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ticifics · 6 months ago

Text

Between Us

Dave Lizewski x reader x Todd Haynes

Summary: “I… I can’t choose.” “But… what does that mean?” he asked, leaning forward a little without even realizing it. “I mean…” You stopped, searching for the right words, even though your mind seemed unable to process anything beyond their proximity. “I mean I like both of you. In different ways, maybe, but… I can’t imagine choosing just one.”

Warnings: explicit language, mention of jealousy, mention of possession, multiple kisses, unconventional relationship dynamics, provocative language, light smut, sexual tension

A/N: I would be mentally, physically and emotionally incapable of choosing just one

my beloved @gingerteafairy, thank you for our conversations - seriously, girl, I love you <333

The evening was supposed to be relaxed, but Marty’s absence changed the tone of everything. You, Dave, and Todd were inseparable, and Marty, with his easygoing and carefree manner, always served as a kind of natural mediator for the other two. But now, as you walked towards Todd’s house, it was impossible to ignore the nervousness that was growing in your chest. Without Marty there to cushion the interactions, it would be just you in the middle of Dave and Todd—the two so different, yet equally irresistible. The thought already made the butterflies in your stomach dance.

The couch seemed even smaller than usual. You were squeezed between them, feeling the heat of their bodies so close. To your left, Dave, with his dark curls and blue eyes shining behind his glasses, held the bowl of popcorn with both hands, his fingers brushing against your arm with every movement. To the right, Todd, all relaxed with his messy brown hair and dimples marking his smile as he leaned casually on the couch, his knee almost touching your leg. There seemed to be not enough space for everyone, and the proximity created a palpable tension.

"Okay, let's settle this once and for all: better mentor—Batman or Superman?" Todd asked, with that challenging tone and a smile that seemed to carry a hint of provocation.

"Batman, for sure," Dave answered without hesitation, adjusting his glasses. He turned slightly towards you, as if seeking support in your answer. "He's a strategist, he has resources, he trains people. He doesn't rely on powers. It's about discipline, sacrifice."

Todd laughed, leaning forward and bringing his face even closer to yours. "Oh, right, because being a traumatized millionaire is super inspiring," he said mockingly, and the glint in his dark eyes was almost hypnotizing. "Superman, without a doubt. He's genuine, he really cares about people, and he doesn't need all that paraphernalia to be amazing."

You tried to focus on the discussion, but it was hard when the two seemed to be fighting for your attention with every sentence. Dave's gaze was steady and almost intense, while Todd's had that easygoing charm that made your heart race.

"I… I think they both have valid points," you said, trying to sound neutral, but the hesitation in your voice betrayed your nervousness.

"Oh, there's no point in avoiding the issue," Todd teased, smiling as he lightly patted your leg, his hand staying there a second longer than necessary. "C'mon, you know you're Superman."

"Don't let that get to you," Dave intervened, his voice calm but filled with a seriousness that made you stare at him for a moment. "Think about what really makes sense. It's not just about sympathy."

You tried to laugh to lighten the mood, but your mind was elsewhere. The proximity of the two of them, the looks, the small touches… It was as if each gesture was loaded with a tension that you didn't know how to deal with. For a moment, you let yourself be carried away by your daydreams — Dave holding your hand sweetly, his eyes shining behind his glasses as he whispered something that only you could hear. Or Todd, with that carefree smile, leaning his forehead against yours and making you laugh at something silly before losing yourself in his warm gaze.

The sound of the movie brought you back to reality, and your face heated up as you realized the direction your thoughts had taken. You quickly looked away to the TV, but not before noticing that Dave was watching you attentively, as if trying to decipher what you were thinking.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice low and full of concern as he leaned in slightly.

"Yeah, sure," you answered hastily, but you felt Todd chuckle softly beside you.

"Yeah, but now you're blushing," Todd commented, his dimples showing off his smile. "Or did Batman make you like that?"

"It's nothing," you repeated, trying to sound more convincing, but it was useless. The tension in the air felt palpable, and Dave and Todd's close proximity made your mind race in all the wrong directions—or maybe right, depending on how you looked at it. Dave's arm behind you was a constant warm presence, and his fingers always seemed on the verge of brushing the back of your neck, sending subtle shivers that you pretended to ignore. On the other side, Todd maintained his relaxed posture, but his knee pressed lightly against your leg said something else, a small gesture that seemed much bigger in this context.

“Relax, we’re just teasing you,” Todd said, an easy smile on his lips as he reached out to grab a handful of popcorn. The movement brought your shoulder up against his, and the warmth of the contact made you hold your breath for a moment. He seemed to notice, and he glanced at you sideways, somewhere between amused and… attentive.

“It’s no big deal, you know,” Dave added, his voice a little softer. “You might like Superman better. But then… you’d be wrong.” He laughed lightly, and the sound made something in your chest tighten. He had that shy, awkward way about him, but when he spoke with confidence, it was impossible not to notice. He adjusted his glasses quickly, his eyes fixed on the screen for a few seconds before shifting to you.

You tried to focus on the movie, but his every move seemed amplified. The way Dave shifted his weight from side to side, his knee pressing into the couch and leaning slightly toward your side, or the way Todd casually rested his arm on the side of your leg, his fingers almost touching your bare thigh. It was all more intense than it should have been.

When you shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, you ended up relaxing a little and leaning back, letting your shoulders lightly brush against theirs. The closeness was inevitable, but now you could no longer ignore the way their bodies felt so close, so warm. You tried to rationalize it—they were your friends, it was just the tight couch, nothing major. But your heart had another opinion, beating faster with each small movement they made.

Todd leaned forward to reach for the remote on the coffee table, and the movement caused his arm to brush against yours with a gentleness too deliberate to be accidental. "I think the next movie has a really clichéd kissing scene," he commented casually, but there was a hint of teasing in his tone that made your skin crawl.

Dave looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously? What movie doesn't have a kissing scene?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a subtle stiffness in his posture that didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, I don't know," Todd replied, shrugging with that annoyingly charming smile. "Some people like that kind of thing. I can tell who." His gaze met yours for a moment, and you felt your face heat up, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to divert attention from yourself. "Oh, please, that's like… mandatory in any movie," you muttered, feeling the weight of both their gazes on you.

When the fateful scene finally arrived, you held your breath. On the screen, the characters exchanged intense glances before kissing, and the mood in the room seemed to change instantly. The silence that followed was so heavy that you could swear you could hear the sound of hearts beating—including your own. Todd and Dave’s gazes were fixed on the screen, but you knew they were aware of the tension, too. How could they not be? The room felt smaller, the couch tighter, and the air heavier.

Without thinking, you shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure of the moment, but ended up pushing your knee against Todd’s, who glanced at you quickly, a smile on the corner of his lips. “Enjoyed the scene, huh?” he teased, but his voice was huskier than usual.

“It’s just… well done,” you replied, swallowing hard.

Dave shifted beside you, adjusting his glasses again, his dark curls falling over his forehead as he looked down at you. “Clichés can be good sometimes,” he said, his voice low but filled with something that seemed deeper. “It depends on how they’re done.”

The silence between you felt alive, almost pulsing, as the movie scene played out, but no one was really paying attention. Your heart was pounding, and you knew it wasn’t because of the dramatic soundtrack on the screen. Every movement they made around you seemed choreographed to move you. The light brush of Todd’s arm against yours, the almost casual adjustment of Dave’s body to your side—it all felt calculated, even though you knew it probably wasn’t. Or was it?

“So…” Todd broke the silence, his tone playful but with something more underlying. He looked at you, his dark eyes shining with that carefree charm that seemed so natural to him. “If that were you on screen, who would you kiss?”

You nearly choked on the popcorn you weren’t even eating. “What?” Your nervous laugh came out more like a sob, and you tried to look away, but his face was so close, and Dave’s expression on the other side was just as intriguing.

“Between the two of us,” Todd continued, shifting slightly forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the closeness creating a tension that was impossible to ignore. “Who would you kiss?”

Dave shifted beside you, clearing his throat. “Seriously, man? What kind of question is that?” He tried to sound casual, but there was something in his voice, something that gave him away. He looked at you with those clear blue eyes, like he wanted you to say something—or maybe say nothing at all.

“Oh, come on,” Todd insisted, his smile growing, but his eyes fixed on you with intensity. “It’s just a question. Friendly. We’re friends, right?”

You laughed again nervously, your hand automatically going to your hair as you tried to stall for time. “I… don’t know. That’s… weird.” But your mind was far from neutral. The idea of kissing either of them—both of them, if you were being honest with yourself—was something you had definitely considered, even if it was just a passing thought. Or not so passing.

Todd chuckled softly, but this time it sounded softer, almost like he was challenging you. “Okay, let’s make this easier. Have you ever kissed anyone?”

The question took you by surprise, and it took you a second to answer. “I have… I mean, yes. Once or twice.” Your voice came out lower than you intended, and you felt heat rise up your neck.

“Me too,” Todd replied casually, leaning back and resting his head on the couch again. “Nothing too serious, you know? Just… experimenting.”

Dave was silent for a moment, and you could tell he was nervous. His curls looked messier than usual, and he fidgeted with his glasses before speaking. "I… never, actually. Not really, anyway."

The room grew even quieter, if that was possible. Without realizing it, your eyes drifted to his lips, pink and soft, achingly inviting. He tried to hide it with an awkward shrug, his cheeks flushing as he caught your gaze. "It's never happened. Not with anyone who… mattered."

"Wait," you began before you could stop yourself, your voice sounding louder than you intended. "Never? Really?"

He nodded, and there was something so honest, so vulnerable in his expression, that it made your heart clench. You felt the words slip out before you could process them. "I could… you know. I could be your first kiss."

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Dave looked at you as if he wasn't sure he'd heard you right, his lips parted in surprise, and Todd, on the other side, sat up straighter, his smile fading for a moment.

"Would you do that?" Dave asked, his voice lower, almost hesitant.

“Sure,” you replied, trying to sound casual but feeling the words tremble on your lips. “That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

The silence after Dave’s confession felt almost tangible, so thick you could feel it in the air around you. Todd broke the tension with a soft laugh, but unlike any previous teasing, there was no cynicism there. It was almost… curious, as if he was genuinely interested in what was coming next.

“So you’re really going to kiss him?” he asked, his eyes fixed on you, filled with something that made your breath catch. It wasn’t just curiosity; it was intensity, desire. He was watching your every move, as if he wished he were in Dave’s place.

Your face burned, and you looked away, only to be met with the restless blue of Dave’s eyes. He looked just as nervous as you, but there was something else there too: anticipation. And maybe a little newfound courage.

“If he wants to…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible, biting your lip in anticipation.

“I want to,” Dave replied immediately, surprising even himself. He took off his glasses, tossing them on the coffee table, a gesture that should have seemed awkward but only made your heart race even more. “I mean, if you want to too.”

You nodded, almost mechanically, and then came the moment of truth. The two of you began to shift, trying to adjust yourselves on the tiny couch. Todd’s arm brushed against yours as he leaned in slightly, clearly not wanting to miss anything. Knowing he would watch this made your heart skip a beat.

“Let me give you some space,” Todd said, his voice low but still filled with that intense curiosity. He leaned back, his eyes never leaving you. You felt every inch of the couch, every brush of fabric, every ragged breath.

Dave turned his body toward you, and you did the same, your knees almost touching. Your hands were shaking a little, so you rested them on the couch to hide it. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop.

You were the one who moved first, your fingers gently cupping his cheek as you moved even closer, until there was no space between you.

The first touch of his lips was shy, hesitant. You felt his softness and caution, and your heart skipped a beat. You pressed your lips more firmly against his, your tongue asking for entry to venture into his mouth. Dave seemed to relax, leaning in more, returning the kiss with a confidence you never imagined he had.

You sighed against his lips, the world around you disappearing as he held your waist firmly, pulling you closer. Your hands found his shoulders, and suddenly you were on his lap, without even realizing how it had happened. The kiss was no longer shy. It was intense, almost desperate, as if you had both been waiting for this moment without knowing it.

You moaned against his mouth as you felt his hands grip your ass, pressing you tighter against him. Shit, how could he say he’d never kissed anyone? Your fingers quickly found his curls, tugging at them until you heard a scratchy noise in his throat.

You could barely think, barely breathe, but none of that mattered. You lost yourself in the warmth of his body, in the way he seemed to hold you like he’d never let you go.

A soft sound made you open your eyes suddenly, and there was Todd, clearing his throat slightly. You pulled away from Dave, both of you still breathing heavily, and looked at Todd. He was leaning forward again, his dark eyes fixed on you, shining with something that seemed like a mix of teasing and pent-up desire. You felt overly aware of your own body, your face hot as you realized Dave’s hands were still on your ass, but you did nothing to push them away.

“So,” Todd began, his tone light but with a hint of something that made your stomach churn, he shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "If you had to choose, I think Dave would be your choice, don't you?"

You remained in Dave’s lap, the feel of his hands around you almost comforting. But Todd’s words made your heart beat faster in a different way. You looked up at him, your lips still tingling from the kiss, and spoke before you could stop yourself.

“I’d kiss you too,” you said, your voice low but clear. “If you just asked.”

Todd’s eyes darkened immediately, and you saw a slow smile form on his lips, revealing those adorable dimples that always got to you. Dave was silent, but you could feel the tension in his body, as if he was processing what he had just heard.

Todd kept his gaze fixed on you, his expression filled with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. He tilted his head slightly to the side, as if trying to comprehend what you had just said. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice deep and lower than usual, filled with a tension that you could feel in the air.

Your heart felt like it wanted to escape your chest, but you held his gaze, even as your cheeks burned with embarrassment and anticipation. You nodded, almost imperceptibly, before blurting out, in a whisper that seemed too loud in the silence, “Ask.”

The word hung between you like a challenge, like something you couldn’t take back. Todd chuckled softly, a deep sound that reverberated through the cramped couch. “Okay,” he said, leaning forward a little. “Then kiss me.”

Your stomach knotted with anxiety and excitement as you slid off Dave’s lap, feeling slight tremors in your legs. Todd’s eyes were fixed on you, following every movement as if he were under a spell. Dave, on the other side, remained silent, but the weight of his gaze was almost tangible.

When you were finally in front of Todd, kneeling on the couch, he gripped your waist firmly, pulling you onto his lap with an ease that made your heart race. Unlike Dave, Todd didn’t hesitate. He held you as if he already knew exactly what he wanted to do, and the first touch of his lips was intense.

You sighed, still tasting Dave in your mouth as Todd kissed you. His hands quickly moved down to your hips, adjusting you on his lap until you were straddling him.

You could hardly believe what was happening. Todd’s grip was different—firmer, more possessive. His hands slid around your waist, holding you with a confidence that made your entire body respond, as if you were made to be there.

The kiss was deep, almost desperate, and the world around you disappeared in a blur. You felt the heat of his body, the way he tilted his head to intensify the contact, the way he made you writhe on his lap.

His hand slid around your waist, without hesitation before squeezing your breast. Your thin bra offered no resistance against the heat of his fingers. “Todd,” you whimpered, feeling something flare inside you when he grunted his approval.

Your mind was spinning, torn between the intensity of the moment and the disbelief that this was actually happening.

When you opened your eyes for a moment, trying to catch your breath, you saw Dave watching you. He was fascinated, his lips slightly parted. His expression was a mix of surprise and… something else.

You didn’t have much time to process. Todd took advantage of the moment to slide his other hand to your hip, pulling you even closer. You didn’t protest, returning to the kiss with redoubled intensity, your hips moving against his every now and then unconsciously. The kiss didn’t have the same softness as Dave’s. It was intense, almost rough, but in a way that made you lose yourself completely.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. All you knew was that when you finally pulled away, the silence seemed even more deafening. Todd’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his dark eyes fixed on hers, as if trying to read every thought that passed through her mind.

And then came Dave’s voice, breaking the spell. “So… him too, huh?”

You blinked, your lips still tingling from the kiss, and turned to face Dave. He didn’t look angry or hurt, but the intensity in his gaze was hard to ignore. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come out. Todd chuckled again, sliding his hands to rest on your waist.

“Let her breathe, Dave,” he said, his tone casual but still filled with something that made your skin crawl.

The silence in the room was so thick it felt like a physical presence. You could feel the heat of Todd’s hands still resting on your waist, and at the same time, Dave’s gaze burning into you. You didn’t dare look directly at him; you knew your mind was already a mess and that staring into those vibrant blue eyes would only make things worse.

Todd, on the other hand, seemed more relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders gave away that he was just as affected as you were. The way he held you, as if he was trying to memorize the moment, made your heart beat even faster.

Dave was the first to break the silence. “So… you really don’t have a favorite?” His voice was low, almost hesitant, as if he were treading unfamiliar territory.

You felt your face heat up even more. It was almost impossible to believe you were having this conversation, but after what had just happened, pretending nothing had changed seemed ridiculous.

“I… I can’t choose.” The confession came out in a whisper, and you almost wished you could swallow the words back. But it was the truth. “It’s impossible.”

Todd arched an eyebrow, a slow smile forming on his lips. “Impossible, huh?” He seemed to be enjoying seeing you so nervous, but his eyes didn’t give a lie. There was something else there, something deeper that he wasn’t willing to hide.

Dave, on the other hand, looked conflicted. He shifted on the couch, as if trying to find a comfortable position—and failing miserably. “But… what does that mean?” he asked, leaning forward a little without even realizing it.

His approach didn’t go unnoticed. You felt the space between the three of you shrink even further, the heat from your bodies almost suffocating. Todd seemed to notice it too, but he didn’t say anything, just kept his hands firmly on you, as if he was marking his territory.

“I mean…” You stopped, searching for the right words, even though your mind seemed unable to process anything beyond their proximity. “I mean I like both of you. In different ways, maybe, but… I can’t imagine choosing just one.”

The admission hung in the air like a bomb about to explode. Dave opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your throat dry.

Todd, however, laughed softly, the sound making your skin crawl. “So you’re saying we both have a chance?” He tilted his head to the side, as if challenging you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I just know I like you. Both of you. And it confuses me, because… because I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Dave finally spoke, his voice firmer this time. “What if you didn’t have to choose?”

Your heart almost stopped. What did he mean by that? The look in his eyes left no doubt: he was serious. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that made your chest hurt, but also something that seemed determined, like he had already accepted the idea before you had.

Todd let out a short laugh, but it didn’t seem like he was mocking. He looked at Dave, then back at you, his eyes shining with something you couldn’t quite decipher. “That sounds like an interesting idea.”

You felt the air leave your lungs in a shaky breath. The couch felt even smaller, their bodies pressed against yours, each movement sending shocks through your body.

Dave, without realizing it, had moved even closer, until he was right next to Todd. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before landing softly on your leg, tracing lazy half circles on your thigh that made your skin crawl.

“Are you serious?” you asked, your voice thick with nervousness and disbelief.

Dave nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. Maybe… maybe we don’t have to do this the traditional way.”

The intensity of the moment seemed to overwhelm every one of your senses. The heat of Todd’s body pressed against yours, his hands firm on your waist, and Dave’s gaze burning into your face were almost too much to bear. And yet, there was something incredibly addictive about the charged atmosphere, as if you had fallen into a fever dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

Dave seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes fixed on you with a mixture of nervousness and determination. But you couldn’t wait any longer. Before you could regret it, you leaned toward him, one of your hands landing on his shoulder as you pulled him into a kiss, never leaving Todd’s lap.

His lips were soft, hesitant at first, as if he was still trying to figure out what was happening. But that only lasted for a moment. As soon as Dave felt the firmness of your mouth against his, he seemed to gain confidence. The kiss deepened, becoming more intense. His hand moved up to your face, his fingers tracing your jaw in a touch that sent waves of heat through your body.

And even as you lost yourself in the kiss with Dave, Todd’s presence could not be ignored. His hands on you seemed almost possessive, his thumbs making lazy circles on your skin, as if he wanted to remind you that he was there too. The contrast between the two of them was mind-blowing: Dave’s gentle touch, the almost desperate kiss, and Todd’s steady strength, keeping you anchored in the moment.

And it was somewhat impossible to ignore the growing bulge in his pants, pressed deliciously against your pussy.

When you finally pulled away from Dave, your breath was caught in your throat, your lips tingling with the intensity of the kiss. Your eyes met his, so blue and intense that you almost lost yourself again.

But there was no time to process anything. Before you could even catch your breath, Todd was in motion. He leaned forward, his hand rising to the base of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss of his own.

The initial shock gave way to a wave of electricity that coursed through your body. Todd’s kiss was completely different: firm, almost fierce, as if he were trying to claim something he thought was his. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t leave room for doubt. The hand on the back of your neck held you in place, while the other squeezed your breast, his thumb teasing the hardened nipple.

You couldn’t help it. A gasp escaped your throat, and you leaned even further against him, your fingers gripping Todd’s shirt as you tried to find some kind of balance. Your body felt incandescent, as if every cell was vibrating with the intensity of the moment.

And at the same time, you still felt Dave. His gaze was palpable, burning into your skin, and when you opened your eyes for a brief second, you found him watching you with something between fascination and desire. It was impossible to ignore the tension he carried too, the way his hands were clenched into fists on the couch, as if he was fighting the urge to pull you back.

Todd finally pulled away, but not completely. He rested his forehead against yours, his heavy breathing mingling with yours. “What now?” he murmured, his voice husky, filled with something that made your heart race even faster.

You had no answer. Or maybe you did, but you were lost in the heat of them, in the whirlwind of emotions that seemed too much to bear.

It was Dave who broke the silence, his voice low and filled with something that seemed to be a mix of nervousness and determination. “This isn’t just a game to me.”

You stared at him, his words piercing through the fog in your mind. He sounded so vulnerable, so sincere, that it made something inside you clench. But before he could say anything, Todd spoke, his voice filled with quiet confidence.

“Not even for me.”

The weight of their words fell on you, almost overwhelming. It was impossible to deny how attracted you were to both of them, how being between them felt… right. Even if it was insane. Even if it was something you had never imagined.

“I…” You began, but your voice faltered. You looked from one to the other, feeling the intensity of their gazes, feeling as if you were in the middle of something much bigger than you could comprehend. “I…” you began again, feeling your throat dry, the words stuck somewhere between your mind and your lips. You looked at Todd, whose hand was still firmly on yours, as if he feared you would disappear. Then at Dave, who looked so vulnerable and, at the same time, filled with an intensity that made your skin tingle.

“How… how would this work?” you finally asked, your voice low, almost a whisper, as if you didn’t want to break the moment. But the question was there, hanging in the air between you, filled with tension, anticipation and something you barely dared to name.

Todd arched an eyebrow, a slow, almost challenging smile curving his lips. "Do you really want to know?" he asked, his tone low and heavy, as his fingers traced lazy circles on your waist.

Dave swallowed hard, but nodded. "Yeah… I think we need to talk about it. If… if everyone is really thinking the same thing."

You laughed softly, almost in disbelief, tasting the kisses still fresh in your mouth. "I can't stop thinking about it. How you guys taste… how it feels… right." The words slipped out before you could stop them, and a blush quickly rose to your face.

Todd let out a low laugh, somewhere between amused and pleased. "Then we're on the same page."

Dave looked less sure, but his hand moved toward yours, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch was hesitant, but full of meaning, as if he was trying to find the courage to move forward. "I just… I want to make sure this is something you want too. That we all want."

You looked from one to the other, your heart racing. "I do. But… what about you?"

Todd leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that stole your breath. "I think my actions have made that pretty clear."

Dave shook his head, a small, almost shy smile curving his lips. "Yeah. I do. But I haven't… I've never done anything like this before."

"Me either," you admitted, a blush heating your face.

Todd let out an amused sigh. "Well, it seems I'm the only one here who's ever thought outside the box. But it doesn't have to be complicated."

As he spoke, you noticed the three of them were leaning toward each other without realizing it, as if the growing tension was pulling them closer. The heat of their bodies around you was almost suffocating, but in a good way, in a way that made your skin crawl, as if the blood in your veins had been replaced by liquid fire.

“So… what happens now?” you asked, your voice low, almost trembling with anticipation.

Todd opened his mouth to answer, but Dave was quicker. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that quickly gained intensity. You felt his hands cup your face, his touch firm but incredibly tender.

But before you could completely lose yourself in the kiss, you felt Todd move. His hands on your waist gently pushed you back onto the couch. The newly imposed distance made a complaint arise in your mind, but it was quickly replaced by a sigh as you felt him position himself behind you. In ecstasy, you realized that you were trapped between them. The couch creaked in response, but no one showed concern.

You wrapped your arms around Dave’s neck, feeling his chest crush your breasts. You were still kissing him when Todd pressed his lips against the curve of your neck. Your back pressed firmly against his chest.

The world seemed to spin. You couldn’t separate one sensation from the other—the heat of Dave’s kiss, the firmness of Todd’s touch, the two merging into a whirlwind that made your head spin. When Dave finally pulled away, panting, it was Todd who took his place, pulling you into a kiss that was completely different: firm, full of control, but equally devastating.

The moment Dave’s lips brushed Todd’s was like time had stopped. Neither of you moved, your eyes wide as surprise hung in the air. You held your breath, feeling the weight of tension triple around you. There were no words, just the muffled sound of rapid breathing and the heat of your bodies so close together.

“That… was…” Todd began, but the sentence trailed off, replaced by a low sigh. He looked disconcerted, his eyes fixed on Dave, but there was no hostility there. Only confusion and something that felt like… curiosity.

Dave, for his part, looked equally stunned, the blush rising quickly to his face. “I… didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, full of embarrassment.

But Todd, instead of responding with words, let out a short, husky laugh, more of a whisper than an actual sound. “Relax, man. It was just an accident,” he said, but there was something about the way he looked at Dave—a mix of teasing and consideration that made him seem far more intrigued than he should have been.

You watched them, feeling trapped between them, both physically and emotionally. Their closeness was almost suffocating, but in a way that made your skin tingle. “Are you guys okay?” you asked, trying to diffuse the rising tension, but your own voice came out low and shaky, betraying what you really felt.

Todd looked at you, then back at Dave, before letting out a deep sigh. “Yeah. We’re fine.” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you now. “What about you?”

“I… don’t know,” you admitted, laughing nervously, leaning against Todd’s chest as you tried to catch your breath. “This is all very… intense.”

Dave ran a hand through his hair, clearly still processing what had just happened. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours. “But… well, it doesn’t feel wrong. Does it?”

You shook your head slowly, feeling your heart hammer in your chest. “No. It doesn’t.”

And, as if your words had broken some invisible barrier, Dave leaned in again, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt more urgent this time. His hands slid down your body, leaving a trail that seemed to burn your skin, before settling back on your ass, squeezing hard enough to make a moan bubble past your lips.

Before you could pull away, you felt Todd’s hands on your waist again, firm and warm, deliberately moving up until they cupped your soft breasts, kneading them gently through your thin blouse. The couch felt too small to hold all of you, your bodies moving together in an awkward but harmonious rhythm.

When Dave finally pulled away, panting, it was Todd who took his place, turning your face back for a kiss that was completely different—firmer, more demanding, almost as if he were trying to prove something. His hands teased your aching nipples, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

And then, before you could completely lose yourself in him, Dave was there again. The initial shock seemed to have faded, replaced by a strange, silent acceptance. They didn’t talk about what it meant, just went with the flow of the moment, the touches and kisses becoming a language of their own.

When you were too breathless, lost in the feeling of an insistent poke in your belly and another in your ass, your eyes closed for a moment. Just registering the moment, the way the heat had enveloped your body, the way you were deliciously pressed against each other.

“This is… insane,” you murmured between kisses, your voice broken by sighs as you tried to keep up with their movements.

“Maybe,” Todd replied, his voice low and husky against your ear. “But it feels right.”

Dave nodded, his fingers still firmly on your ass, adjusting it against his own growing bulge in his pants. "I never imagined… but, yes. It feels right." The three of you moved as if they were one, a tangle of hands and mouths, each touch, each kiss charged with an intensity that bordered on delirious.

You felt as if you were floating, trapped in a whirlwind of emotions and sensations that you couldn't and didn't want to control. Their tastes mixed together, their touches were a perfect blend of firmness and care, and the world around you disappeared completely. There was no room for doubt or regret—only the growing heat between you and the certainty that, somehow, it all made sense.

The insistent sound of a cell phone vibrating cut through the heavy air of kisses and panting breaths, but no one really seemed to care. Todd’s lips were on the curve of your neck, leaving kisses that sent shivers down your spine, while Dave held your face in a firm hand, his fingers brushing the line of your jaw as his lips took yours again.

You tried to focus, but the constant vibration seemed to grow louder and louder, almost like a reminder that was impossible to ignore. “My… my phone,” you managed to mumble, but your voice came out low, almost breathless, lost between the ringing and the heat radiating from both of them.

Dave let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a protest, his lips leaving yours just enough to murmur against your skin, “Ignore it.”

Still, you reached out with difficulty, trying to find the phone, while their caresses made it difficult to even breathe.

“Let it ring,” Todd suggested, his voice husky and low against your skin, as he left a soft bite on the side of your neck.

Dave let out a small laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “It shouldn’t be that important,” he added, but the intensity of his lips returning to meet yours told you he clearly didn’t care.

You finally managed to pull out your phone, and the name on the screen made your stomach sink for a moment: Dad. Taking a deep breath—or at least trying to, because Todd hadn’t yet taken his lips off of you—you answered. “H-hey,” you managed to say, but the word came out in a shaky whisper, your voice cracking with the heat in your body.

“Daughter? Is everything okay? You seem out of breath,” your father said on the other end of the line, concerned.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice slurred and shaky as Todd took the moment to place another kiss on your neck, this time with a teasing bite that made you let out a small muffled sound before you could stop yourself. Dave arched an eyebrow, a lazy smile on his lips. “I’m… I’m at Todd’s,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual, but your heavy breathing gave you away.

“Are his parents there?” your father asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

You hesitated for a moment, but felt Todd smile against your skin before whispering, "Say yes."

"Yes," you lied, the word coming out too quickly. "They're… t-they're in the... living room," you finished, stuttering slightly as Dave ran his hand down your side, his fingers tracing a warm line on your skin.

Your father seemed to consider the answer for a moment before continuing. "I just wanted to let you know that your uncle is here. He came as a surprise and really wants to see you. Come home when you can."

"My uncle?" you asked, your mind in a haze. Todd's soft bite on your neck and Dave's lips brushing your collarbone made it impossible to fully focus. "Oh… sure. I'll… I'll come back," you said, but the words came out broken, almost like a sigh, which only seemed to heighten the interest in Todd and Dave's eyes.

"Is everything really okay, honey? You're sounding… weird," your father observed, his tone more serious now.

"Yes, I'm… tired," you replied, trying to sound convincing, but another sigh escaped when Dave pressed a firmer kiss to your shoulder, and you had to bite your lip to hold back any sound.

"Okay, then come back soon. Don't be long," he said before hanging up.

You dropped your phone on the couch with a shaky hand, trying to compose yourself as Todd tilted his face up, his eyes shining with mischief. “You lied so well,” he teased, his voice low and full of amusement.

“I could barely speak,” you admitted breathlessly, your lips still tingling from the kisses.

“Maybe because we didn’t let you,” Dave said, smiling as he tilted his head for another kiss, his fingers already firmly on your waist.

“I have to go,” you murmured, though you weren’t sure if you believed it.

“Do you really?” Todd asked, his fingers stroking the back of your neck slowly and deliberately.

You didn’t answer. Or maybe you couldn’t, because Dave pulled you closer, and soon you were lost in them again, every touch, every kiss, making it seem like the world outside that couch didn’t exist.

The knowledge that you had to go was coming back like a slow but inevitable tide. You were there, between them, each kiss and touch so captivating that the world seemed to have stopped. Still, the weight of the cell phone in your hand and your father's voice echoed in your mind, reminding you that you had to get out of that feverish paradise.

With an effort that seemed almost superhuman, you began to move away, your body hesitating with every inch lost between the three of them. Dave, who had his fingers intertwined in the curve of your waist, tried to keep them there for a moment longer, while Todd, with his lips still so close to your skin, let out a hoarse sigh of dissatisfaction. "Are you sure you have to go?" he asked, his tone low and loaded with something that made your legs threaten to give out.

You nodded, although your hands still instinctively sought their touch, almost as if they were acting on their own. "I… I do," you answered, but your voice came out shaky, as if the very act of speaking convinced you otherwise.

Before you could stand up completely, you leaned in, leaving a soft kiss on Todd's lips, enough to feel the slight roughness he had, so familiar now. He smiled against your lips, almost challenging, as if he was sure you would change your mind.

When your eyes met Dave's, something sparked between you. You moved closer, hesitant but determined, and his fingers soon rose to your face, firm and gentle, guiding you for another kiss. Unlike Todd's, his was a mix of intensity and tenderness, something that made your chest tight with conflicting emotions.

As you pulled away, panting, you saw the two exchange a brief, almost complicit look, before turning their focus back to you. The marks they left began to burn lightly on your skin as you adjusted yourself to get up, and it was only when you absently ran your hand over your neck that you realized the damage they had done.

Your face blushed violently. “You… left marks,” you murmured, your voice tinged with embarrassment and something else they probably noticed too.

Todd tilted his head, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “And you left yours too,” he replied teasingly, indicating the place where your own fingers had previously grazed his neck.

Dave laughed, a low, comfortable laugh. “Good luck explaining that,” he said, his tone laced with amusement but also something you couldn’t quite decipher.

Still dazed, you gathered your things, feeling their eyes follow your every move. When you finally reached the door, Todd was the first to stand, walking towards you with that familiar relaxed confidence. He leaned in for one last kiss, quicker this time but no less intense, as if he wanted to prolong the moment for just a second longer.

Dave approached soon after, his gaze warm and amused. “See you later,” he said, his fingers brushing your hand before he leaned in for another kiss. "See you," you replied, the word almost swallowed by the confusion of emotions dancing inside you. When you finally left, you could still feel their lips on yours and the marks, now not only on your skin, but also on your heart.

The door closed with a soft click, leaving Dave and Todd alone in the room. For a moment, silence reigned, interrupted only by the sound of their still uneven breathing. They threw themselves on the couch, their clothes slightly wrinkled and the marks of what had happened written on their faces — swollen lips, messy hair, and an unsettling glint in their eyes.

Todd was the first to break the silence, letting out a low, almost incredulous laugh. “Dude… what the fuck just happened?” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more as he looked at Dave, his eyes still filled with a mix of amusement and surprise.

Dave was still processing everything, his gaze fixed on the door as if he expected you to return at any moment. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice coming out hoarse, almost choked. He brought a hand to his face, as if he needed to make sure he was still there. “That was… completely insane.”

Todd tilted his head back, letting out a long sigh, before looking at Dave with a smile that was half teasing, half pure fascination. “You do realize we just kissed the same girl, right? Like… fuck, while she was between us. That’s better than any porn I’ve ever seen.”

Dave blushed immediately, but didn’t try to deny it. “Yeah, I noticed, Todd,” he replied, his voice louder than he intended. He ran his hands over his face, desperately trying to make sense of it. “That was… different. And you didn’t even flinch,” he added, looking at Todd with a mix of accusation and something else.

“Neither did you,” Todd replied, a smirk appearing on his face. He shrugged, as if he was more comfortable with the situation than he should have been. “But seriously… did you feel it? Like, how she seemed to be… there with us? Not between us, but… part of it?”

Dave couldn’t help but remember the way their bodies seemed to mold together, as if everything made some strange, unexpected sense. “I felt it,” he admitted, reluctantly but honestly. “And that’s what makes me so confused.”

Todd turned to face Dave directly, his smile fading as he spoke more seriously. “So… what do we do about this? Because, man, I can’t just… pretend it didn’t happen.”

Dave shook his head slowly, his eyes returning to the couch, where minutes ago everything had happened. “Me neither,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He licked his lips, as if he could still taste her. “I think we need to… talk to her about it. See what she thinks.”

Todd laughed lightly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, because this isn’t going to be weird,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. But the smile that followed was genuine. “If there’s one thing that’s clear, it’s that she’s just as lost in this as we are.”

Dave nodded slowly, his fingers drumming against his leg. “Do you think she… feels the same way? Like, that this is something that could work?”

Todd shrugged, but there was a strange confidence in the gleam in his eyes. “Only one way to find out, right? But man, if I know her well enough… I’d say she was as comfortable with us as she seemed.”

Dave stared at Todd for a long moment before finally letting out a shy smile. "This is crazy, Todd. You know that, right?"

Todd laughed, louder this time, throwing his head back. "Of course it is, man. But if we're going to do something crazy, at least it's with her."

They were silent after that, both lost in their own thoughts. But deep down, one thing was clear: whatever had started in that room, it wasn't something they were willing to abandon any time soon.

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aleksatia · 2 months ago

Text

🍎Caleb – The Tea, the Rice, and Everything Between (NSFW)

🍎 Thank you so much for 100+ reblogs!

As promised — the cut scene is here, and it’s hot. Like multiple-times hot. No angst this time. No tears. Just heat, tension, and everything you’ve been waiting for.

Enjoy, sinners 💋

Original Story: Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Caleb.

CW/TW: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, squirting, emotionally charged sex, mild dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, praise, kitchen setting, bath/shower intimacy, established relationship, break-up/reunion themes, references to past emotional conflict

Pairing: Caleb x ex-wife!you Genre: Second-chance romance with heat and history. Exes-to-lovers (again), soft smut built on old ache. Domestic intimacy, emotional vulnerability, tenderness with teeth. Kitchen floor confessions, and sex like remembering. Summary: A blind date gone wrong — or exactly right. What begins as awkward reconnection turns into something slower, deeper: a return not just to each other, but to a shared language of touch, trust, and home. Where sex isn’t just sex — it’s communication. And staying. Word Count: 6.3K AN: This was a cut scene, and honestly, I’m terrified to post something this explicit in English — it’s not my first language. I’ve written smut before, but this time I was genuinely afraid it might ruin the tone of the main story. That’s why I’m relying on your feedback and comments more than ever — to understand how I can make intimate scenes better, and whether you’d want to see this kind of content in future stories, where the sex truly means something.

The kitchen was unfamiliar.

Not because it wasn’t yours — it was. Technically. Legally. But the way he moved in it, casual and precise, made you feel like the guest.

He stood barefoot on the cold tile, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, forearms dusted with fine scars and memory. He opened cabinets like he still remembered where everything was. Like no time had passed. Like his hands hadn’t once learned to forget the shape of your cupboard handles.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said, voice low, too steady.

“You make it sound like a peace offering.”

“It’s not,” he replied, not missing a beat. “It’s a ritual. And we need a buffer.”

You didn’t argue.

The kettle clicked into place with a hiss and a red glow. The same model you’d bought when you still lived together. Sleek. Quiet. Fast. He filled it, turned it on, leaned back against the counter like the space belonged to him — or like he’d decided not to care whether it did.

You watched him like you were learning a new species.

There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and now it simply had nowhere to hide. His jaw worked — subtle, steady — as if every moment in this room was a negotiation. With himself. With you.

“You still drink green?” he asked.

“Only if it’s the thyme kind.”

He nodded. Moved to the cabinet.

You saw it before he touched it: the tin. Still there.

Still labeled in your handwriting. Still slightly dented from the time it fell when you were arguing about your night shifts — how he said he missed you, and you said he loved control more than company. You remembered the crash. The silence after. The tea everywhere. You had cried then — not because of the fight, but because the scent reminded you of a week in Kyoto, of a night in a ryokan, of him.

Now, he held it like something sacred. Not romantic — sacred. Like an object recovered from the ruins of something holy.

He didn’t speak as he measured the leaves. The kettle began its low boil, and your breath caught as the room filled with steam and tension and scent.

Caleb glanced at you then — just once. Just enough.

“You always said tea was foreplay for the soul,” he murmured. “Slow. Precise. Intimate.”

You swallowed. The air was too warm. Too full of unsaid things. “And you always made it like you were loading a gun.”

He smiled. Barely. “Still am.”

He poured. No splash. No hesitation. Just a perfect arc of water over leaves, a ritual in slow motion. You watched the steam rise. It curled between you like a phantom limb — reaching, touching, remembering.

Two cups. No sugar. No honey. Just heat and bitterness and memory.

He handed you yours without a word. Your fingers brushed.

Electric.

Your spine straightened like it had heard a command. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The words you wanted weren’t words at all.

He leaned in, just enough to murmur against the shell of your ear:

“Tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t.

The space between you went taut — a livewire stretched thin.

He didn’t move closer. Not physically. But the way he looked at you — steady, slow, eyes dark and locked — made it feel like the room tilted toward him. Like your body might step forward without your consent.

Your breath shallowed.

He lifted a hand — not reaching, just hovering at his side, like a promise left hanging. The kind you could lean into. Or break.

You didn’t touch it. But your fingers curled.

The distance between you hummed. Your chest rose once — deep, instinctual — and you swore he noticed. Like he felt it.

A beat passed. Then another.

And then — as if some invisible string snapped — you turned away. Not retreating. Just breathing. Moving. Giving yourself an anchor.

You crossed the room, slow and careful, and sat across from him.

Now the table was between you. But it felt like nothing at all.

The sun was low, casting long golden lines across the floor, slicing through the room like truth. You didn’t turn on the lights. Neither of you said it aloud, but it was mutual. Sacred.

Shadows suited you both.

The tea was hot. Thyme, heady and clean. You lifted the cup to your lips, slowly, deliberately — not for the ritual, but for the pause it allowed. A shield. A stall. The steam curled upward, catching the light in fleeting halos.

He mirrored you, his fingers curled around the ceramic just a breath tighter than necessary. You noticed that — the way he always held things as if they might vanish. Or combust.

You took a sip.

Too hot. But you didn’t flinch. You swallowed, slow, and he noticed. You felt it — in the brief silence after, in the way his eyes flicked down to your throat and then back up. It wasn’t a leer. It was worse. It was reverence, edged with hunger.

You felt your breath catch.

He watched you like he was cataloguing reactions. Heat. Shiver. Pulse. The involuntary things. The things you didn’t mean to offer, but did.

“Still drink too fast,” he said softly, voice just this side of amused.

“And you still watch like it’s a crime,” you countered, setting your cup down with a sound softer than your own heartbeat.

That earned a ghost of a smile. The dangerous kind. The one he used when he was testing how far he could push before you snapped.

The room smelled like tea and him.

You hated that you could still pick out his scent from the air. Not cologne — that had faded. But the skin-memory of him. Leather and salt. The way a shirt held heat. The phantom weight of him in a hallway, a room, a bed.

He shifted.

Just enough for his knee to brush yours under the table. Not hard. Not even purposeful. But your breath hitched anyway, and the contact lingered a second too long to be nothing.

Your fingers tightened around the cup.

Caleb didn’t comment. He just leaned back slightly, stretching — a move that pulled his shirt across his chest, arms flexed, body all muscle memory and controlled casualness.

You knew better.

This was performance. Precision. The way predators move when they’re circling.

You exhaled through your nose, slow. Collected.

“Still stretch like you want people to notice.”

He raised a brow. “And yet only you ever did.”

There it was. The shift.

You let it land. Let it sit between you like the steam from the cups, slow and rising.

His eyes caught yours — not sharp, not heated, but slow-burning. The kind of look that traced rather than pierced. Like he was remembering you with his pupils. Carving new versions of you in real time.

“You’re doing it again,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“What?”

“Looking at me like you’re starving.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it.

“I’ve been starving,” he said, simply.

It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t a plea. It was a biological fact, laid bare like bone.

The sun moved lower.

Light sliced across the floor, catching the dust in the air — or maybe ash. Maybe some part of you had already started to burn.

You shifted slightly, and your leg brushed his again — this time unmistakable. This time yours. His jaw twitched.

Outside, a bird cried. Distant. The world, somehow, was still turning.

“You haven’t asked if I want this,” you said, not blinking.

“I don’t have to,” he said, just as soft. “You breathe differently when you do.”

You blinked once. That was all.

Then you picked up your cup again. Sipped. Let the thyme scald your mouth like penance.

The silence swelled. And it was good.

It was weighted and ripe and full of things with teeth. Things that growled low in the chest. Things that waited to be touched.

He reached out — not to you. To your cup. A finger trailing the rim after you set it down, brushing a spot still warm from your lips.

The motion was casual. The meaning wasn’t.

Your mouth went dry.

And still — still — you didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You weren’t ready to break the spell. Not yet.

The air had teeth now. And it was breathing with you.

“Want more tea?” you asked.

You didn’t mean for your voice to sound like that. Too soft. Too deliberate.

But the words were already out, and your body was already halfway to the cabinet, like something inside you had already voted yes.

He didn’t answer.

You moved.

The cabinet clicked open with a familiar sound — that slight hitch in the hinge from years of use. Your fingers weren’t steady. You tried to hide it, but they trembled — just slightly — as you reached inside.

You moved a jar. Then another. Something metal clinked softly. Your hand brushed a tin of loose thyme, nudged a spice grinder. You weren’t really looking — not at first. Just buying yourself seconds. Trying to breathe through the static building under your skin.

Finally, your fingertips found the edge of the tea tin — cool metal, familiar weight — and curled around it.

The weight of the moment settled lightly across your shoulders. But it was growing. And you hadn’t even turned around yet.

Then — you felt him. Behind you.

No sound. No warning. Just the heat of him. The presence.

His chest hovered a breath away from your spine. Not touching — not yet — but so close you could feel the current of his breath ripple the fine hairs at your nape. And then — he moved.

A single hand slid around your waist, gliding low and sure — not possessive, not greedy.

Just anchoring.

His other hand came up beside yours, fingers brushing over yours as they both closed around the tea tin — steady, intentional.

You both held it for a moment. His thumb grazed the side of your hand, and the touch was light, but it hit like a jolt.

Then, without a word, he guided your movements — the rhythm slow, precise, like teaching a forgotten dance.

You opened the lid together. The scent of thyme rose instantly — earthy, dry, sharp in the back of your throat.

His fingers dipped in first, then yours. He didn’t let go — only moved with you, hand over hand, warm against your skin.

Together, you scooped the leaves. Together, you dropped them into the teapot — soft rustle, metal click, heat behind your sternum.

He reached for the kettle, still standing behind you, close. Too close.

He leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“If your hands keep shaking like that,” he murmured, voice like heat sliding down your spine, “you’re gonna drop the whole damn thing.”

His breath skimmed your skin.

“You always did fall apart in the quiet moments.”

You tried to respond. A sound caught in your throat — something between a breath and a whimper — and it stuttered out, betraying you.

That was when his second hand moved.

Up your spine. Slow.

Palm flat, gliding with unbearable care, tracing every vertebra like reading braille — and then curling gently around the back of your neck. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just claiming.

Your body tightened in response. Knees locked. Fingertips trembled.

He pressed in, finally — chest to back, hips aligned, his breath warm at your temple as his hand guided yours to tilt the kettle.

Water flowed. The hiss of the pour filled the room like breath. Steam rose between you

Steady.

But your body — it wasn’t. Your shoulders jerked slightly with each breath, each phantom trail of his mouth near your skin. Your hand twitched, betraying you again. A spasm of want.

A soft clatter overhead.

And then —

crash.

The jar of rice tipped from the top shelf, hit the counter with a sickening grace, and burst — a spray of white scattering across the floor like bones or snow or silence breaking.

You gasped, instinctively.

And that’s when his hand — the one at your nape — clenched.

Not hard. But firm.

The kind of grip that made your lungs freeze mid-inhale. That made your throat work around the air like it was thick with heat. His fingers laced into your hair — not rough, not cruel — just decisive. Unmistakable.

He tilted your head back. Slow. Unrelenting.

And then—

His mouth found your skin.

Not lips. Not a kiss.

Mouth. Open. Hungry.

Along the curve of your cheek. Down to your jaw.

Your pulse jumped beneath his tongue when it hit the hollow of your neck. His breath was wet and warm and anchored, like he was planting a flag with every inch of contact. Claiming space that once was his and never stopped being.

Your hands had no grace left. One flew to the edge of the counter — the other clawed back, found his wrist, fingers digging into his skin. Hard.

Not to stop him.

To feel him. To mark him.

His other hand shifted — lower now — palm pressing flat to your belly, then clenching, dragging you into him, spine to chest, making it absolutely, unforgivably clear just how gone he already was.

You whimpered. This time you didn’t hide it.

It slipped out, molten and trembling, and you felt his grip tighten in response — not enough to bruise, but just enough to make you feel kept.

The room pulsed.

Your breath broke.

And still, he didn’t speak. Because he didn’t have to.

The rice lay scattered on the floor like shattered promises. Your breath fogged the inside of your chest like a storm you’d stopped outrunning. And his mouth — god, his mouth — was still at your throat.

Poised. Lingering. Like he hadn’t even started yet.

He only let go of your neck to turn you around — swift, certain, hands gripping your hips as he pulled you flush against him. You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on yours, open, hot, demanding.

No teasing now.

His tongue pushed past your lips like he owned the space, like he’d been dying to taste you for years, and you let him — moaning into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling, clutching, needing.

You wanted him close enough to hurt.

He lifted you, didn’t ask, didn’t warn. Just picked you up by the thighs and laid you down onto the kitchen floor — right where the rice had scattered. Cold tile met your back, shocking at first, but it didn’t matter — not with him above you, between your legs, kneeling, eyes so dark they barely looked human.

He tore your shirt open — buttons flying. No ceremony. Just raw, frantic need.

The leather corset underneath was still on — tight, structured, hugging every breath out of you.

His eyes dragged over it like it was the only thing keeping him sane. And maybe it was.

“No bra?” he rasped, voice wrecked.

You grinned, breathless. “Didn’t expect to come home with company.”

His mouth found your nipple instantly — no hesitation, no teasing prelude, just need.

But once there, he slowed.

His tongue drew slow, deliberate circles around the stiffened peak — not touching it directly at first, just building heat, pressure, anticipation. His breath ghosted over the damp skin between passes, and your back arched, seeking more.

Then he closed his lips around you — warm, wet, and steady — sucking just hard enough to make your breath hitch. Your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him there, gasping as his tongue flicked rapidly, then flattened, then flicked again.

You moaned when his teeth grazed you — just a scrape, a warning. Enough to make your hips jerk up against him involuntarily.

And he felt it.

He grunted low in his throat, hand sliding up to cup your other breast, thumb brushing the second nipple with maddening gentleness — then a sudden pinch. Sharp, quick, perfect.

You cried out, biting your lip hard to catch the sound.

He switched sides without a word, mouth latching onto the other nipple like he owned it. This time he bit first — just a nip, followed by a sweep of tongue, a kiss, a suck that made your thighs clench and your breath break into fragments.

You were grinding against him now, fully clothed from the waist down, but soaking through. Desperate.

“Caleb,” you breathed, voice barely holding together.

His mouth didn’t stop. His hands didn’t stop.

He was unraveling you one nipple at a time, with patience, with precision, with a hunger that had waited too long.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your skin, “you still make the same sound when you’re about to come.”

“Keep going,” you panted, “and you’ll hear it again.”

He undid your leather pants with one hand — rough, practiced, fingers tugging at the tight laces, then the zipper. You lifted your hips without being asked, breath catching as the cool air met your skin.

The leather peeled off your thighs slowly, sticking where your sweat had slicked the inside, and he paused, looking down — drinking you in.

Lacy black panties. Damp. Barely holding on.

He let out a low, almost reverent whistle.

“Well, fuck me,” he murmured, voice thick. “Even your underwear wants an audience.”

You laughed, breathless. “You’re one to talk. You look like you just walked off the set of Colonel Kink.”

He smirked. “I was gonna say we looked like a porn parody of Mr. & Mrs. Smith, but hey, I’ll take it.”

Then — the mood shifted. The heat didn’t go anywhere, but it sharpened.

His hands slid up your thighs again — palms flat, slow, thumbs stroking the insides where the skin was most sensitive. He sank to his knees without breaking eye contact, and you felt your breath stall completely.

“Caleb…”

“I’ve missed this,” he said, voice low, honest, almost reverent. “The way you smell when you want me. The way you taste when you’re soaked through your pretty little lace.”

You moaned, hips twitching as his breath hit your core through the damp fabric. He leaned in — pressed his face right against you — and inhaled.

Long. Deep. Like it centered him.

You gasped, one hand flying back to brace on the counter behind you. The other slid into his hair, tight.

Then —

His teeth caught the edge of your panties. He didn’t use his hands. Just his mouth. Slow, deliberate tugs — the lace catching on your hips, your thighs, your knees, until it fell away entirely.

You were shaking.

He didn’t speak.

He kissed the inside of your thigh — once, twice — then let his lips trail up, open, soft, worshipful.

Then his fingers joined in.

Two, sliding through your folds, slow and steady, spreading your slick as his mouth hovered just above you.

You whimpered, hips rolling into his touch.

“Still so responsive,” he murmured, thumb circling your clit with maddening patience. “You always were. Every twitch. Every breath. I could map you blind.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Lips sealing around your clit. Tongue flicking, then flattening, then dragging up through your folds with obscene precision. He moaned against you, the sound vibrating into your skin, and your knees nearly gave out.

His fingers slid inside — two at once — curling just right.

You cried out, legs trembling, gripping his hair like a lifeline as he devoured you with slow, skilled, devastating intent.

Not rushing. Not teasing. Just giving.

Giving you everything.

His tongue moved in rhythm with his fingers — curling inside you, pressing into that spot that made you whimper every time he found it. And he kept finding it. Over and over.

Your thighs started to shake. Your breath turned ragged. Every muscle in your abdomen coiled tighter, tighter, tighter—

“Caleb,” you gasped, voice high and wrecked. “Caleb, I—”

“I know,” he murmured against you. “Don’t fight it.”

And then he flattened his tongue, sucked your clit into his mouth at the exact moment he thrust his fingers deeper — curling, pressing, relentless.

You broke.

Your whole body seized. A strangled cry ripped from your throat as the orgasm tore through you like a wave too big to ride.

And then — you gushed.

Hot, sudden, uncontrollable.

Your release poured over his hand, his wrist, his mouth — and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He kept licking. Kept sucking. His fingers didn’t let up, coaxing you through every spasm, every twitch, every drop.

You tried to pull away — overwhelmed, oversensitive — but he gripped your hips, holding you there as he swallowed everything you gave him.

When you finally collapsed back against the floor, boneless and shaking, he pulled back just enough to breathe.

His mouth glistened. So did his chin.

And his eyes — fuck, his eyes — were dark. Wild. Unhinged.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked up at you.

“You squirted for me,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You never used to—”

“I couldn’t,” you whispered, chest heaving. “Not like this. Not until now.”

That broke something in him.

He growled — actually growled — and shoved his own pants down, just enough, cock springing free.

Thick. Hard. Already leaking.

You stared — couldn’t help it — and bit your lip.

He didn’t waste time.

He surged up, caught your mouth in a desperate, wet kiss, and growled into it like he’d explode if he didn’t get inside you right fucking now.

One hand on your thigh, the other lining himself up, he ran the head of his cock along your folds — slow, deliberate, reverent — letting the slick heat of your release coat him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re still dripping for me.” His voice was raw, full of awe and hunger all at once. “You don’t even know what that does to me.”

You moaned, desperate. “Please.”

He didn’t ask again.

He pushed in with one brutal, beautiful thrust — thick stretch, sudden fullness, and your head slammed back against the tile with a moan that echoed off the cabinets.

You were so ready for him — still pulsing from release, still wet and open — and he filled you perfectly. Like he’d been made for this. For you.

“God—” he hissed. “You’re so tight. So fucking tight.”

He pulled out halfway, then slammed in again, harder — and this time, you cried out again. Not from pain. Not from relief.

From the shockwave of it.

From the way his cock hit deeper than his fingers ever could. From the sudden ache of fullness that wasn’t too much — just perfect. Every thrust dragged against oversensitive nerves, still trembling from the last orgasm, and sparked new heat — sharper, lower, hungrier.

Your body clenched around him like it didn’t want to let go. Like it knew this shape. Like it had missed the stretch, the press, the claim of him moving inside.

He felt it.

And you felt him feel it — in the way his hands gripped harder, in the way his breath stuttered, in the way he buried himself deeper, groaning your name like a man being remade from the inside out.

His pace quickened, relentless — no buildup, no mercy — just a driving, desperate rhythm that spoke every word his mouth couldn’t.

He fucked you like he was trying to erase every other man, every ghost, every moment you’d spent apart.

Your back arched. Your heels dug into his ass. Nails raked down his back as he pistoned into you, his dog tags swinging between you with every thrust — cold metal brushing your chest.

You caught them between your lips, sucked them in with a soft moan — and he growled at the sight.

Every thrust slammed your hips into the floor, scattering grains of rice that stuck to your skin like sparks from the fire you’d started.

You were panting, gasping, clawing — but you still wanted more.

“Harder,” you begged. “Fuck — Caleb, harder.”

He snarled, grabbed both your thighs, and bent them up toward your chest, folding you open.

And then he really fucked you. Deep. Rough. Unrelenting.

You felt every inch. Every pulse. His pelvis slammed into your clit with each thrust, sending lightning through your body.

You were close again. So close it hurt.

“I can feel you clenching,” he groaned, eyes locked on yours. “You gonna come on my cock? Right here, on the fucking kitchen floor?”

You nodded — couldn’t speak — hands scrabbling at his shoulders, nails biting deep.

“Say it,” he demanded, breath ragged. “Say who’s fucking you like this.”

“You,” you choked. “You are.”

“Louder.”

“You are! Caleb — fuck, I’m—”

Your orgasm hit like a detonation — white-hot, blinding, body convulsing beneath him as your scream tore from your throat. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Just fucked you through it, driving deeper, chasing his own end.

And then — with a low, vicious growl — he spilled into you, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside as he came with a force that made your thighs shake.

He collapsed over you, panting, body heavy and warm.

The only sound in the room was your breathing. Intertwined. Labored. Wild.

The floor was a mess — scattered rice, your clothes, his pants around his thighs.

But neither of you moved.

His forehead pressed to yours. His hand found your chest — palm over your racing heart — and just stayed there.

You didn’t say a word. There was nothing left to say.

Only this. Only you, full of him, aching and open and alive.

Still drunk on the wreckage of it all.

His breath was still uneven when he moved — slow, deliberate, like your body was made of something breakable. He slipped his arms beneath you, palms warm under your thighs and back, and lifted you off the tile with a quiet grunt.

You didn’t protest.

You curled into him like muscle memory, like gravity, arms looping around his shoulders, forehead pressed to his temple. He was still inside you — thick, warm, softening but not gone — and you gasped as the movement made everything inside shift.

“Jesus,” you muttered, breath catching. “There’s so much... I can’t hold it all.”

He laughed against your cheek — low, hoarse, completely wrecked.

“Well,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “you did say you were ready to be filled.”

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you’re clinging to me like I’m the last piece of furniture on a sinking ship.”

“Shut up,” you breathed, nuzzling into his neck. “You feel like home.”

He eased himself back against the cabinets, still holding you, your legs wrapped around his waist, bodies impossibly close. One of his hands came up to cradle your face — fingers tracing your cheekbone, your temple, your jaw — as if checking that you were real. That this was real.

You kissed him softly. Not with urgency this time. Just presence.

It tasted like salt and breath and belonging.

His thumb swept across your bottom lip. Yours followed the line of his collarbone, the dip of his throat, the stubble on his jaw. You both moved like you had all the time in the world — like the world outside didn’t exist.

Only the kitchen. Only the smell of tea. Only the aftershock still pulsing between your thighs.

“You still shake a little after,” he whispered against your lips. “Always loved that.”

You huffed a breath. “I’m trying to have a moment here, not give you a performance review.”

He grinned, forehead pressed to yours. “You passed.”

Then his hips shifted slightly, just enough for his cock to nudge deeper again — still thick, still present — and you shivered.

“…Are you—?”

You leaned back, just enough to glance between your bodies. Then raised a brow.

“Seriously?” you asked. “Already?”

He gave a slow, sheepish smile. “I mean… you’re still wrapped around me. What’d you expect?”

You tilted your head, faux innocent. “Self-control?”

He scoffed. “We’re past that.”

And god — he was right.

Because even now, you could feel him swelling again, twitching back to life inside you, warmth pooling low in your belly as your body responded without permission. You clenched around him — slowly, deliberately — and watched his jaw tighten.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” he warned, voice already lower, darker.

You smirked. “I’m not the one starting anything. You’re the one growing like a goddamn resurrection spell.”

He laughed — breathless, wrecked — and kissed you again. Deeper this time. Tongue slow and hungry, hands sliding over your back, your ass, your thighs, like he couldn’t decide what to hold onto first.

You felt the shift again. The air. The way everything started to crackle. Like the storm had only paused. Like it was about to break again — and you were both ready.

You shifted your hips, still seated on him, and he let out a low, strangled breath — head falling back against the cabinet with a quiet thud.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned. “You’re still so tight.”

You placed your palms on his chest, steadying yourself, and rolled your hips once — slow, languid, letting his cock slide deeper inside you inch by inch. You felt every ridge, every twitch, every pulse.

And he felt everything.

His hands gripped your waist — not rough, but grounding. His eyes locked to yours, pupils blown wide, reverent.

This wasn’t desperation anymore. It was worship.

You started to move. Hips swaying in slow, controlled circles, grinding down on him, letting the heat build again — not like fire this time, but like lava. Deep. Slow. Irresistible.

His hands traveled up your sides, over your ribs, to your breasts — thumbs brushing your nipples with just enough pressure to make your head tilt back, lips part.

“You ride me like you own me,” he murmured.

“I do,” you whispered, breath hitching. “You let me.”

“I’d let you do anything.”

He shifted under you, pulling you closer, burying his face in your neck. His lips grazed your collarbone, your jaw, your throat — slow, tasting, not rushing. His cock throbbed inside you every time you clenched, and you could feel how hard he was trying to hold on.

But you didn’t want him to.

You rolled your hips forward — grinding down just right, pressing your clit against the base of him — and both of you gasped.

“You feel so good,” you moaned, forehead pressing to his. “I missed this. I missed you.”

His hands moved to your ass, squeezing, guiding your rhythm — not controlling it, just keeping pace with your body, your want.

Your mouths met again. Open. Deep. Wet. Tongues sliding, lips sucking, breathing into each other like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room unless you shared it.

“I’m close,” you whispered. “But I don’t want to stop. I want to feel this.”

“Then don’t stop,” he said, voice shaking. “Come on me. Stay on me.”

You did.

You kept moving — long, grinding thrusts, pressure building until it was everywhere — your spine, your chest, your teeth.

Your orgasm came slower this time, but deeper — wave after wave rolling through you as your body shook around him, clenching, holding, welcoming.

You cried out his name, over and over, lips pressed to his mouth, hips jerking with each aftershock.

And he was right there with you.

He gripped your hips hard, fucked up into you twice — deep, sharp thrusts — then groaned deep in his chest as he spilled inside you again, heat blooming between your thighs as his body locked and trembled beneath yours.

But you didn’t let go. Neither of you did.

You stayed wrapped around him — arms tight around his neck, forehead to forehead, bodies still joined, breathing in sync, like something sacred had just been rebuilt between your ribs.

His hands stroked your back. Yours rested over his heart.

No words. Just warmth. Just home.

Then —

A soft crinkle beneath your ankle. Another near your knee. Something tiny, hard.

You both froze.

“…is that rice?” you murmured.

He huffed out a breath, low and amused. “We really fucked right on top of dinner.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “I swear to god, if I find a grain inside me—”

“I’m already praying to Saint Basmati,” he grinned. “Patron of questionable kitchen choices.”

You smacked his arm, still laughing. “Okay, okay. Up. Before the floor gets any ideas.”

He eased you off his lap carefully, his hands lingering as you slid away — and even though he was softening inside you, he groaned like letting go physically cost him something.

You stood, legs a little shaky, wincing as you looked around. The scene was chaos: clothes scattered, skin marked, rice everywhere.

And between your thighs, a slow, unmistakable trickle of cum slid down your inner thigh — warm, sticky, impossible to ignore.

You pressed your legs together out of instinct, but it didn’t help. He’d filled you too much. You were still leaking.

He whistled under his breath. “We might need a priest.”

“We need a vacuum,” you muttered, glancing at the rice field around you.

He chuckled, about to respond — and then his eyes drifted downward.

Paused.

Saw the mess between your thighs. The way it glistened. Trailed down your leg. His expression changed — sharp and slow, heat blooming under the amusement.

He met your eyes again — darker now.

“No,” he said, voice lower. “We need a shower.”

You didn’t argue. Not this time.

He picked you up again — less out of need, more out of want. Because he could. Because you let him. Because, despite everything, it felt good to be carried by someone who knew the shape of you from memory.

The bathroom was warm. Quiet. Your reflection in the mirror looked like another version of you — hair wild, skin flushed, lips kiss-swollen, eyes too full to lie.

The water came first — steam curling like new breath around you both. He reached for the soap, worked it into his hands, and began with your shoulders.

No rush.

His palms slid over your skin slowly — lathering, rinsing, touching. Not to arouse. Not this time.

Just to care.

You returned the favor — ran your hands over his chest, his arms, his back, fingers smoothing over scars you hadn’t seen in months. He watched you. Like he needed to memorize your hands again.

And then —

You felt him.

Hard again. Pressing against your thigh as his hands moved over your stomach.

You looked down. Then back up.

He raised a brow, unashamed.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, biting your lip.

He smirked. “You’re the one rubbing soap all over me. Don’t blame me for biology.”

You chuckled — heart full, body warm — and stepped closer, resting your hand over his chest, right above the beat you trusted more than your own.

“If you’re really ready,” you said quietly, “we can move to the bedroom.”

The implication was clear. And not just about sex.

He saw it. Heard it. Understood.

And didn’t hesitate.

Later —

It was dark. But you didn’t sleep.

You lay tangled together beneath clean sheets, his chest your pillow, his heartbeat your lullaby. One of your hands rested on his stomach, fingers absently playing with his. His other hand threaded through your hair slowly, rhythmically, like he was still washing the day out of it.

The room smelled like skin and steam and thyme. And maybe something new. Or maybe something very, very old.

You didn’t look at him when you asked.

“What does this mean?” your voice was small. Honest. “Are we… together?”

He was silent for a moment. But not because he didn’t have the words.

“I don’t know if we ever weren’t,” he said softly. “Not in my heart. Even when I hated you. Even when I thought I should walk away forever… there was still a thread. Still you.”

You nodded. Bit your lip.

“I get that now,” you whispered. “But I didn’t back then.”

He waited.

You took a breath.

“I think I resented you for how natural it all was. We never really dated. Never had that honeymoon phase. No first kiss under streetlamps or awkward movie nights. No butterflies before a date. Just… us. We grew up together. Shared everything. You saw me cry over my math test, puke with the flu, and have a full-blown breakdown when I didn’t get cast as Juliet in sophomore year.”

You paused, voice thickening.

“I never had to impress you. Never had to put on makeup or play a part. And for a long time, I thought I missed something important. Like I skipped some great adventure.”

He stayed quiet. Let you speak.

“But after you left,” you whispered, “and I tried the whole thing — dating, new people, new experiences — I realized something. None of it mattered. Not without this. Not without you.”

Your fingers tightened slightly in his.

“I don’t need butterflies. I don’t need fireworks. I just need someone who sees me. All of me. And still stays. And god, Caleb, you’re the only man who’s ever done that.”

You finally looked up. Met his eyes in the dark.

“I’m sure now,” you said. “I’m not scared. I don’t need anyone else. You’re it. You’ve always been it.”

He looked at you like you’d just spoken the one truth he’d been waiting his whole life to hear. Then he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you — slow, deep, burning.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I always knew,” he said. “And if all the pain, all the time apart — if all of that was the cost for you to know it too… then it was worth every second.”

You kissed him again, and it wasn’t soft this time. It was full of every promise you hadn’t dared make before.

He rolled you beneath him, slowly, tenderly, and your legs opened for him like instinct. Like welcome. Like forever.

And when he slid into you again — this time in the dark, in the warmth, in the quiet — it didn’t feel like fucking.

It felt like staying. Like choosing.

And when you came, clinging to him, whispering his name into his skin like a prayer — you knew this wasn’t a return.

It was a beginning. And god, it was home.

356 notes · View notes

rainrot4me · 15 days ago

Note

They're not exactly the optimal choice for comfort, but how would the creeps treat their partner during a depressive episode?

✦ . jeff the killer

Jeff isn’t emotionally articulate, but when he notices you’ve gone quiet—no sarcastic jabs, no fire in your eyes—he knows something’s wrong.

He handles it like a feral dog trying to help its wounded owner: awkward, growly, but loyal.

“You wanna smash something? I’ll get the plates.” He offers distraction first through mayhem, violence, even a fight with him if it wakes you up. Any reaction is a good reaction in his book it means you’ll stop drowning in your own feelings.

“I’ll kill whatever’s doing this to you. Even if it’s yourself… kidding.”

But when none of that works, he gets quiet. You’ll feel him lie next to you, not saying anything, just breathing with you. Eventually you’ll feel a hand slip into yours, calloused and warm, but firm.

✦ . ticci toby

Toby struggles with his own inner noise constantly, so he understands when yours gets too loud or too heavy. It’s not pity he feels, but understanding and compassion.

He doesn’t try to fix it, he just stays. He talks to fill the silence if you want, or matches your quiet if that’s better. He’s not there to problem solve, he knows that’s not what you need, he’s just there for you and only you.

He makes you tea even though it usually spills a bit from his tremors, offers you his hoodie like a bandage, and plays with your hair to take your mind off of things.

“You don’t gotta talk. I get it. Just… stay. I’m here. We c-can rot together for a bit.”

Tears start rolling down your face? He’s wiping them away before they can even fall.

✦ . eyeless jack

Jack notices the changes slowly at first—missed meals, unwashed clothes, blank stares. He knows how the human anatomy works up and down, but emotions are where he gets stumped sometimes. It takes a minute, but enough observing makes him realize.

It clicks: you’re drowning.

He sets a gentle routine: food you like, dimmed lights, warm baths he quietly prepares. He won’t push, but he’ll gently coddle you into doing the things he knows will get you back into your routine without overwhelming you.

“You’re not broken. You’re just tired. Let me carry you until you can stand again.”

He’ll read to you in a soft voice, cuddle you into his lap, and massage your hands. He may not be able to verbalize anything, but he’ll let his body language do the work.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Tim sees your mask slipping because he knows what it’s like to wear one. He understands the emotional strain that comes with excessive work-load and constant pressure, so it’s no question of whether he’ll help you or not, because he’s already on it.

He doesn’t smother you with comfort, he sits beside you, steady, anchoring. He doesn’t interrogate you or add any more strain to the situation, he just tries to silently evaluate how to handle where you’re at.

When you finally break and cry or lash out, he lets you. His voice stays low, steady, and real. If you’re angry, he listens, if you’re sad, he listens, if you don’t want him around, he still listens.

“I’ve been here. I’m not leaving. Even if all you do is sit and breathe.”

He’ll clean up the messes you forget about—laundry, dishes—all without a word. Just to help, just to lighten your load.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

Brian’s comfort is quiet and intuitive. He knows how to take up space with you, not for you Talking is never his strong suit, he gets caught up on words and feelings and loses his track of thought, so he helps you the way he knows best.

He’ll write notes and stick them where you’ll see them:

“You’re still mine. You’re still worth it.”

“Bad days don’t cancel good love.”

When you spiral, he brings his laptop into bed and pulls you against him, lets you sleep in his hoodie while old movies play. He has a folder with your name on it, specifically full of your favorite movies he pirated off the internet.

“We’re allowed to be human. Even you.”

✦ . ben drowned

Ben is digital mesh in human wrapping, but when he senses your world is drooping, he becomes something oddly tender. When it comes to emotions, he’s the worst out of everyone, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to simmer down and offer comfort.

He’ll bring you into his world (games, stories, music) to distract you gently, but meaningfully. He knows all of your favorites, and makes it a point to show that you’ll always have the things you love to fall back on.

“Just take a minute, yeah? You don’t gotta prove nothing to nobody, just take it easy.”

If you disappear under the covers, he’ll slip his handheld console in beside you, loaded with Stardew Valley or Animal Crossing. He lets you talk through the characters if words are too hard. To make you laugh, he’ll slip into the game and mess with your avatar until you’re smiling again.

✦ . clockwork

Natalie tries so hard to be strong for you—but she’s scared of saying the wrong thing.

She’ll try tough love at first:

“You’re stronger than this. Come on.” She’s never been given love unless earned, so she doesn’t understand when she tries to motivate you to keep moving, why you keep sinking in on yourself.

But when she sees your lip tremble? It breaks her. She doesn’t mean it in a demeaning way, but loving someone means learning new perspectives, so she tries differently.

“Let me take care of you. Just for a bit. Please.”

She wraps her arms around you and just holds on. She’ll braid your hair or wash your face, little caring rituals with nervous hands. Being soft is foreign, but when the thing that seems to lighten you up the most is just laying in bed with her, she’ll get over herself.

✦ . laughing jack

At first, he’ll try to joke it off. Clown instincts, y’know. Anything to make you smile.

But when that fails, and you look at him with hollow eyes, he deflates. He’ll chew his lips and wrack his brain for anything, but finds that you don’t need him to entertain you, you just want him there. It’s surprising to him, but being with you in general is a new world of being wanted for more than performances.

He becomes surprisingly gentle, tucking you in under garish patchwork blankets and offering candy in your favorite flavors. He’ll offer to make you sleepy, waving his claws in your face until your eyes gently flutter closed on their own, singing soft lullabies as he drifts you to sleep.

“Ah… okay. No balloon animals today. That’s alright.”

He’ll tamper your dreams. Give you nothing but soft clouds, flower fields, sweet-smelling fruits, and everything you love. The dreamscape is where he works best, so he’ll make sure it’s the best for you, too.

✦ . slenderman

He doesn’t speak comfort—he emanates it. He’s a master manipulator of body and world, so why would he hold that power back when you obviously need it the most.

When your depression is heavy, world grows quieter, the temperature of your room warmer, the scents of your bedsheets sweeter. He adjusts the world around you, making everything as comfortable and relaxing as possible. It’s almost like being caught in a daydream.

He lifts your chin with long fingers, studying your face like scripture. Whatever you desire, he’ll grant it without a question, there’s nothing too-much.

“You are not a burden. You are human. It’s natural.”

You may wake to roses on your pillow, or find entire memories of pain erased and rewritten. It’s his way of giving you peace. Not human, but he tries. Somehow all the cruelness he holds slips away with you.

꩜ .ᐟ

347 notes · View notes

ahundredtimesover · 1 year ago

Text

I Want You to Stay (07) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; eventual explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 15.4k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: One of my fave chapters! I hope you like this one! And just a heads up that intervals between posting days will be longer as the chapters get longer, too. And bc u know, life... HAHA but again, thank you so much for all the love for this like??? HOW. PLS you've all been so nice so thank you! 🥰 Also… JK in that SNTY suit.

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

Mr. Ri loads the luggages in the trunk and you double check that all bags - which you helped pack yesterday - are complete. You enter the car right after and head to the airport where Jungkook will fly to Singapore for a few meetings and to attend Seokjin’s alcohol launch party.

It’s been over a month since the Arts Center event and so much has happened since then. Jungkook went to Jeju to meet an artist and then to Japan over a weekend to meet another two. He’s been on calls with a few more with plans to meet in their country of residence in the next months, and he’s gone around different local towns to meet with craftspeople for souvenirs and future exhibitions. He’s also touched base with various national and international Korean arts and culture organizations for promotion and joint projects. The event opened doors for a new network that he hoped for. There are now proposals for other collaborations and side engagements that’s doing a lot for the company’s brand and expansion.

To say that Jungkook and the team have been busy is an understatement. You went back to work after those few days of recovering with everyone overwhelmed by all the things they had to do but like you expected, you all managed and got things organized. There are still multiple things to handle all at once, but everyone’s just been on top of everything and showing how competent you all are as individuals and as a team.

Within that period, Jungkook has stopped by the team’s office and the pantry more times than those first months. He also managed to laugh at Do-hyun’s unfiltered remarks a few times and even slipped his own that got the team giggling. He’s seemed a lot more relaxed and so has the team. Lunch meetings have been regular given all the work you all have to do. Yohan and Chin-sun even say that they’ve gotten to know Jungkook a little better through their visits to the Arts Center. And while they do think he’s still a bit detached and catch him in his own world sometimes, he’s a lot more engaged and is actually way smarter than they’d initially thought.

Jungkook checks his phone and sighs, prompting you to turn to him.

“Seokjin says the party is an intimate event but there’s gonna be over two-fifty guests so I don’t know about that,” he shakes his head, showing you the restaurant bar where his friend will be launching his alcohol brand. “For some reason, he expects me and Tae to entertain guests on his behalf.”

This was another development you hadn’t expected. Since that morning when Jungkook sent you food when you were unwell, your relationship changed. It’s still professional but there’s more openness now, as if that prompted both of you to be comfortable around each other.

There’s more trust and honesty, too - he lets you make decisions, lets you handle the team when he’s away, and asks you for your unfiltered opinion. You feel like all the time you spend together has allowed you to learn how he sees and understands things; you even finish his sentences sometimes.

He’s also loosened up a bit and allows himself to laugh and smile more. They’re still rare occurrences but you never point them out, not wanting him to feel awkward and then stop. They often catch you off guard so you haven’t been able to fully appreciate them but at least he feels comfortable around you, enough to even talk about non-work stuff and things that fill his mind, like random questions or small concerns.

You’re unsure if he notices how uninhibited he’s become but you don’t point it out either. He still has his moments of living in his head, his faraway thoughts rendering him quiet and observant, and his perfectionist attitude means he’s still critical sometimes. But he doesn’t take anything out on you - not his frustrations nor his fears. He’d usually keep to himself and talk to you once he’s cooled down and you’d take that any day, so long as you keep your sanity and are able to do your tasks as instructed.

In return, you let yourself be the same. You’ve fully restored your confidence and that’s allowed you to show just how capable you are. You’ve been more vocal with your thoughts, too, and don’t take it personally when he doesn’t agree. You smile a lot more, joke with him even, and have been more generous with words of encouragement and affirmation. They come more naturally than you expected, and you appreciate that he doesn’t turn you away whenever it happens.

He’s actually okay to be around when he’s not being grumpy or difficult. You suppose that the situations he was put in - and how you responded with patience and understanding - allowed him to see that you’re truly on his side and that let him put his guard down a little. You’re past trying to please him for the sake of making your job bearable; there’s actual joy in it now, and while the search for who you are outside of all this continues to ring in your head, you think that sticking around for now isn’t so bad either.

“Perhaps Seokjin has seen how good you are with entertaining guests now and deems you worthy of being an extension of him,” you respond to Jungkook’s earlier musings. “And he wouldn’t be wrong. You’ve become really good at it.”

“You know, I think you oversell me sometimes,” he chuckles.

“Hmm, I think I don’t,” you counter. “If I may say so, Mr. Jeon, it's just that the bar was pretty low so the improvements are quite striking.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs, not taking offense.

“You can still do better at charming people. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from Seokjin and Taehyung,” you push.

“Those two flirt, they don’t charm,” he playfully rolls his eyes.

“Well, I completely disagree, sir. I mean, I’ve seen it firsthand. And I’m not one who’s easily charmed.”

“Fine, I’ll see what I can pick from them, then,” he concedes.

“Kidding aside, I think you’ll be fine, Mr. Jeon. Plus, it’s unrelated to work so there’s no need to impress anyone,” you state.

“True,” he hums. “But just thinking about these next few days is already making me tired. Tae rented a yacht for tonight. We have Seokjin’s launch tomorrow, and to celebrate, he’s throwing another party the day after.”

“Hmm, must be that you’re getting old,” you tease, earning you a hum in agreement. “But you’re used to that though, right? They always said that was your life back in Singapore.”

“It was. I had less responsibilities and people to manage but back then, everything seemed too much,” he shares. “I took the weekends seriously and really just did whatever I wanted. I haven’t done much of that these past weeks because I’ve been so tired and I feel like I’m under the microscope when I’m here. So yeah, I’ll probably just take advantage of being back there and just enjoy it.”

“As you should,” you say. “You’ve worked hard and you deserve to spend your weekend however you wish. Just, uh…”

“What?”

“Probably give Lucas a heads-up in case a half-naked woman greets him in the kitchen on Monday morning.”

The silence is deafening and you think you’ve crossed a line with this one. You turn towards him and he looks stunned at your unfiltered remark.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in apology. “That was too personal.”

“It’s okay,” he responds after a beat of silence. “I guess I deserve that. I mean, I never apologized for the morning when you experienced exactly that. And for when you found that underwear on the floor, which I forgot to clean up. So, uh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, too. I got over it,” you assure him. “And if anything, I’m pretty sure she left that on purpose so she’ll have a reason to come back.”

“That’s exactly it,” he groans. “She saw me again and wanted to go to my apartment so she could get it. I told her I threw it away.”

“How brutal,” you tease again.

“Not my finest moment but yeah, I’m sorry to put you in that position. Must’ve been tough seeing proof of all the washroom gossip.”

“You know about those?” You gasp.

“I’ve heard about them,” he sighs. “Mr. Ri’s got eyes and ears in the office.”

“It’s hard to defend so I just don’t try,” the older man shakes his head. “Not like you deny it anyway.”

“Not like I really care,” Jungkook shrugs. “But even then, I guess it wasn’t the best start for us,” he tells you.

“Perhaps not, but I’m not one to judge, Mr. Jeon. That’s all in the past now, and that feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It does,” he hums.

It’s during these casual exchanges when you get to see a bit more of Jungkook as the person that he is, beyond the perfectionist executive who still harbors fears and worries about his new role. He’s still a human being who finds ways to deal with the stresses of life, someone who needs time to step away from his burdensome responsibilities, someone who seeks intimacy and connection and finds ways to attain them in his own ways. The doubts and worries are still there, but the foundation has stabled a bit. Somehow you think that you’ve created a space safe enough for him to talk about them, to apologize, and to try to be better. You hope he gets to create that for himself, too, and if that’s what you’ll leave him with by the time you decide to step away from this job, you think you’d be satisfied.

Silence engulfs you both and like he often is after being vulnerable with you, he keeps to himself once again. You wait a while before running through his meetings for today and next week and inform him of what the team will be working on while he’s away. Jungkook responds with a few last-minute instructions, especially about the tasks he needs done in time for your team meeting on Monday. You’re both back to professional talk and you don’t really mind; there’s something about being honest and open that could be a bit disarming.

The car stops and Mr. Ri exits to retrieve the luggage from the trunk. Jungkook, in his navy blue suit, gathers his things and says goodbye. Before he can close the door, you call out his name.

“Yeah?” He asks, his one hand carrying his bag and the other, on the roof of the car as he bends to look at you.

“Happy birthday,” you say. “I know you think it’s just an ordinary day but I hope you celebrate well.”

“Thank you,” he says after a few seconds, basking in the softness of your smile for the short moment that he can.

Jungkook steps away then closes the door. He heads to the airport lounge before taking the 6-hour flight to Singapore, spending it on reviewing reports and design proposals. He goes straight to the office when he lands, settling down in his room where he responds to emails. He munches on some dumplings for lunch, thinking he’s missed the ones from the restaurant across the street, but then Lucas enters and sets down a bowl of seaweed soup.

“Ms. Cho asked me to get this for you, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook is caught off guard but manages to dismiss Lucas and tastes the dish. It’s nothing like his mother’s, but then again, he hasn’t had it in years. When Jungkook moved here, there were no celebrations apart from getting drunk at a club, which is also why he’d stopped thinking of his birthday as anything special. There were no traditional meals or well wishes or birthday cakes.

He’s here again. There’s that yacht party tonight but it won’t feel like a celebration. Somehow, with this bowl of soup, this does. You’re a thousand miles away but even then, he still feels your presence. Even then, he feels more cared for than he has these past several years combined.

Jungkook wakes up the next morning with a splitting headache. His neck feels a bit strained, given that he’d slept in an awkward position wearing his clothes from last night. He also barely remembers much. One minute he was drinking with a woman around his arm and the next he’s… here.

He shifts and lays flat on his back, groaning as last night’s happenings manifest in the soreness of his entire body. The yacht was fancy, as he’d expected from his best friends. There was overflowing food and drinks, the music was great, and the guests were honestly too many for his liking. There were familiar faces and new ones, but he mostly stuck around with those he knew. What he also remembers is not being able to taste his cake. He’s definitely calling Seokjin to complain.

Suddenly hit with the thought of not knowing how he’d gotten home last night - or with whom - Jungkook sits up and groans once more, the incoming call adding to the ringing sound in his head.

“Mr. Jeon,” Lucas answers on the other end. “How are you feeling today?”

“Terrible,” Jungkook says, now finding the strength to get off the bed. “Did you take me home?”

“Yes, sir. You wanted to leave so Mr. Ri and I took you to your penthouse,” Lucas answers. “Your valuables are on the table.”

Jungkook sighs, knowing it was one of those nights. Removing his clothes, he sees the fresh marks on his chest. Wanting to prepare himself before finding some stranger in the other room, he asks his assistant if he’d brought someone home with him.

“No, sir. It was just you. She, uh, she asked to come but you told her you were too tired so she stayed behind.”

“Oh, good,” Jungkook exhales in relief, not wanting to deal with any of that this morning, which is one reason why he always asks them to leave. “How long do I have until I have to get ready for tonight?”

“About five hours,” the younger man replies. “You have a scheduled dinner with your friends at 5:30 and then the event at 8. I’ll be there before that to help you get ready.”

“Alright, thanks. I’ll just workout to deal with this hangover.”

“Medicines are in the cupboard, sir. Please just let me know if there’s anything more you need.”

“I will.”

Jungkook hangs up and presses on his temples as if that’ll do anything. He retrieves the medicine as advised and thinks of something else he needs - a cup of lemon ginger tea. Ever since you’d prepared one for him that one morning, he’s been having it after every night out. He calls the butler to have it prepared for him, given that he doesn’t have the energy to do so himself.

It arrives, and coupled with the aspirin, he’s starting to somehow feel better. He knows that heading to the gym will do the trick, as it always does, but it still makes him think that he shouldn’t have drank as much as he did last night.

For someone who’s not particularly fond of people, even Jungkook sometimes wonders why he goes out and parties as much as he does.

He wasn’t always like this though. His weekends used to be spent on food trips and travels, but after the breakup with Chaerin, those days became free, and he’d stay out late so he could sleep the rest of the next day. The women were to make up for the loneliness; the alcohol was to forget why he needed them in the first place. He hates loud and unnecessary sounds, but the music and the chatter started to become white noise for him; they’d become a companion to help deal with the noise in his own head, or the lack of it.

Years later, the remaining thoughts in his mind were just all about work, and he’d revert to the same habit for relief - the women became his thrill; the alcohol was so he wouldn’t remember them.

And it works. The ecstasy lasts only through the night. It’s fleeting as his desire for them is. He doesn’t recall names, just that they made him feel good and that they felt the same; they often try to hook up with him again after all, seeking him in the clubs they know he frequents. But he rarely entertains them; a second time leads to a third, and he can’t be assured that they won’t ask the same tiring questions he hates hearing - why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? Why doesn’t he want to commit to anyone? Does he see himself settling down and having a family? What’ll make him want that?

It’s happened a few times, during the rare instances that there’s a lull in between and they take advantage of his brief period of vulnerability to make him open up. He never does, and it’s not because he thinks it’s a weakness to do so, but he just never really let the moment linger to find out.

After a light meal, Jungkook heads to the gym and spends three hours expending his energy so he could get it back.

This is his other means of dealing with his stress. Working out makes him focus on something else and it helps in releasing all his anger and frustration. As he stares at his bare body in the mirror right after - the marks from last night still visible - he scoffs at himself.

He’s so stereotypical, it makes him sick. He’s allowed himself to let his life revolve around the shallow and fleeting sensations of pleasure to counter the permanence and inevitability of his job. This is his world and he made it this way. And while he drowns in the nothingness inside the walls that he created, he still thinks it’s better than being outside; somehow he thinks it’s lonelier and more burdensome out there. At least in here, he’s all he has to deal with; he’s all he can disappoint.

But there are still moments when he wonders what it could be like if he just dared to live differently. Like when he watches Seokjin animatedly explain the history and creation process of Korean traditional alcohol during the product launch that evening and how his passion is moving and infectious. Or when he observes how Taehyung freely moves around the club and makes connections with others as deep as his smile.

Jungkook thinks about all this as he glances at the woman next to him later that night, bare under the covers like he is, her body curled into a cocoon as she takes a break.

She’d caught his eye earlier because she wasn’t trying to get his attention like the others were. She spoke less and screamed more, let him do what he wanted but touched him softly as she pleased.

“You’re a good lover. Why do you waste yourself with something temporary like me?” She’d asked.

It left him speechless and he shrugged - a change from his usual dismissal - but there’s really nothing to say.

Why does he? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to.

But it’s at this moment that he tries to imagine what it would be like if it were the same face he saw next to him every morning, if it were the same hand he held everyday, if it were the same warm body he curled into every night. His mind wanders too far, into the depths of a place it can’t go to, beyond boundaries he can’t cross, and the sight is both terrifying and calming.

It’s safer where he is.

So when she wakes up from a short nap, she looks up at him, her soft eyes wishing for something she knows she shouldn’t.

“You should go,” he says, the softest he’s ever uttered the words.

“Okay,” she whispers in submission.

She gets up from the bed, finds her stray clothes on the floor, and puts them on. Jungkook follows her to the door, a first for him. Maybe it’s her gentleness, or the unspoken understanding between them, or maybe because she doesn’t ask for more even if she seems to want to.

But though he contemplates pulling her back to try to feel what that’s like - seeing her in the morning, holding her hand, curling into her embrace - he doesn’t. He knows even that desire would end; it’s fleeting just as everything around him is.

He holds open the door. She turns around with a smile.

“I hope someday you find someone you’ll ask to stay,” she says, surprising him again. “I’m sure they would.”

You walk around the store in awe of the luscious plants displayed on the shelves, your eyes as bright as the lights that shine over them. There are so many to choose from, and though you have an idea of what you want to have, it’s tough deciding which ones to get right now. The money tree is a must, so is the Chinese evergreen. But do you go for the orchid or the peace lily? Can you keep up with a spider plant? How many of the asparagus ferns should you get?

Your eyes flit from one plant to the next, eventually deciding on getting everything on your list then placing them on the cart for payment.

Jimin chuckles next to you. “Since when were you a plant mom?”

“Since she got that aloe vera from Yoongi and she was convinced that she has a green thumb after it didn’t die,” Soomin deadpans next to you as you frown at her sarcasm. “That’s also after my weekly reminders to water the plant because ‘no care’ doesn’t actually mean it’s going to survive on its own.”

“Oh, shush,” you scoff at her. “You told me I was doing a good job.”

“You’d send a photo every few days, hun,” she laughs. “What else was I supposed to say?”

“True. I needed the encouragement,” you shrug, paying for your haul. “But also, I’m a plant newbie. Yoongi said that I probably need some of them at home and in the office for positive energy and he’s not wrong. All the frustration from months ago just accumulated in my apartment and I need a change.”

“So… Is Yoongi a plant dad, too?” Soomin wonders.

“No. He just knows about a lot of things,” you reply. “Plus, he’s an architect and a designer. He knows a thing or two about plant decor.”

“Why isn’t he here with you, then?” She arches an eyebrow.

“Because I’m with both of you, duh,” you roll your eyes. “And before you say anything more, I don’t really like mixing my work friends with my personal friends. It’s different.”

“Well, I’m glad we could join you on this new phase of your life,” Jimin tries to be encouraging. “It’s like turning over a new leaf.”

You scold him over his terrible pun but laugh anyway, enjoying the comfort and playfulness that only your best friends could bring. They picked you up from work last Friday then you all headed to a club after dinner. You spent yesterday at a beach at their insistence then stayed in during the evening. It’s now Sunday and you’re dragging them around as you run errands before saying goodbye to them again, and it’s not a normal day without Soomin mentioning Yoongi. Perhaps it’s because of all the guys you’ve mentioned that have taken interest in you, he’s the only true green flag; he’s also the only one you didn’t entertain at all. You suppose that’s something she’ll not really get over.

The three of you head to a nearby cafe. Jimin excitedly talks about the latest menu item in their chain of restaurants while Soomin groans about the stuff she has to deal with as she manages her family-owned shipping company that’s the biggest in the port city of Busan. They turn to you and ask how the rest of your week is going to go, with slightly surprised looks when you don’t talk about work with as much disdain as you used to. There’s excitement, even, something that Soomin points out, and when you mention that Jungkook is on an overseas trip, she assumes that’s the reason why.

“Not really,” you clarify. “He arrives tomorrow evening, but the week’s packed - we’re visiting the Arts Center for inspection and then I’m doing an ocular with Chin-sun for the VP events we’re holding in the next few months. I mean, I won’t be buried in files nor will I be in meetings all week. So yeah, it’s not bad.”

“That’s good,” Jimin beams. “At least it’s nothing like how it used to be. Right?”

“It’s a lot better, I told you guys,” you say, reminding them of a similar talk you had the last time they were here, which was a week after you’d gotten sick. “Jungkook is… rational, less grumpy and impulsive; he also listens to me and trusts me. He’s even smiled a few times.”

“Wow, he really set the bar low for you, huh,” Jimin chuckles, earning him a nod.

“Does that also mean that he’s now completely bearable and no longer your type because he’s not an asshole anymore?” Soomin chimes in, being the blunt and bold one among the three of you.

“He never was my type in the first place,” you scowl. “Plus, he’s literally my boss, Soo. That’s like, not some flag, it’s a whole ass brick wall that shall not be crossed.”

“Right. That’s why Mr. Min didn’t make the cut,” she points out. “Told you you should’ve just quit your job so you could date him.”

“And I also told you that wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t want to,” you remind her. “Yoongi’s exactly the type of person I need in my life, and being more than friends is the surefire way of making sure that doesn’t happen. Like, why would I risk a good friendship for something that may not work out? Whether I break his heart or he breaks mine, it’s pain I can’t handle. There’s just no going back from there.”

“Right, that is your biggest fear,” Soomin replies softly, the sympathetic tone in her voice telling you that she does understand where you’re coming from. “I mean, it’s still possible that you wouldn’t hurt each other but I get it. It just sucks, I guess. The good ones often start as your friends.”

“I know. And I’d rather have them and be single than none at all,” you sigh.

The thought is simpler than it seems. You won’t deny that you’ve thought of how things would’ve been if you gave Yoongi a chance, but the fear of what you’d lose always trumped that type of possibility.

There’s a kind of pain you don’t want to experience, one of a broken heart caused by losing someone you’ve given your all to. It’s how you think you love, after all; you can’t give any less. But it’s also why you’ve never done it. No one’s inspired that kind of devotion for you.

Soomin has pointed out before that it’s probably also because you don’t open yourself up to the possibilities as you should. Maybe you’ve just been too focused on other things. But maybe you also just haven’t felt the kind of all-consuming desire for someone who would be worth it, one you’d want so much that you’d willingly face the fear of paralyzing heartbreak just to be with them.

You suppose that’s the difference. That’s the irony, too. You’re scared to love because you’re scared of the pain, so you keep your distance to keep yourself safe but it’s also why you haven’t found someone you’re willing to crawl out of your walls for.

There’s not much you feel passionate about in life. Maybe it’s love. But you’re too cautious to feel it, to look for it, so you don’t really know. Maybe it’s something else completely, and working in the environment that you do hinders you from discovering it. You’ve kept your distance from a lot of things over the past years and the thought that one day, you’ll be able to feel free from all the burden you carry because of a past you couldn’t control, makes you look forward to the day when you get to walk away from all those and hopefully, find whatever it is you’re looking for.

Jimin nudges you after you zone out, and you switch the subject and ask about the latest gossip in their hometown. You enjoy living vicariously through their social life back in Busan. They not only come out here to Seoul to see you but also to take a break from all the drama that they can’t really escape from, given the type of people in their circle of friends. You always thank the heavens you got lucky that at 10 years old and making a new life in a new city, you found Soomin and Jimin, perhaps the only other people aside from your mother who make you feel safe and protected, a feeling you don’t take for granted.

They indulge you and share some stories, but when Soomin goes through her social media feed to show you something, she gasps instead when she realizes that the men in her friend’s Instagram post include Jungkook.

“Did your boss just go there to party?” She asks, showing you the photo.

“Partly,” you reply. “His best friend hosted the launch of his alcohol line there but there are a couple more parties because it’s his birthday weekend. Your friends went?”

“Yeah, some of them are Kim Seokjin’s friends, apparently,” Soomin says. “Small world. But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. Seoul and Busan socialites attract each other.”

“Why aren’t you there, then?” You chuckle.

“We’re choosy socialites,” Jimin clarifies. “Or like, pretentious. We just act like we are but we really aren’t, just to say that the Park and Cheon kids are interesting and sociable like the rest of them.”

“Who says they’re interesting and sociable?” Soomin states incredulously. “My eyes roll to the back of my head every time I’m in those shitty events. The lack of self-awareness of rich people repulses me. And I obviously don’t count us in.”

“And you shouldn’t,” you confirm. “I attract good people, I guess. I’m glad you’re not like them.”

“Well, what about Jungkook’s friends?” Jimin asks. “How are they like?”

“What I can say about the Kim brothers is that they’re nice people,” you say. “Very charming, ridiculously good-looking... And they sound like good friends, too. I can’t say much else. Their dating game is pretty strong though.”

“I’d assume. I mean, when you look like that, how could you not be?” Soomin states. “I mean, even Jungkook’s on point. That’s some hot girl he’s got.”

She shows you a couple of Instagram stories from her friends posting about the launch party. It turns out, there were a lot of Korea-based personalities who were invited. You spot Jungkook immediately, wearing the all-white ensemble that you packed for him the other day. His hair is a bit curled and the knitted top underneath the simple coat highlights his taut physique. There’s also that gorgeous woman around his arms, and if what you know about him is enough, you’d guess she’s probably one of those he seeks for a good time.

The sight of him loosening up a bit and enjoying himself is something you appreciate. He’s always stressed when he’s here and you’re glad he could spend a few days partying elsewhere without having to think about work, especially during the week of his birthday. You don’t know how much of this aspect of his life he enjoys, but he does seem a bit free yet still somehow detached. You suppose that’s something he’ll always be - a man trying to live his life while separating himself from the meaning of it. You’re unsure of how he does it but perhaps it’s not that different from how you are, too.

After lunch, Soomin and Jimin do a few more of your errands with you before dropping you home and then heading back to theirs. You spend the rest of the evening arranging your plants in your tiny apartment and feeling like more life is breathed into it with every one of them finding their home in a corner or on a shelf. Oddly enough, you feel a bit less lonely. That’s how you think you’ve been doing things, after all - finding substitutes for the kind of company you’re yearning for, for the kind of relationship you’re so afraid to have.

Jungkook wakes up that Monday morning feeling a lot better than he did the days before. For one, there’s no ringing in his head nor the feeling of dehydration. Bare under his soft covers, there also aren’t any fresh marks on his chest that signify the kind of night he usually has. In fact, he remembers most of it - he stayed by the bar and briefly chatted with the women who’d approached him.

Suzy was there last night, too, the only one he’s hooked up with more than once, and probably the only one he’s had proper conversations with, given that she’s a landscape designer. She’s been away on business trips and had just gone back, her bluntness about going back to his apartment that she’s too familiar with being met with a rejection that she didn't take personally.

“Has Seoul changed you?” She asked, her eyebrow arched in anticipation of his reply.

“Do you think a place would do that to me?” He laughed.

“No, but a person would,” she shrugged.

“None of that,” he shook his head. “There’s no one. I’m too busy, too tired.”

“But not too lonely?” she asked. “It’s the only reason why you would call me.”

There was no bitterness in her words but still, he asked. “And why did you always come, then?”

“To see if each time would be good enough for you to not make me leave.”

The conversation took a turn that he didn’t expect, the usual honesty in her words being too honest for him. He fumbled for something to say but she shook him off, claiming that she knew what she was getting into every time he took her home and that constantly hoping for something doesn’t guarantee that she’d get it one day.

He drank a couple of glasses of whiskey after she left but managed to call his butler for a sandwich and lemon ginger tea in time for his arrival at his penthouse. The meal did the trick, as he’d slept soundly after a warm bath without a splitting headache and regrets the next day.

It’s Monday, after all, and it’s back to work as usual. He has a few meetings to attend before flying back to Seoul, one of which is with the team. He gathers the energy to get off the bed for a half-hour exercise before getting ready. He eats the breakfast that the butler orders for him then heads to the office where he briefly meets with Lucas.

Settled on his desk, he proceeds to virtually meet with the team, who all promptly greet him from the conference room. He asks how their weekend was, with most of them looking surprised because he rarely asks them about it, but they answer anyway. That’s when he notices that you’re not around, prompting him to look for you.

“I’m here, Mr. Jeon,” you answer off camera before appearing on screen with a candle-lit cake in your hands.

He’s surprised when the team sings him a happy birthday, your eyes fixed on him as you mouth the words with a soft smile on your face. Do-hyun giggles at his silence, saying that he probably forgot it was his birthday or he maybe didn’t expect that they’d prepare something for him.

“We like you now, Mr. Jeon,” she teases, earning him a nudge from Chin-sun but she doesn’t seem to mind and neither does he.

It’s what makes him laugh, hoping that the pink on his cheeks aren’t visible on screen. He hadn’t expected this. He also knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’d bet that you had everything to do with this.

“You’ve probably been too busy to celebrate but we haven’t forgotten. More like, Ms. Cho made sure we remembered,” Manager Lee chuckles. “We hope you enjoy this little something we prepared.”

“It’s an ice cream cake so it’ll just be in your refrigerator and you can have some when you return,” you say.

“Thank you,” he finally manages to say. “You didn’t have to but I appreciate it. I’m looking forward to having some when I get back. Ms. Cho should also buy another one big enough for the team to share.”

You nod in acknowledgment of his instruction before starting with the meeting. There’s a lot to talk about, given the Arts Center construction and activities, as well as the upcoming year-end events that they have to organize and coordinate. It goes on for over two hours and it ends with your gentle smile after he says goodbye.

The rest of the day feels too long for Jungkook, especially during the late afternoon flight and eventual ride home. He stares at the photo you sent of the cake, making sure he sees the greeting on it.

“Get home safely, Mr. Jeon,” you text him after he says thanks. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With the reminders of the impermanence of things and people this weekend, Jungkook finds comfort in the stability that you provide. It’s in your smile, in your reminders and organization of his life, in your thoughtfulness and patience. It’s in the assurance that tomorrow is another day, one in which he gets to see you once again.

The cake is simple but sophisticated. The mint chocolate flavor is exactly how he likes it and in ice cream cake form, it’s really delicious. He’s glad he gets to have this all for himself, as the team was able to enjoy one yesterday as per his instruction, and you’d sent a group photo of everyone enjoying it to him, the small smile that formed on his face no longer surprising him.

For one, the comfort is there. He’s seen just how much better the team is working together because of it - they’re more open to giving him feedback and receiving his, any moment of frustration is easily mended with laughter, and his encouragement and affirmation have been motivating them as well. In the midst of it is you who makes sure that communication flows smoothly and that everything is on track, acting as the glue that keeps everyone together.

He sees firsthand just how good you are at handling things, and how despite all the stress, you manage to get him seaweed soup and a cake for his birthday. It’s more than just the details regarding work that you’re on top of; it’s also details about his life, and how he’s responding to it tells him that maybe, whatever change there is like what Suzy observed, a big part of it is because of you.

“I’m glad you like it, Mr. Jeon,” your voice cuts through his thoughts.

He looks up and sees you with a portfolio in hand, motioning towards the cake that’s now one fourth eaten.

“Ah, yeah,” he says, not denying it. “I feel like I haven’t had sweets in a while. Where did you buy this?”

“Oh, uh, I asked the baker who made desserts for the Arts Center event if she could make a customized ice cream cake,” you explain. “Fortunately she could. And thankfully it’s delicious. She enjoyed working with us so she gave us a discount.”

“You… had this made for me?”

He’d expected it to be store-bought, but learning you made the effort to reach out to someone reminds him once more of your thoughtfulness, of your care.

“Yes, I, uh, I just assumed you’d receive a few and I thought to give you something a little different.”

“It’s the only one I got actually,” he says, catching you off guard. Your face falls a little so he follows it up. “Like I told you, I don’t celebrate my birthday so I don’t let people know about it. And the ones who do also know that I don’t make a big deal out of it so they don’t really give me anything.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little sad.

You’re not one to have big celebrations but you do have a bit of it. For your 30th birthday at the start of the year, Jimin and Soomin threw you a little party in your humble home in Daegu where they performed some of your favorite songs and enacted your favorite drama scenes to make you happy. There was no need for anything fancy - just your loved ones and your mom’s and Min-woo’s amazing cooking.

But even before that milestone, your friends always made sure to at least get you seaweed soup and a birthday cake; they want you to remember that there are lives impacted because you were born. You can’t really say that Jungkook’s impacted your life the same way but you still value his existence; a small cake is just a little something to celebrate that. But the idea that his family and friends pass up on the cake - and perhaps the gifts, too - makes you think that there’s really not much in Jungkook’s life he feels he could share with others, that there’s not much he could give and receive in return.

“I hope I didn’t cross a line if it’s something you don’t like people knowing,” you continue. “I just thought… it would be nice to receive something from us.”

“It actually was,” he admits, his voice soft and low. Turning away, he says, “it’s been a while since I actually thought about my birthday as anything other than ordinary. It’s nice to be reminded sometimes. So thank you, Ms. Cho. For the soup, too. I appreciate it.”

Perhaps it’s his honesty that does it, but you can’t help the smile that forms on your face. If learning how to express gratitude is something you could teach him, you already feel accomplished.

It’s the next day when you find yourself back in Jungkook’s office, staring at the potted plant in your hands. You’ve gone from debating on whether to leave it on his desk or the coffee table, to even giving it at all. You won’t lie and say you didn’t know what you were thinking when you passed by the plant store after work last night to get this specifically for him. You did - you wanted him to feel that joy of receiving a gift, which you suppose doesn’t happen, especially for someone who can literally buy anything he wants.

But still, it doesn’t mean that your good intention will be received well. You’ve given Hoseok a small gift every year for his birthday, partly because he likes receiving them and also because it’s your way of saying thanks.

You want to give this to Jungkook as a form of gratitude, too. Despite how you both started, the amount of things you’ve learned from him and continue to have somehow made up for it, and you also know that he’s learning from you as well. He’s given you agency to make decisions. He’s also given you events and small projects to manage, making you realize it’s what you really enjoy doing. Seeing things come together the way you envisioned it is so satisfying. Perhaps without intending it, Jungkook’s showed you a way out, a path that you want to explore so much that you’re willing to let go of all that you know in this company for something new, for something that feels more like you.

Your thoughts have completely digressed and with the time you took debating and reflecting, you hadn’t heard his footsteps, and so you jerk a little when he calls out your name.

Turning around, you bow in greeting, remembering at the same time that you have something that you’re not 100% sure yet you want to give right now. But as always, he calls you out on it.

“Is that a snake plant?” He asks, walking towards his seat.

“Yes.”

“Is that the one on your desk?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you laugh dryly, knowing you can’t turn back from it now. “I… I meant to give it to you, sir. I just thought that, uh, the money tree on the shelf might be too lonely so I got you a desk plant. I heard it’s good for positive energy and to filter the air.”

“It is,” he hums. “Is that why you got yourself one?”

“I suppose. I figured it could help improve my mood. Yoongi suggested it before but I just kept pushing it back. I finally got some for my apartment last weekend,” you explain, just so he knows it didn’t come out of nowhere.

“And you think this will improve my mood?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” you shrug. “We’ll probably need a dozen of them here but we could start with one.”

He matches your soft laughter with his own, which you’re thankful for. He reaches out for the plant, nonchalant like you when your fingers brush against each other.

“Hopefully this will work,” he says as he places the small, white pot next to his desktop.

You leave him so he could prepare for a conference call while you’re set to meet with the marketing team. Jungkook gazes at the plant and notices the little note attached to the string around the stem.

Happy birthday, it reads.

This wasn’t just something to match the money tree that Hoseok left for him that he hasn’t been caring for much. This was a gift for him. You probably assume that if he doesn’t receive birthday cakes, he wouldn’t be receiving gifts, either. And you’d be right. His best friends just throw him parties. And once he left Seoul to obtain his MBA in Singapore and stayed to work in their Southeast Asian headquarters, the distance between him and his parents grew. They’d reach out but he didn’t bother much, so he’d stopped expecting anything. After he broke up with Chaerin, he stopped receiving anything at all. This is the first time he’s gotten something from someone after a long time.

It’s simple in its meaning and honest in its intention, and he doesn’t hold back the smile that forms on his face.

You watch the realization dawn on Jungkook from outside. You’d remembered the silly note you left right as you sat down and didn’t have time to take it back, which really wasn’t much, but you suppose it’s enough to tell him that the plant indeed is a gift. You don’t know if someone like him even receives them, or would even appreciate something so cheap and humble, but the gentle smile he has on tells you that he probably doesn’t get much, but that this is something he welcomes.

Your smile follows soon after but it feels different this time. There’s pride somehow that your little gift could elicit something so rare out of him. There’s also a bit of awe; this is the softest he’s ever looked, with that tinge of gratitude and yearning, a complete contrast to what you know of him, to how you’ve always seen him. It’s… it’s actually beautiful.

And this is when things start to get confusing, especially as your phone beeps with that SMS from him.

[From: The Boss] Thank you, ___.

It’s the non-work message. It’s the use of your name. This is personal for him and you acknowledge that it’s the same for you. Perhaps there’s a reason why you made the effort to get the gift last night, why it mattered to you that he received something to celebrate his birthday, and why seeing him appreciate it the way he does is making you giddy and satisfied at the same time.

Maybe it’s the care you’re starting to feel for him that’s beyond just wanting to make your job bearable. You’ll dissect what that truly means later on, but right now it’s just you, him, and the glass wall in between the both of you. There’s distance, there’s a boundary, but there’s a transparent barrier that allows you to see what’s on the other side, one which allows you to know who he is behind the man you’ve come to know. And you admit, he’s not so bad after all.

The construction of the Arts Center is going better than expected. Given some of the delays due to the wrong materials delivered and some permits that took a while to get, the workers were able to make up some ground, largely due to Jungkook’s supervision. When you both visited a few weeks ago, there were many things to work on, and he managed to identify the priorities and find ways to get the project back on track.

It was during those few days of constantly being on site that you saw how efficient and effective he really works. You admired his precision and attention to detail, how he instructed the team leads and project managers and laborers, how he put together the design of one of the rooms just as he’d envisioned it.

He was commanding and decisive, and you appreciated his thorough and simple explanations that allowed you to keep up with him. He’s said that he wants you to understand what’s happening so that you’re well-informed should you need to communicate to others on his behalf, and what initially intimidated you turned into something you became interested in. Since then, you’ve been watching design shows to help you further. The challenge was welcomed, and now you feel like everyday, you’re learning something new on the job.

His instructions from that time were followed, and you’re back today to inspect the rest of the spaces. Everything is so massive, and with one half of the wall of the performance hall already done, you can clearly see the upgrade. The details are impressive, and the way that the traditional designs merge with modern elements is a feature itself.

You’re immersed in the intricacies of the ceiling, walking towards the wall to get a closer look that you don’t immediately notice the workers walking past you with a massive slab of marble. The moment that you do, you step back too quickly, tripping on your heels, and just as you brace yourself to hit the ground, you instead feel your back against a firm chest, with hands on your elbows breaking your fall.

You sigh in relief, even leaning your head back because nothing could be more embarrassing than falling on your ass in front of many people, including your boss. That is, until the familiar scent of jasmine and bergamot wafts through your nose and you realize that what you just did is debatably more embarrassing than what could’ve happened.

The familiar clearing of the throat is what finally does it for you, and with wide eyes, you turn around and face him to apologize.

“I’m sorry, sir. I—”

“Was so much in awe that you didn’t notice the workers passing by,” he finishes, his slightly teasing smile calming you down.

“Ah, well of course. The details are too pretty,” you reason, stepping back only a little. You look at him shyly. “But thank you. I was about to fall.”

“I know. And I was about to lose it if my assistant got injured on the job.”

“True. It’s bad publicity, I guess,” you shrug. “And distractions could cause delays. And that’s bad, too.”

“Or you know, I simply just can’t have you injured, simple as that,” he says with a little frown on his face.

“Imagine if I didn’t see them? They could’ve dropped the marble and I would’ve completely lost it!”

“Why?” He arches an eyebrow.

“That slab is like, two months’ worth of salary, Mr. Jeon.”

“It’s actually more but that’s not the point,” he fully frowns now. “If you didn’t see them, then they could’ve hit you, and then you would be whining in pain right now. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, ___.”

His voice is firm and low, and you nod in acknowledgment because you also know he’s right. The workers’ vision was limited but yours wasn’t; you were just too distracted and if you hadn’t pulled early enough, that marble really could’ve done damage to you. And if it wasn’t for Jungkook catching your fall, then something bad still would’ve happened to you.

“But are you okay? You didn’t twist your ankle or anything?” He asks.

“No. Uh, the heel’s just a bit loose but I’m fine,” you reply, still trying to wrap your head around how he’d said your name - informally, in this setting, as he told you that you could’ve gotten hurt. Maybe you weren’t imagining the worried tone of his voice earlier.

“Okay,” he sighs. “You have to be careful next time.”

“I will, sir,” you reply.

You step aside and Jungkook sees you from his peripheral vision as he returns to assessing, staying put and only glancing at the ceiling unlike earlier. He’d seen you marvel at the design of the hall earlier, and while he was initially doing the same, seeing you wide-eyed and impressed caught his attention more.

Many times, he’s seen you look dejected, frustrated, angry. He’s seen your moments of focus and joy, too, but this is the first time he’s seen you be in awe. There was this softness on your face that was still filled with emotion, and he’d been drawn to you enough to see that you were about to fall. He’s glad he has quick reflexes and was able to get to you in time, the worry he felt at the thought of you getting hurt in any way was quite overwhelming for him. And while it’s partly because you’re his responsibility in this case, he also knows it’s more than that.

He gestures moving to another room and you follow him outside, and just as you try to stay close to him, Jungkook also makes sure you’re away from any kind of danger. He moves to your side when there are workers nearby with their heavy equipment and large materials. He shields you from the drilling. He glances at you as you both walk towards the other performance hall. And when you get there, you see the ceiling installation is ongoing, and Jungkook immediately calls for hard hats for the both of you.

He hands you one and you put it on, fumbling with the strap underneath your chin. You groan in frustration when you’re unable to lock it, and that’s when you see him move towards you.

“Let me,” he says.

You stop your movements and shyly nod in agreement, and he waits for you to let go before he fixes it himself.

It’s a little odd being on the other side, since it’s always you who fixes his tie or his coat. But you’re the one watching him now, with his furrowed brows and seriousness in securing this safety gear on you making you feel warm inside.

He steps back then looks at you, trying hard to control his laughter.

“Are you laughing at me, sir?” You pout.

“No. I don’t make fun of people,” he says, turning serious now, but you don’t miss the grin on his face.

It’s unfair that he looks good even with a hard hat on.

One of the project managers calls him and he goes around, with you staying close by. This performance hall is bigger and boasts of a more traditional design, which would hold the cultural performances that the Culture Minister is very excited about. You watch Jungkook inspect the space with thoroughness, checking each wall panel and each seat.

It’s amazing to you just how involved he is with this project even with the project managers handling things relatively well. He wants to be on top of everything, he’s said; it matters too much for him to not know what’s going on.

You see Yoongi enter the room and approach him. Once he sees you, he laughs as well.

“Do I look that bad?” You groan. “Mr. Jeon was laughing at me, too.”

“It’s a little big, and I guess I’m just not used to seeing you in one,” Yoongi shrugs.

“Why don’t you have one?”

“I don’t need it. I’m here all the time and nothing happens.”

“Well, I’ve been here a few times and I almost fell earlier,” you say, recalling the almost-embarrassment.

“I know, I saw it,” he chuckles.

“You were there?!” You gasp.

“No, I was totally in the other room that’s why I witnessed you almost get hit by the marble then trip on yourself,” he deadpans.

“I didn’t see you, that’s all,” you shrug.

“I was by the doors. I checked these spaces yesterday and I just wanted to be around in case Jungkook had new instructions,” he explains. “But I gotta say, you guys were kinda cute earlier.”

“Almost falling on my ass isn’t cute, Min Yoongi,” you scowl. “I could’ve either ruined the marble slab or hurt my bum. Either way, it would’ve been embarrassing.”

“I didn’t mean just you. I meant you guys,” he gestures towards Jungkook. “He caught you, didn’t he?”

“Yes… That was embarrassing, too,” you frown. “What’s cute about that?”

“He looked worried. It’s just not something I’ve seen him be towards other people, that’s all.”

“It’s because an injured employee on site isn’t good, okay? Plus, if I’m incapable, then no one’s gonna be around to make his life easier,” you reason.

Yoongi stares at you for a while before shaking his head. “Wow, you really are dense.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you cross your arms in frustration.

“Forget about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, deciding not to push it.

He’ll tell you another time that he’s glad you’re becoming more of yourself again, that the light has somehow come back, that there’s now comfort you exude around the man you’d once despised. Yoongi feels assured now that there’s someone else who seems to be looking out for you, and that it’s something you don’t seem to mind at all.

“Yah! You’re being all mysterious again!” You pout, something he chuckles about.

“Me? Mysterious? Come on. I’ve always been an open book,” he teases.

You’re just about to nag him again when you hear Jungkook clear his throat, and you turn towards him and ask if he’s already done inspecting.

“There are still a few things I want to run by my design lead before leaving,” Jungkook says. “Please move my meeting to 3PM.”

“That’s noted, sir. I’ll give Mr. Hong’s assistant a call.”

You excuse yourself and step outside, leaving both men alone.

“Angering my assistant, are you?” Jungkook asks Yoongi, the curious yet playful tone in his voice evident.

“Nah, just teasing. That a problem?” Yoongi answers back.

“No. It’s good she has someone she’s comfortable with at work.”

“Could be you, you know? That isn’t so bad,” Yoongi remarks, surprising him. “And it doesn’t cross whatever boundary you’re trying so hard to stay behind.”

“We’re not… on that level. I mean, I don’t know how to be someone other people are comfortable being around,” Jungkook admits.

“I don’t know about that. Seems like you’re already that for her,” Yoongi says. “I was just teasing her about how you guys looked cute earlier, when you broke her fall.”

“You were there?”

“Both of you really don’t notice other people when it’s just both of you, huh,” Yoongi laughs. “But yeah, I was. I saw her relief. And I saw you worry.”

Jungkook merely shrugs, not wanting to confirm. Even if he denies it, Yoongi will still believe what he wants to believe. But the older man knows you well just as much as he knows him.

“You care about her, don’t you?” Yoongi responds to the silence. “And I mean not in a superficial way, or a good boss caring for his employee type of way. Like, you worry when she’s sick or overworking, when she’s hurt or in danger. You want her to always be safe, to get rest. You like having her near. You wanna know that she’s happy.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Jungkook finally answers. “I can’t think of her that way.”

“I know. That’s why you were the way you were,” Yoongi says. “How else do you respond to things you can’t control than through anger and detachment? But just because you shouldn’t, it doesn’t change the fact that you do.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong,” Jungkook counters.

“Well, irrationally calling her out and being angry were wrong, too, and you did those because you weren’t being honest with yourself,” Yoongi argues. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, the least you can do is be true to yourself about how you feel. Because the more you deny, then the more you resist, and when you do that, you end up hurting her. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not.”

“Then just… accept things - what you feel, what you both are, what you can or can’t be.”

Jungkook looks at his friend as if some epiphany had just transpired. It’s been difficult for him to make sense of what he feels around you. There’s always that air of familiarity, but the warmth and comfort are new. There’s the reality that you come from different worlds, but that you both somehow feel and experience and maybe desire the same things. There’s that sense of fear over change and of what he can’t control, yet you somehow provide the calm and stability that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

It’s all these contradictions that have been messing with him, and Yoongi’s right - because of all the times that Jungkook had wanted to create that distance, all it did was hurt you. That’s the last thing he wants, he realizes now. He’s seen you struggle, and even if that’s just a fraction of what you normally go through, it’s enough to tell him that he doesn’t want you to experience that again, especially not because of him. It’s too early to say the extent of his care towards you, and it’s not something he’s willing or ready to explore right now. But just as Jungkook’s about to comfort himself that it’s fine, and that he shouldn’t dwell on it anyway so as not to further nurture it, Yoongi speaks again.

“Just… just a heads up, though,” he adds. “The care that I felt, that’s how it started for me.”

“What started?”

“Me, liking her.”

It’s at that moment when you come back from your call, and you inform Jungkook that the meeting’s been moved and that he has a scheduled one with some of the directors on Monday.

“Alright,” he says, directing you and Yoongi towards the souvenir shop, temporarily disregarding what he was warned about.

“You two looked so serious. Everything okay?” You whisper to your friend.

“Yeah,” Yoongi hums, giving you the most genuine smile he could give.

There’s that sparkle and softness in your eyes that had captured him all those years ago. They dimmed throughout the years and they’ve just been sporadic, illuminating only during specific moments. He’d seen them again a lot more regularly, and even today, as you looked around the halls and admired the designs of the space.

Yoongi doesn’t know if a certain person is the reason for that. He knows you enough that you wouldn’t even notice it, so you definitely wouldn’t know what caused the change. But as your friend, he hopes one day you will, so that if you’re brave enough, too, you’d try to make sure that the light stays.

The inspection ends and you get back to the office at 4. You return to piles of documents you have to sift through and encode, and your original plan of leaving on time changes.

Jungkook spends over an hour talking with Yoongi and the construction lead about the Arts Center, and once that’s over, you see just how exhausted he is. He’s massaging his temples and sighing deeply, and you know that whatever just transpired, he’s going to be thinking about it all throughout the weekend, which he doesn’t really have time for. The gala that one of the Board members throws annually is tomorrow night, an event you’ll be attending with him as well.

You enter his room to remind him about it and to give some forms for his signature. He signs them off, and when you say you’ve got a few more requests that you’ll leave on his desk for Monday, he tells you to just wait until then.

“Go home, Ms. Cho,” he says. “It’s been a long week. And it won’t end until after tomorrow night.”

“What about you, Mr. Jeon?”

“I’ve got some stuff to sort through after inspection. I’ll probably leave in an hour or so.”

You frown, a mannerism of yours that he’s gotten used to seeing. It’s mixed with a pout that often makes him internally laugh because it seems unlike you. It also always means there’s something you want to say that you’re holding back.

“Should I not?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Hmm. Just thinking that it might be better for you to take a rest tonight, too,” you advise. “The gala could be quite draining and it would be good to save your energy for that.”

“I’ll think about it,” he hums.

“Then I’ll think about going home, too,” you answer back.

Jungkook chuckles, knowing you’re always going to counter him in some way. And he’s glad that you do.

“You may go. And get a good rest, too.”

You nod and bid him goodbye, exiting the room to start packing your things. It’s five minutes later when the door opens and you see him with his bag, ready to head home as well.

You smile at his tender doe-eyes as he admits through them that you were right - he doesn’t have a reason to stay behind, so he’ll call it a night and get as much rest as he can.

He pauses by the entryway, and you pick up that he’s waiting for you, perhaps to make sure that you’re indeed going home. You quicken your pace and walk next to him, steps in pace as you both go to the elevator and down to the lobby.

“Mr. Ri can bring you home after me,” Jungkook says. “It’s late already.”

“Not late enough,” you reply. “I’m okay, Mr. Jeon. It’s not necessary.”

He concedes, and you wait for the car to arrive and say goodbye to him again.

There’s a softness on his face as he lingers before he enters. A small smile forms, and it’s what you see until you fall asleep that night. It’s the same one that’s oddly been giving you comfort lately - it’s a little restrained but somehow it still looks vulnerable. Perhaps it represents how Jungkook’s been to you - there are some contradictions, but beyond all that, there’s care.

Mr. Ri happily greets you as you enter the car that late Saturday afternoon to head to Jungkook’s penthouse. He compliments your dress, saying it’s nice to see you in something formal that fits your style - it’s simple yet elegant, and you tell him that your mother wouldn’t stop gushing over you through the screen, nagging you to send full-body photos so she could appreciate you more.

Jimin and Soomin surprised you in the morning to help you fix up, insisting that they wanted to make sure you spoiled yourself for the event. If you wouldn’t, they would, so they treated you to the hair salon and had your nails done. They’re the ones who took so many photos like some formal dance, and Jimin commented that the only downside was that they were sending you off to pick up Jungkook.

Defending your boss the way you did surprised you a little; it surprised them a lot more. You’d said that he bought you the dress, that he’s been nothing but kind, and that whatever negative feelings you had towards him are all in the past. Your friends understood, deciding not to ruin your night and then letting you go so they could eat out and meet you back at your apartment once you’re done.

You chat with Mr. Ri about how things have been at work, your friends, and your family. You also talk about the gala and how it feels a little nerve-racking attending this time, given your experience with Jungkook.

It’s a grand event that the company’s executives attend, and guests are asked to refrain from going solo. For such requests, it’s not unusual for them to bring their assistants. You’re expected to attend anyway, and assistants usually partner up with each other and it always worked. You went with Hoseok last year because A-yeong had a work event, and while you expected that Jungkook wouldn’t care for such request and maintain that he’d go by himself, you also didn’t think that CEO Jeon would insist that his son take you as his date so he wouldn’t be alone.

The elder Jeon had reasoned that business discussions usually take place during the gala, and it would be good for you to be around and be familiar with the new people on the scene. Hoseok had said that they’re expected to stay through the whole thing, and it’s much better for his cousin to have a companion so he could survive the night. That was months ago when things were still a little shaky for you both. You still remember Jungkook’s displeased look when it seemed like he had no choice in the matter, especially since he probably thought that his father just wanted to make sure he’d act accordingly. It feels like a lifetime ago, really, as you think about his soft smile from last night.

You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, why his gestures or mannerisms suddenly mean something to you, or why there’s excitement when you think about seeing him outside of work. You’re unsure why the curve of his lips when he grins or the deep huff that follows his laugh makes you a little giddy, or why his eyes lingering on you makes your heart beat a little faster than usual.

Just like right now, as they gaze at you while you seemingly do the same.

“You look, uh—” he starts, unable to find the accurate but appropriate term to describe how you look.

“Nice?” You finish, recalling the term he’d used when you tried this gown for the first time.

“Something like that,” he chuckles, earning him a giggle from you.

He playfully shakes his head, perhaps knowing that you’re used to him not making grand compliments or anything. But he does smile after, and there goes that blissful feeling again.

Maybe it’s because for the first time, you’re being appreciated. Maybe just like how it’s been recently, he likes being around you, prefers it, even. And given how you felt so unwanted during his first few weeks here, this is a blessing, as if in his appreciation of you, you’re liking yourself as well.

“Well, in my opinion, you look quite dashing, Mr. Jeon,” you say bravely. “Except your waistcoat seems to be uneven.”

“Exactly what I thought,” he sighs. “I can’t quite align it properly.”

And as you always do, you approach him, your hands immediately going towards his shoulders to flatten the vest, then his sides to pull it down. You adjust it a little bit more then fix his collar after, and suddenly this feels so natural - being close to him, taking in his scent, and smiling as he glances at you.

“Do you need help with your coat?” You ask once you finish.

He nods and you follow him to his walk-in closet where you take the last piece of clothing and assist him in wearing it. He adjusts the lapels while you assess if all wrinkles have been flattened. You watch him look at himself in the mirror and you can’t help but admire him as well. He exudes confidence, which you can say now is strikingly different from the Appointment Dinner where he still looked a bit unsure. But now, he commands respect. The deep black color of his striped three-piece ensemble with his slick hair parted in the middle makes him even more handsome, and you manage to hold in the gasp you were about to release as he faces you for a final look.

“All good?” He asks.

“All good,” you smile, turning around and walking back to the living room.

He follows, and he takes this time to bask in your beauty before he has to act like it doesn’t affect him again.

There’s a reason why he was rendered speechless the first time he saw you in this gown at the tailor shop, so much so that he had to step out to get some air. You look even more stunning now, with your classic but natural-looking makeup and your styled hair. You exude a certain kind of glow that sucks him in, that makes his heart race yet soothes him just the same.

It’s a little dangerous for him, given that he’ll be spending this entire evening with you as his date, looking the way you do while he has to act disinterested, as if his attraction isn’t slapping him in the face and his internal alarm bells aren’t ringing.

But he has to act professional. He has to stay behind the lines even if his mind is yelling all the words about your beauty that he has to ignore. So he gives himself this short moment where he gets to admire you, and when you make it to the elevator and become confined in a small space, he holds his breath as you smile at him shyly, hoping that he doesn’t give himself away.

He’ll get himself together, he orders to himself, and he’ll make sure he doesn’t scare you off.

You make it to the lobby and enter the car. The drive to the venue is quiet at the beginning. It’s technically not a work day so there’s no reason to discuss work. You and Jungkook may have started talking about non-work matters but it doesn’t mean you readily talk about actual personal things. They’re occasional, as it’s not something he seems to do much and you’re often guarded about yours. It took a while for you to open up to Yoongi and even then, there are many things he doesn’t know. You’re comfortable around him, there’s no denying that, but there are still parts of you that you don’t like to share with others, and you suppose that Jungkook is the same.

But still, you ask how his evening was and how his day went, expecting he’d give a basic answer.

“I just stayed home last night and watched soccer over drinks,” he says. “Then I did my workout and went for a swim this morning. I did a bit of work in the afternoon and then got ready.”

“Ah, no party last night and then recovering from it in the morning?” You tease, knowing that’s a usual occurrence for him. Lucas did mention about the Singapore trip and how he’d taken home a passed out Jungkook on the night of his birthday.

“Well, there was a party,” he responds. “There always is, but I passed up on it. I didn’t want to feel out of sorts tonight. There’ll be a lot of new faces and I don’t wanna mess up.”

“Oh, you won’t. You’ve been doing really well, Mr. Jeon. And that’s me being honest.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” He arches an eyebrow. “Would you tell me otherwise?”

“Well, the me of now, would. The me of a few months ago would want to but wouldn’t.”

Jungkook dwells on your answer. “Hmm. What changed, then?”

“I got used to you.”

He meets your gaze and somehow it feels too long. You don’t really know what prompted you to say it but you felt a little bold, a little too honest.

“In what sense?” he wonders, turning away now.

“I’d say I got used to the mood swings but then again, they haven’t been intense compared to those first few weeks,” you admit. “But surprisingly, it’s the calmness I’ve become accustomed to. And the seriousness and occasional zoning out, but also, the…”

Care, you want to say. Or the thoughtfulness.

“Consideration,” you say instead.

Jungkook’s throat dries up as he finds the words to say. He’s now afraid to look at you because he might give in and say something he’ll regret. He’s been praised before for his work and his designs, but he supposes that no one’s really complimented him for something he does for other people, specifically for you. Maybe that’s why he thinks he doesn’t deserve it; he’s unsure if he’s really considerate by nature or if he just is towards you. It’s why he brushes it off, insisting he just has his moments.

“But those moments could mean a lot to the one it’s shared with or directed to,” you counter. “Even if it was just once. Or even if it was so trivial that you probably forgot already. But the other person doesn’t. Or they would, but something about that moment stays.”

Jungkook thinks about the moments you’d shown him consideration. Or even care or thoughtfulness, but he wouldn’t word it that way to you. There are the big ones - when you showed your support of the Arts Center to his father, when you calmed him down during that first Board meeting, when you gave him the noodles when he was sick, when you stayed with him during his interview with the magazine publications.

When you stood up to him. When you didn’t quit after that first week.

There are also the small moments - the ginger and lemon tea on Monday mornings when he looks like he’d drank too much the night before, the biscuits you serve with his coffee, the affirming looks during team meetings, the comforting smiles from outside his office when he’s stressed.

There’s a lot of those you show him, and he realizes now that he remembers each one.

The silence returns soon after, as you both seem to prefer basking in the soft music that Mr. Ri plays.

It’s 15 minutes later when you arrive at the venue. You get out of the car and meet Jungkook by his door, surprised when he offers his arm that you take.

“This is how they do it, right?” He looks at you questioningly.

“Yes,” you chuckle. “It’s a little over-the-top but the hosts treat this like it’s some red carpet event and I just follow what the others do. Bitna says it’s the one time we could feel like proper ladies or something, whatever that means.”

“Hmm, makes sense. I guess I’ll be a proper gentleman, then. Whatever that means.”

You hold onto him lightly as you both make your way inside. You try to disregard the firmness of his arm and the way it feels under your touch, so you gently let go not long after and clutch onto your purse instead, not wanting to give off the idea that you’re anything more than each other’s dates. You greet the guests and establish your position to those who are unaware in an effort to show that this social event is a work function as well.

Jungkook talks about the Arts Center when he can, and you mentally take note of certain projects, sites, events, artists, and patrons that are mentioned, quickly typing them on your phone for future reference. He talks to you about them in between flutes of champagne and canapes that are some of the most delicious you’ve ever had.

Jungkook laughs as you down another brie and cranberry bruschetta.

“What? I like fancy food,” you pout.

“Yes, your normal people’s taste buds like fancy food,” he teases.

It’s a statement you make often and you smile that he now uses it against you.

Your moments of casual ignorance of what’s going on around you are ones you find yourself enjoying too much. You internally sigh every time a guest approaches him, and even more so when you find yourself with a few others and someone stands a little too close, or has his hand linger on your elbow, or whispers something in your ear as if you’re at a bar and the music is too loud, which it isn’t, so there’s really no reason for this son of some business tycoon to be asking you to head outside “to talk.”

“Don’t you have a date?” You ask after he insists.

“Yeah, some girl,” he shrugs. “She’s kinda boring. Lucky I found you.”

You awkwardly smile, knowing it’s not your place to reject him and make a scene. He looks to be the type who always gets his way and if he doesn’t this time, you’re afraid of how he might take it.

You don’t budge and call for another flute of champagne instead, finishing it in one gulp that has the man releasing a deep breath in front of you.

“So you’ve been working for the Jeon’s for 8 years, you say?” He speaks again.

You nod, looking around to avoid his eyes.

“That’s quite a long time, yeah? I’m sure I can get you a spot at my company,” he brags. “I mean, we sell luxury cars. That’s way more interesting than buildings and shit.”

“I don’t drive,” you say too quickly. “I mean, I don’t know how to.”

“Perfect. I can teach you then,” he smirks.

It’s the look that heightens your level of discomfort, and just as you’re about to make some excuse and run away, Jungkook calls your name that has you immediately turning towards him.

“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”

He’s not too far away; he comes closer yet still maintains a bit of a distance.

“Hoseok’s asking for me but I want to speak to Mr. Saito before he leaves. Can you go to my cousin on my behalf?”

“Of course,” you say, excusing yourself and scurrying away from the scene, sighing in relief at the sight of a familiar pair of faces.

A-yeong gives you a hug and you return it, then you turn to Hoseok and ask what he needs Jungkook for.

“Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t call for him.”

“Oh, okay. Well, he said you did.”

“I haven’t spoken to him since we got here,” Hoseok replies. “You know how this gala goes. So many people to meet. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just… uh. Well, I just met Mr. Kwon’s son. And let’s just say, I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Oh, ___,” A-yeong sighs, knowing exactly what you mean. “Just stay with us. Or don’t leave Jungkook’s side.” Turning towards the man who’d just arrived, she adds, “stay close to her, okay?”

Jungkook looks at you, his eyes asking a question that you know the answer to but neither of you says anything.

“I will,” he nods.

Both of you stay where you are for a while before heading back to your seats for the sit-down dinner. You converse with those at your table, thankful that they’re all decent and entertaining. After that, Jungkook doesn’t leave your side. It almost seems like he’s your date rather than the other way around, but you appreciate his presence, especially when he calls your attention once you start looking uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I just… I just get a little uneasy when people I don’t know get too close.”

“I understand. I’m the same,” he says, prompting you to look at him. “But I just feel uncomfortable, not unsafe. There’s a difference. And it’s not okay if that’s how they make you feel.”

He knew without you saying the words. It takes you back to that night at the restaurant with Hajoon and how Jungkook had looked the most guilty he’d ever been when you said that his staring made you feel uncomfortable. You supposed then that it was mostly because he thought he was causing a rift between you and Hajoon but you realize now that it was more than that. For all that Jungkook is, you’ve come to see that there are things he can’t stand himself doing; deliberately making you feel unsafe is definitely one of them. Perhaps it’s why at this moment, you feel the exact opposite being around him.

And that’s how the rest of the night goes. He stays close but when he’s caught up in a conversation he can’t get out of, he gives you that look to remind you that it’s okay to step away, that you have the ability to remove yourself from a situation you don’t feel good being in. And you do, and the worry you used to have about being a mere assistant fades away. You never thought that one Jeon Jungkook would give you the permission to do that.

You’re seated on a chair some time later, the hours of walking in your high heels taking its toll on you. You wave to Hoseok and A-yeong, no longer having the energy to walk up to them for a proper goodbye. You sigh to yourself, feeling the tiredness slowly overtake you. It was still a good night, but it took a lot of energy from you, too.

“Hey,” you hear Jungkook call out.

You turn to him, still looking handsome as he stands nearby, his hands in his pockets as he mirrors your exhaustion.

“Ready to head home?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say too quickly, earning you a laugh.

You stand up, limping only a tiny bit, but you think Jungkook notices, as he offers his arm just like he did at the start of the night.

“This is what a proper gentleman does, right?” He asks.

“I suppose. Although I might say, Mr. Jeon, that’s what you were the entire time. So thank you.”

Jungkook nods in response, unsure how to receive your gratitude. He knows what you mean, as the first sign of your discomfort had him looking at you constantly. He was worried all night but he supposes there’s no reason to feel that way now, as your faint smile just signifies that you’re tired more than anything.

For the short moment it takes for you to walk closer to him, he basks in your beauty once more. The night will be over soon, and he’s glad he could give you some reprieve this time. He tries not to lose it when you tighten your grip on his arm for support though, but that’s something he can think about later on.

The walk to the car isn’t that long and you let go of him eventually. You head towards the other door then enter, the space in between reminding him of where you both belong - on either side of a line, one that he shouldn’t think of crossing.

You sink into your seat, fighting the urge to curl your body and take a nap, so you sit up straight and hold yourself together after once again feeling Jungkook’s arm under your touch. Most of the alcohol has left your system but perhaps not enough, as you boldly look at him and smile in appreciation. He returns it, perhaps knowing why you are.

You look out the window, appreciating Seoul’s night sky, until the vision starts getting unclear, as the rain falls steadily on the window. The tapping of the droplets on the glass is a sound you’ve come to appreciate, among other things that you used to be terrified of.

There’s just this calmness, as if the rain is greeting you, accompanying you in your thoughts. But the sound of the radio getting louder disrupts that a little bit, and in looking at Mr. Ri in question only to find him glancing at the rearview mirror to see the man next to you, do you realize why he’s doing so.

Jungkook’s demeanor has changed, a complete 180 to how he looked not long ago when he seemed satisfied, fulfilled, almost proud of himself for surviving the night. He’s now cross-legged and cross-armed, with his eyes closed and jaws clenched, as if he’s trying to hold himself together. Or trying his best to drown out the sound of the rain, the way Mr. Ri is trying to do for him.

Your face falls at the sight. You’ve seen Jungkook stressed and angry and disappointed; you’ve seen him anxious, too, but this is different. There’s a bit of fear in there, and with the way he flinches and how he’s clutching onto his arms, you know this comes from somewhere and this was caused by something. If it’s anything similar to what you know, then this was because of something painful.

You want to reach out to him but you know you shouldn’t. You helplessly look back on the road then glance at Jungkook every few seconds as the rain continues. It doesn’t seem like it will be a terrible downpour but it’s stronger than usual.

You try to remember instances in the past where he’d acted this way. A few come to mind, and you think now there’s a reason why he becomes uneasy when it starts to drizzle. That happened the other week while you were on a site visit with him for a small project, but you hadn’t thought much of it, given that he was on his fourth cup of coffee on the way there.

But right now, you wish there was something more you could do; anything is better than nothing. But you feel constrained - by the distance, by your position, by his boundaries that seem to always be there.

By some miracle, the rain weakens, and it’s stopped by the time you arrive at Jungkook’s apartment building. The car halts and with him still in the same position, you think he probably doesn’t realize he’s home.

“Mr. Jeon,” you say softly, gently tapping his arm to get his attention. “We’ve reached your place. And the rain has stopped. It’s… it’s okay to open your eyes now.”

It takes a few seconds but he takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, then looks around. It’s just droplets frozen in time on his window and he sighs in relief. Somehow the assurance that he’s okay means something to you this time; you hate to think of what burden he carries that he hides away.

He opens the door, and there’s a bit of disappointment you feel when he closes it and leaves without a goodbye. You suppose he just wants to get to his place immediately and rush to safety. But you don’t want to intrude, not if distance is what he needs, so you settle with just watching him walk away.

But then he turns around, and with that bit of boldness left in your body, you open the window and give him another smile. You wish he feels the tenderness in it; you wish somehow it’s enough to let him know that you understand, and that he’s not alone.

“Good night,” you manage to say, and he hears it despite the distance.

“Good night, ___. And thank you.”

It’s the use of your name. It’s the softness of his smile and the words of gratitude. It’s the way he lingers as the car starts to drive away and you’re left watching him even from afar.

It lets you know that he knows. And it’s the reason why you sleep soundly that night and why for the first time since you’ve met him, you can’t wait to see him again.

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ild-rllrcstr · 23 days ago

Text

The Second Seat part 3

Lando Norris X You (female driver) / slight angst / 2.9K

part 1 / part 2 / part 4 / part 5

Summary You worked your way up to Formula One, contracted with McLaren, defying all odds. You play the team game: humble, strategic, and willing to follow orders, even if it means sacrificing podiums so Lando Norris can be the world champion. Every lap you sacrifice, every time you hold back, the world starts to doubt your talent. Lando sees it all. So he makes a choice: to give you the race, the recognition you deserve, and maybe his heart. You came for the drive, but you stayed for something more.

Warnings swearing A/N I realised the link for part two was not attached properly for some reason, but it's now properly fixed! I almost cried writing some paragraphs in this part, just so you guys are ready. Also, I did see the requests, I'm still planning this story and see if I finish this first or cut in some requests but I promise it won’t take long!

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After Monaco, something changed. The dynamic between you and Lando shifted. Cold, quiet distance. The last real conversation you had was on Charles' yacht that night in Monaco.

Since then, it was like you existed in parallel, orbiting the same team in different spheres. You showed up to meetings, sat across from each other in the McLaren briefing room, occasionally exchanged professional nods in the garage, but the easy banter, the occasional teasing, the warmth, it was gone.

Everyone noticed, and they tried not to act weird about it. Since the little Eureka moment enlightened by Lewis, it was also frustrating for the others to watch you two, but it was no one’s place to interfere. They don’t know how to.

Lando stopped expressing his frustration, just hitting the throttle harder, hoping to gain more advantage so you don’t have to be in more unfair situation anymore. But his bottled-up frustration was not helping much.

The media feasted on the tension. Rumours spread, questioning your ability, your place in McLaren, your results. Headlines swirled with loaded language: “McLaren’s Strategy: Sacrificing One for the Other?” “Rookie Dragging Down Constructors’ Fight?”

You said nothing. You just kept showing up.

Lando kept winning. With each race, his championship lead stretched further. He was leaving everyone behind, Max, Lewis, Oscar, all of them chasing his shadow. On paper, it looked like a dream season for McLaren. In reality, everyone knew it was a one-man show.

And you? You were stuck in P8 in the driver standings. Good spot for a rookie by historical standards, but in the fight for the Constructors’ title, you were dead weight. The math didn’t lie. The team had made their choice: this year wasn’t about the team. It was about getting Lando his championship.

You spent all summer as a moving roadblock for Lando, holding up competitors, defending track position with worn tyres just long enough to buy Lando clean air or a perfect pit window. Over and over again. The tactics that once felt strategic started to feel like sabotage. It was a quiet humiliation. One lap at a time.

It not only frustrated you but also Lando. He was winning, but he couldn’t celebrate the way he used to. There were no cheeky grins in the cooldown room, no energetic podium leaps. The media said he finally matured, but he was just drained, emotionally, and guilty, even.

The worst scenario came at Silverstone. You dreamt about this race ever since you drove, and it was equally important for McLaren to shine at home.

But the strategy calls came again. You stayed out longer than made sense, blocking a charging Racing Bulls train. Your tires were gone by Lap 40. Lando took the win, you dropped out of the points completely, P11. Your worst finish all season.

The crowd roared. Papaya flags flew. The pit wall exploded with cheers, all for Lando.

You slipped out before the cameras came. No press. No interviews. Just the back paddock tunnel and the hum of post-race chaos echoing somewhere behind you.

There were no pats on the back in the garage afterwards. Just nods.

“Nice job out there.” Someone mumbled as you came out of the cockpit.

You didn’t respond. Nice job, it must be a joke. Because what part of it was a nice job?

On the screen, Lando stood on the top step of the podium to a sea of British and papaya flags… while you sat in the driver’s room with your helmet off, staring blankly at the data. Nothing was going inside your brain, you know all the numbers by heart, it seems useless to look further anymore.

You weren’t angry. You were tired. Bone-deep tired. And somewhere deep in your gut, you realised something painful:

You hadn’t been racing for yourself in weeks. You were just... managing the traffic.

You saw Lando in the debrief. He gave you a long look. No words. No fake smiles. You saw the flicker of devastation in his eyes, matching yours hidden deeper.

You saw each other's frustration. But neither of you knew how to fix it.

A little part of you started to feel like perhaps Lando was right.

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Two months later, September’s Monza was still blazing with the Italian heat. The goal was still Lando’s championship. For you, the more you are to the end of the season, you more you’re making peace with yourself and accepting the frustrating situation. You get in the car, get instructions, and execute. Like a robot, not expecting much.

30 laps in, Lando was fighting with Lewis for P1. Both overlapped the slower cars by 1 lap and were going through the traffic area. The competition that was happening between Esteben and Nico was only making them harder to overtake. An unforeseen contact between the two slower cars caused Nico to slip, slamming off Lando’s right wing, also spinning Lando off the track. The day was wrapped for Lando and Nico. Here comes the safety car.

“Y/N, box now, after the safety car, switching to Plan A, start pushing.”

Standing P6 holding the traffic, you were oblivious of what was happening on the other side of the track. The announcement from your engineer was unexpected. You boxed, and when you came out, you saw the papaya car on the side of the track as you passed by. Lando saw you pass, the adrenaline within him started to pump, he realised something and was more thrilled than he should be at the situation.

“Is he alright?” you asked your engineer, more worried than you sounded.

“Right wing’s slammed off, but he’s all good.”

Shook off the thought, that’s when you realise it was the opportunity you were waiting for all along. You were P6, Lando’s off, with the gap reduced by the safety car, you have all the chance to do something here.

You breathed, pacing your breath for the rhythm you needed, each lap with the safety car, you adjusted, you were feeling your car, it was there on your side, both of you were ready to show what you had long been hiding all season.

Lando got back to the paddock, insisting on sitting through the rest of the race before heading for a medical check and the media zone. He didn’t even take a glance at his right-wingless car. His eyes were fixed on the screen, on you. The whole team was, with their breath tightly held. He went next to your engineer to check the more detailed data, and both of your engineers were on the same screen now.

By lap 43, you’ve overtaken Kimi and Charles, standing at P4 with 10 more laps to go.

The crowd was buzzing with excitement, broadcasts were fixating on the small gap between you and George in front. Charles was not far behind.

Lap 51,

Lap 52,

Lap 53.

You were fast. You were smart. And most importantly, you were free for once. It was purely you. You got the perfect last turn you’ve been practising forever on the sim, full throttle, and you ran through the finish line.

You continued the track after passing the line, slowing down, you’ve got nothing in your head, it was filled with dopamine. For once, in a long time. You felt like yourself, noises were completely out of your ears, until you heard screaming from the radio.

“P3! Y/N! P3! You fucking did it! Fuck yes! I told you she can do it! That was a fucking brilliant race. I told you to stop putting her on that stupid Plan C.” That voice, it was not your engineer, it was Lando on the other side of the radio.

“What?” You still couldn’t comprehend what you heard until you were pulled to the Parc fermé with a P3 plate in front of your car.

Cameras swarmed to your side, flashing, even stealing the spotlight from Lewis’ P1 and Max’s P2. You slowly climbed out of the car, still couldn’t believe it was real. The media were bombarding you with questions, and you stood still in your car, dumbfounded. You didn't even know how to react.

Lewis realised you’re in shock and lent you a hand to pull you out of the car. He gave you a big pat on the back, and you saw the crease at the end of his eyes through the helmet. He’s not just happy for his win, he was also happy for you. Max came to congratulate you, even though he was not happy about not being able to surpass Lewis. The papaya team of engineers and mechanics in front of you are roaring with cheers, this time not because of Lando, but you.

Someone helped you out of your helmet, you pulled off the balaclava and looked around, panting from the excitement. Among the papayas, you spot one white. Lando looked at you with the biggest smile you’ve seen on him in months. He stood there and then looked at you, and your eyes focused on his. For a second, the noises were gone. The cameras, the crowd, all gone. It was just the two of you, a small, fulfilling moment for the two of you.

“I told you.” Lando mouthed silently with his finger pointed at himself, then at you.

Suddenly, your eyes blurred, and warm tears were sliding down your cheeks, but you also had a smile on, this time a real one, not the good actress smile.

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In the cool room, you still couldn’t stop crying, Lewis asked the staff to give you some time in the washroom to freshen up a bit.

“That was well earned, Y/N, great great job, be very proud of yourself. You’ve been patient, and it’s time you reap what you’ve sown.” Lewis warmly smiled at you as you calmed down and came out of the washroom.

“Those were amazing takeovers, that last turn was clean and fast like you’re on a straight line.” Max was impressed watching the replay on the screen, and you know that was rich coming from him.

Standing on the podium got your eyes tickled with tears again. You held your trophy, hands shaking. You clutched the trophy tighter, the metal grounding you in a moment that felt too big to hold.

The champagne stung your eyes, but not as much as the tears.

As the anthem played, you stared out over the crowd, not just at the fans of McLaren, but at the girls in the grandstand who were holding signs up for you. The ones who saw you. The ones who now knew they didn’t have to ask for permission.

Tears slipped down your cheek again before you could stop them. And for once, you didn’t try to hold it anymore.

The press room was buzzing. Flashes everywhere. The journalists were excited, the questions came in fast, but for the first time, they weren’t tinged with doubts about you.

“Y/N, this is your first podium in Formula 1. You’ve spent most of the season supporting your teammate. What does today mean to you?”

You took a breath.

“It means… everything.” You paused, breathing in. “I’ve always said I was grateful for the opportunity, I am and will always be grateful, but I won’t lie and say it’s been easy. Today… it felt like the team trusted me from the entry of that safety car. I wasn’t just there to support someone else’s win. I was given the race and freedom. And that’s all I’ve been patiently waiting for.”

Lewis, sitting beside you, nodded quietly. “She drove like a lion today. It was beautiful to watch.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The debrief ended, and engineers scattered, screens shutting down, everyone’s ready for the small break before Azerbaijan in two weeks.

You were in the hospitality waiting room, showered, and packed. You were in your casual sundress, sitting on the couch, holding your trophy on your knees, staring at it and your own reflection on it. You were still processing the moment.

“It’s been five minutes that you’re staring at it, it’s not going anywhere, you know.” Lando was leaning on the wall, not far away from you. He’s watched you for a while, but you clearly didn’t notice him. He looked tired, but he had that boyish smile on him.

“I was waiting to see if they’ll take it back or something.” You smiled and mumbled, focusing back on the trophy.

“They won’t,” he approached. “No one will ever again, over my dead body.” You looked up at him. Behind the tireless, his eyes were full of pride and emotions that were overwhelming. Then it was watering.

“Why are you crying?” you burst out in disbelief. You knew he was emotional, but not in this way.

“I didn’t get my podium, that’s why,” he joked and smiled even though he was still crying.

And then your eye ached, and you started to cry again.

“Not fair, it took me so long to stop crying! And then here we go again!” You both laughed at how ridiculous the state of both of you was.

When Lando was wiping his tears, you approached and pulled him into a hug around his neck. He froze, not expecting it.

“Thank you, Lando. Thank you for believing me when no one else did. I knew you were trying to lead better so they don’t have to put me in Plan C, and I’m sorry for being so stubborn. Thank you so much for trying to stand up for me.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, sniffing.

“I fucking told you. If this is how you’re going to finally fight, I’mma DNF all the races until the end of the season. Lewis is still large behind.”

“We know you won’t, we know you still want that championship.”

“ I do.” Lando rolled his eyes, smiling.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

Later that night, you found yourself getting a call from reception again for Mr. Norris’ request to visit.

“Why do you always make the call? You know my room number.” You opened the door, looking at him weirdly.

“I thought it’s more polite and it gives you a heads-up.” He’s already changed and freshened up.

“You still have… exactly 30 minutes before we have to leave,” he continued, looking at his phone for the information, bad memory.

“For what?” You asked, pretending again, not knowing.

“Sir Hamilton put me on a mission to ensure you show up at the party. I’m on duty tonight,” he joked.

You shut yourself in the toilet for a good 30 minutes, coming out readied. But when Lando saw you, knocking the air out of him. He was not mentally prepared. You were in your mini sundress rather than the usual maxi ones. Lando wondered how many of those you have. Since Monaco, even though he was frustrated with you, those dresses you were wearing were doing something to him. Tonight it was refreshing, different, but he still liked it. The hotel light was thankfully not too bright lit so you didn’t notice the slight flush on his cheeks.

Shit Lando, you’re flushing like a 12 year-old. He told himself, calming himself down all the way to the villa outside Monza.

It was the first time you entered a room with all the familiar faces, some engineers, some mechanics, some friends and families, but there was no competitiveness in the air.

Lando walked in beside you, beaming like he had taken P1. He was the first one to grab drinks and pull you into the middle of a small circle, already laughing and telling stories. George, Pierre, Alex, Charles, Max, Everyone looked up as you entered.

“Oh shit, it’s McLaren’s rising queen,” Max teased with a grin, “Do we need to bow?”

“Careful,” George added lightly, “She might overtake you next.” There was no beef, no matter what happened on the track in the afternoon. Everyone laughed.

You stood a little awkwardly, unsure how to react, until Lewis walked in from the kitchen and immediately hugged you and left an arm slung around your shoulder.

“There she is.” His smile was wide, his eyes twinkling. “No one here deserves this night more.”

Charles and Pierre smirked, quickly glanced from you, Lewis, to Lando. The two whispered on the side. Lando’s eyes never left you, his grip tightened on his drink.

The music picked up. Glasses clinked. Few drinks in, Lando had a drink in one hand and was already dancing terribly, unbothered by the rhythm, pulling everyone into it.

He came to where you were sitting next to Lewis and grabbed your hand. “Come on. You’re coming with me to the dance floor.”

“I can’t dance.” You said shyly, but did not resist the pull by him.

“You just outdrove half the grid and got that trophy. You can do anything.”

You laughed, finally letting yourself be dragged in. Lewis smirked, seeing both of you from behind. He exchanged a knowing nod with Charles.

For the first time since the start of the season, you weren’t holding your breath. You weren’t calculating tyre strategy in your head, or checking who was watching. You were just there. Laughing, dancing, celebrating. With your peers, as one of them.

Lando didn’t leave your side the whole night. Every time someone congratulated you, he nodded like he’d known it all along.

At one point, Charles passed by, raising a brow to Lando looking at you with the stupidest smile on him. You were too busy talking to the others.

“Mate, I thought you DNFed today.”

Lando just raised his glass, a bit tipsy. “I did.”

“But you look like you won today,” Charles smirked.

“Didn’t I?” Lando looked at Charles quickly, his eye lingered back at you.

Charles laughed and shook his head, heading to confirm the little gossip with Pierre.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #lando fanfic #lando imagine #lando x you #lando x reader #lando norris #lando x y/n

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deliciousangelfestival · 18 days ago

Text

Her Turn Now - 2

Character: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Twin sisters. Opposite worlds. The eldest is a tough, no-nonsense soldier. The youngest is a quiet, hardworking corporate girl. They rarely meet—until the younger sister collapses from stress, hiding months of workplace bullying.

Furious and protective, the soldier twin trades places with her. Heels off, boots on. Now, the office has no idea what's coming.

She doesn’t play nice. She doesn’t play fair. And while she's serving justice in a pencil skirt, the ruthless CEO starts to take notice…

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , -

Working in an office really doesn't suit you.

In battle, things are simple. When someone annoys you, you shut them up—with a fist or a boot to the face. Problem solved. But here?

Here, you’re surrounded by high heels, fake smiles, and the sharp click-clack of keyboards... and every single sound grates your nerves.

You grit your teeth, nails tapping against the desk, fists clenched under the table just to stop yourself from punching someone in the throat. You’ve only been here two hours, and already, you’re planning five different ways to commit corporate homicide.

Your respect for Levi just skyrocketed. Eight months she endured this hell? You can barely last one morning.

'Should you? Yes, you can.' 'Lock the door. Grab the stapler. Use the pencil. There are weapons everywhere.'

That little voice in your head sounds far too convincing. If it were the real you—Captain McCain—you’d be halfway through your rampage by now. But no. You're Levi now.

And if Levi McCain loses her cool? That delicate record she’s worked so hard to build will shatter.

Just then, a thick stack of papers lands on your desk with a loud thwack. You glance up. Some guy—you don’t even know his name—doesn’t look at you, just keeps walking like you’re invisible.

"What the hell is this?" you mutter under your breath.

Another assignment. Charts. Reports. Forecast analysis? You squint at the spreadsheet like it’s in another language. Honestly, it might as well be.

They're piling it on, testing you. You've been here two hours, and already they’ve dumped more work on your desk than a full week’s load.

You inhale slowly. Count to five. Calm. You’re supposed to be Levi. Quiet. Polite. Fragile. Yeah, right.

But you didn’t come into this unarmed. Oh no. You came with a secret weapon.

Thanks to Casey.

The night before your little infiltration mission, she handed you a sleek tablet loaded with a custom AI system she’s been tinkering with.

"You’re a genius in combat, boss. Not in spreadsheets," she said with a smirk. "I built this so you can focus on wrecking those bastards emotionally instead."

So while everyone else thinks you’re slaving over numbers, you're calmly sipping your coffee and letting Casey’s AI handle the data analysis.

Now, with zero hesitation, you lift the freshly completed reports and toss them right back at the guy’s desk with a smooth flick of your wrist.

He freezes, staring at the documents like you just performed black magic.

Around the office, heads start turning. Whispers ripple through the floor like electricity.

'How did she finish that so fast?' 'Wasn’t that supposed to take a day?' 'Did she make any mistakes?'

You lean back in your chair, legs crossed, eyes sharp. You don’t say a word. Just stare at them all like a predator in disguise.

Let them wonder. Let them whisper.

You’re just getting started.

You weren’t made for this world of polite requests and passive-aggressive comments—and you’re done pretending.

When someone dumps files on your desk and tells you to print them, you don’t even look up.

“Do it yourself. The printer’s right on your table.”

Another, bolder one strolls over, holding out a coffee order list.

“Buy some for the team, will you? Get that caramel thing we like.”

You raise a brow and don’t even break stride as you type, voice flat and sharp.

“Try Uber Eats. Or your own damn legs.”

They blink, stunned, as you go back to work like the conversation never happened.

Lunch hour can’t come fast enough. You head down to the building’s park—if you don’t get some air, you might actually kill someone.

You sit on the bench, arms crossed, legs tense. The sun is warm, but your mood is ice. Your jaw still clenched tight.

Then you hear it—laughter.

Voices carry across the grass. Familiar ones.

You glance to your left.

A group of men are huddled in the smoking area—coworkers from your department. Laughing, puffing away, basking in their own stink. You recognize the manager too.

You stay still. Listen.

One of them exhales smoke and scoffs.

“Can’t believe Levi came in today. What’s she trying to prove, showing up now?”

Another snickers.

“Yeah, like she belongs at the celebration. After everything? Please.”

The manager—Levi’s direct boss—chimes in, laughing low and mean.

“She probably thought we’d be happy to see her. Delusional.”

The first guy adds, “Well, no one tell her where we’re going tonight, alright?”

Another laughs. “As if she’s invited. The restaurant doesn’t take extras anyway.”

And then—what finally makes your blood boil—

“If she hadn’t flagged that budget error last quarter, we’d have had bigger bonuses. What a buzzkill. Should’ve just kept her mouth shut.”

Silence hits your chest like a gut punch.

Your hands ball into fists on your lap.

So that’s how they talk about her. About Levi. After all her quiet effort. Her eight months of biting her tongue, holding back, working herself into the ground.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You sit there until they finish their smokes and saunter off, laughing like nothing happened.

When they’re gone, you finally exhale—and realize your hands are trembling. One still clutches your phone.

You hit speed dial.

“Yeah, boss?” Casey answers, casual as always.

You look up at the sky. Your voice is calm. Too calm.

“Prepare a runaway car. Gloves. Face mask. And night vision goggles.”

Casey pauses.

“…Do you need a lawyer too?”

You let out a slow breath.

“I don’t think I’ll need it. But yeah, just in case.”

You hang up.

No more playing nice.

They wanted Levi to stay quiet. Big mistake. They got you instead.

💥💥💥💥

The restaurant was packed—but only with them. Levi’s entire department had booked the place for a night of fake smiles and undeserved celebration. Laughter rang loud. Glasses clinked. Wine flowed freely.

The manager, drunk on his own ego, stood up and raised his glass. “To us—the real backbone of this company!”

Cheers followed. Forced. Loud. Hollow.

Then— Darkness.

The lights went out without warning.

A beat of silence. Confused murmurs.

“Probably just for a while,” someone said, chuckling nervously.

Then— “Uhk!”

A rough, strangled sound.

“Sounded like a duck getting choked,” the manager joked, and the room erupted in laughter.

But the laughter didn’t last.

It was replaced by chaos.

A chair crashed to the floor. A plate shattered. A man screamed. Another was silenced mid-sentence by a punch to the gut.

One by one, they dropped.

No warning. No mercy. Male. Female. Coworker. Manager. None of them were spared.

They didn’t even see who hit them.

Fists, elbows, knees—precise and brutal. The air filled with the sound of bodies slamming into tables, glass crunching beneath shoes, and groans of disbelief.

The manager took the worst of it. A swift kick to the chest sent him straight into the dessert table. A metal tray slammed across his face. His hands scrambled for cover that didn’t exist.

By the end, the room was wrecked. People groaned and whimpered in the dark, crawling, gasping, too stunned to react.

Only one person walked out untouched.

Calm steps. Back straight. Breath steady. No fear. No remorse.

As you stepped past the broken chaos, your thoughts were razor-sharp.

'Karma takes her sweet time… So I gave her a hand.'

🏢🏢🏢🏢

The Next Morning

A sleek black sedan sat idling on the curb. The tinted windows reflected the city skyline, but inside, the air was tense.

In the back seat, Bucky Barnes—CEO, sharp-suited and sharp-jawed—sat in silence. His dark eyes were unreadable as he glanced out the window. His posture was relaxed, but his fingers drummed lightly against his thigh. A storm brewed behind that calm exterior.

“I thought you were joking when you called me,” Bucky finally said, voice low and cool.

He had just landed from London, where he’d been in talks with a major international partner. The time difference and chaos hadn’t fazed him—what did was the reason for the call.

Kyle, his vice president, sat beside him. Unlike Bucky, Kyle looked restless, flicking through files on his tablet.

“I wish it was a joke,” Kyle muttered. “But it’s real.”

Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning back. “If it is, then good.”

Kyle blinked. “Good? You’re joking, right? Twenty-nine people were admitted to the hospital last night.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver. “Good. I've been trying to clean out that bloodsucking department for years. They're toxic, slow, and arrogant. Half of them think they run this company. Maybe now they'll shut up.”

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh god...”

Bucky raised a brow. “There were supposed to be thirty people, including the intern. Why is the count only twenty-nine?”

“One of them didn’t show up,” Kyle replied, swiping through his screen. “Or maybe she wasn’t invited. Probably the same one they suspected was being bullied.”

At that, Bucky’s face tightened.

“The bullied one?” His voice dropped, low and sharp. “And no one thought to warn me?”

Kyle nodded. “Yes. That’s what I was told.”

Bucky leaned forward, jaw clenched. “I’ve been asking H.R. for weeks for an update. They keep giving me the runaround. I don’t even know her name!”

“She canceled her statement,” Kyle said, tapping his tablet. “But this is the person who filed with H.R. before backing out.”

He handed Bucky the screen.

Bucky took one look at the photo—and froze.

His face went still. No words. Just quiet, cold fury building behind his eyes. His hand gripped the tablet a little too tightly.

Kyle watched carefully. “You okay?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

He just kept staring at the photo.

And in that silence, the air inside the car grew heavier.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was about to get involved.

🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢

Back at the office, you were the only one who came in.

The silence was almost peaceful. You hummed a light tune, your fingers dancing across the keyboard as you typed—line by line—a resignation letter.

It was time. Levi deserved better. A company that didn’t treat her like trash. Not this toxic circus masked as a professional environment.

You clicked ‘Print’, and just as the printer began to whir, your phone rang.

“Yeah, Mom?” you answered casually, leaning back in your chair.

Your mother’s voice was calm but firm. “Your sister told me everything”

You sighed. “I’ve handled it.”

“They cry in pain?”

“Choked in their tears,” you said with a smirk, watching the printer spit out the paper.

“Good.” A pause. “Do you need a lawyer? I have a lot of friends whose husbands are great lawyers.”

You chuckled. “No, Mom. Everything’s under control.”

“Good job, baby.”

"Is Dad at home?" you asked.

"He’s still on a trip with his friends," your mom replied.

"What if he finds out about Levi?"

"Only God knows, honey."

You picked up the resignation letter and glanced at Levi’s name at the top. “This will be my last day… or should I say, ‘Levi’s’ last day. I’ve already printed the resignation letter.”

“No, dear! Don’t give the letter,” your mother said suddenly.

You paused, frowning. “Why not?”

“Because—”

She didn’t finish.

You froze mid-step.

Two figures walked into the department.

You turned your head slowly, eyes widening as you saw who it was.

Your hand, still holding the letter, trembled slightly.

Of all people…

'What the hell are you doing here?'

*****

Yesterday, at the McCain House

The black SUV rolled quietly into the driveway. The engine cut off, and the passenger door opened. Ortiz stepped out first, then turned to help Levi out of the car. Her movements were slow, stiff. Casey gently supported her from the other side, guiding her carefully as if she might break.

Levi squinted at the familiar front porch, her expression puzzled.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ortiz exchanged a glance with Casey before replying, “Captain said staying in the city would only stress you out more. The doctor agreed.”

Before Levi could respond, the sound of laughter echoed from inside the house—warm, bright, and unmistakably familiar. As they stepped through the front door, they saw Elle McCain, Levi’s mother, laughing with two of her friends in the sitting room.

Elle's eyes widened when she spotted her daughter.

“Levi? Honey?” she asked in surprise, setting her teacup down and rising to her feet.

Levi offered her mother a tired smile. “Hi, Mom. I just need some rest. We’ll talk later.” She didn’t wait for a reply and slowly made her way upstairs.

Elle blinked, clearly confused by her daughter’s sudden arrival and unusual demeanor. Her gaze shifted to the two people standing in the doorway.

“Ortiz. Casey.” Her tone softened, recognizing them instantly. “You two again. Have you eaten any home-cooked food since you got back?”

Both of them stood straighter. “No, ma’am,” they answered in unison.

“There’s pork ribs, mashed potatoes, peach cobbler, and iced tea in the kitchen,” Elle said with a knowing smile.

The moment she listed the food, both Ortiz and Casey's stomachs practically growled in unison.

“Thank you, ma’am!” they said quickly and hurried off toward the kitchen.

Elle waited patiently until her friends left later that evening. Once the house was quiet again, she climbed the stairs and gently knocked on Levi’s door. No response. She opened it slowly and stepped inside.

Levi was curled up on the bed, wrapped tightly in a blanket pulled over her head like a cocoon. The only thing visible was the slight rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.

Elle walked to the bed and sat on the edge, then carefully pulled the blanket down from Levi’s face.

The sight broke her heart.

Levi’s face was pale and gaunt. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunken. Her once-vibrant presence was now drained and brittle.

“My daughter…” Elle whispered, her voice catching. “What happened to you?”

Levi turned her head away, unable to meet her mother’s eyes.

Elle placed a hand on Levi’s shoulder, gentle but firm. “Does your sister know? Is that why her friends brought you here?”

Levi gave a slow nod, her eyes brimming with tears.

Elle stood abruptly. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “Who did this to you?”

Levi hesitated, then whispered, “It’s a long story.”

Elle crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve got all night.”

Levi sighed, knowing she couldn’t avoid this. So she began to speak. Slowly at first, then all at once. She told her mother everything—what she endured at the company, how the bullying escalated, how she lost weight, sleep, confidence. How she tried to tough it out. And how her sister—impulsive, fearless—took matters into her own hands.

It took Elle a long moment to fully grasp it all.

“So... your sister is pretending to be you. She’s working at the company. In your place.”

Levi nodded again.

Elle’s expression darkened. “Good. Let them taste hell.”

“Mom…” Levi said gently.

Elle sat down again beside her daughter. “Honey, you’re a smart kid. Why the hell did you stay in that toxic place for so long?”

“That place gave me a lot of benefits,” Levi murmured. “And I had a friend there…”

Elle narrowed her eyes. “A friend? You stayed because of someone?”

Levi nodded slowly. “I wanted to work beside him.”

Elle’s voice lowered. “Who is this person?”

Levi hesitated, her voice trembling just slightly. “He’s…”

*****

Back to the present time…

You froze.

The two figures who stepped into the department caught you mid-sentence with your mother. You slowly lowered your phone, your eyes widening in disbelief.

Standing there was someone you hadn’t seen in years—but you'd recognize him anywhere. Tall, sharp-featured, with piercing blue eyes and hair swept back like he always used to wear it.

James Buchanan Barnes.

He stepped closer, concern etched into every line of his face.

“Levi?” His voice was softer now—gentler than you remembered. “I’m sorry I’m too late. Are you alright?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your voice. “Yeah… yeah.”

But you weren’t. Not really.

Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to break free. You hadn't seen Bucky in what felt like a lifetime. Not since high school. And back then, you and Levi had shared more than just the same face—you shared the same crush.

You both liked the same food—steak medium rare with garlic butter. You listened to the same music—acoustic rock. You even loved the same person.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky looked at you—really looked. “I should’ve found out sooner,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I had no idea what was going on in this department. The H.R. covered it up… and the manager too. They knew we knew each other. That’s why they hid it.”

You blinked. “You knew?”

“I recognized your name the first time it landed on my desk,” he admitted. “But I thought maybe I was just imagining things. Until Kyle told me what really happened.”

You nodded slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. Of course Levi never wanted to quit. Was it because… of him?

Your chest tightened.

Bucky took a breath and stepped closer. “You don’t have to work in this department anymore. Starting today, you’ll be my assistant.”

That’s when your heart really started to race.

It beat so fast, you were sure Bucky could hear it. Was this what it felt like… meeting your long-time crush again after all these years?

But it wasn’t your name he’d said with such warmth. It was Levi’s.

You weren’t just standing in someone else’s department. You were standing in someone else’s shoes. And it hit you harder than you expected.

You swallowed down the sudden tightness in your chest. Why did your chest feel tight? It was just a high school crush—a long time ago.

You glanced down, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck.

‘Alright, Levi…’ you thought. ‘I’ll stay. I’ll hold the door open for you—so you can finally be with Bucky.’

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Amazon.com

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Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

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