things to use on you, and I barely got to dive into it. Just another thing that didn’t really go as planned,” he says with a sigh, propping his head on his hand as he looks down on you. You glance at the clock on your bedside table before turning back to Namjoon. “The night’s still young,” you purr, trailing one of your fingers down his chest. “How about you spend the night, and I’ll let you use the whole bag on me twice.”

Namjoon grins wide, mischief coloring his eyes as he maneuvers himself back on top of you. “Deal.”

#bts smut #bangtansorciere #bangtanuniversity #bangtanhq #bangtanarmynet #kwritersworldnet #btsbookclub #houseofddaeng #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #namjoon x yn #bts fan fic #namjoon fan fic

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marvel-fanfic-writer-8675 · 2 years

Text

Feelings of Love and Pain Epilogue

Pairing: Bucky x reader x OC

Warnings: Fluff!!!!!

Summary: good ol’ domestic Buck Buck

It had been almost 2 years since you got Ben back, and it couldn’t have been going better. The team’s tower had been rebuilt, so everyone but you, Ben and Bucky moved back in there. You three decided to stay at your place, in the peace and quiet. It helped all of you with nightmares, anxiety and PTSD. You were all going on missions still, but only really important ones where you guys were the only ones who could do it or something.

“Dolllllll” Bucky called out, followed by Ben’s call of “looovvveeeee.” “What is it my sweethearts?” They ran and gave you a huge hug, “oh god, what’d you two do?” You eyed them suspiciously. “What makes you think we did anything?” “Well did you?” They looked down sheepishly, “we kinda, may or may not have……found a stray cat and adopted it.” You shook your head and laughed. “Oh really now? Well where is this cat and what’s their name?” The guys had a look of relief, “you’re not mad?” Ben made sure. “I mean, I’m a little miffed but if my loving boyfriends were to, I don’t know, get my favorite take out and cuddle on the couch watching a movie for dinner tonight, then I wouldn’t be.” “I think we can manage that.”

A few weeks later, it was your second anniversary together. You three decided to just count the day you all three got together as your one anniversary versus a bunch of separate ones. “Open it love!” “Yeah, go ahead doll, open the present!” You opened the gift that had been shoved into your hands. “Oh my god! We’re going to the Maldives!” “That we are love.” You got up and gave them both hugs and kisses. “You better get to packing doll, we leave tomorrow morning!” You ran off to get packed.

While on the trip, you got another surprise. Bucky and Ben led you to a private beach, where they’d set up a picnic dinner. “Oh, my sweethearts, this is too much, it’s so beautiful.” They quickly stopped you, “hey, look at us, nothing is too much for you, we love you and want you to be happy. You are worth this and so much more.” You had a few tears in your eyes that were quickly whisked away by one of your boyfriends.

You had just gotten done eating when you stood up. “Come on you two! Let’s take some pictures of the sunset with us in it!” You turned around to face them, and when you saw what they were doing you were shocked.

They were both down on one knee with a ring on each of their hands. “Doll, we love you so much,” Bucky started, “and love, we hope you will make us the happiest men on the earth,” Ben continued before they ended it together, “and marry us?” You instantly said yes, and they stood up. You wrapped your arms around both of them and they spun you around.

They set you down and put both rings on your finger, they were a pair of rings that were made to fit together, you loved them. “This is a little different than what I had planned,” you started, “but I was going to ask if you would both do ME the pleasure and honor; of marrying me.” You got down and pulled out the set of two rings you’d been carrying. Both were on a chain, as you knew the guys didn’t like having things on their hands, and much preferred necklaces. “Always doll, always.” “There’s nothing I’d love more.” You slid the necklaces over their heads, and they admired the rings, reading the little inscription,

“Through all the love, and all the pain, I am yours and you are mine.” -Your Doll/Love

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fic #Bucky soulmate #Bucky x reader x OC #Bucky x OC

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aurathian · 3 years

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thank you so much for the tag @zelink-prompts !! the prompt here was ball/masquerade so this is what i came up with :) hope you enjoy!

Masquerade

Princess Zelda adjusted her necklace to lay flat across her collarbone and stared down the door in front of her. Tall, dignified, royal. Just like the man she was dreading to see that night. He was egotistical, full of it, vain, and they’d been sworn enemies since the day they met when he stepped on her foot while dancing. Yet, a part of her couldn’t help but feel something—admiration? Infatuation? Attraction? She couldn’t pin a name to how she felt when she saw him, and she certainly didn’t want to.

The doors creaked open and she tried her best to look uninterested and bored. The meaner she looked, the less men that asked to dance with her. That was how she preferred it. Because of that, she was overjoyed that this time around, the ball was a masquerade, but she was disappointed at how tiny and ineffective the masks were. A glance around the room and she instantly knew who everyone was, despite what was supposed to disguise them.

Making her way across the dance floor to a table, she happily accepted a glass of champagne from a passing servant. She drummed her fingers on the clothed surface and took a sip when a man came up to her, just another suitor, and asked for her hand in dance. It was painfully obvious that everyone could tell who everyone was but, for the sake of not offending the king who’d organized the ball, they feigned ignorance. The suitor had even stuttered her name before correcting himself.

She danced with many men like that that night, all of whom she knew. They were different princes from the many different kingdoms surrounding Hyrule, each one seeking her hand and, ultimately, her kingdom’s bountiful resources. She resolved that she would never marry any of them.

She locked eyes with him, however, from across the room, and she hastily went back to sipping her drink when he began to stride over to her. She only noticed that she’d downed her glass when he was about halfway to her, and she began to try and blend into the crowd. She weaved in and out of people, her own personal waltz, politely greeting them as she passed. Eventually, she lost sight of him and exhaled.

She turned around and her eyes met his—Prince Link’s.

“Oh, excuse me, sir, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, eyes downcast.

“Nothing to be sorry for, milady.” He spoke smoothly, almost seductively, each word carefully laced together, and his eyes sparkled behind his mask. It was a glittering mix of grey and black, shaped much like the snout of a wolf and embellished with stunning blue crystals. She tilted her head in question. “It was my intention to run into you.”

“I see.” She pursed her lips.

“I like your mask,” he offered, a hand reaching out to graze it before he withdrew it, just a hair’s breadth away. She longed to have that hand caress her cheek.

What? No, she didn’t. How silly.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she replied cordially. She felt stiff and locked in place, but she wanted so badly to turn around and leg it out of the ballroom. Instead, she reached up to her mask where his hand had meant to touch, feeling along the golden gems embedded into the white fabric.

“Perhaps we could have a dance?” he asked as he held out his arm to her. She glanced between his arm and his eyes, which glinted mischievously. He smirked and she inhaled deeply.

He was enjoying this, she knew. Watching her squirm uncomfortably, her eyes darting around, restraining herself from saying the snarky remarks she could only say in private. He reveled in their rivalry, and so did she, but each encounter with the prince caused her stomach to flutter. He was dangerous.

“Of course,” she said at last, placing her hand on his arm and walking out to the dance floor with him. They swayed carefully to the music played by the orchestra and Zelda did her best to avoid eye contact.

“You know, milady, these masks are useless,” the prince whispered in her ear. “I know exactly who you are.” His grip tightened on her hands as they spun and glided across the floor.

“D-do you now?” she gulped, refusing to look at his covered face.

The Princess Zelda had to agree with him that the masks put to use for the masquerade ball were, as he put it, useless. She could tell who he was, because his eyes were too blue to ever be hidden and his sharp jawline was one of his main features that she often caught herself staring at.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of agreement, though. “I think they’re quite effective,” she commented before he twirled her in time with the music. “I have not a clue as to who you could be.”

She watched as he licked his lips and chuckled. “Really?” he drawled. “Not by my stunning good looks, my charisma, my movements?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re lying to me, Princess.”

Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. “Tell me why I should ever give you the satisfaction of being right,” she hissed back. “You’re already conceited as it is; why should I fuel that even more?”

He hummed in pretend thought and grinned. “I like being right,” he answered.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m never going to prove that you are.”

“Same ol’ stubborn Zelda,” he sighed. “You never change.”

“Would you prefer if I did?” she snipped back. “‘Oh, Sir Link, please take me away and ravish me! You’re so handsome I can’t even behold it!’ Just like how the court ladies would say it, yes?”

He cringed. “I never said I wanted that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Using such undignified peasant language at a royal ball, are we?”

“You have an odd obsession with catching me slip up,” she told him. “One would think you are in love with me.” She smirked. He always seemed to tense up at the idea of loving, or merely liking, anyone.

Suddenly, he pulled her close to his chest, and her face was unbearably close to his, blue eyes piercing into hers.

“And what if I am?” he said, voice deep and hushed. Her eyes widened in shock. He was never this bold.

“W-well, you’re not, clearly.” She pushed away. “A lover would not be so cruel to me as you are.”

“Cruel? Please,” he scoffed. “Someone so cruel to you would never think of flirting with you, now would they?”

“Flirting? But— ow!”

He stepped on her shoe.

“Why, you…!”

She broke free from his grip and glared at him intensely, her fists balling at her sides. Link chuckled as he grabbed the hand of some poor maiden nearby.

“Oh, it appears I am being whisked away for a dance! So long, milady. Hopefully we can chat again!” He waved at her as he dragged the random woman off, but not before giving Zelda one last wink.

As she sat down at a chair along the wall to massage her hurting foot, she wondered why she felt more butterflies than pain.

#zelink #loz #zelda #link #the legend of zelda #fanfiction #botw #tp #loz tp #loz botw #this can be any game you want really #but i imagine twilight princess the most here #also i’m totally obsessed with enemies to lovers ballroom scenes #my writing

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ill-skillsgard · 3 years

Text

His Mistress - Series Finale

Warning: 18+ smut, mentions of cheating, coarse language, mature themes.

Author’s Note: I am terrible at ending stories because I never want them to end. The ending I initially wrote wasn’t good enough, so I started again until I felt it was right. I’ll keep it brief, but I want to thank all the readers who fueled this crazy fire and inspired me to flesh out a dark love story that I’m proud to say I wrote. I’ll miss Mr. Deaver and all the smutty, angsty, drama of his life with his mistress. Thanks for tolerating the never-ending POV shifts and filling my inbox with love and support for the story and for me. You guys are the BEST. I’m forever grateful!

I hope you enjoy the 9K series finale. It’s been a slice!

Henry X Mistress Masterpost [x]

Henry's company held an office party to bid farewell the building that had brought them growth and success over the last few years. Once again expanding, the company added a brand new customer-relations department, a slew of employees fresh out of university and interns to fill in the gaps. The celebration took place on the evening of their last workday and boasted live entertainment and enough luxurious fare for each employee and their loved ones. They rented a bouncy castle and ball pit for the kids and set up an open bar next to two seminar tables' worth of catering.

It wasn't only a farewell party for the company, but the first time Henry showed off his girlfriend in front of his colleagues and employees. Word of Henry's divorce had already made its rounds, his colleagues begging for gory details after the documents were signed and filed. Rumours fluttered in and out of ears and mouths, but never while Henry was in the room—Henry had cheated on his wife with a coworker, Henry screwed the cleaning lady and his wife caught him in the act, Henry picked up a venereal disease, and poor Mary. The speculation rose tensions, but like all rumours, faded into irrelevancy once news of the company move surfaced. People forgot all about Henry's ugly divorce for the next round of gossip. Word of his mistress died down.

Although the tension had mostly evaporated, she felt eyes crawling on her when she showed up on Henry's arm. Of course, everyone recognized her—she was the secretary for a time, the only line to get an opening with Mr. Deaver. She had spent months parked next to his office, taking his appointments, booking his days, answering his phone. They remembered, and they leaned into the nearest ear to whisper, "I knew it all along."

If Henry noticed the curiosity, he chose to ignore it, but she couldn't. She felt every woman in the place wringing her silently, scrutinizing her moves, her hand in Henry's. People who knew Mary tended to side with the older woman, and the nattering reinstated in hushed exchanges. She was alone at the party save for Henry, but he could only guard her for so long before his colleagues whisked him into conversations littered with business jargon that lost her attention.

Still, she clung to his hand, and once in a while, Henry would break from stock discussions to turn in for a kiss. He surrounded her ears with his fingers, tilting her face up so he need not crouch just to show some affection. When he buried her mouth with his, she savoured the taste of wine, the power in becoming the first lady, the stares from Henry's subordinates.

Henry pulled back an inch, staring drunkenly, though he'd only had one glass of pinot noir, and nipped her bottom lip. "Having a good time, sweetheart?"

"Sure. I love catching all the cattiest office workers glaring."

Henry smirked as though he too tasted a dollop of satisfaction from the envy. "You know what I say to that?"

"What?"

"Fuck them," Henry whispered.

She feigned a gasp, swatted his shoulder, and he pulled her even closer. "Gosh, you look beautiful. I want to undress you later and do all the things they're thinking about me doing to you."

"My, my, Henry. You better take it easy on the vino."

"I'm not tipsy. I'm excited."

She checked his pockets for bulges, hoping Henry's intentions weren't to propose in front of all these near-strangers. The lines of his suit were smooth, and when she hugged him, she only felt his cellphone, wallet and keys, no ring box. She sighed with relief and sweltered under another one of his long kisses. He moaned against her, stroked her neck and back until she interrupted him to say, "Jesus, Henry. What's with the PDA?"

"I'm sorry. I just don't care anymore. Let 'em look."

"Easy, tiger. You're the star of the show. People want to talk to you without lipstick all over your face."

"Mm, I'd fuck you right now if I could," said Henry.

She squeezed his shoulders, holding him off for a moment before he swooped in for another peck. "Okay, okay, I'm done. For now."

"Don't make me spank you when we get home," she warned, mouth curved in jest.

"I'll behave," he assured.

With children running about, the catering service making rounds in the nearly empty office space, more employees and their significant others piling in by the minute, it was easy to get lost in the bustle. Henry's colleagues whisked him away into a conversation she had no business understanding, leaving her stranded, drink in hand, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse to distract herself from her friendless reality. None of Henry's employees came to talk to her. She stood alone, a flag on a pole reminding everyone that Henry had upgraded in every way. Some people went by, nodding respectfully, while others bypassed her like a piece of furniture.

Just when she felt the pressure behind her eyes saying she was tired, Frank stepped out of the elevator with his wife and two boys. The children bolted for the bounce house, leaving their bickering parents in their dust. Frank travelled through the crowd rolling his eyes and sneering at his wife, who looked upset about something, but retracted her frown as soon as a colleague's wife greeted her. The loud businessman honed in on Henry, and she watched her helpless boyfriend go limp when the man slung his meaty arm around his shoulders, thumping his back with a ham hock fist.

She mused over Henry's embarrassment as Frank launched into a story designed specifically to draw attention to him in the worst way. Frank's baritone floated above the music, and soon, others gathered to listen to the man tell the story of how Henry got too wasted on sake on a business trip to Japan because he didn't want to seem rude to the host and didn't know how to decline.

"This fuckin' guy—pardon my French—is rolling on the floor in his hotel room, has ten minutes to get dressed and downstairs for the conference, but can't even hold his head up straight. How many did you have, Henry, seven? Eight?"

Henry blanched, shaking his head. "Eight, yeah, I think that's about right."

"You've never seen a guy so drunk in your life! He did the conference, slurring the entire time, stumbling over his shoes, but the folks loved it! Didn't they, Deaver? You really got their attention when you started hiccoughing between every word."

"Different times. We were younger. We were boys."

"Ah, yeah. Young and dumb. Now, look at you! Much older now and just as dumb, eh?"

The gaggle surrounding Henry burst into laughter and carried on as Frank surrendered his grip. She tried to picture Henry staggering, too drunk to string together a sentence, but couldn't imagine him as anything less than poised. The image reminded her of the conversation she had with Mary in the parking garage. Before the divorce had been finalized, Mary told her Henry had done questionable things abroad with his colleagues. Frank's story, although comical and meant as a harmless jab, filled her with suspicion.

Henry had denied the accusation that he cheated before that night he invited her up to his hotel room. With desperation on his face, he vowed on his love for her that he was never unfaithful, barring their affair. She believed him, with reluctance, and stowed it away in her mind with the rest of Mary's dubious claims. Now that stories of shenanigans and unprofessional conduct were in circulation, she tried not to let her suspicions gain traction.

The night played on, and as more of the families left to put their hyper children to bed, the heads of business brought out the top-shelf Scotch and sat around picking at sandwich trays and hors d'oeuvres. Frank caught Henry's assistant-turned-girlfriend in his cross-hairs and approached her with a drink in hand. Red-faced and loud as ever, Frank asked her why she wasn't enjoying herself.

She cleared her throat and offered her best smile. "I am having fun. I just don't have a rich enough history with the company to offer any entertaining stories."

"Oh, come now. You were Henry's assistant for months! You don't have anything to share about banging the boss?"

Frank's announcement only fell on her ears, but it was enough to make her blush and want to escape. He apologized and sidled up to her, clinking his whiskey tumbler with her wine glass.

"Gotta get you a refill, Whaddaya say, toots?"

"I'm fine for now," she said. "I offered to drive home."

"That's right. You two live together now in that little condo."

She blinked, unsure of how anyone might think of the condo as little, then realized she was standing among wealthy men whose homes spanned acres, who owned Summer cottages bigger than the average townhouse.

"I gotta say, Deaver's got that colour back in his face since he started on with you, doll. What do I gotta do to get me a woman like that? He's a whole new man. Is that all it takes is a nice, young honey to roll back the decades? I bet the old bastard gets it up just fine. Just fine."

"Thank you, Frank. I'll try to sift through that to find a compliment," she scoffed and sipped her wine.

"Aw, I mean it with love, darlin', you know that. Ol' Franky just talks, right? I don't mean any harm. Maybe I come from a place of envy, who knows? Not every day a dry old fella gets his hands on something pretty as you. I can see you're good for him. He sure smiles a helluva lot more! Christ, can't chisel the grin off that face. Loopy as a damn circus clown since you came around."

"Really?" She tittered.

"I'm serious. Shit, when Henry was with Mary, you couldn't pay the guy to crack a joke. Now, he's nothing like the shlub I met all those years ago."

She ran her finger along the glass rim as Frank droned on, her eyes on Henry across the room. He had been having a good time, his cheeks aglow with cheeriness. She'd never seen Henry interact with his coworkers for more than a quick trip in and out of the conference room to deliver him a printout or progress report. Tonight, Henry hadn't complained about people talking his ear off. Even after Frank's unflattering account of one of his rare blunders, he hadn't whined or wished they could sneak out unseen. Henry was at ease.

"He's planning on proposing to me soon," she said.

Frank cocked his head and rose his glass. "Here's to hoping he makes the right decision, and quick, before you realize you can do better!"

She clinked glasses with Frank once more, and while he drained his whiskey, she set her glass down on a table nearby.

"I was wondering what his coworkers might say about him remarrying."

"Anything to get him away from that soul-sucking ice queen of an ex-wife."

"Frank? Can I ask you something and get a sincere answer?"

Frank read her serious tone, shifted his brows and angled in, unaware of his alcohol-laden breath fanning over her face. "Anything, love. Franky tells no lies. That's what they say. With me, it's pure honesty."

"I heard a rumour about Henry in Thailand. Somebody said he cheated on Mary. Do you know anything about this? I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into, being young and all. I don't want to end up wasting my best years with a man who might cheat on me down the road."

Frank scoffed, slapped his leg and howled. She waited for him to wipe an invisible tear from his eye, hoping nobody asked what was so funny.

"Oh, doll. You can't believe all the rumours you hear in this place. Thailand... Shit, that was so long ago. I can hardly remember what happened. It's true, we did some partying, but when in Rome, right?"

She grimaced as Frank went on, "Ol' Deaver never left his hotel room on that trip. Me 'n a couple of our work buddies cruised around, got ourselves into a little trouble, but not Henry. He spent the whole week hunched over his laptop, putting last minute touches on some PowerPoint crap—never was good with computers, myself. And don't get me wrong, there were offers made during dinners—generous offers. You know the type. They like to show their hospitality. But Henry was the professional. We call him Dad since he's always keeping us in line. Even us old guys, eh? No, no... Company is rock solid 'cause of him. We told Deaver a million times to drop the ball 'n chain, but the kid stuck it out, he really did."

"Am I stupid to marry him?"

"Doll, I think if you want someone to treat you right, it's my man, Henry Deaver. The Kid can't contain himself. And who could? He's a lucky man, really fortunate to have a dish like you."

"Oh, stop," she gestured at the opposite corner of the cleared out office space where the wives gathered. "You know, if I marry Henry, I'll have to join the wives' club and stand over there with Phyllis and Dorothy."

Frank beamed at her. She decided not to loathe the man for his praise, both for her and Henry. He was a bumbling idiot at times and unfiltered, but she had seen much worse. Before the corporate job with all the nice clothes and gadgets she used to pine for while browsing fashion websites, she worked her food service job. With every type of asshole and gentleman coming through the hotel bar, Frank was the loudmouth who'd changed her mind on Henry Deaver.

"You're a different kind, ain'tcha? I bet Deaver has his hands full with you."

Warm, wine-drunk confidence slid off her tongue, "Oh, I keep him busy."

"I'll kill him if he doesn't marry you, kid."

"I'm sure you will."

"That's Frank's Guarantee."

She tipped glasses with him once more and excused herself to use the washroom. The night was drawing to a close, and she enjoyed the quiet of the bathroom and its 3 stalls. Many times she had retreated to the washroom to text Henry while he was in his office. She couldn't risk getting caught exchanging dirty messages with the boss, so when she wanted to make him blush, she snuck off to the lady's room. Many nude photoshoots happened in the safety of the last stall on the right, and all of them fed to Henry's phone at inopportune times—mostly during meetings or video calls with clients across the world. Now, she laid her head against the cool metal and thought of marrying Henry.

Back then, falling in love with him was forbidden, tingly, like a shot of alcohol at an inappropriate hour that she hoped nobody could smell on her breath. Now, it was pure. There were no more walls, no need to hide in the stall to talk to him. Henry was hers, and everyone knew it.

Henry waited for her by a stack of chairs. Behind him, the catering company was clearing away serving trays, stacking cups and folding tablecloths. The band had long since packed up, and anyone with children had taken them downstairs to the shuttles the company had arranged to drive them home.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Hey, indeed. How're you doing? I thought I saw you getting along with Frank." Henry chuckled. "What was up with that? I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate him. Maybe I wasn't keen on him hitting on me back at the hotel, but I think he's smartened up. As uncouth as he may be... He has your back and cares about the company."

"He's the drunk uncle of the business."

"You'll have to teach him some manners, though. One day, you'll have a female big-wig to schmooze, and she might not take kindly to pet names."

Henry's eyes bugged as he nodded. "Frank doesn't get to talk to the women in the industry, and don't worry, I'll whip him into shape."

"Hm, is that why they call you the company dad?" She asked, tracing one finger down Henry's lapel. "You just keep everyone in line, don't you? Lay down the law. Tell all those silly men how to act."

Henry shivered as her hand travelled lower, coasted over the front of his pants while nobody was looking. He puffed his chest, a crafty look taking over his visage. He snatched her wandering hand and stepped closer, eclipsing her as he slouched over to whisper in her ear.

"Yeah, I'm the Daddy around here."

"Is Daddy ready to head home soon?"

"Let's say our goodbyes, then we'll get out of here. Come on."

Henry gave her directions that took them in the opposite direction of home. When she questioned him, he patted her thigh, assuring there was a surprise waiting at the end of the line. She tried to pry it from him while they cruised the highway in the dark. The radio played low while Henry tried changing the subject.

"Where am I going?" She asked.

Henry pointed ahead. "Get off at the next exit."

The roads narrowed, and the street lamps spread farther apart outside of the city. She slowed the car, flipped on the high beams and guided Henry's BMW over gravel hills. There were houses along the quiet strip of country line, but they were hidden behind spruce and maple trees.

"Henry, we're so far from home. I'm tired. Please tell me what we're doing."

He pointed at a driveway tucked behind a line of birch and a dented metal mailbox standing crookedly on the side of the road. "Down there. It's close now, don't worry."

They curved through a loose gathering of evergreens and pulled up to a sprawling ranch house with a double garage and topiaries along the sides. The place was dark, but a motion light illuminated the paved driveway as she pulled up and parked. Henry pulled a set of keys from his pocket and exited the vehicle. He waited for her to catch up, breath turning to vapour in the crisp night air.

"Care to explain what we're doing at some random house?" She asked.

Henry took her hand and guided her toward the front door. In the dark, she sailed by the realtor's sign and stepped onto the first stone slab leading to the front door. She watched Henry fiddle with a key, shove it into the lock and turn the handle. The door opened with a whoosh, the scent of fresh paint and lacquered wood spilling out of the massive wooden door. Henry hit a switch, and fractals of light exploded from a chandelier on high in the foyer.

"Check this out. It's so open in the center, you could drive a truck through to the backyard. And the kitchen! Oh, you gotta see the kitchen. It's lovely," Henry said as he grabbed her hand and led her through the house. "All stainless steel and marble. The island is bigger than our bed! And come this way, down here."

They journeyed down an echoing hall, footsteps casting off the hardwood floors and glass light fixtures. Henry threw open a door and ushered her inside a furnished bedroom. A sleigh bed domineered the far end of the room, all dark wood, plush duvet and pillows.

"I know you're not keen on beige, which is fine. We'll paint it. But, look at this bed! And this window overlooks the backyard—Well, I wouldn't say 'yard.' It's more of a...field. Look, look, look!"

"Henry, what is this?" She asked, peering out the window at the blackness beyond the dim orange halo of the bedroom light.

When she turned back around, Henry placed his hands on her hips, excitement simmering. He smiled, wry and lustful, and bent down to kiss her.

"Isn't it obvious? This is our house."

"What are you saying?" She gasped. "You bought this place?"

"Mhm. I've had my eye on it for a long time."

"And just how long exactly were you planning on keeping this a secret?"

"Only until I bought it."

"Henry!"

He jingled the keys in his pocket. "Well, you can't just walk into a place that's not yours."

Suddenly, she realized Henry had put this in motion weeks before, masked it under the search for a new office building. Realtors had rung Henry's phone off the hook, and she had answered them all, oblivious to his underlying motive. When it clicked, she dropped her jaw and swatted him playfully.

"I can't believe you. Right under my nose!"

"It was good timing."

"But...why? What's wrong with the condo?"

Henry guided her to the room's centre beneath the carnival glass light fixture that had to go, along with the drab paint job. "Nothing is wrong with the condo. It's just not ours. There are too many memories preventing me from letting go of the past. I want to let it all go, but I can't when I look around and remember where I was just a year and a half ago. It served me well as a place to escape, but now, I don't need to hide. I want new memories. I want to walk outside with my coffee and see you in the backyard, doing whatever you want—gardening, reading, lounging. I want to pull up after a long day at work, see this place, and know that you're inside, all of our things, our memories, our smells."

"And what if I hate it?" She asked, stifling a giggle.

"Then I'll sell it, and we'll find a new place."

"I don't hate it, Henry, but...This was such a risk."

"It paid off. I knew you'd like it. It's the perfect combination of vintage and modern. The structure is old and strong, but the renovations give it that modern class. It's like that chalet we stayed at in Sweden. Remember?"

"Of course, I remember. We didn't leave bed for two days."

Henry smiled fondly at the memory and stroked her hair back, smiling with her in his arms. She laid her cheek on his chest and breathed in a contented sigh.

"There are two offices, one for me and one for you. Two other bedrooms. One for guests and one for a kid."

She looked up at him, and all the playfulness fled from his eyes. He kissed her to avoid the inevitable questions. When will we see a doctor? What is the plan if we can't conceive? They didn't need answers, only trust that whatever battles stretched on, they would meet them hand-in-hand.

"I can't wait," she whispered. "I love you. And I love this house."

"There's one more thing," Henry cleared his throat and stepped away from her. "It's kind of important."

"What is it?"

"I'm old, babe."

"Henry, you're not that old."

"I'm an old man. I'm head of a multi-national company, y'know. I wear suits and talk to people who hemorrhage money day in and day out. I like to style myself as a professional."

She cocked her head, wondering where Henry was going with his monologue.

"It's awkward when people ask me about you, and I have to refer to you as my girlfriend. Guys like me aren't supposed to have girlfriends. It just sounds creepy. Plus, you're so much more to me than that. You're not my girlfriend; you're the love of my life. My soulmate. My queen. I want you to be my partner."

"Henry—"

He cut her off and fetched something from the table next to the bed. When he rejoined her in the middle of the room, he bent at the knee and presented her with the ring box she had already seen, yet she fluttered as though it was the first time.

"Baby... I could have flown you to a tropical island or put this in a glass of champagne. I could have done this in front of everyone at the party tonight, but all of that seemed silly. Don't get me wrong, I still want to take you to every corner of the world and give you all the nicest things, but I wanted to propose to you in our house, just you and me. So... Will you quit being my girlfriend and become my wife instead?"

Henry separated her ring finger from the rest and slid the band down to the knuckle as she blotted her sobs with the other hand, nodding and fighting joyful tears.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" She asked as he rose to his feet and clamped her in a bone-cracking hug.

"I know I'm clever! You thought I would propose to you in front of all those people? No way."

"You hate being the center of attention."

"That's right. And although I want to shout it from the rooftops, I thought you'd prefer me asking you to marry me someplace quiet."

She gazed at the stone glittering on her finger, and a fresh wash of tears wet her cheeks. "I'm marrying you... You're going to be my husband."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to skip fiance altogether and get right to the wife thing."

"You're my husband."

"You're my wife!"

"We're getting married!"

"That's right," Henry beamed. "And we move in next month."

Breathless, she ripped her eyes off the ring and looked up at the man who gave it to her. She threw her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the column of his throat and breathed in the scent of old hotels, of pastry and coffee and drying ink on newspaper. She had a vision of him seated at a table across the room, smiling in her direction, tapping his silver pen on the spine of his planner. Two eyes, one green and one brown, drinking her in like fine wine, full of secrets and passion, indulgence and guilt. Her good Christian boy who was anything but pure or chaste.

"I'll worship you until I die, you know that, right?"

"Henry, I can't. You're making me cry. There's probably mascara all over my face!"

"I don't care," he pressed the words to her temple, swaying in languid step. "You'll never be rid of me. Think about that."

"I believe you, Henry."

His eyes flooded and no amount of squeezing suffocated the tears. The streams met the cuff of his suit jacket. He questioned why he still wore the suit and slipped out of it as her hand tugged his tie. Leash in hand, she pulled his face to her level and touched the tears coasting his cheeks, brushed her thumb over the scar two inches from the lips she kissed.

"Are you sure you want to marry me?"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"And I'm telling you to shut up, Henry. Don't ask those kinds of questions."

"I just can't believe you're mine."

"That's right. So stop wondering if I'll change my mind. I've had many opportunities to reconsider. I stuck it out through times I should have walked out, and now we're standing in this gigantic house, and there's a ring on my finger... And you still think I'll back out?"

"I hope not. You're everything I've wanted my whole life. I have it all. Now I can spend the rest of it happy."

"I love you," she whispered against his bottom lip.

Henry crouched, circled her hips with his arms and carried her to the bed, murmuring, "I love you, too, baby. So much."

"Are we gonna fuck right here?"

"Right here, right now," said Henry, perching her on the bed so he could work open the buttons of his dress shirt. She lifted her legs, slipped off her heels, then wrestled her blouse off. The struggle to undress ended with their tops off, Henry standing with his knees pressed into the plush mattress, between her legs. He ran his hands up and down her thighs, nylon sighing between skin as he stroked.

"I didn't think I'd make it out of the office without fucking you. Gosh, you looked so good in that outfit. All those guys were looking at you... Especially when you dropped your phone and bent over to pick it up. That fabric stretching over your ass. You should've seen 'em staring."

"You think they're jealous of you?" She asked as Henry bunched her skirt around her hips, revealing satin and lace panties pasted to her crotch with arousal. His palm traversed her thigh, paused at the edge of the panties. He sent out two fingers to stroke the stitching along her groin, satin running like water across the tips. Henry wanted to take his time, but she was restless. He subdued her with a kiss.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm in control tonight, and I want to feel and lick and taste every inch of your body before I even get my pants off, understand?"

She returned his sly look and rolled onto her stomach, parting her legs so he could admire the shiny material ruched between her cheeks.

"To answer your question... Yes. Of course, they're jealous."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

Henry snickered, like a bully cornering his prey. "Those old bastards can't keep their mouths shut. Even when you were my employee, they'd hound me for details... Ask if you were single, if I was tapping you, if I'd thought about it. I'm not one to boast, but they all knew. Henry Deaver doesn't kiss and tell, but then you'd come in and smile at me like just an hour before I was balls-deep in your pussy... Like my cum was still dripping down your thigh. They knew. We weren't as covert as we thought."

"It's that naughty little smile of yours that gives it away. You flashed me that same smile a few times at the hotel, and I just thought maybe you didn't realize how seductive you looked. But you know, don't you? You know what you do to me. How hard you can make me with just one look."

Henry lifted her leg over his shoulder and kissed her ankle as he squeezed the sole of her foot, admiring the coloured polish on her toenails peeking out of the semi-opaque stockings.

"I do enjoy getting you worked up, sir."

"Let's not tonight. I'm supposed to make love to you, not treat you like my office pet. I'm marrying you, for fuck's sake."

"Then make love to your future wife. That doesn't mean I can't be your slut anymore."

"Oh, my God," Henry growled.

"Look at what I'm wearing for you. I know how much you love the way my pussy looks wearing this fabric. Thigh-high stockings aren't practical, but I figured you might fuck me in your office one last time, and I wanted to torment you."

"Not so predictable now, huh?"

She simpered and ran her toe in a line down his chest and didn't stop until she grazed his belt buckle. "Yeah, and you've been thinking about filling me up all night."

Henry grasped her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed to meet his groin. He gathered her up in his arms, pressing his entire weight on her frame as he kissed her desperately. When her legs grew weak, he clamped them around his hips and undulated. Hardness strained against her crotch, pulsing from the heat between her legs.

"You're right. I've been aching to fuck you. How long has it been? Gosh, this week has been so busy, I've hardly had any time alone with you. And you've been occupied with your new job. It's been a while since I've come."

She made a coo of sympathy. "Aw, my poor baby. You're probably so sensitive."

"I want you to do something for me," Henry muttered, adjusting his crotch, then giving up and undoing his belt and pants altogether. "I'd love it if you sucked my cock."

"Oh, Mr. Deaver asking for a blowjob? A rare sound to my ears."

He shook his head, grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed to kneel on the floor. With feet spread wide, his fingers tangled in her hair, Henry waited for her to make the first move. His view of her from on high was angelic. In the prismatic light, her eyes twinkled, and he thought of whiskey in a glass, poured by a dangerous woman he'd grown to admire. She always wore a smile, but for the right person, that smile turned luscious and dim. Her eyes would relax on him, soothe him, delight if he made small conversation instead of only demands.

Henry did not demand, but as her smiling lips tightened around the midway-point of his cock and sank, he couldn't help aiding the way to her throat with one firm thrust. "Oh... Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," he droned.

"You can use my mouth, sir."

"Just suck that dick like a good girl. Do your magic on me, baby."

With free reign, she slathered his shaft with her tongue, side-to-side, up and down. She met his eyes and smiled, the tip nestled between her puckered lips. Her grasp on the base sent waves of hot blood pumping through the veins, filling him out entirely.

"I can't wait to feel this big cock pumping my pussy full of cum."

"Oh, I know, baby. We'll get there. For now, I need your mouth. All over me, please. Balls too. Come on... Eat that cock, you hungry little slut."

She chased Henry up on the bed where she could kneel between his legs in comfort. Henry enjoyed the position, too—back against a mound of pillows, his long legs spread to the lower corners of the bed, her crumpled form nestled between his thighs while her lips and tongue worked in a circuit on his length. He leaned his head back, arms thrown over the pillows. In this position, Henry bucked his hips a few times to touch his tip to her tonsils. Each time she brought up a wave of saliva that coated him and made it easier for her to slide down.

"What about that ass, big boy?" She asked after popping up from a harsh series of head-bobbing. "I know how much you love it when I play with that pretty hole of yours."

Henry sucked air in through his teeth, chin dimpling and lashes fluttering. "Mmph, not tonight. I want that pussy. Yeah, I wanna taste you."

They flipped positions. Henry pulled her onto her back away and snatched one of the pillows to wedge under her tailbone. With both hands, he hooked the back of her knees and spread her thighs wide, elevating her pelvis until his breath stroked the front of her panties. Henry nipped the fabric, pulled it into a tent and let it snap back against her lips. He nuzzled it, faint stubble scratching the delicate fabric. She let out a gentle sigh, a whimper of lust. Henry kissed the satin once, twice harder, then a third time like he'd met her mouth in a fevered touch.

She watched his long fingers sneak the fabric away, how he made shapes with his mouth like he wanted to say something but lost his voice. Henry bit his lip, kissed where he knew her clit was hiding, then prodded her folds with a long lick. He repeated the motion on the right side, along her labia, and again on he left side.

For a while, he would only meet the crest of her entrance with light kisses and whispered promises.

"Do you like it when I tease your pussy? Giving you just enough to make you wet, but not as much as you need?"

"Henry, please," she begged.

"Please, what?"

"Please give me more!"

"More of this?" Henry asked, ghosting his breath over her clit.

"No more teasing."

"You sure?"

She clutched some of his hair and pouted. He chuckled, laid his cheek on her thigh and brought his hand up between her legs. "What if I'm not done teasing? What if I want to torment you a little longer?"

He spread open her lips, applying pressure on both sides. She could almost grind against his fingers if he didn't have her at his mercy, arched over a pillow, thighs splayed wide and vulnerable. Henry tapped her clit with three fingers, stippling with gooseflesh from the wet noises the pads made on her vulva. "Oh, I love that sound," he sang. "You're so wet for me."

"Please, sir. I need your mouth."

"Is that right? Well, you've been so good and helpful. I'm sure I can give you what you want... but you have to promise me something."

"Yes, yes, I will. Anything."

"Promise you'll tell me before you come?"

"Uh-huh. I promise."

"Okay, I trust you. Don't get too close. I have other plans for your pussy."

She groaned out loud, relieved when he finally licked her clit. His tongue was a warm blanket, weighted and placed perfectly on top. He undulated the muscle, coaxing out the sensitive parts for adoration. That's how she described his attention in her mind. When Henry ate her out, it was like he'd infiltrated her head and knew the precise amount of pressure, the proper motions, when to flicker his tongue and when to envelope her clit between his lips. He kissed, sucked, lapped and moaned like a symphony, only opening his eyes once in a while to catch her staring in awe between her legs.

"Mm, baby," Henry moaned against her slit. "I can feel you getting close already. Don't go over the edge."

"I'm sorry, you just look so good eating my pussy."

Henry pulled off her, smirking, letting her glimpse his full lips shining in their glory. She couldn't stop herself from lunging for him. The taste of her own fluid on his mouth set off a carnal urge to feel his cock too. She told him to fuck her hard, to spank her ass and make her squeal like a knifed animal. She wanted that deepness, the full stretch as his thighs bounced her up and down. They laid on their sides, and Henry entered her from behind, arm hooking her leg up so he could gaze over at her exposed breasts, her glistening clit forgotten for a moment too long. In his clutches, she was helpless, and Henry used his advantage to squeeze and rub her until more of her liquid soaked between their groins.

"Can you come like this?" Henry puffed next to her ear. "If I rub your clit like that and keep fucking you, can you come?"

"Yes," she peeped. "Yes, keep going."

"Yeah? Gonna come like a good girl all over this dick?"

Again, she nodded, biting down on her lip in concentration.

"'Cause I'm gonna shoot so much fucking cum inside you, but only after you get all tight around me."

She begged him not to stop, to never stop being hers. Henry rushed his movements until she bucked once, legs fighting to fold inward.

"Is that it? That spot right there?" Henry asked. "Keep rubbing you just like this?"

He didn't need an answer; it was written all over her flushed face, denting her lip where her teeth bore down. Henry exerted every inch of stamina he had in his body until her muscles seized hard enough to snap. Mewling as she came, Henry didn't stop pestering her clit with his fingertips or pull out after he emptied as deep inside as he could fit. He gathered her up in his arms, locking fingers and lips, breathing each other's air. Pieces of his hair clung to his sweat-dampened forehead while he pulsed and shivered.

"I need you to get your panties on right away. We can't leave a mess behind."

"Are you serious?"

Henry nodded his head, unperturbed by the alarm in her tone. "Well, it's not our stuff. It's staging furniture. I just convinced the realtor to let me surprise you tonight. She probably didn't think I'd be fucking you in any of the bedrooms."

"Henry! I'm not sure where you slung my underwear."

He pushed into her one last time and grunted. "Aw, honey, mm. That's where my cum belongs."

"You're such a bad man," she giggled.

"I know I'm dirty."

"Come on, husband. Help me find my clothes. We should get back before we both fall asleep and someone finds us like this."

They gathered themselves, sighing and stretching the tension from their muscles as they dressed and took one more look around the property. She saw the house in a warm light now, as a place they could fill with memories, starting in the master bedroom where Henry proposed. He held her hand as they drove to the condo and flung themselves into bed, drained from the night's givings but wrapped in each other's arms.

The next morning, she woke to the smell of pancakes cooking on a griddle. Henry was up, two coffees deep, and buzzing from cupboard to cabinet, humming under his breath. He lit up when he caught her motion in the corner of his eye and went in for a long hug.

"Good morning, wife."

"Morning, husband," she replied, cheeks and chest prickling.

"Pancake buffet?" Henry gestured at the kitchen island.

"It's not even Christmas!"

Henry scoffed. "Who needs a special occasion to have a pancake buffet?

"I suppose I can't complain," she said.

She sat at the island, studying the foreign object around her ring finger every once in a while. When she made a fist or spread her hand, the rock sparkled and delighted her eyes. Henry caught her staring at the ring and smiling as he launched into the day's trajectory, his plan falling on deafened ears.

"Hello?" Henry waved the spatula. "Are you home?"

She sat up straight and folded her hands. "Yes. Sorry. I was distracted."

"I was saying I have to go into the office today, but only for an hour or two. Are you okay with hanging around here by yourself while I take the car? Can you believe the Beamer is still in the shop? They say take the damn thing into the dealership, we'll fix it up for free, but we'll keep it for half the week."

"Oh, well, I was supposed to pick up groceries, but I can wait."

Henry's eyebrows popped up. "Oh, no. No, no, honey. That's all right. I'll find another way there."

"Why don't I drive you to the office? Unless...You're not actually going to the office?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Henry asked.

"I don't know...You could be exacting another one of your famous covert plans and covering it up by saying you're going to the office. How do I know?'

Henry tipped his head back and laughed as he tended the food sizzling on the stovetop. "Oh, sweetheart. No. I promise, no more tricks for a while."

"Sure," she said with a sly edge on her tongue.

"You can drop me off and take the car. It's nothing secretive, I swear."

Henry piled the last pancakes onto a plate, turned off the griddle and wiped the counter clear of flour and coconut flakes. They put together an extravagant array of dressed-up breakfast food, dousing their plates in maple syrup, chocolate chips and heart-shaped strawberries as they talked and sipped coffee. Henry sat across the island holding his hand out for her to touch every once in a while. He didn't need her to hold his hand, though, subconsciously, he always reached out for her in case she wanted to feel his skin.

The morning melted seamlessly into early afternoon, and the couple ventured from the condo after a quick round of energizing couch sex. Henry thumbed the ring on her finger as they walked onto the main floor from the elevator.

"Mr. Deaver and Madame, good morning!" Johnny, the concierge, greeted them.

Henry held up their conjoined hands. "It's Mr. and Mrs. Deaver from now on, Johnny."

The tall man behind the desk made a small gasp and bowed. "Apologies, Mr. and Mrs... Might I say congratulations to the happy couple?"

"You're the first to hear, officially," Henry said.

Johnny touched his enormous hand to his chest. "What an honour, sir. This position never loses its magic."

Henry twisted his mouth. "I have some other news, Johnny. My wife and I will be moving soon. We won't be seeing you every morning."

"Ah, that's all right, Mr. Deaver. Moving up and up, I hope?"

"Yes. It's a ranch house in the country. No neighbours."

"Beautiful. Well, I wish you both the very best and look forward to helping you out until moving day comes."

"Thanks, Johnny," she said with a smile.

Johnny rose his finger as they meant to leave. "One more thing. A package arrived for you, Mr. Deaver."

The concierge ducked under the desk with a set of keys and opened the security box dedicated to the Deaver property. He pulled out a bulging manila envelope and turned it over with a dutiful grin. When her eyes glanced at the writing on the front, a knot formed in her throat. Henry's name adorned the front in practiced, sweeping hand. Henry. Not Henry Deaver or Mr. Deaver. Just his name written in black ink with flourishes on the capital H and a hand-drawn filigree beneath. She watched his shoulders stiffen as he nodded to Johnny.

"Thank you, Johnny. We'll see you later."

She followed Henry to the parking garage, staring at the envelope in his hands. Henry looked ahead, his bright demeanour trampled upon by the object he carried. When they got into the vehicle, they looked at each other, then down at the package.

"What is that?" She asked.

"I think it's from Mary. That's her handwriting."

She swallowed the knot in her throat, but it had doubled in size and refused to budge. "What now? She's not supposed to bother us anymore."

"I know," Henry breathed. "I can't... You open it."

She tore into the envelope and pulled out a letter accompanied by a DVD in a flat jewel case and photocopies of ruled paper scrawled with notes. Henry nodded at the letter, signalling her to read it aloud.

"Dear Henry... I know there's little chance of getting a private audience with you now that we're legally separated, and the company is in the process of moving. You probably have your hands full and do not wish to hear from me either way. I understand your need to stay away, hence the letter and no phone call. What needs to be said cannot be summed up in a brief call, so I will try to keep this to a few pages.

I wanted to start off by apologizing. It's too late for apologies, and you must think I'm off my rocker to have even considered coming to you with this. Still, I'm not looking for acceptance, sympathy or anything but the need to fill you in on the blank spaces that must have driven you crazy over the last couple of years. The way I scorned you was wrong. A wife should respect her husband in all forms, and answer to him when he calls. I ignored you and purposely drove a wedge between us in order to distance myself from you and our collective failure.

By now, I'm sure your new girlfriend told you what I told her. It should come as no surprise that when I say "failure," I mean our inability to have a child.

When I received the news, and you were nowhere to be found, I felt the clutches of the Devil himself reaching for me. God does not make mistakes, which is how I know we were being punished for our sins, and since the results indicated you were the weaker factor, I can only assume the punishment was meant for you, and by extension, me. I know you have berated me in the past for my strong beliefs, but I cannot compromise my relationship with God for anyone's comfort. I know in my heart, his word is law, and if we couldn't produce a child, lying together would be straying down the path of temptation.

There were things you wanted me to do that I could not, in good conscience, provide for you—sex acts no married couple should have an interest in performing. If I'd have known of your devious tastes early on in our relationship, perhaps I wouldn't have married you. You resisted His word and acted on selfish impulse, spoke of wicked things with your colleagues, and Lord knows what other things I didn't catch wind of. I had to escape your sin yet remain your wife through the bad and the worse, as I pledged before God until death.

I do not judge you, as you are no longer my husband, and I know God will assess your choices in his divine eye. I don't have to worry about the unclean thoughts that live inside of you—they have no power over me; they aren't a reflection of my heavenly worth. If anything, I hope you are happy and have all the freedom one who strays from God can expect to have in this world. I pray for your soul each night and hope you do not meet the eternal fires.

I should have told you, but I was stricken with unbearable grief. I hated you. I fell out of love. I can't describe how, but I felt if I touched you, knowing what I knew then, God would punish me. Please understand everything I did, I did in the name of the Lord and with concern for my immortal soul. Call me selfish. I was and am, to this day, a selfish woman. But you were good to me, up until a certain point.

I cannot forgive your infidelity and can only pray you to seek repentance for your sin, though I will admit I did not care to make it right at the time. My silence was meant as punishment, but only God can dole penance, and in shutting you out, I acted in his name when I shouldn't have. I will spend the rest of my days begging His forgiveness and praying for you, Henry.

This package includes the evidence I've compiled of your cheating. You should know now I no longer seek vengeance. I simply want to scrub my life of all traces of you, and figured you might want to gaze upon your transgressions. Or throw them out. It's up to you now. Sincerely, Mary."

Henry was quiet for several minutes as he digested the contents of the letter. She found a pamphlet for the Evangelist Church of God among the pages and scowled.

"Wow, religion really makes people say some crazy stuff," she muttered, hoping to get a sound out of her fiance. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He motioned for the letter and gave it a half-hearted scan before crumpling it in his fist.

"Fuck that woman. Fuck that life."

"Sounds like a story."

He puffed, scoffed, burned a hole into the letter written in Mary's graceful hand.

"But you don't have to tell me."

"She's right," Henry said. "I was different back then."

"I know you were."

"How come you've never asked?"

His question nipped the skin on the back of her arms. "The same reason I don't ask other people about their religion. That's their business. You were raised a certain way, but you changed. I know you were put in a cage, Henry. You made a mistake, but it's not the eternal damnation Mary says. Your marriage was practically over. Unless... You cheated before us?"

Henry whipped a look at her, gaping and wordless. She shrugged as a platitude and coughed over a laugh. "Well? How can I not suspect? Mary says you cheated, Frank says you didn't, but I don't trust either of them as far as I can throw them, Henry!"

"Look, I know!" Henry barked, and she pressed her back to the door. "You've gotta believe me, sweetheart. I'm trying to prove to you every day that I'm not this monster she wants me to be!"

"What's on these discs? They don't have labels. Am I going to watch this and find out something you don't want me to?"

His jaw set like he was about to explode. Air escaped his nostrils, and he glared forth at the wet cement wall beyond the hood of her car. Above, the building's pressure crushed out all sound, and Henry became aware of his breath, the tension in his windpipe.

"No. I don't know. I have no idea what's on those DVDs. If she got her private investigator to film me, it's probably just you and I making out in the car. What would be incriminating about that?"

"Did you lie to me that night in Paris?"

A dissonant, heavy silence fell over the man in the driver's seat. His skin turned sallow, and her eyes eclipsed to see the sickly guilt on his face.

"That night, you told me you left her. You said you asked for the divorce, and she just gave up. Was that a lie? Did you say that just to get me to go?"

Condemned by another bout of silence, Henry hid the colour of his ears behind hunched shoulders. "Baby, I was in love. I am in love with you. It's only ever been you! I needed you with me so bad. She knew we were done. She knew it. Divorce was not a foreign word."

"Just tell me straight. Did you put it in stone that night? When you flew me ten hours to Paris to be with you?"

"No. I didn't. I went home, said goodbye to her, she gave me the cold shoulder, I cursed, and she got angry with me. I told her I was finished, and then I left. Maybe I didn't flat out say I want a divorce, but it was implied."

"I'm curious to see what's on these discs," she said.

"Sweetheart, I will watch them with you, totally confident there's no evidence of me with any other woman."

"Good," she nodded. "Because you're mine. Maybe I'm the bad one for not caring. If you're bad, I'm worse. I don't give a fuck about you cheating on her, and this is the first time I've ever admitted it out loud. You're mine, Henry. You belong to me. She knew what she had and uses faith as an excuse for hiding a horrible secret from you!"

"Good Lord, I don't want to cry about this again," said Henry.

"Fuck it, Henry, just like you said. Fuck her and fuck the life you had. Your ass is mine now," she stuck her ring finger in the air. "Like, forever."

Henry pouted and melted into her lap. She quickly ran her hands through his hair as he moaned against her knee. "But what about our family?"

"We'll figure it out, babe. I promise. Until then, just keep shooting loads inside of me, and we'll see what happens."

He burst with laughter and lifted his rosy face to kiss her. "That's such a you thing to say in a time of crisis."

"I told you last night and back at the hotel... I'm with you. I'll back you in everything you do and make sure not a day goes by you wish you were somewhere else."

"I have absolutely no doubt of that, sweetheart. Goddamn it, I love you... Wifey," he giggled.

"But how hot would it be to have sex while watching DVDs of us hooking up in the Beamer and touching on patios and shit?"

"So hot. I've been thinking about it, and I've concluded it is very fucking hot."

"All right, hubby. Let's put this shit behind us forever and get busy getting married and having babies. We have places to go!"

"Yeah," Henry grabbed her hand and nodded. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

#henry deaver x mistress #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard fanfiction #castle rock fanfiction #henry deaver

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everybodyscupoftea · 3 years

Text

finally free

ole miss rafe x reader

rafe is tired, you try and help, and eventually the two of you get to drink

two in one day baby (almost?)

(warnings: cursing, drinking, hardly edited)

Rafe had been exhausted lately, cancelling dates to do homework and pulling at least one all-nighter a week. He’d decided to TA his first semester in the program, and while you were happy he got the subject of his choice, you were worried he was running himself too ragged.

It’s not like you had much room to talk, Vet School had been brutal, and the amount of work was what you expected, but weren’t exactly prepared for. A lot of the time you’d spent together starting mid-semester was takeout and homework in one of your apartments.

Your semester came to an end before Rafe’s by two weeks, and you spent the first week catching up on sleep, working out, and making actual home cooked meals for Rafe. You’d been practically living at his apartment, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Babe,” you called one morning, walking out of his room around 10:30.

He was sitting at the dining room table, and looked up at you, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, “What’s up?”

“About to head to the gym, want some breakfast before I go?”

“Had a bagel, thanks though.”

You nodded and kissed his forehead before heading toward the door, “Gonna get some groceries while I’m out and probably Strange Brew. Text me if you decide you want me to pick something up.”

He smiled at you tiredly, and you could see the bags under his eyes from across the room, “Thanks, sweetheart, I think I’m good though. Going to work for a few hours and then take a nap.”

“Please take a nap, you need it. How many days do you have left?”

“Three and then next week is finals. So I’ll have tests and papers to grade. Plus my schoolwork.”

“Are the tests multiple choice?”

“Yeah.”

“I can do those. So you can focus on your own shit and the papers.”

You couldn’t be sure, but it looked like his eyes filled up and the lines on his face softened, “That would be fantastic.”

“Alrighty then, sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in a few, you’d better be asleep when I get back.”

Rafe grinned and sent you a salute, “Yes ma’am.”

He had clearly just laid down by the time you got back, and when you walked in, arms full of grocery bags. Laid on the couch, he jolted, eyes snapping open. You winced, “Sorry, babe.”

Putting away the groceries, you went over the couch and knelt down before running your fingers through his hair. He hummed, leaning into your hand, “Not asleep like you told me to, sorry.”

You smiled softly, “S’okay, you almost were, I woke you up.”

“Groceries put away?” he asked suddenly.

“Mhmm.”

Without saying anything else, he lifted the edge of the blanket closest to you, a clear invitation for you to slide in next to him. Huffing out a laugh, you kicked your shoes off and laid down, half on top of Rafe.

Rafe wrapped a leg and both arms around you, adjusting the blanket until he was happy, and then promptly fell asleep. You smiled and rested your forehead on his collarbone, content to lay in silence with him for a little while.

It couldn’t have been more than two hours before an alarm on his phone under the throw pillow started going off, startling you out of the half asleep state you’d fallen into and waking him up completely.

“Fuck,” he slurred, “don’t wanna get up.”

“Sleep more,” you told him, voice just as quiet.

“Can’t. Got a paper on the Black Plague due in a few days, don’t have enough sources yet.”

“Baby,” you muttered, “you’re running yourself ragged. If you don’t sleep your paper won’t be good anyway.”

Rafe shut his eyes tightly, “I know. But I just can’t.”

“Is there something I can do for you.”

“I-” he paused, one hand coming up to rub his eyes, “you aren’t my mom, I hope you know I really don’t see you that way. I don’t want to treat you like that, you need to know that you’re my equal and that you don’t have to take care of me, that I’m capable of it.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I know. Where’s this coming from?”

“Can you,” Rafe sighed, clenching his eyes shut for a second, “would you mind taking care of my laundry? It’s been a few weeks and I’m almost out of underwear.”

“Yeah, of course. I need to do mine too.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I did offer.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen my friends act like children, treat their girlfriend like a glorified mother. I don’t want to be like that.”

“You aren’t,” you reassured, “I promise.”

He smiled wryly, “Let me know if I am, yeah?”

“I will, don’t worry.”

A week later found you and Rafe sitting on the floor, side by side, backs leaning against the couch. He had a key spread out between the two of you, and you had a stack of exams handed in by two sections of the class. He had an even thicker stack of essays in one hand, and a blue pen in the other.

“Why blue?” you asked, twirling your own black pen in your fingers.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, looking over at you.

“Blue pen instead of black or red, why?” you asked again.

“Oh,” he smirked, “Ole Miss blue.”

“You,” your jaw dropped, “I hate you.”

“You so don’t. I’d even go as far to say you love me.”

“You know I do, please don’t act slick. You’re an MSU student now.”

“Uh huh, only two years compared to five at Ole Miss.”

“Grade your essays, I don’t want to talk to you,” you huffed, faking annoyance, and turned up the quiet music playing through the speaker.

He dropped his head back against the couch and whined, “These papers are so bad though. Like they barely even tried.”

“I’m sure they did, babe, but you’re used to graduate level writing now.”

“No,” he shoved one in your face, a strand of hair falling over his furrowed brow, “read this.”

Grabbing his wrist, you pulled it a few inches from your face to read. He stared at you as you scanned, and made a triumphant noise when you squinted,

“There are a few mistakes,” you mumbled.

“Generous,” he added, sounding smug.

“Don’t make fun of kids, they’re barely 18.”

“They’re assholes,” he corrected you, “like I knew it was a mostly freshman class, but goddamn. I hope I wasn’t this annoying back then.”

“You probably were. I mean, you were barely tolerable when you and I met.”

“No, I was relatively mature, I just didn’t know how to express emotion in a normal way.”

You put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, “You’ve come a long way.”

Rafe’s cheeks went a little red, and you cooed at him. He pushed your face away from his and muttered, “Grade the exams. You’re a menace.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Rafe asked three nights before his last exam.

“Mhmm?” you answered, half asleep.

“Do we have Christmas plans this year?”

“Don’t think so, why?”

“I wasn’t sure if we were going to your parents’ house.”

“Haven’t talked to my mom in a while,” you frowned, “you think I should call her?”

“Up to you.”

“No, you’re part of this decision too. I know you’re exhausted, so if you don’t want to travel, we won’t.”

He frowned, “You can still go.”

“And leave you alone on Christmas?” He shrugged, not meeting your eye, and you pushed yourself up, staring down at him, “Rafe, you know I wouldn’t, right?”

“I mean, we’ve only been together for a year,” he mumbled.

“Not quite yet,” you corrected, absentmindedly, “but still, you’re important to me.”

“Well, in that case, call your mom, we’ll make the trip.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t you take a few days to think it over. I know you’ve never met them in person before. Doing it on a holiday would be a bit overwhelming.”

He laughed, “Yeah, I guess it would.”

“Sleep now, get back to me.”

“Fine.”

The afternoon of Rafe’s last final, you walked into his apartment to hear Christmas music blasting. Your boyfriend was sprawled out on the couch surrounded by beer bottles, and he gave you a lazy wave, “Sup, mamas.”

“Hey, Rafe. How’d the test go?”

“Excellent. Now I’m celebrating.”

“I see that.”

“It’s Christmas season now.”

“Now, huh?”

“Well the tree has been decorated for two weeks now, so I could argue that your logic is flawed.”

“No no,” he held his hand up, “it’s only Christmas now that I can focus on it.”

“You given any thought to Christmas plans?” you asked.

Rafe sat up suddenly, “Yes,” he pointed at you, “what if we FaceTime your parents instead of making the long ass drive.”

“Fine with me. I talked to my mom the other day and she told us that she’d put our presents in the mail anyway. They expected this.”

He frowned, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Great, sounds great.”

“Great,” you joked in response.

Rafe rolled his eyes and shoved your shoulder, “Drink with me.”

“I will. Picked some stuff up this afternoon for spiked eggnog, by the way.”

“Oh fuck yes. Homemade eggnog?”

“Of course.”

He followed you to the kitchen, so close he was almost tripping over your heels, and you huffed, coming to a stop. Rafe ran into your back before stepping back, a sheepish grin on his face, “Sorry.”

“Can I trust you to help me or are you too gone right now?”

“I can help,” he nodded, doing his best to look sober.

“Fine, you’ll stir, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He stood by the stove, wooden spoon in hand, feet spread further than shoulder width apart, dropping down to your height. You measured out the milk and cream and turned the heat up, giving him a weird look, “Why are you standing like that?”

“You were humming that song that’s like do you see what I see and I don’t, so I was curious.”

“It’s a song? You don’t have to take it literally.”

“Hmm, braincells gone. Everything is literal unless specified.”

You snorted, “Stir, dumbass,” before starting to separate the egg whites from the yolks. Keeping an eye on him, you started to whisk the egg yolks, pausing to help him add in the sugar, vanilla and nutmeg when the milk started bubbling.

“Smells good,” he told you, sniffing the mixture.

“It does. You ready to whisk it in?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Rafe very carefully poured and you whisked before pouring it back into the saucepan.

“You got a thermometer?” you asked him, flipping the heat back on.

He pulled open a drawer and brandished one eagerly, clearly proud of himself for being prepared, “Fuck yeah I do.”

“Put it in, tell me when it hits 160.”

Rafe stared, eyebrows furrowed, fully focused on the number. When he told you, you flipped the heat off again and poured in the rum and brandy. Making it a bit stronger than you normally would.

“Bro,” he said, taking a spoonful, “this is incredible.”

“Thanks, bro,” you answered, bumping your hip into his.

“Oh, hip check,” he bumped back, twice as hard, knocking you off balance.

“Rafe,” you glared, stepping away to pour two glasses, “don’t make me spill or you can make another batch on your own.”

“No,” he pouted, “I could never.”

“You couldn’t, no.”

You watched, appalled, as Rafe chugged his first glass, slamming it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand.

“Shit’s good,” he told you earnestly.

“We’re not at a bar, Rafe. Take it easy.”

“Nope, blackout remember?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your forehead, “pour yourself another I guess.”

Rafe leaned in for a kiss, missing your mouth and landing on your chin, but it was like he didn’t even realize before he was moving around you back to the pitcher you’d poured it in.

It didn’t take many more cups for Rafe to be totally gone, curled up with you on the couch while the live action Grinch played in the background, eyes fluttering shut every few seconds.

“Tired?” you finally whispered, when you were pretty sure there was drool on your shirt.

“Huh?” he asked, blinking rapidly, “No.”

“Sure,” you responded, amused, “let’s go get ready for bed, huh?”

You put the empty cups in the dishwasher before guiding Rafe to the bathroom to make him brush his teeth and get undressed.

“Tryna get me naked?” he asked, swaying in place as he pushed his shirt over his head lazily.

“Yeah,” you answered, rubbing moisturizer in.

Rafe followed you to bed, falling in after you, mostly on top of you, knocking the breath out of your chest.

“Jesus, Cameron,” you wheezed.

“Rafe is fine,” he mumbled into your neck, and was out like a light a few seconds later.

You sighed, squirming under him to try and get comfortable before falling asleep yourself.

day 7 of @obxmermaid‘s holiday challenge: spiked eggnog or cider

#ole miss rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fic #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outer banks #outer banks fic #obxmermaidholiday #college rafe

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slythergirlimagines · 4 years

Text

What’s A Date Without A Little Adventure?- Aang x Reader

Summary: After the war, Aang is desperate to ask you out and he enlists the help of his friends. Things don’t quite go to plan. Fluff and some angst! (GIF is not mine)

Words: 3,232 Requested: yes!

Masterlist

What’s A Date Without Some Adventure?

Aang was completely and utterly in love with you. It was a deeper and truer love than he’d ever experienced before. He knew now that his love for Katara has been a child’s crush, a product of being a young starry eyed kid. Not that Katara wasn’t lovable or that he still wasn’t starry eyed. It was just different now that he was older.

Aang had met you after the war. He had been somewhat lost after defeating Ozai. His purpose had been fulfilled, and all of his other friends had gone off to find their own purposes. Aang had decided to do the only thing that made sense and traveled, looking for any place he could lend a helping hand.

Your village was one of the first he had come to. It had been nearly destroyed by the war, and your people were desperately trying to repair it. Aang had a good feeling about helping, something in his spirit told him that this was an important place for him. Appa landed right outside of the village, and Aang had instructed his friend to stay there. Using his glider, he had bended himself right into the center of town, and right to you.

There was a fire blazing in one of the buildings. The villagers had been desperately trying to keep it contained to the one building, as they tried to fight it. You were front and center, giving orders and commands. Aang had been instantly taken with you, and the fierce determination on your face as you lead your people.

Aang had been so transfixed by you, that he hadn’t noticed the young girl trapped inside the burning building. In fact, it was your horrified expression that alerted him. Before he had even had time to act, you were rushing in yourself. Aang instantly jumped into action, trying to follow you. By the time he got to the top window, you were already there, tying a cloth around the girl’s nose.

You had locked eyes with Aang, and recognition seemed to pass over your features. His stomach had fluttered at the idea of you knowing who he was.

“Ana, go with him. He’s the Avatar, he’ll get you down safely.” You had told the little girl.

Aang had quickly taken the little girl down to her waiting parents. After making sure she was ok, he turned to come back for you. He had heard the building cracking, signaling that it was about to fall, and there you stood at the window’s ledge. You locked eyes with him, and then you jumped.

Aang got to you in no time, cradling you in his arms as you both landed.

“Good catch!” You had told him breathlessly.

And that had been it for him.

Aang had cultivated a deep friendship with you as the years went on. He had begged you to accompany him on his travels, and you had accepted. Together, you made a huge difference in the world. Appa, Momo, and the rest of the Gaang all loved you. Even Toph, who didn’t particularly like anybody, thought you were amazing.

Aang knew he couldn’t deny his feelings for you any longer. He wanted to ask you out, but he knew it had to perfect. You deserved perfect. He just didn’t know where to start. This week you guys were going to the Peace celebration, hosted by Ba Sing Se. All of his friends were going to be there, and he could think of no better time to ask you out. All he needed was a plan.

———————————————-

Aang’s plan was simple. You loved flying, and there were really pretty sunsets over Ba Sing Se. Aang decided he would take you up on Appa at sunset, and confess his feelings to you then.

When Aang asked you to go flying with him later that day, you enthusiastically agreed, throwing your arms around him and kissing his cheek. Aang blushed for the next few hours as he tried to make sure everything was perfect.

You showed up looking prettier than anyone ever had the right to. Your hair hung loosely over your shoulders, and you had been wearing a beautiful emerald green dress with golden arm bands. The color was perfect on you, and Aang could hardly form words or coherent thoughts as you approached.

“Let’s blow this joint!” You said by way of greeting. Aang watched starstruck as you hopped up on Appa and looked back down at him.

“Coming?” You asked, eyes sparkling in the evening light.

Aang nodded dumbly, and then climbed up after you like a puppy.

The night went well. You cooed over the sunset, and the colors had bathed you in a soft light. Aang opened his mouth to tell you his feelings when you interrupted.

“Aang, what is that?” You pointed down at something. A beam of light was shooting towards you guys. Aang sat puzzled for a minute, and then it clicked.

“Firework!” He cried. Appa got the hint, and dodged just before the thing exploded. Appa weaved through the various fireworks and managed to get you all to safety. You both had soot on your faces, and your hair was messed up from the sharp dives Appa took.

You and Aang just stared at each other for a minute in shock, and then you started laughing.

“Wow!” You said when you finished. “That was kind of awesome.” You had a beautiful grin on your face, that made Aang smile too.

“Yeah..” he said. “Awesome.”

“Next time we do that, let’s not try to get blown up.” You laughed. “But it does kind of remind you of how we first met doesn’t it?”

You eyes were soft in the starlight, and Aang had felt himself melt. He should have said it, but he just couldn’t. It wasn’t perfect.

——————————————-

Aang went to Sokka next. Sokka was like a brother to him, and anytime Aang had ever needed advice, it was Sokka he sought out.

Aang burst into Sokka’s room bright and early the next morning, ready to come up with a plan. Sokka was snoring, and drool collected on his pillow.

“Sokka wake up!” Aang yelled. He didn’t have time to wait patiently for Sokka to wake up. He needed a plan now!

Sokka jerked awake and screamed.

“Aang! What are you doing?!” Sokka cried, pulling the sheets over his body to cover himself. Aang rolled his eyes.

“Sokka I need your help, it’s about y/n!” He said, and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Oh I see.” Sokka said. His face changed from anger to a smug grin. “You’ve come to Ol’ Sokka for some advice on the ladies.” Aang rolled his eyes at the way Sokka pronounced “ladies” as “laydays.”

“I tried to ask y/n out yesterday, but it didn’t go so well, and I want it to be perfect!” Aang cried.

“Oh Aang. You’ve come to the right place my friend.” Sokka patted the spot beside him on the bed. Aang sat, shoulders slumped.

“Aang, let me tell you a little thing about the ladies. They love food!”

Sokka’s plan was a picnic. It seemed simple enough, and Aang had seen the perfect spot when you had flown in. There was a large tree on a grassy hill that looked inviting and romantic. Aang packed up the food and flew it out on Appa to set up.

Aang whisked you away on Appa with the excuse of a fun lunch. Everything had gone according to plan. The food had been good, Aang had been coherent enough to keep up a normal conversation. All was well. Again, Aang built up the courage to ask you.

“Y/n...” and then it started pouring.

You all were soaked by the time you got back, and you were shivering.

“Too bad about the rain. That was really fun!” You said. You stood there for a second longer waiting for Aang to say something, but he stomped off, huffing. If he hadn’t been so frustrated he would’ve seen the way you deflated as he left.

He should’ve known not to take advice from Sokka. What did he know about girls anyways? It’s time he asked Katara.

———————————————-

The next morning, Aang woke up determined to find Katara and get some real advice. He stalked through the hallways, on a mission. He remembered that Katara always practiced her bending in the mornings. You intercepted Aang in the hallway.

“Morning, Aang. Would you like to-“ you started to ask.

“Sorry, I can’t!” He said quickly. “I’ve gotta practice bending with Katara!”

Aang again missed your sad face as he hurried away.

Katara was practicing her bending like Aang had expected, and he quickly interrupted her.

“Katara I need your help!” Aang launched into the full story, and caught Katara up to speed on what was going on.

“So you see, Sokka’s idea didn’t work and now I need your help!”

“You went to Sokka for advice before me?” Katara asked hurt.

“Ugh, Katara please!” Aang practically shouted.

“Alright fine. Hmmm.” Katara said, one hand on her hip. “Oh I know! You should take her on a boat ride! Girls think that’s really romantic!”

“Katara that’s perfect!” Aang said, throwing his arms around her. “Thanks!” Again, he failed to see you watching them outside the window.

It was surprisingly easy to find someone with a boat, and Aang had you all out in the middle of the water by mid-afternoon. It was calm, and he was convinced that this time nothing could go wrong.

He noticed that you looked less excited than usual, and he started to feel insecure.

“Aang, are you in love with Katara?” You asked him hesitantly.

“With Katara?? No!” Aang said, laughing hysterically. It came out more panicked than truthful, and you began to read into it.

“It’s ok if you are.” You whispered softly.

“No no! Seriously, I don’t love anyone! Psh!” He said.

“Oh.” You said, face falling. Aang instantly wanted to take back what he said, but then you changed the subject.

“Aang what are those people doing?” You questioned. You pointed in the direction of a boat not too far away from you. The people on board were waving their hands and shouting.

“I think they’re saying hi.” Aang said, and as soon as he did, a giant sea serpent shot out of the water. Aang jumped into action, using his bending to get you away from the monster.

You all barely managed to make it to shore in one piece.

“Ugh!” Aang cried. “Let’s just go home.”

——————————————————-

Zuko was the next person Aang sought out for help. Zuko had been in a long term relationship with Mai for some time. He clearly had to know how to ask a girl out.

Zuko was at Iroh’s tea shop when Aang found him.

“Zuko! I really need your help.” He said, out of breath from running.

Zuko listened stoically as Aang explained his troubles.

“I need you!” Aang begged when he finished. “No one else has been able to help!”

Zuko sat in thoughtful silence for a long time, and then answered.

“If you ever tell Mai this, I’ll kill you.” He warned. Aang nodded eagerly so he continued.

“Once Uncle forced me to go on a date here, and there was a really pretty fountain that lights up at night. My date kissed me there. You may have to light it with your firebending though. The lights didn’t work on their own.” Zuko says thoughtfully.

“Thank you!” Aang cheered, and rushed off in the direction of the fountain to check it out.

That night, you were nearly asleep when Aang tapped on your window.

“Aang?” You ask him.

His heart was instantly in his throat as he took you in. You were sleepy and rumpled, but so so beautiful. His heart stuttered, and skipped a beat as his brain tried to remember what he was doing there.

“Y/n! Up for a little late night adventure?” He asked, holding out his hand.

You looked hesitant, but ultimately you nodded.

“Let me change really fast.” You said, hurrying back into your room.

Aang blushed and turned around to give you some privacy. Your tap to his shoulder nearly made him fall off of the window ledge.

“Ready?” He managed to ask you, swallowing hard. It just wasn’t fair that you were so beautiful.

“Ready!” You said, smiling widely.

Your walk through the streets of Ba Sing Se was beautiful. Streetlights casted a hazy, yellow glow over everything, and Aang was really starting to believe that Zuko nailed it.

When you arrived at the fountain, everything was dark. Zuko had been right about needing to start the lights then.

“Close your eyes.” Aang said, winking at you.

You did as he told you, and covered your eyes waiting.

Aang quickly threw a few balls of fire at the lights, casting the pond in a beautiful glow.

“Ok open!” Aang said proudly, arms open wide.

“Oh my!” You said. Aang was confused about the horrified expression on your face. He turned around to see what you were looking at.

A banner had been hung off of one of the lights and was burning.

Aang quickly doused the fire with waterbending, and the tatters of the charred banner floated to the ground.

There was nothing to say as Aang doused the remaining lights and lead you back home.

—————————————————-

Toph was the last person Aang considered going to for advice about love, but now she was all he had left. Aang found Toph under a shady tree on the back lawn. Her toes were digging into the ground, and she was lazily tapping a foot.

“Twinkle toes.” She nodded in his direction.

“Toph!” He started.

“Save it. I know just what you need to do.” Toph said. “A girl like y/n enjoys the wild things in life. You need to take her to earthbending fight. She’d love it.”

Aang thought this over. He didn’t really know what was romantic about bending, but at this point there wasn’t much else he could do to screw it up further.

“Ok, maybe you’re right! Thanks Toph!” Aang said, rushing off to find you.

You had woken up with a raging headache. Everything was making your head pound.

Aang knocked on your door, and you winced as the sound reverberated through your skull.

“Y/n!” Aang said, excitedly. “Wanna come on a walk with me? I know something fun we could do!”

“Oh, Aang that’s really sweet but...” you started to tell him about your headache.

“Please!” He begged, giving you the puppy eyes.

“Alright.” You smiled. You couldn’t say no to him, even with a headache.

The bending tournament was packed. Everyone was cheering for their favorites, and the air was rife with excitement. However, you weren’t doing so well.

Every cheer brought on a new wave of nausea and pain, and everything was too bright. Aang was absorbed in the fight, doing his own cheering. You wanted to be strong for him, because it was obvious that he was enjoying himself, but you just couldn’t handle it any longer.

“Aang.” You said quietly next to him. Aang turned his attention to you, and was immediately aware something wasn’t right. You were pale, and your cheeks were flushed. Someone close to you booed loudly, and you flinched. Aang understood then what you had tried to tell him this morning. And he had ignored you like a jerk.

“Oh y/n, come on let’s go!” Aang said, trying to keep his voice low.

“I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to coming..” you started apologizing.

“No seriously, don’t worry about it y/n. I’m so sorry, you tried to tell me.” Aang winced.

“It’s ok. I think I’m just going to sleep it off.” You said.

Dejectedly, Aang hung his head as you left.

——————————————————-

“You all suck!” Aang yelled the next morning at breakfast. Everyone was here eating but you. Aang figured you were still upstairs sleeping off your headache.

“I tried every single one of your suggestions, and every single one failed. Every. Single. One.” Aang snapped. He didn’t really mean to project his anger on his friends. He knew that he was the one who messed things up on each date, but still their suggestions hadn’t even been things you would like.

The group eyed Aang nervously. Katara started shaking her head as if she was trying to tell him something.

“Aang.” She muttered.

“I shouldn’t have listened to any of you. All you all did was tell me things that you all wanted to do. I know y/n. She’s funny, kind, and brave. Not to mention beautiful, and I know her better than anyone. All I should’ve done was look her in the eyes and say ‘y/n will you go out with me?’” He finished, pounding his fist into the table for emphasis.

“Aang?” You said from behind him.

Aang froze, looking at all of his friends’ faces.

“We’re just going to go.” Sokka said, grabbing Toph by the elbow and leading her out. Katara and Zuko followed close behind them, and then you two were alone in the kitchen.

“Aang, did you really mean it?” You asked.

Aang turned to face you, blush and all. It was time for him to just admit it. Even if you didn’t feel the same, it was time to get it off of his chest.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.” He said. “This whole week I’ve been trying to ask you to go out with me, but I wanted it to be perfect and I messed it up each time.” He sighed, slumping his shoulders.

“Aang, why didn’t you tell me?” You asked him.

“I just wanted it to be perfect.” He said sadly.

“Aang, you didn’t have to go to any big effort to ask me out. I love you.” You chuckled.

Aang whipped his head up faster than you thought possible.

“You love me?” He asked, completely astounded.

“Of course I do!” You laughed. “And for the record, every single one of those dates was perfect.”

“But we almost died, and fought a sea monster, and I caught something on fire!” He exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“Yes, but you were there and we were together. That’s all I need. And what’s a date without a little adventure?” You said, eyes sparkling.

Aang didn’t wait a second longer, pulling you into a happy kiss. He was so thrilled that he subconsciously started floating the two of you into the air.

It felt right, kissing you. Like every dream he’d ever had came true. Aang was so happy he could sing. And you loved him.

“Y/n!” He said, breaking the kiss. “I love you too! What I said on the boat, I was just trying to say I didn’t love Katara. Obviously I love you-”

You laughed at his antics, and simply shut him up with another sweet kiss. Aang was truly the happiest man alive. Then a terrifying thought hit. When the time came, how would he ask you to marry him?!

A/n: I’m slowly making my way through these requests. I’m really happy with what I’ve gotten done so far. Make sure to check out my masterlist to read my other work! Requests are open! I think I tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged in my ATLA stuff, but if I missed you please let me know and I’ll correct it.

Taglist: @galacticamidala @a-random-queer-kid @taeeemin @realimbo @samsmultifandomblogs

@fire1ordzuzu @shortmexicangirl @wingeddemonclub @mangoberry34 @marvel-ing-at-it-all

#slythergirlimagines #aang x you #aang x reader #atla #atla fanfic #zuko x reader #sokka x reader #katara #toph #zuko #aang #sokka #y/n #avatar the last airbender

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adam-memeleri · 3 years

Text

Rainbow

Rosie’s always liked rainbows. Liked the beauty, the wonder, the ethereal, indescribable nature of the array of colours painted on the sky and clouds. She’s always liked the possibilities held within those colours, always liked what they meant, always liked the way the world seems to stand still when you find one after a storm, frozen for something so magical.

Hope reminds Rosie of rainbows.

okay so i actually really like this one and i think it shows. also thank you @bubblelaureno for proofing and fixing my feeble attempt at past tense you are so very lovely

tagging - @bubblelaureno @lookingforsomethingcuzimbored

if you wanna be tagged

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

T Rating (its mostly fluff, but there's sick if youre not cool with that)

Hope x MC (Rosie) or rope if youre chichi

~7k words this took an alarming amount of time to finally fucking finish, so take it for what it is

Like the sweater that blocked Rosie’s view of a lecture one morning, red. Like the tapping nails she couldn’t stop watching, red. Like the sensation of being mesmerized, hypnotized more deeply than when watching the sun slowly creep higher above the horizon, red.

Her eyes roved over the carefully organised materials - pens, notebook, laptop - all set in a specific place. She watched the nails halt their tapping, scribbling out notes in what she could only assume was perfect handwriting. She couldn’t imagine this girl doing anything less than perfect, less than meticulously planned, less than plain stunning.

Although her face was obscured, Rosie could picture the expression painted across it. Could picture a focus that could knock you down and heal your bruises all at once. And it intrigued her, left her wanting to see it for herself, and she angled her head to glimpse as much as she could.

The red sweater rose abruptly, just as Rosie was about to peek, and Rosie knew she should as well, knew that the drone of the professor had disappeared and she had another lecture not too soon, but she couldn’t manage it. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, her stupid desire to see if she was right about this girl.

She turned, her eyes landing on Rosie’s, and Rosie could have sworn her heart stopped. She was surprised more than anything, to find eyes boring into her own so fiercely, her eyebrows knitted together in momentary confusion. Before she whisked herself away, with a bag thrown over her shoulder and Rosie left behind, simply gawking after her.

After all coherent thought had left her mind, Rosie jumped to her feet and scrambled to collect her belongings, haphazardly she shoved them in her own bag and scooped them in her arms before darting out the room. She found that red sweater as it exited the building, nearly lost in the sea of students.

Elbowing her way through the crowd, Rosie managed to nearly catch up, stumbling a little ways behind as she called out, “Hey, wait up!”

The girl’s eyes searched over her shoulder before she slowed, peering over at Rosie curiously as she fell into step beside her.

“Sorry, I, uh…” Rosie fumbled over her words, gesturing awkwardly as she sought to clear the air, a blush staining her face. “I didn’t - That wasn’t - I wasn’t staring.”

The girl side-eyed Rosie, lips quirked in a tiny bemused smile at her feeble attempt. Her fingers toyed with a ring, spinning it around one finger in a steady rhythm as her free hand held the strap of her bag.

“Really! I wasn’t!” Rosie insisted uselessly.

Her grin grew as she hummed teasingly, “Mmhmm.”

“Look, just -” Rosie’s shoulders sank in a sigh, shaking her head in exasperation, but with a smile of her own. “I’m Rosie.” She tried, her voice having steadied.

The girl smiled invitingly, in the type of way that drew Rosie in, left her wanting more as dazzling eyes crinkled enticingly. “Hope,” her sweet voice rang, with all the power of a declaration but none of the demand.

Rosie nodded mutely, her braids shifting with each shake of her head. She opened her mouth to say smoothing, but, at a loss, she clamped her jaw shut.

Hope didn’t seem to mind, her eyes adjusting forward as they walked side by side, the gap between them like a canyon to Rosie. She swallowed, fixing the book under her arm, “So, uh, have you always been in that class?”

“Yes,” Hope nodded coolly, “Someone stole my usual seat today, though.”

“That… That sucks.” Rosie’s lips purse to the side as she nods along.

“Actually,” Hope’s voice drawled as she peered up at Rosie out of the corner of her eye. “I seem to recall there was an open seat beside you.”

“Oh! Yeah, I keep it open for a special someone,” Rosie’s lips quirked in a crooked grin, her typical playfulness finding its way back to her.

“And who would that be?”

Bolstered by Hope’s own teasing, she winked, her cheeks dimpled from her smile. “I’m hoping I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Maybe you will.” The pair fell into a companionable silence as they walked, neither a word exchanged or a beat of awkwardness filling the space. Rosie’s eyes roved distractedly, sneaking glances at Hope every chance she got and darting away when she got caught.

And every time Hope smiled to herself, and every time Rosie’s cheeks heated just a little more. It was quickly becoming a game, to see how long it took for Rosie to get caught, and with each glance she found herself hoping they'd continue the game on a later date.

Hope paused in her tracks suddenly, turning to face Rosie more fully as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “This is my stop,” she gestured to the lecture hall they were standing outside of, students filing inside. “It was nice to meet you, Rosie,” she grinned, stretching her hand out in offering.

Rosie’s own eagerly clasped it, shaking the offered hand perhaps too forcefully. “You too!” She promptly dropped Hope’s hand, a flush on the back of her neck as she shifted from foot to foot, gaze dropping to stare at the floor. “Um, see you next week?” she tried, glancing up from beneath her lashes.

“As long as you keep my seat available,” Hope teased easily, as if this was a common occurrence in her daily life. And Rosie supposed it may be, that maybe there’s always someone following her around with wide eyes like a lost puppy.

In response, Rosie nodded vehemently, mouth curved in a barely suppressed grin as Hope laughed lightly, already turning away. She stalked inside, head held high and shoulders thrown back with a confidence that can’t help but catch your eye and one that Rosie couldn’t tear her gaze away from.

Like the sweater that disappeared into the hall, red. Like the heart that berated Rosie’s ribcage, red. Like the lips pulled into an impossibly wide smile, as much as she fought it, red.

Orange

Like the socks that covered kicking feet, orange. Like the setting sun outside, the watercolour of clouds, orange. Like the pen that scrawled on paper, jotting down notes and doodling when the words wouldn’t come, orange.

“Pop quiz!” Hope announced, flourishing a card and adjusting upright. Open textbooks, loose papers, a discarded laptop, and a dozen markers litter the bedspread around her.

Rosie groaned, faceplanting into her notes and sending a multitude of colourful pens scattering. “You’re incorrigible!” she whined into the paper, her hand that had been previously writing limp by the notebook.

“You asked to study! I’m studying!” Hope defended with a slight laugh, motioning with the brightly coloured flashcards in her hands.

Rosie’s head flopped to the side, cheek pressed into still-damp orange inked scribbles. “Clearly by study I meant halfarse rereading notes so we had an excuse to hang out.”

Hope paused for a beat, scrutinising Rosie from across the bed. “You needed an excuse to hang out with me?”

“Would you have agreed otherwise?”

“No,” she slowly answered. “But that’s just because I needed to study.”

“There is not a doubt in my mind that you were the most extreme teacher’s pet,” Rosie teased, pushing upright just to slump backwards, elbows positioned to support her weight. “I can picture it now, little Hope avoiding recess to do menial tasks.”

With a wistful sigh, Hope abandoned her flashcards, leaning back herself. “Oh, those were the good ol’ days.”

“Nerd.”

Hope clicked her tongue, fond exasperation etched in her face and soaked into her posture. “Well,” she drawled, climbing off the bed and popping to her feet. “Since we’re already taking an impromptu break, I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared out the door, leaving it wide open and lightly swinging on its hinges. A heavy sigh melts Rosie’s muscles as she stretched out on the bed in her absence, legs nudging the multitude of study supplies surrounding her.

She glanced about, eyes bouncing around curiously at the array of objects held in Hope’s bedroom. From the vanity, to the assortment of bottles and items splayed atop the dresser, to the meticulously organized bookshelf of textbooks and fiction, it was as if Rosie was getting a glimpse into the girl.

And somehow she felt there was more to uncover than ever before. From the tattered jacket full of memories draped over a chair, to the photo frames littering every available surface, to the picture book given prime shelf space, there’s so much life in the room that she’d never even heard about.

Hope stepped back into the room before her imagination could run truly wild, juggling a water bottle dotted in flower stickers and a few oranges. She dumps them all on the bed, tossing one of the small oranges to Rosie.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, catching it lightly.

“Mmhmm,” Hope hummed out of reflex as she jumped up to the bed, kicking her legs over the edge and toying with the lid of her water bottle. “You know, I don’t get why you of all people are a business major,” she commented, glancing up as she takes a drink.

Rosie chuckled, picking at the stubborn peel and pulling off chunks. “What makes you say that?”

“You just seem… not… businesslike? I don’t know,” she groaned, dipping her head to hide her face as Rosie laughed beside her.

“I think I’m plenty businesslike.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s cheeto dust on the edge of your notes.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Rosie waggled her index finger, “Cheetos are made by a business, therefore, they are businesslike.”

Hope’s mouth curved in a grin, lips pressed together to try and stop it’s spread. “You should be an attorney instead.”

“Nah, it just wouldn’t be fair to the other lawyers,” Rosie’s tone was casual as she popped an orange slice in her mouth, speaking through it. “Like a pro athlete playing with a kiddie team.”

Hope snorted, her hand clapped up to her mouth as she fought a loud laugh. “You'd be a force to be reckoned with in a courtroom, I’m sure.”

“I’m telling you, I’d be unstoppable. Just sue everyone else before they can sue me!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Well, you’re not a lawyer, are you?”

Hope’s hands raised placatingly, but the smile on her face was evident of her amusement. “Alright, alright you win.”

“What’s my prize?”

Hope’s face scrunched up as she considered, one nail rising to tap at her chin. “What do you want?” she finally responded.

“To not study.”

“Alright, I get it.” She closed the textbook she had been reading from and tossed it onto a nearby desk chair, sitting straight and peering about for a distraction. “You want to watch something instead?”

“Yes! No books! No words! No unreadable handwriting!” Rosie cheered, shoving her own notebooks and laptop across the bedspread in a dramatic show.

“That’s your handwriting that you can’t read.”

“Exactly!” her hands waved, eyes wild before her palms slapped down onto the duvet, “Do you see how mad this has driven me?”

Hope rolled her eyes, tossing a pale orange blanket over Rosie to quiet her, “Every day you get more over the top.”

Snickering, Rosie pulled the blanket off her head and scooted backwards until she hit the headboard. “Stick around and maybe you’ll find my limit.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan on going anywhere,” Hope joined her on the bed, tugging her laptop to rest before them. “Now here, since you’re sticking around too, let’s watch something.”

She started scrolling through a streaming service, clicking on random descriptions but never staying long enough for Rosie to catch up. She moved fast, but with more purpose than anyone Rosie had ever met. Every sharp action was backed by a precise thought, every decisive selection marked by careful consideration.

She finally clicked on some random sitcom, beginning to settle against the headrest and Rosie’s side. The blanket only exacerbated the heat between them, and Rosie found herself spending more time attempting glimpses of Rosie than she spent watching the show.

Like the scattered peels and smudged ink of abandoned pens, orange. Like the blanket draped over their laps, orange. Like the sensation of sunlight blasting away all your worries, orange.

Yellow

Like the sunshine on Hope’s skin as they laughed in the park, hours disappearing under the sun, yellow. Like the water bottles filled with too-sweet lemonade, yellow. Like the checkered blanket they lay on, sprawled across it and speaking softly beneath the sky, yellow.

“Ooh, look at that one!” Hope pointed at the sky, index finger outstretched toward a cloud floating in the distance. It was filled with them, the white blending with pale blue as they floated above the world, unbothered by the affairs of the ground.

Rosie’s eyes scanned futilely, following Hope’s finger to the expansive sky, “Where?”

“There!”

“Hope,” Rosie laughed, a lightness in her heart, “there’s like a hundred clouds, I need specifics.”

With a sigh, Hope’s hand wrapped around Rosie’s, their fingers tangled together as she gestured above and to the left. She angled Rosie’s finger, slipping closer on the picnic blanket to direct her line of sight. “That one,” her voice was quieter as she squeezed the hand in hers.

The breath left Rosie’s lungs at their proximity, at the gentleness always present in Hope’s voice, but especially so now. She tore her gaze from the warmth in Hope’s cheeks to search the sky, finally finding the shaped cloud. “A heart?”

“Mmhmm,” Hope hummed, squeezing her hand once more.

“Cute.”

“I know, right?” Hope turned briefly, her face still set in a bright grin before she was back to staring at the sky and all it held within it.

But Rosie wasn’t paying attention to the sky anymore, she hadn’t been for a while. Her eyes were glued to the smile on Hope’s face, the way her eyes flitted from cloud to cloud, the way her bottom lip slipped between her teeth, the way she refused to release Rosie’s hand.

“Do you come here often?” she supplied to fill the silence, breaking a tension only she may have felt.

Hope’s gaze flicked back to her, sparkled with amusement.“Is that a line?”

“Just making conversation.”

Hope chuckled beneath her breath, turning back to the puffs in the painted sky. “Not really. Used to when I was younger, but you know… Classes, work, responsibilities… They don’t really leave time for an afternoon of watching clouds float past.”

“Do you wish you could do this more?”

“Always.”

“Then I’m glad I could help, even just a little,” Rosie grinned, easy and relaxed as she nudged Hope’s shoulder with her own.

“Me too.”

Rosie settled back, letting the blues and whites and greys and yellows of the day fill her eyesight, a collision of pastel colours before her dark eyes. Occasionally, Hope’s hand would brush her own, or her elbow would nudge Rosie as she shifted, and every time it was like a shot of sunshine right into her veins, stronger than pure adrenaline.

“It’s getting kind of dark,” Hope mumbled after a long stretch of silence, a quiet only disrupted by the occasional murmur.

Rosie’s lashes had fluttered shut, the soft breeze and noise of the park enough to lose herself in. “The forecast said no rain,” she answered, followed by a groan as she stretched her limbs on the checkered blanket.

“You sure?”

Rosie shrugged, “That’s what the weather girl said.”

“Which weather girl?”

“That annoying one, Blaire or something.”

“You trust the annoying weather girl?”

“I trust science,” Rosie retorted. “Also that Swedish news anchor. He trusts her, and I trust him. He’s very trustworthy, I’ll have you know,” she elbowed Hope to accentuate her point.

Hope sighed, reluctantly mumbling out an agreement, “Alright.”

Everything stilled once more, their little corner of the park unbothered by the rest of the whirring world. Rosie’s arm rose to cover her face and block out the lessening sunlight, the day seeming to have spent both her energy and the available sunlight.

A drop pinged Rosie’s forearm as it lay overtop her face, a prick on her skin. Then another. And another. Until raindrops began to soak her skin, her clothes, the blanket that was beneath her and Hope.

“Shit!” Rosie sprung to her feet blindly, scrambling as the onslaught of water kept coming, and coming.

Hope was in a struggle to get to her feet as well, grabbing wildly at discarded water bottles, phones, a jacket - whatever lay in her reach. “Get the stuff! Get the stuff!”

“I am, I am!” Rosie grabbed the checkered blanket, shoved it into the backpack she had brought along as Hope piled up the little containers of snacks.

Digging in her own bag, Hope blinked up at Rosie in a brief panic, “Hurry!”

“Would you -?” Rosie swatted at her with the edge of the blanket, her words dying as she dissolved into laughter.

“Rosie!” she chided, waving away the swat as she finally found what she was looking for. She stood straight, shrugging her bag over her shoulder and fiddling with the object she pulled from it.

“C’mon!” the taller woman laughed, “This is funny! We get one afternoon to ourselves and it literally rains on our parade!” she gestured around, spinning to encompass the whole park in the motion, every drop of rain spilling down on it. “That’s funny!”

Hope’s lips pressed together in a smile as she stepped forward, opening an umbrella and bringing it up to cover their heads. The bright yellow fabric echoed with each falling drop, but it was enough to prevent their soaked clothing from worsening.

“A little late for that,” Rosie chuckled from within her chest, heaving her hefty bag up her shoulder.

“Better late than never.” Hope paused, pursing her lips to the side as her free hand rose, brushing off a piece of wet grass from Rosie’s chest. Her touch lingered, the heel of her hand resting lightly.

“Hmm?” Rosie questioned wordlessly.

Hope’s fingers tightened in the front of her shirt, determination sparking in her eyes. “You want to go out sometime? For coffee, or lunch, or dinner?”

“I thought we already did that?” Rosie teased with a small smile.

“We do… But I was thinking it’d be a little different this time.” Hope’s eyes shimmered as they met Rosie’s from beneath heavy lashes, rain still shining like diamonds on them, on every part of her face.

Rosie smiled at the suggestive tone of the words, her expression so wide and bright, brighter than the umbrella held over their heads. “That sounds nice,” she feigned a casualty that wasn’t there, the smile lines around her mouth a dead giveaway.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, wet hair framing her face.

Hope’s face broke out in a smile to match Rosie’s, unrestrained under the transparent yellow umbrella over their heads. “Come on, then,” her hand slipped into the other girl’s, and she tugged Rosie towards a nearby awning, hands swinging lightly between them.

Like the shirt plastered to Rosie’s skin, soaked and damp, yellow. Like the umbrella that sheltered them from the storm, a brilliant, shining safety net, yellow. Like the happiness in her chest, bubbling and pounding inside her, yellow.

Green

Like the smile on Hope’s lips, as lively as a budding flower, green. Like the backdrop behind her, the painted walls and masses of house plants, green. Like the nausea that swirled in Rosie’s gut, foul and unsettling, green.

She lurched forward, stumbling to her feet before she darted across the flat towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut just as she collapsed to her knees. She retched, fingers gripping the edge of the toilet as bile stung at her throat.

With a moan, she slumped against the seat, eyes fluttered shut as a pounding in her head drowned out most of the flat. The brief ordeal weighed down her limbs, left her exhausted and drained on the bathroom floor.

“Hey, Rosie?” broke through her haze, a gentle question from the other side of the door.

She sighed, groaning out a “Hmm?”

“You okay in there?”

“Just peachy,” she chuckled weakly.

There was a brief pause before Hope’s voice returned, hesitant but laced with a caring that warmed Rosie’s heart, cleared her head momentarily. “I’m going to come in,” she announced, the knob twisting.

Rosie groaned once more in response, slumped against the toilet with her hair spilled over her shoulder in a messy flow. Her shirt now hung off her body awkwardly, a thin sweat having begun to coat her skin.

A cautious hand found her shoulder, squeezing lightly as Hope settled beside her, careful not to jostle her. “Are you sick?” her fingers delicately brushed over Rosie’s face as she spoke, tucking a stray braid behind her ear, her thumb running lightly over her cheek.

“No, I’m healthy as a horse, that’s why I’m voluntarily sitting with my face in the toilet,” Rosie bit back, more heat in the tone than ever before.

Hope huffed, her hand retracting from Rosie’s face and the taller woman immediately regretting the harshness of her previous words. “Quit with that for a second, would you?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning to press her cheek in the crook of her elbow.

“It’s okay, just…” a sigh drooped Hope’s shoulders as she softly pressed the back of her hand to Rosie’s forehead. “What happened? Did you eat something bad? Were you sick earlier?” Her hand brushed over Rosie’s face repeatedly until she was swatted away.

“I don’t know,” Rosie brushed her off, pushing upright and slumping forward. “I was fine, I swear.”

“Do you need anything?” the smaller of the two continued to fuss, eyes searching for a visible cause of the crease between Rosie’s brows. “Oh - I’ll get water, I’ll go -” She awkwardly jumped up, bouncing back and forth on her feet in uncertainty for the girl on the floor before darting out the door.

She returned a few moments later, dropping back to the tile floor with a bottle of water and damp washcloth in her hands. “Rinse,” she instructed gently, pressing the bottle into Rosie’s grasp.

And she did as told, taking a swig and swishing it around her mouth before she spat into the toilet bowl. She repeated it a few more times before she scooted away, her thigh brushing Hope’s as her head dropped to Hope’s shoulder.

With her palm softly tracing Rosie’s spine, Hope didn’t dare move for a long moment. “You okay there?” she whispered, exhale brushing along Rosie’s forehead.

“Except for the spinning…” her head rolled in a tiny circle gesture, “everything, yes.”

“Can you stand?” Hope shifted onto her knees, still supporting Rosie’s weight carefully.

“I vomited, I didn’t break a leg.”

“What did I say about the sarcasm?” she sighed, “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know,” a groan fell from Rosie’s mouth, from deep in her throat as she slumped forward, head landing in her hands. “And I’m being an arse. Yes, I can stand.” She finally opened her eyes, looking up at Hope with a strained gaze.

Hope stood fully, offering her hands with a wiggle of her fingers, “Come on, then,” she urged.

Rosie moaned again, but placed her palms on Hope’s all the same. She let herself be gently tugged to her feet and led back into the living room of Hope’s flat, let herself be pushed into sitting back down and laying back, her eyelids fluttering shut.

Hope’s palm on her shoulder was a steady weight, a warmth soaking through to her skin. “Stay put,” and all too soon that weight disappeared as Hope stepped away from the sofa.

“Can I just go home?” Rosie asked, knowing full well she would never be granted permission to leave when she could barely keep her eyes open.

“No, you live alone,” Hope called over her shoulder, striding in the direction of the kitchen. “If you leave I can’t take care of you.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“You’re right. Babies don’t complain as much.”

“Are you saying you’d trade me for a baby?”

“Oh, never. You don’t have snot running down your face at the very least,” her voice echoed from the kitchen, familiar and playful in Rosie’s ears. “...If I come in there and there’s snot -!”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Rosie!” Hope’s chiding voice rang from the kitchen, alongside a loud, panicked clatter, which only served to provide Rosie with a brief laughing fit.

“I’d never,” her laughter died, replaced by an amused smile grounded in the comfort of the situation. “I think you’d break my nose before I got the chance.”

“Don’t even think about it and you’ll never have to find out.”

“Mmm,” Rosie hummed in acknowledgment, sinking further into the cushions of the sofa as Hope’s pleasant voice occasionally called out to her, alongside clatters and thuds.

Her lashes flickered open, blinking to clear the fleeting sleep from them as Hope stood over her, hands on her hips. “I was trying to make you soup, but you’re going right to bed.”

“I don’t live here,” she murmured without a thought, the imposing woman above her having stripped her of them.

“I know. Now, up.”

Hope pulled her to her feet again, let Rosie lean her bodyweight against her in her sick and sleepy haze as she was guided to Hope’s bedroom and directed to the bed. Hope yanked back the neatly made duvet, allowing Rosie to slip beneath it.

The bed dipped as Hope joined her on the edge, tracing her nail over her scalp, the hinge of her jaw, the length of her neck. Over, and over again, until the sleep that weighed Rosie down stole her again, until she could only manage a mumbled, “Thank you.”

Like the soft explosion of colour on her shut eyelids, flowing in whatever direction the light is pulled in, green. Like the doting nails as they ghosted along her skin, sweet and full of love, green. Like the peace now swirling in her once foul gut, green.

Blue

Like the rain falling from the dark clouds outside, blue. Like the melancholy that permeated the air as Rosie opened the door, blue. Like the tears in the corners of Hope’s eyes as she fought against the pressure behind them, blue.

Hope shouldered her way into the flat and into the living room, dropping herself onto the sofa before she sucked in a deep breath. “You can’t move,” her voice cracked as it escaped from her, each syllable heavy with sorrow.

Crossing the room, Rosie collapsed beside her, gaze stuck to her hands as she felt Hope’s bored into the side of her face. “Why not?” she mumbled beneath her breath, one nail picking the woven bracelet resting on her wrist.

“‘Cause I’ll miss you.”

She sighed heavily, twitching beneath Hope’s piercing eyes. “I’ll miss you too, but I kinda have to,” she shrugged, everything feeling useless in the moment. Everything had felt useless since that morning, since she had first told Hope and they had first begun this odd dance.

“It’s not the same.”

“Sure it is.”

“No, no it’s not,” Hope insisted, a spark in her voice as her own hands fidgeted wildly, unease seeping in every corner of the flat. “You’ll - You’ll be doing your thing, without me there, and I’ll be doing my thing without you here, and we’ll be in our little worlds and won’t - won’t realise until it’s too late and we… you know.” She fell off at the end, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth to worry it.

“Hope,” Rosie sighed, a hand dragging down her face, “We’re not gonna break up.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“How? How can you possibly know what’ll happen if you leave?” Hope’s features crumpled, deep creases marking worry lines.

“Hope…”

“Rosie, look at me.” She took Rosie’s hands, thumbs nervously circling her knuckles as her eyes poured into the dark irises across from her. “I know you, and I know me. I know I’m not good at being apart, and I know you get caught up in the moment. I adore that about you, I really do, but it’s also the most annoying thing imaginable.”

“Wha - Hey!” A surprised laugh bubbled out of Rosie, a bright smile gracing her features for the first time in the night.

“See?” A small smile illuminated Hope’s own expression, “Now you can’t go ‘cause you have to stay to get back at me.” The smile dissipated, replaced by a tight grip on Rosie’s hands. “Please don’t go.”

“I have to. Seriously,” Rosie squeezed back. “My mum… she needs me back home right now.”

Hope sagged, disheartened, letting her forehead bump into Rosie’s shoulder. “You’re too stubborn.”

Rosie snorted, “Says you. You showed up at my door at three in the morning.” Her arm wrapped around Hope without a thought, unconsciously urging her closer.

“I’m not stubborn, I’m romantic.”

“Yeah?” a chuckle vibrated throughout Rosie’s chest, “Then romance me.”

Hope visibly brightened, turning her head to smile into Rosie’s neck. “I’ll buy you roses tomorrow. Roses for my Rose,” she giggled radiantly.

“Cute,” Rosie hummed, her palm circling along her partner’s back.

“I thought so,” she preened.

Rosie inhaled deeply, rolling her neck to crack it before she fell backward suddenly. She held out her hands, making a grabbing motion at a slightly confused Hope. “C’mere,” waved relentlessly, until Hope gave in with a grin.

She shuffled forward, collapsing atop Rosie with a contented sigh, her head on the taller woman’s chest, right above her softly beating heart. She dragged her fingers up and down Rosie’s ribs, every breath of Hope’s a whisper along her skin.

“I didn’t think you ever wanted to leave London anyhow?” she exhaled after they settled, inquiring with nudge to Rosie’s chin.

“I didn’t. Not for forever, at least.”

“So you’ll come back to me?”

Rosie stalled, avoiding eye contact as she stared up at the ceiling. “...At some point.”

A frown dipped Hope’s lips almost instantaneously, “I don’t like the sound of that. That sounds like - like…” she struggled for words, her features pinched. “Like a goodbye with extra steps.”

“Nope,” Rosie’s head shook adamantly, finally meeting Hope’s gaze with a resolve in her own. “We’re not saying goodbye, I promise you that.”

That quieted Hope, her lashes fluttered shut as her hand on Rosie’s abdomen stilled. The flat went still as well, undisturbed in the late hour as light, nimble fingers traced a circle around her hip.

“What if I went with you?” Hope’s voice cracked the silence in half, shattering it like glass and simultaneously freezing it deeper into her bones.

There was no response, and she glanced up to find Rosie gawking, blinking upwards in surprise. Her jaw hung open, mouth working to form words that won’t come, no matter how hard she may try. Finally, her voice squeaked out, breathless with her disbelief, “You’d… move cities… for me?”

“Yes,” Hope answered in a heartbeat, not a second of hesitation.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

At that Rosie exploded back to life, her crooked grin lifting her lips. “Nuh-uh, you gotta say it,” she teased, her eyes burning with excitement.

“You’re the worst, you know that?” Hope laughed, fond exasperation filling her as she shook her head.

“Say it,” Rosie urged, pestering Hope with pokes to her sides. “Say it, say it, say it.”

“The worst!” A full laugh spilled from her lips, and Rosie pressed for more and more of it, the sound addictive to her. Hope freed herself from Rosie’s grasp, from her playful jabs, and kneeled above her, taking her face in her hands.

Hope’s thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, caress delicate and soothing. “I love you and don’t want to be without you, okay?” she whispered into the space between them, a clash of brilliant eyes alighting the gap like metal sparking.

“I love you too,” she murmured back, rising to peck Hope on the nose before she settled back down. “But you don’t have to move.”

“But I want to.”

“Hope…”

“Rosie…”

Rosie shook her head, incredulous at the persistence staring her down. “You’re going to change your mind in the morning,” she warned carefully.

“I won’t.”

“And how could you know that? How could you possibly know that?” Rosie teased, repeating Hope’s previous words.

“How many times do I have to tell you I love you for you to get it?”

“I won’t complain if you say it a few more times,” Rosie joked, languidly relaxed as she danced her fingers along Hope’s skin wherever she could reach, noting the twist in the dance between them. It was as if they stuck the landing, poised and graceful, rather than on their arse like they had been earlier in the day.

“So it’s settled, then?” Hope livened, “I’m coming with you?”

Mumbling under her breath, Rosie rolled her eyes, “Incorrigible…”

The shorter woman stretched out, her body overlapping with Rosie’s as she buried herself in her side. “I’m coming whether you agree or not, you can just make this easier for the both of us.”

“Fine,” Rosie grumbled. “If you really, truly, absolutely want to move to Margate with me, I don’t think I can do much to stop you.”

“Damn right you can’t.”

Like the cushions their bodies have melted into together, blue. Like the rain streaked down window panes right outside, blue. Like the waves of calm rolling through the flat, a gentle rhythm to match their exhales as they were carefully lulled to sleep, blue.

Purple

Like the cardigan wrapped around her body, the slightest amount too big, purple. Like the sandals padding along sand, feet running down the length of the beach, purple. Like the sky as the sun sets on the horizon, fading watercolours painted across the clouds, purple.

“Slow down, slow down!” Hope lamely chased after Rosie on the beach, her shoes sinking into the sand with each step.

“Not my fault you wore heels,” Rosie called over her shoulder, walking quickly down the shoreline as she tugged her cardigan closer to her body. A breeze swept over the waves, cold grazing her skin.

Hope’s bottom lip popped out in a pout, her legs working to free the sharp heels stuck in sand. “I was trying to look nice for date night.”

“You always look nice, you don’t need heels.”

“Aw,” Hope cooed, grinning at the taller woman. “Wait, seriously, stop,” she forced Rosie to retrace a few steps, her hand gripped in Rosie’s sleeve for balancing. She bounced on one foot as she tugged her heels off one by one, burying her toes in the smooth sand when they were freed. “Okay, now you get to hold them,” Hope smiled, jutting her arm out as the shoes dangled from her fingers.

“What? Why me?”

“You brought me here, it’s your fault I can’t walk anymore.” Hope swung the shoes, imploring them to be taken from her grasp.

“I brought you here to be romantic and you’ve spent the whole time complaining about your feet,” Rosie grumbled, but despite her protests, she took the outstretched shoes in one hand and offered Hope her other, tugging her along as soon as their palms met.

With her feet bare, Hope matched pace, sidling up to Rosie’s side and linking their arms. “Thank you, by the way,” she sighed softly, her cheek pressing to the woven fabric of Rosie’s cardigan. “It’s gorgeous out here.”

Rosie grinned cheekily, her chest puffed out for a joke, “Not as -”

“Gorgeous as me?” Hope interjected, head tilted as she peered up bemusedly.

“I was going to say the heels, but you too.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating you,” Hope groaned, burying her face further in pale purple fabric.

“Yeah, that was a really bad call on your part,” Rosie laughed loudly, squeezing the arm looped in hers tightly.

“I guess you have some good moments. Like when you buy me flowers, or take me to dinner on my night off, or bring me to the beach,” Hope emphasised her point by kicking up a small cloud of sand. “And that was only tonight. Are you up to something?” she joked, squinting up in faux suspicion.

Rosie avoided her gaze, turning to the horizon and softly setting sun instead. It’s rays stretched as far as the eye can see, basking the world in brilliant colour and reflecting off the rolling waves of the sea.

Hope’s jaw fell open, eyes scanning Rosie for any semblance of an answer, “Oh my god, you are. What is it? What’s this all about?”

With a halfhearted shrug, Rosie feigned nonchalance, “Just… setting the mood.”

Hope planted her feet, burying her toes in the sand and pulled on her partner’s sleeve as she continued walking, yanking her back. “Tell me or I’m not moving.”

“I had this whole thing planned, and now you’re trying to blackmail me into spoiling it?” Rosie chuckled, letting herself be reeled in by her baggy sleeve.

“Yep. Now tell me.”

A sigh broke from Rosie’s lips, “And you always called me stubborn. Okay, just -” she shook out her shoulders, rolling her neck. “Give me a minute, I thought I’d have more time.”

With a slight frown, Hope crossed her arms over her chest, but she obliged nevertheless. She watched Rosie drop the heels in her hand and fidget restlessly, fingers adjusting her cardigan, her dress, her hair. Until they slipped into her purse, digging around for a brief second before drawing out a small box.

It’s rolled in Rosie’s palms, her hands never stilling as long as it's in her grasp. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “The day I met you was… honestly, it was pretty embarrassing,” Rosie grinned, as crooked as ever. “But you didn’t hold it against me. And… that’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Probably?” Hope’s eyebrow quirked, her hip jutting out to the side in objection.

The taller woman glared up from beneath her long lashes, “You want the heartfelt speech or not?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hope’s hands waved placatingly. “Please, continue.”

“Right, okay,” Rosie nodded, rebuilding her courage. “You are more than I ever expected and more special than I first thought. Every day I’ve known you has been better than the last, and it’s like - like brighter? Like everything’s just more colourful now, and I don’t know what you did, but I love you for it,” she grinned, bashful for once, with a blush dusting her cheeks.

“And I know this is a long time coming, but better late than never right?” she chuckled softly beneath her breath, eyes trained on the sand as the flush in her cheeks grew. “So I just have to ask, if after everything, you’d be willing to stick around and keep making everything brighter?”

Tears glittered in Hope’s eyes, a shine coating them as she sucked in a trembling breath. Her fingers carefully covered Rosie’s, a thumb traced the small rock embedded in the ring as she watched it shine in the low light.

Rosie shifted from foot to foot, staring down at the ring with a miniscule frown. “It’s not much, but…”

“It’s perfect,” Hope cut her off before she could finish, voice as sweet as ever. “Perfect,” she repeated as she gently took it from Rosie’s hands, slipping it on her finger. She turned it over carefully, movements as graceful as ever to Rosie’s peering gaze.

Abruptly, Hope’s arms curled around her waist, face burying in her shoulder. Rosie reciprocated without a thought, squeezing tight. “You know, I think I need an answer,” she breathed into Hope’s skin, lips slowly split into a smile.

“Oh!” Hope darted backwards, hands aimlessly fumbling until they landed on Rosie’s jaw, cupping her face warmly. “Yes! God, yes. I’m - I’m here to stay,” she beamed. “Always.”

Rosie’s forehead bumped against Hope’s, arms wound around her torso. “I told you no goodbyes, didn’t I?”

“You are ever true to your word,” she tapped the side of Rosie’s nose teasingly before retracting, rubbing her arms to warm them. “Come on, let’s go; I’m freezing out here,” she bounced on her feet expectantly.

“Yeah, the beach was more romantic in my head,” Rosie chuckled, tugging her cardigan off her body to drape it over Hope’s shoulders.

Taking the gifted cardigan, Hope turned on her heel, leading the way from the chilling breeze sweeping over the sea. She hooked her arm through Rosie’s once again as they walked in silence, a comfortable silence. It’s carried along the breeze, relaxed as the lapping waves that grow more and more distant.

“I still appreciate it,” Hope commented as they came to a stop by their car, folding her arms as she leaned against it, lavender wool dripping from her arms.

“The beach or the ring?”

“I can appreciate both.

Rosie laughed brightly, hooking an arm around Hope’s waist to draw her in. Her smile softened, from a burning wildfire to a fireplace, there to keep you warm and safe more than anything. Hope’s arms snaked around her neck in response, their bodies melding in a way that was more natural to them than breathing.

“Look at you,” Rosie whispered in private awe, her breath ghosted along Hope’s lips as one nail traced the curves shaping them.

Hope’s own smile was serene, full of her own hominess, “What do you see?”

With her gaze filled with nothing but the face before her, tracing over every bump and dip in skin, every line and colour in gleaming irises, she breathed, “Everything.”

Like the deep of the creeping night, stars glittering within the gradient of the sky, purple. Like the future laid out before them, infinite possibilities but an amethyst sitting at the centre of it all, purple. Like the feeling of contentment, peace swirling in the pit of your stomach, purple.

#ignore that this isn't roy g big lmao #i couldn't be bothered to do the accurate version #litg fanfic #litg hope #hope x mc #rosie mwendwa #hdn #idk how to tag #but thats nothing new #i had fun with the tumble text colours lmao #also i feel like i’m really bad at writing hope but i’m just gonna roll with it

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