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cosmictheo · 6 months ago

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𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 | hwang in-ho

( gif credits to @lalaray )

—summary: for some reason, player 001 seems to like you a little too much, way more than you think. amongst the chaos after the mingle game, he gets closer to you. —pairing: hwang in-ho/young-il/player 001 x female!reader —word count: 4.5k —warnings: bro has a lot of names, +18, smut !!! (minors dni), most definitely ooc!in-ho, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, slight voyeurism? (a guard outside the bathroom listening all the tea💀), sub in-ho!!!, obsessive, possessive behavior, mentions of stalking, slight manipulation, in-ho being a slut for the reader, they want each others bodies so bad, panic attack, blood, killing, yk usual squid game stuff.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ✶ part one ── part two

The first thing you saw were Young-il's eyes, and then you sensed his hands resting on your shoulders, a subtle touch but one that struck your entire core, sending shivers up and down your spine, snapping you out of the trance of shock, drawing you back to reality and back to him.

“Hey, hey, shhh...” he spoke softly, leaning close to you, making all you focused on was him, his voice, his eyes, the way his lips uttered your name. Him, him, him...

“Young-il?” you breathed out, matching your respiration to his ever-calm one.

He nodded his head slightly, his fingers stroking your shoulders soothingly. “You're okay. You did so good. It's over now” his soft whispers felt like an anchor back to earth, anchors you were clinging to with all your might.

“I got you” he assured you, helping you to your feet again. It was only then that you noticed that you were still in the room set of the third game, there was only you and him left in the arena, and the multitude of bodies sprawled around the bloodstained floor, of course. Noticing your gaze drift to the dead people, his hand lifted to your chin, standing right in front of you to block your field of vision and reduce it to just him, his serene face and piercing eyes, “Just look at me, angel. Keep those pretty eyes on me, yeah?”

He delicately pleaded you, his thumb tracing patterns of grazing caresses on the skin of your chin, treating you as carefully as possible.

And you complied, of course, succumbing to the gentle darkness contained within his eyes. Like a little lamb falling into the wolf's trap.

“There you are,” a little, honest smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

A couple of guards were standing near you, watching you in silence and strangely, allowing Young-il to comfort and help you during your panic attack. The first one you had since you had arrived in the horrifying place, you hadn't cracked once, holding a tough and fearless armor.

“You are safe with me. Nothing will happen to you,” his other hand moved down from your shoulder through your arm, igniting a warm flush on your skin under the passage of his palm, all the way down to encounter yours, his fingers intertwining between yours. “I'll make sure of that, okay?”

You merely manage a trembling nod, holding his gaze. His reassuring, gentle demeanor was all you needed at that moment, in that strange place, full of strangers, he seemed to be the only familiar sight to you, the light among all the ruthless darkness. And his face, exuding concern, completely captured your heart.

Young-il offered you that one protector figure you always needed, that someone to rely on and trust even in your darkest moments.

“Come with me, please” one of the guards, the one with a square outlined on his mask, interrupted your moment, stepping up beside you, his gun pointed at the ground and not at either of you, thank goodness. His voice held a diplomatic, yet polite tone, glancing at the two of you. Young-il glanced at him with a scowl on his face, not too happy that the guard had popped onto the scene, apparently, his gaze went ice cold in the span of a millisecond, “Sir, miss, you need to go back to the main room with the other players.”

“The lady needs to freshen up a bit, could I accompany her to the bathrooms?” Young-il asked— no, rather, he actually demanded of the armed guard, his demeanor shifting to an authoritative one, straightening up and looking at the masked man with imposing eyes.

The guard looked from Young-il to you and back to him, finally nodding his head just once after a few seconds of contemplation, looking at him too long, nearly as if he was considering Young-il's expression, “Of course. Come with me, please.”

You did not decide to comment on the strange behavior of the guard, even they had been acting like human beings, empathetic and considerate. You really couldn't think of anything much at all, all you could focus on was Young-il's hand placed on your lower back as you walked together through the winding, ridiculously colorful corridors and staircases inside the seemingly infinite building.

His touch had your mind a fuzzy blur and the panic and self-doubt in your veins had already been well forgotten, replaced by a state of constant flushing, feeling so small next to him. The feeling was a good one, though. Definitely.

Ever since you had met him he had seemed to have a special liking for you, always making sure you were safe and secure, putting you above the others, making you feel protected and seen. Before every game he made sure he stayed by your side, willing to take whatever risks were necessary for both of you to come out of it alive. Gi-hun had told you a couple of times that he liked you, much more than a friend, but you refused, huffing that it wasn't the place to think about that, much less regarding a man who was married, supposedly. The two of you had really bonded so well, as if you had somehow known each other for a very long time before this.

Once you were in the bathrooms, Young-il closed the door behind both of you, leaving the square guard just outside, and then guided you towards the sinks, opening one so you could take a sip of water.

“Let me...” he quietly whispered, rolling up the sleeves of his turquoise tracksuit and soaking his hands for a few seconds before raising them to your face, running his fingers gently across your cheekbones, removing traces of blood droplets that had been lucky enough to land on your skin, he thought to himself. For some reason, everything felt more intimate than it should have.

You stood in silence, watching him with big, attentive eyes as he wiped your face delicately, as if your skin were the finest porcelain. All that could be heard for a few moments was the water running from the sink and the thundering beat of your heart, desperate to flee out of your chest and leap into his.

“Young-il?”

“Hm?” he hummed, very much focused on cleaning your face, his countenance encouraged you to ask him anything you wanted, it was peaceful and gentle.

“Why do you care so much about me?” you dared to ask him, in a low tone, brave enough to hold his gaze, which softened at your question.

He held back his hands, pulling them away from your face very slowly, analyzing your flushed face for a few moments, contemplating an answer.

“You're special. Very different from the others.”

Young-il sympathized with you, with your history, your person. Usually when he looked at you, he saw his old self, from before all this. He saw in you the good side of things, your good heart, your innocence and kindness, you were much more than a pretty face. He could see past your usual gloomy and pouty face, past your sharp and too cunning eyes, you were too much for that place. And that's why he intended to take you out of there and keep you with him, to have you by his side to care for you and provide for you.

He was excited about the idea of getting to know you further, like a new game in which he had to crack his way through. And In-ho, he was good at games.

You blushed slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, “Special?”

Young-il spun around, allowing you to see his side profile as he washed his hands in the sink, concealing the impulse to smirk as he noticed the immediate effect his words had on you. He had you right where he wanted you.

Now he wasn't wearing his usual dark mask, capable of covering his each and every emotion, no, now his expressions and gestures were for everyone to see, so he had to try a little harder than usual to be cautious. As you too were very careful and cautious, always attentive to your surroundings, you had figured out the objective of the last games as soon as you arrived at the arenas. It had been a record, no other player had been as interesting and quick-witted as you. You only needed a couple of minutes, a scan through the walls, the equipment brought by the guards, and you already had the answer. You were a prodigy. Not even he knew what you were doing in there to begin with, when you should have been in the best university.

You would definitely be a favorite of the filthy V.I.P.'s and that, for some reason, made him uneasy.

“Mhm...” he hummed once again, wetting his face now, refreshing himself as well, thoughtfully, “That makes you dangerous.”

His eyes held a slight playfulness as they met yours now, and his pupils expanded as he watched you step closer to him, unwrapping your sweatshirt from around your waist and lifting it up to his face, gently wiping and drying his skin with it, running the cloth carefully over his cheekbones, forehead and chin, drying every drop of water, sweat and blood that rolled across his skin.

“Why?” you tilted your head, big, interested eyes watching him intently as you carefully wiped his cheeks.

Young-il gazed at you for a few seconds, feeling himself swooning at the careful way you were treating him. He cleared his voice subtly before replying to you, in all honesty, “You're the only one I care about in here.”

Usually In-ho encountered with people who looked at him with fear, with trembling hands, hesitant voice and submissive manners. Most guards were like that with him, he was the Front Man after all. Just a movement of his fingers, a word emitted by his voice, was enough for the whole building to move at his command, for anyone to race to do what he ordered.

But you... you simply reached out to him, touched him, treated him with care, with gentleness and softness, looking at him with warm and sympathetic eyes.

“No other person makes me feel both weak and strong” he rasped out, quietly, his warm breath brushing against your lips, which gaped at his words, his choice of words, “That's dangerous for a man like me”

You motioned to pull your hand away from his face, but he was quick to grab your wrist, stopping the movement.

“Young-il, you're married, I can't—” you hurriedly opted to go the right way, trying to talk some sense into him, shaking your head softly, blinking several times within a single minute. Your heart was already starting to beat faster and he could feel it through his thumb placed on your pulse.

He shook his head, seeking your gaze, his fingers gently squeezing your wrist, not wanting you to move too far away from him.

“I'm not married. I lied” he revealed to you, almost desperately. There was no reason for him to lie to you on that, because he knew that you were someone he could trust, and that everything that was going to happen there, would remain within those walls. A little complicity. A minor crack in the script, in the whole scheme that he had been working on for weeks.

You let him grab your wrist and the jacket of the tracksuit you had previously held in your hand fell to the floor, making a muffled noise that echoed off the quiet walls of the bathrooms. Your brow furrowed slightly, not understanding what he was talking about now.

“You lied? Why?” you asked in a low tone, as if anyone could hear you. It seemed, at least it felt like too private and all too intimate a conversation for anyone to overhear.

“I didn't want to push you away and scare you with my... life resolutions” Young-il lowered your hand now joined with his, looking at you with brighter eyes than usual, “It was the wiser thing to do.”

“Resolutions?” all you appeared to be doing was asking and asking, and In-ho, right there and then, was willing to answer all you wanted to know. Your tone of voice drifted into playfulness, void of judgment or disgust, on the contrary, you reassured him, “All of us here have made bad choices in our lives, that's why we're here. We're all the villains of society”

“Villains...” he repeated, savoring the word and approving it with a gentle nod of his head. Then he tugged on your hand, lifting it to his face, placing an affectionate kiss on your knuckles, doing all of that while keeping eye contact, “But you're not bad, not like them, not like me. You're just so good, angel.” There was the petname again, and it held the exact same effect as when he first called you that, making you blush softly, your legs trembling just barely, your core reacting instantly, your body succumbing to his, longing for him.

His fingers caressed the palm of your hand tenderly, “You have no blood on your pretty hands, no perversity in your little head, no, you're a good girl. You always have been, right?”

He read you like an open book, even though you had been cautious and reserved since the games had begun, you had not let anyone in, much less pass over the walls you had built around yourself. Yet in the span of a few minutes, Young-il had ripped them apart, tearing his way through them, into you.

You caught a glimpse of pity in his eyes.

“You don't have a debt, you just don't have anyone out there waiting for you, to take care of you, provide for you” At his words, you gulped, watching him kiss your knuckles once again, making your heart race, then his lips kissed your pulse on your wrist, and after that, he tugged you closer, placing your palm against his chest, making you feel the beat of his heart as well, “I could be the one. I could take care of you, protect you, give you everything you want. There wouldn't be anything I wouldn't do for you and those eyes. You'd just have to stick by my side, look pretty for me, hm?”

In-ho had been watching you, of course, ever since you had met Gon Ji-cheol in the subway, ever since you had encountered Gi-hun. He knew your life completely, he had grown obsessed with you. You were everything he needed, everything he wanted, the missing piece in his new life. The anchor he desperately needed, yearned to hold on to.

And to your flesh he clung, his lips making a path of light, but tentative kisses on the back of your hand, across your skin, up your arm.

“Young-il...” you breathed out his name a bit stunned by the whole sudden confession. At the sound, he felt his limbs tremble, his lips had reached your bicep and it wasn't until he kissed your shoulder that he opened his eyes so he could look at you with raw adoration, his breath joining yours at the closeness.

“I'll get you out of here, safe and sound. I won't let them touch a hair on your head” he promised, reassuring you, pulling you in, inviting you to slip into his orbit, “I just need you to trust me”

Your eyelashes grazed your cheeks as you blinked slowly, your hand rising to his shoulder, thumb brushing his neck, “How will you do that?”

“Trust me” he pleaded, staring at you for a few seconds before leaning down into you, both of his hands landing on your waist, holding you against him, his face nestled into your neck, he began to press his lips into your skin, kissing it. You close your eyes in utter pleasure, feeling yourself getting all aroused, suffocated by all the attention, the sweet words, his desire for you.

“Would you do that for me?” he rasped out against your skin before kissing it, sucking lightly, “...hm?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, his lips rapidly kissing your throat, and suddenly, everything was him, his mouth, his breath, his hands squeezing your waist. Him...

You lifted your chin, allowing him more access to the soft flesh of your neck, seductive lips exploring every inch of your skin.

“Yes”

“That's my girl” he cooed with tenderness, kissing your neck one last time before pulling away from it so he could look at you, not even letting you breathe the air that had slipped out of your lungs for the entirety of his doing, before he was kissing your lips like a starving man.

He breathed against your lips in between frantic open-mouth kisses. He almost felt himself melt as his ears were blessed by the delightful little noises leaking out of your mouth, panting and low moans escalating up your throat.

“Young-il…” you whispered his name, your voice sheepishly lowering as you noticed the look in his eyes, your hands clasped around his neck, fingers trembling from the thrill and sudden shame that shook you.

“Jump” he said, his tone of voice heavy with command, his hands reaching around your waist and down onto your ass to lift you up effortlessly onto the side of the sinks, balancing himself tight against you in between your legs, which wrapped around his hips and pressed him further into you, under an instinctive impulse.

You panted against his lips as you felt his erection against the inside of your thigh, his body eagerly surrendering to yours in desperation.

His commanding voice and face were something that really turned you on even more, if that was even possible. It wasn't usual for him to be this stern with you, he was usually like that with the other players, with strangers, always cautious, quiet and tactful, meticulous of his every step and every word.

“W-wait— we're going to fuck in h-here?” you somehow managed to asked in between frantic, breathless kisses, barely opening your eyes, catching him with an expression of raw lust, pupils fully dilated now.

Young-il smirked playfully, allowing you to catch your breath for a moment, hands caressing your skin appreciatively beneath the fabric of your shirt, before dropping down and laying on either side of you against the sinks, veins bulging against his skin, “You want to do it in the other room? I don't mind having an audience.”

His little tease and the way he tilted his head made you blush furiously, fingers nuzzling the back of his neck, curling between locks of his hair.

“The guard will hear us...” you tried to talk some sense into him, whispering quietly to him, leaning your head even closer, as if you were little kids sharing a forbidden secret.

But Young-il stood his ground, kissing your lips shortly, to reassure you, noticing the worry in your big eyes, “Don't worry about him, don't worry about anyone,” his hand snaked between your bodies, spreading your legs a little further apart, “He won't hear a thing, they never hear or see anything. Not if they are ordered not to”

One of his hands reached up, stroking your hair soothingly, sensing the softness of your locks between his fingers. You were perfect, perfect. And he just knew he could lose all track of time, if it meant letting himself fall into you, touching you, feeling you, worshipping you.

"Lift your hips for me, yeah?”

Obedient, you lifted your hips just a little, letting him pull the hem of your tracksuit pants down your legs, taking it out of the way of obstructing his path into you.

“I know you want this as much as I do, you don't have to say it,” he cheekily smiled, looking up at you once he had lowered your pants down until they were at the level of your ankles. On his journey upwards, he kissed the side of your leg, your knees and your thighs without taking his eyes off yours, he was ruthless and you looked so pretty to him.

“Your body speaks to me, it has spoken to me since the first game. I've noticed the way you look at me. You are a naughty girl.”

You heaved a sigh, closing your eyes and pulling your head back as his hand dipped into the center in between your legs, feeling the wetness of your panties and the heat, your cunt pulsing around nothing. Your hands, now on either side of you clasped onto the ceramics of the sinks, your back arching beautifully.

You can't help the way your body trembles, flutters and simply submits when his finger rubs your swollen clit through your panties, feeling your face and your whole body flush, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment at the magnitude of his words and the enormity of all that was happening.

“Look at you,” he cooed, eyes locked on your pussy once he had pulled down your panties with precise but desperate motions, ran his index and middle fingers through your slick folds, making you moan, “you're soaking wet for me, just for my kisses? Fuck, you are so beautiful. My pretty, dirty girl. Letting herself be touched by a stranger.... but then again, not a stranger at all, hm?” his voice almost sounded mocking when it reached your ears, “I need to taste you,” his gaze moved up to your face, and he looked nearly pleading, he licked his lips in anticipation, fingers sinking just barely into the small entrance of your core, “may I?”

“Please—” You at once nodded feverishly, almost whimpering over the words that rushed into your throat, “Yes! Please, Young-il, please—”

He dropped to his knees in front of you, slouching closer, sinking right between your legs, his hands lingered around your knees, squeezing them against him with a possessive hold.

“In-ho” he corrected you, flushed against the skin of your inner thigh, pressing kisses along it, all too drunk already by your intoxicating scent, his mind going fuzzy with desire, the urge to make you his, “Call me In-ho”

You didn't even pause to doubt what he was telling you, Hell, you'd call him God if he asked you to. You were in the palm of his hand, on full display. His lips kissed your sex and you mentally thanked fate for putting you there, with him.

“Say it” he ordered, just before he plunged his tongue deep between your folds, knocking all the little breath left in your lungs. “Say my name, angel” the vibration of his voice against the most sensitive flesh of your body clenched the knot deep in the bottom of your belly.

“In-ho” you named him between shaky whimpers and little moans, like a prayer. One of your hands dropped to his head, fingers sinking into the black of his hair, tugging it and making him hiss against your cunt. “In-ho...”

In-ho, In-ho, In-ho...

“Good girl”

God.

He ate your pussy like it was his very last meal, lapping and drinking in everything you had to offer, every bit of wetness from you. The slurping noise burst through every wall of the bathrooms and suddenly, you didn't give a shit if the guard outside heard you, you didn't give a shit if all the guards heard you.

They could be right there watching you, you couldn't care less, it wouldn't change the way you tugged at his hair, how your eyes rolled back and the way he was gazing up at you from below, kneeling perfectly between your legs as if they were the gates to heaven.

His tongue seemed familiar, his fingers squeezing your thighs, his eyes locked with yours, his lips kissing your sex with no breath, all the breath he needed was you. He didn't feel like a stranger, your body acquainted him, perhaps in another life. It all felt like deja vu, a reminiscence.

Your muscles tensed and he felt it through his tongue. You were about to cum, and your throat felt scratchy from all the moans and whimpers rasping through it.

“Gonna cum, baby?” he coaxed, pulling away from your cunt for just a couple of seconds, sneaking a hand in and pressing just barely at your entrance with a couple of fingers, kissing your clit and sucking it just right, “Yes you are,” he grumbled endearingly, his tongue tracing caresses all around your clit now, looking up at you.

“You're so tight” he marveled, watching in awe as your cunt eagerly attempted to suck in his fingertips, clenching and struggling to fit them. “Look at her, so eager... such a good girl, aren't you?” Once again he leaned into your clit, kissing, sucking and caressing it with his tongue, already too pussy drunk to stop. “Cum for me. Cum on my tongue, yeah, just like that”

“Holy shit, In-ho—” you hiccupped, feeling tears blur your vision, a wave of pleasure unleashing from deep in your belly. You moaned his name like a prayer, pressing his head closer to your cunt on an instinctive impulse, “Mmph!”

Maybe it was seeing his chin and mouth all dripping wet of you, or his dark, deep eyes marveling at how your pussy squeezed tight around his fingers, or his other hand sliding up under your shirt, finding one of your breasts and flicking your nipple. Maybe it was all of it, either way, you were cumming like you had never cum before. Your whole body was shaking and succumbing to the overstimulation. Succumbing to him.

In-ho gulped down everything you gave him like magic waters.

“You taste better than I imagined,” he confided, licking his index and middle finger as well, catching every trace there was of you that he could possibly consume as if it were honey.

Then, he kissed your pussy once more before standing up, sending shockwaves of electricity through your whole body with his touch, his hands settled on your hips, holding you so you wouldn't fall.

And he just smirked. He moved closer to you and kissed your mouth, making you savor your own taste through him, his hands appreciatively caressing your thighs, swiftly pulling up your panties back on.

“You're perfect, perfect,” he smoothed against your lips, his forehead leaning close to yours and he kissed you again, praising you, holding you tight in the afterglow of your orgasm, “My girl, my favorite girl, so good for me"

“We need to get back before someone starts to get suspicious,” he mumbled softly, helping you to your feet and pulling up your pants, always holding you with his hands and strong arms.

“B-but,” you retorted, your hands gripping his shoulders, still feeling your legs a little wobbly and unsteady, your dilated pupils and half-closed eyes following him as he arranged you, “I want to-”

He interrupted you, grinning warmly, stroking a lock of your hair away from your forehead before kissing your lips once more, as if closing a deal, a promise, “There will be time. Be patient, princess. We don't want the others to find out about my favoritism, do we?” seeing you still looking a bit confused, and still denying with your head, In-ho smiled playfully, “That would be very unprofessional of me, so this will be our secret”

This time you kissed him, sealing the secret.

#cosmictheo #squid game 2 #i shouldn't like him but god knows i do #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #in ho x reader #in ho squid game #hwang in ho #front man x reader #young il #front man #player 001 #squid game smut #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game 2 x reader #in ho x you

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s0dium · 1 year ago

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Victoria Secret

A/n: For all my Geto lovers, i made sure the fucking was extra juicy. Enjoy!

Synopsis: Your secret indulgence? Buying lingerie. You've managed to keep this "hobby" under wraps until your worst nightmare, Geto Suguru, discovers your secret. Unexpectedly, he proposes a deal: he'll keep your secret, in exchange you help set up his friend Gojo with your roommate, and after that he will even buy you ten sets of your favorite lingerie. There’s just one catch—you have to model them for him. What could go wrong?

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat. "Why? Do you want me to stop?" He murmurs against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool. "Good girl."

Warnings: Teasing, praising, body worship, nipple play and sucking, soft-to-rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding

Word count: 5.5

Every Sunday, at precisely three in the afternoon, you sneak out of your apartment for what you call your "secret indulgence."

Your eyes gaze at the velvet-lined shelves, mentally dissecting the lace and silk items that sit on the red fabric. A familiar, gentle melody fills the boutique, playing overhead as soft light casts a warm glow on the meticulously displayed delicate fabrics. As you run your fingers over each fabric laid before you, you stop when you find one that feels like a whisper against your skin.

This one is perfect.

Carefully you hold the item up on either side, feeling the fabric between your index finger and thumb. Intricate floral patterns cover the lace material and you note the high-waisted cut and scalloped trim that would certainly flatter your figure. You hum in contentment. Yes, this piece of underwear will go perfectly with your collection.

Your "secret indulgence" you may ask? It is collecting lingerie.

Your indulgence was secret for a reason as well. Far too often people assumed that you collected lingerie for a boyfriend or even an audience, but it wasn't like that at all. In fact, it was the opposite, you collected lingerie for you. It wasn't like you never thought about trying it on for someone though, you just never seemed to have an opportunity too. Unlike many of your peers, you're not a social butterfly, never one to attend college parties or gatherings. Even your best friend Shoko has to drag you out of your room every once in a while. Yet, ever since you can remember, there's something about lingerie that captivates you—perhaps it's the delicate lace, the intricate patterns, or how damn good you looked in it. You were simply in love with it.

And up until now, you were pretty damn sure your indulgence was perfectly secret as well.

"Y/n! Just the person I needed to see."

Oh what the fuck.

Your steps halt instantly at the sound of the familiar voice, freezing you in place. You didn't want to look back, you didn't need to look back, you knew who was behind you. You purse your lips as a rush of thoughts floods your mind: Had he seen you leaving the boutique? He wasn't a fool; surely, he'd deduce that the two bags you were clutching came from somewhere significant nearby.

Shit shit shit. Fuck it.

With a nervous bite to the inside of your cheek, you slowly turned around, facing the tall man behind you.

"Geto." You dead pan. There’s a tightness around your mouth, the corners pulled down just enough to betray your displeasure. The usual spark in your eyes is conspicuously absent, replaced by a guarded, cool glare that clearly communicates your discomfort at this encounter.

Geto smiles and takes a few steps toward you. Your first instinct is to step back but you stay in place, taking in his appearance. He's wearing a black tank top today, one that clings to his well-defined muscles and shows off the tattoos covering his arms. He pairs this with casual grey sweatpants that hang loosely around his hips and of course, his long black hair is partially tied up in a man bun like it usually is, while the rest cascades down his back.

Of course he looks good.

Thin sharp black eyes scan you before landing on the two bags you are clutching. His smile grows. You know you're fucked. The last person you needed to uncover your secret.

"Enjoy your shopping?" He chuckles, nodding to the bags and you harshly bite your lip.

"Just some clothes for the summer" You respond dryly, making sure to be heard over the bustling people around you.

"Ah, you don't have to keep secrets from me." Geto chuckles and he gestures to the tattoo and piercing shop across the street. "You know I work there right? I see you go into the little shop every Sunday."

No. No, you did not know that.

You pause before speaking again. "Can I help you with something Geto?"

"Actually, yes you can. I need a favor."

"Favor?" Your eyebrows raise and you scoff. "What could I possibly help you with."

Geto smiles and takes another step forward. "I know we aren't friends, but Shoko is your best friend and she is also mine so I thought maybe we could benefit each other a bit."

You dont respond this time and he continues.

"My best friend, Gojo, im sure you know him."

You have to fight to hide the disgust on your face upon hearing the white-haired man's name. Of course, you knew Gojo, every one on campus knew Gojo, you specifically for the amount of girls he has "toyed" with.

"Yes, I know who the fuck Gojo is." You roll your eyes and you notice Geto has taken another step forward, effectively closing the distance between you two.

"Well, he is head over heels for your room mate-"

"Head over heels or just want to fuck her." You sarcastically snap back, cutting Geto off.

"Is there any difference these days?" he replies, a slight smirk playing at the edges of his lips, challenging the cynicism in your tone.

"And you want me to do what, exactly? Set her up with him? No way," you snap back, your voice rising slightly in indignation. "She's my friend, and I'm not some kind of matchmaker. Gojo can go screw himself."

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all," Geto quickly interjects, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just asking you to let her know that he's available, that he likes her. Just make him out to be an option, you know? Your roommate can do whatever she wants with that information."

"Still, why would I want to do that?" you question, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion and frustration. The warmth of the afternoon seems to intensify the tension between you as Geto steps closer, diminishing the gap until he's just inches away.

"Because in exchange, I'll buy you anything you want," he offers, his voice low and persuasive.

"Um, what?" Your response comes out more as a reflex than anything else.

"Let me rephrase that," he continues, nodding slightly towards the bag of lingerie you're holding, which causes your cheeks to flush with embarrassment. "I’ll buy you what you really want."

"No," you retort firmly, feeling the discomfort rise.

"No?" He echoes, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Yes, no. Besides, I'm not strapped for cash. I can buy what I want whenever I want—"

"Didn't I tell you you don't have to lie to me?" Geto cuts in, his voice lowering a bit. "Please, I know how expensive that store is, and I'm not offering just one thing. Say, how about 10 sets from that store you love?" he declares, his eyes flashing with a mix of challenge and amusement.

"10? Can you even afford that?" you retort skeptically, your eyebrows arching in disbelief. This game of his was becoming more intriguing and absurd by the minute.

He leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Oh, and I have to go shopping with you and see you try it on," he adds, as if the deal wasn’t provocative enough.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" You feel the tips of your ears grow red and you scoff. The idea of Geto Suguru choosing lingerie for you sounds so personal sends a shiver down your spine.

"Because," he pauses, his gaze intense, "its not about buying you lingerie, Consider it… a test of trust, can't just give you hundred of my dollars and let you do whatever you want, I want to make sure you use the money the way our deal assures you will which is... buying lingerie."

You pause, absorbing his words, the heat of the afternoon sun pressing down on you, making the moment feel even more surreal. "Fine. We follow each other on Instagram, so I'll DM you when it's done. But like you said, it's up to her what she wants to do with that information."

"Alright by me. See you soon," he replies, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying note of finality.

As you turn away, walking down the busy street, your mind races with the absurdity of the conversation.

What the hell just happened?

Your fingers hesitated over the blue send button, poised to confirm the completion of your part of the unusual bargain.

Earlier, you had shared with your friend the prospect of a date with Gojo Satoru, carefully omitting the details of the deal behind it. As expected, she was ecstatic, thrilled by the idea despite Gojo's questionable reputation—a fact that gnawed at your conscience. But what could you do? The arrangement was already in motion. Now, it was time to let Geto know that you had held up your end of the agreement, and it was his turn to fulfill his promise.

You took a sharp breath through your nose and pressed down on the screen, watching as the word "delivered" appeared beneath your message in the chat. Just as you were about to set the phone aside and start getting ready for bed, it pinged with a new message. It was from Geto Suguru. Your heart raced as you read the simple words.

When do you want to meet?

The sun blazes down as you approach your favorite boutique, the heat making the pavement shimmer like a mirage. Despite the sweltering temperature, you've donned a big, baggy sweater over your shorts—a choice more about comfort and less about fashion, especially since you didn’t want this meeting to scream 'date'. It’s your casual armor, albeit a warm one on a day like today.

As you near the boutique, you spot Geto Suguru waiting by the entrance. He leans casually against the wall, dressed in some graphic t-shirt and black jeans, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. This time his hair is completely up in a man bun that shows off his black gauge earrings and hints of a tattoo on his back. The moment he sees you, his lips curve into a knowing smile, as if he can read your thoughts about the outfit.

"Hey," he greets, pushing off from the wall to stand upright. His voice is smooth, a calm contrast to the bustling street around you. "I was starting to think you were gonna bail."

"And miss a chance at free money? I think not." you quip. "Hope Gojo enjoyed his date by the way." Sarcasm drips from your words and Suguru chuckles.

"Probably not as much as I'm gonna enjoy this." he counters smoothly. "Come on," he says, gesturing towards the boutique's door. "We got some shopping to do."

The moment you walk through the boutique doors, cool air hits you in refreshing waves, making you sigh with relief. The boutique interior sparkles with delicate lighting and the gentle clinking of hangers, an ambiance you know and love all too well. You notice that the store is unusually quiet today, with no other customers around—just the shop owner standing by the cashier, who flashes you a small, welcoming smile as you enter. As you step further, your eyes lock onto a stunning pink lingerie set draped elegantly on a mannequin right by the entrance. Its intricate lace and delicate details shimmer under the boutique’s soft lighting, radiating an aura of both luxury and temptation. It's new, and most definitely pricy.

"You’re staring," Geto observes with a smirk, catching you in your admiring glance.

"I'm appreciating," you correct him, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. The price tag hanging from the mannequin does nothing to deter you; it's clearly on the pricier side, but today, Geto’s wallet is on the line. "And since you’re offering, I think I’ll indulge."

Geto's laughter fills the air, playful and unbothered. "I should’ve known you'd go for the gold. Well, it’s your day. Let’s make my pockets weep then," he says, gesturing grandly towards the set.

Who were you to deny him?

You dive into the racks, your fingers grazing over silks and satins, selecting the most exquisite pieces you lay your eyes on. One by one, you gather a collection of lingerie sets—each more lavish than the last. There’s a daring scarlet set that promises to captivate, a royal blue ensemble that speaks of deep oceans, and a classic black lace number that's timeless in its elegance. By the time you're done, nine luxurious sets accompany the initial pink one on the counter.

Geto watches with a mixture of admiration and apprehension as the pile grows, his eyebrows raising slightly at each new addition. But he doesn’t protest; instead, he engages in light banter with the shop owner, who carefully folds each set into sleek boutique bags.

As the total rings up—a sum that makes even the shop owner blink twice—you don’t look away from Geto's face, watching for any sign of regret or hesitation. None comes. He simply pulls out his black card, the smirk never leaving his lips as he hands it over.

The transaction goes through with a soft beep, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of victory as he signs the receipt. You reach out to grab the bags and head toward the door, already planning where each piece will go in your wardrobe, when Geto’s voice stops you.

"Where do you think you’re going? We still have the other part of the deal, remember?" he says with no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice.

Geto's reminder hangs in the air, the playful edge in his voice more pronounced now. As realization dawns on you, you let out a low groan, remembering the full scope of the deal. "Oh," you say, hesitance hanging from your voice. "Right, the 'trying on' part."

"Exactly," he grins broadly. "Come on, my car is parked outside."

"HAH! You think I'm going to your house?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Why not? Or can we go to yours?" he counters quickly, his grin turning into a challenging smirk.

You bite the side of your cheek. Your place was an absolute mess right now and you don't think you can handle Geto Surguru in your room. "Fine, yours it is," you finally concede.

The drive to Geto's place unfolds in a tense silence, your gaze fixed on the cityscape sliding past the car window. Your heart pounds with a mix of dread and nerves, the quiet amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. There had to be a way to get out of this. The idea of layering your clothes under the lingerie flickers through your mind, but you dismiss it almost instantly—Geto would see right through that. The thought of making a daring escape through a bathroom window doesn't seem entirely out of the question, though it feels more like a scene from a comedy than a realistic plan.

As you mull over these scenarios, you wonder about Geto's intentions. Was this all just a game to him, a way to tease you? He'd watched you choose each piece with care, so there was no question of you running off with his money. Was this some weird way he got off?

Your so into your thoughts that you dont even realize your at Geto's door.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says through a grin as he swings upon the door. Rolling your eyes at his grandeur, you step inside, instantly taken by the loft's undeniable charm. The space is open and airy, with high ceilings and large, sunlit windows that overlook the bustling city below. Exposed brick walls add a touch of urban cool, while modern art pieces dot the walls, giving the place a curated yet lived-in feel.

"The bathroom is over there," Geto points nonchalantly towards a sleek, sliding door on the far side of the room. His tone is casual, as if inviting you to try on clothes was an everyday occurrence. He saunters over to a plush couch, settling in comfortably. "You can start whenever you're ready."

Feeling a flutter of nerves, you clutch the bag of lingerie a bit tighter. "You want me to—to try on all of them?" Your voice barely hides your anxiety.

"Nah, just two or three," he responds, his voice calm and nonchalant as he picks up a magazine from the coffee table.

With your heart pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it, you make your way to the bathroom. The cool, modern aesthetics of the loft seem to blur as your mind races. Was this just a fucking joke to him?

As the door closes behind you, you set your bags down on the bathroom floor.

Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit.

You were going to die, this was it. You were going to die out of embarrassment because of god damn Geto Suguru. Your face burns a deep shade of red, heart racing as you lean against the cool, marble sink. Fuck, you're overwhelmed, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl, but you know you need to pull yourself together. Yes, the task is simple: pick two sets of lingerie, try them on, and get this ordeal over with. Just two sets, then you can leave. That's all.

Peeking through a slight crack in the bathroom door, you see Geto lounging effortlessly on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine as if he hasn't a care in the world. A quiet curse escapes your lips at his composure— god you hated him.

Turning back to the task at hand, you rummage through the bag containing the 10 pieces of lingerie. Each piece is stunningly beautiful, making the choice unexpectedly difficult. The last thing you wanted was to make it seem like you where trying to impress him. After a moment's hesitation, your hands settle on a set of black lace lingerie—bold but the plainest out of all of them.

Slipping into the black lace, you feel the fabric glide smoothly over your skin. The lace is intricate, delicate yet firm, offering a sensation that is both luxurious and comforting. As it settles into place, you notice how perfectly it cups your breasts, enhancing your natural shape without discomfort. The fabric molds to your body, sculpting your curves in a way that boosts your confidence, even in such a vulnerable moment.

Turning to face the mirror, you take a moment to really look at yourself. The lingerie accentuates your figure beautifully—your waist appears slimmer, your hips more pronounced. Yes, this was exactly what you loved about lingerie, how it made you look and more importantly how it made you feel. Despite the situation, you can't help but feel a surge of self-assurance. It's a small victory, but in this moment, it's enough to steady your nerves.

Now was the hard part.

Slowly you step out of the bathroom, your heart pounds fiercely in your chest, echoing in your ears. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Geto's attention shifts from his magazine to you. He lays the magazine aside, his gaze instantly locking onto you. His eyes rake up and down your figure, taking in every detail of the black lace lingerie that clings to your curves.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Geto muses, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "If it isn't the bravest fashion model of our time."

"S-shut up," you stammer, trying to mask your discomfort with irritation. "Just remember, I'm only doing this because of the deal."

"Oh, and you're doing it magnificently, may I add. Who knew you hid such bold taste under that sweater."

"It's just underwear, don't read too much into it," you retort, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

"Turn for me," he commands softly. "I want to see the back."

"What?" you falter, caught off guard.

"Turn for me, I want to see behind," he repeats more firmly.

Fuck it.

Reluctantly, you turn, exposing the delicate lace detailing on the back.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the design.

"What?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly—unsure if you're more startled by the compliment or by the intimacy of his tone.

"Nothing, baby," he responds, his hand dismissively waving as he looks away, pretending to refocus on something else in the room. "Go try on the next one."

You dont say anything, instead slipping back into the bathroom and rummaging through the bag. Your heart still thumps audibly in your chest, but now there's an undercurrent of excitement mixed with the nerves. The flutter in your chest isn't just from anxiety though; it's also from a burgeoning sense of empowerment. You realize that you have control over how you present yourself, a certain power over Sugruru.

After discarding the set you were wearing, you reach into the bag and pull out the pink set you splurged on earlier. The fabric is luxurious, with a hint of sheerness to the bra that would no doubt show your nipples. The underwear is equally bold, designed as a thong with delicate straps that loop around each thigh, highlighting the curves of your hips and legs.

As you slip into the pink lingerie, the fabric settles against your skin like a whispered secret. The sheer material of the bra makes you acutely aware of your own body, and as you adjust the straps around your thighs, the ensemble frames your form in a way that feels almost artistically deliberate.

Yes, just after this you would be done. So why not go out with a bang?

As you step out of the bathroom, the transformation in your demeanor is palpable. The delicate pink lingerie accentuates your confidence, which resonates with each step you take towards Geto. His eyes lift to meet yours, and the moment they travel down to take in the full view, his expression shifts dramatically to one of... shock? His usual composure falters, and he lets out a low, incredulous whistle.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out.

You shift in place, playing with the silk hem of your underwear.

After a moment, he composes himself slightly and gestures towards him with a slight tilt of his head. "Come here," he says softly, his voice low and inviting.

You pause, the hesitation clear in your stance. The intensity in his gaze and the palpable tension in the air make your heart race even faster.

Seeing your reluctance, Geto's expression softens. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "Please," he adds, a hint of something more vulnerable in his tone this time.

The room seems to pulse with the silent energy between you as you take a tentative step forward, then another, drawn by the magnetic pull of his gaze. The air thickens with a charged mix of anticipation and desire as you finally stop just a breath away from him.

He looks up at you, standing up from his seat, his gaze intense yet tender. "You look incredible," he murmurs. You flinch when you feel his hand his finger trace your jaw and his other hand play with the hem of your lace underwear. He bends down, his lips just grazing your cheek, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down your spine, making your entire body quiver. "If you want me to stop, say it now," he whispers. When you remain silent, he brushes his mouth against the hollow of your temple. "Or now." He traces the curve of your cheekbone. "Or now." His lips meet yours.

For a moment your so shocked that he kissed you, you don't do anything. It feels like you are having an out-of-body experience like you can't believe this as actually happening to you. Then in a matter of seconds, his lips move against yours and you melt. Suguru is gentle at first, then unyieldingly hard. You feel yourself falling —not just physically, but emotionally too. You open for him and his tongue snakes its way inside your mouth. His hands move from your face to your lower back as he pulls you toward him, closing whatever space was left between you. He pushes you against him as he deepens the kiss. One of his hands remains on your hip, while the other travels to cup your breasts.

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat."

"Why? Do you want me to stop?" He mumbles against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool.

"Good girl."

Without a warning, Geto sweeps you up in his arms with an ease that leaves you breathless, carrying you effortlessly across the room to his bed.

Geto stands over you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body splayed elegantly across his bed.

"Shit baby, you let anyone else see you like this?"

You thickly gulp and shake your head.

"Oh thank god." He murmurs, climbing over you to place light kisses along your neck, trailing down your chest. Each kiss is soft yet deliberate, sending a cascade of warmth through your entire body. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be fully immersed in the sensation.

"Your skin feels like silk," he murmurs.

"Did you steal that line from a hallmark card?" You crack.

"Nope just stating a fact." He skims the underside of your bra with his fingers. "Always watched you come out of the store, always wanted to see how you'd look in what you bought." He lifts his head to give you a wry look "You're so smooth and perfect you know that right?"

You let out a soft gasp when his lips find your nipple, pulling your lacy bra down so soft lips can evoke your nub.

"Oh god sugu-" He doesn’t let you get to the last consonant, his eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, rolling your peak and swirling around your areola, fast and rough until you’re whining. His ears go hot at the sounds you’re making, all desperate and needy.

"So beautiful, fuck your tits are so beautiful" He groans into your skin like it was cocaine. He then switches to your other breast, sucking and licking until he knows you will be sore. Jesus, your breasts feel so good in his mouth, so soft and sweet, why didn't he do this sooner? How much longer did he think he could maintain this facade of being your 'enemy' when all he truly desired was to have you underneath him?

You are squirming underneath him now, the stimulation of his wet tongue on your nipple is becoming unbearable and so was the growing heat between your legs. Your tits feel so good in his mouth, supple, sweet, far better than his imagination could ever conjure

"God, sugu-"

"Love it when you say my name." Suguru breaths between licks and you feel your stomach twist with.

"Sugu please" you manage to gasp, "please touch me please anything please-"

"Fuck you?" Suguru coos, and the words make warmth blossom from your core.

"Please." You breath.

And who was he to deny you?

Without much of a word he pulls your lace panties down to your ankles, making you instinctively hide your bare cunt with your hands, but he clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue and swats your fingers away. Then, as he stands over you, Suguru steps out of his black pants and pulls off his t-shirt. As you glimpse Suguru, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. His large, incredibly toned frame is a clear testament to rigorous workouts, and intricate tattoos weave across his skin, adding to the attraction.

You were no longer in the kiddie pool.

You are too immersed in his figure that you dont even notice he has lowered down his black boxers just enough so his long length springs out and slaps against his abdomen.

You thickly gulp.

"I dont think that will-" You stammer, the sheer size or his dick making your gut twist and turn. "I think it will hurt I dont think it will-" As you continue to stammer, searching for the right words, Geto cuts you off with a deep, consuming kiss that immediately shuts you up. When he finally pulls back, a confident smirk plays on his lips.

"It will, baby, it always does," he murmurs, his voice low and dark.

Geto positions himself atop you, his strong legs straddling either side of your body, anchoring him in place. He leans over you, the intensity of his gaze capturing yours as he methodically entwines his fingers with yours. With a firm but gentle grasp, he pins your hands down on either side of your body, his proximity reducing the world to the space between you. The warmth of his breath brushes against your face, his presence both overwhelming and exhilarating, as he holds you there under him, completely in control yet tender in his touch.

Before you can even get a word in, you gasp when you feel large pressure against your hole.

"Slowly baby," he hushes you before you can protest. "I'll go slowly."

Suguru's slow roll of hips hips into you is enough to make you scream. The way his dick parts your walls and fills every single inch of you makes your brain go hazy, especially when his tip smooshes against your cervix, sending blots of electricity throughout your body.

"Talk to me baby," Suguru murmurs, his voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt has on dick. "Want me to move?"

You're too lost in the hazy pleasure to form words, all you can do is nod, making Geto breathe out an air of what must be relief. His thrusts started out shallow and slow, testing the waters for how much he could get away with. What your limits were, and if you could fully take him for what he wanted.

You feel like you are going insane from the pleasure. Your cries came silent from your throat, eyes screwed shut in complete bliss. Your body adjusted rather quickly to him, Suguru coaxing you to relax as he peppers kisses along your neck, sucking and biting your sensitive skin. And as you adjusted, your hips began to buck against him at their own pace, beckoning him to move faster.

Of course, Suguru doesn't miss this, and without missing a beat he speads up his thrusts, the pap pap pap of his skin against your echoing in your ears

"Shit, you feel so good baby." Geto practically whines. You don't know it, but he's starting to lose his grip, the overwhelming pleasure beginning to unravel his usual composure.

The delicious friction of his dick scrapping your walls has your heart pounding in your ears and your breath close to hyperventilating. Everything is too much too good all at once. The proximity of Geto's body is overwhelming, his warm skin against yours, his ragged breath hot against your neck. When you gaze into his face, the sight nearly makes you faint—his eyes scrunched shut, lost in euphoria, beads of sweat lining his black hairline. His mouth is slightly open, panting, a sight that makes your cunt flutter from excitement.

"Su-Suguru, so good you're fucking me so good." you babble and he can only groan in response. Your toes curled and uncurled as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with the kisses he peppered on your neck and lips was all enough to end you to heaven.

He knows you're close. And you know it too. The way Suguru is fucking you is truly a primal display of affection; him rutting into your cunt like an animal in heat and you frantically scratching and clawing at his back.

Thats when an idea hits you, no, a need overcomes you, You need Suguru, you need all of him, all of him inside you filling you up and making you his.

"Sugu cum in me please," you beg through a hoarse voice. "Fill me up please please please."

He’s been pressing kisses and biting into your shoulder, but you don’t miss the way he practically whines at your words.

"Course baby, course I will."

As if on cue, you feel your seize up and your mind go blank. It feels like your body is free falling into a euphoric grave, electric arrows of pleasure coursing through your sin and directly to your core.

"Oh shit" Suguru curses at the way your cunt clamps down on him and it isnt to long before he follows you, shooting thick ropes of cum straight into your belly. In a fluid motion without leaving your insides once, he picks you up so you are straddling him, and his bare chest is pressed against yours.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs into your ear. And you can only sigh in response.

'I'll buy you 1000 more lingerie sets if we can do this again."

#jjk smut #geto x reader #geto smut #getou smut #getou suguru smut #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo smut

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navybrat817 · 2 months ago

Text

Hit to the Head

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't think he needs medical attention after a hit to the head, but he's glad he met you.

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Meet cute (of sorts?), possible concussion, mention of HYRDA, team dynamic, humor, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: A new AU (as if I need more) inspired by this wonderful nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the assurance on the medical discussion), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn't need medical attention. That was what he told himself, and he said the same thing to the team after he took a hard hit to the head. But he made the mistake of telling Bob that he admittedly felt a little dizzy, who then told Yelena, who then demanded that he go to the hospital. Not only did she demand that he go, they all went and were currently hanging out in the lobby to make sure he was okay.

It was a sweet gesture, if not a wasted one.

He took a hit to the head. So what? He experienced much worse when it came to his head and he was a super soldier for God's sake, so he’d heal just fine. It was a bit cocky to think like that but others needed help more than he did and he wasn't in the mood for anyone to inspect him or ask questions.

At least he wasn't until he saw your face.

“Hi,” you smiled, pulling back the curtain to give him some privacy. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He opened his mouth to say he hadn't waited long at all, but no sound came out. Thank God he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor because it would've picked up on the accelerated rate when you smiled at him again. He almost forgot to breathe before his body reminded him that he needed oxygen. No one should look as beautiful as you in medical scrubs or under the harsh hospital lighting. He wondered if he looked okay despite the blood and dirt on his clothes.

Wait, why did it matter what he looked like? He wasn't there to flirt with or impress you. There was no reason for him to sit up straighter or flex his right arm. There sure as hell wasn't any reason to run his fingers through his hair to get the tangles out. It was a hospital visit, not a date.

You wore a name tag, but introduced yourself before taking a look at his chart. “I understand you took a pretty hard hit to the head, Mr. Barnes.”

His voice came out huskier than he anticipated when he said, “Call me Bucky.” Clearing his throat he added, “If you consider a slab of concrete to the head hard, then yeah, but at least my head didn't split open.”

He felt the need to assure you he was fine when concern crossed your beautiful features. “I’m very thankful your head didn't split open, Bucky.” He liked the way you said his name. “But a concrete slab to the head is no joke.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, making you giggle. Was he funny or were you only laughing for his benefit? “But seeing the other guy wouldn't matter anyway since you won't let me leave without an exam,” he guessed. Even if he didn't believe he needed one.

It wasn't just his belief that he was fine. Most didn't know it, but every now and then hospitals made him feel like he was back at HYDRA, ready to be strapped to a chair to await his next form of torture or to be experimented on. He wouldn't say he was afraid, but there was discomfort. Enough to make it feel like the walls were slowly closing in.

With a deep breath he thought instead of his wonderful treatment in Wakanda and reminded himself that he was safe, free. It helped the next breath come easier. He then looked at your face where he only saw concern and compassion. You weren't going to hurt him. You were there to help.

“Well, I wouldn't be a very good nurse if I just let you walk out, would I?” you gently smiled.

He managed a smile for you because you weren't just doing your job. You also seemed kind. “I guess not.”

He could get through a simple exam.

Bucky inhaled, detecting a hint of something sweet under the sterile surroundings as you checked his heart beat. It was so subtle that he wouldn't have been able to pick up on it if it weren't for his heightened senses. He almost leaned into you before you pulled away, and thank God for that. Would he have been able to blame it on his head if he did?

“I don't have a concussion,” he blurted out.

“Is that right?” He swore there was amusement in your tone when you shone a light in each of his eyes. “I imagine you're somewhat familiar with them in your line of work.”

“You can say that,” he said. He had his fair share of hits to the head, and helped his teammates get through injuries. “No nausea, no stiffness or imbalance.”

He didn't mention the dizziness since he didn't want to stay longer than he needed to.

“Any issues with your memory?” you asked.

He smirked a little. “That's a bit of a loaded question.”

“Can you tell me what day it is and what hospital you're at?” you asked.

He answered the questions with ease. He also spelled “world” backwards when you asked him to. “See? I’m fine,” he said.

“Your vitals are normal. Pupils reactive. But-”

“Look, I appreciate you checking me out,” he cut you off, keeping the bite out of his voice because he refused to snap at you. “But I don't want to waste your time.”

Bucky hated that he was trying to rush out when you were only trying to help, but he could hear people in the other rooms even as he tried to block it out. They were in pain, struggling. They needed you more than he did.

“And I appreciate that you're thinking of my time, but it’s my job and I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving without completing my exam,” you said, taking a closer look at him. It wasn't concern he saw in your eyes now, but understanding. “You're not exactly a fan of hospitals, are you?”

The question took him by surprise. How did you guess? “Not exactly,” he replied, choosing not to elaborate on that and you were thoughtful enough not to push. Just a sympathetic nod, which he appreciated. “But the work you and everyone else in the medical field does? It's incredible. Thank you.”

In his eyes, people like you were the real heroes. You didn't just face battles, you faced pandemics and life changing events. You risked your lives, saw the best and worst of people, and how many thanked you in return? And from the little time he knew you he could sense the love and dedication to your job and patients. He respected that.

“Thank you. And thank you for all that you do, too,” you said sincerely. The compliment had the corner of his lip tugging in a smile. “I know you want to get out of here, but I am here to help. If you're fine, great. If not, please, let me help you.”

He tried to look anywhere but at you. It unnerved him that you got under his skin with so few words and he wondered for a second if that hit to the head did more damage than he thought. “I feel a little dizzy, but that’s all,” he admitted, and he felt better by doing so.

You put a hand over his, little currents of electricity shooting up his arm. “Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, like it was your little secret. “Since you are feeling dizzy, I would like you to stay for observation.”

Bucky sighed. “How long do I have to stay?”

“As long as everything is stable and there are no new or worsening conditions, you’ll likely be discharged within an hour or two,” you replied. He almost argued that he healed from injuries faster thanks to the serum, but that wasn't too long. Better safe than sorry. At least it wasn't a headscan. “Would you like some water? I can get you a snack, too.”

The snack and drink were likely to make sure he could keep them down. “Sure, thanks,” he whispered.

“Sorry that you’re stuck with me checking on you for the next hour or so,” you said.

Bucky’s smile grew before he chuckled. “You won't hear me complaining,” he promised.

Hell, he'd probably fake an injury just to see you again, or at least ask for you if he ever had to come back to the hospital for any reason. He wondered if you were single. You weren't wearing a wedding band or an engagement ring. That didn't necessarily mean-

“I’m single,” you said quickly.

He glanced at you before his eyes went wide. Shit, he said some of that out loud? “Oh, well, that’s…” He wasn't sure what to say. Should he apologize? “Nice.”

He grimaced. Nice? What was wrong with him? Maybe he had a concussion after all.

You looked at him, your smile soft and easy. He either wasn't the first patient to make a fool out of himself like that or you were being nice. “I’ll be back shortly, but buzz if you need anything.”

“I will,” he said, his finger itching to push the remote the second you left him alone.

He leaned back in the bed and tried to make himself comfortable while he slowly looked around. How was it that the room seemed darker, as if you took a bit of the light and warmth with you? He shook his head slowly and carefully. It was a ridiculous thought.

“Observation for an hour or two. You okay sticking around so you can drive me back?” he messaged Yelena.

Yelena messaged back almost immediately. “Everyone is staying. Even Walker.”

He scoffed, but there was a smile behind it. “Not that you need my permission, but you can punch him if he steps out of line.” Yeah, John was still an asshole, but they did work together and he was trying. Some days.

He perked up when you came back with a cup of water and a snack. “You doing okay?” you asked.

“Since you left a minute or two ago, yeah,” he teased.

“Were you a sarcastic guy before the hit to the head, or is this a new side to you?” you teased back.

“Oh, the sass has always been there,” he said, taking a sip once you handed the drink over. “Better to be smart-ass than a dumbass, right?”

Why was he talking so much?

“So much better,” you smiled, going to the small computer to type something in. He tried not to stare as your fingers flew across the keyboard. He could always blame it on his head if you caught him. “I’ll be back in just a bit, but-”

“Buzz if I need you. I know,” he smiled.

“At least there isn't too much sass in your tone,” you joked before you left him alone once again.

If he didn't know any better he would think you were flirting with him, but you were just being a friendly nurse.

He also tried not to eavesdrop when he heard you assisting others, but your voice drew his attention and he hung on your every word. You were professional, yet personal, showing each patient expert care. You lightly scolded an older gentleman who hadn't listened to you, which brought a smile to Bucky’s face when the man apologized and didn't give you any trouble after that. It was a delicate balance to be kind and assertive and you did it well.

“You are something,” he said to himself.

For the next hour or so Bucky didn't say much when you checked on him, but you had his undivided attention, his eyes following you wherever you went. He wanted to find excuses to keep you there and possibly make small talk, but it felt wrong when there were other patients who needed your attention. He caught that sweet scent again whenever you were close to him. Alluring, captivating. He tried to figure out if it was a body wash or just you.

Something he noticed and tried not to was that your heart raced faster when you were near him. Maybe there was a slight chance that you were attracted to him? Beyond being a friendly nurse, maybe the possible attraction was why you kept smiling at him. He wanted to believe so. He wanted to feel your hand on his hand again. The brief touch had him wanting more, which was crazy.

And before Bucky knew it, it was time to leave.

“Vitals still look good. No change in symptoms,” you confirmed after he said the dizziness had subsided and he didn't feel at all nauseous after the snack. “Do you have someone to drive you home?” you asked.

“Yeah, I have some friends here,” he answered. Even if he wasn't dizzy there was no way they'd let him drive after that.

“Try to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours. If there are new symptoms or if the dizziness gets worse, you should return to the hospital,” you told him. “Other than that, I think you're good to go,” you smiled, but it didn't look as bright as before.

Were you disappointed that he had to leave? Bucky was disappointed, but what could he do? He had no excuse to stay. Ironic how he was itching to leave when he got there when he now wanted a reason to stick around.

“Thanks.” He grabbed his jacket after slowly getting to his feet, your gaze lingering on him when he slipped it on.

“Why don't I walk you back to the lobby?” you offered.

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” he said, regretting it since it sounded like a brush off and that wasn't his intention. “But if you wouldn't mind?”

Your face lit up, at least he thought it did. “I don't mind at all.”

Keeping a respectful distance, but not too much of a gap as you walked together, he stole a couple of glances at you. The quiet confidence in which you carried yourself was beautiful and you turned a few heads from nearby patients. He wondered if you noticed.

He smiled to himself when he spotted his teammates sitting in the waiting area. None of them looked particularly comfortable, but they stuck it out for him. It meant a lot.

“That group right there is my ride,” he said, not wanting you to go any closer. If they got the slightest hint that he enjoyed your company for a short time, they’d pounce. “Thanks again.”

“I’m glad I could help," you said, gazing at him. “Havd a good night. And don't forget to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours, hero.”

Hero. The nickname almost made him smile. “You have a good night, too.”

You lingered for just a moment, almost as if you expected him to say something else. When he didn't, you offered him one last smile and scanned your card to get back through the double doors. His shoulders dropped once you were out of sight. He should've said something.

“Hello?” Yelena asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “What are you staring at?”

He blinked a few times. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, I think he was staring at that pretty nurse,” Ava answered.

Bucky shot the entire group a glare, his cheeks hot. “No, I wasn't,” he grumbled. Except he was. He stared at you. And by the amused looks on their faces, they all saw it.

Yelena exchanged a look with Ava before they both smirked. “Yes, you were. Do you like the nurse?”

Bucky’s fists curled. He was not having this conversation after a hit to the head. “Can we leave?”

“It’s okay to stare or have a crush. She’s a beautiful woman.” Alexei clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She would be lucky to date the Winter Soldier.”

A growl escaped before Bucky could stop it. Yes, you were beautiful. Did he need Alexei to point that out? And he didn't have a crush. How could he?

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Ava asked.

Bucky took a deep breath. He really didn't want to talk about this. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“Ask her out! I drive you for your date!” Alexei offered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set the mood. You see.”

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Dad, stop.”

Bucky shook his head and shut his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself out of there. “Yes, please, stop.”

“Is your head okay?” Bob asked, making him open his eyes. Of course he was concerned with his pain, and Bucky was glad for the change of topic.

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. There was nothing for him to worry about. “I just need to take it easy for the next day or so.”

John stretched his back once he stood up. “If you really want to see that nurse again I can make sure you get another hit to the head.”

Bucky’s eyes turned cold. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I may make an exception if you try anything.”

John held his hands up, but still had a smirk on his face before Yelena shot him a look. “A small injury could bring you back here.”

“No one is injuring me to bring me back here,” he announced. Everyone looked disappointed except for Bob. “What, you all want me to get hurt?”

Why did he decide to join this team again?

“No, we just want you to see the nurse again,” Ava said.

“Let’s go,” he ordered.

As the group left, Bucky snuck one last look over his shoulder. You were a good nurse, and you made his night better. A small part of him hoped he made your night a little better, too. And while he certainly didn't want more injuries, a part of him did if only to bring him back to you.

So, what injury is Bucky getting so he can see you again? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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hyuckiefluff · 3 months ago

Text

Flipped | Mark Lee

pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem reader (ft haechan) genre: angst, fluff, smut (in 2nd part) wc: 29k+ summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason. content warnings: mild possessiveness/jealousy, minor confrontation/injuries, non-consensual drugging (love potion), mark is mean at first and terribly bad at feelings, miscommunication, unrequited feelings. explicit sexual content, cursing, loss of virginity, semipublic sexual activity, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex. a/n: proofreading this after meeting mark lee irl had me feeling crazy... bro is actually majestic and i miss him BAD. anyway... this one is special to me because i’ve been wanting to write a hogwarts au since forever and i absolutely love how it came out. this is also slightly inspired by the movie/book “flipped” so it has a ‘she fell first, but he fell harder’ vibe that i’m kinda obsessed with. i tried to do something different and write the events from both perspectives, i hope it’s clear enough so that you can tell when it’s him and when it’s her. feedback is always appreciated! ps: i had to split this into two parts bc apparently i reached the max word count, so all the smut cws apply to the 2nd part . thank you so much for reading!

The first time Mark Lee met you, you flipped his world upside down.

And not in a good way. In the most literal and humiliating way possible.

It happened on the Hogwarts Express, during your very first year. Mark had been desperately searching for an empty cabin but since he was dragging a suitcase stuffed to the brim by his overly concerned mother, he was at a severe disadvantage. Someone else had already claimed the spot every time he reached a door.

By the time he made it to the last cabin, he was already panting. But at last, he found one that was partially empty.

You sat cross-legged on the seat, nose buried in The Quibbler. Mark found that a little odd, his father always said The Quibbler was full of nonsense, a rag for conspiracy theorists rather than real journalism. But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was the fact that both of his arms were shaking from the weight of his bag.

He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and your messy bangs fell into your wide, starry eyes. For a second, Mark swore they got even bigger at the sight of him.

“Not at all!” you chirped, your voice high and excited.

Mark forced a polite smile and stepped inside, shuffling toward the overhead compartment. He glanced up at where your bag was already neatly placed and swallowed hard. How the hell was he supposed to get his own up there? He wasn’t weak by any means, but after dragging it through the entire train, his arms were screaming in protest.

You seemed to notice his struggle because you set The Quibbler down and pulled out your wand. “Need help?”

Mark was about to shake his head when suddenly, his feet left the ground.

“What—HEY! PUT ME DOWN!”

Mark flailed helplessly as his entire body flipped upside down, his robes falling over his head. Panic surged through him as he felt his pants begin to slip.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry! I thought this was the right spell!” you gasped, flicking your wand again, this time more frantically.

Mark tried to grip at something, anything, but all he managed to do was thrash at the air while more of his clothes tried to slip away from his body.

“I—I don’t know the counterspell!” you admitted in a panic.

At the commotion, students from other cabins poked their heads in. A chorus of laughter erupted at the sight of Mark dangling upside down, arms desperately trying to keep his robes and pants in place.

A tall, older student finally pushed his way inside. He took one look at Mark and sighed as if this were nothing new. “Seriously? Don’t you first-years ever learn?”

“I—I was just trying to help him levitate his bag…”

The older student pinched the bridge of his nose. “Finite.”

Mark hit the seat with an unceremonious thud.

“If you lot keep casting spells on the train, I’ll start deducting points from your houses as soon as you’re sorted,” the boy warned before turning on his heel and waving off the lingering audience.

You hesitated, staring at Mark with wide, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry…” you whispered, your voice wavering just a little.

But Mark wasn’t listening. He was too busy seeing red from both rage and humiliation. Without a word, he grabbed his bag and stormed out.

That was the day Mark Lee met you.

And the day he swore he’d never speak to you again.

The first time you met Mark Lee, you flipped.

Not literally but in the way your heart did a little somersault the moment he stepped into your cabin.

You had been engrossed in The Quibbler, completely enchanted by every bizarre detail about the magical world. Since you grew up with two Muggle parents, receiving your Hogwarts letter was like stepping into a dream where the impossible suddenly was real. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Your cabin door suddenly slid open and a boy stood there, panting slightly, his face flushed red from exertion as he struggled to drag an absurdly large trunk behind him.

You felt your face heat up. You’d never been around many boys growing up, having attended an all-girls school, but there was something about him that struck you immediately. Maybe it was the way his glasses were slipping down his pretty nose, or the way he offered a shy, slightly strained smile as he stepped inside. He was adorable.

And he was struggling.

You watched as he attempted to haul his trunk toward the overhead rack, his arms visibly trembling under its weight. Something in you immediately wanted to help.

The problem was… you had no idea what you were doing.

You’d only ever performed magic by accident, usually when you got too emotional. Your mom still loved to tell the story about how the lights in the house flickered every time you cried as a baby. Or the time Madeline Perkins made fun of your pigtails, and the swings mysteriously sent her flying off the playground.

But you’d only just gotten your wand the day before at Ollivanders. You hadn’t practiced a single spell yet, but you had been reading your textbooks. Wingardium Leviosa was the most basic charm in your book.

How hard could it be?

Apparently, hard enough that you somehow missed the part where it said that even though the spell was only for objects, if it was aimed at a person, it would also make their clothes float.

Which was how you now found yourself staring up at the cute boy you’d just met, his body suspended in midair, robes billowing wildly, eyes wide with pure horror.

Talk about a terrible first impression.

From that moment on, Mark Lee avoided you like the plague.

It didn’t help that you were sorted into different houses—him in Gryffindor, you in Slytherin. You quickly learned that those two houses were basically sworn enemies, which made it even easier for him to pretend you didn’t exist.

Despite his rocky start on the train, Mark had no trouble making friends in Gryffindor. He was well-liked, effortlessly charming, and even if he wasn’t the loudest in the room, he always carried a quiet sort of confidence. You, on the other hand, kept to yourself. Spending most of your free time watching him from across the Great Hall, your crush on him growing by the day.

You didn’t know why you liked him so much, he hadn’t done anything grand or impressive to win your admiration. If anything, he actively tried to avoid you.

You tried approaching him a few times during your first year, hoping to properly apologize and smooth things over. But each time, he found a way to dodge you, claiming he was late for class, too busy with homework, or suddenly needed to be anywhere else but next to you.

So by second year, you changed your approach.

If Mark Lee wouldn’t pay attention to you as a friend, you’d make him notice you as a rival.

Mark had been one of the best students in your first year, so you became an absolute academic weapon in your second. You were determined to match him in every class, if not surpass him.

“Excellent work, Miss Y/N,” Professor McGonagall praised, a rare note of surprise in her voice as she examined the intricate tea jar you had just transfigured from a blue jay.

You glanced over your shoulder at Mark. He was sitting a few rows back, his brows furrowed as he stared at your jar with a barely concealed frown. His own transfiguration was… less successful. The lizard he’d tried to turn into a pen still had a suspiciously scaly texture.

But it wasn’t just Transfiguration where you shined.

You also excelled in Potions, something that became very clear when Professor Snape assigned your class, which you shared with the Gryffindors, the difficult task of brewing Draught of Living Death, a highly advanced sleeping potion that could render someone unconscious with just a single drop.

One of the Gryffindors groaned in frustration. “Sir, this is way too advanced—”

“If it’s too difficult for your little Gryffindor hands,” Snape sneered, cutting him off, “perhaps you should take notes on how some of the Slytherins are managing. Particularly Miss Y/N.”

Your ears burned at the attention as several students shuffled closer to your workstation, peeking at your bubbling cauldron. The only ones who didn’t approach were the Gryffindors at Mark’s table.

You noticed that his potion was violently spewing green gas bubbles, and he looked deeply frustrated, brows knitted together as he stirred with precision.

Letting your own potion simmer for a moment, you stood up and made your way over to his table. The chatter among his friends died down as you approached. Zhong Chenle, the boy sitting next to him, smacked his arm lightly to get his attention.

Mark finally looked up, his glasses fogged from the potion fumes, and the front of his hair sticking up in all directions.

You stifled a laugh.

“Need help?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Mark blinked at you, and for the first time since the train, you finally had his full attention.

“No, thanks. I got it.”

The words had barely left Mark’s mouth when his potion let out another violent blorp, spewing a sickly green bubble into the air. It popped immediately, releasing a smell so putrid it made your stomach churn.

“Dude, that smells like a troll’s ass,” Chenle cackled, covering his nose.

Jaemin, who was sitting across from Mark, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, mate. She’s the best in the class.” He shot you a grin. “Let her help.”

Mark resisted the urge to groan. He knew they were right, but the last thing he wanted was for you to be the one correcting him. It was bad enough that you had been outshining him in every subject lately, now you were swooping in to save him too?

But before he could protest again, you stepped closer to his cauldron making his entire body tense.

“What did you add to make it green like this?” you asked, peering into the potion. Your voice was calm, inquisitive like you weren’t there to gloat but to actually help.

Mark clenched his jaw, eyes fixed stubbornly on the cauldron. “I did exactly as the instructions said.”

Jaemin let out a small snort, clearly unconvinced.

“Hm,” you hummed, examining the bubbling liquid. “You must’ve added more than three drops of Valerian root extract.”

Mark frowned. Valerian root extract? He thought back to when he had been adding the ingredients, trying to get ahead of everyone. Had he miscounted? Maybe. Probably.

You reached for a small vial of powdered sopophorous bean and sprinkled just a pinch into the potion. “This should balance it out and bring it back to its original black color,” you explained, gently stirring the mixture.

Mark watched in reluctant amazement as the once-toxic green sludge darkened before his eyes, settling into the inky black shade it was supposed to be.

He barely stopped his brows from rising in surprise. You had fixed it. Just like that.

Mark swallowed down the frustrated lump in his throat. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of knowing you had one-upped him again.

“That was impressive, Y/N,” Jaemin said, clapping his hands.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling shyly. “The instructions in this book are a bit ambiguous, so I suggest adding less than what the recipe says at first, watching how the colors change, and then adjusting accordingly.”

Mark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his stirring rod. He hated to admit it, but that was actually… good advice.

Still, he kept his eyes on his potion, refusing to look at you or thank you for helping.

"You should start sitting with us, Y/N," Chenle said, grinning like a cat as he threw an arm around Mark. "So you can help our boy here, who’s clearly lost."

Mark didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up at the invitation. And that was exactly why he needed to shut this down immediately.

He knew about your little crush on him, everyone did. You weren’t exactly subtle about it. You always looked at him with those heart eyes across the Great Hall, his friends teased him about it constantly. You also cheered the loudest for him at every Quidditch match, even when he was playing against Slytherin. Even when your house lost. He’d seen the way your own housemates sneered at you for it, the way they mocked your infatuation, but you never seemed to care.

The other thing about you was that you were so unapologetically Muggle-born.

Not that Mark cared about blood status. He wasn't that kind of wizard, despite coming from a long line of pure-bloods. But you made it so difficult for yourself. You didn’t even try to blend in among your Slytherin peers. You didn’t mind their teasing, didn’t care that you had practically no friends in your own house.

It was frustrating, the way you took every jab with a smile, like none of it ever got to you. But what frustrated him even more was that whenever he said anything, whenever he so much as muttered something slightly harsh, your whole face fell.

And for some stupid reason, that bothered him more than it should.

“Sorry, this table is already full,” Mark said, once again avoiding your gaze. He imagined the way your smile faltered.

“What are you talking about? There’s plenty of—”

Mark elbowed Chenle sharply in the stomach.

“Like I said, the table’s full.”

“Oh… okay,” you murmured, your head dipping slightly. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Mark didn’t watch you walk away, but he could feel the disappointment in your steps.

“Dude, you’re so mean to her,” Jaemin muttered, his eyes still on your retreating figure. “She clearly likes you.”

“Whatever,” Mark huffed, waving him off. “Let’s focus on something else.” He ignored the knowing smirk Jaemin shot him and tried—failed—to ignore the creeping warmth rising up his neck.

In your third year, you found a passion for Herbology.

Mark should’ve been relieved. After all, the more time you spent in the greenhouse, the less time you spent trying to talk to him. And at first, it was great. He barely had to think about you at all.

But then… it became his problem.

Because one day, he started noticing small bowls of water left in his usual spots—on the Gryffindor table, outside the Quidditch locker room, even near the Gryffindor common room entrance. At first, he ignored them. Maybe some first-years were testing a spell. Maybe it was a coincidence.

Then, he saw the petals floating in the water shift and transform into delicate, shimmering fish as soon as he grabbed the bowl.

And Mark hated to admit it… but it intrigued him. The magic was advanced, something most students their age wouldn’t even attempt. He even caught himself watching the tiny enchanted fish, mesmerized by the way their colors glowed under the candlelight.

That was his mistake, because his friends noticed.

“You’re actually accepting her gifts now,” Chenle teased, crossing his arms as Mark peeled off his muddy Quidditch uniform.

“We don’t even know if it’s hers,” Mark argued, tossing his gloves onto the bench.

Jaemin snorted. “Do you really think anyone else in our year knows how to do that kind of magic?”

“Yeah, she’s the only one crazy enough about you to put in that much effort,” Chenle added with a smirk.

Mark rolled his eyes. “There are other girls who like me, you know.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Are there? ’Cause I feel like Y/N’s already scared them all off.”

Chenle laughed. “Honestly, just give her a chance. She’s pretty, and let’s be real, she’d probably do anything for you.”

Mark sighed, rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

They didn’t get it. He’d spent years running from you, dodging your attempts, shutting down any rumors before they could spread. He couldn’t just give in now.

Maybe it didn’t make sense to anyone else.

But it did to him.

So he kept doing what made the most sense to him, and one day, you found yourself walking into the greenhouse when your eyes immediately spotted the familiar bowls scattered across the table. Your heart clenched at the sight, but you refused to believe Mark would just discard your gifts like that.

But as you approached, you noticed something that made your stomach twist painfully. The fish, once so vibrant and lively, now lay still in the water. They barely moved. They didn't swim with the same energy, the same color that had once made them sparkle. They just stayed there, like lifeless figures floating in stagnant water. And, as ridiculous as it sounded, you could almost swear they looked sad.

It hit you like a physical blow. Mark really didn’t want anything to do with you.

The realization didn’t come alone, though. You’d noticed it over the last few months, but you’d been too stubborn to admit it to yourself. Mark had been spending more time with a girl from Ravenclaw. You didn’t even know her name, but the way they talked and laughed together, the way he’d smile at her with that soft look you’d always hoped to get... It was all the confirmation you needed. Mark Lee wasn’t just avoiding you… he was interested in someone else.

You stood there in the greenhouse, staring at the fish, a sinking feeling settling deep in your chest. He didn’t care about you the way you’d always hoped.

In your fourth year, you decided it was time to focus on yourself. To put Mark away and finally let go of your feelings for him.

You’d been practicing something called Occlumency. Professor Snape had given you a book on it and told you it would help you shield away any distractions when you started falling behind in class due to your little infatuation with a certain seeker.

“This is very advanced magic,” Snape had said, handing you the book with a knowing look, “and it takes months, sometimes years, of practice to master it.”

And practice you did. Every day, you worked at it, pushing your emotions into a mental drawer and locking it away. It was hard at first. Your thoughts kept wandering back to Mark, but slowly, you began to make progress. You learned to control your thoughts, to put each memory, each feeling about him into that mental drawer, one by one, and shove it far back in your mind.

The more you practiced, the easier it became. It wasn’t perfect, but over the course of the year, you started to feel a strange sense of indifference towards Mark Lee.

At least until The Yule Ball was announced in the middle of the term. Even with all your hard work on Occlumency, you couldn’t stop the twinge of longing that crept in. You knew Mark would be going with Mia, the Ravenclaw girl whose name you had learned through the whispers of the school. It wasn’t like you had any right to feel disappointed, but the nagging thought of asking him yourself refused to leave your mind.

You had planned to skip the celebration altogether. The last thing you wanted was to sit alone while Mark and Mia danced, all dressed up and happy.

But that changed one afternoon in the library when you were buried in research on Venomous Tentacula for a Herbology project

The library was the one place where you could lose yourself without interruption, so you were caught off guard when you heard footsteps approaching and a voice calling your name.

“Hey, Y/N, right?”

You turned, surprised to see Lee Haechan standing there. He was easily one of the most popular guys in Slytherin, the kind of person who always had a group of friends around him, cracking jokes and showing off on the Quidditch pitch. He wasn’t one to hang around in the library by himself during a free period. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken to him—if you ever had.

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice more guarded than usual.

You were used to your fellow Slytherins teasing you for the smallest things, such as your Muggle clothes or the way you searched for books manually instead of having Madam Pince summon them for you.

“You probably don’t remember, but last year, you helped me during the Potions final,” he said, his tone surprisingly shy. It was a sharp contrast to the cocky confidence he usually carried.

You thought back, remembering how badly he had struggled to keep his assigned potion from bubbling over and spilling across the table. You had only helped him because if his potion had spilled into yours, it would’ve ruined your work. But you didn’t tell him that.

“I remember,” you said, reaching for a book on a higher shelf.

Before you could grab it, he stepped closer, plucking it from the shelf with ease.

“Thanks,” you muttered, slightly suspicious of the unexpected kindness.

Then he said something that completely threw you off balance. “Listen, I heard you don’t have a date for the Yule Ball.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your fingers tightened slightly around the book. Lee Haechan, of all people, was bringing up the Yule Ball? He was one of the most sought-after guys in Slytherin, and yet here he was, talking to you about the biggest event of the year.

“I’m not really planning on going,” you said, brushing off the conversation as you moved toward a nearby table.

And, of course, he followed.

“Really? Why not?” he asked, dropping into the seat across from you.

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t leave you alone until you answered. “For starters, I don’t dance.” You flipped open your book, eyes scanning the pages in an attempt to distract yourself.

Haechan leaned forward slightly. “Ah, that’s an easy fix. I can teach you.”

You glanced up, raising a brow. “Where is all this coming from, Haechan?”

His smile widened when you said his name “I thought it was obvious,” he said. “I want you to go to the dance with me.”

You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, for the moment he’d burst into laughter and reveal it was all some elaborate joke. But he didn’t laugh. He just watched you, his smile still in place.

“Me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He nodded. “You have pretty eyes, by the way.” His voice was casual as if he were just commenting on the weather. You nearly choked on your own breath, covering it up with an exaggerated cough.

“Did anyone ever tell you that?” he continued, watching your reaction with obvious amusement.

You willed yourself to stay composed, but your heart was racing. What was he playing at?

“Why would you want to go with me?” you asked. “It can’t just be because I helped you once on a test.”

“Why not?” He rested his chin in his hand. “Maybe I’m extremely grateful and want to repay you.”

Your heart beat faster than you wanted it to, and you couldn’t tell if he was just messing with you or if he actually meant it. Haechan had a teasing air about him that made it impossible to tell. Was this a bet with his friends? Or did he just enjoy seeing you flustered?

You hesitated, trying to find the right words, but before you could say anything, he stood abruptly.

“Sleep on it if you want,” he said with a grin. “You can tell me after the Quidditch game on Saturday.”

“Oh, but I wasn’t planning on—”

“I’ll see you there, Y/N,” Haechan said, cutting you off with a wave. Before you could protest, he walked away, leaving you in stunned silence.

The next few days were strange. Haechan was clearly hovering around you. He wasn’t making it obvious, but you were observant enough to notice that he wasn’t skipping some of your shared classes anymore. He had also started spending time in the library even though you’d rarely seen him there before. He didn’t approach you, but you felt his eyes on you every time.

You also realized he was checking out books right after you did. It was oddly amusing, so you decided to mess with him one day.

You had spent enough time in the library to know how to take books from the Restricted Section without alerting Madam Pince. You pretended to read over one, placed it on a different shelf, and waited. A few minutes later, you spotted Haechan heading straight for that section.

Silence filled the air, then a bloodcurdling scream rang through the library. The sound of a book hitting the floor echoed through the rows of shelves. Moments later, Haechan rushed out, his wide eyes locking onto you as you hunched over, struggling to hold in your laughter.

“I’m guessing that was your doing,” he said, dropping into the seat beside you.

You shook your head, still grinning. “That’s just a security mechanism all the books from the Restricted Section have.”

His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his gaze. “How did you even get a book out of there without a professor’s note?”

You shrugged. “I have my ways.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching you with something that made you suddenly self-conscious. “You keep surprising me, Y/N.”

Across the library, Mark sat at a table with Mia, his Potions textbook open in front of him but he wasn't reading anymore and his quill was static in the air. His gaze was locked on you and Haechan, watching the way you leaned in, the way your laughter softened the space between you. Mia followed his stare, then let out a quiet hum.

“What an odd picture, huh?”

Mark blinked, tearing his eyes away. “What?”

Mia tilted her head, her quill twirling between her fingers. “They’re from the same house, sure, but Haechan is one of the most popular guys in school.” She glanced over at you, then back at Mark, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “And she… isn’t she kind of an outcast? Even in her own house?”

Mark tried to keep his tone neutral and disinterested “So?”

Mia let out a soft laugh, dipping her quill in ink. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s probably just bored. Using her for his own amusement.”

Mark glanced back at your table. Haechan was leaning in, grinning as he spoke to you. You looked up at him with something close to exasperation, but there was a smile playing on your lips. It was weird. You didn’t smile like that often.

He ignored the way something twisted in his chest. “You don’t know that,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to his parchment.

Mia hummed, unconvinced. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual for a Saturday with a quiet sense of dread settling over you. Instead of heading to the greenhouse like you normally would, you made your way to the Quidditch pitch, the crisp morning air biting at your skin. You had layered up so much that your scarf nearly swallowed half your face, but even with the extra warmth, you wished you were still curled up in bed.

When you reached the stands, the realization hit you like a punch to your face—today’s match was against Gryffindor.

You should’ve known, but school events had barely been on your radar between your Occlumency lessons and your herbology studies.

You climbed up to the Slytherin side of the stands, slipping into a seat in the back row. It wasn’t crowded yet, and you hoped to stay unnoticed, keeping your head low. The last thing you wanted was to catch the attention of a certain seeker. Or two. Not that Mark would be looking your way anyway.

The distant whoosh of broomsticks cut through the morning stillness, and then, all at once, the stadium came alive. Players soared onto the pitch in a blur of red and green, the announcer’s voice booming through the enchanted speakers. You were only half-listening when you noticed Haechan scanning the crowd.

You set to ignore him when his eyes landed on you.

He mouthed something, but you couldn’t quite make out the words from the distance. His lips moved again, slower this time, like he was asking a question.

You hesitated, then lifted your hand in a thumbs-up, hoping that would satisfy whatever he wanted. Though you immediately regretted it when you felt the weight of other eyes shifting onto you. People had noticed the exchange. Your face burned, and you quickly looked away.

The game began, and you tried to focus. Your eyes followed Haechan for most of it, but every so often, your Occlumency walls slipped, and your gaze found Mark. He was fast, his broom cutting through the air as he scoured the pitch for the Snitch. Haechan was right on his tail, matching his every turn, the two of them locked in a battle of speed.

You knew Mark was a talented seeker. He was quick and light in the air, but his broom wasn’t as fast as Haechan’s, and that made some difference.

You weren’t really rooting for either of them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Though the right thing to do as a Slytherin would be to hope for Haechan’s victory.

The crowd suddenly roared, breaking you from your thoughts. Both seekers had disappeared behind one of the towers in a steep dive, and they were gone for a few agonizing seconds. Then, like a flash of green lightning, Haechan shot back into the air, arm raised, the golden Snitch clutched tight in his fist.

The Slytherins around you erupted into cheers, the stands vibrating with excitement. You blinked, then let yourself be swept up in the celebration, joining the chorus of triumphant screams.

Haechan suddenly veered toward the stands, his broom tilting slightly as he hovered just above the crowd. He brought the Snitch to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to its delicate golden surface before tossing it in your direction. Your hands reacted before your mind could catch up, fingers closing around the tiny fluttering ball with ease.

A collective gasp rippled through the Slytherin section, eyes darting between you and Haechan.

"Y/N!" Haechan called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise of the crowd. "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

The world felt like it had slowed.

You hated attention. You hated feeling like all eyes were on you. But what you hated the most in that moment was the fact that Mark was there, hovering just behind Haechan, watching everything unfold. His broom was still, his expression neutral, but you could feel his eyes burning into you, waiting for your response.

"So," Haechan prompted, his voice a little breathless from the cold and the game, his nose and cheeks tinged pink. "What's your answer?"

Your fingers tightened around the Snitch. You risked a quick glance at Mark, searching for something—anything—in his face. But all you could see was the annoyance from losing the match.

There was only one right answer.

"Okay," you said.

Haechan grinned, throwing his arms up in victory. The crowd erupted, voices overlapping as cheers and chants of his name filled the air.

Mark wasn’t on his best game today. He was usually laser-focused before a match, but things weren’t going right thia morning. First, someone pulled a prank and turned his Quidditch robes a bright pink. Now, he was stuck wearing Sungchan’s, which were way too big. They hung loosely around his shoulders and got in the way whenever he tried to move.

On top of that, Mark was in a strangely sour mood, though he couldn’t figure out why. Everything felt off. The broom didn’t feel right in his hands, and the wind felt harsher than usual.

Then he saw you in the stands.

At first, he thought you were there for him. You usually came to cheer him on, so it made sense. But when Lee Haechan flew by and his face lit up when he saw you, Mark realized he’d been wrong. You looked flustered, but you still gave him a thumbs up.

So, you weren’t there for him? That was okay. Actually, it was better than okay.

But then Haechan wouldn’t stop. He kept swooping around Mark, poking fun.

“A little slow today, huh?” Haechan called as he flew beside Mark. “You looking a little distracted, Lee.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Focus on your game,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Oh, I am.” Haechan’s eyes flickered to you in the stands, where you were rubbing your hands together for warmth.

Mark’s focus broke. The rest of the game felt like a blur.

He was usually the fastest to spot the snitch. No matter who he played against, his eyes always found it first. And Haechan wasn’t known for being the most observant player, so when Mark saw the snitch fluttering just a few feet away, he immediately maneuvered toward it. But his borrowed robes dragged around his legs, slowing him down. By the time he managed to free himself, Haechan had already spotted the snitch and was racing toward it.

Mark pushed forward, forcing his broom to match Haechan’s speed. When he caught up, the Slytherin boy turned to him with a smirk and a challenge in his eyes.

“First one to catch it wins the prize,” Haechan said.

Mark frowned. There was no prize for catching the snitch. The cup at the end of the year depended on accumulated wins, and there were still plenty of matches left. But then it clicked. Haechan wasn’t talking about the cup. He was talking about you.

For some ridiculous reason, he thought Mark was interested in you.

The snitch suddenly dove, and both seekers followed. They jostled for position, each elbowing the other to get ahead. But then Haechan leaned forward, and it was like his broom had shifted into another gear. He shot ahead, leaving Mark behind with no chance to catch up.

When Mark rose back to the pitch, he already knew he had lost.

It shouldn’t have pissed him off as much as it did. Gryffindor had been on a winning streak for the past three matches, and they were still leading. This loss wouldn’t hurt them in the long run. But something about losing to Haechan irritated him.

It definitely wasn’t the fact that Haechan flew straight toward you. It wasn’t the fact that he tossed you the snitch and asked you, in front of the entire school, to go to the dance with him.

Mark didn’t know why his ribs felt tight against his chest or why he found himself waiting for you to look at him. But then you did, and all he could do was scowl.

And then you said okay.

Mark didn’t want to hear the cheers so he turned his broom and flew away.

It was the night of the Yule Ball, and you were nervous. Ever since the match, you had started getting more attention from your fellow Slytherins. Some of it was good, some of it wasn’t. A few girls had taken an interest in you, though, and they were nice enough that you didn’t feel the need to keep your guard up so you didn't refuse when they offered to help you get ready for the ball.

“You have really pretty eyes,” Minjeong said, tilting your chin up. “I think if we curl your lashes and tweeze your brows a bit, they’d stand out even more.”

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, shifting awkwardly on the vanity stool they had just enchanted into existence in the dorm.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Karina started, eyes bright with excitement, “but I made some modifications to your dress.”

You tensed. “What? What kind of modifications?”

“Oh, just a few little ones,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean… you’re about to show up with the most popular Slytherin guy. You can't wear something plain.”

“Right,” Minjeong agreed, blending eyeshadow onto your lids. “You have to show everyone you’re on his level.”

You weren’t sure how you felt about that. But you let them work. They curled and pinned your hair, dusted powders and pigments onto your face, and finished off with a few well-placed glamour enchantments. When they finally let you open your eyes, the reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable.

“This is our best work yet,” Minjeong said, clapping Karina on the back.

“Absolutely,” the taller girl agreed, looking satisfied.

Your hair fell in soft curls over your shoulders, half-pinned in the back with what looked like strands of shimmering tinsel woven in. Your eyes somehow looked bigger, framed by thick lashes that made them seem darker, more intense. Your brows were perfectly shaped, giving your face a softer, more refined look.

“Okay, now put on the dress! We’ll go get ready,” Karina said, pointing toward the neatly laid-out fabric on your bed.

Before you could say anything, they were already out the door.

“Thank you!” you called after them, but they were long gone.

You turned toward the bed, hands smoothing over the fabric of the dress Karina had "modified". To your relief, it was still elegant and not overly flashy. The gown was a soft, silvery blue with a delicate shimmer that caught the light when you moved. The bodice was fitted but modest, with sheer lace sleeves that draped lightly over your shoulders. The skirt flowed down in gentle layers of airy fabric, giving it an almost weightless quality. It was pretty, delicate, and just fancy enough to make it clear you hadn’t thrown it together last minute.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. At least it wasn’t anything too dramatic.

When you stepped out of the girls' dorm and into the Slytherin common room, your heart pounded so loudly you were sure someone could hear it. Haechan was waiting for you, and the moment your eyes met, you noticed how the entire room seemed to pause. Conversations quieted, and nearly every gaze turned toward you.

“Wow… you look so… wow,” Haechan stammered, walking up to you. His expression was so genuinely stunned that you felt warmth rise to your cheeks.

“You look gorgeous, and I don’t think that even describes it well.” He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, his lips curling into a grin when he noticed how flustered you looked.

“Hah, thanks,” you chuckled nervously. “You look nice too.” He did. His black suit fit him well, long robes flowing behind him, accented with silver details that made him look effortlessly put together. His hair was slicked back, but a single strand had fallen over his forehead, softening his sharp features.

He placed a hand on your back and led you up the stairs and out of the dungeons, you instinctively held onto his arm to steady yourself.

Thankfully, by the time you reached the Great Hall, the attention had shifted from you. The room was filled with students dressed in elegant robes, sparkling gowns, and tailored suits, each more dazzling than the next. The sheer number of people made it easy to blend in, or so you thought.

Because somewhere across the hall, a particular Gryffindor’s eyes never left you.

“Who is that?” Jaemin asked, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“That’s Y/N, idiot,” Chenle replied, looking equally stunned.

“No way… seriously?” Jaemin’s eyes widened.

“Now she finally looks like she could really date someone like Lee Haechan,” Mia chimed in, sipping her drink with a raised eyebrow.

Mark didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on you across the room.

“Cat got your tongue?” Mia teased, and Mark snapped out of his trance, his eyes meeting hers.

“No…uhm… she looks the same to me.” Mark muttered before walking away.

You ended up enjoying yourself far more than you’d expected. Haechan was surprisingly fun to be around, and he wasn’t getting too touchy, which you appreciated. You both jumped and swayed to the music of the Weird Sisters.

“I hate this band!” Haechan shouted over the noise, but his feet didn’t stop moving.

You burst out laughing. “Me too.”

He grinned at you, his face flushed, both of you breathless and sweaty.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Hey, what’s up with you and Mark Lee?”

Your laughter died in your throat.

“Huh? Nothing, why?” you stammered, trying to hide your nerves.

“Because he’s looking at me like he wants to hex my head off,” Haechan said, chuckling.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Mark indeed staring in your direction. His expression was tight, angry even, but there was something else there too. Beside him, Mia was practically clawing at his attention, asking him something. He simply shook his head, dismissing her with a frown before she stormed off.

“Don’t mind him,” you said, turning back to Haechan, but he was already watching you.

“I’m not,” he said softly, his hands finding yours.

Suddenly, you were standing closer to him, and you had to tilt your head to meet his gaze. The music shifted into a slower tune, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized how close he was now.

“Stop me if you’re not okay with this,” he murmured, his breath warm against your face. Before you could even process, his lips brushed yours, and then he closed the gap entirely.

Haechan’s lips were soft against yours, and for a brief moment, the world around you disappeared. The music faded into the background, the chatter of students blurred into nothing, and it was just the two of you.

Then, all at once, everything shattered.

A loud crack echoed through the Great Hall, and before you could process what was happening, something thick and cold splattered down your back. You gasped, stumbling away from Haechan as a chilling sensation spread over your skin. A murmur rippled through the crowd as gasps and stifled laughter filled the air.

You looked down. Dark, sticky liquid seeped into the delicate fabric of your dress, staining the soft silk into something sickly and ruined. A pungent smell filled your nose. You barely had time to react before your dress started shrinking.

Your breath caught as the bodice tightened, the fabric pulling uncomfortably against your ribs, cinching around your waist like an invisible grip. Your sleeves vanished, and the hemline shot up several inches in one horrifying swoop, exposing far too much of your legs.

The laughter grew louder.

You clenched your fists, heart pounding as humiliation crashed over you in waves.

“What the hell?” Haechan’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. He whipped around, wand drawn, eyes scanning the hall for the culprit.

And then your gaze landed on Mark.

He stood several feet away, his wand still faintly sparking at the tip. His expression was frozen, his face a shade paler than before. His mouth was slightly open, like he wasn’t sure how the spell had left his lips in the first place.

But you didn’t see uncertainty. You didn’t see hesitation or guilt. All you saw was an angry boy.

A boy who barely acknowledged you before. A boy who always seemed unimpressed by your very existence. A boy who just humiliated you in front of the entire school.

Your throat tightened.

He really hated you that much.

Haechan was already stepping in front of you, blocking you from the murmuring students. His wand was still raised, his grip so tight his knuckles had gone white.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?” His voice cut through the noise, venom dripping from every word.

Mark didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to undo what he had just done. But he didn’t move.

Your breath was shaky as you forced your voice to come out steady. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Mark’s gaze snapped to you, something flickering in his eyes. But you didn’t care what it was.

“You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you continued, your voice sharper now, your chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. “You didn’t have to humiliate me.”

Mark opened his mouth, but for once, he had nothing to say.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, then turned away.

Haechan was already pulling off his robe, draping it over your shoulders before wrapping a protective arm around you. “C’mon, let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, shooting one last glare in Mark’s direction before leading you out of the Great Hall.

Mark didn’t mean to stare.

But from the second you stepped into the Great Hall, he couldn’t seem to look away.

You didn’t look different. That’s what he told himself. It was just a dress. Just some makeup. Just a bunch of pointless glamour spells. Nothing about you had actually changed.

And yet.

His grip tightened around the goblet in his hand as he watched you dance with Haechan, laughing at something he said, looking so damn happy at his side. Mark didn’t even know Haechan that well, but for some reason, he hated him.

He hated the way Haechan touched your waist. He hated the way you let him pull you closer when the song slowed down. Hated the way you tilted your head to look up at him, that slight pause in your movements making it clear what was about to happen.

Mark’s heart slammed against his ribs, something bubbling up inside him, something sharp and hot and suffocating.

And before he even thought about what he was doing, his fingers twitched around his wand.

It happened too fast.

A crackle of magic shot from his wand like a reflex, like something instinctual, something uncontrollable. It streaked through the air, twisting and curling before hitting you and Haechan where you stood.

The Great Hall fell into silence and then laughter erupted.

Mark could barely register what had happened, only that you looked devastated. Your dress was drenched and shrinking until the delicate fabric was something ridiculous, something cruel, something designed to humiliate.

His blood ran cold. He had done that.

He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t even know what spell he cast, just that it happened because of the way you looked at Haechan. Because of the way Mark didn’t want you to look at Haechan.

Haechan’s voice cut through the buzzing in his ears.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?”

You turned to him then, and when your eyes met his, something inside him dropped.

Because you didn’t only look angry. You looked… hurt.

"You didn't have to do that," you said, and it wasn’t an accusation. It was just... disappointment.

Mark felt something claw up his throat. But he couldn’t say anything.

He watched as you shook your head, your expression hardening as you pulled Haechan’s robe tighter around yourself.

"You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you said, voice sharp now. “You didn’t have to humiliate me."

Mark opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

And then you turned your back on him. And he just stood there still gripping his wand.

Still feeling that suffocating thing inside his chest.

Hating himself for the fact that he had only just realized what it was.

Mark felt like the ground had been yanked from under him. His whole body felt heavy, like he was stuck in some kind of nightmare where he could see everything going wrong but couldn’t stop it.

Jaemin sighed, shoving Mark’s wand into his own pocket. “Seriously, what the hell was that?”

Mark couldn’t answer. He was still staring at the spot where you’d stood, where you’d looked at him like he was the worst person in the world.

Chenle shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with her, but you actually humiliated her in front of everyone. That’s not just being petty, Mark. That’s being cruel.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mark said quickly, voice hoarse, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how weak they sounded. What did that even mean? That he hadn’t meant to hex you? That he hadn’t meant to let his jealousy swallow him whole?

Jaemin scoffed. “Well it sure as hell looked intentional.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt tangling in his throat. “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. It just—” He exhaled sharply. “It just happened.”

Jaemin exchanged a look with Chenle. “Right. It just happened that you hexed her right when she was kissing Haechan.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. He hated the way Jaemin said it. Like it was so obvious.

Chenle crossed his arms. “If you’re gonna act like this every time you see her with another guy, maybe just admit that you like her and spare everyone the dramatics.”

Mark flinched. “I don’t—”

Jaemin held up a hand. “Before you finish that sentence, think really hard about whether or not it’s a lie.”

Mark clamped his mouth shut. Because he didn’t know anymore.

But it didn’t matter, did it? Even if he did like you, what difference would it make?

You were the one who hated him now.

By the time your fifth year came around, you’d successfully mastered Occlumency so well that when you returned to school Mark was nothing more than a passing thought. The memories you had of him felt distant, like a foggy dream.

You never thought you’d feel this way, but it was almost freeing. The emotional weight he’d carried for so long was no longer crushing you. You were finally able to move on.

After what happened at the Yule Ball, you were relieved that Haechan seemed to understand you needed space. He kept things between you friendly, never bringing up the kiss or attempting to do it again. It made things easier, even if there was still an underlying tension whenever he caught your eye for too long. But just because he didn’t push for anything more didn’t mean he stopped very obviously flirting with you.

If anything, he seemed to have doubled down. Compliments slipped into every conversation, his arm would brush against yours whenever he passed by, and he always found some excuse to sit next to you in the common room or during meals. It was like he had claimed you in some unspoken way—not forcefully, or in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that let everyone else know that he was still very much interested.

Karina and Minjeong, meanwhile, had become your biggest support system. For the first time, you felt like you truly had friends. And if they had one common enemy, it was Mark Lee.

“He is so pathetic,” Karina muttered, stabbing at her breakfast aggressively. “Walking around like a sad puppy as if he isn’t evil.”

“How dare the Gryffindors say we’re the house full of terrible people when they have someone like Mark Lee?” Minjeong scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

You hid a small smile behind your cup, already used to their daily Mark-related grievances. It had become routine at this point. Every morning, without fail, they found something new to complain about. And if they couldn’t find anything, they made something up.

“I mean, look at him,” Karina continued, tilting her head toward the Gryffindor table. “He’s just poking at his food and sighing dramatically. Does he expect us to feel bad?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes. “As if he has anything to be heartbroken over. He’s the one who embarrassed you in front of everyone. And now he has the audacity to mope around? Get a grip.”

You said nothing, focusing on your plate instead. You had built up your Occlumency walls so well that even you weren’t sure what you felt about Mark anymore. You weren’t angry. You weren’t sad. You weren’t… anything. And you were proud of that.

You stopped going to Quidditch games after a while. You just couldn’t shake the feeling of self-consciousness that crept in every time you stepped into the stands. But Karina and Minjeong convinced you to go today. It was Slytherin’s match, and though it was against Gryffindor, you agreed. You trusted your walls, confident that nothing could touch you now.

The game started, despite the pouring rain. The weather only seemed to make it more intense. The announcer’s voice echoed over the field, remarking on the lightning that nearly struck the Slytherin keeper. You could barely hear him over the storm.

Mark and Haechan were both darting across the sky, locked in pursuit of the Snitch. They were higher than the other players, cutting through the rain like streaks of lightning themselves. You tried to follow them with your eyes, but the thick raindrops blurred your vision and the gusts of wind whipped your hair into your face, making it harder to see. Then, all at once, the sky split open with a crack of lightning.

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Mark’s broom fall from the sky, his body following in a terrifying, uncontrolled descent.

“Oh my god!” You gasped, your voice barely carrying over the storm. Time seemed to slow. Your mind raced as you realized that one of the professors had cast the Arresto Momentum charm just in time. The world around you shifted back into real-time, and suddenly, Mark’s body was lying motionless on the pitch.

He was unconscious but thankfully unscathed. The rain was pouring down in sheets now, mixing with the frenzy of footsteps as professors rushed to his side.

Without thinking, you slipped out of the stands, pushing through the chaos of the crowd. Your heart was hammering in your chest, your breath quickening as you neared the pitch. The professors were already at his side, checking him over carefully. You could barely breathe, the panic tightening around your chest.

“Mark,” you whispered, as if calling him out of a deep sleep.

When Mark woke up, the first thing he saw was Madam Pomfrey waving her wand over him, a soft golden light flickering at the tip as she muttered a diagnostic spell under her breath.

“Oh, great heavens! You’re finally awake,” she gasped, clutching her chest in relief. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send for St. Mungo’s. There was no reason for you to still be unconscious!”

Mark blinked a few times, his vision still slightly blurred, before realizing he wasn’t alone. Chenle and Jaemin were sitting nearby, their faces tight with concern.

“Mate, you scared the shit out of us,” Chenle said, his brows furrowed.

“We thought we lost you,” Jaemin added, a little too serious for Mark’s liking.

“What… happened?” Mark asked, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t had a sip of water in days.

“You fell off your broom from at least fifty feet in the air. It was insane,” Chenle said.

“I don’t… why don’t I remember anything?” Mark mumbled, wincing as a dull, throbbing pain settled in his skull.

“Professor McGonagall slowed your fall, but you still hit the ground pretty hard. You must’ve knocked your head,” Jaemin explained.

Madam Pomfrey huffed. “I’ll bring you a dose of Revitalizing Tonic, it should help with the disorientation. You two wrap things up and get to your dorms… it’s far too late for visitors.” She turned on her heel, bustling off toward her supply cabinet.

Jaemin scooted closer, watching Mark carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got beat up by the Whomping Willow,” Mark muttered.

Chenle snorted. “You’re lucky you didn’t actually land on it. That would’ve been really bad.”

“We were all so worried. No one thought you’d wake up today,” Jaemin added.

“The whole team was here earlier,” Chenle continued. “Mia too… and, uh—Y/N was the last one to leave—”

“Wait, what?” Mark pushed himself up too fast, his head spinning in protest. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, we’re just as shocked as you are,” Chenle said. “She ran to the pitch the second you fell. I swear, I thought she was gonna pass out from how hard she was crying.”

“She looked like she was having a panic attack,” Jaemin added. “Professor Snape had to give her a Calming Draught.”

“I think she genuinely thought you were going to die,” Chenle said.

Mark’s stomach twisted painfully. His mind still felt sluggish from the fall, but that one piece of information cut through it like a blade.

You were crying over him? Panicking? That didn’t make any sense.

“This doesn’t…” Mark swallowed. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would she—why would she care?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries.

“Beats me,” Chenle shrugged. “She hasn’t talked to you in over a year. I was sure she hated your guts. But apparently, you’re harder to get over than we thought.”

Mark barely registered the teasing tone. His brain was running a mile a minute.

You were worried about him. You didn’t hate him? Or maybe… maybe it was just shock. Maybe seeing him fall had been scary in the moment, and once you knew he was okay, you'd go back to ignoring him. This didn't mean anything.

…Right?

After Chenle and Jaemin left, Mark knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Madam Pomfrey had left him a Sleeping Draught, which sat untouched on his bedside table.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Jaemin said. How you ran onto the pitch, crying over him. It didn’t make sense. You hadn’t spared him a second glance since the Yule Ball. If anything, he would’ve preferred if you were still angry, if you had lashed out at him, screamed, hexed him—anything.

But instead, you had simply erased him from your world. The few times you had looked at him had been either by accident or when he deliberately put himself in your way, and your eyes had always been so empty.

The door to the hospital wing suddenly creaked open. Mark assumed it was just the wind, or maybe Madam Pomfrey checking in on him, so he quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep when he heard soft footsteps approaching.

For a moment, there was nothing. He almost convinced himself he had imagined it until he felt the weight shift at the edge of his bed.

Then, the sound of quiet, muffled sobs.

“Mark…”

His breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Before he could even process it, your hand was suddenly on his face, fingers grazing his cheek in the softest touch. A shiver threatened to run down his spine, but he forced himself to stay still.

“I’m sorry…” Your voice was fragile. “I wished so many bad things on you last year… I feel like…like this is my fault.” A shaky inhale. “Please be okay.”

Mark wanted to sit up. Wanted to tell you it wasn’t your fault, that none of this was. That he had deserved everything you threw at him but not this guilt.

But if he moved, would you run? Would you slip away before he even had the chance to say anything?

He was too much of a coward to find out. So he stayed still, letting your fingers caress him, letting your words sink into his skin like a warmth he hadn’t felt in so long.

Mark was certain you had stayed the whole night. Even in the haze of half-sleep, he had felt your presence beside him. He only realized you had left when the first rays of sunlight began filtering through the hospital wing’s windows.

Madam Pomfrey cleared him to leave that morning, assuring him he wasn’t in any real danger anymore. She did, however, insist he avoid Quidditch for at least a week. Not that he particularly cared. There were no matches coming up, but even if there were, he doubted he’d be able to focus on anything other than you.

He didn’t know what to do with the new knowledge that you did care about him. That you had cried over him. That you had touched him so gently, so reverently, as if he were something precious. It should have been a relief, but it made him anxious instead. After all this time, after everything that he’d done to you, how was he supposed to approach you?

The thought of you looking at him with those same empty eyes, telling him to get lost, made his stomach twist.

No—he had to be smart about this. He had to find a moment when you were alone.

That would have been easy before, when you had no friends and spent most of your time buried in books or wandering the castle halls by yourself. But now? Now, you were constantly surrounded by Karina, by Minjeong, and worst of all, by Haechan.

Mark had been watching the two of you closely, trying to figure out if there was something going on. He knew Haechan was still pursuing you, that much was obvious, but you weren’t dating as far as he could tell. At least, he hadn’t heard anything about it.

Still, the thought gnawed at him.

After a lot of consideration, he decided the best way to talk to you was during your prefect rounds at night. The problem was figuring out when you were scheduled. If he had tried this a year ago, you probably would’ve handed over the information without question. Now? Not a chance.

So, he had to get creative.

It took some effort to figure out your schedule, but after bribing a few Slytherins with an unlimited supply of Fizzing Whizzbees from Honeydukes for the rest of the year, he learned that your shift usually started around 8 pm.

So by 7:59 pm, he was slipping out of the Fat Lady’s portrait, glancing around to make sure Filch wasn’t lurking in the shadows. His heart was pounding, but he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or anticipation.

He was finally going to talk to you.

He figured you’d start your shift near the Slytherin common room, so he made his way toward the dungeons. Sure enough, there you were, walking slowly, completely absorbed in a book.

Mark couldn’t help but smile to himself.

"So much for staying vigilant during patrols," he finally said.

You flinched, nearly dropping your book. When you turned around, your wide eyes locked onto his, shimmering under the dim candlelight. For a second, all he could think about was how lovely you looked.

"Mark..." you breathed, almost like you couldn’t believe he was real.

"Hi," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He looked away for a moment, gathering the courage to step closer.

"Are you okay?" you asked, and the genuine concern in your tone made his heart stumble over itself.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," he chuckled nervously.

"Not a big deal?" Your brows furrowed, and your tone sharpened slightly. "You fell from the sky, Mark."

He wasn’t used to you looking at him after all this time, much less with worry.

"I’m sorry," he said, watching the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I heard you were pretty shaken up after it."

"Yeah…" you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was..."

Mark's heart jumped. He knew it already, he knew you had stayed by his bedside, knew you had cried over him—but hearing you say it made something in his chest tighten painfully.

Your eyes scanned him again, like you were checking to make sure he wouldn’t collapse at any second.

"I’m okay, I promise," he reassured you.

You nodded, then let out a sigh, glancing around as if suddenly remembering where you were.

"What are you doing outside your common room this late?"

Mark hesitated. Should he make up some excuse, or should he just tell the truth?

"If you were planning to sneak out with Mia, I’ll have you know that I must deduct points from your house and report it to Professor McGonagall," you said, your tone suddenly more detached. Just like that, the warmth in your expression flickered out, and your eyes went cold again.

Mark felt like he had just been shoved back into reality.

"No, no," he stammered quickly. "Mia and I are not… we’re not together."

You pursed your lips, nodding slowly. "Okay. Then why—"

"I wanted to talk to you," he blurted out. "To apologize. For everything. I never got the chance to back then."

"It’s been a year, Mark," you said flatly.

"Yeah, I know," he murmured. "But you still deserve an apology. And I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but… I needed to say it anyway."

His voice faded toward the end, barely audible.

"Okay…" You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're forgiven. I don’t hold it against you anymore... I actually haven’t for a while."

"Really?" Mark blinked. "You don’t even care why I did it?"

"Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," he insisted.

You simply nodded, waiting.

Mark took a deep breath. "I was an idiot back then… well, I guess I’m still an idiot but I was an angry idiot. And I don’t know what came over me… I took it out on you. But I swear, it wasn’t because I hated you. I never hated you." He exhaled sharply, as if forcing the words out before he lost the nerve. "I know you don’t have to believe me, but… I just—I need you to know that."

He spoke so fast, stumbling over his words. Afraid that if he paused, he wouldn’t get to say everything he wanted. By the time he finally stopped talking, your expression had softened just a little.

"I see…" You seemed to search for the right words before settling on a quiet, "I’m glad you told me." A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips.

But it didn’t ease the tightness in Mark’s chest. It didn’t make him feel any better. Because there was more, so much more he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. And he was terrified.

"Do you wanna hang out?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Now…?" You glanced around, hesitating. "I’m kind of—"

"No! Sorry, I meant… later. Tomorrow, maybe? Or—I don’t know… whenever you can."

You stayed quiet for a moment, considering it. "Uhm… okay. Tomorrow. After class?"

Mark nodded too eagerly. "Yes! That sounds perfect." His voice came out overly excited, but he couldn’t help it.

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then." You gave him a small wave before turning away. "Now go before any of the other prefects see you."

Mark barely registered your warning, his mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow.

You were dreading your night shift as a prefect tonight. You hadn’t slept much after staying by Mark’s side all night. You heard he was discharged this morning, but not seeing him with your own eyes made you feel as if he was still hurt.

You had no idea how to deal with the knot in your stomach, so you brought a book with you hoping it would distract you. But even as you read the words on the pages, they blurred into one long line, your mind constantly flickering back to him.

You’d spent so long putting up walls inside your mind, careful to shield yourself from things that hurt too much. It had worked, mostly. You hadn’t felt anything deeply in a long time. But after the accident, those walls felt thinner, more fragile than ever.

And the minute Mark spoke behind you, you felt them crack.

Your whole body went stil and he was just standing there, smiling shyly at you. It took everything in you not to collapse in relief.

You whispered his name and tried so hard not to let your emotions show. But everything felt too much, the relief, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and feelings you had buried for so long. You had to hold it all in. You couldn’t let him know how glad you were to see him.

You were trying to remain composed, to keep your usual guard up, but with him standing there, looking so... so Mark,

"Hi..." he said quietly.

You forced yourself to speak. "Are you okay?" It was the question you had been waiting to ask, but it came out more desperate than you’d intended.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," Mark chuckled, the sound awkward and nervous. But even the way he said it made your heart sink with unease.

You couldn’t hide the irritation that sparked inside you, the remnants of the fear still clinging to your chest. "Not a big deal? You fell from the sky, Mark." The words left you harsher than you intended. You were so angry at the idea of losing him, so scared because it had been too close.

"I’m sorry, I heard you were pretty shaken after it." His voice was quieter now, and you could feel the way he was trying to reach you, even though the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

You nodded slowly, the walls inside your mind trying to reassemble themselves, trying to keep you composed. “Yeah... I was...."

The truth slipped out, and as soon as it did, you regretted it. You didn’t want him to know just how terrified you’d been that something might happen to him and you wouldn’t be able to truly tell him how you felt. The walls inside your mind cracked again.

"I’m okay, I promise," Mark said softly, his gaze holding yours, as if trying to assure you.

You wanted to close your eyes and pretend like everything was okay, but the walls kept wavering. You couldn’t trust that feeling, not yet.

You nodded, but the unease inside you didn’t go away. Not when you saw the way his eyes kept searching yours. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

The walls that had kept your emotions in check for so long were trembling now, and it was getting harder to keep them from falling. You needed to focus on something else, anything else.

"What are you doing outside of your common room so late?" You forced the authority back into your voice. But you knew it didn’t fool anyone—not Mark, not even yourself.

He stumbled over his words, clearly nervous. "I wanted to speak to you. Apologize for everything. I never got the chance to back then."

The words hit you like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t just an apology. It was him standing in front of you, looking so... raw. You weren’t sure if you were ready for everything he was willing to lay bare. But you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop yourself from listening.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. "It’s been a year, Mark."

"I know. But you deserve an apology, and I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but still... I wanted to say it."

Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice, but something inside you fought to keep the walls intact. The last time you’d allowed yourself to feel so exposed, it had ended in too much pain.

"Okay..." You put a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re forgiven... I don’t hold you to it anymore. I actually haven’t for a while."

His expression shifted in relief, but it didn’t bring the peace you thought it might. "You don’t care why I did it?"

You shook your head, forcing the walls to stay up. "Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," Mark said, looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t seen in him before.

And you nodded, thinking that maybe it was okay to let the walls waver for now.

So you heard him out when he nervously asked to hang out, and you ignored the logical part of you that told you you might get hurt again.

The next day, Mark woke up earlier than usual. He told himself he wasn’t making a big deal out of hanging out with you today, but he still spent longer than necessary in the shower. He even put on cologne, something he never did.

He only had two classes with you this year, and after the Yule Ball accident, he made a habit of sitting as far away as possible, just so you wouldn’t catch him sneaking glances every few minutes.

But today, he was going to sit next to you.

At least, that was the plan—until he walked into Divination and saw that Lee Haechan had already taken the seat beside you.

Mark blinked. He didn’t even know Haechan was in this class. Then again, he was pretty sure he had skipped most of the semester. And yet, he suddenly decided to show up today? Right when Mark was finally trying to make things right with you?

Mark scowled as he trudged to the table behind yours. Mia slid into the seat next to him, but he barely noticed her presence until she snapped her fingers in front of his face, breaking his intense staring contest with the back of Haechan’s head.

"Did you do something different to your hair?" Mia asked, eyeing him.

Mark instinctively ran a hand through it. He had used a bit of gel this morning, but now that she pointed it out, he felt self-conscious.

"No," he muttered, dropping his hand and forcing himself to focus on Professor Trelawney, who was currently droning on about the art of tea leaf reading.

"...And remember," she was saying dramatically, her bracelets jingling with every exaggerated movement, "the leaves do not lie! They reveal the truth hidden beneath the surface, the past, the present, and sometimes, if you are truly gifted, the future."

Mark barely listened, too distracted by the way Haechan kept whispering in your ear.

"Now! Pick a partner and interpret their tea leaves. It can be anyone's cup!"

Mark didn’t hesitate. He shot up from his seat, stepping around Mia and snatching your cup before Haechan could even reach for it.

You flinched slightly at the sudden movement, but when you looked up and saw it was him, you relaxed.

"Hello," Mark said, smiling.

You smiled back. "Hi."

From beside you, Haechan’s jaw tightened. "I see you’re alive."

Mark smirked. "You’re lucky I am or there’d be no witness to prove you didn’t push me off my broom."

“Guide yourselves with the book and pay close attention to the patterns so you can decipher what the tea leaves say,” Professor Trelawney cut in, her voice airy and theatrical as always.

“I guess I’ll look at your cup then.” You flicked your wand, summoning Mark’s cup toward you.

Haechan huffed beside you and settled for reading Mia’s cup instead.

Mark watched you tilt his teacup, your eyes scanning the damp leaves at the bottom with unnerving concentration. He’d never taken Divination seriously, Trelawney's constant doomsday prophecies were more of a running joke than anything, but the way you were studying his cup seriously made him realize you were exactly the opposite.

“Alright…” You murmured, brushing your fingers against the rim of the cup as you turned it slightly. “This shape here…it kind of looks like…” Your brows furrowed in thought before you glanced at the textbook. “A hound?”

“A hound?” Mark repeated, leaning in slightly.

“It symbolizes guilt.” You looked up at him then, and for a moment, the room felt too quiet. “Something that’s been eating at you for a while. Maybe something you want to say but haven’t faced properly yet.”

You were staring back into the cup as if searching for something more. Mark wanted to brush it off, make some joke about Professor Trelawney getting to your head, but the way you spoke made him hesitate.

“Well,” he started, clearing his throat, “that’s… ominous.”

“Maybe it just means he regrets not catching the Snitch before nearly cracking his skull open.” Haechan snorted, leaning back in his chair.

Mark’s jaw twitched but before he could open his mouth to say something, Professor Trelawney’s voice rang through the room.

“Now, now! I sense many of you are struggling to find clarity in the leaves, but do not fret! The Inner Eye is a gift not all possess.”

Mark turned your cup carefully in his hands, squinting at the clumps of tea leaves at the bottom like they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something comprehensible. They didn’t.

“Alright…” he said slowly, stalling for time. “So, um—this kind of looks like…” He tilted his head. “Maybe… a deer?”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “A deer?”

“Or… a horse,” he amended quickly. “Yeah. Definitely a horse. Which, uh, probably means…” He paused, grasping for anything remotely logical. “You have an adventurous spirit. And, um, bravery. And, like… untamed passion?”

Mia snorted from beside him, barely holding back her laughter, while Haechan outright scoffed.

Before you could tease him, Professor Trelawney materialized beside your table, her many scarves billowing behind her. She peered over Mark’s shoulder, tutting disapprovingly.

“I knew you didn’t have the Sight, my dear boy,” she said, shaking her head mournfully. “But fear not, Divination is an art that can be nurtured… even in those with less potential” She patted his shoulder with a dramatic flourish before floating off to torment another group.

Mark sighed, his ears burning red. But then he glanced at you and you were smiling. At him.

And suddenly, he didn’t care about looking like an idiot.

The bell rang before he could bring up your plans for later, and you left with a small wave. He spent the next few hours trying not to overthink it, but thankfully your last class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures, was together. That meant another chance.

Professor Kettleburn led the class out to the paddock, where a row of iron-reinforced cages sat waiting. Today’s lesson was on Chimeras.

Even Mark knew that was a terrible idea.

“Of course, we won’t be working with full-grown Chimeras,” Kettleburn reassured, “for obvious reasons. However, the Ministry has provided us with young ones under very, very careful supervision.”

He demonstrated the proper way to throw raw meat to the creatures. The chimera’s serpent tail lashed at him when he got too close, and the class collectively took a step back.

“Alright! Now, you lot give it a try!” Kettleburn beamed, seemingly unfazed by the near-death experience.

Mark grabbed a chunk of bloody meat and approached the enclosure, trying to ignore the way the chimera’s goat head was glaring at him. The moment he threw the meat, it hit the ground about a foot too short, and the beast let out a dissatisfied growl.

“This,” he muttered under his breath, watching as the chimera’s lion head snapped at him, “is why Professor Kettleburn has lost almost all his limbs.”

“Need help?”

Mark flinched at the sudden voice, turning to find you standing there, watching him with an amused tilt to your lips.

He huffed out a laugh. “You know, I’ve noticed you ask that a lot. Do I really look that helpless?”

You giggled. “Uhm… a bit.” Then, you took the meat from him and tossed it over the fence in one smooth motion. The chimera caught it mid-air, seeming significantly less hostile toward you than it had been toward him.

Mark blinked. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I’m a terrible flyer.”

Mark scoffed. “That’s the one thing I think I’m good at.”

“Oh, I’ve heard.” You said it casually, but both of you knew you’d been to almost every single one of his Quidditch matches since first year.

He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck, summoning whatever courage he had left. “So… did you still want to hang out today?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “How about the library?”

Mark barely resisted the urge to groan. He tried to keep his face neutral, but you noticed the way he grimaced.

You smirked. “Or we can do the greenhouse?”

His expression instantly lightened. “Yes! That sounds good.”

And when you turned back toward the chimera, Mark found himself staring a little too long. He’d never really noticed how pretty your eyes were. Or maybe he had, and he’d just forced himself to ignore it. But now—now he couldn't stop seeing them. The way they glowed when you got something right in class, the way they sparkled when you looked at him for the first time on the train all those years ago.

He missed that. The way you used to adore him.

And he hated himself for wasting it—because he’d been too much of a coward. Too immature to handle something so good.

After your last class, you made your way back to the Slytherin dorms, stopping in front of your mirror to fix your uniform and contemplate whether a simple glamour charm might make your cheeks look a bit rosier. Not that you were dressing up for Mark, obviously.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his sudden shift in attitude. He’d never been this… nice before. And maybe you were quick to accept it because you’d spent the past few days terrified of losing him. But was that enough of a reason to let your guard down?

You sighed, closing your eyes and practicing Occlumency for a few minutes before heading out. You knew you’d need your walls strong if you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him.

When you stepped into the common room, Karina and Minjeong were hunched over a Potions essay they definitely should’ve finished by now.

“And where are you going all dolled up?” Karina asked, looking up from her parchment.

“What? I look the same as I always do,” you said, feigning nonchalance.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Are you meeting Haechan?”

It would’ve been easier to say yes. But they’d find out soon enough when Haechan inevitably strolled through the door looking for you.

“No, I’m going to go check on the Venomous Tentacula.” You were actually proud of how quickly you came up with the lie.

“Okay. Boooring.” Karina waved you off, already focused back on her essay.

You smiled quickly, muttered a goodbye, and slipped out of the common room before they could ask anything else.

When you arrived at the greenhouse, Mark was already there. He straightened up the moment he saw you, hands fidgeting slightly at his sides. But then you noticed he was holding something. A flower.

Not just any flower... a Moonbloom Orchid. A rare magical plant that was known to change colors based on the emotions of the person holding it, and right now, its soft lavender hue radiated warmth and quiet affection.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god, Mark… it’s so pretty. How did you get it?”

Mark shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Oh, it wasn’t that hard to find.”

That was a complete lie.

He had sneaked out to Hogsmeade during his free period yesterday and asked around every store, pub, and dodgy corner for hours, trying to track one down. He had spent almost all his galleons on it.

But looking at your face, your excitement, he decided it was worth every single one.

“Thank you. I love it,” you said, your fingers brushing over the glowing petals as you smiled up at him.

And that smile—Merlin, that smile—hit Mark like a Bludger to the chest.

For the first time, maybe ever, he wanted to kiss you. Really kiss you. Not in some fleeting, passing thought but in a way that made his heart pound and his throat tighten. The desire was so sudden, so strong, it nearly knocked him off balance.

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay, so… want to show me around?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been having lessons in this greenhouse for years.

You giggled, and he could tell by the amused glint in your eyes that you saw right through him. “Sure,” you said, playing along. “I guess I can show you what I’ve been working on.”

You led him toward a section of the greenhouse that looked darker, the air thick with the scent of damp soil and something faintly spicy. Twisting vines curled around the edges of a wooden planter, their leaves twitching slightly as you approached.

“These are pretty hard to find,” you explained, crouching beside the pot. “I begged Professor Sprout to let me plant the seeds I found. Don’t ask where I found them, though.”

Mark raised a brow, intrigued, but he didn’t press.

“You really love this stuff, huh?” he asked instead.

You glanced up at him, then back at the plant, lightly running your fingers over its writhing leaves. The Venomous Tentacula shuddered, curling toward your touch as if it recognized you.

“I guess I do,” you admitted. “I don’t know… I feel comfortable around plants. I can feel their emotions, almost. Even if they can’t really express it… I guess I relate to that”

Mark watched you carefully, noting the way you hesitated like there was something more you wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

The way you spoke about plants… it was almost the way he felt about you.

Something real and quiet. Something he had never really put into words because he didn’t know how. Because even now, standing next to you, close enough that he could see the way the evening light reflected in your eyes, he felt like he shouldn’t want it.

Mark wasn’t sure how long he stood there just watching you, but it was long enough for you to notice.

You blinked up at him, tilting your head slightly. “What?”

He shook his head, forcing a laugh. “Nothing,” he said.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was the way the soft glow of the sunset made you look almost unreal. The way your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something, only to change your mind. The way his own thoughts were a mess, tangled somewhere between I shouldn’t and I can’t stop thinking about you.

You turned back toward the plant, your fingers lightly tracing one of the curled leaves. “It’s kind of funny,” you murmured, half to yourself. “Plants grow towards the things they need. Sunlight, water… warmth.”

Mark swallowed. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way you said it made his skin feel hot. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “They don’t second guess it. They don’t hold themselves back.”

He wasn’t sure if you meant anything by it, but it struck something deep in his chest anyway.

Because he had spent years holding himself back.

And now, with you standing this close, your voice soft, your eyes flickering to his he wondered if maybe he should stop doing that.

His hand moved slightly, barely thinking, like an instinct. Like those plants reaching for sunlight. And for the briefest moment, your fingers brushed against his.

It would be so easy to close the space between you.

So easy to reach forward, to tip your chin up slightly, to finally, finally—

The greenhouse door banged open.

Mark jolted back so fast he almost knocked over the planter.

Professor Sprout bustled in, looking completely oblivious to the moment she had just shattered. “Oh! What are you two doing here? Curfew is soon, I need to lock up for the night.”

You cleared your throat, stepping back as well, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, Professor. We were just finishing up.”

Mark forced himself to breathe, still feeling the ghost of your fingers against his.

Still thinking about how close he had been… and how badly he already wanted to try again.

The rest of your fifth year went by in a blur. Even though you and Mark were on much better terms now, there was little time to think about it between the overwhelming pile of O.W.L prep and the ridiculous amount of homework assigned for every subject.

You managed to pass every exam, most of them with an Outstanding. Mark, on the other hand, had spent so much time this year distracted by you that he fell behind on his classes.

So as punishment, he forced himself to stay away—at least until he could guarantee he wouldn’t completely fail.

He still barely scraped by. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only subject he earned an Outstanding in, but his Potions grade wasn’t high enough to qualify for the advanced level. Not that he wanted to take the class again, but it meant one less excuse to see you during the day.

When sixth year came around, he found himself sticking around you more, even if your friends didn’t particularly like him. So more often than not, he waited until you were alone.

Like now.

“Hello,” Mark said, spotting you sitting on the grass with a book open in your lap. The Whomping Willow loomed behind you, its massive branches swaying with an eerie creak. He eyed it warily.

“You’re awfully close to that thing.”

You barely glanced up. “It’s not so bad once it gets used to you.”

Mark scoffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t think that is capable of getting used to anything.”

You hummed, flipping a page. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, making you look almost ethereal.

Mark swallowed.

He’d spent so much time not noticing these things, forcing himself to ignore the way your presence always made his stomach twist. But now, it was getting harder to push those thoughts away.

Without thinking, he sat beside you, close enough to feel the faint brush of your robes against his. “You know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before, “you are allowed to relax now. OWLs are over.”

You huffed a soft laugh, still looking at your book. “I don't think I know how.”

Mark tilted his head, watching you. “Maybe I could teach you.”

You finally turned to face him fully, the corner of your mouth twitching. “And you’re the expert on relaxing?”

Mark grinned, a little lopsided. “Nope. But I’m an expert at not studying. That’s basically the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now, and something in his chest tightened at the sight.

A light breeze rustled through the trees, sending a few leaves drifting between you. One of them settled in your hair.

Mark hesitated.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached up. “Hold still,” he murmured.

Your brows furrowed. “What—”

His fingers brushed against your hair, plucking the leaf free. But his hand lingered grazing your temple.

You went still. Mark swallowed, his pulse hammering. He thought about pulling away. But then you looked at him and your eyes flickered down to his lips just for a second.

Suddenly, the space between you wasn’t so wide anymore.

His hand was still in your hair, and your breath was so, so close, and he could see the way your lips parted slightly almost as an invitation.

But then a sharp creak from behind you made you jolt apart. The Whomping Willow shifted, its branches twitching ominously.

Mark exhaled, pressing a hand to his face. What the hell was that? When he glanced at you, you looked just as dazed. Maybe even disappointed.

That sent a strange thrill through him.

But then you cleared your throat, shaking your head as if brushing the moment away. “We should probably move,” you said, standing and dusting yourself off. “Before the tree decides to take a swing at us.”

Mark huffed a laugh, still a little breathless. “Thought you said it was harmless.”

But as you started walking away, Mark stayed there for just a second longer, staring after you.

He really needed to kiss you.

Badly.

Mark Lee was confusing you.

There had been two clear moments now where you’d almost kissed. Both times, he’d been the one to lean in first, and both times, something had interrupted before it could happen. Yet despite his boldness in those brief moments, you still couldn’t fully let yourself believe this attention was real.

Your heart wanted to, but your brain knew better.

Mark had spent years ignoring you, brushing you off like you didn’t exist, and then humiliated you too. Only to suddenly pull you into his orbit now. Yes, he’d apologized—sincerely, you’d give him that—but that didn’t mean you could just forget the way he hurt you before.

Meanwhile, Haechan seemed to be acting… strange lately.

He was always around, even more than usual. He’d even started asking you to help him with assignments, which was bizarre because Haechan had made a sport out of either sleeping through classes or deliberately distracting you in them. Yet now he’d started seeking you out in the library, sitting closer in the common room, and finding any excuse to keep you near.

You didn’t mind. If anything, it felt comfortable being around him. Haechan never made things complicated.

But you did notice the way Mark would glare daggers at him from across the Great Hall. Or the way his jaw clenched whenever he caught Haechan whispering something in your ear that made you laugh.

And then there was the incident.

It happened in Charms class. Professor Flitwick had started teaching everyone Expulso, a more advanced charm that forcefully propelled objects away from you. It was precise magic that required perfect wand movement and a focused mind.

And well... Mark had neither.

You’d been paired with Haechan for the practical exercise and he, of course, turned the whole thing into a joke, purposefully missing his targets just to make you laugh. Then he decided to experiment, turning his wand on the scarf Mark had left on his desk. With a flick of his wrist, Haechan sent it flying toward himself.

“It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it?” he grinned, draping it around his neck.

“Dude, give it back,” Mark said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Haechan shot him a smug look. “Relax. I don’t fancy these colors either.”

Mark gripped his wand so hard his knuckles turned white. He really tried to keep his composure, but watching you laugh with Haechan as he mocked the Gryffindor colors did something dangerous to his self-control. His mind blurred with pure instinct. Before he could stop himself, he flicked his wand and muttered, “Expulso.”

He’d only meant to send the scarf flying back to him.

Instead, Haechan was thrown clear across the room, crashing into a stack of desks and sending books and ink bottles scattering everywhere. Gasps echoed around the classroom. Mark’s stomach dropped.

“Mr. Lee!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, horrified. “Detention! Immediately!”

And that’s how Mark ended up cleaning every single portrait frame in the castle as punishment.

Now he was on his fourth hour of wiping down dusty frames, trying to ignore Sir Cadogan’s taunting comments.

“Are you truly the best Seeker this school has to offer? Ha! Pathetic, if you ask me! No spine! No dignity!” the painted knight cackled, waving his sword wildly.

Mark gritted his teeth, his grip on the cloth tightening. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”

“Oh? Going to hex me too, are you?” Sir Cadogan jeered. “Do it, coward! Strike me down if you dare!”

Mark seriously considered shaking the frame just to feel some satisfaction when he heard footsteps behind him.

“You haven’t learned your lesson about hexing people yet?”

Mark froze.

He turned around and there you were, still in your uniform, badge pinned neatly to your robes as a reminder that you were out on prefect patrol. His heart did a stupid little flip at the sight of you.

“Apparently not,” Mark said, trying to force a laugh.

“I think we need to do something about your self-control, Mr. Lee.”

The way you said his name, playful but with a trace of authority, sent a rush of excitement through his veins.

“I admit,” Mark started, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve been a bit hot-headed lately.”

You raised a brow. “Lately?”

Mark groaned. “Okay, fine. Always. But—” he hesitated, his mouth clamping shut before he said something stupid like I just get like that when I see you with him.

You were still watching him, expectant. “But?”

“…Nothing.” He turned back toward the frame, vigorously wiping it down as if it would erase his own embarrassment.

You stepped closer.

“Mark.”

He swallowed thickly, his hand pausing. “…Yeah?”

“Why did you do it?”

He tried to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

You huffed. “You’ve never lost control of your magic like that with him. Not even during Quidditch. You didn’t just hex Haechan… you blasted him.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he deserved it.”

“For what?”

Mark clenched his teeth. For touching you. For putting his arm around you like you belonged to him. For making you laugh like that. For being close to you in a way he wasn’t allowed to be.

“…For being an asshole,” Mark muttered pathetically.

You scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Touché.

“Mark,” your voice softened. “Look at me.”

He did. And God, he shouldn’t have.

You were so close. Your scent, your warmth, it was dizzying. Mark could feel his pulse roaring in his ears, his breath shortening. His hand hung limply by his side, still clutching the rag tightly.

There was ink on your cheek.

Without thinking, he reached up, his thumb grazing softly against your skin. “You, uh…” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “You’ve got ink. Right here.”

You gasped.

And Mark realized he was completely, utterly doomed. His thumb caressed your cheek, and then his hand drifted lower, trailing down your jaw before he realized what he was doing.

His entire body was screaming kiss her.

You didn’t move away and for one unbearable moment, Mark swore you were leaning in too—

“Oi!” Sir Cadogan suddenly barked from his frame. “You there! I see you trying to woo a lady with improper decorum! Unhand her at once!”

You flinched back like you’d been scalded. Mark cursed under his breath, his entire body recoiling from yours.

“I—uh... should finish patrol,” you stammered, practically fleeing.

“Yeah. Right. Patrol.” His voice cracked.

And as you disappeared down the corridor, Mark let his head fall against the wall with a groan.

That was three times.

Three times he’d almost kissed you. Three times something—or someone—had interrupted. And three times he’d walked away regretting it.

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back.

Halloween arrived in a blur of decorations and excitement. The castle was buzzing with energy, students gorging themselves on sweets from Honeydukes and filling the Great Hall with loud chatter and laughter.

Mark wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, but he still tagged along with Jaemin and Chenle to Hogsmeade that morning. It was a decent distraction.

When he finally returned to the dormitory that evening, exhausted and chilled from the walk, he found a small pile of sweets on his bed. Mark frowned. Weird. He didn’t remember leaving any there. But then his eyes landed on a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

His heart stopped.

A slow, stupid smile spread across his face as he reached for the box, his mind flashing back to years ago—to the day you’d given him a similar box of chocolates in second year. Back then, he’d been a coward. He’d tossed them out in front of you when his friends told him to, too embarrassed to admit that the sight of you blushing as you handed them to him had made his heart race. He could still remember the hurt on your face when he did it.

Mark wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

He opened the box without hesitation, popping one of the chocolates into his mouth. It melted on his tongue, rich and sweet, but almost immediately he felt… odd. Like his blood was moving too fast in his veins.

He blinked.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and an uncomfortable tightness built low in his stomach. His throat was dry. His skin felt hot. His head felt like it was being stuffed with cotton.

“What the hell…” Mark muttered, stumbling back slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him.

The room swayed around him, his thoughts clouding over like a dense fog. But the one thing that stayed sharp and clear in his mind was you. Your face. Your voice. The lingering warmth of your skin from when he’d touched your cheek before. His body burned with the desperate, uncontrollable urge to find you.

Mark didn’t remember walking out of the dorm. His body moved on autopilot, driven by a force he didn’t understand, only that he needed to see you.

You hated Halloween patrols.

They were miserable every year, especially when you knew the castle was still alive with music and celebration, and you were stuck walking through empty corridors. It didn’t help that Halloween was also prime time for students sneaking out of their common rooms to pull pranks or engage in other debauchery.

So when you rounded a corner and spotted two people heavily making out against the wall, you didn’t think much of it. You just sighed and braced yourself to break them apart.

“Alright, enough,” you said, walking toward them. “Back to your dorms or I’m docking points—”

You froze.

The boy pinning the girl against the wall, his hands gripping her waist like he couldn’t get enough of her... was Mark.

Your heart plummeted so fast it made you feel physically ill.

“Mark?” your voice cracked.

Slowly, like something out of a nightmare, Mark’s head turned toward you. His pupils were blown wide, his hair mussed from the fervent kiss. There was a wild, unhinged look in his eyes that you didn’t recognize like he wasn’t entirely there.

But the girl…

You felt like the air had been knocked out of you when you recognized her.

Minjeong.

Your best friend.

Your mind couldn’t catch up. No. This didn’t make sense. Mark had almost kissed you. Three times. You’d spent weeks pouring your heart out to Minjeong, admitting—-however humiliating—that you thought Mark was starting to like you back. And she… she knew.

She knew exactly how you felt about him.

Your gaze darted between them, desperately searching for some sort of explanation, some indication that this wasn’t what it looked like. But Mark was still staring at you in a daze, and Minjeong was… smiling.

You felt something splinter deep inside you.

“You—” your voice died in your throat.

Minjeong had the audacity to giggle. She pulled away from Mark’s mouth, though his hands were still clinging to her hips. “Oh…hey, Y/N,” she said breathlessly, a sheen of gloss smeared across her lips.

You looked at Mark, desperate for him to say something. But his gaze was fixed solely on Minjeong, his chest heaving, his lips still parted like he wanted more.

“Mark,” you choked out again.

His head snapped toward you. For a split second, his face twisted into something confused, like he didn’t understand why you were there. His eyes darted across your face, and you swore there was a flicker of recognition, a brief moment of panic in his expression.

Then Minjeong giggled again and Mark’s gaze instantly darkened as it fell back on her.

“Aw, don’t be mad, Y/N,” she pouted. “Please don’t tell Professor Snape, yeah?”

You felt like you were watching yourself from outside your body. “You two… can’t be here right now. You need… you need to go back to your common rooms.”

Your voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

“Come on,” Minjeong teased, suddenly hooking her arm around yours. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Y/N. We’re just having some fun.”

You flinched. Don’t touch me.

Your Occlumency walls shot up instinctively, straining under the weight of your heartbreak but holding just enough to keep your expression neutral. You swallowed down the burning in your throat and repeated, “You need to go.”

Mark still wasn’t speaking. His pupils were so dilated it was unnatural, his chest still rising and falling rapidly like he couldn’t catch his breath. His swollen lips parted like he was about to say something.

But Minjeong turned, smiled sweetly at him, and said, “Mark, come on. Let’s not get Y/N in trouble.”

And Mark moved like a moth to a flame. Without hesitation, he grabbed her waist and yanked her into another bruising kiss. You recoiled like you’d been burned, forcing your eyes away before the image could be seared into your memory forever.

The sound of Minjeong’s delighted giggles made you want to scream.

Finally, she pulled back, wiping her mouth with a smug grin. “See you tomorrow, Y/N,” she sang, then turned to Mark and cooed, “Come on, lover boy. Let’s go.”

Mark didn’t even look at you. He let her drag him off down the corridor without so much as a glance in your direction.

The second they disappeared, your Occlumency walls shattered. You sucked in a shaky breath, clutching your chest like you could physically hold the pain in. A choked sob escaped your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back, forcing yourself not to cry here.

You’d be damned if you let them see you break.

What you didn't know is that Mark wouldn’t remember any of it.

Not the taste of Minjeong’s lips. Not the way his body burned with the inexplicable need to touch her. Not the sick, nauseating feeling in his gut when he caught your tearful gaze and felt like he was betraying something sacred.

All he would know was that when he woke up the next morning, his throat would be dry, his mind foggy…

…and the lingering taste of chocolate still heavy on his tongue.

A whole week passed since Halloween and Mark could not, for the life of him, figure out what he’d done to make you go back to acting like he didn’t exist.

You wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t spare him a glance, and on the rare occasion that your eyes did meet his, it was like he physically repulsed you. It was driving him insane.

Mark was starting to think he must’ve had one too many butterbeers during Halloween night and done something incredibly stupid. But he couldn’t know for sure because, again, you wouldn’t speak to him.

He also noticed you and Minjeong weren’t talking anymore. That part confused him almost as much as your behavior toward him. You were either with Karina or Haechan now, but most of the time, you were alone. And Mark hated it — hated seeing you without the warm spark you always carried when you were surrounded by friends.

But most of all, he hated that you were ignoring him. He needed you to talk to him. He needed you to tell him what he did wrong so he could fix it immediately.

Which is why he was now standing outside the Slytherin common room, anxiously hoping someone would be kind enough to let him in. Unsurprisingly, none of the Slytherins were willing to let a Gryffindor in, especially one who looked as nervous and fidgety as Mark did.

He was starting to lose hope when, finally, the perfect opportunity came in the form of Karina.

“Hey! Karina—” Mark called, jogging a few steps toward her. She slowed down as she spotted him, her face immediately tightening into an annoyed scowl.

“What do you want?” she said, her tone clipped and cold.

Mark blinked, taken aback. He knew Karina didn’t exactly love him, but she had never sounded this openly hostile toward him before.

“Uh… I was hoping I could talk to Y/N. I was wondering if you could either let me in or—”

“How dare you?” she snapped, suddenly pointing an accusing finger at him.

Mark froze. “I— sorry, what?”

“You’ve got some fucking nerve coming here with those stupid puppy dog eyes like you didn’t completely break her heart again. Haven’t you humiliated her enough? Or do you just get off on using her and throwing her away when you’re bored?” Karina’s voice trembled with anger.

“Wha... what are you talking about?” Mark asked, his voice rising in exasperation.

“Don’t play dumb, Lee. You know exactly what you did,” she spat.

“No, I don’t! I swear, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of right now! I already apologized for the Yule Ball… and the gifts… but what is this about me using her?” Mark’s heart was starting to race, his palms sweating as dread crawled up his spine.

Karina scoffed incredulously. “Seriously? You’re gonna keep playing the innocent act? After everything?”

“Karina, I’m serious. I don’t know what you mean! What did I do to her?”

“Oh my god.” She let out a bitter laugh, taking a step back like she couldn’t stand to be near him. “You really don’t remember?”

Mark’s throat tightened. “…Remember what?”

Karina stared at him for a long moment, her face twisted with disgust. “Halloween, you idiot.”

Mark blinked. “Halloween?”

“Yes, Halloween. When you were shoving your tongue down Minjeong’s throat like a desperate little dog.”

Mark’s stomach dropped. “What?”

Karina laughed humorlessly. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. Y/N saw you, Mark. She caught you all over Minjeong that night. After you almost kissed her three times. After she told us how she thought you finally liked her back. After she spent literal years pining after you!”

“No…” Mark felt like he couldn’t breathe. “No, no, no. That… that’s not right. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t like Minjeong, I like—” his voice caught in his throat. “I like Y/N.”

Karina let out another bitter laugh. “Yeah? Well, you sure have a fucked up way of showing it.”

“No, I— I don’t remember that! I don’t remember kissing Minjeong! I swear to god, Karina, I would never do that to Y/N...” his voice cracked, panic making his words rush out in a desperate tumble. “I don’t remember! I don’t—”

“Save it, Mark.” Karina’s face hardened. “I’m not the one you should be begging for forgiveness to. But it doesn’t even matter, you've already ruined everything. She’s not gonna take you back, not after that. So do her a favor and stay the hell away from her.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the common room.

Mark trudged back to the Gryffindor common room looking deader than the ghosts that roamed the castle. His head was spinning, Karina’s words replaying in his mind like a haunting echo.

He couldn’t believe it. He kissed Minjeong. How the hell could he not remember something like that? Was he really that drunk that night? But it didn’t make any sense. He’d never gotten so drunk on butterbeer that he completely blacked out before.

It was eating him alive. The image of you looking at him with absolute disgust now made so much painful sense. And if you saw it happen, no wonder you hated him.

By the time he stepped into the boys’ dormitory, Mark looked like someone who’d just been handed a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.

Jaemin, who was drying his hair with a towel, was the first to spot him. “And what the hell happened to you?” he laughed, eyeing Mark’s pale, horrified expression. “You look like you just sat through one of Snape’s scoldings.”

Mark groaned and dropped face-first onto his bed. “Kill me.”

Jaemin raised a brow. “That bad, huh?”

“I screwed up this time, dude. Like… really screwed up.”

“What, did you jinx another student by accident?”

“No.” Mark’s voice was muffled against his pillow. “…I kissed Minjeong.”

“What?!” Jaemin and Chenle —who had just pulled open the curtains of his four-poster bed— exclaimed at the same time.

Mark turned his head just enough to look at them. “I don’t even remember it happening, but apparently, I kissed her during Halloween… and Y/N saw the whole thing. And now she hates me.”

“Dude,” Chenle gawked, disbelief clouding his face. “How the hell do you kiss someone and not remember it?”

“Yeah, that’s insane–” Jaemin started, but then his voice abruptly cut off, his eyes widening like something just clicked in his brain. “…Wait. Halloween?”

Mark lifted his head, brow furrowing. “Yeah?”

Jaemin suddenly shot to his feet and walked over to Mark. “Did you eat any chocolates?”

Mark blinked. “What…?”

“Did you get any chocolates that night?”

“Uh… yeah? Why?”

Jaemin’s face paled. “Oh my god. Dude. Those were doused with Amortentia.”

Mark felt his entire body go cold. “…What?”

“Holy shit,” Jaemin ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely horrified. “You seriously didn’t know?”

Mark sat up so fast his head spun. “What do you mean I didn’t know?! What the hell are you talking about?”

“The chocolates, Mark! Every year during Halloween, girls sneak Amortentia into the chocolates hoping that the guy they like eats them and falls in love with them for a few hours. It’s a whole thing. Why do you think I told you to throw away the ones Y/N gave you years ago?”

Mark’s brain short-circuited. “Wait… what?”

“Dude!” Jaemin looked at him like he was dense. “I told you not to trust those chocolates around Halloween! Renjun’s dad works in Diagon Alley, and he says love potions are always sold out around this time of year because of Hogwarts students.”

“Especially you, dude,” Chenle added “You’re Gryffindor’s Seeker. You’re literally the main target. How did you not know this by now?”

Mark’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might pass out. “I...I didn’t. I thought—I thought the chocolates were from Y/N…” his throat tightened. “But she’d never do that to me…”

Jaemin and Chenle exchanged a look before Jaemin cautiously asked, “…Did they have a card on them?”

Mark blinked, trying to remember. “…No?”

“Exactly!” Jaemin threw his hands up. “Y/N always put a card on her gifts to you, dumbass. She’s never not done that.”

“Oh my god,” Mark’s voice cracked, his hands clutching his hair. “I’m such an idiot! I thought they were from her so I just... I ate them. I didn’t even think—” his stomach twisted in horror. “I kissed Minjeong because of a love potion?”

“Looks like it,” Chenle said grimly.

Mark felt like he was going to throw up. “Oh my god. Y/N must think I’m the worst person alive. She probably thinks I led her on and then went and kissed her best friend—”

“Yeah, well, considering you practically ate her face off in front of her, I’d say that’s a fair assumption,” Chenle shrugged.

“I didn’t mean to! I don’t remember any of it happening!” Mark’s voice cracked as panic completely consumed him. “Oh my god, Y/N hates me. She thinks I—fuck! I have to go talk to her—”

“Woah, woah, no. Don’t do that,” Jaemin said quickly, grabbing his arm.

“What?! Why not?”

“Because if you go to her right now all panicked, she’s just gonna think you’re making excuses! You need proof that you were under a love potion or she’ll never believe you.”

Mark stared at him, wide-eyed. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Minjeong.”

Mark blinked. “…What?”

Jaemin gave him a look. “Minjeong. She’s obviously the one who gave you the chocolates. If you can get her to admit it, Y/N will have to believe you.”

Mark swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “But what if she doesn’t admit it?”

Chenle scoffed. “Then we hex the truth out of her. Don’t worry, we got you.”

Mark could barely process anything. All he could think about was how you must’ve felt watching him kiss Minjeong. How heartbroken you must’ve been. How you probably cried yourself to sleep that night thinking he never cared about you.

You probably still thought that.

Mark’s hands clenched into fists. No. He wasn’t letting you believe that for another second.

An hour later he was pacing outside the Great Hall like a caged animal. Jaemin and Chenle stood nearby, whispering to each other. They were supposed to be helping him stay calm, but so far, their only strategy had been muttering plans that Mark couldn’t even focus on.

“I still think we should just give her Veritaserum and call it a day,” Chenle muttered.

“We’re not drugging anyone,” Jaemin shot back. “We’ll talk to her first.”

“You think she’s just gonna just admit she poisoned him with Amortentia?”

“She doesn’t have to,” Jaemin said with a smug grin. “We just need to pressure her enough that the truth slips out”

Before Mark could ask further, Minjeong appeared at the top of the staircase, chatting with a group of Slytherins.

“There she is,” Jaemin muttered, already moving forward. Mark and Chenle followed.

“Minjeong!” Jaemin called out.

She paused, turning around. When she saw them approaching, her smile faltered.

“Oh,” she said, plastering on a forced grin. “Hey... what’s up?”

“We need to talk,” Mark said, his voice tight.

Minjeong blinked. “Talk?” Her gaze flicked between the three of them. “About what?”

“About Halloween,” Jaemin said pointedly.

Mark watched Minjeong’s face carefully— the way her eyes widened just enough to betray her surprise before she forced her expression back to something neutral.

“Halloween?” she repeated with a weak laugh. “Why would we need to talk about that?”

Mark stepped forward. “Don’t act stupid,” he said quietly.

Minjeong’s smile faltered. “I... don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Chenle crossed his arms. “Then how come Mark doesn’t remember kissing you or anything about that night at all?”

Minjeong scoffed. “What are you insinuating?”

“You laced the chocolates with Amortentia,” Mark cut in, his voice like ice.

Minjeong’s eyes widened. “What?!” she sputtered, her voice rising a little too high. “That’s insane! Why would I do that?”

“You were waiting outside the Gryffindor common room that night,” Jaemin said coldly. “You knew exactly that Mark would think they were from Y/N and you were waiting to see if it worked.”

“That’s not true!” Minjeong snapped. “I didn’t—”

“Everybody else was at the celebration except you,” Chenle said. “You knew he would go to the common room after Hogsmeade, and you sneaked in the chocolates right before we arrived.”

“T-that’s ridiculous!” Minjeong stammered. “I was just leaving the Great Hall when I saw Mark walking around and he kissed me out of nowhere!”

“Bullshit,” Jaemin shot back. “You knew he was drugged and wouldn’t differentiate from the person he really wanted and anyone else.”

“Merlin, you guys are being crazy. Why would I even do that?”

“Because you like him,” Jaemin answered before Mark could. His voice was dripping with amusement, but his eyes were cold. “And you knew you didn’t stand a chance with Y/N around, so you figured a love potion would tip the odds in your favor, right?”

Minjeong scoffed. “As if I would ever--”

“Then swear on your magic,” Chenle challenged, his smile razor-sharp. “Swear on your magic that you didn’t put Amortentia in those chocolates.”

Silence.

Minjeong’s mouth opened then closed. Her eyes darted to Mark, panic slowly blooming in her face. “I—I don’t have to do anything—”

“Swear on your magic, Minjeong.” Mark demanded.

She didn’t.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Jaemin muttered.

Minjeong’s face flooded with color. “You guys are insane! I didn’t do anything! Mark probably wanted to kiss me—”

“Oh, spare me” Chenle snapped, his laugh sharp and incredulous. “You think if he actually wanted to do it, he’d just block out the entire night like it never happened?”

Minjeong’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “H-he was probably just—just embarrassed or something.”

“Embarrassed?” Mark’s voice finally cracked, and whatever grip he had on his composure snapped like a twig. “Embarrassed about what, Minjeong? You’re the one desperate enough to force yourself onto me when I was incapacitated ” His voice was raw, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. “I don’t even like you!”

The words hit Minjeong like a slap to the face. Her entire body visibly recoiled, her mouth parting slightly.

But Mark wasn’t done.

“I like Y/N. I’ve always liked Y/N. And you…” his voice cracked as the words ripped out of him, “you made me kiss you in front of her. Do you have any idea how fucking awful that must’ve been for her?”

Minjeong’s throat bobbed, her face pale. “I—I didn’t mean for her to see.”

“Yes, you did!” Mark shot back, his voice raw and trembling. “Don’t even try to pull that bullshit right now. You knew she was patrolling. You absolutely knew what you were doing. You wanted me to want you, even if it wasn’t real. Even if you had to—” his voice broke slightly, rage burning his throat, “—had to drug me to get it.”

Minjeong flinched, her eyes darting between them. “I didn’t think it would—”

“Exactly!” Mark let out a humorless, bitter laugh. “You didn’t think. You didn’t think about me, you didn’t think about Y/N… You didn’t think about anyone but yourself! All you cared about was getting me no matter what it cost, and you didn’t care how it would make her feel. You—” his voice cracked and he swallowed hard, “—you humiliated her. And she probably thinks I’m the world’s biggest asshole who just played her.”

“I-I swear, I didn’t think it would get this far”

Chenle scoffed. “You literally slipped him a love potion. What the hell did you think was gonna happen?”

Minjeong shot him a glare, but her voice cracked when she tried to defend herself. “I just— I thought maybe if he… if given the chance…. he’d realize he liked me, okay?”

“Are you serious?!” Mark practically exploded. His voice booming with the sheer force of his emotions. “You didn’t think about how messed up it is to force someone into something like that?”

Minjeong was shaking now. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad…”

“But it did,” Mark’s voice broke, his throat tight. “And now I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.”

Silence slammed down on them like a sledgehammer. Minjeong’s face crumpled, but Mark didn’t care. His entire body was shaking with rage, with guilt, with absolute devastation.

And that’s when Mark heard a sharp, shaky intake of breath behind him.

Slowly, he turned around and his heart dropped.

You stood a few feet away, eyes wide. But it wasn’t heartbreak painted across your face. It was pure, unbridled rage.

“You—” your voice shook with fury as you looked at Minjeong. “You drugged him?”

Minjeong froze like a deer caught in headlights. “I—”

“You gave him Amortentia,” you seethed. “You drugged him and then… and then you let him kiss you and you didn’t even stop him?”

“It wasn’t… I didn’t—” Minjeong stammered, panicking now.

“What the fuck is your problem!” you cut her off. “Do you have any idea how messed up that is? You violated him!”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat at the way your voice cracked with fury.

“What?” Minjeong scoffed, suddenly back on the defensive. “It’s not like he didn’t enjoy it in the end—”

“Oh my god,” you recoiled like you were about to be sick. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you think it’s okay to force someone to kiss you under a love potion and then act like it was consensual?”

“I didn’t force him to eat them—”

“You set them up for him like a trap” you shrieked. “You drugged him! You took away his ability to choose! How can you even live with yourself?”

Minjeong looked around like she was hoping someone would swoop in and save her, but no one did. Even the Slytherins she’d been chatting with earlier were watching in stunned silence.

“You… who consoled me all the times I went to bed crying over him!” you spat, your voice raw with emotion.

“I… I’m sorry…”

“Oh, shut up,” you snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing, an apology won’t do it now”

Minjeong opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

“Let me make one thing very clear,” you said through gritted teeth. “You don’t look at him. You don’t speak to him. You don’t breathe in his direction. If I catch you so much as standing near him, I’ll make sure every professor in this castle knows exactly what you did.”

Minjeong didn’t need to be told twice, she practically bolted in the opposite direction, not sparing any of you a glance.

Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

“Y/N…” Mark said weakly, his voice cracking. “I’m so—”

“Don’t,” you choked out, turning back to him. “Please don’t apologize. Just—” your voice broke again, and then suddenly, you were throwing yourself into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry she did that to you.”

Mark held you even tighter. “It’s not your fault. God, Y/N, I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” you whispered. And you meant it.

This was the first time you hugged and Mark realized you fit perfectly in his arms, like you were meant to be there all along. You smelled incredible too. It was that soft, earthy smell of fresh rain on soil and blooming jasmine, the kind of scent that lingered in greenhouses after a long day of tending to plants. It hit him all at once. Of course. That was exactly what the Amortentia had smelled like to him.

His stomach tightened at the realization. The first time he bit into those chocolates, the first person that had flashed through his mind was you.

God, he was such an idiot.

When you finally pulled away, Mark’s entire body screamed at him to pull you back in. To kiss you. To fix everything. His gaze fell to your lips, and he almost gave in but then he remembered Jaemin and Chenle were still very much standing there, watching the two of you with annoyingly amused smiles.

Mark cleared his throat, stepping back slightly. “Uh… thanks, guys. You know, for… everything.”

“Of course, man,” Jaemin grinned. “We couldn’t just let that snake get away with it.”

“I still can’t believe she’d go that far,” you murmured, concern furrowing your brow. “I didn’t even know she liked you like that… or that she was capable of something so—” you swallowed hard, struggling to find the word. “…horrible.” You glanced up at Mark, your eyes still heavy with disbelief.

Mark’s heart ached at the guilt in your voice.

“You couldn’t have known,” he reassured softly. “She fooled everyone with that sweet girl act.”

“Not everyone,” Jaemin muttered under his breath, arms crossed.

“Oh, shut up, just the other day you were talking about how she’s the hottest slyther—” Chenle started, only to get a sharp elbow in the ribs.

“Anyways!” Jaemin cut in quickly, forcing a grin. “We’ll, uh… leave you guys to it. And please, for the love of Merlin, talk. I’m sick of all this miscommunication.”

“Seriously,” Chenle added, smirking. “If I have to live another day of you two silently pining for each other I will offer myself to the werewolves.”

Mark felt his face heat as you laughed softly, and a moment later, Jaemin and Chenle disappeared down the corridor.

You both stood there, your gazes flicking everywhere except each other. The weight of everything that had just happened still hung heavily in the air.

Mark swallowed hard. “So… uh…”

“Come on,” you suddenly said, grabbing his hand before he could finish his sentence.

“Where are we—”

“Just trust me,” you murmured.

Mark let you pull him along, his fingers curling instinctively around yours. You led him up staircase after staircase until you reached the Astronomy Tower and when you finally stepped out onto the platform, Mark couldn't believe his eyes

“Whoa…”

The view was breathtaking. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo across the sky. From this high up, the Hogwarts grounds looked almost dreamlike. The Black Lake glistened like glass, and the Forbidden Forest stretched endlessly beyond it.

“I’ve never been up here during sunset,” Mark admitted, his voice slightly awed. “It’s… beautiful.”

You smiled softly, leaning against the railing. “I thought you’d like it.”

Mark turned to you. “Why?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “…I’ve noticed you do that a lot.”

Mark blinked. “Do what?”

“Stare at the sky.” You smiled faintly, not looking at him. “Whenever you’re playing Quidditch. When it’s a slow game and you’re not chasing the Snitch, you just… look up. Like you’re mesmerized by it.”

Mark’s breath caught.

He didn’t know what hit him harder. The fact that you noticed something so small about him or the fact that you cared enough to remember.

“I didn’t think anyone ever noticed that…” he said quietly.

You glanced at him then, your gaze soft and sincere. “I don’t think anyone else caught it… but I did.”

And that was it.

The final push Mark needed.

“Y/N,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I swear to Merlin…I never wanted to kiss her. The only person I’ve ever thought about kissing is you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught, and Mark took a shaky step closer. “I… I didn’t know it at first. I mean, I did, but I didn’t understand it. Not until I ate those chocolates. Because the first thing I smelled was—” he swallowed thickly, his gaze locking on yours. “It was you. Rain, jasmine, and… and that earthy smell you get when you come back from Herbology. That’s what Amortentia smelled like to me..”

Tears stung your eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Mark…”

“And when I heard what Minjeong did, I thought I was gonna lose my mind. The idea of you thinking I didn’t care about you… that I’d choose her over you… I hated it. I hated myself for hurting you, even if it wasn’t my fault.” His voice broke slightly. “I never wanted anyone else but you.”

The tears finally slipped down your cheeks. “You mean that?”

“With everything in me,” Mark choked.

Mark could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, his hand twitching at his side. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to kiss you.

“Can I—”

“Please,” you cut him off, already stepping toward him.

That was all it took.

Mark crashed his mouth onto yours, his hands instinctively finding your waist as you gripped the front of his sweater. The kiss was desperate, not rushed, but heavy with years of longing. He kissed you like he was afraid you’d slip away if he stopped, and you kissed him like you were trying to make up for all the time you’d lost.

And Merlin, you tasted like heaven.

By the time you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other.

“…I’ve been wanting to do that for years, you know,” Mark admitted, laughing shakily.

You let out a soft laugh. ”Years?”

“Yeah,” he smiled sheepishly. “I think I fell for you the first time you hexed me on the train. I was just too immature to see it.”

Mark swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Can I… can I kiss you again?”

“Mark, you can kiss me whenever you want.” you said, caressing his cheek.

He loved the sound of that.

This time when he kissed you, it was slower. Like he was memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, the fact that you were finally his.

read part 2 here

2K notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 6 months ago

Text

Title: Far Cry Cradle.

Pairing: Yandere!Lilia x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.1k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Somnophilia, Kidnapping, Slight Breeding Kink, Infantilization/Dehumanization, and Implied Pregnancy. Slight Spoilers for Book Seven.

Humans were skittish creatures.

Lilia knew that better than most, but even if he hadn’t, it would’ve been plain to see. Their soldiers required battle cries and marching songs to keep their nerve on the field, their royalty barricaded themselves behind gates of iron and castles of brick, and even the lowliest among them fell back on rumor and superstition to vent their anxiety, telling each other tales of heroes and villains and treachery and valiance as to best root a bit of bravery in one another where they’d failed to plant it in themselves. It was an admirable effort – albeit, a misplaced one. There were things in the world worth being afraid of. Trying to forget that was as foolish as succumbing to it.

You were a skittish creature, certainly. Your condition was no worse than that of the state he found you in, and yet, your trembling had only grown more violent, your muffled noises quickly becoming too pitiful to ignore. It’d been a struggle just to get you back to his cottage, and you’d scrambled into the smallest, darkest possible corner as soon as he’d let you go. It was a miracle you didn’t make a break for the door. At least he knew that, whatever you thought he was going to do to you, it couldn’t have been worse than whatever you’d encountered in the for—

“Please don’t eat me.”

Your voice, cracked and hoarse, brought his attention back to you. He sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and ebbing closer until he stood in front of you. Despite your brazenness, you shied away, sinking that much deeper into your corner. He wondered how long you’d stay there. Any more than a few hours, and he might start to worry.

“I’m going to… eat you?”

A sharp inhale, followed quickly by a shaky nod. “I—In my village, they used to say nocturnal fae considered human flesh to be a delicacy,” you managed, in time. Lilia had to bite back a laugh. “I don’t want to be eaten. If you have to kill me, I’d understand, but I don’t want to be—”

“Relax.” It was more of an order than he meant it to be. Instantly, you went rigid, pulling your knees into your chest and staring at him, doe eyed.

With your panic momentarily thrown into paralysis, he took a moment to evaluate you. You really were in bad shape. Fresh bruises and cuts lined your bare arms and legs, and your clothing had been torn, mended, then torn again. You carried no supplies, but judging from the defensive edge to your posture, the extent of your distress, you’d been fending for yourself for quite a while. Most worryingly, you were barefoot. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain, hungry and cold, was unpleasant. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain, hungry and cold and forced out of comfort so suddenly, you didn’t have time to grab even the most obvious of essentials, was significantly more unpleasant.

He cleared his throat, then fell into a crouch, lowering himself to your height. “Why are you in Briar Valley?”

Your answer came quickly, reflexively. “I was lost.”

“Alright, what were you doing when you got lost?”

This time, your response was less easily provided. “.. picking berries?”

Perfect. You didn’t have nerve to meet his eyes, but lying to his face didn’t seem to cause you so much strife.

Surprisingly, you spoke up without prompting, uncurling slightly. “Are you going to let me go?”

Lilia grit his teeth. Letting you go would be a bad idea, not only because it was the dead of winter and travelling just about anywhere in your state was a death sentence. You were fickle, and nervous, and more than a little disoriented, but you were human, too, and he was in sore need of one of those.

“No,” and then, rolling his eyes as you let out another keening whimper, “For two reasons. Firstly, it’s winter, you’re injured, and if I let you go back out there, you’d only get yourself killed. Secondly, I need—”

As if rehearsed, an ear-piercing cry broke through the cottage’s quiet, immediately replacing any semblance of peace with a misery that outmatched yours ten-fold. Lilia, as exhausted as he’d ever been on the battlefield, let his head fall, forcing himself to take a deep breath before soldiering on. “I have a son,” he said, only just managing to speak over the child’s wailing. “You’ll be taking care of him, during your time here.”

In retrospect, he could’ve been nicer about it – less brisk, more accommodating, leaning more towards a suggestion than a command. But, it wasn’t in his nature to ask questions where he could dull out orders, and if the idea of childrearing was as aversive to you as that of admitting where you hailed from, you did a decent job of masking it. If anything, your expression seemed to soften, your eyes darting in the direction of Silver’s nursery. For the first time since he’d found you, you managed to say something half-way rational.

“…can I meet him?”

Lilia considered it. Waiting until tomorrow morning may have been wiser. You’d have a chance to gather yourself, and he could tend to Silver on his own in the meantime, ready the child to meet someone other than Malleus and himself. It was probably the more considerate thing to do, the smarter thing to do, but the wailing grew louder, and your eyes caught the dim moonlight in a way that almost made you seem eager, and with a rasped sigh, he stood to his full height, signaling for you to do the same. “For a minute or so. He ought to be asleep, by now.”

He turned away from you, and without a word, you scrambled to your feet, tripping over yourself to follow after him.

Humans were sentimental things.

Strangely so. Inexplicably so. Silver had warmed to him immediately, sure, but he’d been a newborn at the time, willing to love anyone who could coo his name and make lights in pretty colors dance on their fingertips. Adults had fewer excuses. Baur’s new son-in-law was rumored to have fallen in love with his now-wife the first time he laid eyes on her, and you…

You could’ve loved a dried patch of thistle, so long as it needed your help.

Lilia made a habit of watching you, generally speaking, but he made sure to hover a little closer whenever you had Silver in your arms – which you almost always did, these days. It was clear that your experience was limited, but you took to childrearing like a fish took to water; dedicating yourself to tending to Silver’s needs as you would’ve your own flesh and blood. Currently, you were sitting by the fire in an age-old rocking chair, bouncing him on one knee and balancing an open book on the other, doing your best to read out some nonsensical fairytale to an unruly audience of one. Or, two, he supposed. He was catching more of it than he’d like to.

When you got to the part about the princess being woken up from an eternal sleep by true love’s kiss, he cut in. “If those are the kind of stories you’ll be telling the boy, it might be better not to speak to him at all.”

Your fear of him seemed to fade more and more with every passing sunrise. Now, you only responded to his chiding with a chime of a laugh, a quick shake of your head. “Talking to children is important. It doesn’t matter what you say, so long as they hear your voice.” You paused, leaning just a little closer to Silver. “Plus, it means you’re going to love me way more than your dad when you’re older. By then, you’ll already know he’s no fun.”

By way of reply, Silver clapped merrily and curled a tiny first around your sleeve. You shot Lilia a triumphant smirk. “See? He’s already playing favorites.”

Lilia pursed his lips. “He never seemed to mind being along with me.”

“Only because he didn’t know any better. You were trying to nurse him on wine, and—”

“Fruit juice,” he corrected.

“Fermented fruit juice. In other words, wine.” Almost protectively, you gathered Silver in your arms, propping him against your shoulder. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to say his name more, either. You should get into the habit while he’s still too young to remember being called ‘the boy’.”

At that, Lilia turned away entirely, huffing. He knew you were right. He’d known that when he named Silver, when he decided he was fit to raise a child with a face he still saw in his darkest dreams. Still, to love a child unconditionally and to be a father were two very different things. He was currently stumbling through the latter, but accomplishing the former was proving more difficult than he would ever care to admit aloud.

With a sigh, he edged closer to you, perching himself on the arm of your chair. “May I hold him?”

You feigned reluctance, but didn’t put up a fight. Silver was passed from one pair of hands to another, and Lilia held the child in his lap. “Silver,” he muttered, bringing up a hand to pinch his cheek gently. Good-tempered as always, Silver stared at him wide-eyed, as if in anticipation. “My first son was much more durable. Then again, he did have the decency to hatch from an egg.”

“That actually explains a lot about Malleus.” You straightened abruptly, clapping your hands together. “Oh, and we’re running low on powdered milk. You should ask him to pick some up, if he plans on visiting this week.”

It was Lilia’s turn to laugh, now – not at anything you’d said, but at his own early misconception. He’d been too embarrassed to say anything after your hasty correction, but now, the confession came more easily, more naturally. “Honestly, I thought that’d be less of a problem with you here. I suppose I was under the impression that humans can make their own.”

A beat passed, then another. When he glanced toward you, he found your head bowed, a prominent flush spread over most of your face. It was cute, in a vulnerable sort of way. Lilia took longer than he should’ve to look away. “…some humans can. Only after they’ve had, uh, a child of their own first, though.” You shrugged. “There are a lot of conditions that have to be met before it’s something you really have to worry about, I guess.

“And you haven’t met those conditions, yet?”

Your blush darkened. “No, I haven’t.”

Ah.

On second thought, you weren’t very doe-like after all. Even a deer would’ve had more talent when it came to hiding its expression.

You were quick to divert your attention, pushing yourself to your feet and smoothing over your skirt. “The sun is setting and I’m getting hungry. Could you watch Silver while I start dinner?”

“I was actually thinking I could—”

“I’d rather starve.”

Humans were confounding things.

Emotional, irrational, ineffective. Pleasure and comfort were put above survival in almost every circumstance, hierarchy was treated as more of suggestion than a rule, and attachments could be formed to anything your unknowable minds deemed worth pitying. The weather grew warmer, the snowstorms fewer and further between, and yet, the idea of you leaving was never revisited. He wasn’t especially eager to broach the topic either, but Lilia had a good reason to want to keep you nearby, to make sure Silver had another set of eyes to watch over him. The same couldn’t be said for you.

“Mind if I join you?”

He glanced up and, of course, found the source of his misery. The picture was perfect; the set that of his cottage painted in the colors of dusk, the focus you dressed in the simple dress and apron gifted to you by Malleus. There was a low huff, a shallow nod, and you crossed the shallow stream, setting yourself next to him where he kneeled. “Silver just fell asleep,” you explained. “I’d give it a good hour or so before he so much as stirs. That kid could sleep through a war if he wanted to.”

“I think he might’ve,” Lilia muttered. You only laughed, leaning into his side.

“So,” you started, peering into the steam, empty save for the occasional chunk of ice drifting on the current. “What are we looking at?”

“Lost in thought, that’s all. There won’t be anything worth looking at until Spring.” He sighed. “I suppose you’ll have returned to your proper home, by then.”

To your credit, you only faltered for a fraction of a moment – catching yourself before you let so much as your sweet, simpering smile fall away. A lesser man may not have noticed it, but Lilia was not a lesser man.

“Do you want me to leave?”

No. He’d give an arm and leg to keep you here. He’d let it snow through Spring, Summer and Fall. He’d teach Silver how to cry whenever you so much as thought about a home outside of his cottage. There were few things he wouldn’t do, if it meant you never left.

“I might be old, but I’m not delusional.” He forced himself to chuckle, the loud airy and only somewhat strained. “There’s some place you belong, some place you came from, and I don’t think it’s in this valley. It’d be selfish of me to keep you any longer than you ought to stay.”

He made a point of not looking at you, his gaze focused on the lining the streambed. There was a long exhale, then a hollow thud as you fell back – collapsing to the half-frozen ground. Just barely above a whisper, you admitted, “I like it here, Lilia.”

“Surely there are things from your own world that you miss.”

“Not as many as you’d think.”

“Comforts, then. I’ve heard wonderful things about electricity.”

“I’m plenty comfortable already. More than I ever was back home.”

“There has to be someone you miss, (Y/n).”

He heard the grass rustle as you rolled onto your side. When he stole a glance in your direction, he saw that you’d left your back to him. “Yeah.” And then, after a long moment, “I guess there should be.”

In an act of either sympathy or cowardice, he gave you time, allowed you space. Long seconds passed before you pulled yourself upright, letting your hands fall into your lap with a weary sigh. “I’ll leave on the first day of Spring,” you decided. “Before you forget how to take care of Silver on your own.”

“He’s still my son, you know.”

“Sure.” And just like that, you were back to beaming. This time, Lilia couldn’t stand to tear his eyes away from you.

“But I’m always going to behis favorite.”

Humans were softened things.

You, more so than most. Your skin felt like milkweed and velvet where his calloused fingers grazed over it, growing softer the farther up he travelled. There was still a winter chill in the air, but the weather was warming steadily, and at some point during the night, you’d kicked your quilts and blankets to the side, leaving you sheltered by only a cloth sleeping gown with sleeves prone to slipping down your shoulders and a skirt eager to pool around your waist. Any other night, Lilia might’ve rolled his eyes, lit the hearth in your bedroom, and left you to your own devices. Another other night, but not tonight.

It was strange, the way he loved you. He’d loved Maleanor, and a part of him always would, but that’d been different. To love Maleanor had been to love a force of nature; a storm as untouchable as it was destructive. He was never going to have her, and in a certain way, he’d always known that. You were different. You weren’t Maleanor. You weren’t distant, or untouchable, or destructive. He already had you.

All he had to do was make sure you couldn’t get away.

He’d expected there to be more guilt, more resignation. Instead, there was only relief as he propped a knee on the edge of your bed, rested a hand next to your sleeping face, allowed himself to ebb and sway closer to you until he was positioned in the space between your legs, his chest nearly pressing into yours. His gaze never left your expression; panicked and contorted, not completely unlike the face you’d worn when he first brought you home. Poor thing. You were having a nightmare.

Removing your dress came first. You were a fitful sleeper, prone to waking at the slightest disturbance, but he wasn’t green to delicate work. You whimpered as he dragged a pointed talon from your collar to your navel, but didn’t stir, didn’t shift, didn’t do anything that might’ve stopped him from bringing his mouth to your collarbone and pressing a feather-soft kiss into the base of your throat, the curve of your chest, the last blue-ringed bruise you carried from the night you met. A selfish, territorial part of him hoped it would never fade, that you’d always carry a mark connecting back to him. A more optimistic, more reasonable faction reminded him that he could simply make more.

His mouth wandered in time with his thoughts. He was careful, cautious as he curled his hands around your thighs, kneading with as much force as he could risk. You were beautiful in your obedience; spreading your legs reflexively, letting out a soft, breathy noise as Lilia settled into the now-open space. The thin fabric of your panties gave away as easily as your gown had, and Lilia’s patience reached its breaking point. Weary of his fangs, he bowed his head and—

Ah.

Humans were sweet, too.

And reactive. Even unconscious, you responded to each hasty swipe and drag of his tongue with a moan, a whine, a mewl so pitiful and so heartbreaking, the idea of ever letting you travel beyond his sight suddenly seemed irresponsible, cruel, unfair to a creature so delicate, it could hardly stand imagine itself to be unwanted. He sighed, letting his hands drift to your waist as he lapped over your clit, as eager to pleasure you as he was to drink in the fruits of his labor. It wasn’t long before your sleep turned restless, your body shifting underneath him in an attempt to escape unfamiliar stimulation. When he refused to let you go so easily, you reacted on instinct; snapping your thighs shut around his head and drawing out a low, reverberating grown from your willing victim.

More. That was what you must’ve wanted – more. He buried himself that much deeper in his task, nuzzling into the inside of your thigh as his tongue spread you open, curling against the walls of your cunt, seeking out anything sensitive, anything vulnerable, anything to make your hips buck into his mouth and your thighs shake where they were still trapped in his hands. He let his teeth scrape over the tender junctions between your thighs, and when that wasn’t enough, ground the bridge of his nose into your clit. Admittedly, it was messy effort; too hasty for your first time. He was tempted to chide himself for being so overly enthusiastic, but the awareness that this was only the first time of countless was enough of a comfort to spur him on.

It wasn’t long before he felt you tense underneath him, sucking in a harsh breath as your cunt clenched around his tongue. He nursed you through your climax (your first ever climax, he chose to believe) until your little whines had turned to near-pained whimpers, until he could no longer stand to limit himself to simply rutting against cold, lifeless bedding. With one more fleeting kiss to the apex of your hip, he pushed himself onto his knees and took to aligning the leaking head of his cock with your entrance, now dripping with arousal and spit. His gaze fixed on your peaceful expression, he thrust into you, no longer patient enough to be quite so gentle.

It was in a state of unparalleled bliss that the watched your eyes snap open, immediately finding him. Your lips parted, a scream already rising in your throat, but he forced his hand over your mouth before it could surface. It wouldn’t do to wake Silver, not at a time like this.

“Easy, love, easy,” he cooed. Your only response was a wince, a twist, a ragged sob reverberating against his palm. He might’ve been offended, had he not been able to feel you growing warmer, growing tighter around his length. “I apologize if there’s any pain. Can you try and relax for me?”

Apparently not. Your hands found their way to his chest, clawing frantically thought the thin material of his tunic. You tried to move his legs, too, but he was quick to put a stop to that, leaning his weight against you and pinning you to the bed. A bit selfishly, he took the opportunity to press his chest to yours, his hips to yours, to root himself that much deeper into you. It was paradise, the way you clung to him. He could only wonder why he didn’t realize how precious you were sooner.

“Easy,” he repeated, more breathlessly. “Would you rather I restrain you?”

The clawing stopped immediately. After a moment, he felt you shake your head.

“And you don’t want to end up hurting yourself, now, do you?”

Another shake, this one more trepid than the first.

“Then listen to me.” He rested his chin on your shoulder, careful not to raise his voice. “Make all the noise you want, but don’t scream. I’m not afraid of seeking out more permanent solutions.”

That was enough to get you to stop moving entirely. He held you close for a second, then another, before pulling away. True to your word (or lack thereof), you kept quiet, catching your bottom lip in your teeth and shutting your eyes so tightly, he could almost believe you no longer cared to look at him. With an airy laugh, he rested a hand next to your head and started to move.

It was your first time. It had to be. If you’d had any experience at all, you wouldn’t have responded to every slow, sentimental thrust with such adorable squeaking, wouldn’t have clung to the sheets with such a heartbreaking desperation. With your compliance ensured, he tried to be delicate, to give you time to adjust, but you made it difficult not to seek out the reactions you seemed so ready to provide. You made it hard not to use more force than he should’ve, not to root himself deeper than he should’ve, not to grind and rut and fuck like some drooling animal, caught up in its own heat. He could tell you were trying to ignore him, but even that had to break, eventually; your hands shooting to his shoulders as he lost his pace, your nails digging into his skin as he found something more substantial, something bordering on rabid. This time, he welcomed your violence. It was the least he could do, to help ground his distraught little love.

“You’re going to stay here.” He didn’t realize he’d meant to say anything aloud until he heard his own voice, low and drawn-out, playing just above your miserable whines and pleasured moans. “You’ll never have to leave. You’ll belong here. You already belong with me.”

“I don’t—”

“You won’t have a choice,” he assured, the comfort in his voice thick and prone to clotting. “Not after tonight.”

He watched horror flash across your expression, then something else, something he couldn’t quite name. It didn’t matter. His lips were already crashing into yours, dragging you into a kiss put off for far, far too long. Light flashed behind his eyes, and some unnamable tether drawn taut inside of him finally snapped. With his hips pressed flush to yours, he stilled and came undone. You followed a moment later, milking him for all he had.

For minutes, it was all he could do to stay trapped there; your warm body pressed into his, your stifled crying the only sound filling the empty space. When he did break from his trance, it was with an airy laugh, a brush of his cheek against yours before he dipped lower, taking shelter in the crook of your neck. Whether or not you could hear him was irrelevant. You’d have plenty of time to listen, from now on.

“You’re going to be a perfect mother.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #yandere twst #twst imagines #yandere lilia x reader #yandere lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

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mytherapyisreading14 · 2 months ago

Note

Hey could you write a fic with post prison Reid where the reader has a crush on him and she doesn’t think he likes her so she keeps it to herself and when they are on a case she she’s Spencer manhandle the unsub and she gets kinda distracted because she wants him to manhandle her and then he finds out about her crush and then he kinda teases her about it then he fucks her like really rough sorry if that doesn’t make sense 😭 also could you make the reader have a thing for his hands lmao

Don‘t get Distracted

Summary: You got distracted when Spencer arrested the UnSub during your current case - he noticed and confronts you back in the hotel.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut, some Fluff (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: Mentions of Knifes and stabbing, dirty talk, kissing, making out, unprotected sex (don’t do that), choking, spanking, orgasm denial, dom!spencer (kinda)

Word Count: 2,9k

Author’s Note: I’m sorry it took me so long to finish this🫢 Anyway, I hope you like it! :)

It isn't like you are trying to fall for Spencer Reid. In fact, you do your absolute best not to. You keep it professional. Friendly. Safe. Because if there is one thing you are sure of, it is that he doesn't feel the same. It isn't anything he does. He isn't cold or rude to you. Quite the opposite – he is kind and polite. But never more than that.

You aren't the type to be noticed by someone like him. Not after everything that happened. Prison changed him, and if there is ever a chance he looked your way before, it is long gone now. So you keep your crush a secret, but some days make that harder than others. Like tonight.

You sit on the edge of the bed, files spread all around you, but your focus is on Spencer. He stands by the window, arms crossed, eyes scanning the city below. You can tell he is thinking. He looks tense. Focused. Hot.

And all you want is to be close to him. To touch him. To tell him you noticed the way his smiles have grown rarer since prison, and that you missed them. That you missed him. But you don't.

The next day, everything shifts. You are closing in on the case, currently on the way to arrest the UnSub. The farmhouse where he is holed up looks like it could collapse any second. You, Spencer, and Morgan decided to split up. You take the back and step over a few broken door frames, your flashlight shining in the dark. A few minutes later you hear a noise.

You recognize it’s Spencer’s. "I need you to put down the knife. Now." You sprint toward the voices, and what you see nearly stops your heart. The UnSub takes a step forward and tries to stab Spencer in the stomach. But Spencer, he is faster. He sidesteps, catches the man’s wrist, twists it back, and then shoves him up against the wall with a force that makes you shiver.

One arm locks the guy in place, while the other brings out the cuffs. He works quick and controlled. And god, you are not okay... Your feet move on autopilot, but your brain doesn't. You can barely think past the rush of heat that explodes inside you at the sight of him. It is like watching a completely different version of him. You stare and just can’t look away.

He turns to you when it’s over. "You okay?" he asks. "Uh—yeah," you manage to breathe out. "I’m fine. Just... Didn’t know you have that in you." His mouth twitches into something between a smile and a smirk for a second. "Prison teaches you a few things." You try to play it cool. You really do. But your cheeks are already burning.

Back at the hotel, you tell yourself to forget it. That it’s just adrenaline. That the reason you’re so flushed has nothing to do with Spencer’s hands and everything to do with the takedown. Yeah, sure.

You avoid him the rest of the evening. Bury yourself in reports, avoid eye contact at dinner. Because the idea that you’ve reacted so obviously… and that he might’ve noticed? Absolutely mortifying. So when there’s a knock at your door around 10 p.m., the last person you expect to see is him.

“Spencer?” you blink. He stands there, holding two cups of tea like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I figured you might need a distraction,” he says. “The last few days were intense.” You hesitate. Just for a second. Because what is he doing here? Still, you step aside. “Yeah. Uh… thanks.”

He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, hands you the tea, and for a while it’s quiet. Then he breaks the silence. “So… you were staring.” You freeze mid-sip. “What?” you ask, trying to act confused. “At the farmhouse.” He turns his head, watching you. “You looked surprised. And a little… flustered.”

“I was not—” you start, but he interrupts you. “You were,” he says, and this time there’s something different in his voice. He’s teasing you. “And then Garcia texted me something… interesting.” Oh god. You already know what’s coming. “No,” you say, but he nods, clearly enjoying himself.

“She said you made a comment about me. Something along the lines of… ‘if Spencer ever wants to manhandle me like that, he can.’ ” You nearly drop the tea. “She did not say that to you,” you say. “She did,” he says with a smirk. You think about an excuse, anything that might save you from total humiliation. “That is—I mean—I don’t mean it like—”.

He tilts his head. “Don’t you?” You blink at him. “I - no, and I… I think you don’t even like me like that.” His expression softens instantly. The teasing fades, just enough for something real to shine through. “What makes you think that?” he asks gently. You shrug, suddenly very aware of how close he’s sitting next to you. “I don’t know. You never… looked at me that way. You always seem kind of... distant.”

Spencer is quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I guess I do.” He looks down at his tea, then back at you. “The truth is… after prison, it was hard to let anyone in. I didn’t feel like myself. I didn’t really trust myself for a while. So I kept my distance.” He pauses. “Maybe I was trying too hard not to look at you that way.”

That shuts your brain down completely. “You were?” you whisper. He nods once. “Ever since I got back. Maybe even before that.” You didn’t expect that, but when his words settle, you grin. “So… what now?” you ask him. He leans in, eyes flicking to your lips for just a second. “Still want me to manhandle you?” he asks with a smirk back in full force. “Spencer!” you say, blushing and playfully hitting his arm.

He laughs and sets his tea aside, hand brushing your knee as he stands. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You stare up at him, still sitting on the bed, heart pounding against your ribs. He is looking at you differently now. “You’re seriously enjoying this,” you say with a shaky voice. “Enjoying what?” he asks, acting oblivious. “Teasing me,” you say, and his smile widens.

“Of course I do.” You roll your eyes playfully. “You’re insufferable,” you say. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “But you still want to kiss me.” You open your mouth, probably to deny it - or argue - or make some sarcastic remark, but nothing comes out. Because he’s already leaning down. And then, finally, his lips brush against yours. It’s barely there at first, but the moment you kiss him back, everything shifts.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb tracing your cheekbone as his mouth moves against yours. You let out a quiet sound you don’t mean to, fingers curling into his shirt, and that’s all it takes for the kiss to deepen. Spencer’s other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer against him and the heat between you is impossible to ignore now.

His lips part slightly against yours, breath hitching when your hand slides up to his neck. The kiss turns messier then, hungrier. Like all the months of silence snap at once, and now there’s no holding back. He exhales against your lips. “You have no idea how long I wanted to do this,” he admits. “Try me,” you whisper, and he kisses you again, harder this time.

You gasp softly as he guides you back onto the bed, one hand bracing beside your head, the other trailing along your waist. His body hovers over yours. His lips ghost down to your jaw, then just below your ear. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, desperate to keep him close, to make this real.

“Spencer,” you breathe out while his hand is sliding under the hem of your shirt, your legs brushing against his. He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. “Tell me you want this,” he says, voice rough and low, “tell me you want me to fuck you.” You look up at him, skin flushed, chest rising and falling in sync with his. “Please Spencer,” you whisper, “I - I need you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me hard. Now.“

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you — like he can’t quite believe this is real. Then he leans down and kisses you again. "If at any point it gets too much for you, just let me know. I don't want to hurt you," he says with a worried look when he pulls back again.

A feeling of warmth and security spreads through you. "You look cute when you're worried," you tease him. "but I don't break easily,“ you say and wink. Then his hands are back on your waist, your back, your skin — everywhere at once. You can’t stop touching him, can’t get close enough to him.

The tension between you, held back for so long, finally melts into heat, passion, pleasure and love. His fingers hook around the hem of your pants and he pulls them off in one quick motion. Your top comes off next, then your bra and panties, that are already soaked through. His eyes trail over your body hungrily and he starts to kiss down your neck slowly.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he whispers in your ear and a shiver runs down your spine. His words and all the kisses make you even more desperate and you can’t help but buck your hips against him. You can feel his erection and want more but he pushes your hips back down. “Someone’s needy,” he says, not giving you what you want yet. “Spencer, please. Don’t make me wait,” you whimper and he chuckles.

He keeps kissing down your body - your breasts first, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You observe his actions and seeing his big, slender hand around your breasts is a sight you didn’t expect to enjoy this much. You moan his name and he looks up and follows your gaze. “Like what you see, angel?” he asks and you nod. His hands continue to roam over your body, down to your stomach and between your thighs.

He keeps his eyes on you, observing every little reaction before he finally runs his fingers through your folds. “So wet, is this all for me?” he asks and you nod. “Words, angel. Tell me how good I make you feel,” he says, stopping for a moment. “Y-yes. All for you,” you breath out and he looks satisfied.

With one finger he starts to trail circles around your clit, slowly applying more and more pressure before slipping a finger in. It feels so good and you cover your mouth with your hand in order to stop meaning out loudly. Spencer however doesn’t like it, he immediately reaches for your hand and pulls it off. “No, don’t do that. I want to hear you moan for me for me angel.”

He adds another finger and starts to pump them in and out faster, keeping one finger on your clit the whole time. You can’t help but lean forward to watch his hand again, knuckles buried deep inside you. “Looks like my hands are quite a distraction to you,” he says and chuckles again before his other hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just perfectly.

You don’t respond, too focused on the pleasure and how good his hand looks buried inside you. With the sight in front of you, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his hand wrapped around your throat it doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build up. Your legs start to shake slightly and you clench around Spencers fingers. You’re almost there when he suddenly pulls out. You whine. “Spencer, what the hell are you doing? I was so close!” you curse.

“I know. But I to feel you come around my cock,” he says before he starts to take his clothes off. When he unbuttons his pants your eyes widen. He’s certainly bigger than you expected. He starts to stroke his cock and you can’t help but watch him. Even though you can’t wait to feel him inside you, you enjoy watching him. Then he leans down and spreads your legs further apart.

He lines himself up at your entrance, sliding through your wet folds and teasing your clit again before he finally pushes inside you. “So tight and wet for me, angel. You’re all mine now,” he says. He gives you some time to adjust before he starts to pound into you. He leans down next, sucking on your neck and breasts, leaving hickeys everywhere and claiming you as his.

The room is filled with your moans and whimpers and when Spencer looks down and sees his cock sliding in and out of you he groans. You wouldn't have thought that something could turn you on even more, but hearing him groan certainly did. “Oh god, so good. Pl - please, don’t stop,” you manage to breath out, your mind already lost in all the pleasure.

His grip on your hips tightens and he increases his pace. He can feel you clench around him and almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He applies pressure on your clit again, playing close attention to your reactions and when your close again he pulls out of you. “A- Again? Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. You can tell he enjoys the control he has over you. “I hate you so much right now,” you say but he just grins.

“Say it like you mean it,” he says before he suddenly grabs you and flips you over. You’re on all fours now, ass up in the air facing him. He immediately slides back into you, pounding into you hard from behind and hitting new angles and reaching spots you never could. One of his hand slides up your back and into your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail and pulling hard.

Your back arches up and you can feel your body pressed against his. His other hand suddenly comes down on your ass, spanking you. You moan out his name so loud that you’re afraid your neighbours know now what you’re doing in here, but you don’t really care. “That’s what you wanted, am I right? For me to fuck you? To spank you?” Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you’re too overwhelmed to answer him.

Spencer how ever doesn‘t like that. The hand he just hand in your hair goes down to your throat again while he gives you an another spank. “Answer me,” he says and slows down, pressing you against his body and leaning down next to your ear. “Tell me how much you love this,” he whispers in your ear. “I- I love this. I love it when you fuck me hard, Spencer,” you say quickly, afraid that he’ll not let you come at all if you don’t.

“Good girl,” he says and kisses the spot behind your ear gently before he picks up his pace again. You can feel him twitch inside you, telling you that he’s getting close now too. “I’m gonna tell you when you’re allowed to come. I want us to come together, do you understand?” he asks as if he’s read your thoughts. “Yes,” you breath out quickly before you get too lost in the pleasure again.

He thrusts into you again a few times before he slides his hand forward, teasing your clit with his fingers again. “Come for me, angel. Now,” he says and you let go. Your orgasm crashes over you and you never had one this intense before. You can feel him twitch inside you before he finishes too. For a second you see stars. When you finally come down, he lets go of you and slides out.

You lay down together, completely out of breath and he pulls you in his arms. Neither of you say a word but he holds you close to him, gently stroking your hair. It’s a quiet, peaceful moment but after a while Spencer speaks up. “You should go to the toilet now. I don’t want you to get UTIs,” he says and you groan. “You know how to ruin a moment, don’t you Dr. Reid?” you joke and he laughs.

“I’m just worried about your health, angel,” he says and leans down to kiss your head. “We can still cuddle when you come back, okay?” he says and you smile. “Definitely. You don’t get rid of me that easily,” you tease him. “Good. Because I don’t want to. Now hurry, I want you back in my arms.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #prison reid #post prison reid #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

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eclipsedechoesofmywords · 2 months ago

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"Of All Things"

[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: When Bucky gets a new haircut, you find yourself struggling to keep your composure—and your thoughts—under control.

Warnings: Fluff, mild teasing, mildly suggestive(just a few lines)

Word Count: 1.1k words

A/N: Is this a safe space to admit that Bucky with short hair is my favorite look of his? I love all of his looks(that man can't help but look perfect at all times) but the short hair did something to me🤧 Writing this to get a break from all the joaquín reqs

It did always seem like Bucky was hell-bent on making you go insane with everything he did. That godforsaken haircut was just about your last straw.

Bucky walked around, seemingly unaware of your eyes on him. His undercut accentuated the curve of his jaw, and the way the shorter strands at the top fell just slightly over his forehead made you want to scream. Or yank him into a supply closet. You hadn't decided yet.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee like he hadn't single-handedly ruined your ability to form coherent thoughts. When he raked a hand through his hair—again—you nearly dropped the mug you were holding.

"You good?" Sam's voice snapped you out of your trance. He followed your gaze to Bucky, smirk widening. "Oh. Oh. You're real good, huh?"

"Shut up," you hissed, turning to the sink to hide your burning face.

Bucky glanced over, catching your eyes. His lips quirked into a half-smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Morning," he said, voice rough from sleep—or maybe just to torture you further.

"Morning," you managed, sounding strangled.

Sam snorted into his cereal.

---

"You know..."

"I don't," you cut off Sam immediately.

He snickered. "If you wanna keep looking like you wanna climb Buck like a tree, maybe be a bit more subtle."

"Shut up," you said, looking pointedly down at the file you were supposed to be reading.

"Seriously. Just ask him out."

"No. Shut up."

"I could set you up."

"Absolutely not." That sounded like a threat coming from Sam Wilson.

He looked offended. "I can set you two up on a date easily."

"I would actually rather jump into the ocean," you said decidedly.

He huffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not that bad."

You make a face. It was his turn to mutter 'Shut up'. You couldn't help but laugh.

---

The next few days were an exercise in self-control. Bucky's hair wasn't just a haircut—it was a distraction. Every time he walked into a room, your brain short-circuited. The way he'd tilt his head when listening, the way the sunlight caught the sharp lines of his undercut, the way he absentmindedly tousled the longer strands on top… It was criminal.

You were convinced he knew. How could he not? The man was a supersoldier, for crying out loud—he had enhanced senses and tactical awareness—yet he remained infuriatingly oblivious, chatting with you about mission reports or the merits of Thai food over pizza like he wasn't the reason you were losing your mind.

It all came to a head during training.

You were sparring in the gym, Sam perched on a bench nearby with a bag of popcorn he'd 'borrowed' from the kitchen. Bucky wasn't wearing a shirt, sweat glistening on his shoulders as he dodged your half-hearted jab.

"C'mon, doll," he teased, smirking as you narrowly missed his ribs.

Doll. The nickname punched the air from your lungs. His eyes crinkled, playful and bright, and you swore his biceps flexed extra hard just to spite you.

You lunged again, but your foot caught on the mat. Bucky's metal arm shot out to steady you, his grip warm and firm on your waist. His face was suddenly inches from yours, his breath against your cheek. "Easy," he murmured, voice low. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

Sam's popcorn crunching stopped. The gym felt suddenly, unbearably hot.

"I'm—fine," you stammered, jerking back like he'd burned you. Bucky frowned, brow furrowing as he studied you.

"You're flushed. You overheating?"

Sam choked on a laugh. "Oh, she's overheatin' alright."

You shot him a death glare. Bucky, still oblivious, reached for a towel and tossed it to you. "Take five. Hydrate."

As you gulped down the water, Sam came to stand beside you, wickedly grinning. "You're pathetic."

"I hate you," you muttered.

"He's gonna figure it out eventually."

"He won't. His idea of flirting is asking if I want extra grenades on missions."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, maybe you should try the direct approach. Y'know, like normal people."

"And say what? ‘Hey, Bucky, your hair makes me want to ride you into the sunset'?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "I mean, it's a start—"

"No."

---

Later that evening, you found Bucky alone on the common room couch, flipping through a worn copy of The Hobbit. His hair was still damp from a shower, curls soft and loose.

He glanced up, patting the space beside him. "Hey. Sam said you wanted to talk about the op coming up?"

That bastard.

You sat stiffly, hyperaware of the heat radiating off him. "Uh. Yeah. Extraction points. Y'know. Logistics."

Bucky nodded, serious. "Right. So, we'll need—"

You weren't listening. His thumb was tracing the edge of the book's spine, his other hand gesturing vaguely as he spoke. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and dear God—

"—what do you think?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "You okay? You've been… off."

"Off?"

"Jumpy."

You swallowed. "Just tired."

Bucky set the book down, turning to face you fully. His knee brushed yours. "You sure?"

The concern in his voice undid you. "Your hair," you blurted.

He froze. "…My hair?"

"It's—different. Good different! Like, really good. Not that it wasn't good before! But now it's… uh…" You gestured vaguely, face burning.

Bucky stared. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face—the kind that made your stomach flip. "It's what?"

"Shut up."

He leaned closer, voice dropping. "You've been staring at me for days. Thought I'd done something wrong."

"You did," you muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You did," you repeated, unable to stop the words now that they'd started. "That haircut is… it's mean. Like you're actively trying to sabotage my productivity."

Bucky's grin turned downright smug. He shifted closer, the weight of his thigh pressing against yours on the couch. "Mean, huh? Didn't realize my barber choices were a tactical threat."

"Well, they are," you huffed, crossing your arms.

"Right," he laughed.

You swallowed, courage sparking. "Sam said I should ask you out."

Bucky snorted. "Wilson's a menace."

"But… is he wrong?"

His eyes snapped back to yours, blue and blazing. The playfulness vanished, replaced by something hotter, more intent. "No," he said roughly. "He's not."

You didn't know who moved first. One second, you were drowning in the space between his breaths; the next, his mouth was on yours, fierce and sweet. The book tumbled to the floor as his hands cradled your face, metal and flesh equally gentle. His lips were chapped, his kiss a slow burn that melted every coherent thought worse than his hair did.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, Bucky chuckled—a warm, disbelieving sound. "Should've gotten this haircut months ago."

You swatted his shoulder, laughing. "Don't you dare change it back."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured, stealing another kiss.

Somewhere down the hall, Sam's victorious whoop echoed. "Took you two long enough!"

Bucky groaned, resting his forehead against your collarbone. "I'm gonna strangle him with his own wings."

"Later," you promised, threading your fingers through his stupid, perfect hair.

A/N 2: I'm considering writing part 2 of this as a bucky x reader x sam. imagining em pouncing on sam has me.

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retrosabers · 10 months ago

Text

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄’𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: the scent of you is driving logan crazy.

contains: mild 18+ content. MINORS DNI. mentions of masturbation (m&f), a steamy little make out, and implications of future smut

word count: 1.8k

a/n: not me trying to capitalize off the hugh jackman renaissance and revive my dead blog…anyways, this is my first time writing for logan! hope you all enjoy <3

i feel like we don’t talk enough about logan’s enhanced sense of smell.

the man can catch a whiff of someone the second they walk into the room, even the building sometimes if their scent is strong enough. it’s especially heightened when he realizes he’s attracted to you. at first he thought maybe it was because you were always wearing perfume, the aroma lingering around the mansion wherever you traveled. but then it became such an intense, all encompassing sensation that he knew it was something deeper.

his suspicions are confirmed one night as he walks past your room. if the faint whimpers he heard weren't enough confirmation of your activities, then the scent that fills his nostrils seals the deal.

you’re touching yourself. and he can smell your arousal.

it makes something stir in his stomach. the animal-like urges he always tries so hard to keep at bay threaten to make their way to the surface the longer he stands frozen in the hallway. logan attempts to shake the heat that spreads across his skin as he makes his way back to his own room, but it only ends with him cumming hard into his hand an hour later.

the next day, when he catches you on your way out of charles’ office, you offer him the same kind, beaming smile you always did. then that damned smell fills his nostrils again and his fists curl at his sides once you’re out of eyesight.

there’s only one explanation for it.

you’re ovulating.

which means there’s no escaping his desires unless you stay out of reach.

so for his sake and yours, he decides to just avoid you completely until the week is over. he can’t risk caving to those urges and doing something stupid and irrational.

of course you’re completely oblivious to it. you think that he’s just being weird, going through another rut of being a standoffish loner like he was when he first arrived at the mansion. because after about a week, he’s back to being a bit friendlier, to being the logan you had grown to call a close friend.

then the cycle seems to repeat itself and you notice it’s just you he’s avoiding.

you try and wrack your brain to think of anything you could’ve done to warrant this kind of isolation. you hoped if something upset logan he would just talk to you about it instead of playing this childish game of hot and cold.

after a couple months, you decide you’ve had enough.

cornering him was a difficult task. but you were observant enough to know certain parts of his routine, including exactly when he would be lingering in the common areas after all the kids had gone to sleep. after two failed attempts of trying to catch him in the kitchen, you finally managed to find him alone and unsuspecting.

“why have you been avoiding me?” you blurt, wanting to cut right to the chase. you’re expecting him to flinch a little bit, perhaps even be stunned.

but he knew you were coming. logan knew it was only a matter of time before you noticed his schtick.

still, he decides to look for an excuse, any excuse, to cover up the real reason.

“m’not avoiding you” he grumbles halfheartedly around the rim of a beer bottle. taking an extra long swig, he finally turns to look at you; leaning against the doorway with your arms folded and a look akin to annoyance plastered across your pretty face.

you cock your head to the side, clearly unimpressed with his answer.

“a few days ago, i watched you back out of a room the minute you realized i was in it,” you start to list off, counting with your fingers. “last month you avoided the wing where the gym was altogether while i was going through a new training regimen.”

logan winces at the memory. the scent of your pheromones was intoxicating. so much so that he couldn’t step foot anywhere near the gym without feeling like he needed to rub one out.

“and the month before that,” you huff out a sad laugh, voice suddenly soft and quiet. “you didn’t even say goodbye before you went off on that mission with scott and jean.”

guilt overtakes him quickly at the pain in your tone.

you’ve never looked smaller as you pick at a loose thread on your sweatpants. “did i do something wrong?”

“no,�� logan reassures, jumping out of his seat at record speed, though still trying to maintain some distance. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“then what is it? you sigh exasperatedly, desperate to put an end to this nagging feeling that’s been eating away at you. “logan, you know if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”

and he wants to. he so badly wants to, maybe even see if you’ll offer to help him out. but you’re you. the sweetest, kindest thing he’s ever known and he’ll be damned if he lets his curse of a mutation ruin whatever relationship the two of you have.

but then you’re inching closer and his skin starts buzzing again. his senses are consumed by you. by the way you look up at him with big, wide eyes, the softness of your skin as you reach to place a comforting hand on his forearm. it's all too much, and he finds himself pulling away from you with a grunt.

it hurts to see him retreat from you so aggressively. his jaw is clenched tight, his fists at his sides even tighter as the veins in his arms bulge bigger than you’ve ever seen before. he looks pained. like he’s fighting something internally.

“logan,” you approach him cautiously, unsure of what exactly to do. “what’s going on?”

his eyes squeeze shut at the sound of your voice. “just, please go back to your room.”

“i’m not leaving you like this.”

“m’not asking you,” he grits out, almost like a growl. “i’m telling you. go back to your room.”

now he was starting to piss you off. you narrow your eyes, leaning your hip against the counter.

“or what?”

suddenly he’s crowding your space, chest heaving up and down as he stares at you with pupils so wide his eyes are nearly black. logan’s voice is scarily level when he utters his final warning.

“or i’m gonna do something i regret.”

when you shift closer to him, his nose twitches with a sniff. the raise of your brow doesn’t go unnoticed, and he knows that you’re not leaving this room until you get to the bottom of what he’s been hiding.

that’s when something inside logan decides to throw caution to the wind, just for a minute.

“i can smell you.”

curiosity morphs into confusion at his admission. you shake your head.

“i don’t understand.”

then, the man’s gaze travels to the waistband of your pajama pants, the tension in his jaw growing more taught by the second. his hands flex at his sides, trying to keep him grounded and calm as he finally admits what’s been driving him mad.

“i can smell you.”

the emphasis on the last word takes a minute to register. logan watches as the gears turn behind your eyes, catches the exact moment of realization as your gaze softens and your lips part.

oh.

slowly things start to piece together. how logan’s behavior seemed to fall around the same time these past couple months. a few weeks before your cycle.

he wasn’t avoiding you because he was angry, or upset. he was avoiding you because you were fucking ovulating.

logan expects you to flee, to be completely weirded out and steer clear of him for the foreseeable future. what he’s not expecting, is the words that come out of your mouth.

“i can help you with that if you want.”

you say it with such nonchalance, such casualness that he wonders if you’re even really grasping what you’ve said.

the wolverine shakes his head. “trust me, you don’t want this.”

he doesn’t quite believe his own words as he watches you close the distance between your bodies. something you’ve been desperate to do for as long as you can remember.

the thin fabric of his tank top and the soft cotton of your t-shirt is the only thing standing between you both. your chests are mere centimeters from touching and logan can feel the heat radiating from your bodies as his confession hangs heavy in the air. then that fucking smell comes back tenfold and he groans.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me,” your voice is sickly sweet, dripping with desire as your fingers ghost over the waistband of his jeans. he feels like a horny teenager as he preens at the barely there contact.

logan breathes your name, a last stitch effort to get you to run, though he knows it’s futile. if there’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that you're stubborn. unmoving in your ways.

and that when you want something, you don’t stop until you get it.

your hand comes up to cradle the side of his face, a rather gentle touch he wasn’t anticipating. his eyes flutter shut as you swipe your thumb over the expanse of his cheekbone.

your words are barely above a whisper. “i trust you, logan. completely.”

that’s all he needs to hear before he throws any sense of self control out the window.

he surges forward and captures your lips in what is possibly the most heated kiss you’ve ever experienced. you nearly stumble over at the sheer force of it. logan’s large hands fly to your waist, yours to the back of his neck as his tongue prods for entrance into your mouth. it’s messy, almost primal as you let him ravish you like he’s been thinking about for weeks.

you moan and he swallows the sound greedily, desperate to hear it again, and again, and again. when his lips move to press against the column of your throat, you know this is going to escalate into exactly what you hoped it would.

“logan,” you breathe out as he focuses on your pulse point, his hands wandering further south to knead at the globes of your ass. “not here.”

“why not?” he mutters, all smirky and smug as he continues to press wet hot kisses against your neck.

“because i would prefer if you didn’t fuck me where our friends eat.”

he laughs, a deep vibration felt against your chest as you absentmindedly grind your core against his. it makes him bring his mouth back up to yours, stealing one final kiss before he pulls away.

looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. and by god you might just let him.

pressing a playful smack against your backside, he gently nudges you in the direction of the corridor.

“lead the way sugar.”

thanks for reading! <3

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine smut #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #x men #the wolverine

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godmadeaterribleerror · 5 months ago

Text

I'll Crawl Home

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!

Title from Work Song by Hozier

Word Count: 8.6k

You don’t know who these men are.

There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out what’s wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he can’t, because the object was guarded against outside interference.

The third one is silent. He’s a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, he’s less lanky, and he’s touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and you’d… barely even noticed. Not because he’s almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadn’t seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadn’t been worried at all.

But you’re worried. As your brain starts to kick into gear—dragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludge—you are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying you’re sick—you’re tired, but overall you feel fine—and why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why he’s so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.

Why when you yank your arm from Handsome’s grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord.

“No!” You shout, and it’s more at yourself, but Handsome’s whole face falls, and he looks like he’s been shot, stabbed, and bled out.

“Shit, she’s talking- Hey,” Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. “Can you- Wait, where are you going-“

“She seems to be experiencing panic.” Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. “She is likely trying to get to Dean.”

You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where Handsome—Dean?—had backed away.

“Fuck!” You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.

All three men shout your name, but Dean’s deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one who’s holding you upright.

Your body is slumped into him. It’s the same way you’ve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because she’d felt like the safest place to be in the world.

But you don’t know Dean.

“Don’t- don’t touch me-“ You try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you don’t understand. “Who are you people?!”

Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. “It’s just us, it’s-“ Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.

At least you still know how to flinch away.

“I don’t knowwho the fuck you are,” you hiss at him. “Or what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.” You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. “Please let me go home.”

Trench Coat nods. “I am able to-“

“Cas.” Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench Coat—Cas—frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“She has requested something I can assist with-“

“She doesn’t fucking know who you are.” Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. “What the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesn’t remember?”

Tall shakes his head. “We don’t know that she doesn’t remember the bunker-“

“Yeah? Hey,” Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. “You believe in angels?”

You blink. “Like, with wings?”

Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.

“That doesn’t prove anything-“

“It proves enough, Sammy.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Tall—Sammy—crosses his arms, glaring at Dean. “She remembers her own name, it’s not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!”

“That’s cause her name is her name! She doesn’t remember who we are! She’s not going to remember anything else-“

“It may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.” Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. You’re impressed. Dean seems scary.

Even if your body doesn’t seem to agree.

“Good idea, Cas, let’s just-“ Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. “Hi, I’m-“

“Sammy?”

“It’s actually Sam- wait.” Sam blinks at you. “You remember my name?“

“No.” You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. “He said it.”

“Oh.” Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Dean.” You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Dean’s face. “But I don’t remember it, I just heard it. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.

“Don’t apologize, we’re just- It’s complicated.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

You nod—you don’t seem to have a choice, and you’re not nearly as panicked as you should be—and Sam swallows.

“Okay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?”

You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.

“What’s wrong?” You look between their identical expressions of worry. “That’s where I-“

Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. “You haven’t lived there in almost six years.”

You blink at him. “No… I- I live there now.”

“No, you-“ Sam lets out a long breath. “How about this, do you know what your job is?”

“Yeah, I’m a librarian.”

That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. “Okay, what kind of car do you drive?”

“I don’t drive.” You glance up at Cas and Dean, and they’re exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. “I, um, I take the bus.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. It’s making you agitated. “Goddamnit, she doesn’t remember anything-“

“Actually, she seems to remember selective things.” Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. “Are you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?”

You aren’t. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the men’s questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.

Dean keeps looking at you. He’s not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know them—that they’re your friends, and you’re cursed, and they’re taking you somewhere safe to help you—and your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.

You really want to touch him. He’s beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now it’s really just Dean in the whole universe.

Just Dean. Here. With you.

The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.

Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide.

He’s warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-

Cas says your name, and you blink at him. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened.

“Are you experiencing memory recall?”

“I, um, what?”

“Your eyes.” He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passenger’s seat. “They began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?”

“I, uh,” you glance in the rearview mirror. Dean’s suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Have I been in this car before?”

“Yeah, you have.” Sam’s words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. “A lot. Cas, you don’t think-“

“I do. I believe it may be our best shot.”

And that’s how it begins. The moment you return to the bunker—a strange, underground building they claim you’ve lived in for years—you’re rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.

You’d consider it useless if it wasn’t working. If your hands didn’t already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didn’t get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesn’t show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.

Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. You’re going to kill him. He’s being obvious, and a little mean.

It doesn’t stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.

“You’ve got something?” Sam’s almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile.

“You drink smoothies.”

“They’re healthy.” Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. “Cas! It’s working!”

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. “Cas left. Said he’s going to look for a better fix.”

Sam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He told me. And you should bring her to her room.”

Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, yeah, good idea. C’mon,“ Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. “This should be good for you.”

When you see your room, it does seem like your room. It’s decorated how you’d decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how you’d paint them, but there’s also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.

“Shit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, where’d you find it?”

You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. “It was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.”

“Hell yeah,” he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. It’s adorable.

You wish he’d stop.

“Dean?”

He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I mean, it’s us. We can be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,” he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, you’re going to let it. “Awesome.”

“You got anything?” Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much.

And none of it is making any make sense at all.

The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but don’t recognize—their dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the street—all as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.

But you think you’ve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. You’ve trailed after him—holding onto the sleeve of his jacket—in the corner store. You’ve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.

And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.

He still won’t look at you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you anymore. He’s locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.

Sam is worried.

“This… isn’t like Dean.” He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.” He gives you an odd look. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. “There was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.”

You sleep in your room again. It’s felt strange, because your body doesn’t seem to like your mattress. It doesn’t relax into it like it should, if you’ve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off.

He’s still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck.

You should’ve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. It’s cruel to you.

Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. You’ll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you.

When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater.

Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. He’s peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps.

As he has no way to know that he’s doing it.

He’s vulnerable. Dean’s body is letting him rest with you at his side. It’s letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though there’s something foreign pressed against him.

And that’s why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that he’d chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.

Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else you’ve ever had.

And he will not love you.

And this is cruel.

But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep.

And you just watch him.

You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.

It’s not foreign.

It feels like you.

And you’re so lost.

You don’t ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions you’d really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about why—if you’re as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are true—he won’t even look at you. About how he’d looked at you before.

About how you’d looked at him.

But Sam’s too busy for you to even really consider it. He’s calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, he’s researching day and night to try and fix you, and he’s coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.

“Sit there.” He points to the driver’s seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how to drive stick-“

“Yeah, you do, Dean- fuck.” Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. “Well, let’s try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?”

You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You don’t even have to think about it, you just can.

It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you drive—telling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinations—and whenever you try to actually dwell on what you’re doing, you make a mistake.

So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.

“Huh.” Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. “I’ve never been here before. I know it’s a stupid question, but do you know where you are?”

“No,” you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. “Not at all.”

“Shit.” He mutters. “Well, you want a drink while we’re here?”

You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.

“This is…” Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. “I’m really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? I’m- I don’t even know where to start here.” He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. “All we’ve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but he’s being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. We’re going to fix this, I promise, but...”

He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You haven’t just sat with Sam since this—whatever this is—started. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesn’t make your skull cave in and your heart burn.

“Can I ask you some stuff?”

Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.

“How did I end up here? Doing,” you gesture vaguely to the air. “This.”

A small smile ghosts over Sam’s lips. “Dean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there you’d kind of saved yourself. You’d covered yourself in dead man’s blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you haven’t left since.”

“And we’re… friends?”

“We are.” Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that he’s bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say you’re never running again. You’re the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-“

You blink at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Eileen. You’re friends with her too. You’re friends with everybody.” Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. “Even Rowena likes you. We didn’t have to threaten her to help us out here.”

Even as you return Sam’s smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and you’re too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.

“What about Dean?” You whisper. “Am I friends with him?”

Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot.

“Yes. Kind of. I… I don’t know.” He mutters, frowning at the pavement. “It’s complicated. I’m not- This isn’t really my place, you know?”

You swallow. “Does he hate me?”

Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot.

“No.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you don’t understand. “I don’t think either of you could hate each other if you-“

“I fucking hate you!” You scream, shoving his chest. He doesn’t flinch. He never flinches.

Asshole.

“You’re drunk.” Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. “We need to go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Winchester-“

“Yeah, you are.”

Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when he’s gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns.

Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he can’t return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.

“You’re going to sleep it off.” Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him that’s impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep.

“I don’t need to sleep it off!” You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“I am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-“

“Why not?” You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. “Afraid I’ll find someone else? That I’ll crawl into another bed, and they’ll actually like me, and you’ll lose your favorite pet?”

He scowls. “We’re not having this conversation right now-“

“Why not?! You know it’s the truth, Dean! I’m just, I’m your fucking toy and you hate sharing-“

He says your name in a low warning, but you can’t stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that it’s out it’s volcanic. You couldn’t keep it in if you tried.

“But you’ll never actually care about me! I’m easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! We’re easy for each other and that’s it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-“

“You’re not trying to get over me.” He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. “You don’t have anything to get over. You’re just fucking wasted-“

“Yeah, I am, because you won’t just say that I matter to you-“

“Of course you matter to me, you’re my friend-“

“You’re not my friend!” You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. “Friends don’t do this to each other!”

You’re dizzy. You feel a little faint.

And you’d just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But he’s still grabbing you and keeping you steady.

You really wish he wouldn’t. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didn’t make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didn’t really care.

“You done?” He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.

“I hate you, Dean.” You mumble, even as you slump into him. “I fucking hate you.”

He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. “I know you do, babygirl.” He mutters, and you don’t think he knows you’re still awake. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that you’d really like to leave, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window.

He doesn’t push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you don’t see Dean at all.

But he’s everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. He’d made jokes, and you’d giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly you’re laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and he’s at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you can’t actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

His whole face is set in that memory, but it’s all hazy. You don’t know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you weren’t sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didn’t actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice.

You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You’ve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where it’s supposed to be, but your brain isn’t. It’s restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.

Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you don’t know why. You don’t know him. Every time you’ve seen Cas since you’ve returned, he’s asked you questions you don’t know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you don’t. You want to, you want to so bad, but you’re adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you can’t even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like there’s a lifeline, just out of reach, but you can’t grab it. It’s not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. It’s nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.

You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now it’s missing. Vanished from your hands.

And now you’re lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse you’re not sure exists.

You walk into the War Room, and Dean’s already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles.

“Hi.” You whisper, and he grins.

“Hey.”

“It’s late.” You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. He’s amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. “It’s bad for your back to sleep in a chair.”

“Bad for my back?” He chuckles. “I’m not that old, sweetheart-“

“It’s bad for everyone’s back-“

“Sam sleeps in his chair all the time.” Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. “You’re not on his ass about it.”

You sigh. You don’t want to entertain this. You’re too tired for the fight that it will lead to. “Please just go sleep in your bed, Dean.”

He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until you’re standing between his legs.

“Maybe I will, if you’re there with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You whisper, unable to move away. He’s going to break your heart again. You’re going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. “Please.”

He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesn’t say another word.

But he doesn’t go to bed either. He stands up until you’re trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s scanning over your face with an expression like he’s lost, like he’s looking for something he’s desperate to find but terrified to see.

You don’t know if he finds it.

All you know is that he’s touching you, and you’re molding into him, and whatever he does to you, you’ll allow.

As long as it’s Dean doing it.

He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didn’t think he’d own a song like this. It’s slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.

He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon you’re dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didn’t think he’d know how to do this. You didn’t think he’d ever do it with you.

But you’re lost in him, and you’ve never felt like you’ve belonged anywhere else. You’re drowning in the song, but Dean’s drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Dean’s eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever you’ll need to be.

When he leans in to kiss you, you don’t push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Dean’s taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.

And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. It’s not desperate and needy, it’s long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like it’s more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever.

When he pulls away—the song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your ears—he still doesn’t speak. And you don’t move. You’ll be a statue until Dean’s command brings your back to life. You’ll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.

And that’s pathetic.

But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you don’t even try not to follow him.

Because Dean would never let you stray from where you’re safe. Next to him.

Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you don’t. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They don’t seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like it’s an anesthetic.

This must be Dean’s room. If your body couldn’t tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. It’s obviously lived in—clothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresser—and there’s only one lived in room you haven’t entered before. Dean’s.

Sam hadn’t even shown you where it was.

Apparently he hadn’t needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.

And that’s your shirt, on the bedside table-

Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your body—he’s already explored it, found places you didn’t even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of you—and Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.

Neither of you are speaking. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasn’t been moaned or mumbled or whispered.

All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and you’ll leave, but you know you won’t. Dean’s changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.

You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you can’t get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, you’d never stop him.

That’s another taste you’ll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he can’t take back.

But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering you’ve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.

And he always takes it. Dean’s eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But it’s never like you’re prey. Never like you’re just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost.

It’s like you’re something he’s trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him he’s trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. It’s why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until you’re writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lips—pressing his tongue flat against you and sucking—a coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.

Your body only ever does that for Dean.

You don’t think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, he’s always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like it’s a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more.

He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his time—teasing and edging you until you’re a whining mess—but tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isn’t taunting or lustful, it’s relaxed. And he still doesn’t speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chest—stopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because he’s Dean and he can’t help himself—it’s louder than anything else in the world. He’s taking him time because he’s trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, you’ll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.

So he’s giving you a reason to stay.

He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where you’re begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours.

He’s kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.

And he falls right back into you.

From there it’s only Dean. Fucking you until you’re scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until you’re just a squirming, whining mess and he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace.

He doesn’t slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. You’ll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, you’ll never push him away.

He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.

Dean rolls you over until he’s beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesn’t pull out—letting his cum drip down and dry on your thighs—and when your look up at him he’s staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression.

His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now you’re going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean’s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but he’s still not yours to have.

Yet, you can’t move.

And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost don’t hear it. You’re not sure you did hear it.

“Dean?”

He repeats your name, and it’s barely a breath.

“Wha-“

“I love you.” He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “‘m sorry. Love you. Don’t leave.” He buries his face in your hair, and he won’t remember this in the morning. “Please don’t leave me.”

“What are you doing in here.”

You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. He’s not glaring at you, even though you’ve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, rooted to the spot. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.

“Whatever.” He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. “Get out.”

“No.”

You don’t know why you said that. This isn’t your place to be, especially when Dean doesn’t want anything to do with you. When he doesn’t want you here. But you don’t feel adrift here. And you don’t want to go.

Dean stares at you. “What.”

“I’m not going.” You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. “That’s my shirt.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. “So a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.”

You swallow. “Why do you have my shirt, Dean.”

He goes rigid, but doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You don’t realize you’re walking forward he’s closer. It feels right. “Sam said-“

“Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.

“Then you tell me.” You sound like you’re pleading. You kind of are. “Every time I remember something you’re there, but you won’t even look at me! I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what’s going on, and I keep thinking about you but you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me-“

Dean’s jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“It is! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!” You feel like you’re going to cry. You haven’t even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.

Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.

“I’m, I’m so lost, and I don’t know what’s going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me who you are, Sam won’t tell me who you are, and I feel like I’m supposed to know but I don’t! I know who I am but I feel like I’m missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-“

Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.

You’re sick of being lost. You’re sick of not knowing. And when you meet Dean’s eyes they’re like a beacon, and you can’t help but float into them.

“Who am I to you, Dean?”

“You’re the love of my life.” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You don’t think he expected it.

“I’m-“

His hands grab your face—holding you so carefully, like he’s practiced this a million time—and you melt into his touch.

“You’re everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.” Dean’s thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I can’t fix it. I’ve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you I’d try, but I can’t. I- I can’t. I need your help but you’re-“ He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. “I can’t do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now you’re-“

Dean’s whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like you’re going to vanish, and-

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you don’t care. Maybe he’ll leave an indent on your body. “We can just fucking destroy it-“

“Because trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.” You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head.

“There’s another way. There’s always another way-“

“We don’t have time for another way. And it won’t be permanent. All curses can be cured.”

“But we don’t even know what the hell this one does!” He shouts, and you don’t wince. He’s not mad at you. “‘Taking what you value most’ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-“

“I know. But it will kill you if I don’t-“

“We don’t know that-“

You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And you’ll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.

“Listen.” You hold Dean’s gaze, making your voice firm. “Don’t tell Sam and Cas. They’ll get caught on what happened, and you’ll all start fighting, and we can’t afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and I’ll be okay. Got it?”

Dean shakes his head. “How am I supposed to know what you value if you won’t tell me-“

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I- I honestly can’t think of what I value most, but hopefully you’ll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.” You give him a soft smile. “I believe in you, Dean. And if I’m awake, I’ll try to help you.”

“You won’t remember-“

“It should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably won’t even know anything is wrong.”

“But I’ll know.” He mutters. “And what if I don’t get the thing back to you-“

“You will get it back to me.” You say simply. He’s Dean. You trust him with more than your life. “And I’ll be okay.”

You start to move away, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but he’s still strong. And you don’t really want to leave him at all.

“Don’t. Please.” He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. “I’m not worth this, baby.”

“Of course you are.” You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.

So you turn away.

Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany that—if your hand wasn’t already pressed on the object’s cool surface—would have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.

But it’s too late. And everything goes dark.

“Dean.”

He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and it’s destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.

But Dean is good.

“You love me?”

He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like you’re going to push him away and he’ll have to just take it.

He won’t. Because you do the only thing you’re certain you know how to do.

You kiss him.

It’s like fireworks, but there’s no electrically you haven’t felt before, no colors you’ve never seen. You’re swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. You’ve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.

Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesn’t crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain.

Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he grins.

“Hey,” Dean says your name, and you’ve done this dance before. “Are you-“

You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him.

You are.

And he’s built the same way for you.

End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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trivia-yandere · 4 months ago

Text

off limits (2)

things get even more complicated the next morning when your brother makes his appearance

word count: 3.896

warning: smut, oral sex (m/f), cowgirl, nipple sucking, creampie, unprotected sex, dirty talking, praising,

part one

Jungkook wouldn’t say he doesn’t have sex. He’s single and has the occasional one night stands and casual hookups.

However, this was different. You were different. He’s insatiable when it comes to you and the entire night goes by and he finds that he cannot keep his hands off of you - and vice versa, of course. After the shower, you and him did watch a movie, though it ended with you right on top of him. He thought if you and him didn’t go to the bedroom that there wouldn’t be any temptations, but of course the couch served no better.

Jungkook soon grasps that this was only a one time thing - that after tonight, you and he would have to go back to what you both know. You would be someone he cared about deeply, but still his best friend's sister and completely off limits.

With that in mind, Jungkook allows himself to be consumed by you. His eyes adore the way your breast bounces in his face when you ride him, his mouth immediately wrapping around your perky nipples and he never wanted to stop.

The fucking soon went towards the kitchen when you and Jungkook took a break to get some snacks, yet for some reason it ended up with you on the kitchen island. His tongue licks through your fold hungrily, nails digging into the skin of your thigh to keep you right in place - though you weren’t running from him. His head bobs back and forth in rhythmic motion while his free hand grips your breast. Your moans bounces off of the walls of his kitchen, only further encouraging him to suckle against your clit.

Your hands grip at Jungkook’s hair, hips buckling against his tongue and he allows it, wanting you to feel the utmost pleasure he could give.

You cumming against his tongue, thighs quivering and toes curling, doesn’t end there. No, somehow you still fall to your knees and take his cock in your mouth. Those eyes stare up at him as you suck him in, tongue swirling around his tip like a lollipop. It was so sinful coming from you - even after he fucked you so many times in such a short amount of hours. Those same innocent eyes that would stare at him when he visited your brother now held a deeper meaning. “Did you know I liked you?” rings through his head as your hand wraps around his shaft and you begin to pump while you suck.

Doing this is still surreal to you, you think. For as long as you’ve wanted Jungkook, being here in his home was like a dream you’ve never known you wanted until it happened.

“You’re…really good at this.” Jungkook’s cheeks are warm and red when his voice cracks a bit - that, and you’re still looking up at him with those eyes.

Placing a hand onto your face, Jungkook’s thumb runs along your cheek, your mouth taking him deeper and deeper. He’s moaning softly, watching the way his cock disappears and reappears inside your warm, wet mouth. You’re very beautiful, he thinks, and nothing you do would change his perspective of you. Sure, it would be harder to look his friend in the face after fucking his sister in so many ways, but he tells himself that this was a one time thing. That he and you would get this out of your systems and go back to normal; whatever normal was.

Jungkook doesn’t want to cum in your mouth and further degrade you, but you refuse to let him leave. You’re suckling with little air, eyes tearing but still, you want him to.

Jungkook and you sit quietly at his breakfast table, both naked and sweaty. The shower you and he took hours ago seemed to be a complete waste of time. You and he are eating - nothing special, just something he’s managed to whip up to replenish the the energy you and he fucked out of one another.

Jungkook glances up at you as you eat, silently slurping the noodles into your mouth. His mind wanders to how in the world he was going to stop thinking about you in this light. This couldn’t happen again, no matter if you and he wanted it.

Jungkook already feels the disappointment sink in. The sun is coming up as it’s early morning and eventually you’d have to leave. He’d drive you home, of course, as he wasn’t going to let you do the walk of shame. Still, a part of him feels as though maybe he’s took advantage of your vulnerable position.

Jungkook tries to piece together the puzzle pieces. “Did you know that I liked you?” keeps ringing into his head and his memories are attempting to piece together any clues that he missed out on besides the ones he caught onto earlier.

“There you go again.”

Your voice startles Jungkook out of his thoughts.

“You’re thinking far too much into things again.” you murmur, eyes glancing up at him.

“I feel like an asshole.” Jungkook responds.

You exhale softly. Of course the regret was going to settle in. It was hard to not look at you and not see his best friend. “Jay-”

“It’s not just about Jay.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I…how drunk were you?”

You furrow your brows. “Not that drunk.” you giggle, a bit uncertain. “I didn’t come onto you because I was drunk, Jungkook. Maybe it gave me a little courage but-”

“I took advantage of you, didn’t I?” Jungkook was jumping into a deeper hole the longer his mind kept thinking about everything.

“What?” you hiss. “Jungkook, can you be real with yourself?” You shift in the chair.

“I did, Y/N.” Jungkook’s eyes are hard and full of disdain. “I…I hadn’t realized that maybe your feelings for me drove you to do what we did.”

Your own body is warm as Jungkook speaks.

“I should’ve stopped it after you told me last night. It shouldn’t have gone further.”

“Is this your way of rejecting me easily?”

Your tone doesn’t have any emotion in it, but your face does sadden a bit. Jungkook immediately feels a jolt in his heart but he’s unsure how to respond.

“I’m not a little girl who’s oblivious to things, Kook.” you press further. “Can I ask you a question?”

Jungkook nods. “Of course.”

“Is Jay the only reason?”

Jungkook blinks.

“Is he the only reason why you and I…can’t be anything more?” you tilt your head, those eyes staring at him so intently that he was becoming small himself. “Or is that you don’t see me as nothing more?”

Jungkook is taken aback, but he’s never thought about it until now. You were always off limits that anything concerning you that wasn’t platonic never lingered in his mind longer than a few minutes.

“I care for you.” Jungkook murmurs.

You roll your eyes. “Like a sister?” you ask, scoffing bitterly.

“No!” Jungkook interjects. “I told you I haven’t seen you like that in years, Y/N. It’s complicated.” he feels like ripping his hair out, but he only has himself to blame for putting you in this position. He should’ve fought harder with his own emotions and attractions. “I…want you to not settle for someone like me. You deserve someone that loves you. Not someone who goes behind his friends back with his sister.”

“Can you stop mentioning him? Fuck Jay.” you hiss. For years, it’s always been Jay. Jay said this, Jay did that, Jay doesn’t want you doing this. You were tired of hearing about your brother and his constant interjection of your life. “I want you to give me a reason why you and I can’t be together. Without you mentioning him.”

Jungkook swallows. The kitchen is quiet. You and him were in a staring battle, though his soft eyes don’t mimic your hard ones.

“There isn't one, right?” you ask, tilting your head.

There wasn’t, and that lingers on Jungkook’s mind for far too long. He enjoys the company you give. You were a kind and smart person, and you had the same amount of fire in you that he finds intriguing. You know him just as much as he knows you, years of friendship that lead to this very moment.

Jungkook doesn’t realize you have gotten up until you’re directly in front of him.

“You want me more than you think, Kookie.” you murmur, seating yourself onto the table, pushing his plate of food aside. “Why do you keep fighting it?”

Your foot places itself against his thigh, your eyebrow arching.

Jungkook gulps, chest filling with air. You were doing it again - playing with him until he gave you what you wanted. He bites his lips when your foot inches closer to him, and he’s ashamed to find that his cock is already hardening like a horny teenager who’s experiencing sex for the first time.

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” Jungkook sighs, yet he makes no action in pushing himself away from you.

“Why don’t you stop me?” your lips are forming a small, seductive smile that’s full of mischief. “Prove that you don’t want me, Kookie.”

“I do want you.” Jungkook answers.

“Then what’s stopping you from having me?” you shrug your shoulders. “Jay can’t hate the both of us forever.”

Your legs are opening for him just in time for Jungkook to catch sight of your pussy. You’d think that after hours of fucking, that he wouldn’t be interested in continuing. However, he was a simple creature and he was absolutely interested.

“How do you know I’m the right man for you?” Jungkook places his hands onto your thighs. They’re soft, causing his palms to tingle and his arms to erupt with goosebumps.

“How do you know you’re not?” you retort.

Touche, Jungkook thinks. He squeezes your thighs, hands inching closer and closer to your pussy.

“I…I should’ve asked for a date first.” Jungkook leans closer to you, as do you. “Instead of fucking you all night.”

You can’t help the giggle that comes from your lips. Jungkook kisses up your chest, to your neck and then your jaw.

“You still have time.” you murmur, leaning your head to the side so that Jungkook has more access to your neck. “But for now…you can just fuck me again.”

Jungkook chuckles, but he complies.

Jungkook pushes himself up from his seat, chair scraping against the floor. His cock is already hard and throbbing just as your pussy is wet and clenching.

Jungkook grasps his cock and centers himself at your hole, his lips immediately connecting with yours as he pushes himself inside. Your hands lay at the low of his back as he begins to enter you slowly, your lips dancing with his.

Jungkook doesn’t get tired of feeling your walls around him and he’s positive he probably never would. Years of attraction building up had led to the insatiable feeling the two of you were going through and it wasn’t going to stop until you were out of his sight.

Jungkook disconnects from your lips to inhale, his speed increasing. The table beneath you squeaks and scrapes against the floor, but neither of you care about the added noise.

“Your pussy feels better after each time.” Jungkook grunts, eyes glancing down to where his cock is pounding into you. You’re already creaming around him, a sight that he could never get tired of.

Your nails dig into his skin, encouraging him to fuck you harder. Deeper; however. Your own breathing increases and your eyes snap shut, grunts and moans coming from your throat.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” Jungkook continues to speak. “I wish you could milk my cock all the time.”

“Who s-says I can’t?” you stutter a response. “You could fuck me every night…you’re just scared to.”

Your walls squeeze around Jungkook’s cock as he begins to pound deeper inside of you. Maybe your teasing was encouraging him.

“You could’ve been fucking me this whole time if you weren’t acting like a scared little boy.”

Jungkook removes himself from you and proceeds to roughly turn your body around. He enters you again and immediately continues his brutal pace. The new position allows a deeper entrance that you feel in your stomach.

“I’m not scared.” Jungkook says against your neck, his tongue licking your skin. “Maybe I had respect for you.”

Jungkook’s right hand moves between your legs, touching your wet clit. His fingers work harshly against it, circling the throbbing bud as he fucks you.

“But you’re such a slut that you want me to treat you like one.” Jungkook’s teeth sink into your neck possessively, his fingers working your clit. Skin slapping echoes throughout the room, evidence of just how good he was fucking you.

“I could be a slut with someone else who isn’t scared of my brother.” you taunt further. You find this Jungkook to be hot.

The hand that once holds your waist comes up to clench your neck. He presses you against his chest, hips rutting inside of you. His wet hand slaps your clit and you yelp at the sudden impact, pussy squeezing his ramming cock.

“I thought you said I still had time, baby?” Jungkook’s voice dropped a few tones and it was driving you crazy. “I can’t just tell him I fucked you all night, right? How you were begging for more and more like the little whore you are.”

Your thighs are shaking, and Jungkook knows you are being overstimulated. He doesn’t stop his aggressive pace, or his assault on your clit.

“Is that what you want? You want me to tell him how I came in you each and every time?” Jungkook’s teeth sink into your neck again, no longer caring if he’s left marks behind or not. The thought of you going to someone else and being this way was something he now knew he didn’t want.

“Fuck, Kook,” your hand grasps his wrist to try to stop him - or slow him down - but Jungkook doesn’t let up.

“No, I’ll have to spare the details, right?” Jungkook’s cock springs in and out of you so good that your eyes are rolling. “And I’ll have to pretend I asked you out wholesomely. It’ll be our little secret, right?”

Wrong.

Just as you’re cumming all over him, juices covering your thighs, Jungkook isn’t far behind. His cum mixes with your own and it shoots so deep into you that you’re both squirming with pleasure.

A knock sounds on the door and both you and Jungkook are alert. He’s still inside of you when it sounds again, this time louder.

“Who could that be?” you whisper.

“Kook?”

You stiffen, and Jungkook pales. His heart pounds outside his chest and you can feel it right against your back.

“Go in the room, Y/N.” Jungkook untangles himself from you. “Now.”

You’re left wide eyed and slightly trembling.

Jungkook pushes you lightly. “He has a key, Y/N. He only knocks before he uses it.” he hisses in a low tone.

Jungkook slams the door to his bedroom shut before locking it. His heart is pounding far too loud for him to process anything.

“Stay here.” Jungkook says, pulling up his sweats and tying it around his waist. Down the hall, he can hear Jay using the spare key he’s given him. “And don’t make a sound or move.”

You’re terrified yourself and nod your head. You tuck yourself beneath Jungkook’s covers, something you’d do when you were a child and afraid of what the darkness brought. This time, the darkness being Jay.

Jungkook opens his bedroom door just as the front door opens. He closes his door and makes his way down the hall. “Jay?” Jungkook calls, his footsteps growing closer to the front door.

“Kook.” Jay says, eyes glancing at his friend.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook tries not to look as terrified as he was. Jay didn’t scare him per se. However, his reaction to finding out what has happened with you here wasn’t going to be less than ugly.

“Yeah.” Jay nods. “Um, have you seen Y/N?”

Jungkook’s hand squeezes and he furrows his brows. “Seen Y/N?” He shakes his head softly. “Why-”

“She didn’t come home last night.” Jay continues. “And…I knew that but.” Jay lets out a low sigh. “I…I tried calling her and she didn’t answer. And…I went to one of her friends' houses.”

Jungkook attempts to hide his feelings. He drove you and your friends last night. They obvious know who he was and-

“And they said you drove them home.” Jay says. “And that Y/N stayed with them.”

Jungkook releases a breath. Your friends had covered for you - in a way.

“Yeah. I did.” Jungkook nods. “Um…I should’ve told you, man-”

“I know she went to a club.” Jay scoffs. “She forgets I follow a few of her friends.” Jay doesn’t say that it’s for the sole reason to keep up with you. “She wasn’t there when I got to her friends. She isn’t home and…” Jay glances at Jungkook’s hands. “...did she say anything to you before you dropped her off?”

Jungkook shakes his head. He felt horrible for putting Jay in this position. He doesn’t deserve to be lied to. He was a caring older brother who wanted what was best for you. Jungkook was a man of his word. He had every intention of doing the right thing - of asking Jay if it was alright for you and him to date. It would be easier than him finding out that he went behind his back and fucked you the entire night.

“Damn.” Jay sighs, glancing back up from Jungkook’s hands to his face. “You still do that,” he states.

“What do you mean?”

Jay shrugs his shoulders, taking a few steps closer. Jay is a few feet away.

“Y/N…she doesn’t realize that everything I do is to protect her.” Jay doesn’t bother answering Jungkook’s question. “She just thinks I’m the asshole older brother who keeps her from doing anything.”

“She’ll come around.” Jungkook quips. “Just…you should just talk to her.”

“I should.” Jay scoffs with a nod of his head. “When we were kids, Kook…” Jay begins, glancing around the apartment. “...you always did this thing, you know? When you were lying, you’d squeeze your hands together.”

The room is quiet and neither of the two speak. There’s realization in Jay’s eyes, one that causes Jungkook’s heart to jolt again.

“You haven’t stopped squeezing your hands since I got here.” Jay continues. “And…I wouldn’t know why if I didn’t know that my sister was here with you.” Jay takes another step closer, as Jungkook remains frozen. “And she’s been here with you the entire night. Her phone location told me.”

You’re dressed and contemplate running down the hall when you hear a loud crash. Your nerves are pounding through you as you listen to everything Jay was saying.

How in the world did he get your location? You never gave it to him.

Anger now seeps through you and you open the door to his bedroom just as you hear a loud crash from just down the hall.

“How long have you been fucking my sister, Kook?” Jay’s voice booms off the walls. You make your way towards them, eyes widening as Jungkook is on the ground, holding a bloodied nose.

“Are you fucking insane?!” you screech, making your presence known.

“Am I insane?” Jay scoffs. “Get in the car.”

“Fuck you.” you hiss, feet making their way towards Jungkook.

“You had enough of that, haven’t you?” Jay barks back. “You’ve lied and said you didn’t know where my sister was but somehow she magically appears.” he scoffs.

“Jay,” Jungkook begins. He wasn’t going to fight his friend and he’d gladly take the bloody nose.

“I’m not fucking Jungkook!” you screech, a lie, of course. But Jay looks ready to land another fist on Jungkook and you weren’t going to sit by and watch that. “I got drunk last night and called Jungkook because I knew you would act insane!”

Jay glances at you, then down to Jungkook.

“I begged Jungkook to let me stay here tonight so I can sober up.” you continue.

“Why couldn’t you stay with your friends?” Jay asks, skeptical.

“And deal with their boyfriend drama?” you scoff. “I slept in the bed, Jungkook slept on the couch.”

You were a better liar that even Jungkook was beginning to believe. Was lying a good idea, however? It would make Jay even more suspicious of the two of you if you and he suddenly ended up being a couple.

“I knew calling you meant that I had to deal with your judgment.” your voice drops. “And I put Jungkook in the middle of it…”

You want to hold Jungkook, but you can’t. If Jay was going to calm down it meant that he had to believe this lie.

“Why the fuck do you have my location? How do you even have it?” you hiss, glaring. “You’re such a fucking nuisance-”

“It’s for your own protection!” Jay hisses back. “You lied about everything last night what the fuck am I suppose to think?”

“I’m not a little kid, Jay. I should call the police.” you cross your arms. “That has to be illegal.”

“Fuck you, Y/N, seriously.” Jay waves you off. “You…you know why I jumped to conclusions regarding you and him.”

Jungkook doesn’t bother speaking. It was better if he just sat here and allowed you two to bicker back and forth.

“Kook.”

Your eyes glance down towards the bloodied-nose man and your heart jumps. Damn Jay for being such a creep. You were going to get a whole new phone entirely.

“I’m-”

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook shakes his head instead. You swallow, widening your eyes. “I…should’ve called you and told you that Y/N was here.”

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” Jay murmurs. He lets out a sigh, feet making their way towards Jungkook and gives him a hand up from the ground. “It’s-”

“I get it, man.” Jungkook chuckles. “No harm done.”

From behind Jay, Jungkook’s eyes lock with yours.

“We should get going, right?” you say to Jay, your eyes never leaving Jungkook’s. “You made enough of a mess.”

Jay groans. You were absolutely right.

“I’m going to go get my things. Go wait in the car.” you grumble, walking past him. “You’re buying me breakfast because of your insane fuck up.”

With a few more apologies, Jay does walk out and into his car while Jungkook grabs a towel from the kitchen to wipe his nose.

“Kook,” you say a few moments later. You couldn’t dwell for long or Jay would grow suspicious again. “I’m so sorry-”

“Please stop apologizing.” Jungkook says, tone a bit muffled with the towel.

Your brows knit and you moan lowly. Your feet make their way towards him and you grab his hand.

“Does this…change anything?” you ask, a look in your eyes that shows just how you were feeling.

Jungkook sniffles, lowering the blooded towel. His lips twitch upwards and he leans closer to you. “Not at all.” he murmurs, placing a kiss onto your lips.

It just meant that courting you was going to be a lot harder than he expected.

final part

@sweetempathprunetree @investedreader @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious @momnomnom @dreamersparacosm @deeznutkooks @purple-realms @jenniebyrubies @ahgasegotarmy116 @marylight098 @matryoshka-poetry @laross860 @jimineepaboya @joonislife

#off limits #trivia-yandere #explicit-tae #jungkook x reader #bts smut #btswritingcafe #btswritersclub #bangtanwriters net #bangtan smut #jungkook smut #bangtanwritershq #btswriterscollective #brothers best friend

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roanofarcc · 11 months ago

Text

WORTH YOUR WHILE

pairing. Tyler Owens x fem!reader

summary. as the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. while you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, tyler barreled into it head-first. but things change the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than in the safely of a newsroom.

warnings. dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornados, a curse word or two, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info.

word count. 2.9k || masterlist

a/n. hopping on the glen powell bandwagon bc he and daisy absolutely killed it in twisters!! feel free to send me requests for tyler, kate, and javi!

“If you keep looking at him like that your face will get stuck in a scowl, which is really bad for television,” your friend said, leaning into your side. With a roll of your eyes, you managed to pull your attention away from the self-titled ‘tornado wrangler’ who had stirred up a fuss in the line for funnel cakes. People buzzed all around him as he signed shirts and took photos, never dropping his smile that you often dreamed about smacking right off of his face.

You had grown up alongside Tyler Owens, never as friends but as friends of friends. After you both split off for school to study meteorology, you returned to your hometown for very different reasons. Tyler started in the business of storm chasing, live streaming his adventures to people all across the internet who sensationalized the dangerous weather, and you scored a job as your hometown’s Weather Woman. Your job was to warn people about the threat of tornados while his was to drive head-on into them.

That was where you two drew your lines in the sand when it came to each other. He thought you were scared of taking risks while you thought his thrill-seeking was stupid and would eventually get him or one of his team members hurt. Those opinions on each other's job led to you two butting heads every time you encountered one another. His mere presence was enough to annoy you, especially at your favorite event of the summer, the fair.

“Look who it is,” Tyler’s voice sounded near you and your friend nudged your arm in the direction of it. You looked away from her just as he approached you, tipping his hat and flashing his teeth in a smile. “Didn’t know they still let you out of the newsroom these days.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, as the air of arrogance surrounding him nearly choked you out. “Don’t you have a tornado to chase?” you asked, wanting to end the conversation before it fully started. Unfortunately, he never seemed put off by your jabs, but he was assumed by them.

“I took the night off,” he replied. “I wanted to see if there was anything worth my while here tonight.”

You raised your brows. “Oh really?” He nodded, smiling brightly at you. “Find anything yet?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “It’d be easier if she answered my phone calls.”

Tyler disliked you a whole lot less than you disliked him. After you graduated and he started storm chasing, he tried at every given opportunity to get you to join his team. Even years later he still tried to, no matter how many times you told him the risk he was putting himself and his team in every time they barreled into a storm cell. He was relentless but you were happy where you were at. You wanted to help people when it came to severe weather, not make the storm look enticing for internet audiences.

“I already told you, I’m not interested.” Storm chasing was a dangerous game that you had no intention of playing. Being from the Midwest, you had lived through your share of tornados. Chasing them was not in apart of your career path.

His smile faded slightly before he seemed to snap back to himself. “All I’m saying is, we could use a mind like yours out in the field.” The compliment was nice, you could admit that to yourself, but it wouldn’t win you over. He knew that too. “But suit yourself.” And with that he walked off, meeting up with the rest of his team that joined him at the fair that night.

Your friend whistled lowly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Say no to a man like that.” You rolled your eyes once more as the line you were in moved. As she stepped forward to order, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder in the direction Tyler had walked off in. You saw him happily chatting with his team before glancing back at you for just a moment before you returned your gaze forward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of colorful lights, sticky heat, and enough fried food to make your stomach ache in the best possible way. Your friend left after a couple hours of roaming the prize barns and laughing at the kids screaming their heads off on the carnival rides, but you stuck around for a little longer, relishing in the sweet nostalgia the fair brought you.

Before you had taken a couple of well-deserved days of work, you and your team had predicted a storm front moving. Later that night was supposed to bring rainfall and a thunderstorm or two popping up around the county and neighboring areas. You thought you’d have plenty of time to roam the fair for a little longer until it hit, but you noticed the shift in the weather almost immediately. The sudden uptick in wind pricked the back of your neck as the distant rumble of thunder echoed above the fair chaos.

It was difficult to predict everything, that you had learned early on in your career. It also was hard to predict how quickly weather could change from bad to deadly. One moment you’re gazing up through the lights into the night sky, trying to gauge the incoming storm, and the next, the sirens are blaring across the fairgrounds.

The crowd of people running in every direction made the walkways hazardous. You were knocked into and jostled around as you tried to run toward the restrooms that doubled as storm shelters. They were clear at the opposite end of the walkway, but they were your closest option. You dodged and weaved through the swarms of people, trying to stay on your feet.

You only made it halfway to the shelter when you were stopped by the awful cries of a little girl who sat under the counter of one of the carnival games. She hugged her knees to her chest and called out for her mom, but no one who rushed by stopped. You didn’t think twice before you sidestepped the fleeing crowd and crouched down in front of the little girl. The wind picked up significantly, blowing the cheap prizes right out of the booths and sending everything flying around and knocking into people.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you raised your voice above the howl of wind and frantic people.

“My mom!” she cried harder. “I lost her. I don’t know where she is!”

You glanced back up at the sky. The lightning strikes illuminated the massive, dark mass moving in quickly. “Come with me, and I’ll help you find her, okay?”

The noise all around grew louder, frightening the little girl, along with yourself, but as you outstretched your hand, she took it, and you quickly pulled her to her feet before you both took off running. The speakers urged everyone to seek shelter immediately, but you watched as people raced in the opposite direction of the shelters, probably bee-lining to cars in an awful call. They’d never out race it.

“Charlotte!” Someone screamed and the little girl whipped her head around before she tugged hard on your hand. From behind you, the little girl’s mother appeared, immediately scooping up her daughter in her arms. “Oh my, God. Thank you!” she said, looking at you with teary eyes.

“We have to take cover,” you told her, gently pushing her forward. “The shelter’s just up that way.” She thanked you again before she took off with her daughter in her arms. You wanted to follow, it was stupid not to when the wind gusts became more powerful, rattling everything dangerously and making it hard to think. But there were more people unsure of where to go and what to do. Groups of kids who had been dropped off for the evening stumbling frantically out of the rides and still dizzy. You stepped from the path and tried to direct people as best you could, shouting in tune with the speaker and the sirens for them to hurry into the shelter.

It wasn’t until larger objects were plucked from the ground and tossed into the air like paper did you abandoned your aiding. The tornado screeched to life, ripping apart pieces of the show barns and rides with ease. You tried to close the distance between yourself and the shelter once more, but it wasn’t people in need that stopped you, it was a sheet of metal pried from the side of one of the food trucks. You tried to dodge the hurling objects, but the sheet came at you hard and fast.

It sliced your shin, sending a wave of pain up through the rest of your leg. You stumbled, determined to stay upright, but the wind was too strong for your limping figure, and you toppled against the concrete, slamming your knees against the ground before you rolled over into the lousy shelter of a game’s tent somehow still standing.

Panic started to set in as the storm raged around you, loud and monstrous. You covered your wound with your hands, unsure of where the blaring of the tornado ended and the fast-paced beat of your heart started, drumming in your ears and beating against your skull. You knew you couldn’t stay there, but leaving was just as dangerous as every attraction of the fair swirled around in the air. The cut from your leg painted your hands red and throbbed; it would only slow you down if you tried to run, creating even more of a risk.

You didn’t know what to do. All of your life, the storms you had faced you’d always been lucky enough to find shelter in plenty of time, from the cellar in your backyard to your high school’s basement created just for such an occasion.

Through the freight train sounding winds and your thundering heart, you heard a couple of voices that had to be close. Tearing your eyes away from the cut on your leg, you watched as another group of people sprinted down the walkway as someone yelled behind them to run.

In all of your life, you’d never been so relieved to see Tyler Owens’s face standing just a few feet away; he hadn’t spotted you, and for a terrifying moment you thought he’d be unable to hear you yell out above the screaming storm. But somehow, he did. His head snapped in your direction, rain-coated and windblown, looking both out of sorts and in his element.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he ran over to you, dodging flying debris that grew larger by the minute. The second he crouched down in front of you, his eyes flickered onto your legs, and the blood seeping out between your fingers as you tried to keep pressure on the wound.

“I thought I’d just hang out here,” you said, your sarcasm watered down by the fear clear in your teary eyes.

His brows furrowed, deep in thought for a moment as he looked between you and the distance there was still to cross to the only close shelter. Without saying a word, he peeled off his wet flannel, leaving himself in a shirt that was already nearly soaked through as the sideways rain beat down against the both of you. “I’m gonna tie this around your leg and then we’re gonna run, okay?”

You shook your head frantically. The ache in your legs was intense and you had already lost a good amount of blood, not enough to make you woozy but you were well on your way. It felt like your heart had crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe as panic soaked you to the bone along with the rain. Everything around you seemed to be ripped from the ground, even the anchored tent you were under was seconds away from being picked up.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing a hold of your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “It’ll be alright. You gotta trust me, though.” The sincerity shined in his eyes, bright as the rest of the power around you flickered wickedly. With a nod of your head, you dropped your hands from your leg and let him tie the flannel around your cut. As he pulled it tight, you cried out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating until it was knotted. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and helped you up, looping an arm around your waist as you slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to respond as the tent you were under was plucked from the ground, anchors and all, and flung backward into the tornado as it tore through the front entrance of the fairgrounds. Tyler took off, giving you no choice but to follow.

You two stayed low, trying desperately to avoid the flying objects. With each step your leg burned, but Tyler’s hold on you was strong, not giving any room for you to lag behind or slip away. It felt like hours of running, but it was no more than a minute or two before you reached the shelter. The only major injury between the two of you was your leg, otherwise, you both collected a series of little cuts and bruises from your journey.

Stumbling into the restroom, you were met with a hoard of scared fairgoers. You two managed to find a spot to slot yourself in with everyone else. He helped you lower yourself to the floor back in the corner just as the tornado was fully on top of you. You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your head. Tyler sat flushed against your side; you felt his hands rest over the top of yours as the building rattled violently. Squeezing your eyes shut, you refused to see the damage until the howl of wind subsided and people started to stir.

Once it was over, everyone stumbled out of the shelter, getting jumbled together as police and ambulances rushed to the scene. Amongst people pushing and shoving to find their loved ones and get the hell home, you and Tyler were separated and before you could look for him, an EMT caught sight of your bloodied leg and ushered you to one of the ambulances.

You sat on the back after the EMT stitched up your leg, looking over the torn-apart fairgrounds. Debris was littered everywhere, food trucks and carts overturned and some demolished, and rides were dislocated and strewn about in pieces.

You clutched the bloodied flannel to your chest, shivering in the loss of adrenaline and temperature drop, and watched the sea of people until a familiar face popped into view, looking a little frantic as he stumbled through the crowd looking like he was in search of something. His eyes finally settled on you before he quickly pushed his way through the crowd until he reached you.

“Hi,” you greeted, smiling tiredly.

“I was looking for you everywhere,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I looked away for a second and you were gone and-” You continued to smile, and he stopped himself. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” you replied quietly before clearing your throat. “I, um, I just wanted to thank you. And I’m sorry for ruining your flannel.” You gestured to the ruined piece of clothing resting in your lap.

Tyler was quiet for a moment, looking at the large bandage around your shin. “Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing off your thanks like he hadn’t just pretty much saved your life. “What were you doing out there anyway?”

You sighed, feeling a creep of embarrassment up your spine. You should’ve known better but at the moment you just wanted to help people and had little regard for your own safety, until your leg was sliced open, that was. “There were people still out there, trying to figure out where to go. I was trying to help.”

“That was stupid,” he said. “But brave. Stupidly brave, maybe.”

“Funny. I think I’ve said the same thing about you a time for two.”

His signature smirk slowly fell onto his lips. “Not to my face.”

“Oh, no. Never.”

Tyler laughed, gently patting your knee, lingering for a moment before he dropped his hand back at his side. Someone called out your name, and you spotted your friend running back through the crowd. She had called you as soon as you had made it to the ambulance and told you she’d come back to take you home.

“You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” As he turned around to walk away, you called out to him.

“Tyler, wait.” He paused. “You should try calling me again. Maybe I’ll answer this time.” Breaking out in a grin, he tipped his hat in another goodbye, leaving you with a new feeling stirring inside your chest.

Bonus!

Hours later, after you had cleaned yourself up, you were tucked into bed, reading by the lamp light knowing sleep was probably far off after the events of the night. You didn’t expect your phone to ring that late into the night, and when you glanced at it, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the caller ID, but that time it was something besides annoyance that you felt.

You answered, discarding your book on your nightstand. “You don’t waste any time do you,” you teased.

“What I can say,” Tyler said on the other line. “I know when I find something worth my while.”

#twisters #twisters 2024 #tyler owens #glen powell #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #twisters 2024 fanfic #glen powell x reader

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 3 months ago

Text

WAG Bootcamp

Part 2

Word count: 767

Pairing: lando Norris x reader, but mostly just Y/n and the WAGs

Summary: Y/n, Lando Norris’ new girlfriend, attends her first F1 race and is swiftly taken under the wing of the WAGs, who teach her the unspoken rules of f1

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Y/n had been to big events before. Red carpets, premieres, and fashion weeks—she could handle a camera flash like a pro. But standing at the entrance of the paddock for her first-ever Formula 1 race, wearing her McLaren pass around her neck, she felt completely out of her depth.

The world of F1 wasn’t just about fast cars; it was about politics, strategy, and—most terrifyingly—the WAGs.

Lando had kissed her goodbye at the hospitality entrance, promising to see her after FP1, and that was when she was ambushed.

“Alright, rookie,” Kika, Pierre Gasly’s girlfriend, looped an arm through hers, her honey-blonde hair bouncing as she steered Y/n toward a private table in the paddock. “Time for bootcamp.”

“Bootcamp?” Y/n repeated, feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights.

“You think you can just waltz in here and be a proper F1 girlfriend without guidance?” Lily, Alex Albon’s girlfriend, teased, sliding into a seat with a knowing smirk. “No, sweetheart, it doesn’t work like that.”

“You’re lucky,” Alex, Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend, added. “Not everyone gets the full WAG orientation on their first weekend. Usually, we just let them suffer.”

Y/n blinked. “Should I be scared?”

Rebecca, Carlos Sainz’s girlfriend, gave her an encouraging pat on the back. “Yes.”

Lesson One: Pre-Race Preparation

“You need to know how to handle Lando before a race,” Carmen, George Russell’s girlfriend, started, flipping her sunglasses onto her head. “Every driver has their own pre-race routine. If you mess it up, congratulations—you’re the reason he finishes P12.”

“Wait—what?” Y/n’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Not really,” Kelly, Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, said with a shrug. “Just don’t be annoying. Keep the energy calm, don’t talk too much, and if he’s in the zone, let him stay there.”

Kika nodded. “Pierre needs hype. So I tell him he’s the best, kiss him, and send him off like a gladiator into battle. Meanwhile, Lily literally has to trick Alex into thinking racing is just a fun little game so he doesn’t overthink.”

Lily grinned. “I gaslight him into thinking it’s no big deal. Works like a charm.”

“Susie?” Y/n turned to Susie Wolff, the ultimate WAG and wife of Toto Wolff. If anyone knew how to manage an F1 man, it was her.

Susie sipped her espresso like a woman who had seen it all. “Toto is different. He’s not the one in the car, but believe me, he’s more dramatic than any of the drivers.” She sighed. “My advice? Just make sure Lando doesn’t forget to eat.”

“Got it. No messing with his pre-race mood, gaslight if necessary, and make sure he eats,” Y/n recapped. “I can do that.”

Lesson Two: Media Management

“Now, the media,” Alex said, leaning in. “You’re dating Lando. People will analyze everything you do. What you wear, how you look at him, whether or not you smiled when he crossed the finish line.”

“You need to learn the ‘paddock girlfriend’ face,” Kelly instructed. “Not too excited, not too miserable—just engaged enough to look like you care, but also mysterious.”

Lily demonstrated, tilting her head slightly and pressing her lips together in the perfect neutral expression.

Y/n tried to mimic her but ended up looking mildly constipated.

“We’ll work on it,” Carmen assured her.

“And social media,” Rebecca added. “Fans will stalk every post, every like. If you breathe near another driver, they’ll start a conspiracy theory that you’re cheating.”

Y/n groaned. “Oh, fantastic.”

“Just own it,” Kika advised. “If they start a rumor, make it worse. That’s what I do.”

Lesson Three: Surviving the Race

“You are now a part of the emotional rollercoaster that is watching your boyfriend risk his life at 300 km/h,” Susie said with a knowing look. “You will feel stress, anxiety, and possibly rage.”

“If someone crashes into Lando, you are obligated to hate that driver for at least two weeks,” Kelly informed her.

“And you need a coping strategy,” Rebecca added. “I stress-eat.”

“I online shop,” Alex said.

“I start manifesting,” Lily said dramatically.

“I drink,” Kika said, holding up a glass of champagne.

Y/n exhaled. “This sport is insane.”

The women all nodded in agreement.

As the session wrapped up, Y/n felt a new sense of confidence. Maybe she wasn’t fully prepared yet, but she had an elite team of WAGs ready to guide her through the chaos.

Just then, her phone buzzed. A message from Lando: How’s your first F1 day going?

She smiled, typing back: I think I just joined a secret society.

And so, the newest recruit of the WAG Bootcamp was officially initiated.

1K notes · View notes

bitchlessdino · 4 months ago

Text

Good Roommates Don't (m)

for @ddeonghwa-s secret cupid collab i recieved you @haologram! Secret Cupid Masterlist found here!

Pairing: roommate! Minghao x barista!afab!reader Word count: 14.1k rating: R Summary: Xu Minghao had been the most ethereal being you've ever laid your eyes on to the point being unable of functioning like a normal person, but now you're roommates. Only time will tell when you lose your mind keeping your hands to yourself, so there needed to be a list of things you don't do if you wanted to be a good roommate. tags: meet-ugly, strangers to roommates to lovers, college au, barista au, down bad!reader, mentions of band, brief bdsm, mc fell first he fell harder, cum swapping, spitting, oral (giving and receiving), face riding, unprotected sex author note: thank you @lovetaroandtaemin and @gyubakeries beta-reading this with me. after writing towtsyfdtotbycf (holy shit) i was in a little bit of a slump and had several and i mean SEVERAL versions of this and for months racked my brain how i wanted to do this. Alta, i care for you deeply and we've gotten close in the last year or so, so i really wanted to write something that would amuse you and that you'd enjoy. and if you hate it you can use it as leverage to berate me on discord lol. but please, my valentine, enjoy my gift to you. happy Valentines day Alta (and tell me was i really not that slick) <3

When you first met Minghao, you almost killed him trying to save his life. At least, that's what you thought you were doing.

All you had to do was bear a normal shift at the Coffee Shop, attempt a semblance of a smile for the oncoming customers, and clock out at your normal hour, but the universe couldn’t even give you that. Instead, they sent you the hottest guy imaginable, along with the swiftness of a gazelle, the strength of a gorilla, and the intuition of a garden gnome. That day just confirmed that some things were better left alone.

A few things were already going wrong that day. For one, your alarm didn't go off. The alarm being your mom, who usually kicked you out of bed first thing at 9 am, since she had a doctor’s appointment. Fair enough. The strings of fate got you there. All the more reason why moving out seemed like a distant dream rather than a close reality. Were you really capable of being a functioning adult?

Then there was the bus and having to shell out twenty bucks for a Lyft when the next scheduled bus was reported to have broken down and was no longer an option. That twenty bucks could’ve been your meal for the next week, but no, being fiscally responsible was a circus act, and you were the clown being pied in the face repeatedly. As if you weren’t already putting on a face and juggling multiple things enough on a daily basis, today was no different.

And then, you were late to work—which again, was nothing new—but you were hoping that Nayeon, who was scheduled as the shift manager, let you off with a warning. Yet, somehow, that went wrong as well, seeing that the shittier manager on your shift, Manager Fi, was present instead. And, by the look in the old man's eyes, he wasn’t happy about it either, especially considering he assigned you bathroom duty for the end of your shift to make up for your tardiness. He never liked you since you started. Then again, he didn’t like anybody, and vice versa.

This morning was bad omen after bad omen.

Leading up to finally meeting Minghao—tall, scorchingly hot Minghao, with lips that looked soft as clouds. You hadn’t seen him around before until today, and perhaps it should’ve stayed that way, because you couldn’t see yourself facing him ever again.

He walked in with his large group of friends, all almost nearly as charming as him with a handful of faces that you’ve seen once or twice, but none that stood quite out like his. He had the kind of face that made you want to paint murals, write ballads, or stare long enough to linger too long over the same spot you were cleaning on the counter, windshield wiping until the wet streaks you wiped off devolved to discoloration and damaged the countertop’s cheap sealant. Eventually, you averted your gaze to conceal your flushed cheeks—turning away in clear embarrassment, thinking about how much of a fucking creep you probably looked overtly gawking at him—but you’d soon realized that was the least of your worries. You’d soon wish it ended with you looking like a creep.

The next moment you lifted your eyes towards him again, you found him in a compromising position, one that had you thinking—and that was your first mistake. His face twisted with discomfort, and he gasped as he covered his mouth. A million thoughts raced through your mind, considering all the possible reasons for his distress, and one screamed the loudest above all, setting off alarm bells. So you—being meddling and troublesome you—acted on instinct.

Hopping over the counter, you raced towards him, pulled him off the booth which he was luckily on the edge of, and immediately attempted the Heimlich. Finally, your CPR certification could be put to use. You embraced him from behind, putting pressure on his ribcage as you launched and thrust yourself against him, forcing whatever was lodged in his throat out of his body.

“I’ve got you!” you exclaimed heroically.

You put in as much strength as you could muster, truly hoping to save a life today, thinking out of all things that have gone wrong today, at least this would be one thing you’ve done right. You could feel your ancestors looking down on you to witness a proud moment in your otherwise boring and mundane life.

After several rough collisions with his body, he eventually spat something chewed up and unsightly onto the booth’s table, drawing the attention of several onlookers if your boisterous shouting hadn’t already. His friends were quick to look away, wincing in disgust while the cute boy doubled over in pain, holding himself by the ribs as you ran your eyes over at him in concern.

“Are you alright, sir? That must’ve been terrifying to suffocate on something so suddenly.”

He then finally lifted his head. His cheeks were flushed as anguish took over his features. “I wasn’t choking,” He rasped.

“...Come again?”

“Oh my god!” A third-party witness stood up dramatically from their seat. “This barista just saved this young man’s life!”

Suddenly, you were punished with attention, cheers specifically. All except the people who sat at the cute boy’s table clapped for you—or, rather at you now—and gave you standing ovations for your grand heroic act, when in fact, it wasn’t heroic at all. Meanwhile, you attempted to settle them down, flapping your hands dismissively and growing hot all over. You looked over the man you so-called saved as he strained to sit back in his seat, being tended by the friends he came with.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Shit, that looked like it hurt.”

“You probably shouldn't have been drinking it that fast, Minghao.”

It turned out you had severely miscalculated the situation. What appeared to be choking, prompting you to improperly administer a rough but appropriate Heimlich maneuver, was simply a mildly exaggerated reaction to hot coffee followed by a muffin to alleviate his burnt taste buds. You, of course, profusely apologized, as if you weren’t embarrassed enough for staring at him the whole time working your entire shift at the coffee shop because he was the most breathtakingly stunning person you’ve ever seen in your life. You might’ve just about broken his ribs and made his life flash before his eyes by abruptly slamming your body against him repeatedly, and not in the fun way.

Rather than an apartment, you were in desperate need of a hole deep enough to lead you to the core of the Earth to hide you from everyone else on the crust, ideally with cheap rent and good air ventilation.

You bowed your head in humiliation, unable to meet any of their eyes, especially with the possibility of them remembering your face with a lawsuit waiting to happen. “I can’t believe that happened, I am so sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, please let me know.”

“It’s okay, really, but I think we’ve had enough excitement for today if you don’t mind.”

The attractive stranger—or Minghao, as you’ve learned from his friends who immediately rushed to him in concern—shook his hand in the air reassuringly. “Just, no more of that, alright? Make sure someone’s actually choking before trying to save them.”

“Right, please have a wonderful rest of your day,” you said, before returning to your station and disappearing behind the breakroom, screaming into your cubby and avoiding human interaction for as long as you could.

That scene replayed in your mind over and over like a recurring nightmare, burning the image of his beautiful face with such disdain for all eternity, while his name etched into your brain in permanent ink, embedded in every wrinkle in your brain. Minghao. A devastatingly beautiful name for a devastatingly beautiful owner.

Ugh. Get a fucking grip.

You just needed to get through the rest of the day. It would just be a couple more hours until your shift ended, and then you’d leave on the dot. It’d be just in time to make your appointment to meet your new potential roommate. Hopefully, it would be the silver lining of today’s catastrophic mess.

You met on electronic class forums while attending the same Cultural Studies course and somehow ended up relying on each other for notes. By your chat history, you seemed to have a lot in common—with the exception of his preference for tea over artisanal coffee—and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get giddy seeing the green circle next to his username. Recently, he had just talked about moving into town after pondering the idea for so long, and as fate may have it, you’ve been looking for your own place to stay. You figured he seemed nice enough, and he even offered a reasonable quote on rent. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look. You just hoped he was as friendly in real life as he was online—with the day you had, you needed a win.

And, that win started with Chinese food, his choice, and it was a good one. You hadn’t been at this location before, taking note of the old-fashioned aesthetic touched by the harshness of modern neon signs that lit even the darkest of hallways. You were now thinking you ought to come more often as the heavenly notes of soy, ginger, and whatever concoction bled through the kitchen curtains and wafted through your nostrils the moment you passed through the double doors. Immediately, you were greeted by the host, visibly tired and overworked, with dark circles under his eyes, before he led you to a table in the center of the restaurant. You settled your nerves with a glass of water, trying to let the horrific events from today fade to as black as the soy sauce loitering on your table, waiting for a plate of dumplings to accompany them.

Funny how you could still have an appetite after everything that happened.

It wasn’t too long after you heard the same doors you walked through open, setting off the familiar sound of its wind chimes. You peered behind you, catching a glimpse of the new arrival, and immediately spun back in your seat, startled by the face that passed through your eyes. Trepidation brewed within you as the unsolicited visitor had your stomach in knots.

You couldn’t take another incident tonight.

You slunk into your seat, burying your chin in your shirt, hoping you’d somehow camouflage into your seat, facing away from the new arrival. Meanwhile, his eyes skimmed the room, walking in with purpose without guidance and greeting the employees as if he were right at home. Fortunately, he had yet to notice your presence as you slinked out of view the moment he passed by you to sit at the bar, while you made way into a booth in the dark corner of the restaurant, cursing the fates for their cruel games once again. You just had hoped that your new roommate would hurry it up already so you could get out of here before you were discovered.

And after about ten minutes, it felt as if all hope was lost. There was no sign of them and you were wondering if you had been stood up. Amid your anticipation, you were forced to pay attention to the person you were avoiding, seeing his patience wear thin with the tap of his foot as he sipped the last of his iced tea. Not a moment too soon, you saw him pluck his phone out from his pocket, fingers skittering over the screen before bringing it to his ear and scanning the restaurant’s floor plan. In the same instant, your phone went off, blaring your cursed ringtone, ‘Pocketful of Sunshine’, and the realization—along with the panic—quickly set in.

Alerted by the noise, his head whipped up from his screen. His eyebrows rose in shock, not all expecting the outcome that arose, and he dropped to his feet and quickly darted toward the sound that you—for the life of you—could not turn off fast enough. His footsteps matched the rate of your heart pounding in your chest, growing louder and closer until he found the source and located you cowering in the corner.

You lifted your head to lock eyes for the first time since this morning just as you finally managed to silence the ringtone and gave him an awkward laugh, waving with your phone in hand. Taking a nervous gulp, you awaited his disappointment, expecting him to make his quick exit after evaluating in the two seconds of your meeting that this arrangement would not work out because you were a deranged psycho with a savior complex. To your pleasant surprise, that didn't happen. Instead, you were met with a gentle smile and a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “There you are.”

You forced a sheepish chuckle. “Here I am, ha.”

Minghao softly chuckled before tucking his phone in his back pocket. “And to think just this morning you ‘saved my life.’”

You shut your eyes tightly, hands pressing together as if begging for forgiveness. “Again I am so, so sorry for that. It did look like you were choking.”

He shook his head reassuringly. “So you’ve said. I’m Minghao, or PalE8. Nice to meet you, CafeMixr0.”

“Is it…nice to meet me?” You asked dubiously.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You blinked incredulously. “Well, for several reasons.”

He shrugged before entering the booth and leaving a healthy distance to sit just across from you. “Can’t think of any. Have you ordered anything yet?”

You shook your head, befuddled by his nonchalance, waiting to see the catch, if there was any.

“Good thing I know everything worth ordering.” His hand shot up before grabbing the attention of a server to get his order taken.

You weren't sure where the night was going. All you knew was the boy that you almost killed this morning was sitting across from you looking as breathtaking as he did this morning, even while slurping up his stir fry that was glossed with a sheen of chilli oil and swelling up his already full lips. Rather than a roommate meetup—if that was still the case—it felt like a date, a date you were exceedingly ill-prepared for.

Suddenly, you could feel the sweat on the back of your knees, feeling the strong urge to sniff the clothes on your back, unsure when the last time you did a fresh load of laundry and if your current attire was included in that load at all. Not to mention that bathroom duty that was forced upon you, which no doubt seeped into your clothes. You were better off naked, but then that would be an entire different kind of meeting, wouldn’t it?

“You’re okay, right?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from your spiraling thoughts as you barely finished your portion of chow mein—which was absolutely heavenly, to put it lightly.

He let out a light chuckle before kindly reassuring you. “How many times are you going to ask me? You and everyone from this morning. I’m fine, able-bodied and everything.”

“I just felt really bad. You looked really hurt.”

He couldn’t suppress his grin, finding your cautiousness amusing, but it only added to your unease. “I was hurt. You’re really, really strong.”

You winced. “Again. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s a quality of a good roommate.” He finished the last bit of his meal before dropping a couple of bills without asking for the tab. “Come on. I’ve got to show you the apartment.”

You raised an eyebrow while sipping your warm tea before tapping your mouth with a napkin. “You still want to room with me? After this morning?”

“There’s not a lot of good options for roommates in the city, and what are the odds that you’ll try to kill me twice?”

He had a fair point, and it wasn’t like you had options lining up either. You just had to hope he didn’t regret taking this chance on you.

A big reason why you wanted to move out was to learn to be on your own, but in addition to that, the city had pretty much everything to offer. The city had it all, from job opportunities to the right people to meet, and the apartment Minghao led you to was the center of the entirety of it. High above the town square, in a room several floors up, there was a nook that had a view through a large window overlooking everything within about a two-mile radius. If there was anything nice to say about the city, it definitely looked better from where you were standing. The street lights illuminated streets, neon signs brought the local businesses to life, and people that ran the night life lived it to the fullest in the flashiest clothes imaginable. You had never seen your city like this before.

Meanwhile, the apartment itself was gorgeous and already fully furnished with stylish furniture and greenery that touched the kitchen and living room. It was graced with Minghao’s taste in art and an eccentric—but tasteful—color palette of warm browns, olive greens, and rustic oranges. It felt like walking into Minghao’s mind, seeing into his world, and you were given the opportunity of it being yours, being part of his world. He was generous enough to even let you pass through the front door.

“So?” he asked, gauging your interest, watching as you looked down at the city from the large window nook in awe.

You softly scoffed, unable to take your eyes off the beautiful view calling to you like a siren at sea. “Um, I’m sorry, you had trouble finding a roommate, how?”

He crossed his arms, admiring the sight with you, glancing at you through his peripheral vision and grinning when he saw the childlike sparkle in your eyes. “I’m new to the city, and everyone I know here has their own living arrangements. I didn’t want to go too far in looking for a new roommate. I thought we'd work well together, since we’re based in the same city now and have a lot in common based on our conversations.”

“I almost killed you this morning,” You’ve pointed out to…death.

“Although you’re…impulsive and unpredictable, I’ve seen worse. I think I’ll manage.” He splayed his hand in front of you, gesturing for a shake to officially seal the deal. “What do you say? Do you still want to be roommates?”

Everything about this screamed it was a bad idea. Putting aside the fact that you nearly killed the man, you could barely stand in the presence of him without your mind drifting to dark waters. It didn’t take rocket science to understand that putting you in that same living quarters with Minghao meant you might have to live every day together with your hands tied behind your back and thighs taped shut. You’ve surprised yourself with how you’ve managed to keep your composure sharing the same air—the air you were even thinking of savoring as you contemplated this offer.

You were down-righteously-bad. You weren’t a fit roommate for Minghao in the slightest.

Yet, you took his hand, letting his cool palm clash with your warmth as his digits wrapped around you in a tight squeeze before shaking. “Let’s do it.”

And that marked the start of a new chapter of your life, unraveling the challenge of being Xu Minghao’s roommate. Only, he wasn’t the challenge. He was a breath of fresh autumn air. He was kind beyond words and accommodating in every step of your move. You were already familiar with his gentle and patient nature, as he had frequently taken the time to clarify complex ideas for class, and you’ve learned about the majority of his interests prior from your online discussions, but seeing PalE8’s traits in person—embodied in Minghao—was bizarre. You realized he was still a stranger after all. A stranger that claimed your breath with a single bat of his eyes and turned your stomach inside out worse than a bad case of food poisoning, no less.

Meanwhile, the neighbors knew him by name, were endeared by his presence, and found him to be a delightful conversationalist as well as a helping hand when the situation called for it. He was better than your friendly neighborhood spiderman. He was your kind, considerate, intricately woven, beautifully complex, and knees-bucklingly handsome Minghao.

You weren’t usually a sexual deviant, at least not to this extent, but Minghao brought something out of you that you hadn’t felt for another person. However, if you were going to live together, that had to change. This crush was going to have to dwindle out of existence if you wanted to live together—emphasis on you—in peace.

So, that’s when you decided to make a list of rules that only you had to follow. Sure, you were an adult, and the thought of giving yourself rules to keep your hands to yourself was juvenile and stupid, but for the sake of your sanity, you were looking for anything that might work. That’s when you decided to make a list of things “good roommates don’t do”, thinking it would be shorter and easier to sum up than a long redundant list of things good roommates would do, and the first thing to top the list was easy.

Good roommates don’t almost kill each other (again).

That seemed easy enough to remember, considering the first time was traumatic enough, and fortunately, it didn’t take too much effort, considering you hardly saw each other despite living together.

You ended up taking up more shifts at work, desperate enough to even join the catering team, to keep yourself busy and afford the new expense of rent, sacrificing a lot more of your free time. Meanwhile, Minghao’s work schedule was not only demanding, it was inconsistent. Working at a popular art gallery as an artist and attendant with frequent and erratic events to go to until late at night prompted your roommate to be seen home a lot less than expected. By the time either of you got home, there wouldn’t be so much of a hello or goodbye either, just the sounds of bodies falling on beds in either rooms as the day’s fatigue engulfed you until you succumbed to sleep.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little disappointed by these circumstances, but then again, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Seeing him as little as you did meant less opportunity for you to screw things up around him, because it seemed to happen quite frequently when he was around. The few times you did cross paths, you still found ways to humiliate yourself.

“That’s mine.”

You held the toothbrush mid-scrub, bubbles foaming at the corners of your mouth, “Eh?”

“I think you’re using my toothbrush.”

Your cheeks immediately grew warm, and you shielded your face with the back of your hand. You spat into the sink and splashed water on your face to rid yourself of toothpaste residue before turning back to respond, his words jumbling in your head and bouncing from corner to corner to process them. “I-I don’t think so, this is the one I always use.”

He snickered, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms, delectably dressed down in a gray tank top and sweatpants. The tempting taste of domesticity was sweet and permeated your tastebuds. “If that’s the case, we’ve been sharing, because I’ve always kept my brush there in the marble cup. Yours should be behind the medicine cabinet where you first left it.”

“What? You sure?” you pinned the used toothbrush on the sink’s porcelain before cracking open the medicine cabinet. “I’m pretty sure I took it—Ah!”

Startled by your findings, you dropped the toothbrush you gripped in your hand onto the floor when you’ve proven Minghao right as his toothbrush fell to the ground, now defiled with your oral bacteria and whatever was on the floor. The one day you take a shift later than usual because a member begged to take on more shifts, it blew up in your face. Seokmin, you will rue the day. “I-I’ll clean it!” You offered in a panicked tone.

He pushed himself off the threshold, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t, please. It’s dirty; I can just replace it.”

Filled with guilt, you stepped aside to watch him pick up the dirty brush before disposing of it in the waste bin, “Sorry.”

“You say that a lot.”

He pulled a fresh toothbrush out of a drawer and ripped it out of its packaging. It was notably identical to his previous and your current abandoned toothbrush, down to the bristles. “No worries. See,” he turned the new hygiene tool for inspection, “Clean.”

“Regret having me as a roommate yet?” you joked anxiously towards his reflection in the mirror.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothing I can’t manage. I lived in a boarding house full of guys that shared things without asking and it didn’t stop at toothbrushes. You’re the first roommate I’ve had that’s apologized. I say that’s an upgrade.”

He went on to brush his teeth with his newly obtained brush, christening the bristles with a squeeze of fluoride toothpaste before scrubbing against his pearly whites. He never ceased to amaze you with his aloof attitude towards the situation, as if he’d become accustomed to your chaos when he didn’t need to be at all. This situation, however, did indicate that you had another thing to be added to the list.

Good roommates don’t use each other’s toothbrush (even by accident)

In your room just before you left for work, you haphazardly added to the list you put on a crumpled piece of paper you kept in your wallet, ensuring you held your list close before setting the pen aside. Your heart pounded against your chest, thinking what that had meant all this time. How you’ve pretty much swapped saliva nearly every day with Minghao since moving in. The fact that it had gone on for so long repulsed you, but not anymore than the tiny part of yourself that maybe had always known and continued to do it.

You held your digits to your lips, brushing the pads against the slit of your mouth, ragged breaths slowly leaving your lungs as you reached your enamel. Tension pooled in your stomach as the images that infiltrated your dreams were currently being conjured in your consciousness, while arousal chased down your legs as you clenched them together. Jolted back to reality, you wound your eyes shut, remembering how little he cared about the matter, how nonchalant he was when he found out. Meanwhile, here you were: perverse, losing your mind, and letting your imagination run wild like a hormonal teenager with her celebrity crush.

Fuck. You needed a night out. You had been cooped up in the apartment for too goddamn long. The only other place you went was work, and knowing labor laws, they had to give you a night or two off for all the time you’d been putting in. There was a whole outside world, and you needed to buck up and take advantage of it. You had to do something other than fawn over your very hot roommate. Losing some spare change was worth the sanity. At least, you hoped it was.

“You going out tonight?”

Hearing a familiar tenor voice, your head lifted up from fixing the strap of your shoes to see him remove his coat and store it away in the front entrance closet. “Oh, you’re home,” you stated.

“Yeah. The gallery is closed tonight for a bigger show this weekend, so I have a couple days where I’m off earlier than usual.”

More time for Minghao to be at home. Great.

You nodded, keeping your cool at the sight of his turtleneck hugging his lean and toned frame, making your heart work overtime in place of you this evening. “I see, but yeah. A couple of my friends and I are trying out that new place that just opened up in midtown.”

“Oh, let me know how that goes. Me and some friends had plans to go there too.”

“Okay.” You hurried your way to the door. “Don’t wait up.”

“Wait.”

Hand on the door knob, you cursed under your breath, squeezing your eyes shut as if bracing for impact before opening them, and turned around with an innocuous expression. “Yes?”

He held out his hand. “Your phone please.”

“Hmm? Why,” you asked, unlocking it before complying.

He smiled accepting it, before swiping his fingers off the screen. “I’m sending myself your location.”

And there your heart when pitter-patter again at thoughtful and kind hot as fuck Minghao. “I just told you where I’d be.”

“That could always change. Here,” he said, handing your phone back, beaming back at you warmly. “Just in case something happens, and you can always call me if you feel unsafe, okay?”

You gave a soft pout, cheeks growing warm at the thought of Minghao’s concern over you. It pleased you more than it should’ve. “Thanks. What are you gonna do tonight?”

He shrugged, taking a quick glance over his shoulder. “Maybe do some light reading and tea, paint if inspiration hits me.”

You gave a small grin, thinking just how Minghao those activities sound. “Sounds enlightening. Okay. I’ll be home soon.”

“Be safe.”

Even long after you’d left, you kept thinking about that interaction. How domestic it felt, how safe it made you feel, how seen you really were. It made you wonder if he was tracking you right now, looking at his phone, staring at the dot indicating where you were located. You wondered if he was thinking about you right now, because you were most certainly thinking about him.

Your mission of trying to forget Minghao by going out definitely was not working, but you took that as a sign to keep drinking. Your friends didn’t get to see you often with how much you worked, so they were just happy to see you were having a good time, not knowing you were trying to drown out the consuming thoughts of a certain man with a peculiar color scheme.

They wouldn’t have known the way you let yourself get felt up by a stranger near the dance floor, standing so close you could smell the knock off cologne he was practically bathing in as his breath hung in the air against your neck. When it went nowhere, he eventually left, looking for prospects elsewhere, while you stuck to your mission, seeing it work at some point at night. Until it didn’t, but you didn’t remember because eventually it’d all fade to black.

Your eyes ripped open, waking up with the biggest headache, blinded by the natural rays of light bleeding through blinds—only your room didn’t have blinds. You specifically made sure to have blackout curtains because you couldn’t stand waking up to the sun, and that hasn’t ever changed. Grumbling irritatingly along the lines about who turned on the lights, you flipped on the other side of the bed with a half awoken daze, your blurry vision making out a lumpy figure underneath the covers.

You drew closer in confusion, trying to make sense of what you were seeing before taking in the fact the lump had a face as blinding as the sun you turned away from, startling you upon recognition. Your eyes shot open, wide awake now, and you nearly stumbled out of the mattress before his arms grabbed you, latching on you before you could fall off and safely secured you in his tucked embrace.

“It’s a bit early for your charming antics, isn’t it?” Minghao chucked with closed eyes.

You blinked back at him, licking your lips anxiously. “How am I here right now?”

His eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the light. “You mean alive or in bed with me?”

Your cheeks grew hot. “B-both.”

“I wish I had an answer for the first question, but it seems your creator had more plans for you. As for your second concern, you seemed confused and tired, and I assumed you confused this bed for yours.”

“You should’ve kicked me out.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and sending a chill down your spine. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You let out a soft sigh, ridden with guilt. “I’d deserve it. I must’ve been annoying to deal with.”

He knitted his brows together, the corner of his lips softly turning down. “You really don’t like yourself.”

“No—well, maybe not lately. Maybe I’m just coming to the realization I’m not a good roommate.”

“No one is good at anything their first time.”

“You’re not denying it!”

“You’re a fine roommate.” Patting you on the back, he threw off the covers and pushed himself out of bed, leaving his room to trod toward the kitchen. You followed after curiously, like a duckling that imprinted on its mother, watching as he pulled out ingredients from the fridge’s shelves. “Anything you’re allergic to?” He asked over his shoulder.

“Nothing comes to mind.” You answered hesitantly.

“Good. The recipe is fairly easy anyway, it shouldn’t kill you.”

Your eyes widened and you quickly stood by his side as he set all the items down, he followed with gathering bowls and cookware. “You’re cooking for me?”

“Mmh-hmm.”

“You don’t have to.”

He turned his head slightly. “You have a headache, don’t you?”

“Yes but—”

“It’s just egg drop soup.” He patted your shoulder nodding his head over at the counter stool either of you would often have breakfast. “Sit. It’ll be done in a few minutes.”

You sat patiently by the counter, watching him chop and throw ingredients into a small pot, which filled your shared residence with a savory aroma. As soon as he was done, he presented the dish in front of you, garnishing it with fresh chopped scallions and parsley. He picked up a serving with a soup spoon and gently blew on the top before taking a quick sample and grinning at the result. Scooping with the same spoon, he held a serving towards you with proud eyes.

“Try it,” he urged.

As you accepted the offering, you tried not to think about how you were about to share yet another household item that would enter both your mouths and let the simple flavors fan out on your tongue, the warmth of soup dispersing throughout your body. You hummed in delight, already feeling it work its magic. “It’s delicious,” you said softly.

He grinned. “Feel better.”

“Thanks, Minghao.”

“No problem at all.”

As you enjoyed your thoughtful breakfast, your roommate cleaned up his mess. He wiped down whatever residue was left behind before heading to his room and coming out properly dressed in brown slacks and muted green patterned sweater when you were just about done eating. “Heading to work now.”

“You had work?” You asked surprised, “Why did you waste time cooking? You could have left already.”

He softly scoffed heading to the door. “I spent—what, five or ten minutes? It’s fine. See you later.”

In the last 24 hours, Minghao managed to make sure you were safe by tracking your location, gave you a good night's rest by not disrupting your sleep, and made you breakfast right before work. Then there’s you, black out drunk with almost no memory of last night (probably good you didn’t), annoying your overly nice and overly hot roommate, hogging a bed that isn’t yours, and eating a home cooked meal that probably set back his schedule. You were the worst. All the more reason for a new addition to the list.

Good roommates don't sleep in their other roommate’s bed piss drunk (again)

It seemed that this list of “don’ts” was getting longer, probably because you’re an awful roommate, and if there was a reward, yours would already be at the front door. You really, really had to make an effort to do something about this arrangement. Now that some time had passed and these interactions were becoming more frequent, avoiding him seemed to be out of question unless you wanted to give him the wrong impression. You would just have to become a better roommate, and that started with making up for this morning.

In the following months together, to atone for the bed incident and good deeds that followed suit, you shared the occasional breakfast if you had time (that is if you didn’t burn anything), even sometimes grabbing dinner or a late meal in the small gap before or after work. While in the late hours, when both of you should’ve been sleeping, you’d have a cup of your favorite beverages. He’d have his brew of tea for the night while you’d have a mug of coffee, awake under the stars and basking in the night, watching from the nook that you both grew fond of that was in the direction of the moon when it’s at its peak.

Of all people to share these moments with, you couldn’t imagine it with anyone else but Minghao. He was the peace amongst the chaos, the quiet you came home to after dealing with the noisy world that helped you heal like nothing else. You liked that about him, and now you were liking him too much, to the point you thought of him every day. What it’d be like for him to hold you in his arms, letting his warmth envelop your entire being the way his voice naturally does with a simple “it’s okay.”

You’d imagine how he’d look at you, how lovers do when they ache for one another so desperately they could feel it down to every atom. You’d thought of the words he’d say to you, the words he’d say to someone he’s madly, irrevocably besotted with, and every letter and word and sentence would be spoken poetry. He’d feel like love. You didn’t think it was possible for you to grow more attracted to him, but learning all these wonderful things he does and seeing up close and personal how beautiful inside and out he was, you were developing feelings and growing all these desires that you were ashamed to admit out loud.

And with that, you pulled out your list and a pen, jotting in a new item.

Good roommates don’t live in every waking moment staring at them or thinking about wanting to kiss them (no matter how hard it is)

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve already broken that rule, but the least you could do was hold yourself accountable.

However, writing the rule didn't prevent future instances. Not from fantasizing, not from wet dreams, not from imagining a life together where you rid all your inhibitions and clothes and succumb to drowning in each other. Unlike every other rule that you’ve managed to avoid, this one was the outlier, flipping your world on its head and preoccupying every second of your thoughts with all things Xu Minghao. And what sucked was you were so guilt ridden, you couldn't even let yourself enjoy it.

This was your roommate for crying out loud. Your wholesome, nice, forgiving, and tolerant roommate that went beyond what was necessary to make you feel at home and comfortable. Only time will tell when he’ll see through you and finally kick you to the curb.

“Let’s go out.”

Your head lifted up from your phone with eyes large as saucers. “What?”

“We haven't really done anything together,” he suggested, cleaning up the dishes of the dinner you both had just had.

It was one of the few nights that you were both free. The coffee shop had more than enough staff, and you’ve exhausted the hours put in, while the art gallery was planning a grand exhibition, so they needed all hands on deck for the mornings for a few weeks, but evenings would be free until the week of. That left you two a lot more free time than you knew what to do with.

“We see each other all the time,” you pointed out.

“At home. We don’t hang outside the apartment aside from that one dinner the first day we met, so let’s go out.”

You blinked, watching him grab his coat before you could argue as he waved you over, his smile luring you closer and putting you under his spell without you realizing until it was too late. “Uh, where? It’s 9PM.”

“Anywhere.”

For someone who had only arrived in town a couple months ago, Minghao knew a lot of the good spots in the city. If it wasn’t food, it was book stores. If it wasn’t book stores, it was tea shops. He had a clear plan of the city, and without so much looking at a GPS, he could find his way around better than any native. And considering all the people he came with that day you met the coffee shop and all the staff at the Chinese restaurant, his index didn’t stop at places. He seemed more familiar with the people in your hometown than you were. Between you two, he looked like the real local.

Walking alongside your roommate, you turned to him curiously, “How do you know the city so well when you’ve moved in somewhat recently?”

He gave a soft smile looking into the distance, as if the gust of wind that passed through you both hit him with a wave of nostalgia. “I’ve been visiting for about four years. I only had the guts to become a resident recently.”

“Why’d it take you so long?”

“Student visa processes, paper work, all those things. Also, this city is great, and everyone I've met and have become close with is amazing, but home is just home. It’s all I’ve ever known.” He let out a deep sigh, taking in a deep breath before stretching out his arms and let fall back to his sides, turning slightly to you. “This country and town has become a second, though, some things even my home can’t beat.”

You mused at that, intrigued that he could find something appealing in here, then again you've been here all your life, yet Minghao showed you more you could ever imagine of it. “Like what?”

He simply smiled as their feet stopped at their final destination, a location they both aimlessly walked towards just a little off the center of the town. “I’ll tell you, as soon as we try this place out.”

Just off the center of town was a bar you had never heard of with a theme you’d never thought to put together on your own and definitely a place you’d never think to walk into with your roommate you were trying to keep platonic feelings for.

“Hey sexy babies, welcome to the Love in Leather BDSM Bar, where all your sexy dreams can come true.”

Oh, my god.

You were petrified. Every wall was decorated with leather or latex, either on display in a box, on a vulgarly displayed mannequin, or on an employee that was dressed in next to nothing, leaving no room for imagination. You weren’t shy about the theme of BDSM—there was always a small part of you curious about it—but it’s not like you’ve talked extensively about it with Minghao. The same person you were trying really hard not to think about sleeping with, which was especially hard in a place that served ‘cum shots’ and with their special for tonight being ‘buttery nipples.’

Glancing back at your roommate to get his reaction, he seemed to be just as startled with his findings as you were, but perhaps not as terrified as he should be, taking you by the wrist and weaving through the crowd with a marveled expression. You were grateful for the loud music playing the explicit versions of songs you wouldn’t otherwise hear on the radio, drowning out the sound of your heavy breathing and the loud thrum of your heart. You just had hoped he couldn’t feel your pulse under his fingertips, unable to untangle from his grasp as you felt the heat of his touch spread out through your whole body. You were trapped in a web you didn’t want to leave and that was the hardest kind to be in.

Suddenly, lights poured on the center stage of the bar. The music then slowed down, transitioning to another song, and a scantily leather clad woman entered that would erupt cheers of all clients seated in the chairs in front of her, to which she sent an air kiss and wink. Following the crowd, both you and Minghao decided to cheer along with them, your sounds of encouragement drowned out in the more enthusiastic and obscenely creative audience members of the establishment. Walking across the stage, she made a show of it, caressing her body in ways that would have a man on his knees howling at the moon (which you swore you heard once or twice in there) as money was thrown strewn stage like confetti, enough to pay for a few nice dinners uptown. After garnering the excitement, she descended down the steps of the stage, walking into her live audience. Her eyes skimmed through the endless crowds of people, landing on and picking one lucky front row member—a young, spry man no older than twenty-five—and brought him on stage, ensuing roars and applause, indicating the start of the real show.

What happened next was something you did not want to get into detail, but in layman’s terms, that audience member was having the time of his life with the use of a flog while everyone watched. You could only make the distinction of excruciating pain and pleasurable pain by the very loud affirmations coming out of his mouth and bouncing off the board he face planted on, and the words that passed through one of your ears and never wanted to come out the other. You were slack jawed from the scene, not at all expecting this scene today, and holy shit, you could not feel more suffocated knowing Minghao was witnessing all of this beside you.

He stared back at the scene, expression unreadable, but he seemed interested and unable to look away like it was an oncoming train wreck, looking as if he was stuck on the tracks and was making sense of what he was seeing. Suddenly, his eyes locked with yours and you watched as they softened with a glint of something behind them before you swiveled your head, feeling yourself burn from your face to your ears, clenching your free hand. This felt eerily like a date, but unlike the first dinner, this felt like a real one. An immense sexually charged one.

You were surrounded by sex at all angles, being tested to the most extreme degree. Tonight, you’ve learned dominance wasn’t particularly your thing, but if it were Minghao, perhaps you wouldn’t have minded.

But this, this was overwhelming. As if sensing your turmoil, Minghao tugged your wrist, making you fix your gaze on him again and read the words that he mouthed from his lips. “Time to run.”

Your fingers interlocked and feet picked up speed as you headed toward the door, running aimlessly for miles out of the bar in fits of smiles and laughter. There was no plan and no destination, you both just wanted out, and you’d only stop running when you reached a bridge, both your bodies collapsing against the metal railing. You both gave out in heavy pants, your breaths mingling as you faced one another.

“That’s crazy,” you managed to rasp. “Why did we think we could go in there?”

He gave you a tired grin back, looking in the direction from which you came. The light layer of perspiration made his shirt cling to his skin, and you get a sliver of his chest as he aired it out for comfort. “I don’t know. Try something new, but that.” He pointed where he faced. “That’s how I know so many places, I just walk inside.”

You ran your hand over your chest, baring the biggest grin. “Gosh. I feel like dying.”

“Iced coffee?” He kindly suggested.

“And tea?” You cared to offer.

Nodding back at each other, you both decided to walk the rest of the way back around, making a stop at a light night cafe and occupying their second floor balcony to taste the crisp air. As you sipped on your iced coffee and Minghao sipped on his warm tea, you quietly basked in the moonlit sky, as you’d done many times before. The adrenaline of tonight coursed through you still while you leaned against the railings and stared up at the stars, your elbows grazing close enough to spark that electricity that you’d feel whenever he ever got too close. This time, you were too tired to fight it, or you learned it’s about time you stopped trying to.

“I don’t drink coffee.” He abruptly confessed, penetrating the silence.

You softly scoffed, turning your head to him, taking his reminder as a jab for your ‘inferior’ tastes before taking a bigger sip of your delicious fresh roast press. “I know that. You prefer tea.”

“I mean, I don’t drink coffee, but the day you ‘saved me,’ I did.”

You hummed. “Oh. Yeah, you did. Funny. You got a coffee that day instead?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, ask me why I drank coffee that day.”

You rolled your eyes, placing your drink on the side table before leaning your elbows over the railing. “Okay. Why did you drink coffee, Minghao?”

“I drank my friend’s mug on accident, thinking it was my tea, then tasted how scaldingly hot and wretched it was—”

You gasped, offended as a barista, “I work really hard on those!”

He waved his hand to calm you down. “Let me finish. I mistook my normal tea for coffee…all because I got distracted, unable to stop thinking about the cute barista who wouldn't quit staring at me from behind the counter.”

“...I apologize for being a creep.”

He shook his head smiling and set his tea cup aside. “Not my point.”

You stared into the contents of your drink, shaking the ice inside as you stirred the straw, trying to find any remains of your beverage and stalling for time to follow up with a response. Lips pressed in a firm line, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, silence met on the other end as he keenly observed you, mirroring your posture while he sipped his tea. “So…You thought I was cute,” you managed to sum up.

“Thought…think…know.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” You timidly asked.

“We’re roommates,” he reminded you, plain as day. “We should be honest with each other, right?”

“Honest,” you repeated, lethally soft.

“Yes, honest,” he confirmed just as quietly. “Don’t be afraid to tell me whatever is on your mind, just as I’ve told you what was on my mind.”

His honesty was cute, flattering. Your honesty could write up a restraining order. “Is that necessary? We only really live together.”

“It’s necessary because we live together, so yes, be honest about your feelings. Let me in on your thoughts, whatever they may be.”

Good roommates don’t forget to be honest about each other’s feelings.

He stood in front of you dangerously close, the lingering smell of his cologne that reminded you of the ocean wafting into your nose as he drew near. His gaze beckoned you close without so much a word passing through his lips, and you felt his presence close in on the distance as he leaned against the railing. You softly batted your eyes, adjusting to your sense being overtaken by all things Minghao, mind just filled to the brim with Minghao, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

“You’re really committed to being a good roommate. I respect that,” you stated, harshly gulping. “Honesty. Where can I start?”

“Well, what are you thinking about right now?” He asked, face mere inches away from you, lips so plush you let out a wistful sigh.

“I’m thinking that…it’s really hard to think with your face so close in front of me.”

Despite that, he didn’t move, and instead he pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, brushing against your helix to feel your flustered warmth bloom between his fingers. “Fair enough. What else?”

You wrapped your hand around the railing, stabling yourself on the floor in hopes of not falling over on your two feet, your breath being stolen in real time by your roommate who was looking more and more inviting by the second.

“And if I knew any better, I’d think you're about to kiss me.”

“Let’s wager that then,” he said as he reeled even closer, his fingertips once in your ears now guiding your chin, letting the surface of your lips feel the ghost of his as your breaths mingled against one another. “You can predict one of two things. One, I kiss you. Or two, I pull away. You get a prize if your answer is correct.”

“How is that a fair wager? You can easily change your response depending on how I answer,” you pointed out, ultimately playing along.

“I won’t,” he reassured in a coaxingly smooth tone. “I’ve made my choice.”

You raised a brow, attempting to look only subtly intrigued when in reality you’ve let him enchant you. “What’s my prize?”

“Loser grants whatever the winner wishes.”

“That’s irresponsible.”

“Knowing you, your request would be far from unreasonable.”

“I’m talking about you.” You narrowed your eyes, swallowing at seeing him come at you so close. “But, okay. I’ll play.”

The corner of his lips lifted mischievously, tilting his head to the side as his eyes narrowed back at you. “So, what’s your answer?”

Your eyes flickered up to him, rounded up in intrigue as you tried to follow his gaze. “You’ll…pull away. Public displays of affection are cute, but maybe not your cup of tea, at least not grand ones like kissing, unless maybe it’s one the cheek or on the forehead.”

He smiled and gently tilted his head, eyes piercing into yours and taking a sharp breath before pulling away, crossing his arms with a soft pout on his lips. “You’re good.”

You felt the sting of rejection despite your victory, as if you’d hoped you’d be wrong. That he’d take you right there against the railing and give you a fervid kiss that broke you down to your knees and you could even taste in your dreams, but a win was a win. A predicted loss was better than a false victory.

“I guess I won.”

He sighed defeatedly, crossing his arms. “You did. So tell me, what desire would you like for me to fulfill for you?”

You shuddered at his choice of words, clamping your legs together. “Well, what would you have wanted me to do if I got the answer wrong?”

“Is that your wish? For me to answer the question?”

You softly scoffed. “Don’t be so cheap.”

He rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his tea, “Doesn’t matter, you didn’t get it wrong. You get the wish. So go on, tell me your wish.”

“…Fine. Grant me your wish as if you had won.”

“You want me to grant my own wish? That defeats the entire purpose,” he chortled with knitted brows.

“It’s my wish, so come on. What’s your wish?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“And we didn't have to place bets, but it doesn't seem like there’s any rules against it, so go ahead. Tell me.”

Minghao sucked his teeth before complying. “Fine.”

He moved toward you, hands settling over your hips and settling you on the floor beneath your feet as he gravitated toward, steadying his gaze on you. His face, inches away from you, and your breath hitched in your throat as he drew his lips near your ear. You heard the subtle squelch of his tongue as they licked his teeth, moments before the wish he dared you to grant poured out from his lush lips. “My wish is for you to…make me tea every morning, afternoon, evening, and every time I ask you to. Like my little tea gremlin.”

“Now that’s just evil, Xu Minghao,” You protested, lightly shoving him off.

He laughed. “No, it’s not! Think of it like pour over coffee.”

“Don’t try romanticizing it like it’s anything like my beautiful beans. Tea is tea. Coffee is coffee.”

“It was your wish to grant my wish.”

“Can I take it back?” You whined.

“It’d be dishonorable.”

You groaned. “Fine.”

He chuckled, “Let’s go home, hmm?”

Heading back home, you were embraced by a warm comfortable silence. There was a kind of silence that sanctioned your amicable living arrangement with Minghao to turn into something warmer, feverish even, something that you can’t even help but notice and your hands would occasionally graze one another on the way back, taking turn exchanging timid glances at you walked your path home.

“That was fun,” You admitted, taking off your shoes at the front door.

“Yeah, I think so. We should do it more often.”

You smiled at each other’s reflections as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, seeing you take the same tube of toothpaste and started brushing your teeth. You smiled as he purposely bumped into you, raising his eyebrow as you stared pointedly at him in the mirror, not expecting you to retaliate with a light shove. Ensuing a nudging war, you attacked each other’s shoulders, getting caught in fits of giggles before you forced yourselves to split up, knowing nothing would get done if you both let it go on.

“Do you work tomorrow?” You asked through the gaping door of your room as he cleared a glass a water before bedtime, freshly out of a shower and the smell of his clean, light fragrance was beguiling even from a distance.

“Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmh.” He stalked over in your direction, a feign innocent smile on his lips. “That's too bad. We only really have nights like these together, it seems at least only for a little while.”

“It is,” You said, lathering up the last bit of lotion up your legs, feeling his eyes on you as they traveled the path of your hands.

The silence engulfed you, as if both of you were waiting for the other to make a sudden move, yet both of you remained still. Like a predator with its prey, unsure who was who, you both stood with uncertainty and palpable tension hanging in the air, waiting for the other to strike when the moment was right. Even the usually confident Minghao stood back as he observed you from a distance, eyes flickering over at you as you strided slowly towards him guarded with crossed arms.

“I guess, I’ll go to sleep now,” You finally said.

His gaze softened, nodding. “Okay,” he smiled, “good night.”

“Good night, Minghao. Sleep well.”

If only you had taken your own words to heart.

That night, you couldn’t help but stare back at the ceiling, fiddling with the covers as the night’s events replayed in your head like a home movie, your thoughts traveling at a million miles a minute, too fast for you to stop and collect them—let alone process them—and stole your precious slumber. So, as you lay in bed awake at night, squeezing your eyes shut and waiting for the night to take you, waiting for the fatigue and sleep to come, it never arrived. Instead, your eyes ripped open, heart pounding in your chest as you sat up from the mattress and tore the covers off your body. Your legs pushed you off the bed and lifted yourself off, carrying yourself out the room and out the hallway with determined steps until faltering at the threshold of another front door before you softly knocked.

You turned the knob, the door creaked open and you peeked your head through to see your roommate on the other end in bed, torso visibly bare as he slowly sat up at his late night intrusion. “Hey,” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “You’re up.”

“I think it’s the coffee,” you excused, clutching the edge of the door, “I can’t sleep.”

Wordlessly, he nodded, stretching an arm to beckon you towards him, and you slowly inched closer to him until you were completely under the covers. Occupying the space beside him, you nestled into the contours of his body as his arm cushioned the side of your head before facing one another, silence enveloping you. The only sound that bit into the silence was muted traffic, infinitely alive outside the walls of your confines. While it looked peaceful, and you felt as though you could melt into his arms, neither of you looked as if you were trying to sleep.

Rather, you stared at one another, making sleep even harder to attain as you traced every feature and took them in as if they were brushstrokes on a painting. Minghao may have worked with art every day, but he was a work of art in his own right, and you couldn’t help favor him above all others. You didn’t need a Van Gogh or Picasso, you had an original, a one of a kind Minghao.

And that’s when you saw his eyes begin to drift, lowering to the bottom half of your face, lips parting in intrigue as his breath fanned lightly against your cheeks. Your face flush in response, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth before they were caught, finding yourself doing the same with him and watching his mouth move in anticipation. You felt your pulse in your throat as much as you felt it between your legs, feeling arousal pooling and soaking your shorts.

“Do you want to wager another bet?” Minghao softly offered.

“What kind?” You breathed.

“The same bet, same prize. Do you think I’ll kiss you, or will I pull away?”

You mused at him, fingers extending toward him reluctantly, aiming for a lock of his hair laying stray on his forehead before smoothing it over his head, softly stroking him, feeling him lean into your touch. “Hmm, this time you’ll…kiss me,” you whispered with absolute certainty. “The tension is practically eating you alive.”

A grin stretched wide across his cheeks as a hand softly clasped over your face, thumb swiping across your cheek. “Right again.”

He closed the gap, slotting his lips between yours and languidly moving against you, letting you chase after his pace. You sighed against him, feeling his hand on your hip as he pulled your torso against his, the other rested against the nape of your neck as he reveled in your heat. Hands flying in his hair, you softly moaned as he kneaded your skin, feeling him trace the inside of your mouth with his tongue before he roughly pulled your weight from the mattress to topple you over him, letting your legs card between his.

“Minghao,” you quietly sounded against his lips, crushing your hips against his groin and hearing his sweet moan in response.

His muscles tensed as you pressed against him, while his legs clung to your thighs. His hands ran over the shape of your figure, unearthing an ungodly moan from your lips as he slipped beneath your shorts, etching over the curve of your ass and claiming your raw flesh in his hands, pushing you against him assertively.

You whimpered, grinding against him. “I know my wish.”

“Anything,” He tenderly mumbled.

“Call off work tomorrow.”

He smiled against your lips, bringing one of his knees to pin your bodies closer together. “Means you should too.”

“Oh, definitely,” You confirmed before reconnecting your mouths in a frenzied liplock.

Feeling the grind of your hips as his pelvis crushed against yours, his grunts slipped through every caress as his hand moved up your back. Soon, you started feeling something you had yet to see from Minghao in all your time living with him, the part of him you managed to evade but have envisioned a multitude of times, growing in his sweatpants and rubbing against your thigh the closer your bodies were.

“I have never wanted someone so bad,” He whispered in a soft ache.

His hands crept underneath your shirt, brushing against your skin, pressing against the small of your back. Pressing his torso towards you, his erection adhered to your thigh, the tension coiling in your stomach burned like wildfire, at an unstoppable rage. “Minghao,” you mewled, impatience singeing on your tongue.

“Somehow, I can still taste coffee on your breath, but I don't really mind it. It tastes really good on you,” He admitted before kissing you deeper, his moans buzzing against your mouth, hungry and alive as his hands dug into your flesh with utter greed.

“You taste really good too.” Your hand body scoured south, cupping his size under your palm and tasting his gasp as you sucked him between your lips. “I wonder what else tastes good.”

“You are something else,” he mumbled, through quiet chuckles. “Just like you to act on impulse.”

You let out a light scoff. “You are so—”

“Don’t start things you can’t finish,” he softly warned with a smirk.

“I’m not the one you have to worry about finishing.”

You moved down, the covers draped over your head as you kept your eyes on him and resting on the hem of his sweats. Minghao’s breath hitched in his throat, gulping while he felt your nails lightly claw against his bare torso, tugging the waistband off the tent he forged, revealing the lack of underwear and restraint he had left, now sprung against your face.

“Shit,” you said grinning, claiming him by the shaft, thumbing over the precum glistening at the tip. “Even your cock looks pretty.”

A soft pink decorated his cheeks and a hand meekly shielded part of his face. “You staring is how I got myself hurt in the first place.”

“Then I’ll be careful not to hurt you this time—that is, unless you want me to.”

You spat on his cock, a translucent ribbon stretching from your tongue to his length. Your saliva lubing your knuckles, you squeezed his girth in your grip as you stroked and felt him pulse in your hands, growing bigger the tighter you clenched. Minghao’s arms propped himself up and behind him as his chest heaved, blood pumping with every drag of your fingers, shallow breaths slipping out of him as he fisted the sheets beneath him.

You kissed the curve of the head, lips pursed to wrap lightly around him, suckling down his shaft, and feeling him twitch against your mouth when you chuckled. He softly whined, his hand extended toward you to tenderly caress the side of your head and tacitly pleading with you as you teased him. Showing him mercy, you took him with an eager mouth, closing your lips around his cock as you steadied your gaze on him. Moans vibrating around his girth, your tongue tucked on the underside of his shaft, hands wrapped tightly around his base.

“Mmmh like that.” He swallowed, exhaling through his teeth the deeper you took him. His abdomen flexing overtly as you moaned around him, vibrated against his skin, your pink muscle tracing over his veins as you worked your jaw to hug a tighter grip. “God, you’re perfect. Don’t stop, please…” he panted.

He palmed at your hair headily, his motor skills not properly functioning as he sucked in his breath, feeling his presence explore deeper. He leveraged his hips to regain some ounce of control, but the sounds of moisture and squelching burned his ears, and the heart in his chest was running like a marathon. His eyes, fluttering in and out of focus, trained his gaze on you while his stomach tensed, grasping the vision of you getting wide-eyed and bold as you gingerly ate him alive. Burning the image into his retinas, it made him want to explode inside you.

Threading through your hair, he pulled them up and off your shoulders, showing off your pretty features, doing everything in his power not to give his climax an early appearance. “I’ve never seen such a pretty mouth take my cock so well. Then again, I’ve never had a pretty roommate like you, or anyone like you.”

Flustered from the flattery, you sucked him like your life depended on it as you grew hot, making Minghao’s task to regain control strenuous to achieve. You hollowed out your cheeks, leaving no room to breathe, and felt him in your throat as your vision rolled to behind your skull to the point your language deduced to the sounds of gagging. You gripped his hips, nails plunged into his flesh as your drool dribbled down his groin, slobbering over his cock in an erratic, hungry mess.

“Yes, like that. My god,” He praised through ragged breaths, hips jerking gently up into you. He lightly threw his head back, the urge to ram himself down your throat getting exceedingly more tempting, but he suppressed it as he dug his nails into his own palms. “I’m so close to cumming, can I–in your mouth or should I…?”

You hummed a confirmation before you swallowed him whole until you met the base, meeting his groin as he vanished inside you, breathing oxygen not even an afterthought. Images in front of you dulled in color, pictures shapeless and unclear, and you pushed past your boundaries to let him find home in your mouth, deeply intent with him finishing inside you one way or the other.

“F…f…fuck...”

Pleasure rippling through him, Minghao pushed himself up from his position, thrusting weakly as he cradled your head, pouring his thick, ivory load into your mouth, which was insistent on receiving every drop. He filled your cheeks, allowing warmth to coat the inside of your mouth as he tenderly stroked your hair in gratitude. Cupping your cheeks as he let his hips falter, he gently pulled himself out of your mouth, amused at how carefully you were trying to not let any of his cum seep past your lips as you sat between his legs.

His fingers danced under your chin. “Are you gonna swallow?” Minghao tiredly chuckled.

With smiling eyes, you tilted your head, as if asking if you should.

He pushed your hair behind you, softly pressing his lips against your tightly shut lips. “Don’t if you don’t want to.”

An idea occurred to you then, and in an instant you pushed yourself up to board him as your knees took either side of him, looming over him. His hands naturally found your waist as you lifted his chin, eyes staring at you curiously as his hands ran up body and gently clawed down, awaiting your next move. You then thumbed over his bottom lip before dipping between the slit of his mouth and saw it naturally part, taking the digit and settling it between his teeth.

Now confidently, you lowered your head, swirling the contents in your mouth before pushing your thumb deeper, prying the entrance wider, and finding no protest as he sanctioned it. He dug the pads of his digits into your flesh in anticipation. His eyes fluttering, he watched as your mouth withdrew the generous gift he gave to you before you gave it right back to him as it gracefully streamed down on his pulsing, eager tongue. And nothing satisfied you more than hearing him sigh wistfully as it landed.

It sent you shivers how beautiful he looked despite how vulgar the act was. Only Xu Minghao could make tasting his own cum look so ethereal, and it only made you wonder what other things a face this beautiful was willing to do. You swiped whatever fell from the corner of his lips with your thumb, sucking the residue like leftovers before you connected your mouths, sharing and tasting his lewd tang in violent swirls, and pulling away to watch it stretch between your tongues.

“I guess toothbrushes aren’t the only things you like to share,” Minghao teased before pushing you on your back, grinding his resurrecting arousal against your clothed heat and lathering the thick, viscous substance flat between your tongues in your mouths as it dribbled down your chins until there was nothing but slobber. It was a mess, and the most unmannerly you’ve ever seen him, and you’ve never been more turned on.

“My turn.”

With a rough hand, he tugged you by your legs towards him, hearing you let out a yelp, and shoved down your shorts to expose your glistening, mouth-watering, arousal soaked entrance. Be still his heart. He felt himself throb seeing you ruin his bed, but hell if he wasn't going to be sucking those juices out of the sheets until he’d tasted every drop.

He kicked off his sweats, leaving him entirely vulnerable while you witnessed his cock slowly twitch back to life before he laid on his stomach between your arched legs. “If we want to talk about pretty things, your pussy is high up on that list.”

Not waiting for a response, he licked a thick stripe up your inner thigh, flickering over your folds before sucking them in his mouth, using the tip of his tongue to tease your entrance. He felt the flutter of your core before spitting, lathering at the juices, coating at entrance but not peeking to see what was inside. “You’re already so wet, fuck.”

“Hao…” You whined.

“Mmmh, I love how you sound,” he chuckled, running long strokes up your slit, wedged through you with every swipe, looking arm around your leg to hold you in place as his thumb brushed over your clit. “Are your moans always this delicious? Or are they reserved for when you’re thinking about me?”

Shaking your head, you were too turned on to answer verbally, while his mouth closed around your clit and sucked, utilizing his fingers to assume their previous position. You clenched your stomach, fisting into the sheets as you spread your legs, feeling them already clam up from the tension as his tongue flicked against your sensitive bud in unison with his fingers twisted up into, and you couldn’t help but writhe underneath him.

“Yes, spread those pretty legs for me,” he encouraged with a haughty smile before burying his face, his moans vibrating up your walls as his tongue massaged your walls and tasted your cock pulsing nectar, sending chills up your spine.

You mewled, and feeling reserved, you held your hands up to your face to shield the tears collecting at your eyes threatening to fall, but Minghao grabbed you by the wrists, roughly pinning them to the bed.

His eyes narrowed back at you before softening almost menacingly, “Don’t cover your pretty face, watch me.”

“But—”

“I want you to watch me fuck your pretty pussy with my mouth. Don’t make me say it twice.” He warned before he got you a quiet nod, earning you a kiss against your inner thigh.

His hand flattened against your inner thighs again, pressing them further away from another and delving his tongue deeper as he rubbed your clit, working your insides until he tasted every inch of you possible. He buried his face, but his eyes were clear, staring at you as he worked his jaw, engorging with his mouth that sent you above and beyond and his eyes that saw you at the result of your undoing. You had no choice but to cling on, freeing yourself from his grasp to have your fingers fly in his hair, navigating him as you took him for a joy ride, his tongue shifting gears as it picked up pace.

“S-shit!” You rolled your hips, threading your fingers through his locks and clamping his head between your thighs as you pushed him deeper.

“Yes, ride my face—fuck, use me, please,” he pleaded in a cracked voice, pouring his heart into his feast until he was practically suffocating, worth it to worship you and bring you to the highest peak of your pleasure.

Your legs trembled as his moans infiltrated your heat, the intense flicks of his tongue titillating you to the brink of ecstasy until he used it to fuck you in time with his fingers thrusting inside, clutching you as you held him in place and grinding against him. “My god, Hao!”

Hips shaking, you bucked into his mouth, and even after your release, he made no effort to stop, lifting you to his mouth as he got on his knees, eating you like a meal he’d never have again until he worked his tongue raw, tasting you and only you as your cum coated his mouth. You squirmed, the suction of his lips on your sensitive core in tandem with his tongue viciously swirling inside you overwhelming you beyond words, unable to kick him off as he held both your knees above his head.

“You’re gonna kill me, Hao,” you cried desperately. “Just put it in me.”

He chuckled before setting you down, meeting your lips halfway as he stroked his fully erect cock, massaging the evening’s concoction against your tastebuds, mingling the contrasting flavors as they battled in your mouth while the knowledge of it all pebbled your skin. Meanwhile, he ran his hands over you beneath your shirt, found your nipples, rolling them against his thumbs as his cock rubbed between your folds, ebbing your moans as they buzzed against his lips. “What if I want to play with you first?” He taunted.

You whined, brushing your lips repeatedly over his. “I want you inside me.”

“You’re cute even when you’re needy,” he gushed.

You clasped your hands over his soft, warm cheeks. “Minghao, please…”

He playfully rolled his eyes, kissing into your palm then down your wrist before his teeth playfully started nibbling at your skin. “Fine, because you asked so nicely. Just to let you know, though, I don’t have a condom on me right now, but I’m clean.”

“Then, we don’t need one.”

He grinned, stroking the back of your head. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Rubbing his tip down your slit, he savored your whimpers as he drew circles against your clit before sliding his length through your folds and stretching your walls, letting you slowly adjust to his presence. Your jaw slightly dropped as you took a sharp inhale, fingers digging into his shoulders and clinging on to him before you felt him sink deeper inside you, pacing his thrusts in a steady rhythm. Your eyes flit to meet his, feeling the back and forth of his hips as they snapped, while you reveled in each collision.

“Yes please…”

Before losing himself in his pleasure, he was determined to remember how you looked getting lost in yours, taking in your features as they distorted under his care. He first found your eyes–lost in a galaxy with an infinite amount of stars out of the way. Then, his eyes started to follow the slope of your cheeks, flushed to the touch against the back of his hand, saliva leaking out of your swollen lips. And your body with the shirt adhered to you by the sweat on your skin, clinging to your form and proving to him time and time again that you were not only the object of his desires, you were something straight out of his dreams.

“You look, taste, and feel good? Where have you been all my life? Really?” He landed a harsh thrust, pressing down on your nipples and smiling manically at how you whimpered in response, clutching you as you shuddered against him. “You like that?”

You nodded, clawing your hand up his back.

“Mmh, me too,” he drew his lips to your ear. “And I like you. A lot. I wouldn’t let someone go on and use my toothbrush for months if I didn’t.” He slowed down his thrusts, cupping your face to meet your eyes. “You like me too, right?”

Feeling your ears burn, you frantically nodded again, mewling after you felt him nip at them, teeth scraping under your earlobe before an open mouth pressed against the side of your neck. The warmth of his breath sweltering against you as you struggled to carry on with the conversation Minghao was determined to have.

“Yeah, you want me to take you on a real date?” He said into the nape of your neck, moaning into your skin as he dragged his hips, rutting into you like an animal. He barely made out your soft ‘yes’s in your sharp gasps. He gritted his teeth, taking you by the hips, pushing himself flushed against you. “Fuck, you’re so cute,” he groaned.

His hips took flight while he separated your mouth in a loud moan, feeling you becoming malleable under his touch and growing weaker as you recoiled against him. He lifted your shirt above your chest and neared your stiff peaks, rolling your bud against the base of his tongue as he pinched the other, moving out of pure instinct. You threw your head back, going mad with sexual gratification. Your body spasmed out of your control, yet you craved more.

“Harder,” You gasped.

He scoffed under his breath in disbelief. “You want even more?”

“Yes…I want you to cum inside me. I want to feel everything that’s yours, Minghao.”

Knees buckling at your titillating request, he gripped your ass in both palms, clutching you against him as he rammed himself up inside you, and you’re forced to hold on. “I’ll do you one better,” he offered, “why don’t I just make you mine?”

“I…Oh, god…” Your brain was becoming mush, only processing the sound, taste, smell, sensation of Minghao’s cock as he plunged himself inside you. It fogged up your thoughts, clouded your judgement, and only formed incoherent gibberish that took place of real vocabulary as they passed through your swollen lips.

“Be mine, hmm?” He asked, pleading. “That way I can be yours.”

Captivated by his words, you nodded, feeling him suck the life out of you as your body felt close to giving out, the hilt of his cock bottoming out inside you. You anchored your legs around him, following his pace before you felt something within reach, just seconds away from ripping a scream out of your throat that would surely ensue a noise complaint from one of your neighbors.

“Hao, I’m going to cum, I’m really close,” you meekly warned.

His hand settled against your thigh, nodding. “I can feel it. You’re shaking so hard. Let me have it, I’ll catch you. Every last bit of you.”

Ecstasy was just a word, but Minghao was everything, and you could breathe in that everything.

Your bodies crushed against each other, lost in heat as you became one. Breaths blended, bodies embraced, only faltering after you long finished the initial orgasms, coming back for more. You embraced the sheer carnivorous lust that quelled this several month long push and pull, adhering you by the sweat misted on each other's skin before your mouths tenderly met repeatedly.

Sleep felt futile, while the night felt everlasting. Minghao’s company was more than you could ever ask for, and by the time you did sleep, you were too tired to move. You collapsed against each other, bodies drowning in each other’s releases, sheets and pillows stained by the arousal from the evening’s lack of inhibitions. Minghao should’ve been just as tired, but instead he tended to your tired body, leaving kisses in its wake as he cleaned you off and slept alongside you in your clean bed, letting him worry about laundry in the morning.

With your eyes closed, mind in another world, Minghao was brushing the hair away from your face, softly smiling as you gently stirred and nestled closer to him. In response, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, warmth blooming in his chest as a grin developed on your face.

“I’ll take you on a proper date. I promise,” he said while you slept. “And If I don’t, pull the bad roommate card on me. You can punish me however you like.”

“…ok, I will.”

#thediamondlifenetwork #seventeen #the8 #xu minghao #minghao #minghao smut #the8 smut #xu minghao smut #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #minghao fanfic #xu minghao fanfic

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sortagaysortahigh · 1 month ago

Text

Lovefool | James 'Bucky' Barnes

A/N: Guys ive been writing ts for like four days and lemme tell you im so glad it's over. Ugh everyone say thank you to @anxietyandtacos for making me into a bucky girl, and thank you to @love-chx for feeding into my bucky dellusions and beta-ing this monster of a fic <3. I was gonna split it in 2 but I'm too lazy to edit that out so I prese,t idiots in love! Minor TB/CABNW SPOILERS

Summary: James Barnes is a terrible congressman, hence Sam sending you to be his assistant. You keep him on a tight leash, and you both do a horrible job at hiding your feelings for one another. Add jealousy and alcohol to the mix? what could possibly change?

Warnings: 2nd person POV, use of Y/N, being a D1 John Walker hater, mentions of bipolar parents/family trauma (minor), forced super soldier serum injections (mention, not depicted!), reader is also a super soldier lowkey but she's just a girl ok!, cursing, spelling and grammar errors probably idk fr, jealous!bucky and jealous!reader, SMUT: hair pulling, choking w that vibranium arm, spitting, hickies, kissing, oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected P in V, creampie, swallowing, reader gets a facial (im going to hell guys), minor handjob, whimpering (MEN WHIMPERING UGH!!)

Word Count: 18k. PART 2

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Secretary!Fem Reader (reader has vague descriptions regarding having STRAIGHTENED hair/curled hair, reader is shorter than Bucky)

UGHHHHHHHHH LET ME AT HIM! FUCK! anyways MINORS DNI!

James Buchanan Barnes is a terrible congressman.

How he managed to get elected to represent Brooklyn? You had absolutely no idea. Sure his campaign made sense, it aligned with his long-term goals of making amends for the tragedies he’d committed as the Winter Soldier, but outside of his initial campaigning,he hadn’t done much.

He hadn’t had any major bills passed and he had a terrible media presence. Anytime anyone wanted to interview him or ask any major questions following a congressional session, he would mutter the same ‘yeah uh huh, it’s super important, oh I think we should care about this- blah blah blah’.

It made zero sense.

That’s the entire reason you were hired. Then again, it was also because you owed Sam Wilson a major favor after he opted not to arrest you following the whole ‘Flag Smashers terrorism’ ordeal. It’s not like you were voluntarily involved with the group, but you were a major part of the brains behind the tech-based operations.Plus, you knew how to talk to people. Most importantly, you knew your ins and outs of politics and had a vast network of connections.

“Bucky, can you just listen to me for once! You’re gonna fuck up your entire career if you keep bullshitting responses to the press!”

You let out a frustrated sigh, two fingers pinching your nose bridge as you shut your eyes. You’re doing your best to remain calm and avoid screaming at him for the fourth time this week—it’s only Tuesday.

Working with Barnes was like your own personal hell.

It made sense that he was over a hundred years old. He's stubborn and rude and since the beginning, it was apparent that he didn’t trust you. He even vouched for you to be arrested a few years ago following the takedown of the Flag Smashers, but that was mostly because you had kicked his ass and clearly bruised his ego.

Things were better now…well, if you didn’t count the constant arguments. He was just too nonchalant at times.

Bucky nodded his head, clearly ignoring you as he focused on buttoning up his white shirt.

The both of you were in his Washington D.C. penthouse. It was a nice place all things considered, a luxury awarded to him by the government, and, of course, being a national ‘hero’ recognized by Captain America himself did come with perks.

You lean against the island counter, arms crossed in front of your chest while you glare at him. Meanwhile, he was focused on his own reflection in the large circular wall-mounted mirror across the room.

You were due for a briefing surrounding the Foreign Affairs congressional committee soon, but based on the way he couldn’t answer any of your questions, you knew he’d either be making a fool of himself or you’d have to swoop in and save the day again.

“Would you relax for five minutes? All you do is yell at me, I get you’re supposed to be my know-it-all secretary but Christ, you need to calm down.”

Your right eye twitches at his response, then you grab the nearest item to you, a glass vase, and launch it in his direction.

Bucky caught it with ease, shaking his head at you as he eyes you from the reflection of the mirror.

Admittedly, Bucky had no issue with his wandering eyes when it came to you. His gaze trailed from your irritated expression, a smirk on his face at the sight of your ever-present pout, then he eyed the few thin gold chains you always wore tucked into your shirt. Today, you hadn’t buttoned your shirt all the way up just yet, leaving quite the eye-full of cleavage out.

It didn’t help that you were practically pressing your tits together with your arms crossed below them. Bucky took in the rest of your outfit, one of your black pencil skirts that was deemed as work appropriate and modest--even though it hugged all of your curves perfectly and made your ass practically irresistible. Finally, he landed on your shoes, the pointed toe stiletto heels that he knew made your feet hurt, yet you always had a pair on.

They did wonders for your legs.

You ran a hand through your perfectly straightened hair. Usually every strand was laid perfectly and you’d spend too much time making sure it wasn’t frizzy in the slightest-which was like hell during D.C. summers. Now it was messy, but it was messy in a way that made Bucky’s brows raise slightly.

“Don’t tell me to fucking relax Barnes. Your political career is a direct reflection of my political career. I hate to break it to you, but us being two ex-enemies of the state already have us on thin ice constantly! Presidential pardons don’t mean shit in the eyes of the public—a public which you’re supposed to serve!”

You were raising your voice again, he shook his head at that, now finally turning around to face you while he grabbed his tie.

“Just come help me with this tie so we can go. I read the files. I get it, if I fuck up it’s a problem, blase blase blase. I’ve got speech writers, advisors, and most importantly—you.”

You sighed again, hands now on your hips as you stared at him while clenching your jaw and shaking your head. You hated when he said things like that to you, things that were a little too sweet for a supposed strictly professional relationship.

Sure, you’d known him before he was a Congressman, but you weren’t close in the slightest.

Then during the aftermath of the Flag Smashers, Sam had you in constant therapy sessions, and after pulling several strings, he had you working side-by-side with him. That’s what really launched your political career.

People liked to argue that Captain America wasn’t political, but he absolutely was. The mantle itself was propaganda, and honestly, you were glad it was Sam holding the shield, he was the best fit for the job regardless of what idiots thought.

Sam brought you into the world of politics, and it was easy for you to build a network, plus you were able to spin your own narratives regarding your past, playing into people’s emotions, and sure, it was a little manipulative, but you were smart.

Y’know what they say—work smarter, not harder.

You had started working with Bucky because Sam had cashed in on the ultimate favor after watching Bucky during his campaign trail. His speeches were all amazing, but then when anyone would ask him a candid question, he would struggle, or he’d be dismissive and it was evident he didn’t want to answer questions or be there.

That’s when you showed up, and following his election, you were at the forefront of his public appearances. Answering questions on his behalf, assisting in briefings, and even being with him during any congressional sessions, especially committee sessions. Most representatives didn’t have their assistants with them at all times, but things were different now, and as the world continued to adapt and change, so did the sphere of politics.

You rolled your eyes as you approached him, stopping less than a foot away, ignoring the ever-apparent butterflies you’d feel in your stomach anytime you had to stand in close quarters with him. It wasn’t that being next to him flustered you, it was being face-to-face with him. There was a height difference, but the heels helped with that.

However, the heels did not help with his wide stature. Bucky Barnes is a wall of muscle, and some days it felt like his biceps alone were the size of your head.

You knew he knew how to tie his own tie. But you also knew he liked when you did it.

He looked down at you, a smirk on his face while he watched your hands work against his royal-blue tie. Your jaw was still clenched, and you were very clearly annoyed with him.

Bucky knew you had a soft spot for him. Just like he had a soft spot for you.

You know this because he’d already fired two assistants prior to Sam ushering you into the role.

You were the only person he’d ever let scream at him over anything. Admittedly, he kind of liked it when you yelled at him too, but he wouldn’t tell you that. It was attractive because, well, you were attractive. But you were also his assistant that was around eighty years younger than him.

“Can you at least pretend you want to be there today?” You glanced up at him as you finished adjusting his tie. Your faces were inches apart as you searched his icy blue eyes for an answer.

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try for you.”

You nodded at that, moving away from him and walking towards the sofa to grab his suit jacket and your purse. Then you glanced down at your watch, muttering a few curses at the time.

He watched you walk towards the door, snapping your fingers a few times at him. He smiled and shook his head, grabbing his briefcase and keys as he followed you. Before the both of you could leave, you handed him his jacket, raising both brows.

“Put it on, Barnes.”

He nodded at that, shrugging it on then buttoning it. You were quick to run your hands along the front of his chest, straightening out any potential wrinkles—the motion felt natural to you. The first time you’d done it, it left you flustered and blushing, but now it didn’t bother you. The quicker it was done, the quicker you’d actually be able to make it out of the building and to the car that had been waiting on you both for ten minutes.

Bucky didn’t like being driven around, it was something he was still getting used to. It wasn’t like he couldn’t drive himself. Then again, the drivers usually had bulletproof trucks to avoid any potential Kennedys happening.

Yeah, his career as the Winter Soldier was extensive and most likely resulted in several of the current governmental security measures.

Besides, at least he knew you would be safe by his side in the blacked out suburban.

On the drive to the capitol building you were talking non-stop, running him through every agenda that had been previously reviewed and would most likely be circled back to today. You also went on and on about him needing to actually answer questions with real information, not his typical half-assed responses brushing everything off.

When the SUV was finally parked and stopped, you grabbed his forearm before getting out of the car.

“Don’t piss me off today, Barnes.”

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip as he nodded his head. “No promises, Sweetheart”.

When he said no promises he meant it.

The both of you hadn’t been in the hearing for longer than twenty minutes before he’d managed to irritate you. It didn’t help that this hearing was scheduled to last three hours.

You prayed that the three hours would go by fast, especially with Bucky already brushing off another congressman. The entire reason he was on this specific committee was because of his experience overseas working with the former Avengers, and several foreign threats, plus his ‘stellar’ work with groups such as the Flag Smashers.

All he was asked to do was give his input on the current situation regarding Celestial Island. That was it.

It was a simple question, with an even simpler response, and he’d manage to start his bullshit fiasco again.

You were quick to cut him off, a bright smile on your face as you leaned into his space, pulling the small microphone in your own direction.

“What Congressman Barnes means is that we’re very concerned with the potential threat of any foreign militant uprisings pertaining to the discovery and appearance of Celestial island. Alongside that, it’s evident that with the newfound and limited natural resources on the island, there are several concerns regarding the legal boundaries of mining on foreign territory.”

You sat back in your seat, glancing around the room while several officials nodded and took notes. Bucky was staring right at you, his eyes slightly squinted while he tried not to make a scene. He then subtly pinched your thigh, which led to you swatting his hand away.

When he leaned into your space, you were practically enveloped in the smell of his cologne. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t relax you slightly.

Bucky whispered into your ear, “Can you not shove me out of the way to correct me every five minutes.”

Your jaw clenched at his words. His breath against your ear sent a shiver along your spine, and quite frankly you wanted to slap him. Not because he was wrong to address you in a private manner, but because he was making a fool out of himself and pissing you off.

As he pulled back you offered a smile that was very clearly fake. Well, at least to him it was fake.

“Of course, Congressman.”

The rest of the hearing was spent the same way, you taking notes while he took half-assed notes. Telling him what to say and what not to say, and correcting him a few more times when he couldn’t provide enough detail on the matter.

Once the meeting was adjourned and the both of you were out of the room, the press were everywhere, surrounding each member, asking a million questions, and when they crowded around you and Bucky, you let out a deep sigh, glancing up at him as he smiled and nodded at the reported forcing microphones into his face.

“Congressman Barnes, what is your opinion on the ongoing Celestial Island expeditions and the potential interstellar crisis right now?” He glanced over at you for a brief few seconds. Then he looked around before clenching his jaw and taking a deep breath. He then leaned closer to one of the mics.

“No comment.”

With that, he was quick to guide you through the crowd and out of the building.

The two of you stood at the top steps of the capitol building, your gaze focused on a series of notes that you’d taken, eyes trailing each sentence, trying to compartmentalize all of the major points of the meeting. Meanwhile, he was shooting the driver a text, letting him know that things had wrapped up.

“You said you wouldn’t piss me off today, Barnes.”

He shrugged, now looking at you, eyes taking in the way that the sun practically radiated off of your skin. God, you were so beautiful—if only you didn’t talk so damn much. “I said no promises.”

You shook your head, now squinting as you looked around, the sun brighter than ever. Without even thinking about it, you were using your free hand to fish in Bucky’s jacket pocket, pulling out his black aviator sunglasses before slipping them on and going back to your reading.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little too comfortable?”

You blinked a few times, shrugging the same way he always shrugged when people asked him questions. “You’ll be fine Barnes. Also, don’t forget we have a fundraiser to attend tomorrow, black tie event, I think Sam’s an honored speaker there. And if you’re bringing your team of miscreants, make sure to keep them on a tight leash.” With that, you started descending down the white stone steps, leaving him confused.

He watched as you walked off. At first he thought maybe you were messing with him, however, after you’d made it to the bottom and continued walking down the cement path, he knew you were on the way somewhere. It was a nice day outside, so maybe it made sense that you’d go for a walk on Capitol Hill? But that usually entailed you needing to get something, or speak with someone.

“Where the hell are you going?!” he called after you, leading you to pause and spin around, pushing his sunglasses to the top of your head, moving your hair out of the way.

“To get lunch, what am I supposed to photosynthesize?”

He shook his head, following after you and ignoring the looks he was getting from tourists, locals, and other political figures.

It didn’t take long for him to catch up to you, his long strides quicker than yours as he descended the stairs. That and he wasn’t wearing a pair of four inch stilettos on. Some days when you moved too slowly he’d debate throwing you over his shoulder to get somewhere quicker.

But that was both unprofessional and embarrassing for the both of you. He knew for a fact that you’d make a scene, most likely shouting at him, switching between his military rank to his political title while hitting him.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair before glancing at you as the both of you walked in sync. He took a second to look around, observing the area to ensure there were no major threats. An old habit that always seemed to surface anytime he was with you in public.

“So, where exactly are we going?”

You shrugged, now holding a manilla folder above your face to further block the sun, squinting behind the black aviators before crossing the busy street. It wasn’t uncommon for secretaries to walk around the Hill, especially during lunch or recess. You knew your way around the city relatively well.

However, it was clear Bucky did not, considering you were guiding him in the direction of the Vietnamese restaurant that the two of you frequented during the first few months of working together. There wasn’t any point in trying something new, not when you had several pages of notes to sort through and reiterate to Bucky.

“To 54, y’know the cute little mom and pops place we used to go to all the time? Best summer rolls in D.C.”

He nodded as you spoke.Truthfully, he had no idea what you were talking about. Sure, he knew that when you first started working for him you had dragged him to lunch, claiming that taking a break from the ‘seriousness’ of the job was important, but outside of that, he couldn’t remember half of the places you dragged him to.Usually the food was good, though.

After about ten more minutes of walking alongside Bucky, who was constantly grabbing you and pulling you away from incoming traffic when you’d been too focused on the hearing notes to actually look before crossing the street, you’d finally made it to the restaurant.

The second you opened the door, you spotted Ms. Minh, the older woman that owned the restaurant. Within a few seconds she’d noticed you and Bucky, a wide smile on her face as she approached the both of you with menus.

“My favorite customers! Tell me Bucky, are you two engaged yet?”

You blinked a few times, eyes wide at the insinuation that you and Bucky were together. When you glanced over at him, his brows were knit together as his eyes met yours.

Neither of you would acknowledge the rosy flush on his face.

“Now, Ms. Minh, you know we’re not together romantically. He’s my boss, and between me and you, the biggest grouch I know. Plus, he never listens to me! I can’t be with a man who doesn’t listen.” You spoke as you followed her to a table that was a bit more secluded in the back corner of the dining area.

She shook her head, scoffing a bit before elbowing you, leaning closer to you.“Men never listen, but he’s a good one, can’t let him slip away.”

You gasped at that, laughing and smiling at her as you sat down. He slid into the seat directly across from you and smiled at Ms. Minh when she handed him his menu, lightly slapping his shoulder and winking before walking off.

“I remember this place now.”

You nodded your head, smiling as you read through the menu. You knew exactly what you were getting, but you also didn’t want to look into those baby blues right now. Not while you tried your best to ignore the butterflies—scratch that, it was like an entire team of olympic gymnasts were doing somersaults in your stomach.

You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t ever thought of Bucky romantically. Outside of being an absolute moron in the realm of politics, he’s a genuinely good guy. He’s done the work to make amends, he understands empathy, he’s kind and giving, and in the words of the other assistants you had the displeasure of working with, he really was a tall glass of water.

“Are you gonna take the sunglasses off, Sweetheart?”

You blinked a few times, finally registering that everything still had a dark blue-ish hue. You were too lost in thought to actually take off the aviators. He already had his hand out, waiting for you to place them in his palm.

Once you returned the glasses, one of the servers came around to take your order, and without any hesitation you were ordering for yourself and for him. When he opened his mouth to say something you quickly shushed him before finishing the order. “I know what you like, Barnes.”

He nodded slowly, looking from you to the glass of ice water on the table. Sure, you did know what he liked to a certain extent.

He also liked you, a lot more than he should’ve. But he was positive you didn’t know that, even if you were the biggest know-it-all on the goddamn planet.

You finally looked up at him, now stirring the thin plastic straw in your glass of water, taking a second to push the lemon wedge to the bottom of the glass, lightly squishing it with the straw.

“So, after the term is over, what’s next for you Congressman Barnes?”

He shrugged, one hand reaching for his phone, the other on the tabletop, fingers tapping against the worn wood. The white, green, and red hues from one of the bright neon signs on the wall reflecting against his skin ever so slightly as he looked at you.

James Barnes needed to be painted. He was too handsome to not be preserved forever in art. Then again, anytime you’d ever mentioned anything about him being preserved, he’d make a joke about being in cryostasis that would leave your jaw dropped.

“I dunno, probably go back to being a hero or something, who knows. Got the whole ‘New Avengers’ thing to address. Maybe, keep working on the whole making amends thing. Not sure if politics are for me.”

You tried to hold in your laugh but it easily slipped past the cracks in your stoic expression. “I’m gonna say this as your friend, not your assistant so don’t fire me. But you’re really shitty at your job.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head lightly, his hair had a slight bounce that made you want to run your fingers through the chocolate locks.

“You’re probably right Sweetheart, but the Winter Soldier turned politician looks good on paper. Sam’s always talking about history remembering names, guess it was the best way to redeem myself. Y’know serving the people.”

As the both of you spoke, your food was brought out. The two bowls of pho were placed on the table, alongside your side of summer rolls. You absentmindedly grabbed the few bottles of sauce on the table. Immediately adding some hoisin sauce and a dash of sriracha to his, the way he always liked it.

Then you moved onto your own, throwing bean sprouts, mint, and jalapenos into the bowl.

“Y’know I can do things on my own.”

You shrugged, now raising a single brow. “Then I wouldn’t have a job.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face was evident, a large toothy grin that was typically reserved for the people closest to him. Bucky let out a boisterous laugh as he picked up his chopsticks, mixing his pho. “Fine, you got me there I guess.”

You nodded at that, then added, “Besides, I like doing stuff for you. Actually, I think I just enjoy doing things for people in general, I guess it’s my love language or whatever Joaquin says.”

The mention of the new Falcon bothered Bucky, not because he didn’t like the kid, but because it had an angry green emotion swirling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t envy, no it was blatant jealousy.

“Ah, how is Joaquin anyways?”

You raised a brow at him, swallowing the food in your mouth before answering. “Well, after crash landing into the Indian Ocean, his recovery is actually going really well. Been in physical therapy and rehab for a while, still doesn’t shut the hell up, and is constantly yapping Sam’s ear off—and mine—when he calls. I think he’s back in the air now too, last I heard from Sam at least.”

He nodded as he ate. Then, he couldn’t help himself “So…are you two still close?”

Your brows knit together as your head craned back a bit.

“It’s pretty unprofessional to ask about your assistant's love life, hmm?” you were teasing him, pointing the chopsticks in hand at him, both brows raised now. Then your smile cracked. “Good thing we’re friends-ish. But no, me and Joaquin are a negative, sure we’re around the same age, but I dunno, he’s a great friend, but not my type y’know. I usually go for the whole tall, brooding, kinda mean, type.”

Bucky bit his bottom lip slightly as you spoke. Externally, he was focused on you and his meal. Internally he was jumping for joy at the fact that you weren’t remotely interested in Joaquin Torres. Plus, hearing your usual type, he was right up your alley. But once again, it was incredibly unprofessional to fraternize with your secretary.

“So, what about you, Barnes? Seeing any ladies when I’m not around?” You wiggled your brows at him. He shook his head, laughing while you practically stuffed your face with a summer roll. He was glad you were comfortable around him, but that comfort also fed into his delusions he liked to keep to himself.

Plus, you were annoying. But he kind of liked annoying these days.

“Yeah, no. All I do is work, don’t have much time for a social life, sure as hell don’t have time for a romantic one at this point. Besides, I’m a bit old to be going back into the dating scene.”

You scoffed at that. “Not true at all! Sure on paper you’re like a century old, but I mean c’mon you’re like what thirty-six? Thirty-seven? And I mean this in the most professional sense, you’re not exactly ugly or unattractive. Sure you’re mean, a politician, and have a history of being a war criminal! But we all have flaws!”

He blinked several times, head tilting slightly while shutting his eyes and pinching his nose bridge while taking a deep sigh. “You’re a terrible relationship coach.”

You shrugged at that, biting into the second summer roll before pausing, food clearly stuffed into your right cheek like a hamster. “That’s why I’m in politics, duh.”

Then your phone was ringing, and Party in the U.S.A. was on full blast, earning several looks from people around you both. You sighed, putting your spoon down before grabbing the phone off of the table and answering while looking directly at Bucky who had a single brow raised.

“Sam, please tell me this isn’t a work related call.” You sighed, as you listened to Sam speak, running a hand through your now frizzy hair. Then, you placed the phone between your cheek and shoulder, digging through your bag in the empty chair beside you until you were able to pull out your planner. The same planner which several people made fun of you for using, stating that you needed to just use google calendar or some other app.

The apps never worked for you, so you stuck to pen and paper.

Then you were flipping it open to this week, eyes scanning the different hearings, meetings, press releases, and scattered notes. Brows knit together as you dug out a pen.

“So, it’s mandatory? Like this isn’t one of those ‘oh we wish we could’ve made an appearance, so sorry for missing the fundraiser’?” You let out another sigh at Sam’s response, now looking up at Bucky who was focused on drinking his water and attempting to read all of your scribbled notes upside down.

“This is way beyond short notice Sam, y’know one day can you just call to invite us to one of Sarah’s cookouts again? Or maybe a fishing trip? Hell, even saving the world would be better.”

Bucky groaned as he finally registered that you were making note of a charity fundraiser event happening in two days.

“Okay Sam, yes I’m fine! Yes I’m safe! Wha-what?! Don’t ask me that oh my god! Goodbye Sam!” You quickly hung up, a bit flustered over Sam’s last question, and as much as Bucky wanted to ask what it was, you were already focused on the schedule. Sometimes you were like a robot, immediately switching into work mode, hyper fixated on a task until it was fully complete.

This was one of those instances, or at least, from his end, that’s how it seemed.

Meanwhile, you were just avoiding his gaze after Sam had asked if you and Bucky and finally ‘dealt with that sexual tension’. It wasn’t like you had sexual tension! He was just your very attractive boss that fit right into your typical archetype of men that you’d go after, plus he was older, which was an added bonus.

But he was also stubborn as ever, mean, unprepared, unprofessional at times, and obnoxious when he wanted to be.

Everyone has flaws, you just had to fixate on his to remind yourself that Bucky’s your boss not your potential husb—boyfriend. The first option would be too far fetched, even if Ms. Minh was your biggest supporter in the matter.

“Okay Barnes, turns out we have a mandatory charity fundraiser to attend this weekend, and since today’s Thursday, I’ve gotta book us some flights for tomorrow to be back in New York. Turns out it’s in Manhattan, and apparently it’s at the old Avengers tower, also known as your future home.”

He sighed, shaking his head at the reminder of Valentina’s ‘New Avengers’ scheme. He would be finishing his term before being fully acclimated into the misfit group of ex-criminals. But when the two of you were in New York, or he was needed, he would show up with you in tow. By technicality, you were also a part of the rag tag group of anti-heroes.

“You mean our future home?”

Something about the way he emphasized the word ‘our’ sent heat along your neck and cheeks.

“Please, I’m not a damn Avenger. I’ll probably stay in the political sphere, even after your stint as a Rep is over.”

He shook his head at that, a ‘tsk tsk tsk’ leaving his lips. “That’s what you think, you were there at the press conference a few months ago. Plus, we’re still going back and forth with Sam about the whole Avengers fiasco. Pretty sure he’s just gonna form one gigantic group eventually, sift out the nutcases and move from there.”

You reached across the table, lightly smacking his arm. “Don’t talk about Bob like that!”

He sighed, shrugging again. “You’re always quick to defend him y’know that? You don’t defend Walker—”

You cut him off. “Yeah cause he’s an asshole! But Bob is really sweet! He’s just, like, super bipolar. Besides, he reminds me of my mom, y’know, before she went totally psycho after the blip.”

You cleared your throat at the mention of your mother, it was a sore subject, one that was typically only brought up in therapy.

“But you need to stop calling him a nutcase! And that also applies to Alexei! He’s also super nice! A bit much at times? Yes, but he cares! Don’t be so mean to your team.”

He raised a singular finger, pausing your rant. “Actually, you’re the only one on my team, literally and legally. But fine, you’re right I guess, I’ll be nicer to them. Even if they’re all in need of some serious court mandated therapy.”

You smiled at that, now closing your planner and shoving it back into your purse.

“Good. Besides, not everyone gets to be like Sam and recruit a bunch of happy-go-lucky people who have aspired to be heroes their entire life. I mean Joaquin and Kate are always so happy, they’re like golden retrievers. Peter’s also pretty positive, granted he’s still grieving, but I’m glad he’s managed to see the good in people again. But Stephen Strange can count his days, next time I see him, I’m kicking his ass on principle—off the record.”

Bucky let you rant, it wasn’t necessarily an ‘in one ear, out the other’ situation, but you looked so pretty as you spoke, the sunlight beaming from outside highlighted the soft angles of your face, then the LED signs on the wall had small hues of color dancing along your features, and your smile was always so vibrant and full of life.

He was whipped.

Sam was completely right.

“I’m charging this to your card by the way, and I’m tipping the same as the bill. You can afford it.” With that you winked, now walking towards Ms. Minh who sat behind a small counter that blocked the entrance to the kitchen.

The next day was a whirlwind for Bucky, he knew he had to travel today. He was used to the constant back and forth. It was his last year as a Representative, and because he represented Brooklyn, the both of you were always going back and forth between New York and D.C.

However, you were the one who always organized the travel plans, and usually you both avoided early morning flights because you didn’t live together, meaning you were likely to make it, and he wasn’t. At this rate he should’ve been used to the travel, but he wasn’t and you constantly reminded him that he was on thin ice.

Today he’d finally fallen into the frozen lake.

Yesterday at about seven thirty you’d sent him the flight details. You were set to take off at eight in the morning, meaning you had to be up around five and at the airport by six forty-five. That would’ve given the both of you enough time to actually make your flight, then head over to the tower early to help with preparations for the fundraiser, and to go over a few important details with Yelena about the impending galactic crisis, the same crisis that you’d gotten a plethora of information on from sitting through the Foreign Affairs committee meetings over the past two months.

Bucky woke up at eight forty-five with twenty-three missed calls, fifteen very angry text messages, and three even angrier emails. He tried to call you back, and you purposefully ignored the first two calls, finally answering on the third, thankful that you’d purchased the in-plane wifi as it gave you the opportunity to yell at him.

Then, you were texting him flight information for eleven in the morning, which led to him rushing to pack a bag, almost missing the pile of documents that you’d left on his kitchen island for him with a neon-pink sticky note on top that said ‘Take Me’, and rushing out of his townhouse.

He didn’t have time for a driver, so he opted for his motorcycle which he knew would piss you off once you found out. Especially because he also wasn’t in his typical suit and tie, no he was in his black jeans, a t-shirt, and his leather jacket.

That would inevitably get him yelled at. He’d seen the schedule you emailed to him, specifically stating that the moment he got off of his flight, he needed to haul ass—your words not his—to the tower to be remotely present at a meeting regarding a potential impeachment hearing. It wasn’t his impeachment—thankfully.

Bucky would also probably have to deal with more press on the issue circulating who the ‘real Avengers’ were, which was also a previous major point of contention between him and Sam, to the point that Sam had threatened a full-on lawsuit, followed by a copyright of the ‘Avengers’ title itself.

But under your guidance, also known as you forcing him and Sam to sit down and talk things over like ‘real adults’, they were able to come to a temporary agreement solely based on the fact that the galactic threats, celestial island, and global terrorist movements were a bigger issue than who got to ‘play hero for the day’. Once again, your words not his.

To be fair, Bucky wouldn’t have missed his flight if you lived with him. But you were hellbent on not living in the same house as him, even if you were his assistant, you called it ‘highly inappropriate and fully unprofessional’. Which, in theory it was, but he didn’t really care about theory.

It made perfect sense to him, you were already always with him, what was moving in going to change? Or rather, what would moving in change, negatively.

Now, he had to figure out how to grovel for your forgiveness. He had a few ideas, but they were far from professionally appropriate. There’s that very obvious line that Bucky is well aware of, the line that he can’t cross, even if he’s constantly contemplating it.

He’d barely made it to the airport on time, and he’d paid extra to park his motorcycle, which pissed him off. Then he was practically sprinting through the airport to make his flight, which he somehow managed to board at the last possible minute.

By the time he landed in New York, you were already ready to curse him out. Now standing in the airport outside of his gate, arms crossed in front of your chest, foot tapping against the tiled floors while you stared directly at the crowd leaving the flight.

He spotted you before you spotted him. He knew he was in deep shit based on the way your jaw was clenched and your usually pristine hair was thrown into a hairclip, loose strands framing your face, frizzy bits and pieces sticking out of the clip, and you weren’t in your heels.Instead you had on a pair of flats.

Flats were never a good sign.

Plus you ditched the pencil skirt for pants, and a black blouse.

“Listen, Sweetheart, I’m sorry—”

You easily cut him off, immediately shushing him and taking a deep breath. “Let’s go before I cuss you out and lose my goddamn job.”

He slowly nodded at your cold demeanor.

This was different.

You walked ahead of him, he wasn’t used to that. Usually you kept the same pace, but not today, not when you were in your angry flats and exhausted outfit.

It wasn’t until the both of you were in a cab that you finally broke.

“Are you freaking kidding me, Barnes?! Can you not piss me off for one day? One day! It’s not like I asked something major, I sent you the flight last night at seven! You had more than enough time to set a damn alarm! And why the hell aren’t you in a suit?! Did you miss the fact that the millisecond we get back, you need to be present as a Congressman?! Not as yourself—” you took a deep breath, looking up at the roof of the car as you shook your head.

You looked over at him, and he finally noticed how stressed you really looked, his eyes trailing your fatigued features. This job was difficult, he knew that, but something else was clearly bothering you.

“I get it. You’re tired, your job is hard, okay fine. But Jesus Christ. You just act like shit doesn’t matter, and fuck—it fucking matters. Everything fucking matters, Buck—”

His right hand was on the side of your face, pulling you closer to him as he leaned forward to kiss you.

It took you a few seconds to process the fact that James Buchanan Barnes was kissing you. The same James Barnes that was your boss who you were incredibly irritated with. But you didn’t pull away, no, you kissed him back.

Your lips moved in sync, and for a second you let yourself slip into a land of delusion where this would work. But this was real life, and you were not about to risk everything you’d worked hard for to screw your boss. So you shoved him off of you.

“What the fuck!?”

He stared at you, lips slightly parted as his gaze was focused on your lips for a few more seconds. You tasted like strawberry chapstick and mint. Then his eyes met yours.

“Uh, something came over me, I guess?” his nonchalance made your eye twitch. Then you were shoving a folder full of paperwork into his chest.

“Focus on that or something, Jesus. Once again, I’m your assistant and that just crossed so many boundaries it’s not even funny. It was a mistake, plain and simple, we’re not circling back to this ever again, got it?”

He slowly nodded at you, taking the leather-bound folder from you while rolling his lips inward.

The rest of the ride was silent. It wasn’t your typical comfortable silence, it was tense and awkward and you did your best to not look at him. Your gaze focused on the moving traffic in the streets and anything that wasn’t James Barnes.

“So, are you gonna tell me what’s wrong? Outside of your never-ending rage about my morning fuck ups—”

You gasped slightly at the sound of him cursing. You knew he swore, but neither of you ever moved past words like ‘hell’ or ‘damn’ with one another, now you were both diving off of the deep end of cursing and kissing. This couldn’t possibly end well.

“Nothings wrong. I’m just tired.”

He shrugged, flipping a few pages in hand, focused on the briefing notes that you’d reorganized. “No, something is definitely wrong, you have on one of your ‘having a bad day’ outfits. Down to the shoes.”

You sighed, slumping into the seat with your arms crossed again. Eyes now on the street ahead. “My mom called.”

He looked at you, noticing the way you were picking at the skin and cuticles around your thumb. It made sense, sure he knew you had a lot of pent up rage that was specifically reserved for him, but he was used to that, this was different. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shrugged. “Not much to talk about. She’s having one of her ‘high on life’ phases again. Told me she’s off the pills. Won’t take them.”

He nodded, he knew you had issues with your mom, but he also knew you really cared about her, even if you had an odd way of showing that. Not everyone was raised with ‘I love yous’. “Y’know you can always take time off to go see her, the worlds not gonna end.”

You shook your head at that, gaze now on your hands. “I’m not putting myself through that again. You can’t save everyone, I’ve learned to accept that. Guess it makes me as depressed as the rest of the Thunderbolts, hmm?” You tried to crack a joke, but your usual laugh and silly expression was missing. He placed a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze.

The rest of the ride was quiet. Once the two of you had arrived at the Avengers tower you were back in ‘work mode’ rushing Bucky into the building, rolling your eyes at some of the half-assed security measures on the first floor. More specifically the DNA based retina scan you were required to do in order to gain access to the higher levels where everyone lived.

You rushed him into a conference room, muttering a series of curse words that would for sure get you blackballed from politics if they were ever heard aloud. Especially in the context of cursing out other politicians.

Then, you were forcing Bucky into a seat, rolling your eyes at the sight of his appearance, sure he looked good in the leather jacket and fitted t-shirt, but that was the least professional thing he could’ve put on. You wanted to smack him with a book.

You didn’t need to be present for the impeachment proposal, so you gave yourself the hour to breathe. An hour of alone time, spent on the rooftop with your legs hanging over the edge, shoes already off and sitting to your side. At first you opted to put your earbuds in, listening to music as you glanced along the skyline, gaze moving across Manhattan, then you took them out.

Finding comfort in chaos was normal for you. It was easy. It’s the entire reason that you worked so well with the Flag Smashers in the first place—you were the brains they needed, and they were constantly on the move, constantly doing something. They never stood still.

Then, of course, they’d injected you with a super soldier serum against your will, but that was neither here nor there. Some days you missed working with organizations like that,they were fundamentally righteous and overzealous, but the people had passion, they cared. They had a problem and wanted to create their own solution, even if it was extreme.

You’d always wanted to do that, find solutions to the problems in the world. It made slipping into politics easier, especially at Sam’s side, and now at Bucky’s.

But Bucky Barnes knew how to tick you off.

Yet even on your shittiest days, he still managed to make you smile. Your fingers gently grazed your lips, as if they could feel the ghost of his against them.

It was morally wrong for you to want to kiss your boss. Just like it was wrong to want to run your fingers through his hair, to trace his jawline, to feel his back muscles, and to imagine what it would be like to sleep with him beyond the realm of cuddling. Bucky kissing you was like opening Pandora’s box.

You knew you were attracted to him, and he gave you butterflies from time to time, but now as you thought about him, you were thinking about more than just a simple kiss.

The sound of your phone’s timer going off caught your attention, knocking you out of your sex-filled thoughts as you got up and slid your shoes back on.

Once you made it back to the briefing room, he was no longer there, so you opted to look for him without screaming like a maniac. You’d run into Bob, Yelena, and Ava before finally finding him in one of the larger common spaces, now looking at his newest Winter Soldier tactical suit as it was laid out across a table.

“What, you wanna play dress up now?”

He turned to look at you, shaking his head at the question. “Meeting went well, they asked me one question. I said yes to the trial.”

You shook your head, cracking a small smile. One of the Texas representatives was going on trial for misconduct and for going against the constitution, he deserved to be impeached in your eyes, and after reading your very irritated notes on the matter, Bucky agreed with you.

“So, care to explain why you’ve got your gear?”

He shrugged, now looking back at the black suit. “Well, turns out, I’m hanging up the mantle until my term is officially over. Talked it over with Yelena while you were decompressing. Besides, they seem to be doing alright without me all the time.”

You slowly nodded, brows knit together as you moved to stand beside him, now looking at his suit as well. “That's it then? What if you end up severely out of shape and can’t run a mile?”

He blinked a few times, shaking his head at the joke, then he lightly elbowed you. “Then I’ll have you to yell at me. Besides, I've already put on some weight.”

You scoffed at that, responding without even thinking about it. “Barnes, you’ve got the dad bod that makes ovulating women foam out of their mouths. You’ve got that muscular frame that would keep someone warm at night.”

Your eyes widened when you looked up at him, he looked taken aback, lips slightly parted while he processed what you said. Then you had to process what you’d said as well.

“For the record, I mean that in a totally platonic, hype-woman kind of way. Oh and here—I found these, figured you might want them back.”

He watched as you dug in your pocket, pulling out a thin silver chain, then he noticed the silver tags on them.

You held the necklace up, his military dog tags hanging from it. “Sergeant Barnes, you really should keep an eye on your things. They were in one of my purses. Honestly, not gonna lie, I had them on walking through TSA so I didn’t lose them.”

He nodded at that, biting his bottom lip at the thought of you in his dog tags with nothing else on.

Then you snapped with your free hand. “Hello? Earth to Barnes? Take your tags. I don’t even know why I had them in the first place. Considering you almost never take them off.”

He blinked a few times, shaking his head before running his hand through his hair. That brought your eyes to his hair, sure you’d made fun of the mid-length long hair a few times, but with the way his hair was parted down the middle, a bit voluminous, and managed to frame his face perfectly, he looked like prince charming.

If Prince Charming was a half-decent Congressman and former war criminal that managed to irritate you every twenty-seven minutes.

“Keep them for me.”

You raised a single brow at that, glancing between the dangling chain in hand and him.“Am I your closet or something?”

He scoffed at that, shaking his head while placing his hands on his hips, the motion drawing your attention directly to his waist. It was a terrible thing to focus on, not because he was unattractive, but because it reminded you of every inappropriate thought and fantasy that had surfaced on the rooftop earlier.

“No, but consider them a good luck charm, besides, if I had taken them off and left them with you, clearly I trusted you with them. I’d be a liar if I said I remember the exact day that I left them, but I had to have a reason. Now c’mere—” he paused, gently taking the chain from you before facing you fully.

He took a second to look down at you as you turned to face him. Then, he was slipping the necklace onto you, taking a moment to properly adjust the tags once they were dangling against your chest, the motion making you blush as his hand brushed against your clothed chest.

God, you felt like a bumbling virgin.

This was his fault, all of it was his fault. If he hadn’t kissed you in the car none of this would be happening, you would’ve been able to keep any and all sexual thoughts about him locked in the deepest pits of your mind. Nothing would’ve changed, or shifted.

Hell, you weren’t even sure if something had shifted or if you were overthinking everything.

You made eye contact with him, getting lost in the ocean blue of his irises.The moment was intimate, too intimate. His tongue grazed his bottom lip as he held eye contact with you, a storm of emotions flowing through his eyes and wrecking his entire being.

Part of him wanted to kiss you again, the other part was afraid that if he did kiss you, you’d up and quit your job.

Bucky knew he needed you in his life. Not just because you helped elevate his political career in every sense, but because you kept him in check. You weren’t just his assistant, you were his friend, and even if he hated to admit it sometimes, he really did appreciate everything that you’d done for him.

The moment was interrupted by a door slamming, both of you jumping apart as you looked towards the far end of the room, Alexei walking in with Yelena in tow, the both arguing over her childhood soccer team’s sponsor once again. When they spotted how close you and Bucky were, they both paused, sharing a look before turning around and leaving the room.

You cleared your throat, glancing down at your watch.

“I have to uh—shit sorry. I’m a little all over the place today, but I have to make a personal call. You don’t have much else to do today, there’s a few emails I need you to respond to though, and I forwarded you a request for a congressional scholarship. The kid lives in your old neighborhood in Brooklyn, and honestly, it’s a pretty convincing piece. I need your approval before moving forward in that process, lots of paperwork involved.”

You paused, pulling your phone out of your right pocket, glancing down at the screen while reading several text messages and a few subject lines from several emails forwarded to you.

“Turns out I have more than a few emails I need you to read. Oh, and I need to type up an outline for a briefing about the whole space war thing. I’ll forward everything over to you, and can you please,for the love of Christ himself, make sure to actually docusign the pdfs I send? Without your signature there’s no legality.”

He shook his head, a small smile on his face as he watched you slip right back into ‘work mode’. It was all so natural for you, and your seriousness was adorable.

“Are you even listening? I need to go call Sam and find out when he’s flying in. He should be here tonight, hopefully sooner than later. Also, Valentina’s been pissing Yelena off with her lawyers. I’ll be dealing with that fiasco today, honestly I’m probably just gonna threaten to blackmail them, works every time.”

“You talk a mile a minute.”

You raised a brow at him, now looking back at him, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

“You’re already on thin ice today, Barnes. Don’t start irritating me again. Oh and Mel wants to talk to you.”

He noticed the shift in your tone at the mention of Valentina’s assistant. If he wasn’t so unsure of his feelings towards you, he would’ve been able to easily identify the jealousy in your voice. But, he was too busy internally debating whether or not kissing you again was a bad idea and simultaneously debating on resigning from his position as a Congressman.

Things would surely be a lot less stressful.

Then again, you’d probably incinerate him.

“What’s she want to talk about exactly?”

You simply shrugged, arms crossed in front of your chest as you tried to remain neutral. “I dunno, maybe call her back and find out, since she won’t tell me directly. She’ll only send me passive aggressive emails and texts about needing to reach you. I don’t even know who the hell gave her my number.”

Your irritation was seeping through, so instead of staying on the subject of Melissa Gold you chose to turn around, heading towards the doors, ready to head to your temporary bedroom (which Yelena said would be your permanent room once you settled into the tower) and work.

He watched you walk away, eyes trialing your figure, stopping on your ass. Even in the wrinkled slacks it still looked good. Bucky’s head even tilted to the side a bit as your hips moved back and forth,

“Call me if you need me, Barnes.”You hadn’t even turned back to look at him, then you were gone and he was still staring.

Sam Wilson arrived at the Avenger’s tower at almost two in the morning.

Naturally, you were still awake, sitting in an empty living room area.The only light in the room streaming in from the large floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Manhattan’s night-life. The room had a deep blue-ish purple hue to it, a few small golden lights shimmering around, emphasizing items that were plugged in or left out.

Then there was your laptop screen that illuminated your features as you angrily typed up all of your unorganized committee notes into streamlined documents,not only your boss, but for the rest of his and Sam’s team.

You recognized the footsteps in the room, three distinct sets, one lighter than the others—Kate’s, one with a bit of a wider stance and a slight sway as if their feet weren’t firmly planted on the floor—Joaquin’s, and finally, one that was louder, steps heavier—Sam’s.

They hadn’t noticed you at first, not until the lights were turned on. Thankfully they were dim, not the typical bright fluorescents that would have driven you into a state of rage. Then the three of them saw you, seated on the large black sectional, a green knit blanket wrapped around your figure as your computer rested in your lap and one of the side tables had been pulled to your side, covered in files, paperwork, and pens.

“Jesus kid, late night?”

You sighed, nodding your head, not even bothering to turn and face Sam.“Working for the U.S. government is exhausting in an inexplicable way. But I’m glad you guys got in safe.”

Sam nodded at that “I’m gonna hit the hay, we’ll debrief in the morning? Actually, maybe in the afternoon. Gives you some time to sleep, I know you’ll be up for a while. Don’t worry about Buck either.”

You finally turned to look at him, a small smile on your face while you nodded at that. “I’d get up to hug you but I’m finally comfortable.”

Kate laughed at that, moving to the couch, leaning over the back of it, wrapping her arms around your shoulders in a warm embrace. “I missed you! We’ll catch up tomorrow or the day after! But I gotta go find Yel. Pretty sure she waited up for me.”

You used your right arm to hug her back.“Yeah, she’s on the eighth floor, go down the corridor, last door to the left. She’s most definitely waiting on you, earlier today she was talking Bob’s ear off about you, Bishop.” You both laughed at that, then she kissed the top of your head, a dramatic ‘mwah’ leaving her lips as she gathered her things and left the room.

Sam followed suit, saying his ‘goodnight’s’. It made you contemplate packing things up and trying to head back to sleep.

Truthfully, you’d fallen asleep at around seven, a distinct lack of sleep the night before causing you to crash. But of course, you weren’t able to sleep peacefully through the night, rather you jolted awake in a cold sweat at 11:23pm, eyes wide as you processed the very explicit dream about Bucky. Not only was it explicit, but it left a noticeable damp spot in your panties.

That pissed you off.

The cold shower that followed also ticked you off.

You wanted to stay in your room, however it was too hot in there, and you couldn’t figure out how to work the air conditioner, which led to you migrating to one of the living room-esque common spaces on the floor that held several guestrooms.

It was always cold.

“Well hello to you too!” Joaquin smiled as he rounded the couch, opting to sit right beside you, leaning into your space while he looked at the laptop screen, brows raised at the side-by-side page display showcasing a numerical outline with different bolded headings, subheadings, and specific details regarding each categorized issue.

“Damn, sometimes I forget how smart you are.”

You yawned while nodding. “This is literally my own personal hell. I hate organizing my notes, but I can’t just force everyone to read my scribbles. I only force Buck to do that.”

He elbowed you, earning your attention as he wiggled his eyebrows up and down, signature smirk on his face. “So…you call him Buck now I see?”

You groaned, lightly shoving Joaquin. “Don’t even start! He’s my boss! That’s it.” You felt the heat in your cheeks as you attempted to lie to Joaquin. It didn’t help that the man was one of your closest friends, and could see right through you. He was quick to scoff, lightly elbowing you again, over and over.

“Yeah right, just your boss my ass! That’s like when I said my physical therapist was just my therapist. You’re full of shit and you know it!”

You sighed, saving the document you were working on before shutting the laptop, placing it on the table in front of you, s.hoving him away to get comfortable again, you now face Joaquin with your legs criss-crossed on the large sofa cushion. “That is not the same thing!”

He nodded his head, scooting back some to face you, the positioning very familiar to you both. When you first started working with Sam, Joaquin had welcomed you with open arms. He hadn’t judged you, not after hearing your story, and after witnessing your peaceful surrender. Well, it was somewhat peaceful, you’d fought Bucky first, eventually managing to take him down—but that wasn’t important.

It was easy to bond with Joaquin, mainly because he never stopped talking. He’d easily gone from being just your co-worker to your friend, and now one of your best friends.

“Uh yes it is, we literally went back and forth for like years. Pretty sure I fell in love with her the moment I laid my eyes on her, then had to do the whole ‘this is strictly professional’ thing forever. Bullshited reasons to be around her, fought with her constantly, but in the end she was right—still is right most of the time, and we’re completely and utterly in love. Plus the sex is great? Wait—have you and him hooked up yet?”

Your jaw dropped, eyes wide as shock painted your features. Then you were leaning towards him, smacking him on the bicep a few times.“Hell no! Once again he’s my literal boss. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Joaquin raised a single brow at that. “So something did happen. Your left eye twitched a little! What aren’t you telling me? Wait, are you still jealous of that other assistant that he talks to sometimes?”

You smacked him again.“Joaquin Torres, keep your freaking voice down! Jesus! And no I’m not jealous of Mel. What’s there to be jealous of?!” You were being too defensive, and your voice had gone up an octave.

“Stop bullshitting me! You’re so into him and you hate how caring he sounds when he talks to her, or do I need to pull the series of spam texts you sent me telling me how much you hated her and hated him. Or the drunken voicemail?” He held his phone up, staring at you while your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.“Now, tell me what happened between the both of you!”

You sighed, nodding your head, running a hand over your face before giving in and divulging him on everything that had gone on in the past forty-eight hours. Even letting him know about the car kiss, followed by the sexual tension that you knew was obvious, and finally, the most embarrassing detail being your wet dream about him.

Of course you didn’t go into detail about the dream.

“Damn, you’re more whipped than I am, and I’m in an actual relationship.” That earned another smack. “Hey! Okay, shit! Stop hitting me woman! Wait—what’s that—” he pointed to his neck, then to yours.

Your eyes widened as you reached a hand up, the blanket had fallen off of one of your shoulders, exposing the loose U Miami crewneck that you had on, except you’d cut the neckline so it sat off of your shoulder. It hadn’t occurred to you that you still had Bucky’s dog tags on. Then you felt around your neck and upper chest, hands finally grasping the tags.

“No way in hell he gave you those and you’re ‘strictly professional’.” He spoke with air quotations while watching you grasp the tags in one hand. “Yeah, that’s definitely your man, are you kidding me? The only person I’d ever trust with my tags is my girl. Here's some advice though, when you two finally go at it, and you’re on top of him make sure they’re in his fac-”

He was hit in the face by a throw pillow.

The two of you spent the next hour and a half talking. Joaquin kept trying to convince you that you were clearly in love with Bucky and vice versa. Meanwhile, you argued the entire time, and tried to turn the subject towards anything else.Eventually, the both of you settled on his current relationship, and it was nice to see him gush over his physical therapist turned girlfriend.

You even told him that you were proud he’d managed to find someone who loved that he never shut up, the two of you in a fit of laughter after that.

The next afternoon had passed by fairly quickly, mostly because you were extremely busy.

You’d barely seen Bucky, only speaking with him during your debrief on the current galactic issues, but that hour and a half was mostly focused on answering Yelena and Sam’s questions based on the information provided by the U.S. government.

Sure, some of it was technically top secret, but you all technically were employed by the government, and did also hold the security clearance to know about the ongoing monitoring.

He wasn’t in a suit again and you weren’t in your heels. Actually, you’d foregone any professional attire. It was a rare sight for everyone to see you in a t-shirt and sweats, not to mention the white fuzzy slippers. Your hair was pulled into two braids and you lacked any makeup, even wearing your prescription glasses that you usually left at home.

Bucky didn’t focus on a single thing you said during the briefing. His gaze was fixated on you and all he could think about was how comfortable and casual you looked, and that flooded his mind with domestic fantasies about you. Said fantasies almost spiraled into the thought of you with a ring on your left hand, a round belly, and a baby on your hip with eyes as blue as the clear sky.

He had to snap himself out of it several times. The fantasy was just that, a fantasy. You were still his assistant, and you’d already made it plenty clear that you were not interested in any semblance of a romantic relationship with him. Things were strictly professional, and once his term was over, you’d go your separate ways.

You’d practically sprinted out of the conference room once the hour and a half had passed, and he knew you were supposed to be helping in preparations for the fundraiser with Sam and Joaquin. He didn’t care that you and Joaquin were ‘just friends’, the thought of you spending your time with him irritated Bucky in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

By the time the fundraiser itself was starting, you were nowhere to be found and he was stuck making small talk with local politicians. Most of what they discussed surrounded Bucky’s future plans once the term had settled, he’d made a few comments about running for re-election and being an Avenger, stating that it might clash, doing his best to warm people up to the idea of him having to choose one over the other.

It was an obvious choice for him.

Well obvious outside of the fact that if he chose to be an Avenger, he might lose you, but then again, you were also technically an Avenger, whether you liked it or not. You’d been there that day in Manhattan, you were in the void, and you were at the conference, standing right beside him.

Then Mel had finally tracked him down, pulling him into a more secluded area, showing him a series of top-secret footage that Valentina had been trying to fully erase regarding the Sentry project. She was giving him useful information that would not only help Bob better understand who and what he was, but information that could be leveraged over Valentina if needed.

It was classic blackmail, something that you often shrugged off. It wasn’t that you were blackmailing people all the time, but you said it was part of politics, and he fully allowed you to do whatever you wanted. He trusted you to make the right decisions for both of your careers, and time and time again, you did.

“Oh, hey Y/n, you look beautiful tonight!” Mel’s chipper voice irritated you.

You’d stumbled across them accidentally. You’d been looking for Sam, and instead you managed to find Mel and Bucky, leaning close together, in a quiet dimly lit area. You could clearly see the phone in her hand that she was showing to him, but she was too close to Bucky.

He turned away from Mel, gaze now on you, his brows raised a bit while his lips parted, eyes practically burning a hole into you while he took in every inch of your appearance from head to toe.

Your hair was voluminous and clearly curled, the now loose-waves framing your face perfectly and cascading along your shoulders and back. Your makeup was minimal, almost identical to your typical look, except your lips were a deep crimson and your waterline was emphasized with a black smoked-out eyeshadow look (courtesy of Yelena).

He bit his bottom lip while taking in your dress, the black silk practically hugging all of your curves perfectly. The swoop neckline leaving little to the imagination, and you had on his dog tags, the lengthy chain disappearing into your obvious cleavage, tags clearly in the valley between your tits.

You had on your heels again, black pointed toe stilettos with some golden designer logo for the heel. He didn’t care about the designers, all Bucky cared about in this exact moment was controlling himself. If Mel hadn’t been there he would’ve had you pinned against the wall with his lips on yours already.

“Thanks Mel. Barnes, I’ve been looking for you”

He slowly nodded, unsure of what to say, too focused on what not to say.

You were quick to grab Bucky’s forearm, pulling him in your direction before offering Mel a forced smile. “Mind if I borrow him? Got a few things to go over.” She nodded, giving you a tight lipped smile as you made eye contact. Then, you were dragging Bucky away from her, rolling your eyes the second you knew she couldn’t see you anymore.

“So what exactly do we need to talk about?”

You shrugged at the question, finally letting go of his arm, then facing him.“Some district court judge told me that you’re debating on running for re-election and fully committing to the Avengers? The hell is that about?”

You honestly didn’t care, but it was the easiest thing to come up with.

He wondered if you were jealous, but maybe he was reading too much into the situation. Usually you’d know that he was bullshitting, most of your job involved calling him on his bullshit, there was no way in hell Bucky was running for re-election.

“Gotta warm them up to the idea, you’re always saying it’s important to ease people into dramatic changes aren’t you?” he put his hands in his pants pockets, raising his brows while he waited on a response.

“Okay…that’s actually a good point. I dunno, I just had to double check that with you. Sorry for pulling you away from Mel, feel free to go talk with her.” Then you spun around, heading in the opposite direction.

Bucky knew you were jealous. That confirmed it. He wasn’t losing it, you were one hundred percent jealous of Mel and he had no idea why, anyone with a pair of eyes would know that he wasn’t remotely interested in the woman romantically.

Sure Mel was pretty, but she wasn’t you.

The open bar was a bad idea.

Two hours had passed since then, and you’d managed to do all of your networking within the first half hour. Kate and Yelena had peer pressured you into getting a drink, and one drink quickly turned into two, then three, then Joaquin was bringing you a drink, and it spiraled from there.

It took a lot to get you drunk. The whole ‘super soldier serum’ issue made your metabolism much, much faster. At the rate that you were drinking, any normal person would’ve needed their stomach pumped at the emergency room. But you weren’t a normal person, not anymore at least.

You were one hundred percent drunk. There wasn’t any debate on the matter.

Which led you to being a lot friendlier than usual, laughing and flirting with other guests, a playful aura to you while you mixed and mingled with everyone.

It wasn’t until you were laughing with Joaquin, head leaning against his shoulder while you sat near the bar, talking about his girlfriend, that Bucky had finally found you.

He knew that you were networking, what he didn’t know was that you’d been drinking.

Then again, he’d also been drinking, and the typical spark of jealousy he felt when you mentioned Joaquin was now a raging forest fire as he took in the sight of you leaning into Joaquin, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, both of you smiling and laughing at something that Kate had said.

Joaquin nudged you a bit, earning your full attention, a hazy smile on your face while you moved to look at him. His brows were knit together as he tried to look serious.“Your boyfriend is staring us down.”

You blinked a few times, now glancing across the room, eyes scanning the crowd of people, only to land on Bucky who held a champagne glass in-hand while he stood in a group of four men, all of them clearly in a conversation. Except now his attention was fully on you, holding eye contact.

“Please, if he was my boyfriend we’d be having freaky sex all the time.” You both bursted into another fit of laughter, your gaze now on Joaquin, then on Kate who looked absolutely shocked.

“Wait?! What! You and Bucky?!”

You shrugged, then shook your head at her. “There is no me and Bucky! He’s my boss who’s bones I can’t jump!”

She laughed at that, shaking her head while sipping her long island.“Why can’t you do that again? I know he’s like technically your boss, but that man wants you girl, like, he’s always eye-fucking you. I think he’s eye-fucking you now not gonna lie.” She looked over at him, and you mirrored her.

His eyes met yours again. He didn’t care what you were talking about, nor did he care what the men around him were speaking about. The topic having gone in one ear and out of the other.

Bucky Barnes’ sole focus was now on you.

You and that black satin dress that would look so much better on the floor.

You who sat smiling and laughing with Joaquin Torres.

Bucky was beyond jealous, the liquor flowing through his veins easily letting his composure slip. He swore that if he watched you lean any closer to Joaquin that he’d storm over there and throw you over his shoulder.

Then you did just that, laughing again and rolling your head forward a bit, forehead resting in the crook of Joaquin’s neck while your body shook with laughter.

Bucky easily excused himself, mumbling something about having to speak with his assistant, which earned a few wolf whistles when the men noticed you across the room. Specifically, they noticed the way you sat up now, two hands on the front of your dress, grasping the fabric and adjusting it slightly-your very present cleavage now a bit more tamed.

It had taken him exactly forty-five seconds to get to you.

Joaquin noticed him first, slipping his arm away from you, offering Bucky a tight-lipped smile.

Then you made eye contact with Bucky again, his typical icey-blue eyes were a few shades darker, pupils a bit dilated while he looked directly at you.

“So, you’ve been drinking on the job I see?” His tone was laced in venom, your brows knit together at the harshness of it, sitting up a bit straighter, glancing at Kate, then Joaquin, just to make sure you weren’t losing your mind. They both gave a subtle nod, then you were standing up and grabbing Bucky’s right arm, pulling him with you.

He let you guide him, then you two were in a crowded hallway, taking a left turn, then a right, then finding the elevator that would lead you directly to your designated floor.

“What’s your problem, Barnes?”

He scoffed at that.“Let’s see, my assistants drunk, not working. I’d say that’s enough of a reason to be irritated.”

You blinked a few times, looking around as if you were on the Truman show, or maybe this was an episode of Punk’d and Ashton Kutcher would jump out at you.“Everyone’s drunk, what's the issue? It’s a charity fundraiser, we raised like ten million tonight. Can I not celebrate?! I’ve done my job for the night, I just want to spend the rest of it as me—not your fucking assistant.”

You were getting loud now, angrily pressing the elevator button, a surprised gasp when the doors immediately opened. Then without any hesitation you walked right in, leaving him in the hallway.

Bucky wasn’t having it, not tonight.

He followed right behind you. “You’ve never had an issue with being my fucking assistant before. It’s always about professionalism with you! Boundaries and shit like that!”

You rolled your eyes again, hitting the button for your floor while shaking your head.“Because professionalism is important! We all can’t be you, Bucky! Not all of us can be America’s fucking sweetheart!” You didn’t even look at him as you shouted, gaze focused on the small digital screen above the elevator doors, the red numbers switching as the elevator ascended into the higher levels of the tower.

Then it stopped on your floor, and you were shoving past him, shoulder checking him while storming towards your room.

“Seriously?! That’s it, just gonna run away? What, suddenly all that bullshit about communication doesn’t matter?!” He ran a hand through his hair as he yelled after you, hot on your heels.

You turned on your heel, brows knit together as you stared at him, only a few feet from your room.“What the hell is the real reason you’re being a massive asshole tonight?! I know it’s not because I’ve been drinking. I’m a grown ass woman, Bucky! I’m not some little kid you get to yell at and fucking criticize and treat like shit! Or like a personal punching ba-”

His lips were on yours. You hadn’t registered how close he actually was to you. He had a hand on your forearm, pulling you flush against his chest as he collided his lips against yours.

Your hands were immediately on him, one hand grasping his suit, the other in his hair.

Then he was backing you up into the wall, his left hand on your jaw—holding you in place. You whimpered at the feeling, not because it bothered you, but because his vibranium hand was cold, a shock against your warm flushed skin. Bucky’s lips led yours, his head slightly tilting, giving himself the opportunity to get even closer to you, his hair brushing against your face.

His lips were soft, he tasted like champagne and mint with a hint of tobacco.

It was almost soothing, but it also made you feel hazy.

Instead of asking for entrance, he pressed his thumb against your chin below your bottom lip, applying minimal pressure as he tugged in a downward motion.

You easily parted your lips, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss while he swallowed your soft whimpers.

It didn’t help that one of his thighs was directly between yours, pinning you against the wall. He felt your thighs clench around his, pulling back slightly, heavy breaths hitting your parted lips.

“Tell me to stop and I will—I swear.” He brushed his thumb along your bottom lip, thankful that the Wakandan technology in his arm and shoulder actually allowed him to have a sense of feeling. It hadn’t mattered to him before this moment, watching as you looked up at him, feeling your soft, swollen, and spit-slick lip.

“What if I don’t want you to stop,” your words were quiet while you looked at him, hand grasping against his suit even tighter. The hand that had been in his hair now slowly grazing against his cheek, fingers moving to his jawline, tracing the sharp ridges before sliding down his throat.

“Y’can’t say shit like that to me Sweetheart—makes me think you care.” He let out a deep sigh, eyes moving from yours down to your lips again.

“James, I do care.” You’d said his name so tenderly, so lovingly. Then you leaned into him, now kissing him first, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

Both of his hands now on your waist, your bodies flush against one another while your lips move in sync. The kiss should’ve been angrier, should’ve had more teeth, but it was surprisingly soft, sweet, and even slow. He kissed you with passion and hunger, as if he wanted to leave the imprint of his lips against yours.

You grinding yourself against his thigh had the both of you breaking apart, gasping for air, then he took a singular step back, doing a short half-squat, hands on the backs of your thighs before he scooped you up, holding you against his waist, lips back on yours as you locked your legs around his waist, hands in his hair.

The next few minutes involved more kissing and fumbling through your bedroom door. He kicked it shut before pressing you against it, lips moving from your own, to your jaw, planting open-mouthed wet kisses along your soft skin.

Your entire body was on fire, and truthfully, you’d never been hornier.

“Buck—as much as I want to go slow with you—I need you to fuck me.”

He laughed against your skin, teeth nipping a mark in the crook of your neck, earning a whimper. Then he licked a flat stripe along your pulse point, making you shiver.

“You’re always so mean and demanding, now you’re needy? C’mon, Sweetheart, you’ve gotta throw an old dog a bone.” His tone was so flirty, voice gruff and deep as he spoke between kisses. His hands sliding from your upper thighs to your ass, using his lower body to help stabilize you.

Then he was moving one hand, slipping it between your legs, below your bunched up gown. His rough fingertips moved against your inner thighs as he sucked on your pulsepoint. Then his fingers paused, lightly brushing against your clothed core, the motion making you whine, your hands tugging on his hair while he remained still.

“Ask nicely, baby.” He smirked against your skin.

You groaned, now looking at him, tugging harshly on his hair, practically ripping him away from your throat so you could look at him. Holding eye contact as you spoke. “Please fuck me, with your fingers, your tongue, your cock—I don’t give a shit—just please fucking fuck me.”

He bit his bottom lip, still smirking at your request, then his fingers were gliding along the damp fabric of your panties, up and down—over and over again. Bucky was clearly teasing you, and it was driving you insane. But he caved when you moaned his name—not Bucky—no you moaned a low pitched ‘James-please’.

Bucky didn’t let anyone call him James, you were the only one that had ever really used his first name and usually it was on rare occasions, but clearly the liquid confidence and horniness brought out a different side of you.

His hand slipped below your panties, finding your slick folds, two thick fingers teasing you, sliding along your cunt, spreading your wetness from your sopping hole to your sensitive clit, then back down again. The sounds of your moans were music to his ears, that in combination with your hands tugging at his hair and your hips grinding against his hand was sending him into overdrive.

Eventually he stopped teasing you, lips back on your own, swallowing your moans while his fingers rapidly fucked into you, two thick digits stretching you perfectly, the feeling had your toes curling, one of your heels already on the floor behind him. It wasn’t long until you were kicking the other one off as well.

You were rolling your hips into his hand, whimpering his name like a prayer while his fingers curled inside of you, reaching the spot that usually made you see stars. A spot that you could never quite hit on your own, meanwhile it took Bucky little to no effort to get to it.

“Just like that Sweetheart, c’mon give it to me, I deserve it.” His voice was deeper than usual as he spoke.

You nodded desperately, back arching while your head leaned against the wall, loudly whining as your orgasm crashed through your body, all of your nerve endings practically on fire.

“That’s it baby, gonna have you creaming on my cock next.” He went back to kissing along your throat and any exposed skin he had access to, fingers still fucking into you, prolonging your orgasm and ushering in a wave of oversensitivity.

“Fuck me, please,” your breathy words were quieter than usual as you looked at him, one hand toying with the hair closest to the base of his neck, the other gripping his suit again.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice, in seconds you were laying flat on your bed as he unbuttoned his jacket, tossing it aside, then undid the buttons of his shirt. Your stare was driving him mad.

Then you were sitting up, now standing right in front of him, taking a moment to appreciate your height difference before shoving him onto the bed. He looked shocked at the motion, blinking a few times as he watched you slip out of the dress, the black fabric now nothing more than a pile at your feet.

His eyes trailed your figure, practically memorizing every single detail of your bare body.

The moment was much more intimate than either of you had expected.

Well, until you were practically climbing on top of him, straddling his waist and pulling him into a sloppy drunk kiss. This time it was all teeth and tongue, your mind already hazy enough from the first orgasm and all hesitation had been thrown away. Your hands were all over him, sliding along his bare chest, feeling the faint definitions of muscle along his abdomen.

He let out a strangled moan the second your hand moved into his pants, now palming his thick cock for a few seconds before sliding it out of his pants. His hips instinctively bucked into your hand, and for a second you debated on taking his girthy length down your throat.

“Fuck-don’t even try it-need to be inside you.” His words were strained, pulling away from the kiss slightly as you pumped your hand on his shaft, thumb spreading the beads of precum around his tip, smiling against his lips while he moaned.

Then you were pulling away, biting his bottom lip and tugging at it. “But I wanna taste you.” You trailed your tongue along his jaw before lightly biting against it, then trailing kisses down his throat.

He watched as you kissed along his exposed chest and abdomen, eventually slotting yourself between his thighs. You were going to be the death of him, his eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of you arching your back, ass in the air, face inches from his throbbing cock.

You spit on it, biting your bottom lip as you used both of your hands to jerk him off, moving in a twisting motion, spreading the mixture of your saliva and his precum along his veiny cock.

“You’re so big Buck—or would you prefer Congressman? Since you want me to be your little secretary forever.”

He moaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to catch his breath and control himself. It’d been a while since he’d had sex, and at this rate, he was about to cum all over your face if you kept your mean facade up.

“Can’t wait to feel you inside of me Congressman Barnes.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, how you managed to sound so demeaning while fisting his cock was beyond his comprehension. He let out a choked moan the second your mouth wrapped around the flushed red head of his cock.

Then you were moaning around him, taking more and more of him into your warm, wet mouth. His metal hand was now in your hair, grasping the frizzy strands, pulling them away from your face as you hollowed your cheeks in and started to bob your head—only really taking half of him at once.

Your tongue swirled around his cock as you sucked him off, moaning at the saltiness of his precum coating your tongue. This was downright sinful, and it was everything you’d wanted over the past few months. When you finally decided to take him out of your mouth, you laughed, smiling as you caught your breath, a string of spit connecting his cock to your lips.

The sight had him moaning your name like a prayer.

“Shit baby—fuck you gotta stop ‘m gonna cum.”

You bite your swollen bottom lip, looking up at him through your lashes for a few seconds. Then you were pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock, using the head to spread his precum along your lips before wrapping your lips back around it. One hand slowly moving along his thick shaft while you focused on the most sensitive part of his cock.

The way he was pulling your hair burned in the best way, the sting from your scalp plus the taste of his cock had you moaning and whimpering against him.

“Shit—fuck—oh shit, Sweetheart.” He was practically whimpering as he came, cum coating your tongue and mouth, and you swallowed, then moved back, now sticking your tongue out, jacking him off with one hand as thick ropes of cum shot from his cock onto your tongue. A few missing slightly, painting parts of your face.

This was downright sinful. Sure Bucky knew that if Heaven truly did exist then he’d most certainly be going to Hell, but this? This earned him a spot in the deepest layer of Hell.

He moaned your name as he came, watching as you drunkenly giggled and let him give you a partial facial. This was straight out of a porno, if you were a pornstar he wouldn’t be surprised.

You smiled at him, taking your thumbs and index fingers, dragging them along your cum-stained face, gathering his spend before licking it off, one by one.

He’d sat up so fast he hadn’t registered it, not until he was pulling you further into his lap, his metal hand squishing the bottom of your face slightly as he grasped your chin, pulling you into a rough, sloppy kiss.

“You’re fuckin filthy,” he spoke against your lips, hand now on your throat, the cold vibranium a stark contrast to your warm skin. It made your head fuzzy.

One thing Bucky was thankful for was his stamina, he’d always had pretty good stamina, but post-serum some days he felt like he could fuck for hours on end.

He hadn’t registered your movement until your hand was grasping the base of his cock and you were easing yourself onto him, gasping against his lips. He bit down on your bottom lip, and he knew he’d broken a bit of the skin based on the taste of iron in his mouth. But you were so tight around him, if he hadn’t been drunk before, he sure as hell was now.

“F-fuck ‘ts so big,” your words had a slight slur to them as you sat flush against him, forehead now leaning against his shoulder while you let yourself adjust to his sheer size. After a few seconds you started grinding your hips on him, back and forth, whimpering against his skin.

“C’mon, Sweetheart, I know you can do better than that.” His hands were on your waist now, loosely holding you, slowly guiding your movements, helping you build a rhythm.

You nodded, now sitting up a bit straighter, slowly pulling your hips off of him, then sliding back, taking each inch of his cock until you were filled to the brim.

He bit his bottom lip as he looked at you, then he was nipping and sucking marks into your chest, focusing on each of your tits as they started to move more and more the faster you bounced on his cock.

“Just like that, keep going baby, know you can take it.”

You nodded, your head leaning back slightly as you placed your hands on his thighs, back arching even more, using his body for leverage to help ground yourself and build your pace.

The mixture of your moans practically echoed off of the walls, alongside the sloshing wetness of your cunt and the sound of skin slapping as you continued to take his cock. All you could focus on was the feeling of his thick shaft deep inside of you, stretching you deliciously, and the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, not exactly bruising, but the pressure added another level to your pleasure that you hadn’t experienced in the past.

His lips were parted as he held onto your waist, hands moving down to your hips, fingers bruisingly tight as he kept your movements up, not letting you falter for even a second. Bucky’s eyes focused on your cunt taking him, a ring of your wetness evident on his girthy length each time you moved up, then slammed your hips back down.

It had him salivating.

Bucky’s eyes were stuck on you, fixated on your every movement, but what really got to him was the sight of you in his tags, the thin metal moving with you, and in this exact moment he knew you were it for him.

“You’re so fuckin beautiful,” his voice was gruff and strained while, he felt himself teetering closer and closer to the edge, meanwhile you were lost in your own world of pleasure, taking everything you could from him—using him.

It made him delirious in a way he couldn’t describe.

“‘M gonna cum-fuck Bucky—oh my god-” you moaned and whimpered, words coming out as a high pitched whine. Your rhythm was faltering, but he kept you moving, your hands now leaving his thighs, instead they were overtop his own that were holding your hips. Your fingers gripped his hands, nails practically digging into his skin as you moaned his name.

“Bucky…Bucky…oh shit…Bucky!”

It was music to his ears. Then he felt you fluttering against him, clenching down on his cock, tight walls practically milking him as you gushed against him. Your body trembling slightly, still moaning a mixture between his name and curse words.

Then you said it, “Oh fuck—right there—James!”

That’s all it took for him to let out a deep, guttural moan, your name slipping past his lips as he came. Warmth spilling inside of you, as he bucked his hips into you a few times, losing himself in the moment.

You both sat in a breathy silence for several minutes after. You didn’t even bother getting off of him, instead you shoved his upper body down onto the bed and laid right on top of him. You weren’t ready to leave and let the fantasy shatter. Not yet at least.

He traced small shapes into your back as you laid against him, your head resting against the right side of his chest, your fingers slowly gliding along the ridges of his arm, then you paused before hesitantly moving to the scars along his left shoulder leading into his arm. You always knew they were there, but you hadn’t ever seen them up close.

“Did you do this to yourself?” your voice was quiet and soft, much softer than usual.

“I think so, it was so long ago, it’s all kind of fuzzy. I think I tried ripping the metal out, or digging it out of my skin. I wanted to read the records on it—on me. But I never could bring myself to do it” He let out a deep sigh at the vague memories, but before he started mentally spiraling, you moved again, this time leaving a soft kiss to his jaw.

“I’m sorry that you were put through hell and back Bucky.”

“Don’t be sorry, I wouldn't have met you if that hadn’t happened to me.”

You didn’t respond, the intimacy of the moment finally getting to you, especially considering his cock was still inside of you. So you moved off of him, wincing at the soreness of it all. Then you were practically sprinting to your ensuite.

He thought you’d be kicking him out, so he opted to start getting up, but when you walked out of the bathroom, hands now on your hips with an oversized grey t-shirt that read ‘ARMY’, he blinked a few times.

“Where the hell did you get my shirt?”

You shrugged, glancing down at the shirt. It had to be one of the few shirts he owned that wasn’t fitted. Honestly, you don’t remember when or where you’d gotten it, but it was most likely something that Sam had given you after a long night of sparring.

“Why are you getting dressed?” The question sounded almost meek, you internally cringed at how clingy it made you feel. If he wanted to leave, he could leave. It would hurt your feelings, but this wasn’t your boyfriend. Bucky was your boss, and you’d be internally scolding yourself for the next week about tonight.

“Uh, I assumed you wanted me to go,” he motioned towards the door.

“Don’t be an asshole and just ditch me after you fucked me.”

His jaw dropped at your words, brows now knit together, head tilted slightly. “Don’t make it sound like this was more than just sex, Sweetheart.” Bucky knew he was being a bit harsh, but he had to keep his heart guarded, the risk of you completely rejecting him was still there, and he knew he couldn’t handle that tonight.

You scoffed at that, arms now crossed in front of your chest as you glared at him. “Excuse me? Are you serious right now?! It’s not like I blatantly admitted to caring about you before you damn near fucked me in the hallway!” You were louder than expected, practically screaming at him. Anger coursing through your veins as you stared at him.

“You’re the one who always wants to be professional! Then you get drunk and things are different! What happens when you’re—when we’re sober! Then what?” He ran a hand through his hair, holding eye contact with you as his breathing picked up. Bucky braced himself for rejection. At least if you rejected him, he’d finally be able to move on—or that’s what he told himself.

Bucky knew for a fact he’d never be over you. Not while you worked for him, and even after his term as a Congressman ended, he knew he’d never be rid of his feelings for you.

You were a once in a lifetime kind of love, that much he knew. Anytime someone spoke about the love of their life with him, they’d ask if he knew what it felt like. If he knew what it was like to care so deeply for someone that none of their flaws mattered. It didn’t matter how angry you made him, or how annoying you could be, James Buchanan Barnes would forever be in love with you.

You’re the first woman that he’d met that had pissed him off within seconds of speaking to one another. Bucky would never forget the day that the two of you met for four distinct reasons:

The first being the long-winded chase that he and Sam had been on in attempts to takedown the Flag Smashers. They’d bickered the entire time, but it ultimately brought them much closer, to the point that Sam was family now. It also helped that they shared an equal dislike for John Walker, but that wasn’t relevant.

The second major reason was because the second he’d spotted you, he was taken aback, you stood beside Karli, attempting to calm her down, but it wasn’t working. Then you were arguing with her, and all he’d managed to catch on to was the fact that you knew Sam was right. He also realized how smart you were in that exact moment.

The third reason that he’d never forget that day—outside of you being incredibly beautiful—was the feeling of your fists colliding directly with his ribcage, followed by a swift kick to the gut that had him on his back. He tried to keep up with you, but he’d been a bit out of practice and with his ongoing struggle of making amends, the last thing he wanted to do was fight a woman he was eighty years older than.

The fourth and final reason though, was the blurry sight of you squatting next to him, asking if he was alright and apologizing profusely for knocking him to the ground. You’d grasped his face, taking in the damage, grimacing at the sight of his bruised and bloody features. You then proceeded to clean him up, calling him an ‘idiot’ for not properly fighting back.

Bucky stared directly at you, his brooding silence made your eyes water. Maybe this was it, maybe he really didn’t care as much as he let on.

That pushed you over the edge.

“I had to be fucking professional Buck! I’m so sorry that I have a job, and ambitions for a career that I don’t even think I want anymore! I’m sorry that I didn’t want to be known as the girl that fucked her way up!” Your voice was loud as you shouted at him, your voice started cracking and the tears started falling. You were quick to wipe them away, chest rapidly rising and falling as you shook your head.

“You don’t get it, Sweetheart. I know you have ambitions, I know you have goals, but I’ve spent the past year and a half swallowing my own goddamn feelings for you! I know you don’t want to be the girl that sleeps with her boss! God damnit for once—for once I just thought that tonight we could be us. Not a congressman, not a secretary, just two fucking idiots in love!”

He was yelling back now, running both hands through his hair as he looked at you. The sight of you in tears had his heart breaking, he wanted to kick his own ass for making you cry.

“Then why are you trying to leave?” You sounded so small, so weak. Then you looked down at the ground, avoiding his stare. You’d always struggled with vulnerability, and right now you felt as if you were about to explode.

You were so focused on the ground and tuning everything out that you hadn’t noticed him getting off of the bed and walking towards you. Not until he nudged your foot with his, even then you didn’t look at him, shaking your head a bit. “This is embarrassing, just go Bucky.”

“I need you to look at me, Sweetheart.” He was looking directly at you, ready to pour his heart out.

You slowly lifted your head, cringing at the closeness and intimacy.

He took a second to use his right hand to brush some of your tears away, now caressing the side of your face. “I don’t want to leave. I thought you’d want me out, thought this was a one night stand, never speak about it again, or as you would say ‘never circle back to this’ again.”

Bucky tried not to laugh at you clenching your jaw, clearly cringing at your own words being used against you.

“Tonight we’re just us. You’re y/n and I’m Bucky. You’re not my secretary, I’m not your boss. We’re friends, hell we’re way more than friends. Tomorrow we can figure out the logistics of it all, but tonight—tonight I’m telling you that I’m so desperately in love with you that I go to sleep dreaming of you and wake up missing you.”

He paused, thumb caressing your bottom lip slightly, running along the evident split he’d caused.

“Everytime I see you with another guy I feel like I’m about to implode. That includes Joaquin and I know you feel the same way, I saw how you got with Mel. You make me crazy in the best way. I’ve never felt like this about anyone in my life—and don’t even think about interrupting me to call me an old man. I love you. I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you since the moment you called me an idiot after kicking my ass in Germany. I loved you when Sam sent your reluctant ass to be my secretary. I love you every second of every day and I don’t care about being professional or being anything other than yours. I’m yours.”

You blinked a few times, astonished at the confession, lips slightly parted as you looked up at him. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest.

“You don’t have to feel the same way either, it won’t change anything. You’ll still be my mean, bossy, and obnoxious secretary tomorrow, and I’ll be your idiot boss that hates answering questions.”

That made you laugh, shaking your head and rolling your teary eyes. “If I’m being honest, I don’t want to be your secretary anymore—it’s not professional to be in love with your boss.”

He smiled at that, leaning into your space, connecting his lips with yours. The kiss was soft, sweet, and full of love.

The next morning the sunlight streaming through your windows woke the both of you up, you rolled into his space, trying to bury your head on his chest, using an arm to block the sunlight. Your entire body was sore and your head was pounding.

“Morning, sunshine.”

You blinked a few times, eyes widening at the realization that you were in bed with Bucky, the moment of shock easily wearing away at the memories of the night prior flooding in. Then you were picking your head up slightly, glancing at Bucky as he squinted, eyes adjusting to the bright light in the room before landing on you.

“I had a dream last night that would solve your professionalism debacle.” His voice was raspy and deep, it made you blush.

You nodded at him, “Okay, let’s hear it Buck.”

“You don’t need to be a Congressman’s secretary if you’re his wife.”

Thanks for reading sexies <3 as always feedback is appreciated!

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