#but there is still a boy to take care of for a while

[kuncitizen]

The changes seem almost imperceptible at first.

Gojo's bathroom rack, once barren except for a two-in-one shampoo that doubles as body wash—is now cluttered with pastel bottles, a pink loofah with a bow, and some mysterious scrub labeled watermelon smoothie (which, to his utter disappointment, was not edible).

The mirror near the rack—once mounted at his freakishly tall eye level—now has a mini mirror suctioned right beside it, tilted lower just for you.

You didn’t even say anything. Just sighed one morning, yawned, and slapped it on with sleepy precision. He had laughed at you for being bite-sized, but caught himself using it when trimming his jawline.

And the fridge used to be sad, truly. Half a bottle of lychee-flavoured lemonade, a sketchy cucumber, and maybe a Red Bull or five.

Now there's fresh strawberries in containers you washed, vegetables, spices arranged alphabetically in matching jars. He made fun of it at first. But then two weeks later, when he could find the cumin instantly, he stared into the distance and muttered, “My baby's a genius.”

There’s a polaroid stuck to the fridge door with a peach-shaped magnet. You��re in the middle of the frame, laughing so hard your eyes are half-closed. Gojo’s beside you, one arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders as he makes the dumbest face known to man, while his other arm yanks a scowling Megumi into the shot like a hostage. The caption, scribbled in your messy handwriting, reads:

Family dinner (Megumi hates us).

Just beneath the photo, pinned by the same magnet, is a torn piece of paper:

-milk

-eggs

-bread

-celery

-don’t forget the glazed donuts you like even though they give you heartburn <3

Gojo keeps the list even after everything’s been bought, folding it once and slipping it into his pocket.

Because it might be just some grocery list to anyone else. But to him, it’s written in your handwriting, smells faintly like your lotion, and—most importantly—it ends with a <3.

So naturally, there’s no official "you moved in” moment. No big conversations or suitcases.

It's your scent lingering on his pillow. Your toothbrush sitting next to his in a cup he swears he didn’t buy.

It’s your hair ties scattered on his bedside table, the black ones that Gojo swears just keep multiplying. But he sometimes picks them up and just holds them for no reason, like they’re sacred relics of a goddess.

And then there are the things that aren’t objects at all.

The moments that take up space. The gestures, the silences, the care stitched into his life like you’ve always been part of it.

Like when you were were in the laundry folding his shirts, humming off-key to something on your phone and snapping the fabric mid-air like you meant business. You didn’t notice him at first—standing in the hallway, gripping the doorframe like he’s been physically hit with feelings.

Gojo had to literally bite his knuckle to keep himself from bursting into tears or tackle you mid-fold and bite your arm out of the sheer overload of affection.

Or just last night, when he swore he passed out with the lights still on, jacket half-off, phone dead on the nightstand. He only remembers collapsing onto the mattress with his head pounding, too tired to even take off his shoes.

But he wakes up warm. Shoes off, lights out, a blanket tucked around his figure. There's a note scribbled in your familiar writing, just beside the glass of water and packets of Tylenol placed on the bedside table.

“Took your shoes off and put painkillers on the table. You looked like roadkill. Love you.”

He stared at it for a full ten minutes, blanket pulled to his chin like a little boy, blinking at the ceiling with the stunned realization that someone out there loved him like this—so gently, so normally, that it didn’t even ask to be acknowledged.

Gojo rolls out of bed like a man reborn and follows the smell of something frying in the kitchen.

Because of course, you’re there.

Barefoot, standing on your tiptoes at the stove, lips pursed in concentration as you stir something sizzling in a pan. His hoodie swallows you whole, dipping low on your thighs, sleeves bunched around your wrists. Your hair’s twisted up messily, and he swears if he looks any longer, he’s going to melt into the floor like a cartoon character.

It’s almost unfair how casual you look in his space. Like you were meant to be there. Like the room rearranged itself around you.

Gojo forgets his exhaustion in an instant. The only thing sore now is his heart.

He pads over and wraps his arms around you from behind, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Gojo mumbles against your skin.

You snort. “I’m literally making food for you.”

“That’s not what’s gonna kill me.”

“What, the garlic?”

“The fact that you’re standing in my kitchen looking like a walking dream,” he grumbles, kissing the side of your neck.

You laugh, wiggling your hips slightly to throw him off. “Down, boy. You’re gonna burn your fingers.”

He groans like he’s actually in pain, but doesn’t move. If anything, he presses closer, nuzzling his nose against the curve of your neck and mumbling nonsense into your skin.

“Y’know,” you say, flipping the pan with ease, “if you distract me, and we both die in a fire, that’s on you.”

“Worthy sacrifice,” he mutters, lips brushing your collarbone.

Gojo's hand slides down—slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. His fingers find yours, and he gently pulls your left hand away from the spatula. You blink, confused, as he lifts your hand and lightly wraps his fingers around your ring finger, measuring.

You raise a brow. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he replies way too fast.

You squint at him. “Is this another one of your weird kinks or—”

“Shh.” He coos as he kisses the tip of your finger. “Just checking if my future plans align.”

You narrow your eyes further, suspicious of where Gojo's going with this.

“You like rubies better or diamonds?”

You pause. “What?”

He grins into your shoulder, kissing it again. “I’m just saying. Hypothetically. If a guy wanted to be smart and lock it down before someone else does.”

Your voice comes out quieter than expected. “You’re serious?”

Gojo leans in, his voice low and uncharacteristically sincere, suddenly stripped of the teasing.

“I am so stupidly, pathetically serious about you, it’s embarrassing. I want to marry the girl who makes my apartment feel like more than just four walls. I want to put a ring on the hand that steals my hoodies and flips me off.”

Your lips part, but he keeps going.

“I want you in my kitchen, in my bed, even in my closet. Even when you leave coffee mugs everywhere. Even when you hog the blanket. Even when you bully me for crying during Pixar trailers.”

“You do cry during Pixar trailers.”

“And I’ll cry during our wedding vows too. I’m not an insecure man.”

You lean in and kiss him before he gets all sappy again, hands tangling in his hair as he wraps his arms fully around you, pulling you close enough to feel every soft breath.

Halfway through, Gojo smiles against your lips like he can’t help it. Like his heart spilled out through his mouth and all it could do was grin stupidly.

When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, eyes half-lidded, that smile still lingering.

“So, rubies or diamonds?”

You roll your eyes, but your own smile creeps in anyway. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he replies.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s already engraving your ring size into permanent memory.

A/N: I literally got so lazy that I didn't even proofread before posting this. So if you spot a typo, no you didn't.

[yan-randomfandom]

Heyyy! I was wondering if you could do yandere saja boys x reader where the reader hangs out with a guy and they get very jealous

Yandere!Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; the day im satisfied with writing a yan!saja boys and/or yan!huntrix one shot is the day i'll retire because this is still lacking 💔

warnings; uncomfortable, stalking, possessive behavior, more spotlight on Abby! no Jinu here, sry!

— 🌇

That's weird.

You're not anywhere in your house. You haven't responded to their messages yet.

"Think they finally had enough of us?" Baby mutters, looking through your snack drawer—nothing of interest—before closing it harsher than intended. The loud bang echoes in the empty kitchen.

Abby narrows his eyes as he looks through the window. The sun is going to set soon. "That can't be right. Maybe they went to buy something."

"Without telling us?" Mystery growls, his fingers fidgeting together. Well, it's not like you need to tell them every action you'll do. He's not even sure himself why he's so irritated.

After all, they were already planning to take your soul after the whole thing is over. But now that he's thinking of it again, the idea doesn't feel so good anymore...

The front door suddenly squeals open. All of them turn, expecting you, but instead meet Romance's face.

"Don't look so disappointed," Romance scoffs with an eyebrow raise. "I found the human. Come on."

— 🫧

First, they felt relief, then anger, then sadness, then nothing.

They found you alone, as Romance said you were, but then you started laughing. Your gentle laughter stopped them from getting any closer. A smile curls on your lips as your eyes consistently follow something.

"What?" Romance mutters, confusion scrunching his face. They can't see well from this angle—but they can't move either without being seen.

"I told you it's slippery," you snicker, walking over and extending your hand. Ah. So you weren't alone. "Come on. I'll help you up, I guess."

"Thanks," a voice replies, matching your energy, causing all of the boys to glance at each other. They watch as a hand takes yours. "I guess."

The person gets up—a man. Not a demon, but a human. Standing too close to you and still holding your hand. Or maybe it was just a normal distance, and time felt like forever watching you touch that thing—but, oh, Gwi-Ma. They feel like boiling their human forms.

You finally let go of him, using your hand to fish your phone out of your pocket. A frown snakes across your lips after a while. "Oh, no."

"Oh no?" your friend asks, tilting his head. "Is something wrong?"

You begin chewing your bottom lip, looking around. "No, uh, not really. But I have to go now. Nice catching up with you, man!"

"Aw, really?" he says, glancing at his phone. "Oh. It is pretty late. Isn't your apartment like right over there? I can—"

"There you are!"

You and your friend turn your heads, both of your eyes widening for entirely different reasons.

Abby approaches you with a charming smile, settling an arm over your shoulders. He hums as he takes a good, innocent look at your companion. "Who's this?"

"Saja— Abs—Abby? From Saja Boys?! Uh, I mean— Hi! So nice to meet you!" An unexpected blush blooms over your friend's face. He glances at you with nervousness and fascination before bowing his head.

Your friend shows off a crooked grin. He's a big fan already; he told you moments ago how he had Soda Pop on loop. You huff and remove Abby's arm from your shoulder, barely able to hold your flinch at the way he looked offended.

You gaze at Abby in anticipation.

Abby immediately gets the hint and masks himself. "Oh, a fan! Thank you for your support!"

They took a picture, Abby did his autograph, all the while giving him fanservice with his abs. Your friend giggles cheerfully as they shake their hands goodbye. You didn't miss the way Abby wiped his hand on his shirt when your friend wasn't looking.

"Take care!" you call to him, waving a hand before turning to a blank-faced Abby.

He stares at you humorlessly.

You blink, avoiding his eyes. "Uh, hey. Sorry about... not replying. I ran out of—"

Abby chuckles, smiles like he wasn't just judging your entire being, and shakes his head. He returns to draping his arm around your shoulder protectively. "No need to explain. We're glad you're safe. Let's go home."

Your brows furrow as Abby guides your walk. We're? We?

It's an obvious thing that once a member is involved, all of them are. Just... where are the others? Abby is the only one here.

You stray your eyes, landing on a window.

In the dim reflection, three pairs of glowing, golden eyes point at you in the distance. Ah. There they are. Watching, waiting.

Ugh. You look away. Jinu's never this level of creepy. He's not present again, as always.

You don't notice Abby nodding his head curtly next to you.

— need .. need to include more horrors..... ngl I'm stuck between funny or horrific yan!saja boys ,,

— also if you're wondering why Jinu isn't here, I just prefer not to include him in general! yeah my bad, in my other fics he's just kinda hanging around

— why's it so hard for me to write yandere (says the yandere blog)

[cameronsbabydoll]

BASIC TRAINING — CHAPTER THREE

WARNINGS — invasion of privacy, diary-reading without consent, possessive male POV, inner obsession, implied virginity, age gap dynamics, inappropriate fantasies, minor delusion/grooming-adjacent thoughts, manipulation (anything italicized is what’s written in the diary!)

You didn’t even realize you’d dropped it.

That’s the funniest part. Funniest to him, at least.

You were walking too fast across the courtyard. Flustered again. Maybe it was because Rafe had called you sweetheart with that slow drawl, lingering on the “s,” right in front of three privates. You stammered through a hello, eyes darting everywhere but him, clutching your bag like a shield.

He watched you walk off.

And then he saw it — a slim pink notebook, barely thicker than a pamphlet, slipped from your tote and dropped behind you like a breadcrumb.

You didn’t hear it. Didn’t turn around.

Just kept walking.

So now it’s his.

He finds it ten seconds later, thumb brushing the soft cover like it might burn. You’d doodled a little sun in the corner. One of the loops is dotted with a heart. The name you wrote inside?

First name only. Bubbly handwriting. Like a schoolgirl.

He flips to the first page and grins.

“Summer Goals ☀️💕”

— swim more

— read 5 books

— learn how to french braid my hair

— kiss someone (REAL kiss!)

— fall in love

— try wine or beer!

— say no without feeling bad

— be brave

Rafe lets out a low breath. One part humor. One part something else.

God, you’re even softer than he thought.

You want to fall in love. Kiss someone. Try wine or beer.

He wonders if you think all those things will happen in one night. If you still believe in movie endings and fireworks and a guy showing up with flowers.

You’re doomed.

He flips further.

You’ve used it like a diary. You don’t date the pages. Just talk to yourself. Or maybe talk to someone. The kind of someone you wish existed. The kind of man who listens. The kind of man who stays.

“Saw him again today.

He called me sweetheart. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.

He looks at me like he knows things I don’t. It makes me feel dumb. But also kind of… not dumb? Like I want to know what he knows?”

Rafe shifts on the bench.

His grip tightens.

You’re writing about him.

Not a crush. Not a passing observation. You feel something. He’s getting in your head already and you don’t even know it.

You’re still so fucking clueless.

He turns the page.

“My dad would kill me. If he knew what I was thinking…

It’s not even bad! I just. I don’t know.

I want someone to touch me.

Not like that!! I mean. Okay maybe like that. But not gross. Like… soft. Gentle.

I want to know what it feels like to be wanted.”

He leans back against the wall. The notebook drops into his lap.

It takes a full sixty seconds before he even breathes.

You’ve never even been touched. Not really.

You’re writing about your own fantasies like they’re foreign concepts. You don’t even know how it works. You’re scared of it. Confused. Hoping someone will take the guesswork out of it.

And Rafe? He’d do it without a fucking second thought.

But not soft. Not gentle.

He wants you ruined.

Wants you to forget every boy you ever dreamed about because he made you come harder than any of them ever could.

He wants to be your first. And only.

The next page pushes it further.

“I think he’s older. He must be. He looks like he’s seen a lot.

But I like that. I think I want that. Someone who can take care of me. Who already knows what he’s doing.

Someone who knows how to tell me what to do.”

He closes the notebook, fast. Like it’ll melt his palms if he doesn’t.

This isn’t about teasing anymore.

This isn’t even about baiting you.

This is about possession.

You already want the thing he planned to take.

He slides the book into his pocket. He’ll return it. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe after he reads it again.

Maybe after he’s jacked off to the words “tell me what to do” while moaning your name into his fist.

You knock on his office door the next morning.

He’s not surprised. You’re flustered. Lip bitten. Crimson on your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, opening the door wider. “You look like you lost a puppy.”

You blink up at him, embarrassed. “I—I think I dropped my notebook yesterday. I was just wondering if…”

“Notebook, huh?”

He moves slowly to the desk. Opens a drawer.

Pulls it out with a casual shrug.

“This one?”

Your eyes light up. You nod, stepping forward to take it—but he doesn’t let go.

He watches you.

Tilts his head. Then slowly, very deliberately, presses it into your hands. His fingers brush your wrists.

“You should be more careful with your private thoughts, sweetheart,” he says low. “Never know who might be reading.”

You freeze.

He smiles.

And then he walks away.

You flip through it later. Nothing’s changed. Nothing missing.

But somehow… something feels different.

You can’t explain it.

The pages feel heavier. The air between your fingers charged. You catch yourself wondering—just for a second—if he meant something else. If he read—

No. No, he wouldn’t.

Would he?

That night, Rafe sits outside on the barrack steps.

His boots are dusty. His knuckles bruised. He smells like gasoline and aftershave and heat.

And he’s smiling.

Because you’re so, so clueless.

And he’s so, so patient.

But not for much longer.

[yasministration]

be my baby - harry potter

concussions and interruptions au summary: another night at the potter household reveals that you love one of harry's least favourite songs, and his dad's all time favourite. wc: 1k+ cw: kissing, so much fluff, highly recommend pressing on the link in bold when you get to that point!

The night surrounding you is calm, despite the bustling energy in the Potters’s backyard. There’s an old tune playing in the background that Harry’s dad and his friends sing to, freely being dorks, his mother sat on the patio sofa with her own friends around her. It’s nice getting to know Harry’s extended family, you think. You had no idea he and Neville grew up so close to each other, but the shy boy’s parents fit so well in the Potters’s little bubble.

Neville is busy tonight, Alice had told Harry with a glint in her eyes. A date, but I’m sure you already knew.

Harry had shrugged his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant for Neville’s sake, but you had nodded excitedly, having heard all about it from Luna herself. “They’re gonna get married, Mrs. Longbottom, I already know.” And somehow the Longbottoms immediately loved you.

When you and Harry disappeared from their sight, Harry tugging you away from the adults, they had both raised their eyebrows at Lily and James, commenting their own approval of their son’s girlfriend. Now, Frank is busy James, Sirius and Marlene, singing along to the music while throwing a quaffle around as they zoom around on their brooms in the backyard. Lily, Alice, Remus and Mary enjoy a conversation filled with laughs, eyes trained on their partners in the air.

However, Lily occasionally glances down to ensure you and Harry are okay. You’ve hidden away from them, sitting near the lake. Harry’s back is leaning against the thick trunk of a tree, one leg folded up whilst the other rests on the grassy floor. You sit between his legs, back to his chest, and Harry plays with your hair, the laughter around you being the only sound between you.

Harry’s free hand rests against his leg, fingers intertwined with yours. He sighs happily, wondering only for a moment what’s going through your head. But then suddenly, as the music changes and the familiar melody of his dad’s favourite jazz song comes up, you jerk away from him, your head snapping back towards the house.

Harry grimaces “Sorry. My dad’s music-” “I love this song!” Harry blinks rapidly, not expecting the wide grin that overtakes your features, your loud exclamation taking him aback. You scramble upwards, hauling him up with you by the hand still tangled with his. Neither of you notice the way James Potter lands on the ground, abandoning his broom to tug his wife into his arms, dramatically singing the lyrics out loud to her, as though he was falling in love all over again.

So won’t you please? Be my, be my baby?

You giggle as Harry’s arms loop around your waist, a boyish smile on his face. You cup his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his once before pulling away, stroking his cheeks as you sing along to the words. “I’ll make you happy baby, just wait and see!”

Harry swallowed thickly, eyes dipping to your lips. He always used to groan when the song came up, looking away from his parents as his dad twirled Lily into his arms, singing lovingly at her. But as you serenaded him, Harry decided he loved this song. Maybe it wasn’t so bad when the lyrics were aimed at him.

“For every kiss you give me, I’ll give you-” You were cut off by the press of Harry’s lips against yours, the kiss broken by your joyful giggles. Harry grins, forehead resting against yours as the song continues blaring in the background. He is acutely aware of his dad’s voice in the background, and he doesn’t doubt that James is holding Lily in his arms. But Harry cannot physically care less when you are pushing him back against the trunk, your hands laid flat on his chest as you capture his lips with yours again.

His fingers curl around the curve of your hips, tugging your body closer to his. Harry is sure you can feel his racing heartbeat beneath the palm of your hand as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

From across the backyard, Lily Potter’s back is pulled towards her husband’s chest, and the pair sways slowly with wide smiles on their faces. “I’m glad someone else appreciates my taste in music.” James whispers against his wife’s temple. Lily laughs, mumbling “Did you see what she did?”

“What, you mean only make our son actually enjoy the song he has complained about for eighteen years? Yes, I saw, honey.”

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, love, I think she is.”

You break the kiss, Harry’s lips parting from yours with a loud squelch, and you can see the redness tinting his cheeks in the soft moonlight. You shriek as Harry’s fingers run up your sides with a gentle squeeze to tickle you, laughing softly as you squirm in his hold. Your boyfriend chuckles, pulling you into his body. You sigh happily, resting your head on his chest as you loosely hold him, hands on his back to hug him back.

“So, would you be my baby? Forever?” Harry finally asks in a whisper, voice suddenly shy. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you feel your lips tug up into a smile. You are so inexplicably happy. “Yeah. I’ll be your baby forever. Only if you’ll be mine too.” Harry’s chest bubbles with a joyful laugh and he digs his face in the crook of your neck, hiding his flushed cheeks from you.

A gust of wind has a shiver running down your spine, and Harry pulls away from the hug to wordlessly tug his jumper off. You don’t have time to deny his jumper before he’s forcing it over your head and guiding your arms into the sleeves. So instead, you just smile, letting him steer you into the position you were previously in, back against his chest as you curl up on the floor.

Your voice cuts into the comfortable silence once more, smiling to yourself as you asked “Does that mean we’re gonna get married then?”

“Uh, yeah. Thought we already confirmed that.”

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy, @liviessun, @rory-cakes, @heebiemcjeebies, @fl0weryannie, @muffinemmaa, @anne061989, @regsg18, @graciereads, @adharaoaklyn, @hawaii2320, @c0ldstvff, @bigbodycity, @starmaniii, @urmom101, @simpfortoomanymen, @ennaholic, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @eunicefrogsandfoes, @dreamamubarak, @quinquinquincy, @vxyselectric, @liliemb04, @crowleythesexydemon, @lovelyygirl8, @matcha-kitty13, @dlljdhsh, @yegrnn, @marauder-era6779, @xadenswhore, @5sospenguinqueen, @esposadomd, @paytonluvxx, @wrenisrad, @lovelyteenagebeard, @mxvoid26, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @isnt-itstrange @fandomhoe101

[woogilicious]

didn't think i'd fall here ꒰ mingi ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ rating: 18+ (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: song mingi x female!reader ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 6.5k ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: strangers to lovers, comfort, virgin!reader, virgin!mingi, friends-to-lovers energy, soft angst, smut, fluff ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: emotional manipulation, toxic friendship, crying, anxiety, self-esteem issues, first time sex, consensual sex, safe sex, soft dom!mingi vibes, realistic first time awkwardness, condom run to the convenience store lol, mentions of blood during sex (light), aftercare, mingi being obsessed with you, reader threatening to chop mingi's dick off lovingly ♡ ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ author's note: it's been a while y'all. hope you enjoy this smut, and also I've been trying some new layout lol cuz i'm not satisfied with my previous layout.

You didn't even want to come here today.

Lotte World was supposed to be fun—cotton candy, carousel selfies, maybe something gentle like bumper cars. But with Yujin and Hana, it was never about fun. It was about appearances. About pushing you into situations just to get a reaction, to laugh behind their hands at how you squirmed.

"Ugh, you're seriously scared of this?" Yujin groan, snapping a photo of the massive Atlantis roller coaster ahead, the steel tracks twisting like some cruel maze in the sky. "It's not even the scariest ride here."

"Right?" Hana chimes in. "God, you're so boring sometimes, Y/N. No wonder no guy ever looks at you."

You laugh. It's hollow.

It doesn't stop the sting.

The queue is already packed when they drag you towards the entrance. You hesitate, but Yujin latches onto your wrist like you're a toddler about to run into traffic.

"Don't be a baby. It's just a ride."

"But I really don't—"

"Do not make a scene," she hisses, smiling too widely as a group of boys glance over. "You're already embarrassing enough. Come on."

The line inches forward. Every step closer makes your chest tighter, like the straps of an invisible harness locking you in. Your stomach churns, hands tremble. But you don't say a word.

Yujin and Hana are too busy taking selfies to notice. Or care.

You stand behind them, quiet, small, barely existing.

"Swear to god," Yujin mutters at one point, "you're going to die single if you keep acting like this. You gotta be brave. Guys hate weak girls."

Hana laughs way too loud. "She needs a guy to knock some sense into her. Or just knock her up. Either one might fix it."

Your ears burn.

You try to laugh again, just to keep up the illusion. It sounds like you're choking.

And still, the line moves.

You're maybe five people from the platform when the operator suddenly shouts, "Two seat available now! Anyone here riding as a pair?"

Yujin doesn't even ask. Doesn't even glance back.

She and Hana leap forward.

"We're two!"

They disappear up the stairs in a blink. The group in front of you steps forward. And just like that, you're alone.

You don't cry, not yet.

But your body's reacting—shaking hands, clenched jaw, vision blurring at the edges. You're aware that walking backward through the crowded line would be more embarrassing than just riding the damn thing. At least, that's what your brain tells you.

The panic bubbles anyway.

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes glued to the track. It creaks and rumbles as the next cart wooshes by in a blur. Someone screams in delight. You're going to throw up. Right here, in front of everyone.

And then—

"Hey."

You jump.

The voice is gentle, low, curious. You turn around.

Three boys stand behind you, next in line. The tallest one—broad shoulders, brown hair—tilts his head at you.

You blink. "...huh?"

He offers a small smile. "You look like you're about to faint."

You open your mouth, then shut it.

The second boy, shorter but muscular with sharp features and a piercing stare, cuts in. "She was with those girls, right? They just ditched her."

The third guy, softer looking with black hair and pretty eyes, nods. "That's messed up."

You look between them, startled that they even noticed.

"I'm—fine," you lie. "I'll just... I was gonna leave."

"Back through that crowd?" The tall one says, gesturing behind.

"...yeah."

He glances at the operator, then back at you. "Well, you don't have to ride alone. I'll go with you."

You blink. "What?"

He smiles again, this time more reassuring. "I mean—if you want. We can ride together. No pressure."

"...why?"

He shrugs. "You look like you need a buddy."

The one with the sharp stare grins now. "This guy's Mingi. He's annoyingly a gentleman sometimes."

"I'm Jongho," he adds, giving you a little nod. "And that's Yeosang."

Yeosang gives you a tiny wave.

"Thanks," you mumble, feeling overwhelmed but... oddly warm. "I'm Y/N."

Jongho snorts. "Yeah, we heard your friends being total assholes. Y/N, you seriously deserve better than that."

You swallow. The words hit harder than they should.

Mingi gently touches your elbow. "You okay riding the roller coaster with me?"

You look at him—his soft gaze, his open posture, the zero judgement in his tone. And for once, someone isn't making you feel like a burden.

"...yeah," you breathe. "Okay."

The staff waves you forward.

Mingi lets you take the seat first, then slips in beside you, pulling the safety bar down. He's close—his knee brushes yours, and his scent is something clean and warm, like citrus and sun.

He glances at you.

"You're brave for doing this."

You almost laugh.

The ride jerks forward with a lurch.

Your fingers grip the bar.

Mingi's hand moves, gently resting on top of yours.

It's warm. Your fingers twitch beneath his at first, unsure, but then the roller coaster jolts forward with a hiss of steam, and you instinctively grip him back like your life depends on it.

He chuckles low under his breath. "That tight already? We haven't gone up yet."

You shoot him a panicked glance, knuckles going pale. "I'm not gonna survive this."

"You will," he says, voice soft. "You've got me now."

The ride starts its slow, agonising climb. Your heart funds like it's trying to launch itself out of your chest.

Mingi doesn't let go. Not even once. His thumb strokes over your knuckles in lazy circles, like he's trying to distract you from the threatening death drop ahead.

"Deep breath," he murmurs. "You've got this, Y/N."

The cart tips.

You scream.

It's not even cute. It's pure terror.

And Mingi just laughs—not at you though, but in joy, throwing his hands up as you fly down the track, wind whipping through your hair, your body tossed left and right.

You never let go of his hand.

By the time it slows and returns to the platform, your voice is gone, and your legs feel like jelly. You stumble forward a little when the bar lifts, but Mingi's hand on your back steadies you.

"You alright?" he asks, eyes scanning your face.

You nod, breathless, dazed.

He smiles, wide and proud. "You did amazing. Seriously! That was brave as hell."

You want to say thank you, but you're still processing the fact that your heart is beating and your limbs are still attached. You let out a small laugh instead, cheeks flushed, the adrenaline not quite fading yet.

Then you hear it.

"Wait, where's Y/N?"

Your stomach sinks.

You turn your head toward the exit ramp and spot them—Yujin and Hana—posing near a churro cart, phone angled high, lips puckered in matching fake smiles.

The voice is unmistakable.

"Probably chickened out and left the roller coaster," Yujin mutters, loud enough that you catch every word.

Hana scoffs, adjusting her hair. "We should find her, I guess. We did come with her car, after all."

"Ugh," Yujin groans. "So annoying. I hate her sometimes."

Hana snorts. "Sometimes?"

They both burst into laughter.

It hits you harder than the drop on the coaster.

You freeze. The sting behind your eyes burns hot, and you blink rapidly, refusing to let the tears win. Not here. Not in front of Mingi, Yeosang and Jongho.

But Mingi heard it too.

You feel the shift in his posture beside you, the way his jaw clenches just slightly. He glances back at Jongho and Yeosang, who both clearly clock the situation. A silent nod happens between them.

Then, without warning, Mingi gently grabs your wrist.

"Come on."

You look up, startled. "Wait—what? Where are we going?"

He's already walking you in the opposite direction.

"I—I need to go to them," you say, stumbling to keep with his pace. "I need to send them home—"

"Are they your close friends?" he asks, cutting you off calmly.

You stop walking. "Huh?"

"Do you hang out with them a lot?"

"…No. We used to be close in high school. But now… not really. We're all in different universities and barely meet up anymore."

Mingi hums like that’s exactly the answer he expected. "Good. So you can cut them off."

You blink. "What?"

He turns to face you properly, his expression serious but not harsh. "Why spend the rest of your day with people who treat you like that? Just hang out with us."

You open your mouth to argue, but then Jongho jogs up beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulder like you've been besties for years.

"You didn't hear what they said? They're literally using you for your car and shitting on you behind your back."

"Yeah," Yeosang says, catching up, a rare frown on his usually passive face. “That's not what friends do. That's just… sad."

"I don't wanna ruin your guys' day though," you say quietly, unsure.

Mingi shakes his head. "You're not. I asked you to stay. You're not an obligation. You're a choice."

That line makes your heart skip.

Jongho smirks. "Besides, Mingi's in his hero mode now. You're stuck with us."

Yeosang chuckles. "He only gets like this when something really pisses him off."

You glance at Mingi, who's pretending not to listen, but the way he nudges your arm with his elbow says otherwise.

And for once… it feels okay to be pulled in a different direction.

You're still holding your tray with half-finished tteokbokki when Mingi takes a seat beside you at the picnic table. Jongho and Yeosang are opposite, poking fun at each other while stealing bits from the fishcake skewer pile.

"You okay?" Mingi asks quietly, sipping from his soda.

You nod. "Actually… yeah. Thanks to you guys."

He hums. "Good."

It feels so normal, sitting here with them. You were smiling. Genuinely smiling. For the first time in weeks, maybe.

The stand nearby is selling fresh corndogs and hotteok. You notice Jongho eyeing them, and your stomach grumbles too.

"I'll grab some more snacks," you say, standing. "My treat."

"Are you sure?" Yeosang asks.

"Yeah," you smile. "You guys saved me today. Least I can do."

You approach the snack cart, debating how many corndogs to grab when—

Shove.

It's not hard enough to knock you down, but enough to make you stumble forward a step. You turn, startled.

"Oh my god, we knew we saw your big back over here," Yujin says with a laugh, like it's the funniest thing in the world.

Hana smirks, standing beside her, arms crossed.

You step back, lips parting. "You guys left me."

Yujin rolls her eyes. "No we didn't? We were waiting for you by the churros stand."

"I was standing alone in line," you reply, your voice still soft, careful not to escalate anything. "You jumped ahead without even checking on me."

"Please," Hana mutters. "You probably didn't see us because you were too much of a pussy to ride."

They both burst into laughter.

You feel it again—that familiar sting in your chest. But this time, before you can say anything, another voice cuts through the air.

"Hey, Y/N. Is there a problem here?"

You look to your side.

Mingi's there, standing tall, eyes dark, jaw clenched. And when he looks at Yujin and Hana, the playful energy around them dies instantly.

Yujin straightens up, adjusting her top. "Oh heyyyy~" she says, her tone suddenly flirty. "And who might you be?"

"Do you know him?" Hana adds, nudging you.

"Yes," you reply clearly. "He offered to ride the roller coaster with me."

Yujin raises an eyebrow. "Really now…"

Then Mingi steps closer, resting a firm hand around your wrist—not hard, just protective.

"If you don’t have anything decent to say to Y/N," he says, voice sharp like a knife, "you can leave. She's hanging out with me and my friends now."

He doesn't wait for them to respond. He gently pulls you away, guiding you back toward the table where Jongho and Yeosang are already watching with narrowed eyes.

You think it's over—until Yujin and Hana follow you.

"Oh my god, Y/N," Yujin says loudly. "Don’t be such a whore and take three guys at once~ At least leave one for us."

You freeze mid-step.

"…Excuse me?" you blink slowly, not even sure you heard her right.

Yujin grins, proud. "Sharing is caring, babe."

You glance at Hana, who won’t meet your eyes.

"…Yujin," you say softly. "You have a boyfriend."

"So?" she scoffs. "You're being a greedy whore with three guys up your ass. You're no better than me."

Your breath catches. You stare at her, shocked. Embarrassed. Ashamed, even though you've done nothing wrong.

Hana still won't look at you.

And that's when Mingi steps forward.

"You know what's actually disgusting?" Mingi says, his voice suddenly cold. "That you think humiliating someone publicly makes you funny. That mocking someone you call a friend is just a joke. That dragging her down is the only way you feel better about yourself."

Yujin's face stiffens.

"And calling her a whore?" Mingi scoffs. "Girl, she's more decent than either of you. If having three people care about her makes her a whore, then maybe you should ask yourself why no one treats you that way."

Hana lets out a tiny breath like she's been slapped.

Mingi turns to them fully now, shielding you with his body.

"Don't talk to her again," he says firmly. "Don't call her. Don't look at her. Don't even think about her. Got it?"

Yujin crosses her arms. "Oh really? But she's our ride. She drove us here."

Jongho suddenly stands from the table. "Then go ask your boyfriend to pick you up."

The silence is loud.

Yujin's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Hana still won't look at you.

You don't say a word. You just follow the boys as they walk away, head high, shoulders squared. Mingi's hand brushes yours. You don't pull away.

Behind you, you hear Yujin groan like a spoiled brat not getting what she wants.

And you don't look back.

You're quiet as you sit back at the table. You feel small again—not because of what they said, but because of how much it still hurts.

Jongho passes you a drink without a word. Yeosang silently offers you the hotteok you didn't get to buy.

Mingi sits beside you again, elbows on the table, glancing sideways at your face.

"You okay?" he asks for the second time today.

You nod, eyes glassy.

"You don't have to be," he adds softly.

"…I don't get it," you murmur. "I never did anything to them. I was always… trying to be nice."

"You were too nice," Yeosang says, voice calm. "Some people take kindness as weakness. That's not on you."

"She was jealous of you," Jongho adds bluntly. "Both of them were. You're quiet and kind and people like you without having to perform for it. That's threatening for girls like them."

You stare at your lap. "…I just hate that it got so ugly in front of everyone."

Mingi leans in closer, dropping his voice low. "If anything, you should be proud of yourself. You stood your ground. And you have three guys now who will never let anyone talk to you like that again."

You look up, eyes wide, lips parting.

Yeosang raises his soda. "To cutting off shitty people."

You laugh, finally.

And Mingi… he just watches you.

Like he's proud.

Like he’s already planning to keep you close all day.

The sun had dipped low by the time you all wandered back to your car, arms full of leftover snacks, plastic bags rustling with street game prizes and bottled drinks. The entire afternoon had gone by in a blur. One that smelled like honey butter corndogs and felt like safe hands holding you up.

"This your car?" Jongho asks, tapping the roof lightly.

You nod, unlocking it. "Yeah. It’s not fancy, but she gets me from A to B."

"It's cute," Yeosang says, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. "Matches you."

You glance at him, surprised. "Matches… me?"

"Yeah." He shrugs, smiling. "Kind of cozy. And a little beat up, but still standing."

You laugh. "Are you calling me emotionally damaged?"

"Absolutely," he says without blinking.

Mingi chuckles, watching you giggle as you swing the backdoor open to stash the snacks.

Jongho leans against the trunk, stretching. "We should hang out again sometime."

"Seconded," Yeosang says.

You smile. "I'd like that."

Mingi steps beside you and pulls out his phone. "Give me your number."

You blink. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," he grins. "No games. Just want to be able to text you."

Your heart skips.

You rattle off your number, and he saves it under Y/N 🎢, making you groan and hit his arm.

"What? You survived that roller coaster like a champ."

"I screamed."

"And held my hand the whole time," he says, low and teasing.

You turn away before your face gives too much away.

They all pile into their own car a few minutes later—Yeosang at the wheel, Jongho arguing over aux cord rights. Mingi rolls his window down just before they drive off.

"Hey, text me when you get home."

You glance up. "You too."

He smiles. "I will."

One week later.

You're sitting under a shady tree, picking at your sandwich while scrolling on your phone. Midterms are creeping up and your brain is half-fried. You barely notice the tall figure walking toward your bench until a shadow falls across your lap.

"Hey."

You look up—and blink.

"…Mingi?"

He grins, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. "Surprised?"

"Uh—yeah?? What are you doing here?"

"Your university's not that far from my dorm. I was in the area… and I was hungry."

You raise a brow. "So you decided to find me?"

"Obviously," he shrugs, plopping down beside you like this is the most normal thing ever.

Your heart does a backflip. "You're really bold, huh?"

He leans back on his palms, tilting his head toward you. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. After all… I haven't heard much from someone."

You flush. "I—I've been busy…"

"I know. I'm just teasing."

There's a pause.

The breeze rustles the leaves above. He's looking at you again, but this time with something softer in his expression.

"You seemed kinda quiet that day when we left," he says. "Was worried."

You glance down at your hands. "I was just… processing everything. It felt weird cutting someone off like that."

"They deserved it," Mingi says, voice firm. "You don't need people who treat you like garbage just because they've known you for a long time."

"…I know," you admit. "It just takes time to process all that."

He nods slowly. "Makes sense. Still. You're stronger than you think."

You smile, small. "You really don't have to keep being this nice to me, you know."

"But I want to."

That makes your breath catch.

He sits up straighter, taking a bite of the snack he brought—some triangle kimbap from the uni convenience store.

"Anyway, what's your major again?" he asks, chewing.

"Communications," you say. "Why?"

"Just wondering what kind of power you'll have in the future. I gotta make sure I stay on your good side now."

You laugh. "What about you?"

"Dance," he says proudly. "But I'm also thinking of minoring in theatre. I like performing."

"That… makes sense. You're kind of a natural."

"At performing?"

"At… pulling attention," you admit, looking away. "You make people feel comfortable."

He hums. "Not everyone. But I guess I try."

There's a comfortable silence again.

Then Mingi glances at your phone screen, noticing the time.

"You have class soon?"

"Yeah. In twenty minutes."

"Damn," he says, standing slowly and stretching his long arms. "Time flew."

"It did," you say. "I didn’t think I'd talk to anyone this long today."

"Lucky you. I'm charming."

You roll your eyes.

He steps a little closer now, towering over you just slightly—but he's not intimidating. He's playful. Easy. Gentle.

"Hey," he says, voice low.

You look up. "Yeah?"

"Do you wanna go out Friday night?"

Your heart skips a beat.

"Like… just us?"

He smiles. "Yeah. Just us."

You swallow, trying not to look too flustered. "Sure. That sounds nice."

He winks. "It's a date then."

And with that, he turns and walks off toward the exit gates, hands still shoved in his pockets like nothing happened.

You just sit there, dumbfounded, heat crawling up your face.

You're pretty sure you don't taste your sandwich after that.

Friday.

When you open the door, the last thing you expect to see is Mingi in all black—loose button-up tucked into slacks, gold necklace glinting faintly under the porch light—and a massive bouquet of pastel flowers in hand.

Your mouth opens. But nothing comes out.

He smiles. "Too much?"

"I—no, no," you sputter, staring at the bouquet. "These are gorgeous. Are those peonies? Wait… are these imported?"

He glances at them. "I dunno, I just told the florist I wanted something that looked like you."

Your face burns instantly.

"Stop saying stuff like that so casually!"

Mingi laughs, handing you the bouquet as you step aside to let him in briefly. "It's true though. Pretty, soft, and a little expensive-looking."

You glare, trying not to melt.

Once the flowers are safely in a vase, you both head out. He opens the car door for you like a damn drama male lead, and you have to mentally scream at yourself not to act too giddy.

The drive is filled with music, light banter, and the occasional glance that lingers too long at red lights. When he pulls up to a high-rise building with a fancy valet and dim chandelier lighting peeking from the glass walls, you blink twice.

"Wait," you say slowly, reading the restaurant sign. "We're eating here?"

"Yeah," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt casually. "Why?"

"Mingi… this place is expensive. Like, minimum 5-digit bill expensive."

"So?" He laughs, turning to look at you. "It's not every day I take someone out on a date. Plus, I invited you. I can't just take you to the food court."

You stare at him. "You're rich…"

He snorts. "Does that make you look at me differently?"

You shake your head. "Of course not. It's just… I grew up thinking that when people date, it should be fifty-fifty. I feel kinda guilty when someone spends too much on me."

Mingi looks at you for a second, soft but amused. "That's cute."

Your cheeks flush.

He continues, voice warm, "But seriously, Y/N, today's my treat. Maybe in the future you can treat me. But for now… your presence is already more than enough."

You make a face. "You're such a flirt.”

He grins. "You haven't seen the half of it."

Dinner is unreal. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Han River, and your seats are by the glass. The food is plated like art, the conversation flows effortlessly, and the wine Mingi orders (which you swear costs as much as your monthly internet bill) is surprisingly good.

At one point, you both laugh over nothing, and Mingi leans his cheek on his hand.

"You know," he says, "Jongho hasn't shut up about that day."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. For someone who's a year younger than me, he sure loves teasing me like he's older."

You pause. "Wait—Jongho's younger than you?"

Mingi blinks. "Oh, we didn't clarify that, huh?"

"Oh my god, I thought he was the oldest!"

Mingi bursts out laughing. "You're not the first person to say that! Everyone thinks that! He's just too mature for his face."

"Or," you smirk, "maybe you and Yeosang are just too immature."

He gasps. "Hey! I'm mature!"

"I stalked your tagged photos on Instagram," you say nonchalantly. "Your friends call you a big princess."

He chokes on his drink. "You what?"

You grin. "That's right. I did my research."

Mingi leans in closer, voice suddenly low and playful. "Why were you stalking me, hmm? Miss this princess that much?"

Your heart slams in your chest.

"Mingi, stop it," you say, rolling your eyes to hide your very real flustered state.

He chuckles, pleased. "I love teasing you."

"And you're way too good at it."

He shrugs. "Only with people I like."

That line hits harder than it should.

By the time you finish eating, the staff clears your plates and refills your glasses with water. You sit back, full, sipping slowly.

You glance at him. "So… where are we going next?"

Mingi raises a brow. "Someone's excited."

You smirk. "I mean… I haven't been on a real date in a long time. This already beat my expectations."

He leans forward slightly, tilting his head. "Wanna do something more relaxed? We can go for a walk near the river. There's a quiet park close by with lights and benches."

You nod. "That sounds really nice."

"Cool," he says, standing and reaching for your coat. "Let's go. I've got a playlist ready and everything."

"You have a date playlist?"

"I might have made one last night."

You stare at him.

He shrugs. "What? You make me nervous."

Mingi walks you to your door, still chatting about some guy from his dance class who tried to moonwalk in socks and almost dislocated his knee.

You laugh softly, fingers brushing your keys, reluctant for the night to end.

"Y/N?"

You glance up. "Yeah?"

He leans in quickly, and before you can process it, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Warm. Quick. Sincere.

He pulls back, eyes wide, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry if that was too sudden. You can tell me if you're not okay with it—seriously."

You blink—then laugh, cheeks warm.

"Thanks. I don't mind."

He exhales, a tiny puff of relief, then smiles as he starts walking back toward his car.

"Wait—Mingi!"

He turns around. "Yes?"

You grin, still standing by your door. "Let's go out next week. My treat."

His smile stretches so wide it almost splits his face.

"Okay, princess. See you next week. Update me always, okay?"

He winks, hops into his car, and drives off—while you stand there, clutching your warm cheek and thinking about nothing but him.

A few months later.

You've gone on more dates than you can count now.

Some were cute and simple—arcades, cafés, late-night convenience store runs. Others were more put-together, gallery dates, dance showcases, even grocery shopping for dinner you'd cook together. There's a comfort between you and Mingi now.

Tonight, it's just a Netflix night.

It's Saturday, you're at your place, and Mingi's stretched out on your couch, arm around you while a movie plays. You're curled beside him, blanket over both of your legs, a half-finished bag of popcorn resting on his thigh.

And then—on screen—an erotic scene plays out. Soft moaning, slow kissing, heavy breathing.

Mingi shifts slightly.

"Are you okay watching this?" he asks, voice low, cautious.

You scoff, barely glancing at him. "Uh, yes? I'm not a child, Song Mingi."

He laughs, head tilting. "Well, excuse me. Just making sure."

There's a beat.

Then he glances down at you again. "What are your thoughts on doing this kind of stuff… y’know, as a couple?"

You pause for a second, then answer honestly.

"Um… I don't mind, honestly. Everyone's different, right? But for me—it's about trust. It doesn't matter whether it's before or after marriage. What matters is… being safe, knowing the risks, and being sure you're with someone who respects you."

Mingi nods slowly. "Yeah. I feel the same way."

You turn your head slightly. "Have you done it before?"

That question slips out faster than you meant.

Mingi blinks.

Your eyes go wide. "Oh my god—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make that weird. You don't have to answer—"

"No, no!" he says quickly. "It's just surprising coming from you. But nah—I haven't. I'm a virgin. And I'm not embarrassed."

You smile. “There's nothing to be ashamed of. Some people just use sex like it's a status thing. Like if you're not doing it, you're behind."

"Exactly!" Mingi grins. "It's such a stupid mindset."

He turns slightly toward you. "What about you?"

"I'm a virgin too," you admit. "But I've always been curious. Just never wanted to give that part of me to someone random. One-night stands never appealed to me."

Mingi nods, biting the inside of his cheek. "It's so weird that we both feel the same."

You squint. "Are you just saying that to get on my good side? Trying to look all respectful and boyfriend-of-the-year?"

Mingi gasps, dramatically offended. "What?! I would never! I swear I mean it!"

You elbow him lightly, both of you laughing.

Then—

"…Do you want to try it together?"

You freeze. Eyes wide. "Wait. What?"

Mingi blinks hard. "In the future!! I meant—in the future! Not now—God, Song Mingi, you're an idiot—"

You laugh. Full-on giggle that makes your shoulders shake.

Then you lean in, gently place your hand on the back of his neck, and pull him into a kiss.

It's deep. Soft. Lingering.

He stiffens slightly at first, surprised, but then relaxes—his hand finding your cheek as his lips move slowly with yours. His eyes shut. The world fades.

When you pull away, your forehead rests lightly against his.

"I trust you."

His eyes flutter open and you can see the blush rising to his ears.

You also can't help noticing the very obvious bulge forming in his pants.

You smirk.

"Are you hard just from kissing?" you tease gently.

"…Yeah," he admits shyly. "And because I love you so much, that's why."

He kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand stroking up your back, careful and slow like he's memorizing the shape of you.

And your fingers start to tighten around his shirt.

You're kissing him.

You don't remember when the shift happened—from sitting side by side, to lying down with your fingers gripping his shirt, his hand on your waist, mouths moving together slowly. But you don't care. Mingi's lips are hot, breath a little shaky, body pressing against yours like he wants to crawl inside your skin.

You moan softly when he licks into your mouth—hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as you whimper and tug at his hair. His hand slides under the back of your shirt, fingers brushing up your spine. It's slow. Careful. Nervous.

He pulls back, panting slightly. "Is… this okay?"

You nod, cheeks flushed. "Yes."

"I mean, we can stop anytime."

"I know."

He hesitates, and you see it in his eyes—nervousness, excitement, a little disbelief. You lean forward, kissing his jaw, then whisper in his ear,

"Let’s keep going."

That makes him groan.

Mingi's hands start to explore more freely—stroking your thighs, up your shirt to caress your sides, then cup your breasts over your bra. He's still tentative, like he's worried he's doing it wrong.

"Touch me," you whisper.

"I am," he says, confused.

"No—touch me for real, Mingi."

You guide his hand under your shirt, placing it over your bare skin. He swallows hard, fingers trembling just a little. When he finally cups your breast fully, brushing your nipple with his thumb over your bra, you arch into his touch with a quiet moan.

He gasps. "Holy shit…"

You laugh breathlessly. "What?"

"You feel… really good."

"You're cute when you're this overwhelmed."

"You're evil," he groans.

You switch positions slightly, tugging your shirt off and tossing it aside. He stares at your chest, clearly enchanted.

"You can touch more, you know," you tease.

"Permission granted?" he raises a brow, smiling.

"Permission granted."

His hands roam—soft kneading, lips kissing between your breasts before he pulls your bra down and takes one nipple into his mouth. You gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, while he moans against your skin.

"You're a quick learner," you mumble, breath hitching.

"Porn and imagination," he replies.

You snort. "Didn't you learn this in school?"

"Yeah," he scoffs. "As if the teacher taught us about sex positions and nipple sucking."

You both burst into laughter—even mid-makeout—and it's oddly comforting how fun this is. Messy, awkward, real.

Your hands slide down his chest, under his shirt, feeling lean muscles flexing under your touch. When you unbutton it, he lets you strip it off—his skin warm, his face flushed, his body trembling just slightly.

You reach between his legs, palm cupping the hard bulge in his pants. He jerks.

"Fuck—Y/N…"

You kiss his throat, voice low. "Wanna keep going?"

He pauses.

Then—his eyes widen. "Shit. I—I don't have a condom."

You blink. "Wait, seriously?"

"I didn't think—fuck—I'll go get one!! There's a 7-Eleven like two streets down—"

"You're gonna run to the convenience store right now??"

He's already scrambling off the couch, grabbing his t-shirt with his chest still bare. "I'll be back in ten minutes! Don't fall asleep!!"

You burst into laughter, watching him panic-shuffle into shoes and sprint out the door like a man on a mission.

12 minutes later.

He returns, slightly out of breath, holding a small plastic bag.

You arch a brow. "How many did you buy?"

"Three boxes."

"…Why?"

"I panicked!"

You're both half-laughing when you strip again, kissing between giggles, settling back into each other's arms. But this time, it's different. Calmer. More focused.

Mingi slowly pulls your shorts down, kissing your thighs, his breath hitching when he sees your panties already damp.

"Y/N…"

"Don’t be shy," you whisper.

He slides them down and tosses them aside. His fingers brush between your legs, and when he finally touches you—fingers stroking through your folds—you whimper and press into his hand.

"You're so wet," he says, awed.

"For you."

He swears softly under his breath.

You moan louder when he finds your clit, gently rubbing, unsure at first—then more confidently as your hips twitch under his touch. You reach down, palm cupping his erection through his boxers.

"You're hard again."

"Yeah. You're kinda ridiculously sexy."

You roll him onto his back and tug his pants off.

And when his boxers come down—you both freeze.

"…Oh," you blink.

"Too big?" he teases nervously.

"Guess we'll find out."

Condom's on.

You lie back, legs spread, heart pounding.

Mingi positions himself between your thighs, hands on either side of your face, eyes locked with yours.

"You sure?" he whispers.

You nod. "I trust you."

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly.

It hurts.

Not unbearable, but a deep stretch, an ache that makes your body tense.

Mingi stops instantly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just go slow."

He pushes in again, carefully, slowly—

And then you both freeze.

"…Is that… blood?" Mingi asks, voice rising slightly.

You look down. Just a bit. But enough.

Mingi freaks. "Oh my god. Are you okay?? Did I hurt you?!"

You put a hand on his cheek, trying not to laugh at his horrified expression. "Mingi—it's normal."

"But—are you sure? Should we stop?"

You smile. "Let’s just take a break. Five minutes. You're overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting! You're bleeding. I've seen horror movies that start like this!"

You burst into laughter, gently shoving his shoulder.

After a short pause (and a lot of overthinking from Mingi), you kiss him again—slow, soft, grounding.

"I still want to keep going," you whisper. "If you're okay."

He nods, exhaling. "Yeah. Just don't die on me."

This time when he slides in—it's easier.

Your body's more relaxed, your hands are tangled in his hair, and Mingi is whispering "so beautiful" and "you feel amazing" into your skin like it's the only language he knows.

The pace is slow, careful. You moan under him, hips rolling together, your bodies finally syncing.

He kisses your neck, your lips, your forehead. You're both sweaty and shaky and a little uncoordinated—but it's perfect.

You're his first. He's yours.

You cling to each other like the world is too small to contain what you're feeling.

And when you come—whimpering his name, shaking underneath him—Mingi follows right after, burying his face in your neck with a moan so sweet it makes your heart throb.

Afterward, you lie tangled on your couch, barely covered by the throw blanket.

Mingi's still red in the face. "I think I panicked like ten times."

You giggle. "It was cute."

"Was it… good?"

You nod, nose brushing his cheek. "It was more than good."

Mingi's breath is still a little shaky as he pulls out of you carefully, rolling the condom off and tying it, tossing it into the little trash bag beside the couch. You hiss faintly at the sudden emptiness and sensitivity.

He notices immediately.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just sore. And… wow."

He lets out a soft laugh, brushing your hair out of your face.

"We should clean you up," he murmurs. "Don't want you to get an infection."

You nod, and he helps you sit up slowly. Your thighs are sticky, a little shaky, and you wince slightly as you stand.

"Shit," Mingi mumbles, catching you. "Are you hurting?"

"Not really. Just sore and, you know… my pussy probably looks like a war zone."

Mingi laughs, even as he scoops you up bridal-style without warning.

"MINGI—!"

"We're washing you properly, princess," he says, grinning as he carries you into your bathroom like some romcom idiot boyfriend. "Gotta take care of my girl."

He helps you sit on the toilet, then kneels in front of you, helping you clean. Every touch is gentle now—damp tissue wiping your thighs, warm water trickling slowly, his hands making sure not to rub too hard.

"Sorry if this feels weird," he mumbles.

"It doesn't," you whisper. "I like this."

He smiles at you, so soft, so genuine it makes your chest ache.

Once you're clean and dry, he carries you again—back to your bed this time, gently laying you down before slipping beside you under the blanket.

Your head rests on his bare chest, legs tangled, fingers tracing random patterns on his stomach.

Mingi shifts a little, looking down at you.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N."

You glance up, smirking. "Took you long enough to say that."

"I was busy panicking."

You both laugh.

But then he kisses your forehead.

"I'm serious," he says quietly. "You're so fucking beautiful. Your body… your heart… your whole existence. I've never felt this way before. Not even close."

You blink slowly, heart beating in your throat.

Then he murmurs—

"We're a thing now."

You grin. "We better be a thing. If not, I'll chop your dick off."

Mingi wheezes out a laugh, pulling you into a kiss. "God, I love you."

"Thank you for coming into my life." His arms tighten around you.

"No, you saved me," you say, brushing your nose against his. "Thank you for coming into mine."

You breathe in deeply, warm and full in his arms.

A few minutes later, while cuddling in silence, you shift a little.

"Mingi?"

"Mm?"

You glance up at him, playful sparkle in your eyes.

"…Should I satisfy you more?"

He blinks. "Huh??"

You smirk. "You’re still a little hard. I can feel it against my leg."

He flushes red instantly.

[heesdreamer]

Wishful Thinking

PAIRING ➩ jungkook x reader

WC ➩ 20k

SUMMARY ➩ Born and raised in the busy city, you are in for a major life shift when you’re sent to the country side. You imagine the farmers son won’t be much help. (nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter)

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Marking this as my official leave from retirement. This is the first work since Skin on Skin I feel a genuine connection too and I can proudly say I love it a lot. I hope you like it as much as me! Please check out the playlist and listen as you read if you'd like

Growing up in the city had influenced a few factors of your core development and the way you went about life. You took a second to open up to strangers, had faster reflexes than most people you’d met from other places and could ignore the sound of a horn two feet from your ear. 

What it hadn’t done is making you a spoiled and sheltered brat, although you imagined your father would place some strong disagreement on that statement. 

It absolutely had not made you the type of person that was so ‘out of control’ you needed to be sent to the middle of absolute nowhere to learn a thing or two about respect and taking care of things other than yourself.

This was not an issue you had and you could not fathom the fact you had been in the car for six hours now heading towards your new summer hell. You were in your early twenties and you should have slammed the door in your fathers face when you opened it to his scowl but sadly, his name was on the lease and he probably would have had the door  removed.

Instead you had packed two bags, said bye to your precious cats and dragged your feet all the way to the car.

You imagined your fathers vehicle had never seen so much dirt in its life and even he seemed a bit bothered by the gravel roads that left a cloud of dust all over his doors and windows. Your father had been raised almost exactly the same as you so it felt a bit ironic and hypocritical.

It was not your fault he was a wealthy businessman, stationing his small family in the bustling streets of the city instead of a nice sized home somewhere. Your idea of dinner around the table was grabbing a bite to eat at the local pizza place, your fridge covered in project plans and work reminders instead of toddler art and positive report cards.

Your dad had raised you in a cold apartment suited for a bachelor, leaving you to get your fatherly advice from doormen and paying cleaning ladies extra to change your diapers. He was somehow still surprised to see you standing with a glare on your face as you exited the car and stared at the farm house. 

“Atleast try to be pleasant.” He mumbled under his breath, the familiar expression he had whenever he felt embarrassed by you creeping up on his face. You had seen it your entire life, when you stood too slouched in front of a client or stuttered giving a speech at a company dinner. 

You sent him a stronger dirty look that easily slid off your face when the door opened. 

Despite what he may think, you actually were not a terrible person and you had no intentions of disrespecting the home owners even though you would rather eat the horses hay than have to stay here.

It was actually a beautiful home, grand in size with a large wraparound porch and land full of crops and various sized barns and pens. 

There had been a faint memory of coming here a handful of times when you were younger, listening to your father take a gentle and relaxed tone you had only heard a few times and playing with the farmers boy that was around your age.

That had been a lifetime ago and while the landscape was relatively nostalgic and familiar, you had changed so drastically that you couldn’t feel more out of place if you tried. 

You watched as the large bearded man approached your father, pulling him into a tight hug unlike his friends back home who would greet him with a firm handshake. This man clearly did not care about your fathers hesitance to embrace him, the rim of his cowboy hat knocking your fathers thin framed glasses slightly askew.

You had a hard time holding in a laugh at his dishevelled appearance after the bear hug and the man's sights set on you right as a smile crept up on your face.

“There she is.” He greeted you like he was an uncle you saw frequently and your eyes widened at the realization he was coming to give you a similarly tight hug, knocking the breath out of you as he nearly lifted you from the ground.

“Sorry honey, we are huggers around here.” You hadn’t even noticed the small woman behind his staggering frame and you caught her gentle eyes in your gaze right before she pulled you in for a much softer hug. “Except for my son sadly. He didn’t quite inherit that trait I suppose.”

The boy hadn’t left the porch, a few feet behind his parents as he stared at you and your father with an expression that was much colder than his warm parents held. You could tell he had already built some bias around your visit and you didn’t mind considering you had done the same, defenses building at his sour look.

“I’m sorry but I..” You trailed off awkwardly as you glanced between the bubbly couple, hoping they could understand so you didn’t have to tell them vocally that you had no idea who they were. The woman's face dropped just slightly but the farmer gave you a soft smile as he cupped your arm.

“That’s alright honey.” His gentle tone almost made you want to turn around and jump head first into the car, creeping its way under your skin and making you feel like that little girl that used to sneak branches in her room to use as a christmas tree. “It’s been lifetimes since we got to see you.”

His gaze fell over your shoulder towards your father with that statement and you almost thought it sounded hostile, or however hostile somebody so warm could manage. Your fathers throat clearing behind you confirmed your belief and you looked down at your feet as you were ushered inside. 

You learned from listening in on the conversation silently that he was in fact a bit upset with your father. The man, Minchul apparently as you heard his wife softly calling him, had made a handful of comments about missing out on your life that he was attempting to disguise as jokes.

You had watched enough tense conversations with businessmen to be pretty good at picking up on what people actually wanted to say. Your father responded each time with a different excuse about being busy but you knew he wished he could tell the farmer that he simply outgrew him and whatever this dynamic was.

The woman had told you softly that her name was Nari and you watched as she barely sat down, bouncing between the table and the kitchen whenever she noticed somebody was running low on their drink or the finger foods she had prepared. 

Her tending to you all didn’t feel like the panicked way your fathers cooks would try to keep him pleased and calm but rather like she enjoyed taking care of the people around her, eyes bright whenever you thanked her or took a bite of something she had made.

“Jungkook will be helping her with her chores and duties.” Minchul’s low voice was bringing you back to the conversation, interest spiked as you realized they were discussing your stay there. 

You had very little information about how long you would be here or what exactly you were meant to accomplish but your eyes shifted over to the son at the mention of his name, sitting across from you and also not having spoken a word. 

He was staring at his father as he spoke, gaze unwavering and still as cold as it had been outside. You had realized outside that he was the same boy you had played with when you were a kid but he had clearly changed as much as you had because he no longer had an ounce of welcoming energy to him.

“If she gives you any trouble son, feel free to call me.” Your father was speaking directly to him like you weren’t even there and Jungkook’s jaw shifted at the use of the word ‘son’. 

A smile almost crept back up at the interesting reaction but it faded as soon as he looked at you, curious like he expected you to say something snobbish in return to your fathers jab. You didn’t have any plans to, used to him warning people about you like you were a walking disaster.

“I’m sure we can manage.” His voice was flat and lacking any real care but you hadn’t figured he would reply at all, let alone with something borderlining disrespectful. 

The rest of the table seemed to agree because the room fell silent at his comment and your dad seemed taken back by the fact Jungkook hadn’t immediately agreed with his implication. You barely moved, not wanting to put yourself on the wrong side of things while he was still here.

“Apologize.” Minchul was speaking the word hushed and you looked at him with widened eyes, not even realizing it had been him speaking considering how cold it came out. It was completely different to the tone he used with the rest of you but Jungkook didn’t seem affected at all.

“I’m sorry sir.” He said it easily, practiced and lacking any real apology. It seemed the phrase alone was all his father wanted to hear because his shoulders lost tension and he awkwardly patted the table as he changed the subject to something about your dads car.

You removed yourself mentally from the conversation again but you caught the way Jungkook’s mom rubbed his shoulder soothingly as she passed him on her back to the kitchen.

----

“You are really just leaving me?” Your voice was icy as you watched your father toss your bags out of his car, squinting his eyes at the dirt it brought into the air and glaring at you like it was your fault. “I don’t even know these people.”

“I do.” He said simply as he closed the trunk and watched you with disappointment swirling in his gaze. You could tell there was a lot he wanted to say to you but as always, he left it plain and gave you a firm nod that you knew put an end to this conversation.

You did nothing but watch as he got into the driver seat and pulled off down the dirt road, headlights disappearing behind the trees and fields of corn. You sighed softly and sunk down on the rocky path way, not really caring if they were watching from the window and judging you.

You didn’t know these people and it was hard to even process that this was really happening to you right now. The sun had fully set when you stopped thinking yourself away and you realized you had been outside for a lot longer than you had meant to be. 

Nobody had come out to get you or even check if you were alright but you figured they were just giving you the space to throw your internal tantrum before inevitably accepting your fate and figuring out what to do from there.

Your sigh turned into a dragged out and low groan as you buried your face in your dusty hands, cringing away when you felt the sting of the debris entering your eyes and realizing you felt like you were going to cry regardless of the pain.

“You sleeping out here?”

You jumped at the sudden voice coming from your right, looking sideways at a pair of dirty and ripped boots before trailing up the tall frame and landing on Jungkook and a raised eyebrow. He had been the last person from the family you expected to come outside to collect you and you groaned again.

“I just need a minute okay?” Your voice came out cold but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about his feelings right now. He was unwillingly participating in your banishment but it was still participation in your eyes and for that alone, you disliked him.

“City girls and their minutes.” It was mumbled under his breath but loud enough for you to hear. You didn’t even warrant it with a reaction, staring numbly at the gravel and willing a loose horse to run him over with your mind. 

He didn’t leave the entire time you sat there and you could feel him staring at your back as you practically curled into a ball. Eventually you stood up calmly, dusted yourself off and headed inside the house.

----

Jungkook had silently left your bags at the foot of your door and disappeared down the hall into what you assumed was his own, soft music coming from behind the peeling wood. You left your door open, feeling awkward in the unfamiliar room like you had somehow broken into this nice family's home and crawled into a random bed.

You barely slept at all the first night and the sound of the roosters screeching only two hours after your eyes actually closed was enough to make you consider hitch hiking back to the city. 

The entire family was downstairs in the kitchen to your dismay and you couldn’t fix your face in time, seeing the concern radiating from Nari as she took in your exhausted eyes and closed off demeanor. You mumbled a morning greeting and shifted onto the seat furthest from them all.

“Did you sleep okay?” She asked softly as she placed a glass of orange juice in front of you and you nodded at her, both of you knowing you were being nice rather than honest. She pursed her lips and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder for a second as reassurance that she understood. 

“Good because you have a long day today.” Minchul sounded as cheerful as yesterday but there was an underlying tone to his voice that made you not want to disobey him. He made pleasant conversation with his wife as you and Jungkook ate silently on the other side of the table.

Jungkook hadn’t even waited for you to finish eating, cleaning off his place and kissing his mom on the side of the head before pushing through the front door. You watched in disbelief as he left you behind, scarfing down the rest of your eggs and rushing after him, nearly tripping down the stairs as you followed him to the largest barn.

The smell was assaulting but you didn’t visually react, not wanting to give him the satisfaction considering he was leaning against a slate of wood and watching you for any signs that you were going to complain.

When you gave him a firm and determined stare he was tossing a silver bucket in your direction, both of you tracking it as it hit the barn floor and bounced a few times.

“Seriously?” You remarked, your first real word of the day being forced out due to disbelief. He didn’t answer and instead entered one of the stalls holding a large cow. “Couldn’t just hand it to me?”

There was no reply again and you sighed as you followed him, scowling when you saw the black and white animal staring at you with a bored expression. Jungkook slid a small stool over to you before leaning back again on the wall of the stall. The cow took a step towards him and you flinched back as its large belly almost pushed you over. 

“Am I supposed to do something with him?” You gestured at the stool and cow in confusion and Jungkook raised an eyebrow. 

“She’s a girl.” He said simply and you gave him an incredulous look, feeling like you were going insane from attempting to communicate with him. “You’re supposed to milk her.”

You stared at him silently for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he was joking or not before glancing at the bucket and realizing he was apparently very serious. You took a breath so deep that it moved your entire body as you tried to calm yourself, ignoring the slightly amused look he grew at the action. 

You hadn’t even sat fully on the stool before he was speaking again.

“Wrong.”

You glared at him and adjusted your position, leaning forward hesitantly to reach out to the cow. 

“Wrong again.”

Another attempt, a different section of the utters that looked as foreign as the rest of the large creature. She shifted like she felt as awkward as you did for touching her and you sighed at his lack of interjection.

“Touch her there and she’ll probably kick you in the face.”

You let out a loud and bitter laugh that made the cow grunt softly, standing from the stool and shoving it in his direction. He watched you quietly as the rage built up inside you, even more so at the indifference on his face.

“If you aren’t even going to attempt to help me, then you go ahead and do it.” You spat as you pointed between him, the bucket, and the cow. He didn’t say anything again and the silence was somehow more annoying than him making small comments towards you. 

He wordlessly moved the stool and you sat down with a huff, at first just picking at your fingers and then deciding to actually watch as he milked the cow. It was slightly interesting, especially considering your current options for entertainment.

His hands were gentle with the animal and she seemed a lot more relaxed now that he was the one near her undercarriage and not some strange girl with tense shoulders and shoes that definitely weren’t made for a barn floor. It was intriguing to you to watch the cows body language change so outwardly. 

Jungkook finished up after some time and you followed him to his next set of chores. This time and the next, he didn’t bother trying to get you to do anything. Instead he did them all easily and allowed you to simply watch as he herded the sheep into their pens, poured disgusting sludge into the trough for the pigs and dragged the stubborn horses back into the gated area. 

By the end of the day, you were exhausted without having done much at all.

He didn’t even seem phased by the fact he had spent the entire day in the sun doing hard physical labor and you sighed as he walked ahead of you back to the house. 

You felt like an invisible shadow following him around all day with little to no conversation between you and it pained you to watch the sun set knowing you had wasted your time and learned nothing but the fact Jungkook was a stubborn asshole.

His dad was waiting on the porch as you approached and you watched as Jungkook’s back hardened at the sight of the kind man. He was smiling largely but it was past his son and towards you, clapping his hands in delight as he took in the dirt on your pants and your sweat dried hair. 

“How was your first day?” He asked warmly as you ascended the steps. Jungkook had slowed down to let you pass and he lingered at the patch of grass near the bottom. “Was he a good teacher?”

The shift in his tone made you glance backwards towards the teacher in question and his flat face showed no sense of what he wanted you to say. You felt like you were hesitating too long and you turned back to Minchul with a soft smile.

“The best. I learned a lot actually.” You said gently and he smiled proudly, a large hand between your shoulder blades as he led you inside for dinner. 

Jungkook was as silent as always but he didn’t look as unimpressed with you when you caught his eyes across the table. There was a beat of nothing before he gave you a small nod, enough for you to understand he appreciated you lying to his dad for him.

Dinner was calm and quiet as you zoned out from exhaustion and you barely flinched when his parents asked you to work together to get the dishes washed and dried quickly. You moved on autopilot to the sink and responded with a light mumble as they wished you both a goodnight. 

Jungkook stood wordlessly next to you, taking each wet dish you handed him as he dried them precisely with a towel. It was quiet through the first half of the sink and then he was clearing his throat with a hint of awkwardness. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” He said in a near whisper. You didn’t even glance at him, handing over another dish casually.

“I didn’t do anything but spare myself the awkwardness of watching you get lectured.” Your tone was flat like it genuinely meant nothing to you but you figured you both knew the reason you had done it. He seemed tense at your answer so you sighed softly. “I know what it’s like to have a dickhead for a father.”

He paused his movements when you said that and you wondered if it was the wrong thing to speak into the quiet kitchen before you heard him laugh softly under his breath. 

It didn’t take a psychologist to realize Jungkook had a different relationship with Minchul than most other people would. His cold and harsh tone towards his son seemed to come out of thin air the second he laid his eyes on the younger man and you felt yourself becoming more nosy than you should be.

Their dirty laundry was none of your business and you hurriedly finished dishes. 

----

The next day's chore list actually seemed a bit more lax and you quickly understood that he must do all of the extremely difficult things at the end of the week. 

Monday was more about maintenance and you felt a little guilty for doing nothing yesterday so you were glad that you could actually help with some smaller stuff, both going stir crazy from doing so little with yourself and also feeling useless the more he sweated and moved around.

You helped sweep loose hay from the stables, collected eggs from under the squawking hens and even assisted him in filling up the water barrels with fresh and clean gallons. You were actually feeling a little satisfied with yourself when the day started to come to a finish and you glanced at him to see what you had to do next.

He surprised you when he pulled two small items out of his jean pockets, fidgeting with them until the lighter was producing a flame that he used to light the rolled up paper. You eyed him curiously as he inhaled around the joint before stretching his hand out towards you without so much of a glance or a word.

“Wow.” You breathed out a mocking laugh as you took it from him, studying it before putting it between your lips and speaking around it. “I am genuinely shocked right now.”

He laughed flatly at your tone and looked at you from the corner of his eye. You were sitting on a small hay bale while he leaned against the large wheel of an old tractor, behind one of the barns a bit further away from the house. 

“It’s rude to make assumptions about people.” He said flatly as he took the joint back but you knew he wasn’t serious, lightheartedly replying to you and only furthering your bewilderment.

“What would your dad say if he knew you were getting me stoned right now?” You were only teasing and you hoped he could tell by the tone in your voice, it seemed like he did because he shrugged his shoulders casually. 

“Less what he would say and more what he would do.”

The statement was heavier than he intended it to be and you both fell silent at the darker implication to his words. He passed it back to you and you watched him for a long moment before hitting it, seeing the way he almost winced at himself for saying something so awkward. 

You let it hang in the air for a few minutes as you listened to the sounds of his inhales paired with the animals in the distance as they got ready for bed. EVentually you were sighing and his eyes went to you, almost in anticipation.

“Good thing I don’t tend to make a habit of reporting back to fathers.” You lifted your shoulders like it was a simple thing to say and his face flashed with something heavier again. 

You’d smoked weed before a few times but Jungkook either had some especially strong country grown shit or your tolerance had significantly diminished because you somehow ended up in one of the sheep fields, both flat on your backs as you looked up at the stars.

For once you appreciated the fact he didn’t talk much because you felt a bit ridiculously emotional at the sight of them all. A childhood of light polluted skies had robbed you of star gazing and pointing out made up planets so it was overwhelming to see so many of them above you. 

Jungkook seemed to be thinking similarly despite growing up under this sky, his mouth parted a bit in awe every time you glanced over at his side profile a few feet away from you.

“I get why you guys like it out here now I think.” You said wistfully, voice a little breathier than you realized it was when it was escaping you. He laughed a little at the sudden declaration and it didn’t seem as mocking as it had a few hours ago. 

“Thought it would take longer to whip you into shape.” He joked back, voice a little higher than normal and you figured it was the high having settled in that was making him more comfortable to engage in conversation with you. “Some sweeping and a view was all you needed to appreciate the simple life?”

He was clearly messing with you and almost mocking your fathers reasoning for sending you here but you felt a light sting deep in your chest. 

Jungkook was not the reason for it but he was the accidental messenger of the rhetoric your father had been spewing at you since nearly middle school. He couldn’t fathom a world where you cared about things or paid attention to people other than yourself.

It felt impossibly suffocating to argue with somebody who had a different reality in their head, left wondering how would you begin to correct a version of yourself that didn’t exist? 

There were no number of saved movie tickets and sentimental souvenirs, no hours spent making your friends a sloppy birthday cake instead of buying them something store prepared, and no amount of love and empathy in your heart that could convince him you were a thoughtful person. 

“There's nothing simple about this.” You ignored your heavier feelings as you raised a limp hand to gesture to the endless sky.

“I’m sure the city has its own views.” He retorted and you turned your head to the side when you noticed a hint of longing in his voice. He stiffened like he could feel you staring but didn’t look at you, eyes a bit more shifty. 

“Breathtaking ones. I never get used to it.” You said back softly, wondering if that was something he wanted to hear or if it would fuel the fire to his apparent inner conflict. You were left wondering because he didn’t reply to you. 

The silence didn’t last as long as usual, the intoxication in your lungs making you both a little less awkward and a little more lax when it came to unraveling useless information. He told you about the town's small population and how everyone he passed had probably changed his diapers at some point and you ranted about your cats back home and how guilty you felt for leaving them alone.

“Why didn’t you bring them here?” He said like it was an obvious option, maybe too high to remember that you weren’t exactly on a purposeful vacation. Your silence seemed to remind him of this fact and he kissed his teeth in realization. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“Your parents?” You said in confusion, rolling over onto your side in the grass so you could face him and groaning softly at the tightness in your back. He glanced at you and nodded, still laying flat and staring at the sky in between looks. “I don’t have anyone who would bring them here for me.”

Your voice barely held any bitterness, it was just the truth. It was a pretty big favor to ask even to somebody you would consider a friend and you didn’t even really have any of those anyways. 

“Assuming you don’t know how to drive a stick.” He said thoughtfully and you shook your head with a light eye roll at his subtle jab. “I can take you.”

“What?” You sat up and he did the same, although avoiding looking at you head on. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal he just offered to drive you twelve hours round trip just to bring your two cats all the way back here. He glanced back towards the house, the warm glow of the porch lights small considering how far out you were, and then back up towards the never ending sky full of stars. 

“Gives me a break from chores.” He said noncommittally like he was offering to do a load of laundry for you. 

You woke up the next morning with a soft knock on the guest bedroom door, opening it to see Jungkook leaning against the side of it with truck keys dangling around his finger. He gave them a little spin when he saw your eyes widen in surprise that he parents had actually agreed to the request he had made this morning after your conversation in the field.

You nod your head in understanding and close the door so you can hurriedly get ready, feeling a bit amused at the fact you’d been arguing only a few hours ago. Jungkook is silent when you find him in the living room and as he shows you to the truck, excitedly climbing into the passenger seat and waving goodbye to Nari who stands on the porch with a concerned look as she clutches a dish towel to her chest.

It felt beyond ridiculous that you were making this trip with somebody you barely knew and even worse, barely got along with.

He was silent for almost the entire first half of the drive, playing music from a rotating stack of CD’s and cursing under his breath whenever the truck made a particularly loud noise. It was comforting to feel the rumble underneath you as he shifted gears and passed miles and miles of barren farmland. 

You had only been there for a couple days and you were already craving new scenery, eyes widening with excitement when you could vaguely make out the city skyline in the distance. You were still probably an hour out but it was undeniable the way your blood felt warmer. 

“Do you see it?” You asked him excitedly, breaking the bubble of silence. You looked at him as you sat up but you didn’t need to hear his answer out loud, seeing it on his face as soon as you saw his expression.

His eyes were bright with awe and interest as you approached the tall skyscrapers and dizzying highways, traffic seemingly coming from every direction as he went from leaning forward to try and see the tops of buildings past the windshield and focusing on not missing the exits you rushed out with poor directional skills. 

“It’s bigger than I thought.” He eventually said and it came out in one singular breath that made you smile, understanding the feeling all too well. 

You let him take it all in so he didn’t get too distracted trying to navigate the busy and tight streets with hsi truck that stood out clearly compared to most of the more compact and practical vehicles around you. 

You eventually managed to make your way to your apartment and he looked slightly surprised as he exited the driver seat and looked up at the building. He had heard stories of your dads lavish lifestyle so he clearly hadn’t been expecting the exposed brick and dirty windows of your building. 

It was hard not to laugh at his expression, shaking your head and walking past him. You felt giddy knowing you would get to be home even if it was temporary and you could hear your cats meowing behind the door before you even pushed it open.

You greeted them enthusiastically as Jungkook closed the door behind you, eyes scanning around your small and homey apartment. 

“Not exactly the penthouse suite.” He muttered and you glared at him from where you were crouching by your cats on the floor. 

“Must to his dismay.” You didn’t need to say you were talking about your father for him to understand what you meant. “He won’t even step foot in this place.” 

It felt especially ridiculous considering how nice and welcoming your apartment was. The walls were full of pictures of your friends and cats, postcards from random beachy cities covering your fridge door and mismatched furniture.

You had decided as soon as you moved in that you would make your place the polar opposite of the studio apartment you were raised in, trading in cold tile and sterile feeling lights for warm toned lamps and fuzzy rugs to comfort your feet. 

“Do you need anything?” Your voice was softer than he had heard it before and Jungkook shook his head as he kicked his shoes off. You watched him quizzically before he gestured towards your clock on the wall. 

“Might as well stay here tonight.” He said simply and your heart lurched at the idea of getting to sleep in your own bed. “I’m fine now but reckon I’d be exhausted halfway through the drive back.”

You weren’t even slightly planning to argue with that or question what his parents reaction would be, quickly standing to your feet to prepare something for him to wear other than his jeans and flannel. He stood there silently as you made him a comfortable bed on the couch, eventually wandering over to stare out your large living room window.

“Breathtaking right?” You spoke from behind him and he jumped a bit before nodding and glancing back at you.

“Yeah it’s beautiful.” He watched you for a few seconds before turning back to study the city and its seemingly never ending skyline. 

Jungkook must have been more tired than he let on because he was asleep almost as soon as he laid down on your couch and you took a few hours to enjoy your space for the last time in a while, preparing your cats and their things both for travel and for extended stay.

It warmed your heart to picture them with so much space to run around, basking in the sun and chasing field mice while you did your chores. Jungkook was clearly being generous with his offer to take you but he really had no idea just how much it meant to you to have them with you in such an unfamiliar place. 

He was just as quiet the next morning and as you brought your cat carriers and extra bags down to the truck but the ride back was a lot warmer and you felt ages less sour as you approached the town this time around. The hushed conversations between you felt smoother as you lost some of the awkwardness. 

His father was sitting on the porch when you pulled back up and he enthusiastically greeted your cats in their carriers, Nari rushing out at the sound of your voices to help bring them inside. 

You watched from the doorway as he gave Jungkook a firm nod and placed a hand stiffly on his shoulder. Jungkook pursed his lips at the action of approval and returned the nod with one of his own. 

“Was that good?” You whispered to him as he passed you in the doorway and he let out a large breath that you imagined he had been holding since he left the truck.

“Yeah, I think it was.” He said back and you smiled at him, glad he had not gotten in trouble for trying to help you out. 

The following week felt a lot easier now that you had a large piece of home with you, bed a little warmer with your cats curling up next to you. The chores were brutal and you were miserable half the time the sun was out but you were getting used to the ache of your body and the burn covering your skin. 

Jungkook was still silent most of the day but he was doing things slower and more exaggerated so you could actually learn the few times he noticed you showing interest and paying attention. There were tasks you could do fully on your own now and you found yourself looking forward to when the sun would set and he'd knock on your door softly, an expectant look on his face as he flashed another joint between his fingers.

It was a nice routine for the two of you to wander out to the field near the sheep barn, smoking until the tightness of your bones faded enough for you to giggle into the grass and tell eachother random tidbits about your life. 

“I heard your dad tell mine that you ran away.” Jungkook said gently one night when your conversation started to borderline on serious and you said nothing for a while. 

“At 22 I thought it would just be considered taking a vacation.” Your voice was half humorous and half bitter, the latter side much more apparent in your tone. You sighed so deeply you felt like you were going to melt down into the dirt. “I’ve been further away for much longer, he only noticed this time because one of his clients saw me while traveling.”

“You went alone?” His questions rarely held so much interest and you glanced at him, finding him staring at the stars with his eyebrows furrowed like he hadn't considered that possible.

“I’m always alone.” You shrugged to yourself. “Aren't you?”

You weren’t trying to make a harsh assumption but you’d been there two weeks and not once did Jungkook leave the farm land other than your trip to the city. His parents went off to town a few times a week or to a friend's house for supper but Jungkook stayed throughout it all, never once hearing mention of a friend of his or seeing a photo somewhere in the house.

He shrugged but it was one of those times where you both already knew what his answer would be. His eyes shifted over to you and you watched curiously. 

“Not so much anymore.” He said plainly but you smiled a bit at the implication, knowing it was probably a change for him to have you following behind his trail all day long. Maybe even a welcomed change now that you were getting along finally. ly.

You and Jungkook spent the next week with the exact same routine and now that you were used to most of it, you felt yourself going stir crazy. Little things were always changing, animals needing more help than usual or storms making it so you had to help around the house instead but for the most part everything stayed exactly the same. 

It was a welcomed assignment when Nari softly asked you to take horses into town and pick up a few things. You didn’t ask why you couldn’t just take the truck even though you were beginning to wish you had as you stared at the large creature.

“You know I can’t ride that, right?” You said simply as you shook your head firmly. Jungkook laughed a little at your fearful tone before gesturing at the single saddle he had pulled off of the wall. 

You were confused for a few seconds before realizing he was insinuating you both get on the horse together, your gaze shifting over to him to see him standing by the horse and clearly waiting for you to reach the same conclusion. 

“You’re joking aren’t you?” Your voice shook a little as you squeaked out the question. 

Clearly he wasn’t because Jungkook had easily lifted you up onto the large horse before swinging his leg over and situating himself naturally. You were left sitting behind him, feeling like you were about to throw up and having no choice but to wrap your arms tightly around his middle.

He was laughing at you when you squeezed your grip anytime you took a turn or the horse sped up to cross a road. It felt a bit ridiculous as some cars passed you but you saw more and more horseback people as you got closer to town and almost all of them enthusiastically greeted Jungkook. 

The stories he had told you about knowing everybody here were clearly true because he couldn’t be more liked if he tried.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the market and Jungkook reached a hand up to you so you could slide off the horse, his hands sturdy above your hip so you didn’t land the wrong way. You eyed him as he tied the large animal to a post outside, petting its nose softly and whispering something you didn’t hear.

A whistle behind you made his hands freeze and both of you turned to see an older man sitting outside the market, a bucket full of loose change infront of him and a brown paper bag around a glass bottle sat on his lap. 

“Pretty little thing.” His accent was even heavier due to the slur in his speech and your eyes narrowed as he scanned down your frame. Jungkook’s mother had left some pretty farm dresses and cowgirl boots outside your door a few nights ago and you had been excited to wear them until his eyes were on your bare legs. “Ain’t from around here.”

It was a statement and not a question and you scoffed at him.

“What gave it away?” You said coldly. You knew you still didn’t carry yourself like somebody from the country even when you wore their clothes and did their labor, the lack of a drawl in your voice really not helping you towards fitting in. 

You could feel the presence of Jungkook approaching behind you now that he had gotten the horse situated and you glanced over your shoulder. His face was cold again and he was a lot closer to you than he typically would be, nearly touching your back to his chest. 

“Johnny.” He said simply, addressing the man and making himself known. 

“Oh you’re Jeon’s boy aint you?” He said with an amused smile, looking like he was suddenly reminiscing. Jungkook must have nodded or given him a confirming look because the man was suddenly laughing so hard he was swaying to the side. “Them Jeon’s… are good men.” He pointed at Jungkook as he paused, then laughed loudly again.

You felt yourself reaching back and wrapping your hands around Jungkook’s elbow before you could think about it, going to pull him towards the entrance so you both could leave this conversation and not hear whatever it was he was laughing so hard about. 

The man's eyes flashed with interest when he saw you touching his arm, hugging it to your side in a way that could come across as intimate rather than instinctual. 

“Oh, is this your missus?” He called and you saw an older couple's head turn with annoyance at his loud tone and the outdated phrasing, shaking their heads in disapproval. 

Jungkook’s cheek shifted as he addressed you like that and you sighed at the realization this was going to take you too far off track for you to bother with. You tugged him softly and ignored the obnoxious laughter coming from behind you as you entered the market.

“Just ignore it.” You said softly, not letting go of his arm even when you were deeper into the store. He glanced at you like he was upset you hadn’t let him handle it and that furthered your reasoning for keeping a hold on him. 

“He was disrespectful.” He said plainly, eyes still heated even when you stopped walking and turned to face him. The tips of your boots touched his as you reached into his shirt pocket to pull out the list his mother had given him, catching him stuffing it in there before you mounted the horse. “How can he talk to a woman like that?”

“He was a drunk idiot.” You stated, catching his eye for a second as you stood there before realizing how close you were and taking a step away.

Jungkook still seemed irritated as you shopped, filling a basket full of the ingredients his mom had written in neat handwriting. He took the basket from you when it was more than half full and starting to get a little heavy and you gave him a thankful look. 

It was hard for him to stay annoyed considering the countless older women that stopped to coo at him and ask him how his parents were, remarking on the last time they’d seen him and how tall and handsome he had grown up to be.

This was something you had also noticed, much to your dismay. 

You figured you had been too distracted your first two weeks but your general dislike for your situation and Jungkook himself to realize the devastating fact that he was actually the most attractive person you had been around.

He was now constantly distracting you without even meaning to, tan skin and big eyes so effortlessly lifting things two times your size and controlling stubborn animals. It was a bit ridiculous that somebody with forearms that veiny and strong also looked that good in a stupid cowboy hat. 

Even now, leaning against a fridge as he watched you scan over the list in his washed denim jeans and giant belt buckle. It was something straight out of a cowboy fantasy and you felt like a fool for falling victim to it. 

It didn’t help your new found dilemma that he was also the sweetest person you had ever met now that he was done giving you the silent treatment and glaring everytime you messed something up.

Whether it was natural southern hospitality or his mothers teachings, Jungkook was a well mannered boy down to his core and did not consider opening the door for you or carrying bags for the older women in the store anything other than the bare minimum.

You weren’t surprised that he was so aggravated by the drunk man for eyeing you or calling you his missus, like you were a piece of property because that was just the type of guy Jungkook was. 

“Reckon we are almost done?”

And then there was that.

Your eyes shifted over to him as his voice broke you from your thoughts and you almost outwardly sighed in annoyance with yourself. Never once in your entire life had you considered that a southern accent might bring your heart into your throat but apparently that was just something that happened to you now.

You imagined Jungkook didn’t even think he had an accent let alone realized how heavy it was but the low drawl and phrases he used made you feel like a preteen girl who had just discovered british boy bands for the first time. 

“Yeah pretty much, just…” You trailed off as your eyes landed on a small booth tucked in the back corner of the vendor section.

Jungkook squinted at you before turning around and scoffing a little when he realized what had caught your attention so easily. 

You felt like your feet were magnetically drawn to the rows of pretty farm dresses, lace bandanas and cowgirl hats. Your eyes were wide as you took them all in, already feeling your bank account emptying. The clothes Nari had been bringing you weren’t hideous but they certainly weren’t the most flattering things you had ever worn.

He stood there holding the baskets of groceries while you pointed out everything you wanted to the woman at the booth, smiling happily as you left the store with your arms full. 

“You’re ridiculous.” He said flatly as he shook his head and situated the grocery bags in the saddle bags on each side of the horse. His words lacked any heat and you rolled your eyes as you watched him.

“What I am, is sick of sharing a closet with your mother.” He shot you a look. “No offense.”

A laugh escaped him as he finished, turning to you expectantly. It felt more natural now to step closer to the massive animal and he stared at you as you stood in front of him, making sure you were ready and nodding when you gave him an expectant look.

His hands were back on your hips, confirming to yourself that you were inching into delusional territory when your stomach lit up. He was easily lifting you almost above his head so you could swing your leg over the saddle, further forward than you had been.

You almost scooted back to your place but he was mounting before you could and you quickly realized he had placed you there purposefully, now sat behind you with his thighs on the outside of yours.

“Oh so I’m steering now?” You glanced back at him and he looked amused, taking off his hat and adjusting it before placing it on your head. You squinted at him and his mischievous expression before quickly facing forward when he was kicking his foot and whistling lowly to get the horse to start to move.

“Lucky is good to learn on.” He said simply and you suddenly considered steering you both into a lake when you heard his low voice now behind you and near your ear. “He’s gentle.”

“He’s huge.” You remarked plainly and this time when he breathed out a short laugh you could feel it on the back of your neck.

You rode in pleasant silence and the sun was far less brutal now that it was starting to set, the little bit of shine kept out of your eyes by his hat sitting comfortably on your head. You tried to ignore that flutter in your chest at the fact you were wearing his hat and riding his horse, back pressed to chest even if it was just for safety.

“Does it ever get annoying living in such a small town?” You mused in a calm voice after another group of people waved to Jungkook. “Running into ex girlfriends all the time I bet.”

He didn’t respond right away and you swore you thought you felt him tensing behind you. You glanced over your shoulder at him, hoping to find him wearing an amused expression and instead he was just staring at you blankly.

Your eyebrows furrowed for a long second before you were turning back forward with a mouth parted in understanding.

Suddenly it was awkward and you mentally punched yourself for being the one to bring the uncomfortable air to the conversation. Neither of you said anything and you somehow decided that was worse than whatever was about to come out of your mouth.

“Sorry. There’s nothing wrong with that, you know?” 

“Just stop talking.” He grunted behind you, sounding more pained and embarrassed than angry with you. “It makes it way worse when you say stuff like that.”

You weren’t sure how anything could make it better but you genuinely didn’t think any less of Jungkook for not having a girlfriend before, if anything it felt a bit ridiculous considering what he looked like but you definitely could not say that to him. 

Instead you just fell into a silence that you hoped wasn’t marking the return of your feud. You gave him another apologetic look in the barn after he helped you down and he sighed softly when he saw it, giving you his habitual nod and taking his hat off of your head gently so he could wear it again.

You found yourself unusually bored without the company of Jungkook who had disappeared into his room almost as soon as you got back. 

You ended up sitting on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, your more affectionate cat napping in your lap while the other brushed against the wood arches. You were attempting to write in your journal but your mind was blanking or rather full of other things.

There was genuine guilt inside of you for accidentally making Jungkook feel embarrassed but you weren’t really sure what to do about it, finding him hard to read when it came to certain things. 

It was easy to tell when he was tired of a particularly repetitive chore, when he felt irritated by his dad more than usual, and when he was getting moody because he was hungry but how did you make him feel better about something like this without making him more humiliated when you brought it up again.

The boy in question was interrupting your string of thoughts and half composed apologies when he was bursting through the front door. 

You sat up quickly, eyes wide from the way it slammed against the side of the house and cracked on its old hinges. You were just opening your mouth to ask him what had happened when Minchul was storming out right behind him, his belt in his hand and an expression that made your blood run cold.

“Do it again until it's right.” He was screaming down the porch at Jungkook’s tense back that didn’t stop moving. 

He didn’t seem afraid necessarily but rather furious as he made his way to one of the barns, shoulders squared and barely giving you a glimpse of the glare on his face before he slammed the large door shut and disappeared inside. 

“That damn boy is useless.” Minchul spat to himself and you stared at him with a shocked and fearful glance. He faltered when he noticed you sitting there and sighed softly, body relaxing just enough for you to narrow your gaze. “Sorry you had to see that honey. You think he would know better by now.”

You didn’t dare respond to him, not trusting yourself to hold back from saying something that would get you or Jungkook in any trouble, or any more in his case. Your eyes drifted to the belt in his tight grip and he sighed again before heading back inside. 

Supper was painfully silent and you felt terrible for Nari considering she had spent hours preparing it. 

You made sure to hum softly after every few bites, exaggerating the noise so she would know you found it delicious. She gave you a knowing look across the table and smiled at you, breaking the quiet with a soft question about how you liked the town. 

It was unlike you to speak at the dinner table but the men were clearly abandoning that role for the night so you and her exchanged gentle small talk while you all ate, trying to make the room feel less suffocating. 

You’d understood after the first few nights that it was expected of you and Jungkook to do the dishes so you hugged Nari goodnight and drifted over to the sink.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t ask him if he was okay in fear of making it even worse. His shoulders were still tense like they had been earlier and the look on his face was bugging you, not used to seeing it compared to his usual expressions.

“I’m sorry.” He surprised you by being the first to speak, a low mutter as he took a wet plate from you and dried it off. “He shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”

You wanted to retort that he shouldn't have done it at all but that felt stupid and obvious, something you both already knew and didn’t need to voice. You just shook your head at his apology, not needing to accept one from him.

“You’re a good man Jungkook.” You finally decided to say plainly, not emotion in your voice so he could take the words as simple and true as they were. 

He faltered with his hand in mid air, only a brief second before he was taking another dish.

When you were done washing you leaned against the counter next to you, watching him and waiting for him to finish up. He wasn’t looking at you  but you knew he felt you staring. He sighed when he dried the last one and finally turned towards you.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that princess?” He said with exhaustion lacing his words and although the name was mocking, it still sent a jolt through your body. 

“You know you’re handsome right?” You weren’t trying to flirt with him, especially not with this awkward air from what you had seen. You were just genuinely wondering if he had even noticed, unable to tell by the way he carried himself.

Jungkook stared at you with an unchanging expression, like he was waiting for you to say something else or even laugh at him. 

It wasn’t the first time you noticed the sheer size of him, not exactly the tallest man you’d met but certainly making up for it by the width of his shoulders and the broad muscle on his chest. His father was a naturally large man with a round belly and tall stature but you imagined Jungkook could take him quite easily in terms of strength.

“C’mere.” You baited softly, not moving from the counter and just watching him with an almost expressionless face. He took a few seconds but his feet were eventually moving and he was a few feet closer to you now.

Your hand was on his arm, gentle and tracing as you squeezed it lightly but kept your gaze locked on his face. His body was locked with tension as he looked at you, almost curiously. 

“No girlfriends but..” You faded off when you saw the flash of annoyance pass over his face, not liking that you were bringing this back up again. “Have you ever hooked up with someone?”

The question lingered in the air adn you almost wondered if he was planning on rejecting you. He hadn’t done anything that made you think he was necessarily interested in you the way you were becoming interested in him but you knew you were relatively pretty and he clearly didn’t mind your company, showing it in his own stoic way.

“What’s it matter?” He mumbled back, shifting a step or two closer like he hadn’t realized he was.

His lack of an actual answer inside the response told you what you needed to know and he seemed to understand that considering the way he sighed.

“Do you think I’m judging you?”

Your head had cocked as you said it and he let out a humorless laugh at the earnest way you asked it.

“Aren’t you?” He retorted and it was a bit more heated than his voice had been before, defenses clearly up despite the way your hand was still smoothing over his arm as you had this conversation. “I’m not some loser.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the outburst, wondering when he had drawn that conclusion. It wasn’t that surprising that a southern boy would associate sexual experience with masculinity or social class but you shook your head.

“I already told you what I think of you Jungkook.” You answered back, stopping your hand from rubbing his skin and letting it just rest instead. “I think you’re a good man.” Your tone was gentle and smooth so he didn’t have any reason to think you were making fun of him. “And that you’re handsome.”

Your hand moved to sit on his firm chest and you could feel the way his heart raced underneath your palm, fast and pounding as you stared up at him. Jungkook might genuinely be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, sun kissed skin and scars littering his body from a lifetime of hard work. 

His features were strong and manly but paired with gentle eyes that watched you quizzically and you were sighing softly without even meaning to. You hoped you weren’t overwhelming him with your sudden forwardness but there was only so much time you could spend watching him think lowly of himself before you longer to inform him of the way others viewed him.

You leaned up on your tippy toes while simultaneously bringing his face down so you could kiss him softly, thumb rubbing his jaw and cheek. 

He only hesitated for a second before he was kissing you back, taking a few steps forward until your back was hitting the counter again but this time with his body pressing against yours. Your mouths moved together eagerly and you made a small noise when his hands were on your hips, yours moving to play with the hairs touching the back of his neck.

His height and size was making you feel crazy as he tugged you against him, his strong arms around you and the thought of how easily he had lifted your entire body earlier made you feel warm as you made out desperately. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat was making you jump away from each other and your eyes were both wide with panic as you saw his mother standing at the bottom of the stairs in her nightgown. Your chest was rising and falling both from the intense make out session and embarrassment. 

“I-“ You squeaked out in an attempt to explain but nothing followed and you almost thought his mom looked amused.

“Goodnight.” She said softly before turning back around like she hadn't seen anything. You’d expected to be sent up to your rooms for the night but clearly she was attempting to meddle by leaving you alone again. 

The tension had popped and you awkwardly looked at Jungkook. 

Jungkook let out a shaky breath as he watched his mom go back upstairs, his heart still beating like a drum in his chest. His cheeks were still flushed red with embarrassment, and he ran a hand sheepishly through his hair as he looked at you with an unreadable expression. 

He took a deep breath and the sound made you feel way worse. You shifted on your feet, not really knowing what to do in this situation. It felt so ridiculous that you couldn’t help yourself from bursting out into soft laughter and he gave you a disbelieving look. 

Your forehead fell against his chest as you laughed softly, eyes squeezed shut from embarrassment. You felt his body shaking slightly as he joined you in your giggle fit and you were glad he wasn’t taking this as seriously as you feared he might. 

You could feel his hand in your hair as he brushed it out of your face and your laughter faded off into a warm smile as you looked up at him, rocking onto your tiptoe to press against him in another kiss. It was much sweeter this time, lacking any real heat.

Only until his hands were back on your hips and then you couldn’t stop yourself from parting your lips and pushing deeper, grateful he had understood what you wanted when he pushed you back against the counter and tilted his head with yours. 

It was picking up in pace again and your tongue was moving against his bottom lip, whining softly when he licked against your own and bringing one of your hands back to rub his hard chest.

“You’re a good kisser.” You remarked against his mouth and you could quite literally feel him smirk, the realization making you feel like you were truly going crazy.

“You’re pretty.” He said back in that same monotone voice he always had and you smiled at the now familiar sound of it. His hands tensed against your hips and you quickly got what he wanted, kissing him again with more fever after his compliment towards you. 

You weren’t sure how you went from arguing with him a few weeks ago to making out desperately in his kitchen but it was hard to dislike the change in things when it felt so good, barely able to pull yourself away from him when he was whispering into your mouth that you needed to get some sleep.

He was right and you knew that but he practically had to maneuver you both towards the bedroom hall, stopping to kiss you along the way and laughing when your hands were stubborn in their exploration of his strong arms. 

You’d closed your door and immediately pressed your back against it as you sucked in a deep breath, waiting until you heard his own close down the hall before you were throwing yourself on the bed and screaming into the pillow. 

----

The next morning left you feeling slightly anxious and embarrassed, nervous to face Jungkook with your new development and downright terrified to see his mother.

She was alone in the kitchen when you ventured down and you froze at the bottom of the staircase, considering turning around and booking it back up the stairs until her gentle gaze landed on you and it was too late. 

“C'mon honey, I won’t bite.” She said with amusement lacing her words and your shoulders halfway relaxed. You blushed and walked fully into the room, avoiding the counter she had seen Jungkook pressing you against last night like it was infected. 

“I’m so sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to disrespect you and your house.” You said quickly with a sigh as you sat on one of the stools, not even planning to address it but unable to stop yourself from feeling foolish. 

She watched you with patient eyes as you spoke it in one breath and then smiled gently. “I haven’t seen my baby smile like that since he was a boy. I know he’s a grown up now and he does what grown ups do.” Your face flushed at the implication and you suddenly wondered if she had already figured this was happening. “I think you’d do him some good.” 

You weren’t sure how to respond to her kind words and you stayed quiet and stiff on the stool.

The floorboard creaking made you turn back to the doorway and you froze even more when you saw Jungkook standing there, his expression alerting you to the fact he had been there longer than you had realized and most likely eavesdropping. 

“Hi.” You instinctively breathed out when you noticed him, ridiculously handsome in the early morning. 

He cleared his throat and entered the kitchen, giving his mother a soft kiss on the cheek as a greeting before placing his hands on the island and looking at you awkwardly. “Hey.”

Nari suddenly decided she had something to do that involved her going out to the chicken coop but you didn’t miss the instigating look she shot him over her shoulder as she left. You almost thought his cheeks were tinged pink as he quickly looked away from her and your lips curled upwards just enough for him to sigh. 

“Listen I-”

“Do you want to do something with me today?” He had cut you off and then froze like he hadn’t even realized you were speaking. 

Your eyes were a little wide as you stared at him, forgetting what you were even trying to tell him, most likely something that would give him the option to pretend the kiss had never happened but you liked his idea a lot better. 

“Something like.. other than chores?” You half teased as you reminded him that you did something with him almost every single day if farm work counted. He was nodding his head swiftly and going between avoiding looking at you directly and staring into your eyes intensely. “Yes Jungkook, I would. That sounds very nice.”

He looked overly relieved that you had agreed and you began to really question his sanity if he actually thought you would reject him after what had happened. 

Jungkook had instructed you that you would need a bathing suit and something comfortable to walk in, not leaving much to the imagination about what he wanted to do but leaving you excited regardless. 

You almost asked him how he had gotten the two of you out of duties but you saw Nari carrying a small bag of hay as you stepped out onto the porch and realized quickly she must have agreed to help out today. 

She was giving you a soft look and you returned it with a small smile and a wave goodbye, hearing the hinges creak behind you as he made his way out of the house and paused next to you to look at his mom as she disappeared back to the nearest barn.

“Ready?” He said softly and you nodded your head at him, glancing to the side and feeling glad to see him smiling subtly. 

The new development between you did not change the fact Jungkook didn’t talk much but it did mean he let you be the one to shuffle through his CD collection until you found something you liked. He actually had a few things you managed to recognize and you put in the back of your mind to request a mixtape of his favorite tracks. 

You preferred the windows down and wind blowing to the cold and sterile AC of your car back in the city, hair in your face and the now familiar scents that the warm air danced through the old truck being things you had grown used to faster than your usual that you had simply tolerated for two decades. 

He was tapping the steering wheel to the music and your eyes scanned over him briefly now that he was distracted. 

He had abandoned his button up flannels for the day in place of a loose shirt that was tucked into his jeans and belt in random places, showcasing his large belt buckle that you had started to think was his signature. 

Clearly you were obvious enough that he caught on to the feeling of you staring because he was sending you a sideways glance that made you laugh. Most guys would probably smirk cockily if they noticed you checking them out like that but Jungkook was certainly not most guys, quickly facing forward again and swallowing hard.

You watched from the side mirror as dust kicked up nearly to your window, feeling him shift gears as he pulled off onto the side of the dirt road. 

There was nothing special about the area he stopped at, a simple stretch of road with trees canopy over the top and giving you a nice break from the sun. You looked at him, curious why he was stopping. 

“Cmon.” He said and his eyes flashed with something bright before he was getting out of the driver's side and gesturing for you to slide across the bench seat of the truck so you could come out his door. 

His hand was reaching out to grab yours, helping you out smoothly and the act made it so you were standing almost as close as you were the night before. He took a few seconds to let his eyes dart over your face before he was stepping back and keeping his hand over yours. 

“It’s through here.” He breathed and you nodded, letting him gently guide you through the trees and brush. 

You could see a faint desired path, dirt in place of grass where people had been stepping and venturing off from the road like you were now. 

Luckily it wasn’t a long walk considering you were not exactly accustomed enough to the outdoor life to enjoy branches in your face but you were glad you had heeded his warning about comfortable shoes. 

You felt his hand squeezing yours as he slowed his pace, leaving you almost stumbling into his back from your lack of paying attention. 

He glanced back at you as you came to a stop beside him, hands wrapping around his arm similarly to the way you had held him at the market. He stepped to the side more so you could see what he was bringing you towards and your mouth parted. 

The quarry was only a little bigger than a pond, surrounded on all sides by trees and tall rock walls that glistened from the water splashed on them by the numerous small waterfalls in various places alongside it. 

The water was a beautiful blue-green shade that looked especially inviting given the heat today and there was a small slope that led to a patch of sand, sporadic bushes of flowers and long hanging vines decorating the empty spaces. 

“Wow.” You breathed out as you stepped out of the tree line, walking along the top of the quarry until you could shuffle your way down the slope towards the beach. 

Jungkook stayed right behind you, silent and squeezing your hand every so often whenever the path got a bit steep. You were grateful considering how little focus you had now that you were presented with such a beautiful sight. 

“Do you like it?” He was asking softly when you made it to the waterline, the area even more breathtaking from down below. Your eyes scanned over the quarry walls around you now and you almost felt emotional. 

You’d never seen anything even remotely similar to this and it was overwhelming you a little bit. It was like an oasis hidden just off the dirty road, untouched by civilization and nurtured by the elements around you. 

“It’s amazing.” You turned to face him and he looked pleased that you were excited, biting the inside of his cheek and nodding as he took off his hat and placed it on a nearby log. 

Your eyebrows raised in question before he was shifting backwards and kicking off his boots, a laugh of disbelief leaving you in a single breath. 

The girlish giggle was leaving you before you could stop it and you didn’t care enough to feel embarrassed about the sound, hurriedly removing your easiest layers before pulling your dress over your head and leaving you in your bathing suit. 

When you emerged from the lacy fabric you were greeted by a shirtless Jungkook and you fully froze, eyes locking on his chest and the full expanse of his tattooed sleeve that you’d been catching glimpses of whenever he wore a shirt. 

You already knew he was strong, easily detectable by his stamina and how much he could move and carry without breaking a sweat. Plus the telling veins lining his forearms that pulses whenever he shifted or gripped something. 

None of these small tidbits could’ve prepared you for the sight of Jeon Jungkook shirtless and you couldn’t even bother to disguise how intensely you were staring at his toned chest and the happy trail wedged between hard ab muscles. 

Jungkook seemed to not even notice the way you were looking at him but that probably had something to do with the fact he was staring at you the same exact way, hair messy from removing your dress that now sat at your feet. 

You imagined at another time it could’ve been heated but instead it was bashful, almost shy as you both came to reality and looked away in sync. Your cheeks felt warm again and you squinted up at the burning sun like it was the cause and not the pull in your stomach. 

It was easier to run towards the water than face him again and he seemed to agree considering you could hear the sound of him entering right behind you. 

The two of you splashed and played for nearly an hour, throwing handfuls of water and filling the echoing quarry with your shrieks and laughter as you did so. Your stomach was aching from how hard you were laughing and your cheeks felt even worse, in the best way possible. 

You’d even begun to wonder if you had ever actually smiled before this exact moment, the happiness rushing through you feeling so foreign. You were completely detached from yourself. 

The wealth of your family name, the cold expressions you both faced daily and learned to force onto yourself and even the heaviness of the city air and its routine were all fading from your mind. Right now you were simply a girl having fun in a beautiful place with a boy that liked you enough to free his day and show it to you. 

Jungkook was either thinking similarly or simply recognizing your melancholy because the play splashing faded into the two of you slowly inching closer and closer in the water until your arms were looped around his neck and his settled warmly on your waist. 

Your eyes were scanning over the parts of his chest that were not under the hazy water, cold fingers lightly tracing over the scars and marks littering his tan skin.

He was simply watching you, eyes on your face and only shifting away briefly whenever you made eye contact. 

“Where'd you get this one?” Your voice was a whisper and it felt like the first time you’d talked in a while, smoothing over a particularly large mark spanning across his left collarbone all the way to his shoulder. 

“Got bucked off Lucky when I was fourteen.” He said in a low voice, referencing the large horse you’d taken into town together. “Landed wrong on the wired fence.”

You nodded softly as he recounted the story, feeling a deeper warmth when you thought about teenage Jungkook and his mishaps as he grew into the practiced country man he was now. His hands squeezed your waist as your hand crept up to his cheek and you shifted closer.

“This one?” Your tone was more hesitant when you saw the look on his face at the touch, already knowing he’d be explaining that especially deep mark next. 

“I was seventeen.” He started off slowly and you watched him, hand moving to cup his cheek and obscure the scar from your vision. His face instinctively pushed against your palm and he sighed. “Accidentally tipped a barrel of feed we were transporting to the neighbors. My dad sent me flying into the wall and I guess there was an old nail or something.” 

It was the first time he had outwardly voiced what you already assumed and although you knew, it didn’t make it any easier to hear him say it.

“Has he always done that?” You whispered and he shook his head. 

“Just when I became a teenager.” He said simply, like it wasn't a big deal to him. It probably wasn’t anymore and you couldn't help but frown softly, feeling worse when his eyes flashed with concern. “Happens less now.”

Another thing you didn’t need to hear out loud to understand. Jungkook was bigger now, stronger and harder to push around even if he allowed it up to a certain point. You had a feeling that he'd never lay a hand on his father to test the theory but you had full confidence he could lay him out if needed and you imagined Minchul had realized something similar.

You felt the words leave you, not exactly sure if that was what he needed anyways. There was nothing you could say that would make it stop and you figured he had thought of any reassuring phrases you would’ve come up with anyways.

There was only one thing that made sense to you and you hoped it was the right choice when you kissed him softly. 

It was so gentle he barely felt it and then you were pulling back and pressing your forehead against his. His gaze was softer now and you could feel the wet droplets from his hair on your skin, his large hand leaving your hip underwater to hold your face and bring you into him again. 

This time there was some heat behind the action, mouths moving together as you wrapped your legs around his middle to be as close as possible. 

Jungkook kissed you deeply, a low noise sounding from his chest when you were tugging softly at his lower lip. It felt like a habit to tangle your tongue with his and you sighed against his mouth, one hand on his jaw with the other resting on his chest as he held you weightlessly in the water. 

“Have I mentioned you’re a good kisser?” You breathed against his mouth and he made a low noise, used to your antics and teasing comments by now. His hands were under your thighs to keep you supported around his waist and you sighed as you fell back into a kiss. 

It felt utterly ridiculous, disbelief still clouding your mind when you felt the butterflies in your stomach and the way your skin felt tingly wherever his hands traced. You had barely felt anything before you got here and suddenly your days were full of satisfying muscle aches and electric glances across the room with a boy who was holding you like he actually managed to care about you. 

You felt like a fool for putting so much weight behind kissing him, behind being somewhere he considered special and laughing like little kids together. 

“I am so happy you are here.”

All of your concerns faded away when he whispered the words against your lips, unable to keep kissing him but loving the way he pecked your mouth a few times before realizing you weren’t responding anymore and looking at you heavily. 

Maybe he could tell it was something you needed to hear because one of his hands left your leg in favor of pushing your wet hair behind your ear, thumb tracing over your swollen lips. 

“You mean that?” You accidentally whispered it and that felt much more vulnerable than you had meant it to come across, not able to stop yourself from seeking confirmation. You’d spent your entire life feeling like you were taking up space, a ghost in crowded conference halls and an investment only worthy of funding. 

Jungkook had nothing to take from you, you had nothing to offer him here in this new version of you that you had barely begun to understand yourself and yet his eyes were soft and genuine as he nodded. 

“I was just going through the motions before you.” He responded right when you needed to hear it most and the rare show of vocalized honesty from him hit harder. You could tell it was difficult for him to say these things out loud without feeling insecure and you appreciated it even more. 

You kissed him eagerly and barely processed the way he was standing out of the water and easily carrying you to the shore, only recognizing your new location when your back touched the warm sand and you gasped softly.

It was swallowed by his mouth as he placed himself over you, holding his weight up with his left arm so he wasn’t exactly pressing against you. He felt even better in this position and your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him down and keeping his mouth moving with yours like it was the only way you could function.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there like that, going between kissing heavily and whispering sweet words to each other that made your chest tighten so much it felt like it was going to explode.

The sun had started to set and you felt slightly chilled in your damp suit, flushing when he noticed your shiver and silently moved to help pull your dress back over your head. He stood from the sand, offering a hand to lift you up and steadying you before finding his discarded shirt. 

It was silent on the way back to the farm but welcomed. You had abandoned the passenger seat in favor of sitting in the middle, laying your head on his shoulder and smiling every time his hand moved from the gear stick to rest on your bare knee. 

He had his left arm out the window as he tapped the top of it occasionally along to the music but he quickly withdrew it when you pulled in the long driveway and saw the porch light still on. It was dark by now but not quite late enough to cause any suspicion, sky a dark blue as the sun fully set. 

You were glad you had enough sense to scoot back into your seat because you passed the scattered trees and could now clearly see Minchul stood on the porch, not at all trying to pretend he wasn’t waiting for you.

Jungkook was tense and his face was dark in a way that pulled a pout onto your face, hoping you didn’t have a sour end to such a beautiful day.

He sighed as he parked the truck and you reached your hand over to grab his, his eyes darting to you quickly like he had forgotten you were sitting there with him. You watched as his shoulders dropped as they lost their tension and he gave you a soft smile and squeezed your hand in his. 

You were both exiting the truck and you gave Minchul a small wave, only slightly surprised that he didn’t return it. He was still keeping up the charming and friendly persona with you but clearly it didn’t matter when his hard gaze was locked on his son. 

“How were the Johnsons?” He said lowly and you knew better than to respond or showcase any confusion on your face even though you had no idea what he was talking about. 

“The Johnsons?” Jungkook’s voice was casual as he walked, barely faltering at the question and not even glancing at his dad as he stepped onto the porch. You stayed on the yard and watched them, breath held as it almost seemed like they were sizing each other up. You weren’t used to seeing any defiance from Jungkook and it worried you. “We were at the Lee’s. Mary said hello.”

He went inside, sending you a glance as he did and you stood there silently.

Minchul scoffed and you saw his jaw clench in annoyance, clearly wanting to test Jungkook and catch him in a lie. Nari and him must have come up with a cover story beforehand about where you two were the entire day, something you stupidly hadn’t even considered. 

His gaze fell on you and while it wasn’t as icy, it still didn’t look thrilled to see you. You were glad you had become so accustomed to having a flat expression because the last thing you wanted was to be the one who fucked it up and got the both of you in trouble.

“Thank you for letting us have some time off.” You said softly, tone as polite as you could manage and he stayed very still for a few more seconds before giving you a small smile and nodding. You stayed there as he turned to head inside, finally letting out the breath you were holding.

----

It was difficult to know Jungkook was so close yet also understanding spending unnecessary time with him could get you in trouble potentially. You knew you were both adults but it was his fathers house and clearly he didn’t have sound reasoning for his hatred towards Jungkook.

As much as you wanted to lounge in his room with him and listen to music, you settled for opening your door and letting it float down the hallway towards you as you journaled.

You were back to chores the next morning like normal and you couldn’t help the shy smile on your face when you saw him in the kitchen. He returned it and you felt his foot nudge against yours when you slid onto the stool beside him, side eyeing him playfully as Nari brought you both a plate of breakfast.

There was a welcomed silence as you ate rather quickly and then you were both slipping out of the house, soft giggles escaping you at the fast way he walked towards the barn. He glanced behind you towards the house and must've determined the coast was clear because he was scooping you off of your feet to get you there quicker.

“You’re insane.” You laughed and slapped against his shoulder as he bridal style carried you into the barn, rounding the corner and setting you down when you were out of sight. 

“Is that a bad thing?” His eyebrow went up and you narrowed your eyes jokingly, a bright smile on your face as you stared up at him. “Maybe I just missed you.”

You still weren’t used to the quiet boy you had grown accustomed to being able to say the most devastating things like he didn’t even realize what they did to you. You sucked in a breath at the statement and it wasn’t long before he was kissing you again.

There seemed to be a mutual addiction to the action now that you’d done it a few times and you were glad you weren’t alone in that, not sure what you would do if he wasn’t so willing to kiss you all the time. 

Kissing you didn’t seem to be the only thing on Jungkook’s mind because it wasn’t long before he had you laid back against a blanket over the hay, making you half wonder if he planned this or if it was just a spontaneous decision. Either way you appreciated the gesture, not sure you could enjoy the way he was kissing down your neck as much if you had scratchy grass poking you back.

“Jungkook.” You gasped his name out when his teeth brushed over your collarbone and his back hardened at the sound for a second before he was humming, low and sensual as he questioned the reason for your call. “More.”

He picked his head up long enough to look into your eyes, scanning over your face with a dark expression you hadn’t quite seen from him. It was similar to the way he looked when he was particularly focused on a hard task but there was something deeper there and you suddenly felt flustered. 

“Tell me what you want.” It was a soft instruction that subtly reminded you he didn’t really know what he was doing.

“Anything, just…” Your hands were in his hair and you kissed him softly as you tried to collect yourself, distracted by the way he was looking at you and the weight of his body on top of yours. “Just you. I just want you.”

That seemed to be enough for him to forget his inexperienced based hesitance because his mouth was back on yours, sloppy and hot in a way that made a shiver go down your spine. His hands moved under your dress, pushing it up so it sat under your ribs and exposed your lower half.

He went back to kissing down your neck and this time he didn’t stop at your dress, skipping your covered section and shifting his body further down so he could have his mouth on your stomach. You sucked in a gasp at the sensation, keeping your hands in his hair to keep yourself grounded under the illusion of some control.

It was a world changing sight to see him down between your legs like that, eyes darting from your lace panties back up to your face to make sure you were feeling okay. You imagined he was being met with a very eager expression on your face, nearly pleading as you took in his messy hair and doe eyes. 

The first press of his lips alongside your inner thigh was almost enough to ruin your life and you whined softly, shifting your knees further apart so he had no issue getting where he needed. 

“Quiet down princess.” The already low drawl of his voice had taken an even deeper tone and you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut like you were pained at the idea of silence. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful baby.”

He had no idea the way he was wrecking you with the pet names, made even more clear by the way his mouth was on your core through the thin wet fabric of your underwear. Your hips bucked as you made a strangled sound and his hand was shooting up to hold you down, pressing against your stomach and kissing his teeth at you like you were an animal he was trying to settle. 

The instinctive way he attempted to tame you made your head spin, not even realizing how sexy you would find that until he did it. 

“Jungkook.” You were breathing again and shifting your hips upwards, heat surging through you when you realized you weren’t even able to move under his strong hold. He was easily pressing you against the blanket with one hand and one of yours moved from his hair to pull at the waistband of your panties.

He didn’t need you to explain that to him, hurriedly sitting up enough that he could pull them down your thighs and grunting a little when you kicked them away, settling back between your legs and taking a deep breath at the sight of you bare.

“Please.” You pleaded and he looked back up at you.

“You want it baby?” He said lowly, a whole new persona to him you hadn’t even begun to fantasize about and you nodded eagerly, eyes a little glassy. “Want me to taste you?”

You made another high pitched impatient sound and he laughed a little, breath hitting your wet folds making your body tighten for a second. 

He was finally done teasing you and you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet like he requested as soon as his mouth was on you, hands moving to your knees to keep your legs from clamping around his head as he licked against you. 

“Oh fuck.” You whined and he closed his eyes at the taste of you, tongue slow and testing as he explored what areas brought the biggest reaction out from your lips. He was clearly a good kisser in more than one way because you felt like you were going to pass out just from the way his mouth moved, getting more eager the more comfortable he got. 

Your hips rocked forward against his face as much as his grip allowed, searching for friction and finding it when his nose brushed against your sensitive clit. His mouth quickly followed, tongue working your bud and bringing noises out of you that you didn’t even know you were capable of.

“Feels so good.” You mewled and he groaned against you, sending another wave of pleasure and longing through you. 

“It’s good princess?” He was breathing heavier from the lack of oxygen considering he hadn’t taken his mouth off of you since he got down there and you almost laughed at the sound of it. You weren’t sure if he was dirty talking or genuinely looking for reassurance but you nodded eagerly regardless, hands tangling back in his hair and pressing his face back between your legs. 

“Make me cum.” You said the order softly, more of a plea than anything and he took it easily, practically making out with your cunt in his desperation to give you what you wanted. Jungkook was clearly a pleaser and you found it even more stupid nobody had jumped his bones yet, although a possessive flare surging through you every time you remembered you were his first. 

You did a terrible job keeping quiet as he ate you out and you figured the rough way he was squeezing your thighs was meant to be reminders but you ignored him in favor of rolling your hips along with his mouth, biting your lip to keep from outwardly screaming when you realized you were about to cum.

Your grip in his hair tightened almost painfully and your breathing picked up, chest rising and falling in heavy pants as you got closer. Luckily Jungkook knew enough to not stop, pressing his tongue against your hole with his nose nudging your clit and bringing you to release so suddenly you felt dizzy.

“What the fuck?” You felt almost startled by how fast and intensely he made you finish and he slowed down, eyeing you curiously and almost looking like he was smiling. He kissed your thighs a few more times softly before he was coming back up on top of you.

You moaned when he was kissing you out of nowhere, not even slightly disgusted at the idea of tasting yourself and instead eagerly licking into his mouth.

“Wait.” You gasped into it and he barely slowed, only pausing to kiss the corners of your lips and let you speak. “What about you?”

Your hand was inching between your bodies to feel his hard length but you faltered when you felt the wet patch on his pants instead. His body tensed on top of yours and your eyes went back to his face, taking in his embarrassed expression and feeling a million different types of warmth rushing through you suddenly. 

“Fuck.” He said in one breath, eyes shutting tight for a second like he was willing himself to disappear. 

“That might be the hottest thing that has ever happened to me.” You said far too loud for the quiet barn and he looked at you like you were crazy, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks turning pink when he processed the dazed out look returning to your face. “You came in your pants from eating me out? Are you even real?”

He was frozen for a long few seconds with that same expression before he was pushing out a singular disbelieving laugh and resting his head on your shoulder. You giggled as he groaned into your hot skin, hand coming back up to his hair to pet it gently this time.

You didn’t move for a bit, kissing softly until the heat was beginning to feel too intense now that you didn’t have a mind numbing distraction. 

“We have to do our chores.” You whispered against his lips and he sighed softly, knowing you were right. 

He was gentle as he helped you stand up, sitting you back on a wood slate so he could pull your underwear backup and adjust your dress. His hands were smoothing through your hair to help control it, picking loose pieces of grass and straw as you watched his face. 

The barn was quiet as you reached up to cup his face, pulling him in for another kiss and sighing softly when you felt him smiling. 

“What are you doing to me?” You almost groaned as he pulled away again, tugging you off of the wood so you were standing in front of him. You were close enough for your chest to press together and you craned your neck to look up at him. 

“It’s mutual.” He responded easily and you felt like you were really going crazy. 

Luckily he had more sense than you and was backing up a few feet to pop the tension filled bubble and help keep you focused. It was almost impossible to watch him do chores now that you knew what was hidden under his shirt, and became familiar with those grunts in a different context. 

You worked through the day together and kept your shy smiles and loaded glances to as much of a minimum as you could manage. 

Supper was much more pleasant today and you felt like things were starting to really flow nicely around here, your heart feeling content as you and Nari joked around over the meal and the men listened with fond smiles.  

Your gaze went to Jungkook for the hundredth time today and you found him already watching you, eyes bright and a smile on his face that you usually didn’t see at dinner time. He must have felt similarly to you about how good the day was because he didn’t look away, holding your eyes affectionately. 

When you finally blushed and looked away, your line of sight landed on Minchuk and you froze. 

He was staring at you with an expression of understanding, like he had just figured something out. His jaw tensed as he looked towards Jungkook and you felt red hot fear in your chest. 

Jungkook had started conversing calmly with his mother and didn’t seem to notice the expression on either of your faces. 

It wasn’t until your time to do the dishes that you even dared to look at him again, breathing a sigh of relief when he sunk against you for a hug. 

You wrapped your arms tightly around him, stretching on your tiptoes and burying your face in his neck as he circled his against your lower back. The fact it was overly sappy didn’t miss you but you couldn’t really care anymore, longing to be near him after any amount of time. 

“I feel crazy.” His voice was slightly muffled by your hair and you smiled at the sound of it and the warm tone he only seemed to take when he spoke to you. “How did I miss you so bad when you are right here?”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak without saying something even more ridiculous but he hopes he knows what you mean, what you want to shout into the quiet kitchen. 

No, you aren't crazy. No you're not the only one feeling like this. No you don't understand it either. 

You only see a glimpse of his eyes before you are kissing and you can’t even remember who started it, if you went on your tiptoes or if he bent down to your level to catch you in something so feverish it felt like you had gone a year apart. There was no way of knowing who backed your bodies up against the counter, whose hands explored the other's frame first and who decided completely abandoning the dishes was somehow a good idea.

The only thing you could pinpoint was the exact moment it ended and he was suddenly ripped from you in a way that was so jarring you felt your knees go weak like you were going to collapse without him.

It took you a few seconds to track his body, stumbled across the kitchen like he had gotten thrown. The icy expression on his face made you realize he had been, your eyes darting to Minchul standing only a few feet away with his chest puffed and his eyebrows pulled together in a way that made your mouth part in shock.

“What the hell do you think you are doing boy?” His voice was venomous and he made another move in Jungkook’s direction that had you covering your mouth, lips still wet from kissing him. 

Jungkook didn’t move a muscle, not even slightly flinching or faltering his hardened expression. You wanted to shout at him that now was not the time to challenge his father, not after such a good day and certainly not over you. The look on his face told you that there was no point in trying to diffuse the situation, his shoulders squaring as he shifted his body defensively. 

“Oh.” Minchul looked genuinely surprised under all the rage until a bitter laugh slipped out as he stared at Jungkook mockingly. “You’re tough ain't you. A real man now?”

“Minchul.” You said slowly, taking a step away from the counter and trying to put yourself in their peripheral vision. You had a light amount of hope that seeing you in the room might be enough to humble the angry man and also calm Jungkook down enough to at least hold this off. You had wondered if you should call out for Nari but you decided against it. “We.. we were just-”

“I know what you were doing.” He spat as he turned to look at you and the way he stared at you stole all of the hope from underneath you. It was the exact same way he looked at Jungkook and you knew that any effort he was putting into faking a charming persona was no longer applied to you. 

“Watch it.” Jungkook was speaking for the first time and both of you snapped your gazes over to him.

His voice had never sounded like that and you felt a wave of fear run over you, not towards him necessarily but towards the outcome that would be caused by this level of anger coming from both of them. He clearly had no intention of pushing away his feelings and fauxing respect to get his dad off of his back, combative and aggressive now that you were being spoken down to. 

“Y/N.” Minchul was speaking calm and slow but the way his glare never left Jungkook’s taut frame sent a shiver down your spine and your eyes widened. “Go outside honey.”

“I-” You went to object but he sent you another look that left no room for argument and you turned desperately to Jungkook. He was clenching his jaw and looking pained as he finally looked at you just long enough to give you a confirming nod. His face barely softened but it was noticeable to you, a silent act of reassurance that he would be okay.

You felt beneath yourself as you stumbled outside, not really sure what else to do with your body once you got out there. You got the strange urge to call your father even though he would never help you, even to call your mother who had been dead for most of your life.

Your brain was just searching desperately for solutions and even more so when you heard crashing from inside the house, tears springing to your eyes as you took a few more shaky steps away to try and put some distance between you and the grunts of anger and pain.

The sensible part of your brain noticed a light switching on upstairs as the volume increased, realizing Nari must have woken up and would most likely be rushing down to the kitchen and putting a stop to whatever was happening. 

It was a power you clearly did not have and you felt so overwhelmingly useless.

You felt like you were outside for hours alone like that even though it was only a few breathless minutes before Jungkook was coming outside. He was walking fast and storming right past you, similarly to the way he had been the other week when Minchul brought out the belt on the porch.

“Jungkook.” You called out to him and your hands reached for his arm, heart clenching when you made brief contact before they were slipping off as he refused to stop. You started to chase after him without really thinking about it, needing to speak to him before you exploded. “Wait please.”

He whipped around at the crack in your voice and you faltered when you saw the blood on his lip and redness surrounding his eye and cheek. You were sure there were more marks you’d be able to pinpoint tomorrow and you were suddenly grateful for the moon lighting him up. 

Your hands were coming up to cup his face instinctively as a wounded noise left you and he winced at the feeling of your hands on his injuries. Your mouth was opening and closing as you searched for the words to say, head shaking as you felt like you were about to cry or throw up or both. 

“Did you know?” His voice was hoarse and your eyebrows automatically furrowed in confusion. It was asked softly but he scoffed at your expression and repeated it in a much harsher tone. 

“Know what?” You almost begged, wanting so badly to understand him and be able to help in some way. You took a step closer and he looked pained by the action, your stomach turning at the way he avoided looking directly at you. “Did I know what Jungkook? What happened?”

He was quiet for a long time and you felt like the dirt underneath you was slipping away and finally waking you up from this dream you’d been living in. You half wanted to sink with it and wake up in your warm bed worlds away from here with vague visions of a beautiful cowboy and the other half was clawing at the collapsing ground and pleading for the dirt under your nails to stay until morning. 

“Your dad owns the farm.” He said it so simply like it didn’t take the air out of your lungs and you shook your head, both in denial and confusion on what he was saying. His eyes were cold as he stared at you like he wasn’t sure if you were the enemy or not anymore. “He owns everything. You own everything.”

He emphasized the pronoun like he was trying to make it really clear to you that you played some type of role in this situation and you shifted away from him.

It suddenly made so much more sense to you, the way Minchul and your father interacted like they were forced to and the memories of coming here as a child feeling so foreign and locked away. How kind the Jeon’s had been to you and the pure fury towards you and Jungkook for getting involved, it was all a result of your father placing his polished shoe on another aspect of your life. 

This time it wasn’t an apartment back in the city or your daily schedule, not even your name on the important document that locked you into the family business for life if anything tragic happened to him. Your father had managed to put his greedy hands on something you had deemed untouchable.

Jungkook had created a world for you that didn’t allow the bad stuff to exist, that blocked out every memory you had that was grey and cold. He had brought the sun to you and now you were learning your father had already staked his flag on its surface. 

“What are you talking about?” You didn’t know what else to say and you could feel hot tears on your flamed cheeks now. You had never felt adrenaline like that, pure emotion and panic as your chest started to rise and fall quickly. 

Jungkook was quiet as he watched you like he was conflicted about what to do. Once a particularly rough breath ran through your body he was softening his shoulders and gaze simultaneously, pulling you against his frame as you wracked with a heavy sob. 

You hadn’t had a panic attack in years, since you were a teenager who could barely stand the sight of a crowded crosswalk or a presentation. There was no doubt in your mind that you would not be able to get out of the strong grip of it easily on your own and you sunk against him. 

“I’m sorry.” He breathed and you pushed your face into his chest, muffling the strangled noise that left you. “Of course you didn’t know. I know you didn’t know.”

“I want to go home.” Is what you eventually breathed out even though you realized as soon as you said it that you weren’t sure what you were referring to. The thought of your apartment was only comforting until you remembered he didn’t even exist there and you sunk lower against him.

“We can go there.” He said back hurriedly like he had already considered that as an option. You felt terrible for not being in the state to talk to him properly, to ask him if he was okay and if he could face his father again. “I’ll take you, we can go home.”

You weren’t sure he knew what that meant to you but he was gently lowering you on the stairs and going back inside before you could tell him. His back was tense and you had half a mind to yell out for him to come back, to not go in and to stay with you where you could pretend you could keep him safe.

Instead of sitting there and feeling useless, you stood to your feet and chased after him.

He was already on his way back out and you bumped into each other, a startled sound leaving him as his hands reached out to grab your arms and steady you. You were still breathing heavily and now confused by how quickly he had returned, eyes going over his wide shoulders.

Nari was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a dim look on her face, stealing her of her usual warmth and soft glow. Minchul was nowhere to be seen but you could tell by the damage to the room that it had been a full blown scuffle between the two of them. 

You felt devastated for her, knowing how much love and pride she held for her kitchen and the things she created. There were shattered plates and disarrayed decorations, a large hole in the wall that you had a bad feeling was created by Jungkook’s back. She met your eyes over his frame and you felt relief when she softened slightly at the sight of your swollen eyes and remorseful stare.

“Go on, honey.” She said in a voice so gentle it broke your heart, Jungkook’s hands tightening on your arms at the sound of it. “I’ll be alright here.”

He was shifting and you could hear the sound of the keys in his fingers now, only just feeling the cold metal pressing against your skin. You nodded swiftly at her and gave her one more heavy look that you hoped she would understand despite your lack of words, her smile in return making you believe she had.

Jungkook and you were quick to leave the house and you felt another sob go through you when he spared one last look towards the barn where Lucky and the other horses were most likely asleep for the night, knowing there was no certain timeline he would be able to see them again any time soon. 

He was opening the passenger door for you and making a soft noise with his teeth to get your attention through your devastation, closing it softly once you were sitting on the bench seat. 

You waited until he was sat and finished taking a few deep breaths, until you were squealing out of the driveway and pretending the light wasn't still on upstairs. Only after you were on the dirt road and heading towards uncertainty did you scoot over into the middle seat. 

This time around you weren’t damp from the quarry water and your cheeks were not sore from smiling so hard you felt euphoric. There were no shy glances and no toeing the line between unlikely friends and something more. But there was the feeling of his hand wrapped around your knee like he was scared to forget you were there and the soft kisses you were laying on his bruised face as he drove. 

Going back the same way you came but with your heart full of adoration and something much more real that you were too afraid to name just yet. You felt like your fantasy world was finally mixing into reality and the colors mixing with your cold gray was a lot less jarring knowing he was the one braving it all with you. 

Jungkook released a soft breath when your head landed on his shoulder and you felt the weight of it all go with it.

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari sniffled, looking into her papa's eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks as she just sniffled and listened. She looked down for a moment, processing what the hero said and gave a nod while her eyes narrowed a bit in thought. "I... Think I get it." She muttered, voice still slightly trembling as she spoke. She looked back at the projection and sighed. The child slowly backed away from Hawks and went back to look at the journals again, one last time.

There she read a few more journals from her mother. A few from when she was pregnant with her siblings.

"Today is September 29th, I gave birth to my little boy Kitearo a few days ago. It's been exhausting but he's worth it. Lynx has been a huge help in taking care of our son. I looked into Kite's future and I saw he was going to have a lot of siblings. Not my first choice honestly. If you asked me five years ago I would have said two or three kids would be enough, not seven. But it feels right at the same time. While I saw his whole life unravel I couldn't help but feel helpless... But a part of me knows it can't be messed with, even though I want to save my son from an early grave. I'll have to wait until all my kids are born to get the full picture."

Kari frowned, figuring out pretty quick that her mother knew the whole time, or at least had an understanding.

"It's Febuary 23rd. Flo and Fino are a few days old now. I got a bit more of the picture since seeing Kitearo's future. They meet a similar fate. It hurts, but seeing them work hard to protect their youngest sister, a little girl with white hair, something isn't adding up. I know I can't stop it but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a whole lot."

"It's been a rough few weeks, Shade has been a bit of a handful. Always curious but always quiet which is a bit unnerving. Sure she cries and makes noises but she's more quiet than not. The doctor says she has nothing wrong with her but I still worry. I was able to see into her future. Lynx has his work cut out for him that's for sure. So far I know all my kids and my husband die on the same day, doing the same thing. I can't say for sure where I am but I can make a few guesses. Again that little girl with white hair makes a big appearance. I'll name her Kari. Kari Kana Lee Himura, long name but it looks like it suits her. When she's born I'll hopefully get all the answers and try to write them down."

"Another pair of twins. I'm not super surprised, Lynx had twin younger brothers after all so I think that runs in the family. That and I saw them while looking into their siblings' futures. These two look mirrored, it's kinda cute. I've named them Boom and Beats cuz the symbols on their cheeks are cute music notes. They are the loudest that's for sure, it's funny. I've had so many kids and all of them are so different even though they're under the same roof and have me and Lynx as their parents. I know why they look so different and why their quirks are different, it's a side effect of my quirk after all. But their behaviors and personalities aren't tied to it, I don't think. It's so fascinating to watch them grow and develop... I know I probably only have a few more years to live. I've concluded I die in child birth when giving birth to Kari. I know I'll be leaving behind my family and my friends... But I noted that my nephew is the one responsible for the deaths of everyone, under the control of my sister given his pupils... Something isn't adding up but I'm guessing Kari develops my quirk. If that's the case then she needs to exist. It strengthens our quirk and hopefully she'll be able to help others like I did, in someway. Though that's her choice and I don't want to force it onto her. I'm glad dad talked me into writing that one entry about my quirk, I hope she can read it one day so she can meet me... Well, a snap shot of me. It won't be the same I know but it's better than nothing. I just hope she doesn't hate me or get mad. It's kind of a selfish reason but there's so much going on... I just hope she understands."

Kari sniffled, rubbing her eyes. "I... I don't hate you mom." She whispered after a few moments of silence, hugging herself. "I just wish I knew you." The child gulped and moved to look back at the journal about All of the Above and began taking notes. "But yea, I'm glad grampa talked you into writing about your quirk too... It's gonna help me a lot." She muttered then looked at Hawks. "You think we can go somewhere I can train? I... I wanna try doing this thing mom talks about. I'm not sure if I can get back into that weird mind space thing but... But if I can maybe you can meet my siblings, well a snap shot of them... This is kinda confusing." Kari puffed out her cheeks then went back to writing. "But we don't have to do it today if we can't."

Hawks didn’t speak at first. He just let Kari cry. He didn’t try to hush her or pull her away. He dropped down to one knee so she could lean into him easier, wrapping his arms around her small frame like he could shield her from every painful word she had just read. His wings even curled in slightly, a quiet gesture of shelter.

He held her gently as the sobs came out in waves—her pain wasn’t small, and it didn’t deserve to be treated like it was.

After a long moment, his voice finally came—soft, steady, low enough it didn’t try to overpower her crying but just… sat with it.

“I know, kiddo. I know it hurts. It’s not fair. None of this is. You didn’t get a choice in any of it.”

He tightened the hug slightly, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“But I need you to hear me when I say this next part, okay?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own golden ones steady and full of something more than just compassion—it was conviction. “She didn’t die because of you. That’s not how this works. She died for you. And that’s something only someone who loves their kid more than anything in the world would do.”

His thumbs gently wiped her tears.

“Your mom knew the risks. She was a top pro. She wasn’t someone who walked into things blind. She fought to bring you into this world anyway, Kari. That means she wanted you here. She made a choice—and that choice was you.”

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve had this kind of stray puppy thing going on that Wayne was reluctant to give him a shovel talk. And he didn't even do anything! All he did was sat there with his perfect posture—straight back, hands politely folded on his lap, big earnest eyes, and calm breathing. He was all good-mannered and nervous smiles, which was both annoying and endearing.

Now, Wayne wouldn't call himself soft or lenient when it came to securing his nephew's happiness. But maybe, he'd mellowed out because of old age. Or maybe, he'd seen how Steve always brought out the best of Eddie, making him the kind of man that Wayne was proud of.

Either way, Wayne didn't have the heart to threaten Steve with something truly malicious, so he just skipped right over it and ended the talk with a well practiced stern look that made the Harrington boy cower just fine.

Later that night, when Eddie came home with a goofy, lovesick smile, Wayne couldn't help but ask, "Anyone given ya the talk, yet?"

"What talk?" Eddie plopped down beside him on the couch and took a long swig from the bottle of Guinness he'd just retrieved from the fridge. A metaphorical lightbulb went off above his head when Wayne gave him a raised brow. "Ah yes, The Talk. 'Course. I'd be offended if they didn't!"

Wayne hummed and continued nursing his lukewarm beer while watching the TV, ignoring Eddie's curious look that slowly turned mischievous.

"What? I just left you guys alone for fifteen minutes and you already adopted him?"

"He's your boyfriend, Ed, not some stray," Wayne responded gruffly, but Eddie could easily hear the exasperation in his flat tone.

"Jesus," Eddie cackled, slapping his knee as if he couldn't believe it. "You're worse than Hopper, old man!"

This time, Wayne just stopped pretending to not care and smirked at his nephew's nativity.

"Ya really think it took that man longer than me?"

Eddie paused and let out a gasp, eyes widening as realization dawned on him.

"He threatened to hunt me down if I dare to hurt Steve." Eddie slapped his forehead. "No way it'd take him months to adopt baby Steve on sight!"

Wayne nodded, not so smugly. "Now you're talkin'."

He'd eat his pickup truck if Hopper didn't also immediately yield under those puppy eyes. The Harrington might not be the best kind of people, but Wayne had to admit that their son was a sweet soul with a big heart. No thanks to them, of course.

"Anyway," Eddie smirked, nudging at his shoulder teasingly. "You're not distracting me from the fact that you consider Steve family now."

Wayne shrugged, unbothered. Family was family. He'd lived long enough to know it had nothing to do with blood relation.

"'Course, he's your boy."

And though neither of them said it aloud, they both agreed that Steve had been a Munson since the day he saved Eddie's life and continued to make it better with his presence alone.

"Thank you," Eddie said softly a moment later when they were about to go to bed.

The only good thing that came out of the whole 'earthquake' incident was their new apartment, which was afforded by the government's compensation money. And even so, if Wayne was allowed to choose again, he'd rather they still lived in their shoebox of a trailer than watch his nephew suffer from blatant PTSD that none of the kids were willing to talk about and this town's blind hatred.

"He makes you happy and you love him. That's what matters to me." Wayne shrugged, ignoring Eddie's blush and sputtering N– No, I'm not!

Before Eddie could try to argue against a moot point, the phone rang and he sprinted toward it to snatch the receiver up as if fearing it'd disappear otherwise.

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie said breathlessly, looking far too smitten for someone who'd just refused to admit he was in love.

Shaking his head, Wayne decided to leave his nephew be for now. The way he saw it, Eddie wouldn't be able to hold back for long. Not with someone like Steve Harrington.

[allsteddie]

Steve and Eddie secretly dating.

It's not that they don't want to tell their friends, or that they think their friends won't accept them. They just want to enjoy their relationship a little bit before sharing the news with everybody else. And it's kinda fun, sneaking around to make out behind their friends' backs. Thrilling, even.

But since everything must come to an end someday, their little secret comes out during one of the Party's countless gatherings.

Everybody's at Steve's, making good use of his pool and stuffing their faces with so much junk food Steve's getting a little nauseous just from watching. Robin and Eddie are there as well because there’s no fucking way in hell Steve’s gonna deal with those gremlins alone.

It’s chaos, mostly, since Eddie and Robin can be as bad as the kids, but Steve’s heart is full as he watches everybody having fun and truly enjoying themselves, a stark contrast to what their lives had been a year ago.

At some point, he catches Eddie’s eyes and notices the meaningful glance his boyfriend is giving him. Steve knows that look too well and exactly what it means. He tells Robin he’s going to the kitchen, then goes inside the house. Not two minutes later Eddie is there with him.

Steve pulls him into the laundry room, giggling and stumbling, so they can make out in peace. They lose themselves a little, mouths coming together and hands touching as much skin as they can reach. It’s easy for Steve, really, to forget everything else when Eddie’s nibbling down his neck and chest and grinding against him in a maddening way.

“The others are gonna hear you, baby,” Eddie whispers in his ear and just then Steve realizes he’s been making too much noise.

He pulls his boyfriend up for another deep kiss.

“We gotta go back,” Steve mumbles against his lips.

“We do,” Eddie agrees.

It still takes then a little while to part, though. When they do, they fix their clothes and hair the best they can. Eddie pulls the door open and makes sure there’s no one around before stepping out. Steve follows, making his way to the hallway.

The idea is for Eddie to go back out first, whilst Steve waits a few more minutes in the kitchen. Their plan goes to hell before they can even reach the kitchen, because the bathroom door opens out of nowhere just as they are walking by and the two of them stop, caught by surprise.

They’re even more surprised when they see Mike fucking Wheeler and Will Byers walk out of the bathroom, still grinning at each other all dopey and completely unaware of Steve and Eddie’s presence. At least until Wheeler literally walks into Eddie.

“The fuck!?” Mike snaps, at the same time as Steve says, “What the hell were two you doing there?”

“Kinda obvious what they were doing, Stevie,” Eddie snorts.

And he’s right. Steve knows what those two were doing; their lips are too swollen and there’s a scratch down Wheeler’s neck that looks too much like nail scratching for Steve not to know what those two were doing in his fucking bathroom, but he’s choosing to be in denial here. They are children, his children, he doesn’t want to picture whatever it was happening in that bathroom.

“You’re one to talk,” Mike retorts, eyebrows raised and sending Eddie the bitchiest face Steve has ever seen. “What’s wrong with your collarbone, Stevie? Wild animal attack?”

“Mike, shut up,” Will begged, pulling the other boy by the arm.

“But it’s true!”

“Okay, Will is right, shut the fuck up everybody!” Steve hisses. Beside him Eddie is clearly trying not to laugh, but he doesn’t say anything so Steve considers it a win. Small victories. He shoots a warning glance to his boyfriend before facing the other two. Poor Will looks like he wants to be anywhere but there. “Look, I don’t care what you guys were doing, good for you. But I’m guessing you haven’t told anyone about it, if you’re sneaking around like that.”

They keep quiet, but Byers red face is answer enough for Steve.

“Alright, we also haven’t told anyone, so here’s what we’re doing…”

By the time they are out back with their friends, everything is back to normal. Steve’s hickeys are covered by his shirt and Mikey’s scratches are hidden under band-aids, some bullshit story about bumping into the murderous corner of a cabinet is given as an excuse and, surprisingly enough, the kids buy it.

“You know, we should have seen that one coming,” Eddie says, pointing out to the other side of the pool where Will and Mike are laughing together, apart from the others. They have the same dopey expressions they did when Steve and Eddie caught them red-handed a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, we should have,” Steve agrees. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s. “You know Wheeler is gonna be insufferable now that he knows about us, right? He’s gonna hold this shit over our heads forever.”

Eddie laughs hard. “That kid is a bitch when he wants to be, but he’s not cruel. He might try to use this to get free rides to school or access to R-rated movies, but I doubt he’s gonna tell anyone. Byers would kill him if he said anything and poor Mike is whipped. He’s not gonna risk it.”

“I am not letting him get any R-rated movies. He can tell whatever he wants to whoever he wants, I don’t care.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Eddie scoots closer, eyes shining with amusement as he leans in. “Thought you wanted to keep the secret for a little longer.”

Steve leans in a little, his eyes dropping to Eddie’s mouth on instinct. “Hm… I did, because it’s fun sneaking around and fool everyone. But now Wheeler and Byers know, so I don’t see what would be the point anymore.”

Eddie smiles. “Yeah? So I can…”

“Yeah, you can,” Steve nods, and that’s everything he manages to say before Eddie kisses him, right there by the poolside.

Someone wolf-whistles (Max or Robin, probably), there’re some giggles (Erica and El, maybe Will too, Steve bets) and then…

“What the actual FUCK!?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dustin!!” That one is Wheeler for sure.

Steve might let him have his R-rated movies after all.

[geminiwritten]

en español ; joaquín torres

fandom: marvel

pairing: joaquín x reader

summary: after joaquín returns from a two-week-long mission things feel different, then he convinces you to go undercover with him where tensions rise—only for him to leaving you wanting more... until he stops by your office for a very intimate spanish lesson

notes: danny ramirez, the man that you are, holy fuck... like this dude has me in a chokehold??? what i wouldn't do for him (there's nothing, absolutely nothing)... i really hope y'all enjoy this! it was inspired by few different things and i had a blast writing it, so please let me know what you think! (p.s. i highly recommend watching the papasito music video and anthony vs. danny hot ones before reading)

warnings: swearing, alcohol, sexual tension, probably some very incorrect spanish (i'm apologising in advance), mention of guns / weapons, italics, lots of pet names / nicknames, SMUT (dirty talk, f oral receiving, unprotected p in v, semi-public-ish sex) 18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

word count: 19998

You fall into your desk chair, careful not to spill your fresh mug of coffee as you fumble for your headset. You’re late—just barely—but if you’re lucky, Sam won’t notice. 

You slide the headset on and quickly sort through the programs running on your computer, eyes flicking across several screens. Then you take a deep breath, adjust your mic, and open the comms line. 

“How’s my favourite flyboy today? Still got all your limbs attached and your pretty face unscathed?” 

“Careful, hermosa,” Joaquín says, his voice smooth in your ear. “Sam’s on the channel. He might get jealous.” 

You smile to yourself, tracking their positions on your middle monitor. “Please. Sam knows who my favourite is. He’s come to terms with it.” 

Joaquín chuckles. “You trying to make me blush?” 

You roll your eyes despite the smile tugging at your lips. “If I wanted to make you blush, Torres, I’d be using more than just my voice.” 

There’s a beat of silence, the soft crackle of the open frequency filling your ears. 

Then Joaquín clears his throat, loudly. “Mission. Flying. No dying. Need to focus.” 

You laugh quietly, watching his heartrate spike on a screen to the left. “You better be careful, pretty boy. Can’t show you how much I’ve missed you if you don’t make it home.” 

“Show me?” Joaquín echoes, grin audible. “How?” 

“Come home in one piece and you’ll find out,” you say, voice low, teasing. 

His heartrate spikes even higher, and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling. 

“Jesus Christ,” Sam sighs. “Can you two at least try to be professional?” 

There’s another beat of quiet—only brief—before, at the same time, both you and Joaquín say, “No.” 

You can practically hear Sam roll his eyes. “Why the hell did I let him convince me to hire you?” 

You grin to yourself, eyes still flickering across your screens. “Because unfortunately for you, Cap, you’ve never met a more skilled analyst who’d rather work seven days a week than have a social life.” 

“Joaquín is your social life,” Sam mutters. “I unknowingly hired the two most annoying best friends in the world.” 

“You forgot talented,” Joaquín pipes up. “Two of the most annoying and talented best friends in the world.” 

Sam groans—loud, frustrated—but he doesn’t argue. Because unfortunately, you’re both right. You’re two of the best people he could’ve found for the job, and despite the never-ending banter and insufferable tension, he’d be lost without either of you. 

You met Joaquín in the Air Force. You were first stationed together at Ramstein Air Base in Germany, and it didn’t take long for the two of you to get close. At the time, you were both lower rank, training in field surveillance, comms, and tactical ops before choosing your respective career paths. But even across continents and during off-grid missions, you stayed close. 

Joaquín contacted you a little while after he first met Sam, asking for help tracking a super-soldier anti-nationalist group in Munich. You didn’t ask questions—you just helped—and after it all came to a head, Joaquín couldn’t wait to introduce you to Sam. 

Long story short, you were quickly recruited, given an office and a ton of cool tech, and now you’re their guy in the chair. Sam probably only regrets it a little, considering you’re actually very good at being in the chair—which makes up for all the unprofessional banter between you and Joaquín. 

“Eyes up, Torres,” you murmur, watching the live feed on your main monitor. “Two heat signatures ahead. Could be guards. Could be raccoons. Either way, I’d keep your pretty face out of sight.” 

Joaquín exhales, amused. “You must really miss me, hermosa—the way you keep callin’ me pretty.” 

Your cheeks flush, heat crawling up your spine, because yeah—you miss him. Like crazy. They’ve been halfway across the world for two weeks now, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you started working for Sam. 

To say you miss him is a gross understatement. But he can’t know that—not really—because whatever this thing is between you two, it’s fun. Playful. It isn’t serious or deep. It’s not soul-crushing or gut-wrenching like the paralysing crush you’ve been nursing for years. 

And there’s no way Joaquín needs to find out about that. It could ruin everything. 

“Can you blame me?” you ask, keeping your voice light. “I haven’t seen you in two weeks. What else is a girl supposed to do besides fantasise?” 

You can almost hear his grin. “You fantasising about me now, baby? Damn. This suit just got a whole lot hotter.” 

Then Sam’s voice cuts in, low and sharp. “Can we please focus? The place is crawling with armed hostiles and I’m not dying in a building that smells like asbestos and cat piss.” 

“Noted, Cap,” you say, eyes flicking to his heat signature on your screen. “But for the record, Torres—you’re my favourite fantasy.” 

It’s not a lie—and it makes his heartrate jump again. 

“Oh my God,” Sam groans. “Why do I even talk?” 

“You love us,” Joaquín says, voice low and breathless as he inches toward a door, slowly cracking it open. 

“No, I tolerate you. There’s a difference.” 

You watch the hallway clear, two red dots vanishing from the drone feed. “All clear ahead. Turn left at the next hall. Intel says the artifact is in the records room—bottom floor, east wing.” 

“Copy,” Joaquín says, his voice dropping as he reins in his focus. 

You lock in too—eyes fixed on the screen, breath held, fingers hovering over your keyboard. As much as you love your job, it’s stressful. Especially when the people in the field are the ones you care about most. So you’ve made it your personal mission not to let anything go unseen. 

You watch closely as Joaquín moves down the hall, turns left, and starts down the fire stairs. Sam is still working the perimeter, keeping out of sight and watching for any hostiles that might be closing in on Joaquín. 

It’s taken them two full weeks to find this place—after a discouraging series of dud leads. The artefact isn’t even being hunted, just protected. And for what? None of you know. But from everything you’ve gathered, it’s intel that could open the door to disaster. 

So Sam made the call to find it before it became a hot item—before someone could sell it on the dark web and hand a new villain the keys to world domination. 

What he hadn’t expected was for the mission to take two whole weeks. Fortunately, things have been quiet enough lately that they could afford the time—but that doesn’t mean it’s been fun. You’re pretty sure Sam is one more questionable pizza topping away from leaving Joaquín in Jakarta. 

A heat signature two floors above the records room catches your attention. Your eyes track it, nerves creeping up the back of your neck. You’re just about to say something when— 

“Holy shit,” Joaquín says, voice low and a little breathless. “It’s actually here.” 

You lean in, fingers poised over your keyboard. “Confirmed visual?” 

“Uh… yeah. Package secure?” 

Sam’s voice cuts in, flat. “Seriously?” 

“Dead serious, man. It’s just… sitting here. It’s actually here.” 

You let out a slow breath, tension easing from your shoulders as you watch the heat signature double back—moving away. 

“No traps, no alarms…” you say, scanning the feeds. “Someone’s either cocky or stupid.” 

“Or both,” Sam mutters. “Let’s wrap this up. I’m ready to never think about this city again.” 

Joaquín chuckles softly, his smirk practically audible. “Bet you’re smiling right now, hermosa.” 

“Maybe,” you reply, despite the very obvious grin on your face. “But you’re not out of the woods yet, pretty boy. Stay focused.” 

Joaquín laughs again under his breath. “Focused. Right. That’s what I am.” 

Your eyes flick to his vitals. “I can tell. Your heartrate’s through the roof again.” 

“Can you blame me?” he says. “Your voice in my ear, calling me pretty and saying all this smart stuff… this whole situation’s a little distracting.” 

You roll your eyes. “You forgetting the part where Sam’s one bad mood away from killing you?” 

“No. Just ignoring it.” He pauses at a corner, scans, then moves. “How mad do you think he’d be if I said I’m only doing this to impress you?” 

You lean back slightly, grinning to yourself. “He’d pretend to be annoyed. But secretly? I think he’s just relieved you deal with me so he doesn’t have to.” 

“Deal with you?” Joaquín echoes, voice soft and teasing. “Baby, you’re the reason I get out of bed every day.” 

Your heart lurches, but you keep your voice steady. “Keep talking like that and I might start hacking into your home security system.” 

“Do it,” he says. “I’d sleep better with your voice in my ear.” 

Your cheeks flush, breath catching. 

“Still here,” Sam cuts in. “Still sweating. Still regretting every life choice that led me to this team.” 

You glance at his vitals and smirk. “Vitals are solid, Cap. No cardiac distress.” 

“Yeah, well, if Torres drops anything on the way out, I’m blaming both of you.” 

Joaquín chuckles as he heads toward the extraction point. “Relax. We’re good. We’re almost out.” 

“God,” Sam sighs. “I cannot wait to get home.” 

“Hope you’ve got a hero’s welcome planned, cariño,” Joaquín says. 

You roll your eyes, smirking. “You want a medal or a kiss?” 

“Definitely the kiss,” he replies. “Medals are nice, but they wouldn’t taste as good as you.” 

You choke on nothing, face burning, pulse thrumming as you watch him move through the building toward where Sam is waiting. 

There’s a beat of silence—a loud, charged pause as you scramble for a comeback. 

“Wow,” Sam chuckles. “Think you broke her, Torres.” 

“Nah,” Joaquín says, smug as ever. “She’s just thinking about all the ways she’s gonna show me she missed me.” 

You draw a sharp breath, one hand gripping the edge of your desk, the other white-knuckling your coffee mug. 

“Alright, flyboy,” you mutter, trying not to smile. “That’s enough. Just get home safe.” 

“See you soon, princesa,” he says, voice low and warm in your ear. 

- 

The next twenty-four hours are the longest of your life—you’re sure of it. 

You try to distract yourself with work while Joaquín sends updates on their journey home, but you just can’t sit still. You’re too excited. You feel like a kid on Christmas Eve, except the presents aren’t going to be there when you wake up. No—you have to wait until six p.m. for Joaquín to be back. 

Once you finish work, you head home to your studio apartment—the one you spend less time in than your office—and put on a movie. Then another. And another. Because you’re too anxious to feel tired. Eventually, you drag yourself to bed and lie awake for a few hours before giving up at four a.m. and jumping in the shower. 

You take your time getting ready for work—doing your hair, a little makeup, picking your clothes, having a long breakfast. Then at six a.m., you’re out the door and on your way back to the office. 

Only twelve more hours to go. 

You settle in at your desk and try to review data from Sam and Joaquín’s mission, double-checking every log, every report—anything to keep your mind occupied. It feels like hours pass, but when you glance at the clock, it’s barely been one. 

So at seven a.m., you get up for a coffee, moving through the motions slowly and deliberately. 

By now, the office is starting to fill up. It’s never packed—Sam keeps the staff lean—but a few government liaisons, data crunchers, IT specialists, and engineers have started drifting in for the day. You know them all, and usually you’d be happy to have a little chat in the kitchenette while your coffee brews. But not today. 

Today, you’re stuck in your head—counting down the minutes until Joaquín walks through the door with that stupidly handsome grin on his face. 

God. You feel ridiculous. Missing him this much when he’s just a friend. 

Except, he’s not. Not to you—hasn’t been since the day you thought you lost him on a mission in Seoul. That was the moment it hit you. The moment you realised how much he meant to you—how in love with him you really were. 

He turned up hours later, a little battered and bruised but very much alive. And you wanted to tell him how you felt. Wanted to just blurt it out. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because it wasn’t worth risking what you already had. So you kept quiet, buried the feelings, and went on being his best friend. 

That was years ago. And now you’re so deep in the friendzone—so used to the playful flirting and easy banter—you couldn’t climb out if you tried. You’ve come to terms with it, of course. Accepted it. And decided that having even a small piece of him is better than not having him at all. 

You spend the next few hours sorting through analytics and going over maintenance logs from the mission—nothing major. Just a few software bugs and one broken ‘feather’ because Joaquín clipped a wing trying some fancy manoeuvre Sam explicitly refuses to teach him. 

By lunchtime, you’ve fielded a few queries from the engineers and booked in a meeting with one of the legal advisors about Sam’s passport renewal. It never fails to amuse you how superheroes still have to deal with the same boring admin as everyone else. 

The afternoon slips by faster than the morning, hours ticking past as you lose track of time in a haze of meetings and emails. You’re finally heading back to your office when your stomach grumbles—loudly—reminding you that it’s probably well past your five p.m. snack break. 

You swing the door open, mentally halfway to your snack drawer, when— 

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Joaquín says, sitting in your desk chair with that stupidly handsome grin. “And here I thought you actually missed me. Was it all a lie?” 

Your heart lurches. Your lungs seize. And instead of flashing him a smile or a snappy comeback, you just freeze. Everything in your arms hits the floor—your tablet, your phone, a folder you don’t even remember picking up—all crashing down with a clatter that makes you flinch. 

Because it’s not just that he’s handsome. No—he’s unfairly handsome. Criminal, even. Dangerous to your health, your peace of mind, and your goddamn ovaries. Joaquín Torres, sitting in your desk chair like he owns the place—with a freshly grown moustache and goatee—is nothing short of lethal. 

“You okay, hermosa?” he asks, grin fading as he leans forward a little. 

“I told him to shave it off,” Sam says dryly, stepping in behind you. “He looks like an Antonio Banderas knockoff.” 

Joaquín scoffs. “Please. I’ve got way more charm than that guy.” 

“Than Antonio Banderas?” Sam says, incredulous. “You’re delusional, you know that?” 

“I prefer endearing,” Joaquín grins. 

You still haven’t stopped staring at him—at the facial hair that’s apparently capable of triggering a full-blown hormonal crisis. 

“Delusional and endearing are not synonyms,” Sam adds, seemingly oblivious to said crisis. 

Joaquín’s eyes flick back to you, brows drawing slightly together. “You breathing, baby?” 

Your heart kicks again at the nickname you should be used to by now—and somehow, that’s what snaps you out of it. 

“Yeah—uh,” you clear your throat, “I’m breathing. I’m good. I—welcome back! But isn’t it early?” You glance at your wrist, searching for a watch that isn’t there. “Shit. Where’s my phone? Oh.” You crouch down and grab it from the floor. “Oh. It’s past six. Huh. That meeting must’ve run long. I didn’t even realise. I—” 

“Breathe,” Sam says, laughing softly as he drops a hand on your shoulder. “Just breathe.” 

You inhale deeply, cheeks burning, and glance back at Joaquín’s stupidly gorgeous face again. 

“So,” he says, mouth curling into a smirk that should be illegal, “you like it?” 

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “It’s… okay. Looks good, I guess.” 

Sam snorts. “Oh, she likes it, alright.” 

You turn around and smack him in the chest, shooting him a look that could kill—but he doesn’t flinch. 

“Alright, then,” he chuckles, stepping back. “I’ll let you two get caught up.” 

You roll your eyes and duck your head as you start gathering everything you dropped. You keep your gaze down, even when you hear footsteps and see Joaquín’s hands join yours, collecting papers that spilled from the folder. 

When you’ve finally got it all, you stand and hug the pile to your chest, letting your eyes meet his again. 

“So,” he says, still grinning as he holds out what he gathered, “about that kiss.” 

You shake your head, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. “Forget it. You’re dreaming.” 

He shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe. But hey, I’m coming over tonight anyway.” 

You arch a brow. “Oh? And why’s that?” 

He leans in slightly, eyes sparkling. “Because my place has no food… and yours has food. And you.” 

Your cheeks heat, but your voice doesn’t waver. “You’re impossible, you know that?” 

“Maybe,” he says again, that grin going a little soft. “But you love it.” 

You struggle to focus on wrapping up your work with Joaquín hovering around your office—ranting about the mission, touching your stuff, looking at you with that goddamn moustache on his face. What would normally take five minutes takes almost twenty, but by seven o’clock, you’re both in a cab on the way back to your apartment. 

When you open the door and step inside, Joaquín walks in like he lives there too. He drops his duffel by the lounge and heads straight for the fridge, pulling it open to inspect the contents. You know him well enough by now to know exactly what’s coming next—he’s going to complain about your lack of ingredients, then insist on cooking anyway. And somehow, it’ll still be delicious. 

“You know, cariño,” he calls, leaning deeper into the fridge, “most people throw milk out when it starts to smell bad. Let alone when it’s chunky.” 

“I haven’t been home much lately,” you say, a little defensive. “My best friend was on a mission and I was busy making sure he didn’t die.” 

“So you could kill me yourself with expired dairy products?” he asks, still wearing that ridiculous grin. 

You roll your eyes and bite back a smile, choosing to ignore him while you kick off your boots. He keeps rummaging through the fridge while you make your way through the small apartment, closing blinds, turning on lamps, and queuing up the show you haven’t touched in the two weeks he’s been away. 

“I’m going to shower,” you say, pausing at the edge of the kitchen. 

He glances over his shoulder, smirk firmly in place, brows raised. “That an offer?” 

Your eyes widen, cheeks burning. “God. What was in the water over there? You’ve come back even worse than when you left.” 

“Maybe I just missed you,” he says, stepping toward you. 

The kitchen isn’t big—much like the rest of the apartment—but with Joaquín standing barely a foot away, it feels downright claustrophobic in a very specific, very dangerous way. 

“You still haven’t given me my hero’s welcome,” he adds, eyes sparkling. 

You tip your head, ignoring the way your pulse spikes. “Didn’t have time to get the medal minted.” 

His grin turns wicked. “Guess you owe me a kiss, then.” 

You don’t answer. You just step forward, slow and deliberate, closing the space between you like it doesn’t matter at all—even though your pulse is in your throat. His brows twitch, surprise flickering across his face, but he doesn’t move. He holds his ground. 

You tilt your chin up, rising onto your toes until your lips are just a breath from his. 

His breath stutters, and you catch the sharp rise of his chest—like he forgot how to breathe. That cocky smirk slips away as your eyes linger on his mouth, then drop to that stupid goatee. Because of course he found a way to be even more ridiculously attractive. 

You could kiss him. Right now. You could close that tiny gap and change everything. 

But instead, your voice drops low—steady despite the way your nerves are buzzing. “You sure you’re ready for that, Torres?” 

His pupils blow wide, cheeks flushing. You see it. You feel it—the flicker of nerves under all that swagger. 

You drag your fingers lightly down the front of his shirt, watching him go still, revelling in the thrill that rattles up your spine. 

His throat bobs with a swallow, and you know you’ve got him. For once, he has no comeback. 

You smirk, dropping back onto your heels. “Didn’t think so.” 

Then you turn and walk into your room, heart pounding, head spinning, but your steps still steady. You shut the door and fall back against it, covering your face with your hands to keep from screaming out loud because God, that was hot. And holy shit did it take every ounce of self-control not to just kiss him. 

Eventually, you push off the door, strip out of your clothes, and step into the ensuite bathroom. You turn the shower on hot and wait while the water heats, wondering if Joaquín would notice if you took a little longer than usual. 

Which... you do. Because that ache behind your hipbones is insistent, and if Joaquín is going to be here all night, you can’t just be sitting beside him horny as hell or you might end up doing something stupid. 

So after a long, hot shower—and some quality time with the detachable head—you change into your pyjamas and emerge from your bedroom. The rest of the apartment smells like butter and garlic, and Joaquín is standing in front of the stove with a little crease between his brows as he flips what you assume is a grilled cheese sandwich. 

“Grilled cheese?” you ask, leaning a hip against the counter. 

He shoots you a sideways glare. “It’s the only thing I could think of with your serious lack of food. But it’s not just grilled cheese—it’s gourmet. With mozzarella—that I’m pretty sure isn’t off—garlic, caramelised onion, and basil.” 

You lift a brow, nodding slowly. “I’m impressed. And hungry.” 

He smirks. “And the tomatoes you had were too soft to put in the sandwiches, so I made a sauce.” 

“Wow,” you say, turning toward the cupboard. “Sounds like I had plenty of ingredients for you.” 

You can almost hear him rolling his eyes as you get out a couple of plates and wine glasses, knowing full well that you might not have much food in the house, but you definitely have wine. 

He finishes grilling the sandwiches and flips them onto the plates, garnishing them with something green that you hope is a herb and not something wildly out of date he found in the fridge. Then you pour each of you a glass of wine before taking your plate into the lounge room. 

“Hopefully you won’t be able to tell how stale the bread is,” Joaquín says as he sits beside you, his knee knocking yours as he shoots you another pointed look. 

You roll your eyes. “Please, sourdough doesn’t go off. Just gets chewier.” 

He frowns at you, eyes wide in disbelief. “That’s literally the definition of stale bread.” 

You just shrug, taking a generous sip of wine before biting into your sandwich. And God, it’s almost inhuman how this man can make some of the best food out of the crappy ingredients you have. 

“That good?” he asks, watching you with a smirk. 

“It’s alright,” you mutter, mouth still full. 

He chuckles. “That moan you just made says otherwise.” 

Your eyes widen. “I moaned?” 

He laughs a little harder, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he watches your cheeks turn pink. “Don’t be embarrassed, hermosa. I love the little noises you make.” 

Your heart lurches and your eyes snap down to your plate. 

“Wonder what other noises I could get out of you,” he mutters, low but just loud enough to catch your attention. 

You swallow hard on the half-chewed bite, wincing as it catches on the way down your throat. You cough and reach for your wine, taking a long, burning gulp that only fans the heat spreading through your chest. 

You cough again into your hand, struggling to catch your breath. 

“You okay, cariño?” Joaquín asks, light laughter in his voice. 

“Fine,” you choke out. “I’m good.” 

He laughs softly, clearly amused but too hungry to press you any further. You watch his profile as he takes a bite of grilled cheese, chews, and swallows—and damn if that doesn’t just deepen the wildfire of nerves and heat roiling through you. 

Two weeks away from Joaquín, and every ounce of resistance you’ve spent years building up is gone. Shattered. Nowhere to be found. You feel like some virginal schoolgirl, wide-eyed and helpless, just watching his throat move as he swallows another bite. 

His eyes flick toward you, brows drawn, and you quickly drop your gaze back to your plate. You stuff the sandwich into your mouth and take a big bite to stop yourself from blurting out something dumb—like how insanely hot he looks when he eats, or how badly you want to know what that facial hair would feel like between your legs. 

“Hear anything from the lab?” he asks, snapping you out of your spiralling thoughts. 

You shake your head. “Not yet.” 

He nods slowly. “Sam’s probably bugging.” 

“Why?” 

“Reckons it’s something big,” he says. “Something dangerous.” 

You tilt your head. “Like what?” 

He shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe something alien.” 

“Nah.” You take another sip of wine. “It’s probably old data from some collapsed organisation. Looked more like a hard drive than an explosive.” 

As if on cue, your phone lights up, buzzing on the coffee table beside your wine glass. You drop your sandwich and reach for it, tapping the answer button and pressing it to your ear. 

“Doctor Chen,” you greet. “How’s it going?” 

“The captain was right,” Maya—one of Sam’s lab techs—says. “This is dangerous.” 

Your brows pull together as you lift the phone away from your ear and put it on speaker so Joaquín can hear too. 

“What is it?” 

“Old Stark tech. Data, to be precise,” Maya replies. 

“Have you told Sam yet?” 

“Not yet. You were my first call. I figured Joaquín was with you.” 

Your cheeks flush. “Oh. Uh, yeah. He’s here.” 

Joaquín meets your eyes and gives you a cheeky little wink, lips curving into a smirk. 

“I’ll see you both first thing in the morning,” Maya says. “I’ll call Sam now.” 

“Okay,” you reply, shoving Joaquín’s thigh with your knee. “Thanks, Doctor Chen.” 

The line goes dead, the soft disconnect tone buzzing through the quiet room—Joaquín having paused the TV without you noticing. 

“What kind of data do you think it is?” he asks, brow furrowed. 

You shrug. “Who knows. Maybe something that’ll finally tell us how to shut you up.” 

He scoffs, leaning in just a little. “Or maybe something that tells me exactly how to get you to kiss me.” 

Your heart stutters, breath catching just loud enough for him to hear. 

“Or,” he adds, eyes dancing, “I just keep saying shit like that until your brain short-circuits and you snap.” 

You suck in a slow breath, trying not to smile. Trying not to give him the satisfaction. 

“God,” you mutter, nudging him with your shoulder, “you’re so fucking annoying tonight.” 

He just grins wider and takes another bite of grilled cheese—completely unbothered, maddeningly smug. And of course, your traitorous eyes fall to the line of his jaw as he chews, which does nothing to help your situation. 

- 

“It’s not just old Stark data,” Sam says, standing at the head of the small conference table. “This hard drive contains preliminary code for the foundational architecture of Stark’s first AI.” 

“As in J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Joaquín asks. “The computer that ran his house?” 

“J.A.R.V.I.S. didn’t just run his house,” you cut in. “He was integrated into the Iron Man suits, and he was part of Ultron and Vision. In the wrong hands, this data could be... catastrophic.” 

“Right,” Joaquín nods. “So... we destroy it?” 

“We can’t destroy it,” Milton—one of Sam’s more insufferable government liaisons—says. “Per federal protocol, all recovered Stark-origin assets are to be logged, quarantined, and transferred to a Level Four secure facility for presidential review and Congressional oversight.” 

Sam sighs, visibly holding back an eye-roll. 

“Quarantined for review?” you echo, incredulous. “Graves, this kind of data in the wrong hands could—” 

“And what authority do you have to decide that?” Milton cuts in with his usual sneer. “Who’s to say you won’t use it to recreate this... jervis?” 

Milton is easily your least favourite person in the office. He’s a stickler for rules, an arrogant idiot, and completely insufferable—but he does make a good target for your and Joaquín’s boredom-induced pranks. Like the time you rearranged his keyboard to spell something wildly inappropriate and watched him struggle to fix it for thirty minutes. Or when you convinced him that ‘Camo Friday’ was an official dress code. 

Needless to say, he’s not your biggest fan. Or Joaquín’s. But unfortunately for him, you’re both basically Sam’s second-in-command. 

“It’s Jarvis,” Joaquín says flatly. “J-A-R-V-I-S. Want help with the alphabet, or are you still stuck on the letter J?” 

Milton’s lips curl, eyes narrowing—ready to fire back—when Sam steps in. 

“We haven’t made a final decision about the drive,” he says firmly, glancing between Joaquín and Milton. “I’ll speak with the Department of Damage Control myself. Until then, it stays here, under full-time protection.” 

Joaquín sighs. “Don’t tell me—” 

“You’re not on protection,” Sam cuts him off. “I’ve got others for that. I need you somewhere else.” 

Joaquín sits up straighter, head tilted. “Where?” 

Sam glances at you and nods. You quickly plug your tablet into the display, and a second later, the intel you and the logistics team pulled together flickers up on the screen.  

“Matías Navarro,” you say, zooming in on the mugshot of a stern-faced, middle-aged man. “Clean on paper, but deeply embedded in tech smuggling rings. Works through proxies, keeps his hands clean. No one knows where he gets the tech, and none of his buyers care. He’s been arrested a dozen times, but he always walks.” 

You switch to a series of ledgers. “His name is tied to the building we found the hard drive in—not currently, but previously. He either sold it or abandoned it. Either way, he’s the last known owner.” 

“So,” Joaquín says, “we find Navarro and… question him?” 

You nod. “Exactly. He’s mostly dealt in weapons and arms. He might not have known what was on the drive—but if he did, or if he made a copy, we could be in serious shit.” 

“Right.” Joaquín nods. “Where do we find him?” 

“Club Calavera,” you reply, tapping your tablet until a picture of a dark brick building fills the screen. “It used to be a Latin dance club. Now it’s more like a networking spot for arms dealers and petty crime lords who like to salsa.” 

“Navarro’s a regular,” Sam adds. “Every Saturday. Like clockwork.” 

“Club Skull,” Joaquín snorts. “Subtle.” 

“You should fit right in, then,” you say with a smirk. “You’ve got all the subtlety of a brick through a window.” 

His eyes go wide. “Fit in? I’m going in? Like… undercover?” 

You nod. “That’s right, pretty boy. You’re our distraction.” 

“Distraction?” he echoes, brows shooting up. 

“I need to talk to Navarro,” Sam says, “but I can’t just walk in—not with all the high-profile thugs that frequent the place. I’d be too easily noticed.” 

“Hence,” you say, grinning at Joaquín, “our distraction.” 

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking between you and Sam. “Alright. What kind of distraction?” 

Sam folds his arms, smirking. “It’s a Latin dance club, Torres. What do you think?” 

“You want me to dance?” Joaquín asks, voice cracking. 

“Oh, no, flyboy.” You lean forward, grin turning wicked. “We don’t just want you to dance, we need you to cause a whole damn scene.” 

He swallows hard. “How?” 

Sam chuckles. “Ever seen The Mask?” 

“That movie with Jim Carrey?” 

Sam nods. 

“You want me to cause a scene in the middle of a club full of criminals big enough to distract every single one of them?” Joaquín asks, brows drawing tight. “I—I can’t. No one could. It’s impossible.” 

“Oh, come on,” you sigh. “You’re Joaquín fucking Torres. If anyone can cause a scene that big, it’s you. Plus, you won’t be alone.” 

He frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“You need a dance partner,” you reply simply, tapping your tablet. 

The screen flickers before bringing up three headshots of three different women, each with a brief bio beside the names—abilities and all. 

“Kate Bishop,” you say, enlarging the first photo. “Hawkeye-in-training. She worked with Clint for a while. Definitely has the social skills to work the room, plus charm and skill.” 

Joaquín shakes his head. “No, she won’t blend in. Not in a Latin crowd, at least.” 

“Okay,” you nod, moving to the next photo. “Ava Ayala, a.k.a. White Tiger. Fluent in Spanish and has the physicality to back us up if things go south.” 

Joaquín considers it, tipping his head before shaking it again. “No, it won’t work. I’ve heard she prefers solo missions—might not adapt well to a cover role that requires dancing and mingling.” 

You take a deep breath and move to the last photo. “Alright. Elena ‘Yo-Yo’ Rodriguez. She’s great at going undercover and knows how to stay cool under pressure. Plus, she can get you out fast if needed.” 

Joaquín’s eyes flick from the screen to you, then to Sam, back to you, and then the screen again. 

“I don’t doubt her skills,” he says. “But have you seen her operate in this kind of scene? Nightclubs and criminal networks require a certain… finesse.” 

Sam sighs and pulls out a chair, dropping into it. “Well, you can’t dance alone.” 

“I know,” Joaquín says firmly. “But I can’t walk into a club full of criminals and half-ass it with someone I don’t know or trust.” 

“That’s the whole point,” you say, setting your tablet down with a sigh. “You’re supposed to go in, pick someone from the crowd, and make it look spontaneous. A big, passionate moment. If it’s too polished, too rehearsed, they’ll sniff it out.” 

He leans forward, bracing his forearms on the table. “I get that. But it still has to be someone I’ve got chemistry with. Someone I’m actually attracted to.” 

You frown, glancing at the screen full of attractive women, then back at him—feeling your stomach twist, even if you don’t want to admit why. 

“They’re all attractive. I don’t see the—” 

“Sure,” he interrupts. “But what if there's no chemistry? This is a club full of Latinos. They’ll smell fake passion from across the dance floor, cariño.” 

You cross your arms and lean back in your chair. “So what are you saying? You won’t do it?” 

“Of course I'll do it,” he says, smirking now. “But I’ve got one condition.” 

You look at Sam, deadpan. “He’s got conditions now.” 

Sam chuckles. “This guy.” 

You turn back to Joaquín. “Alright, pretty boy. What’s your condition?” 

“You dance with me.” 

The room falls silent. 

You freeze, breath catching. “M–Me?” 

He grins. “You, hermosa. It makes sense. We’ve got chemistry, and all you have to do is follow my lead.” 

You glance at Sam, half-panicked. “I’m not a field agent. I’m not—” 

“Actually,” Sam says, thoughtful, “it does makes sense. The two of you could sell it. No extra variables, no risk of another agent blowing the op.” 

Your eyes widen. “You’re not serious. I—I can’t even dance.” 

“You don’t need to,” Joaquín says. “You just have to let me lead.” 

Your heart is pounding now, nerves sparking like live wires, sweat prickling at the back of your neck. You’re not built for this. You’re the guy in the chair. The one locked behind bulletproof glass and a million firewalls. 

“Joaquín, I—” 

“It’s the only way this works,” he says, his smile infuriatingly smug. 

“Kid’s got a point,” Sam adds. 

Your eyes bounce between them, wide and overwhelmed. “I’m barely trained for combat. If something goes wrong, I—” 

“That’s why I’m there, cariño,” Joaquín cuts in, voice low. “You don’t have to do anything except look pretty—which you already do—and follow my lead.” 

You’re running out of excuses. And Joaquín is looking at you with those big, stupidly pretty brown eyes that always get him his way. You don’t want to say yes. But you really don’t want to say no. Not to that face. Not to Sam’s, either—especially when he’s looking this hopeful and just a little smug. 

“Fine,” you mutter, glaring at Joaquín. “But if either of us die, I’m going to kill you.” 

He just grins—impossibly smug, unfairly hot. A walking wet dream with tight sleeves and a killer smile, practically glowing with anticipation. 

The next few days are a whirlwind of intel, training, and—to your immense displeasure—costume fittings. Because you can’t just wear jeans and a top. No. You have to look like a part-time salsa dancer and full-time prison groupie, which apparently means a sparkly dress with a hemline that barely covers your ass. 

But that’s not even the worst part. 

The worst part is that Joaquín refuses to practice with you. He won’t even show you a few steps. Because, like you said, it has to look spontaneous. It can’t be rehearsed or choreographed, or someone might clock it for the distraction that it is. 

So he won’t dance with you at all—which is not exactly something you ever thought you’d be begging him for. Not unless you’re talking about the horizontal tango—because in that case, yeah, you could definitely see yourself begging. 

“Ouch,” Sam mutters, freezing mid-step. “That was my foot.” 

You scowl up at him, arms stiff where they rest on his shoulder and in his hand. “I told you, I don’t fucking know how to dance.” 

“Relax,” he chuckles. “You’re not auditioning for Dancing with the Stars. You just need to get through one song without crushing Joaquín’s toes.” 

“If he doesn’t want his feet stomped on,” you snap, glaring across the room, “then he should be the one teaching me.” 

Joaquín rolls his eyes and pushes off the wall, tapping something on his phone to lower the music blaring through the overhead speakers. You’ve taken up residence in Isaiah Bradley’s gym for the past few days, using the open space—and the crash mats—as Sam attempts to teach you the basics of salsa dancing. 

It’s not going great. 

“You need to move your hips more,” Joaquín says. “Feel the music. Don’t fight it.” 

“‘M gonna fight you in a minute,” you mutter. 

Sam laughs again, clearly amused, as Joaquín steps in behind you—close—his hands landing firmly on your hips. 

Your eyes go wide. Your spine snaps straight. Your fingers dig into Sam’s shoulder. 

“Ouch,” he murmurs, wincing. 

“Shut up,” you hiss. 

He bites back a laugh. 

“Okay,” Joaquín says. “Let’s move through the steps slowly.” 

Sam nods and starts moving. You follow, trying to count through the steps you’ve half-memorised. Then— 

Joaquín steps in even closer, chest almost brushing your back, and without a word, he guides your hips into the right position. Your feet falter. Your heart stutters. His hands are big, steady—thumbs pressing lightly into the small of your back as he shifts your weight, encouraging a more natural sway from your hips. 

“Too stiff,” he murmurs, voice low. “You’ve gotta loosen up, cariño.” 

Then his hands trail—slow and deliberate—up the curve of your waist, just high enough for his thumbs to graze the underside of your ribs. It’s a fleeting touch, but it leaves a trail of fire in its wake. And then, like it was nothing, he steps back—cool, casual, unaffected. 

Your breath catches. Heat rushes up your neck and into your cheeks, your brain short-circuiting as your body fights to stay upright and not melt into a puddle of incoherent desire. Sam watches the whole thing unfold with an amused grin, clearly not missing the way your knees nearly buckle. 

“You okay?” he asks. “You’re lookin’ a little pink there.” 

“I’m fine,” you snap. 

Behind you, Joaquín turns the music back up and says, far too casually, “She’s just tense.” 

Sam snorts. “Oh, I don’t think that’s the problem.” 

You grit your teeth and take a deep breath through your nose, summoning every ounce of self-control you have to not to completely lose it. 

“Okay,” you mutter, “let’s go again.” 

You take it from the top twice more before Sam’s phone rings and he’s called away for a meeting with logistics. By that point, you’re tired, sweaty, and still wishing you’d said no, but according to Joaquín, your hips are moving much more naturally. 

You try not to think too hard about him watching your hips while you dance. 

While you stretch and cool off—which mostly just means lying on the floor scrolling through your phone—Joaquín starts boxing with Isaiah. And holy hell if that isn’t making you thirstier than two straight hours of salsa dancing did. 

You try to focus on the video of a puppy eating raspberries currently playing on your phone, but your eyes keep drifting to the other side of the gym. To him. 

Joaquín’s in the ring—gloves on, shirt off, moving like a goddamn dream. His skin gleams with sweat, muscles flexing with every jab and pivot, the line of his back carved like something out of a museum. Even his hair is damp, dark curls falling over his forehead—and God, you want to run your fingers through it, tug it just a little to see what kind of noises he’d make. 

You swallow hard, watching the way he bounces on the balls of his feet, light and fast. Isaiah swings, Joaquín dodges, and you’re embarrassingly close to moaning when he ducks and throws a clean uppercut that lands with a satisfying smack. 

Your imagination fills in the blanks way too fast. What those hands would feel like dragging down your body. What that mouth could do if it wasn’t behind a mouthguard. You’re picturing him pinning you up against the ropes for a very different kind of workout when— 

“Enjoying the show?” 

You startle, eyes flying up to find Joaquín leaning on the ropes, gloves resting on the top strand, smirk wide and knowing. His chest is rising and falling, skin glistening, and there’s a wicked gleam in his eye that says he’s seen every second of you ogling him. 

You blink. “Nope.” 

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. Come here.” 

“What? Why?” 

He grins, pushing open the ropes. “Get in the ring.” 

You frown. “Absolutely not.” 

“Come on,” he says, stepping aside so you can climb through. “You’re going undercover. You should know how to throw a punch in case something goes south.” 

“I did a combat course,” you say, slowly climbing up and stopping in the middle of the ring. “A few years ago." 

“And I haven’t eaten a donut since Tuesday. Doesn’t mean I’m in peak condition.” 

Isaiah laughs from the corner, tossing Joaquín a towel. “Have fun, lovebirds,” he calls, hopping down from the ring. “Try not to injure each other.” 

“I make no promises,” Joaquín says with a wink, then turns back to you, holding out a pair of gloves. “Hands up, cariño.” 

You roll your eyes, sighing, but slide your hands into the gloves anyway. “If I get hurt, I’m suing.” 

He steps closer to tighten the straps on your gloves, and you try—really try—not to stare. But his chest is right there, slick with sweat, rising and falling with every breath. Your eyes flick to the constellation of tiny moles scattered across his collarbone and up the side of his neck, and your brain starts wandering where it definitely shouldn’t. 

Like how warm his skin would feel under your mouth. 

How he'd taste. 

Whether that facial hair would scrape or tickle. 

“You spacing out on me already?” he asks, smug. 

You blink hard and force your eyes back to his. “No. Just visualising how hard I’m going to hit you.” 

His smile grows. “Hot.” 

You scowl, cheeks burning. “I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t,” he says easily, stepping back and raising his hands. “Alright, let’s start with a jab. Front foot forward, hands up, aim for my shoulder.” 

You shuffle your feet and throw the first punch. It’s not awful, but it’s definitely not impressive. 

And he dodges it with infuriating ease. “Again.” 

You go again—harder this time—and his face lights up. 

“There we go,” he says, circling you. “Now try a cross. Pivot your back foot a little. Twist at the hips.” 

He moves around you slowly, correcting your stance, touching your elbow here, your shoulder there. Every brush of his fingers lights you up like a fuse. You try to focus on your footwork, your form, anything other than the way he’s watching you—like he’s memorising every move. 

And when you land a solid hit against his open palm, his smile turns molten. “Damn. Maybe I should be worried.” 

“You should always be worried,” you mutter, blowing a lock of hair out of your eyes. 

He steps in close, lowering his voice. “You’re better than you think.” 

You swallow. Hard. Because now he’s too close, and you can smell him—sweat mixed with something warm and spicy, like cinnamon, cedar, and something darker, something dangerous. His eyes flick down from your face to your body, not even trying to pretend he isn’t checking you out. 

“You’re staring,” you say, a little breathless. 

He smirks. “So are you.” 

The space between you shrinks, and suddenly the air feels thick—too warm, too charged. 

“You’re dangerously close,” you tease, trying to keep your voice steady while your heart beats like a war drum. 

He leans in just a little more, hot breath ghosting over your damp skin. “Close enough to hear your heartbeat,” he murmurs, voice low. “It’s fast.” 

Your breath hitches, and you force yourself to look anywhere but at his lips. 

“Careful,” you murmur. “I might start thinking you want to spar for real.” 

He grins wickedly. “Oh, I’ve got moves that don’t involve gloves.” 

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “That a challenge?” 

“More like a promise,” he says, eyes darkening with mischief. 

He steps even closer, just enough for your bodies to almost touch, the heat radiating off him setting your skin alight. Your hands twitch, itching to reach out, to feel the solid strength beneath those muscles. But instead, you bite back the impulse, take a breath, and jab forward, aiming a quick punch at his bicep. 

He’s faster—too fast—and his hand catches your wrist, grip firm. “Not bad,” he says, voice rougher now. “But you’re getting distracted.” 

You glance down at his fingers wrapped around your wrist—strong and warm—then back up at him. “Maybe I like being distracted.” 

He chuckles, low and throaty. “You have no idea what you do to me, cariño.” 

Your cheeks flush, and suddenly the gym feels smaller, the world reduced to just the two of you—the thud of your hearts, the quick intake of breath, the heat humming beneath your skin. 

He leans in again, his breath warm against your lips. “One more round? Winner gets to decide what happens next.” 

You bite your bottom lip, eyes flicking down to his mouth, then back to his gaze. “You’re on.” 

You throw yourself into the next round, fists flying, breath ragged—but he’s relentless, every move calculated to push you harder, closer. He’s not holding back anymore; his feet are quick, his hands even quicker. You feel like you’re flailing, only landing punches when he lets you. 

Then, without warning, he ducks a blow and catches you from behind, one arm wrapping tight around your neck. Not enough to choke—just to claim. His other hand finds your hip, fingers digging in, pressing bruises into your flesh. Your pulse spikes as your body freezes, caught between wanting to fight and drowning in the heat of him pressed against you. 

Your breath hitches as you recognise the undeniable length of him digging into your ass—heavy and hard. His mouth hovers just at your neck, warm breath teasing, lips barely brushing. “Careful, nena,” he whispers, voice thick with something dark and urgent. “You’re playing with fire.” 

Your hands tremble, heart pounding in your throat. Every second, every shallow breath drips with desperate hunger. His fingertips dig into your skin, pulling you impossibly close—his hips grinding slow and deliberate against your ass. 

You want to say something, anything, but the only sounds are your uneven inhales and the thump of your racing heart. Then—just as your resolve begins to crack— 

The gym door swings open, and Sam bursts in. “Alright, what’s the verdict? Lunch or more sparring?” he calls out, completely oblivious to the heat hanging thick between you two. 

Joaquín straightens, sliding his arms away with a slow, wicked grin, eyes sparkling with amusement and something more primal. He moves off to the side of the ring, turning away from Sam—no doubt hiding the bulge in his gym shorts. 

You’re burning up, cheeks flushed crimson, every nerve screaming as you struggle to breathe normally. 

Sam quirks his head, brows furrowed. “You alright? Is he pushing you too hard?” 

God. Something is too hard. 

You shake your head. “N-No. Just... sparring.” 

“Right,” Sam says, not sounding fully convinced. “Well, go clean up. I’m starving.” 

- 

After a shower—a very cold shower—a quick lunch, and several meetings, you’re back in your office combing through security tapes from Club Calavera, scanning for any familiar faces that might compromise tomorrow night’s mission. 

You’re midway through last Saturday’s tape when Joaquín pops his head in the door, grinning like he hadn’t pressed his hard dick against you just a few hours ago. 

“Sam’s hungry,” he says. “Again.” 

You clear your throat. “Already? It’s—” You glance at the clock, brows lifting. “Oh. It’s nearly seven.” 

“Yeah,” he says, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “He wants wings.” 

There’s nothing overtly threatening about the way he stands in front of your only exit—but it still feels dangerous. Being alone with him in this tight little four-by-four office, with nothing between you but a desk and a couple monitors, feels very dangerous. 

You’re not sure what changed while he was away on that last mission—all you know is that something did. And now, the tension between you is almost impossible to ignore. 

“Wings,” you echo, dragging your eyes back to your screens. “Got it. The usual?” 

“Yep,” he nods. “Extra ranch.” 

You smirk as you open a new tab—typing in only a few letters before the URL auto-fills. 

Joaquín frowns. “What’s that look for?” 

“Nothing,” you say quickly, shaking your head. 

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t press. He just stands there, back against the door, watching you order the food with his bottom lip caught between his perfect teeth. 

“There,” you say, clicking submit order. “Death wings for Captain America, and a baby batch for The Falcon.” 

His eyes widen as he tries—and fails—to fight another grin. “I knew you were laughing at me. It’s not my fault I was born with a spice intolerance.” 

You lean back in your chair, rolling your lips to suppress a giggle. “I wasn’t. I swear.” 

“I’m brave in other ways,” he mutters, folding his arms across his chest. 

“I know.” 

You stare at each other for a beat too long. The air thickens, tension crawling over your skin, heavy and charged. Your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the sharp slope of his nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow beneath that maddeningly hot little moustache. 

Your fingers twitch over your keyboard, itching to touch him. To grip his shoulders. Tug his hair. Wrap around his hot, hard— 

Bang, bang, bang. 

Joaquín startles as Sam shoves at your office door from the other side. 

“Move your ass, Torres,” he calls, voice muffled. 

Joaquín exhales a shaky breath and steps aside—and you swear you see him subtly adjust himself in his jeans. 

“Wings ordered?” Sam asks, pushing the door open. 

You nod. “Death by buffalo coming right up.” 

He grins. “Good. Now get your asses to the conference room. Tactical support wants to run one last debrief.” 

“Ooh,” you say, jumping to your feet. “Do I get any weapons?” 

Both men whip toward you—eyes wide, brows drawn—and in perfect unison say, “No.” 

You sit in the meeting, pretending to listen, while mostly ogling the way Joaquín is testing out his gear. Without the wings, he’s going to be packing an assortment of easily concealed weapons, and something about the way he handles everything with practiced ease has you squeezing your thighs beneath the table. 

His hands are sure and precise—strong fingers wrapping around grips, forearms flexing subtly with each flick and pop. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he inspects every piece, the kind of focused intensity that makes your pulse quicken. 

His jaw tightens slightly, eyes narrowing in concentration, brows drawing together just enough to highlight the sharp line of his cheekbones. It’s like watching a master at work—every subtle motion deliberate, effortless. The way his muscles tense and relax, the small, almost imperceptible shifts in his stance… it all speaks of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing, and how much power he wields beneath that calm exterior. 

You can’t help but admire the rhythm, the flow, the way he seems to command the weapons almost as if they’re extensions of his own body. Your gaze lingers longer than it should, tracing the sinew in his forearms, the curve of his wrists, imagining what it would feel like to be touched by those hands—steady, confident, and undeniably capable. 

“You need a napkin, or are you just gonna keep drooling on the table?” Sam asks, startling you out of your daydream. 

You whip toward him, brow furrowed, one hand swiping instinctively at the corner of your mouth while the other smacks his bicep. 

He chuckles. “Wow. I could call HR, you know.” 

You roll your eyes. “Do it.” 

“Actually,” he says, tilting his head, “I think Joaquín should call HR, with the way you were eye-fucking him across the table. But the boy’s too stupid to notice.” 

Your eyes snap to the front of the room, expecting Joaquín to still be there—but he’s not. In fact, it’s just you and Sam left in the conference room. Even the weapons have been packed up and hauled off. 

“Oh,” you blink. “Is it over?” 

“Been over for a while,” he says with another soft chuckle. “My wings here yet?” 

Your eyes go wide. “Shit. The wings.” 

You jump up and dart out of the room, jogging down the hall to the front reception where you told the delivery driver to leave the food. Thankfully, it’s still there—and when you pick up the bag, it’s warm enough that Sam won’t kill you. 

With a relieved sigh, you carry the wings back through the building, past the now-empty conference room, and straight to Sam and Joaquín’s office at the very back—the one with the giant, obnoxious Captain America symbol frosted onto the window glass. 

“Special delivery,” you say, walking straight toward the table surrounded by low blue lounges. 

You pull out the Styrofoam containers and start sniffing each one to determine which is which. Sam appears beside you with three cans of beer, and Joaquín flops onto one of the lounges, grabbing the bag to pull out a wad of napkins—because you always ask for extra. 

“Shit. They forgot the wet ones,” he says, glancing up at you. 

“Don’t worry,” you mutter, “we’ve got enough wet wipes to stock a preschool.” 

Joaquín chuckles as you cross the room toward Sam’s desk, opening the middle drawer of the cabinet and pulling a fistful of wipes. 

“God, I’m starving,” Joaquín groans. 

You turn back just in time to see him sliding one of the containers toward himself. Your brow furrows, eyes narrowing, and just before realisation hits—before you can say anything—he opens it and lifts a wing to his lips.  

“Joaquín—!” you yelp, eyes wide. 

His gaze flicks to you, confusion creasing his brow—then it hits. 

His cheeks flush immediately, sweat prickling at his hairline and sliding down the side of his face. His eyes go wide, his body locking up—the wing still caught between his teeth.  

“That’s Sam’s!” you exclaim, rushing over. “Spit it out, you idiot. You’re gonna go into cardiac arrest.” 

“Wait,” Sam leans forward, eyes bright. “Did he just—?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“One of mine?” 

“Yep.” 

“Holy shit.” 

“Joaquín,” you say firmly. “Spit the goddamn wing out.” 

He does, letting it drop back into the container with a wet plop. 

“Gross,” Sam groans, sliding the container away from Joaquín. 

“You okay?” you ask, biting back a grin. 

He looks like he’s been pepper-sprayed. Face red, eyes watery, lips puffy, breath coming and going in shallow gasps. 

“Uh uh,” he groans, shaking his head slowly. “Burns.” 

“I know, baby,” you giggle, unable to stop yourself. “I’ll go get some milk.” 

He nods slowly, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. 

You let out another laugh—louder this time—as you run out of the room and jog down the hall, pivoting into the kitchen. You yank the fridge open, pull out the bottle of milk, and retrace your steps. 

By the time you return, Sam is grinning like a demon, face smeared with sauce, and Joaquín is full-on wheezing, fanning his mouth with his hand. 

“What happened?” 

“He drank the beer,” Sam says, clearly very entertained. “Made it worse.” 

“My god, Joaquín,” you sigh, dropping the milk in front of him. “Didn’t you smell the hot sauce?” 

He shakes his head, already chugging from the bottle. Milk dribbles from his lips and down his jaw, sliding down the column of his neck—and suddenly, you’re having thoughts. Filthy ones. 

You drag your eyes away, cheeks hot. 

Jesus Christ. Even watching him drink milk is hot now? 

“I just don’t understand how your tolerance for spice is so bad,” you mutter. “You’re half-Mexican for crying out loud.” 

He stops long enough to gasp for air—then burps like a frat boy. “That’s racist.” 

“It’s not racist,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I’ve been to your house. Your mama’s tamales are hot. And delicious.” 

“Ooh,” Sam smirks. “Tell me more about his mom’s tamales.” 

Joaquín shoots him a slow, deadly look over the milk carton as he continues drinking. 

“His mom makes the best food,” you say, finally opening your own container of wings. “The rest of his family can handle heat just fine—but this pretty boy always gets a custom serving. Mild.” 

“Wow,” Sam snorts. “Way to let the ancestors down, Torres.” 

Joaquín finishes the entire bottle of milk—though it was only half full—before he’s finally able to breathe normally again. His cheeks are still flushed, his hair a little damp, but at least he no longer looks like he’s about to explode. 

“Better?” you ask, smirking behind a half-eaten wing. 

“You know,” he says, leaning forward, that stupid, smug grin back in place, “might help if you kiss it better.” 

You raise your brows. “Your mouth?” 

He shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Probably a couple of places you could kiss that’d help.” 

Your eyes go wide, pulse spiking. Across from you, Sam chokes on a mouthful of chicken. 

“No,” he says between coughs. “Stop it. Both of you. I am not sitting here while you do your weird flirting shit. Leave me out of it.” 

Joaquín just grins, completely unaffected, and opens his container of mild buffalo wings. It shouldn’t be sexy, the way he sinks his teeth in and tears the meat off the bone. Or how his tongue flicks out to catch a drop of sauce at the corner of his mouth. Or the low, satisfied groan he lets out, like it’s the best thing he’s tasted all week. 

But God, when it comes to Joaquín Torres, you are well and truly screwed—just not in the way you want to be. 

- 

Your heart is in your throat. Your hands are trembling. Your back is sweating. 

Every step you take deeper into Club Calavera brings you one step closer to puking. 

The inside of the club is soaked in red light and velvet, thick with smoke and perfume. Velvet booths line the walls, half-hidden in shadow, crowded with people who look like they have knives in their boots and secrets in their smiles. The bar glows low and warm on one side of the room, casting amber light across bottles arranged like trophies. 

The music is bass-heavy, slow and deliberate, and the dance floor pulses with bodies moving close—too close. Everything sparkles—sequins, sweat, the occasional flash of a watch or the glint of a gun tucked just out of sight. 

It’s the kind of place where everyone’s watching, everyone’s working an angle, and no one’s here by accident. 

You feel completely exposed without so much as a headset or earpiece, but Sam insisted—strictly no comms. It’s too risky in a place like this. 

Teddy from logistics is ‘in the chair’ tonight, doing what you’d usually be doing—watching live feeds, monitoring heat signatures, keeping an eye out for trouble. You all know the signals. The procedures. Where to meet if it all goes sideways. But none of that is making you feel even remotely safe in this den of criminals. 

You take a slow, deep breath and continue weaving your way through the crowd, keeping your chin up—confident, not cocky. Your movements are measured. Deliberate. 

You know where you’re going. You’re not nervous. You fit in. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” someone murmurs beside you. 

You offer a small, coy smile, then duck away, putting several bodies between you and whoever that was—for good measure. 

The club is crowded enough to disappear in. You just have to make sure you don’t move too fast. Don��t draw too much attention. 

Not that this goddamn dress is making it easy not to draw attention. 

It’s gold and slinky, catching the light with every step, made from a breathable stretch-knit lamé mesh—fine metallic threads woven into silky, weightless fabric. The outer layer is a sheer gold sparkle mesh, densely packed with glittering micro-sequins that flash like fire under the club lights. 

It’s cut obscenely short—the hem grazing your upper thighs—with a scooped neckline just low enough to tease, and long flared sleeves that shimmer from shoulder to wrist. It doesn’t cling—but it follows your shape with a sleek, deliberate grace that leaves no doubt it was tailor-made for you. 

Beneath all that glitter, the bodice is reinforced with a discreet layer of ballistic fabric—a Kevlar-knit that’s thin and flexible enough to contour to your body, but strong enough to slow a small-calibre round or deflect a blade. So, as long as any would-be attackers aim for the dress and not your legs, you might just have a shot at making it out alive if things go sideways. 

“Excuse me,” you murmur, voice low as you squeeze between two people who were definitely not excusing you. 

You pop out of the crowd at the edge of the dancefloor just as the music shifts. It pulses low and slow at first, a sensual rhythm driven by a deep reggaeton beat. Then a plucked guitar winds through the bassline—sharp, teasing, almost flirtatious—while maracas and other percussion add a soft shimmer beneath it all, like heat rising off pavement. 

There’s a slinky sway to it, like hips rolling in time with every beat. The tempo is deliberate, confident, impossible to ignore—each note coaxing movement, inviting bodies closer. It’s the kind of music that wraps around you like smoke, warm and heady, and refuses to let go. 

You don’t see him at first—just feel it. That ripple in the air. A subtle shift in energy that tells you someone is watching. 

And then you spot him. 

Joaquín steps through the crowd like it’s parting just for him. He’s traded his usual tactical black for loose tan trousers that hang low on his hips, a gold chain draped from the belt loops. A crisp white shirt is thrown over a fitted tank, sleeves rolled up like he’s halfway between saint and sin. His hair’s slicked just enough to look intentional, a single curl falling over his brow, and there’s a glint of gold at his throat that catches the light every time he moves. 

He doesn’t just look good—he looks dangerous. Not in the gunmetal, locked-and-loaded way you’re used to. This is softer. Smouldering. The kind of danger that tempts instead of threatens. The kind that makes your breath hitch and your knees weaken. 

And he’s looking at you. 

Head tilted, tongue grazing the inside of his cheek like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Like he’s been thinking about this all night. All week. About you in that barely-there dress. About what’s underneath it. About how many people are in this room—and how little he cares. 

Your stomach flips. 

Your whole body hums with anticipation. And you haven’t even touched him yet. 

You're still catching your breath when he reaches you. 

No words. No warning. 

His hand slides around your waist, the other catching your wrist, fingers brushing the underside of your arm like a question. Your body answers before your mouth can—yes. Whatever this is, yes. 

The music throbs through the soles of your feet as you move deeper onto the dancefloor. His hand drops lower, finding the curve of your hip. He steps in—chest to chest—warm breath grazing your cheek. 

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you’re working. This is work. Just a distraction so that Sam can get to Navarro. 

But right now, with Joaquín’s fingers splayed across your lower back, guiding you into the sway of the beat, your focus is wrecked. 

And this doesn’t feel like work. 

His body moves against yours with practiced ease—hips rolling slow and sweet. The rhythm is deep, deliberate, and he follows it like it’s stitched into his bones. His thigh slides between yours as he guides you, hand firm at your waist as you pivot together—tight, fluid, seamless. 

You loop your arms around his shoulders, fingertips grazing the back of his neck, and his mouth is suddenly very close to your ear. 

“Hola, mi vida,” he murmurs, “estás espectacular.” 

You might not know much Spanish, but you’ve spent enough time around Joaquín to know exactly what he just said. 

You tilt your head just enough to meet his gaze. “So do you.” 

He laughs under his breath—low, dangerous—and dips you. Hard. Your spine arches, body bending back over his arm, one hand clutching his shirt for balance. His mouth drops to your chest. Breath ghosting over your skin—warm, damp, too much. 

He lingers there. Like he's waiting for permission. 

Then— 

His tongue darts out. Wet heat against your chest. 

You yelp—then freeze. 

The crowd around you stills. Heads turn. All eyes on you. 

“Showtime, cariño,” he mutters, low and smooth, just for you. 

He pulls you up again—slowly. His hand drags from your spine to your waist, fingertips digging in like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. And if it weren’t for his grip, you’re not sure your knees would hold. 

He doesn’t even glance at the crowd. He just smirks. 

Because this was his plan all along. This is why he hasn’t practiced with you all week. Why he refused to rehearse. 

Because Joaquín Torres knew exactly how he was going to play you—just like he’s about to play this entire room full of criminals. 

The music builds again, deeper, filthier. That slinky reggaeton rhythm thickens with every beat, and Joaquín takes the cue. His hands slide down your waist, anchoring you as he rolls his hips into yours, slow and smooth—grinding to the beat like he’s got all the time in the world. Like no one else is here. Like the two of you don’t have an entire operation riding on this moment. 

Your hands grip his shoulders, then slide up to the back of his neck. The world narrows to the heat between your bodies, to the heavy pulse of the music, to the way he leans in close and breathes against your skin. 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Just like we practiced.” 

You snort—soft, breathless. “We didn’t practice.” 

“Exactly,” he smirks. 

He spins you suddenly, one arm looping around your middle to keep you close as your back hits his chest. His hand splays across your stomach, pulling you flush against him, and he starts to move again—grinding up behind you in slow, rhythmic thrusts. Filthy. Hypnotic. Perfect. 

Someone in the crowd whistles. 

You tilt your head just enough to meet Joaquín’s eyes over your shoulder. He’s looking down at you with heat, with purpose. Selling it for the crowd—but that look doesn’t feel like an act. 

Your gaze flickers past him, scanning the shadows—and there. You spot Sam slipping through the crowd, unnoticed, just as planned. 

Good. 

You drag your eyes back to Joaquín and grind back into him, slow and intentional. He groans—quiet, but real—and dips his head to the crook of your neck. His lips skim your skin, his breath hot and shallow. 

“Still working?” he murmurs. 

You bite your lip. 

“Because if this is just a mission…” He trails off, tongue flicking just beneath your jaw. “You’re the best actress I’ve ever met.” 

You laugh—shaky, hushed, raw. “Shut up and dance.” 

So he does. 

He drags one hand down your thigh, slipping briefly beneath the hem of your dress, just high enough to make your breath catch. Then he spins you again, facing him, and pulls you back into his chest with a practiced flourish—showy enough to earn a cheer from the sidelines. The lights flicker like heat lightning across his face, casting gold in his eyes, sweat glinting at his hairline. 

The air between you crackles. 

Then—he leans in, voice low, mouth ghosting yours. “Tell me when this stops being a game.” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. 

Because you’re not sure it ever was. 

“Confía en mí, mi amor,” he murmurs—trust me, my love—and you barely have time to register the words before he spins you out with a flick of the wrist, one hand still gripping yours. 

Your body twirls away from him, dress shimmering beneath the lights, the crowd around you gasping at the drama of it—and then you’re pulled back in just as fast. 

He catches you tight. 

One hand at your back, the other sliding low as he grabs your thigh and lifts—hitching it high against his hip, his fingers digging into your flesh. Holding you there. Staking a claim. 

Your breath punches out of you, caught between the sudden closeness and the weight of his grip. His eyes are dark, gleaming with heat and purpose, and you’re not sure which part of this is still the performance. 

His lips are inches from yours, breath warm, tension thick between you as the music pulses around your locked bodies—sweat, sequins, heat, and hands, everything glittering under low crimson light. And still, the crowd watches. Spellbound. 

So you decide to give them something to watch. 

You swallow hard, gather what’s left of your composure, and let your hand slide slowly down his chest—fingertips tracing the line of his sternum, dragging over warm fabric, feeling the beat of his heart beneath your palm. You sway your hips with the music, then pivot—smooth and deliberate—until your back is flush to his chest again. 

His breath catches. You feel it. 

You roll your hips back into him, slow and sinful, and his grip tightens on your hips. 

Your hand snakes up behind you, into his hair, curling tight just enough to make him tilt his head. Then, with a smirk tugging at your lips, you twist to whisper against his jaw—soft, breathy, just for him. 

“Papacito… ay, qué rico tú.” 

You feel the way his whole body reacts—his inhale sharp, his fingers flexing against your skin, his composure cracking for just a second. Just long enough for you to feel victorious. 

But then—he snaps. 

He grabs your hand and spins you back around to face him, hard and fast. His grip is sure, his eyes burning. He’s flushed now, lips parted, chest rising with every breath like he’s trying to get a grip—but losing it. On you. 

And then he drops. 

Not suddenly—deliberately. 

His hands trail down your sides as he lowers himself, eyes never leaving yours. Not until his breath hits your chest, lips ghosting over your damp skin. 

His mouth moves lower—hot, open, dragging over the glittering fabric until it settles just below your navel. The pressure is maddening. More suggestion than kiss, but it sets your nerves on fire. 

He rests on one knee. His breath is hot through your dress. His grip, searing. 

You feel his nose graze along the line of your panties, the heat of him soaking through the fabric. He lingers—mouth parted, exhale shaky—and you know that if he moves even half an inch lower, you’re going to moan out loud. 

Your knees almost buckle. 

So you do the only thing you can—you throw your arms up, eyes fluttering closed, and let the music carry you. You sway to the rhythm, pulse thudding in your ears, hips shifting just enough to brush against his mouth again. 

And when you dare to look down… 

He’s still there. On one knee. A hand branding the back of each thigh. 

Looking up at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth getting on the floor for. 

And God help you—you want him to stay there forever. 

But after a few beats, Joaquín lifts his head slowly, mouth brushing over your dress on the way up, trailing heat with every inch. His hands slide up your thighs, over your hips, gripping tight as he rises. 

You meet him halfway. 

Your fingers sink into his hair. Your body moulds to his. Breath mingling. Lips so close—so heartbreakingly close—you could count the seconds before they meet. You can feel the heat of him, taste the want on his breath. 

His mouth hovers over yours, a whisper away. The music fades. The crowd vanishes. It’s just him. Just you. Just this. 

Then—he pauses. 

His eyes flicker. Something cracks beneath the surface—heat, hesitation, hunger. 

And he pulls back. 

Not far. Not fast. Just enough to tear the moment in half. His gaze locks on yours, sharp and steady, full of something unspoken. A promise, maybe. Or a warning. You’re not sure which—only that it leaves you aching. 

Your breath catches. Your chest tightens. You blink up at him, dizzy, throat thick, trying to smile like it hasn’t cost you something. 

He leans in again, lips grazing your cheek—not your mouth—and whispers, “Sam’s clear.” 

You nod—barely, heart pounding so loud it drowns out the music. 

Then he steps back, slow and sure, every muscle coiled like he’s holding something back. 

You follow his lead, putting just enough distance between you to play the part. You sway with the rhythm��two agents, two dancers, nothing more. 

But your body still burns. 

And the ghost of his mouth still lingers, like a secret you’ll never know. 

Eventually, Joaquín leads you off the dancefloor and toward the bar, his hand warm and steady at your lower back. 

Eyes follow you—hungry, speculative. You feel them trailing over your thighs, your back, the glitter of your dress. Men watch like they’re waiting for their turn, like they saw the performance and think it was an invitation. But you don’t care. You’re too distracted by the phantom of Joaquín’s mouth, the ache of something unfinished still pulsing behind your ribs. 

At the bar, he flags the bartender down with a subtle nod and orders for both of you—something cold and sharp that might steady your nerves. You rest your hands on the counter, trying to slow your breathing, trying not to look at him, trying not to feel too much. 

“Pretty bold dance out there,” a voice says beside you, too close. 

You turn your head to find a stranger leaning in, all confidence and cologne, eyes skimming your neckline like he owns it. 

“How about a private encore?” 

Before you can respond, Joaquín shifts. Not aggressively. Not even visibly angry. But his body angles between you and the guy with a quiet finality, one arm draping casually across the bar behind you. 

“She’s not available,” he says, voice low but pointed. 

The stranger laughs like he’s not threatened—like he hasn’t realised the mistake he's made. “Didn’t look like that a minute ago. Looked like she was auditioning.” 

You barely see Joaquín move. Just the way his jaw tenses, the slight twitch of his fingers curling at the bar, the heat rolling off him in waves. But it’s enough. 

You touch his arm gently. “We should go.” 

He doesn’t look at you right away, not until the guy finally backs off, muttering something under his breath as he fades back into the crowd. Then Joaquín turns, his gaze softer now—but his hand is still tight on your waist. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Let’s go.” 

Getting out of the club, into the night, and down the street is all a blur. Your feet move, but your mind is still back on that dancefloor—on Joaquín’s wandering hands, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes burning. 

Your chest aches at the memory of his mouth hovering over yours. Close enough to taste. Close enough to make you believe. He could’ve kissed you. He should have. He was going to. But he didn’t. 

And you can’t stop asking yourself why. 

By the time you reach the van parked a few blocks away in a shadowy side street, you’re grateful one of you is paying attention, because you don’t even remember the walk. 

Joaquín opens the passenger door and helps you in like you’re breakable—like you’re something valuable that needs securing. He reaches across and buckles you in, knuckles brushing your thigh in the process, lingering just a second too long. 

Then he’s gone again—door shut, around the van, into the driver's seat. He jams the key in, turns the engine, and starts reversing slowly out of the alley. Like nothing ever happened. Like you didn’t just nearly shatter years of friendship in a single, heated moment. 

You stare out the window while he drives, lost in your thoughts and the lingering warmth of him on your skin—sweat, spice, and something that feels specifically made for you. Something that makes your heart race and your knees weak. 

“Where did you learn that?” he asks suddenly, voice low and rough. 

You frown, turning to face him. And God, is it a sight. Flushed cheeks, sweat-damp skin, eyes glittering even in the dark. 

You clear your throat. “Learn what?” 

“What you said to me,” he says, glancing at you before turning back to the road. “When we were dancing.” 

“Oh.” You shift in your seat, dragging your gaze away from him. “Just one of those songs you always play.” 

“Right,” he mutters. “Do… do you know what it means?” 

There’s a beat. Only the soft hum of tires on asphalt fills the silence. 

Then you murmur, “Daddy, oh, how delicious you are.” 

His breath hitches. His knuckles go white around the steering wheel. 

You wait another beat before adding, “That’s right, yeah?” 

He nods. “Right.” 

He shifts in his seat—subtle, but telling—and you don’t dare let your eyes drop to his lap. 

He clears his throat. “The—uh—the pronunciation was good. Accent could use some work.” 

You snort—sharp and dry. “Thanks for the feedback. I’ll be sure to pencil in some extra Spanish practice.” 

“Let me know if you need a tutor,” he says, smirking now. 

Your heart thuds—heavy, too hard. You want to tease back. You want to slip into the familiar rhythm, the easy banter. But you can’t. Because now you’re confused, and a little wrecked, and everything feels off. 

“Oh, you don’t have time for that these days, Falcon,” you say, forcing a lightness you don’t feel. “I’m sure Gabe or Ceilia would be happy to give me lessons.” 

Two of the engineers you’ve often heard Joaquín arguing with in lightning-fast Spanish. 

“Gabe or Ceilia?” he repeats, tone unreadable, eyes fixed on the road. 

You don’t answer. You’re not sure what you could say. 

So you just turn your head back to the window, watching the quiet city blur by, willing yourself not to cry. Not yet. 

Not until you’re alone. 

- 

You wake up to a bright streak of sun slashing across your face. 

Your eyes are sticky—thanks to all the tears—and your body aches. You stretch your legs out and roll onto your back, careful not to slip off the couch cushions you curled up on last night. 

After regrouping at the office, both Sam and Joaquín offered to drive you home. You declined them separately—telling each you’d already agreed to leave with the other. It took some careful phrasing and a few weirdly timed trips out the front door, but it worked. And eventually, you were left alone. 

You stripped out of your dress and showered—because of course Sam has a shower at the office—before changing into a spare set of clothes you keep in case of emergency. Which, as it turned out, meant an old pair of loose gym shorts and one of Joaquín’s worn Air Force shirts. 

Then you settled in front of your computer and worked until it felt like your eyes were bleeding. You filed mission reports, checked maintenance logs, combed through security footage, and even tried digging deeper into Matías Navarro. But by four a.m., you were in Sam and Joaquín’s office, curled up on the low blue lounges and crying yourself to sleep. 

Partly from exhaustion. 

Partly from heartbreak. 

Mostly because you have no idea what to do about Joaquín Torres now. 

The sound of your phone vibrating against the table forces you to sit up. You rub at your eyes, yawn widely, and reach for it, flipping it over to see Joaquín’s goofy caller ID photo lighting up the screen. 

You stare at it, gnawing on lower lip until the call ends. Then a notification pops up—missed call from Joaquín—followed by a flurry of texts asking how you are, where you are, and if you want to hang out today. 

It’s Sunday. Which means usually, you’d be dragging him to a market or a movie—something sickeningly wholesome, the kind of thing real couples do on their days off. But you’re not a real couple. You never were. And you really need to remember that. 

So you slip the phone into your pocket without replying, deciding to do it later—when you’re less raw. 

With a heavy sigh, you push off the couch and head for your own office, pausing only to start up the coffee machine on the way. You wake your computer, rubbing at your temples as the screen flickers to life. While you slept, it’s been classifying intel, parsing Navarro’s comms for patterns, links, anything actionable. And surprisingly, it’s found some. 

Good. Now you have something to show Sam so he doesn’t kill you for working all weekend. 

You skim the new data for a few minutes before deciding that no amount of international weapons trafficking can be dealt with without caffeine. You’re halfway out your office door when— 

The alarm blares. 

You flinch. “Fuck!” 

Then you jog down the hall, push through the doors into reception, and swing around the desk. You punch your code into the alarm panel and silence the sirens—leaving only the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears. 

The system has been glitching for weeks—tripping randomly, resetting itself, spamming your phones with false alerts. But still, you drop into the chair and run a security check just in case, scanning for any open doors or tripped sensors. 

Once you get the all clear, you sigh and head back to the kitchen—now in desperate need of that goddamn coffee. 

You spend the next half hour glued to your screens, sipping coffee like it’s oxygen and stretching your sore back every five minutes. You’re so deep in the data that you don’t even hear your office door open. 

Not until— 

“Did you sleep here, cariño?” 

You jump, knocking your chair back a couple inches and sending your coffee mug clattering across your desk. 

“Shit, Joaquín,” you mutter, reaching for the tissues. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles, stepping in and snatching the box before you can. 

Luckily, the mug was nearly empty. There’s only a small puddle to mop up—which he does for you, dabbing at the spill with a clump of tissues, careful not to let anything touch your electronics. 

“There,” he says, tossing the wad into the bin. “Now, are you gonna answer me?” 

You frown. “Answer what?” 

He rolls his eyes and sits on the edge of your desk, invading your space and flooding your senses with the sharp, fresh scent of his cologne. He’s clearly just showered, and God, it’s almost rude how good he smells. 

“Did you sleep here?” 

Your cheeks burn. “Maybe.” 

His smile fades, eyes narrowing. “You told me Sam was taking you home.” 

“And I told Sam you were taking me home.” 

“So you lied.” 

You shrug. “Embellished.” 

He groans, tipping his head back. “Por Dios, me vas a matar algún día.” 

You squint up at him, lips pursed. “Something about God and dying?” 

He looks back at you, amused now. “You really need those Spanish lessons, mi amor.” 

“Well,” you sigh, dragging your eyes back to your screen, “I’ll try to squeeze it in, but I’m a field agent now. My time is valuable.” 

He chuckles again, low and warm, and shifts on the desk—just enough for his body to inch closer. Close enough to feel. Close enough to make your skin heat and your heart race. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” you ask, forcing yourself not to look at him. 

“The alarm went off,” he says, holding up his phone. “Then I checked whose code turned it off and saw that you’re working. On a Sunday. You know Sam’s going to kill you, right?” 

You frown at your screen. “So if you figured I was working… why are you here? To watch me type?” 

He pauses, eyes fixed on you. You feel the weight of it, even as you refuse to meet his gaze. He knows something is off. He’s not stupid. He probably knows you better than you know yourself—and this? This isn’t normal. Not your usual rhythm. Not your usual banter. 

“Actually,” he says, sliding off the desk. “I’m here for your Spanish lesson.” 

That gets your attention. 

You glance up, brows pinched. “What are you talking about?” 

He moves toward the small whiteboard on the wall beside your desk and plucks the marker from the tray. 

“Joaquín,” you sigh, spinning in your chair to face him. “I don’t want a Spanish—” 

“Ah,” he cuts in, brow raised. “En español.” 

You give him a deadpan look. “I don’t know it en español.” 

He smirks. “Then it sounds like you really do need a lesson.” 

You exhale hard and lean back in your chair, crossing your arms and then your legs. “Go on, then. Maestro.” 

His eyes light up. “Muy buena, cariño. Now you’re getting it.” 

You don’t reply. You just stare at him, lips pressed into a flat, unimpressed line. 

He turns to the whiteboard and scribbles a phrase. You try not to look at his forearm as it flexes with each stroke of the marker—but God, it’s hard not to. 

“Alright,” he says, turning back with a smirk. “Go on.” 

You squint at the words, digging through years of memories—listening to Joaquín talk, watching him text his mother, the cheeky little notes he used to write in your birthday cards. 

“Estás... muy... guapo... hoy,” you say slowly. 

He chuckles, stepping closer. “It’s not ‘ess-tass.’ Loosen your tongue, cariño. Eh-stás. More breath. Less bite.” 

You roll your eyes, but try again. “Estás muy... guapo... hoy.” 

“Don’t chew it,” he says, folding his arms—and Jesus, do his biceps have to be so distracting? “It’s not gwaah-po. It’s cleaner. Crisper. Guapo. Let the ‘g’ glide. The ‘o’ is round. Like your mouth when you—” 

He stops—and laughs quietly, eyes gleaming. 

“Never mind. Try again.” 

You scowl at the board, determined not to let his arms—or his mouth—throw you off. 

“Estás muy guapo hoy.” 

He doesn’t say anything at first—just looks at you. Then that slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. 

“Eso, mi amor,” he says. “You’re getting it.” 

Your lips twitch, but you don’t let him see it. You roll them together and raise your brows instead—quietly daring him to give you the next one. 

He turns back to the board and quietly writes out three more phrases. Each scribbled letter winds the tension tighter, threading the air with heat and anticipation—but you don’t know why. Not yet. You recognise some words, sure, but you can’t piece together the full sentences. 

“Me vuelves loco,” he says, overpronouncing it like a smug high school Spanish teacher. 

You sit up a little straighter, arms still folded tight across your chest, and echo, “Me vuelves loco.” 

He quirks an eyebrow. “Bien. De nuevo.” 

You know he’s just told you to say it again—more from the look on his face than his words. 

“Tell me what I’m saying first.” 

He grins, eyes darkening with something dangerous. “You drive me crazy.” 

Your breath hitches, pulse spiking—but you manage to keep your cool. 

“Me vuelves loco,” you repeat. 

He nods. “Very good, cariño. Next one?” 

You drag your gaze away from his stupidly handsome face—ridiculous facial hair still perfectly intact—and squint at the next phrase. You don’t recognise it. 

“Ponte… de… rodillas?” 

He chuckles—low, throaty—and steps forward, stopping directly in front of you. “It’s not a question, mi amor. Say it like you mean it.” 

Your brow furrows as you look past him at the board. 

“Ponte… de rodillas.” 

He moves closer, voice dropping. “The ‘r’—you’re swallowing it. It should roll. Just a little. Ro-dí-llas. You’re saying it too flat.” 

You try again. “Ponte de… rodillas.” 

He tsks. “Softer on the ‘ll’. It’s not rod-ee-yas, it’s ro-dee-yas. Let it melt. Let it glide off your tongue.” 

You give him a look. “If you think I’m going to get turned on by grammar—” 

“Not grammar,” he smirks. “Just me.” 

You roll your eyes—but he’s stepping even closer now, towering over you, eyes gleaming with that same reckless hunger he wore last night. 

“Say it right,” he murmurs, “and maybe I’ll listen.” 

“Listen?” 

He nods once. “Maybe I’ll do what you’re telling me to do.” 

You’re breathing harder now, your chest rising and falling beneath crossed arms. Your legs feel heavy, unsteady—too tense to stay crossed—so you shift in your chair, uncrossing them as Joaquín watches every movement like a predator tracking prey. 

“Look me in the eye,” he says softly. “Say it again. And mean it.” 

You clear your throat and meet his gaze. “Ponte de rodillas.” 

There’s a beat—one, long charged second where he just stares. 

Then—he sinks to his knees. 

His hands slide up your thighs as he settles between them, a wicked smirk curling his lips. He looks entirely too pleased with himself—and something else. Something darker. 

“See?” he murmurs. “Estoy de rodillas por ti, mi amor.” 

Your heart is in your throat, pulse pounding like a war drum. It fills your ears, thrums beneath your skin. Every nerve ending burns where his hands rest—just above your knees—like he's branding you. 

“Next one,” he murmurs, leaning in. 

Your voice catches before you can speak. You’re frozen, eyes locked on him as he lowers his face between your thighs, gaze fixed at the apex. 

You force yourself to look away—back to the board—blinking until the letters come into focus. 

“I… I don’t know.” 

“Just try it, baby,” he says, breath hot against the tender skin inside your thigh. 

You swallow, voice shaking. “N-Necesito… sentirte… adentro.” 

He draws a sharp breath, jaw tightening like he’s barely holding himself together. His hands slide higher, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shorts. 

Your whole body tenses. 

“Joaquín, I—” 

“Uh uh.” He pulls back slightly, just enough to make you ache. “Dilo de nuevo.” 

You blink down at him. “What?” 

“Say it again,” he murmurs, dark eyes dragging up to meet yours. “And I’ll reward you.” 

Your head spins. He’s still there, between your legs, looking at you like you’re something holy and wreckable all at once. This has to be a dream. There’s no way this is real. 

But the heat is real. The ache. The want. 

“Necesito,” you say slowly, breath shaky, “se—sentirte adentro.” 

He groans low, sliding his hands higher, fingertips brushing the edge of your panties. 

“Better,” he mutters. “But I know you can do it right, cariño.” 

You clutch the arms of your desk chair, grounding yourself, trying not to move. Trying not to beg. 

“Necesito sentirte… adentro.” 

His hands move again—slow and sure—one hand pushing your shorts aside, the other tracing down your centre, teasing along the fabric of your panties. He lets out a deep sigh before pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs, moving higher with each wet press of his lips. 

“Better,” he mutters against you. “But it’s not ‘sen-teer-teh’—you’re flattening the ‘i’. It’s sentir—longer. Feel it in your throat. Let it roll.” 

His thumb drags gently along the crease between your thigh and your core, teasing the elastic. 

“You want it?” he whispers. “Say it right.” 

Your grip tightens on the arms of your chair. You close your eyes, suck in a breath, and try again—voice lower now, weighted with need. 

“Necesito… sentirte adentro.” 

A sound escapes him—almost a growl—and he dips lower, mouthing you through the fabric. You gasp, hips twitching. The heat of his breath, the shape of his mouth—it’s overwhelming. 

“Good girl,” he says softly, lips dragging over you. “Almost perfect.” 

You whimper, your body arching involuntarily. “Tell me,” you whisper. “Tell me how to say it.” 

He chuckles against you, the vibration sharp and sinful. “You’re rushing it. Slow down. Let me hear you want it.” 

His hands are steady on your thighs now, anchoring you open as his mouth hovers just above your pussy. Breath hot, cheeks flushed, dark eyes locked with yours—waiting. 

You draw a breath, forcing your voice to steady, and say, “Necesito sentirte adentro.” 

“Sí,” he groans. “Eso es todo, mi amor.” 

Then his fingers hook around the fabric of your panties and shove it aside. His mouth is on you just as quick, tongue hot and slick and merciless as he finally rewards you—lapping at your wetness like a man starved. 

You break—letting out a broken cry. One hand flies to his hair, threading through the curls, while the other grips the edge of your desk. Your hips lift into him as his broad tongue licks a slow stripe from entrance to clit. He groans into you, the vibration sending sparks shooting up your spine. 

Your thighs shake, breath coming hard and fast, but Joaquín doesn’t let up. He works his tongue in slow, devastating circles around your clit—just light enough to drive you insane, just heavy enough to make you twitch with every pass. Then he flattens it and licks up again, long and firm, before closing his mouth around your clit and sucking—slow, purposeful, obscene. 

“Así,” he growls into you, voice low and ruined. “Así me gusta verte.” 

Your hips buck. Your fingers tighten in his curls. 

“Joaquín—” 

He slides one hand higher, fingertips trailing over your inner thigh before gliding straight to your entrance. He drags two fingers through your folds—slow, deliberate, torturous—coating them in your slick, collecting the wetness, then finally pushes in. One knuckle, then two, sinking deep into your heat, his breath catching as he feels how ready you are. 

You gasp—sharp and high-pitched—and he groans into you like the taste is making him drunk. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs against your cunt. “Mierda.” 

You whimper something incoherent, every nerve in your body screaming, and he curls his fingers just right—hooking them inside you, hitting that spongey spot that makes your thighs spasm and your mouth fall open. 

And still, his tongue doesn’t stop. He licks and sucks and flicks, lips wrapped around your clit like a prayer, and when he groans into you—low and wrecked—it sends a full-body shudder straight through you.  

“Say it again,” he pants, fingers pumping deep and slow. “Say it. Dímelo otra vez.” 

You’re half gone—hips jerking forward, body sliding closer to the edge with every wet, filthy sound echoing between your thighs. 

You choke on your breath, trembling as you manage to say, “Necesito sentirte adentro.” 

He growls—honest-to-God growls—and his fingers speed up, curling faster, thumb brushing your clit just as his lips close around it again. 

“Buena chica,” he rasps. “I’m going to make you cum with my mouth, with my fingers—todo lo que me pidas.” 

Then he sucks—hard. One long, deep pull with tongue and fingers working in tandem, filthy and focused and fucking lethal. 

You cry out, hips bucking, the hand on his hair holding him against you as you grind on his mouth. 

He groans into the mess he’s made, lapping it up like it’s sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, fucking you with his fingers while his tongue traces lazy, hungry circles. 

Your body shakes. You grip his hair like a lifeline, breath shattered. 

“Joaquín,” you pant, tugging on his curls. “Joaquín, I need—I need—” 

“Gonna cum, baby?” he murmurs, curling his fingers again. “Gonna cum on my tongue?” 

You let out a strangled moan as he licks you again, the tip of his tongue swirling around your clit as his fingers pump in and out with an obscene squelching sound. 

“Joaquín,” you say again, firmer this time. 

His eyes flick up, meeting yours. 

“Necesito sentirte adentro.” 

He freezes. Everything stops. His fingers stop mid-thrust and he just stares at you, lips glistening, eyes wide. 

“Joaquín Torres,” you say, breathless, chest heaving. “I need you inside me. Right fucking now.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares up at you like you’ve broken something in him—something sacred. 

Then, slowly—deliberately—he pulls his fingers from your body and rises to his full height. 

You whimper, aching at the loss, feeling hollow. 

His face is flushed. His lips are swollen and slick. He looks wrecked, staring down at you now with wide eyes and an expression so raw it makes your chest tighten. 

“Are you sure, cariño?” he asks, voice quieter now. “We don’t have to. I—” 

“I’m in love with you,” you say, rising from your chair to stand in front of him, a small, sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “And I’d really like it if you fucked me right now.” 

He just stares. Lips parted. Eyes wide. Brows drawn like he’s trying not to cry or laugh or do both at once. 

Then, slowly, his lips curl into that familiar grin. The one you know too well. The one you love more than anything else on Earth. 

“I knew it,” he says. “I fucking knew it.” 

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “Oh, did you now?” 

He nods, arms sliding around your waist, pulling your body flush to his. “Why do you think I just gave you the best head of your life?” 

Your brows lift, and a laugh bubbles from your throat despite yourself. “Of my life?” 

He nods again, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. 

“I don’t know,” you murmur, gaze dipping to that stupid moustache—still glistening with your slick, making your thighs clench. “I didn’t even cum…” 

His grin drops, and he growls. A deep, guttural sound—low in his throat and hot on your skin—as his hands flex around your waist. Then in one fast, fluid motion, he twists your bodies and slams you back against the desk. 

You gasp, hands flying to grip the edge for balance. But before you can speak, his mouth is on yours. 

And fuck. 

It’s not sweet. It’s not soft. It’s not careful. 

It’s years of holding back, years of wanting, all pouring out in one searing, breath-stealing kiss. His lips crash against yours, tongue demanding entry, teeth nipping at your lower lip like he’s angry he waited this long. 

Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer, tighter, until there’s nothing between you but heat and desperation. He kisses like he wants to devour you—like he’s trying to rewrite every second you spent not doing this. 

His hands fumble at your waist, tugging at your shorts, pulling them down as you shift your hips to help. Once they fall to the floor, he starts yanking at his belt with shaking fingers. 

“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, breath ragged. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you—for so long—” 

You reach down to help, fingers brushing his as you undo his fly and push his pants and briefs down just far enough. His cock springs free, thick and flushed and already leaking against his stomach. 

Your hand wraps around him on instinct—hot, hard, pulsing in your grip—and he curses again, burying his face in your neck. 

You stroke once. Twice. Just enough to hear him moan against your throat. 

Then—he pulls back, eyes wild, teeth clenched as he grabs the base and drags himself over your still-covered core. Nothing but the soaking wet scrap of lace left between you. 

“Feel that?” he rasps. “That’s what you do to me.” 

He pushes again, the thick head of his cock dragging over your clit through the soaked fabric, the pressure maddening. Your hips jerk, mouth falling open. 

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, dragging the tip down your slit again. “You’re so fucking wet.” 

Your hand grips the desk, the other tangled in his curls as you breathe out, “Joaquín—please—” 

He looks at you like a man on the verge of losing control. Then he nudges your nose with his, resting his forehead against yours, breath mingling, eyes blazing. 

“Say it again,” he breathes. “One more time. Necesito sentirte adentro.” 

Your breath shudders as your eyes lock on his, your voice barely more than a whisper—raw, pleading. “Necesito sentirte adentro.” 

He groans—low, filthy, possessive—and grabs your thighs, lifting you onto the edge of the desk so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs. Then his hands are under your shirt—palms searing as they skim your stomach, over your ribs, until they find your bra. 

Without hesitation, he shoves it up—then your shirt—baring your breasts. He groans, deep and guttural, eyes locking on you. “Fucking perfect,” he mutters, voice reverent and wrecked. 

His mouth latches to your chest, hot tongue flicking over your nipple before his lips wrap around it and suck—hard. His other hand is already at your soaked panties, pulling them to the side again, and you feel the head of his cock notch against your entrance. 

“Please,” you gasp, one hand tangled in his hair, the other clawing at his bare back. “Joaquín—now.” 

He lifts his head, eyes burning, forehead resting against yours again. 

“You want me?” he asks, cock dragging along your folds. “You want every inch?” 

You nod, breathless, trembling. “Yes. I want you to fill me up. I need to feel you inside.” 

He curses under his breath, grips your waist, and thrusts forward. 

All the air leaves your lungs in a strangled cry as he slides inside—slow, thick, relentless. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, your bodies pressed tight, his mouth open against your throat. 

“Jesus, baby,” he groans, “you feel so fucking good. So warm. So tight. So perfect around me.” 

You whimper, legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him deeper—closer. He starts to move, hips rolling forward, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before driving back in with a filthy, wet sound that echoes in the office. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, nails raking down his back. “Just like that—don’t stop.” 

“I’m not stopping,” he growls, thrusting harder now. “Not until you scream my name. Not until everyone in this damn city knows you’re mine.” 

His hand slides up again, squeezing your breast, thumb flicking your nipple as he pistons into you—faster, deeper, every stroke hitting that spot that makes your vision go white at the edges. 

“You’re gonna cum for me now,” he pants, “and I’m gonna feel every second of it. You hear me?” 

You nod—wild, breathless—but it’s not enough. 

He thrusts hard, dragging a moan from your throat. Again. And again. Every push deeper, rougher, angling just right. Your head tips back, your hands scrambling for purchase—on the desk, on his shoulders, anywhere. 

“Fuck, Joaquín—” you gasp, already so close. 

But suddenly, he stops. 

Buried to the hilt and breathing like he ran a marathon, he stills, chest heaving. 

“Look at me,” he growls, his hand catching your chin and forcing your gaze to his. “I said look at me.” 

Your eyes snap open, dazed and wide, vision blurred. 

“I fucking love you, cariño,” he says—raw, desperate. “So fucking much. You feel that?” He rolls his hips, just once, dragging a broken sob from your lips. “That’s what love feels like. Me, inside you, losing my fucking mind.” 

You whimper, thighs trembling around his waist, and he doesn’t wait. He starts to move again—deep and punishing, hitting every spot that makes you see stars. 

“Tell me you love me,” he growls, one hand sliding up under your shirt again to squeeze your breast, fingers pinching your nipple until you're writhing. “Tell me, baby. Say it.” 

“I love you,” you gasp, voice breaking as he thrusts deeper, harder. “Fuck, Joaquín—I love you—I love you—” 

“That’s it,” he mutters, pressing his forehead to yours, fucking you like he means it—like he needs it. “Say it again.” 

“I love you.” 

His mouth crashes to yours mid-moan, swallowing the sound as he pounds into you, the desk rattling beneath your ass, every stroke sending shocks of heat down your spine. You can feel it building—tight and dangerous—coiling deep in your core like a spring about to snap. 

“You gonna cum for me, mi amor?” he rasps, lips dragging along your jaw as his thrusts start to stutter. “Gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?” 

Your entire body is shaking, one hand in his curls, the other clawing down his back as you choke out, “Yes—yes, I’m so close—don’t stop—” 

“I won’t,” he promises, voice wrecked. “Not until I feel you lose it. I want it all, baby. Cada maldita gota.” 

His hand slides down your torso, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, filthy circles in perfect rhythm with his hips. The pressure hits you like lightning—sharp, electric, blinding. 

“Oh my God, Joaquín—" 

You break. 

You fall apart. 

Your orgasm hits with devastating force, tearing through you in waves, pulsing around him as he groans—loud, low, carnal. He thrusts once, twice more, then stills inside you with a harsh, broken shout of your name, spilling deep as he holds you close like he’ll never let you go. 

You’re both panting, chests heaving, grinding slowly to ride out the high and clinging to each other in the aftershock—sweat-slicked, breathless, totally undone. 

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just presses a soft kiss to your temple and stays buried deep inside you. 

“I’m so fucking in love with you, it hurts,” he whispers. 

You let out a breathless laugh—half delirious, half disbelieving—and tip your head up to look at him. His hair is a mess, his face flushed, his lips swollen from kissing you stupid. He looks wrecked. Ruined. Beautiful. 

“I can’t feel my legs,” you murmur. 

He grins, still inside you, still pressed so close you can feel his heartbeat hammering through his chest. 

“Good,” he says, smug and a little dazed. “Means I did my job.” 

You smack his shoulder, giggling now, and he catches your wrist—pressing a kiss to your palm, then the inside of your elbow, then the curve of your jaw. 

“You’re such an idiot,” you say, fingers carding through his curls while his lips assault your neck. 

His nose nuzzles into your skin. “Yeah,” he whispers, “but I’m your idiot.” 

“God help me,” you mumble, smiling into his shoulder. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression so open it makes your stomach flip. “You okay?” he asks, voice low and sincere. “Not just physically—I mean, really.” 

You nod, heart suddenly so full you feel like it might burst. “Yeah. I’m better than okay.” 

His smile softens. “Good. Because I’m not pulling out until I get at least one more necesito sentirte adentro.” 

You bark a laugh, head falling back. “You’re insatiable.” 

He shrugs, hips shifting just enough to make you gasp. “And you’re going to be fluent soon.” 

You tip your head forward, looking at him through your lashes, voice dropping to a sultry murmur. “Necesito sentirte adentro.” 

“God,” he groans, dropping his forehead to yours. “Vas a ser mi muerte.” 

He rolls his hips again, and you suck in a breath—he’s still hard, still thick and hot, dragging through your slick with maddening pressure. Your fingers twist tighter in his hair as you lift your chin and kiss him—hard and soft all at once, pouring everything into it. 

But then— 

You stop. And pull back. 

That sharp little ache flares behind your ribs, reminding you why you were in this office on a Sunday in the first place. Why you cried yourself to sleep. Why you weren’t even sure you could look at Joaquín today, let alone fuck him. 

He blinks, brow creasing. “What’s wrong, mi vida?” 

“Last night,” you murmur, eyes dropping to where your hand is fisted in his shirt. “Why didn’t you kiss me?” 

He gently hooks a finger beneath your chin, guiding your gaze back to his. “On the dancefloor?” 

You nod slowly. 

“I didn’t kiss you on that dancefloor in front of a hundred criminals because I didn’t want our first kiss to be undercover,” he says softly. “Didn’t want you thinking it was just for show.” 

“Oh.” Your lips twitch into a smile. 

He chuckles, soft and low. “Is that why you were upset? Because I almost kissed you and didn’t?” 

You nod again, slower this time. Cheeks burning, heart thudding. 

“Oh, mi amor,” he sighs, voice warm with laughter. “What am I going to do with you?” 

“Well,” you murmur, fingers curling tighter in his hair, “you could start by fucking me again.” 

That’s all the encouragement he needs. His lips are back on yours in a second, hips rolling forward, his hard length pushing into you with the most delicious stretch. You moan against his mouth, hiking your legs up higher around his waist to feel him deeper. 

His hands grip your hips with bruising intensity, searing fingerprints into your skin—marks you know will make you squeeze your thighs every time you see them. 

And then— 

Ping! 

The sound of your phone cuts through the soft whisper of skin on skin. Neither of you can help but glance at it, sitting screen-up on the desk right beside where Joaquín is fucking you slowly. 

“What’s that?” he asks, eyes narrowing. 

“Just a motion alert,” you reply. “I set it up a while ago when I was working a lot of weekends because Sam would come in and scare the crap out of me.” You look back at him, eyes trailing over his face so close to yours. “Doesn’t help though. I didn’t see the notification when you came in.” 

He frowns. “So it alerts you when someone enters the building?” 

“Yep.” 

“Right.” His eyes flick to the phone, then back to you. “So... someone just entered the building?” 

Your eyes go wide. “Fuck.” 

You grab the phone and unlock it with shaky fingers, bringing up the security system app and quickly flicking through the camera feeds until you find movement. 

Your breath catches. “It’s Sam.” 

“Shit,” Joaquín hisses, pulling out so quickly it leaves you winded. 

You let out a pathetic little whine, and he can’t help but chuckle as he fumbles with his pants. 

“Later, baby. I promise,” he says, stealing one last kiss. “But Sam is going to be here in a few seconds, and he’s going to know what just happened in here if we don’t—” 

Knock, knock, knock. 

“You in there, kid?” 

You both whip toward the door, seeing Sam’s blurred silhouette through the frosted glass. 

“Quick, cariño,” Joaquín whispers, helping you off the desk. 

You scramble into your shorts, yank your bra and shirt into place, then turn to Joaquín, raking your fingers through his wild curls—both of you stifling laughter like love-drunk fools trying to clean up a crime scene. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

“I can hear you.” 

You clear your throat, nod at Joaquín, and step around the desk toward the door. As you grab the handle, you glance back—and spot a little pool of evidence on the desk. 

“Joaquín,” you hiss, pointing at it. 

His eyes go wide, and he quickly sits on it, trying to look casual—as if he hadn’t just been buried inside you right there thirty seconds ago. 

Then you yank the door open, plastering on your most innocent smile. 

“Hey, Sam!” you say, probably a little too brightly. 

His hand was poised to knock again, but he drops it slowly, eyes narrowing as they bounce between you and Joaquín. 

“Hi,” he says, slow and suspicious, stepping into the room. 

You shuffle back toward the desk, sliding in beside Joaquín, praying to any god that might listen that Sam can’t read the Spanish on the goddamn whiteboard. 

“What are you two doing?” Sam asks, brows raised. 

“Working,” you both say, in perfect unison. 

Sam cocks his head, clearly unconvinced. “Really? On a Sunday?” 

You nod. “Yep. I was running data on Navarro all night and found a few leads. He frequents this deli in Washington Heights, owned by—” 

“Why does it smell weird in here?” Sam interrupts, sniffing the air like a police dog. 

“Weird how?” Joaquín asks. “I came straight from the gym, so if it’s sweat, that’s probably—” 

“Did you two have sex in here?” Sam exclaims, eyes wide—locked on that fucking whiteboard. 

“No,” you say quickly. “I was learning Spanish. Joaquín was teaching me—” 

“I know what that says,” he cuts in, pointing at it, brows drawn and lips pursed like he’s trying not to gag. 

“I was just being funny,” Joaquín says, tone light. “Nothing happened.” 

Sam raises a brow. “Oh, okay. So if I check the security footage, it’s not going to show anything?” 

Your heart lurches, your cheeks burn, and you turn toward Joaquín, burying your face in his chest with a groan. 

You hadn’t even thought about that stupid little security camera in the corner of your office. 

“I knew it!” Sam cries. “I can’t believe you two. This is a place of work,” he goes on, already climbing onto his high horse. “You just violated my trust—and the trust of everyone on this team. This is an environment for professionalism, not sex. I can’t believe you’d do something so reckless, so—” 

“Didn’t you bring a date back here the weekend after we started operating?” Joaquín asks suddenly, brows raised. 

You lift your head, blinking. “Oh my God. You did! What was her name—Kylie? Casey?” 

Sam freezes. His expression drops. 

“You know,” Joaquín continues, turning to you, “we could probably find the footage from that night. I think I remember the date.” 

“Wouldn’t take long,” you add, grinning now. “Could scrub through it before we erase ours.” 

“Okay!” Sam blurts, throwing up a hand. “Okay. You heathens win.” 

Joaquín grins, wide and smug, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. 

“Go through the cameras,” Sam instructs, already backing toward the door. “Delete the footage. Both incidents.” 

“No offense, Sam,” you mutter, grimacing, “I really don’t want to see that.” 

“I’ll do it,” Joaquín says cheerfully. “I’m actually a little curious about how Captain America—” 

“Enough,” Sam snaps, pointing at Joaquín—but the twitch in his lips betrays him. “Do it. Go home. Take tomorrow off. Hell, take the whole week if you’re going to be all over each other like this. Just don’t defile any more government property.” 

Then he’s gone. Out the door and down the hall, muttering something about kids these days. 

Joaquín hops off the desk and wraps his arms around you, smiling like a sinner who just got a free pass to heaven. 

“You think we should keep a copy?” he asks, eyes gleaming. “I bet it’s hot.” 

Your thighs clench instinctively, and you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Oh, definitely. And Sam’s too—for blackmail. Just in case.” 

Joaquín laughs. “God. Could you imagine if Captain America’s sex tape got leaked?” 

“Might boost his approval rating,” you snort, moving to slide into your chair. 

He stands behind you while you pull up the security system app, his arms around your shoulders, lips brushing over your hair again and again. 

He murmurs it at first—I love you, I love you, I love you—until the words melt into Spanish, growing filthier, hungrier. You can’t understand all of it, but it doesn’t matter. 

Because you’ll make him teach you. 

Slowly. Thoroughly. 

Between your legs. All fucking night. 

END.

[siri-ike]

It felt like... whatever the opposite of a chill up the spine felt like. But still in a negative way. A familiar way.

Danny stared blankly at the screen. "Dan."

"Yeah?"

"Did you feel something? Just now?"

"No." Dan waved his hand in front of Danny's face.

Danny looked at Dan. His eyes pierced through his soul. "I see rich people."

_____

Steph opened a locker and reported in. "I've infiltrated the high school. No one's caught on yet."

"Steph, they think you are a 17 year old girl in a high school. Which you are. Stop acting like you're fooling someone."

"Dun-dadadadandan, dun-dun-dun-dadadandandan." She hummed the James Bond theme. "Wait, hush, they're coming." She eavesdroped on the boy, matching their description.

"It was kinda fun in a necromancy sort of way." He said.

Stephs wrist computer determined the voice was a match.

"For the hundredth time. Necromancy does not mean romance with a dead person. If she likes you, then it's necrophilea."

Another match?

_____

Danny and Dan decided to cut through a public park while walking home from school. Dan rushed straight to the tree he'd wanted to show to Danny and pointed at a large cluster of sticks in its branches.

"Wow." Danny amazed. "That is a whole ass vulture in the middle of Amity Park."

"I know." Dan was so cute when he was excited. No wonder people forger he was genocidal once (twice).

"What kind is it?"

"It's a turkey vulture. They're native, but it's still rare to see them in cities. Black vultures also live in Pennsylvania, but they have gray heads, whereas turkey vultures have that pinkish red color. They also have an incredible sense of smell, they can-"

"Hello." A black haired, blue-eyed, thick, shapely eyebrow having man bravely interrupted Dan's info dump to his own great detriment. "There are two of you, are you twins."

"Are you suiciadal?"

Danny quickly got in between Dan and the stranger. "Yes, we are. Is there a reason you've chosen to interrupt our conversation?" Ok, Danny may not be nice, but at least he didn't commit war crimes at the slightest sent of rich blood.

"I," Bruce stammered. "I think I may be your biological father. If you don't mind, we could just do a DNA test-"

"Ohh, that sounds, ah, just, sooOo promising, but we're just really busy Noth getting abducted by crazy millionaires right now." Danny baked away, pushing Dan behind him.

"Wait, no. I'm not trying to take you anywhere. Unless you want, but that's-"

A small boy cut him off. "A naked Amarican man stole my balloons."

Seizing the opportunity, dan put on a straight face and spoke. "This is very serious, and we need to take care of it immediately."

Dan and Danny run off.

Ellie: wow cool!! So we’re really related?

Bruce: yup. I’m your father.

Ellie: cool!

Batfam:

Ellie:

Ellie: sooooo, hypothetically….. if I was a clone

[kawaiigirly21]

Our Little Soda Pop: Chapter 1

“Why are we here?” Abby asked as he and the others followed Jinu into an apartment complex. “All Kpop groups have a manager right? Well Gwi-Ma recommended this person to be ours.” Jinu replied as he pressed the button for the penthouse. As the elevator carried them to the floor, the five were immediately overcome by the strong scent of a powerful demon. No wonder Gwi-Ma recommended this person. They're one of them.

As the doors to the elevator opened, they were greeted by a beautiful older woman who looked to be in her late 30’s typing away on her laptop while sitting on her pristine black and white couch. “Wait there. I'm still busy.” She mumbled, not bothering to look up at them. “And DON'T touch anything.” The penthouse shook at her words before the woman went back to typing on her laptop. “Um… excuse me but Gwi-Ma sent us. We should be your number one priority.” Jinu replied from his place in front of the elevator.

“I don't care if he sent you. I'm still busy. Wait. There.” The woman responded annoyed already with the young man in her apartment. “It's not everyday someone has the nerve to ignore direct orders from our king. Usually the threat of death keeps them in line. Surely you wouldn't want him to hear of this.. Right?” The woman then froze in her typing and the moment her eyes met Jinu’s, her true form started to slip through her human disguise.

“Let me tell you something little boy, I remember when his parents were still trying to have a baby. So don't you EVER threaten me with someone whose birth I witnessed. Now. Wait. There!!” Taking a step back, Jinu gave a silent nod before trying to avoid her gaze. “Is it weird I'm turned on?” Abby whispered to Romance who bit his lip staring at the woman's cleavage. “What's your name?” The woman spoke again. This time, her laptop was closed and her eyes were deadlocked on the group.

“Uh… who?” Jinu asked. “You ignorant one. What's your name?” Clearing his throat, Jinu found himself feeling small under her gaze. More so than when he was in the presence of Gwi-Ma. “Jinu.” He replied. The woman nodded and scribbled something down on a notepad before her gaze moved. “What's your name muscles almighty?” Abby smirked and winked at her. “Abs but I go by Abby. Yet, you could call me yours sweetie.~”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Please, I can still smell your mother’s breast milk on your breath. You're a child.” She then moved on to Mystery. “Tell me yours sentient mop.” Jinu stepped forward. “His name is-” “I don't recall asking you. He has a mouth. If he can sing, he can talk. Shut up.” Then she turned to Mystery. “Name.” “.... Mystery.” She moved to Baby. “Yours?” “Baby.” His deep voice leaving her slightly surprised. “Ironic but it makes sense.” Lastly she got to Romance. “Ok pretty boy, what's yours?” He smiled softly and winked at her. “Romance lovely lady.”

Nodding completely unbothered by the flirt, the woman stood from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. “I'm Natasha. From now on, I will be your manager. You will be living with me also. Try not to get killed by the hunters. I'm not responsible for anything they do to you. My job is simply to manage you. Sit on the couch. I'll be back.” Later that day, Natasha took the five shopping for more suitable clothing than the old rags they were dressed in.

“Put this on pretty boy. And this.” Romance nodded as the older woman shoved the clothing in his arms. “Muscles, here. This is better. Leather is not suitable for your image right now.” She shook her head as she tossed a button up shirt at the muscular demon idol. “It's bright.” Abby grumbled. “You can wear darker colors later. Try it on.” Natasha replied as she helped Mystery with his arm warmers.

“Baby both arms are supposed to go in the sweater.” She fought a chuckle as she watched the maknae struggle with the pink sweater. “Come here pup.” Natasha said as she approached him and helped him slide his other arm into the sleeve. “Better?” She asked to which he responded with a nod before Natasha placed a yellow hat on his head. “Yea, that's a good look. Go stand by Mystery and Jinu.” She replied before Romance tapped her on her shoulder and asked her to help him with his necklace.

“Yea. Lean down.” As she did this, she noticed Abby waiting for her approval on his outfit. “Good. Much better than what you originally picked out. Go stand with the others while I go pay for all this.” She spoke just as she finished putting the necklace on Romance and pulled out her wallet. After shopping, her next plan was for a photoshoot but with the boys complaining about food, she decided to take them to dinner first.

“Baby slow down. It's not going anywhere. Romance, get your hand off my thigh. Jinu, can you please get Mystery. He's still staring at the fish tank. The food is here. Abby, save some for the rest of the boys please. No, I don't want to suck on anything you have.” After dinner, Natasha was completely exhausted and in her haste, she rescheduled the photoshoot so she could get some well deserved rest.

However, once she prepared for bed and closed her eyes, she noticed a weight slowly slide onto her bed. In opening her eyes, she was met with those that belonged to Romance who gave her a seductive smile. “Get. Out.” She groaned, turning away from him only for her face to meet the muscular chest of Abby. “Not you too. Both of you leave. Now. I'm too tired for this.” The demoness grumbled. “Just met you but can't sleep without your scent.” A sleepy voice responded as the person it belonged to slid into the bed right under her arm.

“Grab a hoodie of mine or something then. You don't need to be right up under me Baby.” Natasha replied. “We don't want to.” Mystery yawned as he too managed to fit under the blanket with the others. Before Natasha could further protest, the boys had already drifted off to sleep. “Fine… just for tonight… Aren't you getting in too? Or are you too proud to sleep up under me, Jinu?”

Stepping out from behind the door, Jinu shook his head.“You don't like me. Why would you want me in bed too?” He mumbled. “I never said anything about not liking you. I just didn't like how you acted earlier, but that has nothing to do with me liking you or not. I like you as much as I like the others. And I know you want to get in here too. So climb on in bed. There's plenty of room. Surprisingly.”

Natasha smiled softly as the demon climbed into bed with her and the others. His hand finding its way to hers and grasping onto it like she would fade away. “Sleep now. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

Chapter 2

[finniestoncrane]

You know what I'll bite first(?)

I want reader to convince Hector to let them care for him instead in the bedroom tonight and it's basically a mix of body worship and general praise while jerking him off

Hector x GN!Reader, word count: 1.4k ooooooooh ok i had to write this, he was living in my brain and skittering around in my pipes up there!! i've not finished his storyline yet, so no spoilers for me please!! but i know regardless of what happens next, he deserves a bit of praise and pleasure >:3c request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: a lot of praise for this boy, body worshipping, masturbation/handjobs, tiny bit of hair pulling, pre-ejac, little bit of yandere dialogue because it's hector...

"You told me you couldn't relax for yourself, so please, please let me help you. You need to learn to embrace your body. That way, I can embrace it too."

Hector's heart skipped a beat at the emphasis on your pleading, and he found himself unable to catch his breath in enough time to respond. Instead, he let himself be pushed back towards the bed in your room, sinking down into it as the back of his legs hit the edge.

"Good boy, Hector. This is the first step to changing how you see yourself. Let me show you how I see you."

The bed shifted as you sat down next to him, hand on his chest as you gently pushed him backwards, waiting until he was laying down, his dark curls resting on the pillows, before you began to stroke your fingers through his hair, twirling the locks around your fingers and hoping to soothe him. But he was still nervous, enough that he began to tug at your sheets, trying to hide himself with them out of his instinctual urge to conceal the things that he disliked so much.

"No, no. Don't cover yourself up. I want to see all of you."

"Are you sure? I still find it so hard to believe that someone as magnificent as yourself would be interested in any aspect of me."

"Really? When you're so handsome, and so sexy. I'm almost angry that you'd hide yourself away for so long, Hector. Seems wrong to keep this a secret."

It was all he could do to keep his smile from widening, but he'd warmed up to you so quickly that it was impossible to hide himself from you. And you were determined to keep things moving in that direction, so positive reinforcement was required. Luckily, you knew now how he worked, and you were able to pull the sheets away, uncovering his body and noting the slight tenting of his cock underneath his clothes. It was distracting, but not more so than his satisfied grin.

"Such a sweet smile, it makes your eyes light up. Your cheeks are so warm, so cute. And your lips, so soft... so welcoming."

"Only for you..."

Each milimetre of the tiny distance between you was tension filled and wrought with a dire need that was immediately turned to passionate satisfaction once the kiss begun. Hector was content to lay back and let you take over, offering no resistance as you deepend the kiss, and even less when your hands began to travel down his front and to the stirring below his waist. Your fingers teased below the material, skimming over the skin above his erection, feeling the contrasted texture of his thick, black pubic hair. And as the kiss broke off, Hector struggling to catch his breath, you let your lips follow his soft jaw line to his neck, your pecks and the gentle nips of your teeth interspersed with words that amounted to yet more compliments.

"I know you've felt so comfortable behind the security of the grate, but I need you, Hector. More than you could imagine, more than I think you're willing to accept. But I can show you. Let me heat you up for a change, I want to see your skin flushing, that sparkle in your eyes."

His cock was freed now, and it protruded into the air as you wrapped your fingers around the length. Average, but thick, and just a few shades darker than his perfectly clear skin. You leaned your head against him, angling your view to watch the way your hand fit so perfectly around his length. Hector shuddered, stuttering out something, but you assuaged whatever concerns he was fabricating.

"You've given me so much, all of those years, unappreciated. Now I want to pay you back, it's only right."

Your gentle strokes firmed up, quicker movements as your determination took over. You wanted him to be happy, to see him satisfied, relieved, and to at least offer him something physical in the way of evidence of your attraction to him. With your tempo set, you kept up the motions, noting that Hector's hips began to shift, pushing his cock upwards into your fist as his body squirmed slightly against the mattress.

"I'm... This is... Wow..."

With a giggle, you whispered against his skin, still loud enough that he could hear you past his own hushed whimpers.

"That sense of contentment? Of pure joy? you deserve that. You work so hard to make me happy, and I think you deserve the same back ten-fold."

"I live to please you. I ask for nothing in return. Your pleasure is just as ah... ah..."

Your other hand reached for his balls, cupping them before gently squeezing.

"All of that time you spent watching me, I think it's fair that I get to see you as you reach complete ecstacy, too, no?"

As Hector let out a sigh of relief, his body giving in finally to the looming and certain orgasm that was beginning to wash over him. A little coaxing was all it would take to get him to finally let go of the last of his tensions.

"All that stress, the nerves, your worries and concerns about how I'll perceive you? I'm going to make them all... go... away."

It sounded like a stifled groan, a strangled sound that he was trying to cover up. And you weren't having that.

"I want to hear your sweet voice, Hector. Your moans, your sighs, your screams."

Hector's stomach was tensing, the slight hint of muscles below the softness of his stomach as he clenched in response to his quickening climax. Each stroke of your fist down the shaft of his cock had him quivering, and you relished in the view of his body that you had from this perfect position. One of his hands rested in your hair, occasionally gripping at the root as he became overwhelmed with arousal. Even without the firm placement of his palm against you, there was no way you would have lifted your head from his chest. From there you could see your own hand working, pumping at his twitching cock, his precum leaking, dribbling from his head down to the visible frenulum as you pulled back his foreskin with your movements. And as you watched his body react to your stimulation, you could hear his heart beat thudding in his chest against your ear.

You were worried for a moment when his gentle whining turned into a sharp shriek, concerned that in your distractions you might have become to firm or too quick. But as you felt the warm, yet quickly cooling, liquid begin to drip over your fingers, you understood.

"Ah... I, I've ruined it. A moment so perfect, so pure. I'm so sorry. Faced with your charitable gesture, the idea that you would be so willing to help me seek the same satisfaction as I've helped you with so many times... Well, my excitement got the better of me. Yet another reason that you could do far better in-"

"Did it feel good?"

He paused his nerve driven rambling, all desire to self-flagellate superceded by his need to offer you an answer when one was asked of him.

"Of course! It was marvellous. For all that I've dreamt of how your hands might feel on my body, it was better than I ever could have guessed."

When it seemed as though he might start apologising again for something that in truth you found flattering, quite endearing to his adorably desperate nature, you placed a finger on his lips and hushed him.

"Then there's nothing to apologise for, Hector. We both got what we wanted."

You lay your head next to his on your pillow, watching his eyes scan the room, as if he were looking for the final bit of confidence to say what he said next.

"In that case... perhaps it wouldn't be too much to ask if I could lay here a while longer. I could warm you in a more manual manner than either of us are accustomed to."

Hector lifted his arm, offering you the space between that and his chest, and you willingly dove into it, wrapping your arms around his body and settling in with a sigh.

[pearlfull]

party on u ( part of u knew )

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS: 〝 You know that I've been waiting for you. 〞 Batboys x Reader. ⋆˚࿔ A/N: Heavily inspired by Charli XCX and the devastating edits to this song lol. Dick's is the most literal interpretation of the song. Jason's weird. I love Tim Drake. Yearning bro. I'm taking requests + commissions! More details on that soon. Help a college girl save for car repairs<3

ᯓ★ DICK GRAYSON.

IT WAS SOMETHING UNSPOKEN YET PRESENT. You weren’t just friends. But you didn't call it love either.

It started with shared takeout food.

Shaky laughter while pinning you on the ground during training. Late night text messages. Sleepless nights spent on the same couch. Dick's hand laced yours in the dark, and he tried to match your breath's rhythm as you fell asleep on his chest, fingers curling into your sleep shirt.

Eventually, there were white tulips he brought after work and Bruce was asking about you.

He was always careful with you.

Because he'd done the song and routine before. Been left with the kind of bruises in places you couldn't see.

There were nights when he'd leave before you woke. He'd left you coffee on your nightstand like it was a consolation prize. And you let him. Let him stay his welcome way too long, and then let him disappear for a couple days. Maybe it was stupid, but it was better than nothing.

wonderboy i didn’t want to miss you tonight i already do when you’re still in the room

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not out of anger, not resentment. Still. It was on purpose. On both ends.

You'd stop asking if he wanted you to pick up candy for him at the grocery store and he had stopped asking when he could see you again. Maybe he had thought if he pulled away it would go away.

The invitation felt like a test. An unspoken, come if you still care. Or come so I know you haven't stopped.

It's his birthday, and silver balloons litter the hallway, and Donna laughter is already ringing through as you step in, and Roy's throwing gummy bears into Wally's glass.

You're wearing something that made you feel braver than you were, black fabric clinging to your hips--looking through the crowd with a tight chest.

His grin was the center of the room. His bright blue eyes found yours, and he didn't come over. His pupils were blown.

Kept staring, almost comically. Wondering if whether he still had the right to do that, even though he'd invited you. And you came. And he had worn that cologne you'd mentioned you'd loved, and even had tried to make his hair fall nicely. He kind of felt like a thirteen year old boy getting ready for his first Sadie Hawkins dance. It was wracking to feel like that again.

But maybe he was remembering just how much he'd hurt you by staying so close and never choosing.

You crossed the room slowly. Talked to Donna, and let Roy grab you a drink.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Dick's balcony's always been cold. Maybe he'd overstepped by draping his jacket over your pretty shoulders.

(But neither of you cared, and the lining was so nice!)

“I didn’t think you’d ask.” Your voice doesn't come out quiet, and you're surprised by its steadiness.

Dick looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t know if I deserved to.”

Your smile was glossy, close lipped. “You don’t get to disappear and then expect me to ask you to show up. It's mean.”

“I know.” A beat. “Uh, when I was halfway, I could pretend I wasn’t scared.”

“Were you?”

“Terrified.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know that seems like such a shitty cop out. The whole, commitment phobe thing. But I still wanted you to come tonight.” Dick stopped. Cracked his knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

“I don't believe in love that waits.”

Dick's brows are knit closely. “I know.”

“I'm not gonna be waiting.”

“I don’t want you to. I'll meet you where you are. Sorry I didn’t sooner.”

His breath clouds in the air. His voice cracks as he adds, “I get why you stopped asking.”

“Didn’t want to keep asking for something that wasn't fully ours.”

“That’s on me.”

“You were scared?”

“Still kinda am.”

He shifts beside you, steps closer. Adjusts his jacket, so the collar doesn't look rumpled. Dick's fingers brush the side of your throat.

Inside, he doesn't reach for your hand. Just walks close. As close as you'll let him. Close enough that it’s obvious.

You walk back to your car. Your phone lights up.

wonderboy thanks for coming beautiful you didn’t have to

you don’t thank me happy birthday 💙

ᯓ★ JASON TODD.

JASON IS ALWAYS AROUND. Your brother's second shadow. Not because they're attached at the hip. Roy is one of the few people that lets him stand beside him without flinching.

Initially, he barely acknowledges you.

He'll grunt a greeting when you grab a glass of juice, nods from across the kitchen. He always leaves his bike helmet on the counter tile like it's a centerpiece. It smells like gunpowder and iron, and you definitely think it says way more than he ever does with his mouth. Gun oil. Boots on the carpet. Pride and Prejudice folded in his back pocket.

You were studying journalism at university. Doing some stories. Freelance. An open notebook tucked under your arm. You asked questions too fast sometimes--half Harper nature--about everything, about nothing.

And Jason didn’t like it. Said so.

“Why do you talk to people like you’re digging for something?”

“Cause people lie.”

He didn’t say anything after that.

It was Roy’s fault! He left his phone out on the sofa. You didn’t care to look, but the cracked screen had some picture of you and Roy. Jason sent it.

jaybird when was this is she dating someone?

roy tf do you care lmao don’t be fucking weird

jaybird just asking.

roy that’s my sister.

jaybird shut up.

You noticed him staring more after that.

One time at breakfast, you spilled coffee on the edge of your sweater sleeve, cursing under your breath. You didn’t think he was even awake. Jason was slumped at the table over a bowl of cereal. His hoodie pulled up like he hadn’t slept at all. He passed you a paper towel before you even asked. Didn’t even look at you.

Later, your old press badge was pressed against the counter. It was lost for weeks. Bent but clean.

“You found this?” you turned to Roy, eyes glittering.

Roy rubbed his mouth. “Huh?”

Jason starts asking you things. Small things.

“Where’d that article of yours go? The vigilante case?”

“Sleep last night?”

He asked them like it didn't matter, like he didn't already know the answers. His fingers drummed while waiting for your replies, and he seems to drink in every single thing you say.

An interview that went south. A CEO with yellowed teeth called you doll. You bit your tongue till it stung.

Jason's in the garage, with a wrench.

“[Name], you okay?”

“I'm fine, Jay.”

“Don't lie.”

You set your leather bag on the hood of your car.

The wrench drops. “Wanna go hit something?”

You blinked. Slowly. "Sorry?”

“Gym. Pads. Gloves. I'll hold them for you.”

A smile stretches and he swears he feels like he's being lit from the inside. The way it's just for him. “Is that your version of like, a hug?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Roy didn’t pick up tonight. After a date that made your head ache, where the guy with a cheap haircut only spoke about himself, forgot his wallet, you stood outside alone. Cold.

Jason showed up instead.

His hoodie half-zipped, breath fogging in the air, from jogging, car parked across the street, his white streak a little matted. Green eyes scanned your face, and he grabbed the heels dangling from your fingers.

Your purse slipped off your shoulder, and Jason took it mid slide too.

He held both all the way home in his lap as he drove.

You let him walk you to your building, and the air had seemed to have hit you harder this time. Jason still had your bag and heels, and the space between you seemed to buzz.

The stairwell was bright, and the front light hummed over your head. Your throat was tight as you croaked out a "Thank you", softly and every word you wanted to say seemed to taunt you as you realize you rather liked his green eyes, and the golden rings inside them.

He seemed to notice your observation, and his eyes fell to the floor, the corners of his lips lifting so slightly. So, you let your hand fall between you, barely. So his could brush against it. Fingertips, then your pinky hooked his.

He turned his hand, observing the way they fit. Held it tighter, tighter than you expected.

ᯓ★ TIM DRAKE.

YOU'VE ALWAYS LIKED QUIET. Which is a good thing, because you have little else but that in a gas station working a graveyard shift. It's mostly peaceful. As peaceful Gotham can get. Little customers. No noise. Just you, and the fluorescents and the freezer that groans when it turns on.

Sometimes, you leave the counter to stand under the overhang light.

You see him for the first time at 3:24 AM.

The red and black suit. The insignia. A cowl that didn't cover his lips. Red Robin.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lands on the roof like he belongs there. Kinda freakish.

He was gone before you could look again.

The second time he shows up, he taps on the bulletproof glass with a gloved knuckle and gestures to the vending machine near the left of the entrance.

"It ate my dollar," he says.

You blink. "For real?"

"Swear on the mask."

Pretty big swear. So, you open the door. He's taller than you thought he would be. And younger. Same age, or around from what you can make of him.

You slide an energy drink and a bag of chips across the counter. "Next time you save the city bird boy, ask for some change."

He laughs. And you hate how much you like the way his lips curve.

He comes back after that. Not every single night. Although, that'd be fun. But it wasn't enough for you to expect him.

He never buys anything from you. He leans against the counter and asks how your shift was, and you hand him a bottled water and piece of bubblegum. He asks about the books you read behind the register.

"Jane Eyre?" he'd asked with a raised brow. "Sort of a dramatic choice for a Tuesday."

"Says the guy in a bird costume."

He laughed again. Now you hated how familiar it sounded.

But you didn't think much of it. Not until the week Tim stops coming to class.

He was in your study group. Quiet. He had the most gorgeous smile you think you'd seen. All toothy and boyish, despite the dark circles shadowing underneath his eyes.

You liked him more than you meant to. Still do. You swore not to, because there was something about him that seemed like if you reached out, he'd disappear like smoke. And it was getting ridiculous. You'd worn a skirt to class and curled your hair and hoped he'd notice. Forming a crush on someone because he had asked you how your day was and always helped look for your pen underneath your seat during lecture. But he was always noticing things. Listening to you, and he said your name like it was a secret that you both shared.

When he misses study group, then class, then that dumb open mic night you invited him to, you tell yourself it's nothing.

But then Red Robin shows up that same night, again.

He's chipper. "Long night?"

You let the silence stretch, doodling on some scratch paper.

He tilts his head, rocking on his heels. "Have a bad shift?"

"No," you say slowly, "Just kinda missing someone."

The mask twitches. You don't notice.

He starts coming around regularly.

You talk. About stupid shit, important stuff. Your morals. His commentary on the mayor.

You mention how sometimes you wish had a different life. How you want to graduate university already.

He's quiet as he nods, locking eyes with you.

Then he says, “I think you’re doing way better than you think.”

That's not fair to you. Because that sounds like something Tim would tell you over text casually. It makes your stomach twist and you wonder if you're falling in love with a mask, a voice, because he reminds you of someone else.

And he doesn’t even know that.

Tim knows.

He talks to you at night with a different voice, he holds himself differently and pretends that he’s not the same guy who used to try to make jokes clumsily to make you laugh. He loves your laugh.

He watches you watch him and says nothing.

If he tells you, it’ll ruin the quiet connection you’ve built. The thing he keeps crawling back to when the city’s too heavy.

[yoiisa]

Can we get a pt.3 of wbk reacting to you getting beat up by another gang, with Sugishita and Umemiya? Maybe Endo too if you feel like it?

AHHH YES OFC OFC!! I love how this is turning into a little series :)

wbk reacting to you getting beaten up by a rival gang .𖥔 ݁ ˖

w/ SUGISHITA KYOTARO, UMEMIYA HAJIME, AND ENDO YAMATO

Tags: mentions of injuries and blood (nothing to graphic), mentions of fighting/violence, angst, hurt/comfort this is part 3!! part 1 (w/ suo, kiryuu, and kaji) and part 2 (w/ sakura, togame, and uryu) are here!!

SUGISHITA KYOTARO ⋆˙⟡

Sugishita is always draped over you like a blanket and always holding your hand. He purposely orders more food than necessary so that you would never go hungry. He's always lending you his hoodies and jackets if you were out somewhere at night. After all, he would rather freeze to death than let you shiver for even a second.

All that being said, his favorite way to show you he cares is by giving you things. He doesn't give you anything overly expensive or flashy, but small items: smiskis, rings he finds in thrift stores, or tiny ceramic keychains of your favorite foods. You have a whole drawer in your dresser dedicated to the trinkets he gifts you.

One day, he was out with Umemiya and Tsubaki when his eyes zeroed in on a small poster card with artwork from your favorite anime. He froze, causing the older boys to bump into him.

"Sugishita-? Oh," Umemiya grins when he sees what Sugishita is staring at. "You should get it for her."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Tsubaki says, pulling something out of his purse. "I found this bracelet she might like as well. Here, here, take it to her as well."

Sugishita takes Tsubaki's bracelet and nods, before walking over to pick up the poster card. After checking out, he parts with his seniors, heading over to your home. He twirls the bracelet in his hands, watching the charms on the chain catch and reflect the sunlight. A tiny smile graced his face as he imagine holding you hand while it jingled on your wrist.

He gets to your front door and knocks, but he's met with no response. He tries again, but still nothing. She must not be home, he thinks, turning on his heel. However, just as he does, a giant crash sounds from inside your house. Sugishita whips around and starts pounding on your door again, calling out for you.

"[name]? [name]? Are you okay? Are you home?"

The door lock clicks and the door swings open. Sugishita's eyes widen as he takes in your appearance. You have a nasty gash on your forehead and your hands are all scraped. Your ankle is swollen as all hell, he's wondering how you're even upright.

Despite it all though, you still look up at him and with a small smile and a tiny voice you whisper, "Hi, Kyo."

"What the hell happened to you?" he asks, his voice hoarse. He walks inside and instantly picks you up, carrying you to the couch. He lays you down, then rushes into your kitchen, looking for a first aid kit.

"I was walking home," you say sleepily, "and someone . . . jumped me? I was wearing your Furin jacket and they thought maybe I was a student? I don't know. Once they realized they got a girl though they ran away."

"Where?" Sugishita asks, kneeling in front of you and working quick to bandage your hands and head. You shrug and your eyes start to droop but he shakes his head. "Hey. Stay awake. You might be concussed."

You watch him through lidded eyes as he works. When he's done, you grab his hand and lace your fingers. "I came straight home after it happened. I haven't seen a doctor. Can we go?"

He nods and you beam. "Thank you," you say as he moves you onto his back.

UMEMIYA HAJIME ⋆˙⟡

You gotta keep walking, that's all you really know. Every single muscle in your body is screaming at you to just collapse on the floor and get life over with, but no. If you did that now, you'd be done for. You need a doctor. You need a hug.

Pothos can't be too far from here now. If you could just drag your feet another few blocks you'd get there for sure.

Your side from where you got kicked in hurts and your head is pounding, but finally, the sign comes into view. It's refreshing, and gives you the last little bit of energy you need to make it into the cafe.

"I'm sorry, we're closed- [name]?!" Kotoha cries as she looks over the bar counter. "What the hell?"

"Don't tell Hajime," you say as you collapse onto the tiles, the warmth of the cafe completely draining you of any leftover energy you have.

"Don't tell me what?" a voice calls out from around the corner.

"Shit, hide me!" you whisper shout to Kotoha. She's quick to try and shove you under a table, but not fast enough.

Umemiya shows up a second later, his face bright and cheery. He looks ready to hug you, but then he opens his eyes. His face immediately falls.

"Umemiya-" Kotoha starts, holding her arms up to try and calm him.

"Hajime-" You mirror Kotoha.

"What are you doing on the floor?" he asks, his voice hard as steel. His jaw is tense and you stiffen as he approaches. He helps you up and sets you on the cushioned seats in the booths. He turns to Kotoha and says, "Get the first aid kit."

She rushes off and he turns back to you. His blue eyes are icy as he says, "So what was this about not telling me?"

You sigh and lean forward, resting your head on his shoulder. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Not worry?" he asks incredulously. "You look like someone sent you through a meat grinder!"

You whimper and you feel his frame relax a little. He's trying to become softer for you to be more comfortable and you smile. He's sweet . . .

"Kotoha's back," he whispers, reaching up to pet your head. "Lemme bandage them at least."

"In a minute," you whispers.

Kotoha sets the kit on the table next to you and says, "I'll really quickly make you some food. Y'know, to help you get your strength back."

You nod, but then your body erupts in shivers as exhaustion settles in on you. Umemiya's breath catches as tears touch his neck.

You choke out, "Hajime . . . I was so scared."

He furrows his brow and kisses your temple, where a bruise is beginning to form. "It's okay, you're here now. I'm here now."

ENDO YAMATO ⋆˙⟡

"Hey," Endo growls as he stands at the entrance of the alleyway. "What the hell is this?

The four men who were looming over your body freeze as they hear his voice. You have an arm up over your face, but drop it when you hear Endo talking. You turn your head and see him with Chika too. Oh fuck, these guys are screwed.

"What's it to you?" One of the boys ask, trying to feign bravado. "We're just having a little fun with her."

Endo smirks, but it's void of any humor. He takes a few steps forward, quickly eating up whatever distance is between him and your attackers. Without a second thought, he smashes one of their faces into the wall.

"Hmm? What's it to me?" Endo asks, before tightening his grasp in the boy's hair and punching him. "Not much, right? Only- oh wait! That's my girlfriend."

The boy Endo had a grasp on crumples to the floor, and your boyfriend fixes his gaze on the remaining three. "Now," he says. "Let's have some fun right?"

They scatter like bugs, and Endo at first doesn't seem like he'll give chase. He turns to look down at you, and his smile turns from malicious to loving. He pats your head and says, "Wait here, okay? I'll be back in just a sec~"

You watch as he darts off after the trio. Chika walks up to you and you flinch back. The boy is silent as he picks up the knocked out form of your assailant and drags him out of the alleyway. Chika dumps him on the sidewalk before coming back to your side. He slides down the wall next to you and stares at you, assessing your injuries.

"It's not bad," he says. "Didn't get much 'fun' in before we got here."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "if it's a bother."

"Endo's the only one bothered. That's why he's off running after them," Chika explains, before opening a bottle of peach juice. He takes a sip and then holds it out to you. "Want some?"

"No thank you."

He nods.

A few minutes later, Endo's back. He's panting slightly, but he has this glint in his eyes that only ever comes out after a fight. His nose is bleeding and his knuckles are scratched, but aside from that he looks completely fine.

"They can run, the little fucks," he says, wiping his nose.

"D-did they hit you?" you ask shakily.

"Nope," he grins, crouching in front of you. "I was running after them and slipped in some trash and crashed against the wall. But I'm fine, don't worry."

Endo looks over at Chika, then back at you. "You don't want Takiishi's juice?"

You shake your head and he chuckles. "Okay, let's get some food then."

He draps his jacket over your shoulders and pulls you into a hug. You close your eyes and sigh as Endo kisses your shoulder, before pulling the jacket on tighter.

"Come on," he whispers. "There's a good bar not too far from here. I'll carry you."

a/n: idk why these got progressively shorter, but oh well lol

[sereia4skz]

Hihi, is it possible to ask for a oneshot extension of that one text fic of poly!ot8 with fox!reader??

The one from your 1.5k event, i get if you wouldn’t though!

oneshot | mine, mine, mine

pairing: sub!Jilix x f!reader | part 1

genre: smut

warnings: technically!poly!OT8 (but only felix and jisung are getting it), fox hybrid!reader, smut, possessive behavior, overstimulation, oral (m!receiving), riding, mating kink, praise, light begging, creampie

word count: 960

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

Felix is already whining the second you shift under the blankets.

“Where are you going?” he mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep. His tail wraps around your thigh, and you feel the gentle thump of it swishing against the sheets.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Jisung mumbles from your other side, arms clumsily tightening around your waist. His nose nuzzles your shoulder as his voice melts into a tiny, sleepy whimper. “She wouldn’t leave her babies.”

Your ears twitch at the sound of it, her babies. And your tail flicks behind you, just once, before curling softly across Jisung’s hip.

“‘Course I wouldn’t.” You hum, voice smooth, drowsy. You roll onto your side to face them, and both of them shift in immediately, Felix tucking into your chest, Jisung sliding a thigh between yours, practically purring when he settles.

They’re warm and pliant and so very clingy. Maybe it’s the heat still simmering in their marks, purple and pink, healing over on their necks, glowing faintly under your scent. You’d claimed them both last night, fully, thoroughly. Teeth sunk in, fingers gripping hard, both of them moaning through it with the filthiest sobs you’ve ever heard.

Despite all the boys going on about their day after last night, these two were quick to come back to bed. The memories of the previous night keep them so needy. Now they won’t let go of you. Not that you mind.

“Mmm, sunshine,” you murmur, brushing Felix’s hair back from his eyes, “you’re burning up.”

He lets out a soft sigh and nudges closer. “Feel floaty…”

Jisung nods, eyes fluttering open sleepily. “Like we’re still in heat. It’s ‘cause of you.”

You grin, teeth flashing just a little too sharp. “Because I fucked you so good?”

They both squirm.

“…yes,” Felix whispers.

You kiss his forehead, then tilt your head to nose at Jisung’s temple. “You poor things. All needy again already?”

Jisung’s ears flatten shyly. He nods.

You hum thoughtfully and lean back against the pillows. “Guess I better take care of my good boys.”

Their ears perk immediately, Felix practically lights up.

“Lay back,” you instruct gently, patting Felix’s chest. “Let me see my sunshine.”

He obeys like it’s instinct, rolling onto his back, legs slightly parted, the most pathetic little whine leaving his throat as your tail brushes between them. His cock’s already hard, twitching against his stomach.

“Look at you,” you purr, crawling between his thighs, “not even five minutes and you’re already begging.”

Felix blushes deep, lips parted, hands gripping the sheets. “Not begging-”

“You will be.”

You drag your tongue up the underside of his cock, slow and warm, and Felix whimpers so sweetly that Jisung’s hips rock against your thigh. You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s hard too, pressing up against you for attention.

You don’t ignore him, of course. One hand strokes Felix, lazy and teasing, while the other reaches back to grip Jisung’s hip and keep him pressed against you.

“Patience, Hannie,” you coo. “You’ll get your turn.”

Jisung lets out a breathy moan and hides his face in your shoulder. “You’re mean.”

You grin. “You like it.”

Felix arches under your mouth, hands flying to your hair, and you hum low in your throat as you take him in fully, nose brushing his pelvis. His hips jerk, helplessly. You hold him down.

“Good boy,” you whisper against his skin. “You always taste so sweet.”

Felix moans, breath catching. “You’re gonna- m-make me-”

You pull off just enough to tease him. “Already?”

He nods frantically, eyes glossy.

You let him. You make him, really, tight suction, strokes that don’t pause for a second, until he gasps out your name and spills with a choked cry, back arching completely off the bed. You stroke him through it gently, cooing praise as he shudders in your grasp.

And then you let Jisung roll you onto your back. “My turn,” he whispers, face flushed, eyes glazed over like he’s high on your scent. “Need you so bad, noona…”

You let your thighs fall open.

He doesn’t waste time, slides between them, grinding against you like a desperate pup, cock hot and wet and rutting where he knows you want him. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in.

“Beg.”

Jisung whines against your mouth. “Please. Please let me make you feel good, wanna be inside, wanna feel you, mommy…”

You moan low and grip his ass, guiding him in with one smooth thrust.

“Fuck Hannie- yes,” you pant, nails sinking into his hips. “Such a good boy for me.”

He whimpers into your neck, already trembling, moving with fast, messy thrusts. He’s so loud, soft whines and stuttered gasps, his voice a constant stream of praise and need:

“You’re so warm- feels so good- don’t wanna stop-”

You wrap your arms around him and fuck up into him hard enough to make him sob.

You’re close, and so is he, so you tilt your hips just right and grind until he’s gasping your name into your ear and spilling inside you, thick and hot, filling you up just the way he knows you like.

You clench around him and finish with a soft, breathless moan, your tail curling over his spine protectively.

You hold him like that for a long time.

Felix eventually crawls back over, still a little dazed, and nuzzles into your chest while Jisung lies boneless between your thighs, cock still twitching inside you.

You hum, running your claws gently down their backs.

“You two are so cute when you’re fucked out.”

They groan in perfect sync. And then Felix mutters into your chest:

“…Wanna go again later.”

You laugh, low and sharp.

“Of course you do, sunshine.”

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