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blueberrykefir · 2 months ago

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Save a Horse, Ride a...

Joel Miller x f!reader 18+

Summary: You need to learn to ride a horse. Joel Miller is your grumpy instructor. Joel teaches you more than just the basics... One lesson you'll never forget.

Content Warning: Smut, MDI! Joel Miller basically talks you through it. No horses were harmed OR involved in the making of this. Vaginal Fingering. Teasing. Dirty talk. Praising, lots of it. Use of nickname, Cowgirl. Rough manhandling. Post outbreak.

Word Count: 5k

You were finally settling into Jackson. Earning your keep, proving yourself useful. Short patrols. Food runs. Assisting on the perimeter. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something.

But lately it hadn’t felt like enough. You could do more. Longer patrols, further routes, the kind of assignments that actually made a difference.

There was just one problem. In order to do that, you had to learn to ride a horse.

Which brought you here, grumbling under your breath as you headed for the stables to meet some guy named Jonathan who was supposed to show you the ropes.

What you weren’t expecting was him.

Joel Miller stood at the front end of the barn, leaning against the wooden fence with sleeves rolled, forearms dusted with dirt, and a glare like he’d rather be anywhere else. Your footsteps faltered.

At a community event, you tried to introduce yourself once. All polite smiles and an outstretched hand. He looked at you head to toe like you were nothing more than a bug under his boot, muttered something gruff and walked off.

The memory still made your jaw clench.

You didn’t mean to gasp, but you did. Just a little. You hoped he didn’t hear.

He did.

He looked up. Slowly. Dark eyes sharp, like he was weighing how much patience he had to spare today—and the answer was definitely none. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You shook your head, too fast. “No, I just—thought I was meeting Jonathan.”

His stormy eyes flicked up, pinning you in place like you were an inconvenience. “Yeah, well. Johnny dislocated his shoulder.” He said with a tone dry as dust. “Guess that makes me your lucky replacement.”

Nerves prickled beneath your skin. You shoved your hands into your back pockets, feigning nonchalance.

You swallowed hard, pulse doing way too much for this early in the morning. “Great,” you said, voice a little too chipper to be sincere. “Looking forward to it.”

He gave you a once-over, unimpressed. “Don’t get all excited at once.”

You could barely hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. So much for hoping he was just having a bad day when you met. Nope. This was just him. Rude, gruff, and annoyingly handsome.

But you didn’t survive all this time, due to your lack of persistence. So you try to make conversation.

“So… I didn't know you taught lessons.” You rocked back n’ forth on your heels.

“I don’t.” He pushed off the fence, walking past you without a glance. “Let's go.”

Well. That was short-lived.

You trailed behind him, glancing around at the empty stalls. Hooks lined the walls, holding faded ropes and well loved saddles. “Where are the horses?”

That's when he stopped and turned his head. Slowly. Like you’d just asked if horses came in blue.

“Horses?” His mouth twitched, just barely. “We’re not doing horses today.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then… What are we doing?”

He nodded towards the far end of the stables, where a beat-up wooden barrel sat with a brown leather saddle strapped to it. You blinked at it, then back at him.

“Really?”

“You’re gonna learn how to stay on before I waste a real animal's time.” His answer was flat, final.

You glared at him, “I wouldn’t be a waste of time.”

He raised a brow, not even trying to hide the way his gaze dragged over you, cool and assessing. “Then go on, Cowgirl. Let’s see what we're workin’ with.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already walking off towards the barrel, not bothering to check if you were following.

Clenching your fists, you rolled your eyes and muttered a curse. You trailed after him, boots crunching on the packed dirt and hay.

The air inside the barn was warm and smelled of leather and horses and something faintly masculine. Sun, sweat, and sawdust.

Golden rays spilled through the slats of the barn walls, bathing everything in a warm light, dust in the air catching it like glitter. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful.

Until Joel slapped the top of the saddle with a sharp thwack. “Alright. Hop on.”

You scoffed, then shot him an exaggerated smile, “Are you always this charming, or just with me?”

"Only you." He leaned one arm on a post, that mouth twitching again, "Now stop stalling.”

“I'm not stalling,” You mumbled under your breath, clearly stalling. You eyed the saddle just now realizing how high the barrel sat. “You put this together?”

Joel crossed his arms, the material of his shirt pulling tight across his chest. “Been sittin’ like that for months.”

You squinted at it. “You realize horses are taller than this, right?”

He shrugged, lazy. “Then consider this a warm up.”

You stepped closer to the barrel with more confidence than you actually felt. “I’ve climbed fences taller than this.”

“Then this should be easy.” Joel tilted his head, just enough to unnerve you. His eyes taking you in from boots to brow, like he was waiting to see you fail.

It should have been easy. But when you reached for the saddle horn and tried to hoist yourself up, your boot slipped against some loose hay, and you stumbled back with a muttered curse.

Behind you, Joel didn’t laugh. He didn’t need to. His silence said everything.

“Don’t” You warned, pointing a finger at him without looking back.

“Didn’t say a word, Cowgirl.”

“You were thinking it.”

That damn nickname again. It made your cheeks burn hotter than the sun outside.

It was discouraging to say the least. There was not much you couldn't do. So having a wooden barrel be your demise was frustrating.

You squared your shoulders, let out a sharp breath and tried again, this time determined to prove him wrong. This time you braced your foot against the barrel’s edge, gripping the saddle horn with both hands.

With a grunt that was more pride than grace, you hauled yourself up, swinging a leg over with questionable coordination.

The barrel wobbled beneath you as you stuck your landing. Sort of.

You exhaled through your nose, victorious. “See? Told you I could do it.” You looked over your shoulder at Joel.

Stepping away from the post, he gave you a slow look, annoyingly unreadable, “Well, let's hope any horse you ride doesn't mind someone climbin’ all over ‘em like that.”

Irritation flared up in your chest, “I'm up. That's all that matters.”

“Sure.” He stepped closer, boots crunching dirt and scattered hay. “Now let's see if you can stay up.”

And then, without warning, his hands were on you. One at the small of your back, the other nudging your shoulder blade with practiced pressure. You inhaled sharply, a gasp slipped out before you could stop it.

“Back straight.” His rough hands adjusted your posture, burning through your shirt like he’d branded you, “Good, just like that.”

His hands stayed exactly where they were, firm. Steady. Hot. You were too aware of every inch of contact, your heart thudding like it wanted to climb right into his palms.

“Shoulders back. Don’t slouch.”

You swallowed hard, feeling stubborn, “I wasn’t slouching.”

“You were.” He said simply, breath ghosting close to your ear. “But that's alright. We’ll break the habit.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat curling in your stomach. You tighten every muscle to keep your spine straight, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of correcting you again. But then he shoved, just enough to tilt your balance.

You gasped, grabbing the saddle horn to steady yourself.

Joel clicked his tongue. “Keep your balance, Cowgirl. If you fall, I ain’t catchin’ you.”

Then his hands moved to yours, guiding your grip on the reins. Rough hands against softer skin. Calloused, capable fingers curling around yours.

You shouldn’t have wondered how those hands might feel somewhere else. But you did.

“Now grab the pommel tighter–Jesus, not that tight.” He gritted out. “I feel bad for whatever poor fella your seein’.”

You loosened your grip, cheeks blushed from the insult. “No ones complained, yet.”

That made something flicker in his eyes. His gaze dropped to where your hands wrapped around the horn of the saddle. His next breath came slow. Measured. Like he was biting down on whatever response nearly escaped.

“Sit straighter.” He said at last, voice rougher now. “You’re leanin’ like you're about to fall asleep up there.”

You blinked, “Well maybe if–”

“Leg’s snug,” He cut in, voice rough, “Right now you’d bounce clean off the second that horse moved.”

Then you felt him behind you again. His breath tickled your neck just before his hands slid down, fingers settling at the tops of your thighs.“Keep ‘em like this–” He pulled your knees inward, guiding them against the barrel. “Yeah, just like that. Feel the pressure of the saddle?”

You nodded, barely breathing, feeling more than just the saddle. You felt him. Felt the way his voice, gravel thick with heat, settled beneath your skin.

“I asked you a question.” His tone was dark and impatient.

“Yes.” You nodded, throat dry, “I feel it.”

He adjusted your legs a little further, pressing them in just enough, thumbs brushing the inside of your knees, “Good, right there.”

You turned to face him. The height of the barrel leveled your gaze with his. Up close you could see it all. The silver dusting his beard, the rough lines of his face, and the tightness in his jaw. Like he was holding back more than just words.

Joel stepped in front of you now, closer than necessary. You tensed when his hands settled on your hips. His fingers pressed into the curve of your body, firm and unbothered by boundaries.

“You’re leanin’ too far forward.” He said, like it was a fact.

No warning. No gentleness. He pushed, not hard, but unyielding. His strong grip coaxed your torso into place. The rough handling, controlled and confident, sparked heat low in your belly.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound.

“Atta girl,” he said, voice low and approving. “Right there. You feel that?”

“Yes,” You whispered, barely trusting yourself to speak. With Joel this close, there was nowhere to look but at him. You noticed the small things, like the soft dip at the center of his lip. Or the way his lower lip is just a little fuller.

“Good.” He murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Now stop starin’ at me like that.”

“I’m not.” You shot back, too quick, too breathy.

“Yeah?” He stared at you like he could read every thought you didn’t want to have. A smirk tugged at his lips, “Could’ve fooled me.”

Heat climbed up your neck like a guilty confession. “What’s next?” You asked, desperate for a subject that wasn’t him.

Then he stepped back, arms crossed like nothing happened. Like you weren't threatening to melt, from a single touch. He sized you up like a piece of wood. His eyebrows furrowed as he analyzed your form.

You stiffened under the scrutiny, spine already straight, legs tight around the barrel. His brow furrowed like something still wasn’t right.

Noticing his scowl you said, “Alright, Cowboy.” You tacked on the nickname with just enough venom to cover the nerves. “What's wrong with my form now?”

“You’re tense." He said, flatly, "That’s not gonna work for ridin’... or much else.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way ‘much else’ stuck to your chest like a splinter. “Of course I am.”

Slowly, Joel approached, like a predator closing in on its prey. His hands returned to your hips like they belonged there. There was nothing hesitant about the way he touched you. Those hands knew what they were doing.

Rough and confident, his calloused fingers dug into the softness of your sides, molding your body the way he wanted. Every touch seemed to have a purpose, but it also felt like he was pushing you further, into something much more than a simple lesson.

“Right here.” He guided your hips into the saddle, fingers burning through your denim. “Gotta move with the horse, not against it.”

Your body trembled slightly, as his palms pushed you into the seat, each press of his hands like a command, a reminder that he was in control.

“Kinda hard to move with the horse when this one doesn’t move at all.” Your breathless voice betrayed you.

“Wanna get thrown on your ass? ‘Cause if you can’t sit on a barrel, don't expect to survive a buckin’ saddle.”

The words come out, fast and sharp, before you can stop them. “Maybe I don’t mind getting thrown around a little.”

That made him stop. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped dangerously, “You say that like you know what it means.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” You snapped.

He leaned in just enough, like he was whispering a secret. “I know you can’t stop starin’ at my mouth when I talk.”

A breath passed between you.

His voice was deliberate, like he had you all figured out. “Know you get all flustered when I so much as touch your back. Or adjust your hips."

“And I hear those sweet little sounds you make," he added, voice dipped in sin, "every time I get close.”

His eyes were dark… dangerous, like he was daring you to deny.

You returned his stare with defiance, even as heat stirred low in your belly, traitorous and slow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Joel.”

“I don’t have to,” he said, the smirk returning. “You’re doin’ a real good job of that yourself.”

“Maybe I am,” Your eyes flicked down to his hands still gripping your hips, a little too tightly for a man claiming innocence. His thumbs pressed in just enough to remind you they were still there. “But you’re the one still touching me.”

His thumbs dragged just a little higher, right at the curve where denim met skin. Instruction was long gone. This was something else.

Joel’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Do you want me to stop?”

You tilted your head, heard pounding against your ribcage, “I was just waiting to see what else you could teach me.”

With a low growl, he dragged you forward on the barrel just an inch, just enough to send heat straight to your core. Your breath hitched and you held back a whimper.

“You’re already breathin’ heavy–” His hands tightened on your hips, possessive. “–And I ain’t even touched you proper yet.”

He stepped closer, the air between you taut like a pulled thread. “Think you’re ready for this lesson?”

“I learn fast,” You breathed out, voice tight with anticipation.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then slow and wicked, a carnal smile curled into place, dangerous like a drawn weapon. He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across your lips. If you moved even an inch, you’d taste him.

Without thinking, you tilted your chin to close the space, but he pulled back just enough, the barest retreat.

“So impatient,” He tsked, “A good rider learns control.”

“I'm not a good rider yet though, am I?”

“No, I guess you're not,” His voice was rough with unspent desire. “But we’ll fix that.”

“How?” The words came out so soft, they were barely audible.

Your hands tighten on the pommel like a lifeline, trembling with the effort not to close the distance yourself.

Then finally, he gave in.

With a growl, his lips came down on yours. Hot. Sharp. Like a punishment.

He dominated the kiss, with the same rough authority he used adjusting your posture. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. It was primal.

You whimpered, arching into him as he deepened it. You open your mouth for his tongue. He licks at your lips, before sliding it into his mouth to meet yours.

His hands gripped your hips again like they were his to guide. “There we go,” His voice growled low against your lips, wrecked and approving. “That’s it. Move with it.”

And you did. You couldn’t help it. You moved with him before you even realized, rolling your hips forward and backward with a slow grind. Your heart begins to beat between your thighs quickly becoming an incessant throbbing, that becomes more and more intense with every movement.

“Good girl.” He whispers against your lips.

The words, thick with praise, felt like heat, poured straight into your veins.

You shuddered, body rolling under his guidance, shamefully eager to please. Not because you wanted to get the saddle right anymore. No, it was because he was the one telling you how.

“Just like that.” His thumbs dug in, guiding another rough grind against the saddle. “Now we're gettin’ somewhere.”

The friction of your denim against the old saddle, sent waves of pleasure low in your belly. Your fingers tighten on the saddle horn, clinging on to something solid as everything else threatened to unravel.

Then his calloused hands left your hips, sliding up your waist, his thumbs barely brushing the underside of your breasts. Your hips struggled to keep moving in their absence. You were too focused on the way he tasted, the sounds he made, the feel of him.

He pulled back, lips swollen, “Did I say stop?” He snapped, “You keep going, till I say so. You understand?”

You nodded your head, frantic. But he wasn’t having that.

“Use your words, Cowgirl,” He warned. “Say it.”

“Yes,” You breathed out. “I understand.”

You don’t know what you craved more. The need for release or the praise you’d get for earning it.

Either way, you obeyed, riding harder, hips snapping forward. You were chasing the rhythm he carved into you. You let out a soft moan as friction met the saddle just right. A slow burn sparked low and deep.

“Knew you’d be a fast learner.” He growled, satisfied. "Look at you, movin’ just like I want.”

One palm slid up your spine, igniting every nerve on its path up. His fingers threaded into the back of your hair. He tugged your head back, firm and commanding, exposing your throat.

“You gonna take what I give you?” His grip tightened.

“Yes.” You cried out, the word somewhere between a plea and a promise.

Joel’s fingers pulled your hair.

The sharp edge of pain only made the pleasure coil tighter and deeper.

His mouth was hot on your neck now, velvety tongue painting your skin. His teeth scraped just enough to make your hips stutter, movements slowing.

“Keep going,” he demanded against your throat, showing you no sympathy.

You headed his command and ground your hips down. His other hand came up rough and demanding, gripping your jaw forcing you to face him. It was clear who was in control.

Your lips crashed together again, unforgiving. It was all raw hunger and heat.

Desperation spilled into the kiss, mess and unrestrained, like you both had been starving for years and just now found something worth sinking your teeth into.

He pulled your lower lip between his and gave it a little tug. He released your jaw, sliding his hand down your throat, fingers dragging possessively along your skin, claiming every inch.

Joel’s touch didn’t stop.

It drifted lower, over your collarbones, across the line of your chest, fingers grazing over the softest parts of you with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

Your nipples ached, hard and sensitive, straining through the material of your shirt.

You arched your back. Chest brushing his, aching for more. The space between you felt unbearable, like your skin was screaming for contact. He could feel it. You knew he could feel it.

He chuckled low against your throat, the sound dark and indulgent. “That desperate, huh Cowgirl?”

There was no room left for shame.

Especially when his thumb grazed over your nipple and your whole body jolted like you’d been struck. He hadn’t even undressed you. Not a single piece of clothing had been removed… yet you were still unraveling for him.

You became a panting mess, as he thumbed and pinched your nipple, like you were his to toy with. Your thighs tightened around the saddle with every spark of pleasure.

“You want more?” he asked.

You should've said no. Should've reminded him this was supposed to be a riding lesson. Or that you were outside and anyone could walk by. But his thumb was still teasing circles over your nipple, and you couldn't focus on anything other than his hands.

"Yes," You breathed out.

Joel's eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the brown. “Then use your words.”

For someone who barely uttered a word to you before, he sure has a lot to say now.

“I want more,” It took great effort to speak. The throbbing between your legs was becoming painful. "I want you to touch me like you mean it."

A low sound left his throat, half-grow, half-moan. "You sure?" With tortuous speed, his palm slid down, hot and heavy, landing at the top of your jeans. His fingers slipped just barely under the denim. "'Cause once I start, I ain't gonna stop 'till your beggin'."

Your breath shuddered as your hips rocked slowly. "Then don't stop."

A sound of approval left his throat. Half-growl, half-moan. His mouth was on yours again. The kiss turned messy fast. Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled.

One of his hands slid down between your thighs, pressing against the seam of your jeans, right where the ache had started building. His palm ground slow and hard between your thighs.

You gasped into his mouth, grinding on his hand, hips moving like he showed you.

"That's it." He muttered. "All worked up and we barely started."

A needy whimper left your lips, from the friction. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy the ache he’d built inside of you. You needed more. You needed him.

But Joel… Joel was in no rush.

His hand dragged up and teased the edge of your underwear, warm fingers curling at the edge.

He didn’t move lower. Not yet. He just watched you from under dark lashes, expression wild. Hungry.

“Joel.” You said his name like it hurt. Like just needing him was its own kind of agony.

“Shhh,” he hushed, almost tender. His fingers slipped past that threshold, dipping into your underwear, slow and steady like he had all the time in the goddamn world. “You’re okay. I got you.”

You were soaked, aching with want. Completely wrecked and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. The sound he made when he realized it was dark, filthy, and far too pleased. The rough noise of approval sent a wave of heat pulsing through your core.

“Christ. So fuckin’ wet.”

The pads of his fingers circled your clit. Soft at first, coaxing. You shuddered, every nerve sparked under his touch, hips twitching without permission.

You let go of the pommel and tried to muffle your desperate cries, but the hand in your hair was quick to grab your wrist.

“No.” He growled. “Let me hear how pretty you sound when you ride my fingers.”

A needy whimper was all you could muster in response.

As if rewarding you, his fingers sank into your slick heat. One, then two. You clenched around him, hips bucking at the sudden stretch. Your whole body bowed forward, forehead dropping to the saddle as a ragged moan slipped from your lips.

“Ngh–” You cried out pathetically, as his fingers thrust deep inside of you. His thumb found your clit with cruel precision, brushing in slow, maddening circles. The only thing you could do was helplessly ride his fingers closer to euphoria.

“Doin’ so good for me,” He grunted into your ear. His voice went straight to your core. The praise, the authority, the way he said it like it was a fact. "Such a good girl."

You tipped your head back, eyes fluttering shut, shamelessly rubbing against him.

“Let me hear you.” Joel’s teeth nipped at your earlobe.

“Joel.” You moaned, hips rolling with reckless need. “Feels so good–”

You were a sinful sight. Temptation itself, perched on that rusted saddle. Joel’s restraint was hanging by a thread, evident in the way his fingers bit into your waist, like he needed to anchor himself or lose it entirely.

Suddenly, you slumped forward with a gasp, hips stuttering to a halt. Overwhelmed by the way his fingers curled just right, nudging that spot deep inside of you it sent a shiver ripping through you, all the way down to your toes. The only thing keeping you upright was your white-knuckled grip on the horn.

“What, that's all you got, Cowgirl?”

Your body wasn't listening to you anymore. It only listened to him. Your body rocked fast now, chasing that edge with wild bucking desperation.

But as you got close, too close, your form faltered. Your thighs trembled. Ankles slipped against the rusted stirrups.

In response, he removed his fingers completely and he halted your movements. You cried as your body clenched on nothing, pleasure dwindling away. “Ah–uh uh.” His tone was firm, unrelenting, “Fix your form.”

Of course he still wanted you to have proper form, even like this. The bastard was going to drag it out of you, keep you right at the edge, just to make you learn.

You do your best to obey, but oh god, it's so difficult.

You whined, hips twitching, “It's too-” Your head fell forward, “feels too–too good–” You tried to move against his restraint, but his hands were unyielding in letting you chase any friction he didn’t warrant.

Not until you earned it.

“What was that?” He chuckled darkly. "Thought you learned fast."

"I-I can't." An exasperated sound came low from your throat.

"You can." His voice was low and coaxing. “Back straight, legs tight.”

The words struck something deep… Need, pride, maybe both. You wanted to give him what he asked for. To hear the way his voice dropped when you got it right.

With frustrated tears hot in your eyes, you forced your trembling thighs to steady, dragging strength from somewhere deep in your core.

Slowly, you realigned your spine, shoulders pulling back hips grinding into position exactly like he taught you.

“There she is.” He murmured, approval slipping into his tone, rich and hot. “Knew you had it in you.”

As if rewarding you, he slipped his two fingers back inside, thrusting in and out, stretching you wide. Your body moved right this time. Controlled and powerful.

There's a hitch in your breath when you shift forwards, your clit hitting his calloused thumb with every thrust. You cried as his fingers hit just right, again and again.

“Look at you, so pretty riding my fingers.” He let the praise land heavy, voice warm like the Wyoming sun.

Your head was thrown back, mouth parted in a silent moan, shamelessly riding his fingers. He watched you, full of hunger you know he is fighting.

“Oh god,” You whisper, lashes fluttering. His fingers are the finest torture you’ve ever experienced. Mercilessly working to get you higher and higher with every deliberate curl.

“You gonna come for me?” His fingers move furiously, forearm brushing against your breasts at this angle. It was all happening too fast.

“Yes. Yes, Joel–” A string of broken, desperate sounds spilled from your lips. Words lost. You were teetering right on the edge, trembling with it.

“Go ahead,” His words went directly to your core and your body headed his command before your mind could catch up.

Joels name left your lips, over and over, like a chant as your orgasm slammed into you, stealing every bit of oxygen from your lungs. Every inch of you shook as you unraveled. There was no way your form was holding. Not anymore.

“That’s it, squeezin’ my fingers so tight–” He cooed in your ear. “Fuck, look at you...”

Your body locked up for a beat and your vision blurred. You were helpless against the wave of pleasure he’d drawn from you with nothing but his touch.

But Joel doesn’t let up. He’s relentless. His fingers move faster, intensifying the feeling.

It's too much. Too overwhelming.Your chest heaved up and down in a frantic rhythm, lungs barely keeping pace with the fire burning through your body. You buck in the seat, trying to ease off his fingers.

“Just like that,” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, chest heaving as much as yours. “That's how you ride.”

Your body shook with aftershocks, thighs quivering. You were stunned, reeling at just how hard you came for him.

"Did so good for me."

You didn’t even realize it was his arm keeping you from collapsing entirely. Strong and steady, wrapped around your waist. Your fingers clutched at his forearm, nails digging into the sun-kissed skin, marking the moment.

Neither of you moved. The barn fell quiet, save for your uneven breaths mingling together. Birdsong drifted lazily through the dusty slats of the old barn. Nature's calm, a cruel contrast to the wildfire that just tore through you.

Every muscle in your body buzzed. Your legs were jelly, trembling and utterly useless.

The saddle suddenly felt miles too high. The thought of climbing down made your stomach dip. But you couldn’t sit atop the rusted saddle forever.

You released his arm to get off, and he went to help but you shook your head. Pride was a stubborn thing.

“I-I got it.” You muttered, trying to swing one leg over.

Joel didn't move, at first. Just watched with one eyebrow raised. Arms folded.

Balance wavered. Your legs felt like water, and your foot slipped.

And in the space between one breath and the next, his hands caught your waist.

“Easy now,” he murmured, “I got you.”

Before you could argue, he lifted you off the saddle, like you were nothing. Your boneless limbs curled instinctively towards him.

Your boots met the hay covered ground and you were hauled fully into him, one arm bracing behind your back. You gasped and planted your hands against his chest, realizing this was the first time you intentionally put your hands on him, the whole lesson.

“I said I got it.” You protested weakly.

“Can’t have my best student fallin’ off the horse.”

“I’m your only student.” You tried to scoff, but your voice was sleep-soft. “And it's a barrel.”

Meaning to push away, you shifted. But then you felt him. Hard and hot pressed up against your stomach through the rough denim of his jeans. Your breath hitched. He’d been holding himself back this whole time.

Instinct had your hand moving before you could stop it. But Joel caught your wrist in a tight burning grip.

“We'll save that for that next lesson."

You pulled your lip between your teeth. "You think I'm ready for the horse now?"

Joel's eyes raked down your body and his lips curled slow and dangerous. "I think your ready for a hell of a lot more than that, Cowgirl."

God help you. You could not wait for the next lesson.

#Pedro pascal #Joel Miller #TLOU #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller Smut #Pedro Pascal Smut #TLOU Smut #Joel Miller x female!reader #Blueberrykefir writes

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starryhyuck · 3 months ago

Text

green gables. (m)

pairing: e2l!jaemin x afab!reader

words: 22.9k+

summary: your search for a family lands you at green gables, where you learn to adapt to the new challenges that come your way.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: takes place in the late 19th century, mentions of death, mentions of bullying, bigdick!jaemin, creampies, fingering

inspired by anne of green gables, anne of avonlea, anne of green gables (1985), anne of avonlea (1987), anne with an e

For your entire life, you dreamed of having a home to call yours.

Your parents passed when you were only an infant, leaving you to be handed off to the local orphanage who barely had enough funding to keep their heads above water. Most of the adults who came to visit were only looking for boys that could help around the house. It was rare for anyone to come in and request a girl, unless they were a newborn mother who couldn’t handle the constant screaming at night.

Still, despite every year passing with no sign of a couple willing to adopt you, your optimism never wavered. You imagined a great big life with green pastures and parents who wanted to shower you in the utmost adoration.

Until that day comes, you’re forced to face the reality of your current situation.

A mop drops in front of you, cracking at the base and standing on its last leg. Mrs. Baek gruffly orders, “Go clean up the kitchen. One of the boys was nauseous last night and it’s starting to smell rancid in there.”

“Yes, Mrs. Baek,” you reply obediently, taking the mop from the floor and trudging off to the kitchens.

Another downside of not being adopted yet is the constant onslaught of chores. Being one of the only grownups left in the orphanage, tasks were assigned off to you in lieu of the other younger children. Mrs. Baek always reminds you that she only has to pay for your housing for another year before the government allows her to start collecting dues. You try not to think about how you’ll possibly locate the compensation, hoping someone will come to take you into their home before then.

You clean up the sick from the kitchen floor, pinching the bridge of your nose to stop the smell from invading your senses. Mrs. Kim pops in, eyes narrowing at you. The elderly woman has never been very fond of you, blaming your lack of adoption on your incessant need to dream. She thinks if you were a little more grounded in reality, an expecting mother would have hired you into her household by now.

She calls your last name with a huff. “Put that down and come with me. A request has come in for you.”

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. A request could mean two things — a mother finally caved in and asked for a helping hand or a family has decided to come rescue you from your misfortune. You skip to Mrs. Kim’s office happily, grinning at her when you take a seat across her desk.

“A pair of siblings have called in, asking for a farmhand to help around their estate,” she informs you, unbothered by your excitement at the prospect. “We’ve agreed to send you, as they need an older girl with more labor intensive experience. You’ll depart for the station tomorrow.”

“Oh, Mrs. Kim, thank you, thank you!” You leap up, rushing around her desk to envelope her in a hug. She grunts at you, pushing you away with a sneer.

“Don’t get yourself thinking this means they’ll adopt you. They could very well change their minds after hearing you talk for an hour,” she grumbles. “Now go pack your things and prepare for bed. You have a long trip ahead.”

You decide not to bother her any further, running back to the sleeping area and grabbing your suitcase. The other girls in the orphanage don’t care much for you, loathing your sheer positivity, which contrasted against their evident cynicism. You used to mind it when you were younger, lamenting over not having a close friend as they all deemed you too odd. Now, however, you’ve grown accustomed to fending for yourself.

“And where do you think you’re going, princess?” Ara mocks, watching as you lay your suitcase open on your bed. You grab what little clothes you have and shove them inside. “Off to your make-believe castle?”

The other girls echo her laughter, but you don’t allow their comments to dig under your skin. You focus on the joy of living with a new family, even if they decide not to keep you.

Anywhere is better than here.

“Oh, look girls,” Ara says as she jumps down from her bed. She dangles one of the strings of your tank top on her finger. “Maybe the little miss is off to find herself a boyfriend.”

You glare at her. “Give it back.”

She smirks when she pulls the reaction she wanted out of you. “Why? Need it for your date tonight?”

You lunge at her and she screams, attracting the attention of the caretakers in the next room over. They find you wrestling with Ara on the floor, the both of you resorting to a screaming mess as you yank at each other’s hair. The other girls cheer at the spectacle, forming a barricade around your blurry figures before Mrs. Baek invades the scene. She grabs the back of your shirts and hauls you apart, panting as if she ran across the orphanage just to break up the fight.

“That is it! I’ve had it with the both of you!” She growls, eyes darkening to a frightening shade of black as she looks at you. “I have every nerve not to send you off to your new family tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops at her words and Ara follows suit, albeit for a completely different reason. “She got adopted?” Ara shrieks, flabbergasted by the thought.

You smile proudly while Mrs. Baek replies, “Yes, she did. And if you had only held your tongue for another day, you wouldn’t be cleaning the washrooms tomorrow.”

Ara grows flustered at being disciplined in front of everyone. It’s enough to keep her mouth shut. Mrs. Baek yells that it’s time for lights out, and some of the girls complain due to not having their dinner yet.

“Then you should’ve been fretting over your empty stomachs rather than inciting this ridiculous squabble. For heaven’s sake, most of you will be of the age next year where you have to earn a sufficient wage on your own. I’m horrified by the thought.”

She ensures the room is tucked into bed before closing the door and shutting off the lights. You dig your head into your pillow, the corner of your lips twitching upwards at the thought of boarding a train in the morning. You’ve never been on a train before, and you wonder if it’s as glamorous as they say. Your eyes flit downwards to check on your suitcase stuffed under your bed, which was hastily packed by Mrs. Baek before she barked at you not to cause any more trouble. You feel Ara’s glare from behind you but you ignore it, dreaming of your new life away from here.

—

Your new family is late.

It concerns you quite a bit but you make an attempt not to show it, speaking to the policeman at the train station with much fervor. You rattle on about your first experience on the train and how it was dazzling to see all of the passing views of nature. He nods politely at you, allowing you to talk as freely as you wish.

The clock continues to tick slowly by, but you assure the policeman that your new family will be here to collect you soon.

The last train departs before you see a haggard man walk up the steps, a slight limp in his left leg. Your hope rises that this may be the new man who will whisk you off to his home. However, he stops and asks the policeman you were conversing with earlier, “Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for a young boy.”

“No boy here. There’s a girl sent from the orphanage down south. She’s been waiting since midday.”

“A g-girl?”

You jump off the rickety bench, gripping your suitcase tightly in one hand and strolling up to the questioning man. You put on your best smile for him as Mrs. Kim taught you.

Keep your hands folded together and bow your head kindly. It shows you’re going to be a good girl for them to host.

You offer him your name. “It is such a pleasure to meet you. I have been waiting awfully long and worried you were injured along your journey. But then I got swept up in the cherry trees we passed on the train ride… Oh, have you ever ridden a train before? It was quite a lovely experience, you see, and I’d love to tackle it again if given the chance.”

The man blinks heavily at you while the policeman’s eyebrow quirks up in amusement. The man clears his throat, his wrinkled hands wiping away the sweat building from his brow.

“I’m Ilnam of Green Gables,” he introduces, glancing at the clock hanging nearby. “Let’s get going then. I’ll help you take your bag.”

“I got it!” You reply cheerfully. “I’ve got all my worldly goods from the orphanage here, but it isn’t heavy. They didn’t give me much.” You bid goodbye to the policeman and follow Ilnam to his buggy parked nearby. You continue to ramble even though you know Mrs. Baek would be scolding you by now for not understanding social cues. “Mrs. Kim from the orphanage told me it would be a long drive to Green Gables, isn’t that right? About ten miles. I don’t mind, honestly, as I love rides where I can get to fully invest my thoughts into the surroundings. Oh, I’ve heard Green Gables has beautiful trees around the estate, is that true?”

Ilnam gives a curt nod, gently placing your luggage in the back as he helps you into the buggy. You notice he’s not a man of many words, but you deem it to be fine considering you have plenty of words to share yourself.

You provide him a reprieve from conversing for half of the trek, admiring the blooming fauna around you. When you’re only two miles away from Green Gables, you reach your hand out to brush it against one of the trees covered in white snow, slowly melting due to the seasons changing.

“What do these trees remind you of?” You ask him, eyes sparkling.

He turns to look at you, both of his hands still gripping the reins of the buggy as the horse trots along. “What?”

“The trees, Ilnam,” you say softly. “Don’t they remind you of a winter wedding? A bride dressed head to toe in white, trying not to shiver as she walks down the aisle to her lovely groom? And as soon as her father gives her away, her husband-to-be whispers that she’s just as beautiful as the falling snow?”

He chuckles. “You’ve got one hell of an imagination.”

“Thank you,” you reply proudly, beaming at his acknowledgement. “The other girls at the orphanage didn’t care for it much. I’m glad I can settle in with a new family who appreciates it.”

At your words, Ilnam tenses suddenly, but you fail to notice it as your eyes are drawn to a shimmering lake over the hill.

“Oh, how beautiful!” You exclaim, nearly toppling over the buggy as you lean forward to take a look. Ilnam grabs the back of your dress to block your fall. “What is that lake called?”

“That’s Noh’s pond,” he says, keeping a stray eye locked on you in case your clumsiness pops up again.

“What a dreadful name,” you state with a frown. “Not very creative at all. I think we should call it the Lake of Shining Waters. Yes, that’s it! That’s a better suited name, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Better than Mr. Noh’s pond, I suppose.”

“And who is Mr. Noh?”

“He lives just up that hill,” he answers, gesturing to the great big house with his chin. “He’s got a daughter around your age, ready to graduate next year. Her name’s Hyojung.”

“Wow,” you murmur under your breath, sweeping yourself away in fantasies of Hyojung rushing over to Green Gables and declaring you to be friends. “I hope we’ll get to meet one day. It would be decadent if we could eat near the Lake of Shining Waters.”

“There’s Green Gables, up ahead,” he remarks.

You stretch your neck upwards, carefully balancing yourself on the seat of the buggy to not give Ilnam another fright. A grin stretches from ear to ear when you see the white house dressed with a green-gabled rooftop and window shutters. It sits on acres and acres of land, all with well-maintained grass that you assume Ilnam has been taking care of.

He brings the buggy to a halt when you approach the entrance, and a grey-haired woman dashes out, a scowl on her face when she spots you.

“Seo Ilnam,” she says condescendingly. “What took you so long? And where is the boy?”

Your heart falls when you recollect Ilnam’s earlier questioning to the policeman. Had they not been expecting you?

“No boy,” Ilnam replies gruffly, hopping down from the buggy. “I went to the station and there was only her.”

“No boy?” The woman repeats in exasperation. “There must have been a boy. We requested a boy.”

“No boy. Only her.”

You dig your face into your hands, erupting into sobs. “You don’t want me! I should’ve known that Mrs. Kim made a mistake. Of course you don’t want me! You want a boy!”

The woman clicks her tongue, holding the end of her dress as she comes around to you. She helps you step down and chides you. “Now we will have none of that,” she says, taking your hands away from your face. “We’re not going to turn you away for the night. We’ll bring you back to the station in the morning to get this sorted. What’s your name?”

You tell her despite your mouth feeling like it’s been shoved full of rocks. She guides you inside the house, and you would normally marvel at its beauty, but you’re so caught up in wallowing in your pain that you don’t get a chance. Now you’ll have to return to the orphanage and hear Ara’s speech about how you’ve never been destined for a family.

“My name is Ilkyung,” the woman introduces herself, sitting you down on the long dining table. She pours you a cup of milk. “Tell me exactly how the orphanage sent you here.”

You sniffle, staring down at the cup pitifully. “Mrs. Kim specifically mentioned you requested a farmhand to help around the estate. They decided to send me since I’m one of the older girls there.”

“There wasn’t a boy they could send?”

Your bottom lip quivers. “All the older boys have already aged out, ma’am. The oldest one we have now is only seven years of age.” She swears lightly, shaking her head and sitting across from you. You try to vouch for yourself. “I can be a good farmhand, ma’am, for you and Ilnam. I’m a good cook and I can learn how to work in those fields.”

Ilnam enters the house, giving Ilkyung a look that you can’t quite detect. She stares back at him with narrowed eyes, and you realize they’re having a wordless conversation. It brings a smile to your face.

“It’s exquisite to have a kindred spirit you can speak to without really speaking,” you comment. Both siblings turn their attention to you. “I’ve never seen it before, only read about it. I-It’s nice.”

A few moments of silence passes before Ilkyung sighs. “We’ll eat supper and then I’ll show you to your room for the night. I’ll bring you to Mrs. Park to discuss this ordeal in the morning.”

Your dream of having a home to call yours crumbles around you.

—

Mrs. Park is not a very pleasant woman.

She brushes off Ilkyung’s complaint swiftly. “Ilkyung, I told the orphanage what you directed me. Word for word, line for line. It’s not my fault they sent a girl to your quarters.”

Ilkyung has the patience of a saint, which you quickly learned after she handled your pathetic cries the entire night. She places her hands over your shoulders.

“I understand that, Hwayoung. No one is shifting blame here. I simply want to get the issue corrected with the orphanage.”

You shirk at being referred to as an issue. Mrs. Park exhales, taking a break from cleaning the buckets on her front porch. You don’t even want to ask what used to be contained in them, the smell being enough to ward off your curiosity.

“Well, if you don’t want her, I could use another hand around the house. My girl just gave birth to another son,” Mrs. Park says just as a sharp cry rings from inside the house. A girl slightly older than you stumbles out, hair sticking up in different directions and her clothes in disarray. She pleas for Mrs. Park to take care of the baby upstairs. “No need. Mrs. Seo is offering us a girl who will help.”

You look at Ilkyung with wide eyes and she understands your concern.

“Now, Hwayoung, I didn’t say that we wanted to give her away-”

“Ilkyung,” Mrs. Park scoffs. “Your eagerness to waste my morning is truly astonishing. Either leave the girl here or return to Green Gables. I don’t have the time to write to the orphanage again for you or dawdle while you decide whether you and Ilnam want to keep her.”

Ilkyung smiles tightly. “Have a good rest of your morning, Hwayoung.”

You don’t question Ilkyung’s decision as you travel back to Green Gables. You keep your mouth shut for the first time, perpetually worried she’ll turn the cart around and force you to live with Mrs. Park and her numerous grandchildren.

“Tell me about your time at the orphanage. I would like to learn,” Ilkyung requests as you come up to the Lake of Shining Waters.

“I was dropped off at the steps when I was a baby. They say my father was a bank worker and my mother was a gardener. Don’t you think that’s so romantic? She was probably planting roses when he came by from his shift at the bank,” you murmur happily. “Mrs. Baek says they were as poor as church mice as my father made very little wages. I would like to think we would’ve come across a great fortune if the fever hadn’t taken my mother so poorly. I was only three months old when she passed and my father handed me to the orphanage. I don’t blame him in the slightest — what was the man to do when the love of his life disappeared and he had no coins in his name to take care of their child? Frankly, I just wish she lived long enough for me to remember calling her my mother.”

“I’m sorry she didn’t,” Ilkyung says apologetically, but you beam at her.

“Oh, it’s no worry at all! I know she would have loved me. Mrs. Baek at the orphanage was the one who raised me, and I was taken into another house when I was eight to help a mother raise her children. She had so many twins, three sets of them! It was such a beautiful thing but she didn’t have much time to look after them. I told her firmly that she mustn’t keep having children as it was growing too much, but her husband was always drunk and didn’t take kindly to me.”

“They didn’t treat you well?” She asks, disturbed by the idea.

“They meant to, they really did! I could tell they wanted to treat me well but it wasn’t easy for them to divide up their attention, you see. The babies were always crying and taking up most of the day. They were good people, I just know it.”

Ilkyung swallows at your positivity, holding the reins of the buggy tighter. “And did they put you through school?”

You shrug. “It wasn’t a priority for them, which I understand. I learned to read at the orphanage after the family moved away and decided they didn’t want to keep me. It’s been my favorite pastime when I’m not assigned chores.”

“Well, as long as you’re living under our roof, I’m putting you through your proper studies,” she says definitively.

A spark of hope blooms in your chest. “Oh, does that mean you’re keeping me?” You clasp your fingers together, pinching yourself in case this turns out to be another dream.

She stutters over her reply. “I’m surely not allowing you to stay with Mrs. Park to raise her grandchildren. We will run a test trial for now, as long as you display good manners and listen accordingly. And I won’t have that imagination of yours running wild every second of the day, you must promise to be focused and attentive.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Ilkyung!” You yell as you launch yourself at her, wrapping her in a firm hug. She gasps at the sudden contact but pats your back assuredly. “I won’t let you down, I promise! I’ll bring you and Ilnam the best grades in school, I swear it.”

She peels you away. “Now don’t promise what you can’t guarantee. We’ll start off small — you’ll help me in the kitchen before assisting Ilnam with the lighter tasks around Green Gables.”

Your dream begins to rebuild itself.

—

You slowly adjust to your new life at Green Gables.

Ilkyung teaches you how to sew in the mornings before you help Ilnam with the livestock in the afternoons. Then you assist Ilkyung with preparing supper in the evenings, allowing you to brush up on your cooking repertoire that you picked up on at the orphanage.

Ilkyung never voices her concerns directly, but you know she’s worried about you attending the local school. You’re coming in quite late in the year, and the students have already grown up with each other and are ready to embark on the next chapter of their lives. To assimilate you, she brings you over for tea at the Noh residence, where you have a direct view of the Lake of Shining Waters.

Mr. Noh is a stout man with a curly mustache. He has a wife and two daughters, who all look like they should be on display at a beauty parlor. Mrs. Noh greets you with a smile, kissing both of Ilkyung’s cheeks.

“It is so nice to see you, you and Ilnam never come around for tea,” she murmurs.

Ilkyung rests a hand on your back. “Apologies for our absence, we’ve been busy with running Green Gables. I wanted to introduce you to our new girl.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Noh says as she turns to you. Ilkyung fashioned you a new dress just for this occasion, and although the greedy part of you would have liked it to have puffy sleeves, you didn’t put up much of an argument. Mrs. Noh examines you carefully, assessing if you’re the right fit to mingle with her daughter. Ilkyung warned you that the town had certain assumptions when it came to adopting orphans, but you take it in stride. “It is very nice to meet you. Hyojung has been waiting for your arrival.”

Hyojung shyly smiles at you, her hands folded over her stomach properly. Her long black hair reaches her waist, tied up neatly in a giant blue ribbon. Her matching blue dress has the puffy sleeves that you adore, and you try not to sulk at your own frumpy brown dress. Her sister, Chaeyoung, is at least ten years younger as she stares off with a bored look. She’s dressed very similarly to Hyojung, except her ensemble is in pink.

“Why don’t you two take a walk through the gardens?” Hyojung’s mother suggests.

Once you’re outside, Hyojung has a hard time finding the right words to say. You, on the other hand, seem to be saying all the wrong things.

“-I’ve just never had a friend of my own before. It’s odd, I know, but the girls at the orphanage despised me and mocked me endlessly. But I can already tell you’re nothing like them. Do you happen to know what a kindred spirit is?” She shakes her head and you grin. “Ilkyung and Ilnam are kindred spirits. They can sense what each other is thinking without having to say it out loud. Their souls are more attuned to the other, intertwining in this beautiful harmony. I-I’ve never found a kindred spirit of my own, I must confess, but I was hoping it could be you.”

“M-Me?” She stutters, laughing softly. “Oh, I’m not too sure. I’ve never been someone’s kindred spirit before.”

“It’s easy!” You say, taking her hand and leading her to the Lake of Shining Waters. “What do you see when you look out here?”

Hyojung shrugs. “A lake.”

“Not just any lake, the Lake of Shining Waters! See, look at how the sunlight beams across the water and reflects into a million dazzling lights. Doesn’t it make you think of a picnic in the summer, feeling the breeze nip at your face while the birds chirp around you?”

She giggles at you. “That sounds nice.”

“It is nice, Hyojung. And that’s what the lake represents — the happiness you feel when you see the shining waters.”

She purses her lips before looping her arm through yours. “I think we will be great kindred spirits. You should know the hierarchy of the classroom before your first day though. Soeun runs a tight ship and she has a crush on Na Jaemin, so don’t even bother looking in his direction. She can sense it.”

“Who’s Na Jaemin?” You inquire with furrowed eyebrows.

She scoffs. “Who’s Na Jaemin? He’s the most desired guy in our year. Top of the class, good looks, heading off to medical school next year… he’s everything a girl wants. Soeun’s been trying to win his affections since we were children, but it hasn’t really been working out for her.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to stay far from him.”

The Noh family dines you and Ilkyung for the evening before you’re finding your way back to Green Gables. When Ilkyung asks you if you’re getting along with Hyojung, you excitedly relay to her how you’ve finally discovered your kindred spirit. It eases her worries regarding your isolation from the rest of the other students.

You walk arm in arm with Hyojung on your first day, not revealing to her how you stayed up the whole night speculating on the different ways today could go wrong. Ilkyung reminded you over breakfast to hold your tongue and be mindful of when others need to speak their turn.

“I’ll introduce you,” Hyojung whispers to you as you step inside the schoolhouse, hanging up your hats together. “Soeun might make a fuss, but she’ll get used to it.”

The classroom is small, nearly the same size as the dining room of Green Gables. There are sixteen tables total, divided on each side of the room for the girls and the boys. The girls are already huddled into a circle in the middle while the boys throw around a ball in the corner. Each eye turns to you as you enter, and Hyojung squeezes your arm in reassurance.

“Girls, meet our newest member,” Hyojung says as she introduces you to the group. The girls assess you with an inquisitive raising of the eyebrow, and the one with the frilly yellow bow in her hair speaks first.

“We heard you came from the orphanage.”

“Soeun,” Hyojung scolds. “Where have your manners gone?”

“It’s fine,” you say, resting a hand over hers as you watch her scowl at Soeun. “Yes, I was orphaned when I was an infant after my parents passed. But now I live at Green Gables with the Seo’s, and I would much rather focus on the present than the past, don’t you think?”

Soeun narrows her eyes but doesn’t utter another remark about your upbringing. “Anyways, we were just talking about how Mark plans on asking Sookyung if he can walk her home.”

The girls in the circle squeal while one of them blushes beet red. She hits Soeun’s arm playfully and whines in embarrassment.

“And what about you, Soeun? When is Jaemin finally going to ask you out?” Another girl asks.

Soeun waves her off. “We still have time. Don’t you girls worry about me.”

The teacher starts the lesson and you scramble into your seats. Hyojung smiles at you when you occupy the seat next to her, and you offer her a grateful grin in return.

“Today, we will be discussing the history of the late war,” your teacher drawls, his eyes sunken in and bored by the sound of his voice. He begins reciting whatever’s written in the text in his manual while you take notes on your blackboard slate. You hang onto his every word, intending to fulfill your promise to Ilkyung to bring home the best grades in the class.

The local community of mothers was the one who decided whether or not to bring you into the schoolhouse. There were doubts due to you being an orphan and slowing the rest of the students down. Ilkyung attended many meetings to vouch for you, and it relieved some of the members to know you already learned how to read and write. You were set on not only proving them wrong about their initial presumptions, but also showing up at the top of the list compared to your fellow classmates.

When you’re dismissed for lunch, the girls are a giggling mess, curling in on themselves over the stray crumbs dusting the teacher’s mustache. You join in on their fun as you gather around outside, opening your lunch boxes and conversing together. Soeun and Sookyung dance around in a circle, recreating what they believe your teacher gets up to in his after hours.

You chortle as you sit at the end of the line, watching them with gleeful eyes. You’re about to jump up and join them when an apple suddenly rolls in front of you.

“Sorry,” a tender voice apologizes, leaning down to pick up the lonely fruit. Your eyes raise to meet ones that sparkle just like the Lake of Shining Waters. His smile stretches from ear to ear, radiating the most gorgeous features you’ve ever seen in your life. “The boys never watch where they’re throwing-”

“Jaemin,” Soeun murmurs, abruptly ceasing her hopping.

He snaps his head up to look at her as the reality of his name crashes down around you. You scurry away from his figure as if he’s burned you, and he glances back down at you in confusion.

Hyojung senses your cry for help. “Um, girls, perhaps we should head back inside.” She gives them an aggressive nod of her head before they all get her message, following you inside the schoolhouse while leaving Jaemin and Soeun to their own devices.

You fail to recognize Jaemin’s eyes trailing you the entire way, only focused on the fact that you dodged a bullet out there with Soeun. The other girls are whispering to themselves about the possibility of Jaemin and Soeun getting together. When Soeun comes back in with flushed cheeks, she refuses to tell the rest of you what occurred outside. Jaemin floats in shortly after, eyes locked on you. You rapidly dart your gaze away, sitting ramrod straight in your seat.

The day passes by successfully, and you nearly believe you’re in the clear until the last lesson of the day. You’re so excited to recant to Ilkyung about your new friends and your ability to hold in your tongue like you promised. It’s all thwarted when a singular piece of chalk gets thrown at your head.

“Psst,” a voice hisses, and despite only hearing him talk once, you can already guess who it is. The teacher’s back is turned, writing a few arithmetic equations on the board. A couple of the boys chuckle at Jaemin. “Hey, psst.”

Another piece of chalk is flung from across the room. Hyojung gives you a concerned look. You ignore it, drilled in on solving the equation in front of you.

“Hey, princess.”

You’re instantly swept in a flurry of bad memories of Ara taunting you.

“Aw, girls, look at this! The poor princess has her nose in a book again. You can keep reading but no prince is going to jump out and save you.”

“Do you see that, girls? The princess here is dreaming of a big white castle with a family at the end of the rainbow.”

“What’s the matter, princess? Did the big scary monster come to assign you chores?”

Before you can fully register your actions, you find yourself striding to him, bringing your slate down over his head and cracking it in pieces.

“How dare you!”

The entire classroom falls into a deadly silence. The girls are covering their mouths to prevent a gasp from escaping while the boys are snickering to themselves. Your teacher spins around, eyes blazing with fury. He growls out your name.

Before he can reign fire down on you, Jaemin stands up with dust littered in his hair as he says, “It was my fault, sir. I was picking on her.”

“To witness such a temper stem from a pupil of my own astounds me beyond belief. Go stand on the platform in front of the blackboard for the rest of the day.”

“But sir-”

“And I’ve heard enough from you, Na Jaemin. I expect more from our top student.”

You shamefully spend the rest of the day standing in front of the blackboard. You keep your eyes planted on your feet, curling your fingers into your palm until your nails dig into the skin. When class is eventually released, Hyojung rushes over to you, handing you your book bag. You keep your head held high while you walk away, disregarding Jaemin’s attempts to apologize.

“I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. Let’s not hold grudges.”

You huff and tug on Hyojung’s arm, declining to look in his general direction. Hyojung mumbles your name. “Come on. You can’t be mad at him forever. Jaemin makes fun of all the girls! Soeun’s not even upset with you over it.”

“I shall never forgive Na Jaemin,” you tell her with certainty. “Until the day I die, the iron has entered into my soul where it shall remain forever.”

“Oh, you’re so dramatic.”

—

The school days with Na Jaemin don’t grow any easier.

By the third week, due to you running late from Green Gables, your teacher forced you away from Hyojung and sat you directly next to Jaemin. The boy was kind enough not to pester you, keeping his attention on the lessons at hand. However, every now and then, you often find a tiny heart-shaped candy underneath your arm that only he could leave behind for you. You usually throw them on the ground in front of him and dig your heel into it until it crumbles into powder.

He even manages to hold his top spot in the class with you right below him.

You complain to Ilkyung about it constantly, who does nothing but stare at you fondly. “He is the most aggravating boy I have ever met in my life! Everyone thinks he’s a saint, Ilkyung, but I know better! That Na Jaemin is nothing but a troublemaker out for my blood. He plans to use my sorrow to dangle my failure in front of everyone, I just know it. He’s at home planning my demise as we speak!”

“You’ll do better in your studies if you focus more on your books than the likes of Na Jaemin,” Ilkyung advises with a knowing look in her eye. Ilnam walks in, brushing off the snow starting to come in on his jacket. “Ilnam, tell her how she should be emphasizing her attention in school rather than boys.”

Your jaw drops open. “I do not enjoy your implication! Na Jaemin is not just a boy, he’s… he’s…”

“Mr. Na is a good man,” Ilnam comments, not fully registering Ilkyung’s ask paired with your frustration. “His boy is alright as well from what I’ve heard. Decent head on his shoulders, top of his class, and it would do the town some good to have a well-bred doctor in such close proximity.”

You throw him the most menacing look you can conjure. Ilnam clears his throat.

“B-But of course, he’s nothing compared to you, sweetheart. Smartest girl I’ve ever seen, isn’t that right, Ilkyung?”

Before you can unleash another set of choice words against Na Jaemin, Ilkyung instructs you to help Ilnam sort through the hay in the barn. You pout as you work, imagining all the ways you’re going to study hard enough to beat your enemy.

Ilnam tries again while you’re raking through stacks of hay. “As much as I love you bringing home good grades for us, I hope you’re not losing any sleep for the Na boy.”

You sneer. “He wishes I was.”

Ilnam smiles. “You know, when I was younger, there was a girl my age who didn’t like me very much. She always thought I was too quiet and hiding behind Ilkyung’s coattails. I never understood why she despised me until she got engaged. She told me she wished I was the one who proposed.”

“Oh, Ilnam,” you squeal, clutching your fingers together. “That is so romantic. Did you sweep her off her feet and pick a fresh bouquet of daisies for her? Tell her to leave the other man and run off with you in the sunset?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I told her it was a good idea to marry him. I had to take care of matters at Green Gables after our parents passed, and I had no time to entertain her fantasies. But the point is that she treated me poorly because she didn’t know another way to convey her feelings.”

You furrow your eyebrows, about to question what he could possibly mean by that statement before Hyojung rushes in the barn. She’s panting, holding her chest as she gasps, “Chaeyoung is sick! S-She keeps coughing and can’t breathe and I don’t know what to do! Father and mother have gone into town and there’s no one to call for the doctor.”

You drop your rake and bolt to Hyojung’s side, holding her shaking form. Ilnam is immediately throwing on his coat before mounting one of the horses in the stables.

“He’s going to fetch a doctor,” you say to Hyojung as Ilnam rides off. “We’ve become such kindred spirits that I can read his thoughts. It sounds like Chaeyoung has the croup. What have you tried to cure her?”

Hyojung hiccups between sobs. “I-I don’t know. Our aunt, Nayoung, is in town and she’s opened all the windows to help with C-Chaeyoung’s breathing.”

“You mustn’t forget I used to care for multiple pairs of baby twins. They got croup all the time. Let me find a bottle of ipecac in the house and we’ll head to Chaeyoung straight away.”

Ilkyung yelps when you burst through the door and rifle through the medicine cabinet. “Chaeyoung’s sick with the croup,” you explain to her while Hyojung continues to cry in the doorway. “I’m going over to help and Ilnam’s gone into town to get the doctor. Hyojung’s parents are out having dinner.”

Ilkyung inhales, dusting her hands over her apron as she turns off the stove. “Well, someone needs to inform her parents. I’ll take the buggy.”

As soon as you locate the clear brown bottle, you grab Hyojung’s hand and throw a scarf around your neck. You race towards her house, your boots crunching against the snow as you sprint. You find Chaeyoung releasing weak coughs as she lays on the Noh’s living room sofa. Hyojung’s aunt, Nayoung, hovers over her with a worried expression.

You swiftly get to work as Hyojung clarifies the situation to Nayoung, divulging about your past with caring for small children.

“Hyojung, go boil some more hot water for Chaeyoung. Miss Nayoung, please add more wood to the fire, she’s grown too cold,” you instruct as you twist the cap of the bottle in your hands. You elevate Chaeyoung’s head and pour a few drops of ipecac down her throat. She groans at the taste but you force her to swallow.

The rest of the night is filled with much uncertainty. Hyojung and Nayoung kept to their tasks, with Hyojung serving her sister and Nayoung filling the fireplace with new logs of wood at every given chance. By the time Ilnam returns with the doctor two hours later, the worst of Chaeyoung’s sickness has passed.

You jump up when they enter, rapidly explaining the story to the doctor. He kneels down to check on Chaeyoung’s temperature as you say, “Her cough was getting worse and worse and I had great fear due to the bottle of ipecac running out. I didn’t want to worry the others but I was not certain of her state when I gave the last dose. Luckily, she started to cough up the phlegm immediately afterwards and has been recovering since then.”

When Mr. and Mrs. Noh return with Ilkyung in tow, the doctor swears that if it wasn’t for you, Chaeyoung would have been in a state he’s not sure he could’ve saved her from. Mrs. Noh envelopes you into her arms with a sharp cry, thanking you over and over again for saving her child.

Exhausted beyond belief, you smile and tell her, “It was nothing. I would do anything to help your family.”

Before Ilkyung and Ilnam escort you back home, Nayoung gives you a firm pat on the shoulder. “You’ve done great work here, girl. Please come visit me in the city any time you wish.”

And when you sit at your desk the next day, Jaemin murmurs to you, “I heard what you did for the Noh family. How did you ever think of using the ipecac first?”

Thinking he’s making a show just to point out your flaws, you raise your chin high in the air as you reply, “I’ve had experience with the croup before. Many children in the orphanage caught it during this time of year.”

He grins. “Well, I think you’re brilliant. I certainly would’ve never thought of it first.”

Your shoulders deflate as you let your walls down slightly. “Really? But you’re going to be a doctor.”

He winks. “I won’t say anything if you don’t.”

You clear your throat and return your attention to your blackboard, ignoring the way your stomach erupts in butterflies.

—

Your first Christmas morning with the Seo’s is perhaps the most delightful holiday you’ve ever had.

Ilkyung and you have been cooking for what feels like a week, preparing to host the Noh’s. The morning, however, is just for you, Ilkyung, and Ilnam.

Although Ilkyung warned you that they may not have the funds for gifts this year, Ilnam hands you a beautifully wrapped box. You blink at him with wide eyes from your spot on the floor in the living room as they sit on the couch.

He smiles and nods sheepishly. “A C-Christmas present for you. I know you’ve never had one before.”

“Oh, Ilnam,” you wheeze, feeling as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest. “You didn’t have to do this. Thank you.”

You unbox the gift, slowly peeling back the wrapping paper before gasping when you see what lays inside. The dress is the same shade of brown Ilkyung uses to sew your current wardrobe, but it has the gorgeous silk lining you see in Hyojung’s dresses with a fanned out skirt and a lacy ruffle neckline. The sleeves are the best part, puffy and pleasing to the eye.

You burst out in tears, alarming Ilnam. “Do you not like it?”

“Like it? I can never thank you enough for this. I’ve never owned something so exquisite in my life. I really do believe I could never be happier than I am right now.”

“It’s a wonderful gift, even if it did cost more than expected,” Ilkyung says, raising an eyebrow at Ilnam. “Dry up your tears, child. The Noh’s will be here soon.”

The Noh’s arrive in the middle of you hugging Ilnam to death, thanking him over and over for his gift. Ilkyung chides you as she pries you off of him, lecturing for you to say your proper greetings. Once the adults are off setting the breakfast table, you squeal to Hyojung about your new dress.

“That is perfect,” she replies with sparkling eyes. “Because Aunt Nayoung was here a week ago and she left you a gift of her own.”

“What? For me?”

Hyojung passes you a ravishing pair of silk-covered heels, pointed at the toes and embroidered with a soft lace. You’ve never seen a singular piece of footwear look so fine.

“Hyojung, my gosh…”

“I know, aren’t they so elegant? She wanted to thank you for all your help with Chaeyoung. She said she felt quite useless until you arrived, and she’s never seen someone so brave,” she giggles. “They’ll couple so nicely with your new dress.”

“I’ve never been given so many cherished items at once. I’ll remember this day forever, I swear it to you.”

The rest of your Christmas afternoon goes off without a hitch. Chaeyoung is teetering with excitement, a contrast from her fragile form weeks ago. Ilnam shows Mr. Noh the horses in the stables while Ilkyung teaches Mrs. Noh her pie recipe. You and Hyojung converse gleefully in your room, discussing your plans after schooling.

“My mother wants to marry me off so I can run my own household,” Hyojung remarks, balancing her chin in her palm as she stares out your bedroom window. “I only hope I marry a man as good as my father. He doesn’t have to be handsome. I just want him to be kind.”

“I would never allow an evil man to wed my kindred spirit,” you declare while you sit criss crossed on your bed. You chew on your lower lip. “Will you really not pursue your studies any further?”

“Not all of our parents are as open-minded as Ilkyung and Ilnam. My mother’s raised me a certain way since I was a baby, I hardly think she’ll relent on her ideals now.”

“I’m not one to sit idly by and let you become engrossed in embroidery,” you huff. “You know what? We’ll start a book club. It’s about time the women in this town got their fair share of education.”

“That’s a splendid idea! Mother barely lets me rifle through our history books and- Is that Na Jaemin?”

Your head snaps up. She looks out the window, squinting slightly. “My word, that really is him.”

You dash down the stairs, and something deep in your chest flutters when you see Jaemin standing in the doorway, handing Ilkyung a fresh plate of cookies. “They’re my mother’s recipe,” he says with a grin. “I’m not as good of a baker as she was, but I didn’t want to come over empty handed for the holidays.”

“These are just lovely, Jaemin. Thank you,” Ilkyung says before gesturing for him to come inside. “It must have been a long walk for you, I’ll make you a cup of hot cocoa.”

You and Hyojung stand at the bottom of the staircase facing the door, wide eyed at the sight of him. He’s wearing a turtleneck green jumper, paired with black slacks and a long heavy coat. You didn’t even know that he knew where you lived, but you suppose in a town as small as this one, it isn’t that difficult to figure out. He discards his boots by the door and unwraps the scarf from his neck, beaming when he sees you.

“Merry Christmas, ladies,” he greets. “Have you been staying warm?”

At your sudden bout of silence, Hyojung pipes up, “Merry Christmas, Jaemin. What brings you all the way to Green Gables?”

“My father and I always bake cookies and hand them out to our neighbors. It’s a Christmas tradition,” he shares.

Hyojung nudges you in the back, ripping you from your daydreams as you state, “But your house is miles from here. Farther than the Lake of Shining Waters and the school.”

“The Lake of Shining Waters?”

You purse your lips. “It’s a nickname.”

He nods as a faint blush colors his cheeks. “W-Well, the walk was good for me. Cleared my mind and everything.”

Hyojung’s eyebrow quirks up. “You’ve never come by my house to give my family cookies.”

“That’s because- That’s, um-”

“Girls,” Ilkyung interrupts, laying a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder and handing him a cup of hot cocoa. “Don’t pester our guest. We’re very grateful for his decision to trek over here.”

You help her prepare the table settings for supper. Mrs. Noh happily displays her roasted chicken in the center while Ilkyung fills the empty space with her side dishes. Ilnam and Mr. Noh sit at the heads of the table and you take your seat next to Hyojung, startled when Jaemin immediately slides into the spot next to you.

“What are you doing?” You hiss lowly at him.

He blinks twice. “Sitting?”

Mrs. Noh claps her hands to gather everyone’s attention, freeing Jaemin from your inevitable wrath. “I want to say a huge thank you to Ilkyung and Ilnam for allowing us into their home this Christmas. And of course, I’m indebted forever to their dear one, who saved our Chaeyoung from her terrible illness,” she says with her hands clasped together, glancing at you with shining eyes. You smile softly at her. “We would have been in such a wretched heap of despair if it wasn’t for your brilliance.”

Jaemin begins to clap and the rest of the table follows in pursuit. You laugh shyly, shaking your head at their gratitude. You look up to see Jaemin smirking proudly at you and you swallow nervously, wondering what you could have possibly done in your previous life to deserve such acclaim from him.

“Please, it was honestly a return of affection for everything Hyojung’s given me since I arrived at Green Gables. I could have never believed I would arrive in this town and make a home. It’s been a dream come true.”

The table smiles at your statement, and you catch Ilnam wiping his tears away out of the corner of your eye. Ilkyung jokes for everyone to start eating before the food is covered in tears.

While you’re dining, Jaemin quietly asks you, “What type of field are you striving for after school? I think you would be a great addition to the local college here.”

You put away your supposed hatred of him for this one exchange. “I don’t think it’s in our budget right now,” you say, recalling Ilkyung’s earlier remark about your dress. “But I did want to pursue teaching, and try to write if I have the time.”

“They’re always giving scholarships away. With your grades and talent, I’d be shocked if they didn’t give it to you on a silver platter.”

You cough awkwardly at his blatant praise. You try to divert the subject away from you. “D-Did your father not want to join us for supper?”

The question has his expression falling slightly. He pokes at the chicken on his plate. “He’s under the weather. Didn’t want to bring the mood down, that’s all.”

Hyojung pokes at your side. “If you’re done flirting with Na Jaemin, can you please pass me the potatoes?”

You glare at her, ignoring her teasing giggle.

After supper, you say your goodbyes and escort the Noh’s to the door. Hyojung kisses your cheek, making you swear to start the book club as soon as the holidays are finished. Jaemin trails behind them, wrapping his scarf back around his neck.

“It really was a tasty dinner, thank you for having me,” he says to Ilkyung and shakes Ilnam’s hand. He swivels around to you. “And I hope you like the cookies. I can make more if you ever need it.”

“O-Okay.”

When Ilkyung shuts the door, she throws you a suggestive look. You scoff and occupy yourself with cleaning the table.

“Come join us in the living room. We have something to share with you.”

When you gather together, they stand you in front of a large book perched on a stand in the corner of the room. It’s flipped open to a page full of names, with Ilkyung and Ilnam’s being the last ones.

“We’ve been speaking with the orphanage these past few weeks,” she says, brushing your hair away from your face. You inhale at the revelation. “And finally got your adoption paperwork settled. This book has been passed down in the Seo generation for centuries. Every new child signs their name when they come of age. We saved a spot for you right here.”

She points at the blank area below Ilkyung’s name. Your eyes well with tears, overwhelmed by the thought of being accepted into their family. Ilnam chuckles, patting your head affectionately.

“Go on, sweetheart. Seal the deal.”

As you shakily pick up the quill pen and inscribe your name, Ilkyung and Ilnam wrap you in a warm hug. It’s then that you officially decide you’ll never have a better Christmas.

—

“You have to be the one. There’s no way I’m getting in that boat!”

“You’re such a coward, Soeun.”

“Then why don’t you try it, Sookyung?”

“You’re all ruining the vision,” you scold, gripping a handful of daisies. “We’re supposed to be girls who have been widowed by our one true love. We’ve succumbed to our tragedy, accepting our fate by floating out into the river, where the Earth will decide how to dispose of our bodies.”

Ever since Soeun’s uncle passed away shortly after the new year and the poem you’re reading for your book club discusses the fate of a widowed bride, you’ve all become obsessed with glamorizing death. In the poem, the girl sealed her devastating fate by climbing into a boat, holding a bouquet of flowers, and drifting away into the night. She was never heard from or seen again.

The girls insisted on recreating the moment, leading you to the lake. Hyojung borrowed a small canoe from her father and Sookyung picked the flowers from her mother’s yard. However, once you got to the final step, all of them chickened out of actually playing the role of the widow.

“I’ll be her,” you proclaim, and they exhale in relief. “But you must say the lines, and with fervor. It’s only right that we recreate the scene exactly. Wait for me at the other side of the river.”

With help from Hyojung, you step into the canoe, laying down as you rest your hands over your chest. You close your eyes when Soeun begins the rehearsed dialogue.

“Sister, farewell forever,” she murmurs, throwing dried flower petals over your form.

“Farewell, sweet sister.”

“And she lay as though she smiled,” Hyojung finishes, giving a small push to the canoe.

You start floating down the river, exactly like the poem describes. You marvel at the solitude, listening to the birds chirping in your ear. It’s all straight out of a novel if you’ve ever read it, but it’s abruptly disrupted by a stream of water soaking your dress.

You shriek, eyes popping wide open as you sit up. Water continues to fill the boat, progressing fast enough where you understand you won’t possibly make it to the other side. As you come up to the nearby bridge, you quickly grasp the foothold, holding onto it tightly as the canoe sinks.

You hear the girls begin to scream loudly when they don’t see you return. You ponder on if they’ll get help and save you from this uncomfortable experience, but another boat slowly comes up beside you.

Na Jaemin says your name with amusement. “I must say, I did not expect to find you here on my Sunday afternoon.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to just sit there or help me like a gentleman?”

He laughs before extending his hand. You take it gratefully, stepping into his boat. You sit across from him, drenched from head to toe. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t utter a single word to him.

“So you’re not going to explain-”

“No,” you gruffly reply. “But I am very much obliged to you.”

He sighs. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to me. Can’t we be friends already? You know I was only joking with you on your first day. I didn’t mean to mock you by calling you a princess, even if I think you look exactly like one. Let’s forgive and forget, please.”

You stare at his hopeful countenance, remembering how kind he was to you over the holidays. You also craved his cookies for weeks after, resisting the urge to walk over to his house and ask for another batch.

“Fine. Friends. And friends only.”

He beams at you, grinning widely. He begins to row the boat back to shore, and you avoid his inquisitive gaze. The girls are in hysterics when you arrive, pulling you out and hugging you tightly.

“We thought you had drowned and died,” Hyojung sobs into your shoulder. “It wasn’t romantic at all! Nothing like the poem.”

You assure them with gentle pats, and Jaemin anchors the boat to the dock. Soeun perks up when she sees him.

“Oh Jaemin, were you the one who saved her? A true knight in shining armor, indeed!”

He nods. “I’m happy to help.” The girls move to take you away and leave Jaemin and Soeun on their own, but he clears his throat to stop you. He addresses you by calling your name before questioning, “B-Before you go, I wanted to ask if you had any plans for Valentine’s Day.”

Hyojung and Sookyung’s jaws drop while Soeun acts as if someone just stabbed her in the back.

You stutter. “I- That’s- I’m not-”

“She’s going to my Aunt Nayoung’s annual Valentine’s party. You should come too, Jaemin. It’s at her big mansion in the city,” Hyojung invites.

You shoot her a bewildered look while he replies, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t be imposing?”

“Of course not. She would be happy to have you.”

He smirks. “Perfect. I’ll be there. Now if you ladies don’t mind, I have to get back to fishing.”

When he drifts away in his boat, Soeun stomps away from you, grumbling to herself. Sookyung throws you an apologetic look before following after her. You pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“What was that?” You bark at your best friend. “How dare he ask me that in front of everyone like- like-”

“Like he likes you?” Hyojung finishes.

You glare at her, still soaked from the lake. “No. And how could you invite him to your aunt’s party? You know I haven’t even asked Ilkyung if I can go yet.”

“She’ll let you, come on,” Hyojung insists as she helps you trudge back to Green Gables. “If not, I’ll have my mother convince her. Plus, how can you not see how head over heels Jaemin is for you? That boy looks at you constantly and Christmas? Don’t even get me started. His house is miles from here, there was no other reason for him to stop by than to see you.”

“I won’t let you go on any longer. I have never harbored any affection for Na Jaemin and I never will. Have you forgotten about my dreams, Hyojung? I don’t want to be the wife and mother. I want to write and teach and earn enough income so that Ilkyung and Ilnam can retire comfortably.”

“Silly girl,” she murmurs as she nudges you playfully. “You can have all of that and Na Jaemin too.”

When you arrive back to Green Gables, Ilkyung gasps in shock as Hyojung escorts you in. “What in heavens have you done to yourself, child?”

You narrow your eyes as she grabs a towel to dry you off. “Hyojung got me into a giant mess.”

“Don’t listen to her, Ilkyung,” Hyojung says. “What she meant to say is that my Aunt Nayoung invited us to her Valentine’s party next weekend. Could we please go together? My parents will be tagging along, and Aunt Nayoung already approved of her staying for the weekend.”

A worried expression falls over Ilkyung’s face as she swaddles you in one of Ilnam’s jackets. “I’m not too sure. Your parents will be there the whole time?”

“Yes,” Hyojung confirms. “I won’t take my eyes off her, I promise.”

Ilkyung exhales. “I suppose you are old enough…”

“I really don’t have to go, Ilkyung, if you think I shouldn’t-”

Hyojung pinches your forearm and you squeal. She smiles at Ilkyung.

“I’ll come pick her up next weekend!”

—

Ilnam starts to cry when you walk down the steps of Green Gables, wearing the ensemble gifted to you on Christmas.

“Oh, please don’t cry,” you say, watching as he blows his nose into his handkerchief.

“He’s a big teddy bear for his daughter,” Ilkyung remarks with an affectionate head shake. She swipes a light pink powder over your cheeks. “Be on your best behavior for Hyojung’s aunt. And I want to hear all about your adventures when you return.”

You ride with the Noh family in their huge buggy to Nayoung’s estate. It’s as lavish as Hyojung described, with massive gardens and towering columns. Hyojung told you on the way that her aunt never married, settling by herself in her big house. She was also very fickle and quick to anger, which is why Hyojung guesses she’s chosen to be alone for the rest of her life.

“There you are,” Nayoung mumbles as she walks down her long hallway to greet you at the door. Her cane taps loudly against the wood flooring. “Kept me waiting long enough.”

“Sorry, sister,” Mr. Noh says, offering her a kiss on the cheek.

She waves him off. “Nothing to do about it now. Suyeon will show you to your rooms. The party begins in an hour.”

You and Hyojung yelp joyously when you’re placed in the same room. You jump on top of the bed in a massive giggling fit.

You look at her mischievously. “What if tonight’s the night you find your dashing suitor? I can picture it now — the clock will strike midnight while you two are dancing in your own little world. Nayoung will tell you the party’s over but he won’t be as willing to part from you. He’ll drop down on one knee right there and demand for your hand in marriage.”

“You’ve been driven to lunacy,” she says, tickling your sides as you erupt in laughter. “Pure lunacy. Nayoung would never invite that many men close to our age. Her friends are more of the decrepit type, standing on their last good leg. I believe the only viable suitor attending this party will be Na Jaemin.”

You scoff, pushing her away. “I still cannot fathom the reason why you invited him.”

“You have to dance with him if he asks.”

“I will do nothing of the sort, Noh Hyojung!” You heave, appalled by her pronouncement. “Just because I agreed to be friends with him does not mean I will follow him down the aisle. He’ll probably get wed to a sensible, well-bred girl with a massive fortune to her name. It seems rightfully in character for him.”

She catches the forlorn look in your eye. “You’re jealous! You’re jealous of a girl who might not even exist.”

“Not true!”

“So true!”

“And what might you ladies be discussing here?”

At the sound of Nayoung’s voice, you both spring up from the bed, smoothing out the fabric of your dresses. She analyzes you with an uptick of her eyebrow.

Hyojung stammers, “O-Oh, nothing of importance, Aunt Nayoung.”

“You better run downstairs. The guests will be arriving soon,” she says. Hyojung scuttles off and you shadow behind her, but Nayoung stops you with the tapping of her cane. “I was delighted to hear your mother allowed you to come today.”

You graciously smile. “I was thankful to be invited, Miss Nayoung, and I must express my appreciation for the gorgeous pair of shoes you sent me for Christmas. I’ve never owned something more divine.”

“You have a brilliant mind in here,” she says, knocking lightly on your temple. “I hope Ilnam isn’t treating you like my son is with his daughters. A girl with your brains should be more than a housewife.”

“I plan on a higher education, ma’am, if the fates will allow. A scholarship would be the only way I could afford to go,” you reveal. “Ilkyung and Ilnam pour every ounce of themselves into maintaining Green Gables and selling off necessities to the market in town. They didn’t exactly plan to adopt an orphan girl and pay for her schooling.”

“Easy solution then. I’ll pay for your schooling.”

“W-What?”

Her expression shifts into something more stern. “I have a large fortune and no nieces to spend it on. Hyojung and Chaeyoung will be betrothed to good families and I want to make sure you are taken care of. I’ve never seen someone so young step up to such a big challenge like you did that night. It should be rewarded.”

“Oh, Miss Nayoung, I really can’t-”

“Protest all you want, dear. It won’t change my mind. Now get downstairs and dance with that boy you’re so keen about.”

The party is already in full swing downstairs. Most of the guests have arrived, chatting avidly to one another over their glasses of champagne. You spot Hyojung in the corner, attempting to keep Chaeyoung under control. Then, as soon as you reach the end of the staircase, Jaemin walks in.

He’s wearing a black suit and tie, handing off his coat to the worker nearby. You inhale, slowly making your way across the room. The bottom of your dress drags over the floor and you scan your puffy sleeves out of the corner of your eye, verifying that they are indeed still there.

When you land in front of him, his jaw drops open. “W-Wow. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you reply curtly, trying not to show how much his statement affects you. “You don’t look half as bad yourself.”

He glances down at his ensemble before chuckling. “Thanks. W-Will you save me a dance later?”

You swallow. “Sure. That’s what friends do, right?”

He smiles. “Yeah. That’s what friends do.”

When you try to catch your breath at the refreshment table, Hyojung eyes you in a superior manner. “I thought you said you wouldn’t accept a dance with Na Jaemin if he asked?”

“I recommend keeping your smug comments to yourself, Noh Hyojung.”

A few of Nayoung’s friends request a dance with you, only being able to sway slightly back and forth due to their arthritis. The older women inquire about your studies, and some of them question you regarding your previous life at the orphanage. You even observe Hyojung speaking to a young gentleman out of the corner of your eye. A blush spreads across her cheeks the longer they converse, and the red hue only deepens when he takes her out on the dance floor.

“Ready for our dance?”

You nearly spit out the contents of your punch when Jaemin appears in front of you. He’s holding a singular rose, half-shy as he extends it to you. You’re about to accept it when he breaks off the stem, tucking the flower behind your ear and admiring you. Your face grows warm underneath his touch.

You take his hand and rest your palm on his shoulder, ignoring the way your heart pounds in your chest when he wraps an arm around your waist. The string of the violin fills your ears as you twirl around the ballroom with him.

“I wanted to thank you for saving me down by the lake,” you say to him, lost in his unrelenting stare. “I wasn’t as appreciative as I should have been that day, and I acknowledge that. I probably would have been left hanging on that bridge until one of the girls had the sense to call someone for help. Then I really would’ve gotten in trouble with Ilkyung.”

He laughs, giddy as he spins you around. “It was my pleasure, really. There haven’t been many days since your arrival that you’ve asked me for help. I cherish those moments more than anything.”

“Why are you so nice to me? I’ve given you nothing but grief since I arrived at Green Gables, yet your enthusiasm has never wavered.”

“I like you, is that so hard to believe?”

His eyes pierce through yours and you start to feel that pull you’ve read in your romance novels. A string of fate ties your heart to his, urging you closer to the man you once vowed to hate. The looming thought of grades and graduation slip from your mind as the jabbering of the crowd fades away. His gaze flickers down to your mouth, and you find yourself leaning in-

A body abruptly slams into yours and you gasp, clinging onto the lapels of Jaemin’s suit to ground yourself. An elderly man apologizes to you for his clumsiness, but the moment between you and Jaemin has already passed. You scurry away from him, trying to calm the adrenaline spiking through your veins.

“I-I should go check on Hyojung,” you murmur, wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Yes, o-of course,” he stutters, quite pink in the cheeks himself. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Na Jaemin.”

—

“I can’t look! Please, just seal my monstrous fate and allow the Earth to swallow me whole. It’s my destiny, and I should very well accept it at this point.”

“I’ve never met another soul as dramatic as you,” Hyojung says with a roll of her eyes. She holds your letter between her fingers, and you shut your eyes in fear of its contents. “We all know you’re a shoe in for the girls’ college. I don’t know why you insist on giving yourself such a fright.”

“Just open it, Hyojung. Tell me if my fortune ties me to a state of devastation.”

She breaks open the seal, fanning out the paper in front of her. She scrutinizes the first few lines before jumping up and down, her shrieks echoing throughout the schoolyard.

“You did it! You got in!”

The rest of the girls circle around you, laughing and squealing at your victory. Tears fill your eyes, running down your cheeks in happiness. You had been waiting for the results for weeks after your entrance exam. You walked in with confidence after learning you secured first place in class, skimming by Jaemin with half a point higher.

“Congratulations,” Soeun says. She forgave you concerning the Jaemin incident once Lee Donghyuck began showing an interest in her. Since then, you’ve speculated that she’s even forgotten Jaemin’s name. “I think you’ll be one of the first girls to attend college from our town in years!”

Mark approaches your group with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Sookyung straightens her posture at the sight of him. “Hey guys,” he says with a timid smile. “Happy last day of classes.”

“Oh Mark, do tell us where Na Jaemin has gone. We must share the news of his so-called rival,” Hyojung teases, and you elbow her playfully.

“You didn’t hear?”

Your merry expressions falter at his somber tone. Sookyung speaks up, voicing the question you’re all dreading to ask.

“Hear what?”

“Jaemin’s father passed away last night. He was sick for a long time, but was trying to hold on until graduation.”

Your stomach drops at the news. Hyojung immediately glances at you in concern. Soeun and Sookyung gasp, and you realize no one actually knew how ill Jaemin’s father was.

You excuse yourself from the group, dashing to Jaemin’s house as fast as you can. He lives the furthest out of all your classmates, but you’re determined to reach his place before sundown. A nagging voice in the back of your head scolds you for not checking in on him. Another part of you grapples with the idea that he’s been harboring this grief with himself for years.

When you knock on his front door, you panic slightly. What if you were completely crossing a line and he didn’t want to see you? What if he was in the middle of his mourning period and you were disrupting his reflection time?

As soon as he opens the door, you blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

He’s startled when he sees you, but a kind smile spreads across his face. “So you heard,” he remarks, his eyes baggy and red.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry, Jaemin. I had no idea he was that sick.”

He gestures for you to step inside. His home smells like him, as odd as that sounds coming from you. The scent of pine needles and embers from the fire waft through your nose. His dining room is small, having nothing but a long table and a kitchen with dirty dishes stacked high in the sink. Stacked boxes fill the hallway leading to what you assume used to be his father’s bedroom.

He rifles through the fridge while you take a seat at the table. “Apologies about the mess. I’ve been trying to sort through dad’s stuff over the past year but it hasn’t been easy.”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize to me,” you say as he pours you a cup of orange juice.

“So did you get your results yet? Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it’s not that important-”

“Not that important?” He scoffs, sliding into the seat across from you. “You’ve been working for this all year. Of course it’s important. And you finally accomplished your goal of getting to first place.”

All of those end objectives seem insignificant now compared to the problems Jaemin’s been dealing with. But he stares at you like he wants nothing more than to hear about your results, forcing you to reveal, “I got in.”

He slams his hand down on the wood table cheerfully, rejoicing loudly. “That’s wonderful! I knew you would get in, I never doubted it for a second.”

“Jaemin, I really am awfully remorseful over what happened to your father. To think that we are celebrating my achievements while you have been going through this all alone-”

He speaks your name firmly. “I have known for years that my father would one day pass. It is a tragedy, yes, but I know how hard you’ve been striving for this and I’m not going to let it overshadow your moment. Please, for today, can we focus on you? I can mourn my father all I want at his funeral tomorrow.”

You hesitantly agree to his terms and somehow find yourself roped into an ordeal of teaching him how to bake Ilkyung’s famous peach pie. You snigger when he continuously pours too much flour into the bowl and cuts his hand trying to slice the peaches.

“They say you’re brilliant in the classroom but I guess no one’s seen you outside of your studies,” you joke, pulling stray flecks of flour out of his hair.

He narrows his eyes at you before throwing a handful of flour at your face, causing you to squeal at his attack. You look at him with your jaw dropped open while he snickers at your predicament. You reach into his bowl of peaches, smushing them in your palm and launching the mess into his shirt.

You giggle. “Oops.”

He gapes at you before his kitchen becomes the site of a chaotic food fight. Eggs and butter splatter against the walls and flour coats the kitchen floor. You know Ilkyung’s going to give you a hard time when you return home about the stains in your dress, but you’re feeling so euphoric that you can’t be bothered to care.

You find a way to combine your leftover ingredients into a pie, and Jaemin takes it out of the brick oven when it’s nicely browned at the top. He hands you a fork to taste, and when you both dig your utensils in and scoop it into your mouth, your faces twist in horror.

“That’s awful!”

“What in God’s name did we put in there?”

You take one look at each other, with you seeing his hair covered in flour and specks of eggshells painted on his shirt. He finds you with dripping egg yolk in your hair and dried peaches clinging to the skirt of your dress. You burst out in laughter, clinging to your stomachs as you double over.

“Y-You look l-like we put you i-in the oven!” You pant, cheeks hurting from your hysterics.

“Me? You look like you rolled into a bakery on the wrong side of town!”

When your giggling fit dies down, he flings you a pensive expression. “Promise me we’ll hang out this summer before we leave. I-I don’t want to lose touch with you as soon as we go to college.”

You grin. “I don’t want that either. I promise to hang out with you all summer.”

His vision drifts down to your lips, and you’re thrown back to Valentine’s Day, when you almost kissed him. There’s nothing stopping you now, and the silence of the house surrounds you.

“Jaemin,” you murmur, and his hand snakes around your middle, pulling you to his body as his mouth envelops yours.

Kissing is much more sensual than you originally thought. The books you read describe it as a slow, languid action with enough time to breathe. You discover that’s not true at all as Jaemin backs you up against the table, lifting your hips onto the wood. He rests his palms on both sides of your legs as his tongue swipes over yours. You moan into his mouth, tangling your fingers through his hair as you let him devour you.

Your conscience screams at you that this is not a good idea, but the longer you feel Jaemin’s hands on you, the longer your common sense is muted.

His fingers hike up your dress, exposing your bare legs for him to view. He kisses down your jawline until his teeth graze your neck.

His hands grip the inside of your thighs as you release a breathy, “We shouldn’t.”

He shushes you gently. “Don’t think about anything else. No grades or college or parents. Just you and me.”

You empty your mind per his request, closing your eyes as you savor his hands freely roaming your body. He tugs down your undergarments before unbuckling his own set of trousers. A part of you is terrified by the act of sex, only having seen explicit diagrams in medical journals. But you also trust Jaemin and you understand the boy would never hurt you willingly.

You chew on your lower lip when he unsheathes himself. You’ve never encountered the opposite sex’s naked lower half before, but his cock stands proudly, longer than several inches and thicker than you imagined. His tip is red and leaking, desperately asking for attention. He wraps a hand around his base and lines himself up to your entrance.

“It’s going to hurt,” he warns, analyzing you carefully. “I’ve read it doesn’t always feel good for women, and I apologize about that.”

You smile shyly. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

Fire blazes underneath your skin as he pushes into you. The pain is excruciating but you clench your jaw and power through it, not wanting to ruin this moment with him. He distracts you with kisses, lips intertwining as he slides into you inch by inch.

When he bottoms out inside you, you swear you’ve never felt more full. It’s powerful — the way he towers over you in this moment yet subtly ensures you that you’re in complete control of the situation. His eyes search yours in assurance, finding nothing but a reflection of lust and hunger.

You hold him close as he thrusts into you, whimpers spilling from your mouth at the sharp spike of pain. “What can I do to make it better?” He questions, groaning lowly. “I wish you could feel how I do right now.”

“I-I don’t know.”

He tries different angles, scattering love bites across your neck, but it isn’t until his hands wander down to your core and circle around an area that has you gasping.

“Here?” He asks, pressing his thumb down harder over your clit. You squeak and nod, the pain shifting into blinding satisfaction.

It's the combined chaos of Jaemin rutting against you while you grind down on his hand, chasing your highs together. The unfamiliar sensation has your head spinning, and the pent up frustration in your stomach begins to unravel.

You whine his name. “I feel- I feel-”

“It’s okay,” he soothes, sensing your panic. “I’m right here, it’s okay.”

You dig your nails into his broad shoulders, yanking him close to you as you gush around his cock. The heightened pleasure leaves you a mewling mess, moaning and whimpering into his ear as you bury your head into his neck. He swiftly pulls out of you, jerking at his length until he spills white over your thighs.

Clarity strikes you. You blink away the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, registering the consequences of your actions. You push him away, startling him as you locate your undergarments.

“What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

You shake your head, redressing yourself as tears sting your eyes. “We shouldn’t have done that! We’re going off to college soon and we’re not even together-”

“Then let’s be together,” he states, frowning as you jump off the table. “I want to be with you, I thought I’ve made myself clear. You’re the only one for me.”

“Jaemin, don’t.”

His expression turns sour. “So what? You’re going to pretend that this hasn’t happened? I love you! What’s so wrong about us being together? I was ready to marry you yesterday!”

“Stop it,” you wheeze, combing down your hair in an attempt to regain your composure. “Jaemin, just stop it. You’re not supposed to marry me. You’re supposed to wed a beautiful girl from the city, a well-bred woman with a good head on her shoulders. I’m supposed to finish my schooling and help Ilkyung and Ilnam with Green Gables. I’m not destined to become a housewife.”

“No one’s asking you to! Do you really think that low of me to believe I would request for you to give up your future to stay at home?”

You rush to the door, wrenching it open and dashing down the steps of his home. He calls after you the entire way but you keep your feet moving, not stopping until you’ve run across the town and to Green Gables.

Later, when Ilkyung scolds you for the state of your dress and you rid yourself of the evidence of your passion between your legs, you vow to never accept a proposal from Na Jaemin.

—

“I can’t believe you’re married.”

Soeun smirks as she twirls in a circle, the train of her dress eagerly following behind her. “I know!” She remarks in a high-pitched giggle. “Oh truly, girls, I hope the rest of you experience this kind of happiness someday. You deserve it.”

Hyojung side eyes you with a look that says, Can you believe she just said that to us?

Donghyuck proposed to Soeun shortly after graduation, and due to his bride’s eagerness and her parents' insistence, they were wed only a month later in her backyard. Soeun was over the moon, corralling the three of you into wedding planning for most of the summer. You assisted with every detail, from the flowers down to the flavor of the cake.

The wedding party also acted as a pseudo farewell gathering for you, as you leave for the girls’ college in the city the following day. Hyojung was in shambles over it, pleading for you not to bring it up until reality finally strikes her.

“Oh look, there’s Jaemin,” Sookyung murmurs, and the statement has your blood running cold. You all raise your heads to see him across the garden, a cup of tea in his hand as he speaks to Soeun’s cousins. “Why, I haven’t seen him since his father’s funeral. He must have been secluding himself since graduation.”

“Can you blame him? You know his father didn’t leave him much in his will. Jaemin was probably working all summer to put himself through college,” Soeun says.

You look away in shame while Hyojung eyes you warily. You’ve kept a tight lip regarding the subject of Na Jaemin, leading her to believe something occurred after the end of term. You never confirmed her speculation, mortified by your actions.

Jaemin wrote you a letter everyday since your entanglement, prompting Ilkyung and Ilnam to raise their eyebrows every time they returned from town with a stack of letters. You never replied to him, afraid of encouraging his fantasies of you ending up together.

“I should go,” you state as Jaemin’s consistent presence makes you wary. “It really was a lovely ceremony, Soeun. I have to help Ilkyung with packing up the rest of my belongings.”

Hyojung begins to tear up at the mention of your departure, and you roll your eyes and pat her back teasingly.

“I will see you tomorrow before I leave,” you laugh, and she grumbles as she wipes away her tears.

You say your goodbyes to the rest of the party, exiting the gardens and locating the shed where they’ve kept the buggys. You find Ilnam’s old horse, giving him a soft pet to his snout and untangling his reins.

Before you can climb in, a voice hollers out, “You look beautiful.”

You purse your lips. “Thank you.”

His front presses against your back and you inhale at the close proximity. He swipes your hair away from your neck, nudging his nose against your skin. You tightly grip the reins in your hands, knowing you should get inside and steer far away from him.

“Jaemin,” you say in warning.

His hand draws around your waist, playing with the ribbons of your corset. “I’ve dreamt of you every night, thinking about you when my mind gets too greedy. Do you think about me too?”

“I leave for the girls’ college tomorrow,” you say through gritted teeth, trying hard to contain your desire. “And my thoughts haven’t changed. We can’t be together.”

“I heard Hyojung’s engaged to Lee Jeno. You don’t think less of her for wanting to marry, do you?”

“Of course I don’t,” you bite back. “But this is different. You know it’s different.”

“Tell me that you think about me too. I need to hear it,” he mumbles as he mouths kisses over your skin.

Your heart beats in your chest rapidly. “I never wanted to make you care for me so. I kept away so you wouldn’t.”

He sighs at your stubborn nature. “The medical school’s accepted me for their fall term.”

You spin around at his revelation. Pride flutters in your chest. “Oh, Jaemin, that’s wonderful!”

He rests his forehead against yours, clutching your hands. “I’m sorry for all the letters over the summer. I only wanted to show you how much I care,” he says, his eyes locked in on yours. “Maybe you don’t think I’m good enough for you now, but I will be someday.”

You shake your head. “That’s not it at all. You’re a great deal too good for me,” you say, stroking his hair back and relishing the way it runs through your fingers. “You need a girl who’d be happy just to hang off your arm, who will build a home for you and dote on you faithfully. I can’t be that girl for you.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for at all-”

“We wouldn’t be good together. We’d end up fighting all the time!” You say to convince him, but he doesn’t look moved by your spiel. “I’d end up regretting falling in love with you, and you’re not a person I would ever want to regret.”

He stands firmly. “I can’t go away knowing that if I had just tried a little harder-”

“I promise I’ll always be here for you,” you say. “Good friends are always together in spirit.”

“You also promised we’d hang out the entire summer before we went away,” he recalls, taking a step back from you.

“Don’t do this, Jaemin.”

He bites down on his tongue like he’s holding back the tears threatening to spill out. “I can’t just be your friend. I love you too much to torture myself like this.”

“Jaemin, please-”

You choke back your sobs when he strolls out of the shed, refusing to hear your pleas. You climb into your buggy, attempting to pull yourself together as you tug on the reins. You loathe your tearful ride back to Green Gables, and Ilnam watches you approach from his spot in the fields. His lips curl downwards when he helps you out, wiping your tears away.

“I’ve done it again and messed it all up,” you tell him, crying into his chest. “Oh Ilnam, when will I ever do something right?”

“Sweetheart,” he coos, stroking your back in comfort. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve never done a single thing wrong since I’ve known you.”

His blatant lie forces a chuckle out of you. Ilkyung steps out of the house, hands on her hips as she examines the situation. “What are you two doing?” She questions sternly. “We have less than twenty-four hours before we need to be on that train.”

Ilnam mutters, “Go inside before she has both of our heads.” Before you depart, he grips your hand passionately. “You’ll still write to us every week?”

You detect the hesitation in his voice and you kiss his cheek in affirmation. “Of course. I’ll write until you grow tired of my stories. My hands will ache from the repetition but it can’t stop me from keeping close to you.”

The sides of his mouth wrinkle when he grins at you. As you help Ilkyung in folding your clothes upstairs, you wonder if she’ll miss you as much as Ilnam will. She’s always been the tougher one to crack in terms of displaying her emotions, and for the past few days leading up to your departure, she’s barely said a word to you that hasn’t been laced with venom. You suppose it’s her way of coping with change.

“Have you ever been in love?”

She’s taken aback by your question. “I hope this isn’t regarding the Na boy. My arms still hurt from carrying his letters back home.”

You sit on the corner of your bed. “I used to think love was something you didn’t feel until you were older and more mature. In all the stories I read, loving someone so young ends in an unexplainable tragedy. It’s completely selfish of me, Ilkyung, but I couldn’t stand it if he found someone else. I think it would break me, yet at the same time, I know there’s someone better out there for him. A girl who won’t squabble with him over being called a princess.”

She exhales as she places your dress in your suitcase, walking over and taking a seat next to you. She tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling softly.

“When I was your age, shortly after I also finished my education, I befriended a boy who became my closest confidant. His name was Na Juwon.”

Your head snaps up. “Jaemin’s father?”

She nods, her face twisting into a grimace. “Yes, that’s him. We got along very well, and most people even called him my beau,” she says with a nostalgic look in her eyes. “But we fought, and back then, I wasn’t so quick to forgive. Letting him walk away is one of my greatest regrets. I wish I had just pushed aside my headstrong personality for one second to see the bigger picture. We ended up losing touch and he fell in love with someone else.”

“You never told me that,” you say. “I-I didn’t know you were so close with Jaemin’s father.”

She takes your hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. “Some advice for you, child — a letter can go a long way when you’re separated for that long. He may be cross with you and you may be stuck on your ideals now, but you’ll both learn that a love like yours isn’t easy to find.”

“Thank you, Ilkyung.”

She kisses your forehead. “Now let’s finish your packing. I can’t believe my girl is heading to college tomorrow.”

—

September 12th

Jaemin,

Is it safe to assume the girls at this college dream of me making a complete fool out of myself? I hardly think they have to dream for long considering I’m doing such a great job of it on my own. For women so properly educated and professional, I never imagined most of them haven’t ever picked up a romance novel. I spent the first twenty minutes of my class babbling about the forlorn monologue of the reader and how it translates to her unrequited love before I realized no one agreed with me.

I know we left on bad terms, but I can only hope this letter arrives to you safely. A response is not required, yet I’m obliged to tell you I miss the sound of your voice.

October 22nd

Jaemin,

I’ve been writing again recently. A habit I disregarded briefly to focus on my studies, but as I’m certain you’re well aware, my imagination urges me to capture my visions on paper. It’s nothing fancy, simply romance tales I’ve been daydreaming about. I honestly don’t believe anyone could understand them except for you and Hyojung. Have you heard yet that she and Lee Jeno are to be wed next month? I never thought when they met on Valentine’s Day that their betrothal would come so quickly. She told me she sent you an invitation, but I know you’re probably too busy in medical school to attend.

Do write back to me if you get the chance. I would love to hear how you’ve been.

December 2nd

Jaemin,

Ilkyung told me you won the scholarship for your spring term. I offer my best congratulations to you. I can’t think of anyone more deserving of the award. My hats off to you since I already know you worked so hard for it. I plan on returning to Green Gables for the holidays. Ilnam has taken up a fever and Ilkyung’s growing worried about his health. I’m not sure if I’ll return for my spring term if he’s not well.

I tried submitting my writing to be published in the local town newspaper, but was swiftly rejected due to my stories containing too many embellishments and not enough relation to the character. I think it’s a sign that my writing is not destined beyond Green Gables.

Will you be coming home for the holidays too?

February 25th

I apologize for my late reply. Thank you for your continuous letters. My studies have kept me preoccupied as of late, but I know it’s a horrid excuse for my absence.

I was sorry to hear of Ilnam’s passing during the holidays. I tried to make it out to Green Gables to see you but the trains were blocked here due to the heavy snow. I’m wishing you and Ilkyung all the best.

As for your writing, I’ve always thought you were a spectacular writer. You’re correct in assuming I would most likely be one of the only ones who could understand your romance folly. I think you should write about Green Gables. Your story deserves to be heard by many around the world.

I’m also writing to inform you of my engagement. It’s sudden, I know, and I want to apologize for my foolish behavior last summer. You were right about us, and I see it now.

Regardless, I miss you always, princess.

—

“Don’t lift that, Ilkyung, it’s too heavy. Let me help you.”

You take the box of milk bottles from her hands, setting them on the dining room table. Ilkyung sighs, resting on a nearby chair and pinching the bridge of her nose. She wipes away the dust coating her eyelashes with the back of her hand.

“You have to take it easy, you heard what the doctor said,” you say sternly, narrowing your eyes at her. “It’s why we hired Jisung to help. You’re supposed to call for him if you need anything.”

She waves you off. “I’ll call him when I’m dead.”

“That’s not funny, stop it,” you reply, holding back the onslaught of tears that spring up.

She hears the quiver in your voice and exhales, standing up and teetering over to you. She wraps her arms around you, and you lay your head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ve become very insensitive to your feelings. I know it’s been difficult for you without Ilnam here,” she murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “He would be very proud of you.”

The front door creaks open and Jisung’s head pops in, grimacing when he observes your fragile state.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss, wiping away your tears. “Come in please. Ilkyung needs help with taking the milk bottles to town.”

Jisung obediently follows your directions, grabbing the heavy boxes and loading them into the buggy outside. You hired him shortly after Ilnam’s passing when you registered that Ilkyung’s health was also deteriorating rapidly. She got constant migraines that impaired her vision, forcing her into bed for most of the day. With Ilnam gone and no one to care for Green Gables, she considered selling the house before you decided to move back. She protested, of course, and you fought for weeks until she relented.

She despised the fact that you dropped your studies but you were not going to allow your first home to be auctioned off like careless livestock. You took a teaching job in the city that provided you enough time to care for Ilkyung accordingly. It also offered you enough time to start writing again. During this go around, fueled by no longer having Ilnam’s presence around, you write about Green Gables like Jaemin suggested.

…And Na Jaemin. You don’t even want to begin to think about the headaches he’s caused you.

Once Jisung departs for town, you begin making supper and instruct Ilkyung to lie down. A knock on the door interrupts your cooking and you’re surprised to see your heavily pregnant best friend behind the door.

“Hyojung!” You scold, helping her inside. “You’re supposed to be resting. The baby’s due any second now.”

She scoffs at you. “He expects me to be a sitting duck at home and I can’t stand it! I need to get out and talk to another human that isn’t my husband.” You help her rest by the fire to keep warm, fetching her a cup of tea. She chews on her lower lip carefully before blurting out, “Soeun saw Na Jaemin walking around with his fiancée in town.”

You pause your slicing of vegetables, raising your head to look at her. She smiles sadly at you.

“That’s- um, that’s wonderful. I’m happy for him,” you say, swallowing your nerves.

“You never told me what occurred between you and him. Every time someone utters anything related to his engagement, you clam up and refuse to speak. From what I recall, the last time we spoke you were letting your petty grudge go and finally starting to be friends with him.”

You sigh, throwing the handful of vegetables into the pot on the stove and stirring carefully. “I have forgiven him, Hyojung. That childish banter is in the past.”

“Then what is it? What has you so on edge around him?”

A flash of breathy whines and heavy groans plays across your mind, along with the heat of Jaemin’s touch and his mouth on your skin.

“It’s nothing. Please, Hyojung, just drop it.”

She lets the subject go for the rest of the night, not owning the same willingness to fight you as she once had due to her pregnancy. She stays for dinner, and Ilkyung walks downstairs to greet her briefly before the lighted candles in the kitchen grow to be too much for her migraine. After eating, you escort Hyojung back home, where Jeno is pacing in worry over his wife.

“Christ, Hyojung. You can’t walk out like that and not inform anyone about your whereabouts,” he says, helping her walk up the steps of the staircase. He smiles politely back at you. “Forgive my crass language.”

You shake your head, waving him off. “No worries. I wanted to see that she made it home safely. I hope you two have a lovely night.”

“She’s going to have a lovely night dreaming about Jaemin!” Hyojung calls when she’s already up the stairs, and Jeno throws you another apologetic look.

You leave the couple to their own devices after rejecting Jeno’s suggestion to stay the night in their guest room. You trudge back to Green Gables, wrapping your arms around yourself as the wind nips at your cheeks. Your mind drifts to Jaemin the entire way, much like it’s been doing since you returned home.

When you received that letter from him in February, in the midst of still grieving over Ilnam, it felt as if he punched you in the gut. You weren’t so shocked to learn he was engaged to someone else, knowing he was making himself a fine catch in medical school and the girls nearby had to be swooning over him. Regardless, the revelation stung. It reminded you of Ilkyung’s story, where she lost Jaemin’s father due to her own stubborn nature.

You contemplated if you were repeating history. If perhaps you and Jaemin are destined to be together, yet the only thing preventing it from coming true is you.

A rough hand tugs on your shoulder and you gasp, spinning around to face the assailant.

Jaemin holds his hands up to profess his innocence. “Sorry. I was calling your name but wasn’t sure if you could hear me.”

“J-Jaemin?”

He chuckles at your astonishment. “Hi,” he says awkwardly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. “We came into town yesterday and I wanted to come see you. Ilkyung said you were walking Hyojung home.”

You blink in rapid succession, still trying to register that he’s actually in front of you and not a figment of your imagination. You pinch your upper arm just to double check.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, unable to form coherent sentences. “She’s pregnant, you know? About to pop actually. Jeno’s been like a hawk watching her but you know how Hyojung can be. I mean, I guess you two aren’t really that close but-”

“Are you okay?” He asks, examining you with concern over your verbal incompetence.

You laugh clumsily. “Yes! I apologize, I must be tired. It’s been a gruesome day.”

“I won’t keep you long then. I heard that you stopped attending college to restore Green Gables?”

You nod in affirmation. “I felt it was only right to, especially after Ilnam left us. Jisung has been a great addition, he’s our new farmhand.”

“I want to help finance you.”

“W-What?”

“I’ve been earning my keep with a local doctor while pursuing my studies. He’s been paying for me to shadow him, provided if I assist him where needed. I want to give the money to you so you don’t give up on your dreams.”

You purse your lips, ramming against his shoulder as you begin walking away. “Absolutely not, Na Jaemin.”

He follows after you. “Don’t act this way, please. I want to help you! You can’t give up on college, you’ve worked too hard for it.”

“Nayoung has already offered and I have refused. Besides, what would your fiancée think? Using your hard earned money on a girl you barely know.”

“Yoojung would understand,” he reasons, and you visibly recoil at her name. “And how can you say that? Of course I know you.”

“Do you?” You scoff. “My unanswered letters say otherwise.”

“I apologized for that already. Please, let me take care of you.”

You spin around, digging your finger into his chest. Your eyes blaze with fury, and he flinches at the sight. “You have no right to take care of me. I have never needed your help, and I certainly won’t be requesting it now. So run back to your fiancée and spend your money on your wedding, like a true gentleman would.”

His hand wraps around your upper arm, holding you in place. “Have your feelings changed since the summer?”

He has that optimistic look in his eye, the same one from the night he took you on his dining table. You squash it immediately, enraged by his carelessness for a fiancée you’ve never met.

“No. And you’re a fool for thinking they have.”

You hike up your dress and stomp away from him, ignoring his cry of, “You can’t throw away your dreams! I won’t let you!”

—

“I could stare at his crying face for hours and he would still be the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen.”

Hyojung laughs at you. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to hear him wailing relentlessly.”

She lays on top of her shared bed with Jeno as he presses a cloth to her forehead to wipe off the remaining beads of sweat. Chaeyoung had dashed to Green Gables as soon as Hyojung’s water broke, startling both you and Ilkyung as she screamed at the top of her lungs that the baby was coming. The nearest midwife in town rushed at the news after Mrs. Noh pounded on her door furiously.

The newest baby Lee arrived safely into the world, surrounded by a love you could only dream of having. Half of the women in town gathered at the Noh doorstep to offer baked goods and words of comfort to the new mother. Overwhelmed by the influx of support, she only allowed you inside the room, and you held her hand the entire way of delivery.

You shush the sweet child in your arms, whispering softly to him about how you’re going to cherish him forever. Jeno leaves briefly to handle the incoming guests downstairs, and Hyojung stares at you.

“How come I’m the one who’s just given birth yet you look like the most disastrous one here?”

You sigh, knowing she can see the huge bags underneath your eyes, which are slightly red from the crying. You had been relaying your conversation with Jaemin in your head all night, scolding yourself for once again treating him so poorly. You still stand firm on your decision to not take any of his money, yet the heartbroken look on his face after you rejected him lingers.

“I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”

“Mrs. Park, could you please give us a minute?” Hyojung asks, and the midwife in the room nods patiently, exiting and shutting the door behind her. Hyojung glares at you. “Give me my baby and start explaining.”

You stride over to her, handing her the small bundle of joy. You take a seat on the chair next to her bed, twiddling your thumbs nervously.

“I ran into Jaemin on my way home.”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening. “And?”

“…Something happened between us last summer.”

“I knew it!” She whisper-shouts, being mindful of the sensitive ears of her new son. “Gosh, I knew you had been keeping it a secret. You acted as if he brought on the plague whenever Soeun mentioned him. What happened?”

You chew on your lower lip. “Everything.”

Jeno strolls back in, giddy as he carries a basket of fresh bread. His smile falters when his wife scowls at him.

“Jen, I love you more than anything and I’m so thankful we brought this child into this world, but I need you to leave us for at least ten minutes. And guard the door so we aren’t disturbed by anyone else.”

Your best friend’s husband gapes at the instruction, but darts his eyes between a heartbroken you and his determined wife. He awkwardly leaves the room.

Hyojung surveys you with the quirk of her eyebrow. You disclose it all to her, from the night in his kitchen to his proclamations of love in the summer. She listens to you with an open jaw, in pure disbelief by your connection with him.

“I’m not going to take his money, Hyojung. I can’t. For heaven’s sake, can you imagine what his fiancée would think? It astounds me that he didn’t even consider her feelings regarding the matter. If I didn’t accept any type of financial compensation from Nayoung, he’s a dunce for believing I would take it from a struggling medical student.”

She grins at you. “You love him.”

You frown. “Is that truly all you heard from that story?”

“You love him and you’re hurting yourself by not confessing it to him. What’s preventing you from finally seeking your true love? You read about love, you write about love, and you dream about being loved. Yet, when it’s served in front of you on a silver platter, you run from it. How is that going to solve anything long term?”

You shake your head. “He has a fiancée. I’m not going to become the woman in the story that intrudes on the heroine’s happy ever after. Why, I’d be no better than the poem where the town watched as the beautiful woman succumbed to her sorrow for her unrequited love. How could I allow myself to become that person, Hyojung?”

“He wouldn’t have offered to pay for your schooling if he didn’t still care for you. Even if he has betrothed himself to another, his heart calls for you. And only you.”

The sharp cry of her newborn has her exhaling, and Jeno enters the room hesitantly. Hyojung nods at him and the man circles the bed, taking the babbling child from her arms. You decide to offer them a few minutes of privacy, brushing off the heated stare Hyojung throws at you that indicates this conversation is far from finished.

She spends the rest of her evening thanking her guests for stopping by. It provides you enough time to slip out unnoticed, even by Ilkyung, who chats with a few other women in the kitchen. You pass the Lake of Shining Waters as you find your way back to Green Gables. You settle into bed but sleep doesn’t find you so easily.

You toss and turn as memories of Jaemin swirl in your head, refusing to quiet its intensity. The sudden flash of a dining table has you squeezing your thighs from arousal, leaving you ashamed of fantasizing about a taken man. You swallow down the feeling as your hand snakes down your lower half, slowly brushing over your throbbing core.

You shut your eyes and dig your teeth into your pillowcase, grinding your hips downwards as you think about the ridge of Jaemin’s cock stretching you out. You gasp silently as you replay his grunts in your ear, breathless from the way he takes you so roughly, like you belong to him. You feel him peppering kisses down your neck, cooing softly in your ear and encouraging you to welcome the pleasure.

You clench down around nothing as you heave, whimpering to yourself in the empty room. You blink heavily as you maneuver through your lust-filled haze, empowering the mortification to seep through.

You shove aside the guilt to provide space for your drowsiness, your mind abruptly settled after entertaining the delusions of Jaemin’s love.

Over the following months, Hyojung doesn’t get another chance to interrogate you. She’s caught in a whirlwind of caring for her child, who hasn’t adjusted to a normal sleeping schedule. Jeno and her are constantly invited to new events held by other mothers in town, desperate to make connections and expand their club to the new generation.

You’re thankful for the reprieve, slightly regretting informing Hyojung of the whole ordeal in the first place. You spend your time caring for Ilkyung and assisting Jisung out in the fields. You fret over her declining health, begging the heavens above to grant your family a break from the stress. You often find yourself sitting in the living room late at night, speaking gently to pictures of Ilnam and hoping he can somehow hear you.

“Ilkyung tells me she’s fine but her migraines are getting worse,” you murmur to the framed photo in front of you, stroking its ends and staring at the solemn gaze of your father. “I don’t know how to discipline her. She won’t relent, you know how she is. I can’t lose her too. I wish you were here to yell at her. She would have called you ridiculous but I know she would’ve listened to you.”

You pause, checking the kitchen to ensure Ilkyung’s not lurking nearby. “You were right about Na Jaemin. I care for him more than anyone else, and he’s a good man. I deluded myself into thinking my feelings could easily vanish, but I know now that isn’t the case. It’s far too late to admit my wrongdoings, for he’s engaged and last I heard, thriving in school. He’ll graduate in the spring and it’s definite he’ll be a married man by then. I’ve accepted my fate to resign as a single woman. It’ll do me some good to look after Green Gables, and I’m almost finished writing my book about the town. I’m not sure it’ll get published, but I must say I believe it to be the best piece I’ve written to date. I wish you here to read it.”

You sniffle, wiping away the stray tears that have fallen. You set the frame back on the table, picking up the candle lighting the room and heading towards the staircase to go to bed.

A knock on the door interrupts you. You’re surprised to see Jisung standing on the other side, smiling awkwardly.

“Jisung? What are you doing here? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a blush painted on his cheeks. You learned over time that the boy tends to grow embarrassed quickly. “I was in town and the postmaster said you’ve been receiving urgent letters. He didn’t know who else to give them to.”

You take the pile from his hands before reprimanding him for staying out so late. He runs home with flushed cheeks while you fan out the letters across the dining table, the candlelight illuminating the ink splattered across the front.

You furrow your eyebrows when you realize most of them are addressed from the girls’ college. Multiple envelopes spanning over different dates. With Ilkyung’s illness boarding in full force, you haven’t had enough time to swing by town and grab the mail.

You open the latest one first, sent only a week ago.

This is the third notice to the Seo household regarding the spring term. Payment has been received and a spot has been reserved. Please reply at your earliest convenience with confirmation of attendance.

Your blood runs cold. You rip open the other letters, each detailing a similar notice for you to arrive at the girls’ college for the spring term, which begins in less than three weeks.

The last envelope, however, is smaller than the others and you recognize the familiar handwriting. You shakily pry the seal off, already guessing what lies underneath.

Don’t be upset. A nurse is set to arrive to care for Ilkyung the week before you leave. I’m not letting you give up.

You crinkle the paper in your palm, laying your hands on your forehead as you take a deep breath.

Why, oh why, did Na Jaemin have to fall in love with you?

—

“Alright, ladies, please pair off and discuss the latest chapter. We’ll regroup before the end of the hour.”

Doyeon turns to you, a grin stretching across her lips. You already know what she plans to ask, letting her wrap an arm around your wrist and race to the back of the room.

As you set your books down and sit far away from the teacher, she continues where she left off before class began. “And then he asked if he could court me officially. I wasn’t exactly in a position to say no.”

“We’re supposed to be discussing the latest chapter,” you remind her. “I, for one, think the hero was far too arrogant to be flaunting his wealth in front of the local commoners.”

She glares at you. “The fact that you still do the reading astounds me.”

“I have people counting on me.”

The three weeks after discovering Jaemin’s secret plot were filled with heated arguments with everyone involved in your life. Ilkyung and Hyojung were pleading for you to take the opportunity and go, insisting the only way you could fulfill your dream of writing was to finish your education. You refused to spend Jaemin’s hard earned money, but the fare for the train ride you needed to get to his medical school to confront him cost too much. You wrote him many strongly worded letters that never received a reply.

It wasn’t until the live-in nurse arrived to care for Ilkyung that you realized you didn’t have much of a choice. Jaemin had already paid her wages for the entire year.

Nayoung even traveled down to knock some sense into you, lecturing you about the need for more female academics. She threatened to write a check that tripled the amount of Jaemin’s if you were really so bothered by him being the sender.

You returned to the girls’ college and resumed your studies at the start of the spring term. You devoted twice as much time as you did in your first term, worrying that Jaemin’s efforts would turn out to be futile. You received the top marks in every class, and a part of you yearned to have a smiley boy sitting next to you, fueling your need for competition.

You finished writing your book about Green Gables after spring had come and gone. You spent weeks speaking to multiple publishers in town, shocked by the popularity of your work and their eagerness to disperse it. By the time classes resumed, you were nearly done finalizing the contract to officially publish your book.

On the other hand, your roommate, Doyeon, had only been sent to college because her parents believed it would market her as a better match for potential suitors. She cared very little about her work, but she became a great friend to you when you needed someone to loosen you up.

“The girls are heading to this parlor after class,” she giggles. “You have to come.”

“I have to finish my essay after class.”

“Come on,” she whines, tugging on your arm. “Just this once. Indulge me!”

She drags you into town that afternoon, pulling you into a circle of girls chatting in the middle of a tea parlor. All of them are dressed in colorful gowns with puffy sleeves, wearing hats with obnoxious feathers decorated on the top. You awkwardly attempt to cover your brown ensemble, with sleeves not as puffy as theirs and no hat in sight. You recognize a few of their faces from your classes but some are unfamiliar to you.

Doyeon sits you down and forces you to make conversation with those around you.

“It was simply tragic,” a girl murmurs from beside you, her hand delicately balancing the saucer under her teacup. “I mean, I felt bad for him but I was not about to become a widowed girl before I turned twenty years of age. Can you imagine the pressure I was under?”

“You’re so brave,” another girl replies, the feather in her hat blocking the view of her right eye. “He was perfect on paper for you.”

“Girls,” Doyeon interrupts cheerfully. The circle turns their attention to her. “I finally convinced my roommate to join us.”

One of them gasps. “So this is her! The esteemed author!”

You stare at your roommate, dismayed by her lack of filter. She smiles sheepishly at you.

“That was meant to be a secret,” you say, laughing shyly. “The book hasn’t exactly been published yet.”

“Oh, but it will be soon, won’t it?” Another person pipes up, eyes sparkling. “Can you believe this, girls? We’ll actually know someone famous.”

You shake your head nervously, bashful at the sudden attention. The girl next to you nudges your side.

“What was your name again?”

When you provide your answer, the group falls into a sudden hush. The girl next to you stiffens completely, her fingers nearly breaking her porcelain teacup. Doyeon is just as confused as you. “What’s happened?”

“You’re her,” the girl beside you whispers. “You’re the girl.”

Your bewilderment only grows tenfold when she stands and sneers down at you. “What’s it like to receive a free education?”

“W-What?” You stutter, taken aback. You haven’t told anybody about your ordeal with Jaemin or the real reason why you’re attending college. How is it possible that this stranger knows your circumstances?

She scoffs in disbelief at you. “Do you know how much pain you’ve caused me? How much heartache you’ve brought to my family?” At your continued hesitation, she snaps. “Does the name Choi Yoojung mean anything to you? Or how about Na Jaemin?”

The puzzle pieces click together. The woman in front of you is Jaemin’s fiancée — the beautiful girl who he fell in love with after you broke his heart. You had assumed they married months ago, but by the way venom drips from her voice when speaking his name, you guess it didn’t go as planned.

“Yoojung,” a girl speaks gently, trying to calm her down when she identifies the fear flash across your face.

She doesn’t relent. “Congratulations to you. He’s driven himself to death in his mission to take care of you. Now neither of us can have him.”

A chill rushes down your spine. You stand, staring at her as your demeanor switches into something more serious. “What are you talking about?”

She snorts. “You didn’t even bother to check on him, did you?”

“I write to him every week,” you retort, curling your lip. “He never responds.”

“Because he’s working! He’s always working. He never stopped because you needed the money,” she snarls. “He only quit when he contracted typhoid fever last month and returned home. I imagine he’s been dead for weeks already.”

You swear your heart stops beating. Doyeon grasps your hand in concern but you shrug her off. You struggle to control your breathing, panicking at the thought of Jaemin slaving himself away at the hospital just so you could go out for tea on a midday afternoon. Doyeon places her hands on your shoulders, troubled by your anxiety.

“Yoojung, back off,” she warns.

The girl listens, gathering her things and storming out of the parlor. The other women follow in pursuit, leaving only you and Doyeon.

“I have to go home,” you say, feeling as if your heart has plummeted three stories down. “I-I have to see him.”

She has no idea who you’re referring to, probably lost for most of your conversation with Yoojung. Regardless, she nods and helps you to the door, rubbing your back soothingly. You pack your belongings in record time, locating the money you have as an advance from the publishing company for a train ticket home. Doyeon calls for her buggy and gives you a ride to the station, and you kiss her cheek and thank her for her assistance.

You spend the entire journey exhausting yourself with images of a sickly Jaemin, but you force your thoughts not to stray to the notion of his death. Once you offboard, dread sinks in when you register that you have no ride back, not giving Hyojung an indication that you would need a buggy at the station.

The universe seems to save you when you spot Soeun and Donghyuck carrying their newborn through the train platform.

You call her name desperately, and she spins around to face you. Her expression lights up. “Oh! I didn’t know you were back in town-”

“Is it true? About Jaemin?”

Her face falls and she glances at her husband with apprehension. You repeat her name, glaring at her with one of the strongest looks you can muster.

She caves in. “Hyojung told me not to say anything, I swear! We didn’t know how bad it had gotten until a week ago.”

“Is he alive?” You ask, your heart thumping furiously in your chest in anticipation of the answer.

“…Yes. But I’m not supposed to tell you-”

“Take me to him.”

Soeun and Donghyuck allow you to squeeze into their buggy, making the expedition to Jaemin’s home and dropping you off. She gives you a pitiful look, kissing your cheeks gently in farewell.

You take a deep breath as you walk up the steps, knocking on the door. The house has perished quite a bit over the years, with grass growing out of the floorboards of the porch and the paint slowly peeling. When the door opens, however, it still smells exactly like Jaemin.

An older man stares back at you, eyebrows furrowed. “May I help you, madam?”

“Na Jaemin. I’m here to see Na Jaemin,” you say, breathless and choking back tears.

He smiles. “Ah, you’re her. I’ve been waiting for someone to inform you. He wouldn’t let me.” He ushers you inside, helping you place your luggage aside. He outstretches his arm to take the book in your hands but you clutch it tighter to your chest. “I’m Dr. Lee, I’ve been Jaemin’s mentor since he began his schooling. I put a pause on my practice to nurse him back to health.”

You sniffle, disregarding your manners out of impatience. “Is he here?”

He smiles softly in understanding, gesturing his head towards the back of the house. “He’s in his father’s room.”

You swallow as you walk down the hallway, the flickering candlelight illuminating the dusty room. You inhale sharply when you see Jaemin splayed out on the bed, face completely drained of color. He’s tucked completely in the blankets of his father’s tiny bed, barely big enough to fit him. You rush to his side, gripping his hand tightly in yours.

He blinks lethargically at you before mumbling, “Princess?”

You wipe your tears away. “You’re an idiot. The most reckless person I know.”

A smile spreads across his chapped lips. “I’ve missed you.”

You quell the urge inside you that begs to argue with him, to scold him for not taking care of himself and putting his life at risk. But you don’t want to waste your precious moments with him by fighting, so you show him the book in your arms instead.

“I finished writing about Green Gables, just as you said I should,” you mumble through blurry vision. “I’ll be a published author soon. I dedicated the inscription to Ilkyung and to Ilnam and… to you.” You open the first page of the book, unveiling his name. You choke out, “I was planning on sending it to you as a wedding gift.”

“There’s something you should know,” he croaks. “About me and Yoojung.”

You shake your head, swiping back the hair matted to his forehead. “I already know,” you say. “W-We had an unfortunate run in.”

“You understand now then. You understand that there’s never been anyone for me but you.”

You shut your eyes tightly, bending down and pressing your forehead against his cheek. You rest your hand over his chest and feel the way it rises and falls. “You have to get better,” you say sternly. “You have to get better so I can tell you how I really feel.”

You make a home out of Jaemin’s room for the next few weeks. Dr. Lee and you take turns watching over him, and he locates a spare cot in the storage closet for you to sleep on. You set it up right next to Jaemin’s bed, holding his hand as you doze off. You feed him and read him stories, although his number one request has been to hear your book.

Dr. Lee recounts his memories with Jaemin, and how he’s never met a student more hardworking. He reveals that Jaemin always spoke about you, referring to you as the smartest girl he’s ever known.

By week four, Jaemin regains the color in his cheeks and is able to sit up in bed on his own. You’re attempting to spoon a hearty soup into his mouth but he’s making it into an impossible task.

“You said you would tell me how you feel if I got better,” he whines. His hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you gasp, trying not to spill the piping hot bowl on him. “I kept up my end of the bargain.”

“Jaemin,” you huff, scooting back before you’re sitting on his lap. “You’re still not back to complete health. Can you please finish your dinner?”

A knock echoes on the door, and you turn to see Dr. Lee smiling at you both. He’s carrying a suitcase in his hand and has a coat draped over his frame. “Well, it’s been a joy to help my young prodigy, but I really must return to my practice.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re leaving?”

He chuckles at your reaction. “He hasn’t shown any symptoms for three days, which leads me to believe the worst of it is over. All he has to do now is get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids. And luckily, he has a beautiful nurse here to help him.”

Jaemin beams, grinning while you look away in embarrassment. “Thank you, Mr. Lee. I owe you a great deal.”

“Nonsense,” the doctor brushes off. “Considering you fell ill on my watch, I would declare I owed this to you.” You walk him to the front door, thanking him for watching over Jaemin. He winks at you before he climbs into his buggy. “You’ll take even better care of him, I’m certain.”

You observe as he rides away, waving his hat in the air as a salute to you. You smile before returning inside, gasping when you see Jaemin leaning on the dining table.

“What are you doing out of bed? You can’t be strolling around the place just yet-”

You’re effectively silenced when he boxes you in, his lips descending over yours. You crumple up the fabric of his sweater in your palm, relishing the way he runs his tongue over your bottom lip.

Your nagging continues as he peppers kisses down your jaw. “You really should not be out of bed right now. You need to save your strength and energy for recovery.”

You whimper when his fingers sneak underneath your dress, stroking your clothed core. He props you up against the table, and you’re suddenly thrown back in time.

“J-Jaemin, we shouldn’t-”

“Unless you plan on confessing your feelings for me, I would rather not hear another peep out of you,” he says, swallowing you with his frame. “I’ll make exceptions, of course. Like this.”

His fingers press harder against your folds and you whine, arching into him. It’s not long before your undergarments are discarded on the floor. You haven’t been intimate with someone since Jaemin, causing goosebumps to rise over your skin when his digits brush over your entrance.

“Tell me,” he grunts lowly in your ear. “Tell me how you feel. I need to know.”

Two fingers slide in easily, and you immediately clench down on him, your mind swirling in exhilaration. He pulls back to watch your reaction, smirking when he sees your jaw dropped open. He leans forward to capture your lips in his again.

“Tell me,” he whispers in between his tongue exploring your mouth.

He curls his digits, rubbing against your walls perfectly. You’re ashamed to hear the sound of your slick filling the room. His other hand works at untying your corset, loosening your dress just enough to expose your breasts for his viewing.

“Jaemin,” you exhale when he takes the hardened bud of your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. You grind down onto his hand as the pleasure begins to strike in full force. The combination of his fingers caressing you and his tongue flicking over your stiff peaks is enough to drive you to the edge, mewling loudly as you soak his digits in your arousal. You pant as you confess, “I love you.”

His head snaps up, grinning wider than ever. You squeak when he launches himself at you, spreading your back across the wood of the dining table. You giggle as he attacks you with an onslaught of kisses.

“Say it again,” he says, quickly pulling his length out of his trousers.

When he thrusts inside you, a moan falls freely from your lips, accompanied by another “I love you.”

It’s swift and desperate, the way he harshly ruts into you as you sing sweet noises for him, praising him while his cock abuses your pussy. You’ve never wanted anyone the way you crave him, keeping him as close as possible in fear of him leaving you. He assures you with the skin of his teeth, grazing your neck as he marks you as his.

When he spills inside you, you swear you’ve never been this happy before. He doesn’t retract from you, burying his head into your shoulder as he wraps himself in your scent.

“I’ll make you a promise,” he murmurs. You tangle your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp affectionately. “I’ll let Nayoung pay for your schooling and I promise not to work myself to death at the hospital. But after graduation, we take our vows and move back to Green Gables. We start a new life with each other.”

You laugh, giddy over the thought. Just last year, you were convinced you would retire as a lonely spinster, reminiscing over your lost love. Yet now he lays on top of you, fulfilling your dream of forever in a great big home.

You nod. “That sounds beautiful.”

—

A scream erupts throughout the house and you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation. Hyojung sits next to you in her rocking chair, chortling with glee at your misery.

Ilkyung strides by, carefully balancing herself with her cane. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” you call after her, watching as she corrals your two toddlers in the kitchen.

“Five children is just too much,” Hyojung remarks with the click of her tongue. “How could you let Jaemin talk you into another one?”

You stare down at your growing belly, resting your hand over your bump. “He’s very convincing.”

Your husband barrels through the front door with your six-year-old son attached to his back while your eight-year-old daughter curls around his leg. He’s laughing, pretending to make them fly as your two other toddlers rush over to him, eager to join the scene.

You married Jaemin shortly after graduation, sealing your vows next to the Lake of Shining Waters. Ilkyung was delighted when you chose to move into Green Gables as Jaemin landed a position as the town’s new doctor and your second book was about to be published. You finished the girls’ college with high marks, securing a teaching spot at the best college in the area.

You lived in pure bliss. You kept the nurse who looked after Ilkyung in your absence, and she eventually became a helping hand to your rowdy family. Jisung still assisted you and Jaemin with maintaining the farm, even stepping out of his comfort zone every now and then to chase your children around the yard.

You thank the universe everyday for granting you a second chance at happiness. Jaemin constantly dotes on you, fretting over your every need. He’s a perfect father, never losing his temper with the children and cooing at them in soft voices. It’s perhaps why you’re so inclined to keep giving him more.

He staggers over to you after he manages to pry your rambunctious children off his body, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

“Are you two enjoying yourselves?”

Hyojung smiles. “We would be if your wife’s feet weren’t swelling enormously, Dr. Na,” she says with a teasing tone. “You should rub her feet to make her feel better.”

He’s quick to follow orders, sitting on the carpet and getting to work.

“Anything for my princess.”

You throw Hyojung a look. “Now you’re just misusing our power.”

You glance over at your children, who are flocking towards their grandmother and asking her for a snack. Then you look at your beaming husband and your mischievous best friend, the true kindred spirits of your heart. And it’s all topped by the puffiest sleeves a girl’s ever owned, sitting proudly on your arms.

Your dream of having a home to call yours has finally come true.

this fic was posted for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!

#nct smut #nct x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin x reader #jaemin

1K notes · View notes

vunblr · 5 months ago

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The Price of Silence (Blue-collar Bucky #1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk.

Summary: Porn with a little plot, what can I say.

Word Count: 9k.

notes: None. Just filth.

The world had shifted after the Blip, mutated into something unrecognizable. Bucky had learned to survive in chaos, but survival wasn’t the same as living. His government-mandated therapy sessions had been a performance. A carefully crafted facade to prove he was “reformed,” that the Winter Soldier was no longer a threat. It worked. The government gave him the pardon he’d been promised and promptly forgot about him.

Finding a job had been the first hurdle. The Blip had flooded the workforce, and employers weren’t keen on hiring a man with his history, no matter how clean his record now appeared on paper. The rejection became a pattern, confirming what he already suspected, there was no place for him here.

But the construction site didn’t care who he was. They didn’t ask questions when he showed up looking for work. His enhanced strength made him an asset. Moving steel beams, hauling concrete, cutting down hours of labor with what he could do in minutes. He worked silently, head down, invisible among the noise of drills and heavy machinery. On Fridays, he got his paycheck and a little extra for the tasks only he could do.

The city still treated him like a ghost. People stared, whispered, or crossed the street when they recognized him. He didn’t hide his arm anymore; he let the matte black vibranium gleam under the sun. Let them look, let them flinch. It didn’t matter anymore.

The tattoos had started as a cruel inner joke. The red star below his clavicle had been his first, an ironic reminder of the weight he carried. It hurt like hell, his serum-enhanced skin required tebori, the old Japanese hand-poking technique, to get the ink to stick. The pain didn’t bother him. If anything, it made him feel alive, comforting him in ways the therapy never had. Over time, more tattoos joined the collection, sprawling over his arms, chest, and back. A physical map of what he’d endured, what he wanted to forget, and what he knew he never could.

The nose piercing came on a whim. A flicker of rebellion against expectations, though no one had any for him anymore.

The monotony of construction work became his new routine. It was predictable. Safe, in a way. Until one Monday, the foreman sent him to pick up the crew’s lunch order, a task usually assigned to Stephen, who was out sick. A small errand, a minor inconvenience.

He didn’t expect it to change anything. But then again, nothing ever went as planned.

----

The bell above the door jingled softly as Bucky stepped inside. The smell hit him first: fresh bread, sugar, and butter mingling in the warm air. It was... comforting. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the dimmer light of the bakery after the bright glare of the sun outside.

The place was small but welcoming, with neatly arranged baskets of bread on shelves and a glass display case showcasing pastries that looked too delicate for his rough hands. He pulled off the working gloves he’d forgotten he was still wearing, shoving them into the back pocket of his worn jeans. His vibranium fingers glinted faintly in the soft light, but he didn’t care who noticed.

Behind the counter, she looked up from where she was restocking some pastries, offering a bright smile the moment she saw him. “Hi there! What can I get for you?”

He froze for half a second. People didn’t usually smile at him like that. Don’t usually smile at him at all. Period. He cleared his throat and glanced around, suddenly unsure of how to navigate this. “I’m here for the construction crew’s order.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “Right, the sandwiches,” she said, moving behind the counter to grab the large paper bag already packed and ready. “Stephen’s usual pick-up, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“No,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the countertop. “He’s out sick. They sent me instead.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, sliding the bag onto the counter. “You’re working on that new apartment building, right?” Her tone was bright and conversational. “Big project”

He nodded, unsure of how to respond. People avoided small talk with him, and he was usually glad. His appearance purposely did much of the trick but she was treating him like a normal customer, with no hesitation, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Do you want anything for yourself?” she asked suddenly, leaning her hands on the counter. “Coffee, maybe a juice? It’s on the house for you guys, you are spiking out incomes.” She winked.

He blinked, caught off guard. “No. I’m fine.”

Her smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened, like she could sense his discomfort but didn’t want to make a big deal of it. “You sure? You look like you’ve been out in the sun all day. Hydration’s important, you know.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile, though he didn’t let it form. “I’m fine,” he repeated, less harsh this time.

“Alright,” she said, stepping back with a small shrug. “If you change your mind, let me know. No rush.”

That threw him even more. No rush. No expectation for him to hurry up and leave. He picked up the bag, mumbling a gruff, “Thanks,” before turning to go.

But something made him glance back before stepping outside.

Fuck it. He wanted juice, and she offered. Also, she was nice to look at. “Actually, yeah. I could drink some juice before heading back if the offer’s still on,” he half-smiled.

Her head tilted slightly, and a playful look flashed in her eyes. “Of course! What kind of juice do you like? Orange, apple, maybe something else?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck with his metal hand. The hoop in his nose glinted under the bakery’s light as he shifted slightly. “Uh… orange?”

She set the bottle in front of him. “There you go.

He nodded, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. The cold, tangy juice was a welcomed sharp contrast to the sweltering heat outside, and he found himself relaxing just a fraction.

“You guys must be working like crazy out there in this heat,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning casually on the counter. “I mean, you’re probably used to it, but still, it can’t be fun.”

“It’s work,” Bucky replied simply, glancing at her. He expected her to press and ask more questions, but instead, she nodded like she understood.

“Well, here’s hoping Stephen feels better soon,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “But if they send you back, I wouldn’t mind. You’re a lot less grumpy than him.”

That caught him off guard, and his lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a grin. “I’ll let him know you said that.”

Her eyes widened in mock horror, and she let out a warm, easy laugh. “Oh, no, don’t you dare! I can’t handle more of his attitude. He’s bad enough already.”

Bucky tilted his head, leaning one elbow on the counter, the edge of a smirk ghosting across his face. “Maybe you could persuade me to stay silent,” he said, dropping his voice slightly.

She froze for half a second, her brows shooting up as the teasing in her expression turned to something a bit more curious. Then she leaned forward, resting her hands on the counter, playfully. “Oh, really? And what exactly would that take?”

Shit. His brain stalled. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the way she was waiting for him to respond. His mouth opened, then closed again, his thoughts scrambling for something -anything- that wouldn’t sound like the mess of half-baked flirting swirling in his head. Finally, he muttered, “Uh… garlic bread. That might do the trick.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and for a second, she just stared at him like she was trying to decide if he was serious. Then, she burst into laughter again, her head tilting back slightly as the sound filled the space between them. “Garlic bread, huh? That’s the bribe of choice?”

He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck as the tips of his ears burned, pretending to fuss with the juice bottle. Yeah, maybe he really did need to work on his social skills.

The thing was, he usually didn’t have problems getting laid. A bold woman with a venturous streak might approach him at a bar or whatever dimly lit hole-in-the-wall he happened to be in, probably looking for an anecdote to share later: I hooked up with the Winter Soldier. And he didn’t care. He wasn’t a monk. If a touch on the arm, a whispered suggestion, or a couple of drinks got him laid, he went with it. The bar’s bathroom, a dark alley, it didn’t matter. It was impersonal, and mechanical.

Was he a manwhore? Probably. But after everything they did to him, every time his body had been used for someone else’s agenda, he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Sex, when it happened, was more transaction than connection. An itch scratched, and nothing more.

This was different. This wasn’t the haze of dim lights and alcohol. It wasn’t the brazen touch of someone who wanted something from him in a questionable pub. It was broad daylight, with no pretense, and she wasn’t throwing herself at him or giving him a shortcut to the finish line. She was throwing the ball back in his court, expecting him to make an effort, to do the work.

And his brain? It shut down. Completely.

He stared at her, watching the way her laughter softened into a teasing smile, and her hands rested lightly on the counter as if she didn’t realize she’d just short-circuited every social skill he thought he had left. She wasn’t avoiding his gaze or putting on a mask of bravery. If anything, she was waiting. Waiting for him to say something, to do something.

Instead, he just stood there like an idiot, gripping the juice bottle like a lifeline. Luckily -or not- the bell above the door jingled, cutting through the charged silence as another customer entered.

Her eyes flicked to the door, and her expression shifted quickly. “Duty calls,” she said lightly, tilting her head toward the counter as if to excuse herself. And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing there like a misplaced piece of furniture near the small counter where the juice bottles were displayed.

The man who walked in looked like he belonged somewhere with air conditioning and private elevators. His tailored suit practically screamed money, and the glossy sheen of his expensive shoes didn’t have so much as a speck of dust on them. He pivoted past Bucky without sparing him a second glance, as if he didn’t even register the scruffy guy in worn jeans and a tank top standing there.

“Muffin,” the man greeted her with a tone that was just a hair too familiar.

Bucky noticed the subtle shift in her body language instantly. The confidence she’d carried moments ago was gone, replaced by stiffness in her shoulders and a forced smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Matt,” she replied, politely but devoid of warmth. “The usual?”

‘Matt’ smiled -a smarmy, self-satisfied smirk that made Bucky’s fingers tighten on the juice. “I’d add your delicious buns, but usually…”

Wait. Was this asshole actually implying-?

Her response was immediate, cutting him off before he could finish. “Yeah, as per usual, they’re not for sale,” she said, deflecting with a practiced ease. “Anything else, Matt?”

“I’ve been thinking, Muffin,” he drawled, leaning casually on the counter like he owned the place. “Maybe one of these days, you and I could share a coffee. I’m sure there’s more to you than just your delicious baking skills.” He smirked, trailing his eyes just a little too long to be anything but suggestive.

Something in Bucky snapped. Maybe it was the fact that she was uncomfortable, or perhaps because he was -horrendously- flirting with her first, maybe it was his stupid confidence, the heat, or just his crappy week. So he stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “Hey,” he said in a low tone, looking directly at the man in a suit. “You holding up the line or something?”

Matt blinked, caught off guard by the interruption. His eyes flicked to Bucky, narrowing slightly as he took in the scruffy man standing there, all broad shoulders and quiet menace. “Excuse me?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, and his gaze became cold and unwavering. “Just saying, some of us have places to be. Thought maybe you’d want to keep it moving.”

Matt scoffed, straightening his tie like it would help him regain some sense of control. “Maybe you should mind your own business, pal,”

Bucky didn’t even blink. His tone didn’t rise, didn’t waver, but the edge on it sharpened. “See, that’s the thing. You embarrassing yourself in front of the clerk here is my business since I’ve got an order to pick up, and you’re wasting my time.”

The room felt smaller somehow, the tension thickened the air as Matt stared at him, clearly debating whether or not to push his luck.

Bucky just stood there, unflinching, with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was daring him to try.

“Fine,” Matt muttered, grabbing his order from the counter with a sharp motion. He threw a glance at her, his tone clipped. “I’ll see you around, Muffin.”

“Sure thing, Matt.”

The bell jingled sharply as he stormed out, leaving the tension lingering in the air like a bad aftertaste.

Bucky turned his gaze to her, and his expression softened slightly. “Sorry if I overstepped,” he said gruffly, holding her gaze for a moment longer than he intended.

She exhaled, easing the tightness in her shoulders as she offered him a small smile. “Don’t apologize. He’s been like that for years; he is the owner’s cousin.” Then, with a hint of humor, she added, “Thank you. That was... satisfying to watch.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said, dryly but with the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Now I can brag I’ve been saved by the Winter Soldier,” she teased, playfully.

He froze, and the smirk vanished instantly as his eyes darted to hers, startled. “What?”.

She shrugged, utterly unbothered by his reaction. “It’s hard not to notice. You’re not exactly hiding it.” She said, looking towards his vibranium arm. Then she nodded toward his shoulder, where the red star tattoo was starkly visible against his skin. “Nice touch, by the way.”

He blinked, caught off guard. Well, yes, he’d never intended to hide it. Hell, he wanted people to see it. But hearing her point it out so openly about that, caught him off guard. “Thanks,” he muttered, in almost a grumble, absently brushing his hand over his foreshoulder.

He shifted the bag of sandwiches in his grip, glancing toward the door. “I should probably get back,” he commented gruffly, as the air suddenly felt too tight for him.

“Of course,” she said, stepping back to give him room. “Wouldn’t want you getting stuck saving anyone else today.”

That earned her a faint twitch of his lips, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “See you around,” he muttered, already heading for the door.

-----

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. She served the usual customers, greeted the familiar faces, and kept herself busy with the daily rush. But in the quiet moments when she was restocking shelves or wiping down the counter, her thoughts drifted to him. He was barely recognizable under the layers of tattoos, the nose piercing, and the rough, scruffy demeanor. Nothing like the man she vaguely remembered seeing on TV years ago. Yet, the arm was unmistakable.

She found herself daydreaming about their brief encounter more than once, imagining the sharp blue of his eyes focused on her, like a storm always brewing just beneath the surface.

---

By Thursday, Bucky couldn’t resist the pull. He’d spent most of his life denying himself anything remotely indulgent, always practical, always keeping his head down. But this time, he decided he could allow himself a little something, a treat from the bakery.

Well, if he was being honest, it wasn’t really about the pastries. The thought of seeing her again crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. There was something about the way she spoke to him, the way she smiled like he was just another guy standing at her counter, not a former assassin with blood on his hands. It unnerved him, but it also intrigued him.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. She was at the counter, chatting with a customer who was just leaving. When she glanced up and saw him, her expression brightened.

He felt his chest tighten slightly at the sight. Damn it, what the hell was he even doing here?

“Hi! Already coming to collect your bribe?” she teased, her tone laced with playful mischief, a brow arched as she leaned her elbows on the counter.

For a moment, Bucky just stared, caught off guard. Right. The garlic bread. His pathetic excuse at flirting. He shifted his weight while his mind scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. Manning up, he found his voice.

“Yeah,” he said in a lower, rougher tone. “Came to collect what’s mine.” He let the words hung in the air, deliberately, with unmistakable implication.

Her eyes widened slightly, but not with hesitation. No, she didn’t back down. Instead, she quirked a brow, twitching her lips like she was fighting back a smirk. “Well,” she began, “I was just about to take my break. Perhaps…” She leaned forward just slightly, resting her forearms on the counter, “we can discuss the terms of your payment in the back? You know, the bread and... whatever you have in mind to assure your cooperation.”

For a moment, he froze, caught completely off guard. There was no way he was reading this wrong. Was there?

She tilted her head, waiting, the amusement flickered in her eyes as if daring him to make the next move.

Bucky cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of himself and his surroundings. The way his fingers gripped the edge of the counter, how his tanktop clung to his sweated skin, the hum of the refrigerator behind him, even the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the bakery air. “That so?” he managed, trying to sound unfazed, though he wasn’t sure he pulled it off entirely.

Her half smile widened, and she straightened, grabbing a small set of keys from behind the counter. “It is,” she replied simply. “Back door’s that way.” She gestured toward the far end of the shop, where a narrow hallway led to what he assumed was the staff area.

He hesitated, trying to gauge if this was really happening or if she was just messing with him. But there was no sign of mockery, no indication she was about to laugh at his expense. Instead, she turned and walked toward the back, throwing him a glance over her shoulder that felt like a challenge.

His legs moved before his brain could catch up, following her lead. Whatever was about to happen, he figured he’d see it through.

After the door closed behind him with a soft click, Bucky became painfully aware of the contrast between them. She stood there in her neat uniform, the pale beige fabric brushing just above her knees, paired with the frilly brown apron tied snugly around her waist. Her scent hit him, something warm and sweet, like vanilla and sugar, mingling faintly with a subtle hint of floral perfume.

And then there was him. Sweaty from the day’s work, his tank top clinging in spots, jeans dusty from the site, boots worn and scuffed. His hair was slightly damp from the heat, sticking to his neck in unruly strands, and the only thing remotely clean were his hands. He always made a point of washing them before leaving work, some ingrained habit of not wanting to spread the grime of his life any more than necessary.

He stood there, awkwardly shifting his weight as she set the keys on a small table by the wall, looking entirely at ease, like this wasn’t strange at all. Meanwhile, his heart was thudding against his ribs, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t fazed by the walking disaster in front of her.

“So,” she began, leaning against the edge of a small table, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tone was light and playful. “Shall we discuss the terms of your so-called payment?”

He cleared his throat. “You sure about this?” he muttered, gesturing vaguely to himself. She tilted her head, and a spark of amusement flashed across her face. “You mean to tell me you braved the heat, the dust, and possibly your dignity to come in here, and now you’re getting shy?”

His lips twitched despite himself, and the ghost of a smirk formed on his lips. “Not shy. Just... considerate.”

Her laugh was soft but genuine. “Well, aren’t you a gentleman,” she teased. “But if I had a problem with the way you look, I wouldn’t have let you back here, now would I?”

That threw him for a loop, and he found himself momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing to the side as if searching for something to say. “Guess not,” he finally muttered.

“Good,” she said, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “Because I don’t mind sweaty construction workers who like garlic bread.”

He blinked, caught somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “That right?”

She nodded. “That’s right. Now, tell me. What’s the real reason you came back here?”

Her boldness disarmed him, but in a way that made him want to keep going, to see where this would lead. “Figured I’d try my luck,” he admitted, meeting her gaze.

“Well,” she said, softening her tone “seems like your luck might not be so bad after all.”

The way she looked at him then, confident, like she saw right through him and wasn’t the least bit fazed left Bucky feeling more exposed than any of his tattoos or scars ever could. He wasn’t used to this, to someone holding his gaze without hesitation, without fear or judgment. It stirred something deep in his chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

“Guess not,” he muttered, rougher than he intended, and he stepped closer without even realizing it. She didn’t back away.

She tilted her head, a playful quirk to her brow. “So, does this mean we’re negotiating now? Or are you just going to keep brooding at me until I hand over the garlic bread?”

That pulled a chuckle out of him, low and brief, but genuine. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to getting what I want,” she said simply.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her mouth for half a second before he caught himself and looked away, focusing on a random spot on the wall instead. “You’re bold,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Hmmm I’d say you like that,” she countered, her tone light but her eyes sharp, like she was testing him.

And she wasn’t wrong. He did like it. Maybe too much. It was the kind of boldness he wasn’t used to anymore, the kind that didn’t come with an ulterior motive or veiled fear. It was just... her, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, it had him drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. She didn’t look away, didn’t fidget or try to fill the gap with empty chatter. She just waited, giving him space to make the next move.

“I’m not good at this,” he finally said.

“At what?” she asked like she could sense he wasn’t just talking about their little back-and-forth.

“Any of it,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Talking. People. This.”

Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. “Lucky for you, I don’t need you to be good at anything. Just honest.”

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hadn’t quite shaken.

“Well,” she said after a beat, stepping just a little closer, “if it helps, I think you’re doing fine so far.”

Bucky's gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there a little longer than he should have. The temptation to lean in, to close the distance was maddening and he swallowed hard.

Her voice cut through his thoughts, teasing and sharp. “Deciding your price?”

His eyes snapped back to hers. For a moment, he was thrown, like she’d read his mind and decided to call him out for it. Her expression wasn’t mocking, though. “Maybe I am.” the words left his mouth before he could overthink them.

She leaned a little closer, just enough to shrink the space between them. “And? What’s the verdict?”

For a second, all he could do was stare at her, at the way the corner of her mouth tilted up, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. His brain scrambled for something to say, anything that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.

“You’re making it hard to think,” he admitted finally, a dry edge to his tone that made her laugh softly.

“Good,” she shot back, tilting her head. “Means I’m doing my part in this negotiation. And you still haven’t named your price,” she said, dropping her voice just a fraction.

That did something to him, something that made his chest tighten and his palms itch. She was bold, fearless, not afraid to meet him where he was. Hell, maybe even a step ahead of him.

“Maybe it’s not something I can name,” he muttered, almost testing the waters as he took a slow step closer to her.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the playful glint in them softened. She didn’t move back, didn’t shy away. Instead, she held her ground. “Oh?” she murmured, her gaze never leaving his. “Then how are we supposed to settle this… negotiation?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, “I guess that depends on what you’re willing to offer.” he said, noting neither of them was willing to break the tension first.

Her answer came in the form of a step forward, closing the remaining gap between them. She tilted her up, and her voice dropped as she said, “I think you’re the one who needs to make the offer. After all, you’re the one collecting a bribe.”

That knocked him off balance for a fraction of a second, and he just stared at her.

Her laugh was soft, almost a hum, as she leaned back slightly, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “You don’t seem like the type to play coy,” she teased.

He felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck, though he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I’m not.”

"So?" she asked, flicking her gaze to his lips, her tone was challenging but soft, like she already knew the answer and just wanted to hear him say it.

That did it. His resolve snapped like a taut wire. Slowly, deliberately, he cradled the side of her neck with his vibranium hand, firm but careful, while his other hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

"So," he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough, "I think I'll just take the rest of my payment. And then... maybe some more."

He closed the remaining distance, capturing her lips in a kiss that was neither tentative nor tender. It was demanding and unapologetic. Everything he couldn’t say in words poured into the connection.

She let out a small gasp, and her hands instinctively found their way to his chest clutching his tanktop. He took that as permission, deepening the kiss. The faint scent of flour and sugar mixed with something distinctly hers, made him a little dizzy, a little reckless. And for once, he let himself take what he wanted.

When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead lightly against hers, he caught the sight of her lips, slightly swollen, and her uneven breathing as she looked up at him. He wondered if he should stop there.

Then she did it. Her hand slid upward, fingers threading through his hair before fisting it lightly, pulling him closer with a confidence that sent a spark down his spine. She pressed herself against him, soft curves meeting the unyielding hardness of his chest, and that was it, he lost it.

A low, guttural sound escaped him as he claimed her lips again, this time with less restraint. The backroom faded away. No shelves, no counter, no lingering scent of baked goods. Just her. Her body, her warmth, her lips moving against his like she was just as lost in this as he was.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, her eyes were half-lidded as she stared up at him. She wetted her bottom lip. “Not bad.” she managed to breath.

“Still think I’m underpaid,” he shot back.

"Oh, I don’t take advantage of hard workers, sir," she said, low and teasing as her lips skimmed along his stubbled cheek. Her teeth nipped at the rough skin there, sending a sharp jolt through his body that went straight to his cock.

Her hands moved to the buckle of his belt, working the leather with an almost infuriating slowness, like she was daring him to stop her, or daring him not to. “By no means are you going to be left underpaid,” she murmured with mock formality as her gaze flicked up to meet his.

He couldn’t help the low chuckle that rumbled from deep in his chest. “That so?” he rasped as he let his hands slide from her waist to her hips, gripping just tight enough to feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her uniform. “You always this generous?”

Her fingers hovered just above the waistband of his lowering jeans, brushing the bare skin with a maddening lightness. Then she smiled at him, slow and deliberate. “Only with hot sergeants who gave a lot to this country.”

Something snapped. His hand darted down, grabbing hers where they lingered teasing his skin. His fingers closed over hers. Not harsh, but firm, the rough calluses of his palm contrasting with her softness. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he growled low in her ear, rougher now, deeper, his restraint fraying with every word.

“Why not?” she whispered, with a tone laced with defiance, though her breath hitched ever so slightly as he stepped closer.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dipped his head, trailing slow kisses on the curve of her neck. Her breath shuddered as he worked his mouth thoroughly, and his stubble scraped along her sensitive skin. His free hand slid lower, gliding over the fabric of her uniform until it reached the curve of her ass. Without hesitation, he squeezed, digging his fingers just enough to pull her flush against him.

Her hands, now pinned between her body and his waistband, flexed slightly, testing like she was still daring him to see how far he’d go.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured against her neck, as he pressed her harder against him.

She tilted her head slightly, giving him more access, curling her fingers into the hem of his tank top. “Good thing I don’t scare easy,” she replied breathlessly, and his grip on her tightened, molding his vibranium hand to the curve of her ass as he pressed her harder against him.

Without breaking their connection, he moved with fluid determination, gripping her hips and spinning her so that she faced an old counter. The sudden shift elicited a breathy laugh from her, laced with surprise and excitement.

He leaned in, brushing his chest on her back as his lips found her neck again, suckling and nipping her skin. She arched instinctively pressing herself against him, bracing her hands on the surface counter. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

His flesh hand slid down her side, curving over her hip before venturing beneath the fabric of her uniform. His fingers splayed against her bare thigh, pushing the hem up inch by inch, grazing her skin with agonizing slowness.

Her breathing hitched as his hand roamed further, the metal of his fingers creating a stark contrast against her heated skin. He squeezed her again, this time directly over her bare flesh, eliciting a sharp, involuntary intake of breath.

As his hand traveled upward from her hip along her spine, her dress bunched around her waist, exposing her to him. He relished the sensation of her bare skin beneath his fingertips, trailing higher to the small of her back. Her shiver told him everything he needed to know.

Her head tilted back, her breath coming in soft, shallow gasps. “James” she whispered, half warning, half plea.

His lips curved into a smirk as he bent closer. “Bucky” he rasped, his stubble brushing her ear. “What’s it gonna be, doll? Should I stop?”

Her answer came in the way she pushed herself back against him, reaching behind to tangle her hands on his hair. He grinned darkly against her skin, sliding his hand along her back as his lips continued their descent, tasting every inch of her exposed neck and shoulder.

Bucky’s hands continued their ascent, his fingers trailing over her heated skin until they slid under the fabric of her bra. He cupped her breasts, his palms rough and warm, squeezing with a pressure that made her gasp: firm enough to send a thrill through her body, but not enough to hurt. She arched into his touch, responding instinctively, and a soft sound escaped her lips spurring him on.

“Like that, huh?” he muttered, as he pressed himself harder against her back. Her hands gripped his hair tighter for balance as he shifted closer and his solid, muscled frame blanketed hers. Then, with deliberate intent, he slid one thick thigh between her legs, pressing it firmly against her pussy. The friction made her knees weaken, and she let out a breathy moan, rolling her hips against him instinctively.

He growled low in his throat. “You’re making it real hard to keep this...civil,” he rasped, though the way his hands kneaded her and his thigh pressed against her left little room for civility.

She turned her head slightly to meet his gaze, eyes dark with need and amusement. “You know, if you keep things civil like this, I might... stain your pants. How are you going to present yourself tomorrow to work, all messy?”

Bucky froze for half a second at her words, tightening his grip on her hips as her teasing tone penetrated his brain. His gaze darkened, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a smirk that was anything but innocent.

“You think I care about that?” he murmured, roughly, sending shivers down her spine.

Her head tilted slightly, exposing the curve of her neck to him. “Mhm,” she hummed, her breath hitching when he shifted his stance, pressing her harder against him. “Just trying to save you the trouble of explaining… why your responsible worker pants are a mess.”

Bucky let out a low growl, dipping his head to her neck. His stubble scrapped deliciously against her skin as he nipped at her pulse point, making her gasp. "Luckily for you, muffin, it's been a long time since I give a fuck about other people's opinions, let alone explaining myself. So you can get my damn pants wet like the naughty girl you are to your pussy's content.

The brazen bluntness of his words sent a pang directly to her needy clit. “Oh,” she exhaled, with a trembling voice. “Is that so, Sergeant?”

He leaned in closer, as his vibranium hand tightened on her hip, grinding her harder against his thigh. “Damn right, it is,” he growled, and the deep rasp of his voice vibrated against her skin. “Now stop stalling and show me how messy you can get me.”

She let out a soft moan as she pressed harder against him, and her movements became more erratic, more needy. “You mister-” she gasped, her words catching in her throat as a wave of pleasure made her pussy clench deliciously, “are a fucking tease.”

“And yet,” he muttered, curving his lips into a wicked grin against her skin, “here you are, soaking my damn pants just like I told you to.”

Her laugh came out breathless and broken, “Cocky bastard,” she managed to say before nearing the precipice. "F-fuck, Sarge," she mewled, as her voice broke on a high, desperate pitch while her hands gripped at the counter for dear life. "I’m gonna-"

Bucky’s grip on her tightened, and his vibranium hand slid up to press flat against her tummy, anchoring her firmly against him. “Do it,” he growled into her ear, in a hot and ragged breath. “Let go for me, muffin. Make a mess, cream my fucking pants.”

Her body tensed, and her thighs trembled as she ground herself harder against his thigh, chasing that final push over the edge. “God, Bucky,” she whimpered, her head falling back against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear as he coaxed her along, keeping her steady with his hands as she fell apart. "Good girl."

The sound she made was half a sob, half a moan as the tension inside her snapped, pleasure crashing through her in waves that left her gasping and shaking in his arms. She clung to the counter as her body jerked uncontrollably, and her breath came in short, desperate bursts.

He didn’t let go, keeping her firmly against him, grounding her body as she rode out every last second of her orgasm. When her movements slowed, and her body went slack against him, he pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to the back of her neck.

“You okay?” he murmured, with a mix of roughness and softness as his hands remained firm on her hips.

She turned her head slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder with a dazed, dopey smile that made something inside him twist. “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, languid and satisfied. “That was such a nice ride, Sarge.”

A soft squeeze at her hips reminded her where his hands still were, and she placed hers over them, giving them a light, playful press. Then, with an ease that made his pulse quicken, she turned around to face him.

Her fingers grasped the hem of his tank top, deliberate but unhurried as she tugged it upward. “But,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, “I still owe you the price of your silence.”

As she pulled his tank top up and over his head, her eyes immediately fell to his chest, and her gaze widened for a beat. The light from the room caught the silver gleam of the bars piercing through his nipples, hard to miss against the expanse of ink and scars that marked his skin.

Her lips parted slightly, and a playful grin broke across her face. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” she murmured teasingly. She reached out without hesitation, grazing her fingers over one of the piercings. “Naughty, Sarge. Very naughty.”

He let out a short huff of laughter. “Don’t act so shocked,” he muttered. “Thought you’d figured out by now I’m not exactly by-the-book.”

She tilted her head as she thumbed over the cool metal, sending a shiver through his body that he didn’t bother to hide. “Guess I have a lot to learn about you,” she mused, tracing her fingers over the lines of his chest, pausing now and then to admire the ink and scars.

His smirk deepened, and he tugged her closer “Plenty of time for that, Muffin.” He conceded.

Her hands roamed freely now, mapping the hard planes of his chest, alternating her touch between featherlight and deliberate. She flicked the tip of one of the piercings with her thumb, earning a sharp inhale from his lips.

“Sensitive?” she teased, glancing up to meet his gaze.

His jaw tightened, and the way his hands gripped her hips told her she’d struck a nerve. “You tell me,” he rumbled, edged with a warning that didn’t quite mask the rough undertone of arousal.

She laughed softly, a low, breathy sound that made his cock twitch. “You’re full of contradictions, Sarge. All gruff and serious, but with these…” she said, lightly tugging on one bar with a wicked grin.

“Careful,” he warned, tightening his grip as his eyes darkened.

“Or what?,” she quipped, with a sultry voice, her confidence growing with every reaction she pulled from him.

His patience snapped. In one smooth motion, he shifted, lifting her effortlessly onto the counter behind her. She gasped, bracing her hands against his shoulders as he stepped between her thighs, crowding her.

The edge of the counter bit into her legs, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the heat between them, the way his hands gripped her.

His fingers moved to the buttons of her dress, deliberate but unhurried, each undone clasp exposing more of her soft, skin. She shivered beneath his touch, and a quiet hum escaped her lips as her hands slid down his sides, tracing the lines of his ribs before settling at his hips.

The dress slipped further down her body, pooling at her waist, leaving her exposed to his piercing gaze. His eyes darkened as they swept over the rise and fall of her chest, and the slight tremble in her thighs.

"Damn," he murmured, roughly, almost reverent.

Her cheeks heated, but she held his gaze with a playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "What, you don't see this every day?"

"Not like this," he growled back, deftly unhooking her bra with a kind of precision that made her blink in surprise. The garment slid down her arms, and he caught it in one hand, tossing it over his shoulder without so much as a glance. It landed somewhere behind him with a soft thud, but he didn’t care. His gaze flicked down, lingering on her newly exposed skin.

He leaned down and trailed his lips through the curve of her neck, gifting heated kisses downward her skin until his lips latched one of her nipples. His tongue flicked, quick and teasing, as his hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the hem of her uniform skirt and gripping her bare thighs.

Her hands flew to his shoulders for balance before sliding up to tangle them in his hair. Her body was already pliant, sensitive from her release, but he wasn’t slowing down. His teeth scraped lightly, sending a shock through her system, and she arched instinctively against his mouth.

"Turn around," he murmured against her skin, almost a growling. His hands gripped her hips, spinning her gently but firmly until she was braced against the counter. She barely had time to catch her breath before she felt his fingers hook into the waistband of her drenched panties, tugging them down and letting them pool at her feet.

His jeans had already been shoved low enough to free his aching cock, and she could feel it, hard and insistent, pressing against her rear. “This okay?” he rasped against her ear, as his length drenching her buttocks with precum spoke volumes about his intent.

She nodded quickly, breathlessly.

Bucky didn’t waste time and his vibranium hand gripped her hip, as his flesh one guided himself inside her in one smooth, deliberate thrust. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest as her tight heat clenched around him, and her gasp of pleasure sounded like music to his ears.

“Fuck, Muffin,” he muttered, leaning over her, breathing hot against her ear. “So tight. Feels like you’re made for my cock.”

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the counter, instinctively pushing her body back to meet his thrusts. He set a slow, grinding pace at first, making her feel every inch of his thick cock, savoring how she trembled beneath him at every drag. One of his hands slid from her hip, trailing down her thigh before slipping between her legs.

“You’re dripping for me,” he observed roughly as his fingers found her clit. He rubbed slow, lazy circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. “Such a greedy pussy, doll. Pulling me in like you can’t get enough.”

She let out a breathless moan, her body arching against him as his words sent a rush of heat through her system. “Bucky-”

“That’s right,” he cut her off, almost mockingly as his fingers pressed harder against her swollen clit. “Say my name. Let me hear how much you love being fucked like this.”

Her response was a broken cry, her hips bucking against his hand as he picked up his pace. He grinned, sharp and wolfish, sliding his free hand up her back to fist her hair, pulling her head back so he could press his lips to her ear.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasped, as his thrusts turned harder, sharper. “I can feel it. This pussy’s squeezing me so tight. You gonna come all over my cock, Muffin? You gonna soak me, cream my dick like the good girl you are?”

She could barely think, the pressure building inside her reaching a fever pitch as his filthy words and relentless touch unraveled her completely. Her moans grew louder, and her body trembled as her release washed over her, clenching her walls around his throbbing cock.

“Fuck,” he growled, as the sensation tipped him over the edge. His hand tightened on her hip, and his thrusts turned erratic as he followed her into bliss, spilling inside her with a low, drawn-out groan.

He stayed buried inside her for a moment, resting his forehead against her shoulder as they both caught their breath. His fingers gave her clit one last, gentle stroke, making her shudder before he finally pulled back, steadying her with his hands as her legs wobbled.

“You okay?” he asked, rough but laced with an unmistakable note of satisfaction.

She nodded, glancing at him over her shoulder with a blissed-out smile. “More than okay.”

He smirked, brushing his hand over her lower back as he stepped away. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not done yet, little Muffin.”

She turned slightly, lifting her brows in surprise as a sly grin curled her lips. “Not done yet?” she asked, breathless but laced with intrigue.

Bucky’s smirk deepened as he took her hand, gently turning her around to face him. His eyes roamed over her glistening skin, mussed hair, and the marks his lips and teeth had left trailing down her neck. He loved how wrecked she looked, and knowing it was all because of him, sent a thrill coursing through his veins.

“Not even close,” he murmured, sliding his hands to her thighs and effortlessly lifting her onto the counter.

She gasped as the cold surface met her bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by a soft moan when he stepped between her legs, spreading them wide. His cock, still hard and wet, pressed against her slick heat, teasing her entrance.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he muttered, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “But I think you’ve got one more in you, Muffin. Don’t you?”

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him, desperate for more. “You really think I can take it?” she asked, playfully.

Bucky chuckled darkly, ghosting his lips over her jawline as he pressed the head of his cock against her pussy, not pushing in just yet. “Oh, you’ll take it,” he purred, gripping her hips firmly to hold her in place. “And you’re gonna love every second of it.”

He surged forward without waiting for a reply, parting her inner wallsin one deep thrust. Her back arched, and a loud moan spilled from her lips as he set a brutal pace right from the start, holding nothing back this time.

His hands roamed over her body, one sliding up to knead a breast while the other dipped down to find her clit again. “Feel that, doll?” he growled, his voice barely more than a rasp. “Feel how perfectly you take me?”

She nodded frantically, digging her nails into his shoulders as her body rocked against him, the counter beneath her creaking slightly with the force of his movements. “F-fuck, Sarge, I-”

“You gonna come for me again?” he interrupted as he worked her clit with expert precision. “Gonna soak me like the naughty little thing you are?”

Her answer came in the form of a choked cry as her body tensed, her third climax hitting her harder than the previous ones. She tightened around him, pulling him deeper, and deeper, and he groaned low in his throat, thrusting erratically as he chased his own release.

“Goddamn, you feel so fucking good,” he growled, gripping the back of her thighs and spreading them wider as he buried himself one last time to the root, erupting in long spurts of hot cum that filled her up and overflowed between them, pooling on the floor.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their ragged breaths being the only sound in the room. Slowly, he pulled back, steadying on her hips as he helped her sit upright, locking his eyes on the mess between her legs. His jaw tensed as he drank in the sight of her pussy, utterly wrecked and glistening from everything they’d done. He reached out, parting her swollen, slick folds with his thumbs with a deliberate, almost reverent care.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, thick with desire. “Look at you.”

Her cheeks heated, and the burn rose fast as she felt his gaze fixed on her. Her instinct was to press her thighs together, but his firm grip on her leg stopped her before she could move.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, brushing his vibranium thumb against her inner thigh as his other hand traced the outline of her puffy, sensitive lips. “Let me see you.”

She whimpered softly, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself as his fingers continued to explore, brushing over her clit just enough to make her hips jerk.

“Fuck, this pretty little pussy of yours, completely ruined… because of me.”

She inhaled deeply, with embarrassment and lingering arousal. “Bucky,” she managed, her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in his name.

He glanced up at her, quirking his lips into a cocky smirk. “What? Embarrassed?” His thumbs teased her again, pressing lightly on either side of her clit, enough to make her tremble. “Don’t be. You’re perfect. And you’re mine to mess up like this.”

His? Her thighs shook at his words, the low growl in his voice sparking something deep inside her chest.

Bucky leaned in, and his stubble grazed her inner thigh as he pressed a kiss there, lingering his lips as he muttered, “Maybe I should take a picture, so you know how fucking incredible you look right now.”

Her head fell back with a strangled, embarrassed moan. “Don’t you dare,” She protested, without much conviction.

He chuckled, finally easing up on her overstimulated nerves. Then, he pulled back, standing tall as he licked his bottom lip. “Good thing I’ve got a photographic memory. I’ll be thinking about how fucking incredible you look dripping my cum on the floor when I’m at home later, getting all needy.”

The heat on her cheeks spread down her neck and chest. “My god, Sarge, you say your prayers with that mouth?” she asked, her tone trembling with exhaustion and disbelief.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he pulled back to meet her gaze. “It’s been a long time since I stopped doing that,” he admitted, carrying an edge of cynicism that matched the wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

He couldn’t help but admire the sight before his eyes. Her disheveled state, the pristine uniform now wrinkled, pushed up and open, her lips swollen and glossy from everything they’d just done. For almost a second, a pang of guilt flared in his chest. Almost.

The notion of her going back to work in this state, dripping with his cum while she smiled and served customers, stirred something deliciously darker in him. The guilt was quickly overtaken by the way his cock twitched again, the lingering pull of need frustrating him as much as it excited him. He muttered a low curse under his breath.

“Here,” he said after a moment, offering his hand for her to stand up. “Let me help you look all pretty so you can carry on with your day.”

He grabbed her crumpled uniform and smoothed it down over her thighs, brushing his fingers on the soft skin under it as he worked to put her back together. When he reached her collar, he buttoned the top slowly, deliberately taking his time.

“You’re gonna walk out there,” he said, adjusting her apron with a hum of satisfaction, “looking just like you did before I got my hands on you.”

Her lips parted as if to respond, but the words didn’t come out. He leaned close, brushing his pierced nose against hers, mingling his minty breath with hers, before stepping back with a low chuckle. “So much better than the garlic bread.”

He stepped back, bending to retrieve his tank top from the floor. Without hesitation, he slipped the shirt over his head, dragging it down on the hard lines of his inked chest. When the fabric caught over his pierced nipples, he hissed through his teeth. He adjusted it with a slight tug, smoothing it over his abs, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t in any rush to leave the moment behind.

His gaze flicked to her form and a dark glint sparked in his eyes. His tone dropped into something deeper, more dangerous, as he added, “If anyone gives you trouble...”

He paused, letting the weight of his words linger between them. “You know where to find me.” It wasn’t just a statement; it was a subtle reminder of where he worked, down at the construction site.

Before she could gather herself enough to respond, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door. As his hand rested on the handle, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, his blue eyes filled with a hint of satisfaction.

“Enjoy the rest of your shift, Muffin,” he drawled, before disappearing out the door leaving her breathless and utterly wrecked.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader

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thekitsunesiren · 1 year ago

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Dc x Dp #46

"I'm transferring you all to another branch to focus on your teamwork." Batman announced to the Young Justice League out of nowhere.

The news surprised the whole group. They've been together for quite sometime and had gotten alone just fine. Sure, they had disagreements here and there, but that wasn't enough for them to need more training, was it?

"We've been officially working together for a long time. Why do we need teamwork training now?" Robin asked, being brave enough to talk to the well feared vigilante that many were fearful to speak against.

Batman said nothing as he scrolled through the tablet in hand, obviously searching for something.

"Because you still have problems with your teamwork. You need the help of another team your age to get a better view point of what you're doing wrong. And hopefully you'll be able to learn about the different type of enemies

"Wait, wait, wait! Our age? You mean there's another team that we didn't know about?" Kid Flash asked, the news obviously being a surprise to him.

This news was a surprise to everyone in the group. All of them thought that they were the only young heroes that worked under the Justice League.

Finding what he was looking for, Batman opened a file and the team looked at the large photo that appeared on the screen. The photo contained four teens, just around their age if not older or younger.

One was a black teen with a red beanie, and Robin was surprised to see the bulky tech in his hands that he was using. What kind of outdated tech was this team using?

Next to him was a goth looking girl with raven black hair wearing a black short with a black and green plaid skirt. Her face was concentrated into a stern glare that gave Wally the shivers. The gun that she held in her hand didn't help either.

There was another girl as well. Her black hair down and resting against her shoulders. Said shoulders and the rest of her body covered by a black and red suit with a hoverboard against her feet and another strange weapon in her hand. A gun maybe? Red Arrow was curious to see her aim when moving on that board.

And the last kid wasn't standing. He was floating. With snow white hair and green eyes that seemed to glow everytime they looked at the photo. He looked to be around the same age as the other three, but he wore a black jumpsuit with white boots, gloves, and belt. On his belt rested a thermos? Superboy didn't see how such a scrawny thing could be of any threat.

One thing was similar was that how all of the humans eyes seemed to glow. Almost as bright as the- metas'? Aliens? -did.

"These are the members of Young Justice: Dark. They have been under the Leagues employment for three months, but they've been working on their own for almost two years and managed to stop several world ending disasters dealing with the supernatural."

The statement from Batman shocked the team. Them? On their own for two years fighting against the supernatural? Surely he was joking?!

"But-how? We've never heard of them, and they were world ending, we should've known about it." Robin argued.

"Because they've never left the threats leave their town." Came Batmans clipped reply. "There have been a few close calls, but all of them have been handled. As for why the League wasn't aware, there was interference that stopped the League from knowing about Amity Park. This is the team that took our place."

This was the team? Two years unsupervised against supernatural threats that they didn't know about and they still remained uncovered? Just how strong was this team?

"I'm assigning your next mission to work under them. For the time being they will be your superiors and you will follow their instructions if you come into contact with any enemy. Do not go against their orders or else it will be dire. With this, you will learn about threats stronger than you have faced and better yourselves as a team. Do not mess this up."

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom crossover #dc×dp prompt #dp crossover #Young Justice x Danny Phantom #Danny and the gang are Young Justice: Dark Amity

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studioeisa · 13 days ago

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routine romance ☕ seungcheol x reader.

you have a routine. a foolproof, tried and tested daily schedule. when the hell did choi seungcheol become part of it?

☕ pairing. talent recruiter!seungcheol x freelancer!reader. ☕ word count. 11.8k. ☕ genres. alternate universe: non-idol. romance, friendship, humor. ☕ includes. mentions of food, alcohol; profanity; implied smut. reader is a freelancer, seungcheol is a corporate slave, strangers to friends to lovers, slowburn, coffee shop romance, meet ugly, feelings realization/denial. reader has a nut allergy (this is relevant, i swear), lee felix as a plot device. ☕ notes. this is part of the that’s showbiz, baby! collaboration. this is one of the two fics i have for the collaboration, and, admittedly, i expected it to be much shorter. alas, i cannot physically shut up about choi seungcheol in a suit. all my love to the amazing writers of tsb, but especially my co-host tara, who saw me come up with the concept for this in one deranged sitting.

That guy who’s always in a suit is in your seat.

Technically, it’s not your seat. The Greeting Committee doesn’t have assigned tables. There’s no velvet rope or brass plaque with your name on it. But it’s understood. Window seat, second table from the left. Just enough sunlight to toast your forearms but not blind you. Outlet within reach. Smells like cinnamon in the mornings and espresso in the afternoons.

Your seat. Spiritually.

And now he’s in it. Again.

You pause by the pastry case, pretending to consider a scone. It buys you time to glare at him with a level of passive aggression only caffeine deprivation can power. He doesn’t notice. He’s on the phone, murmuring something about image rights and venue capacity, wrist flicking as he gestures to someone who isn’t there.

The barista, Felix, catches your eye. Offers a sympathetic shrug. This is the third time this week.

You settle at the small table near the bathroom. It wobbles. It always wobbles. You shove a napkin under the leg and mutter a curse that sounds polite. .

Seungcheol. That’s the name of the notorious seat-stealer.

You learned his name from one of his calls, spoken with the clipped efficiency of someone used to being listened to. “Yes, this is Choi Seungcheol from Carat Company. Let me loop you in.” He says it like he’s not just looping someone in, but reeling them from the goddamn abyss. Like he’s personally saving the entertainment industry one Bluetooth earpiece at a time.

He always wears a suit. Not the stiff kind. Tailored, navy or charcoal, with subtle check patterns. The kind that whispers rather than shouts. The kind that makes you sit up straighter just being near it.

He orders an Americano. Never anything sweet. You know this because you’re close enough to hear him order, not because you’re listening. You’re not listening. You just… absorb things. By proximity.

He types like he means it. Fingers flying, brow furrowed. You once watched him for a full minute before realizing your tea had gone cold.

You don’t like him.

You don’t like that he’s taken your seat, your sunlight, your outlet. You don’t like that he seems to be having Important Conversations while you’re over here editing product descriptions for cat backpacks. You’re just about to settle for your second-best seat when disaster strikes.

Correction: Seungcheol strikes.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Physically. With coffee.

It happens fast. One second, you’re adjusting your chair, the next, you feel a splat of lukewarm liquid soaking through the shoulder of your sweater. Your body jerks. Your mouth opens. Nothing elegant comes out.

“What the ever-loving fuck—”

Seungcheol freezes. His cup is a crumpled paper carcass in his hand. The coffee is mostly on you, some on the floor, a tragic few drops clinging to his knuckles like guilt.

“I—oh no. No, no, no, I am so sorry,” he says, setting the mangled cup down like it might still be saved. “Are you okay? Did I burn you?”

There’s coffee dripping from your hair. “It’s fine,” you say, in the voice of someone who is not fine.

He winces. “That sounded like a lie.”

You glance down at your sweater. It was oatmeal-colored. Now it looks like oat milk with trauma. “I mean, no third-degree burns,” you say, standing. You shake your arm out. It flings a splatter onto a nearby bookshelf. “Just first-degree humiliation.”

He grabs a stack of napkins from the counter and starts dabbing at your sleeve with the gentleness of someone defusing a bomb.

“You really don’t have to—” you’re saying, but Seungcheol is relentless.

“No, I do. I definitely do,” he blabbers, all that usual composure gone like the coffee he’s unceremoniously splashed you with. “I’ve basically assaulted you with caffeine. This is… wow. This is not how I usually network.”

You blink at him. “Network?”

He goes still. “That was a joke. I’m joking. This is a joke. I mean, the situation, not your… sweater.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He flushes. A subtle pink, but obvious. He has the decency to look horrified at himself. “Oh my God. I mean, your sweater was nice. It is nice. I’m just going to stop talking.”

“That would be nice,” you say curtly, and then immediately feel bad about it.

Because he looks sheepish now. His shoulders have gone all slopey. He holds out the last dry napkin like a peace offering. You take it.

Felix, equal parts amused and exasperated, leans over the counter. “Do we need the mop again?”

“I deserve the mop,” Seungcheol mutters underneath his breath.

It’s set in stone. You really, really don’t like him.

To your surprise, he keeps coming back.

Seungcheol, that is. The man who ruined your sweater and your dignity in one well-aimed Americano.

He returns to The Greeting Committee like nothing happened. Only now, he avoids the window seat. In fact, he avoids your whole half of the café. Sits near the potted ficus, headphones in, coffee clutched like a holy artifact.

You’d almost feel bad if it weren’t kind of funny.

There’s a silent detente. You don’t glare at him anymore. He doesn’t knock beverages into your lap. You coexist. Cautiously. Like squirrels.

Until, one Tuesday, it happens.

You’re halfway through an editing gig that involves correcting SEO tags for eco-friendly deodorant when Felix appears with a pastry on a plate and a too-big smile. “From your secret admirer,” he says, setting it down with a flourish.

You eye the pastry warily. It’s round. Golden. Gleaming with honey. A little too perfect. “Is this a trick?” you ask.

“It’s from the Suit,” Felix stage-whispers, as if Seungcheol is in witness protection and not six feet away, pretending not to watch. You glance over. Seungcheol immediately looks down at his phone.

Felix nudges the plate closer. “He said you looked like you needed something sweet.”

Your eyebrows do something complicated. You pick up the pastry. It smells good. Really good.

You take a bite. It takes three seconds.

One to register the taste. Two to realize there are slivers of almond inside. Three to remember, with crystal clarity, what it was like to be poked and prodded as a child so your allergies could be found out. “Oh no,” you say around a mouthful of the croissant.

“Oh no, it’s the best croissant ever—right?” Felix beams.

You cough. “Not exactly.”

And then all hell breaks loose.

Seungcheol’s chair scrapes violently against the floor. He’s by your side in less time than it takes your throat to tighten. You don’t realize you’ve dropped the pastry, that your face is turning that brilliant shade of anaphylactic pink. Felix is already halfway to the back counter, yelling something about the EpiPen he keeps near the register just in case.

“Breathe slowly,” Seungcheol says frantically, crouching beside you. “Wait, no, don’t breathe slowly. Or do? Should you breathe faster?”

You wheeze out something that sounds suspiciously like I am going to fucking kill you.

Your attempted murderer looks stricken. His tie is slightly askew again, like stress physically unravels him. “I didn’t know,” he says. “I swear. Almonds. Why is it always almonds?”

Felix returns with the EpiPen like a knight with a sword. You brace for it. Seungcheol turns paler than the foam on his usual coffee. After the injection, after the flurry, after the adrenaline kicks in and your lungs start acting like lungs again, you sit back against the chair, heart thudding against your ribs.

Seungcheol hovers beside you, holding a water bottle. You would jokingly ask if that, too, had some slow-moving poison, if Seungcheol didn’t look sufficiently spooked. “You good?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You nod, sipping the proffered water. “Yeah. Could’ve used a warning. Or a label. Or maybe a pastry without biological warfare.”

His laugh is helpless. “I was trying to be nice.”

“You nearly killed me.”

“But nicely.”

Felix, wiping the counter, calls over, “On the bright side, at least he didn’t spill the water on you!”

You and Seungcheol both groan.

You return two days later with a tight throat and a new sweater. Dark green. Nut-proof in spirit, if not in textile.

The Greeting Committee is half full. Quiet, save for milk steaming and a playlist that leans too hard on acoustic covers. You pick your seat—the window, as always. Felix waves with both hands, sheepish. You wave back with one, cautious.

Seungcheol is already there.

This time, he’s at the counter, pacing lightly, muttering to himself while staring at the pastry display. He points at something. Felix nods with visible hesitation. There’s a to-go box involved. A whisper. A squint. This feels... coordinated. Conspiratorial.

You brace.

When he approaches, he holds out the box like it might explode.

“Hi,” he says, tentative. “I come in peace.”

You stare at the box.

“It’s carrot cake,” he adds quickly. “I checked. Three times. No nuts. No hidden almonds. No sabotage. I even made Felix read me the ingredients out loud.”

“Did he cry?”

“A little.”

You gesture for the box. Open it. The slice is thick, aggressively frosted, and improbably orange. It smells safe. “Carrot cake,” you repeat.

“I Googled ‘pastries least likely to kill someone with allergies.’ That was top three.”

“That explains the pacing.”

He sighs, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Look, I swear I’m not usually this... destructive.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Mmm.”

“I mean it. I’m a functioning adult. I have a job. A dry cleaner. A filing system.”

“A coffee-related injury and a near-death croissant would suggest otherwise."

“Okay. Fair,” he huffs. “Look, maybe this is just… the universe telling me to leave you alone.”

You stare at him blankly, as if trying to agree with the universe’s supposed assessment. He shrugs and keeps talking—does this man ever shut up?—trying for breezy. Failing. “I mean, clearly, we can’t exist in the same proximity without one of us needing medical attention or therapy.”

That gets you. A laugh slips out, involuntary. Quick and warm. You try to catch it, but it’s too late.

He freezes. It happens so fast you almost miss it. His whole face softening. Like the sound surprised him. Like he hadn't planned for the possibility of your amusement.

He looks at you, dazed. Eyes a little wide. Mouth a little open. Like you’ve told him a secret without speaking. “That was a laugh,” he says with the sort of reverence that belongs in cathedrals instead of this overpriced coffee shop.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. You pick up your fork. Take a cautious bite of the cake.

Safe.

He watches like he’s waiting for a verdict from a judge on Culinary Class Words. You chew. Swallow. Say, “This might be your least disastrous attempt yet.”

His grin breaks, full and boyish. The sun cracking through storm clouds. “So you’re saying there’s hope for attempt four,” he breathes.

“I’m saying,” you huff, “don’t push it.”

You look out the window to hide the smile threatening to fill your face.

Seungcheol stays looking at you.

You have a routine. Five days a week. Headphones in. Laptop open. Coffee always lukewarm by the time you remember it.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, has a rhythm. Three days if the stars align. Never the same ones. He’s a Monday-Wednesday guy. Then a Thursday-Saturday surprise. He shows up like a plot twist, wearing button-downs and the kind of watch that says my meetings run looong.

You’ve learned to expect him, even if you don't expect anything from him.

The greetings are polite now. Nods. Small smiles. He no longer treats your existence like a delicate diplomatic situation. You no longer imagine stapling his tie to the table.

Progress.

Some days he takes calls near the door, pacing like he’s afraid someone will steal the air. Other times, he just stares at his screen, typing fast, deleting faster. Once, you caught him playing Wordle with the focus of a man solving a hostage crisis.

You don’t talk. Not really. But you know when he’s had a rough day—he stirs his coffee too hard and forgets to say thank you to Felix. And you know when he’s having a good one, because he hums under his breath, terribly off-key.

One rainy afternoon, everything else is full. You’re already settled in. Window seat. Usual latte. Document open. Rain tapping the glass in a rhythm that matches your brain.

Seungcheol stands in the middle of The Greeting Committee like a man who’s lost his passport. Scans the tables. Sees you.

You raise an eyebrow. He approaches, cautious. Like he thinks you might hiss.

“Hey. Uh.” He gestures vaguely at the table. “Can I—?”

You glance around. Nothing else is open. Sighing, you give a jerky nod of acquiescence. He exhales and slides into the chair across from you.

There’s a moment. Awkward. Familiar. Like two commuters who ride the same bus but never speak. He sets down his drink. The usual plain Americano—probably scalding, probably vindictive. You go back to your screen. He goes back to pretending not to watch you type.

Five minutes in, you sigh. He looks up from his company-issued MacBook. “Something wrong?”

“Just this client,” you mumble, mostly to yourself. “Wants a brand voice that’s ‘youthful but ancient, fresh but nostalgic.’ Like a time-traveling Gen Z monk.”

He chokes on his drink. You glance at him, and he stumbles to explain, “Yeah. Just picturing a TikTok monk explaining skincare with Gregorian chants.”

You snort. It feels dangerous, this sharing. Even in passing. You type. He sips.

Time passes. The rain doesn’t. At some point, Felix drops off another slice of carrot cake. No note this time. Just a wink. Seungcheol catches your eye. “I figured it was safer than flowers,” he says with the shrug of a man trying to act calm, cool, and collected.

You poke your fork into the cake. “This your way of asking to sit here again?”

“I would never assume.”

“But you are assuming.”

He smiles, soft around the edges. “Only a little.”

You shake your head. Take a bite. Let the silence settle again.

Not quite friendship. Not quite strangers. Something else. Something quietly growing between sips of coffee and shared space.

By late afternoon, the light slants golden through the windows, soft and syrupy. Your laptop screen reflects it back at you in glaring defiance. The carrot cake is half-eaten. The air smells like espresso and mild ambition.

You stretch. He cracks his knuckles. The silence has been comfortable, companionable—until he speaks. “So. Freelancing,” he says, testing the waters. “That’s just... vibing with deadlines?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “That’s rich coming from a guy who wears a wristwatch like it owes him rent.”

He lifts his coffee cup in a lazy toast. “Touché,” he hums. “But at least corporate structure keeps things predictable. Stable.”

“Stable? You get sixty Slack notifications an hour and call that stability?”

He winces. “Okay, yes. But there’s a paycheck. A health plan. A desk that isn’t being commandeered by an iced matcha spill.”

You level a look at him. “Are you judging my system?”

He glances at your spread: laptop, two notebooks, highlighters of questionable age, and a sticker-covered planner that might be more decorative than functional. “I would never,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow.

He grins. “Okay. Mildly.”

“You color-code your calendar and get passive-aggressive about Outlook invites,” you taunt.

“You wound me.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Please don’t be mean to me,” he says, deadpan. “I get turned on when pretty girls are mean to me.”

The words hang in the air.

Your typing stutters. Seungcheol goes pale. Then pink. Then a shade of red that belongs in a fruit bowl. “That was—I didn’t—I meant it as a joke,” he stammers.

You let out a low whistle. “Bold choice.”

“I panicked.”

You laugh. Loud, sudden, and unfiltered. It startles the couple next to you. Seungcheol looks like he might curl into his coffee mug and disappear. “Okay, okay,” you say, still smiling. “Let’s set some ground rules before this table implodes.”

He nods solemnly. “No horniness before five?”

“Four-thirty. I’m flexible.”

He exhales a laugh, hands up in surrender. “Understood.”

The sun slips lower. Your coffee is cold again. The world outside looks dipped in gold foil. Across from you, Seungcheol relaxes a little. You don’t look directly at him, but you know he’s smiling.

The next few weeks pass in soft edits.

No dramatic reveals. No sudden declarations. Just a slow, accidental choreography.

Seungcheol starts arriving earlier. Not every day, but often enough to make it a pattern. He never asks to sit with you. Not at first. He just hovers close, table-hopping like a caffeinated bee until one day he drops his laptop across from yours like it’s always been that way.

“Morning,” he says casually, as if this is not a minor emotional event.

“You’re in my eye-line,” you reply flatly.

“I’m in your heart-line,” he says, complete with finger guns and an exaggerated wink.

You blink.

He sips his coffee, very focused. “Sorry,” he grumbles, now appropriately shamed. “Still workshopping that one.”

It becomes a new bullet point in the routine. Shared table. Shared silence. Occasionally, shared WiFi when yours decides to enter a fugue state. Sometimes you squabble over seating. Sometimes you share pastries. Once, you both accidentally ordered the same scone and acted like it was a legal dispute.

“Just split it,” Felix suggested.

“Absolutely not,” you both said. (In the end, he let you have it.)

Another time, Seungcheol caught you stress-doodling in the margins of your planner and started rating your sketches like a judge on a chaotic art show.

“This frog has emotional range.”

“That’s a pigeon.”

“Even better.”

The Greeting Committee becomes less a café and more a stage for the most low-stakes, high-tension sitcom known to man. One Thursday, though, Seungcheol brings someone with him.

You look up at the new arrival. Mid-twenties. Good bone structure. Nervous smile. The kind of person who says thank you twice just to be safe.

Seungcheol ushers her to a corner seat, sliding into professional mode like a second skin. Back straight. Voice low, reassuring. Hands used sparingly, deliberately. A talent he’s trying to recruit, you realize.

He’s good at this. It shows.

You don’t eavesdrop. Not really. But your laptop screen is less interesting when he leans forward, nodding with the kind of attention that makes you feel seen by proxy.

You watch him talk about contracts and career growth like he believes in people. Like he sees possibility in them and is simply here to translate it to paper.

It makes you feel something.

Maybe admiration.

Maybe curiosity.

Maybe the sudden realization that beneath the tie knots and tragic Americano habit, Seungcheol might actually be kind of brilliant.

He glances up mid-meeting and catches you watching. You look away, pretending to be fascinated by a blank spreadsheet. In the corner of your eye, you see him bite back a smile.

Later, when the talent leaves, he slides into the seat across from you again, a little smug.

“You were staring.”

“I was judging.”

“You judge with very starry eyes.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snipe, but the heat in it is doused by whatever residual admiration you’ve been trying to fight down.

“Too late,” Seungcheol sing-songs as he unpacks his things, readying to be your seatmate once more until five in the afternoon. “Already added it to my morning affirmations.”

It’s a Wednesday. The kind where the air smells like over-steamed milk and deadlines. The windows of The Greeting Committee are fogged at the edges, and the playlist is stuck somewhere between folk optimism and indie despair.

You’re halfway through your second coffee and the fourth paragraph of an email you’ve rewritten five times when Seungcheol walks in. He looks like someone who lost an argument with his alarm clock, his inbox, and possibly God.

His tie is loose. His hair is defying gravity in three directions. He drops his briefcase three tables away and immediately starts pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

“No, I said the 17th, not the 7th,” he says, voice a low, stressed hiss. “Yes, because they’re filming in Thailand, not, I don’t know, the moon.”

He hangs up. Sits for all of five minutes. Stands. Sits again. Calls someone else. Wash, rinse, repeat.

You try to focus. You really do. But there’s something magnetic about watching a usually unflappable man unravel like a department store sweater. “Not worried,” you mutter to yourself, clicking back to your work. He’s fine. Just corporate molting.

But then you hear him exhale. Hard. He rubs his eyes like the day is a contact sport, and you feel a twang of sympathy because you’re not a goddamn monster.

You walk up to Felix, who’s wiping down the espresso machine with the casual grace of someone who moonlights as a Disney prince. You slip him a five.

“What’s this for?”

“A carrot cake emergency.”

He glances at Seungcheol, eyebrows lifting.

“Make it look natural,” you add. “No obvious charity. Just… coincidence.”

Felix winks and executes the drop with spy-level precision. Mid-call, Seungcheol barely notices the plate until the scent catches up to him.

He pauses. Looks down. Then up, but not at Felix.

Right at you.

He smiles. Not the usual cocky smirk or the teasing grin. No. This one is quieter. Warmer. A tight-lipped gratitude that has your traitorous heart skipping a beat. Maybe two.

He mouths, Thank you.

You raise your mug in reply.

He takes a bite. For the first time that day, his shoulders drop. The tension doesn’t disappear, but it softens. Like cake under a fork. The café hums around you—a gentle orchestra of foam, glass, and familiarity.

You go back to your laptop, a little smile playing on your lips. Still not worried, of course. Merely bservationally invested.

You pack up as the sun angles lower in the window, slanting gold across your keyboard. The drone of the café shifts with the hour. A quieter crowd now, more book than laptop, more wine than espresso. You sling your bag over your shoulder, ready to melt into the early evening.

You’re halfway to the door when Seungcheol calls your name. He’s still at his table, carrot cake reduced to crumbs, a little less frazzled than before. He jogs to catch up, a hand running through his hair, trying and failing to tame it.

“Thanks,” he says, a little out of breath. “For the cake drop. Very subtle. Almost untraceable.”

You feign innocence. “No idea what you’re talking about. Maybe Felix just really likes you.”

“Yeah, he also gave me a drawing of a frog once. But I have a feeling this was you.”

You shrug. “I prefer plausible deniability.”

He smiles. That damned smile again. Not practiced, not perfect. Real. “It helped,” he confesses. “More than I thought it would.”

There’s a beat. Not awkward, more aware. Then he gestures toward the street. “You headed home? Want a ride?” he offers.

For a flicker of a moment, you feel panic. Real, dumb, heart-skipping panic. It’s stupid, but there’s only so much changes to the routine that you can manage.

You shake your head too quickly. “Oh—no, I’m good. I like the walk. Clears the head. You know. Air. Legs. Exercise. The usual.”

Seungcheol tilts his head to one side, amused. “Right. Wouldn’t want to deprive your legs.”

You wince. “That came out weird.”

“A little.”

You make a vague getaway motion with your thumb. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Or whenever your Google Calendar allows.”

He steps back with a hand over his heart. “Rejected. Brutally,” he says, probably half-serious in his petulance. “I’ll add it to the long list of things humbling me today.”

You laugh, finally breathing again.

He grins. “Get home safe, leg defender.”

You toss him a wave as the door jingles shut behind you, the night warm and a little kinder than before.

The next time, though, it’s your turn to fray.

Not frayed like the fashionable kind, like the artfully undone cuffs of your oldest hoodie. No. Frayed like a wire that’s been chewed on, left buzzing and dangerous, held together by the last threads of caffeine and hope.

You take your usual seat by the window, laptop open but untouched. There’s a tab open for invoices and another for a brand guideline doc you swear was written by an alien. The client has emailed five times since sunrise. Each message contradicts the last. You can’t even be mad anymore. Only tired.

The Greeting Committee smells like cinnamon and second chances. Felix slides your drink over with a gentle smile. It doesn’t help much.

Seungcheol arrives half an hour later, still slightly windblown, suit jacket over one arm. He spots you, hesitates, then sits at the table beside yours.

“Hey,” he says, carefully. “You look industrious.”

You grunt.

He peeks at your screen. “Stressed from freelancing?” he says, aiming for a friendly jab. “Didn’t know that possible. I thought you’d have it easier, you know. Not having to deal with soul-crushing clients.”

It hits wrong. Off-key. The joke doesn’t land; it crash lands.

You glance up. Maybe he sees the sharpness in your jaw, the sheen in your eyes. Maybe not. You stand abruptly, chair scraping a little too loud against the floor. “Excuse me,” you say, voice too even.

You retreat to the bathroom. Lock the door. Breathe once. Twice. And then it happens.

Your chest caves, just a little. The tears come fast and hot. Not the kind you can blink away. These are stubborn, panicked, silent sobs. Messy ones. The kind you don’t want anyone to see.

You wash your face after. Pat your cheeks until they stop looking flushed, though they don’t. Your eyes are still red, like you lost a fight with a mascara wand and your own emotional stability.

When you emerge, the café looks the same, but something has shifted. Seungcheol looks up immediately. He doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you, eyes soft, mouth slightly open like he started a sentence but forgot how to finish it. There’s none of his usual machismo. He just looks like someone kicked his favorite puppy.

You sit back down, mute. Felix gives you a glance, like he’s debating giving you a cookie. You shake your head. Not today.

Seungcheol clears his throat, shifts, but says nothing.

The silence is a kindness. So you let it be.

You go back to your screen and pretend to work. Seungcheol stays in his seat beside you. Quiet, still, and present.

He doesn't come by the next day. Or the one after.

It shouldn’t matter. And yet, your eyes flick to the door more than they should. There’s a particular flow you’ve both unconsciously followed, a choreography built of glances and coffee steam, shared space and sidelong banter. You miss it. Or him. Or whatever weird, ambiguous thing he is.

On the third day, though, he returns.

You feel him before you see him. His presence has a particular gravity, like someone dragged in a suitcase full of decisions and contradictions. He walks up, eyes careful, a coffee in each hand.

“Peace offering?” he says, nudging one cup toward you.

“Is it poisoned?” you ask, trying not to sound too pleased at his reappearance.

“Only with charm and sincerity.”

You take it. He sits. Not at the next table. Not across the room. But right across from you. “Okay,” he says, settling in. “I want to understand what you do. Freelancing. The whole… lifestyle."

“You mean the glorious, cobbled-together hustle powered by imposter syndrome and caffeine?” you throw back,

“Exactly,” he grins. “That.”

You peer at him. “Don’t you have a mountain of corporate souls to harvest today?”

He leans back, eyes closed dramatically. “Took an emergency leave.”

You stare. “An emergency leave. For freelance empathy research.”

“And because my boss told me I was breathing too loudly on calls. Also that I needed to stop quoting BTS lyrics in pitch decks. But yes. Research.”

You snort despite yourself. “Fine,” you say, gesturing to your screen. “Give me an hour. I have to finish this edit before my client finds another designer who doesn’t cry in public bathrooms."

He lifts both hands in surrender. “No rush. I’m just here to sponge up wisdom and avoid responsibility.”

You nod once, then dive into your screen, fingers tapping in a slow, precise rhythm. Every so often, you feel his gaze. Like he’s watching someone solve a puzzle he never knew existed. You finish the edit in record time, hit send, close your laptop with a satisfying click.

He perks up. “That it? Are we about to enter the magical world of self-employment lore?”

You stretch, then take a long sip of your not-poisoned coffee. “Welcome to hell, Seungcheol. There are no benefits, but sometimes people send you cheese in the mail."

He grins, eyes lighting up. “Sounds oddly romantic.”

“It’s a lifestyle of extremes.”

For the first time in days, the air between you feels loose again. You tell him all the details. The ability to work from wherever, at the price of the constant availability. The power to pick and choose your battles. The legal threats issued when you’re not paid on time. Seungcheol is expressive; he shuttles from amusement and horror every so often.

As you close up your tirade, you rest your chin on your palm and squint at him over the rim of your cup. “So what are you like outside the nine-to-five costume party?”

He hums. “Define ‘outside.’”

“The part of the day where you're not actively recruiting K-pop idols or quoting RM at your boss.”

He taps his fingers on the table, mock-pensive. “Well. I play padel.”

You actually flinch. “Of course you do.”

“And indoor golf,” he adds, almost sheepish.

“You absolute LinkedIn man.”

He gasps, fake-offended. “Take that back.”

“Next you’re gonna tell me you use Notion to organize your fridge.”

“That was one time. And the color-coding was inspired.”

You point at him, triumphant. “I knew it.”

He chuckles, leans in a little like he can't help it. “And what do you do outside of crying over client feedback and judging my recreational habits?”

“I doodle in margins. Watch bad reality TV and pretend it’s for character study. Occasionally rearrange my bookshelf like it’s therapy,” you answer as you roll your shoulders.

He nods solemnly. “That tracks.”

You tilt your head. “You know, you’re very defensive about your Very Normal Corporate Hobbies.”

“You asked. I answered.”

“You answered like a man who has a separate gym bag just for tennis whites.”

“Only on weekends.”

You laugh, louder than intended. A few heads turn. Seungcheol watches you, smile stretching slowly, like he’s soaking it in.

“So,” he says, after a beat. “You want to know me, huh?”

You bite back a grin. “You’re the one who took emergency leave to decode the mysteries of my working habits.”

“But you’re asking the personal questions.”

You go to sip your coffee again but pause mid-air. Okay. Fair. You set your mug down. “Maybe I do. Want to know you.”

He blinks, surprised. You swear there’s a slight flush to his ears. “Wow,” he says, voice lighter. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

“Don’t get cocky. It’s purely investigative.”

“Of course. For science.”

“For society.”

“For the greater good.”

You both grin into your drinks. For a moment, it feels easy again—like maybe you’re two people in a café, not an ironic universe crashing softly into each other. Just you, him, and the slow unfurling of something not yet named.

You start bringing extra pens, just in case he forgets his again. He never asks, but he always takes them, twirling the cap between his fingers as if it’s part of his pitch strategy. You pretend not to notice the way he always slides it back across the table when he leaves, perfectly aligned with your notebook.

He starts remembering how you like your coffee. Not the way you order it, but the way you drink it. When it should be sweet, when it needs to be strong. He doesn’t ask. Just shows up with a cup that tastes like exactly the kind of day you’re having.

Once, you swap playlists. He laughs at your affinity for melancholic ballads and sends you one too many motivational bops in return. You retaliate with obscure indie rock. He retaliates harder with vintage K-pop. It spirals quickly.

Your seating becomes a ritual. You gravitate toward each other like satellites, or maybe like rival planets that keep brushing orbits. Not always talking, but near. Comfortable in the shared silence of productivity, in the occasional sarcastic quip lobbed across laptops.

Then, one Thursday, you can’t make it. A meeting across town. A cousin’s birthday. Something outside the orbit. You don’t text. It’s not that kind of arrangement.

The next day, you return to The Greeting Committee, windblown and half-apologetic for reasons you can’t name. Felix greets you at the counter with a too-wide grin.

“Someone was a little antsy yesterday,” he says, sliding your usual across the bar.

Your brow furrows. “Antsy?”

Felix leans in, tone conspiratorial. “Your boy was pacing,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Kept checking the door like a golden retriever who lost his owner at the park. Ordered three espressos and didn’t drink any of them.”

You don’t even have the energy to clock Felix for calling Seungcheol your boy. You glance over to your usual table. Seungcheol is there. Head down. Pretending he can’t hear Felix. He’s gone stock-still.

You approach slowly. “Three espressos?”

Seungcheol already has his face buried in his hands. “I hate him,” he groans.

You set your things down. “Were you worried about me?”

“I was... mildly alarmed that my study subject had vanished,” he mumbles. “For science.”

You grin at the now-inside joke. “For society.”

He squints at you from between his fingers. “I should’ve taken another emergency leave.”

“Better clear it with HR.”

He sighs dramatically, then glances at you. “Glad you’re back.”

Your heart stumbles. “Yeah,” you murmur, trying not to smile too much. “Me too.”

The day stays with you.

Like a bit of sugar stuck on your lip, or a phrase you can’t remember the origin of. It trails behind you into the evening, clings to your sweater the next morning, settles in the folds of routine. His face, half-horrified under Felix’s grin. The way he said glad you’re back. Too casual. Too real.

It sits beside you when he doesn’t show up the next day. Or the next. Or the three after that. By day six, you’ve graduated from confused to mildly insulted. Not that it matters. Not that you care. Not that you check the door every time it opens.

You try to reason with yourself. He has a job. A corporate one. With meetings. Flights. Possibly a high-stakes padel tournament. But still, the café feels off-kilter without him. Like one chair always pulled out too far.

Day eight, you’re settled into your seat—headphones in, deadlines glaring—when a shadow flits across your screen. You look up.

He’s back. Tan coat, navy slacks, guilty smile. Holding a coffee cup like a peace treaty.

You don’t look up again. Not really. Just enough to let him pass. You type a little more pointedly than usual. Sip your drink a touch too loud. “Okay,” he says eventually, dropping into the seat across from you with a sigh. “Are we doing this?”

You don’t stop typing. “Doing what?”

“This thing. Where you pretend not to notice me because I disappeared for a week.”

You arch a brow. “You disappeared?” you ask, even though the tick of your jaw gives away your feigned nonchalance.

“I had a work trip,” he says, halfway exasperated. “I didn’t fake my own death.”

“Would’ve been less dramatic.”

He exhales a laugh, then leans forward, arms on the table. “You know, we could exchange numbers. Save you the emotional labor next time.”

You glance at him. He’s smirking. Just a little. But there’s a hopefulness under it, peeking out like socks that don’t match.

“You think I want your number?”

“No. I think you want me to want your number.”

You snort. You hate it when he’s right. Wordlessly, you hold out your hand; he stares at it like it’s some sort of bomb.

“Phone,” you say dryly. “Before I change my mind.”

He fumbles it out, unlocking it with shaking fingers. You type in your number, add your name, and for no good reason, a croissant emoji. You hand it back. “There,” you huff. “Now next time you vanish, I can file a formal complaint.”

He grins, and it’s a little too wide for his face. A little too happy to be friendly. “I’ll have my people forward it to legal.”

You finally meet his eyes.

It feels like stepping into warm light.

Your phone buzzes, mid-sip, mid-scroll, mid-holding-back-a-yawn. A text. From Seungcheol. Who is, rather notably, sitting four feet in front of you.

Seungcheol ☕ [2:03 PM]: did you sleep last night or are you just naturally corpse-chic today?

You look up. He’s got the gall to raise his brows at you over his laptop, like he didn’t just insult you through cellular waves. Like this is normal behavior for a grown man in business casual.

You respond with a slow, deliberate middle finger under the table. He grins. Felix swats you both and murmurs something about children being around.

The next day, Seungcheol does it again.

Seungcheol ☕ [4:25 PM]: is that your third cup? do i need to stage an intervention or just sponsor it as a startup?

This time, you reward him with a middle finger emoji. Something a little more permanent, and a lot less damning to Felix. Seungcheol’s responding cough is suspiciously laughter-adjacent.

It becomes a rhythm, a beat stitched between sips and keystrokes. You never text outside of The Greeting Committee. Not once. But inside its sun-drenched walls, with the clatter of cups and the low hum of indie folk, you have your own thread. A quiet thing. A private game.

Sometimes, it’s teasing.

Seungcheol ☕ [1:43 PM]: felix gave you the bigger muffin. favoritism.

Sometimes, it’s curious

Seungcheol ☕ [3:10 PM]: what are you working on today? looks serious. also your nose scrunches when you’re focused.

Sometimes, it’s borderline sentimental:

Seungcheol ☕ [5:04 PM]: i like mondays better now.

You don’t always respond.

Sometimes you just smile, or shake your head, or raise an eyebrow that says you’re on to him. Sometimes he takes that as victory. Sometimes he gets mock-wounded.

You pretend not to notice the way he watches your face light up, but you do. You always do.

You don’t know what to make of it—this strange little performance. This theater of text bubbles and muffled laughs. But your fingers start lingering over your phone when he walks in. Your heart bumps when it buzzes. You catch yourself rereading his old messages when he’s in the restroom.

You know it isn’t just caffeine making you giddy, no matter how badly you want to make the claim.

Seungcheol doesn’t come in one morning. You notice before the door finishes not opening.

Felix does, though, gliding past your table with a steaming latte and a smirk like he knows a secret. He wipes down the counter with theatrical flair before leaning over it to say, “So. Are you two ever going to get together, or should I just start a betting pool?”

You laugh. Too quickly. Too high. “We’re not—” You wave your hand in a vague gesture that means something like, Don’t be ridiculous, but also, maybe, Please don’t ask me that when I haven’t had my coffee.

Felix raises both eyebrows and hums. “Sure. Okay. Keep lying to yourself, sweetheart.”

You spend the next thirty minutes trying to focus on your screen and not on the vacant corner of the cafe where Seungcheol’s laptop usually glows and his stupid phone buzzes with texts he won’t say out loud. It’s like trying to work with half your keyboard missing. Or your second favorite limb.

Around lunchtime, when the loneliness gets just a touch too loud, you do something unhinged.

You open LinkedIn.

It starts off innocent. Curious, even. You want to see what he looks like in a professional headshot. You want to know if his job title is as unnecessarily long as you suspect. (It is. “Senior Talent Acquisition Specialist & Strategist, Creative Industries Division.” Ugh.)

You scroll through his accolades, which are infuriatingly impressive. Fluent in three languages. Led multiple region-wide talent campaigns. There’s a photo of him at some conference, smiling and mid-sentence, looking… God, competent. That’s, unfortunately for you, really hot.

You hate how charming his bullet points are. You hate that he probably made a slide deck about them. You close the app. You reopen it. You check his endorsements.

And then, as you're packing up, phone zipped away, pretending like you haven’t spiraled into corporate espionage, your screen lights up.

Seungcheol ☕ [2:22 PM]: you know i have linkedin premium, right? i can see who views my profile.

Your soul leaves your body. You stop dead, laptop halfway into your tote. Another buzz.

Seungcheol ☕ [2:22 PM]: did you miss me that bad?

A third, before you can reply:

Seungcheol ☕ [2:23 PM]: you could’ve just texted, you little coward.

You type back with trembling thumbs.

You [2:25 PM]: You should be banned from the internet.

He sends a smirking emoji, and the emoji with hearts on the face.

You hate him. You hate that you’re smiling. You hate that your heart is fluttering like it just got a calendar invite to something thrilling.

You slide your phone into your bag. It buzzes again. You leave it there.

You don’t need to check it to know exactly who it is.

The next time you see Seungcheol, he’s already sitting at your table.

He has the audacity to look smug, half-grin tilting upward as you approach, coffee in hand and dignity in tatters. “Hope you found what you were looking for on my profile,” he says without preamble.

You set your cup down with deliberate care. “Actually,” you say, sliding into the chair across from him, “I did. Very informative. I especially liked the bit where you led a cross-functional recruitment initiative. That was hot.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he chokes on his Americano.

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your latte with practiced coolness. “What?”

He coughs into his sleeve. “Nothing,” he wheezes. “Just didn’t realize I had a fan.”

You tilt your head. “LinkedIn says you’re results-driven. I just wanted to see if you lived up to the branding.”

He goes very still. There’s a beat, then another, and then his ears go pink. It’s kind of glorious. He clears his throat, fiddling with the lid of his cup like it’s suddenly become complicated engineering.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accuses.

This, as in corporate flirting? “Immensely,” you chirp.

He lifts his gaze just long enough to give you a look that says two can play this game, but not very well, apparently. “You know, I was going to bring you a croissant to make fun of you gently, but now I’m reconsidering.”

“Fear is the beginning of wisdom,” you say, quoting something you may or may not have pulled from a fortune cookie.

He groans softly, but there’s laughter behind it. There always is, lately. He looks at you a little too long, like he’s trying to memorize this exact moment. You feel it, the shift—somewhere between banter and something gentler, something a little more reckless. But then he breaks the moment, leaning back with a crooked grin.

“Remind me to revoke your internet access,” he says.

“Try it,” you say. “I dare you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. You don’t look away. Neither does he.

The evening’s already blushing gold by the time Seungcheol says, “Let me walk you home tonight.”

It’s casual, tossed in like garnish. But there’s a new kind of weight to it. Not the kind that sinks, but the kind that anchors.

You sip the last of your lukewarm latte and reply, “Okay. But we’re walking. No car. It’s only twenty minutes, and you need the humility.”

He squints like you’ve personally offended his shin splints. “Twenty minutes? That’s practically cardio.”

You stand, grab your tote, and shoot him a look. “You’ll survive. Probably.”

He groans but follows, waving a lazy goodbye to Felix, who grins way too knowingly.

The air outside is warm with the memory of the sun. The streets are still holding onto their buzz, slow and syrupy. You walk side by side, his arm brushing yours just often enough to register. He doesn’t make a show of it. That would be too easy.

At the end of the block, you turn left instead of right.

Seungcheol pauses. “Hey. That’s not the way to your place. Unless you’re secretly living behind the dumpster.”

You shrug. “Need to make a stop.”

His eyes narrow. “Is this how it happens? You lure me out, make me walk, then finish me off behind a coffee shop? Classic femme fatale behavior.”

“Stop being dramatic,” you sigh. “I’m feeding someone.”

You lead him to the back of The Greeting Committee, where the air smells like cooling bricks and old pastries. There, curled beneath a battered crate and a weather-worn sign, is a stray tabby blinking lazily up at you.

“This is Pumpkin,” you say, crouching to pull a packet of wet food from your bag as if it’s completely normal to carry gourmet feline meals in a tote next to your charger and existential despair.

Seungcheol just stares. “You—what—is that tuna mousse?”

“Chicken and pumpkin puree,” you correct. “He has a sensitive stomach.”

The tabby slinks forward, mewling. You set the food down, and Pumpkin immediately goes to town. Seungcheol is still watching, expression somewhere between disbelief and awe. “You do this every day?” he asks.

You shrug. “Most days. Felix lets me stash a few cans under the sink. He pretends not to know.”

Seungcheol huffs a quiet laugh, crouching beside you. His knees crack with such dramatic flourish you can't help but look at him. “I’m too young to make those sounds,” he mutters.

“Corporate life ages you.”

He glances at you. “So does pining after someone who makes fun of your LinkedIn.”

You pretend to study Pumpkin more closely. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh, it is,” he says, and his smile feels like the first sip of something warm on a cold morning.

The two of you watch Pumpkin finish off his meal. You could probably get going, but you quite like seeing Seungcheol—immaculately pressed suit, Aventus Creed Seungcheol—crouched in a random alleyway, watching a cat with immense concentration. Makes him look more human, less robot.

Pumpkin mewls appreciatively at you as he finishes off his meal. The stray gives Seungcheol a hiss that suspiciously sounds like a warning. It doesn’t really make sense until you get to your feet, Seungcheol in tow, and you realize he’s giving you a Look. The preemptive kind that warns of something ahead.

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m about to do something stupid.”

“Like pet the cat even though he’ll hiss at you again?” you say, because it’s easier to joke about things than take anything seriously.

He takes a breath. His gaze flicks to your lips. “Worse.”

And then, before you can ask, Seungcheol says, “Sorry,” like it’s the preamble to a crime scene, and leans in.

The kiss is not polite. It’s not tentative. It’s not a test or a maybe.

It’s the undoing of a thousand little silences.

Your back hits the wall. You let out a surprised sound, half laugh, half breathless awe. The alley smells like coffee grounds and rain-slicked pavement. His tie is the first casualty; you tug it loose and toss it over a bike rack without ceremony. Seungcheol groans into your mouth. His hands are warm and everywhere, grounding you while one of your legs hitch over his waist.

You taste his Americano on his tongue, bergamot from his cologne, and something sharper that must be everything he hasn’t said. The way he kisses you like an overdue confession. You don’t stop to think about the logistics. Or the implications. Or whether Pumpkin the cat is scandalized.

You just think about how this man—who wears suits to cafés, who once made you cry with a poorly timed joke, who texts you across the room just to see you smile—is kissing you, like the world might end if he doesn’t.

Your breath is still caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat when he pulls back. Not fully, not even really. Just enough for air to cool your lips, for the night to slip between your mouths, for you to hear him say, between peppered kisses along your jaw and neck, “I’ve dreamt of doing that since the moment I saw you in that damn cafe.”

You let your head tip back against the brick wall. “You can’t call it love at first sight,” you murmur, voice wobbly but amused. “This isn’t some drama your company produced, Choi.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He says it with no real bite, his mouth still brushing against your throat. “But I’ve known I wanted to kiss you since I laid my fucking eyes on you, so what does that make me?”

You choke on a laugh. It bubbles between your ribs, tangled with the aftershock of his lips and the humiliating truth that you’d let him keep kissing you all night if he wanted.

Your fingers are still laced in the lapels of his coat. His hands—well, one is braced against the wall behind your head and the other has begun to roam with alarming curiosity, curling possessively at your waist, tugging you flush against him like he could make up for the months lost in one touch.

It’s reckless. A little indecent. Unwise in about seventeen different ways.

You kiss him again anyway, because you’re not a coward. But when his thumb slips under the hem of your shirt and your knees actually threaten mutiny, you pull back, panting, forehead resting against his.

“We can’t be like teenagers groping each other in an alleyway,” you whine.

He grins widely, a little wild around the edges. “Why not?”

You push gently at his chest, which is about as effective as shoving a tree. “Because I live around the corner, and I have dignity.”

“Debatable,” he murmurs, but he steps back all the same. The loss is enough to almost make you sob.

You grab his hand, and tug him along. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s go make more questionable decisions in the comfort of my very adult, very allergy-safe apartment,” you manage.

He hastily grabs his tie with his free hand. “If there’s carrot cake, I might propose.”

“There’s vodka in the freezer.”

“Close enough.”

The two of you make it to your apartment in record time, breathless and disheveled, a tangle of limbs that barely manages to key open the door. You’re laughing, the kind of laugh that shakes with adrenaline.

Your back hits the inside of the door before it even closes properly, and Seungcheol is already kissing you again. Less alleyway, more frantic prayer. His hands at your hips, your fingers at the buttons of his shirt, all coordination gone to hell.

“Wait… we should talk,” you try, mouth brushing against his as you speak. Your hands are on his collar, but your words are trying to wrangle the last of your common sense.

He nips at your jaw. “We will.”

Your jacket slips off your shoulders. His tie joins it on the floor. “Seungcheol,” you say with more force, stepping back as much as he lets you. “We can't make out for three episodes and then just forget to have a conversation."

His shirt is halfway undone, and his hair’s in beautiful, stupid disarray. He pauses then, forehead against yours. His breath is still shallow. So is yours. “You’re right,” he says. “This shouldn’t be like the dramas.”

Your heartbeat is in your throat. “So?” you choke out.

He exhales. It rumbles against your sternum, where your bodies are still close enough to feel the echo. “So we do both. We kiss first, talk after. We do it all. As long as neither of us runs.”

Your hand stills against his chest. It would be the easiest thing to make a joke—say something coy, derail the tension with a smirk and a shrug. But Seungcheo’s eyes are honest in a way that leaves no room for denial. No games, no marketing language, no curated storylines. Just him, a man still half-dressed and fully sincere.

“Deal,” you decide, and then you kiss him again.

It carries you all the way to the couch, to the warmth of pressed skin and the ridiculousness of two adults trying not to knock over a lamp while tangled in each other. You tell yourself you’ll talk after. You will.

But right now, there’s nothing but the soft thud of clothes hitting your floor and the sound of Seungcheol whispering your name.

You wake up to sunlight smeared across your floor like a crime scene. The throw blanket is wrapped halfway around your thigh, a heel of it digging into the couch cushion. You blink. The apartment is too quiet. The kind of quiet that knows something is missing.

Seungcheol is gone.

Not vanished. His shoes are gone, his jacket too, but he’s left a note. Folded in half and propped up against your half-empty water glass like a tiny paper tent.

Didn’t want to wake you. You looked criminally peaceful. Not running, just got dragged into an early meeting. I owe you coffee. And at least three kisses. Minimum. — Choi (Not A Flight Risk) Seungcheol

You stare at it for a beat too long. It’s charming. Earnest, even. The ink slightly smudged where he might’ve hovered too long over the word criminally. But your chest feels taut. Like a rubber band wound too tight around something soft.

Your phone buzzes.

Seungcheol ☕ [7:21 AM]: i meant what i said. i’m not disappearing. Seungcheol ☕ [7:21 AM]: also, how do you feel about bagels? asking for a future breakfast. Seungcheol ☕ [7:22 AM]: also pt2: you drool in your sleep. it’s very cute.

You chuckle. Which turns into a sigh. Which turns into you setting the phone face down and pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes.

It’s not the leaving, exactly. You understand work. You understand early meetings and obligations and shoes that need to be polished. It’s the ache of the aftermath. The warmth of him still clinging to your sheets and skin, and the chill of the apartment now that he’s no longer in it.

How easily he’d done it. How easily he could still do it, if he wanted to. In the imminent future.

You move through the morning like someone wearing someone else’s shoes. Make coffee, forget to drink it. Brush your teeth, stare too long in the mirror. You’re not angry. But there’s something like bitter lodged in the back of your throat, and it won’t quite go down.

Later, at your at-home desk, he sends a selfie from a conference room. Half his tie is undone, and someone’s arm is motioning animatedly beside him, blurred in mid-gesture.

Seungcheol ☕ [1:30 PM]: currently dying. cpr not required unless administered by you.

You do laugh. A little. Quietly. Still, the unsettled thing inside you rolls over, sighs. Unimpressed.

You wonder, absurdly, if he’s kissed anyone else like that in an alleyway. If he’s made out with a woman behind a coffee shop, all suit and stubble and soft declarations. If he’s left notes for other people, claiming they looked criminally peaceful.

You know it’s silly. But that doesn’t stop the wondering, or the weight of wanting more.

You text him back something flippant. Light. Exactly the tone he always teases you for having.

You [2:02 PM]: If you die in that meeting, I’m keeping your coffee points.

It earns you a photo of his exaggerated gasp, hand to chest like a silent movie star. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach where it has to.

You don’t go to The Greeting Committee the next day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

At first, you tell yourself it’s because you need a change of scenery. The café chairs were always a little too firm, anyway. And there are so many other places to try! Like that plant-filled co-working space that smells faintly of eucalyptus and overly ambitious startups. Or your kitchen table, which wobbles like it’s been cursed by a very specific and petty god.

But the truth is less glamorous. The truth is, you miss him. And missing him makes you squirm. You don’t know what to do with that kind of intimacy—the kind that follows you home, seeps into your dreams, and then sends you sweet messages about bagels as if it didn’t completely undo you.

Seungcheol ☕ [4:09 PM]: missing my coffee buddy. when am i seeing you again?

You reply an hour later.

You [5:10 PM]: Got a deadline this week. Might be a while.

The next day:

Seungcheol ☕ [6:19 PM]: i’m starting to think i hallucinated the whole thing. very elaborate dream. excellent production value. You [9:32 PM]: Definitely real. Probably. 87% sure.

You try a different café. The espresso tastes like regret. The barista spells your name with a Q. You spill oat milk on your notes.

Seungcheol ☕ [4:20 PM]: Thinking about filing a missing person report. You [10:13 PM]: I’m just very elusive. Like a fox. Or Carmen Sandiego.

You’re doing it. The dance. Light-footed and clever. Skipping across the surface before anything can pull you under.

But it gnaws at you. Not the silence, because there is none. Seungcheol still texts. Every day. A silly update. A selfie with an Americano. A picture of a squirrel he insists is giving him side-eye. It’s the consistency of it. The unrelenting sweetness. The way he keeps showing up, even if you don’t.

On the fifth day, your phone buzzes with something different.

Seungcheol ☕ [8:04 AM]: door.

You open the door in your worst t-shirt—a sleep-soft relic from a failed music festival, collar stretched, logo faded into oblivion. Seungcheol stands there like the dramatic ending to a mid-season K-drama. Tousled hair. Scowl on his face. Cardboard pastry box in one hand, a bouquet in the other that looks like it could finance a small wedding.

“Really?” he says, before you can even fake a good morning.

You blink. “Hi?”

He holds up the pastries, slightly tilted. A peace offering gone stale. “You’ve been dodging me like I’m a subscription service you forgot to cancel,” he deadpans.

“You could've just texted again,” you mutter.

“I did. Several times. Look where that got me.”

You sigh and step aside. He brushes past, trailing the scent of espresso and patience thinned to a thread.

He places the pastry box on your counter and sets the bouquet down with exaggerated care. It doesn’t match your kitchen. Too pristine. Too blush-colored and wrapped in sheer paper that shimmers slightly. You resent it for being beautiful. For being from him.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” you say, arms crossing over your chest.

“Yeah, well.” He shoots you a look. “I wasn’t sure if I was showing up for a conversation or a war.”

You lean against the counter, the cold tile pressing into your hip. The kitchen feels too quiet, too bright. You think about the last few days and how you’ve been avoiding your usual coffee like it might burn more than just your tongue.

“I wasn’t trying to ghost you,” you say finally.

“No,” he agrees, watching you. “Just haunt me a little.”

There’s something too knowing in his tone, but not unkind. He isn’t angry. Just... here. Uninvited and stubborn and still charming in a very irritating way.

“I needed time,” you offer. It sounds thinner out loud than it did in your head.

“Time I can do,” he shoots back, “but disappearing without telling me why? Not really my favorite genre of heartbreak.”

You glance at the pastries. At the bouquet. At him. He looks ridiculous. And sweet. And maybe a little scared under all that posturing. “Fine,” you say. “We can talk.”

You set the kettle on the stove. He takes a spot on your counter stool.

You make the tea to buy yourself time. Seungcheol doesn’t press, just watches, elbows on the counter and jaw tucked into his hand like he’s willing to wait forever or until the kettle screams.

It does, eventually. You pour the water. Set down mugs. Curl your fingers around yours like it might anchor you.

“I just… I don't know what we're doing,” you say, eyes fixed on the rippling surface of your tea. “It feels like two people on opposite tracks pretending they aren’t going to crash into something.”

Seungcheol exhales a soft laugh, more breath than amusement. “You think we’re crashing already? We haven’t even started anything.”

“That’s the problem,” you say, glancing at him. “You wear suits. You chase clients. You probably have a skincare fridge and a Google Calendar color-coded within an inch of its life.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just sips his tea and lifts an eyebrow like, And?

You press on. “I work out of cafes. I write brand copy for sock companies and only recently stopped paying my rent late. I have... retroactive jealousy issues.”

“Retroactive?”

“Like, I’ll be jealous of things that happened before I even knew you.”

He stares at you for a minute. Then: “That is both deeply irrational and weirdly flattering.”

You groan into your tea.

“Okay,” he says, putting the mug down. “Full honesty? I don’t even really like The Greeting Committee.”

Of all the things Choi Seungcheol could have said in that moment, that was not the one you were expecting.

Your head snaps up so fast, you’re surprised your neck didn’t damage somehow. “What?” you stammer.

“Yeah,” he grimaces. “Their lattes are overpriced and their playlist is one bad Sufjan Stevens song away from sending me into a spiral.”

You’re scandalized. “You—you’ve been coming there for months!”

He nods solemnly. “Yeah. Because the first day I walked in, I saw you by the window. Eyes on your screen, hair in that ridiculous little claw clip, frowning like the fate of the world depended on a semicolon. And I thought, holy shit. There goes my weekday.”

You want to scoff. You want to melt. Instead, you accuse, “So you treated me like a talent to chase.”

His head snaps back. “Oh my God,” he says, nearly knocking over his tea. “Do you hear yourself? You make it sound like I had a casting binder labeled ‘Girl In Cute Sweater By Window.’”

“I mean—”

“I liked you. I like you. And every time I tried to talk to you, you dodged me like I was pitching a pyramid scheme. What else was I supposed to do?”

You falter. Your mug has gone cold. Your pulse has not. “Maybe,” he continues, quieter now, “if you weren’t so busy building exits in your head, you’d see I’m not going anywhere.”

You look at him. Earnest. Exasperated. Still holding on. He stares back at you, and he must find something there underneath all the frazzled panic and the indignation. He must see it. Whatever you can’t say, hiding just right on the surface.

You don’t know who leans in first, but your nose bumps his, and neither of you laugh. Not at first.

Your lips find his, soft and familiar, and then softer still when he sighs against your mouth. It’s unfair, how easily kissing him feels like home. Like you’ve done it a thousand times before and you’ll do it again, again, again.

Your hand fists the back of his collar, tugging him closer like you’re afraid he’ll vanish for another meeting, or for some other girl by the window who catches his eye.

“I know I’m being ridiculous,” you murmur between kisses, lips brushing his jaw, his cheekbone. “But you wear nice shoes and own stock options and know how to pronounce ‘acquisition’ without choking on your own tongue.”

He chuckles into the shell of your ear. “You’re literally straddling me right now,” he grunts, hands already roaming over your curves. “Do you really want me to start listing your resume?”

You ignore that. Instead, your voice comes out in one of those flurried half-whispers, tangled in the haze of heat and nerves. “Sometimes I make up fake ex-girlfriends of yours in my head so I can stop wanting you so much,” you confess. You’re already on a roll. Might as well keep going.

He pulls back briefly to look at you. “You…. what?”

You groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “They’re really pretty in my imagination. The type that remember to water their plants and own matching socks.”

He laughs, full and honest, and rests his forehead against yours. “Do the fake ones also haunt The Greeting Committee?” he teases. “Or just the real ones you make up to ruin your own day?”

You swat at his shoulder, but he catches your wrist and presses a kiss there, which only melts you more. “I’m a freelancer,” you babble. “I can’t even guarantee what my income will look like next month. I eat leftovers three times a week. My savings account cries itself to sleep.”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it for your benefit. I’m saying it because it’s true.” He threads his fingers through your hair, his voice low. “You think I didn’t bribe Felix for your schedule, so I could time my work-from-home’s around you?”

“That makes you sound like a stalker.”

“A handsome one. Who brought pastries and a ninety dollar bouquet.”

“Was it really necessary to mention the price of the flowers?”

“Why the fuck are we even still talking right now?”

You kiss him again before you can say something overly earnest. He kisses back with the kind of conviction that feels like a vow. Hands wandering. Shirts lifting. Breathless little nothings in between.

“Wait,” he murmurs, as you fumble backward, hand on his belt buckle. “Where’s your bedroom?”

You gesture vaguely to the left. “Through the hallway. First door. Don’t judge my laundry basket.”

“I won’t judge,” he says, hauling you up bridal style without warning. You yelp. He grins and nips at your earlobe. “But if you keep making up fake girlfriends, I might have to fight one in a dream.”

You press your face into his shoulder, laughing and mortified and a little bit in love.

That guy who used to always be in a suit is in your seat.

Technically, it’s still not your seat. The Greeting Committee hasn’t suddenly been overtaken by bureaucracy and gold nameplates. But it doesn’t matter. You’re at the same table now.

Window seat, second from the left, with sunlight that softens instead of sears. An outlet for both your laptop and your lingering cynicism, and enough ambient chatter to feel alive without being overwhelmed.

Seungcheol is there. Across from you. Laptop open, tie conspicuously absent, sleeves rolled up like he’s auditioning for the part of everyone’s favorite approachable CEO. He’s editing something, you think. Or maybe pretending to. Every few minutes, he looks up like he’s going to say something, then doesn’t.

When you finally glance at him over the rim of your coffee cup, he gives you that smile—the one that says, I can’t believe you picked me.

Felix brings a blueberry scone cut neatly in half. “For my favorite couple,” he announces, loud enough for the older woman at the neighboring table to coo in amusement. You groan. Seungcheol winks.

“We’re not your couple, Felix,” you mutter.

“You literally are,” Felix says, already walking away. “I made the bouquet for your first fight makeup. I’m emotionally invested now.”

You shoot Seungcheol a look. He raises both hands in surrender. “I didn’t tell him anything! He just knows things. Like a romance bloodhound.”

You roll your eyes and nudge half the scone toward Seungcheol. His fingers brush yours, deliberate and warm. You’re still getting used to that. The small intimacies. The way he lingers now.

How your things have started to mix at each other’s places: his tie in your laundry bin, your socks peeking out from under his couch. How he texts you silly memes during meetings and starts grocery lists in your Notes app like it’s always been shared.

There are days you still trip over the difference between solitude and comfort. Days when you want to crawl back into your shell of low-stakes independence and low-commitment caffeine. Days you remember all the reasons you told yourself not to do this.

That he’s too polished, too stable, too everything-you-aren’t. That he comes from a world of network pitches and tailored blazers and you, on some days, can barely remember if you own an iron.

But then he smiles across the table like you’re not a gamble, just a good choice. And it becomes easier.

Seungcheol leans in a little, conspiratorial. “What do you think Felix would do if I kissed you right now?”

You glance toward the counter. Felix is absolutely watching. “Probably write about it in his next customer newsletter.”

“Worth it.”

You kick Seungcheol lightly under the table. He nudges back, grinning. There’s a softness to his grin now. He’s not just amused; he’s grateful. You catch the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his thumb taps idly on the side of his mug like it wants to be touching you instead.

You pretend to read something on your screen. Seungcheol pretends to work on his edit. It’s mostly an excuse to sit in your shared silence, warm and companionable.

It’s not official. No brass plaque. No velvet rope. But it’s understood. It’s set in stone.

You might really, really like Choi Seungcheol after all.

#seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #svthub #keopihausnet #svtshowbiz #scoups x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #svt fluff #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

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wh0rephobic · 14 days ago

Text

LIMERENCE.

PAIRING: anakin skywalker x apprentice!reader

SUMMARY: you and your master unknowingly get your drinks spiked on a mission.

WARNINGS: SMUT, aphrodisiacs/spiked drinks, dubcon, fingering, piv, orgasm denial, overstimulation, minor age gap (reader is 20-21, anakin is 25-26), teacher x student themes, glove stays on during sex, NSFW, MDNI

COUNT: 3.7k

The air is heavy inside the brewery you ran into after this thief, whom you and your master were assigned to catch.

“You’re sure it ran in here?” Master Anakin inquires, scanning the room.

“Yes,” you insist, “I felt it.”

Though you may only be a young Jedi knight, you’ve always felt very keen about your sense of the Force. But, although hotheaded and stubborn, you don’t disagree that you still have lots to learn from your Master… including this.

“Well, keep your eyes peeled.” Anakin crosses his arms in front of him, “from what Obi-Wan had said, it sounds like we’re dealing with a changeling,”

Oh, great. Your hand balls into a tight fist as the cortisol is released into your bloodstream. These creatures never failed to royally piss you off.

“A changeling?!” You exclaim, “why are you just telling this to me now?”

Your challenging tone earns a stern look from your Master, who’s nearly just as hotheaded as you.

“Easy, young knight,” he snips, “if your connection with the force is strong enough to lead you in here, it’s strong enough to find it. Correct?”

You chew on your lip, studying Anakin’s angry expression as you choose your next words carefully.

“Correct,” you nod, stubbornly.

“Good.” He trusts, “now, let’s split up. You can take the left side of the bar and— “

A server approaches, quickly cutting him off. “Would you like a drink?” She tilts her head with a faux smile on her face and motions to a sign next to her.

“ DISTRICT POLICY: NO LOITERING! ALL CUSTOMERS MUST BUY SOMETHING FROM THE BAR. “

With an eye roll and a faint grunt, the two of you reluctantly order the cheapest drink on the menu, a craft beverage you’ve never really heard of, and find a seat while you wait, continuing to scan the surroundings for signs of your target.

But somehow, you miss your server clock out for a smoke break outside after putting in your orders, and you also miss when an unknown figure takes her place.

The figure swiftly collects your drinks from behind the bar, tagged by your table’s receipt. When throwing in some straws, the figure doses both drinks with a substance. The changeling delivers them to your table.

You may be a knight, but you’re not that young, and Anakin has been training you for at least a few years now. The council wanted to assign someone as stubborn as himself to train as a taste of his own medicine. Since then, you have been stuck to his side like a puppy, and he’s watched you grow up into the bright young woman you are over these past few years… except that this last year, he’s noticed that you’ve gained some independence, as both a good and a bad thing. While you have more confidence in your actions and decisions, he’s not going to ignore the numerous times you’ve arrived at the job late since you became of age, makeup from last night smeared under your eyes and hair barely touched before you pinned it up. No, you weren’t that young, but you did have a reputation of being a little immature at times… he advised you not to let your party life get ahead of you.

You take a generous sip from the double straws in your cocktail, eyes carefully studying every customer at the bar.

Your eyebrows knit, “how do we even know it’s still in here? Couldn’t it have left already?”

“That’s the bad thing,” Anakin admits, sipping from his glass. “I have a feeling that this thing knew what it was doing leading us in here… so, we’ll just have one drink, watch the door, then get back to looking for this guy.”

You nod, trusting your Master’s intuition.

It was a bad idea.

It doesn’t take long for the substance to take effect, Anakin’s palms beginning to sweat under the long sleeves of his Jedi robes. It’s a slow onset though, slow enough that he can barely notice his own temperature change or heart rate rise gradually, and he just blames it on the temperature of the crowded bar. He takes another gulp from his drink.

As his eyes begin to tire from the repetitive display of the busy bar room, his mind begins to wander. It’s been years since he’s wasted his time going out to sleazy bars like this. He was younger, maybe a year or two younger than his own apprentice, you, when he would go out. He reminisces on the young women he’d meet, showing off their bodies in promiscuous outfits, looking for the attention that young Anakin was all-too willing to give, licking the liquor off of their tongues…

He can’t help but wonder what it’s like when you go out with your friends, how much skin you’ve shown off at a place like this. he wonders how many strangers you’ve gone home with, how many of them have made you cum? He bets he could make you feel better than any of them ever have.

With a huff of hot air, Anakin comes back to reality. Everything happens right under his nose, and the naïve Jedi can’t help but wonder how long he’s been feeling like this, and he hasn’t even realized?

But he’s too caught up in his own world to notice how the drug was affecting you. Not only are you also sweating, but you’re shaking, and there’s an uncontrollable heat between your legs that’s clouding your head. You can barely hear Anakin speaking to you, having zoned out long ago with your thighs clenched together to try and relieve some of the pressure.

Soon enough, he notices your lack of interest in the scene and asks, “are you feeling alright?”

You can only offer a huff in response, balling your fists to try and control your tremors. But when a wave of sinful thoughts floods your brain, your eyes can’t help but roll shut at your visions and you feel your face flush a deep red.

The lust seizes you like a fever, with one undeniable thought above it all: you want him. All of him. You want to feel his thick fingers filling you up to the point where you can’t breathe, you want to feel his body on top of yours when he slips in and out of your soaked pussy, whispering ungodly words into your ear. You need him, and you’re mortified.

You’re humiliated, thinking such shameful thoughts of your Master, not only while on duty, but when he’s right in front of you… in the back of your mind, you know that you shouldn’t, that this is wrong and that you should resist your urges. You turn away from him.

He calls your name, trying to get your attention again before he reaches for you. The second you feel his scalding touch on your skin, you involuntarily arch your back away from him with a gasp.

“Master!” You nearly moan out; mind and body completely overran by the substance you unknowingly drank.

Anakin freezes; your reflex is enough to set off a chemical reaction inside of him that creeps down his spine. Luckily, he didn’t drink as fast as you, and he still has his head on straight.

“You’re not well.” He decides.

He harshly grips your bicep. You try to flinch away a second time, biting your lips to hold back another moan as he pulls you to your feet. The mission you two were initially sent on is now completely forgotten, but the changeling snuck out the front door a while ago when both of you were too distracted to notice.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

You finally looked up at him, pouting helplessly as your body aches from the desperation radiating from your core. There’s a scarlet hue painted onto your glistening cheeks, and your pupils are huge, Anakin notes. He hates to admit that the defenseless expression on your face made his cock twitch to life in his pants, neglecting it with a barely audible grunt as he gnaws on his lip, turning away from you.

Outside the bar, your master calls for an air taxi to take you home. He joins you in the backseat, and what should’ve been a relief quickly becomes true torture. Having Anakin so close to you in the tight space of the taxi pod proves to be worse than being inside the bar.

You turned your face to the window. It’s becoming increasingly harder to resist your urges when you can practically smell his wooden-leathery musk dripping in his sweat from where you’re sitting. You bite into your knuckles, shifting your knees together subtly to create some sort of friction between your soaked thighs.

Anakin, both concerned about your sudden distress and trying to satisfy his own disgusting urges, reaches to place a comforting palm on your knee, squeezing it lightly to remind you that he’s there. But his touch only sends lightning to your core, catching air in your throat and making it hard to breathe. You turn to look at him with the same helpless expression that you gave him when you were leaving the bar, eyes glossed over with need.

Both of you are so oblivious to what has been done.

You chew your lip, conflicted about your next move.

Your body, seemingly on autopilot, places your soft hand on top of his glove. Neither of you break eye contact when you guide his hand up your thigh a few experimental inches, studying his reaction. From beneath the leather, Anakin’s metal hand squeezes your thigh to indicate his reciprocated need. It makes your desperate hole clench around nothing, it aches being so empty. You sigh, turning back to the window with a burning red face and stupidly loud heartbeat, but holding his hand where it sits on your leg for the remainder of the short ride. He gingerly rubs his thumb back and forth over the soft material of your pants, slowly getting you more worked up.

By the time you get to your apartment, you’re a disaster. Sweating, eyes blown wide, wetness drenching your underwear as you continue to shake like a prey being hunted in front of your Master, who was just as far gone as you.

You would have jumped on him in the elevator, if it weren’t for the Council. The only thing holding you back from him at this point was your fear of how the Jedi Council would react if behavior like this got out. It was the same thing holding him back, as well… but that didn’t stop him from walking into your apartment, and following you into your bedroom… this is a dangerous game you’re playing.

You smile coyly at him. “You shouldn’t be here,”

You know what you’re doing, and you want it just as much. You just need him to be the one to say it.

“I know,” he swallows, “but you want me to be, right?”

Your lips part, speechless at his question. Yes, you do. But you shouldn’t, you try to tell yourself, the council wouldn’t like this. But as he continues to move closer to you, you can’t help but drift towards him, and when he catches your eye glance solemnly at his lips, all of the ties holding him back snap. With the back of two of his flesh fingers, Anakin strokes the soft skin of your arm.

“Please, let me have you,” he begs, “just for tonight.”

You sigh, hot breath clouding the little space there is between you.

“Master, I- “

“Anakin,” he corrects.

“Anakin,” you repeat desperately, leaning into his touch.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he promises, tasting iron on his tongue. “Please.”

It was so different, seeing him like this. He’s always so strict with you, so stern and certain. But here he is, panting and begging beneath you like he’s ready to get on his knees, and you’re not even touching him. It made your heart beat impossibly faster, pounding so heavily that you’d think it wants to literally jump out of your chest. You think that if you listen close enough, you might be able to hear Anakin’s heart beating just as fast, as well. The agonizing sound fills your ears as you reach for his sleeve, clammy hands gripping it tight, the rhythm of your twin hearts beating gravitating you towards each other.

You’re speechless, trying your hardest to think through this situation rationally but you just can’t.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” You mumble as Anakin tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, allowing his calloused fingers to trace your jaw before cradling it.

He whispers, “I won’t let that happen.”

His lips crashed onto yours before you knew it, both of you immediately melting into it. Shaky hands pushed the robe off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor of your bedroom. His mouth is hot as he eagerly licks into your mouth, entangling his wet tongue with your own. He pushes you back towards your bed gently, discarding his belt and leather tunic along with his robe. You let yourself sneak your fingers under the hem of his shirt, grazing them over the smooth skin.

You let yourself fall back onto the mattress when you feel the bed hit the back of your knees. Anakin takes his shirt off over his head, and you follow his actions. You frantically kick off your pants, fingers reaching behind your back to unclip your bra, when Anakin, now left only in his boxers, climbs on top of you. He places a knee between your legs before leaning in to resume your deep kisses. He reaches behind you, swatting your hands away and taking it upon himself to unhook your bra. You can feel how hard he is on your leg as his mouth gradually moves down your jaw and lands on your tender neck, decorating it red with gentle hickeys. Subconsciously, he hopes that they’re light enough to fade by tomorrow… but tonight, he can’t help himself.

You can’t help but drop your head back when he drags a big hand up your thigh, sending chills down your spine. The feeling of his teasing fingers tracing along the get spot of your clothed pussy makes you whine.

“Please don’t tease me— ah-!” You gasp when he finally pushes your panties aside and sinks two thick digits into your warm cunt.

Simultaneously, his expert mouth lands on one of the sensitive buds on your chest, flicking his tongue back and forth over it before suckling carefully. Your back arches, and Anakin takes this opportunity to sneak his gloved prosthesis behind your back to hold you closer to him as a most beautiful mewl escapes your swollen lips. He smiles against your tits when he feels you tighten around his hand, leaking slick wetness all over his hands and down your thighs.

Your legs twitch when you feel him curl his strong fingers inside of you, and you instinctively reach for the back of his head, entangling your fingers in his golden curls and pulling him impossibly closer to you. He groans against your nipples, repeating the motions of his fingers rapidly, rubbing his fingertips against the spongy spot inside of you.

“You’re so wet,” he hums approvingly, “is this all for me?”

You can only let out a pleasured cry in response, too far gone to offer anything more.

Anakin picks his head up from your swollen tits and studies your face. You’re swimming in the clouds of bliss that is being in Anakin’s arms, eyes rolled back and jaw hung so low you’re about to start drooling. You’ve gone stupid on his fingers alone.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, “stay with me,”

His words ground you, and he flashes you a proud grin when your eyes blink back into focus, holding eye contact with him as he sneaks his thumb up to your clit. Your body twitches at the stimulation when he starts slowly rubbing it side to side, eyes threatening to roll back again. You feel a throb deep inside your needy cunt before a warm pressure suddenly bubbles up, faster than you can take it.

“Anakin-!” You gasp, “y-you’re gonna make me cum!”

But your words only discourage him, making the pace of his skilled hand falter when he shakes his head in disapproval, golden curls clumping together as they fall in front of his forehead.

“I want you to cum on my dick.”

Your hole squeezes his fingers at the thought of being filled up by him any more than you already are.

You gasp, blurting out “please fuck me,”

Your begs fuel Anakin, the pride of your desperation rushing straight to his cock, you watch a dark grin flash across his face. He’s going to break you.

He moves down your body, planting kisses along your stomach as he inches closer to your now completely ruined panties. He hooks his fingers into the side before pulling them down, placing soft kisses onto your tender pussy. His own underwear comes off next, and you open your legs invitingly, allowing him to position himself between them. He rubs the plush skin of your hip soothingly, looking up to give you a checking nod.

You reciprocate with another sure nod before you reach up to pull him down on top of you, foreheads touching.

“Please,” you whisper.

Anakin obeys your soft begs when he finally sinks his hard cock inside of you. Despite your wetness, the stretch from him still makes your back arch, and one sharp inhale is enough for him to clash his lips with yours and drink up your lewd moans like he hasn’t drank anything in weeks. The tense grip he has on your thighs tells you that he’s holding back, thumbs pressing hard enough to stain your skin violet.

“F-Fuck,” he hisses, eyes screwing shut with pleasure. “You’re so warm,”

His gravelly voice makes your pussy throb around him again, sucking him in and drawing a punched-out groan from deep inside of him. That’s when something snaps inside of Anakin, he completely loses control when he pushes your knees into your chest before doubling down and fucking you hard, ruthless and unforgiving.

“Ah!” You cry out, reaching for him and stabilizing yourself on his leather glove.

Your other hand cradles around the back of his neck, pulling him down, and you sink into each other’s rhythm like puzzle pieces

Anakin’s ruthless pace allows for his cockhead to slam into your cervix; he’s so deep you can feel it in your stomach. You find it hard to breathe and you start gasping breathlessly into his mouth. Your wet cunt is squeezing him so sweetly that he can’t help but let out a groan into your mouth, pace faltering for a brief second. He lets his head fall onto your shoulder, rutting eagerly into your desperate hole, sucking him back in every time he pulls out and essentially milking his cock. He bites his lip to stifle a deep moan.

“If I had known your pussy was this good, I would’ve fucked you months ago,” Anakin confesses in his haze.

He emphasizes his words with another deep pump into your core that echoes through you with a sob. Your nails scratch shamelessly down his back and you grip him impossibly tighter.

“Hah,” he hisses, eyes screwing shut.

He lifts himself to full height to take in the full sight of you, never letting his unforgiving pace slow. You’re a disaster under him, eyes crossing with pleasure, tears mixing with sweat on your temples, a messy mixture of both of your saliva coating your chin.

The sheer sight of you beneath him is enough for his dick to twitch inside of you, grazing his leaking tip against your g-spot in such a way that sends electric jolts to your burning core. Before you know it, you’re tumbling towards your orgasm.

Anakin can sense it, “you’re close?”

You nod frantically, eyes locked on him. You bite your lip, trying your hardest to find the strength to put words together in your defeated state. He’s fucking you so good, and you’re so desperate for it, taking everything he gives you without protest like the obedient little slut that you are.

“Y-Yes!” You finally choke out, “yes, ‘m so close, ah— fuck-! please, feels s-so good…”

He’s proud of you.

With a permitting nod from your Master, the fuse inside of you finally explodes and sends fireworks shooting through your body. Your back arches up into his stomach, soft walls spasming around his aching cock so perfectly that his eyes screw shut and his nails dig into your hips as he leans over you. He drives his length into you a few more times, letting out a shattered growl when he finally buries himself inside of you and finishes, filling you up with white streaks while you shake beneath him.

Anakin rides out his high with a final few sloppy grinds against you before draping his tired body over yours. The two of you take a minute to come back down to Earth, engulfed by your collective hot gasps and pants that thicken the air of your bedroom.

As your heartbeat begins to calm, you can feel Anakin’s still pounding excitedly against your chest. You can hear him try to regulate his shaky breathing against your neck, but he’s still worked up.

Suddenly, the speed of his lazy rocks picks up again.

A moan rips through your chest, “W-Wait, A-Anakin! Please-! I-I can’t take it— Ahh—!”

“You can take it,” he nods, voice slurring.

You squirm beneath him, trying to escape his overstimulating thrusts when he grabs you by the thighs and drags your body back into his lap, holding you still with one hand as the other gloved one reaches up to gently tweak your nipples, trying to give you something to relieve the aching pressure in your core.

Next thing you know, you’re back at the start, with your back slightly arching into his touch and your cunt swallowing him greedily.

It’ll be a long night.

a/n: daddy skywalker fic for father’s day mwahaha >:D

#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader smut #anakin skywalker #star wars smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #star wars fanfiction

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spadesolace · 26 days ago

Text

about you - sophia laforteza x fem! writer! reader

synopsis: childhood best friends with their life somehow already built for them, one made for the stage while the other is made for building those stories said for the stage. unspoken feelings and unsent messages soon came to bite them after years of acting like it’s nothing.

spade speaks: it took me about 3hours to sit down, start and finish this in one sitting. happy pride month, here’s some angst (or fluff)

it was no surprise when you heard the news that sophia had participated in a survival show in order to debut. two years of her living in los angeles, you had thought she would have already been planning to debut or something.

this was your childhood best friend, having been forced into one space when your mother was a screenwriter while sophia’s mom is an actress. two quiet souls, sophia was always humming or trying to copy her mom whenever there was no babysitter for her when her mom would go to work. the same way for you, sometimes your mother is so engrossed in work that she forgets to ask your cousins to take care of you.

with your respective mothers working together all the time, it was bound to happen - sophia had slowly become a constant in your life, the very same girl who would sing to musicals while you read the script and understand how such words could be used as instructions to make something come to life. from the age of 6, sitting next to each other backstage with shared headphones, doing assignments in the same space, even showing skills that would slowly lead to where you two are.

by the time you two were 13, sophia had been reading lyrics and dissecting them as well as learning multiple instruments to keep up with her musical theater background. you, on the other hand, are always buried in books, learning to write stories and using the right metaphors for such stories. although, you both needed each other; asking sophia how to say something that sounds a bit more flowery while she asks you to make a line that seems to have a huge impact in the musical makes sense to your young minds. the closeness was hard to explain, because with every soon to be singer or musical performer there is someone closely tied to them that writes everything in such a vague yet intelligent way.

she never knew when it shifted, how every song she has written was drawn from you as the muse, with every small performance she would hold in the dressing room of her mother, you’d sit there and applaud her. maybe unaware of the fact that those songs have always been about you, a secret that isn’t so private and is being yelled out to the world.

it was the same for you, every poem, prose, short story, sophia was your muse. the way you’d describe her laugh, her smile, and her voice - anyone would just assume it’s some girl but to those who knew the close relationship; it had always been about sophia.

“whatcha writing?” sophia peeked over your journal, all of which is a mess. scribbling out ways to describe the girl next to you as you tried to dismiss it.

“just something, keep thinking of a line but i don’t know how to work around it.” it was true, you’ve thought of something that could possibly tell her everything that is running in your mind but you had to stop yourself. after two years, sophia was finally back home - back to you.

“mind telling me?” you shook your head, closing your journal as you stuck your tongue out in a teasing manner.

“uh no? you won’t even tell me what your debut track is. so this is how you treat your best friend?” it was a joke, you and sophia grew up teasing each other without any lines being crossed, but this time. somehow sophia would want to remove that title of ‘best friend’ to something more.

“it literally is called ‘debut’ that’s all i can say.”

“boooooo! at least tell me something juicy.”

sophia rolled her eyes, shoving you as she stood up and headed towards the kitchen in her family’s house. you basically live there, her family loves you dearly as they invited you when the finale of dream academy was happening. “chismosa ka talaga”

“says the one that asked me for updates when she was in the states.” all harmless fun, following sophia behind as you gently reached for her waist holding her as you looked at the contents of the pantry. the singer in your arms stiffened, face flushed as she tried to not think of it as such. looking at the assortment of snacks as you placed your chin on her shoulder.

in sophia’s mind, you considered everything as material; maybe its for the novel you’ve been writing during your spare time, understanding the feel and how to convey the emotions and describe it without telling much.

for you, maybe it’s a bit overstepping to hold your best friend in such an intimate way when you’re only browsing for a snack. not in an opportunistic way but a writer’s instinct to preserve what hurts, lingers, and let everything slip away unnoticed. maybe it was selfish, or foolish. when you reached up to pick your snack in the cupboard, arms brushed and sophia didn’t move, nor flinch or shift, clearly something was off.

“an angel like you, darling, you’re not perfect nor easy…” the line you’ve been stuck on trying to work around with. pulling back as you opened the small bag of chips in your hands. letting it slip past your mouth before you could stop them, a whispered dialogue that was covered in unspoken feelings that is used to convey the emotions of one of the character’s in her novel.

“huh?” sophia turned to face you, furrowed brows, eyes sharp as the tension between you two grew thicker as the seconds ticked by. you could only clear your throat, reaching over the glass of water which you assumed to be yours (it’s sophia’s).

“it’s the line that i’ve been stuck on… i think i know what could follow next to it.” sophia hates how you said it so nonchalantly as if all you think about is your work. she could only nod, taking a chip from you as she took the same glass of water.

“you write about angels now?”

“metaphorically.” you pulled your phone out, writing the line in one of your notes with a title that is so you and sophia understands it immediately.

“give me some input?” sophia didn’t answer right away, instinctively reaching out for your phone as the note, with that title. you’ve let her read a few chapters and lines every once in a while, back when you only started to polish out the plot and tried to make sense of it.

“input on what exactly?” finally looking at your phone screen, seeing some of the random lines and moments you have as if to try and make it fit into your novel.

“where it goes? the dialogue? it’s clear that there’s tension between the two characters but does it convey that.” that was the problem, you always said everything without really saying anything, hidden between metaphors, flowery words that could make anyone romanticize whatever it is you’re writing. yet, this one felt raw, vulnerable as she read the single line on your notes app.

‘an angel like you, darling, you’re not perfect nor easy. But no one would dare tell me you’re hard to love.’

since when did you start to write straightforward yet use metaphors to convey someone’s innocence and purity within your eyes. her throat went dry as she sneakily scrolled up and read a few more other lines you’ve written down.

‘to have someone as beautiful as you to have fallen for such deceitful words and actions…’

nothing new followed, but if she could get some answers, some sort of clue on who your muse is, maybe the ache in her heart would lessen each time she’d read your works. still, sophia ever so kind doesn’t let her emotions get the best of her, the same way her mother has taught her whenever she’d be on stage to convey her emotions for a role,

“maybe turn it into a monologue, it sounds like a confession more than a dialogue itself.” her response calculated, with her tone cool and critical. sort of asking you to say it as it is rather than beating around the bush. she watched you bite the inside of your cheek as you took your phone back. “let the confession flow without any disruption, but also not giving the whole thing in one full sweep.”

“show it without saying it as it is… that’s kinda sad, don’t you think?” there was something about sophia’s response that made you stop and not think of the novel but rather your feelings that have always been perfectly hidden. sophia wasn’t talking about the novel anymore, you knew that and she knew that you knew.

“you like angst, right?” she walked past you with your shoulders brushing to make you notice the sudden shift between you two.

[...]

it’s been days since that line, since the late night snacks, the shared glass of water that wasn’t yours to begin with, and the silence that felt like a door was closing. yet, things are fine.

you and sophia are fine. this has happened way too many times that you could simply brush it off and talk about it some time after.

she still rolls her eyes whenever you write a cliche, you’d steal her fries because you always forget to order for yourself, and she sends you drafts of her half-finished songs that would always play through your headphones. embarrassed to admit you play them on loop even if it made no sense to do so, like the weight of each line doesn’t hang in your mind long after the last note.

neither of you have mentioned that night. somehow it’s better to keep it that way.

sprawled on her bedroom floor, laptop open typing away with your back against her bed while she sits cross-legged on her bed with her guitar. her room still smells like lavender and vanilla, not in a way that would make you nauseous but one that will always remind you of her. it’s warm, safe, and feels like home.

her humming is the only thing that keeps you focused while typing away, her fingers gently strumming the strings of her guitar as she breaks the silence.

“i finished the song. wanna hear it?” it was casual, getting ready to play it because she knows you’ll say yes regardless.

“the allegory one?” sophia didn’t answer right away, her gaze on the fretboard as her fingers hovered over the strings. you expected a joke, a pun, but she started playing and all you could do is place your laptop down and listen to her.

her strumming is slower than you remembered, as always her voice is steady, but the lyrics were where you focused your entire attention. still wrapped in metaphors and a bit of reality as it seems, still not fully aware of the message if its regards to someone else or a movie she had recently watched. but no.

every beat, every rest, every word she left unsaid from a few days ago was slowly coming back to light. she’s a genius when it comes to songwriting and conveying her emotions in the music; probably why a lot of people voted for her back in dream academy. still, sitting there and trying to decode the message, interpret it the way sophia wants to because you’ve always managed to pinpoint what the exact message is but this time - you can’t.

you don’t want to assume, sophia taught you to never assume something just so you won’t be disappointed. you don’t look at her, you can’t so you sit there still like a stone and hope that maybe the moment won’t change and she won’t bring up what had happened a few nights ago.

sophia sets her guitar down beside her, you can feel her looking at you, waiting. not for a reaction, or praise, but for you to be honest with her. and this time, you don’t know if you can brush it off.

“it’s great… hearing it live is much different from hearing it through voice memos.” clearly it was forced as you gave her a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. you’re stupid to believe you could brush it off by complimenting her godly talents and skills. you don’t know what to say or do in this scenario because you don’t even know if she feels the same way.

sophia doesn’t say anything right away, she’s used to you doing this. the deflection, the way you’d praise her, say the message as it is portrayed by her but this time you can’t. her gaze towards you is unreadable, you can’t decipher it like before and it pains you.

she hates how practiced you are when it comes to pretending that nothing happened a few days ago. you hate how she isn’t calling you out for it.

you think about telling her the truth on how her song felt like you’ve been gutted in the quietest and subtlest way possible. how a part of you assumes it’s about you and how you wanted to believe that it meant something, more than whatever it is that you two have going on since you were thirteen in the dressing room of sophia’s mom when you started to share your works with each other.

but the words don’t come out.

what if you’re wrong? that you’re read into it too much like you always do and it’s just another metaphor; you’re the only one giving meaning to it. similar to the times sophia would hug you a second longer, always choosing the sit next to you when there’s a bunch more to choose from, and how sophia would always pick the longer route as if to extend her time with you before she goes back to los angeles to prepare for a comeback.

instead, you look at her, compliment her once more with a soft laugh to accompany it. god, you sound robotic.

she hums, not in agreement or amusement but… acknowledgement.

“yeah, it came together when i just let it flow and wrote whatever seemed fitting and just worked around it by phrasing it differently.” you freeze, turning to look at her as she had her gaze on you all this time. it made your throat dry as you opened your mouth to say something. some sort of agreement or acknowledgement but nothing.

“well, enough about that, how’s your writing?” right, your novel - the very same one that you’ve been working on since she was in los angeles for training and development. you’re almost done with it, journal entries turned into a novel to convey the emotions that you’ve long harboured for the girl looking at you with such icy cold gaze.

“almost done, just finishing up the final chapter and probably read through it once more after a few days.” she doesn’t push nor ask to read about it, whenever you’re close to finishing she gets the first read. this unspoken dance, you’ve done this before; too many times to count but this time it doesn’t feel right.

the silence that follows makes you uncomfortable that you repositioned yourself on the floor. it isn’t the usual comfortable silence that you both were accustomed with when growing up. you feel like standing at the edge of a cliff, something real that if you fall could either make or break your friendship.

neither of you is taking the leap of fate, not yet at least.

[...]

the laforteza year-end parties are always fun because it’s sophia’s birthday for the first half until the clock strikes midnight and you’re screaming happy new year and making a bunch of noise.

sophia’s birthday is as you expected, there’s a theme and this time she had asked it to be more so a black tie event. were you surprised to hear her say she had managed to get you a suit that would go perfectly with her dress? no, because sophia always tries to match your clothes during social events, and it’s no surprise that she has done it again.

“so purple dress for you and a purple suit for me?” you two still act as if there’s no tension between you two that happened right in her bedroom.

“you act like it’s the first time.” she straightens your suit jacket, then with precise fingers sophia adjusts your necktie almost as if choking you. “matching on such events is our tradition.”

you cough up a bit, shooting her a half-hearted glare as you loosened up your tie. “strangling me on your birthday? you got something to say, laforteza.”

she rolled her eyes, flipping you off as she does the finishing touches of her hair and makeup, making sure she looks presentable for the guests downstairs. a soft smile on your lips as you watched her through the mirror.

“you’re already beautiful, sophia.” how can a simple compliment from you make sophia feel so weak on her knees, turning around as she gave you a soft smile followed by a wink and a flying kiss.

“always the smooth talker.”

the party is exactly how you’d expect it to be; formal, loud, a carefully curated playlist that shows the type of genre sophia likes but also not enough to make the elderly have a heart attack. it’s warm, colorful, and hers. moving through the entire party with you by her side like always.

no one knows that sophia sang you an original like before, that there is underlying tension between you two as you tried to brush it off like its nothing. not even sophia knows that you’re holding onto each line of those lyrics like a lifeline.

you’re pretending everything is fine and so is she.

next thing you know, the countdown comes fast; everyone is screaming at the top of their lungs as you reach over and hold sophia’s hand. ten, nine, eight - your other hand cupping her cheek, taking a deep breath. maybe it’s the alcohol from the amount of champagne and secret vodka shots you’ve been doing with sophia that gives you the sudden urge to be bold. before you could do anything, the clock strikes midnight, screaming ‘happy new year’. like the rest of them with glasses clinking, confetti popping, and someone pulls her into a hug. it’s her mom and you don’t have anything against it when sophia is hugging her back while you’re handed a sparkler by her younger brother.

cheeks flushed from the alcohol, the noise, and how you almost took the leap of fate.

you didn’t stay much in the party, walking out towards the balcony on the second floor, watching the last remaining fireworks from the distant go off. the sparkler long gone with your empty champagne glass. guests slowly leave one by one, some remain tipsy and curled onto the couch as you just stood there with an empty champagne glass and the chatter from the living room.

slender hands take away the glass from you, handing you a bottled water, chilled as you took with gratitude. sophia’s barefoot now, heels long forgotten as her hair is still luscious despite sweat on her forehead from dancing.

“thanks..”

“no worries.” she leaned onto you, arm around yours as you continued to watch guests leaving and waving at you two goodbye. soft smiles and unspoken words as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“i left my gift for you in your bedroom.” sophia looks up, tilting her head to the side as she tried to recall seeing something out of place in her room

“what is it?” you bit your lip, just guiding her to her bedroom where the paperbag is placed right on sophia’s study table. she doesn’t look at you, only the bag as you slowly hand it over.

enchanted. by y/n barretto.

sophia looks up at you, not sure what to say as she flipped through the pages not yet registering that you had finished the manuscript. her hands close around it gently, her name on margin of the chapter title. it wasn’t printed, but handwritten in your old green journal. it’s intimate, and holds a lot of sentimental value.

“you finished it… when?” you shrugged, not really recalling the time and date when you had finished writing it all when you had written most of it digitally but each one held the original draft on how you wanted to convey each emotion in each chapter.

“i don’t really know… time started to blur when i was nearing the end but… you should probably read the ending first.” the weight of it hits her, was she right all this time and she wasn’t reading too much into it when you made the love interest have such distinct features that resemble her? she can’t remember the last time she read your drafts, mostly undone and messy.

sophia flipped through the pages, the ending didn’t really have much to say. you took sophia’s advice, let the emotions flow without any disruption as she read the same line you had uttered that night in the kitchen.

“you don’t have to read it now-”

“shut up? you wrote an entire manuscript for what exactly?” she wanted to ask you if this is a confession, if it’s real but she knows better.

sophia knows how you speak when it comes to writing, that sometimes you don’t have to think too much about it because actions alone tell you everything you need to know. you’re not one for declarations, but in the subtlety on how you could convey your emotions for sophia after all these years.

instead, she places the manuscript down on the table, reaching out for your hand, not to ask you anything but to give you the silent answer you had long wished for.

[...]

sophia is a fast reader. she always has been and annoyingly so. you remember lending her books years ago and she’d go through them within a day or two, it is was just a compilation of short stories, she’d be done in hours.

it was no surprise that she’d go through the manuscript to understand and decipher every single metaphor in it. from the moment she had woken up from the new year’s party and her birthday, walking around with her hair a mess. until she fell asleep, she didn’t put the manuscript down. not a single greeting from her the entire day and night as you watched her through the call because she told you that she wanted to read it without you cringing at it.

she was writing in a separate notebook every single thing that even when you tried to stop her from reading, she’d hiss at you like a cat.

“did you just-”

“yes, i did,” she flipped through the page, a soft smile as she wrote on her notebook once more. ”now i’m almost done, so please shut up.”

you let her be, ending the call and doing your own thing as she was in her room reading through the manuscript, until the very end of it.

every so often, sophia would mutter something under her breath and she’d text you about what chapter and tease you about it before going back to it as if your heart isn’t being toyed with.

then you get the call, late at night, around 2 in the morning.

“i finished it.”

“good evening to you as well, sophia.” you bantered, stifling a yawn as you pressed the phone to your ear as you tried to stay awake.

you could hear her take a breath, shallow but steady. “i knew by the way, even before reading this, but to have it laid out written in a novel… you normally hide your feelings in your writing but this one just, throws it all out there.”

“well… it’s the original draft. everything i have thought of and written about is in that journal.” sophia hummed, you could hear her walking around her bedroom when you were about to fall asleep.

“i’m coming over.”

“what?! sophia, it’s two in the morning!”

“then come over.” her voice was a bit pleading, as if she can’t handle it anymore. “please.”

that’s all it took for you to get your car keys and head on over to the laforteza household in your pajamas. sophia didn’t even end the call, waiting for you to arrive so that you wouldn’t knock or disrupt anyone else at home.

once you’ve parked your car with sophia standing right there in front of you, holding the manuscript in hand. taking a step towards you, no performance, no teasing, as she stopped close enough that you could feel her body heat radiating; the unspoken words still hanging between you two, heavy as ever.

“i spent years writing songs about you because i was too afraid to tell you what i truly felt. god, i even have a song called ‘this song’ that i had been waiting to use because we’re both terrible at this.” sophia didn’t mean to tease you with the truth but it is what it is; you’re both bad when it comes to admitting your romantic feelings for each other as you held her hand. letting a soft laugh slip through your lips as you took a step closer.

“a part of me kinda assumed that every song you wrote was about me. it only made complete sense that maybe i was right a few days ago.”

“cocky as always.”

“and you love it, sophia.” your hand slowly reached up to cup her cheek, pulling her closer as you could only whisper between the small gap before any of you could close the gap.

“let me be clear; i love you and not just in the things i’ve written nor the silence we’ve lived through for years… i love you, sophia laforteza.”

“you’re so cliche, but i love you too.”

you let out a breathless laugh, the kind that just slips out when something finally stops hurting. letting the gap between you close as sophia pulled you in for a kiss, one of many to come.

#katseye #katseye x reader #katseye sophia #sophia laforteza #sophia imagines #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia katseye #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #angst #fluff

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twisted-broth · 1 month ago

Text

Emergency Rendezvous

Introduction

TW: accidental drugging, aphrodisiacs (no actual smut yet but reader is v horny)

You swat Grim's paws away from the ingredients on the table for the third time while Crewel continued explaining the science behind your assigned potion. He grumbled impatiently, resting his chin on the workbench. With the hand not prepared to Throw Down, you copied Crewel's drawing of some kind of chemical synapse with little bubbles in between labeled "endorphins".

"What makes this solution so potent is the ability of our magic ingredients to act directly on endorphin-releasing pathways in the brain, encouraging the body's natural painkiller system rather than introducing an artificial one. This greatly reduces the risk of addiction seen in non-magical analgesics. While this potion is relatively low risk, and hopefully easy enough that even you pups can't mess it up, there is a significant overlap with nearby pathways that may produce unintended effects. I trust that I've trained you properly enough to thoroughly check the labels on your ingredients and weigh them carefully."

The moment Crewel ended his lecture, Grim was grabbing at the various powders and herbs. With barely a glance given to the textbook in between you two, he started haphazardly shaking the magical- and probably expensive- elements into a weigh boat on the scale.

"Grim! What part of 'read the label' did you not understand?" You reach for the bottle, but are too slow to stop Grim from tossing the ingredient into your cauldron. You sigh wearily, resigned to leave the fate of your grade in Grim's trigger-happy paws. You manage to double check most of the ingredients before they're added to the mix, surprisingly in the correct order. After over a year spent with your troublesome pet/friend/roommate/co-student, you've learned to adopt an "it is what it is" mindset.

When the concoction is finally done, you're honestly shocked to see that your potion is the same color as everyone else's. To make it even better, nothing exploded in the process! You swirled the blue potion around in the flask, admiring the iridescent tone.

"Good dogs!" Crewel congratulated the class, almost sounding surprised that nothing had gone wrong. "Since you've all signed your waivers, and the risk associated is low, I'll allow you to test your products now or save them for later. If you experience any adverse side effects, inform me at once. Class dismissed!"

You eyed the potion on the desk in front of you, weighing the risks it posed. A tap on your shoulder stole your attention, and you swiveled around to see Ace sporting his usual self-righteous smirk. Beside him, Deuce was curiously sniffing their own creation.

"What d'ya think, prefect? Gonna give it a taste test?"

You respond with a weary laugh, finding that the shimmer of the potion was becoming less and less appealing. "I don't know... I mean I don't really have any pain right now. I guess my back is a bit sore?" You reply noncommittally.

Ace rolled his eyes with a tsk. "Aw, c'mon! Crewel never lets us try the potions we make. I, for one, have a killer headache. Cough it up Loosey Deucey!"

Ace swipes the flask from Deuce's hands, ignoring his scoff of protest. With disturbingly little hesitation, he downs the potion in seconds and licks the stray blue droplets from the corner of his mouth. The three of you watch him with mixed expressions of anxiety and curiosity, waiting for the potion to take effect. After another minute or so, Ace's eyes widened in excitement. "Hey, it's totally working! Damn that's a lot better!"

"And of course you had to go and hog it all to yourself," Deuce grumbled, resting his head on the workbench.

Grim pushed your experimental product closer to you. "Well? Go on, henchhuman! Anything the Great Grim makes will be 10x better than those two."

You raised an eyebrow, highly doubtful of Grim's claim considering his disregard for proper measurements. You open your mouth to voice your hesitation, but the excitement in his eyes gives you pause. Well, Crewel did say the potion was pretty low-risk, even if you did make it wrong. And you suppose even Grim deserves some semblance of a win on occasion. With a heavy sigh, you raise the flask to your lips and down the concoction.

You're pleasantly surprised by how good it tastes. Not that you were really paying attention to the ingredients, but you just assumed it would be terrible. Instead, the faint taste of honeysuckle and lavender dances across your tongue, gracing your throat with a warm coating on the way down. You can trace the warmth down your chest and into the stomach, where it slowly dissipates throughout the rest of your body. Despite the pleasant sensation, you say with certainty that your back ache had gone away. Rather, you were distracted from the dull pain as the same warm feeling flooded and settled in your groin.

Either from the potion or the realization of your situation, a furious blush burned your cheeks and ears. It took nearly a minute for you to regain your composure and notice the voices of your friends calling out to you in concern.

"Y/n! Are you alright?" Deuce gently placed a hand on your forearm, trying to bring you back to reality. You gasp at the touch, quickly withdrawing your arm as though you had been burned. Noticing your friends hurt expression, you cleared your throat in embarrassment.

"Sorry! Just a different sensation than I was expecting. You did great Grim! It works really well." You laugh unconvincingly, already feeling a drop of sweat budding at your temple.

Ignoring the various expressions of concern and confusion, you stand up abruptly, nearly knocking your chair over in the process. You make quick work of gathering your belongings, using all your focus to hold onto your last bit of composure.

"Sorry guys, I forgot that I uh... told Azul I would help out at the lounge! It'll be suuuuper boring though, so you guys should go on without me. I'll catch up to you later!" Without leaving room for protest, you rushed out of the lab room, hiding your beet-red face behind your free hand.

Within minutes, you were urgently knocking on Crewel's office door. The sudden noise summoned two large black noses to the narrow gap under the door where they sniffed intently at your feet. From within the office, you hear Crewel call out for you to enter. The dogs retreat from the door at the sound of their master's voice, allowing you space to slip in and close the door quickly behind you.

Although Crewel initially only glances in your direction, he does a double take at the sight of your flushed face and sweat-drenched brow. Two lanky Dalmatians regard you with mild intrigue from their large bed in the corner, where they lay daintily on top of one another. A rare look of concern crosses Crewel's features. "Prefect? Are you alright?"

You stay pressed against the door, trying to distance yourself from the tempting scent of Crewel's cologne. Your hand feebly attempts to cover your nose and mouth, and you shake your head no. "O-our potion," you stutter, "I think something went wrong".

Continuing to test your self control, Crewel stands and approaches you, assessing your vulnerable state. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead to feel for a fever. To your continued humiliation, a quiet whine escapes you at the contact. His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly dawns a mask of professionalism as he retracts his hand.

"I see. Well, as I mentioned in lecture, slight alterations in the potion's formula can trigger alternate pathways which are also mediated by endorphins. One such pathway is the arousal pathway. It would seem that significant enough errors were made that your potion activated your arousal pathway, rather than the intended pain relief pathway". He explains the error matter-of-factly, returning to his desk.

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. Arousal pathway? Doesn't the universe ever get tired of playing practical jokes on you? The persistent throbbing in your core sent the clear message that it doesn't. You groan, burying your face in your hands in an attempt to disappear from the face of the earth. "Can you undo it?"

"I'm afraid the only inhibitor of such endorphins is prolactin, the neurotransmitter released after orgasm. Unfortunately, we've yet to artificially synthesize an effective substitute. Otherwise, your body should metabolize the potion in eight hours." You were appreciative of Crewel's calm and even tone. Even if it didn't cure your current predicament, maybe you'll be able to look him in the eyes again someday.

Making the choice to not dig this hole even deeper, you gave him a grateful bow and quickly departed. Your mind was swimming as you made a beeline for Ramshackle, hoping to make it home before your knees started buckling. At last, you shut the door to your quiet dorm building. Your heart pounded in your ears, though if it was racing from the speed walking or the overwhelming arousal coursing through your blood, you weren't sure.

In any case, your options were to suffer for eight hours, or to get fucked. Well, you would be fucked either way. Your legs finally gave out by the time you had crawled to your bed and curled up on your side. The pillow trapped between your thighs did little to reduce the pressure that consumed every thought. As you stripped down to your underwear, your trembling fingers and raging heart made it very apparent that you weren't in any state to be able to take care of this yourself.

Several faces flashed through your mind, innocent encounters with your friends being quickly perverted in your brain. With less apprehension than was probably warranted, you pulled out your phone and opened your contacts. It wasn't an impressively long list, but nonetheless you quickly found the name you were looking for. The voice of reason in your head insisted that you would never live this down, but it was quickly gagged by the larger majority of your brain that was begging to be fucked.

With shaky hand, you pressed the call button.

A/n: if you missed the poll, I'm hoping to make this a series (no promises). Either way, the first victim will be Leona 😮‍💨

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bakug0uzb1thc · 1 month ago

Note

You should add more to the childhood friends scenario u wrote :3

Ofc ofc 👅👅

Shameless by Avenoir

(I didn’t know what to title this so I just put down what I was listening to— ignore if you want !!)

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

You knew katsuki just as long as Izuku has and what genuinely perplexed you was how differently he treated the both of you.

He was aggressive, Hostile and grumpy towards Deku and threatening every chance he was given. But with you? He was a whole different person entirely.

He made sure to check up on you like clockwork, he was soft and caring he even went out of his way numerous times just to walk you home after school. (he even had an alarm set named ‘tell girly to eat food/drink water.) you never understood why he did it.

But it was all becuase you were his girl.

He wasn’t good with words or telling you how he felt— but he knew he loved you. An unconditional type of love that he couldn’t run from.

If you asked him to give up being a hero, he would be conflicted but in the end he would shamelessly choose you.

It would tick him off if any guy got even 5 feet from you. If it happened with Izuku it was one thing becuase he had learned to share you but if it was some random NPC extra he would blow a fume.

~~~

Katsuki had invited you out for coffee as an excuse to ‘study’ which in other words was him wanting to take you out and to enjoy your company but the last thing he was expecting was for you to get hit on.

“Okay Kats sit tight I’ll go order, could you set my computer up?” You asked sweetly as you straightened out your skirt from any wrinkles that were gained by the way you sat.

“ yeah ‘course.” He glanced down at your thighs for a slight moment before reaching across the table and grabbing your computer.

You muttered a quick ‘thanks’ before turning a corner to the register that was out of his eyes sight.

He opened the computer and was greeted by a sweet photo of Little you and Katsuki. It was a photo his mom took of you kissing his cheek after he gave you a flower crown. He subconsciously smiled at the sweet memory before putting in your password and pulling up the assignment you were complaining about having to do.

A good 10 minutes passed since you left and he was growing fidgety. ‘Ordering a fuckin coffee doesn’t take 10 whole minutes what is the damned brat doing.’ He grumbled in his head before saying fuck the waiting game and getting up. he was genuinely ticked off.

by ticked off he was mildly annoyed but that was a forgotten feeling the second he saw a pretty boy at the counter basically begging you for your number. Knowing you, you were too nice to full on tell him no though it was evident that you were trying your best to decline the coffee boy.

“Now what’s goin on here.” His booming voice joined the pressed conversation which made your worry’s vanish. You had your big scary guard dog back and you just knew it wasn’t gonna end well. (He did it so you didn’t have to.)

“Oh hey suki, it’s nothing he’s was just—“

“About to piss me off?” He snarled causing the coffee boy to sweat. “Uh— here’s your drink ma’am have a nice day!!” He said like he wasn’t just hitting on you 5 seconds before Katsuki showed up barking his existence to the guy.

“Yeah, what I thought.” Katsuki spat putting both drinks in your hands and ushering you to walk in front of him. But it wasn’t over between him and Ice cream boy over the counter.

‘My girl’ was all he mouthed before scrunching up his nose and shoving his hand in the back pocket of your denim skirt.

The scared look The guy gave him made him chuckle lowly, it made the hairs on the back of your neck stick up but you loved your scary dog privileges.

(I couldn’t decide if I wanted them together or not so make with what you will :D !!)

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nerdyjaw · 2 months ago

Text

crybaby. | l. ackerman

content warnings (please read before continuing): smut, squirting, reader is strong, degradation, babbling, bottom reader, fem reader, overstimulation, levi makes reader count. mdni.

summary: youre the strongest in the room— until you’re under him, babbling his name like it’s the only thing you know.

age in bio or you will be blocked.

creator notes: hihi its jaww!! gonna hop back on my grind and fill up my drafts with posts so i can have them on standby. so sorry for inactivity 😭😭. this might seem ooc for some people (cause we all know levis a HUGE virgin haha) but just ignore whats canon rn and live in a world where he’s experienced in these fields 😭. highkey had to take inspo from other writers’ styles because i cannot write smut in my own style to save my life. holy fentballs. this one is kinda slowburn but not rlly, its just not straight to the point ifykwim. as always, constructive criticism and feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!!!

you, who has the strength of two blue collared men.

doesn’t cry. doesn’t flinch. doesn’t wince when you hit the ground. does not back down for shit. got slammed during training once and bit through your tongue— yet didn’t even blink.

you don’t even look that strong. to literally everyone, you have the build of someone who minds their business. you look tired. maybe a little mean. people assume they can take you on in a spar and have an easy victory— until they’re thrown over your shoulder with one hand. you lift what needs lifting, does what needs doing, and keeps it pushing.

you and levi met during squad reshuffling. you got assigned to his unit because you had a track record for handling fieldwork solo and keeping a calm head. levi didnt speak much to you at first. just gave orders. short, dry acknowledgements when you executed them well.

but the way you picked up full grown soldiers like paper? the way you carried two jugs of water in one hand, and a gear pack in the other? the way you held formation like a wall?

thats enough to get anyone wrapped, even levi.

one day, during a particularly messy clean - up, he noticed blood running down your leg. you were limping slightly, still hauling equipment. and you looked bored. like it wasn’t even worth stopping over.

“sit down.” he told you bluntly.

“i’m fine.” you attempted to argue.

“i didn’t ask.” he retorted.

so you sat. but you laughed a little.

and that was the start.

after that, he’d call on you more often. partnered you with him during scouting runs. paired you up for drills. you didn’t speak much, but when you did, it was always dry, smart, sharp. simple, just how he liked it.

and then one night, after hours, when the barracks were quiet and your hands were bruised from the day’s work, you ran into him. told a joke that got a small smile out of him. told him goodnight— and actually got a response.

and that was how it began.

levi’s quiet, and you are too. the kind of quiet that has its own rhythm. over time, he learned that you like your tea strong and your bathwater hotter than hell. you learned that he stares too hard when he’s tired, and that he can’t sleep unless something’s covering his hands.

and now he knows you.

he knows how you fold under praise.

how you melt before he even puts anything in.

how your voice gets thin and your breathing starts to skip when he whispers in your ear.

how your legs always twitch when all is said and done.

you’re strong. that’s still true.

but now?

now you’re on the bed, back against his chest, gushing.

“p-please—levi—levi— fuck, —i—i’m gonna— i’m gonna—“

hes fingering you quickly, hitting that spot just right. his other hand’s around your throat— barely pressing. just enough to keep you in place. keep your back arched. keep you open for him.

he watches your face closely. watches your lip tremble. watches your eyes start to roll. and he just tilts his head.

“gonna what?” he asks.

you sob. actually sob.

he pushes in again.

“one.”

your eyes roll. your pussy clenches and squirts, warm and sudden and so loud against his palm it echoes.

he hums.

“there she is.”

you’re crying now. deadass crying, drool on your lips and your hips bucking against his hand, your moans becoming hiccups as your eyes start to flutter.

“levi—levi, please—“

“what?” his voice is low. mean. but calm.

“you wanted more.”

“you wanted to be good.”

“so count.”

you shake your head, whimpering.

“i-i c-cant— levi, i need—i need to—“

he grabs your chin— firm, fingers digging just a little.

“you need to shut the fuck up.” his tone is sharp, slicing clean through the haze fogging up your brain. “youre taking it, that’s what youre doing.”

your breath catches. your body violently twitches. the second orgasm hits before the first even fully fades, and you let out a moan that could genuinely just pass as a scream. you can’t even stop it.

and when you come down, you don’t even really come down.

you crash.

“levi— levi i— hahh— fuhhh— i can’t— please—hahh— fuck, fuckfuckfuck— no more—i—s’too—s’too much—i c-can’t— please—“

you’re slurring every other word, drool clinging to your lips, whole body shaking as he curls his fingers just right and presses down harder with his palm, putting pressure directly on your clit. every time you try to breathe, another moan slips out. it’s like your brain is fried and stuck on a loop.

he just watches it all. listens to you babble and squeal like youve never been touched before.

“then stop running your mouth.”

you let out a high pitched, broken whimper— and it just spurs him on. he doesn’t slow down. definitely doesn’t stop.

you’re twitching, thighs trembling around his wrist, voice climbing up into glassy, desperate moans that barely sound like words anymore. it’s just noise now. messy, choked, wet sounds and the obscene slap of his fingers pumping into you, over and over and over—

“cmon,” he whispers directly in your ear, letting his chin rest on your shoulder. “be good. give me another.”

your eyes roll back, and you squirt for the upteenth time. though, the sound of it is barely coherent through the scream you let out.

oh, and you lose count again.

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heliosunny · 2 months ago

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hiiiii, i hope your doing good, i adore how you write charecters and was hoping that you could write Alhaitham for the lucky egg series. Thank you

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader

The sky split open like a wound as the alien armada descended. Their ships were vast, silent monoliths of silver and obsidian, drifting through the atmosphere.

Governments collapsed within hours. Resistance was met with annihilation so swift, so absolute, that humanity had no choice but to kneel.

You watched from your window as the streets filled with towering figures—elegant creatures with skin like polished onyx and eyes that burned with distant light.

"Compliance ensures survival. Each of you will be assigned an Overseer. They will guide you. Ensure order."

An egg was pressed into your hands. It was heavier than it looked. The alien who delivered it tilted its head, studying you with those depthless eyes before speaking again.

"In three days, it will awaken. Do not resist."

Then it was gone, leaving you standing there, clutching the egg as if it were a bomb.

-Day 2-

You placed the egg on your desk, half-expecting it to move. But it remained still.

That night, you dreamed of whispers.

"Soon."

You woke with a gasp, sweat clinging to your skin.

The news feeds were a graveyard of grim updates. People who had refused their Overseers had vanished overnight. Those who obeyed were rewarded—food, shelter, safety. But at what cost?

-Day 3-

Crack.

Your eyes flew open. The egg on your nightstand was fracturing.

The egg soon split open, and the figure inside unfolded itself.

Fluid dripped from silver hair, evaporating into mist before it could even touch the sheets. The man—because it was a man—lifted his head.

You flinched, fingers digging into the sheets. "Who—what are you?"

"Alhaitham."

He rose. His fingers brushed your cheek, cold at first, then warming unnaturally fast.

"You are my master"

A slow smile curled at the edge of his lips.

"Protect. Guide. Own." His grip tightened, just slightly, as if testing your reaction. "The terms are interchangeable."

-----

You quickly realized that Alhaitham was… different.

The other Overseers, hatched from their eggs in the days following the invasion. A man down the street had one who never smiled, who watched his charge with unblinking precision, correcting even the slightest deviation from the new world’s order.

But Alhaitham?

He was calm.

And he loves reading.

“You have a collection of books,” he remarked, fingers trailing over the spines on your shelf.

You hesitated before answering. “Yes. I like to read.”

He hummed, pulling out a well-worn novel. “This one is annotated.”

“I… mark my favorites.”

Then, to your surprise, he sat in your armchair, flipping it open. “Read it to me.”

“What?”

“You are my master. I am to learn from you. So teach me.”

So you read to him.

You saw the way the others acted.

Your neighbor, a nervous young man named Eli, had an Overseer who monitored his every move. She stood by the door as he ate, as he worked, as he slept.

“She won’t even let me choose my own clothes” he whispered to you one day, when she was momentarily distracted.

You didn’t know what to say.

Because Alhaitham, in contrast, had merely glanced at your wardrobe that morning and remarked, “The blue sweater suits you better.”

It became a habit.

Every night, without fail, he would select a book and wait for you. Sometimes you read to him. Sometimes, when your voice grew tired, he took over, his smooth baritone filling the room as you curled against the armrest.

One evening, exhaustion from the day’s labor dragged you under before he’d even finished the chapter. You woke hours later to the soft glow of lamplight, the book still open in his hands, his other arm curled around you.

You jolted upright. “I—I fell asleep?”

He turned a page, unfazed. “You did.”

“Why didn’t you… move me?”

“You were comfortable.”

Something warm settled in your chest.

The others feared their Overseers.

You… didn’t.

----

The monthly check-up was as clinical as you expected.

You stood in line with the others as the aliens inspected each human and their Overseer. Their hands were cold when they touched your wrist, scanning something beneath your skin that you couldn’t see. Beside you, Alhaitham stood perfectly still.

When it was your turn, the alien tilted its head, studying you both.

"Report"

"No irregularities. Compliance is maintained."

Then, the alien released your wrist and moved on.

You barely breathed until you were outside.

The walk home was tense. Alhaitham’s hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

Once you were far enough away, his voice dropped low.

"Don’t react."

You kept your steps even.

"They were watching us more closely than usual."

"Why? What’s happening?"

His fingers pressed slightly against your spine. "Not here."

So you stayed silent the rest of the way, your pulse loud in your ears.

The moment the door closed behind you, you let out a shaky breath.

Alhaitham didn’t relax—if he ever did—but his shoulders lost some of their rigid tension. He moved to the window, drawing the blinds shut before turning back to you.

"They suspect something" he said simply.

"Like what?"

"It doesn’t matter yet. Just follow my lead."

You wanted to argue. To demand answers. But the look in his eyes stopped you.

So you nodded.

And then, because you needed something to distract yourself, you turned to the chores.

You were scrubbing dishes when he appeared beside you.

"Let me help."

"No, it’s fine. I’ve got it."

"You’re tired."

"I’m fine."

Reluctantly, he let go. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you worked.

"You don’t have to hover"

"I’m not hovering," he said, "I’m observing."

That night, curled under the blankets with the lights dimmed, you finally dared to ask.

"Do they know?"

Alhaitham glanced up from the book in his hands. "Know what?"

"About how you’re different."

"It’s complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"We’re not meant to be too attached."

You frowned. "But the others—their Overseers control everything."

"Control isn’t the same as attachment"

You hesitated before asking the next question. "Do you… know the other Overseers?"

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

"We’re aware of each other," he admitted after a moment. "But we don’t… interact."

"Why not?"

He closed the book slowly. "Because some of them wouldn’t approve of how I handle you."

You didn’t ask anything else after that.

----

The television was your one escape.

In this strange new world, where every move was monitored and every choice scrutinized, the flickering glow of the screen offered a sliver of normalcy.

Celebrities still performed, still lived their lives—albeit with their own Overseers hovering just off-camera.

Tonight, the entertainment news was buzzing about a rising star—a young singer with a voice like spun sugar and a smile that could melt glaciers. But it wasn’t her who caught your attention.

It was her Overseer.

Blond hair swept back in elegant waves, eyes like molten honey, dressed in a tailored suit that shimmered under the studio lights. His one hand resting lightly on the singer’s shoulder as she gushed about her new home.

"Kaveh designed everything himself," she said, "He knows exactly what I like!"

The camera panned to him, and he smiled.

You leaned forward, intrigued.

"Huh. I didn’t know Overseers could be so…"

You trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Obnoxious?"

You jumped. Alhaitham’s voice was dry as dust, right beside your ear. You hadn’t even heard him approach.

"I was going to say ‘expressive,’" you muttered, eyes still glued to the screen.

Kaveh was gesturing now, explaining some architectural detail with animated flair.

"He’s very…"

"Loud" Alhaitham supplied.

"I was thinking ‘attentive.’"

A hand covered your eyes.

You yelped. "Hey—!"

"Change the channel"

You batted at his wrist. "I’m watching that!"

"No, you’re staring at him."

You could hear the frown in his voice.

"Are you jealous?"

His grip on you tightened, just slightly.

"I’m ensuring you don’t develop poor taste."

You snorted. "Oh, so now you’re an art critic?"

"I don’t need to be a critic to recognize gaudy excess."

On screen, Kaveh laughed at something, head thrown back, golden hair catching the light.

Alhaitham’s fingers twitched.

You smirked. "You are jealous."

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, in one smooth motion, he plucked the remote from your hand and switched the channel.

A nature documentary. Elephants.

You groaned. "Really?"

"Educational" he said flatly, settling beside you.

You elbowed him. He didn’t budge.

----

The streets were quieter these days.

Not out of peace—but out of fear.

The Overseers walked among them, their presence a constant reminder of the new order.

You kept your pace brisk, arms wrapped around yourself as you turned the corner toward home. The sun had barely set, but the alleyways were already swallowed by gloom.

You heard it.

The rustle of fabric.

Then, a gasp.

Your steps faltered.

Curiosity warred with instinct, and against your better judgment, you glanced toward the sound.

Two figures pressed against the brick wall, tangled in each other. A woman, her fingers clutching the collar of a man’s shirt—her Overseer—as he kissed her.

Alhaitham was waiting by the door when you stumbled inside, your face burning, pulse hammering in your throat.

He took one look at you and arched a brow.

"You’re flushed."

"It’s—it’s nothing," you stammered, toeing off your shoes with too much force. "Just walked too fast."

He didn’t move. Just watched as you all but fled to the kitchen, busying yourself with the kettle like your life depended on it.

"You’re a terrible liar."

The kettle clattered against the stove. "I’m not lying."

"Your pulse is elevated. Your breathing is uneven. And you won’t look at me." He stepped closer. "So. What happened?"

"I just saw something… unexpected."

"Define ‘unexpected.’"

"Why do you care?" you snapped, finally turning to face him.

"Because," he said slowly, "if something—or someone disturbed you, I’d like to know."

You exhaled sharply. "It wasn’t like that. I just… saw a couple. In the alley."

A pause. Then, understanding dawned.

"Ah."

"Yeah." You rubbed your temples. "Can we just… not talk about it?"

"As you wish."

Life went on.

You worked. You ate. You read together in the evenings.

But sometimes, when you thought he wasn’t looking, you’d catch him studying you.

Neither of you mentioned the alley again.

----

It was your day off, and the apartment was quiet without Alhaitham.

He had left early.

So you did what any sane person would do in a world where sanity was a luxury.

You turned on the TV.

The News: Love, Obedience, and Rebellion

The first channel was a broadcast of some government-approved talk show.

"Today, we discuss the beautiful bonds between humans and their Overseers!" she chirped, gesturing to a panel of guests.

A woman in a pastel dress clasped her hands together. "My Overseer knows me better than I know myself. He anticipates my needs before I even realize them!"

A man nodded fervently. "Resistance is pointless. Why fight when they only want what’s best for us?"

Then the screen cut to footage of a protest—or what used to be one. The rebels were being dragged away, their faces bloodied.

"Those who refuse harmony must be… corrected" the host said.

You changed the channel.

The next channel was pure entertainment.

There they were again—the rising starlet and her dazzling Overseer, Kaveh. They sat on a plush couch, her fingers laced with his as she giggled at some interviewer’s question.

"We’re just so in sync," she sighed, leaning into him. "It’s like he was made for me."

Kaveh smirked, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. "I was."

The audience swooned.

You rolled your eyes—but couldn’t help the twinge of curiosity. Was this… real? Or just another performance for the cameras?

A knock at the door startled you.

You fumbled for the remote, switching off the TV just as Alhaitham stepped inside.

He paused in the doorway, gaze flicking from you to the darkened screen.

"You’re tense"

"Just watching junk TV," you muttered, pulling your knees to your chest.

Alhaitham set down a bag of groceries. "What did you see?"

You hesitated. "The usual. Rebel crackdowns. And, uh… your friend Kaveh."

"He’s not my friend."

"You know him, though."

"We’re aware of each other. That’s all."

The commotion outside was sudden.

You and Alhaitham exchanged a glance before rushing out, joining the crowd gathering in the street.

A group of rebels had been cornered, their faces desperate as they fought against their Overseers. One of them, a woman, raised her hands, and a surge of violet energy erupted from her palms, aimed straight at the enforcers.

But the blast went wide.

Straight toward you.

A shimmering barrier of geometric green energy materialized in front of you, absorbing the attack.

You turned, stunned.

Alhaitham stood with one arm outstretched, his eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly teal hue.

The rebels were subdued moments later, dragged away by their Overseers. The crowd murmured, some in awe, others in fear.

But all you could focus on was him.

Back inside, you finally found your voice.

Alhaitham didn’t answer immediately, pouring tea with deliberate calm.

"All Overseers have abilities" he said at last.

You stared.

He sipped his tea.

A long silence stretched between you before he spoke again.

"They’ve offered me a promotion."

You blinked. "A… what?"

"Better resources." His gaze met yours. "A safer district."

You hesitated. "Oh."

"You don’t seem excited."

"I just…" You fidgeted with your cup. "I didn’t realize Overseers could get promotions."

"Neither did I. But it would mean better living conditions. For you."

"Do you want to take it?"

"I want to know what you want."

You exhaled. "I’m fine either way. As long as…"

"As long as?"

"As long as you’re still you."

He nodded.

"Then we’ll stay."

----

The knock at the door came when you least expected it.

You had been lounging on the couch, flipping through an old book, when the sharp rap of knuckles against wood made you jump. Setting the book aside, you peered through the peephole—only to see a tall, uniformed officer standing stiffly on your doorstep, his Overseer hovering just behind him.

You hesitated.

Then opened the door.

“Good afternoon,” the officer said, “I’m here for a routine follow-up.”

“A follow-up?” You frowned. “On what?”

“Your Overseer’s recent… declination of a promotion. May I come in?”

You swallowed hard but stepped aside.

The officer strode in, his Overseer following like a ghost. The moment they crossed the threshold, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

“You have a lovely home,” the officer remarked, though his gaze was sharp, scanning every detail—the books on the shelf, the half-drunk cup of tea on the table.

“Thanks,” you muttered. “Can I ask why this is necessary?”

“Just ensuring everything is in order.” He turned to face you fully. “Your Overseer is an exceptional case. His refusal was… unexpected.”

“He has his reasons.”

“And what might those be?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

The officer’s smile thinned. “I intend to.”

The door opened just as the officer was reaching for another question.

Alhaitham stepped inside, the moment his eyes landed on the intruders, the temperature in the room seemed to drop another ten degrees.

“Officer,” he said, “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Just a routine check. Your refusal of the promotion raised some… questions.”

“And have you found your answers?”

“For now.”

Before leaving, the officer cast one last glance at you.

“We’ll be in touch.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

You let out a slow breath. “That was—”

“Unnecessary.”

“They’ll keep looking.”

“Let them.”

The night was quiet when Alhaitham slipped out.

You were deep in sleep, unaware of the weight of his gaze lingering on you before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Then he was gone.

Kaveh’s residence was predictably opulent, a gleaming testament to his charge’s fame. The lights were still on when Alhaitham arrived, the sound of faint music drifting through the windows.

He didn’t bother knocking.

Kaveh looked up from his drafting table.

“Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Alhaitham didn’t waste time. “I need your help.”

Kaveh arched a brow. “Oh? And why would I help you?” He gestured lazily around the room. “I’m quite comfortable where I am, thank you.”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll dismantle this little paradise of yours piece by piece.”

Then Kaveh sighed dramatically, tossing his pencil aside. “Ugh, fine. I was joking anyway. You’re so tedious when you’re serious.”

Kaveh leaned back, crossing his arms. “So. What’s the plan?”

“We gather the dissidents.”

“And then what? Storm the capital with sticks and righteous fury?” Kaveh snorted. “The masters aren’t exactly pushovers.”

“No,” Alhaitham agreed. “Which is why we don’t fight them directly. Not yet.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We infiltrate. Until the time comes—”

“We strike.” Kaveh finished.

“I’m talking about freedom.”

Then Kaveh exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “...Fine. But if this goes south, I’m blaming you.”

Alhaitham turned to leave. “Naturally.”

In the weeks that followed, whispers began to spread.

A network of rebels, slowly coalescing under the guidance of two leaders.

Kaveh, with his charm and connections, gathered sympathizers among the elite.

Alhaitham, with his cold precision, identified weaknesses in the system.

And you?

You remained blissfully unaware.

But change was coming.

----

Alhaitham had left that morning with the same quiet efficiency as always.

But when he returned, something was off.

The door slammed open with a force that made you jump.

Alhaitham stood in the doorway, his eyes colder than you’d ever seen them.

“You’re still here”

“...Yeah? Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer. Just strode past you.

You watched, unease coiling in your stomach, as he began methodically inspecting the apartment—touching objects, scanning the shelves, as if searching for something.

“Alhaitham, what’s going on?”

He paused. Turned. And when his eyes met yours, there was nothing familiar in them.

“You will address me as Overseer.”

Days passed like this.

The Alhaitham you knew was gone, replaced by this hollow, aggressive shell.

You hated it.

But what you didn’t see—what you couldn’t see—was the truth beneath the act.

The way his fingers twitched when your voice wavered.

The way his jaw clenched when you flinched away from him.

The call came on the seventh day.

A coded message, hidden in plain sight—a news broadcast about construction delays in the capital.

Alhaitham listened. Nodded once.

Then waited until you were in bed before slipping out.

Kaveh was already there, leaning against a crumbling wall in the abandoned sector.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered. “I was starting to think they’d actually wiped you.”

Alhaitham didn’t dignify that with a response. “Status?”

“The brainwashing tech is centralized in the Tower. If we hit it during the shift change, we can disable it long enough to free the others.”

“And the masters?”

Kaveh grinned, “Oh, they’ll definitely notice.”

Then Alhaitham nodded. “Good.”

----

When he came back, dawn was just breaking.

You were awake, curled on the couch, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

The door opened. Closed.

“...You’re up.”

His voice was different. Softer.

The Alhaitham who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, he's finally back.

“It’s over”

You didn’t ask what he meant.

You crashed into him, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried in his chest. Relief flooded you so violently your knees nearly buckled. He was back. He was himself.

Alhaitham stiffened for a fraction of a second—then his arms closed around you. His breath shuddered against your hair.

>4 hours ago - The Tower<

The brainwashing facility wasn’t just a building.

It was a slaughterhouse.

Alhaitham moved through the halls, his blade slicing through guards. Blood painted the walls. The air reeked of iron and ozone, the stench of seared flesh from the malfunctioning machines.

Kaveh was at his side.

"They’re rerouting security—we have five minutes before the masters lock this place down!"

Alhaitham didn’t respond. Just wrenched open the control panel.

A scream echoed from deeper in the facility.

Human.

Not dead yet.

They found the prisoners strapped to tables, their skulls hooked to machines. Some twitched. Some wept. Some didn’t move at all.

One—a young woman with dark hair matted to her face—jerked against her restraints as Alhaitham passed.

"P-please… kill me…"

He didn’t.

He cut her free instead.

She collapsed, sobbing, into Kaveh’s arms.

The alarms blared.

They came.

The masters.

Tall, gleaming, their obsidian skin reflecting the flickering emergency lights. One lifted a hand—and the air rippled, a shockwave of force hurling Kaveh into the wall.

Alhaitham barely dodged.

The master tilted its head.

"Defective."

Alhaitham’s blade shattered on the second strike.

He didn’t flinch. Just pivoted, driving the broken shard into the master’s throat. The creature staggered—

And then Kaveh was there, driving a stolen energy core straight into its chest.

The explosion blew out half the floor.

The facility collapsed behind them, flames licking at the sky. The survivors—those they could free—stumbled after them.

Kaveh was laughing.

Alhaitham wasn’t.

He was thinking of you.

>2 hours ago - The Mothership<

The masters’ true stronghold wasn’t on Earth.

It hung in the sky like a grotesque moon, a jagged obsidian monolith pulsing with sickly violet light. Getting inside had required more than just violence—it required precision.

Alhaitham moved through the ship’s corridors along with Kaveh, their path littered with the corpses of the creatures who had once ruled your world.

At the heart of the ship, suspended in a web of bioluminescent cables, was the Core—a living, breathing mass of writhing tendrils and neural tissue.

"You are flawed."

Alhaitham didn’t argue.

He plunged his blade into its center.

The Core didn’t die.

Alhaitham’s fingers worked swiftly, tearing into its neural pathways, rewriting its purpose.

Peace.

A forced one, yes. A lie, perhaps.

But better than slaughter.

The Core shuddered, its violet glow shifting to a soft, steady gold.

The change rippled outward—through the ship, through the planet, through every Overseer still connected to the network.

Including him.

The Core couldn’t sustain itself.

It needed fuel.

Alien blood.

So, when the time came, Alhaitham returned.

He fed the Core with the lifeblood of its own kind, ensuring the illusion of peace held firm.

And when it was done, he came back to you.

>Months later<

"Where have you been?"

"I have some unfinished business."

This world—this peace—wasn’t the masters’ design.

It was his.

----

Sunlight spilled through the curtains as Alhaitham stirred beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist.

He enjoys those moments.

He'd read his books in the garden.

Sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d smile, as he watched you hum over breakfast or lose yourself in a novel.

The world outside might never know the truth, but here, in this stolen peace, it didn’t matter.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #alhaitham #genshin x reader #heliosluckyegg

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newobsessionweekly · 2 months ago

Text

Aftershock: Bradford's Barbie

Main Masterlist | The Rookie Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tim Bradford x younger!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You and Tim are not dating. But also aren't not dating. Until he pulls back, you shut down and every feeling comes crashing down on you both.

Angst to fluff

Warnings: description of gunshots maybe? not proofread yet

Words: -

It didn’t start with fireworks. Or candlelight. Or anything remotely poetic.

It started with a crash.

Not the earthquake kind, not this time. Just you—exhausted, makeup smudged, hair in a bun that had declared war hours ago—falling asleep on his couch after a late-night takeout run and a shared bottle of whiskey neither of you meant to finish.

You woke up tangled in his arms. The next morning, you told yourself it was a one-time thing.

It wasn’t.

Somehow, in between shifts and field assignments, takeout orders and inside jokes, it became a routine. Your body in his bed. His scent on your clothes. His lips on your skin, hot and heavy in the silence after dark. And, weirdly, you slept better at his place. He did too, not that he ever said it out loud.

You weren’t dating.

You weren’t not dating, either.

Tim called it “convenient.” You called it “friends with benefits.” Lucy called it “a catastrophe waiting to happen,” though she didn’t know the half of it.

Because somewhere between him calling you a menace and you calling him a fossil—somewhere between him brushing your hair off your face and you learning how he liked his coffee—you started catching feelings.

Like a dumbass.

And the worst part? You didn’t even mean to. It just… happened. The way feelings do. Quiet at first, like a hairline crack. Then spreading, splitting, splitting, splitting.

Until something inside you started to break.

You told him once.

Sort of.

A few weeks ago, lying in his bed with your cheek pressed to his chest, you’d murmured something dumb and sleepy like, “I think you like me, Bradford.”

He hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t kissed you either.

He’d just gone still.

“Don’t make this complicated,” he’d said finally, voice low. “It’s already risky. You’re… you’re too young. This thing is just for fun. Let’s not pretend it’s more than it is.”

And like a fool, you nodded.

You told yourself you could deal with it.

But here you are, two months later, being reckless all over again.

Because now, thanks to a shiny new contract between LAPD and your father’s construction firm, you’re officially partnered with none other than Timothy “Emotionally Constipated” Bradford.

You might’ve pulled a few strings. Okay, a lot of strings. But in your defense, it was the perfect setup: a project pairing cops with civil engineers to evaluate post-quake building damage. Everyone wins. Especially you.

Except you forgot one detail.

You’re still in love with him.

And he still thinks you’re a goddamn risk.

You’re halfway through assessing a condemned strip mall in East Hollywood when it all goes to hell.

The street’s quiet, a little too quiet, the kind of quiet that prickles under your skin. Tim’s beside you, hand on his vest, eyes scanning every window and alley like he’s waiting for something to jump.

You’re marking a crumbling doorway with bright red chalk when it happens.

A pop.

Then another.

Gunfire.

You drop instantly, instincts kicking in, but not before Tim grabs your shoulder and yanks you behind the rusted frame of a dumpster. His body covers yours, warm and solid, one arm braced against the metal and the other curled around your waist.

“Stay down,” he growls, eyes blazing.

Your heart is beating in your ears, faster than it should. Too fast. His breath is hot on your cheek. His chest rises and falls against your back, firm and steady, while yours feels like it might explode.

And all you can think is: this isn’t casual. This isn’t just “fun.”

This is him shielding you like he’d die for you.

When it’s over—when backup arrives, when the scene clears, when the world rights itself again—you’re sitting on the tailgate of an LAPD shop with an ice pack pressed to your knee and a very pissed-off Tim looming over you.

“You okay?” he asks. The words are tight. Controlled. But his hand won’t stop gripping your thigh.

“I’m good,” you reply lightly. “But damn, Bradford. You almost made me think you caught feelings.”

His jaw ticks. “Don’t.”

“What? Can’t a girl joke around with her—what are we again? Bed buddies?”

He doesn’t answer. Just steps back like your words physically burned him.

You wait for him to say something—anything. But all you get is silence. His walls are up again. Brick by goddamn brick.

You nod, lips tightening.

“Got it.”

You stop texting him after that.

No goodnight emojis. No sarcastic memes. No more midnight rides to each other’s places. You pull out. Clean cut. No drama.

You tell yourself it’s the right thing. The smart thing.

You also start sleeping like crap again.

You expect him to call.

He doesn’t.

You expect him to knock on your door like he always does when things go sideways. Show up with a six-pack and that dumb grumpy look he pretends isn’t fond.

He doesn’t.

Instead, silence.

You last three days before deleting his name from your favorites. Five days before you fold the hoodie he left behind and tuck it in a drawer. Nine before you hear through one of the engineers that he requested a reassignment. A new partner.

The hurt isn’t new.

You just didn’t expect it to land like this. Like a slow tear in your chest every time you turn a corner expecting to see him, but don’t.

Tim is worse.

He doesn’t talk about it. Not to Lucy. Not to Thorsen. Not to Lopez. He just… broods.

He snaps faster. His fuse is shorter. He works more shifts, runs more drills, volunteers for the worst hours.

Lucy notices.

Of course she notices.

“You’ve been insufferable lately,” she says one day while they’re stuck in the locker room post-shift, both drenched in sweat and sun. “Worse than usual.”

Tim grunts, slamming his locker shut harder than necessary. “Just tired.”

“Bullshit.”

He shoots her a look, but she doesn’t back off.

“Is this about her?” Lucy asks casually. Too casually.

Tim stiffens. “What?”

“The blonde. Barbie. Earthquake Barbie. Whatever nickname you gave her in your grumpy little brain.”

Tim says nothing. Just pulls his shirt over his head like the conversation’s over.

It isn’t.

Lucy leans against the row of lockers, arms crossed. “Look, I didn’t want to get involved, but you’re spiraling. And when Tim Bradford spirals, people start punching walls and doing push-ups until their triceps cry for help.”

Tim’s voice is low. “She’s fine.”

“She’s not talking to you.”

“She doesn’t have to.”

Lucy raises an eyebrow. “So you were hooking up.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even flinch.

Lucy whistles. “Damn. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Tim exhales slowly, resting his forehead against the cool metal. “It wasn’t supposed to be anything.”

“But?”

He hesitates.

Lucy watches him carefully. “But?”

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “She got under my skin.”

Lucy nods. “Yeah. That tends to happen when you’re in love.”

Tim turns to her, eyes flinty. “It wasn’t love.”

“Sure.”

“She’s almost twenty years younger than me.”

“And?”

“She’s reckless. She pulled strings to partner with me.”

“She also stood her ground during a live gunfire incident and patched your hand when you busted your knuckles punching a brick wall.”

Tim doesn’t respond.

Lucy softens. “Look. I don’t know what happened between you two. But I’ve known you long enough to know when someone’s got you twisted in knots. Go to her. Fix it.”

It takes him until midnight.

You’re not surprised when he knocks.

You hear the heavy sound of his boots on the hallway first—then the pause, then the knock. He doesn’t knock like a neighbor. He knocks like someone who built you into his routine and doesn’t know how to function without it.

But you don’t answer.

You sit cross-legged on the couch, hoodie pulled over your knees, and sip from a lukewarm mug of tea you don’t even like.

You hear the second knock. Then his sigh. Then silence.

“I know you’re there,” he says through the door, voice low and rough. “You’re loud in heels. But I swear—you’re louder barefoot.”

Your heart stutters.

You stay quiet.

He exhales, palm pressing to the door.

“I didn’t mean to push you away.”

You roll your eyes. “You didn’t push me away, Bradford. You made it very clear where I stand. Or don’t stand.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter. “Yeah. I’m a dumbass.”

You don’t deny it.

Tim leans closer. “I just… I didn’t want to ruin what we had. And I thought keeping it casual would keep it safe.”

You raise an eyebrow even though he can’t see it. “Casual? You kissed my shoulder when you thought I was asleep. You stocked your fridge with my favorite iced coffee.”

Silence.

“Casual my ass,” you mutter.

You still don’t open the door. You hear his exhale through the wood.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says, quieter this time. “You know I didn’t.”

You hate that his voice still does that to you. That low rumble laced with something vulnerable. Something only you ever get from him—when no one’s watching. Not Lucy. Not his team. Not his goddamn conscience.

“You said I wasn’t worth the risk,” you remind him, because he needs to hear it. Needs to sit with the way it burned through you like acid.

A pause.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

Silence.

You wait. The kind of silence where seconds stretch until they feel like bruises. He doesn’t answer, and that tells you enough.

You move to the door, pressing your back against it, still not ready to open it. “Go home, Tim.”

“I am home,” he says softly, and fuck. Fuck him for saying that.

The ache spreads. It’s not even anger anymore. It’s that thing you hate admitting even to yourself. Longing.

You press your palms to your eyes. “You don’t get to say that.”

Another pause.

“Okay. Fine. You won’t talk to me?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

He must hear the way your breath hitches through the door, because his next words come sharp.

“Then I’ll make you talk.”

The knock stops. The silence twists.

Then the click of the door handle turning, slow—because you forgot to lock it. You never lock it when you expect him.

The door opens, and there he is.

Post-shift, tired eyes, hand still on the doorknob like he’s giving you one last second to throw him out.

You don’t.

He steps in and shuts the door behind him.

You’re still in your hoodie, hair up in that messy knot he always said made you look like you “tried not to look hot,” and failed.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just drinks you in. Quiet, serious, unreadable. Then, in three strides, he’s in front of you, his hand tilting your chin up.

“I fucked up.”

You blink. “You think?”

He doesn’t smile. He just leans in—closer than he’s let himself in weeks.

“Say something.”

You don’t. You won’t.

So he does what Tim Bradford always does when he’s cornered by emotion—

He acts.

His lips crash into yours before you can say another word. It’s not soft. It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Like he’s trying to apologize with every breath he pulls from you.

Your hands fist in his shirt before your brain catches up. Before your heart can argue. Because you’ve missed this. Him. The heat. The feel of his body like a shield and a furnace all at once.

He pulls back just far enough to murmur, “You’re mine.”

You open your mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to fall apart—but he kisses you again before the words come.

“Say it,” he breathes against your skin, kissing down your jaw. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you whisper, dazed, breathless, undone. “And you’re mine as well.”

His hands tighten around your waist, like he’s trying to ground himself to the words. Like you’ve said something dangerous, holy.

“I’ve been yours,” he says hoarsely, “since the moment I met you, Barbie doll.”

Your knees nearly give out.

He lifts you—effortlessly—and carries you to the couch, laying you down like you’re something fragile and irreplaceable.

This isn’t just sex anymore.

This is everything that’s been building. All the friction, the denial, the tension that snapped the moment he let himself feel.

The hoodie is the first thing to go. His hands slow, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

He kisses your chest, your neck, your mouth again. “I don’t care about the age gap,” he murmurs. “Or the job. Or the risk. I care about you.”

You close your eyes and arch into him. He’s not just making love to you. He’s choosing you. Out loud. Without hesitation.

And the best part is—you’re finally choosing him back.

The next morning, sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the room. You stir, feeling the steady rhythm of Tim’s heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

You look up at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “Morning.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “So, does this mean we’re official or something?”

You chuckle. “I think last night made that pretty clear.”

He grins, pulling you closer. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

You nestle into his embrace, feeling a sense of contentment you hadn’t known you were missing.

And in that moment, everything feels right.

541 notes · View notes

alexiabae · 1 month ago

Text

SHIVER | jana fernàndez x fem!reader

Summary: in which you hear first before you see her.

Warnings: shy!reader (like always), very awkward, fluff, different pov, slow burn, very long, mistakes.

Note: good luck.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

Your eyes shine admiring the building in front of you.

The blue sky is greeting the sun slowly, making their appearance to greet this part of the city. It seems too that it wanted you to welcome your first day to the facility to take your first training session.

Taking a breath, your order to your mind to move your feet, holding very tight the strap of your gym bag. When you enter there, you try to remind the indications the staff team gives when they show you the training facilities. Greeting the people working there, you turn a few corners to direct yourself towards the changing room, where some noise was heard with every step you approach the closed door.

Closing your eyes momentarily, you knocked on the door a few times, holding now with both hands the strap. You heard some noise and someone yelled a word that you didn't understand, so after a few seconds the red door opened, a tall blonde showed in your vision, her serious expression turning into a soft smile, making you feel a little calmer with that gesture.

"You are the new! Welcome to the jungle!" She said, shortening the small distance between you two and giving you a warm hug, hearing how she leaves a small laugh. "Sorry, I guess I get used to greeting like that. I'm Frido." She said after separating from the hug, still smiling.

You whisper your name, repeating it a little louder when you realise that she probably didn't listen to you the first time. Frido squeezes your side and guides you inside, a small group of people are gathered in a corner while they are speaking between them, shutting up when they notice you and all their eyes are you.

You feel like you are going to pass out for the attention.

"Girls, our new acquisition." Frido says, standing next to you.

After a few seconds of silence, they start to greet you with smiles on their faces, shocking you a little when they all hug you, asking in broken Spanish accent how are you.

"Where are you from?" Aitana asks you, eyebrows knitted in curiosity while her eyes scan your face.

You cleared your throat, loosening the grip on your strap. "I'm from Greece." You answer shortly, but with a sheepish smile directed towards the brunette.

You see how she opened her eyes, like some of them. It seems that they never have a Greek teammate until now.

"Really? That's cool." Salma, the same stature as Frido, says.

Before they could keep talking, Marta interrupted them and told them to ask you later, then she proceeded to show your assigned seat there, telling you if you have some doubts, all you need is to ask.

You thanked her, pulling off your gym bag to the floor and sitting down, you try to not freak to be surrounded by a bunch of talented players while you change your shoes. However you fear the moment the whole team would be gathered together, making this dream more real.

A loud laugh was interrupted in the changing room, making you look up while you tied your laces. Two people entered there, the shortest one is looking at the taller one, beaming at something that only they knew. One of whom was there before, called the attention of the shortest one, her attention now on a different person. You come back to tie your laces, taking a mental note to learn the new language.

A shadow passes in front of you, again raising your head up and catching just in time how the cheerful girl looks at you curiously, but keeping her way to her assigned spot. You don't keep looking at her because you feel another presence on your left side, the other person who comes with her is standing next to you, sitting on the free spot and smiling at you when she notices your eyes on her.

"I'm Ingrid." She says softly, almost in a quiet tone. She greets you differently, stretching a hand out to you.

Blushing, you accept her hand and shake it for a few seconds, giving your name once again. Before some of you could speak again, you feel movement to your right side, the girl that came with Ingrid is sitting next to you.

With curious eyes, she says something but you can't answer back because you didn't understand her.

"She said that she thought you could come tomorrow, not today." Ingrid translated gently, opening her gym bag and grabbing a pair shoes.

Taking you for surprise, the tattoo girl wrapped an arm around your shoulder and gave you a smile. "At the end of the season, that shyness wouldn't exist anymore. Also, I'm Mapi." She didn't remove her arm, only stretch her free hand towards you.

You shake it, not knowing what to say after introducing yourself. It seems that she didn't care because only chuckled at herself by your reaction, ruffling your hair and not caring to mess up your tied ponytail. A soft warning of her name by your left, made Mapi gives you an apology that she doesn't seem to feel sorry about her action.

Someone ran inside of the changing room, slamming the door open while she yelled something that you couldn't catch for your lack of Spanish. Your breath catches on your throat when you notice who she is, eyes opening without believing that this is happening. It seems that today you couldn't stop blushing and the training even started, her hazel eyes landed on you.

You look away, shyly. Hearing a soft laugh by your side, your blush deepened, not daring to look at Mapi.

"You are like her." Mapi says in a smug way, lowering her voice. Still with her arm around you, she yells the name of the person who entered. "¿Viniendo tarde en el día que nuestro fichaje empieza? Que vergüenza." You didn't understand, but you can feel the playful and mischievous tone of her voice.

Laughing filled the room, a plus to the beforehand when some of them start to whistle at the one who arrived.

"Cállate." The new voice says, embarrassment filling her voice. You dared to look at her way and you see how she starts to walk towards your way. Your eyes meet again and her features change, giving you a sheepish smile. "Sorry... There is traffic to come here, weird because it rarely happens but today happened." She explains quickly, her smile is erased soon, holding the strap of her gym bag tightly. "I can give you a quick explanation now and when the training is over give you more details." She said in a rushed tone, her cheeks turning red, matching yours.

Marta yells something from the other side of the changing room before you could give an answer. Whatever she said makes the blonde relax her posture, looking back at you with a more relaxed gesture.

She extends a hand, just like Ingrid, and introduces herself like if you didn't know who she is, external to the repercussions she is making in this sport.

Shyly, you shake her hand while you stand up, muttering your name. You wanted to say out loud how you admire her, but it seems that you are doing both of your favours if you remain quiet.

Alexia nods imperceptibly, letting your hand go. Another comment from behind you makes the blonde narrow her eyes, muttering something directed to her way.

Awkwardly, you sit down again and rummage through your gym bag, letting the two banter without you being in the middle. You try not to look too much at Alexia, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. Your attention is removed from the pair of friends when big loud noises are heard outside, Alexia turns on her heels after she hears it and with fast steps she goes outside. There are a few voices together, giving some incoherent words or at least it's how it sounded to you. But it calls your attention a raspy one, you don't know the meaning of her words but you swore you can stay listening to them at any moment. Your trance is interrupted by the laugh from the group outside, some of them calling Alexia's name when she enters back, cheeks very red and throwing her gym back to the floor with force.

Your curiosity won this time and your eyes remain on the door, wanting to see and guess the owner of that raspy voice.

One by one start to go inside, greeting them cheerfully and sorting people through their place, you lie to yourself if you don't scream internally when you recognise them, mainly when Patri Guijarro walks in and walks towards the blonde who is wearing —now— a scowl on her face while she changes if shoes. You feel special admiration for that player.

Two of them walked side by side, wearing wide smiles on. You don't know why but you blush when your eyes landed on the short brunette, laughing at something that you didn't know because your attention is fully on her, her smile illuminated her face and you hear her voice, blushing deeply and making yourself remove your gaze from her.

"¡Una cara nueva!"

This comment sounds just in front of you, making you swallow your new thoughts and shyness and look up. Her blue eyes shine with mischief, but a warm smile approaches her round face, not letting your time to stand up and greet properly she leans on and gives you a brief hug, introducing herself in English with a very Spanish accent, something you notice with the Spaniards before her who introduced to you.

Claudia nods excitedly with her head when you introduce yourself, sitting in front of you, not minding your shyness.

The next one is Cata, giving an affectionate -but hard- pat on your shoulder after giving another hug like the others. She is very loud, it is the first thing you notice about her, however her amicable words make you feel warm.

Mapi says something that made the changing room laugh, a playful smile playing on her lips when you look at her confused, but guessing when once again the brunette next to you reprimands her.

"She is the most annoying of us." It was the first thing that Patri told you, opening her arms and wrapping you in a warm hug. This time you are standing up, previously when you introduce yourself to Cata, you wish to be sitting because you are so shocked by this. "I do not bite." Patri tells you, separating herself from the hug but remaining both hands about your shoulders, the smile as Mapi showing on. She rubbed your shoulders gently, winking at you once you recovered a little and muttered your name and gave you a last side hug, sitting next to Claudia.

You forget momentarily that there are a few of them that still haven't met, a different accent wakes you up when she approached you.

Kika Nazareth's smile seems like it is her second nature, easy, light and gentle to unknowns and a fresh air to the ones who know her, or that is your guess. You like to guess people's behaviours. She offered to ask her anything, she came here last season and knew how to be new in a new place. Nodding, you murmur that you will count on that.

And then it is the shortest of all of them, a smile that for you, wins Kika's by far. Her ponytail is tidy, like yours before Mapi decided the contrary, the warmth of her brown eyes looking at you with every step towards you makes you feel shaking with anticipation, hopefully you are doing it internally and not showing it, because you would look very pathetic. Most, you mean.

She introduced herself, the raspy of her voice a little more pronounced in the change of the language. And just like Patri, she envelopes both arms around your body, briefly but enough for you to be wrapped around her citric perfume, and the smell of coconut of her hair embracing your nostrils. You hug her awkwardly, she is still wearing her gym bag with herself and didn't know how to put your arms properly.

It is a brief introduction, but the only one who you chose.

Jana.

You ask yourself how someone could smile with her eyes when you come back to sit down, grabbing your cleats on your hand.

A pat on your thigh warned you to look up.

"Let's go to training, kid." Mapi instructed, standing up and making you frown.

"I'm 24." You said.

Mapi looks at you raising an eyebrow, fixing her bun blindly while tilting her head. "And? You are still a kid."

Ingrid catches your eye when you look around confused, making her chuckle a little by your reaction. "You will get used to it." She said, standing up and offering you a hand.

You can't wait.

•••

You are marvelled by everything, it's true that it's your first training that requires a lot of you and you notice it at the first moment. An hour later there is a brief interruption, a teammate came late because she had a problem with her car.

She introduced herself to you when she spotted you when Mapi —who still didn't leave your side— called her. With a nod to your way, Ona jogged quickly to join immediately to the squad.

Some of the staff team tends you a pulsometer, you grab it and inspect carefully, it's the first time you would wear it. Unfortunately, your last team couldn't handle these types of things, but I least you learn other things in exchange.

"Need help?" Alexia approaches you, signalling with her finger the pulsometer.

You nod slowly, blushing a little. "It's the first time I'm going to wear one of these..." You admitted, watching with curiosity how the captain helps you.

Far away from judging you, Alexia gives you a tiny smile. "It's not been too much since we started to wear it too." She confesses in a quiet voice, remaining by your side with both hands on her hips, waiting for the coach to instruct you what to do.

Your breath gets more heavy with every exercise, reminding you that it's what you want when momentarily tell yourself that you can't anymore.

You came at the end of the summer, being the only signing that Barcelona made. You know they can't afford too much right now, you don't blame them for being a “cheap” signing, but they saw something in you to be here, and that's enough for you to force yourself to learn, control your breath and become someone thanks to them.

Your chest is burning the moment the coach ends the last training of the morning, thanking Aitana when she tends you Gatorade, you take a long sip.

Thinking about what you made in the exercises, you are pleasantly surprised to keep going with all of them, sure you commit some mistakes at the start but fix them correctly the second time. Sometimes you receive some comments from the coach, gently not hard and maybe it helps you.

The coach decided to do a game, the only purpose is to have some fun.

You walk slowly to the group, stepping between Caro and Esmee, this one gives you a small smile when she sees you.

"¿Por qué las personas tímidas siempre acabáis juntas?" Mapi shows herself in front of you three, eyebrows knitted while she keeps looking at you.

You heard how the blonde next to you leaves out a soft groan. "She said that why shy people always stand together." Caro explains to you when you turn to look at her.

Mapi gives you a smug look, turning her back at you three crossing her arms on her chest. You don't mind that type of comment, you know she didn't say it to annoy you, only to have fun.

The game consistency is one try to hide the ball and the other defend to the other and don't let them score. Simple and to have some laughs mainly. You have five minutes, to don't make the game longer.

You hold the Gatorade between your hands, your breathing coming normal again. You heard some banter, loudly exclaiming in happy tones.

However Mapi turns to you three again, her eyes fixed on you. "Want to play with me?" Her tone of voice is lowered, but she sounded like a kid and some way makes you laugh quietly for her behaviour when she asks you.

You nod, making Mapi squeals happily while raising a hand up for you to palm her. You do that, her child behaviour showing one more time and coming back to look at the front when the first ones would play the first round.

Kika and Irene.

Everyone cheered, some cheering Kika. You know why, you remember that she suffered a long injury missing the whole season and the Euro tournament, she started training with the squad last month and since it's a chill game, Kika could play it.

You clapped, putting the Gatorade under your arm. Somehow through the game your eyes advertised to the cheering group, your chest tightened one more time that day when you see how Jana is one of the loudest, alongside Cata and Salma. Her ponytail is a little untidy, face a little flushed by the effort from before, the same smile she wore the whole morning opening more, sometimes she clapped.

It's when the whole squad screams that you broke the visual with the brunette and notice that Kika scored, winning the first round.

The moment approaching your turn makes you a little nervous, making you think that they would see how you play, or at least show your style. You are a midfielder, a pure one someone told you when you trained one time at summer in an academy in London. Still, you are surrounded by literally two winners of the Ballon D'Or, twice. It would be very difficult to shine among them.

You heard your name when Mapi exclaimed that it is your turn. Seeing the one who played to the right side and the ones who still didn't remain on the left, you notice that Jana still didn't play and mentally cheered, you want to see her play.

Surrounded by some cheers, some of them cheer your name, Mapi playfully lands an arm around your shoulders, muttering that she is going to win this round, letting you go to put on her position.

You put in front of her, breath shaking a little while you try to deaf your pulse on your ears. Putting both hands on your knees, Pere whistle and throwing the ball to the middle, Mapi winning the first touch and keeping the ball between her feet, her body shielding you from the ball.

Trying to steal it from her feet, Mapi shows you why she is a defender. You push her a little to destabilise her, but it was in vain, the brunette remains on the spot without moving an inch. She started to tease you a little, even showing a side grin to your way to keep you at bay.

You concentrate on yourself, remembering what the coach teaches at the kids at the start when they need to defend. If they are hard, you are double hard, unstoppable. Controlling your breath, in your third try to sneak your foot between her legs you manage to push it a little away from her, making Mapi move quickly to hide again from you. But you push your body with force, this time you move her a few centimetres, enough for you to kick the ball away from her and sprint, making it difficult to reach the ball because the defender shoves her body towards you, her hand on your arm to keep you controlled. Both of your feet collided with the other, pushing more the ball.

Mapi is pressing very hard on you, making it difficult for you to reach the ball. You both are near the right line, her hand is in your kit holding in place. You don't know how, but you pull with all your force away from her and sprint to the ball and go a little away with it between your feet, checking through your shoulder to see that Mapi run to her position again, this time to defend you.

You are out of breath, panting. Sweat rolling for your forehead, running through your cheeks. You stop with the ball under your foot, once again trying to compose yourself and decide what to do but not letting the opportunity to attack you because you are doubting. Advancing a few steps with the ball in your right foot, your eyes fixed on Mapi's body, who are ready to approach you at any moment.

It's your turn to show your back at her, hiding the ball from her when she tries to steal it from you. You can hear her breath in your ear, body press towards you while she keeps pushing. You don't know how she keeps speaking, you wanted to answer her but can't, you still didn't learn how to do that. In a moment Mapi reached to touch the ball, moving it a few centimetres away from you, but you reacted quickly and made a roulette to put the ball away from her, running a few centimetres towards her goal but she stops you at time, pushing your body but not enough to destabilise to control the ball.

She manages to put herself in front of you, attacking with her feet to steal the ball, but you hide it, giving a few steps back with the ball under your foot. She attacks a few times and you the same, until she decides to attack you twice and you manage to risk yourself and pass the ball to your other foot and give you an auto pass, making another roulette when you reach the ball again, knowing she is behind you. Still, Mapi holds your kit again and stops you a little, at this moment both of you have less force to show. Her body comes back pressing against you, not wasting any opportunities to take the ball away from you.

Abruptly you stop, ball under your right foot. Mapi steps a few centimetres ahead of you, making you turn back and make her think that you choose the other way. You heard how she leaves a groan, reacting in time to chase you again but then, you keep the same way as before and you manage to kick the ball to the goal, it's not the best you kick, but you can't afford to do it properly.

Mapi runs chasing the ball, throwing herself to stop it but fortunately for you, the ball only grazes the tip of her boot and goes in because she can't impact with enough force you pull it in another direction.

Smiling tiredly, you see how Mapi remains on the turf, arms sprawled while supporting her knees up, chest going up and down, just like you.

There is a loud cheer when you come back to reality, out of breath you see how all of them are clapping, some of them chanting your name.

"Never again." You feel Mapi next to you again, not like before, but remaining at the same pace as you. Her voice is shaky, a murmur, eyes fixed on the front. You can appreciate the veins on her forehead showing.

You fear how you would look right now. You lowered your body to reach the Gatorade you put there before and gave a big gulp, offering the bottle to Mapi when you finished.

Ingrid is the first to approach you when you both reach the group, commenting how nice it was to witness that duel. The brunette pat your shoulder in an affectionate way before she remains by Mapi's side. There are a few of them who commented how impressive there was, Alexia gives you a nod of her head with a smile that says something but you don't understand. You nod back, hopefully giving a smile and no other thing.

You sit down on the ground, next to Patri who called you to put yourself next to her and Claudia. The last one gives a banana, you thanked her and took a bite, the flavour giving you a different taste.

If you were calm, you probably would pass out to sit down next to Patri.

The next ones are the last two remaining, Jana and Caro. You carefully watch the duel, somehow marvelled by the forward showing her skills and impressed how Jana keeps with a composure and not backed down by the person in front of her.

While you all keep watching, Mapi lays her back on Patri's legs, gaining a reproach by her but remaining in the same posture. Claudia starts to comment with Vicky, the young player who winked at you when you approached before and high five with her.

"You are coming with us." This comment makes you blink, your eyes going away from the two players keeping the ball and looking at the defender to your left, her focus entirely in front.

"If that's okay with you." Ingrid add on when she sees your face, her voice is gentle.

You nod slowly, assuming they are referring to having lunch with them and they wanted you there.

Mapi shows you a teasing grin, like a mischievous kid who made something they don't supposedly do.

Caro won the duel.

The brunette lowered both hands to her knees, recuperating from what happened. Caro pat Jana's back softly, a sheepish smile on her flushed face.

You watch closely the interaction with the rest of their teammates when they approach, all of you coming back to the changing rooms.

•••

"How are your legs going?"

Mapi asks you, leaning on the kitchen island while pinching with her fork on her salad.

You swallow, taking a small sorb from your cup before you decide to answer. "I don't feel them." You muttered the truth, hearing how the pair shared a knowing laugh.

"It's normal at the start... It would be better if you started in the preseason, it could be hard now... But you can handle this, I'm sure." Mapi says, throwing a piece of bread into her mouth and looking at you.

You shrugged, feeling a little unsure.

Her hand landed on your shoulder, squeezing it. "I don't know how you are feeling right now, but somehow everyone felt it at some point. We know where you came from, we don't judge of course, and we know too that it can be difficult for you since... You came from a small league and there are less professional teams, and maybe you are going to take some time to fit into the squad," she paused, thinking her next words. Ingrid looks at her with expectant eyes, fork hanging near the plate. "There are mistakes that you commit, which you fix pretty fast in my opinion. That's good, you are a good learner... But I see your face through the training and... You look amazed by everything they sent us, even the boring ones that we pray to not do more than necessary, you make them eager to learn." It's weird to hear Mapi speaking in a serious tone, gentleness pooling on her gaze while their eyes remain on you. "You can with this, chica."

Maybe it's too soon for the defender to say much more and choose to say what you need to hear. Maybe Mapi is more observed than you think and she reassured you what you fear to show them.

You nod, feeling the soft squeeze on your shoulder before the defender comes back to finish her plate, her childish behaviour coming back while she starts to tease Ingrid for something that you don't understand, but the brunette face showed her annoyance, making you paint a real tired and relaxed smile.

Today there is double training, and since you stayed at Mapi's and Ingrid's place, they take you there with them. Meanwhile the training arrived, you played some card games while they asked you to meet you a little, Ingrid sometimes stopped Mapi when she thought Mapi asked too many questions and personal ones.

"I need to ask her because I need to protect her from people, even if she is already with someone!"

You laugh a little by her dramatic answer when Ingrid pinches her leg in warning, her green eyes showing you an apology.

Once there again, trailing behind the couple, you see how Patri, Claudia and Cata join you, the Balear midfielder throwing an arm around your shoulders while with a smug smile say something to Mapi.

Thankfully they all missed your red face, or for now they chose to not say anything, but the little you know, there would be some of them who could tease you no matter how long they know you.

When you sit down to change shoes again, you feel how your feet feel sore with some movements you made to taste. You know it's normal, hopefully you wish they get used to it soon. Your legs felt heavier than before, but you can support it, you did before. Again, it's normal.

"¡Aitana y Y/N, juntas!" You heard how the coach started to put them into pairs, thankfully even if you don't understand what he said, you know what he means.

The brunette approaches you first, smiling and greeting you again, intertwining her arm with yours. You find comfort soon on her, it seems that she didn't mind being the only one talking and leaving you to talk when you want. Aitana is explaining some things to you, her voice getting loud when the chat around you becomes louder. She helps you with the drill, even teaching you some techniques to do it fastly. Her voice is gentle, not demanding or irritated, —something you fear could happen— is instructive and cheerful, like really enjoying telling you everything.

"You hide the ball really well." Aitana surprised you when she passed the ball to you again. She said so casually that you miss touching the ball on the first touch and apologizing, going for it again. The brunette let out a soft giggle. "Not bad." She teases you a little, but a smile remains on her lips watching you.

"You do it better than me." You dare to say, giving the ball at her again. You can feel how your cheek could explode at any moment, you can blame it for the heat of that afternoon though.

Aitana only nods her head and keeps smiling, maybe sensing your shyness getting on you right now. The rest of the drill with her was perfect, almost finishing it you opened a little more to her, telling her some things about where you came.

When it was over, the coach instructed another different exercise. And then, the last one is a match. You get with Aitana, —who high five at you— Salma, Ingrid, Ellie, Sydney and Vicky.

In the opposite team were Patri, Mapi, —who made a grimace looking at you, making some laughs— Alexia, Cata, Frido, Claudia and Irene. The rest would be sub for some of you through the game.

You grab the training pinny that someone from the staff team tends you, putting it on. Your team starts first, Salma giving the first touch to start the game.

It's here when you notice how far away you are from them. When they push you to steal the ball, it was inevitable to not move you a few centimetres, still you manage to keep the ball. You have a hard time with Patri, that apparently is marking you. When you give your back at her, somehow her elbow collides hard on your lower back, making you hiss a little but didn't give up and give a pass to Ingrid. Then, when the other team has the ball you struggle to go and steal the ball from some of them. They move it quickly, the connection between Claudia and Alexia palpable. They advance first to your goal, Alexia making a run with Aitana chasing her without success to steal the ball. And surprisingly it's you who avoided the ball entering the goal when Alexia kicked it and you threw yourself on the turf, the ball going to the other side of the pitch going outside.

Ingrid helps you to stand up, commenting to keep like that. Ellie pats your shoulder, grabbing the ball and kicking it to have a counter back. You go up, seeing how Salma controls the ball and failing the dribble against Irene.

They scored first, Claudia gave a beautiful shot at the right corner of the goal, a ball unstoppable. Panting, you returned to your position wiping the sweat from your forehead with the palm of your hand. This time Salma passed you the ball, Patri and Alexia going towards you running fastly, letting you only seconds to think and choose. The smart thing to do is pass the ball to another teammate, but you always like the risk. So seeing they are coming through your sides, you have a small space in the middle and when they are close to you, raising the ball between their legs when they extend them, you run with the ball through them and make a run, seeing how Vicky finds a breach and passes the ball to her. Sadly, the ball hit the crossbar.

You see how Mapi screams at her team while she points at you, a gesture serious on her face. Vicky gives you a thumbs up, apologizing too for failing. It encourages you how your teammates in this game give you good comments. But you can't anymore after awhile, you are out of breath, receiving kicks to your ankles didn't help either.

So when your team scored thanks to Aitana, fortunately the coach made some changes. He changes you for Dragoni, he congratulates you giving a palm to your shoulder gently.

"Take."

You turn your head to the voice, seeing how Jana is approaching you with a Gatorade in hand. Thanking her, you remain next to her holding the bottle with both hands while you put pressure on it, the cold liquid hitting your mouth and relieving you.

You try to ignore that you are next to her, your breathing becoming normal while your eyes are on the pitch, Caro going in for Salma. Your teammate decided to put herself next to you grabbing a Gatorade, commenting on the play you made before with enthusiasm.

"You should see their faces." Jana commented, chuckling a little pointing with her head the midfielders. "They didn't see it coming." Her brown eyes look at you, warm and welcoming. Her posture is lightly inclined to you both.

"I'm scared now." You muttered, half closing your eyes when you returned to look back at the pitch to Alexia and Patri, concentrated.

They both leave out soft laughs, Salma leaning on you to comment that they are not that scary, but then she retreats herself and advises you to not make Alexia angry.

Ona and the three midfielders are changed, Jana joining the team to finally play. Patri elbow you with a grin, commenting on the play and complimenting you.

You don't know why but you don't find it that impressive, still you politely didn't say anything and thank their comment.

When the training is over, you all are walking back. What you didn't know was how you managed to focus your attention in Jana while she is speaking with Ona about something you don't know, but really seems happy about the topic. The problem came when you trip with the bag's ball that you offered to take to its place, your knees hit hard the pavement and you slipped out a small hurt sound.

The first face that you see is Alexia, hearing from a short distance someone screams “My child!”. The blonde immediately asks you if you are okay, worry not only filling her eyes, her all face too.

"I'm awkward." You whisper after communicating that you are fine, accepting the hand she offers you to help you stand up.

Alexia points out that your knees are bleeding, offering to go with you to the medical office team. Mapi soon is by your side, taking your face between her hands and asking in a messy English tone if you are okay.

You don't realise that they all are looking at you until you look straight, their stares make you blush a lot. You try to avoid those eyes at all costs, not daring to see her reaction to your stupid fall.

The two by your sides offered to go with you to take care of your knees, Alexia instructing someone else to take care of the bag in your hands.

"How is your first day?" Alexia asks you once finished to patch your knees, accompanying you to the changing room.

"Pretty good. Nervous, but exciting." You say honestly after thinking how you are feeling through this day.

Alexia nods, giving you a soft squeeze on your elbow.

You three enter there, half of the team out of the place. Mapi waits patiently next to your place like she told you when Alexia sent her here.

"I'll take you to your place."

Then, Mapi and Ingrid waited patiently for you to put in your other shoes, the defender dismissing when you say your car would stay here.

•••

You stirred, letting out a sigh and turning to your other side. Then, an incessant noise wakes you up and blindly searches for the device, muttering sleepily to another person in the other line.

"¿Qué? No importa, open the door kid. We are here."

You frown lightly, removing the phone from your ear and with an eye closed you see that you don't have saved the number, but the voice sounds to you a lot. It's when you see the hour that you cursed and stand up, going to open the door.

Ona, Ingrid and Mapi are there.

"Sorry, I didn't hear the alarms." You said, opening the door for them still with your phone in hand.

"We figure out that you wouldn't do it in time, so we came to save you." Mapi sang, going first to your apartment.

"That looks painful." Ona tells you once she greets you, eyes fixed on your exposed knees, where the wound is showing.

You shrugged, feeling heaviness on all your body. Ingrid tells you that you still have time to go to training, saying that you don't need to rush.

Once with the kit on, tidy ponytail, you come back to the living room, commenting if they want something in your way towards the kitchen.

"Don't worry, we already have breakfast." Ona says, leaning on the frame when she steps with Mapi in the kitchen, Ingrid stays on the couch.

You nod, grabbing some oranges and squeezing them in an orange squeezer. You obligate yourself to eat something, usually you aren't the type to wake up and eat immediately, you need time apart to do that.

Mapi steals some cookies, giving you an innocent smile when you look at her.

"How do you know that I leave myself asleep?" You ask her in a small tone, still the tiredness shows on.

"We were there before." She says, shrugging.

After you finish, brush your teeth and the four of you go inside of Mapi's car. Apparently Ona's car is in a garage for a few days and she needs a ride to the training grounds these days.

"Let me help you with that." Ingrid says to you when you enter the changing room, some of them are already there. "Take, it helps." She gives you two white bandages, enough to cover your wounds.

Sitting, you put one in your right knee, flinching a little when it brushes your wound. When you are putting the second in your left, someone comes and asks you for them.

"Hurt that much?" You look up immediately, seeing Jana standing in front of you looking at how you are finished to put on the bandage.

"Not too much." You murmur, swallowing.

Jana nods, gifting you a smile and going out of the changing room.

You don't have time to process her presence in your space when Alexia comes to ask you how you are, muttering that you need to be more careful knowing now that you are a little clumsy.

That morning training feels like it never goes to end. Maybe it's the heaviness you feel, that it seems that every touch, movement and precision were slower and you don't like it. You missed a few easy marks, cursing yourself in a whisper in your language in the second missed touch. You don't want to look at them on their faces, feeling embarrassed and the truth is that you could handle their gazes, because you know it speaks louder than any comment they would tell you.

"We are going to have lunch, let's go." Mapi informs you when she enters a few minutes after you, turning around to pick up her things and missing your surprised expression.

"We thought that you would like this bar, they have really good tapas." Ona seems to catch your face, walking with her gym bag towards you three are. You assume that she will be stuck with the couple today because she didn't have a car and they offered.

You muttered a soft okay, giving a light shrug while put on your gym bag through your body. You are refreshed once you come back to the changing room, immediately changing your sweated kit and burying yourself under the water, taking a quick shower. So fortunately you don't need to worry about your smell bothering them.

Ona starts a conversation with Alexia, who it seems that she would go too. You freeze a little when Jana approaches the door knocking on it, an impatient face looking at them while saying something that you don't understand. You stand awkwardly next to Ingrid, finding comfort in the brunette who welcomes you the day before and some way take care of you, like the defender who is screaming something while she grabs another kit that she is wearing and going to the shower area.

You see how Ingrid sits down with a knowing look, telling you the same and commenting that it would take Mapi fifteen minutes at least. Jana clicked with her tongue, letting out a sigh and muttering something at them, you only caught Kika's name and then disappeared from there.

You assume that they would go too, making you feel a little nervous. Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear Mapi shout the lyrics from the song she put on, you try to hold a smile but fail with every miss note she makes. Alexia shares a smile with you when she sees you, muttering to you that she recommended the defender to be a singer instead, this time a soft laugh escaped from your mouth.

After a few failed warnings from Alexia, Mapi came out with a clean kit and wet hair, cheerfully grabbing her things and going to the door, throwing the car's keys to Ingrid. Some screams are exchanged between the defender and the girls inside a car, the vehicle disappears after they all are in Mapi's car, the pilot this time being the Norwegian midfielder while you are in the middle between Alexia and Ona.

You feel relieved the moment your back hits the soft material, content while you hear some Spanish song sounding in a low volume while they sometimes talk, less Alexia who seems interested looking at the window. You are glad to not be the only one remaining quiet, even if you have the barrier of the language as an excuse.

When the car is parked, you need to walk to the place they said. You look at the streets and the inevitable familiarity of them reminds you of your hometown, even the language has some familiarity with yours. You follow the group, look at everything and take some notes to visit some places that take your interest.

They enter the bar in a corner, the cold breeze hits you immediately and you feel grateful for it, something definitely it shares with your city is the heat in this time of the year. You spotted a table where some of your teammates are there sitting, calling your names.

However you wait for them to take a seat, Jana sees you standing and offers you the seat next to her, hand removing the chair behind with a kind smile. You meet her peach scent the moment you take the seat, biting your lower lip while the loud chatter floats around you.

"Do you have Instagram?" Mapi asks you from the other place of the table, grabbing her phone while looking at you.

You knitted your eyebrows, nodding with your head. She asks you the name, letting out an exclamation when you told your name, gaining some laughs from your teammates.

"How do I type that? I don't know how to pronounce it either." The defender says, a little astonished.

"She is Greek, dumb." Salma informs her, winking at your way.

You feel how Jana is looking at you, so you don't look at her way and instead grab Mapi's phone when she extends her arm to you and mutters to type your surname.

"Y/N Oiko- Oikomu.- ¡Mierda! I don't know." Mapi tries to read, failing in every intention to read properly. However you feel how your phone vibrates while Mapi huff, shushing Claudia next to her who is laughing.

"Oikonomou." Ingrid read out loud from Mapi's phone, making the defender roll her eyes while ignoring the smirk on her girlfriend's face.

You see how Mapi is failing how to pronounce your surname, getting entertained by it with every try until you see a phone in front of you, Alexia is giving you a shy smile with the Instagram app open. You typed your surname and gave it back to her, feeling how your phone vibrates again.

"¡Griega! Pégate towards them!" Mapi shouts at you with the phone pointing to the group to your right side.

You lean it with a lipped smile, probably looking horrible because it's how you feel. If you are tense you are more the moment you feel Jana's hand on your back, a gesture to indicate silently to be close to her for the picture.

You hold your breath until Mapi is finished to take pictures, but soon she points the phone to your face, not giving you the opportunity to recover for the warm touch of the hand soaking through the fabric of your kit.

This time, Jana changes her hand to put an arm around your shoulder and lean her head to yours, hearing how she calls for Alexia next to you to join in the picture.

You can't believe what's happening right now, but you would go through this memory later that night in an attempt to comprehend your emotions.

Assimilating that friendly gesture, you see how Alexia tends a menu in front of you, asking what you like. You said that you like everything, not minding to try new things.

"Then, leave me to order for you. You won't regret it." She says, you accept her proposal.

Meanwhile, Vicky asks you things about where you are, saying out loud what everyone thinks but still didn't say out. You don't mind, after all there aren't too many Greeks on this side of the sport to be known. You start to tell your background a little, how you always remind yourself with a ball between your feet and playing on the street with the big kids, intensifying your interest when you live two years in London for your mother's job and don't renounce it when you come back to Athens.

"You are the first Greek I met." Mapi comments, narrowing her eyes when Claudia comments back that probably would be the last time too, laughing filling the table. The defender complains to Ingrid a few minutes later when they keep teasing her, you watch the interaction with fun.

Kika starts to keep a conversation with you about the vacation places, agreeing with you on some topics like in yours, in her country they have the same problem, just like Spain. People go to the beaches when they can offer more than that, and sometimes people who live there get annoyed by it.

"I'm starving." Ona muttered a few rows away from you, after thanking the waitress. Her face paints a small pleasure expression when saw the plate, starting to devour the content in the plate she is sharing with some of them.

The smell makes your stomach notice, making some noise that you —hopefully— nobody hears.

"Take, this is called chocos fritos." Alexia says while giving you a napkin enrolled with a fork and knife inside.

You taste it when you take the fork to your mouth, tasting the salty and the flavour of meeting your senses for the first time, you nod with your head when you feel Alexia's eyes on you, after chewing and communicating that it's really nice. You taste it too when Alexia puts some lemon on it after asking you, and you approve immediately at the addition.

Then, something called Gazpacho is placed in front of you, they told you it is traditional from the south of Spain and very popular for the whole country. It's like a cold soup that you love the moment you taste it, wanting more the moment you finish but remains quiet and wait for the last one, because there would be a dessert and they seem really excited for you to try.

You feel something dry on the corner of your lip, realising that Jana is cleaning that place with a napkin, whispering to you that you have gazpacho there. She didn't warned you to do it yourself, she just tells you while she does it.

Jana is not putting resistance on the weird thing that you are starting to feel whenever she is around you. And less with gestures like that.

After the last tapa, the dessert came quickly. It's called crema catalana, a traditional Catalan dessert that actually is really good. They call it only crema, explaining to you that there they call like that while in the rest of the country they call crema catalana.

Your verdict makes Alexia don't agree with you, telling you that your first election should be la crema catalana and not gazpacho. You give her a shy smile, shrugging while you all get out of there to go to the meeting to start to study your first rival in the league.

"At least today there aren't double sessions." Ona comments, patting your shoulder when she puts on her seatbelt.

You feel some relief knowing that, forgetting about that. However, the next day would be double sessions but at least you would be more rest.

•••

Pain, it's the only thing you can feel right now.

You leave a small hurt sound, taking a hand to your right side, your eyebrow. You notice a liquid and a lot of pain, taking a look at your fingers and seeing a red liquid there.

Why are you so clumsy?

You left a groan out, praying that no one heard or saw you. Crouching next to your car, you search for the keys quickly with your clean hand. Blushing just thinking how you made yourself that.

Once inside, you put your gym bag behind, taking a look to yourself in the rearview mirror and grimacing by the open cut in your eyebrow, blood falling through your cheek and nose, feeling the sensation of the smash with every second. It's like it's biting that place, inflammation starting to show.

You decided to go to the hospital because you feared that you probably needed stitches. So after cleaning your face, it still keeps bleeding. Putting the route to the hospital in your GPS, you start to drive carefully and avoid where some of your teammates are going out of the building.

Small drops of blood fell to your kit you realised when you took at last look to yourself in the mirror. Grabbing a new paper, you go out of the car and walk to the receptionist, who sends you to Urgències to attend you for your little accident.

You explain carefully what happened to you to the woman, who gladly helped you with a sad smile when she saw your state. After she gives you back your European sanitary card, the woman indicated to you to wait in the chairs to the right wing, warning you that it would probably take some hours there because there are people with injuries worse than yours, so you nod understandably and thanked her.

You are hungry, and you only have three hours free before you need to come back, still you know that you couldn't make it in time. Your head starts to hurt and you feel your eyebrow more heavy, your right eye half closed. Checking the time, you think if you should warn someone of the team with the hour approaching.

However you decide to leave the device because the brightness of the screen starts to bother you, deciding to go there once you finish.

Four hours later, you are out of there. The doctor who attended you said that you made the right decision to go there, the kind man makes you relax by giving you conversation, like giving him an excuse to practice his English to cheer for your team if he didn't like the sport, and obviously he told you to not train today for precaution when you explained how you made that wound.

You revise your phone once you parked the car there, your stomach roaring but got quiet when you see the missed calls from Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid. There are some text by Mapi.

Taking a breath, you walk slowly inside of the building with the paper the doctor gives you when you ask for him he could write it. Your hair is down, the ponytail was creating you a horrible headache.

You feel their eyes the moment they see you walk to the ground training, but you avoid their gazes and focus on the coach, who screams at them to keep with the drill while he approaches you with a worry expression.

"You alright?" He asks you, seeing the bandage on your eyebrow. You start to explain to him what happened, avoiding the reason behind it and then, you give the paper at him, commenting about your situation. "Okay, yeah. If you need something, please tell us. Some of them are worried about you." He said, saying goodbye and having some rest for the day.

You try to hide your face from them, walking away from there and thinking that you are going to miss the first match of the season, you wouldn't even be a sub.

Begrudgingly, you drive to your place and have a call with your mother, informing her about your state. She worried at first but calmed down once you told her that you were fine, just with a little headache, lying in little.

You feel like you will pass out at any moment when the call ends, remembering that you still didn't eat anything. You hear your phone vibrate, Alexia's name on the screen makes you doubt to answer the call.

"Hi." You greet her in a small voice, sitting on the couch again.

"What happened? Are you feeling bad?" Alexia voices feel anxious, very worried.

You feel bad to hear like that.

"I'm fine, nothing too serious. Just me being me." You leave out a small chuckle. "Do you remember the part when I told you I'm clumsy?" You hear her hummed. "Well, that happened. I got distracted and I buried part of my face in a post that I don't see and I cut my eyebrow. I don't train today because the doctor recommended not doing that." You explain, playing with the laces of your barça training shorts.

Alexia leaves out a heavy sigh, a few seconds later asking you if you need anything.

Before you could say something, there are a few knocks on your door at the same time the doorbell sounds.

"I think I'm fine. Mapi and Ingrid are here." You tell Alexia when you open the door with your heart accelerating because you got scared.

The Catalan before the call ends reminds you gently to call her if something happens, wishing you a quick recovery.

"What happened to your face?" Mapi is the first to speak, eyebrows knitted while she leaves her keys on the table, stepping towards you to check your covered area.

You blush, removing your gaze from the defender and clear your throat. "Smash into a post." You muttered, walking towards the kitchen after you leave your phone on the table.

"How?" Mapi trailed behind you, her gaze fixed on you.

"I wasn't just not looking and... It happened." You say, rummaging through your fridge thinking what to make yourself for dinner. "Do you stay for dinner?"

"Si." The defender answered quickly. "Where did you make it?" She asks, a hint of suspicion on her voice.

You turn to look at her and see her with her arms crossed, Ingrid leaning both hands on the marble table.

"After training, in the parking lot." You admitted, after debating whether to say it or not.

"And why didn't you go to the medical office? They would take care of you instead of you spending all those hours in the hospital." You flinch when you hear Ingrid's voice. It's not angry either reprimand, but is a chill with a hint of something you don't quite point out but make you feel like a child.

You just shrug, closing the door and leaning your back there, starting to play with your fingers.

"Wait, you said you made it in the parking lot. What got you so distracted to hit your face and need stitches?" Mapi inquires a few seconds later.

You blush, clearing your throat. You can't say it, because you don't even know what happens to you every time she is around.

"That bad?" Ingrid asks in a soft tone, sensing the heat raising to your cheeks.

You shake your head. "Just embarrassing." You murmured. Your eyes drifted to the bag paper on your table, inside are the medications the doctor says you need to take.

"Who's involved?" Mapi question straight, putting by your side with an inquisitive gaze.

Shit.

You swallow, muttering that you are hungry and ask what they want for dinner.

"Para." Mapi grabs your shoulders, stopping you. "Who?" Her tone is more serious, almost getting irritated with the fact that there is someone to blame.

"No one! I just noticed someone and... smashed my face." You say quickly, trying to reassure them there is not one to blame and it's only your fault.

The couple look at each other, speaking only with their eyes. You look at them a little terrify by their reaction. However you leave out a relief sigh when Mapi looks you back with a sly grin, her behaviour coming normal.

"¿Te gusta alguien? Who?" You only understand the second question, asking with your eyes she repeats again and it makes you blush more.

"I don't like anyone." You say, starting to clean up some tomatoes.

Ingrid sent you off and took charge of the dinner, seeing your state. Mapi follows you into the living room, sitting next to you while she can't stop smiling like a child.

"It's someone from the team?" She tries to guess, choosing the easy option and you curse her for it.

You remain quiet, but the laugh she leaves tells you that she knows she guesses correctly.

"Firstly, you have a taste." She wiggles her eyebrows, leaning her head briefly to your way while holding your left leg on her lap, she puts your leg there to inspect the wound on your knee. "And secondly... Who is she? ¿Es Ale? Sorry but she is taken!"

You shake your head, still keeping quiet.

"Patri?" She tried again, remembering your state of shock two days ago.

You shake your head again.

Mapi made a thinking face, muttering under her breath that there is a lot and begging for you to give her a clue.

"I don't like anyone." You say again, making Mapi roll her eyes.

Then, you see her think hard. So you remove your leg from her lap and tell her you are going to take a shower, maybe she went to rant off to Ingrid and stop thinking about the details.

Usually you feel better after a shower, but not this time. You just want to eat something, take the pills and go to bed to sleep and wake up without that horrible headache. You walk outside again on your pajamas, eyes half closed, the right one is looking almost closed.

"You look bad." Mapi points out, table ready for you three to eat dinner. "Eat and go to bed." She commanded softly.

•••

You watched the first match on the stands, just like you guessed. You remain two days out because they wanted you to take some precautions since you hit your head. You were next to Kika the whole time and saw how your team won the first three points.

To celebrate, they make a reservation in a restaurant to have dinner. It's going to be your first bond time out of the training grounds with them, you missed the first one for your minor injury.

What you don't wait for when you open the door is to see someone else in Mapi's backseat. You stay a few seconds watching until the driver loudly calls for you to go in.

"I joined them." Jana tells you when you got up, putting your seatbelt and leaving the brunette in the middle, to her left was Frido.

You give them a small smile in the form of a greeting. You try hard to not look too much at Jana while she speaks with them, noticing that you are seeing her for the first time with her hair down and thinking that she looks really pretty.

You come back to your dreamy state when Jana gently brushes her hand on your arm. "Frido asked you." She tells you, her smile widening.

Blinking, you hear Frido repeat the question. "I'm fine. Kika is a good company." You answer when she asks about how you are.

Mapi interjects that she is a better company, only for you to mutter that maybe Kika is better to tease her a little, the Aragonese leaves out a gasp offended and tells you to retreat.

"She is the dramatic of the team, like you can verify." The Swedish comments at you.

The rest of the way to the restaurant is filled with teasing Mapi and you appreciating Jana's presence next to you, almost not believing that she is there. Her voice is sounding more rasp for raising her voice during the match, like some of your teammates, but you find it very attractive towards Jana's mostly.

Once there, you have a break from the brunette and sit down between Alexia —who grab your wrist gently when you walk past her and ask you to sit down next to her— and Ona, who your bond on her is growing these days like the couple. You leave her your car when she commented that hers needed to be more time in the garage, so you offer yours and she agrees once she is reassured that it is okay with you, after asking tenth times. Also you figure out that Mapi would take you to the ground facilities the moment you hit your head and see your state later that day.

Ona is helping you to accommodate yourself into the city, walking to you to some places you comment at her when she approached your apartment last afternoon and asked you what you wanted to do. Also she heard Mapi tease you the next day of your incident when they came for you and with a tease smirk told Mapi to give you a break.

"Your right eye looks better." Alexia comments, checking your right side carefully.

"Yeah, it barely hurts anymore." You communicate, sipping from the coca cola zero cup you asked.

"You did yourself a damage there." She tells you, coming to your mind the first time she saw your stitches in your eyebrow and your right eye. Her face contorted and scolded you, then when Alexia finished immediately apologised and for the first time gave you a hug.

"Promise to be more careful." You repeat what you told her to reassure her, not scared when she scolded you because you saw the worry on her face.

"Más te vale." The blonde says smiling, an arm flying to your shoulder and bringing towards her gently.

You share the same smile, not believing that you have Alexia Putellas next to you, side hugging you, smiling and worrying at you.

Ona sees you two and raises her phone to your faces, saying a word that you don't understand and comprehending later when Alexia says the word what it means. You two share a laugh when Ona tries to spell your surname while she typed your name to tag you, giving you a small stern look she leaves her phone after she finishes, shoving your arm softly when you say it.

With the hours passing, you realised that you have a good time, seeing that they are like in training, what they showed. Some of them ask you to give your opinion on some topics they were discussing, or just telling you cultural things and wanting you to play some games with them on bond nights. If you need to say that someone scares you, that is Irene. The veteran defender has a strong aura, behaviours that if she thinks aren't right, she would tell you and cut you in an instant. However, you can see that she cares about them, the small smiles with the jokes that the young players made at her, scolding Claudia for throwing a piece of bread to Aitana to annoy her or when she asked you how you were feeling. Details that she looks the opposite of what she is, and she plays with that advantage sometimes.

Through dinner, your eyes search for someone. You see her between Ingrid and Frido, the conversations between them look smoother, sometimes their laugh mixes with the others and her eyes are fixed on you when some of them ask you something, there is genuine interest in them but it seems that you only notice Jana's.

"Let's go to a club!" Vicky exclaimed after they all paid.

There is a chorus between yes and no, it amused you how the young player received sceptical looks from the older, while the young ones beamed for her idea. You remain quiet, hands on the pocket of your denim jacket standing next to Ona because Alexia walks towards Vicky and starts to trick her, failing.

"Irene." Alexia called her, almost in a beg while raising her gaze to the defender.

Irene just shrugged, arms crossed on her chest with a calm face. "She is old enough to party, Ale." She said.

Alexia leaves out a small groan, hearing how Vicky squeals happily and jumps into Patri's arms. The blonde makes Patri promise her that she would take care of Vicky, looking through Ona when she points at her and you. Apparently you are going too, the hazel eyes of the captain look at you unsure but didn't say anything.

Mapi stormed out after having a dramatic conversation with her friend, she called your name and translated in Spanglish that she is who needed to keep an eye on Vicky, not Patri. Walking side by side, Ingrid flies behind you both and Ona shouts at you to be lucky where you can hear her smirk.

This time it is Claudia and Salma who accompanied you in the car to the club, the music already settled in the car. There looks like an improvised karaoke, the leader is Mapi with a tired Ingrid next to her, begging her girlfriend to shut up.

"She started to sing." You whisper Ona the moment her group approached you, the freckled girl smirked at you knowingly.

Before she could answer you, the sound of a car approaching at high speed like escaping from a persecution was heard, you got scared because the white car almost hit you if Ona and Ingrid pushed to their side.

"Cata, you need to be more careful! Why are you driving like that in a parking lot?" Ingrid scolds the goalkeeper the moment she puts a foot out.

The mentioned apologise with you, muttering something at Ingrid about rápida y furiosa. The brunette rolled her eyes, while this time it was Mapi who punched Cata's arm in warning.

The defender holds your hand and walks with you inside, asking you what you like to drink, you just said that you don't care, but maybe something not too hard.

Two hours later, you are leaning on the bar with Ona and Ingrid, you are feeling a little tired and have not joined the cheerful group dancing on the dance floor, ironically they don't look tired at all. You learn something new with the pair, having some laughs when Mapi failed miserably in a battle dance with Patri. You sneak some glances of where Jana is, a small smile approaching every time you see her laughing with some of them and erasing it when you notice.

Mapi comes staggering a little with her cup empty, hitting it on the bar and shouting to the waitress to have another. She didn't mind putting herself between Ingrid and Ona, interrupting their conversation.

"You look smiley tonight..." Mapi tells you when she positioned herself next to you, giving a sip to her new drink.

You raised an eyebrow, but remained quiet.

"I'm not that drunk." She sang lowly in your ear, the laugh slipping from her mouth tells another thing just like the slurred words.

Your breath faltered for a moment, but you just take a sip from your second ron con coca cola. Mapi intertwined her arm with yours, whispering that she knew who you like.

"I don't like anyone. Anyway, it is impossible. I've known you all for six days." You say, giving logical reasoning.

Mapi snorted. "It doesn't look that impossible to me. I watched it before, believe me." She slurred out, whispering in your ear that Jana is single and then gave you a thumbs up before she kissed Ingrid's cheek and came back to the dance floor, leaving you blushing profusely.

"What did she say to you?" Ona questioned when she sees your face.

"I barely understood her." You say, not telling the truth but either saying a lie.

They look at you suspicious, but didn't say anything. Then, Kika shows herself and after she obtains a new drink, —after taking a big gulp from yours— and grabbing your hand, taking you to the dance floor.

You thought that you can't blush anymore, but you can. You feel how your cheeks felt warm and was because Kika started dancing in front of you, holding your hand while dancing for you. You see her smug smirk, still she shouts in your ear to relax and join her. It worsens when Patri comes and starts to chant your name, arm landing on your shoulder while she joins Kika and dances. Soon, the rest is around you three, chanting your name and you only want to disappear but instead give in and start to dance, hearing them cheer. Somehow you loosen, feeling the music and probably it's for the alcohol in your system. Kika didn't let go of your hand, but she is having her attention on Claudia and Salma, making a bet about something you don't understand. Patri pulls off her arm but keeps on your side, her eyes are roaming a woman to her right, meanwhile the rest are scattered everywhere. You spotted that Jana takes Patri's job and remains by Vicky's side, seeing how she trailed behind every time the young player walks from one side to another.

And then it is Mapi, who points to Kika and mouths what you think is a jealous word. Her movements at this point are erratic, but it didn't stop her from dancing, she joined you and then separated and danced a few meters away, then came back. She keeps talking to everyone, somehow she is not too drunk to forget about her new discovery.

There is a moment that the Portuguese lean her body on yours, head leaning on your shoulder but keep dancing in slow movement. You can tell that she is tired, still it makes you a little nervous about how close she is. Vicky then approaches the little group where you are, —you stop dancing the moment Kika leans on you— the little girl shouts in Patri's ear to try to speak with that woman, only to be shoved aside by the Balear who starts to blush. Claudia pulls off her phone from her pocket, taking a small video of her friend who pushes away the phone by muttering something with slurred words. Then, the Catalan shouts to you and Kika to smile while putting the phone in your direction, the flash almost blind you there.

"Janaaaa!" You heard Kika say, changing your body for hers the moment the brunette approaches you both.

The defender received her with open arms, chuckling while Kika hides her head on her friend's neck. Jana locked eyes with you, smile softening while hugging back at her friend.

"She likes to cuddle when she is drunk and tired." She comments at you, who witnessed how her friend cuddled you.

"I noticed..." You comment back, holding the empty glass in your hand. Hearing how Patri is taking some breathing exercise next to you. "Is she alright?" You ask loudly, turning to look at her.

"She is taking some courage to speak to that woman." Jana explains, like she is used to this at this point.

You look at said woman, very beautiful if you said the truth. But there is something off on her, somehow sensing that probably she would give a rejection to your teammate. The eyes of the woman lock on you for a moment, you advertise your from her and make the feint to drink, but you remember it is empty when you don't feel the liquid and feel embarrassed. You hear how Jana leaves out a giggle by your side, then she puts her glass in front of you.

"You need it." Was the only thing she says when you raise your eyes to her. Jana is giving you an amused expression.

You drink and put a face when you taste the new flavour, you don't like it. You give it back to her while coughing a little, Patri pat on your back when she hears you.

"Alright?" She slurred out, her English at this point is in very short words to make herself understand what she wants to say.

You nod, seeing how Mapi approaches from nowhere. With a hand on your back, she shouts something at Patri and after she shakes her head with a trembling face, Mapi tells that the night is over.

Vicky wasn't very happy about it.

•••

20 minutes.

That was what you played in the second match of the league.

You don't mind, the contrary you thought would play less than 20 minutes. You came on for Alexia, who patted your shoulder and wished you good luck. There are enough advantages to let Alexia rest, so the coach can test some players.

You were very nervous, but you took it gladly because it makes you determined. You have some mistakes but nothing serious, the only problem is the many kicks to your ankles or the pull of your kit to stop you from hiding the ball from them. You noticed it at the first moment, the high level your team is while the opposite struggles. You never experienced being in the high level part, and it showed in that match.

The breath thing is starting to be controlled, but you need more training to understand some passes your teammates made between them. They didn't do it with you, still. However they told you how well you played, but you don't believe them. You know how you play and you can do it better.

October comes and you play much better in the third match, it was an away game and the new kit brightened under the sun.

You have velocity, so this time the coach put you on the left wing until he changed Aitana and put you in her position. You almost stopped a goal from a counterattack in a corner where Cata was in the middle and while she came back, the rival player saw the opportunity, so you sprint and run directly towards the goal, the moment the rival kicked the ball, you were shouting to Cata to move because she couldn't make it. You kick the ball out near the line, out of breath you move your hand to the referee to indicate it wasn't a goal. Cata was furious for it when the referee indicated that the ball touched the line and say its goal, there were no var and the only to believe were you and Cata, the last one gained a yellow card.

Then, it came the moment where you give an assist to Vicky in a play that no one waited to be. You never give a ball lost, and it is not going to happen now. It started when Irene saw Claudia to free herself from her mark but Irene kicked the ball very strongly and Claudia couldn't reach it so she let it go out. But you saw how the ball is getting slower and doesn't go out so you sprinted, taking the mistake the defender made and ran past her, only chasing you when they noticed. You give an auto pass to yourself and immediately center the ball into the box, the young player hitting the ball with her head and scoring.

You smiled.

"Ready for the Champions League match?" Mapi asks you a week before it happens, sitting herself next to you on the couch, interrupting your thoughts.

Today is bonding time, taking place in Patri's apartment.

You squint your eyes, voicing out your confusion.

"Just think that in a week, we will be playing against Juventus." Mapi says, giving you an innocent cheeky smile.

"You will play, I'm probably watching from the bench." You comment, without any remorse in your tone. You just know right now what you are in the team.

She pat your shoulder, leaving her hand there. "Well, keep playing like that and you soon will be a starter." Mapi leaves out a laugh when Kika sits on your lap, a habit she is developing. "You comfy?" Just like Mapi's suggestive tone when Kika does something relatively close to you.

"Very much, obrigado." Kika answers, leaning her head on your shoulder and giving a wide smile to the defender, leaning part of her leg on Mapi's lap.

You are starting to get used to this type of gesture by the Portuguese. She is like that with everyone, specially Jana, Ellie and Claudia, now you too. Your bond with her grows in the past month after the first party with half of the team in that club, Kika felt comfortable around you to start to tell you things about herself and rant whatever passes on her mind.

With Patri and Claudia there is a bond too, the pair of friends take care of you after training and wander around the city, you never laugh so much more than that afternoon. It surprised you one day when Patri and you were ranting about a match you were watching together in Mapi's place and the conversation took a turn and then she gave you advice. Since then, you listen to the small advice she gives you to be better. Patri didn't seem herself giving them, she told you, but she gives you when you ask shyly.

If the team didn't know who your favourite player was, they know it now.

With Alexia is who you bond in silence, since both of you shared some characteristics. She leaves you by yourself, without necessities of using words. She takes a look at you and knows, sometimes she pats your back gently and muttered how well you did that training and sometimes she tells you where you missed, her voice always firm and gentle. Then, the blonde asks you how are you, that question never missed in your day with her.

If the captain is silent, Aitana is the opposite. The brunette loves explaining everything, her voice getting excited every time you ask her how to do whatever they send you on your way if you don't understand. She is too who offered to help you with the languages, short classes in the gym session where Aitana teaches you and with a cheeky smile correct you or cheer because you learn it correctly. However she asks you how to say small things in Greek, surprisingly her accent sounds better with that language.

You take a liking towards Esmee, Ewa and Caro, sometimes when the rest is getting loud, you step towards them and quietly watch your teammates, sometimes commenting on something that only you four would laugh.

And then is Jana.

With her you feel the same. Nervous, like if you don't know how to speak in front of her and admiring from a distance. She is mostly the one who approached you, commenting on something in a play or just random things in bond nights, you almost collapsed one time when you got paired with her to play a board game. But she is kind and friendly, taking your nervousness like shyness around her. Jana always offers you a Gatorade when the training is stopped and steps towards the coach to give instructions, Mapi winks at your direction when your eyes landed on her.

Jana enters the living room and sees you and the forward, letting out a soft chuckle while teasingly pat Kika's thigh. The Portuguese reclaimed that there is no space for her to sit and that you are comfy, grabbing your arm and wrapping it around her middle section, playing with the only ring you wear. Claudia came and threw herself on you two, putting to your other side bothering Mapi now and leaning her head on your other shoulder, half of her body on the defender and on you.

Patri takes a picture of you, laughing hard by your red face. Still, —not counting Ingrid— they can't pronounce your surname and you find some comfort for when they tease you.

•••

You hate yourself so much.

You can feel the tears in your eyes, holding them while in a failed attempt you try to listen to the coach, but you can't.

It's January, a week after New Year.

Last day was match day and you played the full second half, for a part you felt glad the coach is taking more of your presence in the squad and at the same time is a nightmare for you when it is over.

You analyse every detail in your head, punishing you in your mistakes and barely paying attention to the good ones, if there were some. You don't know at what moment you started to feel like this, but you are repeating to yourself that you can't.

It's a series of things, pretending for your teammates is not easy, but it's a natural thing you know how to do. When they ask you in a casual way how are you; you are fine while giving them the most convincing smile you learned to give. Though you need to be careful with Mapi and Alexia, knowing very well that if the Aragonese see a glimpse of how you are feeling she asks you in the first second, and you don't want to worry them because they have their own problems.

You blinked when you saw how your teammates started to go to the gym area, today is a recovery session. You opted to go to the toilets first, with silent steps you went out and disappeared into the empty toilet, tears slipping from your eyes.

No matter how many times you wipe them with the palm of your hand, they can't stop approaching more. You spend a good amount of time there, biting your lower lip and trying to calm yourself, repeating that this is not the moment.

You throw water to your face before you go out, the tears stop minutes ago and after calming your breathing, your steps take you to the gym. Their gazes are on you the moment you start to walk towards the circle group, you know your eyes are red and puffy, but you don't have enough force to cover at least what you can.

The group is dissolved quickly and allowed to use the machines, you step into the treadmill. You have not raised your head up at any moment, embarrassed of who they would look at you. However you can hear, you heard how Alexia sharply called Mapi's name and shut her up when the defender was to say something.

You are grateful for both of them, they wanted to take care of you in their manners. But you appreciate mostly Alexia's gesture right now.

Your mind is going wild, the last match replaying in your mind like a joke. Maybe Barcelona is too much for someone like you, brightly and sharply at the same time. This team requires professionals, people who can handle and know what they know what is doing. You feel lost most of the time. They deserve someone who fits into the squad and no one who needs to take them by their hands.

Your lungs burn, but you don't stop to run.

However, someone else did.

You saw a hand pressing the buttons knowingly, making you look up for the first time and see the last person you would imagine.

"I think it is enough." Jana says in a kind tone, but firm to let you know that you are over with the treadmill.

You stopped there, taking your kit towards your face and wiping the sweat. You are like that for a few minutes, the emotion is coming back and you keep repeating to hold it, at least until you reach your car.

When you put your kit down, you see how Jana is leaning her head on her arms and looking at you, waiting. Her gaze is warm, kindness floating on her brown orbs.

"Come with me?" She murmurs, extending her right hand towards you. Her smile matches her gaze, a welcome invitation that takes you by surprise.

You don't say anything, you shyly put your hand on hers, going down the treadmill and letting her take you whatever she wants. You notice that there are only a few of them there, you find the rest in the changing room.

"Stay here." Jana says after making you sit in her place. You missed the warmth of her hand, or her presence next to you. If you need to describe her, it would be warm, she reminds you of the sun hitting your skin in Spring, a hot chocolate to warm you from the cold.

You see her talk with Mapi and Ingrid, Alexia next to them remaining quiet. The couple sneak some glances towards you, mainly Mapi who are reluctant to come towards you at any moment.

Ona raised a thumbs up to your way, asking with only a gesture of her head. You nod once, enough for her to gift you a small nod too with a tiny lipped smile before she resumed what she is doing.

Kika approaches you and kisses the side of your head accompanied by a soft squeeze on your shoulder, then she goes away from there.

The young Catalan came back with your things in hand, a soft smile on her face telling you to give her a moment to collect her things. You feel how a pair of arms involved you, whispering the same thing she said the first day, the defender kissed your head and went away. Ingrid copied Mapi in a silent manner and Alexia just rubbed your hair, pinching softly your cheek.

You follow Jana through the halls, hands on your barça jacket's pocket and hiding your chin, it's a cold day. She takes you towards her car, once you are inside she comments to have a warm drink in a cafeteria she likes.

Jana ordered for you, having a small conversation with the woman behind the bar. You listen to her dazed, noticing how her knee is brushing your under the table. Then, she stopped talking and took a look through the local, eyes landing on you while her finger tapped the table mindlessly.

"Better?" She leans on, now supporting her chin with a hand. Her face is lightly inclined towards you, eyes scanning your face slowly.

You shrugged, feeling a little tired. "Better than before." You said in a husky voice, hands still inside of your jacket.

The woman came back, putting two hot cups of cacao on the table with two plates, tostadas con jamón y aceite. It was you always asked since you started living here, Ona took you some day to have breakfast and since then it's what you take.

"Everyone likes jamón." Jana answered when you ask how she knew, shrugging while giving a sip to her cup hiding a smile.

You feel better with every sip you take from your cup, the hot drink helping your mood. You two eat in silence, the only noise is from the people around you. Your eyes are looking around curiously, small groups of people in their lives that right now are sharing a moment. Low music from a radio station enveloping the place, kids being loud, laughs filling the adults table and the cash register sounding constantly, for the owner's luck.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She whispers once you finish eating. Both arms lean on the table while slightly she leans, the end of her hair brushing their palms.

You swallow, she is direct.

Do you?

Deep down you knew that you needed to tell someone. But is Jana the right person? You are afraid she will judge you, even if you know that she —actually— isn't going to do that.

"It's from yesterday... It's silly." You said in a quiet voice, hands under the table playing with a napkin.

"Everyone has a bad day." She says after a few minutes of silence, sad eyes telling you the poor performance you played yesterday.

"I played like a toddler... Shit, worse." You muttered, knitting your eyebrows.

You soften your expression when you see Jana's confused one. "Toddler? You have a few mistakes, but you do not played badly." She points out, like really confused. "Do you think you played bad?"

Silence, that's your answer to her question. The brunette relaxed her eyebrows, taking your silence like an affirmative. It's when you feel your eyes watering again, feeling a little exposed. You hear the sound of a chair being dragged when you look down, her right knee is touching yours, one of her hands grab yours gently and pull up to the table, her thumb rubbing a small pattern in your palm.

"I don't think that you played bad." She confesses in a low voice. You raise your gaze slowly and you find peace, an invitation to say more if you want. She doesn't need to ask out loud what she is doing with her eyes, the defender waited patiently holding your hand.

"I can't anymore." You whisper, scared. It's the first time you say it, that words falling from your mouth and not from your mind where it fell to a mountain where the same words stack.

You see for a second her surprise swim in her eyes, though she covered it quickly and remained quiet, the only gesture she makes is squeeze the hand holding.

"I think I don't fit into the team..." You continued after a few minutes. "The high level you all are, it's impossible for me to be there some day. The only new ones I learned are my scars in my ankles, it's like there's a huge fountain with water but I can't find where to drink." You rant, tears streaming on your cheeks. Your voice is getting shaky, chest going up and down with every word you unlock. "I don't deserve to be here, you all don't deserve to pull from me." You finish to say, voice dying slowly. You two know that there are more, but you can't continue because you are tired, and sobbing.

Jana leaves your hand to wrap your body in a hug, bringing you towards her while her hand starts to rub your back. She doesn't care if you wet her hoodie or her hair, Jana just holds you in a tight and warm embrace letting your tears find their place on her shoreline.

"Can I say something?" She whispers in your ear after a while, when you calm down a little. You nod, not daring to articulate a word. "I can't imagine what you are feeling right now, but believe me when I tell you this. We don't see you like you don't deserve to be here. Actually, we are impressed by you." She admitted, taking a pause. "Yeah, the first training you looked a little lost but even you did it well. Do you remember the little game that you played against Mapi? You made her sweat, it was exciting to see that duel and you fought against one of the best defenders and won. And I remember in your second match how you saved a ball that the referee said it's goal but it's not, and how you give an assist. I see Alexia and Aitana fear for the position on the team for you, because with every training and every match, you are getting better." Jana separated a little from the hug and grabbed your chin, making you look at her. "Please, don't give up because your demons are winning here." She gently taps your head, wiping later some dry tears from your cheek.

You bite your lip, whispering a thanks to her and come back to hide on her neck.

Jana kissed the side of your head, telling you that she would make you change your negative opinions and doubts of you leaving the team.

•••

Something between you two changed that evening.

Your friendship finally blossomed.

Maybe it is the secret you shared with her, where there were a few more told. Jana listened to your insecurities and held your hand, kissing your invisible wounds on your cheeks while whispering to your demons that they aren't going to win.

She had your back the moment you told Mapi, Ingrid and Alexia what happened.

For the first time you saw Mapi snap at Alexia when this one tried to stop her from asking you. The defender screamed on her face what you said, blaming her for not noticing this.

Awkwardly you stopped the confrontation where Alexia was pallid and mute, while Mapi had her face red for the anger. You told them it's not their fault, it's only yours, promising them that you took remedy and started to see the psychologist team.

You don't want to scream at your entire team what happened to you, so you just spoke with a few and this one shared quietly what it was.

Patri and Claudia were telling you not subtle that you played amazing or had a good training. You gave them an appreciated smile, chuckling at the end for their expressions.

Ona got more affectionately, showing to your apartment like it was hers and sometimes staying there, she even introduced you to Lucy for Facetime, teasing you a lot for your quietness after hanging up. You feel her gaze softer from the day she found out, making everyone shut up on bonding nights to let you choose or just accompany you in your silence.

Kika is a mix of Ona and Mapi, she has perceived you like a friend for a long time, so she isn't afraid to shut you up if she needs to tell you something, always with good manners. Then, she showed you affection.

The couple basically adopted you, if it's not Mapi checking on you it's Ingrid or both of them at the same time, but they promised you what happened, never happened again.

Alexia is who you need to reassure her more, her words with you are careful out of the training grounds. You feel her eyes on you the entire time, keeping her closeness at bay but reassuring you that you belong there.

The rest of the team helps in their manner too, like Aitana when she took you to a campsite a whole free weekend on the national window and where she had a small injury and couldn't make it (Mapi trailing behind, of course).

They are making you see, and you are grateful for that.

•••

Something you learn to be their teammate is how affectionate the majority of them are.

You always have someone side hugging you when the training session is over, the cuddles on bond nights or how they shared the personal space with you.

However, you become a mess when Jana starts to be affectionate with you. At first there was an arm around your shoulders, sometimes accompanied by a kiss on the cheek, but later started the hugs from behind that only was for a few seconds but enough for you to trip with your own feet, her pinky finger intertwining with yours on walks towards the gym or changing room, or during bonding nights joined Kika and think that you are a comfortable pillow to lean on.

"When is the wedding?" Claudia asks when she spotted Jana's hand intertwining with yours laying down on top of a table.

You blush, thinking to pull off your hand.

But Jana just chuckled, her attention was on Salma because they were talking, her head turned to look at Claudia. "Soon." She said smirking, a tease tone following Claudia's intentions. Jana turns to look at you, pushing your shoulder with hers in a friendly way while sharing the complicity with you.

"I hold your hand too." You spoke out, clearing your throat. "Why is the wedding with her and not with you?"

Small laughter is heard, the girls scattered around the turf mock Claudia. The midfielder rolled her eyes, a small red shadow on her cheeks, she played it off and left a sigh, grabbing a near chair and sitting in front of you, showing her middle finger in your direction.

You give her a grin.

***

"You need to be careful!" Alexia says still holding your arm in her hand. "Try not to trip, please."

You give her a lipped smile, apologising later.

"It's not her fault, Ale. It's her." Mapi says behind you two, bottle in hand giving a long sip.

Alexia frowns confused while you curse Mapi and calm your nerves.

"Who? Who do I need to blame for making her trip four times this morning?" The blonde asks at her incredulous, frowning because she can't point out who Mapi is referring to.

The defender starts to smirk, looking at you briefly before she points with her head the place. You elbow her, muttering that is a lie.

"Don't blame her, today la cabrona is glowing." Mapi commented, letting a small chuckle by Alexia's reaction. "My child here has a huge crush on our Jana." She said patting your shoulder, making a fake pout when you push her hand away.

Alexia looks at you, eyebrows raised. "¿En serio?" It's all she says. You avoided her gaze, embarrassed and quietly, not wanting to confirm anything and less in front of Mapi, who you still don't do it. You hear how she takes a breath, taking your arm on her hand and leading the way to the changing room. "Please, just be careful today. Tomorrow probably could be our last Champions League match and I need you there, without any injury. You hear me?"

You nod slowly, trying not to make a face when you hear Mapi's giggling behind you, muttering to have luck with that at the captain's way.

***

When Alexia said it could be our last match of the Champions League this season, she wasn't kidding.

The first match played in Munich finished in a tie, 2-2 and left the decision to be resolved in Barcelona.

You enter into the second half, in the 67th minute. Caro was suffering what looked like a new injury and you subbed on her, you covered the left wing leaving Salma to the right one. Your team was losing by a goal, Georgia Stanway scored in five minutes of starting the match.

2-3.

It's not a first appearance for you to be in a Champions League match anymore. You push like your team, even if you are not not comfortable playing that position, you fight every ball.

But it seems that your team has bad luck today.

Cata Coll received a red card and there is not more change to do.

You see how Alexia pushes the team out of the referee and stays herself to speak, you look to the minute, still there are eighteenth minutes to do something. Something impossible right now, with one less and someone like a goalkeeper when they aren't.

You join the group when Alexia shakes her head, you all saw it and knew that it was a red card. Now you all need to choose who would be the goalkeeper and try to stop the penalty.

"I'll do it." You say before someone else offers, they look at you. You can perceive their uncertainty, Jana looks at you with surprised eyes as Mapi. "We need you all there, I'm the most irrelevant on the pitch right now with one less. I'll do it." You explain briefly, not waiting for them to reply and step towards the sideline, receiving the goalkeeper's kit with Cata's gloves, this one held your head between her hands and gave encouraged words, telling you that if you did before, you can do it again.

Everyone patted your back to your way to the goal, Mapi helps you to put on the gloves. You shared a look that says everything and after giving you a short hug, she puts herself out of the box.

You approached the referee, in front of Pernille Harder who has the ball between her hands. In another moment you could collapse having your idol in front of you, but you need to focus. Nodding with the explanation, you pull on the sleeves and extend your arms a few times to stretch.

The noise felt silent, your focus entirely on the player looking at the ball. You only need a small crack to read what she is going to do, you say it on your mind, scanning Pernille's face to resolve her intentions. Then, you see it. The moment Pernille takes a few steps back, she looks at you for a brief second and you know what she is going to do.

You don't blame her, it's something that you would do too if the goalkeeper you are shooting is not a natural goalkeeper.

You take a small breath, changing your expression a little to let her know that you felt a little insecure, praying to the ball's god for Pernille to believe you and not change her mind.

Everything there is in slow motion, the run Pernille makes until she shoots.

You remained on the spot, the ball hit hard your hands sending it up, catching it later between your hands while you feel the sensation run on them. You throw yourself to the pitch, not believing that you guessed Pernille's choice, even if the ball was sent to your way hard, you stopped because you stayed in the middle.

You feel your teammates launching you, screaming happily and congratulating you. Mapi helps you to stand up, kissing your forehead before she runs to her position. You catch Jana's eyes briefly, she winked at you and waited for you to put the ball up.

Shaking, you send the ball for the forwards. You can feel a new sensation that maybe, your team could at least score and extend to extra time.

The minutes pass and the rival players are more in your area, your teammates protecting the box so they don't let them go through. There are a few shots to your goal, but they go away or are stopped by the defence line. Alexia shouts at you to play in a short ball, to try to create a play and maybe score. There are five minutes to left plus the extra minutes the referee would put.

You pass the ball to Mapi, Lea Schüller giving her everything and sprinting towards her for Mapi to pass to Ona. The rivals are making your team rush the ball and a mistake, they would take it from them. Patri shot from out of the box, hitting the goal hard and the ball going out. Your breath is stuck on your chest for a moment, clapping like the fans to cheer up.

The second time your team steals the ball from Zadrazil's feet, Aitana passes the ball immediately to Alexia, who runs smoothly to the box but she sees how the ball couldn't pass through the defence line and gives a pass to Claudia to the right side, the Catalan kick the ball at the first touch and with precision, put the ball inside of the net, making the whole stadium vibrate.

You jump, throw your arms up and meet Mapi who decides to celebrate with you instead of going with the rest, Irene joins you two.

The head coach screamed at you all to keep calm the last three minutes, probably going to extra time if the result stays like that.

You control your emotions on the last play, there is a corner for the Barbarian team. You push the player who puts you in front of you, Patri comes and flanks her, not letting her have many options with the ball.

The ball is sent to the other side of the pitch by Alexia, finishing the match indicating there is extra time.

You jogger to the sidelines, towel around your shoulders while you tell the staff team when they ask that you still feel the sensation on your hands from the penalty. Cata goes towards you, hugging with force and screaming how proud of you she is, remaining by your side in the circle forming around the coach, everyone drinking or eating a banana. Listening carefully, you try not to think too much about what you are doing or what you would do through the extra time. Alexia goes towards the referee when the break is over, deciding which side you all would start.

The first half is hard for you all, the Bayern's girls closed your all in your sides. You don't know how you stopped some balls, but you did. Other times were thanks to the defensive line, sending the ball out or to the other side of the pitch.

You all are suffering.

The second half you almost provoked a heart attack to everyone there. It's in a counterattack for them, the rival team are more tired this part and not pressuring like the first half, so your team breathes a little. You were close to the middle, watching carefully the play where Mapi would center the ball and with luck someone pushed it through the net, but not. Giulia Gwinn pushes the ball out of the box, Klara Bühl catching the ball and running towards your goal. You ran behind with your eyes fixed on the player, some of her teammates following her.

It's you and her.

You notice that she doubted for a second, enough for you to fight the ball. The moment she doubts you go towards her and throw yourself down at the same time she was gonna kick the ball, impacting your feet on the ball and sending the ball near the corner. You stand up and run for it, hearing the shouting of your teammates. You feel how she pushed you, but you don't move a centimeter and immediately run with the ball towards your goal, stopping on your tracks and passing the ball through the rival's legs, kicking the ball hard away from you.

Irene shouts at you to not do it again, you just nod, but you would do it if you feel you can.

Alexia sent you a look, a warning and scared one.

But Patri came and slammed her body into yours, screaming a loud ¡Vamos!

The second half is over and it means penalties.

Your legs feel like you would fall at any moment. The goalkeeper coach like the goalkeepers takes you a little apart, studying in the short moment you have the rival's players. You nod your head, remaining quiet.

Cata gives you a hard hug, Ellie and Gemma encouraging words.

You approached the group, Jana walked to your side and held your hand. The touch makes you feel how irritated your skin becomes for the impact of the balls, but you don't mind, you squeezed her hand gently.

Alexia leaned her forehead on yours and muttered that you can with the last push. However what happens tonight, she is proud of you. It makes you blink a few times because those words have some effect on you.

They all tell you some words, always accompanied by a hug. The last one is Jana, which helps you to put the gloves back. She didn't say anything, just gave the longest hug that no one of them gave you.

You walked towards the referee, alongside the rival's goalkeeper how pat your back friendly, you did the same.

Nodding, you see how Pernille is going to start. However, you know that this time, she is scoring. The blonde is going to fix the mistake she made herself before.

You look briefly to where your teammates are in line, they are hugging each other while watching you, some of them nod their head towards you. The roar of the public is loud behind you, the barça fans making noise and having your back.

The referee whistle and Pernille takes a run, sending the ball to the right corner where you only could brush a finger.

At least you tried. But still you punch the grass a little annoyed. You walk out, seeing how the rival's goalkeeper put herself where you were before.

Alexia is taking the first penalty in your team, to your mind came that day you stayed behind with her and practiced with them, you know the captain was getting herself hard on that department with some of the failed penalties she made in the past.

However, she scored hard to the left corner, jogging towards you and whispering that you can, giving you a short hug.

The second penalty you focus your attention on her face, trying to decipher her choice. Klara Bühl takes a run the moment the referee whistles and you throw yourself where Pernille threw before the ball, ball hitting your hands hardly.

You scream, letting out some emotion. The public roared with you, accompanied yourself next to the goal to leave your teammate to do her job.

Mapi is the second, not surprising you at all since the Aragone have un guante en el pie, like Spanish said. She kicks it like Alexia, but to the right side, cheating the goalkeeper shamelessly. She jogged towards you, raising you in her arms briefly while congratulating you and whispering to keep like that.

Georgia Stanway sent the ball very strong to the right side, hitting the net with a hard sound.

Tie.

Taking a small breath, you keep away from that moment. Aitana walks to the box, putting the ball whatever she wants. You see how the goalkeeper guessed the side and stopped it, sending the ball up and outside for the force.

Aitana walked towards you with teary eyes, whispering apology words to you when she hugs you.

"We are a team, Aiti. We won, we failed. All together, remember?" You said firm, both hands on her shoulders. She nods slowly, coming back with the rest who give her reassurance.

Giulia Gwinn almost scored, but you stop the ball with your foot.

You point the bench with your glove hand, Cata jumping on the spot screaming wildly.

Patri is the next, you know she is going to score. She has this aura, the elegance and the shame to do whatever she wants. She surprised you when she chose the middle, fainting the goalkeeper first. The Balear jumps on you, kissing your head while chanting with the public.

Your eyes are glued to Lena Oberdof, seeing how she puts the ball in the middle. The sound of the whistle made her give some steps back, kicking the ball in a strong shoot that graze the goal and missed to go inside.

You closed your eyes, this it is. If your teammate scores, your team will pass to the semi final. You leave a sigh out, walking to the side. Your eyes focus on your teammates, seeing how Claudia is walking towards the box. She crossed her gaze with you, winking in your direction she put the ball.

Claudia sent the ball to the right side, once again cheating the goalkeeper. She runs towards you, throwing herself to your arms while you hold her. Soon your teammates surround you two, you feel hands on your head and happy screams.

You don't know how it happened but they throw you through the air, chanting your name. Mapi and Ingrid hold your hand the entire time, only letting you go when they said you need to do an interview, to your surprise.

You don't feel your hands, your teary eyes and the adrenaline spreading through your body transport you to your low moments and you tell yourself that you would do all over again to live this moment.

•••

"How do you feel about being the MVP?" Jana lowly said, eyes scanning the trophy on the table.

You two are on the balcony, the night enveloping this moment. The emotion you two feel is too much to go to the bed and try to sleep.

You raised a leg up on the chair, leaning your chin tiredly. "Weird." You say, looking at it like if the trophy has the answer. "It's the first time I've won one." You confess, shrugging.

The dim light of the balcony reflected the small place, Jana's plants surrounding you two, flowers blossoming thanks to the Spring, making it look somewhat romantic and welcoming.

Jana blinks tiredly, brushing the metal under her fingerprint. Her hair is a little humid, falling in small waves at the ends. There is a soft spring breeze, the cold far away from these days in Barcelona.

"The first of many more." She states in a low voice, the corner of her lips turning up. Her eyes find you, her finger left the trophy to pinch your cheek gently, giving a rasp small quiet laugh when you made a face.

Then, the silence followed.

You close your eyes, enjoying the peace around you, the emotions from the match vanishing and the tiredness making its appearance. The smell of the roses and claveles —like she told you—, white carnations being the most prominent. Then, you feel a soft sensation in your hand and without opening your eyes, you know what it is. It's Jana's hand, her fingers tracing the red spots created during the match.

"They are better..." She whispered, who insisted on putting on some cream to calm them. "And soft." Jana finished, keeping tracing your other hand.

You feel her warm travels for your hand, until she intertwines her hand on yours and leaves them on her lap. It's why you opened your eyes, brown eyes on you already. The moment you have your eyes closed, the brunette gets closer towards you, her body leaning up a little on the table, her face gets closer and it is inevitable for you to not drop your eyes to her parted lips.

The corner of her lips turns up again when you raise your gaze, indicating that she notices what you did and the blush of your face getting fresh. Her free hand removed some strand of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ear in a soft gesture.

"Come here..." She pulls from your holding hand towards herself gently, doing it again when you remain still in your chair. Jana makes you sit on her lap, her hands going to your neck and unexpectedly she kisses you.

There is no rush, it's a soft and gentle pressure against your lips. Your surprise takes the best of you, coming to the reality when her thumbs started to brush your cheeks in a slow motion. You two separate, her hands still on your cheeks and now her nose brushing yours, eyes looking at you patiently and warm, they always are warm.

"I missed your gaze on me." She whispers in your mouth, pecking your nose to start to spread kisses through your cheek.

You don't understand what she means, but your heart is jumping on her ribcage with every kiss Jana is showing on your skin. You look at her dazzled, your hands going up slowly to her face and without thinking too much, lean down to capture her lips on yours.

•••

You enter the changing room with your phone in hand, knitted eyebrows for the call you just received minutes ago. Your feet take you to your spot, sitting on the tiny bench looking through the wall trying to decipher if the call was a joke.

A tap on your shoulder makes you blink, Aitana looks at you unsure.

"You okay?" She asks carefully, standing next to you.

You tilt your head, nodding slowly. "I think so."

Then, your eyes fly to the changing room and notice that everyone is looking at you. You frown, not knowing why they are looking at you. Jana soon is stepping towards you, stopping next to Aitana but she bent down, grabbing your free hand between her hands.

"You sure? You don't look like you are." The brunette state, low voice only for you to hear or Aitana who is standing next to you two.

You take a breath, and nod. "I just received a call..." You said, trailing off while your eyes focus distractedly behind Jana's back.

The team looks at themselves unsure, you don't look that good to them. Alexia steps towards Jana and Aitana, stopping behind the defender.

"What's it good?" Alexia pressed a little, worry spreading on her features.

You look at her, relaxing your face when you take notice of her worry. You cleared your throat, nodding once again. "Sarina Wiegman called me." You confess.

The squeeze on your hand makes you look at Jana, who looks at you surprised. Her eyes are open lightly, lips parted and keep staring at you.

Around you, your teammates started to murmur, clearly surprised as like you.

"But you are Greek." Mapi says out loud what everyone is asking.

"But I lived two years in England and I have the nationality because we thought to stay there longer." You explain, remembering a few of them when you told it to them.

"That's good... Right?" Alexia says, unsure at the end. You start to paint a smile, something about you dreamed but give up a long time ago, it's happening.

"Right." You say, giggling happily.

They don't have time to say congratulating words because Jana throws to your body and forgets about them, grab your face and smash her lips on you.

It's you now who looks surprised, showing it when Jana parted away a few centimetres and realised what she did. Mapi leaves out a dramatic line, throwing threat words towards the brunette while Ingrid holds her arm, the Norwegian spread a grin the moment your eyes meet, relieving you a little for her reaction.

"Another couple..." You heard Alexia leave out in a low voice, making you share a look with your —now exposed— girlfriend and both of you smile.

Bonus

Stirring up, you open your eyes.

Jana's face is centimetres of yours, sleeping peacefully. Her hair is everywhere, mouth half opened and arms wrapped securely around your body.

You smiled sleepily, your heart starting to beat a little faster.

Blindly, you search for your phone and watch the hour, opening your eyes. You leave it under the pillow and come back to watch your girlfriend, raising a finger to her cheek and tracing it, making her stir up a little a few seconds later.

"Awaken already? Come back to sleep." She greets you, voice husky. In your opinion, is your favourite voice. She closed the distance and hid her head on your neck, nose brushing your skin and making you squirm when she leaves a small kiss there.

"I need to go..." You said, a hand going to her hair and start massaging her scalp, a content sigh fell from her lips.

"No. You are staying here with me." Jana whispers, sounding like a stubborn child. Her hands sneak under the old shirt you are wearing, the brunette gives it to you the first night you stay in her apartment.

You roll your eyes painting a smile, her fingers tracing your skin. "I have training and you have a recovery session." You remind, hearing how she left a soft groan.

Jana raised her head from her hiding spot, sleepy eyes looking at you. She leans and presses a kiss to your lips, putting the sheet out of your body and putting herself on top of you between kisses. Your hands fall to her naked shoulders, opening your legs for her to place there.

"I want you for me... We don't have time together since the season is over." She said after she kissed you, frowning.

You give her a knowing look, a teasing smirk creeping on your face. "I'm sorry we are playing in a World Cup, αγάπη..." You said, removing a strand of hair from her face watching how she rolls her eyes.

"I forgive you because you call me amor." Jana smirks when you leave out a sigh for her answer.

Then, she leans to capture your lips again, tongue brushing your lower lip to allow her permission. It's been a long time since you two give up on morning breath. Too distracted to pay attention to another thing, you two missed when someone else opened the bedroom door and only realised it when two different screams were heard.

"Stop perverting my teammate!" Lucy's thick accent showed up, hand on her eyes and leaning to the bathroom's door.

Ona shouts to Jana to put on some clothes when the brunette keeps on top of you not caring that the two see her completely naked.

Jana leaves out a sigh while picking up the t-shirt on the floor, muttering that they saw her like that before and don't understand the problem. However, her arm wraps around your shoulders and brings you towards herself, intertwining her leg with you and covering them with the sheet.

Lucy gives her a look, sitting on the other bed belonging to Ona. Her smirk spread out when notice the daring look on Jana's face.

"I need to take her with me." Lucy speaks up, understanding what her ex-teammate is doing.

Jana brings you closer, muttering at her that it's not happening. Ona rolls her eyes, witnessing the scene for the second time that week. She fears that it wouldn't be the last. The freckled girl steps towards her own bed, sitting next to the British.

"Stop pouting and take a shower, we need to go to recovery." Ona instructed, taking a quick look at her phone to see the hour.

Jana looks at you, a sad look on her brown eyes. You don't like to see that, you know that after she needs to travel to another city where her next match would be. You take a hand to her cheek and murmur that only would be five days.

"It's too much." She whispers only for you to hear, her other arm going to wrap to your waist the moment she leans on your chest, your heartbeat calming her.

You see how Lucy and Ona look at you two incredulous, not understanding the drama. Maybe they pass that phase.

"I'll be yours when it's over. And you would stuck with me the whole season again." You promised, feeling how your phone is vibrating under the pillow.

Jana raised her head, leaning part of her side on your chest. "I would love that." She says, closing the distance and kissing you slowly, once again ignoring your friends.

"Enough! We need to go now." Lucy breaks the moment, standing up and walking to the chair where your national clothes are. She throws it to the bed, hitting you two on your faces. "I'm old for this..." She muttered to herself, walking out of the bedroom.

You give Jana a smile, pecking her lips one last time and picking up your clothes, going to the bathroom with Jana's whining with every step.

Once you are fully wearing your clothes, you come out and Jana still is on her bed, a hand on her eyes spreading out dramatically. Ona begs you with her eyes to help her to make Jana move.

You throw yourself on top of Jana, her arms and legs immediately wrapped around your body and you take this opportunity to take her to the bathroom. "I will miss you too, silly." You say on her lips, happily letting Jana hold the sides of your face to bring you closer.

"σε αγαπώ." She muttered, making you fall in love with her every time she said them.

"T'estimo." You repeat the same words but in her language.

Ona makes a grimace, typing on the group chat that she never is going to be roommates with Jana again.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #jana fernandez x reader #jana fernandez

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buckets-and-trees · 2 months ago

Text

Rank and Promotion

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Alpha!Ari x curvy Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Summary: Ari Levinson receives a visit and a gift from Governor Barnes. (part of the Fine Line collection but can be read fully on its own)

Content/Warnings: omegaverse (alpha-omega dynamics, scenting, etc); power dynamics; loss of virginity; explicit smut: thigh riding, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, cum appreciation; omega trafficking

Author Notes: I said there would be more alphas in this verse, and HERE'S THE FIRST OF THEM! It is not necessary to read anything else in this story. Relevant information is relayed directly and/or insinuated in the narrative for this piece. But for anyone who has followed the Bucky parts of the story, this takes place immediately after the council scene in No Way Out.

Additional Note: I need to give credit where it's due to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how to best approach sharing this storyline for new characters/a new reader into an existing verse!

Fine Line Collection

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Five years ago, Ari would have been pacing impatiently across the floor of this opulent living room in the penthouse of Skyline Tower, but now he’s learned how to control the impatience, to cage it, let it undulate deep inside of himself to be used to launch into action at the right moment.

And so he sits in a comfortable armchair with a view of the mountains in the distance out to the west of the city, studying the view, reading on his phone, and looking out into the distance again.

Twenty-seven hours ago he’d received a summons from the Governor’s executive aide, told he was expected in the capital by sundown and to pack for an indefinite stay. The order had not been entirely unusual - he’d been instructed to move to different locations many times given the nature of his work, and many of those reassignments had been with unknown expectations for how long he would need to be there.

Ari arrived in the capital the night before and had been escorted to this penthouse in the city’s tallest building, and thathad been unusual. Typically his assignments were fulfilled in ordinary, unremarkable areas, not the a place like this.

The space balances luxury with functionality – sleek lines and modern fixtures softened by plush seating and warm lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the sprawling city below, but automated privacy screens can be adjusted for comfort. The leather couch looked genuinely used, not merely decorative. Books lined built-in shelves, their spines showing wear. The kitchen gleams with high-end appliances, yet remains approachable with its open layout. Even the temperature is perfectly calibrated – cool enough to remain comfortable, but not so cold as to require additional layers.

This attention to livability rather than mere display speaks volumes about its owner. Bucky Barnes may be Hydra's conquering fist, but he clearly values practical comfort over ostentatious wealth. It's an unexpected insight into the man who seized control of the territory mere weeks ago in a swift, brutal campaign that left the previous government broken, but not obliterated left with just enough strength and infrastructure to remain viable and powerful on the continent.

His phone buzzes, and there’s a message indicating that Governor Barnes has just arrived at Skyline Tower and will be with him presently.

Ari frowns.

Having been summoned, he expected to be called to the Governor’s office or his mansion.

A personal visit was yet another anomaly.

Only a few minutes later, there’s a brief knock and a man enters the penthouse, making way for a tall, imposing alpha, and his omega.

Ari man rises from the leather armchair. "Governor Barnes," he greets Bucky with a slight inclination of his head.

"Levinson," Bucky responds, stepping forward to clasp his hand firmly. "I trust the accommodations are satisfactory."

"More than," Ari replies, gesturing around. His gaze shifts to the female at Bucky’s side, curiosity evident in his expression. "And this must be your new omega. The former governor's daughter."

Bucky's hand moves to the small of her back, a possessive gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room. "Yes. She's mine now."

Bucky steers his omega and gestures for her to sit on the plush leather couch with him. She settles beside him, and he drapes his metal arm possessively across her shoulders. Ari can see it’s not a demonstration for his benefit, but for hers.

Ari takes his seat again in armchair opposite the couch and waits, deferring to the governor to speak first.

"Your work in the eastern territories has been exceptional," Bucky begins, his tone matter-of-fact. "The intelligence you've gathered over the past three years has been invaluable to our acquisition of the territory."

"Just doing my job," Ari responds with a modest shrug, though there's a hint of pride he can’t hold back in his tone.

"Which is precisely why I've called you here to the capital," Bucky continues. "Every weakness, every vulnerability you identified in the territory's defenses proved accurate. The takeover was executed with minimal resistance, just as you predicted."

"Minimal resistance is generous," Ari remarks with a slight smile. He heard every report, saw footage online and on television. "Your tactics were... thorough."

And in line with many of the intel and suggestions Ari himself had supplied to Barnes and the others in the Hydra network for this very purpose.

Bucky leans forward, his posture shifting subtly from casual to intent. "Which brings me to my proposition. I need someone to lead my military forces—someone with your strategic mind and field experience."

Ari keeps his expression carefully neutral, though he is more than intrigued if Barnes means what he think he means.

Still, he doesn’t want to misstep by assuming or betraying any eagerness.

So he waits half a moment before saying evenly, "You have STRIKE teams already in place. Rumlow seems capable enough."

"Rumlow is a blunt instrument," Bucky replies dismissively. "Useful for specific tasks, but lacking the vision required for what I have planned." He pauses, studying Ari with calculating eyes. "I'm offering you the position of General of my armed forces.”

Ari raises his eyebrows slightly. "General?"

"Yes," Bucky confirms without hesitation. "The current military leadership lacks vision. They're competent at maintaining order, but we need more than that to secure our borders and expand our influence. You understand the larger picture."

He assumed there would be a special assignment, but he hadn’t anticipated this. Though his pulse has accelerated, he keeps his voice even. "What exactly would this entail?"

Like himself, Bucky is a man who respects cool heads.

"Authority over all military operations, reporting directly to me," Bucky explains. "A seat on the territory council, but also a member of my personal cabinet.”

Ari considers the Governor’s words, drumming his fingers lightly against the armrest. His gaze flicks between the alpha and his omega - a woman who has remained stoic, silent, and still through all of the exchange, though certainly studying every word and action, thoroughly paying attention.

"Think about it,” Bucky continues, “this territory has resources, manpower, and strategic positioning. What we lack is someone with vision to utilize them properly."

Ari weighs his options, calculating the benefits against potential risks.

Bucky shifts, squeezing the back of his omega’s neck before standing. "I don't expect an immediate answer. Consider the offer." He gestures toward the door where the man who entered with them has remained, clearly waiting for this signal. "In the meantime, I've brought something to mark your acceptance."

To mark your acceptance… So this is an edict, no room for negotiation, refusal an impossibility.

The man - a beta, Ari can tell - nods and opens the door. A moment later, an older looking beta female enters, leading five omega women in behind her.

"Alphas like us have... certain needs," Bucky says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, watching for Ari’s reaction.

Ari stands, and something in his chest rumbles unbidden. He’s enjoyed an omega here and there, though they’re difficult to find. To have five in a room together is rare. Five unmated? Unheard of.

Bucky steps forward, his hand gesturing toward the line of omegas with practiced smoothness. "These fine specimen come from Whitecrest," he explains, voice carrying an unmistakable note of pride. "Perhaps the most prestigious omega training facility in the northern hemisphere."

All five are dressed modestly in cream-colored, simple yet exquisite dresses - each cut and tailored to show off the omegas in the best way possible. They appear to range in age from twenties to thirties. Their hair is neatly styled, their postures submissive but dignified, eyes downcast.

The beta male - Marcus, according to his silver name badge - steps forward with a slight bow. His suit is impeccably pressed, his manner formal yet approachable.

"Whitecrest is an institution with over a century of tradition. Interested families who are interested contact us when they have a child who identifies as an omega within days of their presentation, usually between thirteen and fifteen years of age," Marcus elaborates. "Only those with exceptional potential are selected. From that moment, their education becomes comprehensive. We identify their natural aptitudes and enhance them through rigorous education."

One of the omegas lifts their gaze momentarily before lowering it again. The brief glimpse reveals intelligent eyes that seem to assess the room.

"Our curriculum for all our omegas is comprehensive—multiple languages, of course, with each omega mastering a minimum of four. They study diplomatic companion relations, learning to navigate even the most complex international negotiations at their alpha's side. Our political training ensures they understand governance structures worldwide, while our history program contextualizes modern power dynamics."

Marcus's voice takes on a reverent quality as he continues, "And naturally, we provide thorough instruction on what an omega's role should be—how to anticipate an alpha's needs before they're expressed, how to manage a household of any size, how to present themselves in society. They learn to navigate hierarchies with grace and dignity."

Ari's eyes travel down the line of omegas, each one a testament to careful cultivation. "And their families simply... give them up?"

"They entrust them to us," Marcus corrects smoothly. "Most come from prominent families who understand the value of proper training. Others are discovered through our scholarship program, which identifies exceptional potential regardless of background. In either case, the families are generously compensated."

Bucky watches Ari's reaction carefully. "Each of these omegas represents years of investment. Their training costs more than most people earn in a lifetime.”

Ari feels a primal hunger growing within him as he studies the five women. His alpha instincts, normally kept under tight control, rise to the surface. He hasn't had the luxury of an omega companion during a rut in years, though he had been able to find sufficient satisfaction with betas to get him through.

"And now, one of them will be yours," Bucky says.

The implication hangs in the air, heavy with expectation. Ari feels his pulse quicken despite his practiced control.

"You're offering me one of these omegas?" he asks, careful to keep his tone measured despite the sudden rush of alpha interest surging through him.

"Consider it a signing bonus," Bucky replies with a slight smile. "A general requires a proper companion. Someone who can manage your household, accompany you to diplomatic functions, and of course," his voice drops slightly, "satisfy your more... primal needs."

The older beta female steps forward. "If I may, Governor Barnes?”

Barnes nods, “Certainly. Levinson, I’ll leave you to your selection. Marcus and Elsie, send the final contract to my assistant.” Then he turns to his own omega, and reaches a hand out.

The Governor’s wife rises from the couch with her own grace, and follows her husband out of the penthouse.

The older woman speaks again. "Each omega has been specifically selected based on compatibility with your profile, sir," she explains, her voice crisp and professional. "We've studied your background, preferences, and needs extensively to ensure an optimal match."

Ari's brow furrows slightly. "You've been researching me?"

"Of course," she replies without hesitation. "Whitecrest prides itself on creating perfect matches, not merely providing bodies. These five were hand-selected from our entire cohort as potential matches for your specific temperament, career demands, and genetic compatibility. Governor Barnes provided us with your dossier months ago. We've analyzed your service record, psychological assessments, even your dietary preferences to identify the most compatible candidates."

Ari shoots a glance toward the door where Bucky has just exited. Months ago. Before the territory was even conquered. The realization that Barnes had been planning this role for him all along settles like a weight in his stomach – both flattering and unsettling.

"And what exactly did your analysis determine about me?" Ari asks, unable to resist his curiosity.

Elsie - Ari notes her own silver nametag - smiles politely. "That you're disciplined, methodical, and intensely private. You value competence above all else. You require an omega who can anticipate needs without constant direction, who can function independently when your duties demand your attention, yet submit completely when you require it."

Her assessment is uncomfortably accurate, even identifying elements he may not have thought to consider for himself but sound satisfying to him.

Ari walks slowly along the line of omegas, studying each one with careful consideration. They remain perfectly still under his scrutiny, spaced out evenly approximately a meter apart from each other, enough room for him to circle them physically and assess their smells somewhat individually.

As Ari approaches the fourth omega, he catches a subtle shift in demeanor – not defiance, exactly, but a certain alertness that distinguishes you from the others. While the rest remain perfectly still, your head tilts almost imperceptibly, but he does catch it. He recalls that you’re the he noticed looking up before, during Marcus’s thorough explanation about the education omegas of your kind receive.

He steps directly in front of you, drawn by that subtle difference. "You," he addresses you directly, his voice low.

Your eyes remain downcast respectfully, but your posture straightens a fraction more. Unlike the others who remained unmoved around him, you appear to become more present.

"May I?" He extends his hand, palm up, an invitation rather than a demand. The gesture reveals more about him than perhaps he intends – a preference for consent, even in a situation where he holds all the power.

You lift your gaze to meet his, just for a moment, before lowering your eyes again in practiced deference. With fluid grace, you extend your wrist, turning it upward to expose the delicate skin where your scent is strongest.

Ari's fingers close gently around your offered wrist, bringing it to his nose. The first inhale is cautious, analytical – but the moment your scent fills his lungs, something shifts fundamentally in his gut.

Your scent hits him with unexpected force. It's not merely pleasant; it’s complex and resonates with him on a primal level, setting off a cascade of reactions he hasn't experienced before. His pupils dilate slightly, and he finds himself drawing a second, deeper breath.

"What's your name?" he asks, still holding your wrist, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles against your pulse point.

You respond, answering in a calm, controlled tone, but he can feel the way your pulse races beneath his thumb.

Elsie steps forward. "A fine choice, General Levinson. This omega has excelled particularly in languages – fluent in seven, including Mandarin and Russian – and has specialized training in military history and strategic analysis. We believed these skills would complement your new position admirably."

Ari barely notices her words, as he's entirely absorbed in the scent that envelops him. However, his keen sense of movement and awareness of those around him ensures he catches Marcus signaling the other omegas to leave the penthouse.

Marcus approaches with a sleek digital tablet in hand, clearing his throat discreetly. "If you're satisfied with your selection, sir, we have just a few formalities to complete."

Ari reluctantly releases your wrist, though his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before turning to Marcus. "Of course."

"Standard transfer of guardianship documentation," he explains, gesturing toward the tablet. "It confirms your acceptance of this omega and outlines your rights and responsibilities."

Ari scans the document quickly but thoroughly, his years of intelligence work having trained him never to sign anything without reading it first. The legal language is precise, transferring all rights to him while acknowledging Whitecrest's continued interest in your wellbeing – a formality more than an actual limitation on his authority.

"Everything appears to be in order," he murmurs, pressing his thumb to the digital pad in the appropriate spot.

Elsie, who has guided you to stand slightly apart while the men handle the paperwork. "The omega comes with a complete wardrobe and personal effects," she explains, her tone businesslike. "All items have been selected to complement your lifestyle and preferences."

Ari nods.

“They will delivered to the concierge downstairs within the hour. Whitecrest provides a six-month adjustment period," Elsie explains, “should you wish to make any changes or find any incompatibility or unwanted behavior from or with the omega.”

"And we'll need your signature here as well, confirming receipt of the omega's medical records and maintenance instructions," Marcus says, swiping to another screen on the tablet.

Ari raises an eyebrow. "Maintenance instructions?"

"Just a formality," Elsie interjects smoothly. "Dietary preferences, exercise regimens, heat suppressant schedules as long as you wish to suppress them. Nothing you wouldn't expect."

Marcus taps several more fields on the tablet before sliding it toward Ari once more. "Just your signature on the final acceptance form, General. This confirms receipt of the omega and acknowledges Whitecrest's fulfillment of our contract with Governor Barnes."

Ari signs with a practiced motion, his eyes flicking toward you. Marcus taps a few more buttons before the tablet emits a soft chime.

"Congratulations, General Levinson. She is officially yours," Marcus says with a practiced smile.

Elsie straightens her jacket. "The omega has been thoroughly briefed on her duties and expectations. She'll serve you well." She gives you a final appraising look, a nearly imperceptible nod that seems to convey some private message, before turning back to Ari. "Should you require any assistance during the adjustment period, our support staff is available at any hour."

"That won't be necessary," Ari replies, his tone making it clear the conversation is concluded.

With a final nod, Marcus and Elsie depart, leaving Ari alone with you for the first time. The door closes with a soft click, and the sudden silence feels weighted with possibility.

Ari studies you, still standing precisely as you had undoubtedly been trained to do, hands folded neatly before you, eyes downcast. The perfect picture of omega submission—yet he hasn't forgotten that brief moment of alertness that drew him to you initially.

"You can look at me," he says, his voice neither harsh nor particularly gentle. "I prefer direct communication."

You raise your eyes to meet his, and he's struck again by what he sees there—intelligence, assessment, and something else he can't quite define. Not fear, which is interesting. Perhaps caution. Certainly awareness.

"I imagine this is... unexpected for you as well," he says.

“On the contrary, General Levinson, I’ve known for two decades I was being held in reserve, training and preparing for the alpha who would claim me.”

Ari notes that your tone doesn’t seem to harbor any resentment towards that statement or the reality of it either.

"Two decades is a long time to prepare for something without knowing when it will happen," Ari observes, moving to the kitchen area. He pours himself a glass of water, then, after a moment's consideration, pours a second. "Would you like one?"

"Thank you, Alpha," you respond, joining him in the kitchen and accepting the glass with graceful movements. Your fingers brush against his, and he notes the controlled steadiness of your hand.

"You can call me Ari when we're alone," he says, watching your reaction carefully.

You take a small sip of water before responding. "As you wish... Ari." The name sounds intimate on your lips, a privilege you understand the significance of.

"I should inform you," you continue, your voice measured and practical, "that I'm currently on a regimen of heat suppressants, as is standard protocol before a Whitecrest omega is transferred to the care of an alpha." Your voice is measured, professional. "However, I can discontinue them immediately if you prefer. The medication will clear my system within seventy-two hours."

Ari's expression remains neutral, though his scent shifts subtly with interest.

"That won't be necessary just yet," he replies, studying your face. "We have time."

You nod once, acknowledging his decision. "Regardless of my suppressed state, I am fully capable of satisfying any and all intimate requirements you may have." Your tone remains matter-of-fact, neither coy nor embarrassed. "While I am a certified virgin omega, Whitecrest's curriculum includes comprehensive training in all aspects of physical intimacy."

Ari's lips twitch beneath his mustache. He told you he appreciates direct communication, and he likes that you seem to fall into it naturally with him. “How does that work? A virgin but with comprehensive training?”

At this, you do drop your eyes for a moment shift slightly from one foot to the other.

"Whitecrest, as explained, always adopts a thorough and methodical approach to educating their omegas," you explain, your voice remaining professional despite the intimate subject matter. "My physical training included extensive work with beta partners—men and women both—to master techniques of oral gratification. I can pleasure with my mouth, hands, and body in a myriad of distinct ways."

You take another small sip of water before continuing, "We were also thoroughly schooled in self-pleasure, to understand our own bodies' responses. This knowledge helps us better anticipate and accommodate an alpha's needs."

Ari watches your face as you speak, the blood in his veins pumping more heatedly as you speak.

"There were practical vaginal applications too," you add. "Specialized stretching exercises to gradually stretch and prepare our bodies to accommodate an alpha's... dimensions."

You meet his eyes directly now. "However, nothing has ever penetrated my vaginal canal deeply enough to break my hymen. That honor is reserved exclusively for my alpha. For you."

“Fuck,” he says.

The word escapes his mouth before he can stop it, his careful control slipping for just a moment. Your eyes widen slightly at his reaction, and he sees a flash of something—satisfaction, perhaps—cross your features before you compose yourself again.

"I apologize if I was too forward," you say, though your tone suggests you don't believe you've overstepped.

"No," Ari says, setting his glass down on the counter with measured precision. "I said I wanted direct communication. You're giving me exactly that."

He moves closer to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. Your scent shifts subtly in response to his proximity, and he catches it immediately—a sweetening, an unconscious response that makes his alpha instincts stir with primal satisfaction.

"I want to be clear about something," he says, his voice dropping to a lower register. "You were trained to be what Whitecrest believed an alpha would want. But I'm interested in what lies beneath that training."

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, your carefully constructed demeanor wavers. "Whitecrest doesn't encourage individuality," you admit, tone laced with wariness.

You’re incredibly intelligent, strategic. He likes that.

"I consider it essential," Ari counters. “I want to know who you are beneath the training."

You tilt your head slightly, a gesture that seems less practiced and more natural. "What would you like to know, Ari?"

He steps back, creating space between you again, regaining his composure. "Let's sit," he suggests, gesturing toward the living area. You follow him, moving with elegant efficiency, and take a seat on the couch while he chooses the armchair opposite you.

He studies you for a long moment, taking in the details of your face, your posture, the way you hold yourself. There's a precision to your movements that speaks of years of training, but underneath it, he senses something more—a natural grace that couldn't have been taught.

"Tell me something that isn't in your file," he says. "Something Whitecrest doesn't know about you."

Your eyes widen slightly at this unexpected request. For a moment, you seem to wrestle with it, your training having conditioned you to present only what would please an alpha. But he sees the moment you let go and relax from that expectation.

"I steal moments," you admit finally, voice softer than before. "When I'm supposed to be meditating during quiet hours, I sometimes watch the stars instead." Your hands rest in your lap, perfectly still, but he notices the slight tension in your fingers. "There's a constellation that as visible from my dormitory window that wasn't in any of our astronomy texts. I named it myself."

Ari leans forward slightly, genuinely intrigued. "What did you name it?"

The question seems to surprise you, you’re clearly not expecting his curiosity to extend beyond a surface level. "Libera," you answer after a moment. "It means—"

"Freedom," Ari finishes for you, his expression thoughtful. "I speak Latin too."

Something shifts in your eyes—a flicker of deeper interest in him, the man, not the alpha.

A current seems to pass between you both at that moment. Ari's eyes darken slightly, and the air in the penthouse grows heavier with unspoken tension.

"Come here," Ari says, his voice low as he extends his hand toward you. His command is gentle but unmistakable.

You hesitate for just a fraction of a second—another glimpse of the real person beneath the training—before rising gracefully from the couch. You cross the short distance between you and place your hand in his.

With a smooth, deliberate motion, he guides you onto his lap, your body naturally finding position across his thighs. Without a word, Ari's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip. His eyes search yours, seeking something beyond the polished veneer of your training.

His eyes never leaving yours, Ari leans forward, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against yours—tentative at first, almost questioning. But when you respond, parting your lips slightly, his restraint crumbles.

Ari deepens the kiss, hungry for more of you, exploring your mouth, the way you taste. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair to hold you in place as he tastes you thoroughly. You taste of mint and something else—something uniquely you that makes his alpha instincts surge with possessive pleasure.

You respond with the technical precision of your training, but there's something more authentic beneath it—a genuine response to him that makes his blood heat. He can sense it in the air as your scent shifts to something more heady. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming, exploring, and you match him movement for movement.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing harder. Your eyes have darkened, pupils blown with a desire he believes matches his own.

His hand travels from your neck down your spine, pressing you closer as he leans in again. This time his lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you shiver involuntarily at the contact. He grins against your heated skin, and continues his exploration, trailing kisses along your jawline, down your neck, lingering at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder.

"Your scent is..." he murmurs against your skin, inhaling deeply. "Intoxicating."

Ari shifts beneath you, adjusting his position in the armchair. He slides his hands to grip your waist, then guides you to straddle his muscular thigh, positioning you so his quad presses directly against your core, the fabric of your dress forced up around your hips.

His eyes, dark with desire but still observant, study your face. His hand slides to your hip, fingers applying gentle pressure.

"Ride my thigh," Ari commands softly, his thumb stroking your hip. "Show me what brings you pleasure."

You hesitate, confusion flickering across your features. "I don't understand. My purpose is to—"

"Your purpose right now," he interrupts, his voice firm, "is to give me what I want, and what I want is to see you please yourself."

The concept seems foreign to you, and Ari can see the conflict in your eyes—your training has conditioned you to focus exclusively on an alpha's pleasure, not your own. This slight deviation from your programming fascinates him.

"I..." you begin, uncertainty coloring your voice.

"This isn't a test," Ari says, and he moves from your hip to cup your face, his touch gentle but commanding. "I want to see what feels good to you. I always study my subject, that’s my expertise. I want to watch you come apart, know what your body craves so I can meet out pleasure to you like you’ve never experienced before."

Something in his words seems to unlock something in you. Your body responds to his reasoning, beginning to move slowly against his thigh. The friction sends visible shivers through you, and your eyes widen slightly at the sensation.

"That's it," Ari encourages, his gaze intense as he watches your face. "Don't hold back."

Your movements grow more confident, planting your hands on his shoulders and finding a rhythm. Your breathing quickens as you grind against his muscular thigh, the rhythmic movement causes your dress to ride up further, exposing more of your thighs. Ari's hands move to grip your hips, not to guide but to feel your movements, to learn your rhythm.

"Look at me," he commands, and your eyes lock with his. The vulnerability in your gaze is intoxicating—this isn't the practiced performance of a Whitecrest omega, but something raw and genuine.

A small moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you immediately tense, as if surprised by your own loss of inhibition so quickly.

"Don't," Ari says, his voice husky with desire. "Don't hide those sounds from me. I want to hear every one of them."

Your movements become more urgent, more desperate as pleasure builds within you. Your body trembles against him, and Ari can feel the dampness growing between your legs, seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear and onto his pants. He finds the evidence of your arousal deeply satisfying.

"That's it," he murmurs, one hand leaving your hip to slide up your back, pressing you closer. "Show me what you need."

Your movements become less controlled, more instinctual as pleasure builds. Your head falls back slightly, exposing the elegant line of your throat. Ari can't resist—he leans forward to press his lips against your pulse point, feeling it race beneath his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there. Not a claiming bite—not yet—but the promise of one.

"A-Alpha," you gasp, forgetting his instruction to use his name in the haze of your building climax.

Ari doesn't correct you. There's something primal and satisfying about hearing his designation on your lips in this moment of abandon. His own arousal is painful against the confines of his pants, but he ignores it, focused entirely on your pleasure.

His hand tightens on your hip, urging you on, his other hand sliding from your back to slip beneath the neckline of your dress, exploring the soft skin he finds there.

Your movements become frantic, chasing the release that hovers just out of reach. Ari slides one hand between your bodies, pressing his thumb against the exact spot where you need it most, even through the fabric of your underwear.

"Let go," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Show me."

Your rhythm falters as pleasure overtakes you. Your thighs tighten around his, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body shudders with release. A broken cry escapes your lips, raw and unfiltered.

Ari watches, transfixed, as you come apart for him. The sight of your genuine pleasure, the sounds you make, the scent of your arousal—it all combines to stoke his own desire to nearly unbearable levels. His hardness presses insistently against his pants, but he makes no move to seek his own release. Not yet.

As the aftershocks subside, you slump slightly against him, your breathing ragged, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your body continues to tremble with aftershocks.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your hair, his hands still gripping your hips.

In one fluid motion, Ari lifts you from his lap. His movements are controlled yet urgent as he lowers you to the plush carpet. Your dress has ridden up around your waist, and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you—flushed, disheveled, still trembling slightly from your release.

"That was just the beginning," he murmurs, his voice deep with promise as he positions himself between your thighs.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness. The garment is damp with evidence of your arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, his pupils dilating at your scent.

"Perfect," he whispers, mostly to himself.

He spreads your thighs wider, exposing you completely to his gaze. He can see the mixture of anticipation and interest as Ari lowers himself, planting his shoulders between your legs. He senses his intentions are in no way unwelcome, but not what you were told to expect. His breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, already swollen and slick from your previous climax. The first touch of his tongue against you sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching involuntarily off the carpet.

"Ari," you gasp, forgetting formality as sensations overwhelm you.

He hums against you, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure coursing through your body. His technique is methodical yet intuitive – exploring, learning, cataloging every response. When his tongue circles your clit and your thighs tremble, he takes note. When he flattens his tongue against you in a broad stroke and you whimper, he files that information away too.

"You taste even better than you smell," he murmurs against you, his voice rough with desire.

Your hands flutter uncertainly before settling on the carpet beside you, fingers curling against the plush rug.

Ari shifts his approach, abandoning the methodical exploration in favor of something more primal. His movements become unhurried, indulgent—almost worshipful as he parts your folds with his fingers and drags his tongue through your wetness with deliberate slowness. The meticulous pace makes every sensation more acute, more overwhelming.

You gasp as he laps at you with broad, leisurely strokes, and he knows his beard is creating a delicious friction against your sensitive skin - he’s looking forward to seeing the evidence later. His technique is less precise now, messier. He's savoring a feast rather than executing a strategy. Slickness gathers at the corners of his mouth, but he’s unconcerned, focused entirely on drawing out your pleasure.

"Please," you whisper, the word escaping before you can contain it.

He glances up, meeting your eyes over the landscape of your body. His mustache is slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with desire. "Please what?" he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath teasing you.

You struggle to articulate what you need, your training suddenly inadequate for this unexpected experience. "More," is all you manage.

A low chuckle rumbles through him, vibrating against your core. "Like this?" He seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bundle of nerves with precision.

Your back arches off the carpet, a strangled cry escaping your throat. Your hands move instinctively to his head, fingers threading through his dark hair. For a moment, you freeze, but Ari responds by pressing closer, encouraging your touch.

He slips one finger inside you, careful to maintain the barrier of your virginity while still providing the pressure and fullness he knows your body craves.

"That's it," he murmurs against you, feeling your inner walls begin to flutter around his finger. "So responsive.”

He adds a second digit, and his fingers continue their teasing exploration, never quite breaching you but applying just enough pressure to make you ache for more. All the while, his tongue works against your sensitive bundle of nerves with deliberate, focused attention.

Your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything he's giving you. He responds by increasing the intensity, his tongue circling your clit with relentless precision while his fingers press deeper, stretching you without breaching that final barrier.

"Ari," you gasp, your voice breaking as the tension coils tighter. "I can't—"

"You can," he growls against your sensitive flesh. "Come apart for your alpha again."

His tongue flattens against your clit, applying firm, consistent pressure while his fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot. The dual sensation shatters you completely. Your release crashes down, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of pleasure radiate outward. Your cry echoes through the penthouse, uninhibited and raw.

As you tremble through the aftershocks, Ari's control finally shatters. With a fluid movement born of years of military training, he flips your limp body over, and he hoists your hips up with powerful hands, positioning you on your knees.

"Present for me," he growls, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, thick with primal need.

Your body responds instinctively to his command, your back arching, hips raising to offer yourself to him. The position is vulnerable, submissive—exactly what your alpha demands.

Ari's hands caress your exposed flesh, appreciating the curve of your spine, the perfect roundness of your ass, the sight of you ready and waiting for him. He quickly unfastens his pants, freeing his straining erection. The cool air of the penthouse against his heated flesh makes him throb with anticipation. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against and then parting your slick, swollen folds.

"Mine," he growls, the single word laden with possession and promise.

Without further warning, Ari drives forward in one powerful thrust, breaking through your virgin barrier and burying himself to the hilt inside you. The sensation is overwhelming—your tight heat enveloping him completely as your virginity yields to his claiming.

Your cry echoes through the penthouse, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body, still limp and sated from your previous releases, offers little resistance to his invasion. Your inner walls stretch to accommodate his considerable size, pulsing around him as your body adjusts to this new intrusion.

Ari remains still for just a moment, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he fights for control. The primal part of him wants to rut into you with abandon, to claim and mark and own. But the more controlled part of him—the strategist, the soldier—knows to temper that instinct.

"Breathe," he commands, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. His hand slides up your back to grip the nape of your neck, applying gentle pressure—a steadying, grounding touch.

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it adjusts to the unfamiliar fullness. Your inner walls flutter and contract around his length, instinctively trying to accommodate him. The sensation nearly makes Ari lose his hard-won control.

"So tight," he groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip. "So perfect for me."

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it stretches to accommodate his invasion. Your inner walls flutter around him, adjusting to his girth, your body producing more slickness to ease his passage.

"Good omega," he murmurs, the praise falling from his lips unbidden. His hands return to your hips, gripping firmly as he begins to withdraw slowly, almost completely, before driving back. Each thrust is measured, calculated to stretch you perfectly while minimizing discomfort. The warrior in him wants to claim you roughly, but the strategist wins out, conquering your body with deliberate precision.

"Alpha," you moan, your fingers curling into the plush carpet beneath you. Your voice carries a note of surrender that satisfies something primal in Ari's core.

His pace increases gradually as your body yields to him completely, your initial discomfort giving way to unmistakable pleasure. Your scent changes, sweetening with arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, letting it fuel his desire.

"You were made for this," Ari growls, his rhythm increasing as he feels your body responding, accepting him deeper, your inner walls gripping him like a silken vice. "Made for me."

Your gasps and whimpers spur him on, each sound a testament to your pleasure. He shifts his angle slightly, searching for that spot inside you that will make you shatter again. When your back arches sharply and a broken cry escapes your lips, he knows he's found it.

"There," he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Right there."

He maintains that angle, hitting that perfect spot with each powerful thrust. His hand slides around your body to find your sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it with his thumb in time with his movements. The dual stimulation has you trembling again, your breath coming in short, desperate pants.

"Let go for me again, omega," Ari commands, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "I want to feel you come apart around my cock."

The pressure of his skilled fingers combined with the relentless stimulation of that perfect spot inside you push you over the edge. Your entire body convulses as pleasure crashes through you, more intense than before. Your inner walls clamp down around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing a guttural groan from deep in his chest. Your cries are uninhibited now, echoing through the penthouse as your body surrenders to him entirely.

With a final, powerful thrust, Ari buries himself completely inside you, his body going rigid as his climax overtakes him. His release floods your insides, hot and abundant, marking you from within. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you firmly in place, ensuring every drop remains inside you.

As the waves of pleasure gradually subside, Ari remains buried deep inside you, leaning forward. His breath comes in harsh pants against your neck, his chest pressed to your back as he covers you completely with his larger frame. The position is intensely intimate, possessive in a way that satisfies something primal in his bones.

For several long moments, neither of you moves, your bodies joined and slick with exertion. Ari's hand slides from your hip to your stomach, splaying his fingers across your abdomen where he can almost feel the evidence of his claiming deep inside you. The thought sends another pulse of satisfaction through him.

"Mine," he murmurs against the shell of your ear, the single word carrying weight beyond its simplicity.

You shiver beneath him, your body responding to his declaration with another small aftershock that ripples around his still-hard length.

With utmost care, he eases out of you, his cock still semi-hard and slick with the evidence of your joining. Satisfaction courses through him as he watches his release begin to seep from your entrance, marking you in the most ancient way.

He will clean you soon, but for now he wants your thighs sticky with his seed, your slickness, and traces of your claimed virginity.

He helps you collapse gently onto the plush carpet. You fold your arms together and rest your head on them, turning your face to your alpha, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

Ari stretches out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow to study your face. His other hand traces lazy patterns on your back, unwilling to break physical contact. Your eyes are half-lidded, your breathing still uneven.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice softer now.

You nod, meeting his gaze with a new openness. "Yes, Alpha... Ari," you correct yourself, reconditioning yourself from the instruction you’d surely been given to only call him Alpha. He imagines he will always find satisfaction from both falling from your sweet lips.

He reaches out to brush some hair from your face.

"You're remarkable," he murmurs, his eyes studying your features with newfound appreciation. "I didn't expect..."

You wait for him to finish, but he merely shakes his head slightly, surprised by his own thoughts.

"What didn't you expect?" you press, your voice still slightly breathless.

Ari's thumb traces the outline of your lower lip, his expression thoughtful. "To feel this... connection. This quickly."

The admission is wholly unexpected. He didn’t expect the feeling or to be ready and willing to share it with you, but you seem to be an element weaving itself into his inner alpha.

Your eyes soften at his words, a warmth spreading through them as he continues to hold your gaze. Your hand lifts hesitantly to touch his face, fingers tracing the edge of his beard with unexpected tenderness.

"I feel it too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "They taught us to expect... many things. But not this."

Ari turns his face slightly to press his lips against your palm, a gesture that feels more intimate than the joining of your bodies moments before. His alpha instincts purr with satisfaction at your admission, at the vulnerability you're willing to show him in return.

The silence between you stretches, comfortable rather than awkward. In this quiet moment, Ari feels something settling into place inside him—a certainty he hasn't experienced before. Outside these walls, he will still become General Levinson, the calculating strategist who helped Barnes conquer a territory, the ruthlessly efficient military leader who will shape and command armies. The world will see the same disciplined, controlled alpha who has built his reputation on precision and detachment.

But here, with you, something different exists. Something private and separate from that external identity.

I know I was just writing a very different Alpha!Ari last week, but IT'S ALPHA APRIL! And I've had this idea swirling in my head or about six weeks. I hope he was satisfying... 😏 There's at least one other alpha I'm going to introduce to this verse very soon.

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