#Multi-Step Word Problems | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kingkaisen · 1 month ago

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DOCTOR, DOCTOR!

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Being a surgeon is hard enough, but dealing with attractive men who can’t seem to get enough of their pretty doctor? Well . . .

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || MINORS DNI — multi! jjk x surgeon! reader (separate) ft. sukuna, choso, gojo, nanami, toji, & geto, very tiny amounts of smut, mainly just suggestive, fluff, some angst, modern au, mentions of injuries and blood.

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I don’t know much about the medical field, so there will be some inaccuracies!

⚕️ — 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

“There is no reason whatsoever as to why my surgical patients have to suffer due to your incompetence. They’re post-op. Post-op. These people have been freshly cut open, and they need enough medicine to manage their pain.” You strode down the brightly-lid hospital hallway. The two nurses at the receiving end of your anger struggled to keep up with your quick pace. “After I visit with Mr. Sukuna, I’ll be stopping by Mrs. Mura’s room, and that poor woman better not be in tears again from a lack of quality care when I get there.”

“Y-Yes, doctor.” The nurses nodded. They scurried off as you stopped outside an oak-colored wooden door.

You knocked twice before opening it, entering Sukuna’s hospital room with a fake smile to disguise your anger.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sukuna.” Approaching the man propped up in his bed, you folded your arms across your chest, and he smirked up at you.

Briefly, you turned to face the slumped-over inmate guard dozing off in a recliner chair in the corner of the room.

“Sir? Would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

The guard snapped awake at the sound of your voice, nodded, and yawned, rising to his feet as he dragged himself out of Sukuna’s hospital room. After all, the prisoner was chained to his hospital bed, so it would be perfectly fine for him to waste some spare change visiting a few vending machines for a couple of snacks, right?

“How are you feeling?” You asked Sukuna once you both found yourselves alone.

“Drop the act,” Sukuna paused. He grabbed his white remote and muted the television displaying old reruns of boring game shows. “Tell me what’s got you upset.”

“Something that is much too inappropriate for me to discuss with a patient.” You let your face fall into a frown.

“Even your favorite one?”

“My favorite?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling softly as you pressed a button on the side rails of Sukuna’s bed, lowering him just a bit. “You and your ego.”

“I’m just sayin’, if you’ve got a problem with someone, y’know I’ll take care of it for you.”

You leaned over Sukuna, shining your pen light into one of his eyes. “See? Comments like that are exactly why your left wrist is handcuffed to your bed.”

“Relax, I’m just messin’ around,” he gave you a sly smile.

You pulled away from him briefly. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Sukuna’s eyes slowly trailed over your body, taking in the sight of you from head to toe. “Just say the word, pretty girl.”

“First of all,” you paused, your voice stern, though you could hardly fight off the strong urge to smile. “Drop the nicknames already. Second of all, how are you supposed to take care of my problems while you’re cuffed, under constant supervision, and healing from an arm fracture? A complicated and complex one at that. I was operating on you for quite some time. I’m guessing your violent behavior led to it.”

Hunger lingered in Sukuna’s gaze. He had no appetite for the bland, half-eaten hospital food getting old and stale on a discarded tray on the other side of his bed.

No.

He was starving for the gorgeous surgeon in front of him right now. And after having all the time in the world to lie around and think, think, think, it dawned on him that, perhaps, his growing affection wasn’t one-sided.

“A complicated surgery your excuse for not discharging me already? I think someone likes having me around.” The tip of Sukuna’s tongue darted out briefly as he licked his bottom lip. You turned your head away from his piercing stare, suddenly overcome with shyness.

“Don’t get all embarrassed now,” Sukuna teased.

It was rather odd. Lying to patients — or, as you preferred to think of it, temporarily withholding the truth for their own benefit — was a skill all doctors had to learn. By now, you had considered yourself a master at doing so.

Until it came to Ryomen Sukuna.

Oh, he could see right through you . . . could destroy your detached, professional, tough attitude that one needs to have to survive the medical field and reduce you into nothing more than a shy girl with a crush. A crush on her own damn patient.

“You know what? After I finish examining you, I’m gonna work on getting you discharged first thing tomorrow,” you said, leaning over him yet again. Your penlight shined into his other eye.

Sukuna’s gentle breath patted against your face as he mumbled, “constantly examining my eyes even though my arm was the problem. You’re looking for any reason to get close to me, doc.”

The bright light seized with the click of your thumb. Though your eye exam was done, you hadn’t yet pulled away from him.

“I’m just doing my job. You’re making it more complicated than it needs to be, which is why I can’t support the decision to discharge you just yet,” you said.

“You think I believe that? Let me show you how well my arm’s healing up.” Sukuna’s injured arm was in a cast, but he wouldn’t let that hold him back. One second, you were leaning over Sukuna, and the next, he was grabbing your leg and pulling you over his lap, making you straddle him.

“I can toss you around just fine. But I’ll let you keep up with your little act,” Sukuna gripped the collar of your white coat. “After my eyes, you always examine my mouth, right? Tell me what you think, doc.”

With the hunger of a starving man, he connected your lips. A little gasp of surprise escaped from you. Sukuna was quick to use that opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth and swirling it around yours. Your breath was minty — he could taste it. If he wasn’t currently swallowing your soft moans while moving his mouth against yours, he would have teased you over freshening your breath before coming to visit him.

You broke the kiss a while later due to a lack of air. Damn your lungs. They felt as if they were on fire by the time Sukuna leaned back, a sly smirk on his face.

“Examination go well?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“It’s . . . um, just as I thought.” You stammered, pausing to breathe. “You’re displaying certain symptoms that have me concerned. We might need to keep you here for an extra day or two.”

Sukuna smirked yet again. Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “If you wanna keep me here, you better take those scrubs off right now.”

“But we could get caught-”

“Just shut up and come sit on my face.”

⚕️ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

On what was a late Wednesday afternoon, you tossed your empty cup of coffee into a nearby garbage can. The next surgery on your chaotic schedule was meant to be a simple procedure done on a young man’s knee, and according to his pre-op lab work, his vitals were just fine. Ideal blood pressure. Quite healthy. No behavioral issues.

So far, so good . . .

Until you walked into his hospital room.

It is rather expected for surgeons to introduce themselves to their patients before an operation, which is why you entered Choso’s dark room to begin with and flipped on the lights.

But, when the unfamiliar man’s dark brown eyes landed on you, they widened. His cheeks and ears darkened to a pinkish shade of red, and he began to cough. The ice water he was sipping on nearly spewed from between his lips.

You rushed over worriedly, yet calmly.

“Keep coughing, don’t hold the water in or you’ll continue to choke.” With one hand, you grabbed the plastic cup on his overbed table, holding it to his mouth. With the other, you eased him forward, ready to give his back a couple of blows if necessary, but rubbing it soothingly in the meantime.

Eventually, his light choking session came to an end after he spat the water out, and no drastic measures were needed.

However, his skin hadn’t returned to its previous pale shade. His cheeks and ears were much too red for your liking.

After a brief introduction and overview of the operation — all talking on your part, not a word from him — you gave him a serious glance.

“Would it be alright for me to check your vitals myself? I know your nurse already did so, but you still seem a little flushed. I’m sure it’s from the little choking mishap, but I would still like to double-check.”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze and staring only at the white blanket draped over him. You removed the stethoscope from around your neck.

A quiet or shy patient was nothing usual. Beyond that, he was probably embarrassed about what happened, along with the general anxiety that builds up within most people at the idea of having surgery.

Therefore, you spoke as softly as you could, pressing the cool, circular end of the stethoscope against his chest.

“Take a deep breath for me,” you said.

You checked a few different areas before pulling away from him, hanging your stethoscope underneath the collar of your white coat.

“You have a rapid heartbeat. Is this a regular occurrence?”

“No.”

His heart rate should have calmed down by now had it been related to the water incident, you thought.

“Well, I’d like to check it again in a couple of minutes. We might have to consider scheduling you for an ECG if nothing changes. Have you experienced any palpitations, dizziness, or shortness of breath?”

Choso looked off to the side at nothing in particular.

“Only . . . right now,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I see,” you smiled gently, though he couldn’t see it. You were certain he’d stare directly into the sun just to avoid looking you in the eye. “Nervous around doctors, I understand.”

“I’m not usually nervous around doctors,” Choso fiddled with his folded fingers resting in his lap. He scratched one thumb with the other, breathing unsteadily.

You hid your confusion and concern behind an expressionless face, one as blank as a new canvas.

Tightening the blood pressure cuff around his muscular arm was your next move, one made in a thick awkward silence. The fact that he was in seemingly great shape only worsened your worry.

After all, those who exercised regularly were known to have a resting heart rate lower than the average person. Not higher.

You weren’t a fool.

From the very moment you took your first pre-med undergraduate course, you were taught time and time again that even those who took exceptional care of themselves could become victims of several illnesses. You’ve witnessed it yourself. Seen or performed tumor removals, cracked open chests, or sliced into the stomachs of countless amount of people who seemed healthy. Or tried their hardest to be that way.

Was that the case now? Was this seemingly healthy guy unknowingly suffering from some sort of heart condition?

Those were the questions running through your mind when the screen monitoring his blood pressure blinked red. The cuff released a puff of air as it stopped squeezing his bicep.

“Elevated blood pressure,” you said.

Removing the cuff, you darted your eyes down to his face.

“You shouldn’t be concerned. I’m fine,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t need any tests. I’m just nervous. Not because of the surgery or because you’re a doctor, but you’re . . . pretty.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Reaching down, you gave his fidgeting hand a reassuring squeeze.

Being that his vitals appeared normal when being checked by someone else, then perhaps, he was telling the truth.

“Thank you,” you pulled your hand away. “Just to be safe and test your theory, I’ll have you sit here for a few minutes, and I’ll send a nurse back in to recheck everything one last time. If it all looks good, no ECG. How does that sound?”

For the first time since your arrival, Choso’s chocolate brown eyes met yours.

“That won’t work,” he mumbled. “Even if you bring in someone who isn’t you, I will still be thinking of you in a few minutes, so my heart rate and blood pressure will still be high. I’m sorry.”

⚕️ — 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Seeing Satoru Gojo among your scheduled appointments for the day was a certainty, just as the sun would rise in the morning and the moon would shine at night.

His operation was quite a while ago. It was a smooth surgery, and yet, here he was, sitting in the waiting room of the tall, fancy building with your name on the outside — you had established your very own private practice.

Despite being a surgeon on the younger side, you had accomplished what most surgeons wouldn’t dare to dream of accomplishing until their late 40s, if they could accomplish your level of success at all.

You had a wall full of framed degrees. Certificates. Awards. And it certainly wasn’t easy, from the accelerated programs and sleepless nights to being disrespected by your older male colleagues. You couldn’t count the number of times someone had mistook you for a nurse, even as you wore your white coat. There were even patients who refused your care in preference for your less-accomplished, less-skilled, male fellow doctors.

Despite the trials and tribulations, your hard work paid off, thank goodness.

That was why you groaned with annoyance upon discovering that Satoru Gojo was among your list of patients, and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

Because, damn it all, you wouldn’t ruin your remarkable career and reputation by falling for a patient . . . especially because he refused to stop being your patient.

— ⚕️—

“You again?” You stepped into the examination room, eyeing the white-haired man.

“Did you miss me?” Satoru grinned.

“You’re never gone long enough for me to miss you,” shutting the door behind you, trying your hardest to conceal your emotions, you asked, “What seems to be the problem now, Mr. Gojo?”

“Ya know,” Satoru paused. He slumped back in his seat. “I never understood why I have to tell the nurse all of my issues just to have to repeat it all again when you come in.”

“Considering how much you enjoy talking, I didn’t think you’d have a problem with that.”

“I’d rather just talk to you.” His goofy smile widened. “Anyway, I’ve been dealing with some stomach pain, and my incisions feel all sore.”

“You mean the incisions that healed up very nicely several months ago?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “And regarding your stomach pain . . . you booked an appointment with me instead of the gastroenterologist I referred you to because?”

“‘Cause you were the one who performed my surgery, unless I’m crazy and remembering stuff wrong.”

Satoru rose from his seat, heading for the examination table without you having to tell him. He knew every move you were going to make. After all — after many pointless visits because, apparently, these appointments were the closest he could get to going on a date with you — he knew the routine like the back of his hand.

You approached him. It was difficult to find the courage to look him in the eye — god, that lovesick gaze of his always made your heart skip a beat — but you stared at him sternly regardless, hoping he would take your words seriously . . . though, truly, you didn’t want him to.

“Satoru, this many follow-up appointments almost a year later aren’t-”

“What are the rules against a doctor dating a patient?”

Your eyes widened.

Your heart didn’t skip a beat. It skipped several.

You were certain it was going to give out, that you would go from being a doctor to being a patient.

He was being serious. There was no hint of playfulness behind his tone. Satoru’s love-filled gaze darted from your eyes, down to your lips, and back up to your eyes again.

“Mr. Gojo, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that just now,” you cleared your throat, taking a step back, breaking eye contact with him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He asked with false innocence.

His long finger was suddenly hooked around the belt loop of your pants. He pulled you closer, closing the distance between you both. His soft, gentle breath patted against the skin of your cheek.

“Aw, you can’t even look me in the eye, how cute,” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh my goodness, just lay down already,” you mumbled. “Let me take a look at your stomach.”

“Yes ma’am,” Satoru grinned widely. He earned yet another eye roll from you.

You had hoped that officially starting his physical exam would, perhaps, break the building tension between you both. But no.

Your skillful hands were inspecting the faint and tiny incisions along his fit body, tracing over his lower abdomen.

“Like what you see?” Satoru said. “Don’t be shy, now. You can go lower than that if you want.”

“Once again, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” You pulled your hands away, and Satoru sat up. “Your incisions look fine, of course. But I will, for the thousandth time, be referring you to a gastroenterologist to run some tests regarding your . . .” you paused, giving him a look of disbelief, “. . . stomach pain.”

“Fineee, I’ll stop coming here,” Satoru said.

“Really?” You raised your eyebrows, but not in excitement. You were skilled in speaking without revealing your true emotions through your tone — years of telling sad families about an unfortunate diagnosis or death or a loved one required that form of expertise — but right now, you couldn’t hide your sadness as you spoke.

“You almost sound disappointed, sweetheart.” Satoru smiled, pushing himself off of the examination table. He started walking towards you, and you didn’t have the courage or desire to step away. “Anyway, I pieced it together just now. If doctors can’t date their patients, then I just can’t be your patient anymore. Is that what it’ll take for me to finally be able to snatch this coat off of you?”

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Or, I could do it right now.” This time, Satoru hooked his fingers around your chin, raising your head until you had no choice but to look him in the eye as he spoke. “What’s wrong? There aren’t any cameras in here out of respect for patient privacy, right?”

“Let me tell you something,” you frowned. “I’m a very hardworking woman who follows the rules. It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears for me to get where I am now, and I won’t . . . I can’t ruin it by . . .”

Satoru’s thumb stroked your cheek as he listened to your words. When you suddenly stopped speaking, he mumbled, “What’s the matter? I’m listening.”

Truth be told, your words trailed off into nothing because the beautiful man before you made a thousand different questions and concerns swirl around in your overworked mind.

There was no denying his sheer lust. It was written all over his face. But there was love within his gaze as well. And though you couldn’t see your own face right now, you knew you were staring back at him with the same amount of love.

“Stop coming here. If you stop being my patient, just as you said, then maybe, we can go on that date in a couple of months.”

Satoru smiled. “Deal. I’m pretty impatient, but I can wait years for you if that’ll make you more comfortable. You should know by now there’s no getting rid of me.”

“I won’t make you wait years. I can be impatient sometimes as well.” You couldn’t help but match his smile with one of your own. “Let’s give it six months.”

“Six months,” Satoru said in agreement.

“Well, if that’s everything,” you started to head towards the door, then suddenly, you halted your footsteps.

You turned around. Rising to the tips of your toes, you planted a soft, quick kiss on Satoru’s cheek. His cheeks and ears couldn’t help but become a deep shade of red as he blushed.

“Six months,” you mumbled.

Satoru’s movements were fast; his lips were on your cheek before you had a chance to turn away.

“God, you’re the cutest,” he said.

Though kissing each other on the cheek was risky — planning to date a former patient in half a year was as well — you couldn’t help but admire your quickened heart rate. There was something quite thrilling about breaking the rules every now and then.

⚕️ — 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

“Wow, I never thought I’d see little Kenny in my hospital.”

A bright smile graced your face as you stepped into the lavish room — though it was a hospital room, it seemed more suitable to view it as a hotel room with additional medical equipment.

“Well, when I decided it was time to schedule my carpal tunnel surgery, I was searching for a surgeon, and I saw your name appear. After I got over my initial surprise, I thought, why not go with my former best friend? Even if she used to be pretty clumsy during our childhood.” He gave you a smile as bright as your own. It occurred to him then, as his cheeks grew sore, that he hadn’t grinned so widely in quite some time.

“C’mere,” you approached his bed, leaning down to hug him and press a gentle kiss upon his cheek. “I’m gonna take great care of you.”

“I know you will. You always have,” the blonde-haired man whispered.

Something small, yet soft was being squished in between you both. He thought it was part of a pillow that had gotten caught in your embrace, but when you pulled away, his eyes darted down to the stuffed, light-brown teddy bear in your arms. It had a red heart in its grasp with cursive white letters that read: Get Well Soon!

“This is only one of the many, many things I plan to buy you from the gift shop,” you handed the stuffed animal to him. He took it, flipping it around in his hands.

God, he hadn’t noticed it when you walked in, so occupied with memorizing every detail of your gorgeous face and how it had changed since he last laid his eyes upon it. Even now, he couldn’t snatch his eyes away from you. The subtle smile pulling at the corners of your soft lips . . . your glistening gaze . . . even your nose was precious to him.

“Someone’s still a little sweetheart I see. Thank you,” he put the stuffed animal down next to him. “I intend to return the favor. I have a lot of missed birthdays and holidays to make up for.”

Kento’s long legs shifted underneath the blanket as he moved them to the side, making enough room for you to sit down on his bed.

“You and me both,” you paused, sitting in the spot he made for you. “I guess I can’t call you little Kenny anymore, can I? My goodness, you’re much taller than me now. When did that happen?”

Your childhood friend let out an airy, brief laugh. His hand scooped up yours. His thumb graced your skin, and he said, “I outgrew you right before we lost contact. I don’t expect you to remember, though. We were already starting to drift apart by the time that happened. But, more importantly, I think I have a more pressing question. When did you decide to become a surgeon? I’m proud of you.”

With a little hum, your eyes darted off to the side. Fighting off the bittersweet memories of growing up with Kento Nanami was an impossible task. What started out as a friendship formed in kindergarten over splitting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sharing toys so drastically became a forgotten bond by freshman year of high school, when your closeness amounted to nothing more than waving at each other in the hallway.

No more sleepovers. No more snack sharing. No more innocent hand-holding.

From best friends to acquaintances, just like that.

And when circumstances led to your family moving to a different town quite far away, you and Nanami lost contact completely.

From acquaintances to strangers, just like that.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Your tone was laced with nostalgic sadness.

Cold air hit your hand when Kento released it — your skin craved his warmth. But the man did not release your hand without reason, as the hand that was formerly holding yours now rested against your soft cheek. He gave it a little stroke with his thumb, then moved your head back in his direction.

He hadn’t seen your eyes in years. He’ll be damned if they dare gaze at anything other than him right now.

“Well, catching up now is as good a time as any. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Talk to me.” Kento moved his hand away from your face. Cold air returned to your skin like an unwelcomed guest. “Are you married? Have any kids? How are your relatives?”

“No, no, I’m . . . I’m much too busy to start a family. Haven’t had much time to check up on anyone else either,” You replied. Your somber demeanor vanished. A heartwarming smile reappeared, and rather playfully, you poked Kento’s chest. “But what of you, sir? How are you these days? I must say I wasn’t very pleased to see such an advanced case of carpal tunnel. You’re too damn young.”

Kento caught the hand you were jabbing him with. His large hand wrapped around yours, and he held it. Warmth.

“Well, I’m a businessman. My job is so taxing, it’s no wonder I ended up with carpal tunnel. But I make good money from it. I’m in the same boat as you, though. Unmarried. No kids.”

“Considering how handsome you turned out to be, I’m assuming it’s voluntary?”

He nodded. “Much like you, I’m just too busy.”

You couldn’t help but glance down at your locked hands. Despite the years upon years that have passed since he last felt your skin, his touch wasn’t foreign. It was all too familiar, almost as if Kento Nanami never left your life to begin with.

“I always thought you would be the person I’d end up marrying.” Your words were soft, barely above a whisper.

“So did I. Our wedding was my favorite thing to daydream about during class.” Kento brought your hand to his lips. His kiss was a gentle one, and the previous warmth that came from his touch transformed into a burning heat running through your veins. If he kept this up, this gentle love, you were certain you’d combust into flames.

“I should leave now,” you mumbled, preparing to get off of his bed, though you hadn’t yet found the courage.

Kento couldn’t help but notice how your eyes wouldn’t meet his as if they found the mopped floor below oh so interesting.

“Look at me.”

It took a while. Much longer than he would have liked. But eventually, you gave in to his demand and your eyes found his, though your glistening gaze was, once again, filled with sadness.

“I know this is the first time we’ve seen each other in a long time and the circumstances aren’t ideal, but you don’t have to mourn our past, because I don’t intend on letting you get away from me again. Do you understand me?”

Your sad eyes widened. “You’re saying-”

“I’m saying I want you back in my life, if that’s okay with you.”

You knew the serious expression on Kento’s face well. He meant every word.

“I assumed we’d go our separate ways once again after this surgery . . . that I probably wouldn’t see you again until you needed a hip replacement in your late sixties,” you couldn’t help but let a single tear fall down your cheek.

A low, brief chuckle came from Kento. He leaned forward. Reaching out, he cupped your cheek, stroking the tear away with his thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Come here.” With the hand that was resting on your cheek, Kento guided your head towards his chest as he leaned back against the hospital bed. Your upper body now rested on top of him. His thumb continued to stroke your wet cheek.

“Forgive me for saying so, but as soon as you walked through that door, I knew I wanted to start daydreaming about marrying you once again.”

“Good,” you smiled. “Because I was thinking the same thing.”

“I won’t get you in trouble for holding you like this, will I?” Kento asked, though he couldn’t think of anything worse than letting you go.

“Don’t stress about it. No matter what anyone says, I run this hospital. I can do what I want. Including this.”

Suddenly, you leaned up to press a kiss on his cheek.

“But I better get going,” you said. “It’s almost time for your surgery.”

You started to rise into a sitting position, but Kento’s large hand cupped the side of your face, halting your movements.

“Wait,” he darted his soft eyes down to your lips. “It’s too soon for this, but I need to do it anyway.”

Kento’s lips met yours in a surprise kiss so loving, so passionate, it took your breath away — there was nothing left except that familiar warmth and the feeling of his lips moving against your own. You truly didn’t know if the kiss lasted five seconds or five minutes because when he pulled away, it still felt like it was much too early.

“That kiss didn’t happen too soon,” You uttered breathlessly. “I’ve waited years for that.”

You staggered as you rose to your feet. Leave it to Kento Nanami to make you go weak at the knees.

Dragging your hands across your coat and scrubs to ensure they weren’t oddly twisted or wrinkled, you said, “Now I’ve really gotta go. But I look forward to slicing into you!”

⚕️ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

“You’re awake.”

It was the voice of an angel. Had to be. But, as Toji’s blurry vision cleared as he blinked, blinked, and blinked — he made out the sterile environment devoid of color and packed to the brim with machines that were wired to his battered limbs — he realized he was in a hospital room, not the afterlife.

“Welcome back,” you smiled.

Toji felt your thumb gently stroke his forehead. Your touch was so comforting. So soothing. It calmed his initial urge to panic as a result of the massive wave of pain and confusion that hit him as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Toji, you’re alright. You were in a construction accident.” Another voice spoke up, but Toji’s eyes didn’t bother searching for the source. They were on you — the pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel, smiling at him.

— ⚕️—

It took several days for Toji to regain the strength to move. Talking was a lost skill to him for weeks.

God, were head-to-toe injuries painful. His nurses informed him — when he could manage to stay conscious, at least — that unsafe conditions led to him falling from a dangerous height while working at a construction site. Most people would have died instantly during an accident like that. If they were lucky enough to survive the initial fall and aftermath of collapsing debris, then they more than likely would have died on the operating table.

But Toji, however, had a brilliant surgeon who operated endlessly for hours upon hours to save his life. Brilliant.

Was it you? The pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel who smiled at him when he first awakened? Just where did you go?

You suddenly walked into Toji’s room as if his thoughts had summoned you.

Before you could speak, he asked, “You the one who saved my life?”

“I am. My surgical team and I worked very hard. I’m glad you pulled through. How are you feeling?”

“Took you long enough to come check on me again,” Toji ignored your question, speaking with a soft, tired smile. “Haven’t seen you since I woke up. Was starting to think my mind made you up.”

“Actually,” you paused, approaching the side of his hospital bed. “I came by almost every night to check on you. You were just fast asleep. You can thank our pain medication for that.”

“Hm . . .” Toji’s eyelids were growing heavy. He spoke over the beeping vital monitors and IV pumps. “Guess I owe you one for . . . saving . . .”

He was fast asleep.

You smiled down at his face, which, although bruised and bandaged, was still quite handsome.

As you walked away, you heard the black-haired man mumble in his drug-induced state, “. . . so goddamn pretty.”

—⚕️—

The following physical therapy-filled weeks were rather difficult for a man like Toji. The struggles he endured were not only physical, but mental as well.

After all, he prided himself on having such an athletic build and insane strength — the amount of pounds he could lift with ease was startling.

But for a while, he was no longer the man who could haul just about anything with very little effort. He was a man who needed assistance to stand up. To walk. And his spirit was crushed, even well after he regained those lost skills and was deemed recovered enough to be discharged.

He was rather certain that if it wasn’t for a certain angel sticking by his side throughout his two-month hospital stay, he wouldn’t have found the strength to keep going.

—⚕️—

Toji Fushiguro found himself at a local, quiet bar more often than he’d like to admit. Most times, a wave of self-hatred washed over him every single time he grabbed a seat and ordered a drink, but not today. Today, he was happy to walk into the bar, because you were there.

“Can I buy you a drink, doc?”

You looked up from your phone screen to find your former patient standing at the side of the little table you occupied.

“Toji?” You smiled. “Wow. It’s refreshing to see you outside of the hospital.”

“And without a hospital gown on, I bet,” a little smirk pulled at the vertical scar on his lips. “It’s nice to see you without that white coat on, ‘cause that means I’m no longer in that hospital, even if the coat is pretty hot on you. Who knew I’d have a thing for doctors.”

“Aren’t you straightforward?” You gave a little laugh, then nodded at the empty seat across from you. “Sit down. Join me.”

As Toji pulled out the chair opposite of you, he said, “I was kinda worried, thinkin’ I wouldn’t see you again after getting discharged.”

“Really? I figured after seeing me every day for . . . how long has it been, two months, right? I assumed you’d be sick of seeing me.” You took a sip of your water. Condensation coated the cool glass.

“Sick of the hospital, yeah, but not you,” Toji propped his elbow up on the table and rested the side of his head in his hands. “Anyway, about that drink. Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

“Toji, you know you don’t owe me for saving your life. It’s my job.”

“I don’t care. I owe you one. But an overpriced drink wasn’t how I was gonna pay you back anyway.”

“Hm?” You raised your eyebrows. “How were you going to pay me back, then?”

“I’ve got a lot of ideas. One of them involves you comin’ home with me. Another involves a nice dinner, whichever you prefer. Though if you really wanna know what I think, I think you should pick both.”

You waited for any sort of indication that, perhaps, the handsome man was joking. But you knew Toji quite well after spending much time with him, and he never bothered with being dishonest or secretive about his feelings.

Hospital food tasted like crap? He said so. Exhaustion lingering within your eyes despite your professional smile? He pointed it out.

You gave him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief. The chair scraped against the floor as you got up to leave the table.

Toji wasn’t surprised to see you leave. He expected to be turned down, having been your former patient. Pursuing any sort of relationship probably disinterested you due to moral and ethical-

“Aren’t you coming?”

Toji turned around. You stood there patiently, having halted your footsteps a short distance away from the table.

“Huh?” He blinked. So you were interested. Another small smile couldn’t help but grace his face. “What about that drink?”

“Forget about it,” you waved him over. “I like what you came up with more.”

“Oh yeah? Which idea?” Toji asked, rising from his seat.

“Both.”

“Then let’s go, angel.” Toji grabbed ahold of your hand, guiding you towards the exit. “I hope you like Italian food. And my version of physical therapy.”

⚕️— 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

Sharp intuition and good instincts were valuable skills one needed in the medical field. As one of the most skilled surgeons in the hospital, the best of the best, according to your peers — and, well, your low mortality rate — your skill set was rather exceptional.

There was, however, a drawback to having good instincts. It was the impending doom you couldn’t shake when your gut told you that something was off.

Though your incredibly long shift had come to an end, you hadn’t yet left the hospital. After all, today, your surgeries were all brief and complication-free. The ER wasn’t too chaotic. Even your coffee tasted extra pleasant today.

Things were going well. Too well.

Your time working as a surgeon had taught you one thing: a peaceful day working in a hospital was a bad sign.

And those good instincts of yours? They told you not to leave just yet.

Many nurses darted their eyes at you curiously, silently questioning why you hadn’t yet run out of the building once your shift was over. Free time was all too rare for a surgeon, so why, just why, were you hanging around in the ER, leaning against the counter of the nurses’ station?

You were taking a tentative sip of your beverage when a car arrived outside of the ER’s automatic sliding seethrough doors.

A man stepped out, not wasting time with trivial matters such as shutting his car door, and he swung open another car door. You couldn’t see what he was doing exactly due to the distance. Not until he stepped into the ER with an unconscious, blood-covered girl in his arms.

“Sir?” You called out.

The dark-haired man didn’t respond. He was in a state of shock.

You and your medical team rushed to find a gurney, ready to assess the girl in his arms, but he wasn't ready to let go of her just yet.

You gave him a sympathetic, but urgent look. “Sir, you need to let us help her. Can you tell us what happened?”

No response.

The man himself was bleeding from his head.

“Sir,” you tried yet again, speaking softly. He didn’t look at you until you touched the bloody hand he had hooked around the young girl’s shoulder. “I promise I will try my best to help her. I need you to trust me.”

He blinked a few times as if coming out of a daze. He placed the girl on the gurney.

— ⚕️—

It was a car accident. The man, who was named Suguru Geto, sat in the waiting room for hours, refusing medical attention for his own injuries. The young girl he carried into the ER was one of his adopted daughters.

Operating on her with the information a nurse passed on to you in mind gave you the strength you needed to push through your exhaustion — to save a young girl on the brink of death.

“I need you to stay strong for me, Mimiko,” you mumbled against your surgical mask, putting down one surgical tool and grabbing another — your scalpel. “Your dad’s waiting for you, sweet girl.”

Though the girl was unconscious, you continued to speak to her throughout the operation.

You couldn’t help it — perhaps believing it mattered on a subconscious or even spiritual level.

When the surgery came to an end, you gave Suguru an update, informing him that Mimiko was stable for now and that he could visit her soon.

“Thank you.” A shaky, relieved breath escaped from between his lips, and though he was happy to hear the news, he started to cry. Tears were streaming down his face, mixing with the blood on his skin — he couldn’t help but break down over the situation, now that it was partially over.

You wasted no time in grabbing a seat next to Suguru.

Wrapping your arms around him, you held the stranger, rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s alright,” you whispered kindly.

Suguru pulled away from you after a couple of minutes. You gave him a smile. However, it didn’t take long for the corners of your lips to dip into a frown.

“Mr. Geto, your forehead.” You rose from your seat. “You need stitches. Please let me help.”

It took a moment, but he eventually nodded and got up as well.

You were well within your rights to go home, to pass off this mundane suturing opportunity to someone with less responsibility within the hospital, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You were going to stick with this family throughout their entire healing process.

For a while, you treated Suguru’s wound in silence — beyond the general bustling hospital noise.

“You seem tired. Am I keeping you here past your shift?” Suguru suddenly spoke up.

You were silent for a moment, uncertain of how to respond.

“I’m just glad I was here, Mr. Geto.”

“Anyone who saves my daughter’s life can call me Suguru.” He stared down at the dried blood on his hands. “While you were still in surgery, a nurse gave me an update. She told me how hard you were working, and that you were speaking to Mimiko as if she was your own child.”

“I was. I like to talk to all my patients during surgery. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Not at all, why would it? I appreciate it. You seem very caring.” Suguru would have smiled if he had the energy.

“Tired and caring, hm?” You grinned softly, finishing the last stitch.

“I’m sure I will come up with more adjectives in due time.”

Your smile widened, and even Suguru managed to give a tiny grin.

— ⚕️—

Suguru Geto approached you in the hospital hallway during your lunch break a few weeks later, on the day his dear daughter would get discharged. The man who you came to know after seeing him and his family on nearly a daily basis tapped your shoulder.

“Hm?” You turned around, and your eyes darted down to a packaged baked good in Suguru’s hands.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Consider it a personal thank you for taking such great care of my daughter.” Suguru held out the tiny box, and you took the pastry.

“Oh, Mr. Geto, You didn’t need to do this for me. I was just doing my job,” you grinned.

“Your job was to save her life. To talk with her about her hobbies and interests . . . to comfort her . . . that was going above and beyond.” Suguru stared at you with sincerity and respect. “She’s been rambling on and on about you non-stop. I know you’re a busy person, but she said she’d still like to see you even after getting discharged, should you ever have the freetime.”

“Of course. She’s a sweet girl — both your girls are,” looking down at the sweet treat in your hands, you said, “and this looks amazing. You’re too kind, Suguru!”

“Believe me, I’m not normally a kind person. But you deserve every bit of kindness I might be able to spare.”

“A single father to two girls he adopted, who bakes pastries for other people? Sure seems like you’re pretty kind.”

Suguru stepped closer. He leaned down a bit, as far as he could without raising any suspicion from nearby medical staff and guests, and he whispered into your ear, “You just don’t know me very well. But I was thinking about how much I’d like to change that.”

“How so?” You whispered back.

Suddenly, Suguru stepped away. He grabbed your wrist, leading you towards the on-call room he fully intended on sneaking you both into.

You could hardly put the pastry down and lock the door before his lips were on yours hungrily. His hands were busy pulling off your white coat, your top, and undoing the drawstrings of your scrub pants.

His mouth made its way down to your neck. He sucked and kissed at your skin, all the while his hand snaked their way into your underwear.

“Remember when I started to cry, and you held me?” He asked softly, his breath patting against your skin.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I remember.”

“I think I should return the favor,” he paused, his fingers finding your clit while his other hand held you against his bigger frame. “Let me hold you while you cum.”

🩺 — @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @thequeenofcurses @he11okitty-mari @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @deadrevenge @koikohib

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gojosconsort · 3 months ago

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˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ masterlist !!

𓂃୨ৎ all work is nswf. mdni !! (* dark content)

multi-char headcanons

jjk men love to eat you out

smau

come over?

𓂃୨ৎ they’re blowin’ up your phone past midnight—sure you won’t fall back into that situationship trap again? right??

headcanons

𓂃୨ৎ satoru gojo

onlyfans creator!reader x best friend!satoru gojo

afab!reader x professor!gojo

afab!reader x older bf!satoru

𓂃୨ৎ kento nanami

older bf!kento headcanons

𓂃୨ৎ toji fushiguro

older bf!toji headcanons 02

older bf!toji headcanons 01

afab!reader x husband!toji

afab!reader x bully!toji x bully!shiu

𓂃୨ৎ shiu kong

older bf!shiu headcanons

afab!reader x bully!toji x bully!shiu

𓂃୨ৎ ryomen sukuna

afab!reader x school-tyrant!sukuna (both legal age)

𓂃୨ৎ choso kamo

afab!reader x singer!choso kamo

stories

𓂃୨ৎ satoru gojo

blowjob 101 with satoru

𓂃୨ৎ after a movie night, you confess to your older best friend satoru that you’ve never given a blowjob and he offers to teach you at your doorstep.

virgin!satoru (college au)

𓂃୨ৎ satoru’s a nervous wreck, barely holding it together as his long-time crush—you—steps into his room. one touch, one smile, and he’s done for, desperate and clumsy, trying to fuck you right.

𓂃୨ৎ toji fushiguro

ridin’ out the attitude

𓂃୨ৎ you’ve been pushin’ toji’s buttons all damn day. now he’s got you straddlin’ his lap, smirkin’ as he makes you ride that thick cock ‘til you’re beggin’, spankin’ your ass red just to remind you who’s boss.

𓂃୨ৎ ryomen sukuna

fuck you (on that bike)

𓂃୨ৎ you thought you could bug sukuna while he’s working on his bike and get away with it. big mistake��he’s about to fuck you raw on that leather seat ‘til you’re crying his name.

drabbles

𓂃୨ৎ satoru gojo

satoru can't keep up with sex addict!reader

satoru is the only one allowed to teach you how to kiss

giving satoru a blowjob while he's driving

actor!satoru's got a problem under the sheets

satoru knows that you go weak over him calling you 'good girl'

satoru who loves your stretch marks

mean!satoru fucking his virgin gf

touch starved!satoru drabble

satoru goes down on his pregnant wife

satoru being mean with a lot of toys

satoru sucking on your boobs while you dry hump him

satoru overstimulating his virgin gf

sex addict!satoru fucks you whenever he can

pervy!satoru drabble

husband!satoru can’r resist you

hate fucking with satoru

fratboy!satoru loves to fuck you stupid

sub!satoru gets jerked off by you

satoru jerking off to your only fans vid

virgin!satoru has some (unholy) thoughts about you

𓂃୨ৎ suguru geto

boyfriend!suguru confesses during sex

pornstar!suguru only got eyes for you

pregnancy sex with husband!suguru

fucking suguru and toji at the same time

mean!suguru pushing you to use your safe word *

fratboy!suguru finally gets to fuck you

step-brother!suguru can’t cum unless inside you <3 *

step-brother!suguru loves his little sister so much *

𓂃୨ৎ satosugu

satosugu celebrate your birthday

sucking suguru while satoru fucks you <3

we should totally fuck sometime, right?

you take satosugu both for the first time

𓂃୨ৎ kento nanami

husband!kento and oblivious!wife drabble pt 3

husband!kento and oblivious!wife drabble pt 2

husband!kento and oblivious!wife pt 1

blowjob for professor!nanami

suprising your husband!kento with lingerie

cockwarming kento while he's on a call

husband!kento catches you touching yourself

husband!kento fucking you before a family dinner

office worker!kento losing it over his little secretary

husband!kento loses it when you say you want a baby

husband!kento punishes you (again) *

husband!kento punishes you after he comes home

𓂃୨ৎ toji fushiguro

movie night with toji end up with fucking him

fucking toji and suguru at the same time

possessive cowboy!toji drabble

x links

𓂃୨ৎ satoru gojo

satoru gojo links pt 1

𓂃୨ৎ satosugu

satosugru links pt 1

hashtags

✧ find my works by character:

#—amy writes : satoru gojo ★

#—amy writes : suguru geto ★

#—amy writes : satosugu ★

#—amy writes : toji fushiguro ★

#—amy writes : kento nanami ★

#—amy writes : ryomen sukuna ★

#—amy writes : choso kamo ★

#—amy writes : shiu kong ★

#—amy writes : jjk men ★

#—amy writes : dark content ★

#—masterlist ★#—navi ★#jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #divider by cafekitsune

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h109zone · 1 month ago

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mess with my woman? mess with me—headcanon

synopsis. you were invited to an event and you brought your boyfriend with you. entrusting your boyfriend's social skills, you branched off to catch up with your best friend, tara. this motion, however, ended up going against your favor.

pairing. multi (seperate) x reader

words. 4.7k

warning. objectification, sexism, some mentions of body parts (ass and boobs) but it is never super specific, threat of violence, mentions of weapons, suggestive (xavier and caleb), use of evol (zayne and caleb), psychological torture, public humiliation, creatively uncreative insults towards a male colleague, implied death, open ending, slight ooc, not proofread**

requested. anon

a/n. my first request (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) i hope i did it justice, and did as told !!! i kinda went overboard, with some having a dark ending, but regardless hope you enjoy it.

minors do not interact. re-read the warnings before reading, as after clicking “keep reading”, i am not responsible for the media you consume.

You and your boyfriend step out of the vehicle as you arrive at the annual ceremony that is held by the Hunters’ Association. It is a highly prestigious and acclaimed event, and you two were dressed to the nines with your elegant long dress and his sharp suit, armored with accessories and hidden weapons, and arms wrapped around each other’s midriff to signify the status of your relationship.

You were both greeted with a welcoming champagne, which you two gleefully took, and casual salutations from guests who knew you specifically. The ball was extravagant, with high-contrast elegance emanating in the room. You hear chattering, pompous chuckles, and rumblings of clinking glasses—a mere opposite environment of that of your workplace.

You flaunted your boyfriend like he was a human version of a one-of-a-kind vintage car—you would feel bad for the objectification, if only for the fact that girls and some guys tend to flock to them to get to know this mysterious man in your arms. Luckily for you, but unfortunately for them, he only has eyes for you, and he pays no mind to others who don’t carry your essence.

After the slight cordial exchange with acquaintances, you spotted Tara from afar, her youthful smile brightened as she jauntily waved her arms signaling for your arrival. You smiled back and nodded at her before you turned your attention towards your boyfriend and your male colleague, whom you happened to stumble upon.

“Hey, babe, Tara’s calling out for me, you don’t mind if I step away?” Your request was a rhetorical one, as you knew he trusted you with his life. He gave his affirmative answer and nodded before you planted a chaste kiss on his cheek and parted ways.

His eyes were on you as you walked up to Tara, ecstatically greeting each other. The male colleague in question looks at your boyfriend with a scoffing expression. The endearing and caring eyes shifted into a scowling confusion as he looked back at the man next to him.

“Is there a problem?” He asked pointedly. The man held your boyfriend’s shoulder as he began chuckling.

“Oh, no, my good man, there is none at all,” The man babbled before he chugged the remainder of his drink. The drunken state is very prevalent, if not in expression, then in his wording. “I’m just wondering how a distinguished gentleman like yourself bagged her? I know you can’t handle all of that juicy ass…”

Rafayel.

Rafayel choked on his drink after he heard the astonishing yet abhorrent language your male colleague had uttered.

“Excuse me?!” Rafayel exclaimed after coughing up the last drink, looking at him with distaste, but clearly, the man still hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Oh, please, we both know you got with her because of how hot she is!“

“Stop! Stop!” Rafayel roared while lifting his hand at the man’s face to signal him to stop talking. He cannot believe the words he is hearing, a male colleague, someone whom you work with, speaking about you—his muse, his future wife, his future mother of his children—in this shallow fashion.

“What gives you the right to speak about her right to my, her boyfriend, may I add, face?!” Rafayel inquired avertingly, eyes reddened in fury. The usually smiley and soft artist has turned into a protective lion ready to attack at any moment.

“Look, I presume you’re fresh meat right now and you don’t deal with her on the daily, but I’ll have you know that if it weren’t for that 10 out of 10 face and ass, you wouldn’t bat an eyelash at her.” This man has gotten himself a death sentence. Rafayel slammed his glass onto the table, causing a domino of heads turning towards him and the human scum in front of him jolted in his place.

“You motherfucker—”

“Hey, Rafy!” You barged in between, almost in cue, before his outbursts took over. The tension rose, and it was evident by your colleague’s petrified yet defensive stance that your usually calm and collected boyfriend snapped.

“Is everything alright?” you asked, concern laced in your tone, paying mind only to your boyfriend. Rafayel could only do a languid yet short breathing exercise before smiling at you, anger still written in his face.

“Yeah, fabulous, I was just getting to know your colleague,” his smile looking painful and petrifying. He wanted to escort you and not witness his wrath, however, his conscious was gnawing at him. He refuses to allow this brain-eating amoeba to roam around this prestigious hall contentedly, without paying his dues.

“Hey, my absolute goddess, and anyone willing to weigh in on the gossip, preferably a boss or higher-up,” Rafayel dramatically announced while wrapping his arm around your waist. You looked at him, brows scrunched in confusion at Rafayel’s sudden behavior. What on earth is this man doing?

“Do you know what this scum has been saying behind your back?” Rafayel pointed at the man who cowardly shrank himself, “You will not believe the absolute filth he has uttered in the short second I’ve dealt with him…”

And there, Rafayel turned the affluent event into a one-sided roast session, your jaw dropped, both in awe and disgust, whilst everyone let out a string of appalled gasps and whispers. Rafayel ripped him a new one while the man tried his best to defend himself.

“It was a joke! I-I didn’t mean to!” The colleague stammered before looking at you in sheer patheticness to save face, not an ounce of remorse, “Please, Ms. (l/n), you know I was only—”

The gasp from the audience got louder as his deplorable voice was replaced by a slap from you. Rafayel could only scowl and hold you closer as you both watched the pathetic man stumble from the hit.

You tugged on Rafayel’s arms and pointed at the door, “Let’s go, Rafy.”

“Let’s go, cutie,” He said, his sweet voice directed to your ears contrasted with the threatening eyes directed towards your male colleague, potentially ex, before turning around and departing from the party.

The rest of the night spent with the two of you laughing at the entirety of the situation, poking fun at the man and your boyfriend’s love for the theatrics. Rafayel assured you that the claims that the man has stated were utter bullshit and that his love and enamor towards you goes beyond looks and bed skills, meanwhile you assured him that you were never close to that specific colleague.

It was a fun time, and Rafayel could not wait for the updates to come when you return to work.

Xavier

Xavier’s polite smile has never dropped so quickly until now.

He has been aware of this specific colleague since he also encounters him every now and then, and has seen you interact with him. He doesn’t like how he tries to get close to you, however, you always told Xavier to tone down his jealousy in the work field as the relationship is strictly business, and that your eyes are reserved towards him and him only. He believes you one hundred percent, yet he wishes he had done things to get that colleague away from you.

“I beg your pardon?” Xavier’s words were as sharp as a knife, as his eyes painted a displeasing anger that was hidden beneath the surface. The drunken man in front of him paid no mind and began rambling.

“C’mon, you can be honest with me,” The man slurred as he leaned in and whispered with a devious smirk, “She had a tight one and was a good fuck, am I right?”

The vulgar words sent shockwaves to Xavier, resulting in him pushing the man in front of him, causing the brain-eating amoeba of a man to stumble back into the table nearby, making everyone gasp and look at the commotion. You turned away from Tara and ran up to Xavier as you spotted him wielding his sword.

“Xavier!” You called out as your boyfriend walked up to the cowardly man below him, threateningly. You stood between the two men, but you fully faced Xavier as you placed your hands on his arms to prevent him from hurting himself, the man, and possibly others.

“Apologize to her,” Xavier said, pointedly and terrifyingly calm. You glanced at the man before looking back at your lover, “What are you talking about?”

The man stood up as he lifted his hand, defensively before opening his mouth, “I just told him how it is, but your man is a pussy.”

Xavier clenched his fists, ready to charge, yet you stopped him by simply glancing at him. You had that power with him; he could have all the weapons and defenses, but nothing’s more potent than your expressions and glances. You squinted your eyes in suspicion before crossing your arms.

“And what is it that you’ve said that got him like this?!” You coldly said, knowing your boyfriend has his moments of irrationality, but he’s not one to always resort to violence—he doesn’t act this way unless his and/or your life has been threatened. Xavier stood behind you as he held your hip, silently reminding you that he had your back, even if you don’t need it.

“That he was with you for a good fuck,” He said in a “matter-of-fact” manner.

The entire audience was flabbergasted by the confession, how callous he seemed, as if he had just uttered a common fact. Xavier was embarrassed on your behalf; he was ready to charge at him, and he couldn’t stand how you were stopping him. However, you showed him something that is possibly more brutal than Xavier’s sword covered with that scum’s blood.

You wheezed.

You let out a hysterical laugh, leaving everyone, including your boyfriend and the colleague, confused. The colleague scowled at your laughing outburst.

“Why are you laughing?!” He exclaimed angrily, fist clenched at the sudden reaction. You proceeded to laugh before you wiped your tears as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Is that what it is?” You spoke, the smile you’re showing on your face was that of menace, “you’re mad that he’s with me for a good fuck and not you?”

Your voice heightened like you were baby talking, which caught everyone off guard, “are you mad that I get to fuck your coworker and have me call out his name instead of yours? Mad that you aren’t in his position?”

Xavier turned red, unexpecting your bold moves, but you kept going with your speech.

“Mad that he gets to see me at my full glory while you’re only limited to my uniform? Mad that he gets to use his hands to make me feel good while you can only use one hand for yourself?” You carried on taunting while the colleague began seething as you kept going, a smirk still exhibited on your face.

“That’s it!” He exclaimed before attempting to lunge at you. Xavier stood up straight on defense almost immediately, yet you fearlessly caught the man on time and proceeded to kick him in the balls. The dirtbag let out a painful groan and crouched down before falling while everyone, minus you and Xavier, in the hall let out their winced “oohs”.

You and your lover looked down at the pained man with a mirrored, cold glower, your glares threatening him to stay away from the two of you. Xavier absent-mindedly held your hand, dragging you away from the commotion as you held him even closer to you.

You two left the hall, going down the steps of the building hand-in-hand. Xavier took notice of your sudden quiet demeanor, making his eyebrows knit in wonder.

“You’re quiet…” Xavier softly spoke as you two walked up the parking lot, “How ironic, after the stunt you’ve done, I wouldn’t guess that this would be the aftermath.”

You sighed, “I’m sorry for airing out our private life in front of our entire coworkers—”

Your apologetic speech was interrupted by Xavier pulling you in for a kiss. The kiss was filled with fervent reassurance as his arm was tightly wrapped around your midriff while he slightly nipped at your bottom lip. He pulled away, his body still close to yours as his hand caressed your cheek, his soft features created an oxymoron with the devious smirk.

“Don’t apologize, now everyone knows not to mess with you…” He pulls away as he walks to the car.

You were sure you were going to give him the best night of his life to salvage the disastrous night.

Zayne

He simply blinked at him with an expressionless face. His eyebrows knitted in utter bemusement, his neutral expression juxtaposed with his agitated inner psyche.

Zayne prayed that what he had just heard was a figment of his imagination and it’s that his possessive side deluded him into thinking that your male colleague said the most objectifying statement he has ever heard about his lover, and he was a young doctor whose no stranger with people from patients to receptionists to even interns and medical students attempting to seduce him for their own greater good, so he knows a thing or two about this subject matter—which is nothing and slightly less worrying than your case.

“I see you’re a man of a few words, don’t worry, I can see your intentions right through you,” the man confidently—wrongly as well—gloated, “Now, I know (y/n) for some time and lemme tell ya, her hunting skills may not be all that, but those cherries of her’s make it all up”

Zayne wished he were deluding himself right now, and the words the man was saying weren’t real. He maintained with the stoic stance, disgust started to crack behind the mask, as the man proceeded to say the most awful thing any human being has ever uttered.

“I mean, you’re one lucky bastard for bagging her, because having a girl with tits like that? Phew, got me acting up…”

For someone who can’t handle alcohol, Zayne cursed himself for not being able to get drunk and forget this abhorrent exchange. While he remained motionless, his hand started to shake in fury as he brought his drink to his lips. The douchebag still proceeds in his demeaning and depersonalizing speech, while your boyfriend averted his eyes away from him. He was getting annoyed, and he thought that enough was enough.

Mid-speech, the pig disguised human began shivering all of a sudden. He started to rub himself to keep himself warm, while Zayne was unbothered by his reaction.

“Phew, is it cold in here? I didn’t think it’d get this cold,” Energy sucker of a human shuddered with his words as he looks at the towering doctor, almost looking for any struggle. He simply shrugged and swirled his remaining drink.

“I don’t think it’s cold.” Zayne finally spoke up for the first time, letting his ominously calming voice be heard. It is unknown if it was the temperature of the room or his voice, but the man next to Zayne started feeling severely shivery.

“H-hey, i-it’s g-getting s-sup-per c-c-cold now,” the shiver in his body and voice turned into a rapid quiver as the man attempts to warm himself by rubbing his arm up, fails miserably. Zayne once again shrugged and paid no mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t feel cold.”

Zayne smirked as he sensed the man’s body begin to whiten from the cold. The mole rat began groaning as icy surfaces began to protrude out of his neck as he knelt in agony, while the ice evol holder could only look down with him, apathy drawn in his face. If he weren’t in a public area, he’d have icicles penetrating his skin, but he knows that won’t be appropriate.

However, the show must go on, as everyone took notice of the man’s aching state, so the empathetic doctor was brought back. As Zayne kneeled and pretended to tend to him, you ran over to the two individuals on the ground, and you noticed your boyfriend’s antics. To a stranger’s eyes, they simply think it’s just an off-duty doctor tending to a struggling victim, but to you, you see Zayne’s purposeful languid motions and his icy gaze that mirrored his evol, which was evidently in use as he tortured the man in front of him. You walked through the crowd up to them and crouched down to their level.

“What happened?” You asked, shocked written in your face. Zayne gave you a small knowing smile, “Nothing, just an injured drunkard, get in the car, we’ll go home after this.”

Straight to the point, yet vague. You knew he was lying, and you knew that he wouldn’t say anything in front of everyone, so you obliged and left. ‘He better have a good explanation for this,’ you thought to yourself.

As soon as your figure was gone and the crowd scattered, Zayne roughly held the struggling man by the collar as he huskily whispered in his ears.

“Listen here, because I won’t repeat this. If you so ever talk about my girlfriend, or any girl at that, in this fashion, I promise you, your visit to hell will be sooner than expected, are we clear?” His calm tone sent shivers down the scum’s spine in fear as Zayne’s threats were sounding more like promise than a threat.

Zayne pulled away, his glacial gaze waiting for a response. The man beneath him vigorously and cowardly nodded before Zayne let go of his collar and dusted himself off.

“You seem to have a mild hypothermia, based on your lower than normal body temperature, I suggest you go home, having something warm and rest with a heater on, so you’ll rejuvinate yourself… for future events” Zayne announced the diagnosis like he didn’t just threatened his life… as if his diagnosis isn’t any less menacing.

Needless to say, you have to thank Zayne for expelling bugs from your job.

Sylus

His brows raised in astonishment. Is this the work environment that you dare to gloat over him for? A man who can just objectify and reduce women to sex objects? Sylus was not a man of high morality and ethics, but even he knows his limits and disdain towards certain ideologies, and it’s the poor excuses of humans like him that will always leave a bad taste in Sylus’s mouth.

“Hm,” Sylus mutters as his face sours while cocking his head to the side. Despite the disinterest shown in the towering white-haired man, the blobfish proceeded in his objectifying tirade.

“I mean, what does a man of high status like yours need a girl like (y/n)? She is nothing but a pretty face and body, I would know, I work along with her,” The man obnoxiously laughed and hit Sylus’s side, making the red-eyed man grimace even further.

This man has a certain death wish, and Sylus is not afraid to fulfill it, but, infuriatingly, patience is the best tool to execute this, and he knows this all too well. He can’t be too rash with his decision, especially when he’s Skye right now, a man who runs a family business selling fruits, not Onichynus, the leader of the N109 Zone and the most feared man.

It’s a good thing that you’ve convinced him that Mephisto should be within your radar, because as soon as he gives the signal to the mechanical crow to bring in Luke and Kiean, it's go time and brings out his love for art and theatrics.

“Oh, is that what you think?” His face shifted instantly, a smirk crossing his arms. The man was too excited to affirm his statement with how quickly he nodded, which seethed Sylus, but he could never showcase it right now. As the man carried on ranting, Sylus nodded before tapping on his ear as a form of discreet scratching.

That maneuver triggered the hidden earpiece you and Sylus had, and there you can hear Sylus’s torturous and abhorrent conversation with your colleague, whom you have foolishly praised. You have aided him in multiple missions and provided resources for him to better himself in the field, and now this is thanks you get? If you’re a nagging bitch, then you’ll show him what a nagging bitch would do.

Tara was absentmindedly ranting, before you interrupted her and gave her an excuse that “Skye” needed to go back home urgently. Tara said her farewells, and you two exchanged hugs before you said goodbye to the rest of the group.

You already knew what Sylus was going to do, he didn't have to tell you his plan. you already had him memorized like a book of incantation, just as he is to you, and with the way he intentionally turned on his earpiece to make you listen to the horseshit your so-called “trusted colleague,” you knew he was done for.

“Hey, Skye,” You gleefully returned as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend’s midriff, resulting in his automatic hold on you while his gaze falls on you with wonder in his eyes—this was not an act, the action of having you physically close to him can make him falter into his knees for his adoration is bigger than what the universe can carry, hence the impromptu mission at hand.

“Oh, hey, sweetie, such perfect timing, we were having such a riveting and intellectually stimulating conversation, isn’t that right?” Sylus said with his iconic smirk, discreetly sarcastic. He had placed the man in front of you in an uncomfortable position, with his tight-lipped smile and slight nod. Oh, how funny sexist pigs can be.

“Oh, is that so? What were you talking about?” You feigned innocence and curiosity as you looked at the two men.

The man stiffened as he nervously stammered, “oh, there’s no need to know, it’s, y’know… men stuff.”

You nodded with a squint as you held Sylus closer, silently signifying to him that it’s done and the cue to be leaving, but you weren’t going to leave in silence.

“Yeah, I’m sure talking about me being a nagging bitch is peak masculinity.” You sneered before you turned your back, dragging Sylus, and you two departed. The pig’s colors melting away from his face was priceless, which both of you fought hard not to laugh and ruin the image you two tried to maintain until both of you’re out of sight.

“You’re not a bad actress, Miss Hunter,” Sylus left a teasing yet genuine comment as you two walked on the sidewalk. Sylus purposely parked his car away for anonymity and safety, so it is a bit of a walk.

You chuckled, “You’re not so bad yourself, I was almost convinced that you agreed with everything he said with how you kept egging him on,” you teased back, making Sylus visibly cringe at the thought.

“Please, it was more torturous listening to his voice, let alone pretending to hear him out,” He spat while rolling his eyes, making you chuckle before you wrapped your arms around his muscular biceps. Despite everything, the lengths that Sylus takes to keep you safe and protected make you fall for him, and after knowing what he’ll do to that guy after he takes you home, it’s safe to say that Sylus is the only man you’ll put your 100% trust in.

Caleb

He could’ve sworn he heard a record scratch being played because of what he just heard. No, no, that was the chip acting up, there are side effects with the chip, he could’ve possibly misheard—

“Yeah, and I bet that pussy is tight,” Your colleague paused to sigh, “How does it feel to bag a baddies and manage to nuzzle yourself in that?”

Oh, he has chosen death, for sure. Caleb felt his eye twitch as he noticed the man eyeing you like a predator would a prey. This has to be some cruel prank made by you; THIS poor excuse of a human is your trusted colleague? The one you once mentioned that you trust him with your drinks after him? This scum was almost placed at a same level as him—your devoted, loving boyfriend. Caleb doesn’t know if he should get offended that you’ve placed this nobody at the same level as him, or direct his entire anger at him.

He figured the forth should be dealt with later and handle the latter firsthand.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Caleb switched off his charismatic and sociable persona and placed his cold colonel side up to the surface with the bluntness of his tone. The cuntleague jolted in his place, noticing the unsatisfactory reaction coming from the colonel.

“C’mon, Caleb was? You know I was fucking aro—”

“It’s Colonel Caleb to you,” He sternly spoke, “And I don’t want you jeering around, talking about my girlfriend this way.”

The man in front of him didn’t take him seriously, laughing straight at Caleb’s unrelenting stance. Oh, he’s sealed his deal; he better not, god forbid, have any loved ones.

“Alright, Colonel Caleb, whatever you say, buddy—” The heckler wanted to give your boyfriend a pat on the shoulder, only for it to levitate above the broad shoulder. The man notices the odd phenomenon, trying to pull away but to no avail, he struggles as he tries to get his hand back to its natural position. Caleb could only scornfully look at him as blue and red rays emanated around him like an aura, his lips curled in disgust.

The man began pleading with the colonel to let go of his hand, anticipating his mercy of his hand. Caleb waited as he stared down, before elevating his hand away just slightly, only for the man’s hand to remain static in front of his face.

“Hey, what are you doing—” His mouth shut due to the pressure of his jaw shutting him, thanks to Caleb’s evol, and then dragged him far away from the crowd. What occurs next makes the man regret what he uttered; the psychological and physical torment that Caleb inflicted on him was beyond cruel. But can he be blamed? He has heard your fantasy in the eradication of incels, and this colleague of yours is no less than that—it’s just you didn’t know that. Now, this man is paying his dues, hoping he never talked to Caleb, or disrespected him, or talked about you in a vulgar manner.

You’ve noticed that Caleb was nowhere in sight, you were getting tired and wanted to call him to let him know of your state, only for him to appear behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist. You jumped in surprise before turning to him, making you laugh.

“Oh, my god, Caleb, you scared me,” you spoke through chuckles before wrapping your arms around his neck, “where have you been? I went to talk to Tara real quick, only for you to disappear.”

Caleb pouted before leaning to kiss your cheek, “I’m sorry, pipsqueak, I went to the bathroom, I didn’t make you worry about me, did I?” He cooed, eyes glimmering in puppy-like state. You caressed his cheek while shaking your head.

“No, no, I just wanted to tell you that I want to go home now,” You said.

“Yeah, I think so too, I want to go home too,” Caleb hushes before he leans in to paint your skin with kisses and love bites, while his hands begin roaming down your body, ignoring that you were in public. You gasped at his sudden yet bold public display of affection as you gripped his arm when he began attacking your neck.

“Caleb!” You whined through your shocked chuckles, “What has gotten into you? There are people around, you can’t have missed me this much.”

Caleb still left trails of kisses before pulling away with a devious smirk, revealing to you a flushed face, “You have no idea… let��s get out of here…” Caleb huskily spoke before he carried you bridal style, making you yelp with astonished, widened eyes.

Caleb proceeds to drag you away from his sins and crimes, but is it criminal for wanting to take care of an uncomfortable situation his way? Is it a crime if the crime has disappeared into thin air? Caleb took you on a ride that opposes the idea of what your male colleague has gone through. You were rolling in the fields of pleasure and bliss, meanwhile your colleague held uncertainty and mystery. He was last seen at the event, never to be seen again.

Caleb just wanted to protect you from evil, and he can expel it if you tell him so.

653 notes · View notes

scarletmika · 7 days ago

Text

Speak Now : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob Floyd is madly in love with you, and you're in love with him. The problem? You're getting married...and it's not to Bob.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), some angst, some fluff, insane amounts of pining, idiots in love, language, female reader, maybe some incorrect descriptions of the Navy, suggestive and steamy but no actual smut, drunken confessions/moves, moment of cheating, miscommunication, happy ending!

Word Count: 16,268 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd.

Wide-eyed, naïve to the world, you had arrived at Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island with a bright smile, prepared for the future you had chosen for yourself. Your great-grandfather was in the Navy, your grandfather, your father, and now you. But you were determined to be special, to be the first of your family to become a fighter pilot.

It was that thought running through your head that distracted you, causing you to trip over your own two feet when you’d just barely made it inside the doors of the main building. Luckily for you, someone was there to catch your fall.

“Whoa-! Are you good?”

Baby-faced, sandy blonde hair, and glasses that you, frankly, found adorable were staring back at you when you’d finally straightened yourself out. Those blue eyes behind said glasses never left you as you dusted yourself off, taking hold of your suitcase again and giving the guy in front of you a kind smile.

“Just peachy. Lost in my own head,” you couldn’t help but giggle at yourself, the smile on the guy’s face growing as you stuck your hand out and gave your name. “Thanks for the save, there. Can’t already be bumbling around like an idiot before we’ve even gotten started.”

“Bob Floyd, and d-don’t worry, you weren’t,” he paused for a second, tilting his head slightly with a teasing grin this time as he let go of your hand. “W-Well, I can’t lie and say I didn’t see you swatting at that bee outside. Bumblebees and bumbling through doors…sounds like the makings of a pretty good call-”

“If I’ve managed to get a callsign this early on in my career, I’m never letting you forget it,” he only laughed at your pointed look and fell into step beside you.

“Noted, just a personal nickname for now, then. So, uh, where’d you graduate from?”

“Boston University, Bachelor's in Physics. You?”

You both thanked the woman at the front desk who gave you your assignments for your bunks for the rest of the multi-week course.

“University of Montana, Bachelor’s in Mechanical Engineering,”

The two of you came to a stop in front of the hallway before you; your barracks down to the left, and his down to the right.

“Want to grab dinner tonight after we settle in?”

“Yeah, I-I’d love that,” that smile on Bob’s face turned shy as he looked down at his feet for a moment. “I’ll grab you a coffee, how do you like it?”

“Two sugars, a dash of cream,”

“Perfect,”

“Well, Bob Floyd, I guess this is it for now. See you at dinner?”

“See you there, Bumble,”

It was meant to be just a nickname; he was meant to be the only person ever to call you that. But after graduating from officer training together, then attending and graduating flight training in Florida, you’d been shipped off to your different squadrons. Bob was off to Naval Air Station Lemoore in California, and you had been assigned to Naval Air Station Jacksonville in Florida.

The man who had become your best friend, your rock throughout training, was being shipped to the other side of the country. Approximately 2,546 miles away from you, and three hours behind you. That didn’t stop the constant texts or late-night calls to keep one another updated in the way you used to when you lived in the same barracks; if anything, they became a constant in both of your lives.

And when you’d stumbled through the doors of the base on your first day, your squadron was quick to try to give you your callsign for your clumsiness. But you smiled, and said you already had one: Bumble.

It was at Top Gun training where you finally had Bob Floyd back in your life consistently; that is, at least for the duration of your 13-week training. And you’d never forget the smile on his face when he’d pulled away from the first hug you’d shared in years and gotten his first look at your helmet, adorned with your callsign that you had somehow managed to keep a secret for so long.

“Bumble,” he’d said it so adoringly, in a way that had you trying to ignore the strange feeling that bubbled up in your chest at the way he smiled and admired the yellow and black stripes along your helmet. “I really did give you your callsign, didn’t I? Bet they think it’s actually because of the bee and not the tripping.”

“Eh, let them decide. We know where it really came from. But I think we should focus on how the hell ‘Bob’ became not just your name, but your callsign, too,”

Leaving the program was hard, because leaving your best friend was hard. So, when just a few years later you had been called back to Top Gun for a specialized mission that took the best of the best, you couldn’t have been happier to be back with Bob. Then, with how quickly your new squad had taken to each other, it didn’t take any of you long to say ‘yes’ when you’d been offered a permanent position in San Diego as an elite squadron.

That’s how you found yourself here, seated in the same back-corner table of the Hard Deck on a Friday night as you always were, surrounded by the team that had become your family just a year-and-a-half after that special detachment became permanent.

Natasha laughed at your side, recounting some story for Fanboy and Payback about how Rooster had hit on a woman while the two of them were seeing a show downtown the night before. Hangman is instantly arguing back that Rooster ‘isn’t slick enough’ to pull that off, and Coyote is backing him up as he typically is. Maverick is at the other end of the table, simply shaking his head at you all as he thanks Penny for his next beer with a kiss on her cheek, something that quirks the corners of your lips up just slightly.

Bob sat right across from you, at the far end of the table from Maverick, and you can’t help but find yourself watching him. He’s dressed down, as you all are for once besides Mav, in a white t-shirt clinging to his skin with a blue flannel hanging haphazardly around him. You recognize it, since you’d bought it for him for his birthday three years ago. He’s laughing at Hangman and Rooster’s petty argument, sipping gingerly on a Diet Coke. You’d only ever seen him drink three times over the decade you had known him, so it wasn’t surprising. Neither was the cup of peanuts he was snacking on.

His eyes drifted to meet yours, and his smile grew wider the second he did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, shoving that flutter in your chest away into the locked compartment you always kept it in, and smiled back at him. Your best friend, your rock. One of the only people you could never imagine life without, and you never wanted to find out what life without him would be like. You weren’t even sure at this point how you’d survived your entire childhood without him by your side, because life didn’t make sense without Bob Floyd.

Lips suddenly pressed into the right side of your head, your body instinctively shifting over as the body next to you finally sat down, arm thrown around the back of your chair and fingertips ghosting over your bare shoulder for just a moment.

“Sorry, couldn’t decide on a drink! Figured you’d want another vodka cranberry, babe,”

Your reply was quiet, just a simple thank you, as you took the drink from your fiancée’s outstretched hand.

Austin Fletcher was what some called the perfect man. At least, that’s how your old squadmates back in Jacksonville described him. A Senior Financial Analyst in the company named for his own family, working his way within the next 5 years to take over as CEO from his father after his retirement. Chocolate brown eyes, perfect vision that he could thank his laser-eye surgery from 5 years ago for, forever tanned skin from too many days spent in the San Diego sun, and jet black hair that always seemed to be perfectly combed back. Combined with the expensive taste in outfits, given the watches that would cost an entire month of your Naval salary, he always looked like he walked straight off a magazine cover.

And he was yours, and you were his. And in just a month and a half’s time, now, you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. The wife of who was once considered San Diego’s most eligible bachelor.

Active, ambitious, efficient, a true entrepreneur. Everyone’s dream man.

“Couldn’t even bring us some refills, Austy?” Hangman teased the man from down the table. There were light snickers from your team at the comment, everyone knowing how much he hated that nickname. You could feel him tense slightly beside you, and didn’t hesitate to send Hangman a pleading look, begging him to stop.

“You’ve got the barmaid at your beck and call, didn’t think I had to!” Austin had joked, gesturing in the direction of Penny with his own beer bottle as he laughed at his own comment. No one else laughed, though, not that he seemed to care. Penny’s glare was obvious from down the table, as you averted your eyes to take a larger swig of your drink than necessary.

Austin…definitely had his faults. Callous was probably the best way to describe it when he made comments like that. Conceited might even be a good word for it. If you thought too long about it, there were probably a hundred other synonyms that you could dream up.

Your eyes caught Bob’s, already looking at you, and that easy smile he wore before was pitched down now. It was easy to track the movement of his eyes, the way they flickered to the hand holding your drink, to the shining silver diamond ring on your finger that would cost you at least six months of your salary, before they flicked away. That hand was quickly back below the table, lying in your lap where no one could see it before you even had a chance to really think about it.

“What we should really be focusing on is that drill from earlier today, and that insane move that you pulled off, Bumble,” it was Coyote speaking up, pointing down the table to you with a smirk as your friends whistled, getting a small laugh out of you. “Pulling off a fucking Herbst maneuver? I may have to finally concede and call you the best damn pilot I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, let’s not go that far,” Hangman cut in, as he usually did, with a wink sent your way that had you rolling your eyes playfully. “Still no confirmed air-to-air kills like me, so I think I still have an edge.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. I bet those two kills are what you use to entice the ladies every night, instead of those two inches downstairs,” Natasha practically choked on her drink at your comment, a smirk etched into your lips. Payback and Fanboy were slamming on the table in laughter while you watched Bob shake his head with a grin out of the corner of your eye. “Wasn’t that hard of a maneuver, Mav has been trying to teach us it for weeks-”

“Sometimes I don’t fully understand what it is you guys get paid to do,” Austin had cut in, cutting you off mid-sentence with another laugh and swig of his beer. “I mean, if you aren’t out there fighting any wars, then what are our tax dollars paying you guys to do? Play around in the air?”

Apathetic. Yeah, that was another word you could use for Austin. He never cared to hear about work, or really anything that happened between you and the rest of the squad. Apathetic, hedonistic, ignorant…yeah, that list really did go on.

“Non sibi sed patriae…means not for self, but for country,” it was Maverick who spoke up this time, and just the sound of his voice had each member of his team sitting up just the slightest bit straighter. When Mav put on his serious voice, you listened, even at the Hard Deck. “Means we spend our days preparing to protect this country at a moment’s notice…I’m sure you do something similar as a financial analyst, though.”

Another snicker ran through the entire team, and Rooster was the one this time having trouble keeping his laughter in. Even you were trying not to shake with laughter. Austin bristled next to you again before he recovered, shifting the conversation elsewhere. You caught Mav’s eye, though, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ in his direction. His only response was a cool smile and a wink.

There were only so many of Austin’s stories from work, from meetings with clients, that you could stand, and you quickly found yourself grabbing your drink and leaving the table for the bar.

Many of the locals up around the bar nodded in your direction, knowing you and the squad from your usual nights out here, sliding off to the side to let you walk up and place your drink on the bar. Penny was on you in a second, an eyebrow raised.

“Let me guess; he started talking about market data and economic indicators again?”

“Just like he does every night,” you shot back with a laugh, though Penny looked less than impressed. You simply refilled your glass again, this time going heavier on the vodka than the cranberry without you even having to ask. “You’re the best, Pen.”

She’s left you alone in your thoughts, which, granted, was the last place you wanted to be. Your eyes simply stayed locked on your drink, staring down into the reddish-pink liquid, and every once in a while glancing back at that diamond that weighed heavily on your hand.

“Looks like you’re thinking hard over here, bee,”

Even if you hadn’t recognized the voice, you’d recognize the nickname anywhere. The Navy had stolen the nickname of Bumble from Bob Floyd, so he’d made it his mission to find another one. It wasn’t that hard to settle on bee, given that first conversation you had together.

You glanced over to him. He was leaning against the bar, giving you a tiny smile as Penny passed by and passed him another Diet Coke without a word.

“Well, I’m not thinking about market data, if that’s what you mean,” he’d laughed at that, and you held your glass out to clink against his Diet Coke can. “Here’s to the longest month and a half I’m about to have.”

You watched him, like you always did, even when you didn’t mean to. It wasn’t hard to see the way his smile dropped just slightly as he turned, leaning back against the bartop and looking in the direction of your table in the distance. You mirrored his actions.

“The future Mrs. Fletcher,” he’d let out a sigh, but you kept your eyes trained on your friends instead of looking at him. “I-I know Rooster was pestering you the other day, and you refused to say, but I have to know…how much did that damn venue in Del Mar cost?”

“After vendors…somewhere close to $70 grand, if I remember correctly,” Bob’s cough that sounded a lot like choking got you to finally look over at him, laughing lightly as you patted him on the back. The second he found his breath, his wide eyes turned to look at you, and you could only nod embarrassingly, your hand never straying from his back. “Trust me, I’m not happy about it. I wanted 50 guests, now it’s somewhere near 200. I wanted a vanilla cake, now it’s red velvet–hell, did you know my dress was fucking $8 thousand dollars?”

Bob, still wide-eyed, shook his head with a tiny smile back on his lips.

“$8 thousand for fabric i-is…insane. I hope you plan to wear it every day for the rest of your life,”

With a quick shove to his shoulder and a roll of your eyes, Bob laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“No, trust me, I know. Almost an entire month’s salary for me, just so it can sit in my closet until the end of time,”

There was silence between you both for a moment as you really thought it all over. A venue you didn’t want, a guest count way too high for what you wanted, a cake you didn’t want, a dress you were terrified to wear given the price tag…it was, in fact, insane. It was just making this month and a half until you walked down the aisle even more exhausting. You just wanted it all to be over.

“You always wanted to get married at that country club, that one back home in Boston. Never near the beach,” Bob’s voice was soft when he spoke up again, just barely able to be heard in the rowdiness of the Hard Deck. But you heard him loud and clear, and you were listening. “Indoor or outdoor, whatever you preferred or whatever the New England weather allowed at the time. The perfect mix of rustic and modern. Perfect view of the city skyline in the distance. The fall, too, not the summer. You wanted to make sure you could see the changing colors in the leaves in the photos, and because you just love fall.”

When he finished speaking and turned to look at you, you were already looking at him. Your jaw was slack, lips just barely parted, and eyes wide as you stared at him in what you could only describe as wonder. Marveling at the way Bob Floyd, out of thin air, had just described to you everything you’d ever dreamt of for your wedding since you were a little girl.

“The same place my aunt got remarried when I was eight,” your head tilted as you spoke, a smile creeping up your lips. “I told you that, like, once back in officer training, when we were both on night duty. You…you remembered all that?”

“I remember everything about you,” was the only answer he gave back, combined with a tiny shrug of his shoulders. “You…you deserve the wedding you’ve always dreamed of.”

There it was again: that tug. That tug on your heart, on your very soul, that had happened sporadically throughout the last decade of knowing Bob Floyd. That tug that sent your stomach into your throat, as if you’d just been tossed over the hump of a roller coaster. It didn’t help when he looked at you like that, like the moon itself was forged by the very breath that left your chest.

He was the first to look away, clearing his throat as a flush crawled its way up his neck. You weren’t any better, tugging at the neckline of the halter top you wore to give yourself room to breathe, as if it was suffocating you.

“So, uh…you’re coming with Nat and me tomorrow, right? To my final dress fitting?”

“...wouldn’t miss it for the world,”

He didn’t. You knew where he was that next afternoon, standing out by that little black couch with Natasha, waiting for you to emerge from the boutique dressing room and stand on the platform before them. To twirl, to don your veil, to smile…like the perfect bride they’d dressed you to be.

The worker with you, Sasha, finished lacing off the back of your dress, exclaiming in excitement as she clapped her hands. You wanted her from the mirror in front of you as she fussed over the dress.

“Oh, you are just the most perfect bride!” Sasha exclaimed, swinging the door open and holding out her hand for you to take. “Most people might say that you’re a lucky woman to bag Austin Fletcher, but I’d say it’s the other way around!”

You’d laughed at her comment, taking her hand, but even you knew it was a pitiful laugh, your smile not meeting your eyes.

She’d paraded you out into the showroom, and you kept your eyes on the floor in front of you as she announced your presence to Natasha and Bob, placing you up on the little platform in front of the full-length mirror. You still didn’t look up as she bent you down to her slightly, draping the extravagant veil picked out by your future mother-in-law over your head. Only then did you finally look up.

Your eyes skipped right over Natasha and settled on Bob.

He wore a tiny smile, and even through the mirror, you could see the red blush to his skin, from his neck to his cheeks, dipping right under where his glasses lay. His hands were both in the pockets of his jeans as his foot tapped on the ground, a telltale sign that he was anxious. You knew him, you knew him too well. You knew that smile didn’t reach his eyes. You knew that little twinkle in his eyes wasn’t as bright as it could be.

“You are…” you could tell Natasha was trying not to get choked up, gladly taking a tissue from Sasha as you giggled lightly at her actions. “God, Bumble, you’re truly the most beautiful bride.”

“Well, let’s let our bride fully take it all in for a moment,” Sasha placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, guiding her off toward the room adjacent to your own. “The bridesmaid dresses just came in, and I think you’re going to love the way they look after those alterations.”

It wasn’t until they had fully left the room that you’d spun around on the platform to face Bob, throwing out your hands to the side gently with a little shrug of your shoulders.

“Well…what’s the verdict here, baby-on-board?”

He seemed to swallow most of his laugh and shook his head, taking a few steps toward you until he stood just a few feet from you. His eyes trailed from the veil, down to the edges of the skirt, and back up to the veil.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this dress definitely wasn’t your mother’s pick,”

That had gotten a hearty laugh out of you and a genuine smile, as you spun back to the mirror. Bob had met your family plenty of times over the years, at every graduation event, just as you had met his. They adored him, thought of him as part of the family, like his own family thought of you as one of their own, too. Of course, he could clock that your mother hated this dress.

The skirts of the dress billowed with the movements, swinging with you as you examined your own reflection. A full princess ball gown, adorned with lace from head to toe. The fabric was heavy, the skirts thick, and the lace continued down the sleeves that came to rest at your wrists. The veil itself was more of that same lace, its length trailing down the train of the dress that was much too long for your liking.

“No, not at all,” was your response after a moment, your hands gliding over the lace of the dress. “This was a Mrs. Fletcher pick. With the way she cried, and his sister Melissa cried, it…was hard to say no. It really is a beautiful dress.”

“It's kind of hideous,” Bob put bluntly, taking another step toward you, but there was a tiny smile playing at his lips, a hint of teasing laced through his voice. “I think you’re the only thing saving it.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, but couldn’t deny the smile that quirked up on your lips, or that tug in your chest once again. You eyed the dress again, eyes trailing over the lace along the sleeves.

“It’s not hideous, it's just… It's not-”

“It’s not you,”

In the mirror, your eyes found him again. The second he said it, that statement that you’d been begging someone to say since you’d first tried on the dress, had a weight visibly lifting off your shoulders as you let out a sigh.

“No…no, it's not me,”

You could see it, the way Bob hesitated for just a second, before he stepped up beside you at the platform. Even with that extra inch the platform gave, he was still taller than you, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him in the mirror.

“I’ve seen it, y-your dream dress. You showed it to me before,” his voice was light, not a whisper, but just light. As if the moment itself was delicate, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it without shattering the glass. “A-line, not a ball gown. You always hated having too much fabric, found it too heavy. You wanted something freeing, flowy…something that reminded you of the feeling of flying your F-18, your favorite thing in the world to do. The lace is good, but…too much. Same with the veil, you always hated those things.”

There was another brief moment of hesitation, behind his hand came up, fingertips just barely ghosting over your arm. Your breath caught, eyes following him, as his followed the length of your arm.

“Sleeves…you hated these, too, at least like this. You wanted them shorter, flowy again. A v-neck neckline, too, not these sweetheart ones. You always said the sweetheart necklines made you think of your high school prom dress, which made you think of your asshole ex-boyfriend, which in turn landed them on your ‘banned forever’ list.”

A breathy laugh managed to escape you at the memory, your eyes still following him in the mirror.

“You describe my dream dress as if you’ve pictured me in it before…”

His eyes finally found yours again in the mirror. You weren’t sure what emotion it was you saw, what was crawling in his gaze as he looked at you, mouth slightly parted and tongue dipping out to wet his lips in a way that brought that tug back in full force. Whatever it was in his eyes, it was heavy, like it was holding the weight of a thousand words never said before.

And suddenly, when you pictured yourself walking down the aisle, you were in the dress that Bob had described. Flowy, light, and walking down the aisle in that rustic country club overlooking the skyline of the city you’d called home for so many years. But when you were handed off to the groom, your hand placed in his, it wasn’t Austin you were standing across from, that you were about to become the wife of. You weren’t standing there to become Mrs. Fletcher…you were standing there to become Mrs. Floyd.

“Hey…” you and Bob jumped away from one another, as if you were both suddenly a blazing fire that the other was trying to run from. Natasha was leaning in the doorway of the other room. Her eyes flickered back and forth between you both for just a moment before she nodded her head toward the room she’d just left. “Come on, Sasha wants you to take another look at these bridesmaid dresses before I give the okay on them.”

Wordlessly, you nodded and followed after her, never once glancing back at Bob. You refused to meet Nat’s eyes, even as they followed and watched you.

They kept watching you, too. You knew Natasha; she was observant. If she caught wind of something, she wasn’t going to let it go.

You were three weeks out from the wedding. Your dress was hung carefully in the spare bedroom of your apartment, alongside the bridesmaid dresses in their own bags. Everything was confirmed, vendors were a go, and everyone on the guest list on both sides had RSVP’d. Your mother and brother were in town for the month, staying in a hotel right on North Island. Austin’s family and extended family were all in town. You were in the homestretch, the finish line of what had become the most stressful time of your life in sight.

While Nat was your maid of honor, Austin’s sister Melissa had taken it upon herself to plan your entire bachelorette. Given the hectic work schedules that both you and Nat had, neither of you objected. Truthfully, she’d done well. An Airbnb, a gorgeous cabin, nestled right outside of Lake Isabella, north of Los Angeles, for the weekend. Relaxation, nature, and no stress of being in the city, just as you knew Austin was doing for his bachelor party with his friends.

Melissa and Terri, or ‘Dove’ as you knew her during your time in Jacksonville, were swimming together in the little alcove of the lake you’d all found during your hike after lunch. You and Natasha had taken to the man-made hot springs right on the edge of the lake, relaxing in the water and just watching the two women swim and converse from a distance.

“I can’t believe you convinced Maverick to walk you down the aisle and give you away,”

You laughed wholeheartedly at Nat’s comment. With your head thrown back against the rocks, you maneuvered your sunglasses to the top of your head to fully look at her.

“The second I told him that my dad has been out of the picture for me since I was 16 when he divorced my mom and remarried his comically young new wife, he didn’t hesitate. Besides, he knows he practically adopted us all as kids when he took us on as his full-time squadron,”

“True, I think he secretly loves it,” you hummed in agreement, turning your head back to the sky to soak in the sun. Nat was quiet for only a moment before speaking again. “I’ve been meaning to ask…how have you been, with everything?”

A complicated question. A loaded one, honestly.

“Doing the best I can,” you answered honestly, shifting in the warm pool of water surrounding you. “It’s just…stressful. Can’t wait until it’s all over.”

“Mhm…and you’re having no second thoughts?”

You hesitated for just a moment.

“Might have some issues with the fundamentals of the venue, my dress, and such, but…no, not at all,”

“Really? So the fact that you’re madly in love with Bob Floyd isn’t making you second-guess your wedding?”

Even in the warmth of the hot spring, your blood went cold. The water splashed as you fully sat up, now leaning back against the rocks. Your nervous gaze shot out to Melissa and Dove, but neither seemed to have heard the comment. Your gaze drifted back to Natasha, but all you found was an easy smile on her face. Not a single ounce of judgment.

That alone was enough to pull a simple sigh from you. There was no use in lying.

“How’d you put it together?”

“Always had a hunch,” she answered easily, sitting up as well and tossing her own sunglasses off to the side. “A few weeks ago, in the dress shop. I don’t know…I could just finally see it. More importantly, how long have you felt like this?”

“I’m not sure when it happened. He was just my best friend for a long time, even if I could always admit to myself that he was objectively attractive,” you shook your head with a slight laugh. Truthfully, you couldn’t believe you were finally admitting this out loud. “I hadn’t seen him for years, it was just texts and calls. Then, we both got into Top Gun, and the second I was back with him…there was this tug in my chest, and it’s just never gone away. I’ve…never told anyone this before.”

Natasha moved, the water around you both jostling, as she turned fully on the stone seating to look at you. You kept your eyes trained on the two in the water, terrified that one of them would overhear you.

“Bumble…why did you never tell him?”

“God, I tried to. Once,” you laughed incredulously at yourself, shaking your head as you willed the tears not to appear at the mere thought of the memory. “After we had become a permanent squad, we were at Hangman’s celebrating his new apartment. Somehow, we started talking about dating, and then we just went around in a circle giving an update on our dating lives.”

You tore your gaze from the girls in the lake, turning to Natasha now as those tears threatened to spill despite your push to keep them at bay.

“You spoke, and then it was my turn. And I looked at him, sitting beside me, and I thought…fuck it, what do I have to lose? You guys had put a few drinks in me, and lord knows I get a confidence kick when I’m drunk. So I confessed that I had a crush on a guy. Bradley asked if you guys knew him, and I said yes. I talked about how he was kind of nerdy, a little shy, but once you got to know him he was a sarcastic little shit just like they all were. That he was the perfect gentleman, the most chivalrous man I’d ever met, and objectively the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. Mickey asked how long I’d known him for, and I said it felt like I’d known him my entire life. Even asked how often I would see him, and I said every damn day.”

“Oh god,” realization seemed to finally dawn on Natasha’s face, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as it dropped open. “Oh god, we were all too drunk to realize…you were talking about Bob.”

“Yup. Maybe I was just too drunk, but I thought I was being painfully obvious. So then it’s Bob’s turn, and what does he say?” you scoffed, furiously wiping at your cheek to rid yourself of the tears that managed to escape. “He says he’s been talking to some girl, and met her on an app. All this time–I’d spent years overanalyzing every moment between us–thinking there was a chance he felt the same. Instead, I laid my heart on the line to find out that my love had always been unrequited. So, while you were all passed out that night, I decided that I needed to move on. I downloaded those apps for myself, and a week later, I was on a date with Austin.”

The first time you had let yourself cry over Bob Floyd had been that night, when everyone was drunk and passed out around the living room. This moment, in a fucking hot spring on your bachelorette trip, you finally let yourself cry again over the man you’d been in love with for years.

Natasha let you, didn’t say a word. She only scooted in close, curling up into your side and letting your head rest on her shoulder, holding you as you finally cried, keeping her eyes on the other two girls, blissfully unaware of what was occurring on the edges of the lake. She didn’t speak up again until minutes later, when your silent sobs had finally subsided.

“Bumble…if you’re crying, then you still love him. Why are you getting married?”

“Because I have to,” your voice was broken, thick and hoarse from your own tears. “You know what my mother said when I told her I was engaged? ‘Good, your biological clock is ticking.’ And, fuck, I know she meant it as a joke, but she wasn’t wrong. We’re not getting any younger. Then, Dove and the rest of my fucking old squad, I told them and all they could do was make comments about how I ‘can’t fumble this man’ or how I’m ‘the luckiest girl in the world.’ Everyone just…expects this of me, and I can’t disappoint them. Plus...I can’t spend my entire life in love with someone who will only ever love me as his best friend.”

“What if you’re wrong, though?” Nat’s voice was gentle, reassuring, her arms squeezing you in the most comforting hug she could muster. “Babe, I see the way he looks at you. There isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t see it. He looks at you like you’re the sun, the moon, and every star in the damn sky combined. You got on those apps, you met Austin, to get over him. What if he was just doing the same?”

“He had plenty of time to tell me, then, if he felt the same, which I guarantee he doesn’t. He kept his secrets, just like I did,” was all the answer you could muster. You drew in a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves and bring a semblance of calm back to your inner self. “Maybe I don’t love Austin the way I love Bob, maybe I never will…I don’t think I’ll ever love someone the way I love him. Maybe he’s not my soulmate, not Mr. Right, but he’s safe. He has a job, he has goals, he has plans for the future…I can’t keep living in a world of what-ifs, Nattie, I can’t keep loving someone who doesn’t love me back. I need stability, I need someone sure of me. He put a ring on my finger; he wouldn’t do that if he weren’t sure of it.”

There was silence for a few moments after that, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince Natasha of this marriage…or yourself. Finally, you felt her sigh, and she just wrapped you up in an even tighter hug.

“I love you, Bumble, and I will always support you. We all will, no matter what you do, because it’s your life and in the end, it’s your choice. But, in the interest of being honest…you aren’t yourself when you’re with Austin. This entire wedding…it isn’t you. I don’t want to see you lose yourself to be with someone you feel you have to be with. If you marry the wrong person, the man you don’t love…you’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.”

Natasha couldn’t see it, nor could you, but you could feel it; the weight of those words, as they settled into your heart, and sowed the seeds of doubt into your brain.

❤︎

“Look, I’m just going to be the one to say it…we all fucking hate Austin, right?”

There was a chorus of laughter throughout Hangman’s apartment from each of the men sitting around, multiple boxes of pizza and cases of beer littering the coffee table of the living room. The ‘Real Bachelor’ party, as Hangman called it, since none of them had been invited to Austin Fletcher’s bachelor party in Las Vegas…not that any of them would’ve said yes.

“Hate him? More like loathe, detest, despise…must I go on?” there was a chorus of agreement around the room to Rooster’s comment, the man taking another swig of his beer. The Padres game was playing on TV, the volume so low you could barely hear anything, but no one was paying attention. “If he makes another comment about how he ‘doesn’t know what we do all day’ or ‘this is what my tax dollars pay for?’ I’m going to strap him to the wing of my fucking jet and do a couple hundred barrel rolls.”

Bob couldn’t fight his smirk, hiding it behind the neck of his own beer bottle from his place at the island counter overlooking Hangman’s living room. It wasn’t often that he drank, but being a month out from your wedding…yeah, he deserved at least one beer.

“You know, my cousin did some digging months ago when they flew home for my birthday,” it was Elijah who spoke up, your older brother. Already in town for the month for his baby sister’s wedding, he’d known Bob for years because of you, so it was natural for him to become friendly with the rest of the Dagger Squad and to be invited to the fake bachelor party. “That little degree he got, the prestigious one from Yale? Yeah…apparently daddy made a nice donation to the library, and by nice, I mean a heavily substantial one.”

There was another chorus of laughter from the men in the room. Payback laughed so hard Fanboy was beating him on the back, trying to keep him from choking on the bite of pizza he’d just inhaled.

“I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not,” Coyote chimed in, shaking his head at the thought. “Dad’s company, I think we all knew he wasn’t earning the position of CEO in a few years, it was being given to him. No surprise there that a hefty check managed to get him through college.”

“You know, Eli, we might not know one another well,” Fanboy gestured toward your brother. “But honestly…I’m shocked that you’re okay with this whole marriage, given that you seem to hate the guy as much as we do.”

Bob swung off his seat, rounding himself into the kitchen to look out through the window into the living room, grabbing another cold beer for himself after finishing off the final swig of his. The night literally revolved around talking about your wedding after all; he was going to need some alcohol in his system to fight his way through it.

“I’m not okay with it, but you guys know my sister. Once she’s made up her mind, it would take a lot to talk her out of something,” Elijah shrugged, groans echoing throughout the boys in the room. “She talks about Maverick, your Captain, if I remember right, like some surrogate father-figure for our own. Why not ask him to talk to her?”

“Maverick once got busted in his early days for taking Penny Benjamin on a joyride in a fighter jet, and struck out with the ladies plenty of times before reuniting with Pen,” Rooster chimed in with a scoff of his own, a smirk on his lips. “That man should be the last person giving relationship advice.”

“Fair enough. Honestly, I’m surprised Robert over there didn’t put a stop to this before it got this far,”

Bob’s head shot up, and every eye in the living room was on him. And not a single man wasn’t slightly smirking in his direction, Hangman was even tilting his beer toward him in agreement with your brother. The WSO only shook his head with a short, clipped laugh, nerves already dancing through him.

“W-Why would I do that?”

Elijah cocked an eyebrow in his direction, casting a glance around the room, before his gaze settled back on him.

“Uh, because you’ve been in love with my sister since Rhode Island?”

Bob Floyd was caught, frozen like a deer in headlights, in the kitchen. Eyes wide, glasses almost slipping off the bridge of his nose, and he wasn’t sure if the beer bottle in his hand was just slippery from condensation or because he was suddenly sweating.

“You know, I have been wondering the same thing, too,” Hangman spoke up, taking a glance around at the group of men. “I mean, he only worships the ground that she walks on. How do you fumble a woman like Bumble?”

There was a chorus of agreement to Hangman’s statement, as Bob found himself back on the other side of the island counter and seated on his barstool once again. His eyes were trained on the beer bottle in his hands, fingers gliding over the glass and tracing patterns in the built-up condensation. After a moment, he looked back at your brother, who was just watching him with a tiny, almost knowing smile.

Bob let out a deep sigh.

“...was I that obvious?”

“Dude, when you guys graduated Officer Candidate School, your parents and sisters rushed up to hug you,” Elijah was laughing fondly at the memory, pointing his index finger in Bob’s direction. “But you? You never once stopped looking at her. This sea of Navy men and women, and you couldn’t stop looking at her. I remember watching you. You’d just graduated and officially joined the Navy; the rest of your life was about to begin with that graduation…but you were looking at her as if she were the rest of your life. If that wasn’t the most blatant depiction of love, then I don’t believe in it.”

“That look never left him, just so you know,” Fanboy hopped in, speaking straight to Elijah as if Bob wasn’t in the room. “The second we all got here and they saw each other at the Hard Deck, this man was out of his shell in seconds. The quiet, reserved Bob we’d been talking to was gone as he, like, lifted her and spun her around the room. It looked like a scene out of a damn Hallmark movie, we all legit thought they were already together.”

A tiny smile made its way to Bob’s face, his eyes just staring out into the corner of the living room as he relived those moments. Decked out in your Navy dress blues, greeting your mother and brother with tears in your eyes, laughing at something your brother had said. His mother was hugging him, talking about how proud she was, his father comforting his sisters who cried over how proud they were, but…he never looked away from you. It was the first time he’d seen you in dress blues, and the only thing he could think was how the color navy must’ve been designed specifically for you.

That day at the Hard Deck, his first time meeting his new team for the special detachment mission. He’d been so quiet, reserved, stumbling over his words as his friends had asked for his callsign, as he’d met his new front-seater. He was never good at meeting new people…and then, you walked in. Every nerve in his body dissipated in seconds, and he’d never shot up so fast to tug you into a hug, afraid if he let go, you’d be back in Florida before he could blink, and he’d lose you all over again.

“Bob,” it was Rooster who broke him out of his daze, his gaze trailing back over the expectant looks of all his friends, before settling on the man he considered one of his best friends. “Why did you never tell her?”

“Because how are you supposed to tell your best friend you’re in love with her? Especially after a decade?” Bob laughed at himself, adjusting his glasses and rubbing his jaw. “I-I don’t know what life looks like without her, and I didn’t want to get rejected. I’d rather have her in my life than push her away because I ruined it all.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there, Bob,” Payback jumped in, and Fanboy nodded along with him. “You never even tried. How can you just assume she doesn’t feel the same?”

“I tried to. Once…I was going to tell her, once,”

The room looked at him expectantly as Bob sighed to himself, resigning to finally getting all of this weight off his chest. Hangman and Rooster immediately moved the pizza boxes off the coffee table, giving Bob room to plop himself down on top so that he sat right in the middle of all his friends.

“We’d just moved you into this apartment,” Bob pointed at Hangman, then to the couch he, Rooster, and Elijah were sitting on. “We were sitting right here: me, my bee, and then Nat. You guys got drunk, it was a long day of moving, and somehow we started talking about dating. We were trying to update one another on our dating lives, little ‘team bonding’ I think Coyote called it. A-And I thought to myself…okay, I’m going to do it. We’re having fun, we’re a permanent squad now, and she’s not going to get ripped away from me and sent back to Florida, so I’m going to tell her. Then it got to her…and she started gushing about Austin. With every little compliment she gave him, I realized that if I ever had a chance, I’d lost it. So when it got to me, I said I was talking to a girl off an app, and I told myself I’d just never tell her. It could be my little secret, forever.”

The weight was finally off Bob’s shoulders, and it felt like he could finally breathe again. Everything he’d ever felt, he’d kept bottled up inside for so long, and it was finally out in the open.

But every face around the room looked confused. Payback and Fanboy were quietly conversing to themselves, faces twisted in confusion. Coyote and Rooster were having a short, staggered conversation that Bob could barely make out as they tried to loop Elijah in on everything. Hangman? He just stared at Bob as if he had three heads.

“Hold up,” Rooster finally spoke up, drawing the attention of the room, as he pointed down to Jake at the far end of the couch. “Didn’t we move you in here the day after your birthday?”

“Yeah, because we were kicking ourselves for staying out all night at the restaurant downtown the next morning because of the move,” Jake snapped his fingers, eyes going wide as Rooster nodded along with him, both boys seeming to be on the same wavelength in seconds. “Shit! That’s right, we ran into that girl–Megan–the one I hooked up with on Tinder, like, a month before.”

“Bingo, bagman,”

Both men turned to look at Bob, smiling like they’d just guessed the winning lottery numbers on a whim. Bob, though, was more confused than he thought he ever had been.

“I’m sorry…w-what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because Bumble was complaining about Jake being a manwhore,” Mickey jumped in with the explanation, and Hangman snapped in his direction in agreement. “Hangman then made a stupid comment about how maybe he should try the app named after her callsign, and she told him not to use ANY of the apps because they’re dumb.”

“I remember asking if she was ever tempted to download the apps, and she said no. Even showed me her phone, she didn’t have them,” Coyote tacked on.

Bob was…so utterly confused by the direction that this conversation had gone, he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Again, what does this-?”

“Bob, your little bee hated those apps; she’d never had them, and proved it to us, and that was just a night before you thought about confessing,” Rooster explained to him, trying to lay it out for him as simply as he could. “When she first introduced us to Austin, she said they’d met on Hinge…so whoever she was talking about that night, it couldn’t have been him.”

Once again, Bob was frozen in place, trying to fully comprehend what the guys were all explaining to him at that moment.

“Bob, we were all plastered that night. Hell, I barely remember setting this place up that day,” Hangman leaned forward toward him, elbows resting on his knees, and his intense gaze never straying from Bob. “Tell us exactly what she’d said that night.”

Truthfully, Bob wished he didn’t know what you had said. He wanted to forget it, the way you gushed with that love-struck look on your face for a man who wasn’t him. But unfortunately for him, he remembered every word.

“S-She had a crush, said it was someone you guys knew,” Bob explained, eyes cast down to the beer bottle in his hands once again. “He was kinda nerdy, a smart dude. Shy at first, but once you got to know him, he was sarcastic. A gentleman, chivalrous, and it felt like she had known him her entire life. She…she said h-he was the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, and that she spent almost every day with him.”

There was a beat of silence. Every man in the room seemed to look around at one another, before all chaos let loose.

Payback and Fanboy practically threw themselves off the loveseat, jumping around and high-fiving, fist bumping, chest bumping with yells that could be considered victory screeches. Hangman had gotten off the couch, grabbing himself another beer and almost chugging half of it as he paced around the room behind the couch, muttering ‘wow’ to himself over and over again. Rooster was almost in total hysterics, along with Coyote, while Elijah sat among the chaos, simply shaking his head with a smile.

Bob? He sat on top of that coffee table in pure disbelief of whatever the fuck was happening around him.

“Could she have been more obvious-?”

“No, honestly! How did we not clock it?”

“I FEEL LIKE WE JUST WON THE LOTTERY!”

“Maybe we all need to borrow Bob’s glasses, I think we all might be blind-”

“Baby-on-board, I’m so sorry,” Hangman was the one to apologize, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous laugh as he looked at the WSO sitting in the middle of the room. “I think we should all be banned from drinking after this information. If we hadn’t been drunk, we would’ve realized what she said–maybe we could’ve saved this disaster. My god, she poured her heart out, and you lied about a girl on a dating app and probably broke her heart! Bobby boy…she was talking about you.”

That alone was enough to stop Bob’s heart, to make him pause, to drop his jaw open and pop his eyes open a fraction wider than they had been.

That…that wasn’t possible. This was you they were talking about; his bee. His Bumble, who’d stumbled through the doors like the adorable idiot you sometimes were. The girl who’d stuck to his side like glue, who had been there for every major moment in his life. You were the girl who’d flown home with him for his older sister’s wedding, who spent a week with his family on a ranch in Montana as if you belonged there. The person who held him for hours, for days, after the bird strike, who had listened to every fear he’d voiced about what it felt like knowing he was going down, not knowing if he and Nat would make it.

This was you. Vivacious, patient, dependable, graceful, utterly perfect…you. Everything he could ever want, ever dream of, wrapped up into the human being he couldn’t dare live without. You couldn’t, there was no way-

“You’re wrong,” was what Bob finally said, his voice low and quiet. The noise of the room settled, and everyone noticed the shift in Bob. It was written clearly on his face, his own insecurities that were creeping in and eating away at him. “S-She…she’d never think of me like that. Maybe it wasn’t Austin she was talking about, but it couldn’t have been me.”

“It was,” Bradley chimed in, but Bob only shook his head immediately,

“No, it can’t be, because I’m me. She was top of the class, and everyone loved her everywhere we went. She was the light in every room, the best part of everyone’s day…and I-I was her shadow. My bee…she deserves better than me, she deserves everything that Austin can give her-”

“Austin’s pretentious self can go fuck off,” Fanboy practically shouted out from across the room, cutting Bob’s sentence off. “He’ll never amount to half the man you are, Bob. Bumble loves you, we all know you know that.”

“She loves me because I’m her best friend, and I always will be,” Bob choked out a laugh. His throat was constricting, and he could feel the pool of tears welling up behind his eyes. “If she loved me in any other way…she would’ve told me.”

“Unless she was scared, just like you,”

It was the first thing Elijah had said in a while, and Bob’s eyes drifted back to the older man. He leaned forward, with the softest smile on his face, and it brought a smile to Bob’s for just a moment; it looked so much like your smile.

“She once called you the best thing in her life to me, made me swear to never tell you that. It became pretty obvious to me that you were the one thing in this world she was terrified to lose. So…take the leap, because it’s going to have to be you, Bob. Forget Austin, forget the ring, forget the wedding, and tell her. If we’re wrong, so be it, but at least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve happened if you had just tried. Tell her before you lose the chance to, before you spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

❤︎

Natasha’s words hadn’t left your head, but you kept silent. You let them sit, marinate, stir up your emotions in the back of your head, deep within your heart. Each time they managed to flicker back to the front of your mind, invade your thoughts, you wanted to throw up.

You’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.

That simple phrase had taken hold of you again, that little timer in your head slowly counting down: two weeks. Two weeks until you’d be married, until you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. Those thoughts wouldn’t leave even as Maverick stood at the end of the Hard Deck table, raising his beer in toast to you where you sat at the other end.

“To our Bumble…you stumbled through the doors of North Island into our lives, and now you get to stumble through life’s next greatest challenge: marriage. They say love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…and I’m happy that the pilot I consider my own kid has found that kind of love,”

The rest of the table raised their drinks in toast to you. Your entire squad, Penny and Amelia, your mother, your brother, even your old squadmates from Florida. Everyone who would sit on your side of the aisle, to marry you off, huddled together in the closed Hard Deck for a special, intimate celebration in your honor, moving tables throughout the bar all together to sit with one another. All for you.

Maverick held your eyes for a moment after his words, even as the rest of the group devolved into laughter and stories, or moved off to play pool or darts. You held his gaze. Your Captain’s eyes were intense, but soft, as if he was trying to instill something into you that he hadn’t quite spoken aloud. A moment later, he finally broke away, and that queasy feeling deep in your stomach was back in full force.

“Another glass?”

It was Natasha who asked, holding out another glass of wine to you, your first having been downed before Maverick had even given his speech. You could see it in her eyes, the concern floating there, like she was waiting for you to break. Honestly, you were waiting for yourself to break, too. You eyed the glass for just a second before your eyes found Bob sitting right next to her, and you were back in your head once again.

You were back in the moment you realized you’d fallen in love with Bob Floyd.

“How in the world did you get the callsign of Bumble?”

You groaned, shaking your head as the rest of your Top Gun classmates laughed at the question from Diver, another new classmate of yours now that you were officially in Top Gun. Bob laughed from beside you, too, his arm resting over the back of your chair in the mess hall of Naval Air Station North Island.

“She was swatting at a bee back when we first got to officer training in Rhode Island, then stumbled straight through the door past me,” Bob was grinning as you lightly slapped him on the chest, shaking your head with a grin of your own as you thought back on that day. “She called herself a-a bumbling idiot, so…it wasn’t hard to figure it out.”

“Oh, so you got your callsign a long time ago,” it was Rogue, another aviator, who laughed with a shake of her head. “Damn, so you guys have been friends for years then?”

“Since that day,” your reply came easily, leaning into Bob’s side more than you realized you were. “Officer training, flight school, even stayed in contact when we got assigned to different squadrons.”

“She’s my bee, can’t go anywhere without my bee,”

Then, he looked down at you with that grin. That little smile, full of warmth and fondness that had just grown over the years, and that underlying mirth that was always present in him since you’d worked your way past that awkward exterior. And there it was–the tug–pulling at your heart and your soul like it had been for years.

“Bee? Might have to steal that nickname-”

“Nope,” Bob jumped in, an air of confidence to him that wasn’t typically present around people he didn’t know, shaking his head. “That nickname belongs to me only.”

And that tug just got more intense as you looked at him. His smile, his blue eyes, those smile lines that creased around his nose and mouth every time he smiled, those glasses that only made him more and more adorable every time you looked at him-

Then, it finally hit you. That feeling sank in, the feeling that little tug on your heart had been trying to tell you for years: love. You were in love with Bob Floyd.

It terrified you to look at Bob now, after all that had happened, after all that you knew lay on the

horizon, and know that you still loved him. That you never stopped, and that every fiber of your being was sure that it was truly never going to go away.

So, you took that glass of wine and downed it faster than you’d ever drunk alcohol before. Then, you stalked off to the bar to pour another glass, ignoring the look of concern that Natasha sent your way, or the one she shot Bob as he chugged his own beer.

Without even realizing it, you had managed to avoid Bob for most of the night, as if your body was forcing you to avoid him. Every time you locked eyes across the bar, that queasy feeling was back, and you forced yourself to down yet another glass of red wine.

You weren’t sure of the time, but you knew you were on your fifth glass of wine; a desperate ploy on your part to keep the thoughts swirling around your head out of the way. Rooster was engaged in a game of pool with your brother Elijah, both conversing with your mother as she stood at the opposite end of the table from you.

“Thank you for always keeping my girl safe in the skies,” your mother directed her comment toward Rooster, who shot her that award-winning smile.

“Your girl doesn’t need anyone to keep her safe; she’s one hell of a pilot on her own. Though she does some of her best flying with Bob and Phoenix with her,” Rooster shot you a wink, and you responded with a playful roll of your eyes.

“No way, my sister loves flying with Bob?” Elijah quickly avoided the swift kick you attempted to land to his shins, bumping his shoulder with Rooster’s as they laughed together, as if they knew something you didn’t. “That’s only been, like, common knowledge for well over a decade.”

“Alright, there’s no need-”

“Well, I’m just glad she’s found someone she can depend on in life the way she can with Bob in the sky,” your words were cut off by your mother, her laughter light as she sipped on her champagne. “Now I’ve just got to wait around with my fingers crossed for some grandbabies!”

She laughed, but neither Rooster nor Elijah did. Their concerned looks turned to you, and you were frozen once again.

The air felt heavy, as if all the oxygen in the room was tugged out of the room, and pure panic settled deep within your bones. Your hands started to shake, the little bit of your wine left in your glass swirling around the cup. With a small ‘I need some air,’ you were out the door onto the back deck of the bar, shoes discarded on the wood as you took the stairs two at a time and stepped into the cool, nighttime sand.

Even in the cool of the night, that sea breeze carrying that salty scent straight to your nose and your feet dug into the sand, you still felt you couldn’t breathe. Your back hit the wooden post that stood over ten feet tall, from the sand and up over the deck of the Hard Deck to hold up the string of warm yellow lights that illuminated the seating. The second your back rested against something solid, your breath rushed back into your lungs, the wine glass fell from your hands, and you finally cried.

Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were crying at this point. Maybe you were crying over the fact that you hated your wedding venue, or that you hated your dress, or now that Natasha had brought it up, you realized that you did, in fact, act like a different person around Austin. A person you didn’t recognize.

Or, maybe you were crying because you were drunk on a beach, at a party meant to celebrate your wedding in two weeks, and you were still hopelessly in love with your best friend. The man you were not marrying.

Speak of the devil: there Bob Floyd was, in all his glory. Stumbling off the steps of the deck, clearly drunk. His skin flushed red, that same stupid blue flannel billowing around him in the nighttime breeze, and you were cursing the fact that he looked gorgeous like this: drunk, a hazy look in his eyes, glasses barely hanging onto his face, illuminated by the light of the moon that shone down on him and the ocean.

“I-I thought I saw you stumble out here-” he was giggling, the most adorable thing you’d ever heard in your life, as he turned to look at you. Even in his drunken state, you could almost see him sober up just slightly the second he caught sight of you. “Bee- Bee, baby, w-what’s wrong?”

You knew you looked like a mess. Tears were still streaming down your face, makeup running down your cheeks, which you knew had to be splotched red from your sobs. There was a stain of red wine against the edge of your white sundress, the liquid splashing against you when you dropped the glass to the ground.

It only took looking at him for a second for your sobs to resurface. You took two steps forward before Bob was on you, tugging you into his arms as you buried your head into his shoulder and just cried your heart out.

Bob did nothing but quiet you, whispering ‘you’re okay’ into your ear. His fingers tangled through your hair, nails scratching at your scalp in his own comforting way. And he just held you, just let you cry in the dead of night. The only sounds were your own crying, the rolling of the waves in the distance against the shore, and the faint sound of the music inside the bar reverberating through the walls.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bob whispered after a few minutes, when your tears had finally subsided. You shook your head, backing away just slightly as you wiped at your eyes to rid yourself of the stray tears and running makeup.

“No,” your voice was hoarse from the crying, and when you finally looked at those concerned blue eyes watching you intently, that stupid fucking tug was back, and the copious amounts of alcohol surging through your body weren’t helping keep the filter on your mouth. “I…I just want to be here with you.”

He smiled, that shy boy-ish smile, the one that reminded you of the day you had first met and asked him to dinner, and you couldn’t help the little smile that crossed your own lips at the sight of it.

“No arguments from me,” he’d laughed, his hands still ghosting over your elbows and fingers lightly tracing patterns into your skin, a shiver running up your spine at the slightest touch. “Last time I saw you cry was my sister’s wedding.”

You laughed, leaning toward him just the slightest bit as his hands fully enveloped your arms, properly holding you as fire almost spread through your skin at the slight touch.

“It’s not my fault they had the sweetest vows!” you’d managed through your hazy laughter, hiccuping as the full weight of the alcohol in your system hit you.

“Don’t forget my brother-in-law’s best man,” Bob shot back with a wide, teasing grin, the grip he had on your arms tugging you just a bit closer in his own hazy, drunk state. “I remember you calling him hot.”

“He was, but he wasn’t you,” you commented unfiltered, and Bob gave another one of those shy shakes of his head.

“You don’t have to flatter me, bee,”

That tug was back, and the words were flowing out of your mouth before your brain could fully catch up with what you were saying.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Bob Floyd…you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on,”

The most innocent little statement, such a little off-handed comment, but the effect it had on Bob was visible in an instant.

He paused, his smile dropped, and he hesitated for just a moment, as if those words had ignited something deep within his soul. An unknown emotion was swimming around in his eyes before he shoved you back against the wooden pole behind you, cupped your cheeks in his hands, and kissed the breath straight out of your lungs.

Bob Floyd didn’t kiss like the sweet, innocent, awkward boy that everyone chalked him up to be. At least, not when he was kissing you. The gasp in your throat died in his own mouth, swallowed by his lips and replaced with a groan, and there wasn’t a single moment of hesitation in you as your hands ran their way up his arms, his broad shoulders, and into that sandy blonde hair that was always so perfectly styled. The intensity could be felt in your bones, the heat trickling through your skin.

The large, way too large, calloused hands slid down your neck from where they cradled your face. Another gasp left your throat as his fingers ghosted down your collarbones, right over the curve of your breasts, before wrapping around your body. One hand pressed between your shoulders, the other to the small of your back, as Bob brought you as close to his body as humanly possible, molding your body to his own until it felt as if you were one and the same.

You weren’t sure whose tongue dipped in first, but they met together in the middle in a dance. You could taste the hints of the bitter beer he’d been drinking the entire night along his tongue, throughout his entire mouth, as you let yourself explore. His kiss became harder, more desperate, more heated, his mouth almost completely devouring and overpowering your own as his hips pressed forward into your own, the presence of the bulge outlining his jeans so prevalent against you that yet another delicious moan spilt through your lips and into his own, swallowed by his kiss.

The second your hips pressed back against his own, Bob didn’t waste a second. His hands trailed down, cupping your ass in those large hands of his as he lifted you up with ease, your body aching with need at the pure show of strength he showed in that move. The edges of your dress slid up your thighs, bunching up around your waist as your legs locked around his back as lust blinded you, your body almost begging for the touch you’d been dreaming of for years as he grinded himself into you absentmindedly.

His lips left yours, allowing you a breath, finally, until they found themselves attached to your neck. His tongue dipped out, swiping along your skin as his lips followed the same trail/ From your jaw, down your neck and over your pulse, to your collarbone and below. The softest moan slipped back your lips, your hands still curled into his hair, and nails scratched at his scalp. One of those stupid sexy hands left your ass, but just as quickly as it had left it was curled around your breast, squeezing in a way that shot both a bolt of pain of pleasure through your body as his lips ghosted right over the swell of your breasts. His hips dipped into yours again, the little lacy panties that were the only barrier left on your body, positively soaked from just this moment alone.

With a single tug, you brought his lips back to yours, this kiss softer, sweeter, but still just as heated and passionate as it had been since the start. That tug in your heart, on your soul, was gone, as if it was an ailment you lived with your entire life, and this kiss was the sole antidote.

“Bob…” his name was the first word out of your mouth since he’d kissed you. It was the only word you could say, the only name you cared to have falling from your lips. He looked at you finally, those blue eyes that you loved so much.

The second that your eyes met, it was like the world finally came rushing back to you both, and the bubble you’d been existing in shattered in an instant as you both sobered up to a certain degree.

His hands dropped from you like you were heated metal, and yours left his in a second. Your legs dropped back to the ground, toes digging into the sand as if to ground yourself, your hands folded over your abdomen as you wrung your fingers together. Eyes blown wide, lips puffy and red, and every ounce of breath in your body gone as you stared at Bob.

He’d taken a few steps back, his own eyes blown wide before those glasses that were slanted across his face now. That sandy blonde hair was tussled, sticking up in different directions, and his white t-shirt was ruffled up on his chest, flannel barely hanging onto his shoulders. You tried not to look at his pants, at the wet spot clearly left behind against the bulge that was still ever present.

The weight of it all came crashing down on you as you brought your trembling hand to your lips, covering your mouth, as you tried not to look at that shimmering diamond glinting in the moonlight.

“I…I’m sorry,” Bob’s voice broke you. He sounded broken, he looked broken, like he’d just taken something so precious and fragile and thrown it on the ground and shattered it into a thousand pieces. “I’m…fuck, bee, I-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you managed to barely get out, your voice barely above a whisper as the wind whistled around you, picking up slightly in the nighttime air. “Bob, i-it’s okay-”

“It’s not,” he quickly shook his head, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “It’s not okay. I-I shouldn’t have done that, that…that wasn’t fair to you.”

“Bob-”

“I wish I hadn’t done that,” his voice broke as he said it, and your heart broke with it.

Wish. That one single word had tears stinging your eyes once more.

“So you…you regret it?”

“No–I just–I meant…” he stumbled over his words, before he simply stopped. Time almost stopped for a moment as you both just looked at one another, that salty sea breeze flowing past you both, tears in both of your eyes. “...I’m sorry, bee. I’m so sorry.”

Then, he was gone, through the sand and up onto the deck and back into the bar before you could say another word. And when minutes later Natasha came outside and found you pressed against that wooden pole still, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you stared out over the ocean, you shook your head and told her it was nothing. You were just drunk and emotional, that’s all.

You were on autopilot, and everything felt numb.

It continued to feel that way for days. Every day at work, when you avoided his gaze, that was, if he was even looking at you. The silence on the comms when you were in the air, when typically you’d both be jesting back and forth while in the air every chance you’d get. The team saw it, Maverick saw it, hell, you were all sure Cyclone even saw it.

Austin? He never noticed a thing. To him, you were fine, you were your usual self. He never even questioned it when you sat down for dinner together, 72 hours on the clock, and he informed you that Bob had sent him a text and said he could no longer attend.

You covered for him, simply saying there had been a family emergency back in Montana he needed to attend to, and Austin didn’t bat an eye. He broke your heart, and you were still covering for him, still defending him, still protecting him.

Because that’s what he had done that night on the beach, under the light of the moon: Bob Floyd had broken your heart without even realizing he held it in the palm of his hand. He’d always held it, long before even you realized it.

“Alright people, look alive! We are on the clock, and pretty soon I’m about to have a sister-in-law!”

There were cheers in the bridal suite, somewhere behind you, but your eyes were locked on your reflection. The makeup was too heavy, and your hair was too hardened by the hairspray, your dress was all wrong and was too heavy, the lace was itching at your skin-

Wrong. It was all wrong.

Your gaze flickered to Natasha in the mirror behind you, donning that soft pink bridesmaid dress just like Melissa and Dove were–god, even the bridesmaid dress color wasn’t what you wanted–and understanding seemed to pass through her eyes in an instant.

“Hey, let’s celebrate after the ceremony. Why don’t you two go find Maverick for me so we can get this rolling?”

The pair didn’t argue, simply left the room, still laughing and conversing. The second the door of the suite shut, Natasha stepped up to your side as a shaky breath fell from your lips.

“Nat, I can’t do this,” you were already shaking your head in the mirror as Nat’s hand came to rest on your back.

“Bumble, it’s okay-”

“Bob kissed me,” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, spinning to face Nat with a wild look in your eyes as you continued to spew everything out to her before she could respond. “O-Or I kissed him, I don’t even know. But we kissed that night, on the beach behind the Hard Deck–fuck, I think I was seconds from fucking him in the sand, I was so drunk. And so was he.”

Natasha just watched you for a moment in silence as you finally took in a deep breath, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Bumble…I know,”

Your eyes shot open wider, if it was even possible.

“You…you know?”

“Bradley and I came outside to find you, he said you’d looked kind of spooked after something your mom had said. We saw you. We just…went back inside,” she laughed lightly to herself, reaching out to take your hand in hers. You let out a shaky breath.

“He…he said he wished it didn’t happen, Nat. He regretted it. He’s not even coming anymore,”

“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to watch the woman I love get married either. He’s scared,” Nat tried to reason with you. “Drunk words and actions are sober thoughts and wishes. Honey, he wouldn’t have kissed you if he didn’t love you too. You can still walk away from this…I will unlace this dress right now, and you can walk out those doors. You don’t have to do this.”

You wanted to believe her; every part of you was screaming to run. But your family was out there, Austin’s entire family was out there, and they were waiting. There was a ring on your finger…you’d made a promise, you’d said yes. People expected this.

“I do, though,” was all you could say, as a single tear managed to drip down your cheek.

There was a knock at the door, and there Maverick stood in his dress blues.

It was time.

Natasha gave you one last pleading look, but your eyes shifted away to hide your tears. Her hand gave yours one last squeeze before she was out the door, leaving you alone with Maverick.

You took in a few deep breaths, trying to find it in yourself, and finally moved toward the door. Maverick didn’t say a word, simply took out a little tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears from your eyes as you gave him a watery smile. Then, he held out his arm, and you looped yours through his.

The walk through the hallway was silent for a bit, a heavy silence that hung in the air, before Maverick broke it.

“I hear tears are typical before a wedding, the wedding jitters and whatnot…but this doesn’t seem like that,”

You laughed, but there was really no amusement in your tone.

“It’s not,”

Melissa, Dove, and Natasha were lined up outside the doors, prepared to walk as you and Maverick arrived, taking your places. Two of them were smiling, but Natasha couldn’t bring herself to smile. You gave them a wordless nod, and they opened the doors. The music kicked in, and they walked.

“The other night, at the Hard Deck,” your breath caught at the mention of that night, those moments on the beach playing out in your head like a movie on repeat. The doors shut behind the final bridesmaid, and you and Maverick took your places behind them. “I told you that love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…”

The music began to change, and the staff were mumbling around you, preparing to open the doors so that you could walk.

“...I wasn’t talking about Austin,”

Your head turned to him, eyes wide. Maverick only looked at you with a tiny smile, the kind a father would give to comfort their daughter.

“You don’t have to choose all of them. You can choose yourself…you can choose him,”

Then, the doors opened, and the music kicked in.

❤︎

Bob Floyd was pacing. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t burned a pathway into his bedroom carpet from the pacing he had been doing back and forth for the last hour.

His dress blues hung on the door of his closet, mocking him. The invitation to your wedding lay on the dresser right beside it, that same wedding he’d texted days ago to cancel on, even though there had been a pit in his stomach as he did it. A nagging voice was in the back of his head screaming at him that this wasn’t right.

He should be wearing those dress blues. He should be sitting in the stupid, uncomfortable chair laid out in that fancy resort. He should be watching you walk down the aisle, watching Maverick hand you away, and watching you, his best friend, marry your new husband.

Instead, he was in the same t-shirt and flannel from that night at the Hard Deck, the flannel you’d bought him so long ago. It still held a hint of the scent of your red wine that had spilled against your dress and pressed into his own clothing. Your perfume, sweet like cherries, lingered on the fabric. He had to wear it; he had to relive those moments with you wrapped around him, pressed against him, where you felt like his.

Bob Floyd wasn’t at the wedding, sitting in the chair reserved for him, because he was selfish.

He couldn’t watch you get married. Not when he wanted–no, needed–to be the one you were marrying.

The clock on his bedside table read 6:42 p.m.; barely 20 minutes until you’d walk down that aisle at 7 on the dot and become Mrs. Fletcher, wearing the fancy lace ballgown that you hated, in the venue that you hated, with the man you shouldn’t be marrying.

His feet were itching to run, so instead he grabbed his phone and dialed the number he knew by heart, shakily bringing it to his ear. It only rang for a moment but his call was picked up.

“Bob-?”

“Mom, I-I need you to talk me out of getting in my truck, speeding down the highway, and interrupting a wedding right now,”

Bob’s mother was silent for just a moment before she laughed lightly. Not mockingly, but almost knowingly, on the other end of the call.

“Mhm, so you’ve finally accepted that you’re in love with her, huh?”

“Mom, I really just need you to stop me from doing something really stupid right now,”

“It’s not stupid, Robbie. It’s fighting for the woman you love,” there was a shuffle on the other end, before his mother let out a sigh. Bob was still pacing the room. “I remember meeting her at every graduation, seeing how happy you were with her. I remember when you brought her home for your sister’s wedding. I got to spend a week with the girl you called your best friend, and the only thing I could think was…wow, I can’t wait until the day she’s my daughter-in-law.”

Bob paused for a second before letting out a laugh of disbelief.

“I-I never told you I loved her,”

“You didn’t have to, Robbie, I could see it. And if you can’t see that she loves you too, then we need to up the prescription on those glasses of yours,” there was another shared laugh, before silence fell again. Bob finally stopped pacing. “I don’t know what has all gone down, but if you feel the need to stop this wedding, then somewhere inside you, you know she loves you too. Go get your girl before you spend the rest of your life wishing you had.”

You know what they say: mothers know best.

The only time Bob Floyd was speeding was when he was in a jet, pulling g’s in the air with Natasha that no normal person was doing. But the second he was behind the wheel of his truck, caution was to the wind, and he was speeding up the highway toward Del Mar without a care in the world.

Nothing mattered but you.

He’d haphazardly parked his truck in some spot outside of the resort, pushing past the workers who shouted out for him to ‘stop running’ or that this was a ‘private event’ as he raced down the halls of the resort. None of that matters.

He skidded to a stop right between the open doors, right in the middle of the aisle still lined with petals. There were people still inside, huddled together in groups. There was one group, closer to the altar, huddled up in a group. But workers were prevalent, moving throughout the room, bunching up linens or grabbing empty chairs and carting them away. He pushed the sleeve of his flannel up, not even changing before he rushed out the door, to look at his watch: 7:34 p.m.

“I missed it,” he mumbled to himself. Disbelief, pain, anger, Bob wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He was too late.

“Bob?”

He glanced up to his right, and there the squad was. All dressed in their dress blues, standing together with Maverick and Penny. It was Bradley who questioned him, Natasha standing at his side in her bridesmaid dress.

“...I’m too late, aren’t I?”

There was silence for a moment before everyone looked around at one another with small smiles. His gaze flickered to Elijah, who wore a smirk, leaning down to whisper to your mother as realization seemed to cross the older woman’s face.

“She didn’t walk down the aisle, baby-on-board,” Hangman spoke up.

Bob’s breath seemed to catch as he looked around at his friends, before he glanced back to the altar area. And there he was: Austin Fletcher, in the flesh. He was surrounded by his friends, and what looked to be his father and mother, and Bob couldn’t tell if he was pissed or upset, where his feelings ended or began as his family and friends tried to calm him down. Austin’s eyes met Bob’s for just a moment, and realization seemed to pass through every feature of his face. His glare hardened as he simply shook his head, shrugging off his friends and family and stalking out of the room without another word.

“She…she didn’t get married?”

“Never even made it down the aisle,” Nat spoke up, giving her best friend the brightest of smiles. “We’ve all waited a long time for this, Bob. Better late than never. She’s in the bridal suite…go get your girl.”

❤︎

They’d tried to stop you, tried to talk to you, tried to talk you back into it. Austin’s sister, your old squad from Florida, Austin’s family, and even Austin himself. But there was no changing your mind. Your squad knew that, your brother knew that.

Maverick was right. You wanted to choose yourself…you wanted to choose Bob. You needed to.

You’d wiped off every ounce of makeup piled on your face. It had taken way too long to brush out every single ounce of hairspray sticking to your hair. It was almost impossible to unlace your dress yourself, but you had managed, tossing it onto the floor in a heap and leaving it there. The sight of it made you sick.

The second you were back in your robe, standing on the balcony of the suite and watching the sun set out over the horizon on the ocean just two streets away, the weight of everything finally felt like it was off your shoulders. You felt free, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel sick to your stomach.

“Hey bee…”

That voice sent a shock down your spine, and you spun on your heels. And there Bob Floyd stood, like he’d just blown in from a hurricane, standing in the sliding glass doorway to the balcony. That stupid white shirt, that stupid flannel, an exact image of the man who’d ruined you forever that night on the beach.

“Well…” your voice broke just slightly, tone low and soft, as you pulled your robe tighter around you. “I bet I look like a mess.”

He’d laughed, and it was enough to make you smile, something you hadn’t done since that night. Since the last time you were with him.

“Maybe…” his own voice was soft, his eyes trailing up and down you with a sincerity and a genuine adoration in them that you had never once seen in Austin��s eyes. “Most attractive mess that I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

You’d laughed this time, your hand resting on your lips to shield your smile, and those tears burned hot behind your eyes. He was here, he was really here.

“Bob…what are you doing here?”

“Well…I came here to tell you not to get married,”

You hummed, jutting your thumb in the direction of your wedding dress, thrown haphazardly into a pile in the corner of the room.

“I beat you to it,”

“Yeah, I see that now,”

He took a step out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing. Your eyes danced over his features, lit up in shades of red, pink, and orange in the setting sun. You turned to face him.

“I don’t know when it really happened, or started, maybe when we met…but I know when I realized I was in love with you,” you could see his breath catch as you laughed lightly at yourself. “And it’s terrified me, for years, because I didn’t want to confess and lose you. I couldn’t lose you. Life without you doesn’t make sense. But we moved Jake into his apartment, we all talked about dating, and I decided it was time to confess…and you said you were talking to some girl. You broke my heart.”

“I know,” was his answer immediately. Bob sighed, glancing at his shoes as he pushed his glasses back up his face, before looking back at you. “I was scared. I hated the thought of you liking someone else-”

“I was talking about you-”

“I know that now,” he was quick to interject, taking in a deep breath. “I’m late…but I know that now.”

“Then you kissed me…you finally kissed me. Then you said you wished it didn’t happen,”

“I know,”

“You broke my heart again,”

“I know,” his words came out in a whisper. He took another step toward you, his hands cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the feeling on instinct. “I know I did. So I came here today to selfishly ask you not to marry that prick. Not just because you shouldn’t…but because I love you, too.”

It was all you’d ever wanted to hear, and having those words spoken was like the missing piece of a puzzle that had gone unsolved for years. You shut your eyes, letting a tear slip, as you turned your head and pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand.

“Selfish, huh?”

“Yeah, because I’m so incredibly late,” Bob laughed at himself, and you laughed at him too. You finally understood what that was shining in his eyes, that emotion you could never quite decipher: love. “I have loved you since Rhode Island. I tried to be happy for you and Austin, I wanted you to be in love and be happy, but you weren’t with him. He’d never be able to love you like me. So, yeah, I came here to be selfish and ask if I-I’m not too late…and if I can have the chance to love you the way I’ve dreamed about for the last ten years.”

The smile that crossed your lips as you spoke was the most genuine smile you’d worn in weeks. It was stitched to your lips, and you weren’t sure it would ever leave.

“And how would you love me?” you responded, taking just another step closer to him, closing that distance as he still cradled you in his hands. “How has Bob Floyd dreamed of loving me?”

“Catching you every time you stumble, whether it’s on the tarmac walking to our jets or on a sidewalk or beach. Getting you your coffee every morning, just the way you’ve always loved it: two sugars, and just a dash of cream,” you laughed, and his thumb swiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek. “Waking you up every morning, tangled in my sheets, wearing my old University of Montana t-shirt that you stole the night before after you tore it off me. Holding your hand, your waist, just holding you close to me in every moment that I possibly can, because I never want to not be around you. Kissing you, every inch of you, like I do in the dreams that have plagued me night after night for a decade. Holding you when you cry. Having your back in the sky. Buying you flowers. Staying up late at night, talking about anything and everything, like we did all through our lives in training. Fucking you–lord knows I’ve dreamed about that enough. Then…proposing to you, with the ring I know is saved on your wedding Pinterest board. Marrying you, in the venue you’ve always dreamed of, while you’re wearing the dress of your dreams-”

You didn’t let him say another word. Your hand bunched up in his t-shirt, tugging him in, and kissing him with all the love and passion that had been sitting dormant in you both for years. And with every moment that his lips moved against yours, that his hands slid down your body like they had that night on the beach and rested against your hips like they were meant to be there, everything fell into place. For the first time, life felt like it made sense because your heart had only ever belonged to Bob Floyd.

“You have me. I’m all yours, I’m only yours. I’ve been yours since the day we met,”

The next time you walk down an aisle, it will be the fall. The leaves will be changing colors, and the air will be crisp. You’ll be wearing a light and loose dress that billows in the fall wind, and Bob Floyd will be waiting for you at the end of the aisle. It was only ever going to be Bob Floyd waiting for you at the altar.

You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd, but you were also twenty-two when you fell in love with Bob Floyd. There was never going to be anyone else for you but him.

Taglist: @venuslayla23-blog @bluegardenn @fandomxo

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eoieopda · 4 months ago

Text

in limine | wjh

in limine (latin): at the threshold, in the beginning

synopsis: you think that by remaining single this year, you’ve found a loophole in your string of shitty valentine’s days. the universe thinks you should lose your paralegal on the eve of a major trial and see if you wouldn’t rather have all of those untimely breakups and missed dates instead. pairing: wen junhui x reader au: law firm, coworkers to something genre: fluff, minor angst, smut word count: 12.5k rating: 18+ (minors, do not interact) content/warnings: attorney!reader, attorney!junhui, pov switches, civil litigation (derogatory), forced proximity, discussions of shitty relationships, i haven’t practiced in this field of law in years, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content (v fingering, p in v penetration; use of protection isn’t referenced — the smut is v prose-y —but these two would not fuck without a condom!!). reader notes: afab, no pronouns used, no descriptions of hair/complexion/body/ethnicity/nationality/etc., canonically queer, has at least one (small, nondescript, hidden wrist) tattoo. a/n 1: this fic is part of the lonely hearts club café collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! please check out the rest of this masterlist, as well as their previous collabs! 💕 a/n 2: everything here is based on u.s. law, even though the setting is nondescript. family law attorneys: i’m sorry. this is based on my one (1) month in that practice area. a/n 3: smooches to the (w)hor(e)anghae beta gang — @jihopesjoint, @daechwitatamic, and @sailorsoons svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

If you had a dollar for every exasperated sigh you’ve let out during this seemingly never-ending phone call with your mother, you’d be able to pay off your student loans in an instant. Though the frustration is palpable to you, causing your already elevated blood pressure to spike further, it’s invisible to her.

Or worse, inconsequential.

“I’m just saying!” She offers, as if this takes the edge off. As if she’s ever said anything just to say it. “It wouldn’t kill you to give Mika another chance. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

The next time you hear her voice, it doesn’t come from the phone pinched between your ear and shoulder; it materializes in the back of your brain and lingers like a poltergeist.

Don’t roll your eyes like that unless you want them to get stuck that way.

Across the counter, the person subbing in for your usual barista shoots you an impatient glare, then flicks his gaze to the growing line behind you.

“Mom, I have to —”

“— You really should return her calls, dove. Bitterness causes premature wrinkles, and you can’t afford —”

At this, the thread you’re dangling by snaps. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try your best to keep your voice down. “I don’t have time for this. I’ll talk to you later.”

When you hang up on her, the forceful tap against your phone’s screen sounds more like a rock against a window. Already wind-bitten from the walk here, your cheeks burn even more harshly when you note the multiple pairs of eyes watching you with poorly disguised interest.

Not wanting to make an even bigger spectacle out of yourself, you hurriedly shove your phone in your pocket and accept the drink being handed to you, even though you can tell by the blatant lack of ice that it’s wrong.

“Thank you,” you mutter with a curt nod.

The second-string barista doesn’t acknowledge that you’ve spoken. That said, the throbbing vein in his temple disappears the second you back away from his counter.

With the americano you didn’t order burning a hole through your palm, you turn swiftly and head for the door. You barely make it two steps before your phone starts screaming from the inside of your coat pocket.

Leaning hard against the glass door, you force it open with your body alone and use your spare hand to instead grasp the source of all your morning’s problems. The pressure of that godforsaken brick shoves the post of your earring painfully into your neck.

You growl, “When I said later, I didn’t mean by thirty seconds.”

A voice that is distinctly not your mother’s stammers, “Um — hello — This is Tom from Amato, Shapiro, and Santi.”

Never have you ever encountered a firm of assholes so aptly named.

He waits a beat, no doubt expecting you to apologize for your rude non-greeting, but you don’t. In fact, he could wait forever and still not get a mea culpa.

It’s only fair, you think.

Just last month, the serial sex pest he represents escaped liability for harassing your client, due in large part to Tom’s bullshit antics. If that poor woman couldn’t even get an apology for what she went through, Tom certainly won’t now.

“Yes, I know where you work, Tom.”

You roll your eyes again. It’s a reckless decision, given how furiously you’re charging down the sidewalk. A dog-walker scrambles to get both himself and his tiny, white dog out of your way.

“Do you need something? I don’t chat for free.”

The shitty little laugh you get in response makes your skin crawl. He doesn’t drag it out, though, immediately simpering, “But do you make use of the time you bill for?”

“What are you — ?” You begin to ask.

Tom cuts you off, his tone jovial and no less fake than his back alley Gucci loafers. “I’m inquiring about your witness and exhibit lists for the Qian divorce in two weeks. Really waiting until the last minute, huh? Trying to keep me on my toes?”

Though he can’t see you do it, you shake your head with a patronizing smile.

“Nice try, Tom,” you sigh. “Judge Ito continued that to May. She’s the keynote speaker for that cancerous children charity gala, or whatever.”

You weave through two old women with a muttered apology. Both are too busy gossiping about their grandsons to hear you, which is no surprise. They didn’t notice the queue of pissed-off pedestrians stuck behind their roadblock, either.

“No,” Tom corrects you. “She issued an entry a month ago, advising the parties that the conflict was no longer conflicting; and the original trial date would stand.”

The block heel of your boot catches in a divot in the sidewalk. Although you don’t trip, you may as well have. The coffee you didn’t want sloshes violently, goaded by your sudden, harsh squeeze of its cup; and it splatters all over your top, burning your chest through sticky, soaked fabric.

Because why not, you rue, the heel that did you in clatters separately to wet concrete when you lift your foot, having ripped itself from your sole.

Rather than lie down on the concrete and wait for death in the way you crave, you swallow hard and choke out, “I never got that entry.”

“It sounds like you never got competent support staff.” He laughs too loudly, making your blood boil. “Ultimately, it’s up to you which is more pressing: cleaning house or the Rules of Civil Procedure.”

Your mouth opens instinctively to tell him all the million ways he can fuck off and die. He cuts you off again before you can start:

“Just know that I will make it a problem if you can’t get your shit together in time for court. My client is sick of yours dragging this out. Frankly, so am I.”

And without another word, Tom hangs up on you.

Whatever.

Anything else he might’ve said would’ve been drowned out by the hammering pulse in your ears, anyway. What you did hear loops through your brain with every uneven step you take down the warpath, bringing your office building closer and closer into view.

Trial in two weeks.

Competent support staff.

As much as you hate to admit it, Tom has a point. You’ve been making excuses for your paralegal, Dev, for months, but this kind of fuck-up can’t be overlooked. No matter how endearing he is, Dev’s a goddamn disaster. Put simply, you can’t keep sticking your neck out for him only to have it trampled, time and again.

Dread churns in your stomach for the remainder of your commute, although the full-blown nausea doesn’t hit you until you exit the elevator and wobble out into your firm’s waiting area. A deep breath in through your nose is followed by a shaky exhale through your mouth.

Neither helps.

You make a mental note to tell your therapist that she was wrong, then another one to actually schedule an appointment.

Despite your unflinching exterior — and the profession you’ve willingly chosen for reasons still unknown to you — the simple fact remains that you don’t seek out confrontation. Nothing ruins your day quite like having to ruin someone else’s. Unfortunately for Dev, you don’t have a choice not to go nuclear. Likewise, you don’t have much time left to get your shit together prior to trial. All you seem to have is an ultimatum to present him for consideration:

Stay late with me tonight to clean up this mess, or be out of the job by the end of business hours.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself as you make a beeline for your personal office.

There, somewhere amidst the out-of-date statutory reference books and evidence boxes, you’ve got at least one pair of spare Chelsea boots hidden for circumstances like these.

Well, that’s not quite true.

You’ve planned ahead for sudden court appearances or shitty weather, not for the abysmally bad luck you’ve experienced so far this morning. Regardless of why you have this contingency plan locked down, you’re grateful that you do. If nothing else, it will allow you to obtain some semblance of balance before potentially kicking Dev to the curb.

Upon hobbling into your office, you close the door behind you and immediately kick off your current shoes so violently that the broken boot flies somewhere out of sight. It takes several minutes’ worth of sock-footed scurrying to find their replacements. Eventually, you locate them in a far more reasonable spot than you expected: tucked neatly underneath the far edge of your L-shaped desk.

You drop yourself into your desk chair, suddenly feeling the crushing weight of your burdens against your shoulders, and begin to unceremoniously shove your feet into your boots.

It all just fucking figures, doesn’t it?

For as far back as you can remember, every Valentine’s Day you’ve experienced has been hellish. Comically cruel, like the showrunners in charge of your narrative are trying to maintain viewership, season after season; and they’re upping the ante as they go.

Last year, Mika couldn’t be bothered to remember your relationship, let alone the holiday. She spent it underneath someone else in your bed. Before that, the “first date” you had to be talked into in the first place ended the same way it started: with you sitting alone at a bar in a crowd of perfect pairs. The pattern started in undergrad, though the memories thankfully get foggier the further back you look.

By staying away from romance entirely for the last few months, you’d made yourself so sure that you’d cracked the code — that, for once, you’d make it through the fourteenth unscathed.

And yet, here you are, suffering immensely before your day even starts.

When your therapist’s bullshit breathing technique does nothing to soothe you, you close your eyes and mutter to yourself, “It cannot get worse. It will not get worse. Bad things have happened, but it is not a bad day.”

Whether the sudden sense of calm you feel is the byproduct of mindfulness or delusion, you can’t say. Whatever the source is, you’ll take it. You cling to that shred of perspective, push yourself to your feet with a grunt, and head back in the direction you just came from.

Outside your door, the hallway gives you two options: the waiting area, which you stomped through to get where you currently are, and the office shared by your firm’s two current paralegals.

Tsia, the more senior of the two, is currently on maternity leave, which means that you’ll be able to dangle Dev off the ledge without an audience. That tiny piece of consolation is enough to get you moving in his direction, although the serenity you just barely managed to scrounge up starts evaporating more and more with every step you take.

“Dev?” You call out as you approach his closed door.

This, you note, is unlike him. He’s never been productive enough to need to shut out distractions; and he’s never been shameful enough to hide the fact that he spends most days scrolling through TikTok — without headphones, no less.

“Dev?” You try again, attempting to sound much more pleasant than you feel. “Are you on the phone?”

Hearing no response, you reach for the knob and turn it slowly, offering him some additional time to at least pretend to be busy. After counting to five, you push the door open. Then, you freeze.

Dev and his blasted cell phone are nowhere to be seen. His work laptop is on, which might have suggested that he simply stepped away, but the backlit sheet of paper taped to it says otherwise. You cross to his desk and snatch the note from his screen, eyes scanning quickly through his shockingly neat script and widening with horror at every word.

Boss,

Please consider this my resignation letter. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you in advance, but everything came about so suddenly that I haven’t had much time to wrap my brain around it. My partner’s business trip to Malta turned into a relocation offer, and now the two of us are going to –

Without bothering to finish that sentence, you crush the paper within your white-knuckled fist and squeeze your eyes shut tightly enough to sting.

FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK.

Unable to scream out loud, you slam that same fist down onto his desk with force. The smack of your hand against the wood doesn’t distract from the panic swelling in your chest, but it does bring his laptop back to life. The sudden appearance of his desktop is especially surprising, considering you told him no fewer than ten times to password-protect his shit.

Because the hits simply will not stop coming, you see two things at once that make you want to vomit.

The desktop wallpaper is an adorable photo of Dev and his partner. Both are smiling, holding one another closely on a beach somewhere, as if the world isn’t capable of crashing down around them.

At the bottom of the screen, below sand-covered feet, is a growing list of push notifications on his minimized Outlook application.

It’s the last thing in the world you want to do, but you can’t help it; damage control is impossible if you can’t properly triage the problem. Swallowing down bile, you click on the icon and bring up your firm’s primary email inbox, which Tsia and Dev are jointly responsible for manning. Of the hundreds of untouched messages, more than half are from either local Clerks of Court or Tom fucking Santi.

Just above the notice of your now-upcoming trial, you find the only January emails that Dev did read, confirming one-way plane tickets to Malta and the booking of international movers. That motherfucker not only lied in his quote-unquote resignation letter about the amount of notice he could give you but also about the billable hours he burned, planning his escape.

All at once, you feel your internal systems crashing out. Your eyes swim, your head reels, and your stomach lurches. You don’t know whether you want to scream, sob, or send yourself flying out of the nearby window. All of them — preferably at once.

The only reason you don’t do any of these things, no matter how strong the urges are, is the fact that your professional reputation is at stake. Your abject refusal to appear incompetent kicks you into overdrive. It kicks you so far, in fact, that you find yourself in your co-worker’s office with no real memory of walking there in the first place.

Yuki jolts when she looks up from her monitors and finds you looming over her with your eyes too wide to be normal. She gets up immediately and gestures for you to sit on the plush loveseat underneath her window. You don’t – rather, can’t – move, so she places her hands on your shoulders and ushers you onto a cushion herself.

“Dear god,” she mutters. “Are you okay?”

She should know by now that this is the worst possible question to ask you under circumstances like this. Of course, you weren’t okay when you barged in here to begin with. You’re even worse off now because your weakness is being perceived.

Embarrassment and self-loathing bubbles under the surface of your skin, making you hot. Both threaten to leak out through your eyes.

You don’t want to have to ask for help, period, but you’re out of options; and Yuki is the only person here who’s allowed to see you anywhere near a breakdown. That, and you’re certain she’d be available. Having drafted the shared parenting agreement for her and her ex-boyfriend, you know for a fact that their daughter will be with him tonight.

“If I buy you takeout, would you be willing to stay for a while after work to help with some last minute trial prep?” You can’t even bring yourself to meet her eyes when you explain, “Dev bailed, and I’m so, so, so fucked now.”

Yuki grabs your hand from your lap and squeezes. For a split second, you feel relieved. Then, you hear her sigh, and your hopes are dashed just as quickly as they were raised.

“Kimiko’s kindergarten class is having a daddy-daughter dance for Valentine’s Day tonight,” she starts.

The pained look on her face tells you everything you need to know. Nevertheless, she continues, “Ty flaked, as usual. I had to be the one to decide what would be more humiliating for her — being the only kid there with their mom, or the only kid who doesn’t get to go at all.”

“I’m so sorry, Yuki.”

You mean it, wholeheartedly. The only victim of your shitty love life is you. Yuki, on the other hand, has a six-year-old to protect from becoming collateral damage.

She simply shrugs, too used to this sort of letdown to let it ruin her day. “Kimiko bounced back fairly quickly, which is pretty sad, in and of itself. She asked if we could wear matching outfits.”

You crack a smile for the first time all day. Gesturing to her entirely black, incredibly chic outfit, you tease, “Is she dressing for a funeral, too?”

“I wish!” Yuki throws her head back and whines, “The vibes tonight are tragically bright pink, and I have to leave early to shop before the dance starts.”

“Well…” You give her hand a squeeze, then let it go entirely. “I’m sending you thoughts and prayers, buddy.”

She swats at you, tells you kindly to fuck off, and then wishes you good luck while you head back out her door.

As you trudge back towards your office, you run through your list of contingency plans.

The firm’s owners, Zavier and Jaein, are both out of the question. If they’re not spending the night with their respective spouses, they’ll be continuing their not-so-secret affair with one another. Even if they weren’t, you’d rather stand in front of an oncoming train than give them any reason to doubt your abilities.

Next.

With Yuki out of commission, there are three other associate attorneys left for you to consider.

Dani is engaged and definitely has plans with his smoke-show of a fiancé; there’s no point in asking him for help. You’d never hear the end of it if you did, anyway. He’s so committed to his one-sided rivalry with you that he’d probably make a plaque to commemorate your failings.

Pass.

Sana and her wife are on a cruise somewhere far more pleasant than here, so she’s out. Thank god. Beating your head against a wall would be preferable to spending several hours in a room alone with her. Sana’s only personality trait is married, and she’s entirely incapable of talking about anything else.

Hard pass.

The relatively new hire, Junhui, is still an unknown factor. In the few months he’s worked here, you’ve met him exactly once that you can recall. It was a brief encounter in the break room; and his mouth was so full of whatever he’d brought for lunch that he couldn’t respond beyond simply waving when you’d introduced yourself.

He seemed perfectly nice — and from what you hear, he’s perfectly competent — but yours is far too big a burden to shove onto a virtual stranger.

Besides, there’s simply no way that someone who looks like that doesn’t have better places to be tonight.

Junhui doesn’t realize that he’d nodded off until his bleary eyes travel down from his half-finished report and spot the time in the bottom corner of his screen. Apparently, it’s already a quarter to six. If he hadn’t fallen asleep at some point in the recent past, he’d be stepping off the train home by now.

Of course, he isn’t. Now, with all the other commuters flooding public transit, the trip home will be at least twice as long.

Damn it.

He scrubs his hands over his face in an attempt to get the exhaustion off of it, though he doesn’t manage without yawning into his palms.

Figuring that he’s already behind schedule, he slowly rises to his feet and stretches his arms over his head with a groan, dreaming all the while of the caffeine he can down before heading out. With no one left in the office, he’ll be able to fail his way through this acquisition without anyone knowing how completely inept he is at using the firm’s espresso machine.

As expected, Junhui’s walk to the conference room is lonely. Each of his colleagues’ doors are closed, making it clear that they all bolted the second they could. Even the cleaning staff managed to come and go without him noticing; all the trash and recycling bins have been emptied.

Thankfully, he notes, someone forgot to turn off the conference room light before they dipped. If they hadn’t, all his steps would be taken in total darkness — because, even after three months of working here, he still doesn’t have a clue where the switches are.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into that sole, lit room, Junhui stops. The massive table that normally occupies the center of it has been shoved up against the interior wall, along with all its chairs. In its place, evidence boxes form a haphazard little fairy circle on the rug. You sit cross-legged in the middle, nose all but buried in a case file, wearing leggings and a crewneck instead of the suit you likely came here in.

“You look comfortable,” he muses.

It becomes abundantly clear very quickly that you, too, thought you were here alone. You jolt at the sound of his voice. All the papers you were holding drop and scatter, both across your lap and the floor you’re monopolizing.

Junhui’s hands fly up. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The look on your face is far from startled, though. Even from a few meters away, he can see how tightly your jaw is clenched. If he listens closely, he’d likely hear your teeth grinding one another into dust.

He can also sense how stiff your posture is, now that you feel his eyes on you. His gaze shifts to the piles of paper near your knotted limbs; and he tells himself that he’s averting his eyes out of respect, not the tiny tremble of intimidation he feels working its way down his spine.

At this point, Junhui knows you by reputation only. He’s rarely at any of the courthouses you frequent, and his specific line of work keeps him out of the office, more often than not. Whenever he is here, you’re not — too busy with that massive caseload of yours to catch much of a breather.

The two of you may be passing ships in the night, but you have a lot of people in common. He can’t say that he’s made much of an impression on them so far. You, on the other hand, are both widely known and discussed.

So far, anyone that’s ever mentioned you to him speaks about you as if they’re describing a force of nature. It’s the kind of awe people usually save for something fearsome yet worthy of respect, like a tsunami — with the sole exception being that sanctimonious cunt, Tom Santi, who most recently described you as a nightmare bitch from hell.

Of course, Junhui has no firsthand knowledge to back any of these claims up, but he figures it can’t be that far out of character for you to be here now, working too hard. For all he knows, it could also be on-brand for you to snap his neck for distracting you.

“Do you…?”

One of your eyebrows arches quizzically. His question dies on his tongue, halfway finished, because he doesn’t know where it was headed in the first place. Just the same, he can’t tell if that expression on your face is due to stress, annoyance at being interrupted, or some secret, third thing.

…Want me to leave?

Junhui points awkwardly to the espresso machine in the corner, which you’ve unintentionally barricaded behind the conference room table. Like a fucking buffoon, all he says is: “Espresso?”

Your face scrunches a tiny bit. For the second time, he finds himself completely unable to read you. Is it disgust? Suspicion?

No, he realizes, it’s neither. He sees the tiniest flicker of it when the corner of your lips twitch: amusement. While the smile doesn’t overtake your mouth, there’s a glimmer of it in your eyes. It’s reason enough for Junhui to breathe for the first time since he walked in.

“Yes, I do espresso.” You nod with your lips bitten between your teeth, like you’re seconds away from laughing.

Too eagerly, Junhui nods, too. “Right. Got it. Order up.”

Order up?

Running away isn’t an option; and he can’t dig a hole to hide in without a shovel. All he has left to do is shuffle over towards the corner and slink through the obstacle course you’ve built. With what he feels is impressive agility, he makes it all the way to the machine before pausing suddenly.

Under his breath, he curses, “Fuck.”

The jig is up now. Junhui has no idea which buttons to press, or even where the espresso beans are. Unfortunately for both of you, the only way for him to find out is to interrupt you further.

Whoever handles his eulogy better leave out how little time it took him to provoke you into killing him.

Bracing himself for impact, he squeezes his eyes shut and smiles sheepishly. “Do you happen to know how to… use this?”

There’s a groan from the center of the room. Junhui cracks one eye open and searches for the fist coming his way. Instead, he finds you on your feet, twisting at the waist and stretching.

While twisting, you lock eyes — well, eye — with him, then you freeze with your torso still rotated in his direction. Your hinged arms stay where they are, held up at your sides.

“I’ve been sitting here like a goblin for too long,” you explain, tone self-conscious. “If you just heard every joint in my body pop…. no, you didn’t.”

Before Junhui can think of a quip in response — he’s capable of coherent speech, he swears — you step over the shoes you’ve discarded and make your way over to him, patterned socks clashing with the neutral carpet below. He steps back on instinct, although there isn’t really anywhere left for him to go.

You either don’t notice how close you get to him, or you don’t care. Entirely unfazed, you set to work, grinding and tamping like it’s all second nature to you.

Junhui knows he should use this time to observe your processes carefully, but he doesn’t. That’s not to say the learning opportunity is entirely squandered, though.

And he’s a quick study.

In less than a minute, he learns more about you than he has in the last three months. His first discovery is that you’re wearing a watch on your dominant wrist, which is weird as hell — until he spots the small tattoo hiding beneath it. He catches the very faint notes of patchouli at the base of your perfume, too, underneath the cassis and freesia.

It’s nice, he thinks, even better than the overwhelming scent of coffee that swoops in to drown it out.

“This goes here —”

The silver piece in your hand twists into place with a click, drawing his attention back to where it should’ve been all along.

Fuck.

Have you been talking this entire time?

“— and then you press the start button to release the hot water.”

You glance up at him then to confirm that he understood you. Junhui blinks, buffering while he tries to play this out.

“You’re good at this,” he improvises, although he admittedly has no idea if this is true.

“No compliments until you survive drinking it.” You offer him a wry smile to go with the drink you’ve made him. “I’ve quite literally never touched this thing before in my life.”

With your vaguely expectant eyes on him, he takes a small sip, then he murmurs with his lips still hidden behind the glass, “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Why?” You smirk and tilt your head to the side. “Because it’s just that good?”

No, in fact, it’s terrible, but you don’t need to know that.

Junhui nods his head towards the center of the room. His reply is simple, and despite not being the full truth, it’s not a lie: “I’d expect more practice from someone who seems to live here.”

For the first time since he walked in, you offer a full reaction — not just a hint of one. He would’ve preferred a laugh, or even a genuine smile; however, that’s not what he gets. Instead, your face becomes pinched.

“Fucking Dev.”

Whatever thought you might have had about making your own shitty drink disappears. You stalk back over to your shrine of documents and drop once again to the floor, legs knitted. In the split second you’re not looking at him, Junhui spits out the bean shards you missed while grinding and tosses them in the nearby trash can.

Although he’s curious, he hesitates to ask what it is you’re working on. Clearly, whatever it is has got you stressed to the point that caffeine is no longer a priority. Based on personal experience, that’s a bad sign.

Still, Junhui can’t seem to stop talking to you, even though he’s sure it’s a bother. He takes a second look at the sheer amount of paper surrounding you and ventures a guess: “Class-action suit?”

“That would honestly be preferable,” you mutter, looking up from your notes long enough to glance over your shoulder at him.

He takes this as a sign that his presence isn’t entirely unwelcome. At least, it’s a good enough omen to draw him closer. He skirts back around the mess of chairs until he’s standing across from where you sit, and then he leans back against the table.

You look back down again, leaving Junhui to wonder if he made the wrong call. For what it’s worth, he also wonders what it really is about you that’s making him act so awkwardly all of the sudden.

“What are you still here for?”

His heart drops into his stomach, which is about ready to fall right out of his ass. His mouth opens, though nothing comes out.

Sensing the way he’s quietly spiraling, you look up at him. “In the office, I mean,” you amend quickly with a shake of your head. “We don’t really run into each other during business hours, so I didn’t expect to see you here after, you know?”

Ah, fuck.

Junhui swallows.

The truth — that he’s only here because he dozed off on the clock — is offensive, even to him. Here you are, working hard enough for two people; and in stomps the clown whose tasks bored him right to sleep. While he doesn’t want anyone to know about his unprofessional little snooze, the thought of admitting it to you feels…

Nope.

He’s not going to unpack this, not now. It doesn’t matter if it’s a desire to not look dumb in front of a colleague or one to be a little more impressive to you, specifically.

“I was working on an investigatory report,” he eventually says, conveniently leaving out the fact that his impromptu nap kept him from finishing it.

You arch an eyebrow again, which he’s beginning to believe is an unconscious tell of yours. Yet another quiet invitation.

“Investigatory report? Is that… common?”

The two of you look at each other. Now, he’s confused.

“You do immigration law, don’t you?” You gesture over his shoulder, out the door. “You’ve got five different name plates outside your office, written in as many different alphabets —”

Oh.

“— I kind of just assumed —”

Junhui laughs, which causes your other eyebrow to rise up and join the other. “I mean, I dabble. It’s all soul-crushing, though, so I try not to take those cases unless they’re, like, dire.”

Too many of them are.

You hum in acknowledgment. “So, what do you do?”

“Guardian ad Litem work, mostly,” he replies with a shrug. “The name plates are —“

He gestures vaguely, but then all that suppressed, systemic frustration starts to bubble up, unbidden. He’s never been great at withholding his little rants, so he starts talking a little too quickly, a little too loudly.

“There are a lot of immigrant families in the area, right? Whether or not they should, a lot of them wind up court-involved, especially where their kids are concerned.”

As aware as he is that his hands are moving too much with each word, he’s unable to stop.

“I noticed that absolutely nobody on the local courts’ appointment lists was multilingual, which is just fucking negligent —”

When you finally speak, it’s with your head tilted and eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Sounds to me like someone found their calling.”

And against his better judgment, Junhui takes his balled up fist, extends his thumb and pinky finger, and holds it up to his ear. “Might have been a wrong number, but it’s worked out well enough so far.”

And you laugh, sincerely and squeakily in a way that nearly makes him laugh, too.

“You’re weird. You know that, right? Like weird weird.” You grin as you say this, leading him to believe it’s a compliment of the highest order. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Junhui looks at you, looking at him, and he feels the charge your shitty espresso couldn’t muster. He feels bolder. Gesturing to your mountain of documents, he finally brings himself to ask why you’re still here. The second he does, he regrets it; he watches you deflate in real time, smile warping downwards.

“It’s a clusterfuck.”

You take your eyes off of him and plant them back on the file in your hands.

“I found out that a nasty trial of mine is taking place in two weeks, rather than twelve, and I have to get shit together tonight or I’m fucked – genuinely, irrevocably fucked. I can’t file a Witness and Exhibit List until I get through all of this discovery–”

You shift your extended left leg to give one of the boxes a half-hearted kick.

“– and if I don’t submit that for electronic filing by midnight, all my shit will be excluded.”

Junhui nods his understanding, then pushes himself off the table he’s been leaning on. You watch him carefully, waiting for him to excuse himself and walk out the door, but that was never his intention. Instead, he sits cross-legged on the floor across from you and grabs a packet of exhibit stickers off one of the nearby boxes’ lids.

“Letters or numbers?” He asks, holding the packet aloft.

You blink before you splutter, “Oh, wait, no. No, you really don’t have to. I couldn’t ask you to –”

“Letters or numbers?” Junhui repeats himself, softer but no less seriously.

“You seriously don’t have other plans?”

Now, it’s his turn to balk. Unlike you, his shock is entirely manufactured. “On a work night? In this economy?”

“On Valentine’s Day,” you correct him with emphasis.

Rather than feigned horror, it’s earnest embarrassment that floods his face. The tips of his ears start burning, too, in a matter of seconds. Smiling sheepishly, he admits, “Guess I forgot. Don’t really have much to celebrate, you know?”

You raise the manila folder in your hand and reach over to tap it against the packet of stickers in his.

“Cheers to that,” you scoff.

Junhui, it turns out, is even more productive than you are. He falls into lockstep with you the moment he sits down, and other than asking him to hand you things that are closer to him than to you, you don’t need to direct him.

Better still, he anticipates. Every time you finish reviewing one exhibit, he’s holding another one out to you – pre-marked – with a packet of post-it tabs for you to mark especially relevant pages. Though you certainly didn’t ask him to, the tabs he gives you follow a color-scheme, creating a key for easier reference.

Green for financial records, red for social media posts and other electronic communications, blue for your clients’ extensive medical and therapy records.

In only a handful of hours, you comb through everything you need to in order to truly start preparing. The sinkhole that’s been occupying your stomach since this morning disappears. In its place, all that’s left is a void of a different kind.

“I’m starving,” you announce suddenly and dramatically, flopping onto your back with your arm flung over your forehead. “Are you?”

When you don’t get a response, you pull your arm away from your face and crack one eye open in the face of the overhead fluorescents. If your vision wasn’t already blurry from all the time spent reading, this stupid decision likely would’ve blinded you. Thankfully, your eyes still work well enough to look over at Junhui.

Where Junhui was, rather.

You blink, dumbfounded. You didn’t see or hear him leave, which begs the question: were you too locked-in to hear his goodbye, or did he slip past you like Casper the Selflessly Helpful Ghost? You don’t know when it was that he even left, or why it is that you’re frowning now for the first time in six hours.

You reach for your phone to text him and ask. It’s in your hand before you realize that you don’t have his number and back in your pocket before you feel yourself truly start to pout. Although he was putting in unpaid labor on your behalf, you’d gotten the impression that he was enjoying himself. You were, anyway.

Deciding that you can manage lonely better than hungry, you force yourself to sit up, then to your feet. Without bothering to put your shoes back on, you step over the paper fortress you’ve spent all night building and shuffle off with heavy eyelids towards the door.

Someone in this office has to have snacks, whether they’d be okay with you sniping some or not. You cross your fingers while you head for the breakroom and hope for a nice, unexpired yogurt, at the very least. Maybe a leftover packet of oyster crackers if you’re lucky – ones that aren’t stale if you’re especially so.

Before you can step foot into the breakroom, a sudden, muffled shout snaps you out of your famished, fugue state.

“Hot!”

Your gaze snaps from the floor to Junhui, who stands in front of you with both of his hands full. His eyebrows now occupy the space immediately below his hairline; his eyes are wider than you would’ve previously thought humanly possible. Relief splashes over you. If you’re being honest, it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the two steaming bowls of buldak ramen you just narrowly avoided crashing into.

With two, paper-wrapped pairs of chopsticks held between his teeth, Junhui can’t say much of anything. That doesn’t stop him from trying, though. “Ih ooh mih meh?”

“What?” You snort.

Realizing how truly useless that question is, you reach up and carefully pluck the chopsticks from his mouth. A heart-shaped smile takes their place.

“I asked if you missed me,” he simpers. “I told you I’d be right back.”

You blink twice, quickly.

Did he?

He jerks his head in the direction of the conference room. “C’mon. You’re hungry, and I’m burning through my epidermis.”

As soon as you side-step out of his way, Junhui takes off at a laughable pace, footsteps measured and careful to avoid sloshing hot soup as he goes. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from telling him how much he looks like those sprint-walkers turning laps at the local mall. All he needs is a tracksuit.

When you finally catch up to him, you find that he’s already set both bowls onto the table and pulled up a chair. One chair. You open your mouth to ask him about this, but he senses your question coming and waves it away with his hand.

“There’s only ten minutes left to file your Witness and Exhibit List,” he points out.

You don’t doubt him enough to check your watch, but you’re surprised to learn that he’s kept track of your deadline, even when you haven’t. Both of you move at once, nearly colliding a second time on your respective routes to your laptop.

Oh.

That single chair is for you.

“Seriously, eat,” Junhui urges. “I’ve got this.”

He sits down on the floor and hauls your computer into his lap without another word. You can’t seem to move, though. You simply stand there, watching him, and try to fight the very unexpected urge you suddenly feel to cry.

In fact, you’re still standing there when he calls out to you without looking up. “Case parties and who else?”

“The fertility –” You swallow thickly then clear your throat. “The fertility doctor, Eve Nguyen. She’s testifying to the in vitro hell my client put herself through while her husband was withholding the truth about his vasectomy from her.”

Junhui types furiously as you talk, face scrunching up in disgust without turning away from your screen.

“Her therapist, too: Phoebe Miller. She’ll testify to the impact of the hormone treatments on Ms. Al-Hamin’s mental health, and the sheer amount of time she spent sobbing on Ms. Miller’s couch when she finally found out about her shitbag husband’s useless balls.”

“Eat,” Junhui urges again, more emphatically this time. He gestures with his head to the table, where the ramen he made for you is still waiting. “I mean it. I’ll figure out a more court-appropriate way to phrase shitbag husband’s useless balls.”

You do as he says and sink down into the chair he pulled out for you, pulling the food toward you eagerly. Thankfully, he doesn’t glance over at you to confirm that you are in fact eating. Though you’ve bonded quickly in this little trench of yours, he doesn’t yet have the kind of security clearance a person would need to see you scarf down noodles with reckless abandon.

Maybe eventually the two of you will get to a point where he can perceive you unhinge your jaw like a snake just to devour a meal.

Today is not that day.

Without needing to be asked, Junhui switches his focus to the stack of numbered exhibits to his left. As he thumbs through them, he adds each one to your Exhibit List in order, then quickly shuffles the one he’s identified to the bottom of the stack. He does it all so effortlessly that he finishes that task before you’ve finished your food.

Unfortunately for you, that means he looks up in time to see the massive, final bite you stuff into your gaping maw. It’s not disgust that you’re met with, though. It’s something soft, a smile that’s entirely present in his eyes. You freeze and thaw at the same time, not giving a shit that those things should be mutually exclusive.

“Do you want to look this over before I e-file it?”

You shake your head, mouth too full to tell him that you trust him. Setting the empty cardboard bowl down on the tabletop, you offer him a thumbs up instead, which makes him laugh; then a finger-heart, which makes him laugh harder.

Although he could, Junhui doesn’t stand up right away. He goes right back to typing, throwing you for a loop.

“Hey,” you say. When he doesn’t stop, you do your best to mimic his softly commanding voice. “Eat.”

He shakes his head. When he speaks, he sounds a thousand miles away; too focused to be fully present. “I’m already over here. I might as well file these subpoenas.”

Now, you really want to cry.

“I don’t even know how to thank you.” You laugh to hide how close to tears you are. “Seriously. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who’d stay this late to help someone, let alone someone I hardly know.”

Junhui presses down on the trackpad, definitively hitting submit on the last of your work for the night. He closes your laptop, sets it back down on the box to his left, then turns to you.

“I think you would,” he disagrees with a gentle shake of his head. “Besides, I can’t say that I hardly know you anymore. I got paid for my labor with lore.”

You snort out a laugh. The buldak sauce lingering in your throat burns your sinuses, prompting you to close your eyes tightly and laugh even harder. When you reopen your eyes, it’s impossible to tell whether the tears on your lash line are steeped in mirth, spice, or bone-deep gratitude.

“Don’t say that like it’s just compensation,” you warn.

Junhui tilts his head to the side, his stare innocent and not at all challenging. “Isn’t it?”

Outwardly, you roll your eyes. Inwardly, there’s a war amidst the butterflies in your stomach; the majority love the way he looks at you when he’s perplexed, while the rest scream not to fall into the same old trap for the millionth year in a row.

You force a change in subject lest you start to choke on all the honey dripping from your eyes.

“How about you actually eat this ramen you made while I clean up the mess I made of this room?”

Junhui sighs like he’s truly put-upon. Nevertheless, he holds one hand out to you, silently requesting that you haul him to his feet. Figuring it’s the very least you can do, you oblige. He’s towering over you in no time, shooting you a tiny, thankful smile that sends your brain into a tailspin.

He eats, and you busy yourself with the numerous trip hazards around him: first, shuffling your case files and boxes to the side of the room, then wheeling both Junhui and his chair back where the latter belongs. He protests all the while — not because you scoot him without his consent, but because you wave off every single suggestion he makes about waiting until he’s done so he can help.

“You’ve done enough!” You grunt as you forcibly drag the table back into place. “There’s above and beyond, and then there’s you — way past that.”

His cheeks go pink while he goes quiet. You bravely decline to stare at that dusty rose color and instead hop foot to foot while you tug your boots back on.

“I feel awful that you’re going to get, like, five hours of sleep before you have to come back here. Do you have —”

You lose your balance and the rest of that sentence, but you gain Junhui’s hands on your upper arms, preventing you from falling over entirely.

“— court in the morning?” You supply breathlessly, a little too shocked by his quick reflexes and concerned eyes to function.

Junhui waits for you to let go of the back of your boot and regain your footing before peeling his hands off you and shoving them quickly into the pockets of his coat. His response comes a bit clumsily, though you don’t have much room to talk.

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head and shrugging. “My schedule is pretty light this month, actually.” Then, he smiles sheepishly. “Especially compared to yours.”

Eyes narrowing playfully, you snip, “Don’t brag, Wen Junhui. It’s uncouth.”

He pauses for a second then asks, “Is it couth with you if I walk you out?”

Your jaw damn near drops. His response is so stupid, so hopelessly devoid of rizz despite the beat he took to think of it, and yet you’re powerless in the face of it.

This man is a loser; and even though there are a million Human Resource-related reasons why you shouldn’t, you kind of want him.

No, you do want him.

Badly.

You swallow that burgeoning need like a shot, then you let out a measured, cooling breath.

“I’ll allow it,” you sniff.

The subsequent walk to the elevator, as well as the ride down, aren’t quiet. You’re grateful, but you can’t take credit; Junhui keeps the conversation going easily, notwithstanding your distinct lack of input.

If he notices how quiet you’ve gone, it doesn’t seem to bother him. Just the same, if he notices how intently you watch him while he talks, he gives you the benefit of the doubt.

Before tonight, it never really occurred to you how pretty he is. Of course, you haven’t been blind. Your few passing encounters clued in you in that he was good-looking, at least from a distance, but he’s something else entirely when he stands as close to you as he is now. You can’t even pretend to look anywhere else.

No matter how many sharp angles he has — the high bridge of his nose, the L-shape of his jaw, and the peaks of his cheekbones — there’s softness to balance it out. You see it in the heart-shaped curve of his mouth when he smiles; the faint freckle directly above it; and the cat-like, slow blink when he occasionally glances down at you. It’s present in the almost breathy tone of his voice, the one that makes it sound like he’s reaching you through some dreamlike haze.

But then you realize how fucking stupid it is for you to look at anyone the way you currently are, let alone a co-worker.

You made a pact with yourself after breaking up with Mika to keep to yourself for the foreseeable future — to protect yourself from the series of unfortunate romantic events you can’t otherwise seem to avoid. For eight months, you’ve stuck to it, even though you’re lonely. It’s been working, too. Nobody’s been able to shatter you because you haven’t given anyone the hammer or the opportunity.

And your avoidance isn’t just for your own good, either. Something about you either draws shittiness out of people or grows it where none existed before. Everyone you’ve dated in recent years was fine until they got too close; they all seem to be better off now that they’ve gotten away from you. In fact, if your social media creeping has taught you anything, it’s that Mika is the only one of your exes not happily in a relationship.

The pattern is too significant at this point to be a coincidence, and though you try to pass it all off as shitty luck, you’re the common denominator amidst all these disasters.

Shouldn’t you be held accountable for that?

“Look alive, sunshine.”

You snap back to attention with a jolt.

Junhui stands in the opening of the elevator with his hand on the frame, actively preventing the door from closing on you. You didn’t hear the bell go off when it opened; you have no idea how long you’ve been standing there, zoned-out stare fixated on the floor.

He sees what must be a bewildered expression on your face and laughs. “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open? I apparently do that sometimes, too.”

“No, I —” You shake your head while you start to explain, but then your brain stops buffering. “I’m sorry, you what?”

“I didn’t say anything. Out you come!”

You let Junhui usher you out of the elevator, but as you do, you crane your neck to look up at him with unabashed wonder. “Like a prey animal?”

He holds his left index finger up to his lips to silence you, then goes as far as actually shushing you. The tips of his ears peek out from his wavy hair, bright red against the dark.

“Like a little bunny?” You tease, tugging at the hem of his coat.

He rolls his eyes, though no part of him seems annoyed in the slightest. He doesn’t even move away from you. Instead, he rebuts you while lingering at your side, “No.”

You take your fist and rest it on top of your head with your middle and index fingers extended upward, smiling brattishly while you wait for Junhui to look back over at you.

His gaze is locked on the door ahead, however. He raises his arm and points, drawing your attention. “What is that?”

The second you see it, you drop your head back and groan with everything you’ve got. “Fuuuuuuck.”

That would be the security gate, which the building security staff lowers over the front doors when they leave for the night. It’s electronic and can be easily opened with a passcode — which you don’t have.

“Oh, my god.” You shove your face into your palms. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about the fucking gate. I don’t even know what time they close it.”

“There’s a pin pad over there.”

You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s pointing.

“You’ve worked here for a while. They gave you the code, right?”

You will yourself to shrink, to turn into a speck of dirt on the floor and be promptly kicked away. If he can’t see you, he can’t hate you for getting him locked in the goddamn building after donating hours of his time to help you.

Oh, you fucking clown.

Swallowing harshly, you whisper, “I’ve never stayed late enough to need it. I’m seriously so sorry. Technically, we can get out through the emergency fire exit, but that will —”

“— Set off all the alarms and sprinklers,” Junhui correctly assumes, prompting you to nod with your head still buried in your hands.

Silence creeps in then and settles over the two of you, suffocatingly thick like a fire blanket. It’s fitting, given how badly embarrassment burns your cheeks. You want nothing more than to curl up and die — right here, where security can find you in the morning and atone on their knees for trapping you like a rat.

But then Junhui laughs — really, truly, deeply laughs — so hard that you feel him momentarily double over at your side.

You part your fingers and peek over at him through the gaps. With his eyes screwed shut, the mirthful tears have nowhere to go except the far corners of his eyes. They streak down his temples, glowing a hazy shade of blue due to the colored security lamps overhead.

“I’m sorry.” His apology comes out squeaky on the tail of a wheezing laugh. “No one should have to spend this many consecutive hours with me. God, you were so close to freedom.”

You buy into the bit, rather than admit to the tiny thrill spinning dizzy circles in your brain. “It is a tremendous burden, yes. Of all today’s trials and tribulations, you will be my undoing.”

Junhui wipes his cheek, then glances over his shoulder at the elevator. He stares at it thoughtfully for a moment, gears turning, before he turns back to you with his head tilted sideways.

“If I can bother you for a little while longer, I think I have a way to pass the time.”

In the far corner of the conference room sits a bar cart, weighted down with more bottles and glasses than is even remotely necessary for a place of business. Artfully curated for trial and settlement victories, it boasts at least six different kinds of liquor. Each one is more expensive than the last.

“You sure this is a good idea?” You ask, gesturing to the bottle of gin in Junhui’s hand.

He can’t make heads or tails of your hesitation. You strike him as the type to apologize later, rather than seek permission first. Even if his assessment of you is wrong, he knows without a doubt that neither Zavier nor Jaein would ever draw a sword on their most objectively successful associate.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He asks, tone laden with amusement. “You’re the reason we have this cart in the first place.”

You shoot him a warning look that lacks heat. He hopes you don’t intend to rebut him; there’s no need to be humble, especially when what he said is true. Without you, there’d be a hell of a lot less to celebrate around here.

Come to think of it, the only thing more impressive than your trial record is the long list of happy client reviews that come up in internet searches.

Not that Junhui has Googled you.

Okay, not that he’s Googled you more than twice.

He twists the cap off the bottle and pours matching amounts in two glasses, keeping his eyes focused on his ministrations instead of on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of getting in trouble. What would Tom Santi think?”

Two seconds after he adds a splash of tonic, your hand appears from his peripheral vision and grabs the nearest glass from its spot on the edge of the cart. When Junhui’s eyes travel down the length of your arm and up to your face, he spots the innocent, bewildered way you’re blinking back at him.

Cotton-candy sweet, you lilt, “I’m just worried that you can’t keep up.”

You tilt your glass — a silent cheers — before taking a sip, a devilish smile appearing as soon as the cup leaves your lips.

His stomach flips excitedly even though he’s aware that it shouldn’t. There’s a fence of red tape building a perimeter around you, and it’s dotted with hundreds of warning signs: off-limits, trespassers will be prosecuted, etc.

He needs to get a grip — quickly. Entertaining the idea of you finding him attractive, too, is idiotic in more ways than one, and he knows it. Not only are you astronomically out of his league, but you’re also his colleague.

Assuming for the sake of argument that you did stoop to his level, you’d eventually come to your senses and realize that he’s nowhere near your caliber. When that inevitably happens, Junhui will still have to work down the hall from you. He doesn’t have the confidence to bounce back from something like that, not since his ex put his self-image in a blender half a year ago.

“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open again, bunny?”

He blinks rapidly, and you come back into focus. You’ve moved from his side since he zoned out. Now, you sit on the edge of the conference room table with your legs knotted, not unlike the way he found you on the floor several hours ago. Though you tease, there’s a distinct hint of concern in your narrowed eyes while you assess him.

Junhui’s instinct isn’t like a prey animal’s at all, but he knows better than to act on it, so he finishes pouring his own drink and recaps the bottle. Rather than put it down, he keeps it in his hand, grabs his drink with the other, and heads off for the door.

“Come with me,” he tells you.

You follow without question, footfalls sounding off quietly behind him as he leads you through the dark back to his office. Before you can get the wrong impression — or the right one, if the circumstances themselves weren’t wrong — he flicks on the lamp near the door and ushers you inside.

You’ve never been in his workspace, just like he’s never been in yours. Your office, he imagines, is as immaculately organized as you seem to be. That said, he wouldn’t be surprised if you had opposing counsels’ severed heads mounted on the wall.

His office, however, has a wildly different vibe. It seems to surprise you, so much so that you freeze halfway inside with wide eyes and a partially open mouth.

“You have kids?”

Apparently, it’s Junhui’s turn to be surprised. He glances over to where you’re pointing and laughs.

On the wall directly behind his desk is a full collage of drawings and handwritten notes, most of which were done by kids under the age of ten. Though their backgrounds, ages, and abilities vary significantly, they all have one thing in common: they all got really attached to their court-appointed Guardian ad Litem, Wen Junhui.

He shakes his head, although you don’t see him do it. You have your back to him, too focused on reading the various letters to react when he finally speaks.

“In a way, they’re kind of mine, just not… literally.”

You maintain your respectful silence, as if you’re wandering through a museum exhibit. He watches while you lift a hand and let your fingertips run gently overtop an especially artful tribute from a six-year-old named Iseul.

“Big fan of glitter and googly eyes, that one,” he muses, chuckling softly. “You have no idea how long it took me to clean up the visitation room at the community center when our meeting was over.”

You point to three stick figures, who hold hands in front of a large, grey building. Above them, a gigantic sun fills the corner of the page. It wears black sunglasses, the irony of which seemingly didn’t occur to Iseul.

“Who are they?” You ask.

Junhui points to each person as he explains:

“The — uh — wonky-looking one with what seems like a bloody neck is me in a red tie. In the middle is the artist herself, Iseul. She took some liberties; in reality, she has all ten fingers and isn’t known to wear a crown. To her right, that’s her foster mom, who she calls ‘grandma’, even though she’s only 45.”

“Is she still with grandma?”

“Yeah, actually.” He grins, unable to help it. “That stately, grey blob behind us is the probate court. We finalized her adoption last month.”

“Cute. I wish my clients would send me celebratory masterpieces,” you hum.

Junhui snorts. “Are you sure you want that?”

He can’t even imagine what kind of shit newly-divorced adults would send you. Nothing cute, he’s sure.

“No, actually. I take that back.” You shake your head and laugh. “I just want them to pay their legal fees on time.”

“You’re really asking for the world, aren’t you?”

You take another sip of your drink, then shrug, smiling impishly. “A nightmare bitch from hell’s gotta do what a nightmare bitch from hell’s gotta do.”

Before he can start ranting about Tom fucking Santi and his shitty opinions, you change focus again and begin to drift towards the bookshelf on the opposite wall. The top half of it is lined with statutory volumes, while the lower half has books and activities for the kids who occasionally come with their parents and caregivers to meet with him here.

You grab a deck of cards off one of the shelves and turn back to him with a vaguely menacing look.

“You brought me in here so I could beat you, didn’t you?”

“I brought you in here so I could beat you,” he rebuts.

In the time it takes Junhui to cross over to you, you drop your work bag to the floor, move the two child-sized chairs out of the way, and sit directly on the floor without a second thought. He sits on the other side of the small table and reaches for the deck only for you to shake your head vehemently at him.

“Nope,” you state emphatically, popping the second consonant. “I don’t trust you to shuffle these. You have clearly stated ulterior motives.”

He opens his mouth to argue otherwise but is shut down.

“Despicable,” you tut.

Once again, he tries to defend himself. “Excuse me? Your intentions aren’t any better —”

But you block him, grinning wickedly.

“— I’m a guest here and will not have my ambition questioned, thank you! Now, would you prefer to be destroyed by luck or skill?”

He has the feeling you’re going to destroy him in any and every way, so he says, “Dealer’s choice”, and takes a pointed swig of gin.

You think on this while you shuffle, making a big show out of it with your eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Then your eyes light up to broadcast that an idea has come to you.

Dutifully, you split the deck between you, doling out one card at a time to ensure the numbers even out. You slide your half over to you, face down, and gesture with feigned impatience for Junhui to do the same.

When he obeys, you look him dead in the eye. “I declare War.”

Four games and three drinks later, all your laughter finally catches up with you. With your abdominal muscles aching and eyes swimming, you tip over backwards and land on your back with a muffled thump.

“Okay, that’s bad, but I still think I can top it,” Junhui states with a shake of his head.

Your head lolls to the side so you can squint up at him properly. Once you catch his eye, you petulantly insist, “No way.”

There’s a flash in his eyes that says challenge accepted.

You like it.

In fact, you like this side of him: the version that isn’t intimidated by you, that isn’t afraid to be bold. Neither of you is drunk by any means, but your respective masks are off now, and you have gin to thank for introducing you properly.

��I can’t believe I’m telling you this out loud, on purpose,” he starts, then takes a deep breath. “This is perhaps the stupidest way anyone’s relationship has ever ended.”

He sits cross-legged next to you on the floor, perfectly within range. Without sitting up, you swat his knee. “Stop stalling! I don’t have all night.”

You do, but that’s neither here nor there.

“So, the last girl I dated had this… kink, I guess? Where she wanted to tell me she loved me during sex. We’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks at that point, but I figured, why not? What’s the harm?”

Your eyes widen. “Famous last words.”

“See?” He snaps his finger and points at you, grateful to be understood. “That’s the thing. She dumped me not long after that because things were —” The reveal comes with air quotes. “— moving too fast.”

You set your glass down somewhere above your head. Even though it’s empty of liquor, melted ice spills onto the carpet. You ignore the mess you’ve made and throw out both fists, thumbs down. “Boo!”

“Thank god I didn’t like her much,” he sighs.

“You dog.”

Junhui levels you with a playful glare, so you withhold further jokes and simply ask, “What was wrong with her, other than the attachment issues?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. In fact, he takes his time in finishing the last few sips of his drink, then he sets the empty glass down on the table. Unburdened, he lowers himself onto his back next to you with one bent arm underneath his head. From there, he concentrates on the ceiling above.

“It wasn’t her so much as us.”

“Oh?”

Junhui heaves a sigh. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like there needs to be some sort of announcement during law school about how fucking hard it is to practice law and date.”

He’s not wrong.

Your career has impacted every single one of your relationships, no matter how hard you try to keep them separate. You’ve never figured out how to manage it — to split yourself successfully between two spheres, both of which demand one-hundred percent of you.

None of your other attorney friends have ever brought this up, though, leaving you to feel like the broken one.

Still staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, he fills the silence you’ve left. “I don’t think most people get it, you know? Not that they should have to — nobody should accept something they’re not comfortable with — It’s just hard to make things work with someone who doesn’t understand what this is like. What it costs.”

You’re well acquainted with that massive fucking toll.

The struggle to find community in an inherently adversarial system, the second-hand trauma that comes with managing the worst moments of people’s lives, the burnout, and all the shitty coping mechanisms these things lead to if you’re not careful.

You don’t need to speak on any of this now, though. For the first time in an abysmally long time, you’re sitting with someone who doesn’t need an explanation.

Junhui, however, seems to interpret your silence as discomfort. You don’t blame him. He still hasn’t noticed the heart-eyes you’ve been staring at him with since he started talking, so he has no idea

“Ah, nuts. I’ve made things too serious.” He screws his eyes shut then yells, “Aaaah!”

You crack up, fully and immediately, which only prompts him to do the same. Never has there ever been a loser so endearing.

Turning his head now to look at you, he urges with a grin, “Quick, say something stupid!”

And goddamn, if the first thing that comes to mind isn’t exactly that…

“Kiss me.”

Junhui doesn’t react, save for the grin slowly disappearing off his face. He doesn’t even speak. For a moment, all he does is stare right back at you, straight through the full-body cringe you’re experiencing.

Fuck.

Maybe now’s the time to use that emergency exit, fire alarms and sprinklers be damned.

You open your mouth, armed and ready to explode into awkward apologies; and you suck in the breath needed to do so, but not a fucking word comes out.

His gaze shifts from your eyes, to your lips, then back again. The expression he wears all the while looks something akin to tortured — but you’re clearly batshit insane, so your judgment is questionable at best.

A beat passes again in silence. You’re ready to crawl out of your skin, an urge that only grows when he finally murmurs, “It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”

Terrible.

Perhaps the worst you’ve ever had, second only to you blurting it out just now.

You have nothing better to say now, but that’s not what keeps your big mouth shut. It’s the fact that his question doesn’t seem to be directed at you at all.

Something about that tone of his comes across as rhetorical, like he’s got to work this shit out separately from you.

But he doesn’t stay separate. The hand not being used to prop up his head reaches out and gently encapsulates your chin between his thumb and index finger. His thoughtful eyes narrow, searching yours.

“Why doesn’t that make me want to any less?”

All at once, your heart skips; your breath hitches. You don’t have an answer to his question, just an inkling that you have as much to gain as you stand to lose. That cost-benefit analysis, coupled with the insatiable need you have to be kissed before you fucking expire, make you reckless.

Leaping past the point of no return, you grab him by the tie and pull him along for the ride.

Any timidness he showed you earlier is forgotten in an instant, replaced entirely by an assertiveness you didn’t know to expect from him. He gets you on your back without resistance, then settles himself above you with his weight balanced on a single hand beside your head and his knees on either side of your thighs.

His other hand slips to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss and keeping you where he wants you: well beyond the professional boundaries you’ve both crossed to get here.

You could be embarrassed by how quickly you melt, seep, spill, but your better judgment is discarded alongside your sweatshirt without a second thought. Junhui’s jacket, button-up, and tie are tossed into that same void, not long after.

Absolutely fucking none of them are missed.

Lost under the warmth of his bare skin on yours, your brain is far too occupied to worry about which articles of clothing ended up where. All you're capable of caring about is his mouth on your throat; his hand between your thighs, slick fingers dragging you slowly out of your mind.

The orgasm his hand steals from you leaves you half-dead, but that doesn’t stop you from clinging tightly to him, begging for more, please, everything.

And that’s precisely what you get, though you shouldn’t be surprised. If this day has taught you anything, it’s that Junhui is synonymous with acts of service.

“Kiss me,” he commands breathlessly with his tip waiting at your entrance.

You do, eagerly, unaware at first that this is an act of service, too — a distraction, more specifically, to take your mind off of the stretch he brings. Nails pressed into his back, you whimper against his lips and let that pressure melt into something perfect.

“I can’t tell if you’re sleeping or not,” you whisper.

His eyelids may feel like lead, and you look like a dream, but Junhui is wide awake, laying half-dressed at your side.

Of course, you knew this when you asked. You keep opening your eyes to look at him secretly only to find him watching you, amusement growing each time he catches you.

Even though his voice is rough from exhaustion, he musters the strength to tease you, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“My co-worker dicked me down to hell and back, and I’m recovering, obviously.”

You roll your eyes but can’t keep up your nonchalance for long. You bury it, along with your face, into his shoulder. When you finally tell the whole truth, it comes out rushed, as well as muffled.

“I spent most of the day wishing it was over. It was nightmarish, right from the jump. All I have to do is fall asleep, and it will be over…” Your shoulders sag under the weight of your sigh, which is delivered warmly against his skin. “But I don’t want that anymore.”

Junhui hums in acknowledgement. He pauses for a moment to consider what to say next, then decides to take a page out of your book. He’s an attorney, after all; he doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t already know the answers to.

“What changed?”

A lot.

“My co-worker dicked me down to hell and back, and I’m recovering,” you repeat.

Your laugh makes his body move, too. Just the same, the smile he feels forming against his bicep mimics the one on his own mouth. “You know, you keep saying that, but it doesn’t seem accurate.”

This prompts you to pull away from him, prop yourself up on your elbow, and stare at him incredulously. “Excuse me? Need I remind you how many times you just made me cum?”

He makes a big show of counting on his fingers until you swat at him. Then, he gets back to the point:

“What I meant was, is it co-worker or Valentine?”

You blink, no doubt stunned that someone was finally able to catch you off guard. Junhui doubts that this happens often. If that’s the case, he’ll keep this image of you, surprised into silence, in his back pocket for later.

“I’ll concede that those things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive,” you eventually demur with a haughty shake of your head.

Junhui grabs your hand, pulls it to his mouth, and kisses the back of it. “Your concession is noted for the record.”

465 notes · View notes

xomakara · 3 months ago

Text

Miracle Worker

SUMMARY | After a devastating accident left you unable to have children, you struggle with deep depression, but eventually took over as CEO of Hope Media. Your friends Taeyong and Johnny selflessly supported you, with Johnny secretly longing to be more than a friend. Everything shifted when Jaehyun expressed interest, bringing excitement and a new romance into your life. A surprise pregnancy leaves you torn between Jaehyun and Johnny as potential fathers. Will Jaehyun choose to stay with you? Will Johnny's feelings change? Can you find true happiness amidst the complexities of love and friendship?

PAIRINGS | Johnny x Reader x Jaehyun

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE | smut, angst, romance, drama

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity, drinking, mentions of car accident/trauma, office au, friends to lovers, flirting, teasing, pregnancy, threesome, poly relationship, voyeurism, cuckolding, car sex, unprotective sex, office sex, oral sex (both male/female receiving and giving), fingering, marking, shoulder biting, hair grabbing, creampies, daddy kink, breeding/impregnation, pet names, lots of dirty talk

LENGTH | 29,089 words

TAGLIST | @lovetaroandtaemin

NETWORKS | @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @keopihaus @dove-net @neocity-net

AUTHOR’S NOTE | I originally posted this back in 2019 back on my AFF account as a multi-chaptered series but I took a break from it and never finished it. So I decided to bring this back with better writing and as a long fic instead lol. Thank you @lovetaroandtaemin and @unholywriters for beta-reading this monster of a fic and thank you @shadowkoo for the beautifulllllll banner. I appreciate all the help and the work that you two helped with with this. 💚 I hope everyone enjoys reading this and thank you and much love!

NCT Main Masterlist

"Oh, come on," you rolled your eyes, hands gripping the steering wheel. You had been stuck in traffic for about an hour, and you barely budged from your spot. What the hell was going on to cause this traffic? You pushed a few buttons on the infotainment screen of your car, hearing the echoes of ringing.

"Hey boss," the voice of your male assistant said enthusiastically on the other line. "Are you here yet?"

"Jisung-ah, I'm stuck in traffic. I have no idea what time I'll get into the office," you muttered, letting out a small groan. "This is complete torture."

"Oh, that's not good. Did you want me to push your schedule back for tomorrow?" Jisung asked.

"Yes please," you said as you stepped on the gas pedal lightly and then on the brakes to stop. "I have that Management meeting soon, right? Keep that open and reschedule everything else. Let the others know that I’ll be a tad bit late.

"No problem," Jisung said as you heard him scribble something on a pad of paper. "Oh! Did you want me to reschedule your lunch with your father as well?"

"If you can Jisung," Lunch with dad… You felt bad since you barely had time to spend with your dad due to taking over his position since he retired. "Actually, can you make dinner reservations for us over at Heaven’s Highway? Include both Johnny and Taeyong, please."

"Ouuu. The fancy restaurant. I'll be sure to let him know about the change of plans," Jisung said. You heard him shuffling around in the background, most likely heading over to his desk. "I hope you get here soon. Johnny-hyung and a few of the others just stepped into your office for the meeting."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for reminding me, Jisung. I'm hoping the traffic goes by faster," you muttered as you slowly moved in traffic. "I'll see you when I get there."

"Yep. See you soon," Jisung said before he hung up. You focused on the road, and before you knew it, traffic started to move along. You continued to drive along the main streets of Seoul until you pulled into your personal parking space at the company’s garage that was only a few feet from the main building. You got up out of the car, locked it and walked out of the garage to look at the towering building in front of you.

Hope Media.

Your baby. Your child.

For the longest time, you poured out all your time and feelings into the company. You were the only child in your family, so when your father retired, you took over the position of CEO of Hope Media at the age of twenty. The company flourished under the ten years you took control. It was now one of the leading companies that produced movies, TV dramas, commercials and music videos. You noticed the poster of Dream, Hope Media’s highly acclaimed actress who was currently promoting a new sageuk drama. You remembered that Dream started her career into acting the year that you took over the company. She was one of the factors of Hope Media becoming as successful as it is.

Walking into the main entrance of the building, several employees called out their greetings. You gave them several nods and continued towards the elevator where one of your best friends stood, checking his watch and lightly tapping his feet.

"Good morning, Taeyong," you said as you stood by the man.

"Don’t you mean 'good afternoon'?" He looked up and lightly huffed at you. He gave you an amused grin a few seconds later as he pushed the up button to the elevator. "Geezes Y/N, it’s past lunchtime, and you’re just now coming into the office? Did you forget about the meeting?"

"No, I didn't forget. Traffic was a bitch," you sighed, ran a hand through your hair and entered the elevator as the doors opened. Pressing the button to the top floor, you leaned back against the wall. "I swear there's like construction on every corner in Seoul."

"There's construction everywhere," Lee Taeyong muttered as he watched you. He crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator wall, watching the floor numbers flash before his eyes. "Jisung told me that you invited Johnny and I to have dinner with your dad?"

"Yeah, since I obviously missed lunch with him," you frowned and plucked at your sleeve. "Plus, Dad has been saying that he wants to see you and Johnny since you guys stopped visiting him."

"I haven't stopped visiting him," Taeyong chuckled as the elevator stopped. "You’re just keeping us busy, and I have to pick up your slack when you're out of the office."

"Oh hush," you lightly slapped his shoulder as you walked out of the elevator and into the lobby of your upscale office. Park Jisung, a young man in his twenties, rose to his feet when he saw you and gave you a small frown. You gestured to your office. "Are they still waiting for me?"

"Yep. It's only been ten minutes," Jisung said as he handed you several portfolios. "Need me to bring anything for you guys?"

"Nah, it's fine, but thanks, Jisung-ah," you gave him a small smile. "You're the best assistant ever."

"I hope so. With the trouble you caused last time when you ran late for Ms. Dream’s conference, I had to work twice as hard with Johnny-hyung to make sure it went well," Jisung huffed. You chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. He was one of the youngest in the company, but he showed incredible amounts of potential.

"Did I ever tell you that I hate meetings?" You turned to Taeyong and asked him, contemplating if you wanted to open the office door.

He chuckled. "All the time. Let’s just get this over with then, shall we?"

You stepped into your office, Taeyong following after you. This was going to be a long meeting.

The meeting came to an end, and the others filed out of your office. Taeyong and Johnny Suh were the first to make a run to their offices, muttering something about getting ready for tonight’s dinner. You saw Nakamoto Yuta and Lee Jeno in deep conversation about something, Qian Kun following closely behind them as they disappeared towards the elevators. You smiled, told Jisung that you were calling it a night, closed the door to the office, and turned to walk towards your chair but ran into someone’s chest.

Someone was still here?

"You okay, Y/N?" A husky voice rang out. You looked up to see Jeong Jaehyun, the Head Executive of the Creative Accounts Department, looking down at you with a worried expression.

If there was a ranking of the most attractive men in the company, you knew for sure that Jaehyun would be ranked in the top five. He was nice to every girl in every department, considerate to the other employees and in general was just a great employee. He ranked second after Yuta during manager performances, and people seemed to flock to him.

Hell, he was a great lover too. Not that you ever had sex with him. But from the talks of all the girls in various departments, you knew that Jaehyun got around. You thought your other best friend, Johnny, was trouble, but now you have to consider that Jaehyun was trouble as well.

"I'm fine. I didn’t know you were still here," you shook your head lightly and gave him a small smile. "Did you need to talk about something, Jaehyun?"

"Oh, it’s nothing," Jaehyun smiled and you couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip at his handsome features. "Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner? You probably didn’t get to eat lunch since you were stuck in traffic, right?"

You lightly shook your head and gave him a small smile. "I’m sorry Jaehyun. I actually have dinner plans with my father and a few friends. Maybe another time?"

"No problem. Just let me know when you're free. You have my number," Jaehyun gave you a small smile before waving and leaving the office.

You have my number...

"You're goddamn right that I have your number, Jeong Jaehyun," you heaved a big sigh and slouched in your chair, kicking off your heels under the desk. You buried your face in your hands, not hearing the sound of a few knocks at the office door and a few muffled voices.

Why did Jaehyun affect you so much? Why did you let him take your phone the other day and put in his number? You groaned in frustration and rubbed your head, your hair becoming messy.

"Yo, Y/N," you vaguely heard Johnny’s voice from the door. You looked up from your hands and sighed as you noticed your best friends. Did they forget something earlier? Johnny gave you a look over, noticed the disheveled hair, the bare feet, and clothes askew. His eyes widened, and he looked at the closed door before making his way to your desk. "We just saw Jaehyun leave the office. Damn, girl. Hooking up with a man years younger than you."

"Are you okay?" Taeyong asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Jaehyun didn't do anything to you right?"

"I’m fine, Taeyong. And shut up Johnny. It’s not what you think it is," you frowned. "Jaehyun asked me out to dinner, and I declined his invitation."

Johnny raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"We have dinner with my dad tonight," you reminded him, rolling your eyes. Taeyong shook his head when Johnny snapped his fingers in response as he remembered. "And he’s too young for me."

"He’s in his late twenties. That’s not young at all," Johnny muttered. He counted on his fingers. "He's like what… a year younger than you?"

"I’m thirty, Johnny," you reminded him. "Jaehyun is three years younger than me."

"So, what’s wrong with that?" Johnny scratched his head. "He’s an adult, so you don’t have to worry about being a pedophile."

"Maybe that's not the problem," you muttered. You rubbed your temples to relieve tension and slumped into your chair. "Johnny. I'm the boss."

"So?" Johnny asked. Taeyong elbowed him. The two began to exchange looks and you groaned as you buried your face in the files on your desk, hoping that the words in those papers would help you vanish from the room. "You don't need to be shy. Jaehyun is pretty hot, and you’re not exactly unattractive either."

"God, Johnny, can you give it a rest?" You muttered and threw a file at his face, thankful that you were skilled enough to avoid Taeyong's elbow in retaliation. You sighed. "I can't get involved with a guy younger than me. Especially one working under me."

"Sure you can," Johnny wiggled his eyebrows. You saw Taeyong pinch the bridge of his nose as he held back his laughter, and you bit back your own smile. You focused back at Johnny. "Workplace romances do exist and work out in a lot of cases."

"I'd rather not," you said as you swiveled in the chair.

Taeyong shook his head. "If you're that desperate, why don’t you just date one of us? I mean we did sleep together a few times."

"No way," you said quickly, shaking your head. "That was like years ago, Taeyong. Sleeping together a few times is one thing, but to officially date is another."

"You haven’t slept with me yet," Johnny muttered as he made his way towards you and fixed your disheveled outfit and hair. "Why didn't you have sex with me anyway? Don't you like me? I'm awesome and super sexy."

"Johnny," you slapped him lightly with another file. He merely laughed, showing off his pearly white teeth. You glanced at him and raised an eyebrow as you squinted in thought. Johnny was a sexy man too. Good-looking, tall, built, rich. You chuckled a bit and waved him off as he continued to grin at you. "I don't think you can handle my freak."

"I think I can manage," Johnny muttered. "It would be mind-blowing sex, Y/N. I’ll probably be better than Taeyong."

"How do you know that I didn’t have mind-blowing sex with her? For all you know, I’m probably really good," Taeyong muttered.

"Nah, you're most likely a vanilla man, Taeyong," Johnny wiggled his eyebrows. "But you know what they say here..."

"Ahhhh… 'One flirts with Mr Suh to get laid, while one flirts with Mr Lee to be his wife.' That saying?" You asked as you slipped on your heels and grabbed your purse, a chuckle coming from Johnny. "Oh, what's that one about me? 'If you catch the eye of the Lady CEO, then your wildest dreams and fantasies will come true.' Oh man, my reputation must be bad, huh?"

"It’s not all that bad," Taeyong chuckled. "Johnny’s reputation sounds worse than yours."

"What reputation? Y/N sounds more like a sexual predator," Johnny muttered.

"I do not have sex with anyone unless it's consensual," you rolled your eyes.

"I think she already has her next target. She’s probably thinking of fucking Jaehyun right? Stuffing her panties in his pretty little mouth?" Johnny slung an arm around your shoulder as the three of you made your way towards the elevator.

"If you continue talking," you raised a threatening finger, "I'm going to seriously smack you on the mouth. Seriously, fuck off." You lightly pinched the man's side, chuckling as he yelped from pain. Taeyong stifled a laugh as he shook his head, and the doors to the elevator finally opened.

"Why do you always think I always want to fuck someone and stuff my panties in their mouth?" You muttered as you all boarded the elevator. You watched Taeyong push the button to the lobby and you shrugged Johnny’s arm off. "First it was Yuta, then Doyoung, then poor Kun, and now it’s Jaehyun. Who’s next? Jungwoo from Marketing? Ten from Talent Acquisition? Do you want to be fuckbuddies instead? Do you want a stash of my panties to put in your mouth?"

"I love a woman who knows what she wants," Johnny gave you an appreciative smile. "I love it when she's bossy too. Really turns me on." You only shook your head at his comments.

Johnny always knew how to rile you up. But at the same time, it was what you liked about the tall man, making you chuckle softly to yourself. "Don’t let my dad hear you mutter those filthy thoughts during dinner."

Taeyong laughed and stepped out of the elevator as it stopped. "Oh, we know. But knowing your dad, he’s going to nag at why you’re not dating one of us."

"Taeyong is right. You'll have to be chained to one of us," Johnny slung an arm around you again, the other lifted in the air to paint an imaginary picture. "I can see it already. 'The CEO is engaged to Mr Suh? Can't wait to go to that wedding!'"

"Shut the hell up," you lightly shoved him.

"If you had to choose, would it be me or Taeyong?" Johnny asked, a mischievous smile on his face.

"Good question. I don't know," you placed a finger on your chin, exaggerating your actions as you and Taeyong shared an amused look. "Let me think..."

Johnny wanted to protect you at all possible costs. Ever since your accident years ago, he was more protective of you than before. He remembered it so clearly. Your parents and Johnny’s parents knew each other from their corporate jobs in the US. When the families moved to South Korea, they met Taeyong’s family, as they ran in the same social circle.

There was always talk that the families would be united by a marriage. If the Suhs, Lees, and Y/L/Ns had children, they’d marry them off to each other. What better way to keep a successful corporation successful than by uniting their heirs through marriage?

For years, your families brought up the talk whenever the three of you got older. Of course, your relationship started off innocently. The three of you were close, attending the same schools growing up, hanging out with each other and the others from your social group. You were attached at the hip with Johnny and Taeyong for the longest. The three of you had an odd bond that no one ever questioned.

Sure there were arguments among the three of you, but it was easily fixed with an apologetic gift and promises to buy food to make up for it. There wasn’t a memory that wasn't good with Johnny and Taeyong. Even in your teenage years, it was evident that Johnny liked you the most, trying to impress you and be the best in your eyes.

Johnny remembered when it was your twentieth birthday, way before you took over as CEO of Hope Media. You threw an extravagant party and wanted to spend it with an ex-douchebag of a boyfriend and friends. Johnny was too busy helping his father with an important business meeting that he couldn't even attend. From what Taeyong told him, you found out that your ex-boyfriend was cheating on you. You ran from the party onto the street, Taeyong following closely from behind. Taeyong tried to pull you from the road but it just happened all too fast.

A car collided with your body.

That night changed everything.

Johnny remembered running into the emergency room, asking the nurse for your room, asking if you were okay. He remembered being in the room with you when the doctor told you the horrible news. The horrible news that you couldn’t have children. Johnny was there when you broke down in tears.

He was there when you made him and Taeyong promise that they wouldn’t tell your parents that you couldn’t have kids. You didn't want them to find out. You wanted to spare them the pain of your news. Johnny hated the thought of keeping a secret from your parents, but the expression on your face made him not question the situation further.

Johnny shook his head from those memories and watched as you shared a joke with your dad, your smile clearly contagious. You were literally the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, and he had met countless women. You were that one woman he wanted but couldn't have, since you were friends. Plus, you'd probably never seen him as anything more than a best friend, and he didn't want to jeopardize your friendship over feelings. For him, feelings were never easy to admit. And with his thoughts of wanting you for years, he finally decided to bury those feelings deep down in his heart so they could slowly wither away. But with this constant battle of hiding his feelings, it was taking a toll on him.

Johnny looked over to Taeyong, his other best friend of many years. Taeyong was a handsome man and quite easy on the eyes. If women flirted with Johnny to get laid, then women flirted with Taeyong to be his wife. He was kind and always thought about others. And when he found out that the two of you slept together, he could hardly believe it. Ever since your accident, you filled the void of the bad news by sleeping around with any consenting man that would have you. You said it didn’t matter if you slept around, since you weren’t able to have kids.

Sex for the hell of it. Sex as a distraction. It didn’t matter to you. So Johnny couldn't blame you for sleeping around with others. But Johnny just felt disappointed that it was Taeyong you had sex with instead of him.

He wanted at least one night of being selfish.

"John," your dad called out, Johnny looking up from his plate, glad for the interruptions from his thoughts. "Between you and Taeyong, who would be a better fit for my little angel here?"

"Daddy!" you pouted.

"That's a hard question, uncle," Johnny chuckled, as he gave you a wink. "I would say it’s me, but then Taeyong would probably say he's a better match."

Taeyong shook his head. "Oh no. I agree to disagree."

You frowned. "Daddy, why can't you ask other questions? Can't you ask them how they're doing or what their plans are for the company?"

"Because that's not as fun," your father's eyes shone with amusement. "Why would I want to ask about other boring things when I can ask them about this? Unless you have someone else in mind..."

"I don't think I like the direction this conversation is headed," you groaned.

"I worry about the three of you. You've all known each other since childhood, and you guys still haven't settled down," your dad frowned. He looked at you. "When will your mother and I see grandkids, my angel? You’re already thirty and not getting any younger."

"I know daddy, but I'm so busy with the company to even think about settling down and having kids," you muttered. You never told them about the accident. Only Johnny and Taeyong know of your struggle. They promised to stay quiet and never tell your parents about that horrible night. But now with you not able to conceive children, a marriage for you would be pointless, which made Johnny feel horrible, because you deserved the absolute world and beyond.

"Just marry John," your dad responded without missing a beat. Johnny almost choked on his wine. "Taeyong is a great match, but I think John would be a better husband."

"I agree, uncle," Taeyong held up a glass of wine in a salute. "I was actually going to suggest that they should get married. They’re definitely a perfect match."

"You hear that, angel?" Your dad chuckled. "John will marry you. Oh, both your mothers are going to be happy."

"But daddy," you huffed. "What if Johnny doesn’t want to marry me? I'm sure there are other girls that he's interested in."

"I’d marry you in a heartbeat," Johnny muttered, giving you a small smile, his hand reaching for yours. "No other woman comes to mind but you."

"Is that a proposal, John?" your dad teased, giving him a raised eyebrow. Johnny didn't miss the slight surprise in your expression as he let your hand go.

"Dad, please," you mumbled as your dad called your mom to discuss wedding plans.

"Pinch me," Johnny elbowed Taeyong, the latter lightly pinching his arm. "Ouch! It has to be real since it hurts."

"It’s real. Uncle seems to be really happy that you said you’ll marry her," Taeyong patted his friend’s shoulder. "Besides, I see the way you look at her. You’re in love."

"Yeah, but she probably doesn’t even like me," Johnny sighed. He glanced at his friend. "Don’t you have feelings for her too, Taeyong?"

"Me? No way. Sure, we slept together a few times, and I thought I had feelings for her… but that bridge burnt a long time ago when she revealed her true feelings for someone else," Taeyong took a drink from his cup. "I don’t know who it is, so don’t bother asking me. Anyway, you can help her when she gets needy."

"You sure you don’t know who it is?" Johnny narrowed his eyes at his friend. "It’s not Doyoung or Yuta, is it?"

"I told you, I don’t know," Taeyong chuckled when his friend pouted at the lack of knowledge. He shook his head and took another sip from his drink. He looked over to you and your dad, raising his glass for a toast. "To Johnny and Y/N. May they live happily ever after."

Jaehyun looked up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He took a deep breath and turned his head left to where his digital clock read three-thirty in the morning. It was that time already? Sighing, he turned his body to the side so that he could get somewhat comfortable but his body could not even relax. He heard the soft snoring of his roommate next door and the faintest of laughs from the apartment next door.

Although the laughs were faint, he knew they belonged to you. You had the most amazing laugh, like music to his ears. He wanted to be around you one day and make you laugh. Hell, he wanted to be the only one who made you laugh.

But there was also another laugh, a deeper one.

Wait… You had company?

It shouldn’t have been a surprise for him. Jaehyun knew that you always had company at least twice a week, but he always seemed to know who it was beforehand. He made it a routine to know who his boss was going to sleep with that week just so that he could prepare the ear plugs for him and his roommate, Mark.

At first, he didn’t know that his next-door neighbor was his boss. He only found out one day when he was waiting up for Mark to get home from the office with chicken and beer so they could start their weekend early. He heard a knock on the door and opened it, wondering why Mark didn't enter their code in the passcode panel. He was surprised to find you squinting at him and the door, mumbling to yourself that your apartment looked different. Jaehyun remembered that you kept squinting at him, running a hand through your hair and wondered when you got a handsome live-in husband.

He remembered smelling the alcohol from your breath, your usual neat hair disheveled, your high heels in one hand as you walked into Jaehyun’s apartment barefooted. He watched as you settled on his couch, pretty oblivious that you were in the presence of a single man. He remembered when Mark stepped into the apartment with beer and freshly fried chicken. His eyes widened when he realized that their boss was in their apartment. They were even more shocked when you drank their beer and ate all their chicken.

Jaehyun even recalled when Taeyong came to his apartment to fetch you, after you had called him complaining that you didn’t remember the apartment being so cramped and so masculine. After apologizing and giving them compensation for the beer and chicken, Taeyong swept you away. Only to lead you to the apartment next door, punch in a few numbers in the lock pad and whisk you through the door. A few minutes later, Taeyong came back to Jaehyun’s and Mark’s apartment and told them that you were their next-door neighbor and that you mistakenly thought their apartment was yours. They promised to keep quiet about where you lived, knowing that you probably didn’t want people to find out.

You knew that Jaehyun and Mark were your neighbors, but you all had a mutual understanding of not acknowledging each other unless necessary. The guys always tried to avoid seeing their boss in the morning. They never commented on the guys you brought over to your apartment, and they didn't want to. It was your private life to do what you wanted. Just as you didn't need to know about their personal lives.

Jaehyun shook his head and sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair. He threw off his blankets that were covering him, placed his feet on the floor, and rose from his bed. Scratching his tummy, he walked towards the door and opened it as quietly as he could so that he didn’t wake up Mark. He walked into the kitchen without turning on the lights, not caring that his bare feet were cold on the hard wooden floor. He pulled the fridge door open, grabbed a bottle of water, closed the fridge, and made his way to the dimly lit living room. Mark forgot to close the curtains to their living room window, so the city lights of Seoul enveloped the living room in hues of reds, oranges, and yellow.

He sat on the couch, drinking his water and flipping through a magazine. The city lights didn’t help much, but Jaehyun wasn’t really paying attention to the magazine. He leaned back against the couch, the back of his head against the wall.

"Johnny, stop that!"

Johnny? Mr. John Suh from the office? The COO of the company? You were sleeping with Johnny this week instead? Was that why you rejected him this afternoon? Was having dinner with your father a whole lie? Did no one in the office know that Johnny was going to be your next target?

For some odd reason, Jaehyun felt a pang of something in his chest. Jealousy? It couldn’t be, could it? Sure, he was attracted to you, and sure, he wanted you to give him the time of day, but Jaehyun knew that you would overlook him for other men. Was it his reputation of being a shameless flirt in the office that made you shy away from him?

He didn’t think he was that bad compared to Johnny. Or was it those rumors of him being good in bed that were going around the office? He definitely needed to talk to Yeri and tell her to stop with the lies. He didn’t even sleep with the woman, and she was already spouting nonsense.

"Oh…. Don’t stop…"

Jaehyun shook his head as he heard your muffled cries from the other side of the wall. He was glad that Mark was asleep, but now he had to listen to the filth that was going on next door. Closing his eyes, he imagined what it would be like if it was him that you wanted to do the dirty deeds with. Imagining how your body would feel next to his. The way your fingers would feel against his hair. Of how your lips would feel against his as he fondled your breasts. How your fingers would be entwined together as he moved his body against yours. How you would moan and call out his name. Of how your body would shake against him before reaching your release...

"Ah shit," he mumbled, feeling his arousal against the fabric of his sweats. He rose from the couch and made his way to the bathroom. "I guess it’s time for an early shower. I’m not going to bed anytime soon."

Taking care of his problem in the shower, Jaehyun still couldn’t stop thinking about you. He got dressed in his casual clothes and wandered into the living room, plopping himself onto the couch. He looked at his phone, the display reading four o’clock in the morning. Yeah, he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. It was a Saturday morning after all.

Plus, it got quiet next door. Thank God. He didn’t need any more distractions thinking about you.

Turning on the TV and lowering the volume, Jaehyun took out his phone and browsed his social media. He noticed Mark sleepily make his way towards the couch, still in his pajamas. He watched as the younger man curl up on the side of the couch, his eyes squinting at the TV.

"Want me to make some coffee?" Jaehyun asked his sleepy roommate. Mark nodded, and Jaehyun got up from the couch, went into the kitchen, and started the coffee maker up. "Why are you up so early?"

Mark groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I was planning on sleeping in but… I had a weird dream."

"How weird?" Jaehyun asked, bringing two cups of steaming coffee to the living room. He placed one on the coffee table in front of Mark, the other still in hands as he lifted it to his lips. "As in you were high off weed or like a wet dream?"

"The second one," Mark muttered, slowly sipping his coffee so as to not burn his tongue. "Dude, should we just move out? I can’t stand living next to Y/N and hearing all the filthy things she does with guys we know from the office."

"What other place gets better than this, Mark?" Jaehyun shrugged, sitting next to his roommate. "Apart from being neighbors with her? Yeah, I know she’s our boss, and your cousin…"

"I still don’t want to hear her fucking someone. Who is it this time? Do you know?" Mark asked, patting down his hair. "Please tell me it’s not Yuta again."

"It’s not Yuta," Jaehyun replied with a slight chuckle. "It's Johnny."

"Johnny? Are you sure they were having sex and not just hanging out?" Mark narrowed his eyes, his nose wrinkling in disdain. Jaehyun didn't respond, making Mark groan in response. "For the sake of my sanity, I hope they were only hanging out."

"I heard moans and stuff coming from her side of the wall," Jaehyun yawned, stretching out his legs before him.

"Oh man, that’s even worse. You put my sexual predator of a cousin and fuck boy Johnny together in one room and things get…messy," Mark whined, setting his coffee cup down. He looked up at Jaehyun and probably noticed the faint dark circles under his eyes. "Wait, why are you even up? Did you even go to sleep?"

"I couldn’t sleep for some odd reason," Jaehyun shrugged, pulling out his phone. "And no, it’s got nothing to do with Y/N having sex with Johnny."

Lies.

You were the reason he couldn’t sleep, but Jaehyun just couldn't let his roommate know his true thoughts. Yeah, he was annoyed and bothered by the fact that he couldn’t be the one sleeping with you, and that Johnny was the one having his way with you, but that was none of Jaehyun's concern. As he already stated countless times, it was your private life, and he wasn’t going to try to butt in on that.

"But seriously dude. We should move out," Mark scrunched his nose and scratched his back. "I love her and all, but she definitely needs to quit having sex with all the guys we know. I do not want to hear how good of a fuck my cousin gave to any of our friends when we meet up with them. It’s wrong on so many levels."

"I’m just surprised she’s not pregnant," Jaehyun muttered, giving Mark a concerned look. "With all the men that she’s had sex with, I’m surprised that one of them isn’t a dad yet."

"Wait... didn’t I tell you?" Mark responded, a confused look on his face. "I swore I told you…"

"Tell me what?" Jaehyun raised an eyebrow.

"Y/N can't have kids. I don’t know what happened. I can only guess it has to do with the car accident she got in ten years ago," Mark glanced at Jaehyun briefly before turning his eyes to the screen. "Don't tell anyone else that I told you though, please? If she found out, she would kill me."

Jaehyun bit his bottom lip. He didn’t know that was the reason why you kept sleeping with men with no strings attached. "I... didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that."

"I know she’s lonely, and I get that she sleeps around with men for company. But come on, she can still get married and all," Mark muttered, looking at his cup of coffee before looking up at Jaehyun. "I know she wants kids of her own, but she can always be a stepmom or even adopt kids."

"Of course, she could. But what if her husband wants kids of his own instead? What can she do if she can’t have them?" Jaehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair. Contrary to how others perceived him in the office, Jaehyun thought quite extensively about issues.

Especially when it came to you.

"I guess..." Mark huffed. He reached for his coffee cup, but the sound of the doorbell startled him. "Yo, who the hell rings doorbells at four in the morning? Damn, my hair is a mess."

"I’ll get it," Jaehyun slightly chuckled as he watched the younger man dart into the bathroom to fix his hair. Opening the door, his eyes widened before fixing a small smile on his lips. "Y/N. What brings you here?"

"Hi, Jaehyun," his boss said with a smile. Jaehyun took in your profile, noticing that you wore short shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Your hair was disheveled, and your face was bare of any makeup, but you still looked pretty in his eyes. "Can I come in?"

Jaehyun was surprised. He never expected you to visit him in the early morning. Hell, he never expected you to visit at all, even though Mark was your cousin. He always thought your relationship was strictly professional. He wanted to get closer to you in all honesty, and he almost succeeded. But...you seemed to enjoy the company of other men more than his. He nodded softly, moved away from the door so that you could enter the apartment, and motioned for you to use his house slippers.

"You sure?" you asked, looking down at his bare feet. "I don’t want your feet to get all dirty or anything."

"It’s fine. My floor is pretty clean," he slightly chuckled as he watched you slip your feet into his slippers. He followed you as you stepped into the living room. "Anyway, what brings you here? Mark is in the bathroom trying to tame his bed head."

"I’m just surprised that Mark is up this early," you responded. You sniffed the air, smelling the coffee in the kitchen. "Is that coffee? Can I have some? It’s way too early to go out and get some."

"Help yourself," Jaehyun answered as he sat on the sofa. He watched as you moved into the kitchen, grabbed one of the cups that were by the coffee maker, and poured some of the black liquid into it. He noticed Mark coming out of the bathroom, still decked out in his pajamas, but his hair was now combed neat. "You didn’t answer my question though. So, what brings you here?"

"I couldn’t sleep, so I wondered if you were awake or not. I had a good hunch, surprisingly," you called out; Mark’s eyes widened when he heard your voice. "Is that Mark I hear?"

"Hey Y/N," Mark replied back, surprised that his own cousin actually visited. "This is a surprise."

"Yeah, it is," you walked out of the kitchen and sat on the couch next to Mark, Jaehyun moving to the floor. "Why are you guys up so early anyway? It’s our day off. You should be sleeping in."

"We can say the same to you. Why are you here at four in the morning?" Mark frowned at his maternal cousin. "I heard Johnny was keeping you company, so I figured you would be asleep or something."

"You just left Johnny alone next door?" Jaehyun cocked his head to the side, wondering if the older male was asleep or something.

"Johnny?" you asked confused. "What are you talking about? How did you know Johnny's at my place?"

"The walls are...ahem," Jaehyun coughed, looking away from the pretty older woman. "Thin. I heard you moaning out Johnny’s name."

"Ohhhh..." your eyes widened at the realization. You bit your lip, contemplating if you should ask if they actually heard you have sex with other men that you brought home. You never noticed that the walls were thin, but then again, you weren't sure if the two young men brought girls home or if they slept with girls at a hotel or something. "It’s not like that."

"So, you didn’t have sex with Johnny?" Mark asked, scratching the back of his head. "I’m confused."

"No. As much as Johnny is handsome and charming, I wouldn’t have sex with him," you let out a faint smile, bringing the cup to your lips. "If you heard anything, it’s probably because Johnny was giving me a massage. I strained a muscle at dinner with dad last night."

"Because you’re getting old," Mark retorted, sticking out his tongue. "You’re thirty."

"Shut up, Mark, before I tell your mom that you ditched dinner last week because of a girl and not the business trip she thinks you were on, smart mouth," you countered.

"You're so mean, Y/N," Mark grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. "Anyway, why are you here?"

"I told you. I was just having trouble sleeping," you responded, running a hand through your messy locks. You were thankful that Mark and Jaehyun's light was dimmed enough so that they wouldn't notice your frazzled expression. "And I just needed someone to talk to about things, that's all."

"Shoot. I got nothing to do and nowhere to be till noon, so it's cool," Mark smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Didn't you say you had dinner with uncle last night?"

"Yeah. We talked about the business and caught up on things. Then dad brought up the subject of marriage and kids as usual," you looked over at Jaehyun. "I’m assuming Mark told you that I can’t have kids?"

Jaehyun nodded his head and looked down at the coffee table. "He just told me earlier. I didn’t know."

"It’s okay," you smiled at him, running a hand through your hair. "My parents don’t know about it, and I don’t want them to be sad that they won’t be able to have grandchildren. That’s why I’ve been putting marriage off for so long."

"So, what happened? Did Uncle suggest you marry Johnny or Taeyong?" Mark asked as you nodded your head. "For reals? Who’s it gonna be?"

You sighed and began to play with the hem of her oversized shirt. "Johnny, and I’m not sure how I should feel about it."

"What’s there to feel about?" Jaehyun asked, catching your gaze. "At least you don’t have to worry about getting to know him. You’ve been best friends for years."

"That’s the point," you muttered, your eyes flickering between the two men. "He’s my best friend. He knows me like no other. He knows my likes, my dislikes, my strengths, my weaknesses and fears. He can read me like an open book."

"That’s good, right?" Mark responded, giving you an unsure look. "At least Johnny wouldn’t have to pretend anything in your relationship if you two were to get married."

"But he never really proposed to me," you let out a deep sigh. "Taeyong suggested that Johnny and I should get married, and dad was all for it. Even Johnny said that he’ll marry me."

"But doesn't Johnny know about your condition?" Jaehyun asked, biting his lower lip. "That...you can't have kids?"

"He does... but I know he wants kids," you took a deep sigh, biting your lower lip. "He doesn’t say it, but I know he wants little ones of his own. Little ones that I can’t give him."

"I’m sure he knows that, Y/N," Jaehyun muttered, taking your hand and gently patting it. He didn’t know why, but he had the urge to just take your hand and touch you. "But you deserved to be happy and loved too. You deserve a happy ending. Even if you don't have kids."

"Bro," Mark started as he noticed your hand in Jaehyun’s. "Are you flirting with my cousin right now? In front of me?"

"No?" Jaehyun replied, raising an eyebrow. "You’d know if I was flirting. I was just comforting her. It’s all right for her to be concerned and all."

"Whatever, man," Mark rolled his eyes. He shrugged at his older cousin. "Anyway, I’m gonna go shower. I’ll come by later with some coffee, Y/N. Just let me wrap my mind around the fact that you're somewhat engaged to Johnny."

You nodded as you watched Mark walk off towards the bathroom. You were still aware of Jaehyun’s hand on yours and lightly pried it away. "Thanks, Jaehyun. I should get going too and let you rest. Johnny is probably up and wondering where I'm at."

Jaehyun watched as you made your way to the front door. He didn’t know what overcame him, but before he knew it, he was on his feet and reaching for you. Your back to the front door, one of his hands grabbing your wrist and his other on the door, Jaehyun caught you staring at him with wide eyes.

"Jaehyun?" you muttered, staring up at him, your lips quivering.

Jaehyun scanned your face. Your eyes stared into his own, your skin was silky smooth, and your lips were plump and kissable. You still looked so beautiful for your age. "If you’re still so unsure about Johnny...there’s always me, you know."

"Wh-what?" You whispered, aware that your heart was beating fast. "You’re joking right? You’re just saying that to get in my pants, huh?"

"I’m not joking," Jaehyun whispered back, his tone low and husky. "I’m very interested in you. And I’d like to show you what love really is."

"Jaehyun, we can’t..." you trailed off.

"Why not?" Jaehyun leaned over you, your body still trapped in between his arms. He softly bit your earlobe, his fingers trailed to the back of your nape, slowly caressing your skin with silky touches. "It’s okay for other guys to kiss you, but I can’t?"

Before you could say anything, he went for your lips next. His lips were incredibly soft, almost pillowy. Jaehyun deepened the kiss, the hand at the back of your neck bringing you closer. He felt your hands curve around his neck, and he let out a small smile against your lips. He moved closer, lured by your response, and a small, almost helpless sound escaped as your lips opened.

"It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you…" you let out as he moved away slightly to look at you.

"Then why?" He asked as his forehead rested against yours. He was breathing quite heavily.

"What will people say when they find out that I’ve hooked up with someone that’s not my fiance?" you muttered while looking at him. Your eyes darted to where the bathroom was. "Plus, Mark is still here."

Suddenly and without warning, Jaehyun bent his head down and kissed you again. A kiss that captured your breath, weakened your knees, and caused a pulsing in your lower regions. Your hands trailed up to his chest to link at the back of his neck. You tried to pull him closer, but you were startled when he cupped his hands around your ass, pressing so close that you could feel the length of him.

"This is what you do to me, Y/N," he whispered against your lips, bringing your hand to cup his growing arousal. "Fuck what people say. If we like each other, then it shouldn’t matter right?"

"I…" But before you could say anything, Jaehyun captured your lips in his again. This time, the kiss was gentle and soft. "Jaehyun…"

He released you and stepped away. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Think about what I said, okay? If it doesn’t work out with Johnny, you know where to find me."

You bit your lower lip and nodded. You left the apartment building, aware that Jaehyun’s eyes were still on your fleeting figure. You walked over to your apartment next door, opened the door, and closed it, leaning against it as you tried to compose yourself.

What the hell just happened? Did you just really kiss Jaehyun?

For reasons unknown to you, you were incredibly attracted to the younger male. Sure, he was handsome, but you've slept with other handsome men before too. What was the exact reason that you found him so interesting?

"Jaehyun made a move, huh?" A voice muttered from the couch. You looked a bit startled, but once you saw the figure that lounged on your couch, you sighed in relief. Johnny positioned himself on the couch so that he was sitting and patted the seat next to him. "Want to tell me all about it?"

"How did you know?" You muttered as you padded into your apartment and sat next to the tall, hunky man. "You always seem to know that something happened."

"I can read you like a book," Johnny chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked at you, taking in your flushed cheeks. "He kissed you, huh? Was it that good?"

You bit your lower lip and slowly nodded. You leaned your head back against the couch and sighed. "What’s weird is...that I actually liked it. Johnny, is there something wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you, Y/N," Johnny replied as he leaned back against the couch, turning his head to look at you. "You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known. Just because you’re a shameless flirt and tend to go for younger men doesn’t mean you’re not amazing."

"Hey!" You frowned, lightly punching his shoulder. "I do not go for younger men."

"Name one older man you’ve dated or slept with," Johnny raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that you never had any relationships with older men apart from your ex-boyfriend all those years ago. "Not including that bastard of an ex-boyfriend you dated ten years ago."

"Uh...um…" you bit your bottom lip and hung your shoulders in defeat.

"See? You’re such a cougar," Johnny muttered, a small smile on his face. "What I’m saying is, you don’t need to be tied down to me. If you like Jaehyun, we can always call off our engagement."

You sighed before laying your head on Johnny’s shoulder, his arm reaching over to settle on your waist. "You know I can’t do that, Johnny. I can’t disappoint dad, and you saw how excited he was during dinner last night. And besides, I’m not even sure what to call the feelings I have for Jaehyun. I’m attracted to him, and he’s one hell of a good kisser, but I don’t think I like him."

"If you say so. But I give him credit for kissing you though. The man’s got balls," Johnny muttered, an amused smile on his face. He reached out to grab your hand, and he wasn’t surprised that you squeezed his hand back. It was little things like this that made Johnny fall for you even more.

"Johnny?" you mumbled.

"Hmm?" He hummed.

"Do you want kids?" you asked.

Johnny contemplated for a moment, unsure of the answer that he should be giving you. "Why the sudden question?"

"Do you, though? Want kids of your own that is," you lifted your head up to gaze into his brown eyes.

"Yeah. I'd like one," he finally answered, shifting his head away to glance down at the floor.

"Even if that means you wouldn't be able to have them with me?" you asked.

Johnny stared at you, took in the worried look on your face. You've always been concerned with this topic. About how other women can bear a child while you can't. "Y/N..."

"Please just answer the question. I know you're an amazing man, John Suh. An amazing man who I don't think deserves to be held back with someone who can't give you what you truly want," you said.

"Listen, Y/N. Just because others may be able to have kids and you can't, doesn't mean you're any less than they are. You're still you, beautiful as ever," Johnny comforted. He never liked to see your confidence drop, but somehow, you were still the confident woman, always wearing her mask. "And yeah, I'd love to have my own little kids, but being with you makes me happy too. Plus, we can always adopt some. There are lots of little babies out there that need a mom and dad."

"Johnny..." your lips parted slightly in wonder, staring at the beautiful man before you. "You're such a sweet man, and I still don't understand how we became best friends in the first place."

"You don't like that you have a tall, dashing, and extremely sweet best friend?" Johnny grinned, moving his head forward.

"Hmm... I don't know. Do I?" You mused as you also moved forward, your lips almost touching his. "Maybe, maybe not. What will you do about that, Mr Suh?"

"Mmm," Johnny hummed as his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, closing in. "Maybe this."

With that, he captured your lips with his, both hands grasping your cheek while yours ran along his defined jawline. This was your first kiss with Johnny, a best friend you didn't deserve. And damn did Johnny taste amazing.

"Fuck," you muttered, moving your face away to catch some air, your eyes focusing on Johnny's own.

"Yeah. Fuck," Johnny echoed, and without hesitation, he pressed his lips against yours again.

For a moment there, you had completely forgotten all the men that were once in your bed, for you could only taste Johnny. And oh god, he was so intoxicating. He pushed you down against the couch and settled himself between your legs, his lips pressed firmly on yours. Your fingers immediately latched around the hem of his t-shirt and you could feel his muscles. Johnny slowly broke the kiss, his teeth softly biting the bottom of your lip.

"We should stop," he breathed against your lips.

"Or," your hand drifted down to his sweatpants, teasing the band as it slid past, "we could keep going."

Johnny chuckled, his fingers hooking to the back of his t-shirt, discarding it behind the couch. "Your pick, baby."

A moan escaped your lips as Johnny nuzzled his head into your neck, placing wet kisses along the way. His warm mouth started to work on your neck, his hands now busying themselves with the hem of your shirt. In an instant, your top was thrown elsewhere. As if like magnets, the two of you crashed your lips together once again, desperate moans filling the living room. Your hands tangled into his thick locks of hair. Johnny's mouth glided its way from your jawline to your collarbone. The hand at your side slithered upwards. A soft gasp erupted from your throat as his large hand massaged your breast.

"So fucking pretty," he cooed, his tongue gliding across the dip of your breast. His hungry eyes stared up at you while his lips traveled downwards until they reached the band of your short shorts, his hands trailing to your ass. He squeezed, evoking a long drawn-out moan from you. He peppered featherlight kisses down your waist, settling himself lower, between your legs. His brown eyes flickered to your glossy ones, and he gave you a teasing smirk. "Gonna taste so fucking good, kitten."

Before you could let out an approving sound, Johnny removed your shorts and underwear with swift movements. His thumbs gently traced your entrance, moving towards the sensitive bud, and he let out low, husky giggles at how wet you already were. He grasped your waist and pulled you close to his face, tongue darting out to play with the sensitive nub. A drawn-out moan escaped your lips.

"Fuck, Johnny," you cried, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed him down further to where you were soaked. His fingers gently held your hips, leaving marks on your skin. With him positioned down below, your legs spread wide in front, and your back against the couch, you were literally open and bare. A couple of fingers, his tongue or even lips could make you orgasm at any given time.

Johnny gave another small lap on your clit before his tongue slid deep into your inner wall, fingers doing a thing or two, a strangled sigh released. The first touch of Johnny's tongue on your core and the grip on the back of his hair grew tighter, arching yourself higher for a deeper angle. Johnny paused for a moment, hearing a faint buzz of a cell phone, deciding to let it go unread and attend to the beauty beneath him.

"Taste so sweet," Johnny grunted as your body writhed, his face coming up from your folds. His hands kept a firm grip on your thighs as he continued his assault, licking the pool of wetness, nipping your bundle of nerves.

"I'm gonna cum," you warned, already near the edge of the cliff. The only thing stopping you from reaching the end was the fucking annoying phone ringing from across the apartment. You reached over to where you thought the sound was coming from, and once your hand latched around your purse, you took it with you and shoved it beside you on the couch, digging around and immediately answering the call once finding your device. "H-hello?"

Johnny snickered softly at how quickly you answered the phone, and just as quickly, he dove back for more. He continued to focus on your folds and occasionally circled your clit with his thumb while he had you preoccupied. His hand on your stomach caressing and gently trailing up and down. He could feel your body shiver underneath the soft touch, your sounds being muffled while you spoke over the phone.

"Hang up the phone, or answer it more quietly," he growled under his breath, sucking your bud in for extra measure. He wanted to hear you scream his name but of course, you had to answer the damn thing and make things hard for the both of you. "Y/N."

"Mom?" You answered, covering your mouth so she didn't hear Johnny in the background. "Sorry, you caught me at the wrong time. I'll call you back, alright?"

Your fingers clicked the end call button without hesitation and threw the cell phone across the couch, your head hanging backwards and a deep sigh coming from your throat. Your toes curled, fingers threading through Johnny's hair again, arching forward at a soft lap and the flat of his tongue massaging over your whole cunt. His tongue penetrated you, as far as it would go.

"Fuck yes," you moaned, pulling your knees close to your chest. Johnny shifted underneath, letting you use his shoulders as an anchor for your feet as you grind against his face. Once you set the pace, Johnny used his own hands to finger your clit.

"Mm..." Johnny hummed into you, drawing circles on your clit with his thumbs and allowing the pleasure to take you. "That was hot, baby. Ending the call with your mom like that."

"I didn’t want her to hear us…" you trailed off. "J-Johnny, oh...shit," you moaned, back arched over the couch, gripping his hair a tad bit tighter, but Johnny couldn't be bothered by it. In fact, his other hand pressed tightly on your inner thigh, making your moans turn a pitch higher, a clear sign he was doing a fine job.

"Go on kitten, cum for me," Johnny panted as your body came closer to the end. You bucked your hips on him a bit quicker before you came, eyes shut with euphoria as your body fell over, your breathing heavily ragged.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, and once you had a second to calm your heart, the grip loosened to caress him, running along his broad shoulders until Johnny shimmied upwards. You sat up halfway and crashed your lips against his in a deep, fervent kiss, tasting yourself off his tongue.

"You didn't have to make me cum like that," you breathed, breaking the kiss, as you touched the base of his neck and pressed him close, his body firm and muscular to the touch. You smiled softly at his state of breathlessness, giving a gentle peck on his lips again before tilting your head on the shoulder.

"What are you gonna do when I need release?" Johnny teased, settling beside you and drawing you close with a pull of his arm.

"Maybe this?" You whispered as your hand ventured into his sweats and cupped his hardening length, causing him to inhale sharply.

"Maybe later," he smiled against your lips, your breath fanned softly along his upper lip as you giggled. "Right now, I just want to make sure my fiancee is satisfied... so that she can keep coming back to me for more."

"Is that a promise?" You bit the bottom of your lower lip as your hand continued to palm his length. "What if I want to have sex with other guys again, Mr. Suh? What if I want Jaehyun to fuck me as well?"

"Jaehyun, huh?" Johnny asked in amusement and shook his head. "Do whatever you want. As long as you come to me afterwards and let me fuck you till I can't no more."

"And if I want a threesome? What then?" you questioned.

"Let me take a guess. You want a threesome with me and Jaehyun. Am I correct?" Johnny grinned.

"Maybe..." you purse your lips as you gazed at him, watching the small smile curl up.

"Threesome or not. Just promise me one thing," Johnny murmured as he brought his fingers around the back of your neck to link his fingers behind and stare intently at you.

"Promise you what?" you tilted your head, somewhat confused.

"Promise me that I am still your favorite man and that you're gonna marry me," the taller man asked. "No matter what happens in the future. No matter how many men you hook up with, I need you to remember that you're always going to be the light of my life. Even if we end up adopting a child, or if we can't have kids at all. My future will always revolve around you, baby."

"Always?" you blinked and swallowed slightly, meeting his gaze.

"Always," he echoed as he leaned his forehead against yours.

Jaehyun sighed as he watched you go into your apartment next door. Stepping back into his apartment, he closed the door behind him, strolled back into the living room, and plopped back on the couch. He was aware of the tent in his pants, but he couldn’t just stroll into the bathroom when Mark was taking a shower just so he could get off.

You smelled so good. Hell, you felt good in his arms.

He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the pretty older woman next door. Jaehyun normally tends to sleep with girls around his age or a slight bit younger than him but there was something about you that made him want to throw caution to the wind. He didn’t care what it was going to be. It could have just been strictly sex, you could start dating, maybe he would fall in love. He just knew that he wanted to be in your life in some sort of way.

The question was, did you want him to be part of your life?

Ever since he heard that you couldn't have kids, he felt sad for you. It must've been emotional to hear that you couldn't have kids. He couldn't even imagine the look on your face if your female friends showed off their kids or even mentioned them.

"Oi, Jaehyun," Mark’s voice called out from the kitchen, the younger male running a hand through his hair. Jaehyun didn’t even know that Mark was finished in the shower. "You like Y/N, right?"

"What makes you think that?" Jaehyun asked, raising an eyebrow, making his way into the kitchen, taking the cup of coffee that the younger man handed him.

"Bruh, I just saw you kissing her," Mark narrowed his eyes at his roommate, before sipping his coffee. "If you didn’t like her, you would have let her go home to her apartment. But no, you had to go kiss her."

"You saw that?" Jaehyun asked in surprise as he followed Mark out into the living room.

"Yeah. Ya’ll better not be fucking in this apartment," Mark frowned, turning on the TV and scrolling through the channels to find something to watch. "It’s bad enough that I hear her have sex because of the damn thin walls, but I don’t want to walk in on y’all having sex."

"There’s no way she’ll have sex with me," Jaehyun lightly chuckled, grabbing his phone from his pocket. He was contemplating if he wanted to send you a text but thought better of it. He stuffed it back into his pants. "I’m sure she’ll probably have sex with Johnny."

"What makes you so sure?" Mark chuckled, elbowing him. "Seems like she was gonna jump you right then and there."

"Your vision must be shit, Mark," Jaehyun shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. "She wanted to get away from me from what I recalled."

"Bro, I was a bystander," Mark muttered. "Plus my intuition is usually correct. She's into you. You don't see it, but any other person can tell that she wants you."

"I just think she’s more into Johnny," Jaehyun shrugged, before leaning back on the couch. "He just seems more her type."

"Hmm...probably, but that doesn't mean that Y/N won't give you a chance if you ask," Mark responded. He nudged Jaehyun before a grin spread on his lips, "I'll support you. And if things get rocky, I got your back, bro."

"Thanks, bro," Jaehyun smiled, eyes turning towards the TV as silence filled the air.

Johnny thought you were joking when you suggested that the both of you should reveal the engagement to the whole company. When Taeyong called the whole company into the large auditorium, Johnny was a bit anxious about how everyone would absorb the news. With you by his side, he fidgeted with his tie and took deep breaths. Seeing this, you took his large hands in yours and leaned up to give him a small peck on the cheek.

"What was that for?" Johnny looked down at you, his eyebrows furrowed into confusion. It always amazed him how small you were compared to him. You weren't small per se, since you normally towered over all the other females in the company. You stood about five feet seven inches flat, and with heels you were a bit taller, but you always seem so small next to Johnny.

You looked up at him and gave him another peck on the cheek. "What is it going to take for you to be calm?"

"A kiss?" Johnny muttered, a boyish smile appearing on his face. You let out a small sigh before you stood on your toes and pulled him down a bit before you placed a small peck on his lips. He wanted a bit more but before he could react, your lips left his.

"Save it for after work, babe," you grinned as the two of you turned your attention toward the auditorium's entrance, where a crowd had started to form. Both of you waited with Taeyong until the auditorium was full. Everyone was seated, including all of the department heads and their subordinates. Your dad was sitting in the front row next to Mark, looking excited about everything. The atmosphere was busy as the employees all speculated, not knowing what was going on.

Once everyone was settled, Johnny decided that it would be the right time to walk onto the stage. You linked your arm into the crook of his, letting him walk you to the center of the stage. Behind you, Taeyong took hold of the microphone, to gather the audience's attention.

"Hello everyone! I would like to have your undivided attention please," Taeyong spoke out loud, gaining the employees' attention. Everyone quieted down, and they could now see that both Johnny and you were standing at center stage. "Thank you all for taking time out of your busy day to attend today's announcement."

Everyone murmured softly to themselves, all eyes focused on the stage. Johnny's hands became moist from all the pressure while your grip tightened on his arms, bringing you comfort. He looked down at you, bringing a large smile on his face, the mere action calming you as well.

"It is my great pleasure to tell everyone the great news," Taeyong continued before turning to look at the both of you, "our very own COO, Mr. Suh, and our amazing lady CEO, Miss Y/L/N, are getting married!"

Johnny couldn’t hear the chatter, since all he could think about was this woman next to him. This woman had complete control over his emotions, and she didn’t even know it. He felt you tugging at his arm, and when he caught your smile, he returned one of his own. The whole company started to buzz.

"You two look so cute!"

"Wow! They would make beautiful kids. Look at how gorgeous they are!"

"That’s our CEO! Smart and beautiful!"

"Mr Suh is so handsome!"

"Power Visual Couple!"

"Should the fanclubs unite now that they’re getting married?"

"We had fanclubs?!"

"Okay, okay everyone. Settle down," Taeyong called out as he tried to hush everyone. Once the auditorium started to hush down, apart from a few mutters here and there, Taeyong looked over to you and Johnny. "As I mentioned before, I called everyone down here so that we can congratulate and give our best wishes to the newly engaged couple. Congratulations to you two! We’re going to have a party, right?"

"That’s right," you smiled at all the employees, everyone clapping and excitedly whispering. "Thank you for all the good wishes everyone! Pick the place and time, and let the heads of your departments know. The food and drinks will be provided by Johnny and I."

Johnny heard the claps and the many cheers of how their boss was the best. He noticed Mark in particular was clapping rather loudly next to a smiling Jaehyun. Now that he thought about it, did you really mean that you wanted to have sex with Jaehyun?

"What are you thinking about?" You asked him, as you laid your hand on his upper arm. Johnny bit the inside of his cheek, keeping calm and collected before he decided to have his way with you in front of everyone. This woman didn’t know what her touches did to him. "Johnny?”"

"It’s nothing," Johnny smiled down at you, a hand coming to brush the hair away from your face. He bent down a little to give you a small peck on your forehead, hearing the audible awws from the crowd. He whispered in your ear, so softly that no one else could hear, but you did, of course. "Tonight. I can't wait to have you tonight."

You frowned as you watched Johnny rummaging through the dressers in his bedroom. After that little forehead kiss he pulled at the company meeting, you were feeling all hot and bothered by your tall best friend now fiancé. The day was over, and Johnny suggested that the both of you go to his apartment to just relax and watch a movie.

Sitting on his bed in just your panties and one of his t-shirts, you watched as the tall man pulled another t-shirt and a pair of sweats from the drawer. You watched as he unbuttoned his dress shirt, throwing it on the top of the dresser before throwing the t-shirt over his head. Johnny looked over to where you sat and crossed his arms, noticing that your eyes roamed his body. "Are you really just going to sit there and watch me undress?"

"You act like I’ve never seen you naked before, Johnny," you laughed as you nodded at his slacks. "Are you going to take that off anytime soon?"

"Only if you take off my shirt that you stole from me," Johnny jokes, as he throws his dress shirt in your direction.

"Nope," you snorted as you threw his dress shirt over your head so that your eyes were covered. You could see his blurred figure through the fabric of his shirt, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him naked. You sighed and removed his shirt from your head and threw it somewhere across his bedroom. "I’m going to the living room. Anything you wanted to watch?"

Johnny ran a hand through his hair, his muscles bulging against his shirt. "Anything is fine. I’ll let you pick."

You huffed and grabbed a pillow from the bed before heading out into the living room. Settling on Johnny’s couch, you turned the TV on and flipped through the channels to find a rerun of a drama that was playing. You brought your bare legs up to sit cross-legged, hugging the pillow that you took from Johnny’s bed.

Johnny walked out of his bedroom a minute later with a blanket and threw it at you. He headed towards the kitchen, opened his fridge, took out a bottle of water, and padded towards the couch, where he sat next to you. The taller male laid back, relaxing before opening his bottle of water and taking a sip. His arm automatically draped itself around your shoulder, dragging you over so that you could lay your head on his broad chest. Johnny stroked the top of your head and pulled you close to him. You cuddled against his warmth and let his hands stroke your hair, enjoying his warm embrace.

"So, what are we watching?" He nodded towards the TV.

"Another Oh Hae Young," you responded. "You know it’s a good drama."

Johnny picked up the remote to turn up the volume. "It’s an amazing drama. And the chemistry between the leads is electrifying."

"Oh, I agree. The kiss scenes are top notch," you responded back before looking up into his eyes.

"What are you thinking about? You know your mind is wandering, and you're not actually focusing on the show right now," he asked quietly, his tone soft and low.

"Well," you mumbled, sitting up so that you could look at Johnny, running a hand down his cheek, "I was kind of thinking about kissing you?"

"Kissing me, huh?" He answered, chuckling as your fingertips grazed his cheeks before grabbing the hand of the hand that ran across his jaw.

You nodded as his thumb traced the outer part of your palm before entwining your fingers together. His hand felt larger than yours. His eyes locked on you, leaning forward. You kissed the tip of his nose. You felt his breathing against the crook of your neck. Leaning even further, your lips just barely grazing his before pulling back. His breath caught, anticipating the softness and taste of your kiss.

"Do you like me, Y/N?" He suddenly whispered. "Or even love me?"

Did you like Johnny? You didn't even know. You felt so comfortable with your relationship with Johnny that you didn't even know what you were actually feeling.

You knew that you couldn’t have children, much less give him any, and he told you it didn't matter to him. He told you multiple times that he didn't want to settle down with some other person other than you, which was shocking in a sense, because you never thought that Johnny would ever choose you. He wanted to take care of you, to spoil you and show his affection for you, and only you.

Johnny didn’t care if the two of you didn't have a future with a family or having children of your own. All that Johnny cared about was being with you. No matter what, as long as the both of you were together, then it wouldn't be much of an issue to him. Even though your mind wasn't sure of how you truly felt, your heart, on the other hand, knew better than you did. Your heart wanted Johnny and to give into what the both of you already had, to deepen your friendship and feelings, and become closer as the years went by.

Johnny tilted his head down to look at you, and you found yourself looking up at him, feeling the intense warmth he exuded, his breath tickling your ear and neck. "It doesn't matter to me how you feel for me. I love you," Johnny confessed. "But right now...right now I want to make love to you."

Johnny loved you. Johnny Suh fucking loved you.

"Are you fucking serious?" was the first thing you responded to, your eyes searching his face for an explanation. "You love me?"

"I am," Johnny chuckled, his tone soft, his eyes lowering to look at the exposed skin on your upper legs and the t-shirt of his you were wearing that revealed more skin on your thighs. "I want you more than a friend. I want you as something more...and..."

He was silenced with the feeling of your warm and full lips colliding to his, crashing into him and taking him by surprise. Before he had the chance to react, you moved over his lap, your hands trailing through his dark locks and held his head as the kiss grew into a passionate and sensual kiss that neither one of you wanted to break. The touch of your hands sent chills running down his spine, ignited him and left him wanting to touch more of you.

"Y/N," he moaned as he felt the friction between your bodies. "Slow down, kitten..."

"Fuck," you breathed before biting his lip and grinding down onto him. "God, Johnny...why are you making me feel like this?"

"Like what, kitten?" Johnny asked, moving a large hand to rub your thigh. "Tell me exactly how I make you feel."

"Like..." You tried to respond, but you found yourself breathless, completely breathless, at just the way he caressed your skin with a mere touch of his hand. The light circles and tracing patterns on your thigh were driving you insane. Johnny kept a slight grip on your waist with his other hand as your hands fell onto his shoulders.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered in a deep tone. You bit the lower part of your lip and grabbed the collar of his t-shirt, yanking him forward to meet him with another kiss. His grip tightened around your hips, pushing you a tad closer as his mouth opened into a moan.

"I just need..." you trailed off and shuddered against his form as you felt his hands begin to move upwards underneath your shirt, coming around to palm the sides of your breasts, feeling and weighing their weight in his palms.

"Y/N..." he whispered as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. "I'm listening."

You remained silent for the moment and sighed with pleasure, letting his hands rub and tease the nubs. It had been a while since you felt these feelings, and you weren't used to having someone like Johnny give you this much attention and make you feel like the most desirable and gorgeous person in the world. Normally, you'd just have sex and get it over with; none of these sensual touches and foreplay like you had been craving for so long. It had been forever and a day since you had such contact, and when it was Johnny of all people, it really felt amazing.

"You're gorgeous, kitten," Johnny whispered into the hollow of your ear. "Tell me what you want."

"I just want...want you..." was all you were able to whisper out loud.

"What do you want?" he whispered back.

"Touch me," you commanded.

The sound of a muffled whine left your lips when Johnny pushed your shirt up over your head and threw it off to the side, his big hands rubbing against your sides, the warm heat from his skin melting through your bones.

"Touch you where?" he continued to pry for your answer, even when you were getting ready to fall over the edge. "Here?"

A finger rubbed at your clothed nub before rolling over it in circles, causing a quiet squeak to emit from the bottom of your throat. When Johnny gave another hard rub and flick against the sensitive nub, you knew that your panties were dampening from the teasing alone, the material sticking to your skin.

"Take them off," you softly demanded him and waited for Johnny to rip them off you. But instead, he turned the tables, his hands flipping your bodies around so that you were lying underneath him. You sucked in a quick gasp at the sudden change in the atmosphere, his towering and broad build leaning down over you, a single hand encasing the entirety of your tiny hip. "Oh, fuck..."

"You want these off?" he crawled down your body before laying the softest of kisses against your bare ankle and making his way up to your thigh. A soft whimper was your reply as your fingers gripped the cushion of his couch. He looked up at you with hooded eyes, his hot breath fanning against the apex of your inner thighs. "Want me to take these off with my teeth? Or my hand?"

His tongue peeked out past his bottom lip and dragged across the heated skin of your inner thigh and to your soaked and needy pussy that was practically crying to get his touch.

"With..." you whined softly, and then let out the lowest moan when his breath blew over your sex. "Fuck...Johnny."

"Yes, kitten?" he questioned as his lips met the band of your panties, teeth latching onto the material to pull it away from your skin. It fell over a few seconds later, the cloth dropping to your thighs, and he tugged it off with his hands. "There we go."

With your panties now tossed elsewhere, the feeling of his finger, slowly, agonizingly tracing the outline of your wetness, sent shivers up your spine. Just as quickly, he then pressed his mouth to the very top of your clit, the wetness of his tongue finding your most sensitive spot and sending your entire body into a writhing state of sheer need and desire for the man in front of you, the man between your thighs.

"Yes… just like that," you managed to pant out. Johnny grinned against you before flicking your clit with the very end of his tongue, pressing forward as his fingers roamed closer and closer to the source. Two long digits curled upward and entered you, stroking the gushing heat and taking it out with them as he moved in a steady pace, occasionally scissoring and crooking inside you.

"Holy shit..." he looked down at his fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, and he smiled, curling his fingers repeatedly and continuously stroking that one sweet spot, causing you to scream out and grasp harder. "Damn, baby… you're dripping down onto my couch."

"I don't...care..." you replied quickly, rolling your hips against his touch, moaning deeply. "Johnny...please...more. Please. Fuck..."

Johnny did exactly that. He delved his head back in, his tongue plunging past your folds to reach every corner, tasting you, drinking in your cries and pleads for more. As his pace against your aching cunt quickened, your back arched sharply, and your hips ground upwards to meet his wet and hungry mouth.

His two fingers turned into three, his palm pressed firmly against your mound, slapping your throbbing, sopping cunt, forcing you further down onto his hand and sending you closer and closer to the edge.

"You have...fucking gorgeous, god...tight pussy, sweetheart," Johnny murmured, sucking lightly on your clit, hearing your faint whines and begs for him. "I can't fucking wait until this pussy is wrapped around me."

He made quick motions with his hands, and with a couple more strums of his fingers and swipes of his tongue, your orgasm shot you higher than you were expecting, and as your back lifted itself off of his couch, you felt him smile as he swallowed every last drop from you, relishing the taste of your climax and cleaning off the thick coating of cum all along your trembling lower half.

"Holy fuck," your words fell onto the air at the sight of Johnny tearing off his shirt and throwing his sweats to the side. His body glistened from the small drops of sweat and the arousal he gave you, his hand wrapped around his thick, engorged member, giving a couple strokes up and down his long, impressive cock.

"Up for round two?" Johnny huskily whispered, your thighs open wide as your pussy gaped for his thick cock. Johnny wrapped his hands on your legs and slowly lowered himself inside you, groaning lowly as he pushed deeper within, spreading you apart, forcing yourself open to allow him to fill you to the brim, and as your legs wrapped themselves around his broad back, you heard him grunt once more and his hand took your cheek and kissed you. "So fucking tight, fuck..."

He was big. The biggest you ever had. Stretching your walls. Pushing himself until he bottomed out and was inside you so deep that it hit your cervix. His face hovered above yours, the very tips of his hair grazing the soft, plush skin of your forehead, and your breath was warm and wanting as your tongue traced over his upper lip.

Johnny moaned out deeply, holding back any amount of restraint that remained. "If I hurt you, please let me know."

"You could never," you reassured him, closing your eyes as his lips left yours.

With one swift motion, the only noise in his apartment was the soft, breathy moans coming from your throat, and the filthy sound of slapping and thrusting flesh. Johnny was lost, only listening to the heavy breathing and pants. Johnny grunted deeply as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed against your soft skin, leaving more than enough red marks along your collar and the column of your throat. Johnny whispered all manner of sweet nothings to the side of your head and held the entirety of your waist and breasts within the grasp of his hands. His hands moved to where the backs of your thighs laid within his palms, lifting your lower half higher, allowing him deeper and faster thrusts, while also placing a couple fingers onto the swell of your ass, giving it a soft slap.

Johnny thrust deeply in one quick motion, hitting the spots and nerves within you, the friction making every nerve in your body become electrified and sending you into a frenzy, crying for release.

"Right there. Fuck! Yes! God...Johnny! Right there," you breathed out loudly and arched yourself upwards against him, his body practically bending over yours to reach deeper, faster, to bring you to a higher place than what you had ever reached before, especially from another partner.

Your arms shot up to grab whatever you could grasp of Johnny, your nails leaving streaks and tiny cuts into his biceps, shoulders and forearms, wherever they would land. In the haze, he grabbed both of your legs, hooked them together under his strong arms, and propped himself up, going harder, his panting mixed with moans getting louder, and your breasts bouncing and clapping together as his hard length rammed into you with tremendous force, a force of such nature, bringing both you and himself into a heated mess.

"Holy fuck," he gasped loudly, almost nearing his own climax. "Come on...be a good girl for me. Cum around my dick. I want you to fucking milk my cock."

"Shit, Johnny!" you screamed loudly, practically breaking into a new high that left you floating in the clouds, the stars and everything else between.

"Fuck...yes...that's my good little girl. That's my baby girl," Johnny continued to thrust and ride out the rest of your orgasm. "Holy hell, sweetheart. Yes...fuck...come on, give me more. Milk my dick. Fuck."

It wasn't long until he hit his peak, spilling everything he had inside you, white hot and scalding. You whimpered and cried softly at the feeling and came undone a second time at the sensation. You breathed deeply, resting on the plush, velvety surface of Johnny's couch, covered in sweat and his essence, mixed with yours. His cock slipped from you, and the two of you spent the next half an hour cuddling with one another before deciding that taking a shower to rid your bodies from the stench of sex was an excellent idea.

The pair of you showered together in his bathroom, the rainfall shower head bringing some kind of serenity into your bones, as his gentle touches brought you back to life and to full energy. His fingers danced across your collarbone, shoulder blades, waist and the small of your back.

Johnny made you feel so alive. So content.

"Are you okay?" he quietly asked you, kissing your lips gently.

"I'm okay," you assured him, hugging his body close to your own and letting him wash your hair. "Johnny?"

"Mhmm," Johnny hummed in response as his long fingers massage your scalp.

"I love you too," you responded.

Jaehyun was overlooking the hustle and bustle that was taking place on set, a stack of papers tucked underneath his right arm. The sun was beginning to set, but they had yet to finish the last few scenes that needed to be done for the evening. After about two more hours, he could go home and relax with a bottle of beer and just sleep for the next eight hours.

It'd been a long month. A long, tiresome and shitty month.

Jaehyun nodded at the staff who passed by, answering the questions the production team was throwing at him and looking over the shots on the cameras. The directors had a couple issues with some of the extras on set today, but nothing major had come up during this scene.

Just as he was heading over to the tents to grab a water bottle to quench his thirst, something caught his eyes. You were making your way on set, checking in with the directors and writers on their notes for this episode, your own notepad in hand as you scratched the top of your head. Your hair was pulled up into a bun, and you had on a black sweater and skirt along with a pair of flats and a messenger bag swung around your shoulder. You had been working hard, the sleepless nights of working overtime beginning to show up in the form of dark circles around your eyes and an apparent lack of proper nutrition since you weren't eating and focusing solely on the project in front of you.

"Y/N," Jaehyun called, heading towards where you were standing, talking to the director.

"Oh, Jaehyun," you nodded. "I didn't know you were on set today."

"I guess I forgot to tell Jisung to let you know," Jaehyun laughed. "I'm supervising. We're finally in the last couple scenes."

"Oh, thank god," you rolled your eyes and placed your hand over your eyes. "I'm glad that the drama is doing good, especially since it's Seungeun's comeback drama after his military discharge."

"Everyone is loving the acting and storyline," he replied. "His female co-star is doing well too, despite this being her first major drama role. Her scenes are hilarious, despite how depressing some of the themes are."

"All in all, a successful drama, which means our companies did really well this comeback," you answered, looking towards the camera crew setting up a close-up on another female cast member. "When are you done? I was thinking of dinner for the crew today. And yourself, if you like."

"About an hour or two," he nodded. "Thanks for the offer."

"Anytime."

You waved him goodbye and walked towards your next location on the set. Jaehyun tried his hardest not to stare and sighed. Jaehyun should probably ignore these feelings, because you were currently Johnny's fiancee and would eventually be his wife one day. You wouldn't even notice his heart pounding in his chest at the thought of you with Johnny. You weren’t his. And you never would be.

Jaehyun shook the thought of you with Johnny away and went back to monitoring the set. He'd see you, in some other life or universe and sweep you off your feet. But in this life, there was nothing else he could do but try his damnedest not to think about it anymore and just carry on with his day.

Done with his tasks and helping the cast and crew get ready for the evening shoot, Jaehyun met up at the restaurant where everyone was. When he walked into the restaurant, you were talking to the owners, thanking them profusely for the large amount of food and drinks they brought out and offered for tonight. Jaehyun went to sit next to Jaemin, an assistant writer at the company, and listened to the staff compliment one another for their hard work and efforts on the show and praise Seungeun and his female co-star for their emotional performance.

You were laughing, sitting across from him, eating your wrap of samgyeopsal, munching happily on it. Jaemin elbowed him and nudged him to get him back to reality. "Earth to Jaehyun. Do you copy?"

"Huh? Oh...sorry, I just spaced out for a bit there," Jaehyun laughed, shaking himself. You didn't appear to have heard Jaemin, since you were in your own world, eating and talking with the other staff. "Anyway, sorry. What were you saying?"

"Nothing much," Jaemin answered. "What's got you all distracted tonight? Something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing," Jaehyun laughed, embarrassed. "Don't worry. I'm just a bit tired."

"Hang out with the guys tomorrow?" Jaemin asked, handing him some kimbap. "Jungwoo said something about wanting to hang out with you and Mark."

"Sounds good to me," Jaehyun nodded, downing his drink. "Do you know what everyone else is doing?"

"Hang on, lemme check in the groupchat," Jaemin's phone buzzed, and he handed it to him. "Here."

The next few hours were spent eating, drinking, and being merry. Despite the exhaustion and stress from his own job, this was probably what Jaehyun really wanted and needed. It was nice and cool in the spring weather. The perfect weather, he must say.

When everyone left, and the evening grew colder, you and Jaehyun waved everyone goodnight, the two of you the only ones left standing at the entrance of the restaurant. You shivered and wrapped your arms around you tightly and frowned, hating the chill.

"Would you like a ride?" Jaehyun kindly asked you. "We live in the same building, after all. No trouble at all."

"You sure?" you asked him, laughing and looking up at him with a smile. Your laugh was filled with pure joy, making him wonder for the millionth time that week why the fuck he was falling for Johnny's soon-to-be wife.

"Yeah, no problem, really," he said. "Come on. The car is this way."

You laughed softly at his words and fell into a comfortable silence, walking by his side in the direction of his car parked a little down the street. He held open the door and locked it once you got situated, putting his seatbelt on and waiting a second before driving off to the direction of the apartment building. The city lights were twinkling in the background.

You looked at his handsome profile in the dark. You saw a gleam of longing, a mix of emotions swirling in his eyes. You noticed his arm resting on the center console between the both of you as the car gently stopped at a red light. The moment felt like it was pulling you together, closer and closer to him.

You didn't know why you did it. Didn't know why you grabbed his hand, placed it on your thigh and drew gentle circles on the skin of his hand.

He wasn't expecting it and glanced in your direction, the words catching in his throat. “Y/N?”

"Yes?" You whispered back to him.

He squeezed the soft skin beneath his hand and watched as you responded with the smallest gasp of air, and then, there was no sound left in the quiet car besides his pounding heartbeat as you pressed his hand closer to the apex of your thighs, wanting more from him.

"Should we be doing this?" he whispered to you, even though he never took his hand away from you and instead cupped his hands harder onto your thigh. "Shouldn't this be Johnny's place?"

"Don't you want this, Jaehyun?" you asked him breathlessly. "Don't you want me?"

"More than anything else." He had almost answered immediately. "But I don't know if I could ever have you."

Jaehyun wanted to pull himself closer to you, draw himself and your mouth in closer, a mishmash of sensual tongues and touches, wanting more of the needy mouth begging for something more. Jaehyun wanted it to happen. More than anything.

"Please, Jaehyun. Touch me please..." your breathless gasp escaped your throat as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Make me feel good. It's okay, trust me."

With the city lights illuminating the space within the car, Jaehyun immediately brought his eyes on you, searching for any trace of fear or panic or discomfort at his advances. Seeing none, instead finding warmth, desperation and want in their place, Jaehyun slid his hand upward towards your throbbing pussy, the dampness through your leggings rubbing against his finger.

"You sure?" he repeated again and groaned deeply at the scent of your arousal filling the car.

"I want you. Want this," you said. "Make me cum on your hand."

As if Jaehyun didn't expect for things to get intense as quickly and as fast as they had, he had reached a point where there would be no turning back. It had always been there, this desire, and craving that was on his mind since you entered his life.

"How badly do you want me to touch you, sweetheart?" Jaehyun asked lightly, pushing a small circle into your aching clit, bringing his mouth closer to yours and placing a lingering kiss. "I'll ask again. Tell me what you want from me."

"Want...fingers," was the best answer he could make out of your gasps and moans, as he pushed the fabric to the side and lightly grazed the wetness pooling at your lips and dripped into his fingers. He had to focus on the road but dammit, Jaehyun can only manage so much, but fuck did he try his hardest to focus.

"Since you asked so nicely..." His finger began rubbing lazy circles on your sensitive, little nub, watching as you clenched and tensed around his one digit. Jaehyun curled his finger upwards, stretching your tight and warm pussy open as you moved and buckled under the pressure. "...Fuck, you're sucking in my fingers so damn well."

The way he touched you was electric. Jaehyun held one hand steady on the wheel, the other driving his fingers in and out of your eager cunt, and with his thumb, he rubbed little, tiny circles in an agonizingly slow pace, causing you to nearly whimper at his touch.

You could not recall anything else beyond that point. Only the touch, his gaze, and the friction brought on by the intense desire built within the past minutes.

You came harder than you expected, coating his fingers and palm, the smell of your sex filling the cabin of his car. It took every ounce of strength to keep the car moving to its destination instead of crashing into a pole.

And by the time he pulled into the parking garage, your core was gaping and sopping with its juices. A sight he couldn't possibly forget.

Removing his fingers from your pussy, you watched as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean. Jaehyun licked them one-by-one, licking his lips before pulling back.

"Thank you," you gasped out, the rush and energy surging through your veins. You cupped his cheeks in your hands and kissed his lips. You climbed out of his car, smoothing down your skirt and fixing the loose hairs from your bun. "Goodnight, Jaehyun."

"Goodnight, Y/N," he repeated quietly as he watched you walk up to the elevator to head back up into the building.

Jaehyun probably lost his mind there and then. And he couldn't wait until the next time that the two of you were together like that once again.

Johnny looked up when he heard the sound of the door opening, and he raised his hand in a greeting wave and stood to embrace you.

"There's my baby," he softly hummed, peppering kisses along your face and neck. He hugged you to his chest, inhaling your familiar scent, and nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

"When did you get here? How was work?" You smiled into his chest, feeling his fingers undoing your bun and running his fingers through your hair. It was a nice feeling, a sensation that you did not want to go away. "I thought you would be at your apartment tonight."

"Nah," he pulled away slightly so his lips hovered over yours. "My bed's not as warm as yours, and my apartment is cold, so..." Johnny dropped a couple of kisses onto the edge of your mouth and whispered. "It's a lot nicer at yours anyway."

"Oh really?" you smirked and cupped his cheeks, leading him to a trail of open mouthed kisses and light moans.

Johnny's hand trailed to cup your ass, pressing you to the length of him, bringing you back to him. His mouth claimed yours hungrily, desperately as though it had been days since the last time the pair of you touched. His fingers found the edge of your panties, already drenched. "Oh? So wet already? What were you doing before this?"

You couldn't lie to Johnny, not when he knows how your mind worked. It's the small things he's picked up throughout the years. The slight quirk of your lips, the twitch of a finger, the slightest flush of color or twitch of an eyelash and Johnny knows. "Jaehyun gave me a ride home after dinner...he had a couple of fingers knuckle deep."

He nodded his head and licked his lips. "Did he make you cum?"

"Yeah," you choked, eyes widened, feeling his fingers toyed with you, two fingers pushing into you, pumping in and out at a languid pace, torturing the bundle of nerves.

"Did you like it? The way his fingers thrust into your tight and dripping cunt? Did you like cumming all over his thick, long fingers?" Johnny asked you in a whisper, brushing his lips onto your jaw and neckline. "Did you do anything else? Fuck, kitten, you're still so wet."

"No, Johnny," you cried out and trembled and whimpered, as his fingers grazed over that spot inside you. "Just...only fingers."

"Good baby," he softly crooned. "You can have his cock later but first..."

He didn't have to finish that sentence. You were ready. More than ready for anything and anything from him.

Jaehyun sat in the coffee shop with his friends and fellow coworkers, Doyoung and Jungwoo. They were all working on their laptops, but Jaehyun couldn't focus. He kept thinking about you. He’d had feelings for you for a while now, but he didn't know what to do about it.

"Hey, Jaehyun," Doyoung said. "Are you okay?"

Jaehyun looked up from his laptop. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Just a little distracted."

"What's up?" Jungwoo asked.

Jaehyun hesitated. He didn't want to tell his friends how he felt about you, but he knew he needed to talk to someone. "I'm having feelings for Y/N," he said. “Well…I don’t know if I would really call them feelings. I like her, and I just want to explore these emotions with her.”

Doyoung and Jungwoo looked at each other.

"Shit," Doyoung started, his eyes wide. "The boss?"

"That’s…" Jungwoo muttered. "Hyung, you must have a death wish."

Jaehyun sighed. "Yeah," he said. "I know it's kind of weird, but I can't help it."

"It's not weird," Doyoung said, letting out a sigh. "It's perfectly normal to have feelings for Y/N. I mean, we’ve all seen her. The woman is fine as fuck."

"Yeah," Jungwoo said. "Who doesn’t agree with that?"

"Come on, guys," Jaehyun muttered. "I just can’t have these feelings for her when she’s engaged to Johnny."

Jaehyun hadn’t ever gotten this involved with someone he worked with. He always kept his personal life separate from work, but you changed everything he ever knew about love and his whole outlook on the relationship dynamics in his life. He’d never even had any feelings for the few people that he had slept with, but now he wanted to hold you in his arms. He wanted more of that fire and passion that you had within yourself. Jaehyun was addicted and craving more of that passion and want. He wanted to have a relationship and possibly a future with you.

He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to make love to you and hear his name drip from those delicious lips. Jaehyun knew all these feelings and desires weren’t a good thing. He was afraid that he would have to pretend to hide his affection for you in the office because he was your employee, and he didn't want anything to happen at his job. Even though he was aware he might get fired for expressing his desire for you, he would love to take those chances with you, if you would ever take him.

But then there was the reality. The reality of the situation and where you were with Johnny. He had no business trying to get in the middle of your relationship.

"Even so, what are you gonna do about it?" Jungwoo asked, sliding back in his chair as he slurped the last bit of his coffee through a straw. "Just ignore those feelings, hyung? That's not gonna work forever."

"I'll figure it out," Jaehyun sighed heavily. "It'll go away. It has to go away. Eventually, it will go away, and things can return to normal."

"Keep thinking positive," Doyoung snorted, sipping the rest of the warm, frothy beverage he had before tossing it into the nearby trash bin. "You never know what might happen."

"Look," Jungwoo added in, "there's nothing wrong with liking the boss. You just have to make sure you do something with those feelings or they could end up boiling to the surface. Take advantage of whatever chance you can get, man. Before she gets married or anything. Okay?"

Jaehyun took a deep breath. "Thanks, guys," he said. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," Doyoung said. "You know that we're always here for you."

"Definitely," Jungwoo nodded.

Jaehyun smiled back. "Thanks," he said. "And let’s keep this all a secret from everyone in the office. Only Mark knows."

He took another deep breath and opened his laptop. He knew he had a lot of work to do, but he felt a little bit better knowing that he had his friends to support him. After an hour or so, the three of them decide to head back to the office building.

Jaehyun was heading to his office when he was stopped by his co-worker, Yeri. Yeri was a very pretty girl, and most of the male colleagues would have loved to date her. They would definitely put a lot of effort and attention towards her if it meant a chance with the young, hardworking woman.

"Jaehyun," Yeri said, "I need to talk to you."

"What is it?" he asked, turning to face her.

"I've been trying to call you," she said, playing with the hem of her blouse, "but you haven't been returning my calls."

"I'm sorry," he said, hands in his pockets, "I've been busy."

"I know," she frowned, "but I need to talk to you about something important."

"What is it?" he asked again, looking at her face.

"I like you," she said after a brief silence.

Jaehyun was taken aback. He had never thought of Yeri in that way. He didn't even know if he had any type of interest in her. "Yeri..." he began, but she interrupted him.

"Jaehyun, please give us a shot," Yeri urged, looking deep into his eyes and she couldn't stop the words from pouring out, "I really like you, and I think we could be good together."

"I'm flattered," Jaehyun muttered, "but I'm not interested."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice coming to a slight whine. Was she going to become an emotional mess?

"I'm sorry, Yeri," Jaehyun was saying. "I'm just not interested in you that way."

Yeri looked heartbroken. "But I thought we had a connection," she said.

"We do," he said, "but not the kind of connection you're thinking of."

"I don't understand," she said. “You flirted with me, and I flirted back. I thought that meant something."

"I flirt with everyone, be it men or women. I like you as a friend," he said, "but I'm not interested in anything more than that."

Yeri looked like she was about to cry. "I see," she said. "Is it because you like someone else?"

Jaehyun nodded his head. She let out a small whine before turning and walking away. Jaehyun felt bad for hurting her feelings, but he knew he had to be honest with her. He wasn't interested in her in that way, and he didn't want to lead her on.

He continued on to his office, hoping that Yeri would be able to move on.

Jaehyun sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen in front of him. He should’ve been working on the report that was due the next day, but he couldn’t seem to focus. Ever since you and Johnny announced your engagement, Jaehyun had been trying to drown out his emotions, but lately, he'd been feeling like he couldn’t ignore his feelings anymore. He'd been dreaming about you at night, and he couldn’t stop thinking about you during the day. He knew that he should’ve just forgotten about you and focused on his work, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on his work, but it was no use. He couldn’t concentrate. He knew that he needed to do something, but he wasn’t sure what. He could’ve just told you how he felt, but he was afraid of rejection. He could try to forget about you, but he knew that it would be impossible.

He was stuck in a dilemma, and he didn’t know what to do.

Why was it so hard to stop thinking about you?

There was a knock at his office door. Jaehyun briefly looked up to see Johnny coming into his office. Johnny lifted a hand in greeting before pulling a chair to sit on the other side of his desk. "Hey."

Jaehyun looked up. "Johnny. What's up?"

"I just wanted to talk to you about something," Johnny said. "It's important."

"Okay," Jaehyun said, his heart starting to race.

"I know you like Y/N," Johnny said, a small smile on his lips.

"What?" Jaehyun felt like his whole body had been doused with ice water.

"You heard me," Johnny said. "And before you get all panicky, it's fine. I don't care. Well, not really. I'm not gonna fire you, if that's what you're worried about."

"How did you know?" Jaehyun croaked out, swallowing hard.

"I've seen the way you look at her," Johnny said as he let out an amused chuckle.

Jaehyun didn't know what to say. He was speechless.

"I'm not going to lie," Johnny said. "I'm a little jealous. But I also know that you two would be good together."

"Wait. What?" Jaehyun looked at Johnny in shock. "You want me to go after Y/N?"

"Yeah," Johnny said. "And not as a one-night-stand."

"I..." Jaehyun started, but then trailed off.

"Look, I know this sounds crazy, but just think about it," Johnny said. "Y/N deserves someone who will love her and take care of her. And you clearly have feelings for her. So why not take the leap and make it happen?"

"I don't know," Jaehyun responded, completely lost for words. "Y/N is your fiancee, though."

"Of course she’s my fiancee," Johnny said, running a hand through his hair. "Don’t get me wrong, I love her. But if she wants to see and sleep with other men, who am I to stop her? As long as she’s happy, then I’m happy."

Jaehyun was stunned. He had no idea that Johnny and Y/N’s relationship was so...unconventional. He knew that Johnny definitely had feelings for you. Jaehyun caught him looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. So Jaehyun didn't understand why Johnny was okay with sharing you.

But the idea of being able to have sex with you, maybe even a relationship with you, was tempting. It was so tempting that Jaehyun couldn't help but imagine you underneath him, moaning his name while he fucked you. He was getting aroused just thinking about it.

"You really want to share your fiancee with another man? With me?" he questioned him, swallowing nervously.

Johnny nodded his head. "Like I said, I love her. I want her to be happy. If letting her sleep around and have other boyfriends makes her happy, then I'm all for it," he said, leaning forward in his seat. "Besides, I can't say I'm not curious about how you would be as a boyfriend to her."

Jaehyun shifted, the swelling under his pants starting to hurt him. Johnny caught a brief glimpse of him trying to discreetly hide the growing bulge.

"So, what do you say?" Johnny asked. "Do you want to go out with her?"

Jaehyun sat for a while. It all seemed too good to be true. Here was Johnny, practically giving him permission to fuck his fiancee. It all felt like a dream come true. But a small part of Jaehyun was skeptical. Was there more to it than Johnny was letting on? Or was Jaehyun overthinking the situation?

But his mind had wandered somewhere else, and it made Johnny laugh aloud.

"Looks like you do want to fuck her," Johnny chuckled lightly at him, noticing the size of Jaehyun's member starting to swell in his slacks. "Who am I to deny your pleasure?"

"Ugh, shut up," Jaehyun groaned, shifting his body uncomfortably. He was glad that his office door was closed because he didn't want anybody seeing his erection. "But...okay, I'll...think about it."

"Great," Johnny nodded his head in satisfaction and stood up, clapping his friend on the back. "Take care."

Jaehyun breathed slowly, thinking about what Johnny just told him.

There was a part of him that knew that Johnny could be playing him. But there was also a part of him that thought that he might actually have a chance with you. It was a risk worth taking. Jaehyun was eager enough and couldn't hold himself back. Even with a throbbing boner and in the middle of working, you filled his thoughts, even more than before.

"You want me to do what?" You blurted out, looking at him from your office couch.

"Date Jaehyun," Johnny grinned.

You were surprised when Johnny told you to date Jaehyun. You weren't exactly expecting to hear it, but you had to admit you were curious. You and Johnny had talked about opening up your relationship, and you thought he might have been interested in seeing someone else, but you never expected him to suggest Jaehyun. You weren't sure how you felt about the prospect of dating Jaehyun. You definitely found him attractive, and you couldn't help but admire how sweet and kind he was to you. But the idea of pursuing an actual relationship with him was still somewhat overwhelming. You loved Johnny, and the thought of being with anyone other than him, made you slightly nervous. However, a bigger part of you was incredibly excited by the prospect of having a boyfriend other than Johnny. You could only imagine how good the sex would be between the three of you, but you tried to put those thoughts out of your head for the time being.

You chewed your bottom lip and hesitated.

"I can see that look, babe," Johnny mused, licking his lips. He rubbed the outside of your thigh, trailing his hands along the hem of your skirt, slipping his hand underneath and sliding his hand upwards. You inhale a soft gasp of air, clutching his arm. He watched your expression and gave you a smirk, dragging his pointer finger against your already sensitive bud and folds through the damp cloth of your panties. "Just say it. You want this too. Don't you?"

"Mmmhmm," you moaned and nodded, leaning closer into his side.

"Thought so. Is your pretty brain thinking about Jaehyun fucking you?" He asked in a seductive tone, a light purr in your ear as you whimpered when his fingers ghosted across your panties once more, circling over your clit with one digit. He moved the pads of his two fingers along your clit.

"Fuck," you cursed lowly, nearly giving a moan.

Johnny continued to tease you, applying more pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You moaned out loudly, unable to stop yourself as you moved your hips slightly to match his ministrations, rutting yourself against him as he continued to tease and torment your already leaking clit. A thin string of liquid formed along the cloth of your panties, wetness clinging to the pads of his digits. His actions caused you to squirm in your seat, his gaze darkened with lust as he watched your reaction, mouth open slightly at the sensation. You shivered, hot breath escaping your throat. Your fingers dug deeper into the sofa, nails breaking the fabric.

"Such a good little kitten," Johnny's deep and smooth voice trickled like a smooth glass of red wine sliding down your throat and ignited that warmth in the pit of your belly. It traveled downward, mixing with the intense sensation, amplifying everything, spreading from within and filling you. His voice sent another wave of pleasure through you, your body involuntarily writhing from under him.

"God, that's so sexy," he murmured, bringing his fingers up to his lips, tongue licking them before tasting you. The wet, squelching sound coming from his mouth was making your face flush.

You pouted, unable to help it. "Not fair..." you whined.

Johnny smiled devilishly. "Go find Jaehyun. When I left his office, he popped a boner in his pants." He sucked his fingers clean from your wetness, humming. "Go and get it, baby."

You hesitated at first, still unsure if you were really okay with the idea. After a few moments, you nodded, and Johnny took hold of your wrist gently and led you over to his office. The building was nearly deserted since everyone had gone home for the day except you, Johnny and Jaehyun. So there wasn't anyone who would see you make your way to Jaehyun's office. Once you and Johnny got to the door of his office, Johnny looked at you and leaned down.

"Have fun," he whispered in your ear, placing a quick kiss on your forehead before turning and leaving to wait in his office, giving you and Jaehyun some space.

You stood outside of the door, butterflies swarming inside of your stomach, nerves getting the best of you. You let out a shaky breath before lifting your fist, knuckles rapping a steady knock. Jaehyun called from inside for whoever was there to come in, and you let yourself into his office, closing the door softly behind you.

You swallowed thickly, taking in Jaehyun. He was sitting at his desk, his hair a little mussed, and his cheeks had a dusting of pink on them. When he looked up at you, his eyes darkened slightly, and the breath caught in his throat.

"Y/N," he started, his voice thick, "what are you doing here?"

"Johnny asked me to come here," you started, voice wavering slightly.

He noticed your voice, raising an eyebrow in slight concern, but not saying anything as you took another step forward towards him.

"Well, more accurately..." you bit your lip, noticing the swell in his slacks. You walked up to him, before dropping to your knees, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"Y/N, what are you..." he cut himself off as you settled between his legs.

He was at his full hardness. There wasn't any room for anything else to grow down there. You ran a hand on the back of your head, sweeping your hair over your right shoulder before leaning in, tentatively taking the zipper of his slacks in hand.

He didn't protest, simply watched you in silent awe as you slowly unzipped his fly, hissing at the release of the pressure. His boxers were strained, the elastic pulled tight, creating a nice outline of the appendage underneath. You reached in and grabbed his hard dick through his boxers, slowly pulling them away from his waist, exposing the throbbing, angry member to the cool air.

His erection was red and veiny, standing straight, ready for attention, almost pulsating. The head was angry, almost purple with want. It had a slight curve upward, and you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel. How thick it was. It would definitely stretch you out, that was for sure. You began to move your hand up and down the length of him, gripping tighter as he gave you a quiet groan. You picked up the speed slightly, his length beginning to drip with a clear liquid that was slightly sticky, your hand coating the slick substance, using it as lubricant to ease the movement along his shaft.

"Jaehyun," you called out to him, his cock throbbing, feeling harder and heavier now as his hips began to rut against you, jerking and stuttering, not able to control the movement. He gave a grunt, and you could tell that he was trying to stay quiet, despite the sensations that were running throughout his body, not wanting to alert anyone of the activities that were going on behind his closed office door.

"Jaehyun," you repeated.

He opened his eyes to look down at you, his eyebrows knitting together as he gazed down into your eyes, almost pained that he wasn't the one to touch you, to be the one to make you fall apart.

"Let me please you, Jaehyun," you asked, voice coming out breathless, a slight rasp to the last word. "Wouldn't you like me to suck your cock until you're satisfied?"

"Fuck," he grunted.

He watched your hand grip the base of his cock as you lowered your lips onto it. A shudder ran through him as you let your tongue circle the head, slightly flicking it around the top and collecting the precum that was there, swirling it in a mix of spit, forming a perfect lubricated layer to smear around his head. Your grip tightened a little as you sucked the tip and began to move your head downward, trying to relax your throat. You allowed him to hit the back of your throat, gag reflex causing you to tighten slightly, sending a delicious thrill of pleasure up and through Jaehyun's member before you slid back up to the tip, letting your teeth lightly scratch his skin.

"God, don't bite," he gasped, not able to stop himself from moaning, "not there."

"Sorry," you giggled and teased before lowering down onto him once more, tongue slightly pushing against the veins that wrapped around the thickness. They were quite prominent, and you had no doubt that your throat would be thoroughly used by the time you were done.

"Fuuckkkk!" He let out a moan.

You didn't need a mirror to know that you looked obscene, Jaehyun’s cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly, strings of your own saliva slipping out of your mouth, a light film coating his cock every time you pulled back. His member had a visible pulse, twitching against your hand as he would press his hips upward. He tried his best to let you set the pace, but he was close. His hands tangled themselves into your locks, pulling you forward, impaling your mouth down as far as possible as he pressed his hips upward roughly.

Tears filled your eyes as you choked, noises escaping your nose and throat, not being able to breathe as his cock hit your uvula, gagging you as you struggled to pull away. But he held onto you firmly, fingers intertwined into your hair, as he continued to rut against you.

"Ah. God. Fuck. Just a little bit more, princess," he moaned, hips still jerking uncontrollably as you remained trapped underneath his hands.

He finally gave a low groan, the vibration vibrating against his erection, pushing him to climax, and he shot warm ribbons of cum down the back of your throat and onto your tongue, swallowing the semen as he pulled out with a loud pop.

As you looked up at him, eyes half-lidded and a bit of a smile on your swollen and bruised lips, your cheeks a nice shade of pink, a dribble of cum falling down the corner of your mouth, you saw the satisfaction evident on his face. He looked as though he couldn't believe what just happened.

He was looking at you, not with disgust, but amazement. Like you were the most stunning piece of art he had ever seen. His cock twitched, the feeling of being milked starting to stir it up again, as you noticed his member was already starting to harden back up.

"Oh?" You breathed out, biting your lip. Back on your feet, you decided to give Jaehyun a bit of a show, unbuttoning your blouse, pulling it open and revealing a lacy black bra underneath. "You're already hard again, hm?"

Your hands traveled downwards, finding their way to the button of your skirt. You released the closure and let your skirt fall to the floor, giving him a teasing display of your panties that matched the bra.

"Fuck," he ground out, and then you were in his lap, facing him. "You drive me crazy."

"Do you want me?" you asked.

His dark eyes clouded with desire and want, looking you up and down hungrily and possessively as if he was a starving man who'd just been served his most desired meal. "Yes," he rasped out. "Fuck, yes. I want you."

You nosed at him playfully, fingers curled around the hem of his white shirt, tugging it up and over his head and dropping the material unceremoniously beside him before turning your gaze on him again, your grin mischievous.

"Kiss me, Jaehyun." It was an order, but you had spoken with such sweetness, making him grow hard.

Jaehyun brushed a lock of your hair away from your face, then placed his large hands on either side of your neck. Slowly, he inched his face towards yours, stopping when there was but a millimeter of space between your lips. He waited there, anticipation building between you. He let his eyes roam over your features, taking in every detail, letting you take in every detail of his own.

There were no sounds other than the ragged breathing.

"Why me?" He questioned. "What is it that made you pick me? You have Johnny. Isn't it enough?" His lips were centimeters from yours. The tension between you was thick, electric. He could sense something like fear radiating from you, causing him to pull back. "Answer me," he demanded, but his tone was gentle.

"Because there's something about you Jaehyun," you replied, eyes finally opening. "Since that day you kissed me, I can't seem to forget the feeling," you whispered. Your words hung between you, his mouth mere inches above yours, lips still not touching. "I know I should be satisfied with just Johnny, but I have this strange need, this aching curiosity, that makes me want you so badly."

“And Johnny?” Jaehyun muttered. “What will he do if he knows about this?”

“Johnny doesn’t mind,” you answered. “Trust me.”

"There's no going back for the three of us, you know," Jaehyun replied hoarsely.

"Are you okay with it, Jaehyun?" You asked. "Okay sharing me with Johnny?"

"Are you okay with having the both of us?" He countered.

"Yes," you nodded, watching his face, gauging his reactions and trying to read what thoughts coursing through him. His heart hammered in his chest, and a heat burned deep inside him, threatening to consume him, as he processed the fact that the woman he wanted - the woman he had dreamt about and fantasized about and coveted - actually wanted him as well. “I like you, Jaehyun. I really, really like you.”

Jaehyun tilted your chin, holding you so you were looking directly into his eyes, his pupils dilated with lust. He cupped your face and claimed your lips in a long, fierce kiss, tongue begging entrance. You whimpered against his mouth and opened wider for him, gasping at the rush of pleasure that coursed through you. You needed to feel closer. His hands roamed down your shoulders and back, gliding over every inch of skin. As he trailed them up under the cups of your bra, teasing and circling the sensitive mounds, you moaned softly in his mouth. Your hips arched instinctively, desperately seeking friction against the erection beneath his pants. He moved his hips, creating friction between you, and you ground yourself harder into him. The sound you made in your throat had the effect of an electric current running through Jaehyun, fueling his passion, and his kisses grew fiercer.

When you eventually broke away from him to catch your breath, he lowered his head and pressed light kisses along your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, and goosebumps rose in response to the feeling of his soft lips on your flesh. He had one hand on your hip, the other behind your head, keeping you steady as he sucked your collarbone. He bit gently on the skin, making you inhale sharply. Your breasts pressed against his broad chest, making him ache and throb inside. His hand traveled from your hip around to your front, toying with the lacy material between your thighs.

"Fuck, you're soaked, princess. Is this because of me?" He asked gruffly, causing you to whimper. You bucked your hips, trying to rub your aching core into him.

He dipped two fingers under the fabric, teasing and running them along the wet slit. The tip of a digit brushed over your sensitive clit, eliciting another groan. Jaehyun groaned as he inserted one finger and swirled it inside you, teasing and taunting you. You gripped him, crying out at the invasion of the single digit inside you. He added a second, stretching you to the limits, and you rocked your hips up, burying his fingers even deeper in your velvety folds.

"Fuck. So damn wet," he cursed. "Your juices are dripping out." He thrust his fingers into your hot passage faster, watching your reaction. He reached back up with his free hand, pulling your bra down over your tits, the cold air against your hardened buds, pebbling them. He thumbed them, sending shivers of delight throughout your body. Your spine arched, bringing your sensitive nipples into contact with his calloused thumb.

"Ah, ah...yes..." you moaned.

As soon as he removed his fingers, you were pulling off his belt buckle, freeing his throbbing erection from its fabric prison. When it fell to the ground, the two of you shared a brief moment to look at each other.

"Bend over the desk." His voice was soft, though rough, and you were sure the fire in your loins had somehow transferred itself into the smoldering depths of his dark pupils.

You eagerly complied with the order, placing your palms flat on his smooth oak wood desk and jutting your ass out towards him, causing him to let out a soft chuckle. The anticipation was almost more than you could handle. You felt him guide your legs further apart and run his length between your sopping pussy folds, spreading the moisture as he teased your cunt with his leaking cock. He bent over, leaning on his forearms, pressing against the small of your back, his cock dragging your slit, flicking your clit ever-so slightly and sending shocks of pleasure through your spine. His fingers slowly worked their way underneath you, teasing your nipple and breast while his lips sucked on the crook of your neck. His tip positioned itself against your entrance.

"Y/N," he moaned in a muffled, lustful groan, right next to your ear, "I can't hold back any longer."

He entered you agonizingly slowly, feeling the slow stretching of your cunt walls stretching out as his member passed.

"Fuck, Y/N. So good and wet," he breathed heavily.

It was only when his head brushed your cervix did you release the moan you'd been holding back and relax your tense muscles. He wasn't as big as Johnny, but he still managed to stretch and fill you, and you gripped the sides of the desk until the knuckles were white. It took some adjusting until you got used to his size before Jaehyun slid almost completely out, leaving just the tip buried within you, only to sink back, making your whole body quiver. You gasped and tried to stop your vision from spinning.

He groaned with each thrust, and you gasped again, moaning loudly as your walls started tightening. Soon enough, Jaehyun was slamming into you. One of his hands came up to knead your breast as you continued to brace yourself against the desk. He fucked you so deeply that you feared your legs would fail you. You had no idea that your moans would get louder and louder until they echoed all around you, bouncing off the walls, interspersed with his grunts of effort and exertion. You couldn't contain yourself as his cock slammed into your g-spot with every thrust.

He picked up speed, moaning as he began fucking you wildly, the smack of skin hitting skin filling the office. Your pleasure was overwhelming. He growled when you screamed out your orgasm and arched into him, crying out in ecstasy.

"Fuck," you choked out through the sensations.

"Tell me that I'm making you feel good, princess," Jaehyun murmured.

You whimpered. You had no control left over; everything had been taken by him. With every thrust, the way his balls slapped against your swollen clit had you in a trance. Every thought that had crossed your mind before disappeared. Only you and Jaehyun remained. You felt like your life depended on you reaching this level of ecstasy. And that, somehow, was terrifyingly arousing to you.

"Tell me how good this feels for you, sweetheart." His voice had a sensual quality that seemed to stir something deep inside you.

"Good, so good..." you trailed off when you felt your pleasure increase, if that was even possible. "Please, Jae, please keep doing that." Your words spilled from your lips in a whimpered prayer to him as he leaned his chest against your back.

"Look at you," he breathed heavily into your ear. "Taking me so well... My cock fits perfectly inside of your tight little hole."

The pleasure was coming faster and faster, waves of ecstasy drowning every sense except hearing, every muscle tense. Every cell of yours craved, hungered, and ached for him to never stop, to never stop pleasuring you in that way, to never stop talking dirty in that tone.

"Gosh, you feel so tight around me," he gritted through his teeth. And then, after what seemed like a lifetime, his thrusts became erratic, uneven, losing rhythm. "Fuck princess, I-I think..."

"Cum in me, please, please," you begged, body trembling at the edge of the cliff, just waiting for Jaehyun to bring you over it. He leaned forward, fingers digging into your skin.

The way he groaned his climax made your orgasm surge, ripping through your body as your muscles quivered violently. You felt his warmth spread inside of you as you tightened around him, his seed seeping out as his hips continue to roll forward into your own. He let out a drawn-out breath, your eyes shutting closed as he pumped his warm seed deep inside your tight hole.

"Good girl," Jaehyun smirked, leaning close to your ear and pressing soft kisses on your shoulders.

He helped you straighten up and turn around. When you were facing him, he pressed his forehead against yours and smiled lovingly, cupping your cheeks and brushing away strands of your hair that had fallen into his face. He cupped the nape of your neck, his thumb tenderly massaging circles. It was a small movement, but somehow, it spoke a thousand words to your exhausted mind.

"Beautiful," Jaehyun breathed before brushing his lips over yours. They felt firm and plush against your mouth, and your breath hitched in your throat, his closeness leaving you breathless.

The two of you stood there for several minutes, breathing each other in, neither one willing to break the embrace. The steady rise and fall of Jaehyun's chest was comforting, as was the steady beating of his heart, which you could clearly hear from that close. You didn’t want to move. Not yet. Eventually, however, Jaehyun realized that standing naked in the middle of his office might not be a very productive use of his time, separated himself from you, and started searching for the articles of clothing that had been stripped from his body earlier.

A smile tugging at the corner of your lips, you watched him work his way back into his clothes, putting each item on, one by one, until he had completely redressed. He smiled at you the whole time, an adoring expression upon his face. Once done, he turned back around and faced you, one eyebrow raised as he cocked his head at your immobilized form, a smirk appearing upon his face.

"Well," he started, amusement coloring his tone. "Aren't you gonna start getting dressed, too, princess?"

"Oh," you stated, a sudden rush of embarrassment flowing through you. You nodded before scrambling for your discarded clothing. You quickly pull on your underwear and skirt before picking up your blouse. As you were buttoning up your top, you turned towards Jaehyun, still smiling fondly.

"Hey," he smiled back. "Come over here, will ya?"

You looked into his eyes once again and walked closer. He put his hands on the back of your waist and pressed a soft kiss against your lips. Then, he pulled away a bit and looked deeply in your eyes, whispering, "I'm looking forward to seeing where this leads us."

"Took you two long enough," you heard Johnny comment as you and Jaehyun left his office. He glanced toward the both of you, eyeing the blush that was spreading across the younger man's cheeks.

"It took a bit longer than expected, unfortunately," you offered, leaning back into Johnny, arms sliding around his waist. "And I'm famished now."

"Let's go get dinner," Johnny suggested. "Jaehyun, are you joining us? Or have you already got plans tonight?"

"Nah, I'll join," Jaehyun nodded. "There's something the three of us need to talk about after all, so let's do this."

"Then what are we waiting for?" You questioned with an arched eyebrow. "I want to eat."

With that, the three of you left the building together and headed down to a local steakhouse that was owned by a friend of Johnny's. It was always quiet there, and the atmosphere was calm, allowing for good conversation. Johnny liked it there, and you thought the food was okay, so you didn't mind. The meal was quick but pleasant; the conversation light and fun, with Johnny and Jaehyun having a good time chatting together and occasionally including you.

"So," Jaehyun cleared his throat awkwardly when you were finishing up your dinner. "Now what?"

"What do you mean, 'now what?'" Johnny asked curiously.

"I think he means the future for the three of us," you interrupted softly.

"Yeah," Jaehyun replied slowly. "Yeah, that's exactly what I meant. At the end of the day, she's your fiancee, Johnny."

Johnny went silent for a moment and stared intently at his wine glass. "Like I said, I don't mind sharing her with you," he repeated himself after a bit, swirling his wine thoughtfully.

"I don't know," Jaehyun admitted sadly. "It's just that, it's a lot to get my head around."

"I get that," Johnny nodded, shooting his younger employee a reassuring glance, "but just know, I really am okay with it." He turned his gaze to you, fixing you with a piercing stare that caused your cheeks to heat. "Don't you want this, kitten? Don't you want Jaehyun too?"

You swallowed hard and looked down, then back up, meeting his stare with a determination to speak your truth. "Yes," you confessed with a strong voice, nodding once. "Yes, Johnny, I want you, and I want Jaehyun."

Johnny's lip curled upwards into a smirk. "See? She wants you, she doesn't want to be with just me," he said confidently. "Jaehyun," his eyes narrowed, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, "can't you see she wants both of us equally?"

The younger man ran a hand nervously over his face. "Fuck, okay," he conceded, breathing out an exasperated laugh. "This is really happening? She gets to have two guys? Really?"

"Of course," the oldest assured. "Don't tell me that you didn't enjoy what you got from her, hm?" Johnny reached across and placed his hand on top of your own, fingers curling around your knuckles. "Think of it this way. Y/N gets all the love and devotion we have to offer while you and I build a strong friendship," he pointed out.

Jaehyun arched a skeptical eyebrow, but then, as you watched, a slow smile spread across his face. It seemed as if Johnny had gotten through to him, because Jaehyun sat back in his chair, a relieved expression written plainly across his features.

"Okay," Jaehyun responded after a minute. "Okay." He drained his wine in a single gulp and shrugged, then shrugged again before finally nodding. "Why not, right? It can work," he added after a beat. "We can make it work."

"Great," Johnny stated happily. "Well, then," he addressed the waiter. "I think we're all ready for the bill."

It was near midnight when the three of you arrived at your apartment. Jaehyun wanted to part with you there, since his apartment was next door, but he hesitated at the door, glancing toward Johnny.

"Why don't you join us, Jaehyun? Come stay at my apartment tonight," You reached for his arm, pulling him closer. You tugged on his lapel, eyes focused on his tie pin and his shoulder and pecs.

"Kitten, really now," Johnny's chuckle resounded beside you. "You just fucked earlier and you're still not satisfied?"

You shook your head. "Of course not, why else would I ask him to join us?"

Johnny scoffed with a chuckle, nudging Jaehyun on the arm playfully before they both entered your place, closing and locking the door behind them. You watched Johnny remove his dress shirt and belt as he headed toward your bedroom, the fabric and leather discarded haphazardly along the way. You caught a glimpse of his half-naked torso and the ridges of his abs before he disappeared from view. Jaehyun stood rooted on the spot, mouth parted slightly.

You grabbed his hand and began to guide him towards your room, not wanting to wait any longer than necessary. Jaehyun looked momentarily dazed as he was being pulled along, and he barely made a noise before you shut the door firmly behind you and pushed him onto the bed. He sat, uncharacteristically obedient, staring at you as if you were something untouchable as you stood before him, hovering just out of his reach.

Johnny was seated at your desk chair, shirt off and shoes already discarded, legs spread wide open and arms leaning back behind him casually while his pants were undone. A prominent bulge poked through. "Why don't you take care of Jaehyun, kitten? I want to watch how he fucks you," he mused, cocking his head toward the younger one, an almost imperceptible smirk appearing on his lips.

"Yes, Johnny," you obliged with an eager smile. "Jae," you said slowly, almost whispering, running a finger down his jaw. He inhaled sharply. His body is stiff beneath your touch. "Take these off." You gestured at his suit and watched as Jaehyun began removing the items of clothing slowly until he was lying only in his boxer shorts, exposing all the dips and lines in his abs.

Johnny let out a low, pleased hum. "Jaehyun, why don't you sit further up on the bed, your back against the headboard?"

Jaehyun wordlessly obeyed without a second thought, sitting up against the pillows, waiting patiently.

"Now, kitten, strip and go ride him," Johnny commanded.

Without missing a beat, you unbuttoned your blouse and cast it aside. Next, you removed your panties and your skirt. With bated breath, both men observed how you crawled towards Jaehyun, gently straddling his legs before stopping right in front of his covered dick, causing him to let out a low moan.

"Good," Johnny breathed, his hand slowly cupping his erection, eyes never leaving your form. He leaned back further in his chair, tugging down on his pants. "Kitten, keep going," he encouraged you. "Make him feel good."

Jaehyun groaned at the sudden lack of friction between his legs. You placed two hands on either side of his waist, leaning forward, capturing his lower lip between your teeth before sliding down the waistband of his boxers. Jaehyun squirmed, unable to hold back the noise in his throat as you lifted yourself back up, resuming your straddling of his bare, thick cock. You placed one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself and then slowly lowered yourself onto him.

Jaehyun sucked in a sharp breath as he felt himself stretching inside you, filling you. Once you were fully seated on him, he groaned loudly, leaning forward to kiss you passionately. Your breath hitched at the fullness of him. He started rocking his hips, slow thrusts sending shivers down your spine as he kissed you feverishly. The ache that had been growing in your core suddenly intensified.

"Just like that," Johnny remarked from the side, hand stroking his hard shaft leisurely.

As the pace picked up, and as Johnny kept making more encouraging comments, Jaehyun found a rhythm between his hips and your own, riding against yours. "Look at you, riding me so nicely," Jaehyun breathed huskily against your lips. You let a moan escape, giving into the pleasure.

"Fuck," you managed to whimper. His hands drifted toward your breasts, kneading the tender flesh and nipples in his palms as he thrust faster, groaning as you tightened around him.

"God, you feel good," he murmured. "Your pussy feels incredible wrapped so tightly around my cock." He lowered his head and kissed you fiercely, and you reciprocated immediately, tongues exploring each other's mouths. He continued kissing you furiously as he held you close to him.

Jaehyun then decided to switch your position so that you were facing Johnny's direction. Johnny's hand gripped his cock tightly at the base. He continued watching you riding Jaehyun while pumping his length, eyes fixed upon the bouncing of your breasts.

"Shit, kitten," Johnny cursed under his breath, grunting quietly as he stroked himself to the sight of you and Jaehyun in the throes of ecstasy. "Seeing you riding his cock so beautifully makes me wanna fuck your face, you know. Would you like to suck on my cock, kitten?"

"Mmm, yes, Johnny," you moaned. "Please, let me suck your cock."

He rose from his spot, kicked off his trousers and boxers altogether in one move, and approached the bed. He placed himself near your head, inches away from where Jaehyun and you were connected. "Go on, kitten. Open wide and put that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock." He commanded, presenting you with his hardened cock.

You leaned forward slightly, bringing your mouth closer to Johnny's awaiting member. You didn't hesitate, reaching out and wrapping one hand around his base, feeling the warmth of his cock against your palm and opening wider as you ran the flat of your tongue along his sensitive vein. Johnny sucked in a ragged breath before taking hold of your head, holding your head in place. His thumb caressed your cheek briefly, and then you wrapped your lips around his swollen cockhead, tasting pre-cum leaking from his slit. His thumb grazed your lips and chin, brushing the remnants of his release away as it mixed with your saliva. You worked your way up and down his length as much as you could in your position. The moans escaping Johnny's mouth spurred you to suck harder and faster, driving Jaehyun crazy behind you.

"Fuck, you're sucking me so well, kitten," Johnny praised, throwing his head backwards in pleasure. He looked down at Jaehyun's thrusts below you. "How's she feel, Jae?"

Jaehyun peered upwards, managing to mumble something along the lines of "fucking fantastic." You clenched around his shaft as he rocked steadily into you, bringing you dangerously close.

"Does this feel amazing, kitten?" Johnny asked, a tinge of amusement to his tone. "Feeling that dick drive deep inside your wet pussy?"

"Yes Johnny, ohhh," you managed, rocking forward onto Jaehyun's shaft again. "Feels soooo good."

"Mmmmm, that's what I like to hear," he purred. "Kitten, are you gonna come for us?"

Your words were trapped in your throat. Everywhere Jaehyun's hands touched felt hotter, and every thrust pushed you a bit more towards the precipice of oblivion. With Johnny's encouragement, your hips started rolling faster. Jaehyun grasped onto your sides and slowed his movements. You let out a desperate, frustrated moan around Johnny's thick cock.

"Fuck, kitten," Johnny grunted through gritted teeth, hips jerking up into the motion you've started. "Swallow my cum." His release tasted salty against your tongue as his warmth spurted deep into the back of your throat and trickled down, pooling onto your tongue and gathering at your bottom lip. You swallowed several times, taking everything he gave you, enjoying the taste and feel of his essence flooding into your belly and then savoring the lingering bitter flavor lingering in your mouth and nose. Johnny slid his cock from between your lips and knelt to capture your mouth with his. He gripped the back of your neck roughly while devouring every inch of your lips. "Mmmm, such a good little slut for daddy," he mumbled, sending waves of tingles straight to your aching cunt.

"Holy shit," Jaehyun panted, rolling his hips a few more times before he slumped forward against your body, burying his face against your back. "Fuck, you feel too good."

"Yeah, she does," Johnny agreed. "Come on, Jae. Make her cum. Make my fiancee cum." He teased a finger at your swollen nub, circling with the faintest amount of pressure as he whispered a sweet praise into your ear. "Your pussy looks fucking divine stretched around Jae's dick." You could feel your pussy throbbing uncontrollably in response. His fingers found the small hole that had been neglected until now, and you gasped aloud when he dipped them into you, scissoring them while Jaehyun's cock kept thrusting in and out of your pussy.

His voice low, Jaehyun let out a shuddering cry of relief, "Fuck, princess, I'm gonna fucking cum!"

He grunted once before releasing inside you, filling you as Johnny caught you as your body goes limp, overwhelmed, and trembling from the force of your climax. Jaehyun was still for a moment, catching his breath, before he pulled himself out. Johnny lifted your form onto his lap and kissed you deeply, drawing moans from your mouth.

You felt him prod your entrance as his tip kept pressing forward, entering, invading, filling up until his entire length was buried deep within you, stretching you deliciously.

"Oh fuck," he hissed, "still so tight after Jaehyun had his fun with you."

Johnny held your torso against his chest. You wriggle desperately against him as his cock drives even further into you. "Please," you whined desperately. "Please," you repeated. "Need more."

"That's it," Johnny spoke seductively. "Let me fuck your brains out, kitten. Beg me to pound your little slutty hole." His balls slapped rhythmically against your slick skin, and it was too much. But it also wasn’t enough. "Do you want Jae to fuck your pretty little ass, kitten?" Johnny prompted huskily, running a soothing hand down the back of your thigh. "Is that what you need?" He rocked his hips slowly but steadily, increasing the intensity with each thrust. "Need both our cocks stuffing your holes?"

You nod feverishly, trying in vain to swallow a whine. Your skin was prickly with sweat, and your pussy was absolutely dripping, when he pulled out and set you on your knees. Jaehyun wasted no time kneeling behind you and lining his thick cock with your tight hole before thrusting inside slowly.

"Damn," Johnny groaned approvingly, smearing the head of his dick over your lower lips. "Your ass just swallowed him like it was made to be used like that." You moaned helplessly, the filthy noises muffled as he bit into Johnny's shoulder. "Tell me how he feels inside your ass," he coaxed.

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Feels full."

Johnny gave a light tug on your hair. "Yeah? Do you like having his dick shoved up your ass?"

A rush of heat rushed through your veins when you mumbled, "Yes."

"Tell Jaehyun how his dick feels in your ass, kitten. Talk dirty to him."

"I love the way your cock fills me, Jae," you sobbed. "Love the way your huge cock stretches my ass. And I love being fucked like this by you and Johnny."

"Good girl," Johnny praised as he and Jaehyun thrusted in sync. The sensations were indescribable, the two dicks spearing your pussy and asshole simultaneously, pounding deeper and harder. Both of them alternated their paces, one pulling out, the other plunging in.

"So gorgeous," you heard Jaehyun gasp hoarsely from behind. He was breathing raggedly into your ear, hands clamped tightly around your breasts, kneading as he plowed harder. "So fucking gorgeous."

"Such a good little slut for her daddies," Johnny agreed, nipping at the tip of your earlobe while continuing to relentlessly thrust. "Are Jaehyun and I, your daddies, kitten? Are we?"

Your arms felt like jelly, and all you could do was lean limply into Johnny, barely able to manage a coherent response. The only sounds that leftyour mouth were whimpers and gasps and sobs and whines of pleasure. "Fuck," Johnny hissed between clenched teeth, quickening his pace. "Say that you are, baby girl. Say it, or Daddy won't let you cum."

"Yes. Yes, daddies, please, please make me cum," you babbled, unable to resist. You writhed helplessly against his chest, forcing the last ounce of your energy into the act.

You could sense both men growing more restless behind you, and the desperation in their movements increased rapidly as they pounded their cocks frantically into you. "Gonna fill you full of cum," Johnny warned with a rasp, nipping the back of your ear sharply. "Gonna make you scream."

Jaehyun groans loudly in your ear, sucking your flesh into his mouth before letting go of it. He could feel him tightening within, his cock spasming before filling your ass with streams of semen as he slumped on the top of your body.

Johnny groaned as well, pushing in deep. With a shudder, you felt hot cum coating every inch inside, leaking out, flowing into your womb, filling you, gushing and gushing. His thick, muscled thighs twitched repeatedly while spurts continued filling up inside. Jaehyun pulled out his limp, spent cock, collapsing on the mattress below. Your hips spasmed against Johnny's crotch as he gripped you tightly, bucking several more times.

"Damn, look at the mess, baby," he gasped out, stroking your belly slowly. "Look at my messy little kitten." A stringy mixture of their seed spills down, trickling over your trembling thighs, as both cocks ease out and eventually slip free of your body.

Johnny hands a towel to Jaehyun so that you both can clean up quickly. "Fucking hell, our baby really takes us both like a champ," Johnny laughed quietly. He smiles at the younger guy beside him. "I'm glad you agreed to this, Jae."

The younger male returned the smile before crawling on the bed next to you and laying there exhausted. He ran a lazy finger down your arm. "She looks very pleased."

You nodded with heavy lidded eyes. "I am. Very pleased."

"Rest, pretty thing. We will take care of you, don't worry," Johnny said gently, laying down beside you and tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You inhaled sharply at his sudden closeness and soft touch. Jaehyun stretched out on the other side, curling into you. They took turns placing tiny pecks on the small expanse of your back and shoulders before drifting to sleep themselves.

The next few months were spent exploring and venturing deeper into your relationships. First, it started off as taking turns, one week it was Jaehyun and one week it was Johnny. But as the days and nights started dragging, you eventually suggested having both of them. And that was how your time was usually spent. You couldn't bring yourself to decide on who you spent more time with as you'd find yourself missing the other person terribly.

It was the perfect dynamic; you needed both men, craving each of them constantly, equally, and with the same level of passion. Each of your partners brought something different and special, providing unique opportunities for adventure and excitement in different ways, and the best part was that it was always enjoyable for all parties.

You were sitting at your desk when you felt the rush of bile rising in the back of your throat and immediately dashed towards the bathroom, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. A knock resounded from the door.

"Boss?" Jisung called out in a muffled voice, "Are you alright?"

You wiped your mouth with some paper tissue, flushing the toilet and making sure everything in the bathroom was as pristine as usual before opening the door and walking out to the young man. "Sorry, just a stomach upset," you smiled, even if you were a little dizzy.

Jisung gave a subtle frown. "Okay..." he responded in uncertainty and handed you an orange-tinted folder, "Taeyong-hyung wanted me to pass you this. They're drama and movie considerations for Ms. Dream's next project."

You took the file and tucked it under your arm. You felt sick, light headed, but you kept pushing past. "Thank you, Jisung."

"Do you want me to make an appointment with the doctor?" He suggested worriedly, noticing how pale your skin tone was. "You probably ate something bad, a tummy bug perhaps..."

You shook your head no, rubbing your belly for a second before going straight back to your desk. You had no clue about what it could have been. It could have just been something simple and nothing that could be of worry.

However, after a week of nausea and vomiting, you decided to take matters into your own hands and booked a doctor's appointment after work. You wanted to check it out. As expected, you arrived earlier than necessary and were guided to one of the examination rooms and left alone. It was ten minutes later when a female physician walked in the room and shut the door after her. "Good afternoon, Y/N."

"Good afternoon Dr. Kang," you smiled, albeit tiredly.

"How are you today?" she asked with genuine interest. Dr. Kang had been your physician for as long as you could remember, and you trusted her completely with your health issues. She was one of the few doctors that took care of you when you had your accident ten years ago.

You tilted your head for a moment, thinking of your answer before telling the truth. "Well, to be honest, I don't really know what the cause of this is," you replied, voice nervous as you began telling her the events of what occurred last week and the weeks leading up to it.

"Have you been sexually active? Any sexual contact in the past four or five weeks?" She questioned with a serious tone.

You were unsure whether you should answer honestly or not, but she was a physician after all. What happened inside a professional practice would remain between her and her patient and vice versa.

"Yes," you nodded and replied meekly. Your hands unconsciously rubbed your belly. "With two men."

Dr. Kang smiled gently at your answer, unfazed by the revelation. "Oh?" she inquired gently. "I suppose I can rule out other illnesses..." her voice trailed off thoughtfully. "Well then, shall we check you out?" She gestured towards the chair nearby.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling nervous and wary about getting examined so suddenly, but Dr. Kang noticed this immediately, and, in her typically soft, caring tone, tried to reassure you. "Don't worry," she chuckled warmly. "I promise this isn't anything bad. I just need a urine and blood sample, and we'll know soon what's causing these symptoms." She paused, her eyes traveling briefly over your figure. "Did the symptoms start before or after you slept with both of them?"

"After," you responded instantly, looking at her curiously, still curious and unsure at the same time.

"And how long has it been since you've been sleeping with either man?" She asked carefully.

"A few months," you mumbled. "About four, I think?"

"That would explain it, then," she replied nonchalantly, making note of something on her chart. When she spoke again, the words came out rushed, almost excited. "Have you taken any pregnancy tests recently, Y/N?"

"Why would I?" you asked. "Dr. Kang, you were the one who told me I could never have a child after the accident and due to complications."

"Yes, I did," she was speaking slower now, drawing out every syllable, clearly hoping for the reality to settle in for you. "But what I'm wondering, Y/N, is whether it is possible that somehow, the accident didn't rob you forever, and that by some chance, there might still be a tiny possibility that you could have children."

You look down at the palm of your hands, mulling over her words and trying to contemplate her hypothesis.

Dr. Kang seemed to sense the unease in you and gently continued. "Do you want to run some tests, Y/N?" She leaned forward, her posture giving you a firm but friendly appearance.

"Yes, please," you whispered, swallowing down the lump forming in your throat. "Whatever the tests are, please perform them."

After an hour or so of running the appropriate blood tests and taking samples of urine for the laboratory tests, Dr. Kang came back with news: you were indeed, with a very strong chance of certainty, pregnant.

You opened your mouth to speak, but closed it quickly after finding yourself unable to find the right words for such a thing. Your fingers started fidgeting unconsciously with the sleeve of your sweater, rubbing it up and down anxiously as the reality settled within you and your mind.

You didn't think it was possible anymore, having given up all hope for motherhood after the accident and the complications that followed.

"Congratulations," she said warmly, giving a sincere smile. "You are going to be a mother, Y/N."

You were so lost in your thoughts, her statement falling on deaf ears. The shock hadn't quite set in yet, and a variety of emotions and questions raced through your head. However, a huge weight was lifted from your shoulders, since you no longer needed to ponder about what could have been, whether or not you could have children. For whatever reason, you were still able to conceive a child after all this time. You found the courage and strength in the universe to carry a new life, grow life in you.

"Will it be... a healthy pregnancy? No issues from the accident?" You asked timidly.

"There may still be some problems here and there throughout this pregnancy and possibly after. We're going to monitor your vitals regularly during your first few months, to make sure both you and the baby are staying healthy and safe," she continued carefully. "Make sure not to get stressed, be mindful and considerate of your needs and exercise regularly. No raw meat, no sushi, and no alcohol. Understood?"

"I understand," you agreed firmly and exhaled deeply.

"And if you must have sex, wear a condom, and no rough sex," Dr. Kang added a gentle reminder, waving her pen around in a chastising manner before marking things down on her paper. "Though from the looks of it, I am sure your partners will not be reckless nor risky towards their future offspring."

You gave Dr. Kang a grateful nod as the woman led you out of the medical room. She bade you farewell before returning to her other patients, and the day went on, completely unchanged for anyone else in the building, though for you, the world looked far brighter.

"Can I tell you two something?" you asked one night as you lay between two gorgeous men, who looked at you with fond gazes and curiosity.

Johnny smiled gently, lifting himself up slightly to look down at you, and Jaehyun paused, hand slipping down to rub the dip at the base of your spine.

"We're listening," Johnny replied tenderly as he stroked the side of your face.

"Well," your lip curled up slowly, "you guys are going to have to handle me more delicately."

The men stared at you, a little perplexed, as you grabbed their hands and placed them on the lower half of your belly. Their expressions turned to surprise and confusion at once, which was kind of amusing.

"Care to explain, princess?" Jaehyun arched his eyebrow.

"Yes, sweetheart, please, because we are really dumb right now," Johnny chuckled nervously.

"I'm pregnant," the words were surprisingly easy to say, despite all of the trouble that had gone into finding out the truth about the mystery symptoms. It was like lifting weights off your shoulders, relief washing over your heart. The confession made your throat dry, but the words also poured out so easily and swiftly from your mouth, as though they had just been waiting there, patiently and steadily, the whole entire time.

The silence that greeted your words was deafening. Neither Johnny nor Jaehyun spoke as their minds tried desperately to wrap around this. And then, Johnny took a deep breath. "Oh."

"Really, Johnny," you laughed heartily, placing a hand against his chest, patting him in a reassuring manner, "Oh?"

Johnny closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "Holy fuck," he breathed out. "After all this time; when we both thought you couldn't..."

"I know," you patted his cheek. "I'm surprised too." You shifted slightly and pressed a soft kiss onto his mouth. "Surprised and happy," you continued in a low, husky whisper as you turned your face and repeated the same gesture on Jaehyun. His fingers slowly dug into the flesh of your hips, and his chest shuddered beneath the warmth of your own. "I don't know which one of you is responsible," you admitted quietly, voice becoming softer, more meek. "But the only thing I know now is that I'll be carrying our child."

"Jesus," Johnny murmured. He shut his eyes tightly. "We're going to have a baby." He sounded overwhelmed. He sounded relieved, astonished, and amazed. You smiled against the top of his mouth. "I can't believe it." His eyelashes tickled the bridge of your nose.

Jaehyun stayed quiet for a long while, causing you some concern as his warm embrace held you tighter and his lips touched the spot between your ear and temple, pulling you deeper into the hug. You pulled away, slightly frowning. "Jae, are you ok?"

He stayed silent for another moment, not saying anything before his mouth cracked, and his face lit up as a dazzling smile broke out over his features. His eyes were full of happiness, dancing brightly. "Of course," he said softly, sounding proud and breathless, "how could I not be when the woman I love is pregnant? I know you've struggled with infertility for a long time, yet you were still granted a miracle."

"Will you both be mad if neither of you is the father?" you asked as you looked up at Johnny. "Will you still love and want to marry me if Jaehyun is the dad? And vice versa?"

"No, sweet girl, I'll always want you. Always," Johnny whispered, cupping the side of your face gently and kissing you lovingly. "Even if Jae is the one who fathered the baby, I still want to spend the rest of my life with you. To share our family with each other. I will raise Jaehyun's child as if he is my own," Johnny promised solemnly.

Jaehyun cupped your face with both of his large palms. "We are the luckiest men in this world, having someone like you love us both."

You giggled into his palm when you remembered Dr. Kang's final instructions for sex. "The doctor said you can't be too rough, and you have to wear condoms now."

"Fine, anything for our kitten," Johnny grinned brightly, capturing your lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. He felt euphoric, your baby, a small part of your combined efforts, your combined love, would grow into a complete little human being inside your body.

An adorable mix of the three of you.

Months passed, and you were as big as a planet. You looked bigger than you anticipated; but then again, Dr. Kang did say you were having twins. Two babies growing inside your body simultaneously was quite an experience and took quite the toll on you, both mentally and physically. You didn't quite enjoy the extra weight, and the swollen ankles were annoying. On the bright side, your lovers couldn't get enough of pampering you, feeding, bathing, and even massaging you. Jaehyun especially would insist upon touching and rubbing your body as much as he could. He just adored rubbing his palms across your big stomach whenever he got the chance. Johnny also grew much more protective in your later trimester and fussed non stop.

You were at a checkup with both of your partners when Dr Kang confirmed that you were having a boy and a girl. To say all three of you were surprised would be an understatement, and the sudden surge of joy was immeasurable. After an hour of listening to the heartbeat of your children and another round of thorough questioning from both Jaehyun and Johnny, Dr. Kang smiled warmly.

"Do the three of you want to know the paternity now?" Dr. Kang asked.

"Is that possible?" you asked, your question laced with equal amounts of concern and surprise. You wondered if there were any machines to figure out such things.

She nodded once. "It's easy." Dr. Kang jotted notes down on her chart before getting up to prepare for another blood draw. When the doctor had finished administering it, she had drawn enough samples from both Johnny and Jaehyun and ran tests quickly for each of you, so it was not long before a full report had appeared in her hand.

"Oh, this is a surprise," Dr. Kang muttered as she scanned the details with her eyes.

"A good one? A bad one?" Your heart thudded rapidly. This was the moment of truth for everyone.

"No," she looked up, grinning widely. "Very good one, I should say. Both men are fathers."

"Are you serious?" Johnny stuttered, shocked at the reveal. He swallowed hard. He wasn't expecting this result.

"Does that mean-"

Dr Kang cut Jaehyun off, "Yes," her smile broadened. "Both of you, biological fathers."

"How the..." Johnny's voice trailed off, not understanding the entire situation.

"Female bodies are incredibly mysterious when creating new life," Dr. Kang said as she shrugged her shoulders. "It's rare, but not impossible, for you to release two eggs in the process, rather than a single one as is usually the case. And because you had sex with two men at the same time, which, by the way, is incredibly irresponsible of you given your delicate condition," Dr. Kang glanced briefly at each person individually before finishing her explanation, "both eggs were fertilized and are developing successfully. Congratulations." She chuckled before scribbling some last-minute notes onto the paperwork attached to the file.

"You both are going to be the best dads in the world," you turned and beamed brightly. "Now whose baby is whose, I want that to be a surprise."

"I bet the baby girl is mine," Johnny wiggled his eyebrows teasingly.

"Nah, the son will be yours," Jaehyun insisted strongly.

"Good god," you shook your head, Dr. Kang laughing at the banter.

"Thank you for giving me a family," Johnny whispered tenderly, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his head on top of your shoulder.

"Thank you," Jaehyun echoed on the other side of you. "I have never met anyone as beautiful, loving and amazing as you are. Our family wouldn't have existed if you hadn't allowed us the honor of sharing your life."

"Both of you are gonna make me cry," you huffed out with a smile. "I love both of you, equally. Forever and always," you murmured before kissing both Johnny's and Jaehyun's cheeks, tears brimming against the rims of your eyes as they looked at you with such unconditional, endless love and devotion. "Thank you for being my miracle workers."

269 notes · View notes

winterscaptain · 4 months ago

Text

professional courtesy.

...or berry hill (aaron's version) Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: hello it’s me from beyond the veil i’m sorry i haven’t updated this in three years, but enjoy! i figured i’d warm up from my hibernation with a long-requested installment. (i dont want to hype myself up too much but the discord girlies about died)

words: 17.3k (damn) warnings: language, a far less vague mention of aaron’s anatomy (masturbation in the shower, nothing too extreme), alcohol, the vibe is self-loathing, catholic guilt™

summary: “i go itchy with want, thin on sleep. i feel her fingers in mine. the way we could be both hard and soft on each other. her sandy voice calling out as i climb one exposed cliff after another. ... all night this all goes through me, the four hours of sleep i get.” - kawai strong washburn, sharks in the time of saviors. december 6th-12th, 2010

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

It’s way too late and you both know it, but Jack is still on his annual winter vacation with Jessica and the rest of Haley’s family, so there’s simply no incentive to leave. Aaron sits back in his chair, a soft smile on his face as he watches you kick back in one of the chairs in his office, your feet on his desk like you own the place.

The Montana case wrapped up neatly, and any remaining or incoming paperwork this week is light. If Aaron were an honest man, he’d have a few problems. The first, though, would be how much he missed JJ. He, of course, knows and understands the importance of her role, but he didn’t anticipate that losing her to the State Department would feel more like losing a limb. He knows you feel similarly - he’s seen the way you look up in the office and in the field, the ghost of her name on your lips.

That aside, he’s in the middle of a story - one that took place just before Jack left for the lake. “...And then I found the actual writing on the wall.” He clarifies, seeing your furrowed eyebrows. “He drew on the wall.”

“What do you mean he drew on the wall?” You say through a laugh, popping a grape in your mouth. “Are we talking like a crayon mark here and there or a full on mural?”

He loves the way you love his son. It’s palpable to anyone who sees the two of you together - the love that Jack has for you and the fierce, consuming love you have for him in return.

If he thinks about it too hard, he can imagine how seamlessly you could fit into their lives, how faithfully and seriously you would step into your role in Jack’s life. If he thinks even harder, he can imagine sleepless nights beside you, caring for the children you share.

So he doesn’t think too hard.

“Multi-media mural - glue, paper mache, markers, crayons, you name it and it was there.” He laughs and he takes a grape from your bowl, kicking his feet up on the desk - mirroring you. “I have no idea how he managed it. I was in the house the whole time.”

“Oh my God, he’s a terror!” Before Aaron can agree, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, smiling as you see the caller ID. “Hey Dean!” You stand and give Aaron a ‘sorry, just a second’ finger and step out of the office, leaving the door open behind you.

Aaron watches you go, taking another grape. He can’t hear what’s said on the other line, only your reply.

“Oh, not at all. I’m still in the office with Hotch getting some work done.”

Aaron raises his eyebrows, catching your eye. “Work?” he mouths. You shrug playfully, pulling a face, a light, lovely smile just for him. He smiles when you turn your back.

You’re doing anything but work right now.

Work was over…

He checks his watch.

…Nearly three hours ago.

Is it that late already?

“So what’s up?”

There’s a pause while your friend speaks. When you reply, you sound defeated. Aaron’s brow crumples and his feet come off the desk. He sits forward, not really meaning to eavesdrop, but he is anyway.

I hope everything’s okay…

“It’s okay. I get work stuff, trust me.”

He watches as you tip your head up to stare at the ceiling. He can hear the tears in your voice. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. None of them knew to ask off work, so if we have a case I’ll be on my own regardless.”

Oh no.

“It’s okay,” He hears you say. He knows it isn’t, but you’re a good friend. The last thing you’d want is for someone to feel bad on your behalf.

Too damn bad and too damn late.

Aaron starts to think. Time off work could be for anything - it sounds like an event? He got (and approved) your leave request ages ago. Maybe a vacation?

Maybe I could…

No. Don’t go there.

There’s something in his head screaming danger! danger! danger! at the possibility that you and he could be somewhere alone for an extended period of time. It’s not that he doesn’t trust himself (really), but he’s not sure he’s that good of an actor.

“Okay.” You heave an uneven sigh. “I’ll talk to you then. Really - don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” You hang up quickly and rest your forearms on the railing. Aaron watches your head hang, watches you swipe at your face and take a deep breath.

He watches as you fruitlessly try to maintain the frivolity and decadence of the moment before, sitting in your same chair with your feet up and a cluster of grapes in your hand.

It doesn’t work. Aaron sees right through you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” but your voice breaks. You clear your throat and blink a few more times.

He squints at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, you know.” You sniff, and gesture vaguely as you continue. “My best friend from college was supposed to be my date to a friend’s wedding next week, and the friend getting married also happens to be someone I dated in college so I was really hoping Dean could come with me, and now…” You trail off. He can see there’s more to say, but you’re holding back.

It’s more than you’ve ever shared about your time in college, certainly more information than he’s ever had about your dating history. You’ve been through so much together, Aaron almost finds it odd that he’s never asked, but his curiosity is squashed by guilt.

It’s been years…and he’s never asked.

All those moments you’ve shared, the horrors and the joys, and he never thought to ask about something as simple as a college boyfriend?

Maybe because it’s inappropriate, Hotchner. Ever think of that?

He’s never asked Derek about his college flames, or Emily about her first kiss or anything of the sort. Why does it feel so odd with you?

He knows. He just won’t admit it to himself.

“Do you want someone to go with you?” He watches you chew on your lower lip. A long time ago, he decided there was nothing worse than seeing you upset.

This is the least you can do, Hotchner. First personal weekend in nearly four years, you can at least do what you can to make it suck less. He reasons with himself, but he can’t help the sly thought that sneaks in on the tail end. Being a backup is better than being nothing at all.

That’s enough.

You scoff, still trying to shake it off. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

He smiles a little. You completely missed his point.

The smart choice is to let it go—to offer some reassuring sentiment about how you’d be fine on your own, that you are more than capable of handling an awkward situation. And yet, he can’t ignore the weight behind your words, the way your shoulders have drawn just a little tighter, how your voice cracked when you first answered his question. His instinct to protect, to ease whatever discomfort you’re feeling, is strong—always has been. But it’s tangled up in something else, something quieter, far more dangerous. His fondness for you, his respect, his attraction — lines that had once been clear but have blurred over time into something he wasn’t sure he can still call professional. His ability to hold those boundaries is tenuous at best, these days, and this would only make it worse. But then you exhale, soft and resigned, the fight to downplay your disappointment slipping away.

And, really, what was one more bad decision?

“If you wanted…” He hesitates, debating how to phrase it, but you beat him to it.

“Oh, God, Hotch.” You cover your face with your hands. “Please don’t feel like I’m trying to guilt you into anything. I’ll be fine.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re not guilting me into anything. I’m offering.”

Your hands fall away from your face, eyes searching his. He keeps his expression even, waiting.

“Really?”

“Really. I can get the weekend off—things are pretty slow around here. Where is it?”

You look a little stunned. “It’s, ah—it’s down at Berry Hill Resort, right by the North Carolina border.” You hesitate. “It’s about a three-and-a-half-hour drive.”

He nods, pulling out his phone to check the route. “If we leave early, we can switch in Richmond. I’ll start, if you’d like.”

Your smile is small but genuine. “Hotch, you’re the best.”

Warmth spreads through him at the ease of your acceptance—at the way you don’t second-guess his offer, don’t try to talk him out of it like he was making some grand sacrifice. You’re just… happy. Glad to have his company. And that shouldn’t mean as much as it does, but it settles somewhere deep in his chest, steady and certain.

He clears his throat, nodding as he glances back at his phone. “If we get on the road by seven, we’ll have plenty of time to stop if we need to.”

You hum, thoughtful. “You’re gonna regret offering when I make you stop for coffee every hour.”

He laughs a little, shaking his head. “I think I can manage.”

+++

He hits send on his brief email to you (no subject, just a come see me when you can - ah) and leans back for a moment, rubbing a hand over his jaw. It’s the middle of the day, but it already feels much later.

Hotch’s desk phone rings, the director’s name flashing on the tiny screen. He sighs before answering.

“Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” the director greets, his tone brisk. “I wanted to go over the paperwork from your last case. I received your after action report and the folks down at records supplied the rest.”

Hotch straightens. “Of course. Was there an issue?”

“Not an issue, exactly,” the director hedges. “But there are a few inconsistencies between your initial report and the final case file. I need clarification before this goes any further.”

Hotch exhales slowly. “I assume this is about jurisdictional oversight.”

“In part. There’s also a discrepancy in the timeline of the suspect’s apprehension and when the local PD filed their report. It’ll need to be accounted for.”

He had anticipated as much. A minor issue, more bureaucratic than substantive, but one that requires correction nonetheless.

There is a knock at his door before you swing in, one hand gripping the doorframe. Your movement is easy, familiar—Hotch is thrilled that you never hesitate in his office, never second-guess your place here. It’s a good quality. Confidence without arrogance.

Stop it.

Hotch lifts a hand, beckoning you inside. You step in and close the door behind you, waiting patiently near the couch on the far side of his office.

“...No, sir, that won’t be an issue. I’ll review the reports and send the necessary adjustments this afternoon.”

The director says something else he’s not really listening to with any depth, distracted by the way your eyes wander out the window, the sun catching your face in the light…

Stop it!

A pause. The director said something nice, something he needs to respond to as soon as he pulls his head out of his ass. “Understood. And I appreciate that. I’ll pass that along to the rest of the unit.”

“Thanks, Hotch. Have a good night and get home safe.”

“You too, sir.”

He sets the phone down, lacing his fingers together as he regards you. “Question.”

You drop into the chair across from him, resting your elbows on his desk. “Answer.”

Hotch levels you with a flat look, but his eyes betray his amusement. He can’t let your ability to make him laugh go to your head. “Funny.” You smirk, but he ignores it, pressing on. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, but I have an absurd number of ties. Color preference?”

A short huff of laughter leaves you. “You called me in here to ask whether or not I want to have a color scheme?”

“Yes,” he says, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “A united front, or at least a coordinated one, seems like the best strategy, right?”

The reasoning is sound—practical. Coordination suggested cohesion, something seamless and intentional. It’s a subtle but effective advantage. He had seen juries make unconscious associations based on far less.

That was the only reason he asked. Definitely no ulterior motives.

+++

Aaron descends the stairs from his office, phone pressed to his ear, the steady hum of the bullpen grounding him in the familiar rhythm of the day. Outside, the snow is falling in thick, lazy flakes, dusting the base in a quiet hush. Jack had launched into a continuation of the story he’d started earlier in the call—something about a rabbit nearly the size of his backpack darting across the backyard. He had, apparently, spent the better part of the afternoon watching from the window, hoping to see it again.

“You’ll have to tell me if you see it tomorrow,” Hotch says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe it’ll come back looking for more crumbs.”

Jack hums thoughtfully. “Maybe I should put out some carrots.”

Hotch chuckles, “That might work. Just don’t be too disappointed if it doesn’t come back. Wild animals don’t always stay in one place for long.”

“Yeah,” Jack sighs, clearly unconvinced. “But it was really cool.”

“I bet it was,”

Jack hums his agreement, then shifts gears, asking to speak to you. Hotch is already on his way toward your desk.

You’re in the middle of a consult with Ashley, walking her through your approach with the same steady patience Emily once used with you. Hotch’s hand comes to rest on your shoulder, and you glance up at him.

“Yeah?”

He pulls the phone from his ear just long enough to say, “Jack wants to talk to you.”

Your expression softens, a small smile playing at your lips as you shake your head. With an apologetic glance toward Ashley, you take the phone from his hand.

“Hey, kiddo,” you greet easily. “How’s Grandpa’s house?”

Hotch can’t hear Jack’s response, but he doesn’t need to. The way your face lights up told him everything he needs to know. He catches a few words here and there—aunt, snow—but mostly, he hears the warmth in your voice, the way you so easily match Jack’s enthusiasm.

“Aw, bubba, I miss you, too.” You assure him. “You’ll be home really soon, and when you get back we’ll go out to ice cream and you can tell me all about your visit.”

Another pause, then your voice, quieter, almost absentminded, as if the words had slipped out on their own. “I love you too.”

You hand the phone back without looking at Hotch, refocusing on Ashley as if nothing had happened. “So, like I said, Hotch prefers to—”

Hotch takes the phone, walking back toward the stairs.

Jack’s voice calls out as soon as Aaron greets him again. “Bye, Dad!”

Hotch feels a quiet pang of affection as he lifts the phone back to his ear. “Bye, Jack. Let me talk to Aunt Jess.”

There’s a shuffle on the other end, and then Jess’s voice comes through, bright and teasing. “Well, he’s having the time of his life, if that wasn’t obvious.”

Hotch huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s good to hear.”

“He’s been an angel,” Jess continues. “Which, honestly, is shocking, considering my family has zero faith in your parenting skills.”

Hotch lets out a real laugh at that, not bothering to argue. “I think that has more to do with you and—” He catches himself, shaking his head. “With the people he has around him.”

Jess hums, but doesn't press.

+++

The crystal decanter clinks softly as Dave pours a generous measure of scotch into Aaron’s glass. He slides it across the polished wood of his desk, then leans back in his chair, swirling his own drink with the practiced ease of a man who has lived (at least part of) his life in leisure.

“So,” Dave begins, his voice laced with amusement. “You gonna pretend we’re just drinking in companionable silence, or are you finally going to tell me what’s going on?”

Aaron inhales slowly, lifting the glass to his lips. He knows Dave isn’t asking about the Orioles game yesterday. “Nothing is going on.”

Dave scoffs. “Oh, please. I’ve known you for too long to believe that. Tell me.”

Aaron shakes his head, gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Dave leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Uh-huh. And that’s why you look at her like she hung the moon?”

Aaron’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t need to ask who Dave’s talking about. “She’s a valued member of my team. Just like you, or Morgan, or Prentiss, or Reid.”

“She’s also someone you’re clearly crazy about.” Dave takes a sip of his drink, watching Aaron with knowing eyes. “I mean, come on, Hotch. You really think I haven’t noticed?”

Aaron stays silent.

Dave smirks, using his hands now for emphasis. It’s absurd. “Let me paint you a picture. She walks into a room, and suddenly, you’re not the unshakable, unflappable Aaron Hotchner anymore. You’re—what’s the word? Present. Engaged. Maybe even happy, if I squint.”

Aaron sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dave.”

“I’m just saying,” Dave continues, undeterred. “If there’s nothing there, then I’m a damn fool. And we both know that’s not the case.”

Aaron hesitates, then, almost reluctantly, admits, “Maybe there’s something.”

Dave grins like he’s just won a bet. Maybe he has. “Knew it.”

Aaron shakes his head again, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

“So what’s the problem?” Dave presses.

Aaron takes another measured sip before answering. “Jack, for one. It’s too soon after Haley. I have to be careful about—”

“Careful about what?” Dave interrupts. “Being happy? It’s been two years, Aaron.”

Aaron shoots him a look. “About how this affects him.”

Dave softens slightly, nodding. “Fair. But have you considered that maybe she’s already a part of his life? That maybe Jack — God forbid — actually likes having her around?”

Aaron doesn’t respond.

Dave tilts his head. “And let me guess — your other concern is her?”

Aaron lets out a slow breath. “There’s fourteen years between us, Dave.”

“Oh, give me a break. You were born in November—that’s practically thirteen years.” Dave waves a dismissive hand. “You’re acting like you’re twice her age.”

“She has a career to think about,” Aaron continues, ignoring him. “A reputation. If there were even a whisper of inappropriate behavior… or a conflict of interest, the whole team would get torn apart. Just imagine what Strauss—”

Dave groans. “Aaron, you are the most upstanding man I’ve ever met. If anyone tried to imply something inappropriate, they’d be laughed out of the room.”

Aaron still doesn’t look convinced.

“And as for the age thing,” Dave goes on, “she’s a grown woman. A brilliant, capable woman who—let’s be honest—doesn’t take crap from anyone, including you.”

That earns him a faint smirk from Aaron.

“She’s not some kid with a crush,” Dave says. “She knows exactly who you are, baggage and all. And let me tell you something—you might be able to fool yourself into thinking this is just one-sided, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

Aaron stills, his lowball glass touching his lips. He recovers, taking a sip in what he hopes is a nonchalant fashion.

Dave raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. Thought that might get your attention.”

Aaron shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Even if you’re right, it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

Dave studies him for a long moment, then leans back with a sigh. “Hotch, let me ask you something. When’s the last time you let yourself want something just because it made you happy?”

Aaron doesn’t answer.

Dave nods knowingly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He takes another sip of his drink, then points at Aaron. “At some point, you have to stop talking yourself out of the good things in your life. Otherwise, you’re gonna wake up one day and realize you let something incredible slip away.”

Aaron looks down at his glass, turning it slowly in his hands.

Dave smirks. “Just think about it, is all I’m saying.”

Aaron sighs, shaking his head. “You’re relentless.”

“That’s why you love me,” Dave says, raising his glass.

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh and clinks his glass against Dave’s, but he says nothing.

Dave takes a slow sip of his scotch, eyeing Aaron over the rim of his glass. Then, as casually as if he were asking about the weather, he says, “So… Any plans to spend time together outside of work?”

Aaron sighs, already anticipating where this is going. “She asked me to go to a wedding with her next weekend.”

Dave’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

“As a favor,” Aaron clarifies, setting his glass down with a firm clink. “Nothing more.”

Dave makes an exaggerated show of nodding. “Ah. A favor. Because obviously, of all the people she could have asked, she just happened to land on you.”

Aaron gives him a look. “It’s a professional courtesy. And I was right there, so it was probably just convenient.” He leaves out the part where you didn’t ask outright, knowing his offer is damning evidence that would only prove Dave’s point.

Dave outright laughs at that. “Oh, that’s rich. Hotch, if this were any other woman in your life, you would’ve given her some excuse about being too busy with Jack or the job. But you didn’t.” He points a finger at Aaron around his scotch. “That means something.”

Aaron shakes his head. “It doesn’t.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Dave says, smirking. “But since you’re doing this grand, selfless favor, tell me—what’s your game plan?”

“My what?”

Dave leans forward. “Your approach. This is the perfect opportunity to figure out where she stands, and you’re not about to waste it, are you?”

Aaron sighs. “Dave—”

“Nothing untoward, of course, nothing unprofessional,” Dave interrupts. “Just a little fact-finding mission. See how she responds to being close to you—seizing the opportunity to dance, for example.”

Aaron exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “I’m not—”

“Why not?” Dave cuts in. “It’s a wedding. It’d be weirder if you didn’t.”

Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous,” Dave counters, “is pretending there’s nothing there when it’s obvious to everyone else. Just consider it—see how she reacts to you in a setting that isn’t life-or-death. Give yourself permission to look for the signs.”

Aaron doesn’t respond right away, and Dave knows he’s planted the seed.

After a moment, Dave smirks. “At the very least, you get to have a nice weekend out with a beautiful woman. Not exactly the worst way to spend a few evenings.”

Aaron sighs, finishing off his scotch and repeating, “You’re relentless.”

Dave grins. “So you’ve said.”

+++

Aaron sits alone in his armchair, an ill-advised finger of bourbon in his glass. He’s sure he’s had more to drink this week than in the previous five years combined.

There’s something, even now, that leaves him feeling unsettled when he’s in his apartment alone. Maybe it’s PTSD, maybe something less pathological, but it’s nevertheless uncomfortable.

Maybe you don’t like to hear yourself think. That’s an option, Hotchner.

The voice that narrates his thoughts isn’t always his. When it’s critical or snide, it’s almost always his father.

Maybe he should work on that. His mouth twists and he takes another sip, letting the liquor roll across his tongue before warming his chest.

Drinking bourbon is an art form at the most, a learned skill at the least. He’s almost certain it was a required item for law school, but he couldn’t quote the statute.

He’s stalling, avoiding both his (far too reflective) thoughts and the phone call he needs to make. It’s just you. Why is he so nervy all of a sudden?

All of a sudden. Right. Like I haven’t been that way this whole time.

There is some irony in creating artificial distance between him and the one person who can reliably calm him down. What, then, happens if you’re the thing freaking him out?

No. Aaron Hotchner does not freak out. Become subject to the whimsy of his neuroses, sure. Fine. Let’s call it that.

Neurotic. Sure.

He exhales, rolling the tension from his shoulders. The house is quiet now, still—a stark contrast to the nerves humming under his skin.

It’s just a wedding. A favor for a friend.

And yet, as he reaches for his phone, he knows that’s not the only reason he’s calling.

The line barely rings twice before you answer. “Yeah?”

The tightness in his chest eases immediately and he feels even sillier for putting it off. “Hey, it’s Aaron.”

“Ah, my saving grace,” you say, a smile in your voice. “Calling to cancel on me, after all?”

His lips twitch. “Not even close. Is 6 a.m. still good to come get you?”

“It’s so early.” The dramatic whine earns an actual chuckle from him, surprising even himself. “But yes, that’s fine. That gives us enough time even if we hit some traffic out of the District and into Richmond.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

A pause, then: “You’re still okay with this, right? I know I couldn’t grab that extra hotel room for you, and I don’t want you to feel pressured or—”

He doesn’t let you finish. “Enough,” he says firmly, calling you by name. “I offered, remember? I’ll see you at six. Bring a pillow so you can sleep in the car.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a quiet, “Thanks, Aaron.”

He knows you’re not just thanking him for the reminder.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” you add, after a beat of silence.

“Of course.” He hesitates, then adds, “Sleep well.”

The call ends, and he stares at his phone for a moment before shaking his head and setting it down.

He doesn’t sleep much that night, either.

+++

At 5:55 a.m., he pulls up to your driveway expecting to have to knock, maybe even call. Instead, you’re already outside, standing on your porch with a pillow under one arm and a travel mug in hand.

He blinks.

You look only mildly worse for wear, but you’re ready. And you have coffee.

His mouth twitches. “You’re awake.”

“Barely.” You step forward, holding out the travel mug. “Thought you might want this.”

He takes it—along with your suitcase, because he won’t let you carry it. “Thank you. Jump in.”

You don’t argue, sliding into the passenger seat and immediately wedging your pillow between your head and the window.

Aaron tosses your bag into the trunk before getting behind the wheel. He glances over as he starts the engine, and his chest does something strange at the sight of you, curled into yourself in an oversized sweatshirt, already half-asleep.

He shakes his head, exhaling as he backs out of the driveway.

Just a wedding. Just a favor.

Aaron has always been good at compartmentalizing. It’s a necessity in this line of work, the only way to keep from drowning in the weight of it all. But this morning, he finds it harder than usual to box up his thoughts and shove them aside.

He blames Dave.

"Any plans to spend time together outside of work?""This is the perfect opportunity to figure out where she stands.""Seize the opportunity—see how she responds to being close to you."

Ridiculous. This—the drive, the wedding, the whole weekend—isn’t about that. It’s a favor, nothing more. You need a date, and he is more than capable of stepping in.

So why does it feel like something else entirely?

Aaron lets out a slow breath, glancing to his right. You’re curled against the window, your pillow wedged beneath your head, still fast asleep. Your sweatshirt is too big for you, the sleeves bunched up where your arms are tucked close to your chest. Your face is relaxed, peaceful in a way he rarely sees when you’re awake.

Something shifts in his chest.

Would he have offered this to anyone else?

Emily? Maybe. JJ? Possibly, depending on the circumstances. But would he have gone out of his way to clear a weekend, to ensure they didn’t have to face something alone?

No.

He knows the answer, even if he doesn’t want to.

He knows you’re different, and that frustrates him. Confuses him.

Would it really be so bad to… pay attention? To see if Dave is right?

His hands tighten around the steering wheel. It doesn’t matter. There are too many reasons this is a terrible idea.

Jack. The team. His own grief, still lurking beneath the surface, no matter how much time has passed.

A year and change, almost two, has passed since Haley’s death, but there are still mornings when he wakes up gasping for breath. Jack still has nightmares, too. He knows you would always pick up if he called—no matter the hour.

And he has called. More times than he can count.

You never hesitate. Sometimes you talk to him about anything and everything, filling the quiet until his mind settles. Other times, you simply read to him, your voice a low, steady thing in the dark.

You understand in a way no one else does. You have been there. You have seen him at his lowest, taken Jack from his arms when he couldn’t stop shaking. You know what haunts him.

And yet, you stay.

You murmur something in your sleep, shifting slightly. He could swear it was his name. Aaron glances over, watching as you burrow deeper into your pillow, a small smile tugging at your lips.

His fingers flex against the steering wheel. That warmth—the one he has been trying to ignore—stirs again.

He shakes his head, looking back at the road.

And then there’s you.

The age gap isn’t something he’s ever consciously thought about, but now that Dave has addressed it, he can’t help but consider it. Would it even matter to you? Would it matter to anyone else?

That’s not the only thing that concerns him. You have worked hard to build a career in the Bureau, and despite your talent and intelligence, it has taken you longer than it should have to be taken seriously. You once told him that being a young woman in this line of work often feels like a battle you never really win—only survive.

And what would people say if there was suddenly something between the two of you?

He exhales sharply through his nose. Not that it matters, because there isn’t.

Still, he keeps his hands firmly on the wheel, afraid that if he loosens his grip, that warmth might spread beyond his control.

The car slows as he takes an offramp, the change in speed pulling you from sleep. You lift your head, blinking sluggishly as you look around.

“Are we in Richmond already?”

Aaron glances at you, his lips quirking slightly at your sleep-heavy voice. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

You tip your head, still shaking off sleep. “I could eat.”

He gives you a knowing look. “You should eat.”

You huff a small laugh, rubbing at your eyes. “You take your supervisory duties very seriously.”

He only shrugs. “It’s my job.”

You smile at him, still soft around the edges from sleep, and something in his chest tightens.

Aaron looks back at the road.

Dave is wrong.

This isn’t a fact-finding mission.

Unfortunately, he already has enough facts to know he’s cooked.

+++

Aaron refuels the SUV and makes sure you’re settled with food before pulling back onto the highway. The morning settles into a comfortable rhythm—quiet, but not stiff. But then again, it’s always easy with you.

When you offer to take over driving, he shoots you a look before shaking his head. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.”

You frown, still shaking off the last bit of sleep. “I thought shotgun picks the music.”

“That’s Morgan’s house rule, not mine.”

You hum in consideration, eyes narrowing slightly. “Okay, so what are your house rules?”

He lets a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.”

You groan. “So, what I’m hearing is that we’re listening to the White Album.”

Aaron flips through his playlists, selecting the album in question without a word. The familiar opening chords of Back in the U.S.S.R. fill the car, and he glances at you just in time to catch the way you bite back a smile.

You might tease, but he knows you like it. Or maybe you like that it’s his favorite. It’s a thought he doesn’t prefer to dwell on.

The road stretches out ahead, and for the first time in a while, he feels something close to ease. The usual tension in his shoulders dulls, the steady hum of tires on asphalt lulling him into a rare sense of contentment.

“Why is this one your favorite?” you ask suddenly.

He considers the question for a moment. No one has ever really asked. Maybe no one has thought to.

“I’m… not sure,” he admits. “I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born, and when I got my own record player in college, she made sure I had a copy.” He shrugs, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little— I don’t know— comforting about that.”

You nod, thoughtful. “I get that.” A pause. Then, with a wry tilt to your voice, “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.”

Aaron lets out a low whistle. “That film really was awful.”

Your laughter is immediate, warm. He finds himself waiting for it before continuing, “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.”

You turn in your seat, brow furrowed. “Weren’t you, like, barely in high school?”

He nods. “We snuck out—some friends and me. It was really stupid, and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” A nostalgic smile plays on his lips. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps and paid in cash, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He smirks, glancing over at you. “But of course, that’s before your time.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, come on. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.”

That gets a real laugh out of him. “Fair enough.”

The conversation slows after that, the easy quiet of the road settling in again.

Every so often, he reaches a hand toward the center console, and without prompting, you pass him a fry from the fast-food bag. It’s a small thing, but it makes something in his chest feel steady.

Aaron keeps his eyes on the road, but he knows you’re watching him. You always notice things—little things no one else pays attention to. Like the way his fingers move in time with the music, a habit so ingrained he barely thinks about it. Until now.

“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s something in your tone—amusement, curiosity, maybe a bit of disbelief.

He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how, but I don’t claim to be decent at it.” A short exhale, a shake of his head. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.”

That isn’t untrue. Sean has a natural talent for things Aaron has always had to work at. Music, art, charming the hell out of people. But that isn’t why Aaron stopped playing.

After a moment, you ask, “Have you and Sean always butted heads?”

Aaron lets out a short laugh. “Yes.”

That’s the simplest way to put it. There’s silence for a moment.

“My dad was right-handed, so I play right-handed,” he admits, voice quieter than before. It’s a non-sequitur, but he suddenly itches to share something with you, something he rarely talks about. “When he taught me, it never occurred to me to try the left-handed way.” A beat passes, then a wry smirk. “He wasn’t exactly the type to entertain the idea of doing something differently just because it might’ve been easier.”

That’s putting it mildly.

He sees you nod, filing the information away in that sharp mind of yours, but you don’t push. Instead, you say, “I’d like to see you play sometime.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, unsure if you mean it or if you’re just being kind. It’s been years since he picked up a guitar for anything more than a few absent-minded chords. Longer still since he played with any real enjoyment.

Then you say, almost absently, “You have a Gibson in your office at home.”

His grip tightens on the wheel for half a second before he forces himself to relax. “It was my dad’s Les Paul.”

He doesn’t know why he keeps it. The guitar is a relic of a man he has no desire to remember and is worth well over ten grand, yet there it sits, leaning against the bookshelf. The same man who once took a young Aaron by the hands and taught him his first chords is the same man who turned those hands to violence. And yet, Aaron has never been able to bring himself to get rid of it.

Maybe it’s proof that his father was once something more than a monster. Or maybe it’s just another burden he carries because that’s what he’s always done.

He doesn’t look at you, but he feels your attention shift—feels the moment when you connect the dots, understand the weight behind something as simple as a guitar in the corner of a room.

You don’t say anything.

And for that, he’s grateful.

Instead, you let the silence settle, let the music fill the space between you. And slowly, as if nothing has happened, his fingers resume their absent rhythm against the steering wheel, tapping along to Happiness is a Warm Gun.

+++

Aaron listens and participates quietly as the conversation drifts between you both. He’s used to the silence that comes with long drives, but he knows that when you have something on your mind, you don’t always jump straight to it. After a while, though, the air feels thick with unsaid things, and he finally asks, “So, who is this guy?”

He glances at you quickly, the question hanging in the air. He can already tell you’re hesitating, unsure whether to share more detail with him. But he isn’t expecting anything specific. His job has taught him that people open up when they’re ready, not when they’re pushed.

You sigh, tipping your head against the seat, clearly reluctant to dig into old memories. “Ugh. You really want to know?”

Aaron shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, sounding almost mockingly formal, and he can’t help but smile more at that.

You begin to tell him, your words flowing easily now. “His name is Austin. We met in some random general education class and became fast friends. Then we started dating. We were talking about marriage, kids... the whole thing. We were together for two years.”

The weight of it all hits him—he can tell it’s not easy for you to talk about, and yet you’re doing it without hesitation. He listens, letting you pace yourself, because he knows that’s what you need.

You pause for a moment, and Aaron glances at you, catching the small frown forming on your lips. “Then I went abroad for a semester… When I came back, I found out he’d been seeing someone else the whole time I was gone.”

The shift in your tone makes something twist in his chest. He knows that feeling of betrayal too well. But he doesn’t interrupt. You need to get it out.

“It’s kind of cliché, I know, but it broke my heart in half,” you finish, your voice a little shaky but hiding it behind humor. Aaron doesn’t push. He knows it’s still there, the hurt, even though it’s been years.

“You handled it better than I did,” he says, keeping his voice soft.

You continue, telling him about how you’ve tried to remain civil with Austin’s family, keeping in touch through other people over the years. Your words drift back to the wedding invitation. “I think his mom sent it. I mostly accepted because I wanted to see her and Austin’s little sister. I miss them the most.”

The warmth in your voice when you talk about them catches Aaron’s attention, and he finds himself focusing more on the things you miss, the parts that matter.

“What are they like?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You smile as you tell him. “Allison is funny—always putting more cream than coffee in her mug. And their mom—she is the best. She had great taste in books. She still sends me copies of her favorites, even now. It’s nice to get something from her every once in a while.”

Aaron can’t help but admire how you’ve managed to keep that connection alive, even after everything. He knows what it’s like to try and maintain ties, even when it’s difficult. He appreciates that you haven’t let it all go, even when it would’ve been easier to cut the ties for good.

“It was good of you to keep in touch,” he says quietly, a genuine respect in his tone. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, but he doesn’t need to tell you that. You already know.

You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”

The comparison catches him off guard. His relationship with Jess has never been about choice. He loves her because she’s family, because she took care of Jack when he couldn’t. But if Haley were still here, would he have made the effort?

The difference, he decides, is that you’re kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley were still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce? There’s no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death.

He’s a little startled when your hand reaches out, resting lightly on his arm. Your hand is a little cold, but it’s nice, almost refreshing. Your thumb traces softly over the skin of his bare forearm. The simple gesture unravels something in him.

“It’s different now, and it would have been different then,” you say, gentle but certain. “There’s no right way to do anything.”

Aaron exhales in a huff, unsettled by how easily you know him. How you always seem to.

“I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley,” he says. “You know that.”

“I do,” you reply. “I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her. And probably won’t ever stop.”

Aaron feels the weight of your words settle into the quiet between you. There’s no hesitation in the way you say it, no pity—just an understanding and acceptance that feels too easy, too natural. It catches him off guard.

He knows you pay attention, but this is different. This isn’t just observation. This is something deeper, something that makes him feel more seen than he’s comfortable with.

He thinks about deflecting, about making some comment on profiling, turning it into a joke to lighten the moment. He considers arguing, telling you that love like that doesn’t last forever, that people move on, that they have to. But he doesn’t believe that—not really.

Instead, he wonders if he should correct you, if he should remind you that love isn’t what it once was, that time has reshaped it into something quieter, something lonelier. But that isn’t entirely true either.

So many things come to mind, but none of them feel right.

So he exhales, leans onto the center console, and settles on the only thing he can say.

“How do you know everything?”

You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile.

“I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.”

+++

Aaron watches as you exhale, shoulders sagging the moment you step into the room. His eyes flicker to the lone king-sized bed before returning to you, gauging your reaction. He registers the way your breath hitches just slightly, your posture going momentarily stiff. He understands immediately—it’s not what you expected.

It’s not what he expected, either, but it’s fine. There’s a couch, if it comes down to it. He adjusts quickly, out of habit, but beneath that practiced ease, something unspoken lingers—something that makes the space between expectation and reality feel impossibly small.

But years of practice, of adapting to the unexpected, have conditioned him to recover faster. He doesn’t hesitate. Instead, he moves toward the left side of the bed, the side closest to the door. That instinct runs deeper than thought. It’s the side that gives him the fastest access, the clearest vantage point. It’s the side that lets him place himself between any unknown variable and you.

As he sets down his bag, something flickers across your expression, something just shy of startled realization. You follow his lead, wordlessly taking the opposite side, unzipping your suitcase in tandem with him. It doesn’t escape him how easily the two of you move in sync.

He files the thought away before it can settle.

Your small, satisfied smile doesn’t go unnoticed. Neither does the way it vanishes just as quickly, as though you’ve chastised yourself for it. Aaron doesn’t linger on it, though. Instead, he unzips his garment bag and retrieves the suit he had set aside for the occasion.

The moment you look over, he senses the shift in your focus.

“Mind if I take up some real estate?” you ask, holding up a handful of hangers.

Aaron shakes his head, wordlessly making space for you. He notices the way you glance over his suit again as you hang your things. It’s a suit like any other for him, part of the uniform of his life, but this one is particularly well-tailored, undeniably expensive. Maybe you hadn’t expected that.

When you both finish, he watches as you sit on the bed, sinking down with the weight of exhaustion.

“What time is our first obligation?” he asks, more to get a read on your energy than anything else.

You huff a small laugh. “5pm Cocktails at the hotel bar for everyone who arrived today. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” You glance at the clock, confirming, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.”

Aaron nods, considering the hours ahead, then meets your gaze. “How do you feel about a nap?”

Something flickers across your expression too fast for him to catch. But whatever it is, it makes his lips curve slightly, his body instinctively seeking relief at the idea of rest. He’s running on fumes. He knows it.

And yet, there’s something in the way you immediately agree, something in the easy way you say, “I feel great about a nap,” that makes something in his chest loosen.

He doesn’t let himself analyze it.

Instead, he reaches for a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag, retreating into the bathroom. He changes quickly, splashing cold water onto his face, gripping the edge of the sink as he studies his reflection.

This is fine. You’re just tired.

He takes a steadying breath before stepping back out.

The room is dim now, the blinds drawn to a gentle shade, leaving a soft hush in the air. You’ve already curled up under the covers, body relaxed, breath slow. He stops just short of his side of the bed, gaze drawn to you despite himself.

Your brow, usually furrowed with thought, is smooth in sleep. Your hands rest loosely in front of your face, fingers curled slightly. He watches the way your breath moves evenly past the curve of your lips, steady and undisturbed.

Something in his chest tightens.

He knows he should slip under the covers properly, let himself rest. But the thought of shifting the bed, of disturbing whatever delicate balance exists in this moment, makes him hesitate. Instead, he carefully places his jeans back in his duffle bag and stretches out on top of the covers beside you.

His body is heavy, exhaustion pressing into him, but his mind refuses to still.

He lets his eyes close, but sleep does not come immediately. Instead, his thoughts remain preoccupied—not by the case files in his briefcase, not by the endless to-do lists or the weight of responsibility.

But by the quiet phenomenon beside him, the simple, inexplicable comfort of your presence.

This should not feel as natural as it does.

Eventually, exhaustion wins. But even in sleep, he drifts toward you, drawn by something he isn’t ready to name.

+++

Aaron stirs, the warmth of your hands grounding him before he even fully wakes. His fingers are curled around yours, your hands clasped together between them, the smallest space between your foreheads. Not touching, but close. Too close.

There is no memory of how this happened. No recollection of seeking your hand, of the moment skin met skin. Either he has reached for you, or you have reached for him. He doesn’t know which possibility unsettles (or excites?) him more. A small shudder goes through him.

Of course, this isn’t the first contact you’ve ever made, but it feels different. Hair ruffles and shoulder squeezes and hugs for comfort are one thing, but this is entirely another.

His first instinct is to move, to create distance, to restore the boundaries that have served him so well. But he doesn’t. Instead, he listens—to the even cadence of your breath, to the way his own heart hammers in his chest, an erratic counterpoint to the quiet, and the things that heart says. He tells himself you are still asleep, that you don’t know what is happening, that you won’t wake up and see him like this, so weak and subject to the strength of his feelings and impulses.

And then he watches as your hand shifts slightly, as if in response to his own. You are awake.

A slow exhale escapes him, measured, careful. He releases one of your hands, feeling it drop onto the coverlet, fingers relaxed. He should roll away. He should sit up. But his body betrays him before his mind can stop it.

His fingertips skim the arch of your brow, tracing downward, barely brushing your skin. He follows the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. He tells himself he is committing your face to memory, as if it is something fleeting, something he will lose the moment he lets go.

His hand moves lower, tracing the line of your jaw, lingering for half a second before he pulls away. His fingers wrap around yours again, grounding himself in the simplest touch. And before he can think better of it, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing the faintest kiss to your knuckles before tucking it back against his chest.

His eyes close, but sleep does not come easily. He is too aware.

Of you.

Of the way his body angles toward yours.

Of the way his heart beats too fast in his own ears. It takes time, but eventually, his breath evens out.

But you don’t sleep.

Your eyes open, and you look at him, really look at him. He can feel it. The quiet study of your gaze, the slow path of your fingers as you trace the angles of his face.

He fights the instinct to react. He knows what this is—knows because he did the same to you only moments ago. He remains still, perfectly still, even as a shock of adrenaline spikes through him.

You know.

You know how he feels about you.

And worse—you know how you feel about him.

His chest tightens, his grip on your hand nearly faltering before he forces himself to stay still. The truth is too much, too soon. He isn’t ready. You aren’t ready.

This is temporary, he tells himself. It has to be. There is no space for this, no space for you in the life he has only just started to rebuild. His time belongs to his son. His efforts belong to his healing.

But even as he tries to convince himself, something inside him wavers.

The new normal is the hardest thing to find, his therapist once told him.

He’s been so sure he could find it on his own. He isn’t sure anymore, especially as your finger rests on the hollow under his nose, just above his mouth. He can hear your breath catch.

It takes everything in him to stay still as your fingers card through his hair at his temples. His breath remains steady as he resists the urge to lean into your touch like a cat, deeply comforted by your gentle touch.

You pull away first, slipping your hand free from his and rolling onto your back. He tells himself the loss of contact is a relief. He tells himself he doesn’t miss it.

You check your phone, the early afternoon light filtering through the drawn blinds. He forces himself to move, inhaling deeply before stretching, shifting onto his back as if he is only just waking up. He laces his hands behind his head—it’s a play at casual, but he mostly just needs to occupy them.

When you turn to look at him, your expression is composed. Normal. Too normal.

“Good afternoon,” you say, and he almost smirks at how carefully neutral you sound.

He lets a small smile play at his lips, refusing to betray what he knows. “Good afternoon.”

You shift, pushing forward before anything can slip between the cracks. “So, tonight.” Your voice is casual, almost too casual. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends,’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”

Aaron laughs, the sound breaking the tension like the first crack in ice. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.”

+++

The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as Aaron anticipates. He stays close to you, your right hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm, a small tether between you. You hold a glass of wine but he hasn’t seen you drink much, if at all, your fingers idly twisting the stem as you navigate the room.

When your name is called from across the space, he tips his head down to listen as you whisper a quick debrief—names, relationships, a crash course in shared history. It’s impressive, really, the way you move through social circles with ease, offering him just enough to fall seamlessly into step beside you. The person he knows at work—put together, capable, confident—is here, but this version of you is just a little different. A little more put-upon, a little more deliberately engaged.

You’re performing. Just a little.

Which version of you is closer to the truth?

If he were profiling you in this moment, he’d see someone who knows how to navigate a crowd, someone who controls the conversation with quiet grace. But he also knows you’re nervous. He admires the effort you’re making to connect, to meet these people where they are after years apart.

As expected, he plays his role well. Warm, charming, a careful observer, taking his cues from you. He listens as you catch up with old classmates, some you remember fondly, others whose faces don’t stir a single memory. He’s proud when he can recognize the momentary blank look on your face when you don’t remember someone, but you always cover neatly. He nods at the right times, adding the occasional comment where it makes sense, content to exist in your orbit.

“How did you two meet?” The question comes from a woman whose name he catches (Leslie) but you did not. He resists the urge to smirk at your near-imperceptible pause before you answer.

“We’re in the same department at work.”

The man beside her—Carson, apparently, based on the murmured correction from someone else—tilts his head. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.”

“DoJ, in Quantico,” Aaron supplies helpfully.

“FBI,” Leslie interjects before Carson can fumble through another half-formed thought. “Keep up.”

“No shit!”

A small group gathers now, drawn into the conversation, and instinctively, you shift closer to Aaron. Without thinking, his arm slides around your waist, his stance adjusting to keep you securely within his personal space.

Protective. Steady. Natural.

It makes sense. You have moved closer, and he has responded accordingly. That’s all.

“Shit,” you say, bumping him playfully with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested, you’ll have to bail yourselves out.”

“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did,” Aaron adds smoothly, his voice low and even, laced with quiet amusement. “So keep it high and tight, and we’ll all do just fine.”

He feels the tension in your body shift—not quite a flinch, but something subtle and telling. A second later, you take a longer sip of your wine than necessary, as if to mask a reaction.

Shouldn’t have said that.

Not with his hand where it is, his chest just barely against your back. Not with how easy it is to stay close to you, to let the boundaries blur just a little too much.

But, again, it’s for the show. A natural response. Just acting.

“There he is!”

The exclamation shatters the moment, and he feels you tense before your head whips around so fast you nearly lose your balance. His grip adjusts instinctively, a steady hand at your shoulder keeping you upright.

That, at least, isn’t acting. Just reflex.

“Thank you,” you murmur, just for him.

He hears you. Of course he does. And before he can think better of it, he presses a light kiss to your temple.

Too much.

“Always.”

Unnecessary.

It sells the image, sure, but it also crosses the line. He justifies it easily—you’re nervous, you need reassurance, and this is the most natural thing to do.

The instinct isn’t for the act, but the justification certainly is. How much more can he get away with, without taking advantage or being gratuitous? You don’t seem to mind, and that’s good enough for now.

Austin approaches, looking more polished than Aaron expects, with a stunning fiancée at his side and an easy, practiced smile.

Aaron lets you go just as Austin pulls you in for a hug—longer, warmer than necessary. He uses the moment to assess, his gaze sharp as it flicks over the man’s expression. Austin’s focus lingers on you, but there’s something calculating, almost judgmental in his eyes when they finally land on Aaron.

He introduces his fiancée—Madeline—and you, in turn, introduce Aaron.

“Austin, this is my…” You hesitate.

Aaron’s fingers curl gently around your waist, a silent reassurance, a quiet prompt. He’s just as interested in what you’re going to say as Austin appears to be.

You let the implication settle before making a light recovery.

“Aaron.”

That works.

The smirk threatens at the edge of his lips, but he suppresses it as he extends his free hand. His grip is firm, unwavering, just a touch longer and more of a squeeze than is entirely necessary. He watches as Austin’s expression falters, his jaw tightening briefly before he lets go and flexes his fingers.

“Pleasure,” Aaron says. “Congratulations.”

Austin gives a slightly forced laugh, shaking out his hand. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.”

Aaron simply nods, his hand settling back at your waist, his touch light but deliberate.

Just to sell it, that’s all.

+++

“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar, and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. Just instinct. Draping it over you, placing a hand on your back. He’d barely thought about it, but now, watching you slip it off, he kind of wishes you’d kept it on a little longer.

It is both shocking and uncomfortable how much he likes to see you in his clothes, even if it is just stuffy outerwear.

“Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.”

Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and the way you smile at him—soft, easy—makes him feel a little looser than he should. His buzz from two drinks hasn’t quite worn off yet, and he lets himself enjoy that.

You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”

“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”

He had tried, during one of the most trying periods of his life. With every incentive and push, he tried. And it hadn’t stuck. The BAU was grueling, consuming, and unrelenting, but it was also the work that made him feel most like himself. The thought of stepping away—leaving behind the team, the purpose, the sheer necessity of what they did—felt impossible. He knew he wasn’t built for desk work, wasn’t made for a role where he wasn’t in the thick of things, reading people, preventing the worst. Every time he’d thought about moving on, the idea had crumbled under the weight of what he’d be giving up.

“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.”

You move easily around each other, and he takes more notice of that than he probably should. There’s a comfort here. A rhythm. Changing into pajamas, brushing your teeth, the little rituals of getting ready for bed. He’s seen you like this before, sure—late nights at his house with Jack asleep in his room, movie credits rolling—but this is different. It’s just you and him. No cases, no responsibilities, no excuses.

He catches his own reflection in the mirror, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, letting the fabric stretch over his shoulders as he pushes his hair back. He shouldn’t be encouraging anything, but if you’re looking, he won’t stop you.

Lost in thought, he stares into space for a moment before coming back to himself, preparing everything he needs for bed.

Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway, still in his slacks, his shirt untucked, barefoot.

“I really can take the couch.”

You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.”

“Oh?” He asks, amused. “Why’s that?”

As you answer, he reaches for the fresh t-shirt he set aside earlier, slipping into the bathroom and pulling the door while he changes. The motion keeps him busy, gives him something to focus on besides the knowledge that he will be sharing a bed with you–again–this time, separate from the team, independent of necessity and absent professional boundaries or inconveniences. You’re here, with him, settling into bed like it’s normal.

He hoped, probably somewhat irrationally, that you would let him sleep on the couch. This is an unfair temptation of his ability to repress his feelings. He’s good at it, but he doesn’t know how much longer that skill will hold up to continued stress before something snaps.

“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.”

The bathroom light flips off, and he scoffs in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.”

“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.”

He chuckles as he moves toward the bed, sitting on the edge and putting his socks on. He’s stalling. The king-size bed feels small, almost claustrophobic.

“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and he knows, in that moment, that if he let himself, he could get used to this.

He flips the covers back and forces himself to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He’s rigid, his hands resting lightly on his chest. He makes an effort to unlock his knees, but it takes some work.

Don’t get comfortable.

Why not? She’s right here.

Because she’s your friend. Because this is temporary.

You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. Then a sigh—yours. He catches it too late to figure out what it means.

“Are you okay?” His voice is softer in the dark and he turns on his side, facing you. You nod. He can hear your head move against the pillow, but he’s not sure if you’re being honest. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

You pause, then, carefully, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just—I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.”

That shouldn’t hit him the way it does. He reaches out, tentative, and when your hand finds his, he lets himself hold on.

“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. You trusting him like this, being this open, it’s something he won’t take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.”

I’d like to let you come—

Jesus Christ.

What?

Read the room.

He swallows the thought and keeps his voice steady. “With that in mind,” he continues, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”

Your friend.

That’s what he is.

That’s what he needs to be.

That’s what you expect.

He can hear the fondness in your voice when you reply, “Goodnight, Hotch.”

Hotch.

Not Aaron.

He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t correct you. “Goodnight.”

He belatedly realizes you’ve avoided accepting the compliment.

+++

Aaron wakes slowly, the weight of his arm around your waist both grounding and comforting. For months now, he’s woken from these moments with a lingering sense of peace, only for reality to rush in and steal it away. He hasn’t dreamed of Haley in months. It’s you. It’s always you. And he’s long since stopped trying to deny what that means.

It’s always like this in the best dreams.

He exhales slowly, nuzzling in. His breathing matches yours, slow and steady, as the warmth of your body sinks deeper into his, and the scent of your skin fills his senses. There’s something about this moment, the way you fit against him, the way you’re tangled up with him, that feels like the best part of every dream he’s ever had.

His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s been pulled from the world he visits in his subconscious. But then something shifts—the warmth beneath his palm, the way your fingers brush against his in sleep. And the realization hits him like a punch to the ribs. The softness of your skin against his, the quiet rhythm of your breathing, the way your hair smells like something impossibly familiar—he’s not imagining it. He’s not dreaming.

For a brief, disorienting moment, he doesn’t recognize where he is, but it all comes back to him fast enough. You’re tangled together—his knee between your legs, his face buried into your shoulder. He feels you breathe, slow and even, your body molded against his like you belong there.

The feeling sends a wave of warmth through him, and the last vestiges of sleep fade. His first instinct is to pull away, afraid that you’ll wake and find him draped over you like some kind of ridiculous backpack.

But as his mind clears further, reality sets in with an almost physical weight. He’s not sure how he’s gotten here. Last night feels like a blur of quiet conversation, laughter, and unspoken tension, but here you are, wrapped in his arms as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

God, what am I doing?

The thought is sharp, cutting through the haze in his mind. He tries to pull away, but he can’t. His body refuses to listen to the voice that tells him to stop—to retreat, to keep the distance between you that’s always been there.

This is wrong, he tells himself. But the longer he stays, the more that little voice feels like a lie. He’s wanted this—wanted you—long before he ever admitted it. You’ve been there in his dreams, in his thoughts, in places he never thought he’d let anyone reach. But now, with you here, so close, it feels too much like something he’s been afraid to face.

You’re here because you want to be, he tells himself, even though the thought makes his chest tighten. The last thing he wants is to ruin this by overthinking it. But how can he not? He’s tangled up with you, wrapped around you in a way that feels natural, but still entirely new. Your breath on his skin is soothing, but it’s also a reminder of how close you are. The thought shakes him, unnerving in its simplicity.

You, with your vibrancy, your youth, your life ahead of you... how could you possibly want someone like him? He’s older, with baggage that comes with the territory - a dead ex-wife, a son, an irreconcilably difficult relationship with his work. He’s seen the toll of his career on his own soul, and he’s no fool—he knows he can’t give you the things someone your age deserves.

And yet... he can’t picture a life without you. Whenever he looks ahead, you’re there. You’re part of it.

You shift in your sleep, and the movement makes his body react in ways it shouldn’t, as if it’s betraying him on purpose. Morning wood was always inconvenient, but he can’t deny that his body has a good reason for reacting the way it is, this morning. He can’t rightly blame his body or his brain for this one, but he can mitigate the issue. He swallows hard, trying to keep his thoughts in check. This is foolish. He’s being foolish. But the pull of you, the way you trust him enough to let him in this close, it’s all too much.

Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner.

He tries to shift away, slowly, gently—careful not to wake you, though your soft protests make it clear you’re not fully asleep. The last thing he needs right now is a reminder of how real this moment is.

A shower. That’s what he needs. Something cold. He picks up his toiletries and makes his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him for some semblance of space, of control. He starts the water and palms himself, trying to relieve the uncomfortable pressure insistent and painful between his legs.

Hotch braces a hand against the cool tile, his other already wrapping around himself with a practiced ease that borders on shameful. The heat of the water is nothing compared to the warmth of your body still lingering in his mind, the phantom press of your back against his chest, the way your fingers had laced so easily with his in sleep. He bites back a groan, jaw tightening as his strokes fall into a familiar rhythm, one he knows too well. This isn’t new—he’s had years of practice burying his want for you in moments like this, years of pretending that letting it out like this will make it any easier to ignore in the daylight.

But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s not just a fantasy. This time, he has the memory of you in his arms, your scent in his nose, the knowledge that, even unconsciously, you reached for him just as much as he reached for you. His chin falls down to his chest, breath stuttering as he pictures what it would be like if you weren’t just beside him in sleep but in this, too—if it were your hand, your touch, your voice whispering his name in the quiet. He grits his teeth, trying to hold back the rush of it, but it’s no use.

The release comes fast, sharp and overwhelming, and for a moment, it’s everything. But then it’s gone, leaving him panting under the spray, the guilt creeping in at the edges like it always does. He lets the water scald his skin for a moment longer, trying to drown out the truth of it.

He’s fucked. He’s completely, hopelessly fucked.

He takes another breath and turns the spray to a shrinking cold. Serves him right.

When he finally emerges, he’s grateful for the cold that follows, the chill of the bathroom driving out the last of the thoughts that have been clouding his mind.

He doesn’t expect you to be awake when he returns, but he hears your soft chatter and typing before he even opens the door. He’s aware of your presence, as always, and of the tension in your voice as you speak to someone on the phone. He leans toward the door, his fingertips pressing with the lightest of touches to hold his weight as he eavesdrops.

He can’t even bring himself to feel a little bad.

And then he hears your voice.

“…he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

Hotch pauses, and huffs out a quiet laugh. He can’t even be annoyed because, honestly? That’s funny.

He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say, “My God, Em. Would you quit?”

Ah. So it is Emily.

“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty—”

Your voice drops, too low for him to catch the rest over the hum of the bathroom fan.

With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress.

And if he enjoys the way your voice falters at the sight of him, well—he doesn’t owe Emily a damn thing.

The sight of you, trying to pretend you’re unaffected, makes something in him tighten.

You’re not as unaffected as you’d like to think. Neither of you are.

He catches the faintest hint of a smile as you try to recover, but it’s gone before it fully forms, replaced by the distraction of your laptop, your fingers flying over the keys.

“Yeah, for sure,” y0u reply, still determinedly typing with a little more force than necessary.

Hotch smirks to himself as he pulls on his shirt, taking his time with the buttons. He may not be able to hear Emily’s exact response, but your reaction tells him everything he needs to know. The sharp click of your typing, the force behind your words—he’s spent enough time reading you to know when you’re flustered. And if Emily is pressing you, it means she knows it too. She reacts to sexual tension like a shark with blood in the water.

Emily must say something in reply, as you retort, “Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

He’s not blind. He knows he’s at least somewhat attractive for a man in his early forties—he keeps in shape (his mile time and bench max are better than they were in his 20’s, in fact), his suits are finely tailored, and he’s been told more than once that the whole “stern FBI unit chief” thing works for him. But knowing you think he’s attractive? That’s something else entirely.

And it’s more than enough of an ego boost to wash away any lingering guilt from his… activities in the shower. Because really, can he be blamed? When you look at him like that, wide-eyed and breathless, struggling to pull yourself back into focus?

No. No, he absolutely cannot.

He bites back a knowing smile as he reaches for his tie, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re still determinedly avoiding looking at him, fingers flying over your keyboard like it’ll somehow drown out the conversation entirely.

Poor thing.

He almost feels bad for you. Almost.

In the bathroom, he decides to forgo the tie until it’s time to leave for the ceremony, leaving the top two buttons of his white dress shirt undone. He notices that something on your computer must be riveting, because you don’t look up at all as he returns to the suite.

+++

Austin's family had clearly spared no expense for the ceremony or the reception. The moment he and you had walked in together, arm-in-arm, he could feel the weight of the event pressing down on you. You’d chosen seats near the back, on the groom’s side.

He knows this is strange for you—this wedding, this man who was once supposed to be your future. But you aren’t sitting beside Austin now. You’re sitting beside him.

Aaron doesn’t miss the way your eyes flick over him when you think he’s not looking, the warmth in your gaze when he adjusts his tie—the tie that matches your outfit, as promised. He had seen the way you watched him put it on earlier, how you’d ducked your head with that little smile you always tried to hide. He pretends not to notice, pretends it doesn’t stir something in him, but it does.

The ceremony itself is a blur. He follows the motions—standing, sitting—but what he notices most is you. You rest your head on his shoulder, playing the role. But when you take a shaky breath, he knows it’s more than that.

You don’t love Austin anymore, not even close. But he recognizes that look in your eyes—the quiet ache of knowing time keeps moving, that you are married to nothing but work. He knows because he’s felt it himself.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice pitched low enough that only you can hear.

You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shake your head, pressing your temple deeper into the fabric of his jacket. “Later.”

For a moment, just a moment, he lets his cheek rest against your hair. He isn’t worried, not exactly, but he’s never seen you like this before—existentially untethered. It unsettles him, not because he doesn’t understand it, but because he does. And there is nothing he can do to make it easier for you.

+++

At the open bar, you snag a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for him—good whiskey, because of course you would—when an older woman embraces you with unmistakable warmth.

Aaron watches as you break into a genuine smile. “Hey, Laurie,” you greet her, embracing her with an ease he doesn’t often see from you. He knows exactly who she is—Austin’s mother, from the ceremony. He doesn’t need to hear your words to know that she means something to you.

He doesn’t eavesdrop, exactly, but he can tell the woman is pressing you for information. When she gestures toward him, he schools his expression into something neutral, waiting for you to answer.

With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks and make your way back to the table, the woman in tow. Aaron watches your approach, the amusement flickering behind your carefully composed expression.

“Aaron,” you say, placing the whiskey down in front of him, your hand resting briefly on his shoulder.

He turns, catching the way you glance at him before stepping aside. He stands, extending his hand. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”

“Oh no, that can’t be good.” Laurie laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh. Aaron smiles.

“C’mon, Laurie. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

Aaron takes his seat as Laurie settles across from him, and you lean forward on your elbows, watching as he answers her questions. He doesn’t talk about their work often, not outside the team, but here, away from the weight of the job, he lets himself. He tells stories—ones that won’t bring the room down—and watches as Laurie hangs onto his words.

When he glances at you, he sees something shift in your expression. Something that almost makes him forget what he was saying.

“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.”

Laurie nods, clearly enamored. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “It does.” He lets the words sit between you for a second longer than necessary before your phone buzzes, pulling you away.

You excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders, your touch lingering on his just a second longer than necessary. He watches you step away, lifting your phone to your ear. “Dean, you bastard!”

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to Laurie. He picks up where he left off, but his mind stays on you, lingering at the edges of his thoughts.

Her expression shifts, her gaze turning knowing as she studies him. “So,” she says, resting her chin on her hand. “What exactly are your intentions with her?”

Aaron exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “We’re just colleagues,” he answers honestly, though he knows that’s not the whole truth.

Laurie tsks, tilting her head as if she’s seeing straight through him. “I beg to differ. I’ve been watching you two. The way you look at each other.”

He doesn’t quite squirm, but he feels a warmth creep up his neck. “She’s important to me,” he admits carefully.

“Of course she is,” Laurie agrees, her smile soft but pointed. “I just think you should consider how important she is to you. And in what way.” She pauses. “Just don’t break her heart and you’ll do just fine.” She smiles a cheeky, knowing smile. There’s a little pain behind it. “Trust me, I know.”

Aaron doesn’t have a response to that, and Laurie simply pats his hand before shifting the conversation elsewhere. But the thought lingers, settling somewhere in his chest as he watches you, framed by the doors to the balcony.

+++

When the dancing starts, Aaron’s anticipation reaches his nervous system in a way it hasn’t in a long time. He finds himself chuckling when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play. He thinks of what Dave said earlier, about letting himself have a little fun, and for once, he’s inclined to listen. Maybe he will seize an opportunity tonight.

Old dog, new tricks?

With a confidence and certainty that only feels partially for show, he stands and offers you his hand. There’s no hesitation when you take it, and only after does it seem to dawn on you what he’s doing.

“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop in your tracks, and he tightens his grip just enough to keep you tethered to him. There’s amusement in his eyes as he looks back at you.

Of all the things to say to me, of all people…

“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with an exasperated huff. “Humor me. Just one, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

Your skeptical look is well-earned. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.”

You give in, and when you do, something shifts. He keeps you both to one side of the dance floor, mindful, careful. The push and pull of movement is familiar, natural, and his grip on your waist is steady, grounding without constraint. There's laughter—his, yours, mingling with the music—and the ease of it catches him off guard. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this, the quiet joy of sharing something simple, something good.

Your tension eases gradually. He notices the way your fingers stop gripping his shoulder so tightly, the way your steps become more fluid. He catches sight of Austin across the dance floor and, in an instant, recognizes the way your eyes dart away.

“Hey.” His voice is low, nearly teasing.

Your eyes snap back to his. “What?”

“Relax.”

“You’re one to talk,” you scoff.

With a smirk, he spins you out, then pulls you back in against his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You, however, are tense.”

Aaron's heart pounds in his chest, and he's sure you can feel it. Whether it's from exertion or something else, he's not sure. He’s pushing the line now, taking liberties.

In for a penny…

You sigh, relenting. "It just feels weird."

“What does?” He turns you again, your hand landing lightly over his heart as he pulls you close once more. His hands are politely centered on your back. Now that is a liberty he’s not going to take.

“I just—” You hesitate, then push through. “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s strange to think I ever did. That I thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves, and both of our lives just… kept going after we split, you know?”

He nods. “I do.”

And he does. The memories of Haley—of their love, their pain, their loss—never truly leave him. But right now, for the first time in what feels like forever, those thoughts aren’t heavy. They don’t weigh him down. Instead, there’s just this—just you, warm in his arms, laughing as he spins you under his arm. The sound of it tugs something loose in him, something he hadn’t even realized was so tightly wound.

When you return the favor, spinning him under your arm, he lets out a surprised laugh, bright and uninhibited. The song shifts into something slower, and he doesn’t let you go. Doesn’t even consider it.

Your head comes to rest against him as you sigh, exhausted and content.

“Thank you for being here with me.”

The words settle in, warm and unexpected, and something in him softens. When he speaks, it's quiet, but certain. “Of course.”

Nowhere better.

+++

By the time you both retreat upstairs, Aaron feels something he hasn’t in years—genuine lightness, unburdened by the usual weight he carries. His suit jacket had long since been abandoned, leaving him in rolled sleeves, a loosened tie, and an altogether uncharacteristically unkempt appearance. He carries it slung over his shoulder, holding onto the collar with a single finger. He leans against the wall, his ankles crossed. He’s the picture of ease.

“You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.”

The teasing lilt in your voice makes him laugh, a sound he’s only now realizing has come freely tonight. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You don’t have a bedtime.”

And it’s true—he hardly sleeps on cases (or at home, for that matter), and you’ve seen him function on nothing more times than you can count. But here, in this moment, he feels the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from stress or overwork, but from something simpler, something warmer. Something that could actually inspire him to sleep soundly, for once.

You turn away to sort through your belongings, and Aaron watches for just a second longer before disappearing into the bathroom to shower.

When he returns, his hair damp, you’re already asleep—curled up on top of the covers, out like a light. He exhales softly, flicking off the last of the lights before making his way to your side of the bed. Carefully, he peels back the covers, shifting your legs beneath them, then your torso. You stir, your fingers curling around his wrist before he can pull away.

His breath catches, his eyes closing for just a moment. Then, gently, he slips his hand from yours.

And when he finally slides beneath the covers, you instinctively curl into his side, your leg hooking over his. He doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t move away. He only lets out a quiet sigh and allows himself, for once, to enjoy the comfort of something good.

+++

Aaron watches you sleep, your face tucked against his chest, your breath warm and steady against his skin. He should wake you soon—checkout isn’t far off—but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. His arm tightens slightly around you, as if that will keep this moment from slipping away.

Your body is curled into his, trusting and unguarded. He tells himself it’s just the circumstances, that you’d be this way with anyone who made you feel safe. But something deep in his chest twists at the thought, and he wonders if he’s being selfish, holding onto this feeling for just a little longer.

The morning light filters through the curtains, catching in your hair, casting soft shadows across your face. You shift slightly, murmuring something he can’t quite make out, and he freezes, barely daring to breathe. But you settle again, your fingers lightly curling into the fabric of his shirt. He lets out a slow breath, relief and something else washing over him in tandem.

He wishes he could have this every morning—waking up warm, wrapped in quiet moments before the world intrudes. But joy like this isn’t for men like him. He knows better than to reach for things that aren’t meant to last.

Still, he lingers, allowing himself just a few more minutes in this fragile peace before reality calls you both back. He tips his head back against the headboard, letting himself fall into the fantasy where this is his every morning, waking up with you in his arms.

Get over it already. Jesus.

He’s still looking at you, memorizing the peace on your face, when your eyes crack open. Your eyes flicker up, meeting his with a surprise that doesn’t seem all that unwelcome.

“Good morning,” he says.

Best to start simple.

You tuck your face back into his chest. He takes the opportunity to pull you closer, hold you a little tighter. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.”

His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

Too much? He freezes for a moment, but you haven’t pulled away.

“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but he’s sure his arm is blocking the eyeline. He’s not inclined to move, so he just answers.

“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”

“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up. He lets himself fall back as you leave the circle of his arms. He’s not imagining it–you’re much readier to make contact now than you were before. Sometime during the weekend, the contact became less taboo.

The zings of electricity that jump through his skin when you touch him haven’t stopped though. He hopes it never does.

He shrugs and tells the truth. “I like driving.”

I am also a control freak. But you knew that.

“I won’t argue with that.”

You sigh, stretch and stand. You miss the way Hotch’s brow crumples as a sliver of your skin becomes visible as your arms stretch above your head. He very purposefully keeps his back to you as he gathers his things, tidying up and hiding the rather unfortunately timed hard-on. While you’re in the bathroom, he changes with practiced haste, using a trick he hasn’t needed since college - the old flip into the waistband move. Minimizes adjustments, maximizes suffering. Especially in jeans. Serves him right.

You switch places, letting him brush his teeth and shave. He takes your zipped suitcase in one hand, his roller bag in his other.

“Meet you downstairs?” He asks.

You nod, smiling. “Checkout should be taken care of, but I’ll check at the front.”

“Bill me if it’s more than five dollars,” he says with a wink, already halfway out the door.

He meets you outside, sunglasses on, the sun baking his dark hair. It is rather pleasant outside, even if it is the beginning of winter. “Ready?”

You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!”

He finds himself loving the side of you unlocked by this trip–the shameless silliness and easy laughter. He hopes it can stick around when they get home. He hopes a lot of this can stick around when they get home, but he knows the magic of being ‘out of context,’ as it were, for a weekend can’t last.

Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope.

“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict. He is starving, the ver corner of a hangover at the edge of his eyeline. He only had two or three drinks, but his metabolism isn’t what it used to be.

“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast,” you say, “almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?”

He studies you behind his sunglasses. There’s something intangible that changes in your demeanor when you’re omitting something - he’s seen it in the interrogation room. He’s almost certain Penelope wants you to spill.

There’s a small part of him that idly wonders how many details you shared in advance of this weekend.

With a laugh at Penelope, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate.

Is that… disappointment?

For what, though?

You put your phone away as Penelope appears to abruptly hang up and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.”

He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.”

You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack.

“Hey bud!”

“Hi dad!”

God, he loves that boy. He has no idea (okay maybe some idea) of how he turned out so great so far.

“You having a good weekend?” He asks.

“Yeah! I saw that rabbit again!”

Aaron smiles. “I’m glad buddy.”

“What’s all that noise?”

Aaron looks up, finding a dog barking on the sidewalk, a leafblower going strong across the street, and the sounds of the hotel valet drivers tossing keys and getting people checked out. “We’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today.”

“Did you have fun?” Jack asks in that polite way only children can.

“Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun.” You smile, crinkling your nose at him. He smiles back. “I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend.”

“I did! We ice fished, too!”

“You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?

“Yeah. He showed me how to put bait on and everything.”

“Awesome, bud.”

“I gotta go, Dad. We’re leaving to go…” Jack must have pulled the phone away from his mouth, because all Aaron hears is ambient noise of an entire house getting ready to leave.

“Sounds good,” he says uselessly. “I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

Jack returns to the receiver. “Love you Dad!”

“I love you too.”

When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”

“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.”

You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”

Isn’t that the question of the hour. “Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is...not a fan of mine.”

Aaron vividly remembers the cold fury in Roy’s eyes at the funeral, the icy conversation they had after the service. Roy’s feelings about the whole affair–Haley’s murder, his role in it–is clear. Aaron’s responsibility for her death is one of the few things they agree on, these days. But even that isn’t enough for a functioning relationship.

Like you can read his mind, you say, “I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” He can tell just by looking at you that you mean it, which is very kind of you.

Kinder than he deserves, surely.

He doesn’t want to get into it with you again, so he just says, “Thank you.”

+++

Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He secretly enjoys your karaoke-esque abandon in the car. He catches himself smiling more often than not.

At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat.

Uh oh.

This feels like a preamble to something.

“Yes?” He asks.

“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him. He can see out of the corner of his eye that your attention is glued on him. If he didn’t like it so much, it would be unnerving.

“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.”

You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”

He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.” He’s sure he has, in fact, on multiple occasions.

“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.”

“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his head. He did get a haircut before this weekend, but he was sure you hadn’t noticed. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and he laughs, letting himself get jostled.

“I’m kidding! I like it long, though.” You look over fondly at him. Something grows warm in his chest and his lips turn up at the corners, almost without his permission. “It was longer when I first met you, remember? You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.”

He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturn just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.”

And ain’t that just the coldest truth.

You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on.

+++

Aaron has never been more reluctant to pull into a driveway in his life. Yours, specifically. He slows more than he needs to, as if delaying the inevitable might somehow change the outcome. But real life is waiting for both of you, and pretending otherwise is just another cruelty he’s allowing himself.

He turns off the ignition, and for a long moment, neither of you move. He can feel the weight of everything left unsaid hanging between you. Maybe you don’t realize it, but he does. He knows the exact shape of it, the way it’s been growing, pressing in at the edges. And still, he sits in it, selfishly, because soon he won’t have the luxury.

You sigh, and it feels like a cue. He follows you out of the car, circling around back without thinking. He should just let you take your own damn suitcase, but he doesn’t. Carrying it is another excuse—one more fleeting moment before the goodbye he doesn’t want to say.

At your doorstep, you fumble with your keys, and he thinks, just for a second, that if you never got the door open, he wouldn’t have to go. He sets your suitcase down, but his hands don’t leave it right away. They ache with restraint. You get the door open and take a few steps inside.

Then, before he can stop himself, he reaches for you. Covers your hands with his own. He shouldn’t, but he does. He shouldn’t lean in, but he does. The kiss he presses to your cheek is light, barely there, but it lingers between you all the same.

“Thank you for inviting me.” It’s not what he wants to say. Not even close. What he means?

Thank you for letting me love you, like I would. Like I want to.

But it’ll have to do for now.

You nod, but your smile is tight, your lips pressed together. You feel it, too, don’t you? This thing neither of you are naming. He swallows and lets you create distance. He can scarcely allow himself to hope. It’s not fair to hope.

He’s not sure if it’s more unfair to you or to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He steps back because he has to. Because if he doesn’t, he’s not sure what he might do.

Something regrettable, no doubt.

“Bye, Hotch.” Your voice is steady, but he knows better. “Thanks again.”

He turns before he can look too long at the way you watch him. He pulls on his sunglasses, a weak shield, and opens the door, looking at you over his shoulder. “Anytime,” he says, and it’s the biggest lie he’s told in years.

He is proud that he only looks back once, to see you waving with the tips of your fingers, peeking out behind the door, as he follows the stone path back to the driveway. The walk feels miles long, the distance between you stretching like a reflection in a funhouse mirror.

You disappear inside when he reaches the edge of the poured concrete. He waits until the door closes before he exhales, before he rubs a hand over his face and forces himself back into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t start the car right away. He sits there, gripping the wheel, knowing that for the first time in a long time, going home doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like loss.

Fuck.

+++

tags: starting fresh! hit up the spreadsheet if you want to come back to the taglist :)

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future fanfic

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