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ijustmissyouraccenths · 9 days ago

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Office Hours: Part One

✨ summary: where Harry is a professor, and she left with a degree and pieces of him he never got back.

📝 word count: 20.k total

⚠️ content warning: college student/professor dynamic, significant age difference (all characters are adults), explicit sexual content, strong language, and themes of power imbalance.

⭐️ part two

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It’s quiet in the hallway, the kind of dead-campus quiet that makes your nerves louder than your footsteps. You pause in front of the office door, fingers curling at your sides. The nameplate beside it reads:

Dr. H. Styles Department of History

You’ve stood here for almost a full minute.

It’s embarrassing, honestly. You’re not even sure why you’re hesitating. It’s not like he doesn’t already know you’re floundering in his class. If anything, this is overdue.

You finally raise your hand and knock.

“Come in,” he calls out, voice muffled but distinct low, a little rough. You push the door open.

The office is dimly lit, with tall windows half-covered by old blinds that let in fractured afternoon light. Shelves line the walls, stuffed with worn hardcovers and faded spines. There’s a map of post-war Europe pinned behind his desk, corners curling. A single mug sits on a stack of papers, half-full with what smells like bitter coffee.

And then there’s him.

Dr. Styles.

He’s leaning over a folder, brow slightly furrowed, reading glasses pushed low on his nose. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, the buttons at his collar undone. His watch ticks softly as he scribbles a note in the margin of someone’s exam.

When he glances up and sees you, he lowers his pen. His expression doesn’t change much—just a flicker of recognition.

“Y/N, right?”

You nod, shifting your weight awkwardly. “Yeah. Um… hi.”

“Hi,” he says simply, and then nods toward the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”

You sit, careful with your bag, and smooth your hands down your jeans.

He closes the folder and sets it aside, then leans back in his chair, eyes on you in that disarming, steady way of his. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

You almost laugh. Almost. “No. I wanted to talk about the midterm.”

He nods, slow. “You didn’t do well.”

You try not to shrink under the weight of it. “I know.”

“Sixty-two,” he adds, not unkindly. Just factual.

You wince. “Yeah. I—I’ve been trying. It’s not that I don’t care, I swear, I just—there’s been a lot happening. Work’s been crazy. I’m behind on readings. I’ve been showing up, but it feels like I’m always two steps behind.”

You’re rambling. You hate how small you sound. But you can’t seem to stop.

“I didn’t want to come in here and beg or anything,” you add quickly. “I just thought maybe if there was something I could do, like—extra credit or a rewrite or—”

“Stop.”

His voice is quiet but firm, and it shuts you up immediately. He doesn’t say it cruelly. Just… deliberately.

You look at him.

He exhales through his nose and leans forward, forearms resting on the desk. His eyes are piercing now, calm but sharp, like he’s already decided something and he’s just waiting to say it.

“You’re not failing because you’re incapable,” he says. “You’re failing because you’ve spread yourself too thin and you’ve got no system. You turn things in late. You half-answer essay questions. You skip discussion posts. And still, for some reason, I don’t think you’re lazy.”

“I’m not,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says.

There’s a pause.

Then: “I need a student assistant this semester.”

You blink. “What?”

“For the department. It’s funded, basic tasks. Filing, organizing lecture notes, helping sort quizzes or set up for discussions. It’s not glamorous, but it pays. And it’d put you in the material more often. Get you thinking. Give you structure.”

Your stomach tightens. “You want me to do it?”

His mouth twitches, just slightly. “That’s the offer. If you want a chance to pass this class and maybe keep your GPA from falling apart, I’d take it.”

“But why me?”

He leans back again, folds his arms. “Because I think you need someone to hold you accountable. And because, whether you realize it or not, you have good instincts. You just don’t trust them yet.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Your throat feels tight.

He watches you for another beat. Then, with a final glance at the clock behind you, he adds, “Think about it. Let me know by tomorrow. I’ll send the paperwork if you say yes.”

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

As you gather your bag and stand, he looks back down at the folder he was grading before you walked in. Just as your hand touches the doorknob, he says, without looking up—

“Y/N.”

You turn. “Yeah?”

“Don’t waste this. Not with me.”

His voice is low. Measured.

It doesn’t sound like a threat. But it doesn’t quite sound like a promise, either.

Just something in between.

Your shoes are already kicked off by the time you collapse onto the couch, a half-empty iced coffee from earlier melting on the side table. Your bag slides to the floor with a soft thud, zipper half open, the corner of your graded midterm poking out like an accusation.

Sixty-two.

You cover your face with both hands.

“Bad day?” comes Rosie’s voice from the kitchen.

You peek out from between your fingers. She’s standing barefoot in front of the fridge in an oversized sweatshirt, a spoon dangling from her mouth like some kind of cereal pirate.

“You have no idea.”

She pads into the living room with a carton of ice cream and flops beside you, tucking her legs under her. “Let me guess. History of Modern Europe.”

You groan. “God. I’m barely keeping my head above water in that class.”

Rosie makes a sympathetic noise and offers you the ice cream.

You take it, digging in without hesitation. “I went to his office hours.”

“Oh?” She perks up. “The infamous Dr. Styles?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was… intense.”

She snorts. “Isn’t it always with him? I heard he made some guy cry last semester because he used Wikipedia as a source.”

“That checks out.”

“So what happened?”

You exhale. “He offered me a job.”

That makes her pause. “A job job?”

“Student assistant. For the department.”

She blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. Grading, organizing, probably hauling books around. He said it could help bring my grade up. And that it pays.”

Rosie narrows her eyes, like she’s trying to read behind the lines of what you’re saying. “That’s… weirdly generous for him, isn’t it?”

“I thought so too.”

There’s a moment of silence. She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on top.

“Listen,” she says slowly, “I don’t know him, obviously. But I’ve heard things.”

“Like what?”

She hesitates. “That he’s… intense. A hard ass. Kind of terrifying, if you’re not on his good side. But also…”

“But also?”

She shrugs. “Hot. Like—annoyingly hot. Which somehow makes the whole thing worse.”

You give her a look. “Rosie.”

“I’m serious! You’ve seen the tattoos, right? And the way he wears those sleeves rolled up like he’s about to start a revolution? It’s confusing. You’re not prepared for that kind of academic trauma and sexual tension in one go.”

You cover your face again. “Please stop.”

She laughs. “I’m just saying. Be careful. He’s smart. And sharp. And he sees things.”

“He said I don’t trust my instincts.”

Rosie raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

You stare at the ceiling.

That’s the problem. You’re not sure anymore.

Your life is already a mess of half-shifts, financial aid nightmares, and the gnawing fear you’re not good enough to be here in the first place. A job that pays and keeps you tied to the one class you’re barely holding onto feels like a lifeline.

But Dr. Styles? He doesn’t feel like safety. He feels like… pressure. Focused, heavy, exacting.

And something else, too. Something you haven’t named yet.

“Do you think I should take it?” you ask quietly.

Rosie pauses, serious now. “I think you already decided. You just want someone to tell you it’s okay.”

You swallow.

And for once, she doesn’t say anything clever. Just leans against your shoulder, warm and quiet.

You sit like that until the light fades through the blinds.

It’s nearly one in the morning when you open your laptop again.

The glow from the screen paints your room in that washed-out blue light that makes everything feel a little lonelier. Rosie’s long since gone to bed, the apartment gone still except for the occasional hum of the refrigerator.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, staring at the blinking cursor in your inbox.

Subject: Student Assistant Position

You’ve rewritten the body of the email five times.

You delete the whole thing and start again.

Hi Dr. Styles,

I wanted to thank you again for the offer today. I’ve thought about it, and I’d like to accept the assistant position if it’s still available. I could really use the structure and the extra help understanding the material.

Please let me know what you need from me to get started.

Best, Y/N

You hover over the send button. Then you press it.

It’s done. You shut the laptop and sink back onto the pillow, heart still thudding like you just did something illicit.

You don’t sleep well.

When your alarm goes off just after seven, you blink blearily at your phone and find a new email notification waiting for you. His name in bold.

From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Student Assistant Position

Y/N,

Glad to hear it. Meet me in my office at 2:30 this afternoon and we’ll go over everything—responsibilities, schedule, expectations. Bring your availability and any questions.

And don’t be late.

—Dr. Styles

You stare at the message for a second longer than necessary.

There’s no smiley face. No warmth. But it still makes your stomach turn over.

It’s official now.

You’re going to be working for him.

And something about that feels a little like standing at the edge of something, maybe an opportunity, maybe a mistake.

Maybe both.

The next morning you’re standing in front of your open closet, towel still wrapped around your head, when Rosie wanders into your room holding a spoon and what looks like leftover pasta straight from the container.

She leans on the doorframe. “Is this a first date or an office job? Because you’ve been standing there for fifteen minutes like you’re trying to manifest an outfit.”

You sigh. “It’s a meeting. To go over the job stuff.”

“With Professor Tall, Dark, and Historically Accurate?”

You shoot her a look. “Rosie.”

She grins. “What? I’m just saying—he’s hot. Like, war-and-peace-and-forearms hot.”

You groan. “You’re not helping.”

She shrugs and takes a bite of pasta. “Maybe you don’t want help. Maybe you want to look a little hot. Like… I know I’m your assistant now but I still understand the consequences of the French Revolution hot.”

“I will throw this hanger at you.”

She laughs and flops onto your bed, chewing thoughtfully as you pull out two options—one safe and neutral, the other just slightly more fitted than it needs to be.

Rosie raises her eyebrows. “Oooh. Choice B says, I respect your authority, but also… please ruin my life.”

You blush instantly and shove it back into the closet. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

She holds up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. But for the record, if he weren’t your professor, I’d be rooting for inappropriate tension. It’s practically your brand.”

You tug on a soft, clean button-down and a pair of dark jeans, trying not to think about whether you’re dressing to impress or just trying not to drown.

As you tie your shoes, Rosie watches you quietly.

Then, softer: “You’ll be okay, you know.”

You glance at her.

“He’s intense,” she adds, “but you can handle intense. You just have to remember who you are in that room.”

You nod, tightening your laces.

But the truth is, you’re not totally sure who you are in that room yet.

Your morning class drags.

The professor, some adjunct with a soft voice and a half-broken projector, clicks through a PowerPoint about Cold War diplomacy while your pen taps restlessly against your notebook. You’re not really taking notes. You’re thinking about 2:30.

Well, him.

The way he said Don’t be late.

The way his eyes lingered just a little too long when you stood in the doorway yesterday.

By the time class ends, you practically bolt from your seat. You grab a sandwich from the student union, barely taste it. You’re too aware of the time, of the way your palms are already sweating, of how your heart starts a slow, nervous thud as the hour creeps closer.

At 2:25, you’re standing outside his office again.

This time, you knock right away.

“Come in,” he says.

You push the door open.

Professor Styles is behind his desk, sleeves rolled up again, glasses perched on his nose. He’s sorting through a thick stack of papers, flipping one page, then another, scribbling a note in the margin. His brow is furrowed like something’s already bothering him.

He doesn’t look up.

You hesitate just inside the door. “Hi.”

“Close it.”

You do, then hover near the chair.

He finally glances up.

“You’re early,” he says, voice flat.

“Thought that was better than late.”

He hums a dry, noncommittal sound and sets the papers aside. He removes his glasses and folds them with precise fingers before looking at you fully.

“Sit.”

You do.

The chair feels smaller than yesterday. Everything feels a little tighter.

He doesn’t ask how you are. Doesn’t offer small talk. Just grabs a yellow legal pad and clicks his pen once, sharply.

“This is how it’s going to work,” he begins. “You’ll assist me eight hours a week, two hours, four days. Monday through Thursday and maybe an occasional Friday if there’s still things that need to be done. You’ll report here unless otherwise noted. Your tasks will vary. Sorting exams, scanning articles, fact-checking timelines, prepping materials for seminar. You’ll also sit in on my upper-level History 416 class.”

You nod quickly. “Okay.”

“You’ll be paid through the department. Paperwork will go through admin, Jennifer, down the hall. I’ll email her. You’ll handle the rest.”

“Got it.”

He stops, tilts his head slightly. “Do you always agree to everything this quickly?”

You blink. “I—I just want to make sure I do it right.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Doing it right means paying attention. Not just nodding.”

“Right,” you say, more quietly.

He eyes you for another beat. Then continues.

“I don’t tolerate lateness. I don’t tolerate excuses. If you can’t keep up, you’ll be replaced. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He scribbles something on the legal pad. “You’ll start tomorrow. Four o’clock.”

You hesitate. “I thought it was earlier in the day?”

He doesn’t look up. “My schedule changed.”

You nod, unsure if you’ve done something wrong or if this is just how he is.

When he finally looks at you again, it’s with something colder. Detached. Not mean, exactly but distanced, like he’s trying not to see you at all.

You try to break the silence. “Is there anything I should read before—?”

“You’re not here to be spoon-fed,” he cuts in. “If you’re serious about improving, you’ll start by revisiting your own work. Find what’s missing.”

You sink slightly in your chair. “Okay.”

“And Y/N,” he says your name in that calm, clipped tone that makes your pulse jump “this is a job. Not a shortcut. Don’t mistake the opportunity for leniency.”

You meet his eyes.

He’s guarded. Tense. The way someone is when they’ve already decided to keep their walls up.

You nod once. “Understood.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, finally, he sets the pad down, straightens a stack of books at the edge of his desk, and says, “That’s all.”

You stand.

“Thank you,” you say softly, halfway out the door.

His voice stops you.

“I didn’t offer this position to be kind.”

You turn slightly. “Then why did you?”

He watches you for a moment. Then—coolly:

“Because I think people make better choices when someone’s watching.”

You don’t say anything. You just step out of his office, heart thudding harder than it should.

On your first day you knock at exactly four o’clock.

You’ve been standing outside the office door for two full minutes, checking and rechecking the time on your phone like a lunatic. You don’t want to be early. You can’t be late. So when the clock hits 4:00:00, you raise your hand and knock.

The door swings open almost immediately.

Professor Styles doesn’t say hello. He just steps back and lets you in.

He’s already in motion when you cross the threshold moving toward his desk, pulling a drawer open, rifling through a file folder.

“You’re on time,” he says, without looking at you.

“Of course.”

“Good.” He pulls out a stack of handouts and presses them into your hands without warning. “Start by alphabetizing those by last name. Should be fifty-seven. Don’t lose any.”

You nod and carry them to the spare table by the window. You can feel him behind you as you work, silent, watching. It makes your skin prickle. You try to focus on the names. Alcott. Bennett. Chen. Dalton…

A few minutes pass.

Then he speaks again.

“Do you always keep your head down like that?”

You glance up. “What do you mean?”

He’s leaning against the desk now, arms folded. Watching you, clearly not just talking about posture.

“In class,” he says. “In discussions. Even in your essays. You circle ideas but don’t claim them. You leave conclusions open. Safe.”

You shift your weight, uncomfortable. “I guess I just don’t always trust my voice.”

He studies you for a second too long. “That’s something you’ll need to fix.”

You nod, dropping your gaze back to the handouts. “Working on it.”

He moves around the desk again, opening another drawer, pulling out a spiral-bound course reader.

“I want you to read this by next week,” he says. “It’s not assigned to the class. It’s for you.”

You look up again, surprised. “All of it?”

“All of it,” he confirms. “And I want a one-page response. Your thoughts, not what you think I want to hear. No summaries.”

You take the reader from him. His fingers brush yours for a second longer than they should.

You pretend not to notice. So does he.

He sits down then, flipping open a notebook and scribbling something you can’t see. The scratch of his pen is the only sound in the room for a while. It’s strange, being this close to him outside of class. Stranger still that he hasn’t softened. He’s all edges, all precision.

You don’t know what you expected.

Maybe a smile. Maybe something human.

Instead, he finally says, “Have you thought about why you’re struggling in this course?”

“I’ve had a lot going on—”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You blink. “Then… I guess I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” he says. “You’re bright. You write with instinct. But you don’t push. You don’t let yourself say anything dangerous. You’d rather float.”

You stare at him.

“That’s fine if you’re trying to pass,” he says. “But not if you’re trying to learn.”

You take a breath. “Is that what you want? For me to learn?”

Something flickers across his face. Then it’s gone.

“I want you to wake up.”

You’re quiet. The room feels heavier than it did five minutes ago.

He stands again, moves past you to a stack of books on the windowsill.

“Don’t speak unless you have something worth saying.”

You exhale through your nose, almost smiling. “You really don’t let people breathe, do you?”

That gets a reaction—barely. The corner of his mouth lifts. Not a smile. Just an acknowledgment.

“No,” he says. “I don’t.”

You nod. “Okay.”

You finish sorting the stack.

“Done,” you say, sliding it back onto his desk.

He glances at it, then at you.

“You can go.”

You hesitate.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

He leans back slightly in his chair, eyes unreadable. “Don’t wait for permission every time. Just do the work.”

You nod once. “Got it.”

You step out into the hallway, heart pounding a little harder than it should. You don’t know what just happened. Or what he meant, exactly. But for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel invisible.

And that terrifies you more than anything.

The next few days fall into a rhythm. The kind that leaves you breathless and vaguely unsure if you’re doing it right.

On Monday He has you compile references for his next lecture—postcolonial economic fallout. You spend two hours digging through JSTOR while he circles the room reading a worn copy of Imagined Communities. He says almost nothing to you, except when your formatting is wrong.

Tuesday He hands you a stack of student essays and tells you to rank them, not grade them. “Trust your gut. Don’t overthink.” You second-guess every ranking anyway. When you pass them back, he flips through them with a furrowed brow but doesn’t correct a single one.

Wednesday He keeps the office door open. A few undergrads drift in and out for advising, but you stay in the corner, silent and observant. At one point, he says something dry and cutting to a senior about Cold War idealism, and you snort without meaning to. His eyes flash to you. You both pretend it didn’t happen.

And by Thursday, you’re exhausted. The good kind, maybe, but still frayed at the edges.

On Friday, one of the occasional Fridays he had mentioned, you mean to leave early. You do.

But your shift at the coffee shop runs long, and your manager throws a last-minute list at you, and by the time you’re racing across campus, it’s already 4:06.

Your heart pounds as you reach the third floor. The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.

You stop in front of his office door.

It’s shut. The blinds are drawn. And worse—when you try the handle, it’s locked.

You knock.

No answer.

You knock again, softer this time, hoping he’s not deliberately ignoring you.

Still nothing.

You press your ear to the door, and just as you start to wonder if maybe he left for the day, the lock clicks.

The door creaks open slowly.

He’s standing there, jaw tight, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows again, a pen still tucked behind his ear. His eyes sweep over you once, flat and unreadable.

Then: “Inside.”

You step in. He closes the door behind you, the lock clicking again.

He doesn’t move toward his desk. Just stands there for a beat, looking at you.

“Sit,” he says.

You do.

The room feels colder than usual. Or maybe it’s just him.

He walks to his chair, lowers himself deliberately, and leans back, elbows on the armrests, hands clasped together in front of his mouth. He looks at you for a long moment.

Then he says, voice low and even:

“What did I tell you?”

You swallow. “Not to be late.”

“And what are you?”

“…Late.”

There’s a silence that stretches just a second too long.

“Six minutes,” he says. “That’s not traffic. That’s disrespect.”

“It wasn’t—” you start to say, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not interested in reasons. I’m interested in patterns.”

You sit straighter, every nerve in your body buzzing. “I really am trying. I just got held up at work—”

“And what did I say about excuses?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard.

He watches you closely, something flickering behind his eyes. Not anger. Not quite. More like… warning.

“You want this to work?” he asks. “You want this to mean something for your grade, for your place in this program?”

“Yes,” you say quickly.

“Then treat it like it matters.”

You nod. “I will. I do.”

He leans forward now, resting his forearms on the desk. “I chose you because I thought you needed structure. That you might benefit from someone pushing you.”

“I do.”

“Then act like it.”

The words land heavier than they should. Your chest feels tight.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then, softer almost reluctantly he says, “I locked the door because I didn’t want distractions. Not because I was angry.”

You look up at him. He’s not meeting your eyes.

“I just needed the hour,” he adds. “To feel like I had control of something.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you just nod.

“Let’s get to work,” he says finally, flipping open a notebook. “Start with the reading response.”

You pass it across the desk, fingers grazing his for the second time this week.

And again, neither of you flinch.

You don’t speak again for at least twenty minutes.

The silence isn’t comfortable, but it isn’t hostile either. Just taut. Focused. The kind of quiet that asks for precision.

You’re seated across from him now, sorting through a stack of photocopied articles. He’s given you a set of primary sources from his 416 seminar—old declassified memos from the Reagan administration—and asked you to mark anything relating to soft power strategy.

He doesn’t explain it. Doesn’t guide your hand. He just says, “Find what matters,” and starts working through a pile of graduate submissions with red ink and sharp eyes.

You highlight one line. Then another. You read the same paragraph three times before realizing you’re not absorbing any of it. Not really.

He’s too close.

His scent is somewhere between clean laundry and something more specific, woodsy, maybe. Expensive. His hand keeps raking through his hair when he’s focused. He’s got a habit of chewing the inside of his cheek when a sentence annoys him. You’re not watching, not really, but your eyes drift more than they should.

You finally ask, “Do you always grade this harshly?”

He doesn’t look up. “Would you rather I lie?”

You snort before you can stop yourself.

One of his eyebrows lifts—barely—and he flips to the next page. “You think I’m too critical.”

“I think you’re terrifying.”

“Good.”

That makes you glance up.

He doesn’t look at you, but there’s the faintest pull at the corner of his mouth.

You try to go back to your highlighting. You manage three lines before you ask, “Do you ever give A’s?”

He looks up this time, pen pausing in his hand.

“Yes.”

“To whom?”

“Students who stop hiding behind safe language and actually risk something.”

You meet his eyes.

“And do they ever regret it?”

His jaw shifts slightly, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

“No,” he says. “Not once.”

You sit back a little, swallowing. The air between you is heavier now. Not tense the way it was before but full, somehow. A little too quiet.

He drops his eyes again and marks something in red. “You missed a reference in document six, by the way. The language mirrors a NATO communique from ’81. You should’ve flagged it.”

You nod, then reach for the document in question.

You’re halfway through reading it when he speaks again—quietly this time.

“I meant what I said. About control.”

You blink, unsure what prompted the shift. “Okay.”

“It wasn’t an excuse. I don’t use those.”

You nod. “I didn’t think you were.”

He looks at you again. There’s something more tired in his face now, softer at the edges. Still sharp, still watchful—but not so guarded.

He nods once.

And for the first time, you see something like approval cross his face.

You both go back to work.

Side by side.

No distractions.

No forgiveness.

Just a table between you and all the things you’re not saying.

Yet.

The next week unfolds slowly.

Not gently. Just… deliberately.

Every day at four, you show up.

And every day, he’s already there with a pen in hand, glasses on, one foot tapping steadily against the floor like he’s racing something you can’t see.

This Monday, he has you reorganize his research archive boxes and boxes of old syllabi, course readings, primary documents, some dating back decades. You spend most of the hour kneeling on the floor, covered in dust, while he paces behind you dictating labels in his clipped, exacting voice.

You ask him about one of the folders labeled Revolutionary Rhetoric. He tells you to read it—“Not tonight. When you’re ready to be angry.”

You don’t ask what that means. But you take it home anyway.

Tuesday, the air shifts.

He gives you an old lecture draft to edit. “Don’t fix grammar. Fix the thinking,” he says. “Tell me where it feels dishonest.”

You don’t know what to do with that kind of trust. But you read it. Twice. You leave a few notes in the margins, tentative, but honest.

The next day, he hands the draft back with your edits still marked. Nothing’s crossed out.

Just one small note at the bottom in his handwriting: Finally.

It makes something tug in your chest. You don’t know if it’s pride or danger.

Maybe both.

Wednesday, you catch him in a rare moment of distraction. He’s reading a New York Times op-ed at his desk and muttering under his breath.

You try not to laugh.

He glances up. “Something funny?”

You shrug. “Just—you’re so… intense. Even when you’re reading the news.”

He leans back in his chair, folds his arms. “History is the news. Just written after we’ve screwed it up.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that on your wall at home?”

He smirks—barely. “No. But maybe I’ll get a mug made.”

The tension softens for half a second. Then it rebuilds. Always.

Thursday, you’re exhausted again.

You didn’t sleep. You read the Revolutionary Rhetoric file instead; twenty pages of speeches and letters that made your skin prickle. You show up early this time, notebook in hand, heart pounding.

He watches you read your notes at his desk and doesn’t speak for almost twenty minutes.

Then, when you finally say, “I think I understand what you meant now—about being angry,”

he answers quietly: “Good.”

It’s the softest word you’ve heard from him so far.

The hallway’s empty when you arrive. You knock. He answers the door like he’s been waiting for you all day.

The office is darker than usual. The blinds are mostly shut. His record player hums in the corner—low, slow jazz spinning on vinyl.

You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you played music during office hours.”

He moves past you and shuts the door.

“Only when I don’t want anyone else to come in.”

You swallow.

He nods toward the chair.

You sit.

He hands you a single piece of paper, his seminar outline for next week and says, “This needs structure. Right now it’s just noise.”

You nod, scanning it.

But you can feel his gaze on you while you read.

You try not to shift in your seat. Try not to let your thoughts spiral.

But everything feels… louder today.

The silence. The music. The fact that it’s just the two of you again, no excuse of grading or filing between you.

You’re halfway through reading when you glance up.

He’s watching you.

Still. Focused. That quiet intensity simmering right at the surface.

You say, careful, “Is something wrong?”

He blinks once. “No.”

Pause.

Then: “You just look different when you’re concentrating.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

And for once, he doesn’t fill the silence.

Just lets it stretch between you like a wire pulled too tight.

That afternoon you barely remember the walk home.

Everything feels a little too loud—your footsteps on the pavement, the shuffle of keys in the lock, the creak of the apartment door as it closes behind you. It’s like you’re moving through water, still carrying the weight of his gaze in your chest.

You drop your bag in the corner. Kick your shoes off. Pull your hair out of its clip.

And then you microwave leftover pasta and curl up on the couch with a blanket over your lap, the bowl warm against your thighs and your mind still halfway back in his office.

He hadn’t said anything else after that comment. Just gone back to his desk, pulled open a book, and left you to edit in silence.

But the way he’d looked at you—that moment where it felt like the whole room stopped moving—that stayed.

You’re still thinking about it when the front door opens and Rosie breezes in, headphones around her neck and a canvas tote banging against her hip. She stops short when she sees you.

“Well, well, well,” she says, grinning. “If it isn’t my favorite full-time scholar-slash-historically oppressed underling.”

You huff a soft laugh. “Hi.”

She drops her bag, kicks off her shoes, and plops onto the couch beside you, lifting your blanket and wedging herself under it like she owns the place.

She glances at the half-eaten pasta. “You’ve been home long?”

“Just got in.”

She gives you a once-over. “You look weird.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean—like, dazed. What happened? Did he finally assign you to storm Normandy solo?”

You shake your head, staring down at your fork. “No. Just… a lot. He had me rewrite a seminar outline. Gave me this whole talk about structure and noise and then said I look different when I concentrate.”

Rosie’s eyebrows shoot up. “He said that?”

You nod, poking at a stubborn piece of penne.

She leans forward, voice low. “Okay, I take back everything I said before. That man wants to morally ruin you and then grade your soul.”

You let out a strangled laugh. “Rosie.”

“I’m serious! That’s not normal professor talk. That’s like… poetic tension talk.”

“He’s probably like that with everyone.”

She scoffs. “He absolutely is not. Have you seen the way he glares at people who breathe too loud in lecture?”

You sink deeper into the cushions, suddenly unsure what you want her to say.

Rosie watches you for a beat, then softens. “Hey. Joking aside… are you okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I just—I feel like I’m always holding my breath in there.”

“Is that because he’s scary or because he’s…” she tilts her head, “something else?”

You don’t answer right away.

Finally, you say, “I don’t know.”

Rosie leans her head on your shoulder. “You’re allowed to be smart and still feel thrown off by stuff like this. You’re also allowed to not know what it is yet.”

You exhale, watching steam rise from your bowl.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

She smiles. “Anytime. But just so you know… if you ever need to have a morally ambiguous affair with a hot professor, I’ll support you. As long as I get the details after finals.”

You nudge her with your elbow. “You’re the worst.”

“And you’re halfway in love with his syntax,” she mutters, grabbing a bite of your pasta.

You don’t answer.

Because maybe you are.

Spring break arrives, but it doesn’t feel like a break.

The campus is almost eerie without the usual noise—no student groups on the quad, no music blaring from open windows, no desperate undergrads fighting for study rooms in the library. Just empty walkways and overcast skies. The fountain in the courtyard runs all the same, but somehow it sounds louder.

You still have to show up.

Professor Styles had made that clear the Friday before.

“Your title doesn’t take time off. See you Monday. Four sharp.”

So you’re there. Monday. Four sharp.

And again Tuesday. And Wednesday.

By Thursday, it’s clear: he’s using the quiet to shift something.

It starts small. On Monday, he pulls out a book, Discipline and Punish, and places it in front of you.

“You’ll read this this week. Come ready to talk about surveillance theory by Friday.”

You flip through the pages. “Isn’t this more philosophy than history?”

“It’s both. That’s the point.”

Tuesday, he has you outline three different revolutions using a blank timeline and only primary sources. No internet. Just the materials he provides; pamphlets, speeches, manifestos, maps.

“You’re teaching me?” you ask, after two hours of scribbling notes and drawing arrows between centuries.

He doesn’t look up from his notebook. “I’m not interested in teaching. I’m interested in seeing what you do when no one’s watching.”

“Pretty sure you’re watching.”

That makes him glance at you, faint amusement tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You’re not wrong.”

Wednesday, he clears the table between you and sits beside you for the first time instead of across.

The distance feels like it shrinks to nothing.

You’re shoulder to shoulder, scanning dense theory, discussing revolution and resistance like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You tell him about something you read in a Marxist critique of education theory. He nods slowly, thoughtful.

Then says, “You’re sharper when you’re not trying to impress anyone.”

You smirk. “Who says I was trying to impress you?”

He looks at you then.

Fully.

It’s only a second but long enough for your breath to catch.

Thursday comes, and you’re the first one there. You sit in the hallway early, the cold tile pressing through your jeans. You don’t knock right away. Just stare at the worn nameplate.

When you finally step inside, he’s standing by the window, flipping through a small collection of documents in a thin file. His shirt is rolled at the sleeves again, collar open. He glances over his shoulder as the door clicks shut.

“Early,” he says.

You nod. “I didn’t want to be late.”

He hums. “You’re learning.”

He gestures toward the desk. You sit. He joins you, and for a while, neither of you speak.

The record player hums in the background—jazz again, soft and unintrusive.

Then he lays out three different texts: a declassified memo, a student protest letter from 1968, and a political cartoon.

“Tell me what they have in common,” he says.

You frown, leaning forward. “Context?”

“No,” he says. “Language. Imagery. Power.”

You read them again, slower this time. “They all rely on the idea of visibility. Like… watching is a form of control.”

He doesn’t move.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Keep going.”

You talk for almost an hour.

By the time you pause, you realize you’ve been leaning closer to him than you meant to. One elbow on the desk. Your knees almost touching.

You glance at him.

He’s looking at the papers still. But his jaw is tight. His hand flexes once, like he’s keeping something from spilling over.

You shift slightly away, trying to get air.

He notices.

But doesn’t say a word.

The office is dim now, the light outside slipping into dusk.

You’re still sitting across from each other—your chair pulled close, his elbows resting on the desk, one hand absently turning a pencil between his fingers. There’s a printout between you: an anonymous op-ed from a resistance group during the Chilean dictatorship.

You’re supposed to be analyzing it.

But you haven’t spoken in a while.

You’re too aware of how quiet it’s gotten. How close you are. How the air feels heavier with every minute that passes.

You clear your throat, flipping back to the beginning of the op-ed. “The phrasing reminds me of Fanon, a little. That kind of righteous violence—but here it’s all implied. No action, just threat.”

Professor Styles watches you as you speak.

He doesn’t interrupt.

But when you trail off, he says, “You surprise me sometimes.”

You blink. “Why?”

His gaze drops to the paper for a beat. Then back to you.

“You come across distracted in class. Easily overwhelmed. Soft, even.”

You shift slightly in your chair. “Thanks?”

“But then you sit in front of me,” he goes on, voice quiet but precise, “and talk like someone who’s either smarter than she pretends to be—or someone who’s never been taken seriously enough to realize it.”

You stare at him.

He doesn’t look away.

The words hang between you like smoke. You don’t know what he means by them. You’re not sure he does either.

Is it a critique?

A compliment?

A warning?

You feel heat rise in your chest, unsure if it’s from embarrassment or something else entirely. You want to say something sharp back. Or maybe something vulnerable.

Instead, you manage: “And which one do you think I am?”

He leans back in his chair, resting his knuckles against his mouth.

Then, with a faint, unreadable smile,

“I haven’t decided yet.”

You don’t respond.

Not because you’re unsure.

But because anything you say might reveal too much.

You pack your things slowly after that. He doesn’t tell you to go, but he doesn’t stop you either.

And when you reach the door, you glance back just once.

He’s still sitting there. Still watching.

Like you’re part of a puzzle he hasn’t quite solved.

He wraps things up on Thursday.

No Friday meeting. No final task. Just a brief nod as you gather your things, a quiet, “We’ll resume next week. Usual time.”

You leave his office feeling the weight of something unfinished, like he handed you a book with the last chapter torn out.

The weekend stretches long.

You spend most of it in your bedroom with books and notes piled around you, pages of Foucault and Fanon and a half-finished analysis of the Algerian War laid out across your floor. You try to focus, but your thoughts keep slipping back to his words.

Soft, even.

Smarter than she pretends to be.

You don’t know whether to feel seen or sliced open.

Rosie sticks her head in Sunday afternoon, takes one look at the mess, and says, “You good, or are you in the middle of some kind of academic break-up?”

You don’t answer.

You just keep reading.

By that Monday, you’re tired. Restless. Over-caffeinated and under-slept.

Class feels off. He’s back to his usual self—stoic, intense, razor-sharp in his lecture delivery. No glances your way. No acknowledgment of anything that passed between you during the break. You sit in the third row, scribble notes, and try not to feel ridiculous for thinking you mattered more than any other student in the room.

Afterward, you make your way to his office.

He’s already there when you knock—door unlocked this time. The record player is off. No music. Just the faint sound of his pen scratching over something on his desk.

“You’re late,” he says without looking up.

You glance at the clock. “Barely.”

“That’s still late.”

You set your bag down quietly and move to the small table beside the desk, where you’ve worked a dozen times before. He’s pulled out several student essays and a rubric. You sit and start marking them carefully, the way he taught you.

But it’s harder to concentrate today. You’re off balance. Everything feels… tighter.

You read one paper twice, make a small mark, then shift the stack a little too loudly. One of the pages slides crooked. You try to straighten it, but your sleeve catches on the corner of your water bottle and knocks it into the edge of the desk with a sharp clang.

His pen stills.

“Is there a problem?” he asks, voice low.

“No,” you mutter.

He looks up. Slowly. Sets the pen down.

“Then what’s going on?”

You blink. “Nothing.”

“You’re scattered. Sloppy.”

“I’m just tired.”

He tilts his head slightly, gaze narrowing. “Do I need to fix that?”

You pause.

“…Fix what?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you.

And now you’re aware of everything—how warm the room is, how loud your pulse feels in your throat, how infuriatingly good he looks. The sleeves of his dark shirt are rolled again, his forearms inked and tense. His jaw is tight, his expression unreadable but his eyes are too sharp for indifference.

You drop your gaze.

“No,” you say. “You don’t need to fix anything.”

He hums.

Goes back to his pen. Makes a note. Says nothing else.

But the air stays heavy. Your skin burns. And you can’t help thinking—

You really, really shouldn’t find someone this maddening so attractive.

But you do.

And you’re starting to think he knows it.

You email him Tuesday morning.

Short. Careful. You read it three times before you hit send.

Hi Dr. Styles, I won’t be able to make it to your office this afternoon due to a personal matter. I’ll be back on schedule tomorrow. Thanks for understanding, Y/N

You don’t give more detail. You don’t owe him that. You just need a break.

Still, you half expect a reply within the hour. He’s usually prompt. Precise.

But nothing comes.

You spend the afternoon in bed, curled under the blanket with your laptop off and your phone face-down. You ignore two texts from Rosie, an email from your manager, and a notification about your bank balance you’d rather not see.

You just need a day.

One day to stop feeling like you’re being carved open by someone who barely knows you.

One day where his voice isn’t in your head, slicing through your self-doubt with something that feels suspiciously like interest.

The silence from him, though it doesn’t feel like space.

It feels like pressure building.

Wednesday — 4:00 PM

You knock on his door right on time.

He opens it himself.

Doesn’t step aside.

Just looks at you.

You force a breath. “Hi.”

He says nothing for a second. Then: “Come in.”

You do.

The door shuts behind you with its usual soft click. He walks past you, slow, to his desk. Doesn’t sit.

“You’re back,” he says.

“Yes.”

He picks up a folder. Sets it down again.

“Yesterday,” he says, “you missed our session.”

“I emailed you.”

“I know.”

You hesitate. “It was a personal thing.”

He looks at you then, sharply. “I assumed as much. The question is whether you expect that explanation to exempt you from what this position requires.”

You feel your jaw tighten. “No. I don’t.”

He nods once, deliberate.

“Because structure,” he says, “isn’t optional when it becomes inconvenient.”

You exhale slowly. “It wasn’t about convenience.”

He tilts his head. “Then what was it about?”

You blink at him. “Why do you care?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just watches you, eyes unreadable.

You go still under the weight of it.

“I showed up today,” you say finally.

He studies you for another second then two. Then moves toward the table and drops a thick envelope in front of your seat.

“Seminar evaluations. Type up a summary for each.”

You nod and sit. He stays standing for a while, hovering behind you like he’s deciding whether or not to press further.

Eventually, he returns to his desk and says nothing else.

But the silence feels colder now.

Not because he’s angry.

Because you know he’s not angry and that might be worse.

You missed one day.

But something about it shifted the way he looks at you.

And for the first time, you wonder what he’s trying to keep from unraveling.

You leave right on time.

No lingering. No glances.

You hand him the typed evaluations, he nods without looking up, and that’s it.

No comment. No acknowledgment of the missed day. Just the subtle shift in atmosphere—colder, tighter, more brittle.

You make it halfway down the hall.

“Y/N.”

You freeze.

His voice isn’t raised, but it cuts through the silence like a command.

You turn.

He’s standing just outside his office now. One hand braced against the doorframe. The other in his pocket. Jaw set. Shirt sleeves pushed up to his forearms again, the ink on his skin darker under the hallway lights.

The corridor is empty. Everyone’s gone. The building always feels abandoned at this hour; classrooms dark, office doors shut, nothing but the hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

You take a breath and walk back toward him.

He doesn’t move aside.

You stop a few feet in front of him, caught in the narrow space of his shadow.

“Is something wrong?” you ask carefully.

He watches you.

Then: “Where were you yesterday?”

You blink. “I emailed.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Your throat tightens. “I told you—it was personal.”

“I saw that.”

His voice is low, but not quiet. Not gentle. Measured, restrained but barely.

“I’ve shown you respect,” he says. “I don’t hover. I don’t check in. But when you disappear for a day without explanation—when you leave me sitting in that office waiting—you don’t get to pretend like it doesn’t matter.”

You stare at him.

His eyes are sharp, steady, but there’s something else behind them now, something hot and unspoken.

“It was one day,” you say quietly.

He steps closer.

Your back almost hits the wall behind you.

“One day,” he echoes, voice a little rougher now. “After a week of you showing up early, staying late. After sitting beside me like you wanted something you couldn’t name.”

Your pulse stutters.

“I don’t know what you think this is,” he goes on, eyes flicking between yours, “but don’t play games with me.”

“I’m not,” you whisper.

“Then don’t vanish.”

He’s close enough now that you catch the scent of him—coffee and paper and whatever cologne he wears that’s all cedar and smoke.

You don’t move.

He doesn’t either.

For one breathless second, the hallway feels suspended like the world forgot to keep turning.

Then, abruptly, he blinks, steps back.

He turns and disappears into his office, the door closing behind him with a decisive click.

You stay there.

Staring at the floor.

Swallowing heat.

Because he was right.

You have been wanting something you can’t name.

And now?

Now you’re starting to think he does, too.

The test hits midweek like a wave you knew was coming but still weren’t ready for.

Modern European History: fifty multiple choice, three short essays, one long analysis on post-war cultural shifts. You sit through all ninety minutes with a knot in your stomach and your pencil clenched so tightly your knuckles ache.

When you hand it in, you don’t make eye contact.

You leave fast. Like distance might soften the sting.

You get the results back on Friday.

Seventy-six.

Better.

But not good.

You stare at the grade circled in the corner of the scantron, your name scrawled in his unmistakable handwriting at the top. He didn’t leave comments. Just a single line under the final essay: Closer.

It burns more than you thought it would.

You think about not saying anything.

It’s your day off but at four o’clock, you still find yourself knocking on his office door.

He calls out, “Come in.”

You step inside.

He’s at the desk, sorting through papers. A half-finished coffee beside him. His sleeves are pushed up again—always—and he doesn’t look up until you speak.

“I got the test back.”

He sets the stack down. “And?”

“Seventy-six.”

He nods once. “Better.”

“Barely.”

He tilts his head. “Still better.”

You hover, not quite sitting yet. “I don’t know. I thought I studied harder this time. Thought I did more of the things you said—slowed down, didn’t hedge my arguments, stopped trying to write what I thought you wanted to hear…”

“You did,” he says.

You blink. “Then why—”

“Because you’re still learning,” he interrupts calmly. “And because no one gets it all at once.”

You finally sit, slower this time.

He leans back in his chair, studying you with that familiar focus—but his tone is different now. Not gentle, exactly. But steadier. Grounded.

“Perfection doesn’t come overnight,” he says. “Especially not for people who’ve been trained to expect failure.”

You go still.

“Give yourself more credit,” he adds. “You’re not where you were two weeks ago.”

You look down at the test again. Seventy-six. A number that would’ve crushed you a month ago. Now… it just makes you want more.

“I just thought I was doing better.”

“You are.”

You glance up.

His eyes don’t waver.

And for a second, just a second, you feel something settle inside you.

You’re not sure what it is.

But it feels like trust.

And maybe—for the first time—it feels like he’s offering you something you didn’t ask for.

Belief.

Monday.

The storm from the weekend has passed, but the air is still heavy—damp, quiet, like the building is holding its breath.

He’s seated at his desk when you arrive, flipping through a thick binder of visual sources for the week’s seminar. Today, he doesn’t assign a task—he just gestures to the open folder on the side table and says, “Start with those. Group them by technique. Symbolism, repetition, fear-based messaging.”

You nod and settle into your usual chair. The one closest to the window.

It’s quiet as you work. His pen scratches faintly behind you. Pages turn. The only other sound is the creak of your chair every so often when you shift, leaning closer over the pile of posters and pamphlets.

Fifteen minutes pass. Maybe twenty.

Then you frown.

You hold up one of the pieces—a grainy reproduction of a war-era leaflet printed in harsh reds and blacks—and hesitate.

You turn slightly in your chair. “Can I ask you something?”

He looks up. “Mm?”

“This one—I’m not sure if it’s meant to be fear-based or patriotic. It feels like it’s trying to do both.”

You feel him rise from his chair behind you. Footsteps cross the room. And then he’s there, standing directly behind you.

You go still.

His hand reaches out, slow and deliberate, and he sets two fingers lightly on the edge of the page in your hand.

“Here,” he says, voice lower now, “look at the framing.”

He leans closer to see over your shoulder, and his other hand comes to rest—barely—against the back of your chair for balance.

You can feel him.

Not quite touching you, but close enough that the warmth of his chest is at your back, his breath just behind your ear. Your pulse starts to thud low in your throat.

He crouches slightly then, leveling himself to your seated height, and points to the center of the image.

“See this?” he murmurs. “The figure’s turned outward. Eyes locked on the viewer. That’s fear. The color does the rest.”

You nod—slow, dazed. “Right.”

His hand shifts slightly as he moves to stand again.

And it happens.

Your shoulder brushes his thigh. The back of your hand grazes his knee. The contact is brief, accidental—barely even skin.

But it lands.

Hard.

You look up at the same moment he looks down.

Neither of you says a word.

His hand still lingers on the back of the chair.

You can feel the air between your bodies shift—tighten.

Then, after a second too long, he straightens and takes a step back.

“That one goes under fear,” he says, voice even again.

You nod without looking at him. “Got it.”

He returns to his desk. Doesn’t sit right away.

You don’t move either.

You stare at the page in your hand like it holds a secret you just learned how to read.

On Tuesday, he’s different.

Colder.

Not rude. Not unkind. Just… distant. Controlled in that way you’ve only seen him when he’s trying not to let something show.

You knock at four. He answers like always, steps aside like always.

But that’s where the pattern ends.

There’s no banter. No subtle glances. No leaning over your shoulder.

He hands you a stack of materials, says, “Just file these by region,” and returns to his desk without another word.

The silence feels louder now.

You work quickly, your fingers moving through folders and tabs, but your mind keeps circling back to yesterday—to the way he crouched behind you, the low sound of his voice at your ear, the warmth of his body close to yours.

That touch—so quick, so small—keeps echoing.

So does the way he stepped back like he knew he’d let something show.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you work. You catch the way his jaw flexes when he writes. The way he avoids looking in your direction. The way he keeps adjusting his sleeves like he’s trying to focus on anything but you.

By the time the hour is over, you’ve barely spoken ten words.

He dismisses you with a quiet, “That’s all.”

You leave, stomach tight.

And you don’t sleep much that night.

Wednesday you show up five minutes early.

He’s already there, typing something on his laptop, but he doesn’t look up when you enter. He just gestures toward a folder on the edge of the desk.

You take it. Sit. Open it.

He stays quiet.

And you can’t help it—you start watching him more closely now. Every blink, every twitch of his jaw, every time he exhales like he’s holding something in.

He’s trying to be distant.

And that tells you everything.

Because he’s only ever pulled back from things that mattered.

You work in silence again. But now, you feel the space between you differently. It’s not avoidance. It’s restraint.

At one point, you catch him staring not at your face, but your hands. The way your fingers move as you annotate a passage. When he realizes you’ve noticed, he looks away fast. Sharply.

You pretend not to see the color rise in his neck.

He doesn’t speak again until the very end.

“I’ll need you here a little later tomorrow,” he says, still not quite meeting your eye. “Department meeting runs long.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Your voice is quiet.

But when yogather your things and leave, you don’t hurry.

And you don’t miss the way he watches you go.

The next afternoon the hallway is dark when you get there.

The rest of the building is silent—everyone long gone after office hours and the late faculty meeting. You walk quickly, adjusting your bag, your heart already tapping unevenly in your chest. You were supposed to be there at six.

It’s 6:04.

You knock once.

No answer.

You try the handle.

Unlocked.

He’s at his desk when you step in, sleeves rolled, collar open, glasses abandoned beside a half-finished cup of coffee. He doesn’t look up.

“Close the door.”

You do.

The latch clicks behind you like a gavel dropping.

“I told you six.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” he snaps, standing suddenly. “Don’t come in here with sorry. I don’t want it.”

You freeze just inside the door.

He’s not yelling. But the sharpness in his tone hits harder than volume ever could.

“I was—”

“I don’t care if you were on fire,” he says, walking around the desk. “You don’t come in late and act like it doesn’t matter.”

You go still. Your throat tightens.

“I’ve given you more leeway than I’ve ever given a student,” he continues, voice like flint striking stone. “I’ve trusted you. Brought you into my space. My work. My time.”

He’s standing in front of you now. Close.

You can’t look at him.

“I don’t think you understand what that means,” he says.

“I do,” you whisper.

“Do you?” His eyes are burning into you now. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t walk in here acting like you get to float above the rules.”

You feel your face flush, shame hitting hard and fast. You drop your gaze to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, smaller.

And this time, you mean it.

You mean all of it.

The mistake. The imbalance. The need to be good again.

His silence stretches.

You shift, slowly walking to the chair by the table. You sit with your knees together, your shoulders tight, your hands folded in your lap. Your pulse roars in your ears.

You don’t look up when he circles the desk again.

You can feel him watching you.

Still. Quiet.

“Don’t do that.”

You lift your head just slightly.

“Don’t shrink,” he says, more quietly this time. “I know what that looks like.”

You keep your voice soft. “You’re angry.”

“I’m—” He stops. Exhales. “Not just angry.”

You glance up.

He looks wrecked.

Not messy. Not undone.

Just strained.

His eyes flick over your face like he’s searching for something.

“Do you want to be good for me?” he asks—low. Careful.

You nod.

Barely.

And that’s when something in him breaks.

255 notes · View notes

dooberific · 6 months ago

Note

I absolutely love your writing!! Idk if you're open for request, but if you do, can I request doctor!reader with Harumasa? He loves to go to infirmary not only he can pretend to be sick but also just to see them

Double trouble cause I thought it sounded like a fun combination. Does using a 1988 song name as the title make me sound old? 🤔

❝ 𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 ❞

harumasa x afab!doctor!reader

genre: fluff, I projected a little bit into this???

summary: if being in love with your cute doctor wasn’t bad enough, she’s completely clueless when it comes to romance

wc: 1.6k

The end of your pen tapped thoughtfully against your plush lower lip as you skimmed your notes. Once. Twice. Your eyes dart to the opened paper file on the counter beside you.

Even cracked it was a solid two inches high and crammed full of health histories, specialty consult results and prescription sheets all bound haphazardly with what looked like ties from a bread bag. You really needed to get an actual binder to hold it all, but as of now you had other problems to address.

“Well,” you swiveled your chair around as you clicked your pen, eyes still skimming your intake sheet before you looked up with a smile, “Good news is nothing seems to be wrong. Well, let me rephrase that, wrong when compared to your baseline.”

It was an important differentiation to make when you were dealing with one of your most tasking patients. In your two years of clinic practice in the city you had never needed to spend a series of days pouring over a patient file, heck, even before you graduated and were staged as a resident in the clinic in the Outer Ring it wasn’t so extensive.

Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome was a bad actor, and Asaba Harumasa seemed to be its favorite role to haunt.

He coughed pitifully, a hand splayed over his chest as he shook his head. “Are you sure, Doc? My body’s aching all over and my head feels funny, and I—,” he coughed again, “can’t seem to shake this cough.”

You frowned, scribbling another note on your papers. “Have you been taking all your medications as indicated?”

“Just as the doctor ordered…actually,” a pensive expression decorated his face as he fisted the fabric of his work shirt, “maybe I have a deficiency in something, I think I ran out of some of my vitamins.”

You perked up immediately, flipping quickly to his laundry list of medication and supplements. “Which one have you been missing? A? C? K?”

“I think it was vitamin you.”

“Oh.” You pulled your prescription pad off the desk. “I’m going to write you an order for Vitamin U. Try adding some cruciferous veggies to your diet, leafy greens, broccoli, stuff like that. Call me if it starts giving you stomach problems.”

You tore the slip off your pad as you extended it to him, the paper decorated in your curling and messy script.

“Do you need a work excuse?”

Should he just quit? This was the question he asked himself every time he stepped out the door of the clinic back onto the street, paper bag of medication in his hand.

White coat syndrome was a very real affliction, though his heart wasn’t racing and his blood pressure wasn’t spiking because he was anxious. After the fourth visit you just assumed it was his baseline response to see his pulse spike randomly through the exam, after all, his syndrome mainly seemed to impact his heart and lungs.

What you didn’t know was that wasn’t his baseline, nor was it a mutation of his syndrome not documented by his past physicians. It was simply a biological response to something else you conveniently seemed to not notice: the raging interest he had in you.

Rest assured he was absolutely mortified when he figured it out himself, laying on his back staring at the ceiling in the dark as he realized he was enthralled by the very idea of you. Your intelligence, your nimble hands, the way you tapped your pen against your lips when met was a challenge you hadn’t quite deciphered, your warm smile.

It wasn’t a complete lie when he would tell you he felt feverish, or that his stomach felt sick and his heart was racing, he felt all those things with horrifying clarity tenfold when your hand pressed against his forehead after noting aloud that his skin seemed flush and clammy.

Was it crossing a line to be flirting with your doctor? Definitely, he was sure he was toeing some doctor-patient professional relationship line, but if he ended up in someone else’s care later then there really wasn’t anything holding him back.

But he was growing increasingly convinced that if you weren’t intentionally playing dumb that you might be a little thick when it came to the nuanced science of flirtation because he had shifted from casual to nearly outright and you never batted an eye.

How else could you have misinterpreted his texts from last week? He was half-giddy with excitement, sure he had you this time.

I miss you.

Your appointment isn’t until next week, you didn’t miss anything. Have a good night :)

It haunted him nearly as much as the day he forgot his work excuse and asked you to text it to him, how proudly he had flipped the phone screen to show Tsukishiro until she squinted and asked, “Why do you have heart emojis around your doctor’s name?”

A devastating blow to his ego. But so was every failed attempt to catch your eye.

“Do you have an inhaler? Cause you just took my breath away.”

“Hold on, I’ll grab one from the cart. You’re supposed to carry your own inhaler, Mr Asaba!” You scolded, disappearing for a moment before tossing him an inhaler.

“You look a little under the weather yourself, Doc. Sure you aren’t deficient in vitamin M E?”

“Ah, I didn’t put as much makeup on today.” You cupped your cheeks with your hands thoughtfully. “I feel fine though, thanks for your concern.”

“I’m no organ donor, but I’d love to give you my heart.”

“Your medical condition prevents you from joining the organ donation program.” You didn’t even bother to turn around when you acknowledged him.

“I think my heart just skipped a beat when I looked at you.”

“You’re on a medication that regulates heart rhythm, should I write you a cardiology referral?”

He went to text you again as he walked home for the evening. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again. You just weren’t getting it, or maybe you were just too kind to tell him you weren’t interested or even that you had a boyfriend already on his numerous visits. Maybe he should just give you some space?

But maybe that would be cruel when you were standing on the sidewalk waiting for the light to change, mascara smeared down your cheeks as you sniffled. He pocketed his phone.

“Hey Doc, you alright?”

You tensed, head swiveled in his direction before you quickly turned your face away, hands swiping at your cheeks before wiping them on your dark scrubs hastily.

“Oh, hey Mr. Asaba.” He frowned at your attempt at a cheerful tone, your voice still wavering from your tears before you cleared your throat. “You, uh, don’t have to call me Doc when the clinic is closed.”

“And you don’t have to call me Mister when I’m not sitting on your exam table.” He retorted, catching the little quirk at the corner of your lips as they quivered in a small smile.

“Want me to walk you home? It’s kinda late.”

“No, but thank you.” You peered over your shoulder towards the restaurant just behind you. You gripped your bag tighter, inching closer to where he stood beside you on the curb. “Actually, would you mind..?”

He didn’t have to ask you what was wrong, within the first five minutes of your walk you had apologized to him multiple times, started crying again, and spilled your heart out.

Six bad dates in the span of a couple weeks came to a head over a plate of chicken parm, your date kicking back as he declared you to be dull, hopeless, slow, and much uglier in person than your dating profile picture (which was your clinic profile photo).

“He said that I “couldn’t take a hint”, whatever that’s supposed to mean!” You cried indignantly before you turned to him, eyes puffy and wet from your tears.

“Am I that bad?”

He sucked a breath between his teeth. “Well, not to play the devil’s advocate but I’ve been flirting with you for weeks and you didn’t notice.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. “What?!”

He held up his hands defensively, but before he could say anything your head had already hung low, shuffling your clinic sneakers on the dirty sidewalk outside your apartment.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was small as your shoulders sank. “I’m not very good at stuff like this.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers grazing his choker. “I noticed, but it’s fine. You just need things to be a little more straightforward.”

He took a deep breath, clasping his hands together as he pointed at you. “I think you’re very pretty and charming in your weird doctor-y kind of way, so I would like to take you out for dinner sometime. Like, romantically.”

He was sure you gave yourself whiplash for how quickly your head snapped up, eyes wide. You brushed your tousled hair back from your face, cheeks flushing brightly enough he could see them burning under the streetlights.

“Oh, okay….when?”

“Tomorrow after you get off? I’m dreaming of beer and fried chicken if you aren’t opposed.”

“Of course not!”

He was a little taken aback by how aggressively you answered, your hands clasping around one of his as if he was about to dematerialize before your very eyes.

“Great, then I will see you tomorrow. Have a good night, Doc—I mean, (y/n).”

“Good night to you as well.”

He turned to leave. He was practically screaming inside like a teenage girl you just secured a prom date, a new lightness to his step in the wake of his victory.

“Harumasa!”

He paused in his step, head whipping around to face you. You still stood on the stoop, a smile plastered across your face like he hadn’t seen before, one that lit your eyes up and dimpled your cheek.

“Thank you!”

He gripped his chest over his heart as it flipped wildly in his chest. His grin was pained when he looked up at you.

“Doc, I might actually need emergency care this time--,”

Rey 2024

#asaba harumasa #harumasa x reader #zzz harumasa #zzz x reader #zzz #zenless zone zero #harumasa zzz #zzz requests

713 notes · View notes

xomakara · 3 months ago

Text

Miracle Worker

SUMMARY | After a devastating accident left you unable to have children, you struggle with deep depression, but eventually took over as CEO of Hope Media. Your friends Taeyong and Johnny selflessly supported you, with Johnny secretly longing to be more than a friend. Everything shifted when Jaehyun expressed interest, bringing excitement and a new romance into your life. A surprise pregnancy leaves you torn between Jaehyun and Johnny as potential fathers. Will Jaehyun choose to stay with you? Will Johnny's feelings change? Can you find true happiness amidst the complexities of love and friendship?

PAIRINGS | Johnny x Reader x Jaehyun

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE | smut, angst, romance, drama

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity, drinking, mentions of car accident/trauma, office au, friends to lovers, flirting, teasing, pregnancy, threesome, poly relationship, voyeurism, cuckolding, car sex, unprotective sex, office sex, oral sex (both male/female receiving and giving), fingering, marking, shoulder biting, hair grabbing, creampies, daddy kink, breeding/impregnation, pet names, lots of dirty talk

LENGTH | 29,089 words

TAGLIST | @lovetaroandtaemin

NETWORKS | @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @keopihaus @dove-net @neocity-net

AUTHOR’S NOTE | I originally posted this back in 2019 back on my AFF account as a multi-chaptered series but I took a break from it and never finished it. So I decided to bring this back with better writing and as a long fic instead lol. Thank you @lovetaroandtaemin and @unholywriters for beta-reading this monster of a fic and thank you @shadowkoo for the beautifulllllll banner. I appreciate all the help and the work that you two helped with with this. 💚 I hope everyone enjoys reading this and thank you and much love!

NCT Main Masterlist

"Oh, come on," you rolled your eyes, hands gripping the steering wheel. You had been stuck in traffic for about an hour, and you barely budged from your spot. What the hell was going on to cause this traffic? You pushed a few buttons on the infotainment screen of your car, hearing the echoes of ringing.

"Hey boss," the voice of your male assistant said enthusiastically on the other line. "Are you here yet?"

"Jisung-ah, I'm stuck in traffic. I have no idea what time I'll get into the office," you muttered, letting out a small groan. "This is complete torture."

"Oh, that's not good. Did you want me to push your schedule back for tomorrow?" Jisung asked.

"Yes please," you said as you stepped on the gas pedal lightly and then on the brakes to stop. "I have that Management meeting soon, right? Keep that open and reschedule everything else. Let the others know that I’ll be a tad bit late.

"No problem," Jisung said as you heard him scribble something on a pad of paper. "Oh! Did you want me to reschedule your lunch with your father as well?"

"If you can Jisung," Lunch with dad… You felt bad since you barely had time to spend with your dad due to taking over his position since he retired. "Actually, can you make dinner reservations for us over at Heaven’s Highway? Include both Johnny and Taeyong, please."

"Ouuu. The fancy restaurant. I'll be sure to let him know about the change of plans," Jisung said. You heard him shuffling around in the background, most likely heading over to his desk. "I hope you get here soon. Johnny-hyung and a few of the others just stepped into your office for the meeting."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for reminding me, Jisung. I'm hoping the traffic goes by faster," you muttered as you slowly moved in traffic. "I'll see you when I get there."

"Yep. See you soon," Jisung said before he hung up. You focused on the road, and before you knew it, traffic started to move along. You continued to drive along the main streets of Seoul until you pulled into your personal parking space at the company’s garage that was only a few feet from the main building. You got up out of the car, locked it and walked out of the garage to look at the towering building in front of you.

Hope Media.

Your baby. Your child.

For the longest time, you poured out all your time and feelings into the company. You were the only child in your family, so when your father retired, you took over the position of CEO of Hope Media at the age of twenty. The company flourished under the ten years you took control. It was now one of the leading companies that produced movies, TV dramas, commercials and music videos. You noticed the poster of Dream, Hope Media’s highly acclaimed actress who was currently promoting a new sageuk drama. You remembered that Dream started her career into acting the year that you took over the company. She was one of the factors of Hope Media becoming as successful as it is.

Walking into the main entrance of the building, several employees called out their greetings. You gave them several nods and continued towards the elevator where one of your best friends stood, checking his watch and lightly tapping his feet.

"Good morning, Taeyong," you said as you stood by the man.

"Don’t you mean 'good afternoon'?" He looked up and lightly huffed at you. He gave you an amused grin a few seconds later as he pushed the up button to the elevator. "Geezes Y/N, it’s past lunchtime, and you’re just now coming into the office? Did you forget about the meeting?"

"No, I didn't forget. Traffic was a bitch," you sighed, ran a hand through your hair and entered the elevator as the doors opened. Pressing the button to the top floor, you leaned back against the wall. "I swear there's like construction on every corner in Seoul."

"There's construction everywhere," Lee Taeyong muttered as he watched you. He crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator wall, watching the floor numbers flash before his eyes. "Jisung told me that you invited Johnny and I to have dinner with your dad?"

"Yeah, since I obviously missed lunch with him," you frowned and plucked at your sleeve. "Plus, Dad has been saying that he wants to see you and Johnny since you guys stopped visiting him."

"I haven't stopped visiting him," Taeyong chuckled as the elevator stopped. "You’re just keeping us busy, and I have to pick up your slack when you're out of the office."

"Oh hush," you lightly slapped his shoulder as you walked out of the elevator and into the lobby of your upscale office. Park Jisung, a young man in his twenties, rose to his feet when he saw you and gave you a small frown. You gestured to your office. "Are they still waiting for me?"

"Yep. It's only been ten minutes," Jisung said as he handed you several portfolios. "Need me to bring anything for you guys?"

"Nah, it's fine, but thanks, Jisung-ah," you gave him a small smile. "You're the best assistant ever."

"I hope so. With the trouble you caused last time when you ran late for Ms. Dream’s conference, I had to work twice as hard with Johnny-hyung to make sure it went well," Jisung huffed. You chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. He was one of the youngest in the company, but he showed incredible amounts of potential.

"Did I ever tell you that I hate meetings?" You turned to Taeyong and asked him, contemplating if you wanted to open the office door.

He chuckled. "All the time. Let’s just get this over with then, shall we?"

You stepped into your office, Taeyong following after you. This was going to be a long meeting.

The meeting came to an end, and the others filed out of your office. Taeyong and Johnny Suh were the first to make a run to their offices, muttering something about getting ready for tonight’s dinner. You saw Nakamoto Yuta and Lee Jeno in deep conversation about something, Qian Kun following closely behind them as they disappeared towards the elevators. You smiled, told Jisung that you were calling it a night, closed the door to the office, and turned to walk towards your chair but ran into someone’s chest.

Someone was still here?

"You okay, Y/N?" A husky voice rang out. You looked up to see Jeong Jaehyun, the Head Executive of the Creative Accounts Department, looking down at you with a worried expression.

If there was a ranking of the most attractive men in the company, you knew for sure that Jaehyun would be ranked in the top five. He was nice to every girl in every department, considerate to the other employees and in general was just a great employee. He ranked second after Yuta during manager performances, and people seemed to flock to him.

Hell, he was a great lover too. Not that you ever had sex with him. But from the talks of all the girls in various departments, you knew that Jaehyun got around. You thought your other best friend, Johnny, was trouble, but now you have to consider that Jaehyun was trouble as well.

"I'm fine. I didn’t know you were still here," you shook your head lightly and gave him a small smile. "Did you need to talk about something, Jaehyun?"

"Oh, it’s nothing," Jaehyun smiled and you couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip at his handsome features. "Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner? You probably didn’t get to eat lunch since you were stuck in traffic, right?"

You lightly shook your head and gave him a small smile. "I’m sorry Jaehyun. I actually have dinner plans with my father and a few friends. Maybe another time?"

"No problem. Just let me know when you're free. You have my number," Jaehyun gave you a small smile before waving and leaving the office.

You have my number...

"You're goddamn right that I have your number, Jeong Jaehyun," you heaved a big sigh and slouched in your chair, kicking off your heels under the desk. You buried your face in your hands, not hearing the sound of a few knocks at the office door and a few muffled voices.

Why did Jaehyun affect you so much? Why did you let him take your phone the other day and put in his number? You groaned in frustration and rubbed your head, your hair becoming messy.

"Yo, Y/N," you vaguely heard Johnny’s voice from the door. You looked up from your hands and sighed as you noticed your best friends. Did they forget something earlier? Johnny gave you a look over, noticed the disheveled hair, the bare feet, and clothes askew. His eyes widened, and he looked at the closed door before making his way to your desk. "We just saw Jaehyun leave the office. Damn, girl. Hooking up with a man years younger than you."

"Are you okay?" Taeyong asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Jaehyun didn't do anything to you right?"

"I’m fine, Taeyong. And shut up Johnny. It’s not what you think it is," you frowned. "Jaehyun asked me out to dinner, and I declined his invitation."

Johnny raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"We have dinner with my dad tonight," you reminded him, rolling your eyes. Taeyong shook his head when Johnny snapped his fingers in response as he remembered. "And he’s too young for me."

"He’s in his late twenties. That’s not young at all," Johnny muttered. He counted on his fingers. "He's like what… a year younger than you?"

"I’m thirty, Johnny," you reminded him. "Jaehyun is three years younger than me."

"So, what’s wrong with that?" Johnny scratched his head. "He’s an adult, so you don’t have to worry about being a pedophile."

"Maybe that's not the problem," you muttered. You rubbed your temples to relieve tension and slumped into your chair. "Johnny. I'm the boss."

"So?" Johnny asked. Taeyong elbowed him. The two began to exchange looks and you groaned as you buried your face in the files on your desk, hoping that the words in those papers would help you vanish from the room. "You don't need to be shy. Jaehyun is pretty hot, and you’re not exactly unattractive either."

"God, Johnny, can you give it a rest?" You muttered and threw a file at his face, thankful that you were skilled enough to avoid Taeyong's elbow in retaliation. You sighed. "I can't get involved with a guy younger than me. Especially one working under me."

"Sure you can," Johnny wiggled his eyebrows. You saw Taeyong pinch the bridge of his nose as he held back his laughter, and you bit back your own smile. You focused back at Johnny. "Workplace romances do exist and work out in a lot of cases."

"I'd rather not," you said as you swiveled in the chair.

Taeyong shook his head. "If you're that desperate, why don’t you just date one of us? I mean we did sleep together a few times."

"No way," you said quickly, shaking your head. "That was like years ago, Taeyong. Sleeping together a few times is one thing, but to officially date is another."

"You haven’t slept with me yet," Johnny muttered as he made his way towards you and fixed your disheveled outfit and hair. "Why didn't you have sex with me anyway? Don't you like me? I'm awesome and super sexy."

"Johnny," you slapped him lightly with another file. He merely laughed, showing off his pearly white teeth. You glanced at him and raised an eyebrow as you squinted in thought. Johnny was a sexy man too. Good-looking, tall, built, rich. You chuckled a bit and waved him off as he continued to grin at you. "I don't think you can handle my freak."

"I think I can manage," Johnny muttered. "It would be mind-blowing sex, Y/N. I’ll probably be better than Taeyong."

"How do you know that I didn’t have mind-blowing sex with her? For all you know, I’m probably really good," Taeyong muttered.

"Nah, you're most likely a vanilla man, Taeyong," Johnny wiggled his eyebrows. "But you know what they say here..."

"Ahhhh… 'One flirts with Mr Suh to get laid, while one flirts with Mr Lee to be his wife.' That saying?" You asked as you slipped on your heels and grabbed your purse, a chuckle coming from Johnny. "Oh, what's that one about me? 'If you catch the eye of the Lady CEO, then your wildest dreams and fantasies will come true.' Oh man, my reputation must be bad, huh?"

"It’s not all that bad," Taeyong chuckled. "Johnny’s reputation sounds worse than yours."

"What reputation? Y/N sounds more like a sexual predator," Johnny muttered.

"I do not have sex with anyone unless it's consensual," you rolled your eyes.

"I think she already has her next target. She’s probably thinking of fucking Jaehyun right? Stuffing her panties in his pretty little mouth?" Johnny slung an arm around your shoulder as the three of you made your way towards the elevator.

"If you continue talking," you raised a threatening finger, "I'm going to seriously smack you on the mouth. Seriously, fuck off." You lightly pinched the man's side, chuckling as he yelped from pain. Taeyong stifled a laugh as he shook his head, and the doors to the elevator finally opened.

"Why do you always think I always want to fuck someone and stuff my panties in their mouth?" You muttered as you all boarded the elevator. You watched Taeyong push the button to the lobby and you shrugged Johnny’s arm off. "First it was Yuta, then Doyoung, then poor Kun, and now it’s Jaehyun. Who’s next? Jungwoo from Marketing? Ten from Talent Acquisition? Do you want to be fuckbuddies instead? Do you want a stash of my panties to put in your mouth?"

"I love a woman who knows what she wants," Johnny gave you an appreciative smile. "I love it when she's bossy too. Really turns me on." You only shook your head at his comments.

Johnny always knew how to rile you up. But at the same time, it was what you liked about the tall man, making you chuckle softly to yourself. "Don’t let my dad hear you mutter those filthy thoughts during dinner."

Taeyong laughed and stepped out of the elevator as it stopped. "Oh, we know. But knowing your dad, he’s going to nag at why you’re not dating one of us."

"Taeyong is right. You'll have to be chained to one of us," Johnny slung an arm around you again, the other lifted in the air to paint an imaginary picture. "I can see it already. 'The CEO is engaged to Mr Suh? Can't wait to go to that wedding!'"

"Shut the hell up," you lightly shoved him.

"If you had to choose, would it be me or Taeyong?" Johnny asked, a mischievous smile on his face.

"Good question. I don't know," you placed a finger on your chin, exaggerating your actions as you and Taeyong shared an amused look. "Let me think..."

Johnny wanted to protect you at all possible costs. Ever since your accident years ago, he was more protective of you than before. He remembered it so clearly. Your parents and Johnny’s parents knew each other from their corporate jobs in the US. When the families moved to South Korea, they met Taeyong’s family, as they ran in the same social circle.

There was always talk that the families would be united by a marriage. If the Suhs, Lees, and Y/L/Ns had children, they’d marry them off to each other. What better way to keep a successful corporation successful than by uniting their heirs through marriage?

For years, your families brought up the talk whenever the three of you got older. Of course, your relationship started off innocently. The three of you were close, attending the same schools growing up, hanging out with each other and the others from your social group. You were attached at the hip with Johnny and Taeyong for the longest. The three of you had an odd bond that no one ever questioned.

Sure there were arguments among the three of you, but it was easily fixed with an apologetic gift and promises to buy food to make up for it. There wasn’t a memory that wasn't good with Johnny and Taeyong. Even in your teenage years, it was evident that Johnny liked you the most, trying to impress you and be the best in your eyes.

Johnny remembered when it was your twentieth birthday, way before you took over as CEO of Hope Media. You threw an extravagant party and wanted to spend it with an ex-douchebag of a boyfriend and friends. Johnny was too busy helping his father with an important business meeting that he couldn't even attend. From what Taeyong told him, you found out that your ex-boyfriend was cheating on you. You ran from the party onto the street, Taeyong following closely from behind. Taeyong tried to pull you from the road but it just happened all too fast.

A car collided with your body.

That night changed everything.

Johnny remembered running into the emergency room, asking the nurse for your room, asking if you were okay. He remembered being in the room with you when the doctor told you the horrible news. The horrible news that you couldn’t have children. Johnny was there when you broke down in tears.

He was there when you made him and Taeyong promise that they wouldn’t tell your parents that you couldn’t have kids. You didn't want them to find out. You wanted to spare them the pain of your news. Johnny hated the thought of keeping a secret from your parents, but the expression on your face made him not question the situation further.

Johnny shook his head from those memories and watched as you shared a joke with your dad, your smile clearly contagious. You were literally the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, and he had met countless women. You were that one woman he wanted but couldn't have, since you were friends. Plus, you'd probably never seen him as anything more than a best friend, and he didn't want to jeopardize your friendship over feelings. For him, feelings were never easy to admit. And with his thoughts of wanting you for years, he finally decided to bury those feelings deep down in his heart so they could slowly wither away. But with this constant battle of hiding his feelings, it was taking a toll on him.

Johnny looked over to Taeyong, his other best friend of many years. Taeyong was a handsome man and quite easy on the eyes. If women flirted with Johnny to get laid, then women flirted with Taeyong to be his wife. He was kind and always thought about others. And when he found out that the two of you slept together, he could hardly believe it. Ever since your accident, you filled the void of the bad news by sleeping around with any consenting man that would have you. You said it didn’t matter if you slept around, since you weren’t able to have kids.

Sex for the hell of it. Sex as a distraction. It didn’t matter to you. So Johnny couldn't blame you for sleeping around with others. But Johnny just felt disappointed that it was Taeyong you had sex with instead of him.

He wanted at least one night of being selfish.

"John," your dad called out, Johnny looking up from his plate, glad for the interruptions from his thoughts. "Between you and Taeyong, who would be a better fit for my little angel here?"

"Daddy!" you pouted.

"That's a hard question, uncle," Johnny chuckled, as he gave you a wink. "I would say it’s me, but then Taeyong would probably say he's a better match."

Taeyong shook his head. "Oh no. I agree to disagree."

You frowned. "Daddy, why can't you ask other questions? Can't you ask them how they're doing or what their plans are for the company?"

"Because that's not as fun," your father's eyes shone with amusement. "Why would I want to ask about other boring things when I can ask them about this? Unless you have someone else in mind..."

"I don't think I like the direction this conversation is headed," you groaned.

"I worry about the three of you. You've all known each other since childhood, and you guys still haven't settled down," your dad frowned. He looked at you. "When will your mother and I see grandkids, my angel? You’re already thirty and not getting any younger."

"I know daddy, but I'm so busy with the company to even think about settling down and having kids," you muttered. You never told them about the accident. Only Johnny and Taeyong know of your struggle. They promised to stay quiet and never tell your parents about that horrible night. But now with you not able to conceive children, a marriage for you would be pointless, which made Johnny feel horrible, because you deserved the absolute world and beyond.

"Just marry John," your dad responded without missing a beat. Johnny almost choked on his wine. "Taeyong is a great match, but I think John would be a better husband."

"I agree, uncle," Taeyong held up a glass of wine in a salute. "I was actually going to suggest that they should get married. They’re definitely a perfect match."

"You hear that, angel?" Your dad chuckled. "John will marry you. Oh, both your mothers are going to be happy."

"But daddy," you huffed. "What if Johnny doesn’t want to marry me? I'm sure there are other girls that he's interested in."

"I’d marry you in a heartbeat," Johnny muttered, giving you a small smile, his hand reaching for yours. "No other woman comes to mind but you."

"Is that a proposal, John?" your dad teased, giving him a raised eyebrow. Johnny didn't miss the slight surprise in your expression as he let your hand go.

"Dad, please," you mumbled as your dad called your mom to discuss wedding plans.

"Pinch me," Johnny elbowed Taeyong, the latter lightly pinching his arm. "Ouch! It has to be real since it hurts."

"It’s real. Uncle seems to be really happy that you said you’ll marry her," Taeyong patted his friend’s shoulder. "Besides, I see the way you look at her. You’re in love."

"Yeah, but she probably doesn’t even like me," Johnny sighed. He glanced at his friend. "Don’t you have feelings for her too, Taeyong?"

"Me? No way. Sure, we slept together a few times, and I thought I had feelings for her… but that bridge burnt a long time ago when she revealed her true feelings for someone else," Taeyong took a drink from his cup. "I don’t know who it is, so don’t bother asking me. Anyway, you can help her when she gets needy."

"You sure you don’t know who it is?" Johnny narrowed his eyes at his friend. "It’s not Doyoung or Yuta, is it?"

"I told you, I don’t know," Taeyong chuckled when his friend pouted at the lack of knowledge. He shook his head and took another sip from his drink. He looked over to you and your dad, raising his glass for a toast. "To Johnny and Y/N. May they live happily ever after."

Jaehyun looked up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He took a deep breath and turned his head left to where his digital clock read three-thirty in the morning. It was that time already? Sighing, he turned his body to the side so that he could get somewhat comfortable but his body could not even relax. He heard the soft snoring of his roommate next door and the faintest of laughs from the apartment next door.

Although the laughs were faint, he knew they belonged to you. You had the most amazing laugh, like music to his ears. He wanted to be around you one day and make you laugh. Hell, he wanted to be the only one who made you laugh.

But there was also another laugh, a deeper one.

Wait… You had company?

It shouldn’t have been a surprise for him. Jaehyun knew that you always had company at least twice a week, but he always seemed to know who it was beforehand. He made it a routine to know who his boss was going to sleep with that week just so that he could prepare the ear plugs for him and his roommate, Mark.

At first, he didn’t know that his next-door neighbor was his boss. He only found out one day when he was waiting up for Mark to get home from the office with chicken and beer so they could start their weekend early. He heard a knock on the door and opened it, wondering why Mark didn't enter their code in the passcode panel. He was surprised to find you squinting at him and the door, mumbling to yourself that your apartment looked different. Jaehyun remembered that you kept squinting at him, running a hand through your hair and wondered when you got a handsome live-in husband.

He remembered smelling the alcohol from your breath, your usual neat hair disheveled, your high heels in one hand as you walked into Jaehyun’s apartment barefooted. He watched as you settled on his couch, pretty oblivious that you were in the presence of a single man. He remembered when Mark stepped into the apartment with beer and freshly fried chicken. His eyes widened when he realized that their boss was in their apartment. They were even more shocked when you drank their beer and ate all their chicken.

Jaehyun even recalled when Taeyong came to his apartment to fetch you, after you had called him complaining that you didn’t remember the apartment being so cramped and so masculine. After apologizing and giving them compensation for the beer and chicken, Taeyong swept you away. Only to lead you to the apartment next door, punch in a few numbers in the lock pad and whisk you through the door. A few minutes later, Taeyong came back to Jaehyun’s and Mark’s apartment and told them that you were their next-door neighbor and that you mistakenly thought their apartment was yours. They promised to keep quiet about where you lived, knowing that you probably didn’t want people to find out.

You knew that Jaehyun and Mark were your neighbors, but you all had a mutual understanding of not acknowledging each other unless necessary. The guys always tried to avoid seeing their boss in the morning. They never commented on the guys you brought over to your apartment, and they didn't want to. It was your private life to do what you wanted. Just as you didn't need to know about their personal lives.

Jaehyun shook his head and sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair. He threw off his blankets that were covering him, placed his feet on the floor, and rose from his bed. Scratching his tummy, he walked towards the door and opened it as quietly as he could so that he didn’t wake up Mark. He walked into the kitchen without turning on the lights, not caring that his bare feet were cold on the hard wooden floor. He pulled the fridge door open, grabbed a bottle of water, closed the fridge, and made his way to the dimly lit living room. Mark forgot to close the curtains to their living room window, so the city lights of Seoul enveloped the living room in hues of reds, oranges, and yellow.

He sat on the couch, drinking his water and flipping through a magazine. The city lights didn’t help much, but Jaehyun wasn’t really paying attention to the magazine. He leaned back against the couch, the back of his head against the wall.

"Johnny, stop that!"

Johnny? Mr. John Suh from the office? The COO of the company? You were sleeping with Johnny this week instead? Was that why you rejected him this afternoon? Was having dinner with your father a whole lie? Did no one in the office know that Johnny was going to be your next target?

For some odd reason, Jaehyun felt a pang of something in his chest. Jealousy? It couldn’t be, could it? Sure, he was attracted to you, and sure, he wanted you to give him the time of day, but Jaehyun knew that you would overlook him for other men. Was it his reputation of being a shameless flirt in the office that made you shy away from him?

He didn’t think he was that bad compared to Johnny. Or was it those rumors of him being good in bed that were going around the office? He definitely needed to talk to Yeri and tell her to stop with the lies. He didn’t even sleep with the woman, and she was already spouting nonsense.

"Oh…. Don’t stop…"

Jaehyun shook his head as he heard your muffled cries from the other side of the wall. He was glad that Mark was asleep, but now he had to listen to the filth that was going on next door. Closing his eyes, he imagined what it would be like if it was him that you wanted to do the dirty deeds with. Imagining how your body would feel next to his. The way your fingers would feel against his hair. Of how your lips would feel against his as he fondled your breasts. How your fingers would be entwined together as he moved his body against yours. How you would moan and call out his name. Of how your body would shake against him before reaching your release...

"Ah shit," he mumbled, feeling his arousal against the fabric of his sweats. He rose from the couch and made his way to the bathroom. "I guess it’s time for an early shower. I’m not going to bed anytime soon."

Taking care of his problem in the shower, Jaehyun still couldn’t stop thinking about you. He got dressed in his casual clothes and wandered into the living room, plopping himself onto the couch. He looked at his phone, the display reading four o’clock in the morning. Yeah, he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. It was a Saturday morning after all.

Plus, it got quiet next door. Thank God. He didn’t need any more distractions thinking about you.

Turning on the TV and lowering the volume, Jaehyun took out his phone and browsed his social media. He noticed Mark sleepily make his way towards the couch, still in his pajamas. He watched as the younger man curl up on the side of the couch, his eyes squinting at the TV.

"Want me to make some coffee?" Jaehyun asked his sleepy roommate. Mark nodded, and Jaehyun got up from the couch, went into the kitchen, and started the coffee maker up. "Why are you up so early?"

Mark groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I was planning on sleeping in but… I had a weird dream."

"How weird?" Jaehyun asked, bringing two cups of steaming coffee to the living room. He placed one on the coffee table in front of Mark, the other still in hands as he lifted it to his lips. "As in you were high off weed or like a wet dream?"

"The second one," Mark muttered, slowly sipping his coffee so as to not burn his tongue. "Dude, should we just move out? I can’t stand living next to Y/N and hearing all the filthy things she does with guys we know from the office."

"What other place gets better than this, Mark?" Jaehyun shrugged, sitting next to his roommate. "Apart from being neighbors with her? Yeah, I know she’s our boss, and your cousin…"

"I still don’t want to hear her fucking someone. Who is it this time? Do you know?" Mark asked, patting down his hair. "Please tell me it’s not Yuta again."

"It’s not Yuta," Jaehyun replied with a slight chuckle. "It's Johnny."

"Johnny? Are you sure they were having sex and not just hanging out?" Mark narrowed his eyes, his nose wrinkling in disdain. Jaehyun didn't respond, making Mark groan in response. "For the sake of my sanity, I hope they were only hanging out."

"I heard moans and stuff coming from her side of the wall," Jaehyun yawned, stretching out his legs before him.

"Oh man, that’s even worse. You put my sexual predator of a cousin and fuck boy Johnny together in one room and things get…messy," Mark whined, setting his coffee cup down. He looked up at Jaehyun and probably noticed the faint dark circles under his eyes. "Wait, why are you even up? Did you even go to sleep?"

"I couldn’t sleep for some odd reason," Jaehyun shrugged, pulling out his phone. "And no, it’s got nothing to do with Y/N having sex with Johnny."

Lies.

You were the reason he couldn’t sleep, but Jaehyun just couldn't let his roommate know his true thoughts. Yeah, he was annoyed and bothered by the fact that he couldn’t be the one sleeping with you, and that Johnny was the one having his way with you, but that was none of Jaehyun's concern. As he already stated countless times, it was your private life, and he wasn’t going to try to butt in on that.

"But seriously dude. We should move out," Mark scrunched his nose and scratched his back. "I love her and all, but she definitely needs to quit having sex with all the guys we know. I do not want to hear how good of a fuck my cousin gave to any of our friends when we meet up with them. It’s wrong on so many levels."

"I’m just surprised she’s not pregnant," Jaehyun muttered, giving Mark a concerned look. "With all the men that she’s had sex with, I’m surprised that one of them isn’t a dad yet."

"Wait... didn’t I tell you?" Mark responded, a confused look on his face. "I swore I told you…"

"Tell me what?" Jaehyun raised an eyebrow.

"Y/N can't have kids. I don’t know what happened. I can only guess it has to do with the car accident she got in ten years ago," Mark glanced at Jaehyun briefly before turning his eyes to the screen. "Don't tell anyone else that I told you though, please? If she found out, she would kill me."

Jaehyun bit his bottom lip. He didn’t know that was the reason why you kept sleeping with men with no strings attached. "I... didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that."

"I know she’s lonely, and I get that she sleeps around with men for company. But come on, she can still get married and all," Mark muttered, looking at his cup of coffee before looking up at Jaehyun. "I know she wants kids of her own, but she can always be a stepmom or even adopt kids."

"Of course, she could. But what if her husband wants kids of his own instead? What can she do if she can’t have them?" Jaehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair. Contrary to how others perceived him in the office, Jaehyun thought quite extensively about issues.

Especially when it came to you.

"I guess..." Mark huffed. He reached for his coffee cup, but the sound of the doorbell startled him. "Yo, who the hell rings doorbells at four in the morning? Damn, my hair is a mess."

"I’ll get it," Jaehyun slightly chuckled as he watched the younger man dart into the bathroom to fix his hair. Opening the door, his eyes widened before fixing a small smile on his lips. "Y/N. What brings you here?"

"Hi, Jaehyun," his boss said with a smile. Jaehyun took in your profile, noticing that you wore short shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Your hair was disheveled, and your face was bare of any makeup, but you still looked pretty in his eyes. "Can I come in?"

Jaehyun was surprised. He never expected you to visit him in the early morning. Hell, he never expected you to visit at all, even though Mark was your cousin. He always thought your relationship was strictly professional. He wanted to get closer to you in all honesty, and he almost succeeded. But...you seemed to enjoy the company of other men more than his. He nodded softly, moved away from the door so that you could enter the apartment, and motioned for you to use his house slippers.

"You sure?" you asked, looking down at his bare feet. "I don’t want your feet to get all dirty or anything."

"It’s fine. My floor is pretty clean," he slightly chuckled as he watched you slip your feet into his slippers. He followed you as you stepped into the living room. "Anyway, what brings you here? Mark is in the bathroom trying to tame his bed head."

"I’m just surprised that Mark is up this early," you responded. You sniffed the air, smelling the coffee in the kitchen. "Is that coffee? Can I have some? It’s way too early to go out and get some."

"Help yourself," Jaehyun answered as he sat on the sofa. He watched as you moved into the kitchen, grabbed one of the cups that were by the coffee maker, and poured some of the black liquid into it. He noticed Mark coming out of the bathroom, still decked out in his pajamas, but his hair was now combed neat. "You didn’t answer my question though. So, what brings you here?"

"I couldn’t sleep, so I wondered if you were awake or not. I had a good hunch, surprisingly," you called out; Mark’s eyes widened when he heard your voice. "Is that Mark I hear?"

"Hey Y/N," Mark replied back, surprised that his own cousin actually visited. "This is a surprise."

"Yeah, it is," you walked out of the kitchen and sat on the couch next to Mark, Jaehyun moving to the floor. "Why are you guys up so early anyway? It’s our day off. You should be sleeping in."

"We can say the same to you. Why are you here at four in the morning?" Mark frowned at his maternal cousin. "I heard Johnny was keeping you company, so I figured you would be asleep or something."

"You just left Johnny alone next door?" Jaehyun cocked his head to the side, wondering if the older male was asleep or something.

"Johnny?" you asked confused. "What are you talking about? How did you know Johnny's at my place?"

"The walls are...ahem," Jaehyun coughed, looking away from the pretty older woman. "Thin. I heard you moaning out Johnny’s name."

"Ohhhh..." your eyes widened at the realization. You bit your lip, contemplating if you should ask if they actually heard you have sex with other men that you brought home. You never noticed that the walls were thin, but then again, you weren't sure if the two young men brought girls home or if they slept with girls at a hotel or something. "It’s not like that."

"So, you didn’t have sex with Johnny?" Mark asked, scratching the back of his head. "I’m confused."

"No. As much as Johnny is handsome and charming, I wouldn’t have sex with him," you let out a faint smile, bringing the cup to your lips. "If you heard anything, it’s probably because Johnny was giving me a massage. I strained a muscle at dinner with dad last night."

"Because you’re getting old," Mark retorted, sticking out his tongue. "You’re thirty."

"Shut up, Mark, before I tell your mom that you ditched dinner last week because of a girl and not the business trip she thinks you were on, smart mouth," you countered.

"You're so mean, Y/N," Mark grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. "Anyway, why are you here?"

"I told you. I was just having trouble sleeping," you responded, running a hand through your messy locks. You were thankful that Mark and Jaehyun's light was dimmed enough so that they wouldn't notice your frazzled expression. "And I just needed someone to talk to about things, that's all."

"Shoot. I got nothing to do and nowhere to be till noon, so it's cool," Mark smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Didn't you say you had dinner with uncle last night?"

"Yeah. We talked about the business and caught up on things. Then dad brought up the subject of marriage and kids as usual," you looked over at Jaehyun. "I’m assuming Mark told you that I can’t have kids?"

Jaehyun nodded his head and looked down at the coffee table. "He just told me earlier. I didn’t know."

"It’s okay," you smiled at him, running a hand through your hair. "My parents don’t know about it, and I don’t want them to be sad that they won’t be able to have grandchildren. That’s why I’ve been putting marriage off for so long."

"So, what happened? Did Uncle suggest you marry Johnny or Taeyong?" Mark asked as you nodded your head. "For reals? Who’s it gonna be?"

You sighed and began to play with the hem of her oversized shirt. "Johnny, and I’m not sure how I should feel about it."

"What’s there to feel about?" Jaehyun asked, catching your gaze. "At least you don’t have to worry about getting to know him. You’ve been best friends for years."

"That’s the point," you muttered, your eyes flickering between the two men. "He’s my best friend. He knows me like no other. He knows my likes, my dislikes, my strengths, my weaknesses and fears. He can read me like an open book."

"That’s good, right?" Mark responded, giving you an unsure look. "At least Johnny wouldn’t have to pretend anything in your relationship if you two were to get married."

"But he never really proposed to me," you let out a deep sigh. "Taeyong suggested that Johnny and I should get married, and dad was all for it. Even Johnny said that he’ll marry me."

"But doesn't Johnny know about your condition?" Jaehyun asked, biting his lower lip. "That...you can't have kids?"

"He does... but I know he wants kids," you took a deep sigh, biting your lower lip. "He doesn’t say it, but I know he wants little ones of his own. Little ones that I can’t give him."

"I’m sure he knows that, Y/N," Jaehyun muttered, taking your hand and gently patting it. He didn’t know why, but he had the urge to just take your hand and touch you. "But you deserved to be happy and loved too. You deserve a happy ending. Even if you don't have kids."

"Bro," Mark started as he noticed your hand in Jaehyun’s. "Are you flirting with my cousin right now? In front of me?"

"No?" Jaehyun replied, raising an eyebrow. "You’d know if I was flirting. I was just comforting her. It’s all right for her to be concerned and all."

"Whatever, man," Mark rolled his eyes. He shrugged at his older cousin. "Anyway, I’m gonna go shower. I’ll come by later with some coffee, Y/N. Just let me wrap my mind around the fact that you're somewhat engaged to Johnny."

You nodded as you watched Mark walk off towards the bathroom. You were still aware of Jaehyun’s hand on yours and lightly pried it away. "Thanks, Jaehyun. I should get going too and let you rest. Johnny is probably up and wondering where I'm at."

Jaehyun watched as you made your way to the front door. He didn’t know what overcame him, but before he knew it, he was on his feet and reaching for you. Your back to the front door, one of his hands grabbing your wrist and his other on the door, Jaehyun caught you staring at him with wide eyes.

"Jaehyun?" you muttered, staring up at him, your lips quivering.

Jaehyun scanned your face. Your eyes stared into his own, your skin was silky smooth, and your lips were plump and kissable. You still looked so beautiful for your age. "If you’re still so unsure about Johnny...there’s always me, you know."

"Wh-what?" You whispered, aware that your heart was beating fast. "You’re joking right? You’re just saying that to get in my pants, huh?"

"I’m not joking," Jaehyun whispered back, his tone low and husky. "I’m very interested in you. And I’d like to show you what love really is."

"Jaehyun, we can’t..." you trailed off.

"Why not?" Jaehyun leaned over you, your body still trapped in between his arms. He softly bit your earlobe, his fingers trailed to the back of your nape, slowly caressing your skin with silky touches. "It’s okay for other guys to kiss you, but I can’t?"

Before you could say anything, he went for your lips next. His lips were incredibly soft, almost pillowy. Jaehyun deepened the kiss, the hand at the back of your neck bringing you closer. He felt your hands curve around his neck, and he let out a small smile against your lips. He moved closer, lured by your response, and a small, almost helpless sound escaped as your lips opened.

"It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you…" you let out as he moved away slightly to look at you.

"Then why?" He asked as his forehead rested against yours. He was breathing quite heavily.

"What will people say when they find out that I’ve hooked up with someone that’s not my fiance?" you muttered while looking at him. Your eyes darted to where the bathroom was. "Plus, Mark is still here."

Suddenly and without warning, Jaehyun bent his head down and kissed you again. A kiss that captured your breath, weakened your knees, and caused a pulsing in your lower regions. Your hands trailed up to his chest to link at the back of his neck. You tried to pull him closer, but you were startled when he cupped his hands around your ass, pressing so close that you could feel the length of him.

"This is what you do to me, Y/N," he whispered against your lips, bringing your hand to cup his growing arousal. "Fuck what people say. If we like each other, then it shouldn’t matter right?"

"I…" But before you could say anything, Jaehyun captured your lips in his again. This time, the kiss was gentle and soft. "Jaehyun…"

He released you and stepped away. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Think about what I said, okay? If it doesn’t work out with Johnny, you know where to find me."

You bit your lower lip and nodded. You left the apartment building, aware that Jaehyun’s eyes were still on your fleeting figure. You walked over to your apartment next door, opened the door, and closed it, leaning against it as you tried to compose yourself.

What the hell just happened? Did you just really kiss Jaehyun?

For reasons unknown to you, you were incredibly attracted to the younger male. Sure, he was handsome, but you've slept with other handsome men before too. What was the exact reason that you found him so interesting?

"Jaehyun made a move, huh?" A voice muttered from the couch. You looked a bit startled, but once you saw the figure that lounged on your couch, you sighed in relief. Johnny positioned himself on the couch so that he was sitting and patted the seat next to him. "Want to tell me all about it?"

"How did you know?" You muttered as you padded into your apartment and sat next to the tall, hunky man. "You always seem to know that something happened."

"I can read you like a book," Johnny chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked at you, taking in your flushed cheeks. "He kissed you, huh? Was it that good?"

You bit your lower lip and slowly nodded. You leaned your head back against the couch and sighed. "What’s weird is...that I actually liked it. Johnny, is there something wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you, Y/N," Johnny replied as he leaned back against the couch, turning his head to look at you. "You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known. Just because you’re a shameless flirt and tend to go for younger men doesn’t mean you’re not amazing."

"Hey!" You frowned, lightly punching his shoulder. "I do not go for younger men."

"Name one older man you’ve dated or slept with," Johnny raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that you never had any relationships with older men apart from your ex-boyfriend all those years ago. "Not including that bastard of an ex-boyfriend you dated ten years ago."

"Uh...um…" you bit your bottom lip and hung your shoulders in defeat.

"See? You’re such a cougar," Johnny muttered, a small smile on his face. "What I’m saying is, you don’t need to be tied down to me. If you like Jaehyun, we can always call off our engagement."

You sighed before laying your head on Johnny’s shoulder, his arm reaching over to settle on your waist. "You know I can’t do that, Johnny. I can’t disappoint dad, and you saw how excited he was during dinner last night. And besides, I’m not even sure what to call the feelings I have for Jaehyun. I’m attracted to him, and he’s one hell of a good kisser, but I don’t think I like him."

"If you say so. But I give him credit for kissing you though. The man’s got balls," Johnny muttered, an amused smile on his face. He reached out to grab your hand, and he wasn’t surprised that you squeezed his hand back. It was little things like this that made Johnny fall for you even more.

"Johnny?" you mumbled.

"Hmm?" He hummed.

"Do you want kids?" you asked.

Johnny contemplated for a moment, unsure of the answer that he should be giving you. "Why the sudden question?"

"Do you, though? Want kids of your own that is," you lifted your head up to gaze into his brown eyes.

"Yeah. I'd like one," he finally answered, shifting his head away to glance down at the floor.

"Even if that means you wouldn't be able to have them with me?" you asked.

Johnny stared at you, took in the worried look on your face. You've always been concerned with this topic. About how other women can bear a child while you can't. "Y/N..."

"Please just answer the question. I know you're an amazing man, John Suh. An amazing man who I don't think deserves to be held back with someone who can't give you what you truly want," you said.

"Listen, Y/N. Just because others may be able to have kids and you can't, doesn't mean you're any less than they are. You're still you, beautiful as ever," Johnny comforted. He never liked to see your confidence drop, but somehow, you were still the confident woman, always wearing her mask. "And yeah, I'd love to have my own little kids, but being with you makes me happy too. Plus, we can always adopt some. There are lots of little babies out there that need a mom and dad."

"Johnny..." your lips parted slightly in wonder, staring at the beautiful man before you. "You're such a sweet man, and I still don't understand how we became best friends in the first place."

"You don't like that you have a tall, dashing, and extremely sweet best friend?" Johnny grinned, moving his head forward.

"Hmm... I don't know. Do I?" You mused as you also moved forward, your lips almost touching his. "Maybe, maybe not. What will you do about that, Mr Suh?"

"Mmm," Johnny hummed as his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, closing in. "Maybe this."

With that, he captured your lips with his, both hands grasping your cheek while yours ran along his defined jawline. This was your first kiss with Johnny, a best friend you didn't deserve. And damn did Johnny taste amazing.

"Fuck," you muttered, moving your face away to catch some air, your eyes focusing on Johnny's own.

"Yeah. Fuck," Johnny echoed, and without hesitation, he pressed his lips against yours again.

For a moment there, you had completely forgotten all the men that were once in your bed, for you could only taste Johnny. And oh god, he was so intoxicating. He pushed you down against the couch and settled himself between your legs, his lips pressed firmly on yours. Your fingers immediately latched around the hem of his t-shirt and you could feel his muscles. Johnny slowly broke the kiss, his teeth softly biting the bottom of your lip.

"We should stop," he breathed against your lips.

"Or," your hand drifted down to his sweatpants, teasing the band as it slid past, "we could keep going."

Johnny chuckled, his fingers hooking to the back of his t-shirt, discarding it behind the couch. "Your pick, baby."

A moan escaped your lips as Johnny nuzzled his head into your neck, placing wet kisses along the way. His warm mouth started to work on your neck, his hands now busying themselves with the hem of your shirt. In an instant, your top was thrown elsewhere. As if like magnets, the two of you crashed your lips together once again, desperate moans filling the living room. Your hands tangled into his thick locks of hair. Johnny's mouth glided its way from your jawline to your collarbone. The hand at your side slithered upwards. A soft gasp erupted from your throat as his large hand massaged your breast.

"So fucking pretty," he cooed, his tongue gliding across the dip of your breast. His hungry eyes stared up at you while his lips traveled downwards until they reached the band of your short shorts, his hands trailing to your ass. He squeezed, evoking a long drawn-out moan from you. He peppered featherlight kisses down your waist, settling himself lower, between your legs. His brown eyes flickered to your glossy ones, and he gave you a teasing smirk. "Gonna taste so fucking good, kitten."

Before you could let out an approving sound, Johnny removed your shorts and underwear with swift movements. His thumbs gently traced your entrance, moving towards the sensitive bud, and he let out low, husky giggles at how wet you already were. He grasped your waist and pulled you close to his face, tongue darting out to play with the sensitive nub. A drawn-out moan escaped your lips.

"Fuck, Johnny," you cried, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed him down further to where you were soaked. His fingers gently held your hips, leaving marks on your skin. With him positioned down below, your legs spread wide in front, and your back against the couch, you were literally open and bare. A couple of fingers, his tongue or even lips could make you orgasm at any given time.

Johnny gave another small lap on your clit before his tongue slid deep into your inner wall, fingers doing a thing or two, a strangled sigh released. The first touch of Johnny's tongue on your core and the grip on the back of his hair grew tighter, arching yourself higher for a deeper angle. Johnny paused for a moment, hearing a faint buzz of a cell phone, deciding to let it go unread and attend to the beauty beneath him.

"Taste so sweet," Johnny grunted as your body writhed, his face coming up from your folds. His hands kept a firm grip on your thighs as he continued his assault, licking the pool of wetness, nipping your bundle of nerves.

"I'm gonna cum," you warned, already near the edge of the cliff. The only thing stopping you from reaching the end was the fucking annoying phone ringing from across the apartment. You reached over to where you thought the sound was coming from, and once your hand latched around your purse, you took it with you and shoved it beside you on the couch, digging around and immediately answering the call once finding your device. "H-hello?"

Johnny snickered softly at how quickly you answered the phone, and just as quickly, he dove back for more. He continued to focus on your folds and occasionally circled your clit with his thumb while he had you preoccupied. His hand on your stomach caressing and gently trailing up and down. He could feel your body shiver underneath the soft touch, your sounds being muffled while you spoke over the phone.

"Hang up the phone, or answer it more quietly," he growled under his breath, sucking your bud in for extra measure. He wanted to hear you scream his name but of course, you had to answer the damn thing and make things hard for the both of you. "Y/N."

"Mom?" You answered, covering your mouth so she didn't hear Johnny in the background. "Sorry, you caught me at the wrong time. I'll call you back, alright?"

Your fingers clicked the end call button without hesitation and threw the cell phone across the couch, your head hanging backwards and a deep sigh coming from your throat. Your toes curled, fingers threading through Johnny's hair again, arching forward at a soft lap and the flat of his tongue massaging over your whole cunt. His tongue penetrated you, as far as it would go.

"Fuck yes," you moaned, pulling your knees close to your chest. Johnny shifted underneath, letting you use his shoulders as an anchor for your feet as you grind against his face. Once you set the pace, Johnny used his own hands to finger your clit.

"Mm..." Johnny hummed into you, drawing circles on your clit with his thumbs and allowing the pleasure to take you. "That was hot, baby. Ending the call with your mom like that."

"I didn’t want her to hear us…" you trailed off. "J-Johnny, oh...shit," you moaned, back arched over the couch, gripping his hair a tad bit tighter, but Johnny couldn't be bothered by it. In fact, his other hand pressed tightly on your inner thigh, making your moans turn a pitch higher, a clear sign he was doing a fine job.

"Go on kitten, cum for me," Johnny panted as your body came closer to the end. You bucked your hips on him a bit quicker before you came, eyes shut with euphoria as your body fell over, your breathing heavily ragged.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, and once you had a second to calm your heart, the grip loosened to caress him, running along his broad shoulders until Johnny shimmied upwards. You sat up halfway and crashed your lips against his in a deep, fervent kiss, tasting yourself off his tongue.

"You didn't have to make me cum like that," you breathed, breaking the kiss, as you touched the base of his neck and pressed him close, his body firm and muscular to the touch. You smiled softly at his state of breathlessness, giving a gentle peck on his lips again before tilting your head on the shoulder.

"What are you gonna do when I need release?" Johnny teased, settling beside you and drawing you close with a pull of his arm.

"Maybe this?" You whispered as your hand ventured into his sweats and cupped his hardening length, causing him to inhale sharply.

"Maybe later," he smiled against your lips, your breath fanned softly along his upper lip as you giggled. "Right now, I just want to make sure my fiancee is satisfied... so that she can keep coming back to me for more."

"Is that a promise?" You bit the bottom of your lower lip as your hand continued to palm his length. "What if I want to have sex with other guys again, Mr. Suh? What if I want Jaehyun to fuck me as well?"

"Jaehyun, huh?" Johnny asked in amusement and shook his head. "Do whatever you want. As long as you come to me afterwards and let me fuck you till I can't no more."

"And if I want a threesome? What then?" you questioned.

"Let me take a guess. You want a threesome with me and Jaehyun. Am I correct?" Johnny grinned.

"Maybe..." you purse your lips as you gazed at him, watching the small smile curl up.

"Threesome or not. Just promise me one thing," Johnny murmured as he brought his fingers around the back of your neck to link his fingers behind and stare intently at you.

"Promise you what?" you tilted your head, somewhat confused.

"Promise me that I am still your favorite man and that you're gonna marry me," the taller man asked. "No matter what happens in the future. No matter how many men you hook up with, I need you to remember that you're always going to be the light of my life. Even if we end up adopting a child, or if we can't have kids at all. My future will always revolve around you, baby."

"Always?" you blinked and swallowed slightly, meeting his gaze.

"Always," he echoed as he leaned his forehead against yours.

Jaehyun sighed as he watched you go into your apartment next door. Stepping back into his apartment, he closed the door behind him, strolled back into the living room, and plopped back on the couch. He was aware of the tent in his pants, but he couldn’t just stroll into the bathroom when Mark was taking a shower just so he could get off.

You smelled so good. Hell, you felt good in his arms.

He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the pretty older woman next door. Jaehyun normally tends to sleep with girls around his age or a slight bit younger than him but there was something about you that made him want to throw caution to the wind. He didn’t care what it was going to be. It could have just been strictly sex, you could start dating, maybe he would fall in love. He just knew that he wanted to be in your life in some sort of way.

The question was, did you want him to be part of your life?

Ever since he heard that you couldn't have kids, he felt sad for you. It must've been emotional to hear that you couldn't have kids. He couldn't even imagine the look on your face if your female friends showed off their kids or even mentioned them.

"Oi, Jaehyun," Mark’s voice called out from the kitchen, the younger male running a hand through his hair. Jaehyun didn’t even know that Mark was finished in the shower. "You like Y/N, right?"

"What makes you think that?" Jaehyun asked, raising an eyebrow, making his way into the kitchen, taking the cup of coffee that the younger man handed him.

"Bruh, I just saw you kissing her," Mark narrowed his eyes at his roommate, before sipping his coffee. "If you didn’t like her, you would have let her go home to her apartment. But no, you had to go kiss her."

"You saw that?" Jaehyun asked in surprise as he followed Mark out into the living room.

"Yeah. Ya’ll better not be fucking in this apartment," Mark frowned, turning on the TV and scrolling through the channels to find something to watch. "It’s bad enough that I hear her have sex because of the damn thin walls, but I don’t want to walk in on y’all having sex."

"There’s no way she’ll have sex with me," Jaehyun lightly chuckled, grabbing his phone from his pocket. He was contemplating if he wanted to send you a text but thought better of it. He stuffed it back into his pants. "I’m sure she’ll probably have sex with Johnny."

"What makes you so sure?" Mark chuckled, elbowing him. "Seems like she was gonna jump you right then and there."

"Your vision must be shit, Mark," Jaehyun shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. "She wanted to get away from me from what I recalled."

"Bro, I was a bystander," Mark muttered. "Plus my intuition is usually correct. She's into you. You don't see it, but any other person can tell that she wants you."

"I just think she’s more into Johnny," Jaehyun shrugged, before leaning back on the couch. "He just seems more her type."

"Hmm...probably, but that doesn't mean that Y/N won't give you a chance if you ask," Mark responded. He nudged Jaehyun before a grin spread on his lips, "I'll support you. And if things get rocky, I got your back, bro."

"Thanks, bro," Jaehyun smiled, eyes turning towards the TV as silence filled the air.

Johnny thought you were joking when you suggested that the both of you should reveal the engagement to the whole company. When Taeyong called the whole company into the large auditorium, Johnny was a bit anxious about how everyone would absorb the news. With you by his side, he fidgeted with his tie and took deep breaths. Seeing this, you took his large hands in yours and leaned up to give him a small peck on the cheek.

"What was that for?" Johnny looked down at you, his eyebrows furrowed into confusion. It always amazed him how small you were compared to him. You weren't small per se, since you normally towered over all the other females in the company. You stood about five feet seven inches flat, and with heels you were a bit taller, but you always seem so small next to Johnny.

You looked up at him and gave him another peck on the cheek. "What is it going to take for you to be calm?"

"A kiss?" Johnny muttered, a boyish smile appearing on his face. You let out a small sigh before you stood on your toes and pulled him down a bit before you placed a small peck on his lips. He wanted a bit more but before he could react, your lips left his.

"Save it for after work, babe," you grinned as the two of you turned your attention toward the auditorium's entrance, where a crowd had started to form. Both of you waited with Taeyong until the auditorium was full. Everyone was seated, including all of the department heads and their subordinates. Your dad was sitting in the front row next to Mark, looking excited about everything. The atmosphere was busy as the employees all speculated, not knowing what was going on.

Once everyone was settled, Johnny decided that it would be the right time to walk onto the stage. You linked your arm into the crook of his, letting him walk you to the center of the stage. Behind you, Taeyong took hold of the microphone, to gather the audience's attention.

"Hello everyone! I would like to have your undivided attention please," Taeyong spoke out loud, gaining the employees' attention. Everyone quieted down, and they could now see that both Johnny and you were standing at center stage. "Thank you all for taking time out of your busy day to attend today's announcement."

Everyone murmured softly to themselves, all eyes focused on the stage. Johnny's hands became moist from all the pressure while your grip tightened on his arms, bringing you comfort. He looked down at you, bringing a large smile on his face, the mere action calming you as well.

"It is my great pleasure to tell everyone the great news," Taeyong continued before turning to look at the both of you, "our very own COO, Mr. Suh, and our amazing lady CEO, Miss Y/L/N, are getting married!"

Johnny couldn’t hear the chatter, since all he could think about was this woman next to him. This woman had complete control over his emotions, and she didn’t even know it. He felt you tugging at his arm, and when he caught your smile, he returned one of his own. The whole company started to buzz.

"You two look so cute!"

"Wow! They would make beautiful kids. Look at how gorgeous they are!"

"That’s our CEO! Smart and beautiful!"

"Mr Suh is so handsome!"

"Power Visual Couple!"

"Should the fanclubs unite now that they’re getting married?"

"We had fanclubs?!"

"Okay, okay everyone. Settle down," Taeyong called out as he tried to hush everyone. Once the auditorium started to hush down, apart from a few mutters here and there, Taeyong looked over to you and Johnny. "As I mentioned before, I called everyone down here so that we can congratulate and give our best wishes to the newly engaged couple. Congratulations to you two! We’re going to have a party, right?"

"That’s right," you smiled at all the employees, everyone clapping and excitedly whispering. "Thank you for all the good wishes everyone! Pick the place and time, and let the heads of your departments know. The food and drinks will be provided by Johnny and I."

Johnny heard the claps and the many cheers of how their boss was the best. He noticed Mark in particular was clapping rather loudly next to a smiling Jaehyun. Now that he thought about it, did you really mean that you wanted to have sex with Jaehyun?

"What are you thinking about?" You asked him, as you laid your hand on his upper arm. Johnny bit the inside of his cheek, keeping calm and collected before he decided to have his way with you in front of everyone. This woman didn’t know what her touches did to him. "Johnny?”"

"It’s nothing," Johnny smiled down at you, a hand coming to brush the hair away from your face. He bent down a little to give you a small peck on your forehead, hearing the audible awws from the crowd. He whispered in your ear, so softly that no one else could hear, but you did, of course. "Tonight. I can't wait to have you tonight."

You frowned as you watched Johnny rummaging through the dressers in his bedroom. After that little forehead kiss he pulled at the company meeting, you were feeling all hot and bothered by your tall best friend now fiancé. The day was over, and Johnny suggested that the both of you go to his apartment to just relax and watch a movie.

Sitting on his bed in just your panties and one of his t-shirts, you watched as the tall man pulled another t-shirt and a pair of sweats from the drawer. You watched as he unbuttoned his dress shirt, throwing it on the top of the dresser before throwing the t-shirt over his head. Johnny looked over to where you sat and crossed his arms, noticing that your eyes roamed his body. "Are you really just going to sit there and watch me undress?"

"You act like I’ve never seen you naked before, Johnny," you laughed as you nodded at his slacks. "Are you going to take that off anytime soon?"

"Only if you take off my shirt that you stole from me," Johnny jokes, as he throws his dress shirt in your direction.

"Nope," you snorted as you threw his dress shirt over your head so that your eyes were covered. You could see his blurred figure through the fabric of his shirt, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him naked. You sighed and removed his shirt from your head and threw it somewhere across his bedroom. "I’m going to the living room. Anything you wanted to watch?"

Johnny ran a hand through his hair, his muscles bulging against his shirt. "Anything is fine. I’ll let you pick."

You huffed and grabbed a pillow from the bed before heading out into the living room. Settling on Johnny’s couch, you turned the TV on and flipped through the channels to find a rerun of a drama that was playing. You brought your bare legs up to sit cross-legged, hugging the pillow that you took from Johnny’s bed.

Johnny walked out of his bedroom a minute later with a blanket and threw it at you. He headed towards the kitchen, opened his fridge, took out a bottle of water, and padded towards the couch, where he sat next to you. The taller male laid back, relaxing before opening his bottle of water and taking a sip. His arm automatically draped itself around your shoulder, dragging you over so that you could lay your head on his broad chest. Johnny stroked the top of your head and pulled you close to him. You cuddled against his warmth and let his hands stroke your hair, enjoying his warm embrace.

"So, what are we watching?" He nodded towards the TV.

"Another Oh Hae Young," you responded. "You know it’s a good drama."

Johnny picked up the remote to turn up the volume. "It’s an amazing drama. And the chemistry between the leads is electrifying."

"Oh, I agree. The kiss scenes are top notch," you responded back before looking up into his eyes.

"What are you thinking about? You know your mind is wandering, and you're not actually focusing on the show right now," he asked quietly, his tone soft and low.

"Well," you mumbled, sitting up so that you could look at Johnny, running a hand down his cheek, "I was kind of thinking about kissing you?"

"Kissing me, huh?" He answered, chuckling as your fingertips grazed his cheeks before grabbing the hand of the hand that ran across his jaw.

You nodded as his thumb traced the outer part of your palm before entwining your fingers together. His hand felt larger than yours. His eyes locked on you, leaning forward. You kissed the tip of his nose. You felt his breathing against the crook of your neck. Leaning even further, your lips just barely grazing his before pulling back. His breath caught, anticipating the softness and taste of your kiss.

"Do you like me, Y/N?" He suddenly whispered. "Or even love me?"

Did you like Johnny? You didn't even know. You felt so comfortable with your relationship with Johnny that you didn't even know what you were actually feeling.

You knew that you couldn’t have children, much less give him any, and he told you it didn't matter to him. He told you multiple times that he didn't want to settle down with some other person other than you, which was shocking in a sense, because you never thought that Johnny would ever choose you. He wanted to take care of you, to spoil you and show his affection for you, and only you.

Johnny didn’t care if the two of you didn't have a future with a family or having children of your own. All that Johnny cared about was being with you. No matter what, as long as the both of you were together, then it wouldn't be much of an issue to him. Even though your mind wasn't sure of how you truly felt, your heart, on the other hand, knew better than you did. Your heart wanted Johnny and to give into what the both of you already had, to deepen your friendship and feelings, and become closer as the years went by.

Johnny tilted his head down to look at you, and you found yourself looking up at him, feeling the intense warmth he exuded, his breath tickling your ear and neck. "It doesn't matter to me how you feel for me. I love you," Johnny confessed. "But right now...right now I want to make love to you."

Johnny loved you. Johnny Suh fucking loved you.

"Are you fucking serious?" was the first thing you responded to, your eyes searching his face for an explanation. "You love me?"

"I am," Johnny chuckled, his tone soft, his eyes lowering to look at the exposed skin on your upper legs and the t-shirt of his you were wearing that revealed more skin on your thighs. "I want you more than a friend. I want you as something more...and..."

He was silenced with the feeling of your warm and full lips colliding to his, crashing into him and taking him by surprise. Before he had the chance to react, you moved over his lap, your hands trailing through his dark locks and held his head as the kiss grew into a passionate and sensual kiss that neither one of you wanted to break. The touch of your hands sent chills running down his spine, ignited him and left him wanting to touch more of you.

"Y/N," he moaned as he felt the friction between your bodies. "Slow down, kitten..."

"Fuck," you breathed before biting his lip and grinding down onto him. "God, Johnny...why are you making me feel like this?"

"Like what, kitten?" Johnny asked, moving a large hand to rub your thigh. "Tell me exactly how I make you feel."

"Like..." You tried to respond, but you found yourself breathless, completely breathless, at just the way he caressed your skin with a mere touch of his hand. The light circles and tracing patterns on your thigh were driving you insane. Johnny kept a slight grip on your waist with his other hand as your hands fell onto his shoulders.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered in a deep tone. You bit the lower part of your lip and grabbed the collar of his t-shirt, yanking him forward to meet him with another kiss. His grip tightened around your hips, pushing you a tad closer as his mouth opened into a moan.

"I just need..." you trailed off and shuddered against his form as you felt his hands begin to move upwards underneath your shirt, coming around to palm the sides of your breasts, feeling and weighing their weight in his palms.

"Y/N..." he whispered as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. "I'm listening."

You remained silent for the moment and sighed with pleasure, letting his hands rub and tease the nubs. It had been a while since you felt these feelings, and you weren't used to having someone like Johnny give you this much attention and make you feel like the most desirable and gorgeous person in the world. Normally, you'd just have sex and get it over with; none of these sensual touches and foreplay like you had been craving for so long. It had been forever and a day since you had such contact, and when it was Johnny of all people, it really felt amazing.

"You're gorgeous, kitten," Johnny whispered into the hollow of your ear. "Tell me what you want."

"I just want...want you..." was all you were able to whisper out loud.

"What do you want?" he whispered back.

"Touch me," you commanded.

The sound of a muffled whine left your lips when Johnny pushed your shirt up over your head and threw it off to the side, his big hands rubbing against your sides, the warm heat from his skin melting through your bones.

"Touch you where?" he continued to pry for your answer, even when you were getting ready to fall over the edge. "Here?"

A finger rubbed at your clothed nub before rolling over it in circles, causing a quiet squeak to emit from the bottom of your throat. When Johnny gave another hard rub and flick against the sensitive nub, you knew that your panties were dampening from the teasing alone, the material sticking to your skin.

"Take them off," you softly demanded him and waited for Johnny to rip them off you. But instead, he turned the tables, his hands flipping your bodies around so that you were lying underneath him. You sucked in a quick gasp at the sudden change in the atmosphere, his towering and broad build leaning down over you, a single hand encasing the entirety of your tiny hip. "Oh, fuck..."

"You want these off?" he crawled down your body before laying the softest of kisses against your bare ankle and making his way up to your thigh. A soft whimper was your reply as your fingers gripped the cushion of his couch. He looked up at you with hooded eyes, his hot breath fanning against the apex of your inner thighs. "Want me to take these off with my teeth? Or my hand?"

His tongue peeked out past his bottom lip and dragged across the heated skin of your inner thigh and to your soaked and needy pussy that was practically crying to get his touch.

"With..." you whined softly, and then let out the lowest moan when his breath blew over your sex. "Fuck...Johnny."

"Yes, kitten?" he questioned as his lips met the band of your panties, teeth latching onto the material to pull it away from your skin. It fell over a few seconds later, the cloth dropping to your thighs, and he tugged it off with his hands. "There we go."

With your panties now tossed elsewhere, the feeling of his finger, slowly, agonizingly tracing the outline of your wetness, sent shivers up your spine. Just as quickly, he then pressed his mouth to the very top of your clit, the wetness of his tongue finding your most sensitive spot and sending your entire body into a writhing state of sheer need and desire for the man in front of you, the man between your thighs.

"Yes… just like that," you managed to pant out. Johnny grinned against you before flicking your clit with the very end of his tongue, pressing forward as his fingers roamed closer and closer to the source. Two long digits curled upward and entered you, stroking the gushing heat and taking it out with them as he moved in a steady pace, occasionally scissoring and crooking inside you.

"Holy shit..." he looked down at his fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, and he smiled, curling his fingers repeatedly and continuously stroking that one sweet spot, causing you to scream out and grasp harder. "Damn, baby… you're dripping down onto my couch."

"I don't...care..." you replied quickly, rolling your hips against his touch, moaning deeply. "Johnny...please...more. Please. Fuck..."

Johnny did exactly that. He delved his head back in, his tongue plunging past your folds to reach every corner, tasting you, drinking in your cries and pleads for more. As his pace against your aching cunt quickened, your back arched sharply, and your hips ground upwards to meet his wet and hungry mouth.

His two fingers turned into three, his palm pressed firmly against your mound, slapping your throbbing, sopping cunt, forcing you further down onto his hand and sending you closer and closer to the edge.

"You have...fucking gorgeous, god...tight pussy, sweetheart," Johnny murmured, sucking lightly on your clit, hearing your faint whines and begs for him. "I can't fucking wait until this pussy is wrapped around me."

He made quick motions with his hands, and with a couple more strums of his fingers and swipes of his tongue, your orgasm shot you higher than you were expecting, and as your back lifted itself off of his couch, you felt him smile as he swallowed every last drop from you, relishing the taste of your climax and cleaning off the thick coating of cum all along your trembling lower half.

"Holy fuck," your words fell onto the air at the sight of Johnny tearing off his shirt and throwing his sweats to the side. His body glistened from the small drops of sweat and the arousal he gave you, his hand wrapped around his thick, engorged member, giving a couple strokes up and down his long, impressive cock.

"Up for round two?" Johnny huskily whispered, your thighs open wide as your pussy gaped for his thick cock. Johnny wrapped his hands on your legs and slowly lowered himself inside you, groaning lowly as he pushed deeper within, spreading you apart, forcing yourself open to allow him to fill you to the brim, and as your legs wrapped themselves around his broad back, you heard him grunt once more and his hand took your cheek and kissed you. "So fucking tight, fuck..."

He was big. The biggest you ever had. Stretching your walls. Pushing himself until he bottomed out and was inside you so deep that it hit your cervix. His face hovered above yours, the very tips of his hair grazing the soft, plush skin of your forehead, and your breath was warm and wanting as your tongue traced over his upper lip.

Johnny moaned out deeply, holding back any amount of restraint that remained. "If I hurt you, please let me know."

"You could never," you reassured him, closing your eyes as his lips left yours.

With one swift motion, the only noise in his apartment was the soft, breathy moans coming from your throat, and the filthy sound of slapping and thrusting flesh. Johnny was lost, only listening to the heavy breathing and pants. Johnny grunted deeply as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed against your soft skin, leaving more than enough red marks along your collar and the column of your throat. Johnny whispered all manner of sweet nothings to the side of your head and held the entirety of your waist and breasts within the grasp of his hands. His hands moved to where the backs of your thighs laid within his palms, lifting your lower half higher, allowing him deeper and faster thrusts, while also placing a couple fingers onto the swell of your ass, giving it a soft slap.

Johnny thrust deeply in one quick motion, hitting the spots and nerves within you, the friction making every nerve in your body become electrified and sending you into a frenzy, crying for release.

"Right there. Fuck! Yes! God...Johnny! Right there," you breathed out loudly and arched yourself upwards against him, his body practically bending over yours to reach deeper, faster, to bring you to a higher place than what you had ever reached before, especially from another partner.

Your arms shot up to grab whatever you could grasp of Johnny, your nails leaving streaks and tiny cuts into his biceps, shoulders and forearms, wherever they would land. In the haze, he grabbed both of your legs, hooked them together under his strong arms, and propped himself up, going harder, his panting mixed with moans getting louder, and your breasts bouncing and clapping together as his hard length rammed into you with tremendous force, a force of such nature, bringing both you and himself into a heated mess.

"Holy fuck," he gasped loudly, almost nearing his own climax. "Come on...be a good girl for me. Cum around my dick. I want you to fucking milk my cock."

"Shit, Johnny!" you screamed loudly, practically breaking into a new high that left you floating in the clouds, the stars and everything else between.

"Fuck...yes...that's my good little girl. That's my baby girl," Johnny continued to thrust and ride out the rest of your orgasm. "Holy hell, sweetheart. Yes...fuck...come on, give me more. Milk my dick. Fuck."

It wasn't long until he hit his peak, spilling everything he had inside you, white hot and scalding. You whimpered and cried softly at the feeling and came undone a second time at the sensation. You breathed deeply, resting on the plush, velvety surface of Johnny's couch, covered in sweat and his essence, mixed with yours. His cock slipped from you, and the two of you spent the next half an hour cuddling with one another before deciding that taking a shower to rid your bodies from the stench of sex was an excellent idea.

The pair of you showered together in his bathroom, the rainfall shower head bringing some kind of serenity into your bones, as his gentle touches brought you back to life and to full energy. His fingers danced across your collarbone, shoulder blades, waist and the small of your back.

Johnny made you feel so alive. So content.

"Are you okay?" he quietly asked you, kissing your lips gently.

"I'm okay," you assured him, hugging his body close to your own and letting him wash your hair. "Johnny?"

"Mhmm," Johnny hummed in response as his long fingers massage your scalp.

"I love you too," you responded.

Jaehyun was overlooking the hustle and bustle that was taking place on set, a stack of papers tucked underneath his right arm. The sun was beginning to set, but they had yet to finish the last few scenes that needed to be done for the evening. After about two more hours, he could go home and relax with a bottle of beer and just sleep for the next eight hours.

It'd been a long month. A long, tiresome and shitty month.

Jaehyun nodded at the staff who passed by, answering the questions the production team was throwing at him and looking over the shots on the cameras. The directors had a couple issues with some of the extras on set today, but nothing major had come up during this scene.

Just as he was heading over to the tents to grab a water bottle to quench his thirst, something caught his eyes. You were making your way on set, checking in with the directors and writers on their notes for this episode, your own notepad in hand as you scratched the top of your head. Your hair was pulled up into a bun, and you had on a black sweater and skirt along with a pair of flats and a messenger bag swung around your shoulder. You had been working hard, the sleepless nights of working overtime beginning to show up in the form of dark circles around your eyes and an apparent lack of proper nutrition since you weren't eating and focusing solely on the project in front of you.

"Y/N," Jaehyun called, heading towards where you were standing, talking to the director.

"Oh, Jaehyun," you nodded. "I didn't know you were on set today."

"I guess I forgot to tell Jisung to let you know," Jaehyun laughed. "I'm supervising. We're finally in the last couple scenes."

"Oh, thank god," you rolled your eyes and placed your hand over your eyes. "I'm glad that the drama is doing good, especially since it's Seungeun's comeback drama after his military discharge."

"Everyone is loving the acting and storyline," he replied. "His female co-star is doing well too, despite this being her first major drama role. Her scenes are hilarious, despite how depressing some of the themes are."

"All in all, a successful drama, which means our companies did really well this comeback," you answered, looking towards the camera crew setting up a close-up on another female cast member. "When are you done? I was thinking of dinner for the crew today. And yourself, if you like."

"About an hour or two," he nodded. "Thanks for the offer."

"Anytime."

You waved him goodbye and walked towards your next location on the set. Jaehyun tried his hardest not to stare and sighed. Jaehyun should probably ignore these feelings, because you were currently Johnny's fiancee and would eventually be his wife one day. You wouldn't even notice his heart pounding in his chest at the thought of you with Johnny. You weren’t his. And you never would be.

Jaehyun shook the thought of you with Johnny away and went back to monitoring the set. He'd see you, in some other life or universe and sweep you off your feet. But in this life, there was nothing else he could do but try his damnedest not to think about it anymore and just carry on with his day.

Done with his tasks and helping the cast and crew get ready for the evening shoot, Jaehyun met up at the restaurant where everyone was. When he walked into the restaurant, you were talking to the owners, thanking them profusely for the large amount of food and drinks they brought out and offered for tonight. Jaehyun went to sit next to Jaemin, an assistant writer at the company, and listened to the staff compliment one another for their hard work and efforts on the show and praise Seungeun and his female co-star for their emotional performance.

You were laughing, sitting across from him, eating your wrap of samgyeopsal, munching happily on it. Jaemin elbowed him and nudged him to get him back to reality. "Earth to Jaehyun. Do you copy?"

"Huh? Oh...sorry, I just spaced out for a bit there," Jaehyun laughed, shaking himself. You didn't appear to have heard Jaemin, since you were in your own world, eating and talking with the other staff. "Anyway, sorry. What were you saying?"

"Nothing much," Jaemin answered. "What's got you all distracted tonight? Something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing," Jaehyun laughed, embarrassed. "Don't worry. I'm just a bit tired."

"Hang out with the guys tomorrow?" Jaemin asked, handing him some kimbap. "Jungwoo said something about wanting to hang out with you and Mark."

"Sounds good to me," Jaehyun nodded, downing his drink. "Do you know what everyone else is doing?"

"Hang on, lemme check in the groupchat," Jaemin's phone buzzed, and he handed it to him. "Here."

The next few hours were spent eating, drinking, and being merry. Despite the exhaustion and stress from his own job, this was probably what Jaehyun really wanted and needed. It was nice and cool in the spring weather. The perfect weather, he must say.

When everyone left, and the evening grew colder, you and Jaehyun waved everyone goodnight, the two of you the only ones left standing at the entrance of the restaurant. You shivered and wrapped your arms around you tightly and frowned, hating the chill.

"Would you like a ride?" Jaehyun kindly asked you. "We live in the same building, after all. No trouble at all."

"You sure?" you asked him, laughing and looking up at him with a smile. Your laugh was filled with pure joy, making him wonder for the millionth time that week why the fuck he was falling for Johnny's soon-to-be wife.

"Yeah, no problem, really," he said. "Come on. The car is this way."

You laughed softly at his words and fell into a comfortable silence, walking by his side in the direction of his car parked a little down the street. He held open the door and locked it once you got situated, putting his seatbelt on and waiting a second before driving off to the direction of the apartment building. The city lights were twinkling in the background.

You looked at his handsome profile in the dark. You saw a gleam of longing, a mix of emotions swirling in his eyes. You noticed his arm resting on the center console between the both of you as the car gently stopped at a red light. The moment felt like it was pulling you together, closer and closer to him.

You didn't know why you did it. Didn't know why you grabbed his hand, placed it on your thigh and drew gentle circles on the skin of his hand.

He wasn't expecting it and glanced in your direction, the words catching in his throat. “Y/N?”

"Yes?" You whispered back to him.

He squeezed the soft skin beneath his hand and watched as you responded with the smallest gasp of air, and then, there was no sound left in the quiet car besides his pounding heartbeat as you pressed his hand closer to the apex of your thighs, wanting more from him.

"Should we be doing this?" he whispered to you, even though he never took his hand away from you and instead cupped his hands harder onto your thigh. "Shouldn't this be Johnny's place?"

"Don't you want this, Jaehyun?" you asked him breathlessly. "Don't you want me?"

"More than anything else." He had almost answered immediately. "But I don't know if I could ever have you."

Jaehyun wanted to pull himself closer to you, draw himself and your mouth in closer, a mishmash of sensual tongues and touches, wanting more of the needy mouth begging for something more. Jaehyun wanted it to happen. More than anything.

"Please, Jaehyun. Touch me please..." your breathless gasp escaped your throat as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Make me feel good. It's okay, trust me."

With the city lights illuminating the space within the car, Jaehyun immediately brought his eyes on you, searching for any trace of fear or panic or discomfort at his advances. Seeing none, instead finding warmth, desperation and want in their place, Jaehyun slid his hand upward towards your throbbing pussy, the dampness through your leggings rubbing against his finger.

"You sure?" he repeated again and groaned deeply at the scent of your arousal filling the car.

"I want you. Want this," you said. "Make me cum on your hand."

As if Jaehyun didn't expect for things to get intense as quickly and as fast as they had, he had reached a point where there would be no turning back. It had always been there, this desire, and craving that was on his mind since you entered his life.

"How badly do you want me to touch you, sweetheart?" Jaehyun asked lightly, pushing a small circle into your aching clit, bringing his mouth closer to yours and placing a lingering kiss. "I'll ask again. Tell me what you want from me."

"Want...fingers," was the best answer he could make out of your gasps and moans, as he pushed the fabric to the side and lightly grazed the wetness pooling at your lips and dripped into his fingers. He had to focus on the road but dammit, Jaehyun can only manage so much, but fuck did he try his hardest to focus.

"Since you asked so nicely..." His finger began rubbing lazy circles on your sensitive, little nub, watching as you clenched and tensed around his one digit. Jaehyun curled his finger upwards, stretching your tight and warm pussy open as you moved and buckled under the pressure. "...Fuck, you're sucking in my fingers so damn well."

The way he touched you was electric. Jaehyun held one hand steady on the wheel, the other driving his fingers in and out of your eager cunt, and with his thumb, he rubbed little, tiny circles in an agonizingly slow pace, causing you to nearly whimper at his touch.

You could not recall anything else beyond that point. Only the touch, his gaze, and the friction brought on by the intense desire built within the past minutes.

You came harder than you expected, coating his fingers and palm, the smell of your sex filling the cabin of his car. It took every ounce of strength to keep the car moving to its destination instead of crashing into a pole.

And by the time he pulled into the parking garage, your core was gaping and sopping with its juices. A sight he couldn't possibly forget.

Removing his fingers from your pussy, you watched as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean. Jaehyun licked them one-by-one, licking his lips before pulling back.

"Thank you," you gasped out, the rush and energy surging through your veins. You cupped his cheeks in your hands and kissed his lips. You climbed out of his car, smoothing down your skirt and fixing the loose hairs from your bun. "Goodnight, Jaehyun."

"Goodnight, Y/N," he repeated quietly as he watched you walk up to the elevator to head back up into the building.

Jaehyun probably lost his mind there and then. And he couldn't wait until the next time that the two of you were together like that once again.

Johnny looked up when he heard the sound of the door opening, and he raised his hand in a greeting wave and stood to embrace you.

"There's my baby," he softly hummed, peppering kisses along your face and neck. He hugged you to his chest, inhaling your familiar scent, and nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

"When did you get here? How was work?" You smiled into his chest, feeling his fingers undoing your bun and running his fingers through your hair. It was a nice feeling, a sensation that you did not want to go away. "I thought you would be at your apartment tonight."

"Nah," he pulled away slightly so his lips hovered over yours. "My bed's not as warm as yours, and my apartment is cold, so..." Johnny dropped a couple of kisses onto the edge of your mouth and whispered. "It's a lot nicer at yours anyway."

"Oh really?" you smirked and cupped his cheeks, leading him to a trail of open mouthed kisses and light moans.

Johnny's hand trailed to cup your ass, pressing you to the length of him, bringing you back to him. His mouth claimed yours hungrily, desperately as though it had been days since the last time the pair of you touched. His fingers found the edge of your panties, already drenched. "Oh? So wet already? What were you doing before this?"

You couldn't lie to Johnny, not when he knows how your mind worked. It's the small things he's picked up throughout the years. The slight quirk of your lips, the twitch of a finger, the slightest flush of color or twitch of an eyelash and Johnny knows. "Jaehyun gave me a ride home after dinner...he had a couple of fingers knuckle deep."

He nodded his head and licked his lips. "Did he make you cum?"

"Yeah," you choked, eyes widened, feeling his fingers toyed with you, two fingers pushing into you, pumping in and out at a languid pace, torturing the bundle of nerves.

"Did you like it? The way his fingers thrust into your tight and dripping cunt? Did you like cumming all over his thick, long fingers?" Johnny asked you in a whisper, brushing his lips onto your jaw and neckline. "Did you do anything else? Fuck, kitten, you're still so wet."

"No, Johnny," you cried out and trembled and whimpered, as his fingers grazed over that spot inside you. "Just...only fingers."

"Good baby," he softly crooned. "You can have his cock later but first..."

He didn't have to finish that sentence. You were ready. More than ready for anything and anything from him.

Jaehyun sat in the coffee shop with his friends and fellow coworkers, Doyoung and Jungwoo. They were all working on their laptops, but Jaehyun couldn't focus. He kept thinking about you. He’d had feelings for you for a while now, but he didn't know what to do about it.

"Hey, Jaehyun," Doyoung said. "Are you okay?"

Jaehyun looked up from his laptop. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Just a little distracted."

"What's up?" Jungwoo asked.

Jaehyun hesitated. He didn't want to tell his friends how he felt about you, but he knew he needed to talk to someone. "I'm having feelings for Y/N," he said. “Well…I don’t know if I would really call them feelings. I like her, and I just want to explore these emotions with her.”

Doyoung and Jungwoo looked at each other.

"Shit," Doyoung started, his eyes wide. "The boss?"

"That’s…" Jungwoo muttered. "Hyung, you must have a death wish."

Jaehyun sighed. "Yeah," he said. "I know it's kind of weird, but I can't help it."

"It's not weird," Doyoung said, letting out a sigh. "It's perfectly normal to have feelings for Y/N. I mean, we’ve all seen her. The woman is fine as fuck."

"Yeah," Jungwoo said. "Who doesn’t agree with that?"

"Come on, guys," Jaehyun muttered. "I just can’t have these feelings for her when she’s engaged to Johnny."

Jaehyun hadn’t ever gotten this involved with someone he worked with. He always kept his personal life separate from work, but you changed everything he ever knew about love and his whole outlook on the relationship dynamics in his life. He’d never even had any feelings for the few people that he had slept with, but now he wanted to hold you in his arms. He wanted more of that fire and passion that you had within yourself. Jaehyun was addicted and craving more of that passion and want. He wanted to have a relationship and possibly a future with you.

He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to make love to you and hear his name drip from those delicious lips. Jaehyun knew all these feelings and desires weren’t a good thing. He was afraid that he would have to pretend to hide his affection for you in the office because he was your employee, and he didn't want anything to happen at his job. Even though he was aware he might get fired for expressing his desire for you, he would love to take those chances with you, if you would ever take him.

But then there was the reality. The reality of the situation and where you were with Johnny. He had no business trying to get in the middle of your relationship.

"Even so, what are you gonna do about it?" Jungwoo asked, sliding back in his chair as he slurped the last bit of his coffee through a straw. "Just ignore those feelings, hyung? That's not gonna work forever."

"I'll figure it out," Jaehyun sighed heavily. "It'll go away. It has to go away. Eventually, it will go away, and things can return to normal."

"Keep thinking positive," Doyoung snorted, sipping the rest of the warm, frothy beverage he had before tossing it into the nearby trash bin. "You never know what might happen."

"Look," Jungwoo added in, "there's nothing wrong with liking the boss. You just have to make sure you do something with those feelings or they could end up boiling to the surface. Take advantage of whatever chance you can get, man. Before she gets married or anything. Okay?"

Jaehyun took a deep breath. "Thanks, guys," he said. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," Doyoung said. "You know that we're always here for you."

"Definitely," Jungwoo nodded.

Jaehyun smiled back. "Thanks," he said. "And let’s keep this all a secret from everyone in the office. Only Mark knows."

He took another deep breath and opened his laptop. He knew he had a lot of work to do, but he felt a little bit better knowing that he had his friends to support him. After an hour or so, the three of them decide to head back to the office building.

Jaehyun was heading to his office when he was stopped by his co-worker, Yeri. Yeri was a very pretty girl, and most of the male colleagues would have loved to date her. They would definitely put a lot of effort and attention towards her if it meant a chance with the young, hardworking woman.

"Jaehyun," Yeri said, "I need to talk to you."

"What is it?" he asked, turning to face her.

"I've been trying to call you," she said, playing with the hem of her blouse, "but you haven't been returning my calls."

"I'm sorry," he said, hands in his pockets, "I've been busy."

"I know," she frowned, "but I need to talk to you about something important."

"What is it?" he asked again, looking at her face.

"I like you," she said after a brief silence.

Jaehyun was taken aback. He had never thought of Yeri in that way. He didn't even know if he had any type of interest in her. "Yeri..." he began, but she interrupted him.

"Jaehyun, please give us a shot," Yeri urged, looking deep into his eyes and she couldn't stop the words from pouring out, "I really like you, and I think we could be good together."

"I'm flattered," Jaehyun muttered, "but I'm not interested."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice coming to a slight whine. Was she going to become an emotional mess?

"I'm sorry, Yeri," Jaehyun was saying. "I'm just not interested in you that way."

Yeri looked heartbroken. "But I thought we had a connection," she said.

"We do," he said, "but not the kind of connection you're thinking of."

"I don't understand," she said. “You flirted with me, and I flirted back. I thought that meant something."

"I flirt with everyone, be it men or women. I like you as a friend," he said, "but I'm not interested in anything more than that."

Yeri looked like she was about to cry. "I see," she said. "Is it because you like someone else?"

Jaehyun nodded his head. She let out a small whine before turning and walking away. Jaehyun felt bad for hurting her feelings, but he knew he had to be honest with her. He wasn't interested in her in that way, and he didn't want to lead her on.

He continued on to his office, hoping that Yeri would be able to move on.

Jaehyun sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen in front of him. He should’ve been working on the report that was due the next day, but he couldn’t seem to focus. Ever since you and Johnny announced your engagement, Jaehyun had been trying to drown out his emotions, but lately, he'd been feeling like he couldn’t ignore his feelings anymore. He'd been dreaming about you at night, and he couldn’t stop thinking about you during the day. He knew that he should’ve just forgotten about you and focused on his work, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on his work, but it was no use. He couldn’t concentrate. He knew that he needed to do something, but he wasn’t sure what. He could’ve just told you how he felt, but he was afraid of rejection. He could try to forget about you, but he knew that it would be impossible.

He was stuck in a dilemma, and he didn’t know what to do.

Why was it so hard to stop thinking about you?

There was a knock at his office door. Jaehyun briefly looked up to see Johnny coming into his office. Johnny lifted a hand in greeting before pulling a chair to sit on the other side of his desk. "Hey."

Jaehyun looked up. "Johnny. What's up?"

"I just wanted to talk to you about something," Johnny said. "It's important."

"Okay," Jaehyun said, his heart starting to race.

"I know you like Y/N," Johnny said, a small smile on his lips.

"What?" Jaehyun felt like his whole body had been doused with ice water.

"You heard me," Johnny said. "And before you get all panicky, it's fine. I don't care. Well, not really. I'm not gonna fire you, if that's what you're worried about."

"How did you know?" Jaehyun croaked out, swallowing hard.

"I've seen the way you look at her," Johnny said as he let out an amused chuckle.

Jaehyun didn't know what to say. He was speechless.

"I'm not going to lie," Johnny said. "I'm a little jealous. But I also know that you two would be good together."

"Wait. What?" Jaehyun looked at Johnny in shock. "You want me to go after Y/N?"

"Yeah," Johnny said. "And not as a one-night-stand."

"I..." Jaehyun started, but then trailed off.

"Look, I know this sounds crazy, but just think about it," Johnny said. "Y/N deserves someone who will love her and take care of her. And you clearly have feelings for her. So why not take the leap and make it happen?"

"I don't know," Jaehyun responded, completely lost for words. "Y/N is your fiancee, though."

"Of course she’s my fiancee," Johnny said, running a hand through his hair. "Don’t get me wrong, I love her. But if she wants to see and sleep with other men, who am I to stop her? As long as she’s happy, then I’m happy."

Jaehyun was stunned. He had no idea that Johnny and Y/N’s relationship was so...unconventional. He knew that Johnny definitely had feelings for you. Jaehyun caught him looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. So Jaehyun didn't understand why Johnny was okay with sharing you.

But the idea of being able to have sex with you, maybe even a relationship with you, was tempting. It was so tempting that Jaehyun couldn't help but imagine you underneath him, moaning his name while he fucked you. He was getting aroused just thinking about it.

"You really want to share your fiancee with another man? With me?" he questioned him, swallowing nervously.

Johnny nodded his head. "Like I said, I love her. I want her to be happy. If letting her sleep around and have other boyfriends makes her happy, then I'm all for it," he said, leaning forward in his seat. "Besides, I can't say I'm not curious about how you would be as a boyfriend to her."

Jaehyun shifted, the swelling under his pants starting to hurt him. Johnny caught a brief glimpse of him trying to discreetly hide the growing bulge.

"So, what do you say?" Johnny asked. "Do you want to go out with her?"

Jaehyun sat for a while. It all seemed too good to be true. Here was Johnny, practically giving him permission to fuck his fiancee. It all felt like a dream come true. But a small part of Jaehyun was skeptical. Was there more to it than Johnny was letting on? Or was Jaehyun overthinking the situation?

But his mind had wandered somewhere else, and it made Johnny laugh aloud.

"Looks like you do want to fuck her," Johnny chuckled lightly at him, noticing the size of Jaehyun's member starting to swell in his slacks. "Who am I to deny your pleasure?"

"Ugh, shut up," Jaehyun groaned, shifting his body uncomfortably. He was glad that his office door was closed because he didn't want anybody seeing his erection. "But...okay, I'll...think about it."

"Great," Johnny nodded his head in satisfaction and stood up, clapping his friend on the back. "Take care."

Jaehyun breathed slowly, thinking about what Johnny just told him.

There was a part of him that knew that Johnny could be playing him. But there was also a part of him that thought that he might actually have a chance with you. It was a risk worth taking. Jaehyun was eager enough and couldn't hold himself back. Even with a throbbing boner and in the middle of working, you filled his thoughts, even more than before.

"You want me to do what?" You blurted out, looking at him from your office couch.

"Date Jaehyun," Johnny grinned.

You were surprised when Johnny told you to date Jaehyun. You weren't exactly expecting to hear it, but you had to admit you were curious. You and Johnny had talked about opening up your relationship, and you thought he might have been interested in seeing someone else, but you never expected him to suggest Jaehyun. You weren't sure how you felt about the prospect of dating Jaehyun. You definitely found him attractive, and you couldn't help but admire how sweet and kind he was to you. But the idea of pursuing an actual relationship with him was still somewhat overwhelming. You loved Johnny, and the thought of being with anyone other than him, made you slightly nervous. However, a bigger part of you was incredibly excited by the prospect of having a boyfriend other than Johnny. You could only imagine how good the sex would be between the three of you, but you tried to put those thoughts out of your head for the time being.

You chewed your bottom lip and hesitated.

"I can see that look, babe," Johnny mused, licking his lips. He rubbed the outside of your thigh, trailing his hands along the hem of your skirt, slipping his hand underneath and sliding his hand upwards. You inhale a soft gasp of air, clutching his arm. He watched your expression and gave you a smirk, dragging his pointer finger against your already sensitive bud and folds through the damp cloth of your panties. "Just say it. You want this too. Don't you?"

"Mmmhmm," you moaned and nodded, leaning closer into his side.

"Thought so. Is your pretty brain thinking about Jaehyun fucking you?" He asked in a seductive tone, a light purr in your ear as you whimpered when his fingers ghosted across your panties once more, circling over your clit with one digit. He moved the pads of his two fingers along your clit.

"Fuck," you cursed lowly, nearly giving a moan.

Johnny continued to tease you, applying more pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You moaned out loudly, unable to stop yourself as you moved your hips slightly to match his ministrations, rutting yourself against him as he continued to tease and torment your already leaking clit. A thin string of liquid formed along the cloth of your panties, wetness clinging to the pads of his digits. His actions caused you to squirm in your seat, his gaze darkened with lust as he watched your reaction, mouth open slightly at the sensation. You shivered, hot breath escaping your throat. Your fingers dug deeper into the sofa, nails breaking the fabric.

"Such a good little kitten," Johnny's deep and smooth voice trickled like a smooth glass of red wine sliding down your throat and ignited that warmth in the pit of your belly. It traveled downward, mixing with the intense sensation, amplifying everything, spreading from within and filling you. His voice sent another wave of pleasure through you, your body involuntarily writhing from under him.

"God, that's so sexy," he murmured, bringing his fingers up to his lips, tongue licking them before tasting you. The wet, squelching sound coming from his mouth was making your face flush.

You pouted, unable to help it. "Not fair..." you whined.

Johnny smiled devilishly. "Go find Jaehyun. When I left his office, he popped a boner in his pants." He sucked his fingers clean from your wetness, humming. "Go and get it, baby."

You hesitated at first, still unsure if you were really okay with the idea. After a few moments, you nodded, and Johnny took hold of your wrist gently and led you over to his office. The building was nearly deserted since everyone had gone home for the day except you, Johnny and Jaehyun. So there wasn't anyone who would see you make your way to Jaehyun's office. Once you and Johnny got to the door of his office, Johnny looked at you and leaned down.

"Have fun," he whispered in your ear, placing a quick kiss on your forehead before turning and leaving to wait in his office, giving you and Jaehyun some space.

You stood outside of the door, butterflies swarming inside of your stomach, nerves getting the best of you. You let out a shaky breath before lifting your fist, knuckles rapping a steady knock. Jaehyun called from inside for whoever was there to come in, and you let yourself into his office, closing the door softly behind you.

You swallowed thickly, taking in Jaehyun. He was sitting at his desk, his hair a little mussed, and his cheeks had a dusting of pink on them. When he looked up at you, his eyes darkened slightly, and the breath caught in his throat.

"Y/N," he started, his voice thick, "what are you doing here?"

"Johnny asked me to come here," you started, voice wavering slightly.

He noticed your voice, raising an eyebrow in slight concern, but not saying anything as you took another step forward towards him.

"Well, more accurately..." you bit your lip, noticing the swell in his slacks. You walked up to him, before dropping to your knees, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"Y/N, what are you..." he cut himself off as you settled between his legs.

He was at his full hardness. There wasn't any room for anything else to grow down there. You ran a hand on the back of your head, sweeping your hair over your right shoulder before leaning in, tentatively taking the zipper of his slacks in hand.

He didn't protest, simply watched you in silent awe as you slowly unzipped his fly, hissing at the release of the pressure. His boxers were strained, the elastic pulled tight, creating a nice outline of the appendage underneath. You reached in and grabbed his hard dick through his boxers, slowly pulling them away from his waist, exposing the throbbing, angry member to the cool air.

His erection was red and veiny, standing straight, ready for attention, almost pulsating. The head was angry, almost purple with want. It had a slight curve upward, and you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel. How thick it was. It would definitely stretch you out, that was for sure. You began to move your hand up and down the length of him, gripping tighter as he gave you a quiet groan. You picked up the speed slightly, his length beginning to drip with a clear liquid that was slightly sticky, your hand coating the slick substance, using it as lubricant to ease the movement along his shaft.

"Jaehyun," you called out to him, his cock throbbing, feeling harder and heavier now as his hips began to rut against you, jerking and stuttering, not able to control the movement. He gave a grunt, and you could tell that he was trying to stay quiet, despite the sensations that were running throughout his body, not wanting to alert anyone of the activities that were going on behind his closed office door.

"Jaehyun," you repeated.

He opened his eyes to look down at you, his eyebrows knitting together as he gazed down into your eyes, almost pained that he wasn't the one to touch you, to be the one to make you fall apart.

"Let me please you, Jaehyun," you asked, voice coming out breathless, a slight rasp to the last word. "Wouldn't you like me to suck your cock until you're satisfied?"

"Fuck," he grunted.

He watched your hand grip the base of his cock as you lowered your lips onto it. A shudder ran through him as you let your tongue circle the head, slightly flicking it around the top and collecting the precum that was there, swirling it in a mix of spit, forming a perfect lubricated layer to smear around his head. Your grip tightened a little as you sucked the tip and began to move your head downward, trying to relax your throat. You allowed him to hit the back of your throat, gag reflex causing you to tighten slightly, sending a delicious thrill of pleasure up and through Jaehyun's member before you slid back up to the tip, letting your teeth lightly scratch his skin.

"God, don't bite," he gasped, not able to stop himself from moaning, "not there."

"Sorry," you giggled and teased before lowering down onto him once more, tongue slightly pushing against the veins that wrapped around the thickness. They were quite prominent, and you had no doubt that your throat would be thoroughly used by the time you were done.

"Fuuckkkk!" He let out a moan.

You didn't need a mirror to know that you looked obscene, Jaehyun’s cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly, strings of your own saliva slipping out of your mouth, a light film coating his cock every time you pulled back. His member had a visible pulse, twitching against your hand as he would press his hips upward. He tried his best to let you set the pace, but he was close. His hands tangled themselves into your locks, pulling you forward, impaling your mouth down as far as possible as he pressed his hips upward roughly.

Tears filled your eyes as you choked, noises escaping your nose and throat, not being able to breathe as his cock hit your uvula, gagging you as you struggled to pull away. But he held onto you firmly, fingers intertwined into your hair, as he continued to rut against you.

"Ah. God. Fuck. Just a little bit more, princess," he moaned, hips still jerking uncontrollably as you remained trapped underneath his hands.

He finally gave a low groan, the vibration vibrating against his erection, pushing him to climax, and he shot warm ribbons of cum down the back of your throat and onto your tongue, swallowing the semen as he pulled out with a loud pop.

As you looked up at him, eyes half-lidded and a bit of a smile on your swollen and bruised lips, your cheeks a nice shade of pink, a dribble of cum falling down the corner of your mouth, you saw the satisfaction evident on his face. He looked as though he couldn't believe what just happened.

He was looking at you, not with disgust, but amazement. Like you were the most stunning piece of art he had ever seen. His cock twitched, the feeling of being milked starting to stir it up again, as you noticed his member was already starting to harden back up.

"Oh?" You breathed out, biting your lip. Back on your feet, you decided to give Jaehyun a bit of a show, unbuttoning your blouse, pulling it open and revealing a lacy black bra underneath. "You're already hard again, hm?"

Your hands traveled downwards, finding their way to the button of your skirt. You released the closure and let your skirt fall to the floor, giving him a teasing display of your panties that matched the bra.

"Fuck," he ground out, and then you were in his lap, facing him. "You drive me crazy."

"Do you want me?" you asked.

His dark eyes clouded with desire and want, looking you up and down hungrily and possessively as if he was a starving man who'd just been served his most desired meal. "Yes," he rasped out. "Fuck, yes. I want you."

You nosed at him playfully, fingers curled around the hem of his white shirt, tugging it up and over his head and dropping the material unceremoniously beside him before turning your gaze on him again, your grin mischievous.

"Kiss me, Jaehyun." It was an order, but you had spoken with such sweetness, making him grow hard.

Jaehyun brushed a lock of your hair away from your face, then placed his large hands on either side of your neck. Slowly, he inched his face towards yours, stopping when there was but a millimeter of space between your lips. He waited there, anticipation building between you. He let his eyes roam over your features, taking in every detail, letting you take in every detail of his own.

There were no sounds other than the ragged breathing.

"Why me?" He questioned. "What is it that made you pick me? You have Johnny. Isn't it enough?" His lips were centimeters from yours. The tension between you was thick, electric. He could sense something like fear radiating from you, causing him to pull back. "Answer me," he demanded, but his tone was gentle.

"Because there's something about you Jaehyun," you replied, eyes finally opening. "Since that day you kissed me, I can't seem to forget the feeling," you whispered. Your words hung between you, his mouth mere inches above yours, lips still not touching. "I know I should be satisfied with just Johnny, but I have this strange need, this aching curiosity, that makes me want you so badly."

“And Johnny?” Jaehyun muttered. “What will he do if he knows about this?”

“Johnny doesn’t mind,” you answered. “Trust me.”

"There's no going back for the three of us, you know," Jaehyun replied hoarsely.

"Are you okay with it, Jaehyun?" You asked. "Okay sharing me with Johnny?"

"Are you okay with having the both of us?" He countered.

"Yes," you nodded, watching his face, gauging his reactions and trying to read what thoughts coursing through him. His heart hammered in his chest, and a heat burned deep inside him, threatening to consume him, as he processed the fact that the woman he wanted - the woman he had dreamt about and fantasized about and coveted - actually wanted him as well. “I like you, Jaehyun. I really, really like you.”

Jaehyun tilted your chin, holding you so you were looking directly into his eyes, his pupils dilated with lust. He cupped your face and claimed your lips in a long, fierce kiss, tongue begging entrance. You whimpered against his mouth and opened wider for him, gasping at the rush of pleasure that coursed through you. You needed to feel closer. His hands roamed down your shoulders and back, gliding over every inch of skin. As he trailed them up under the cups of your bra, teasing and circling the sensitive mounds, you moaned softly in his mouth. Your hips arched instinctively, desperately seeking friction against the erection beneath his pants. He moved his hips, creating friction between you, and you ground yourself harder into him. The sound you made in your throat had the effect of an electric current running through Jaehyun, fueling his passion, and his kisses grew fiercer.

When you eventually broke away from him to catch your breath, he lowered his head and pressed light kisses along your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, and goosebumps rose in response to the feeling of his soft lips on your flesh. He had one hand on your hip, the other behind your head, keeping you steady as he sucked your collarbone. He bit gently on the skin, making you inhale sharply. Your breasts pressed against his broad chest, making him ache and throb inside. His hand traveled from your hip around to your front, toying with the lacy material between your thighs.

"Fuck, you're soaked, princess. Is this because of me?" He asked gruffly, causing you to whimper. You bucked your hips, trying to rub your aching core into him.

He dipped two fingers under the fabric, teasing and running them along the wet slit. The tip of a digit brushed over your sensitive clit, eliciting another groan. Jaehyun groaned as he inserted one finger and swirled it inside you, teasing and taunting you. You gripped him, crying out at the invasion of the single digit inside you. He added a second, stretching you to the limits, and you rocked your hips up, burying his fingers even deeper in your velvety folds.

"Fuck. So damn wet," he cursed. "Your juices are dripping out." He thrust his fingers into your hot passage faster, watching your reaction. He reached back up with his free hand, pulling your bra down over your tits, the cold air against your hardened buds, pebbling them. He thumbed them, sending shivers of delight throughout your body. Your spine arched, bringing your sensitive nipples into contact with his calloused thumb.

"Ah, ah...yes..." you moaned.

As soon as he removed his fingers, you were pulling off his belt buckle, freeing his throbbing erection from its fabric prison. When it fell to the ground, the two of you shared a brief moment to look at each other.

"Bend over the desk." His voice was soft, though rough, and you were sure the fire in your loins had somehow transferred itself into the smoldering depths of his dark pupils.

You eagerly complied with the order, placing your palms flat on his smooth oak wood desk and jutting your ass out towards him, causing him to let out a soft chuckle. The anticipation was almost more than you could handle. You felt him guide your legs further apart and run his length between your sopping pussy folds, spreading the moisture as he teased your cunt with his leaking cock. He bent over, leaning on his forearms, pressing against the small of your back, his cock dragging your slit, flicking your clit ever-so slightly and sending shocks of pleasure through your spine. His fingers slowly worked their way underneath you, teasing your nipple and breast while his lips sucked on the crook of your neck. His tip positioned itself against your entrance.

"Y/N," he moaned in a muffled, lustful groan, right next to your ear, "I can't hold back any longer."

He entered you agonizingly slowly, feeling the slow stretching of your cunt walls stretching out as his member passed.

"Fuck, Y/N. So good and wet," he breathed heavily.

It was only when his head brushed your cervix did you release the moan you'd been holding back and relax your tense muscles. He wasn't as big as Johnny, but he still managed to stretch and fill you, and you gripped the sides of the desk until the knuckles were white. It took some adjusting until you got used to his size before Jaehyun slid almost completely out, leaving just the tip buried within you, only to sink back, making your whole body quiver. You gasped and tried to stop your vision from spinning.

He groaned with each thrust, and you gasped again, moaning loudly as your walls started tightening. Soon enough, Jaehyun was slamming into you. One of his hands came up to knead your breast as you continued to brace yourself against the desk. He fucked you so deeply that you feared your legs would fail you. You had no idea that your moans would get louder and louder until they echoed all around you, bouncing off the walls, interspersed with his grunts of effort and exertion. You couldn't contain yourself as his cock slammed into your g-spot with every thrust.

He picked up speed, moaning as he began fucking you wildly, the smack of skin hitting skin filling the office. Your pleasure was overwhelming. He growled when you screamed out your orgasm and arched into him, crying out in ecstasy.

"Fuck," you choked out through the sensations.

"Tell me that I'm making you feel good, princess," Jaehyun murmured.

You whimpered. You had no control left over; everything had been taken by him. With every thrust, the way his balls slapped against your swollen clit had you in a trance. Every thought that had crossed your mind before disappeared. Only you and Jaehyun remained. You felt like your life depended on you reaching this level of ecstasy. And that, somehow, was terrifyingly arousing to you.

"Tell me how good this feels for you, sweetheart." His voice had a sensual quality that seemed to stir something deep inside you.

"Good, so good..." you trailed off when you felt your pleasure increase, if that was even possible. "Please, Jae, please keep doing that." Your words spilled from your lips in a whimpered prayer to him as he leaned his chest against your back.

"Look at you," he breathed heavily into your ear. "Taking me so well... My cock fits perfectly inside of your tight little hole."

The pleasure was coming faster and faster, waves of ecstasy drowning every sense except hearing, every muscle tense. Every cell of yours craved, hungered, and ached for him to never stop, to never stop pleasuring you in that way, to never stop talking dirty in that tone.

"Gosh, you feel so tight around me," he gritted through his teeth. And then, after what seemed like a lifetime, his thrusts became erratic, uneven, losing rhythm. "Fuck princess, I-I think..."

"Cum in me, please, please," you begged, body trembling at the edge of the cliff, just waiting for Jaehyun to bring you over it. He leaned forward, fingers digging into your skin.

The way he groaned his climax made your orgasm surge, ripping through your body as your muscles quivered violently. You felt his warmth spread inside of you as you tightened around him, his seed seeping out as his hips continue to roll forward into your own. He let out a drawn-out breath, your eyes shutting closed as he pumped his warm seed deep inside your tight hole.

"Good girl," Jaehyun smirked, leaning close to your ear and pressing soft kisses on your shoulders.

He helped you straighten up and turn around. When you were facing him, he pressed his forehead against yours and smiled lovingly, cupping your cheeks and brushing away strands of your hair that had fallen into his face. He cupped the nape of your neck, his thumb tenderly massaging circles. It was a small movement, but somehow, it spoke a thousand words to your exhausted mind.

"Beautiful," Jaehyun breathed before brushing his lips over yours. They felt firm and plush against your mouth, and your breath hitched in your throat, his closeness leaving you breathless.

The two of you stood there for several minutes, breathing each other in, neither one willing to break the embrace. The steady rise and fall of Jaehyun's chest was comforting, as was the steady beating of his heart, which you could clearly hear from that close. You didn’t want to move. Not yet. Eventually, however, Jaehyun realized that standing naked in the middle of his office might not be a very productive use of his time, separated himself from you, and started searching for the articles of clothing that had been stripped from his body earlier.

A smile tugging at the corner of your lips, you watched him work his way back into his clothes, putting each item on, one by one, until he had completely redressed. He smiled at you the whole time, an adoring expression upon his face. Once done, he turned back around and faced you, one eyebrow raised as he cocked his head at your immobilized form, a smirk appearing upon his face.

"Well," he started, amusement coloring his tone. "Aren't you gonna start getting dressed, too, princess?"

"Oh," you stated, a sudden rush of embarrassment flowing through you. You nodded before scrambling for your discarded clothing. You quickly pull on your underwear and skirt before picking up your blouse. As you were buttoning up your top, you turned towards Jaehyun, still smiling fondly.

"Hey," he smiled back. "Come over here, will ya?"

You looked into his eyes once again and walked closer. He put his hands on the back of your waist and pressed a soft kiss against your lips. Then, he pulled away a bit and looked deeply in your eyes, whispering, "I'm looking forward to seeing where this leads us."

"Took you two long enough," you heard Johnny comment as you and Jaehyun left his office. He glanced toward the both of you, eyeing the blush that was spreading across the younger man's cheeks.

"It took a bit longer than expected, unfortunately," you offered, leaning back into Johnny, arms sliding around his waist. "And I'm famished now."

"Let's go get dinner," Johnny suggested. "Jaehyun, are you joining us? Or have you already got plans tonight?"

"Nah, I'll join," Jaehyun nodded. "There's something the three of us need to talk about after all, so let's do this."

"Then what are we waiting for?" You questioned with an arched eyebrow. "I want to eat."

With that, the three of you left the building together and headed down to a local steakhouse that was owned by a friend of Johnny's. It was always quiet there, and the atmosphere was calm, allowing for good conversation. Johnny liked it there, and you thought the food was okay, so you didn't mind. The meal was quick but pleasant; the conversation light and fun, with Johnny and Jaehyun having a good time chatting together and occasionally including you.

"So," Jaehyun cleared his throat awkwardly when you were finishing up your dinner. "Now what?"

"What do you mean, 'now what?'" Johnny asked curiously.

"I think he means the future for the three of us," you interrupted softly.

"Yeah," Jaehyun replied slowly. "Yeah, that's exactly what I meant. At the end of the day, she's your fiancee, Johnny."

Johnny went silent for a moment and stared intently at his wine glass. "Like I said, I don't mind sharing her with you," he repeated himself after a bit, swirling his wine thoughtfully.

"I don't know," Jaehyun admitted sadly. "It's just that, it's a lot to get my head around."

"I get that," Johnny nodded, shooting his younger employee a reassuring glance, "but just know, I really am okay with it." He turned his gaze to you, fixing you with a piercing stare that caused your cheeks to heat. "Don't you want this, kitten? Don't you want Jaehyun too?"

You swallowed hard and looked down, then back up, meeting his stare with a determination to speak your truth. "Yes," you confessed with a strong voice, nodding once. "Yes, Johnny, I want you, and I want Jaehyun."

Johnny's lip curled upwards into a smirk. "See? She wants you, she doesn't want to be with just me," he said confidently. "Jaehyun," his eyes narrowed, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, "can't you see she wants both of us equally?"

The younger man ran a hand nervously over his face. "Fuck, okay," he conceded, breathing out an exasperated laugh. "This is really happening? She gets to have two guys? Really?"

"Of course," the oldest assured. "Don't tell me that you didn't enjoy what you got from her, hm?" Johnny reached across and placed his hand on top of your own, fingers curling around your knuckles. "Think of it this way. Y/N gets all the love and devotion we have to offer while you and I build a strong friendship," he pointed out.

Jaehyun arched a skeptical eyebrow, but then, as you watched, a slow smile spread across his face. It seemed as if Johnny had gotten through to him, because Jaehyun sat back in his chair, a relieved expression written plainly across his features.

"Okay," Jaehyun responded after a minute. "Okay." He drained his wine in a single gulp and shrugged, then shrugged again before finally nodding. "Why not, right? It can work," he added after a beat. "We can make it work."

"Great," Johnny stated happily. "Well, then," he addressed the waiter. "I think we're all ready for the bill."

It was near midnight when the three of you arrived at your apartment. Jaehyun wanted to part with you there, since his apartment was next door, but he hesitated at the door, glancing toward Johnny.

"Why don't you join us, Jaehyun? Come stay at my apartment tonight," You reached for his arm, pulling him closer. You tugged on his lapel, eyes focused on his tie pin and his shoulder and pecs.

"Kitten, really now," Johnny's chuckle resounded beside you. "You just fucked earlier and you're still not satisfied?"

You shook your head. "Of course not, why else would I ask him to join us?"

Johnny scoffed with a chuckle, nudging Jaehyun on the arm playfully before they both entered your place, closing and locking the door behind them. You watched Johnny remove his dress shirt and belt as he headed toward your bedroom, the fabric and leather discarded haphazardly along the way. You caught a glimpse of his half-naked torso and the ridges of his abs before he disappeared from view. Jaehyun stood rooted on the spot, mouth parted slightly.

You grabbed his hand and began to guide him towards your room, not wanting to wait any longer than necessary. Jaehyun looked momentarily dazed as he was being pulled along, and he barely made a noise before you shut the door firmly behind you and pushed him onto the bed. He sat, uncharacteristically obedient, staring at you as if you were something untouchable as you stood before him, hovering just out of his reach.

Johnny was seated at your desk chair, shirt off and shoes already discarded, legs spread wide open and arms leaning back behind him casually while his pants were undone. A prominent bulge poked through. "Why don't you take care of Jaehyun, kitten? I want to watch how he fucks you," he mused, cocking his head toward the younger one, an almost imperceptible smirk appearing on his lips.

"Yes, Johnny," you obliged with an eager smile. "Jae," you said slowly, almost whispering, running a finger down his jaw. He inhaled sharply. His body is stiff beneath your touch. "Take these off." You gestured at his suit and watched as Jaehyun began removing the items of clothing slowly until he was lying only in his boxer shorts, exposing all the dips and lines in his abs.

Johnny let out a low, pleased hum. "Jaehyun, why don't you sit further up on the bed, your back against the headboard?"

Jaehyun wordlessly obeyed without a second thought, sitting up against the pillows, waiting patiently.

"Now, kitten, strip and go ride him," Johnny commanded.

Without missing a beat, you unbuttoned your blouse and cast it aside. Next, you removed your panties and your skirt. With bated breath, both men observed how you crawled towards Jaehyun, gently straddling his legs before stopping right in front of his covered dick, causing him to let out a low moan.

"Good," Johnny breathed, his hand slowly cupping his erection, eyes never leaving your form. He leaned back further in his chair, tugging down on his pants. "Kitten, keep going," he encouraged you. "Make him feel good."

Jaehyun groaned at the sudden lack of friction between his legs. You placed two hands on either side of his waist, leaning forward, capturing his lower lip between your teeth before sliding down the waistband of his boxers. Jaehyun squirmed, unable to hold back the noise in his throat as you lifted yourself back up, resuming your straddling of his bare, thick cock. You placed one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself and then slowly lowered yourself onto him.

Jaehyun sucked in a sharp breath as he felt himself stretching inside you, filling you. Once you were fully seated on him, he groaned loudly, leaning forward to kiss you passionately. Your breath hitched at the fullness of him. He started rocking his hips, slow thrusts sending shivers down your spine as he kissed you feverishly. The ache that had been growing in your core suddenly intensified.

"Just like that," Johnny remarked from the side, hand stroking his hard shaft leisurely.

As the pace picked up, and as Johnny kept making more encouraging comments, Jaehyun found a rhythm between his hips and your own, riding against yours. "Look at you, riding me so nicely," Jaehyun breathed huskily against your lips. You let a moan escape, giving into the pleasure.

"Fuck," you managed to whimper. His hands drifted toward your breasts, kneading the tender flesh and nipples in his palms as he thrust faster, groaning as you tightened around him.

"God, you feel good," he murmured. "Your pussy feels incredible wrapped so tightly around my cock." He lowered his head and kissed you fiercely, and you reciprocated immediately, tongues exploring each other's mouths. He continued kissing you furiously as he held you close to him.

Jaehyun then decided to switch your position so that you were facing Johnny's direction. Johnny's hand gripped his cock tightly at the base. He continued watching you riding Jaehyun while pumping his length, eyes fixed upon the bouncing of your breasts.

"Shit, kitten," Johnny cursed under his breath, grunting quietly as he stroked himself to the sight of you and Jaehyun in the throes of ecstasy. "Seeing you riding his cock so beautifully makes me wanna fuck your face, you know. Would you like to suck on my cock, kitten?"

"Mmm, yes, Johnny," you moaned. "Please, let me suck your cock."

He rose from his spot, kicked off his trousers and boxers altogether in one move, and approached the bed. He placed himself near your head, inches away from where Jaehyun and you were connected. "Go on, kitten. Open wide and put that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock." He commanded, presenting you with his hardened cock.

You leaned forward slightly, bringing your mouth closer to Johnny's awaiting member. You didn't hesitate, reaching out and wrapping one hand around his base, feeling the warmth of his cock against your palm and opening wider as you ran the flat of your tongue along his sensitive vein. Johnny sucked in a ragged breath before taking hold of your head, holding your head in place. His thumb caressed your cheek briefly, and then you wrapped your lips around his swollen cockhead, tasting pre-cum leaking from his slit. His thumb grazed your lips and chin, brushing the remnants of his release away as it mixed with your saliva. You worked your way up and down his length as much as you could in your position. The moans escaping Johnny's mouth spurred you to suck harder and faster, driving Jaehyun crazy behind you.

"Fuck, you're sucking me so well, kitten," Johnny praised, throwing his head backwards in pleasure. He looked down at Jaehyun's thrusts below you. "How's she feel, Jae?"

Jaehyun peered upwards, managing to mumble something along the lines of "fucking fantastic." You clenched around his shaft as he rocked steadily into you, bringing you dangerously close.

"Does this feel amazing, kitten?" Johnny asked, a tinge of amusement to his tone. "Feeling that dick drive deep inside your wet pussy?"

"Yes Johnny, ohhh," you managed, rocking forward onto Jaehyun's shaft again. "Feels soooo good."

"Mmmmm, that's what I like to hear," he purred. "Kitten, are you gonna come for us?"

Your words were trapped in your throat. Everywhere Jaehyun's hands touched felt hotter, and every thrust pushed you a bit more towards the precipice of oblivion. With Johnny's encouragement, your hips started rolling faster. Jaehyun grasped onto your sides and slowed his movements. You let out a desperate, frustrated moan around Johnny's thick cock.

"Fuck, kitten," Johnny grunted through gritted teeth, hips jerking up into the motion you've started. "Swallow my cum." His release tasted salty against your tongue as his warmth spurted deep into the back of your throat and trickled down, pooling onto your tongue and gathering at your bottom lip. You swallowed several times, taking everything he gave you, enjoying the taste and feel of his essence flooding into your belly and then savoring the lingering bitter flavor lingering in your mouth and nose. Johnny slid his cock from between your lips and knelt to capture your mouth with his. He gripped the back of your neck roughly while devouring every inch of your lips. "Mmmm, such a good little slut for daddy," he mumbled, sending waves of tingles straight to your aching cunt.

"Holy shit," Jaehyun panted, rolling his hips a few more times before he slumped forward against your body, burying his face against your back. "Fuck, you feel too good."

"Yeah, she does," Johnny agreed. "Come on, Jae. Make her cum. Make my fiancee cum." He teased a finger at your swollen nub, circling with the faintest amount of pressure as he whispered a sweet praise into your ear. "Your pussy looks fucking divine stretched around Jae's dick." You could feel your pussy throbbing uncontrollably in response. His fingers found the small hole that had been neglected until now, and you gasped aloud when he dipped them into you, scissoring them while Jaehyun's cock kept thrusting in and out of your pussy.

His voice low, Jaehyun let out a shuddering cry of relief, "Fuck, princess, I'm gonna fucking cum!"

He grunted once before releasing inside you, filling you as Johnny caught you as your body goes limp, overwhelmed, and trembling from the force of your climax. Jaehyun was still for a moment, catching his breath, before he pulled himself out. Johnny lifted your form onto his lap and kissed you deeply, drawing moans from your mouth.

You felt him prod your entrance as his tip kept pressing forward, entering, invading, filling up until his entire length was buried deep within you, stretching you deliciously.

"Oh fuck," he hissed, "still so tight after Jaehyun had his fun with you."

Johnny held your torso against his chest. You wriggle desperately against him as his cock drives even further into you. "Please," you whined desperately. "Please," you repeated. "Need more."

"That's it," Johnny spoke seductively. "Let me fuck your brains out, kitten. Beg me to pound your little slutty hole." His balls slapped rhythmically against your slick skin, and it was too much. But it also wasn’t enough. "Do you want Jae to fuck your pretty little ass, kitten?" Johnny prompted huskily, running a soothing hand down the back of your thigh. "Is that what you need?" He rocked his hips slowly but steadily, increasing the intensity with each thrust. "Need both our cocks stuffing your holes?"

You nod feverishly, trying in vain to swallow a whine. Your skin was prickly with sweat, and your pussy was absolutely dripping, when he pulled out and set you on your knees. Jaehyun wasted no time kneeling behind you and lining his thick cock with your tight hole before thrusting inside slowly.

"Damn," Johnny groaned approvingly, smearing the head of his dick over your lower lips. "Your ass just swallowed him like it was made to be used like that." You moaned helplessly, the filthy noises muffled as he bit into Johnny's shoulder. "Tell me how he feels inside your ass," he coaxed.

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Feels full."

Johnny gave a light tug on your hair. "Yeah? Do you like having his dick shoved up your ass?"

A rush of heat rushed through your veins when you mumbled, "Yes."

"Tell Jaehyun how his dick feels in your ass, kitten. Talk dirty to him."

"I love the way your cock fills me, Jae," you sobbed. "Love the way your huge cock stretches my ass. And I love being fucked like this by you and Johnny."

"Good girl," Johnny praised as he and Jaehyun thrusted in sync. The sensations were indescribable, the two dicks spearing your pussy and asshole simultaneously, pounding deeper and harder. Both of them alternated their paces, one pulling out, the other plunging in.

"So gorgeous," you heard Jaehyun gasp hoarsely from behind. He was breathing raggedly into your ear, hands clamped tightly around your breasts, kneading as he plowed harder. "So fucking gorgeous."

"Such a good little slut for her daddies," Johnny agreed, nipping at the tip of your earlobe while continuing to relentlessly thrust. "Are Jaehyun and I, your daddies, kitten? Are we?"

Your arms felt like jelly, and all you could do was lean limply into Johnny, barely able to manage a coherent response. The only sounds that leftyour mouth were whimpers and gasps and sobs and whines of pleasure. "Fuck," Johnny hissed between clenched teeth, quickening his pace. "Say that you are, baby girl. Say it, or Daddy won't let you cum."

"Yes. Yes, daddies, please, please make me cum," you babbled, unable to resist. You writhed helplessly against his chest, forcing the last ounce of your energy into the act.

You could sense both men growing more restless behind you, and the desperation in their movements increased rapidly as they pounded their cocks frantically into you. "Gonna fill you full of cum," Johnny warned with a rasp, nipping the back of your ear sharply. "Gonna make you scream."

Jaehyun groans loudly in your ear, sucking your flesh into his mouth before letting go of it. He could feel him tightening within, his cock spasming before filling your ass with streams of semen as he slumped on the top of your body.

Johnny groaned as well, pushing in deep. With a shudder, you felt hot cum coating every inch inside, leaking out, flowing into your womb, filling you, gushing and gushing. His thick, muscled thighs twitched repeatedly while spurts continued filling up inside. Jaehyun pulled out his limp, spent cock, collapsing on the mattress below. Your hips spasmed against Johnny's crotch as he gripped you tightly, bucking several more times.

"Damn, look at the mess, baby," he gasped out, stroking your belly slowly. "Look at my messy little kitten." A stringy mixture of their seed spills down, trickling over your trembling thighs, as both cocks ease out and eventually slip free of your body.

Johnny hands a towel to Jaehyun so that you both can clean up quickly. "Fucking hell, our baby really takes us both like a champ," Johnny laughed quietly. He smiles at the younger guy beside him. "I'm glad you agreed to this, Jae."

The younger male returned the smile before crawling on the bed next to you and laying there exhausted. He ran a lazy finger down your arm. "She looks very pleased."

You nodded with heavy lidded eyes. "I am. Very pleased."

"Rest, pretty thing. We will take care of you, don't worry," Johnny said gently, laying down beside you and tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You inhaled sharply at his sudden closeness and soft touch. Jaehyun stretched out on the other side, curling into you. They took turns placing tiny pecks on the small expanse of your back and shoulders before drifting to sleep themselves.

The next few months were spent exploring and venturing deeper into your relationships. First, it started off as taking turns, one week it was Jaehyun and one week it was Johnny. But as the days and nights started dragging, you eventually suggested having both of them. And that was how your time was usually spent. You couldn't bring yourself to decide on who you spent more time with as you'd find yourself missing the other person terribly.

It was the perfect dynamic; you needed both men, craving each of them constantly, equally, and with the same level of passion. Each of your partners brought something different and special, providing unique opportunities for adventure and excitement in different ways, and the best part was that it was always enjoyable for all parties.

You were sitting at your desk when you felt the rush of bile rising in the back of your throat and immediately dashed towards the bathroom, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. A knock resounded from the door.

"Boss?" Jisung called out in a muffled voice, "Are you alright?"

You wiped your mouth with some paper tissue, flushing the toilet and making sure everything in the bathroom was as pristine as usual before opening the door and walking out to the young man. "Sorry, just a stomach upset," you smiled, even if you were a little dizzy.

Jisung gave a subtle frown. "Okay..." he responded in uncertainty and handed you an orange-tinted folder, "Taeyong-hyung wanted me to pass you this. They're drama and movie considerations for Ms. Dream's next project."

You took the file and tucked it under your arm. You felt sick, light headed, but you kept pushing past. "Thank you, Jisung."

"Do you want me to make an appointment with the doctor?" He suggested worriedly, noticing how pale your skin tone was. "You probably ate something bad, a tummy bug perhaps..."

You shook your head no, rubbing your belly for a second before going straight back to your desk. You had no clue about what it could have been. It could have just been something simple and nothing that could be of worry.

However, after a week of nausea and vomiting, you decided to take matters into your own hands and booked a doctor's appointment after work. You wanted to check it out. As expected, you arrived earlier than necessary and were guided to one of the examination rooms and left alone. It was ten minutes later when a female physician walked in the room and shut the door after her. "Good afternoon, Y/N."

"Good afternoon Dr. Kang," you smiled, albeit tiredly.

"How are you today?" she asked with genuine interest. Dr. Kang had been your physician for as long as you could remember, and you trusted her completely with your health issues. She was one of the few doctors that took care of you when you had your accident ten years ago.

You tilted your head for a moment, thinking of your answer before telling the truth. "Well, to be honest, I don't really know what the cause of this is," you replied, voice nervous as you began telling her the events of what occurred last week and the weeks leading up to it.

"Have you been sexually active? Any sexual contact in the past four or five weeks?" She questioned with a serious tone.

You were unsure whether you should answer honestly or not, but she was a physician after all. What happened inside a professional practice would remain between her and her patient and vice versa.

"Yes," you nodded and replied meekly. Your hands unconsciously rubbed your belly. "With two men."

Dr. Kang smiled gently at your answer, unfazed by the revelation. "Oh?" she inquired gently. "I suppose I can rule out other illnesses..." her voice trailed off thoughtfully. "Well then, shall we check you out?" She gestured towards the chair nearby.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling nervous and wary about getting examined so suddenly, but Dr. Kang noticed this immediately, and, in her typically soft, caring tone, tried to reassure you. "Don't worry," she chuckled warmly. "I promise this isn't anything bad. I just need a urine and blood sample, and we'll know soon what's causing these symptoms." She paused, her eyes traveling briefly over your figure. "Did the symptoms start before or after you slept with both of them?"

"After," you responded instantly, looking at her curiously, still curious and unsure at the same time.

"And how long has it been since you've been sleeping with either man?" She asked carefully.

"A few months," you mumbled. "About four, I think?"

"That would explain it, then," she replied nonchalantly, making note of something on her chart. When she spoke again, the words came out rushed, almost excited. "Have you taken any pregnancy tests recently, Y/N?"

"Why would I?" you asked. "Dr. Kang, you were the one who told me I could never have a child after the accident and due to complications."

"Yes, I did," she was speaking slower now, drawing out every syllable, clearly hoping for the reality to settle in for you. "But what I'm wondering, Y/N, is whether it is possible that somehow, the accident didn't rob you forever, and that by some chance, there might still be a tiny possibility that you could have children."

You look down at the palm of your hands, mulling over her words and trying to contemplate her hypothesis.

Dr. Kang seemed to sense the unease in you and gently continued. "Do you want to run some tests, Y/N?" She leaned forward, her posture giving you a firm but friendly appearance.

"Yes, please," you whispered, swallowing down the lump forming in your throat. "Whatever the tests are, please perform them."

After an hour or so of running the appropriate blood tests and taking samples of urine for the laboratory tests, Dr. Kang came back with news: you were indeed, with a very strong chance of certainty, pregnant.

You opened your mouth to speak, but closed it quickly after finding yourself unable to find the right words for such a thing. Your fingers started fidgeting unconsciously with the sleeve of your sweater, rubbing it up and down anxiously as the reality settled within you and your mind.

You didn't think it was possible anymore, having given up all hope for motherhood after the accident and the complications that followed.

"Congratulations," she said warmly, giving a sincere smile. "You are going to be a mother, Y/N."

You were so lost in your thoughts, her statement falling on deaf ears. The shock hadn't quite set in yet, and a variety of emotions and questions raced through your head. However, a huge weight was lifted from your shoulders, since you no longer needed to ponder about what could have been, whether or not you could have children. For whatever reason, you were still able to conceive a child after all this time. You found the courage and strength in the universe to carry a new life, grow life in you.

"Will it be... a healthy pregnancy? No issues from the accident?" You asked timidly.

"There may still be some problems here and there throughout this pregnancy and possibly after. We're going to monitor your vitals regularly during your first few months, to make sure both you and the baby are staying healthy and safe," she continued carefully. "Make sure not to get stressed, be mindful and considerate of your needs and exercise regularly. No raw meat, no sushi, and no alcohol. Understood?"

"I understand," you agreed firmly and exhaled deeply.

"And if you must have sex, wear a condom, and no rough sex," Dr. Kang added a gentle reminder, waving her pen around in a chastising manner before marking things down on her paper. "Though from the looks of it, I am sure your partners will not be reckless nor risky towards their future offspring."

You gave Dr. Kang a grateful nod as the woman led you out of the medical room. She bade you farewell before returning to her other patients, and the day went on, completely unchanged for anyone else in the building, though for you, the world looked far brighter.

"Can I tell you two something?" you asked one night as you lay between two gorgeous men, who looked at you with fond gazes and curiosity.

Johnny smiled gently, lifting himself up slightly to look down at you, and Jaehyun paused, hand slipping down to rub the dip at the base of your spine.

"We're listening," Johnny replied tenderly as he stroked the side of your face.

"Well," your lip curled up slowly, "you guys are going to have to handle me more delicately."

The men stared at you, a little perplexed, as you grabbed their hands and placed them on the lower half of your belly. Their expressions turned to surprise and confusion at once, which was kind of amusing.

"Care to explain, princess?" Jaehyun arched his eyebrow.

"Yes, sweetheart, please, because we are really dumb right now," Johnny chuckled nervously.

"I'm pregnant," the words were surprisingly easy to say, despite all of the trouble that had gone into finding out the truth about the mystery symptoms. It was like lifting weights off your shoulders, relief washing over your heart. The confession made your throat dry, but the words also poured out so easily and swiftly from your mouth, as though they had just been waiting there, patiently and steadily, the whole entire time.

The silence that greeted your words was deafening. Neither Johnny nor Jaehyun spoke as their minds tried desperately to wrap around this. And then, Johnny took a deep breath. "Oh."

"Really, Johnny," you laughed heartily, placing a hand against his chest, patting him in a reassuring manner, "Oh?"

Johnny closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "Holy fuck," he breathed out. "After all this time; when we both thought you couldn't..."

"I know," you patted his cheek. "I'm surprised too." You shifted slightly and pressed a soft kiss onto his mouth. "Surprised and happy," you continued in a low, husky whisper as you turned your face and repeated the same gesture on Jaehyun. His fingers slowly dug into the flesh of your hips, and his chest shuddered beneath the warmth of your own. "I don't know which one of you is responsible," you admitted quietly, voice becoming softer, more meek. "But the only thing I know now is that I'll be carrying our child."

"Jesus," Johnny murmured. He shut his eyes tightly. "We're going to have a baby." He sounded overwhelmed. He sounded relieved, astonished, and amazed. You smiled against the top of his mouth. "I can't believe it." His eyelashes tickled the bridge of your nose.

Jaehyun stayed quiet for a long while, causing you some concern as his warm embrace held you tighter and his lips touched the spot between your ear and temple, pulling you deeper into the hug. You pulled away, slightly frowning. "Jae, are you ok?"

He stayed silent for another moment, not saying anything before his mouth cracked, and his face lit up as a dazzling smile broke out over his features. His eyes were full of happiness, dancing brightly. "Of course," he said softly, sounding proud and breathless, "how could I not be when the woman I love is pregnant? I know you've struggled with infertility for a long time, yet you were still granted a miracle."

"Will you both be mad if neither of you is the father?" you asked as you looked up at Johnny. "Will you still love and want to marry me if Jaehyun is the dad? And vice versa?"

"No, sweet girl, I'll always want you. Always," Johnny whispered, cupping the side of your face gently and kissing you lovingly. "Even if Jae is the one who fathered the baby, I still want to spend the rest of my life with you. To share our family with each other. I will raise Jaehyun's child as if he is my own," Johnny promised solemnly.

Jaehyun cupped your face with both of his large palms. "We are the luckiest men in this world, having someone like you love us both."

You giggled into his palm when you remembered Dr. Kang's final instructions for sex. "The doctor said you can't be too rough, and you have to wear condoms now."

"Fine, anything for our kitten," Johnny grinned brightly, capturing your lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. He felt euphoric, your baby, a small part of your combined efforts, your combined love, would grow into a complete little human being inside your body.

An adorable mix of the three of you.

Months passed, and you were as big as a planet. You looked bigger than you anticipated; but then again, Dr. Kang did say you were having twins. Two babies growing inside your body simultaneously was quite an experience and took quite the toll on you, both mentally and physically. You didn't quite enjoy the extra weight, and the swollen ankles were annoying. On the bright side, your lovers couldn't get enough of pampering you, feeding, bathing, and even massaging you. Jaehyun especially would insist upon touching and rubbing your body as much as he could. He just adored rubbing his palms across your big stomach whenever he got the chance. Johnny also grew much more protective in your later trimester and fussed non stop.

You were at a checkup with both of your partners when Dr Kang confirmed that you were having a boy and a girl. To say all three of you were surprised would be an understatement, and the sudden surge of joy was immeasurable. After an hour of listening to the heartbeat of your children and another round of thorough questioning from both Jaehyun and Johnny, Dr. Kang smiled warmly.

"Do the three of you want to know the paternity now?" Dr. Kang asked.

"Is that possible?" you asked, your question laced with equal amounts of concern and surprise. You wondered if there were any machines to figure out such things.

She nodded once. "It's easy." Dr. Kang jotted notes down on her chart before getting up to prepare for another blood draw. When the doctor had finished administering it, she had drawn enough samples from both Johnny and Jaehyun and ran tests quickly for each of you, so it was not long before a full report had appeared in her hand.

"Oh, this is a surprise," Dr. Kang muttered as she scanned the details with her eyes.

"A good one? A bad one?" Your heart thudded rapidly. This was the moment of truth for everyone.

"No," she looked up, grinning widely. "Very good one, I should say. Both men are fathers."

"Are you serious?" Johnny stuttered, shocked at the reveal. He swallowed hard. He wasn't expecting this result.

"Does that mean-"

Dr Kang cut Jaehyun off, "Yes," her smile broadened. "Both of you, biological fathers."

"How the..." Johnny's voice trailed off, not understanding the entire situation.

"Female bodies are incredibly mysterious when creating new life," Dr. Kang said as she shrugged her shoulders. "It's rare, but not impossible, for you to release two eggs in the process, rather than a single one as is usually the case. And because you had sex with two men at the same time, which, by the way, is incredibly irresponsible of you given your delicate condition," Dr. Kang glanced briefly at each person individually before finishing her explanation, "both eggs were fertilized and are developing successfully. Congratulations." She chuckled before scribbling some last-minute notes onto the paperwork attached to the file.

"You both are going to be the best dads in the world," you turned and beamed brightly. "Now whose baby is whose, I want that to be a surprise."

"I bet the baby girl is mine," Johnny wiggled his eyebrows teasingly.

"Nah, the son will be yours," Jaehyun insisted strongly.

"Good god," you shook your head, Dr. Kang laughing at the banter.

"Thank you for giving me a family," Johnny whispered tenderly, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his head on top of your shoulder.

"Thank you," Jaehyun echoed on the other side of you. "I have never met anyone as beautiful, loving and amazing as you are. Our family wouldn't have existed if you hadn't allowed us the honor of sharing your life."

"Both of you are gonna make me cry," you huffed out with a smile. "I love both of you, equally. Forever and always," you murmured before kissing both Johnny's and Jaehyun's cheeks, tears brimming against the rims of your eyes as they looked at you with such unconditional, endless love and devotion. "Thank you for being my miracle workers."

268 notes · View notes

myrleius · 19 days ago

Text

what remains when the sound fades — bakugo k.

timeskip bakugo k. x patient fem!reader│wc: 3.8k

synopsis: Bakugo’s almost deaf now. But at a hospital he never meant to care about, with a girl who falls asleep without warning, he learns that maybe silence isn’t the end.

cw/tags: fluff, angst, hard of hearing!bakugo, made-up illness for fem!reader, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers

The doors slid open with a sound Bakugo couldn’t quite hear anymore. He just felt the pressure shift in the air, a faint vibration under his skin.

He stepped into the hospital lobby anyway, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets, shoulders drawn tight beneath the fabric.

No appointment today. No injuries or bruises to patch up either. But somehow, this visit felt heavier than the others combined.

His boots tapped against the polished tile—at least, he assumed they did. These days, sound was more of a memory. His hearing aids buzzed softly in his ears, letting in pieces of the world like light through cracked glass. Voices blurred, distant and muddled. Sharp one moment, swallowed the next.

He still wore them though. Most days. When he remembered.

He stopped by the reception desk. The nurse glanced up, clearly recognizing him. Pro-hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite wasn’t exactly subtle, even in civilian clothes.

He didn’t bother speaking.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly wrinkled sticky note—bright yellow with a tiny inked flower blooming in the bottom corner. Yn had given it to him months ago, back when he'd muttered—half ashamed—how much he hated asking people to repeat themselves.

The message was simple:

Hi. I’m hard of hearing. Can you write things down for me, please?

He held up his phone next, showing a photo of yn—caught mid-laugh, paint smudged on her wrist, eyes shining with something quiet and untouchable.

The nurse smiled gently and scribbled something on a notepad, turning it toward him.

She’s on the third floor. Art event today.

He nodded his thanks and made for the elevator, the paper note folded carefully back into his pocket.

As he waited for the elevator doors to open, he let himself replay the conversation from this morning.

“I’m losing my hearing,” he’d said, blunt and brief. “It’s almost gone.”

He expected disbelief. Or pity. Or those strained silences people always gave when they didn’t know what to say.

But it didn’t come.

Kirishima just slammed a hand on his shoulder, grin bright and unwavering. “Damn, man. That’s rough. But you’re still gonna kick ass, right? You’ll figure it out. And if you need backup, we’ve got you.”

Kaminari blinked, then leaned forward, curiosity overtaking any hesitation. “Wait, so does this mean you won’t hear me when I’m being annoying? Sweet—uh, I mean, not sweet, but—can I learn sign language just to mess with you?” He grinned, dodging the half-hearted swipe Bakugo took at him.

Sero snorted. “Dude, you already ignore us half the time. What’s the difference?” When Bakugo glared, Sero held up his hands. “Kidding, kidding. But seriously, if you ever need us to repeat shit or write stuff down, just say the word.”

Mina didn’t miss a beat. “Okay, new rule. We’re all taking sign language classes. Also, don’t think this gets you out of game night. We will mime everything if we have to.”

And Deku—the one who’s known him longest, who’s seen him at his worst and his best—didn’t even flinch. His eyes remained steady, analyzing, before he nodded once. “You’ve already been adjusting, haven’t you? The way you’ve been positioning yourself in fights, relying more on visuals…” Of course he noticed. “You’ll still be one of the best. And… if you want help finding resources, or training workarounds, I’m here.”

No one stiffened. No one treated him like he was broken. And that hit harder than he’d thought it would.

And now, standing alone in the quiet of the hospital, he wasn’t sure if it made the weight in his chest had eased or fucking doubled.

The elevator dinged.

He stepped inside, pressed the third-floor button, and leaned back against the wall. He wasn’t here for anything urgent. Wasn’t even sure what he planned to say.

He just… needed to see yn.

They’d met a few months ago when his hearing started going to shit. She was always here, a familiar figure in the waiting rooms and hallways, worn hospital bracelets like second skin. At first, she was just a girl with the tired eyes and bright laugh who somehow made the place feel less suffocating.

But she was more than that.

She understood, really understood, what it felt like when your body turned against you.

He hadn’t expected to find someone like that in the middle of this nightmare.

Yet there she was. Her presence, gentle and steady, made it easier to breathe. She didn’t pry. Didn’t talk just to fill the silence. And she knew exactly how to sit with this kind of slow pain that didn’t have clean answers.

But when he needed it most, she always seemed to know what to say to help him hold his shit together.

The doors open, scattering his thoughts like startled birds. Before he could gather them again, his feet carried him out.

The third floor was loud.

Not in sound—Bakugo barely caught snippets of laughter and the thuds of feet—but in color, in motion. The hallway was lined with drop cloths and plastic sheets taped across the walls and floor. Furniture had been pushed back. Paint buckets sat open, and kids ran by waving paintbrushes like flags.

It smelled like wet acrylics and masking tape.

Bakugo didn’t need to ask who was responsible.

“Hey! No paint in anyone’s eyeballs, got it?” came a voice from further down the hall. “We want windows, not lawsuits!”

He turned the corner just in time to see yn balancing a tray of mini palettes, swerving between kids and elderly patients like it was a practiced dance. A brush was tucked behind her ear. Paint dotted her sleeves. Her smile was effortless.

And then her eyes met his.

She brightened instantly. “Bakugo,” she called, walking over. “You don’t have an appointment today, right?”

Bakugo shook his head and signed stiffly, fingers sharp with feigned disinterest, “Had extra time. Figured I’d see what you’re up to.”

Yn didn’t miss a beat. She was fluent by now, between her own years in this hospital and months of chatting with him.

“Oh, so you missed me,” she signed back with a cheeky grin, handing him a clean smock. “Got it.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t refuse it. He slipped it on, its sleeves straining around his biceps, while surveying the windows. Every one of them, long panes stretching the whole corridor, was already a riot of color—splashes of sky blue, cartoon suns, stick figure heroes, one ambitious mural of a dragon and a bakery somehow mashed together.

“What the hell is all this?” he asked aloud this time.

Yn adjusted her stance, instinctively positioning herself so he could see her lips, just in case he hadn’t caught her words. They’d practice this enough that she didn’t even think about it now.

“Window canvases,” she said. “They’re replacing the glass soon, so I asked if we could paint on them instead of just throwing them out. Figured it’d be good fun for the others. Plus, my friend’s gallery agreed to exhibit them, so they get recycled and displayed. Cool, right?”

Bakugo folded his arms. “Let me guess—you bribed the staff, didn’t you?”

“Hey! I got permission from the hospital director,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “Now quit stalling and help me out.”

They spent the next hour darting between stations. Yn played the ringleader—passing out fresh brushes, hyping up shaky stick figures like they were masterpieces. Bakugo kept a closer eye, steadying ladders, pulling kids away from spilled paint, reminding a particularly rowdy pair of teens not to paint each other’s faces again.

It was loud. It was uncoordinated. It was a mess.

And it was… nice.

He wasn’t giving orders or chasing down villains, but he could still do something here. Still be useful.

One of the older patients tugged on his sleeve, holding up a brush. She pointed to the top corner of her window, then mimed her arm not reaching.

Bakugo didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed a chair, climbed up, and filled in the empty corner with simple strokes of yellow.

When he stepped back down, the woman gave him a toothy grin and signed, slowly but clearly, “Thank you.”

He blinked. Then nodded, almost sheepishly.

Yn watched it all with a warm, quiet smile.

By the time the last of the patients shuffled off to their rooms, the floor had fallen quiet.

The sunset bled through the painted windows in long, glowing streaks. Everything was bathed in amber. Where once there was sterile white, there was now a wash of color—skies, forests, tiny heroes flying beside flowers, scrawled messages of hope and names written with confidence.

Bakugo stood at the center of it all, arms folded, head tilted back. Even the ceiling had caught a few stray splashes. The low hum of his hearing aids filled the silence, a steady static he’d grown used to. Tonight, it felt less like noise, and more like… presence.

Yn drifted to his side, her shoulder nudging his.

“Think they’ll let me do this again next year?” she asked, voice light and teasing.

Bakugo huffed. “Not if they see what you did to the walls.”

“They’re covered. Mostly.” She gestured to the plastic sheets still clinging to the walls, though tiny paint splatters had seeped into the creases. “Besides, they're repainting the whole floor anyway. I just… sped things along.”

He shook his head, a low laugh slipping out despite himself. He glanced over. Her hair clung to her forehead, cheeks flushed, fingertips stained in streaks of color. Despite the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders, triumph sparkled in her eyes.

“You did good,” he signed. Hands slower than usual, but sure.

She didn’t hesitate to sign back. “You helped.”

He looked away at that. His hand twitched at his side before he shoved it into his pocket.

A moment passed.

Then another.

“I… told them,” he muttered, more to the empty hallway than to her. Fuck if he knew why. Maybe just to prove it mattered. “The other heroes. Told ‘em I can’t hear for shit anymore.”

Yn didn’t react. She just waited, giving him space to let it out.

Bakugo stared out at the windows, jaw tight. “I didn’t think I’d be able to say it. But I did. Told ‘em I’m still learning sign, still working on reading lips. But I’d still… probably need someone to help interpret if my aids crap out. Might miss shit or mess up.”

A pause. And his throat worked again. “I didn’t expect them to—to take it so well. Just an, ‘Okay. We’ll adjust.’ They didn’t even look at me like I was broken.”

Yn’s hand settled on his shoulder, the touch feather-light. “Because you’re not.”

“But I’m slower now. I can’t do the same field work. Can’t hear civilians shouting. That used to fuck with me so much.” He exhaled sharply. “But they said they’d work with me. That they’d adapt or whatever.”

“Then that’s their call,” she said, shrugging. “They know what they’re signing up for. And they asked you to stay anyway.”

His gaze flicked to hers. Something tight and uncertain lingered beneath the surface.

“You ever think people say that shit just to be nice?” he asked, voice scraping low. “Like, they believe it now, but deep down, they still think you’re… a liability?”

Yn paused, thoughtful. Then tilted her head. “Would you?”

Bakugo blinked. His mouth twitched. “Fuck no.”

“Then why assume they would?” she asked, sliding her hand down his arm to catch his hand. “They’re not stupid, Bakugo. They’re pros. They know what a liability looks like. I don’t think they’d risk the safety of people on someone they didn’t believe in.”

His brow furrowed, mind scrambling to find the flaw in her logic. There had to be one.

As if sensing his spiral, she cut through with quiet certainty. “You’re not weak, Bakugo.” The word landed deliberately, dismantling his unspoken fear. “You’re just changing. That doesn’t diminish who you’ve always been.”

Bakugo was silent. He let her words sit, feeling its weight. Then, slowly, his hand turned, fingers lacing with hers.

“I just… I get scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “Not about being deaf. About being fucking useless.” His thumb brushed her knuckle, an unconscious plea. “I thought it meant I was done. That I couldn’t be a hero anymore.”

“You’re not done. You’re just learning a new way to fight,” she said, her voice was softer but the steel beneath it never wavered. “And if anyone’s stubborn enough to make it work? It’s you.”

She leaned in until their shoulders touched, forcing his gaze up. “Imagine it—first deaf hero in the charts. Kids with hearing loss seeing someone like them up there.” Then her smile widened, teasing again. “Unless… you’re actually considering retirement?”

He snorted, real and unguarded. “No fuckin’ way.”

“Then you’re not done.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Because you get to decide that.”

Her words sat in his chest like a live wire.

Bullshit.

Heroism was supposed to be hard. He'd welcomed that—the broken ribs, the sleepless nights, the impossible choices. But this wasn't another challenge to overcome. It was a permanent fucking handicap. Deafness wasn’t an enemy he could punch. It was a door slammed in his face.

But.

His hands flexed against his thighs. The same hands that had once sparked with explosions now knew the shape of signs. The same body that had lunged into battle without hesitation now calculated angles, light, vibrations—workarounds.

Was that weakness? Or just another fight?

The hospital hallway stretched too bright, too quiet. He could still see the other heroes’ faces when he’d told them. No flinching. No whispers. Just nods, quick adjustments. They planned to work around it. Like pros. Like equals.

Bakugo slowly felt the warmth of her hand then.

He gritted his teeth. Fuck. A long-buried memory resurfaced—one he’d almost let slip away.

Heroism wasn't about perfection. It was about persistence. About dragging yourself through hell with whatever pieces you still had, just to keep the light in others’ eyes.

A breath shuddered out of him. Fine. Fine. If the world wanted to count him out over something like this, they’d learn the same damn lesson they always did.

Because Katsuki Bakugo didn’t lose. Not to villains. Not to fate.

And definitely not to himself.

He breathed out slowly. His heart beat steady in his chest.

And then, with absolutely no warning, he reached out and ruffled her hair with excessive vigor, fingers combing through the strands just to wreck them completely.

“The hell?” he asked, voice full of forced insult, but his touch was gentle. “Since when did you get smart enough to say shit like that?”

Yn squeaked, batting his hand away. But she didn’t move far. Because she felt it, too—the way his hand hovered for a moment too long. Shaking, not from strain, but from everything it took to admit he was scared.

She could’ve called it out. Could’ve gone soft. Instead, she smirked and poked his cheek. “Says the guy who needed me to spell it out for him,” she fired back.

He scoffed, but his hand lingered, sliding from her hair to cradle her cheek. His thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone—lighter than his usual rough handling, but just as deliberate.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice dropping to something dangerously close to tender. “Guess I needed that.”

He barely heard it, but he saw her breath hitch.

“Oi.” His squint was all mock-suspicion as his thumb brushed the flush spreading across her skin. “The hell's this, huh? Sunburn?”

“Shut up.” She tried to twist away, but his grip shifted to her chin, holding her in place.

“Ain't wearing makeup,” he mused, leaning closer. “So unless you're running a fever—”

“I swear to god—”

“—must be me.” The smirk in his voice was audible. “Damn. That's embarrassing for you.”

She huffed, but didn’t pull back this time. Instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, right over his chest.

The light from the painted windows spilled across her face just then, making her eyes look like they were glowing. Blue paint smudged her cheek, a messy contrast to the red flush beneath it. And her lips, damn it, they looked so soft. So inviting.

He’d imagined this. More than he’d ever admit. Would she go all soft and sigh, feeling warm like her hugs or laughter? Or would it be all teeth and fire, like when she’d snap a comeback with that infuriating grin, leaving him itching for more? God, either would ruin him.

Bakugo leaned closer, their noses brushing. “Hey… I’ve been thinking—”

And then her body tipped.

His reflexes moved before his thoughts did.

He caught her easily, arms looping around her middle as her knees buckled. Her head dropped lightly against his chest, her weight sudden but familiar.

“Shit,” he muttered, adjusting her in his hold.

Her breathing was soft, even. Completely out like a light.

Right. Her sleep spells.

She’d explained them the first time it happened—some kind of neurological disorder with no warning signs or real triggers. One moment she was awake, the next she was out cold, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings. She’d joked that her brain had a faulty “off switch.” Nothing dangerous, just… inconvenient. That’s what she called it.

But it still scared the hell out of him every time.

“Ruined the moment, idiot,” he mumbled, brushing her hair back.

She didn’t respond, obviously. Just nuzzled unconsciously into his chest like she always did when this happened.

Bakugo sighed and looked around.

The hallway was empty. Lit gold. Quiet

He stood there for a long minute, holding her steady, his heartbeat slow in his ears. Her weight wasn’t heavy. Just… warm.

This wasn’t the kind of saving he was used to.

No villains. No collapsing buildings. No flash of cameras or crowd roaring after.

But maybe… that was okay.

Maybe saving people wasn’t always about being the strongest. Sometimes, it was holding someone when they fell. Watching over a hallway of kids so they could paint suns. Catching a brush before it hit the floor.

He looked back at the art.

At the handprints.

The names.

The hope.

Bakugo exhaled.

Yeah. He could still be a hero like this, too.

When yn woke up, the first thing she noticed was the dim lighting. It was night outside, the curtains pulled but still faintly glowing at the edges. The overhead light cast a soft halo around the room—just enough to see by.

The second thing she noticed was the dry taste in her mouth and the dull ache in her back, which meant she’d been out for a while.

The third thing she noticed was the very broad figure slouched in the chair beside her bed, arms crossed and chin tucked low against his chest.

Bakugo.

He was fast asleep. His hearing aids were out and tucked into a little case on the table beside her water cup. His hair was messy, a smear of green paint still streaking one forearm like a leftover memory of the day.

Yn blinked at him, a slow warmth blooming in her chest.

“You could’ve gone home, dummy,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. Of course not.

She pushed herself up slowly, limbs stiff but cooperative.

The motion must’ve stirred him, because Bakugo’s eyes cracked open a second later. Red, sleep-heavy, a little bleary.

He blinked, squinted at her. Then straightened with a quiet grunt, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re up.”

“Was I out long?” she rasped, reaching for the water.

He grabbed his hearing aids and slid them in. “Five hours.”

“Mm. That’s not bad.”

He gave her a flat look. “You missed dinner.”

She smiled, unbothered. “Worried I wouldn’t get my pudding cup?”

“I ate your pudding cup.”

She laughed. “You thief.”

“It was melting,” he said, smug.

She looked at him for a long moment.

The curve of his shoulders. The stupidly hot smirk. The stubborn warmth in the way he always stayed, even when it wasn’t convenient.

Then, she held her arms out with all the drama she could summon. “Pity hug. Now, you monster.”

He gave her a look—half amused, half exasperated—but stood up anyway and leaned down to hug her, arms looping around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands found the back of his neck, fingers toying lightly with the tips of his hair.

He didn’t pull away. Just rested his forehead against hers, eyes half-lidded and soft.

“Did I miss anything?” she murmured.

“Mm. Something pretty major,” he murmured back. “Life-changing, even.”

She chuckled. “Can I still experience it? Or was it a one-time thing?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s a lifetime thing.”

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t perfect. There was too much grinning, too many half-laughs between presses of lips. But it was good. Warm. A tiny pocket of peace carved out of everything else.

And then, it changed. Just a little. He leaned in again, his hand sliding lower, and lips parting with unsubtle intent.

Yn made a sound of protest, half chuckle, half warning, and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Hey,” she said, breathless. “We are in a hospital.”

“No one’s watching,” he muttered, cocky. “I’ll be quick.”

“Bakugo,” she warned, trying to look stern.

His grin went lopsided. “Be glad I waited ‘til you were awake. I was tempted earlier.”

She groaned. “Oh my god.”

But she was still tangled in him, still laughing, and he looked unbearably pleased with himself.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment—gentle, polite, and clearly a nurse’s way of saying wrap it up, Romeo.

Bakugo sighed dramatically. “There goes our chance…”

“Text me when you get home, all right?” she said, hand still on his chest, ignoring his whining.

He leaned in, kissing her forehead. “I can smuggle you out, you know.”

She flicked his arm. “Out. Go. Before they revoke your visitation rights.”

He laughed and headed toward the door, pausing just before he stepped through.

“Oh,” he added, glancing back over his shoulder. “By the way. You’re my girlfriend now. Just letting you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. That’s it? No asking?”

He shrugged. “I figured the kissing made it pretty clear.”

She tried not to smile, but failed. “Fine. But you’re buying me pudding next time.”

“Noted.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Yn lay back against the pillows and let the silence settle.

Officially dating a half-deaf, overly-confident exasperating pro hero with a pudding problem.

Not exactly how she thought the day would end.

But it felt good. Solid. Like something she could lean into without fear of breaking it.

And even if he was a thief… At least he’d finally stolen something she’d wanted him to all along.

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clairewritesfanfics · 1 month ago

Text

Villain Creation System Chapter 4

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

CHAPTER 3: When In Doubt, Do Your Research Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

In the Chinese webnovels you liked to read between classes and study sessions, male leads were given “sword-like eyebrows.” These fan-translated novels never came with pictures, and you were left wondering what they actually looked like. According to the netizens you asked, for brows to be “sword-like” meant they were handsome or ideal.

Handsome eyebrows.

Oh-kay ?

You didn’t get it, not until you got to examine Mark Grayson up close. He had thick, handsome, black eyebrows that tapered cleanly to the sides, as though done by a professional makeup artist, but the system told you that this was his face au naturel.

It was unfair.

Even his eyelashes were prettier than yours, downcast as he read something on his tablet. He’s been reading quietly since he arrived fifteen minutes ago, slid his pandesal and coffee on the empty space of your table, folded his leather jacket on the back of the chair, and took a seat without ceremony.

You tapped harder on the keyboard.

“You’re going to destroy your laptop if you don’t lighten up,” he said, not even sparing you a glance.

“I don’t remember inviting you over.”

“My roommate’s being a pain and I needed someplace quiet to study.”

“There’s a library.”

“It’s too quiet.”

“Then go sit somewhere else.”

“But I like doing things while being watched, makes the task more exciting .”

You stopped typing and gave him a look.

“C’mon, I’ve been a good study buddy, haven’t I? No scribbling, no rustling of paper or loud typing–no offense–”

You felt a vein thump at your temple.

“–and besides,” he purred, bending his elbow over the table and leaning into his palm, “weren’t you enjoying the view just now?”

Blood rushed to your cheeks and you reached for your frappe, taking small sips to cool down.

Were you really that obvious?

[Yes, you were.]

You ignored the system and replied to Mark, “I was glaring at an unwanted visitor.”

He said nothing but that arrogant smirk told you everything you needed to know.

Okay, so you were sneaking a few glimpses. Actually, now that you think about it, you were outright gawking for at least a minute.

You didn’t mean to. It was just that… how could you not look?

Sure, you’ve seen pictures, watched videos of various actors and singers in your reality. Teen heartthrobs and K-pop idols who were considered national treasures were objectively gorgeous men, but looking at a screen is a very different experience from sitting across a living, breathing organism.

Stray raven locks touched his sword-like brows and framed the chocolatest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. High cheekbones and sharp jawline. His smirk showed off slightly crooked teeth and a fuller lower lip. He wore a navy blue Henley shirt that hugged him in all the right places–

[You’re staring again, Host.]

Oh, boy.

You cleared your throat and forced your gaze back to your monitor, ignoring Mark’s haughty grin, looking more amused than ever.

“Admit it, princess, you think I’m hot.”

“Objectively, you have ideal features.” You resumed typing, refusing to meet his eyes. “And don’t call me ‘princess.’”

“So you agree?”

“It would be pointless to say that I don’t.”

“Which part of me is ideal?”

You shrugged, focus wavering from the conversation as you slowly fell into the rhythm of work. Your embarrassment from getting caught vanishes with each tap on the keyboard. “Your face is symmetrical with good bone structure. That’s always been an important factor in determining attractiveness. You’re at a reasonable height with a good build, again, a ubiquitous criterion for determining the visual appeal of males. Surely, you’re familiar with the old cliche: ‘tall, dark and handsome’? You check all the boxes.”

When you noticed that he wasn’t talking, you finally raised your head.

He was looking at you, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“What now?”

He covered his mouth and turned to the window. “I didn’t expect you to actually answer me.”

“I obviously can’t get rid of you, I can barely focus with you right there. Might as well make small talk while I do less taxing work.”

“I thought you were the type who hates small talk.”

“It’s not something I particularly enjoy, but I can do it to be polite, even when someone can’t take a hint.”

He was silent again.

An jazz instrumental of Fly Me to the Moon drowned out the sound of your typing.

He then asked, “Do I really bother you?”

You arched an imperfect brow at him. “Right now you’re not exactly helping me, are you?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, do you really not like me?”

“I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“... I know.”

“Look.” His hand went to the back of his neck. “I know I’ve been ass to you, but if you really don’t want me here, I’ll leave.”

His perpetual bedroom eyes suddenly looked like the eyes of a kicked dog. Geez, no wonder his exes still liked him.

You sighed. “It’s fine. You can stay here, just be quiet while I do my work.”

“Before you start, can I ask you something?”

“Not like I can stop you.”

“What exactly are you working on?”

“Annotating handouts,” you lied. “Planning out my weekly schedules, that kind of stuff.”

“Schedules? Like for arranging your dates?”

“I don’t date.”

“I figured.” He turned to his tablet, then back at you. “How come?”

“Never had the time.”

“And if you had the time?”

“I don’t, which renders your question and my answer moot.”

“Are you not into the whole romance stuff?”

You could tell he wanted to ask more than just romance. Regardless, you responded with a “No comment.”

He hummed and then finally returned to his reading.

[ Ding . Affection: 18%. Darkening: 3%.]

Seriously?

[It would seem that Mark Grayson is very fond of compliments.]

No kidding. He was popular, shouldn’t he be used to this type of stuff right now?

The system could only shrug.

This thing was capricious in what kind of information it was willing to share.

Deeming it useless once more, you switched tabs from the campus’ anonymous forums to Amber’s many, many posts. You skimmed her socials before, but with no news about Debbie, Nolan or Mark, she was your only lead. You knew very little about Invincible the animation, much less the comic book. You’ve seen promotional materials in passing. All you can remember is Mark and his dad, his mom (from your blurry recollection, she’s the most beloved character), that pink girl–

Wait.

You massaged your head, thinking.

Yes, a pink suit and long red hair.

Red hair.

You searched Amber’s photos. There was one taken during a party this semester. Amber was holding out a peace sign next to a young woman with carrot colored hair and jade green eyes. You missed the picture because Mark wasn’t in it.

The redhead was tagged Sam E. Wilkins.

[That’s Samantha Eve Wilkins, her superhero identity is Atom Eve. She is an enhanced human with the ability to manipulate matter.]

Judging from the name, I’m assuming she can manipulate matter at an atomic level?

[Subatomic level.]

That seems a bit OP.

[Is it?]

Come on, with that ability she can perform simultaneous transmutation, that’s mega OP. Why is she not the main character? Her power is more interesting than just flying and punching stuff.

[Host is so cute.]

The muscles in your jaw ticked.

[In this world, much like in yours, everything comes with a price.]

Enough with the riddles. What are you trying to tell me?

[This system is politely informing you not to deify the people here. Subatomic manipulation is something even a newborn system can do when given enough authorization.]

[<(˘ ˘ ˘)>]

Annoyed, you changed the topic.

What is her importance to the plot?

[She is a supporting character.]

To what degree?

[In the main timeline, she is Mark Grayson’s wife.]

You blinked once.

Twice.

WHAT?

To be honest you were surprised that the system gave you that information.

[I received authorization to share that tiny detail with you.]

“Tiny”? Tiny!

Your eye twitched as you scrutinized Samantha’s photo.

There’s nothing tiny about Mark Grayson having someone who was literally made for him. You even gave me that ridiculous affection meter, but what can I do against destiny?

[Host, the fact that you managed to even raise the meter is proof enough that you can do it.]

So what? Even if I get that to a 100%, that won’t stop him from falling for her eventually.

[Host–]

This is insane!

This was too much. Some part of you, deep inside your subconscious probably thought that this was just one nasty dream. One long, vivid, goofy dream. But one picture–one ridiculous line about soulmates broke through that part of you.

This was wrong.

This wasn’t fair.

You slammed your hands on the table, knocking your frappe to the floor.

Mark glanced up from his tablet. Concern flashed his face as his arm moved towards you–

[ Ding .]

You were floating. Mark, the cafe–everything was gone. You were submerged in neverending darkness. Not even the tiniest flicker of light was to be seen. You couldn’t hear anything, not until the system spoke to you directly.

[Host, have you calmed down yet?]

“What is this place?”

[This is Nothing. This is your fate if you fail to convert Mark Grayson. Perpetual nothingness. You can scream and cry and pray until you get bored of your own noise and still, no one will hear you. No one will come. You will be left in this Void all alone until the end of time.]

This was your future? This was your afterlife?

[I took you here to remind you of your goal. It matters not who or what is in your way, you must overcome them, use them to your benefit.]

“Why!? Why does it have to be me? Why couldn’t you just let me go to Heaven or reincarnate? I didn’t want this! I’m not cut out for this!”

[You may protest to your heart’s content, but there is no running away from this. You must continue forward regardless of the cost. There is no undoing what has been done. You agreed to our terms–

“You forced me!”

The system shut up.

“You forced me…” You repeated.

You wanted to cry but you couldn’t. You weren’t sure how you were talking because you had no mouth. You had nothing.

[Host, this system is here to assist you. Rest assured, I exist to ensure your victory. But first, calm down.]

You didn’t say anything.

[I told Host about Eve because I did not think that such information was so important.]

“They’re basically soulmates.”

The system let out a mechanical chuckle.

[There is a joke popular among my kind when it comes to soulmates: If God can split the Red Sea, then how about two lovers at the park?]

You replied with unimpressed silence.

[...ahem. Perhaps you would appreciate the words of a fellow human.]

That caught your attention. “Human?”

[You are my first Host and agent, but you are not the only contractor in history. An exceptional agent for the Secondary Character Grievance Delivery System once posed this question: “If the red string of fate were real, do you think it can be cut?”]

“I’m guessing the answer is yes.”

The system played out a bell sound, indicating that you were correct. [That host cut enough threads of fate to make a kimono. I’m sure my Host will become an even more amazing homewrecker!]

“Gee, thanks . But–” You didn’t appreciate being compared to a homewrecker, but you could tell it was doing its best to help you “–thanks.”

[˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶]

“Okay,” you said. “I think I’m ready.”

[Are you sure?]

“Yes. Send me back. Please.”

[All right. Preparing for transfer…rewinding–]

[ Ding .]

You were back at The Mug.

You glanced at the table. The frappe was still there, and Mark was still reading peacefully.

Your laptop was showing the anonymous discussion forum.

[I switched the tabs in case Host needed time to recover.]

You smiled.

You then clicked on Eve’s photo.

She could be useful.

[Maybe. It certainly will not hurt to have options.]

As you pondered over what to do next, Mark yawned.

You checked the time, it was barely past ten. “Tired this early in the morning?”

“I work late.”

“Modeling?”

He gave you a look.

“What?”

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I knew you thought I was sexy.”

“ Enough . We had this song and dance just twenty minutes ago.” You sipped on your frappe.

“What can I say, I like to boogie.”

You coughed out whipped cream. “I can’t believe you just said ‘boogie.’”

His grin deepened and he leaned forward. “What kind of music do you like to dance to?”

“Not much of a dancer.”

“Then what kind of music do you like?”

“Anything that’s good.”

He pouted.

“It’s the truth. As long as the beat is fun I don't care about the genre.”

His finger trails the screen of his tablet absentmindedly. “You listen to rock bands?”

“Sure.”

The finger stopped.

“I wouldn’t call myself an outright fan, I don’t go out of my way to attend concerts or anything.”

“You’ve never been to a concert?”

“No, I’ve been to one with some friends. I found the ride home more enjoyable.” Concerts were expensive. They were also loud, packed and too much trouble than they’re worth. The body odor clung to you for days. You shivered at the memory.

Mark snapped his fingers. “Just one? You’re basically a virgin.” He said the last part a little too loudly.

Your shoulders tensed. Several students turned their faces to look at your table.

Mark flinched under your glare.

“Don’t be crude,” you reprimanded.

“Sorry–but hey, if you’re interested, there’s this…” He trailed off.

“There’s this what?”

He grabbed his chin, thinking. Then he shook his head. “No, it’s nothing.”

“If you say so.”

You both did your own thing until Mark’s watch beeped.

He cringed as he read whatever message was sent to him.

You peered over your monitor. “Your girlfriend looking for you?”

He gave you a weak smile. “No, it’s my boss. I gotta go.”

“What kind of part-time job just calls you out of the blue?”

“A very sucky one.” He put his tablet back inside his bag and grabbed his jacket. “A sucky, sucky one who doesn’t believe in a work-life balance.”

“Sounds like a real buttmunch.”

He snorted. “Buttmunch?”

“You disagree?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re right, he’s a gargantuan buttmunch.”

He started walking but stopped before he passed your seat. His arm slid over the back of your chair and he leaned close enough for you to see his collar bones peeking under his shirt. He smelled like soap.

“And by the way,” he whispered, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

He held your stare with those umber eyes.

He smirked, pulled back and left.

You heard a ding from the system, followed by a congratulations, but you ignored it.

[Host, are you all right? Your temperature suddenly spiked, and why are you covering your mouth?]

“Just–” the hand on your mouth moved to your eyes “–just let me be for a moment.”

[Affection: 24%]

***

You finished today’s to-do list by saying goodbye to Amber after another tutoring session. She was so stressed for the upcoming exam that all the two of you talked about was academics, no gossip or unnecessary chatting. Normally, you would have preferred that type of interaction, but there was no window to ask about Eve.

Left with nothing else to do, you returned to your dorm and headed straight for the shower.

According to the system, the World Consciousness ensured that you wouldn’t get a roommate. A small boon in the grand scheme of things, but one you appreciated.

You starfished on your bed, the mild smell of soap enveloped you and you fell asleep.

You dreamt of relaxing in a swimming pool-sized mug, the hot coffee eased your joints. A giant flying pandesal hovered around you, calling you princess before diving in the middle of the mug.

[Host.]

You startled awake. “Huh?”

[Host, get up.]

You felt around the bed for your phone. Squinting, you checked the time: 23:22.

[Something is wrong. Get up.]

Before you could tell it to blow itself, it flashed you Mark’s corruption status.

[Darkening: 6%]

That got you up.

“What happened? I haven’t done anything.”

[I think it would be best if you saw for yourself.]

Your phone suddenly started playing the news, its volume set to maximum.

“Thousands of dollars worth of property damage, hundreds of civilians injured and dozens are presumed dead in the wake of Invincible’s fight against–”

You put on pants and an Upstate University sweatshirt. “Can you help me find him?”

The system presented a map with a blinking red dot. He was right here, within school grounds.

[He’s on the rooftop of the main building.]

The main building is off limits this time of night. He must’ve flown there. But how the heck were you supposed to get there?

[Leave it to this system, Host!]

***

Mark Grayson sat on the edge of the roof, reclined over his arms.

It was almost midnight so the usual hustle-bustle has calmed down.

His mind wandered over to a certain woman. Did you get home safely? Were you still with Amber?

He glanced over the campus and over the rest of the city. Everything was quiet here. Peaceful.

If he was this far away, he didn’t have to look at all those people he broke. Their homes were in shambles and they all blamed him–

Huwhahh

A monstrous sound from the stairway had him on his feet immediately. “Who’s there?!”

“Huhuuuuwahhhhuu”

You pushed against the rooftop door and crawled out of the stairs, wheezing.

Mark stopped himself from stepping forward and speedily threw his civilian clothes over his suit.

You were on your hands and knees, breathing like you’ve been running.

“Jesus, are you okay?” He called out your name.

“Hm?” Your head bobbed up. “Mark? Why’re you here?”

“Me? What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“I–I–” Your nose almost hit the floor but he caught you.

“Is someone trying to hurt you?”

“No, no.” You closed your eyes and concentrated on breathing first. Once you were back to normal you looked at him properly. “Hi.”

“...hi.”

“I didn’t think anybody would be here.”

“For what, your dying goose roleplaying act?” He helped you sit. “Why’re you here?”

You mumbled something, refusing to make eye contact.

“What?”

“I said–” you appeared just about ready for the Earth to swallow you whole “–I wanted to see if there really is a White Lady here.”

“White Lady?”

Every school has a ghost story, especially universities. Wayne Technical Academy had the giant ghost bat, Metropolitan State had a headless librarian, and Upstate University had the White Lady haunting the main building.

Mark blinked. “Seriously?”

“Amber told me about it.”

“You believe in ghosts? You ?”

Your recovering cheeks heated up again. “I just wanted to see.”

“Ghosts aren’t real.”

“They’ve never been proven but they’ve not been disproven either–why am I explaining myself to you?”

“Why were you out of breath?”

“I was, uh–” You kept your eyes on the ground. “I was fine walking around the halls when I heard footsteps behind me and I–I bolted up the stairs.”

He blinked more slowly this time. Then his arms covered his stomach as he cackled.

“Mark!”

“C’mon, that’s hilarious!”

“It’s not that funny.” You lightly hit his shoulder and he raised his hands up.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Now it’s your turn. Why are you here? This place is off-limits.”

He wiped a tear away. “I wanted to be alone, really alone.”

“Oh.”

“Not going to ask why?”

“No.” You looked over his shoulder and at the buildings. “I have days like that, too.”

Mark watched you for a while, then he sat beside you and you admired the lights together.

The speakers scattered across the campus played the sound of a bell, signaling midnight.

He got up, patted the dust off his rear and wiped his palms over his thighs. He gave you his hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

***

As expected, there were few people outside during this time. The trip back to your dorm was uneventful, but you appreciated that Mark didn’t try to engage in small talk.

“This is my building.”

“And?”

“Aaand thanks. You can go now.” That came out colder than you intended. “I’m sure you’re tired so thank you. Again.”

“Don’t you want me to check under your bed for any monsters?”

“There’s no need, I’m sure the demons in my closet scared them off.”

He laughed again. “All right, all right, I know when to take a hint.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

He grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “Good night, Mark.”

“Good night, princess.”

The door clicked behind you and you started walking towards the elevator.

[Excellent work, Host!]

Pink and black contrasted against each other as Mark Grayson’s current status floated in front of you.

[Affection: 28%. Darkening: 6%.]

“I can’t believe you made me take the stairs.”

[It worked in your favor, didn’t it? You’re a surprisingly good actor when push comes to shove.]

You couldn’t argue with that. It was a good thing you read about the school’s ghost stories from the forum. Otherwise, you didn’t know what lie you could have told him for suddenly appearing.

The system was too busy celebrating to notice your distress.

[The Host managed to get over a quarter of affection in less than a week. Huzzah!]

Fatigue set in your bones and you leaned against the cool metal wall of the elevator.

“I want something sweet,” you grumbled.

taglist: @weponxwrites @ratkidcalledallie @qxuanii @lilacoaks

Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying

Alternate Invincibles

CHAPTER 5: This Boy is a Choking Hazard Series Masterlist

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

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yours-etc · 7 months ago

Text

12 Days of Steddie-Mas

Day 3:

I’ll be home on the 23rd

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Waiting by the phone, Steve watched the TV broadcast of the show. Corroded Coffin had completely blown up in the last year. They managed to get one song on the radio and it seems like the stations just can't turn them off. Their small venue tour had to quickly be upgraded to arenas and more dates added. They've sold out every show. Steve couldn’t be more proud of Eddie, this is everything he’s ever dreamed of. He does miss him, of course he does. Steve had prepared for three months apart, so when it turned into six months and then nine, he was just a bit shocked. Eddie had promised to call every night and he has yet to break this promise. Sometimes they are short and sweet, usually when STeve has to be at the school early the next morning. Other times they last for hours, Eddie so full of adrenaline that he just spews out anything he thinks about, and Steve is just happy to listen.

About a month ago Eddie called to strike a deal.

“Stevie baby,” He drawled into the phone hesitantly.

Steve sighed into his end, “Eds, don��t start like that.”

“I just want to get the bad stuff out of the way!”

“What happened?”

“They want us to do a live show on Thanksgiving”

“And?” Steve presses, knowing there’s always more.

“And— a live show right before Christmas.”

“Ed—”

“But I have a deal for you!” Eddie interrupts, trying to smooth the situation.

“What is it?”

“We do the shows, but I'm home by the 24th and stay through New Years. The last show is in February, so after that we are doing nothing, for a whole year Stevie.”

This piqued Steve’s interest, “A whole year? You sure you wouldn’t get bored?”

“Jeff and Gareth both agreed, we all need a fucking break. We want a year just to be normal again,” Eddie sighs, “It’s not like we won't write music or hang out or have small jam sessions together, there’s just no pressure to do it. I want to be with you sweetheart, I hate waking up and not seeing you there next to me.”

Steve smiles into the phone, “Well I’ll never complain about seeing you, but I don’t want you to give this up.”

”We’re not stopping, it's just— a pause, a moment to fucking breathe.”

“So the 24th?” Steve checks.

“The 24th.” Eddie confirms.

“See then, Eds.”

“See you soon, baby.”

So here’s he was, December 22nd, watching his rockstar boyfriend shread on stage. He smiles as Eddie jumps aroun the stage, messing with Gareth and Jeff, showmanship on full blast.

The rockstar leans into the mic, “For our last song, as always, I’m going to dedicate this to the love of my life,” he says looking directly into the camera, “Be home soon baby.”

The crowd erupts.

Gareth leans into his own mic, “Awe, Eddie you sap.”

Jeff joins in on the teasing, “Eddie, stop over compensating, everyone knows they love me more than you.”

Eddie laughs and shakes his head, “You two are impossible to work with.” He starts playing the opening notes as the crowd roars.

He wrote the song years ago for Steve. When they finally got a record deal, it was the only song Eddie really cared about making it on the record.

“I want the whole world to know how much I love you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re mine for life sweetheart.”

Everytime he hears the crowd singing along it brings tears to his eyes. He’s seen couples dance to it at weddings, getting proposed to it during concerts, making cute videos to it. Love speaks to all. He loves how their love is so fully on display. Even though Steve has asked Eddie to keep his name and identity a secret to the public, that doesn’t stop him from constantly talking about how much he loves Steve at every chance he gets.

Eddipe wraps the concert up waving goodbye to the crowd, “Happy Holidays everyone! See you in January!”

Not more than an hour later Steve’s phone starts to ring.

“Hey there Rockstar,” Steve says into the receiver.

“Hey there lover,” Eddie yells through the line.

Steve yanks the phone away from his ear at the volume, “Jesus, Eddie, no need to scream,” he scolds half heartedly.

“I’m just happy to talk to you,” Eddie says now in a normal volume.

“I’m happy to talk to you too.”

“Excited to see you in two days.”

“Well I’m excited to see Gareth more,” Steve teases.

Eddie huffs, “Yeah right, I know I’m your favorite, even if you won’t admit it.”

They talk for a bit. Steve goes on about how crazy all the kids were on the last day of school. How his usual go to was a Christmas movie day, but he wanted to be different this year. So he set up games and crafts and music. And now he has a headache. Note to self, stick with the movies next year. Eddie talks about how Steve works too hard, which Steve shoots right back at him. They both work themselves to the bone, but there is nothing in the world either of them would rather do. It just feels harder when they are apart. Steve asks what Eddie wants as his welcome home dinner and of course it was something dirty that cannot be repeated.

Steve yawns into the phone sometime around one in the morning.

“I’ll let you get to bed baby, see you in a few days,” Eddie says softly.

“Love you, Eds.”

“Love you more, Stevie.”

———————————

The next day Steve cleaned the whole house top to bottom, every corner and nook and cranny. He scrubbed and whipped and washed until there was nothing left to polish in the house. His excitement kept him running and he needed an outlet. After the house was sparkling he wrapped the last of the presents. Steve wanted Eddie to come home to a perfect house. Even though he would go through it like a tornado, Steve didn’t care that it would get ruined immediately. He needed to keep his mind busy. Otherwise he would pace around the house just counting the seconds till Eddie came home.

Eddie.

His brain repeats on a loop. There was no way he could actually be productive outside of the house, so he stayed inside and perfected their home.

The doorbell rings and Steve thinks it's probably just a package with one of the last few gifts he ordered. He doesn’t get up to check, he’ll just get it later.

There’s a knock on the door a moment later. Once again he ignores it, thinking the delivery man is just double checking before leaving it on the porch.

The knocking gets louder and more aggressive. Not stopping. Just continuous knocks right after another. This gets Steve to finally get up and walk to the front door. Normally he would check the peep hole to check who it is first, but the knocking distracted him.

Steve threw open the door, “Who—” he cuts himself off.

There in front of him was Eddie, bags in hand, snow sticking to his messy hair, and a coy smirk on his face.

“Sorry, Stevie, I left my keys last time I was here and it's freezing,” Eddie says standing there.

Steve looks to the front entrance table. There in the bowl sits Eddie’s set of keys on a cheesy keychain they got in Chicago when they visited a few years ago. He looks back to his boyfriend in disbelief.

Eddie adjusts the bags on his shoulders, “Can I come in, or are we just going to stand here till I get frostbite?” he jokes.

Everything clicks for Steve at that moment. Eddie was here. In the flesh. For the first time in months.

Steve grabbed Eddie by his coat and pulled him in the house. He connects their mouths as he pins Eddie to the door. His boyfriend comes willingly and drops all his bags to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist, pulling them closer together. Steve’s fingers wrap themselves in Eddie’s curls desperately trying to deepen their kiss. Their hot breath fogs around them in the lingering cold air.

“You’re early,” Steve says, breaking for a breath.

Eddie moves to Steve’s neck, coating the skin in hot touches, “Surprise,” he whispers into Steve’s ear. He wraps his hands under Steve’s thighs and lifts him up.

Steve wraps his legs around Eddie and plants kisses across his boyfriends whole face. Cheek to cheek, the bridge of his nose, his chin and forehead, and especially his mouth that tasted like the usual cigarettes and coffee.

Eddie carries them the stairs towards their room.

“WAIT!” Steve gasps as he remembers all the gifts he left all over the place in there, ones that Eddie cannot see before Christmas.

He scrambles out of Eddie’s arms and runs to the room, “Give me a second to hide everything!”

Eddie knows not to argue, and not to snoop. Steve takes Christmas very seriously and will not stand for gifts to be spoiled.

Steve runs around the room, shoving things in drawers and under the bed and in the closet. Once he is satisfied with everything being out of sight he opens the bedroom door, “Welcome home, baby,” he says waving his hand towards their bed.

Eddie is on him again in a second, closing the door once again behind them. Although that did little to muffle their sounds. Not that there was anyone else in the house to hear them anyway.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Day: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Happy Day Three!!!!!

Sorry this took a second, I got like ridiculously buys over this past week and did not have the time to write like I initially planned for! This one is just a bit of cutesy to warm y’all’s harts <3 Nothing explicit… yet. Stay tuned and all that.

Thank you for reading! It means the world to me that people are enjoying all this!

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #k scribbles on paper #k does 12 days of Steddie-Mas!!#steddie ficlet #steddie fic

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lunamugetsu · 2 years ago

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Bruce gets an alert from the batcomputer saying that the alarms at Arkham are going off.

When he gets there he sees that none of the criminals have broken out, someone has broken in. When looking at the footage he finds Danny and Jazz sitting in the cemetery holding a ouija board in front of Amadeus Arkham's (the founder of Arkham Asylum) tombstone.

Batman: what are you two doing?

Jazz: I have a paper due and I wanted to ask some questions about the article Amadeus wrote. (she turns back to the tombstone) So I have some questions about page three paragraph 2. I don't know if it's slang for your time or just a terminology we don't use anymore. But you wrote about scribbling walls that talked. Any chance you could provide context on that.

Batman: (turns to Danny) And what are you doing here?

Danny: she needed help with the ouija board

Batman who was about to scold them for trespassing on Arkham Asylum grounds stays quiet as the planchette on the the ouija board starts moving spelling out the words.

I C A N E X P L A I N

M A K E S U R E Y O U R E T A K I N G N O T E S

This idea comes from that when you're writing research papers you're going to need to reference articles and some people say that they reference articles that are over a hundred years old. Combine that with that some people will contact the writers of the articles to ask them questions about what they were writing and you got this story!

Also in the Arkham Asylum game, there is a cemetery on the property, which I presume consists of inmates. Because you can find Amadeus Arkham's grave there. And Amadeus was the one who created Arkham Asylum who later had to be committed himself because he went insane.

This story can either go comical or heart wrenching. Just various scenarios of seeing Danny just bringing the ouija board with him everywhere so he could chat with the ghosts that are around Gotham. Who are surprisingly pretty tame when compared to the ghosts he sees at Amity. Maybe he has weekly lunches with Lady Gotham. Heart wrenching if you want to go down the path of Danny talking with Bruce's parents or any of the deceased parents from the batfamily.

#dp x dc #danny phantom x dc #dpxdc #batman #danny fenton #bruce wayne #dc x dp #dp x dc writing prompt #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dc x dp crossover

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oopsiedaisydeer · 2 months ago

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all my love, airmail ...in which pilot!matt visits your sleepy seaside town every summer

fluff, mutual pining, summer romance, pilot!matt, seaside town, slight angst i guess, unresolved

requested by the lovely @vanteguccir !

word count - 400ish

Matt shows up every morning like clockwork. Just after sunrise, boots dusted with sand, hair ruffled from the wind and eyes still dreaming. His goggles hang around his neck, and he smells like sun-warmed leather and ocean salt, like the kind of guy who lives too close to the sky. He's been flying since he was young. Too young, probably.

He’s come to your town every season for the past couple of years, flying tourists in slow, looping circles over the sea.

“Just for the summer”, he tells you every time you ask him how long he’s staying for.

But Matt walks like he’s not in any rush to leave. Like the sky’s been waiting a long time to let him rest.

The old red biplane sits in the lot like it’s waiting for something magical to happen, patched up with love, stickers from places he’s flown to, and a little yellow flag that flutters even when there’s no breeze.

You work the morning shift at the sleepy seaside diner down the road from the airfield, all creaky stools and checkered floors. Pouring coffee and pretending not to watch the door. Matt always takes the third seat from the end, facing the window like he’s waiting for something. Or someone.

“Same as usual?” you ask, smiling as you already scribble it down. Scrambled eggs, burnt toast, a glass of apple juice. He nods, a little shy, but his mouth quirks at the corners when you bring him the glass. He only ever stays long enough for a bite of the food, but some mornings, he leaves behind little things.

Stickers form fuel stations in towns you’ve never been to. Napkins with doodles. A postcard with nothing but a timestamp and a messy scrawl “thought of you today. The clouds looked like cotton candy.”

There are paper planes folded from old flight charts, matchbox cars that roll perfectly straight, doodles of balloons carrying houses into the sky. Once, he left a candy bracelet with a note that read “emergency fuel for daydreamers.”

You keep them all in an old mint tin beneath the register when no one’s looking, like souvenirs from a trip you haven’t taken yet.

You’ve never told him how you’ve always wanted to fly, not just in the air, but somewhere. Somewhere big. Somewhere small. Somewhere with him.

Every afternoon, his biplane hums above the diner roof, sunlight catching on the red wings like a wink. He always dips to one side before disappearing over the cliffs. Always. You wave even though he can’t see you. Or maybe he can.

And you wonder, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next time he walks through the door smelling like wind and sand and sky, maybe you’ll ask him to take you with him.

Just once.

Or maybe you’ll ask him to stay.

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers!!

a/n: never seen top gun and i'm scared of heights, but matt talking about the movie up, and him in that balloon and now the plane,,, this felt right and how i interpret pilot!matt sdjbhffsdjb :>

main taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturns-mermaid @shortnsweetsturnz @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova @riasturns @sturnsblogs @darksturnz @httpssturns @mi-co-uk @ribbonlovergirl @lovesturni0l0s @grace-sturnz @auttysturnz @kier-with-a-k @malsmind @edu4rd0ss @pink1man @h3arts4nat @chriss-slutt @whore4chris @aaliyahsturniolo

till next time!!!

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lo1k-diamonds · 30 days ago

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Make It Right 💜 Part 2

I won't make that mistake again.

PAIRING: Idol!Jungkook x (f) Reader

SUMMARY: After the last concert in Busan, Jungkook decides to stay at his parents' and make the best of that pause. He never dreamed he would have the chance to meet you again, but now that he has, he won't give up. This is his chance to make things right.

WORD COUNT: 13.1 k

GENRE: Idol AU, childhood friends to lovers, reunions, angst

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: arguing, angst, Jungkook likes to tease you a lot, nipple play, dry humping, cum eating, oral (both), unprotected sex, creampie, reader calls Jungkook by his actual name (Jeongguk), reader has a nickname

A.N. I've been seeing so many GIFs about Yet to Come JK that ouuuf 🥵 like please and thank you! Anyway, I hope the ending matches the vibe of the first part :) I wanted them to be soulmates without a soulmate AU and show their history a bit, even though this is only a two-shot. A huge thank you to @downbad4yoongi Jasz for helping me fine-tune this one 💜 Enjoy 💜(Thank you @eerieedits for the cool banner 💜)

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | < Part 1

“Imo-nim,” Jungkook greeted with a respectful bow.

Your mother beamed, “Jungkook! How wonderful to see you! Do you need something?”

He raised his head and looked behind her for a split second. “I was hoping to catch Mimi.”

Your mother's face showed wonder, then sadness. “Oh, she doesn’t live here anymore. Hasn’t in a couple of years.”

His heart dropped. “She’s not here? I thought… Did she not come here last night?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “She had dinner and left.”

Jungkook looked behind your mother as he processed that information. He had trouble sleeping, so he was out front for at least an hour, waiting for a decent hour to knock on your parents’ door. You couldn’t have left without him seeing it. And your mother wouldn’t lie to him, she’d have no reason to because you wouldn't have told her what happened last night. Which meant you hadn’t come here last night, and he was even more at a loss.

“But I can give you her address so you can go talk to her.”

Jungkook was instantly relieved, but he worried as your mother turned to a nearby table in her foyer to grab a Post-it and a pen. “Only if you think she won’t mind. I don’t want to upset her.”

Your mother chuckled as she scribbled. “Let her get upset. She’s already mad at me for yesterday anyway.”

“Because you were late?”

She hummed quizically and gave him the paper. “Late? No, because I told her it was time to stop sulking and talk to you. She wasn’t pleased about that.”

Jungkook safely tucked the paper with your address in his closed hand and pressed his lips, unsure how to reply.

But your mom just smiled. “I’ll be happy to see you two together again, even if it’s none of my business,” she added with a sigh, raising her hands in surrender. Then she smirked. “I can call her to let her know you’ll be coming over, if you want. Or give you her—”

“No!” he interrupted mindlessly, instantly regretting his outburst. “No, it… It will be okay like this. I’ll drop by tonight; maybe it’s best that she doesn’t know about it.”

Your mother raised a playful eyebrow. “Why are you waiting until tonight? You should go now. She has the day off.”

His shoulders stiffened as he licked his lip, instantly eager to do precisely that, and your mother simply chuckled.

“Take your time, okay? She might put up a fight at first, but that kid cares a lot about you. Always has.”

Jungkook’s heart fluttered as he squeezed the Post-it in his hand, and he didn’t linger. He thanked your mother properly, then made his way to his parents’ garage to borrow their car. The GPS quickly showed him where you lived, how to get there, and where to park, and he felt every minute of that twenty-minute car drive.

The further he got into the city proper, the more he realized he had no clue about what he would say to you. On top of it, you’d surely be angry that he had your address. Not to mention, there was no telling if you’d open the door to see him, but he had to try, especially with your taste lingering on his lips.

As soon as he parallel parked across the street from your building, he hopped out and took a few long strides to cross the road. Once he got there, his stomach finally twisted with nerves. The building's front door was locked, and he prayed that you'd open it for him as he stared at your name on the intercom panel.

He rang your apartment, looking at his feet while he waited, fully aware of the red light, the camera, and the beep. Especially when it stopped, but the light stayed on.

“Talk to me, Mimi,” he said quietly, raising his arms to support his weight on either side of the intercom. He stared into the camera, knowing you could see him. “I’m not letting this happen again. When we were kids, we were… stupid and silly and insecure and selfish and overwhelmed, and ugh— But not now. I won’t leave with things left unsaid,” he stated. “I won’t leave without seeing you. I won’t make that mistake again. I know you’re there, will you please open the door?”

The red light was still on, but no one replied. He glanced at your name again before nodding.

“Okay, well, then I’ll start. I said I thought I was over you, but I lied. How can I get over someone who contributed so much to who I am today? I thought of you in my darkest moments, and your strength pushed me through. And now seeing you, feeling you— No, it’s not possible. I can’t get over you.” He shook his head with a sigh. “You’re my person. We might never work, but you’ll always be my person. I’m sorry I ever hurt you. At thirteen, sixteen, or yesterday, it feels like I keep hurting you when I—I never meant to, I'm so sorry.”

His voice wavered as he lowered his head. Were you even listening? Truly listening? Did you even understand or relate to anything he was saying?

He raised his eyes in time to see the red light turn off. His heart dropped; did you turn it off? Or had it timed out?

His chest tightened with a mix of emotions, making him close his fists and clench his jaw, but then the light turned on again.

“You’re there,” he breathed, staring at the camera. “You just activated it again, didn’t you? Please let me in. Let’s talk.”

His guts twisted as he waited, his emotions tethered to anxiety as he wondered if you'd give him, and you both, a chance.

A long buzz followed by a click was his answer. He pushed the door open and ran up the stairs so fast, it felt like he teleported to the fourth floor. Then he stopped and stared at your closed door. Another barrier, another question. Would you—?

The door opened, and the first thing he saw were your eyes. Heavy and glistening, avoiding him before you opened the door further to let him in.

Suddenly, getting inside wasn't the priority— you were. “Are you okay?” he asked, stepping towards you.

Suddenly, a few loud barks made him raise his eyebrows and look down. A white Jindo was fast approaching, hurrying to stand by your legs, barking and wiggling its tail in excitement.

Jungkook was too stunned to speak. It was so out of character for you to have a dog, but there you were, giving a command. “Sit.”

The Jindo looked up at you and sat down obediently, wiggling its tail incessantly with its tongue hanging from its open mouth. You reached your hand to pet its head, and Jungkook was stunned.

He could still see the faint scar on your hand as you stroked its white fur. Nobody would have noticed the mark, but he did because he knew about it.

“You have a dog?”

You nodded, and Jungkook instantly looked at the Jindo differently. He kneeled in front of your pet, and it was enough for it to restart barking and attacking Jungkook with its tongue, almost knocking him down.

Jungkook laughed, catching the excited dog before it could do so and calming it down with soothing pets, while you scolded, “Nal, no. Come on, bed. On your bed.”

The dog was too excited to listen to you now, giving its full attention to Jungkook, who was befuddled.

“You called him Nal?”

“I called her day, yes.”

Nal had calmed down, lying on the floor to get belly rubs from Jungkook, whose eyes were fixed on you. His heart was in such turmoil that he couldn’t speak. Not only did you have a dog, but you had called her Day, just like you used to talk about. It was enough to make him want to grab you and kiss you. It was enough for him to be mad that you wouldn’t let him.

“Why did you run away?”

You bristled and stepped further inside. “Come inside first. Nal, come.”

Nal instantly got up and happily followed you, but Jungkook took a second before doing the same and closing the door behind him. There was something wonderful about following you inside and seeing you walking side by side with a dog, without fear. With your dog, who was looking at you endearingly as you crossed the living room and told her to settle on her bed, a large gray pillow in the corner. You knelt beside her, stroking her shiny white coat, a sharp contrast to your black sweater and leggings.

He blinked. Those were just like the clothes from yesterday. Which reminded him of why he was there, so he repeated the question. “Why did you run away?”

Your eyes flickered towards him before you gave Nal one last pet and got up. “What do you mean, why? What was I supposed to have done?”

“Stay!”

“And what?” You turned to face him. “Give you the chance to let me down slowly?”

“Does it look like that’s what I want to do?”

“What else can you do?!”

“Figure it out!” He snapped, pushed by your tone. “With you!”

“What? How can you say that?!” Your voice trembled. “After you left and stayed gone all these years?!”

His anger diminished rapidly, and he finally understood where your reaction stemmed from. “That was then, this is now. I told you, we’re adults now. Writing our story and taking it wherever we want it to go.”

Your anger simmered down, finally leaving only sadness in its wake. “Yes, okay. Well, your story led you very far away and—”

“But I’m here now,” he cut in, stepping closer to you.

“Now? What now? That’s just bullshit!”

You were easily upset again, but he wasn't. “Why? Mimi, why do you think it’s bullshit?”

“Because I know through my mom! You barely visit home, you’re always busy! How long can you even stay now?”

“As long as I want to.” He was firm, and you heaved a deep breath. “Things are different now. You know why, you said you worked on the concert.”

“I know,” you muttered, looking down.

“Then you know BTS is going on hiatus for a while. And I told you yesterday that I'm taking time off.” Your eyes were fleeting, and he insisted, “What are you afraid of?”

“Everything!” you breathed before you ran your hands through your hair. “I don't know what we're doing! We're supposed to be part of the past.”

“And if we’re not?” he asked. You looked at him, and he insisted, so eager he couldn't hide the want in his voice. “Is that so bad?”

Yet you smiled sadly. “Yes. Because it won't be a dream anymore.” Your eyes softened as you eyed him, and his heart thumped underneath your gaze. That was the first time he saw clear affection in your eyes as they met his. “If… If I kiss you the way I want to, you won't be in the past anymore. You will be someone I want now, and… What do I do then? I'll just have to let you go. You don't belong here,” you added, even as he shortened the distance between you and raised his hands to your waist. Your hands met his chest, and you looked into his eyes as you whispered, “A part of me wants to do it anyway, no matter how little you can give, but I have to be smarter than that. I know how much it will hurt. Heck, it will be even worse this time.” You chuckled. “So yeah, I ran away. I’m sorry.”

He pressed you closer. “I don’t want to be your dream anymore, and I don’t want you to be mine. I want you to kiss me and give us a present. A future.”

Your lips parted as you looked at him, stunned. He couldn't believe the words out of his mouth either; twenty-four hours ago, he would never have guessed where he'd be or with whom, and feeling so sure about his heart.

But the more he looked at you, with your sparkly eyes and nose freckles, the more certain he was.

Yet your expression saddened as you whispered, “But you don't even know me anymore…”

“But I can get to know you. And you can get to know me. Who else will ever know me the way you do? Understand me? Accept me?” Your eyelashes fluttered, and he knew you understood exactly what he meant. “I have time now, so I can finally choose us and treat you right.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Why would you want to do that? I'm just someone you left behind.”

“You're someone I could never forget and thought I had lost forever,” he corrected, feeling it heavily in his heart. “Meeting you like this is… It's the most amazing opportunity. All the what-ifs, doubts, regrets, certainties I could never confirm… and then I saw you. Met you, talked to you, touched you, kissed you—” He could feel the desire seeping through his voice, and seeing your cheeks gaining color made him lick his lips. “Everything is so clear to me now. I could have never made you promises before, but I can now. I can actually spend time with you and do this right. If it doesn't work out, it won't be because I'm never around or too busy to call. We can be together and see where things go, and I really want to. You heard me, I'm not over you. You stayed in the back of my mind even though I was certain that for my whole life, you’d just be someone I used to know. Someone whom I would have held in my arms, had all my firsts with, and loved madly if things had happened differently.”

You whispered, “You can’t know that.”

He smiled. “Yes, I can. I know I'm a romantic at heart, but… I mean, if I had never left, I would have tried, of course… It doesn’t mean you’d ever see me as more than Jeongguk, but—”

“Oh, shut up!” You swatted his chest with no real strength. “I saw you as more years before you did!”

He smiled playfully. “That’s true. So is what I’m saying that crazy?”

“No,” you admitted quietly, then pushed on his chest softly. “But I’m afraid of believing it and getting my head full of dreams and ideas that are impossible.”

He held you firmly by the waist. “Mimi…”

“Don’t.”

“I have to,” he countered gently, despite the ache at seeing you trying to put distance between you two. Even after he saw in your eyes how his words touched you. “I will fight for you unless you tell me you don’t want me. If what happened yesterday was just two people getting each other off, that’s fine. I can accept that even if that’s not how I see it. Is that what it was?”

His tone was gentle as you stopped pushing his chest and crumpled his sweater in your hands instead.

“No.”

His eyes softened. “Okay, tell me what it was.” You kept your eyes firmly on his chest, and he insisted. “What happened yesterday?”

You pressed your lips together, and he couldn't handle the silence.

“Did you get carried away?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows twitched, but he kept going. “Was it an impulse?”

“Yes.”

You refused to look at him, and he began tensing up, both knowing you weren't lying and that there had to be more to the way you felt about him.

“Has your curiosity been satisfied?”

You pursed your lips, and he bit his lip.

“You hate me and want nothing to do with me.”

Your eyes snapped up. “That’s not true.”

But he was already irked. “You kiss everyone like that,” he whispered.

“That’s not true!”

“I know, I could feel it!” He squeezed your sides to tame his annoyance. “So won't you tell me what you’re thinking and how you feel. Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say!”

“Yes, yes, you do. Your secrets.” You opened your mouth to counter him, and he interrupted you, “That, right there. That thought you’re not voicing.” Your eyes flitted between his, and still you hesitated. “You always told me everything. Trust me again.”

Your eyes watered. “It won’t make sense,” you whispered.

“I’m the only one who it will make sense to,” he assured gently.

You let your head fall to his chest and embraced him so firmly that the air was squeezed out of his lungs.

Then, you whispered, “I don't know what to do. I thought you had forgotten all about me, but now, I—I don’t know what to do. I was in love with you for so long,” you breathed, hiding your face in his shoulder. “The type of innocent, childish first love that never blossomed, never materialized, but still haunted me for years. I was angry, so angry. So hurt and angry, I despised you and myself for feeling that way about you. And jealous. Everyone would talk about you, how mature and responsible you were, and I’d burn with jealousy of whoever got to be with you while I became smaller than a side note you had already forgotten.”

He had to grab you as gently as possible to pull you away enough to face you. To see you as you finally let him know about your heart.

You were tearful and anxious, but you continued, “I had to work hard on myself to let it all go. To move on with my life and accept all that was unrequited feelings and a bruised ego. And now you’re here, what do you want me to do? To say? I can’t even be angry at you anymore!” Your voice trembled with tears as you shook your head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t try harder! I shouldn’t have shut you out, I should have been there for you!”

A tear escaped your water line, and he instantly held you closer as you wiped it away.

He spoke softly, “You did your best. I should have tried harder to reach out to you, too.” Your shoulders shook as you tried calming your breathing, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry you went through all of that by yourself. I should have been there to tell you your feelings weren’t unrequited. That I couldn’t even talk to girls for so long because I had you on my mind, and it felt wrong. That I had to accept that our lives went their separate ways. That it drove me crazy to think that if I ever saw you again, I’d find you settled down with an amazing life that didn’t include me or the dreams we had growing up. That I wished I had stayed in your life, and it hurt every single day.” His voice turned to a whisper as you cradled his cheeks, seeing his pain. “That's why we deserve this, Mimi,” he assured you with a warm heart. “We've been apart for too long, we deserve to—”

You tilted his head until his lips were close and got on your tip toes to shut him up with a kiss. Instantly, he groaned into your mouth, lifting you to his chest. You drove him wild, making him recklessly kiss you as if he missed you for a lifetime and feared never tasting you again.

His ache materialized when you pulled back, breaking apart your kiss, even though you were still holding onto his sweater.

“It will make a mess of things.”

“Or make everything right,” he countered, kissing your head.

“We’ll get hurt,” you whispered painfully, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The hope that had settled in his chest was not enough for him to mindlessly insist this time. “I want everything but that. If that's the only future you see for us and prefer to leave things as they are, I’ll leave.”

It was the first time he offered, and it didn't come without pain and disappointment. Fortunately, looking into your eyes, he saw that you didn't take the matter lightly. You knew there was a chance of getting hurt no matter what, and it made you hesitate, but not outright take his offer.

He brushed your hair behind your ear gently. “It’s okay. However you feel is right, you can tell me.”

You leaned into his touch. “I don’t want you to leave. Ever again.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a smothering hug, and he chuckled, nuzzling your neck.

“Me neither.” He breathed in your perfume and sighed, relaxing further into your embrace. “I believe in us. I remember playing mom and dad and the talks we had about one day having children and dogs and a house and—”

“You remember all that?”

“I do, and I cherish it,” he promised, kissing your neck. “And you do, too. Or you wouldn’t have named her Nal.”

You pulled away, glancing at your dog, asleep on her pillow, before looking back at him. Despite the hue on your cheeks, you hesitated.

He brushed a finger down your warm cheek. “Just like I named my dog Bam.”

You gasped mutely, and he couldn’t help but smile and cradle your cheek.

“I used to believe it was a dream, but after yesterday, I know it’s real. I know we’re special. I feel vindicated after all these years.” He chuckled.

“But it’s crazy,” you countered with a sniffle.

“My life is crazy. Meeting you again and finding out you’re the love of my life would not be the craziest thing that has ever happened to me. But it would make me the happiest.”

Your mouth parted as you stared at him, blushing furiously, stunned and silent. It made him smile; your shock was endearing, especially after everything he had told you today.

He leaned in to peck your nose and cheeks, waiting for your reaction. Your response.

You squeezed your eyes shut, whispering, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be…” He kept holding you and kissing your skin tenderly. “We’ll figure it all out together. Like we used to.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“And it can restart now for an even longer time.”

You looked at him with stars in your eyes despite the puffiness and nodded. And he never felt more ecstatic in his whole life, lifting you and spinning you around as you laughed and held on. Nal finally woke up and looked at you both groggily before lying back down. By then, your feet were already on the ground, and the world stopped.

Your eyes were different—affectionate and curious— as you cradled his cheek. It was as if you were taking the time to really look at him for the first time. It brought tears to his eyes and such a warm tenderness to his heart when you guided him to lower his face to yours, and your lips met. That kiss felt different, settling so deeply and lovingly in his heart, he felt complete. He didn't know what was missing for so long, but now that he had you in his life again, something had definitely been restored, and he was at ease.

You pulled away with a smile, and he was sure that kiss was the first of many.

“Well,” you cleared your voice, “can I offer you something to drink? If you have time.”

He smirked. “I'm not leaving anytime soon.”

You nodded. “Get comfortable, then.” You immediately moved away to the kitchen. “What would you like to drink?”

“Is coffee okay?”

He made way to the entryway nearby, taking his shoes off as Nal happily followed him. “Yeah!” he replied, petting Nal as she sniffed his shoes next to yours. He scratched behind her ear as he pictured Bam there as well. He'd also be excited, thinking he’d go out for a walk. “Do you walk her much?”

“Oh, yeah. She's super energetic,” you told him with your back turned as he saw you busying around. “I usually walk her twice a day. She already went out once today.”

He nodded, impressed, and petted Nal once more before getting up and crossing your small apartment towards the kitchen. “Bam is also like that. He plays a lot, but he also sleeps a lot.”

The espresso machine came to life as your milk frother buzzed and he quieted, observing as you moved around preparing the coffee. Your back was turned, but he could tell you were careful and precise as you poured the espressos, milk, and foam into cups. When you finally turned to him with a cup, his lips rounded to an ‘o.’

“I hope a cappuccino is okay,” you said as he took the cup, then grabbed yours as you pointed to get back to the couch.

He kept staring at the pattern you had made with the milk foam that resembled a leaf. “It's perfect.”

You chuckled as you sat on the couch, petting Nal's head once before pulling a blanket to cover your legs. “It's pretty, not perfect. I'd need freshly brewed coffee for that.”

He sat next to you. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

You grinned as you blew gently on the cup. “I worked as a barista in Canada during my semester there.”

He gaped. “You studied in Canada?”

“And learned all about coffee,” you confirmed, finally tasting your cappuccino while he tasted his.

“Wow!” he exclaimed, and you chuckled, knowing he was exaggerating. As the Jeongguk you knew would.

Nal sat on the floor in front of you expectantly, and you patted her affectionately a few times on her head.

“How do you know where I live?” you asked, brushing the fur around Nal's collar.

“Your mom.”

Your eyes darted to his before you rolled them, and he tried stifling a small smile. He knew you'd be annoyed by it, but could you even complain?

“Maybe you should thank her,” he suggested casually, pulling on the blanket to also get it over his legs, and you huffed.

“No, thank you. I'd never hear the end of it.”

He chuckled as you put your legs over his while still petting Nal.

“When she finds out…”

You opened your mouth to counter him, but nothing came out. Because you knew there was little to argue there, and he smirked again.

“Because you can't keep your mouth shut,” you whined, pouting, and he shook his head.

“Because I don't want to.”

Your pout fell through, and you leaned closer to him, letting your head fall gently to his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you.

Nal stayed seated, happily receiving pets while she eyed you both with her tongue hanging cutely from her open mouth.

“She's such a good girl,” he commented, surprised she wasn't jumping to get on the couch with you.

“Usually, she's protective over me,” you told him, smiling at your baby. “I don't think I've ever seen her so relaxed with a stranger.”

“She likes me.”

He was sure of it as he said it because your dog's tail kept swishing on the floor, looking at him like she had always known him.

“She must. I mean, she was sleeping while we argued.”

You sounded playful, but his expression sobered before he said, “Because she knows you're safe with me.” You smiled. “How old is she?”

“Two years. I got her when I moved out.”

He nodded as Nal's eyes started closing, soothed by your pets. Your bond was undeniable.

“I never thought you'd get a dog.”

“Why?” You were genuinely curious. “You helped me get over that fear.”

“Yeah, but you only ever let my parents' dogs near you.”

You nodded. “You told me they were family, so I should love and respect them. I still visited them after you left.”

He shook his head as he chuckled. “You grew up with my dogs in my stead.”

“I guess I did. Because you didn't take them with you.”

“I couldn’t. We were too many in the dorm, and by the time there was space, I was never home.”

“And Bam?”

You sipped on your coffee as he explained, “He stays with someone who takes care of him when I’m away. But what about you? How come you decided to get a dog by yourself?”

“When I moved here, I felt lonely and… brave,” you said, looking into his eyes for a moment. “I decided I could do it alone. I didn't need to wait for anyone else. Then a neighbor had a litter and I saw her and I just knew. My sweet Nal.”

You scratched under her ears and squeezed playfully before falling back into his embrace. Nal decided to lie down right there, as if that was the perfect place for a nap, and you relaxed into his side. Jungkook adored the way you loved Nal; it warmed his heart, especially as you placed your now free hand on his lap, the faded scar still visible.

“Of course, I couldn’t risk freaking out, so Nal went to puppy school for almost two years,” you confessed with a sheepish shrug. “She listens very well.”

“That’s good. And good that you thought of that. I’m amazed by you. You got over your fear and have a family now.”

You leaned back on his shoulder and chuckled. “That’s true, she is my baby. Do you want to show me Bam?”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened a dedicated photo gallery. You gasped as he opened the latest photo of his Doberman, sleeping on a couch.

“He’s so beautiful! And has dark fur,” you remarked, glancing at Jungkook, who nodded while biting his lip.

“That’s why he’s called Bam… Thankfully, we don’t both have Bams or Nals,” he joked, earning a light poke with your elbow so he’d show more pictures. He thumbed to the next photo. “I was in Daegu with a friend and someone he knew had puppies, so we went to take a look. He was the only reddish pup, and he was the only one not getting any milk from his mom. When I saw that, I just knew I had to take the little buddy with me. And I’m glad I did,” he mused as you gasped when he reached a puppy photo of Bam in his arms. “Puppies shouldn’t be given dog food early on, but they were doing that to make the puppies bigger, and I complained about it. They tried to deny it, but I found out because Bammie vomited all over me when we drove back to Seoul,” he recalled, smirking. “All over me,” he gestured to his chest as he laughed, “and it was all dog food.”

“Ohh.” You pouted, certainly imagining the sweet puppy being sick.

“Yeah, so I complained about it,” he told you, quieting as he put his phone away.

“You did well,” you assured, and Jungkook smiled as he drank from his coffee. He tended to do the right thing and speak up, and so did you. You wouldn’t be the one to discourage him, quite the opposite. “Caring for them properly is important, especially when they’re so fragile. And I get it when you say all over,” you added with a chuckle. “Nal also gets carsick very easily.” You eyed his phone and asked, “How old is he?”

“Almost two years old,” he replied, putting the empty cup on the coffee table next to the couch. “I’m going to live with him and enjoy it until I have to go into the military… He’s already a big dog, so he’ll stay at a dog school while I’m away.”

He saw in your face that you knew what he was talking about. “When are you going?”

“Not now,” he declared, looking deeply into your eyes. “I decided to rest and maybe make a solo album before going. Not sure when, but…” He sighed. “I just want to rest right now. To live a little. I can think about all of that later.”

He relaxed further into the couch, looking at you under his arm. He couldn’t read your expression, but he knew you were listening attentively. He wanted you to.

“Is Bam well-behaved?” you asked before taking a sip of coffee.

“He can be a rascal, but he listens well.” He grinned, missing Bammie dearly even though it had been only a few weeks since he left his dog in Seoul. “I promise you’ll feel safe with him.”

Your eyes showed no fear as you sighed. “Well, he’s in Seoul and I’m here. And I wouldn’t want Nal to be uncomfortable.”

His eyes traced your features. “Seoul is a drive away, and Nal wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Something tells me they’d bond straight away.”

You smirked. “Because of their names?”

He nodded, lacing his fingers with yours on his lap. “Among other things.”

You smiled and looked at your hands. “I’m thankful, you know. If you hadn’t helped me and built up my trust again after that dog attacked me, I’d never have taken the risk of getting Nal. I would have been lonely. So, thank you.”

Jungkook's emotions got stuck in his throat as you spoke. To hear he had a positive influence on your life, even when he was absent and hurt you, made him tear up.

“What about you?” he croaked after clearing his throat. “I wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for you.”

“What?”

“Remember when you stopped me from going down the driveway on my bicycle and onto the road? I lost balance and you grabbed me and almost got dragged with me,” he recalled, remembering perfectly the second he saw the red car fast approaching, knowing it would hit him. Only for you to yank on the handlebars of his bike, making him fall on top of you. “My mom said it herself: if it weren’t for you, I would have been hit by that passing car.”

“You would have been fine.”

He looked at you, dumbfounded. “One second and my whole life could have been different or nonexistent!”

“You also saved me all the time,” you said, as though that countered his belief. “Like that one time I fell from a tree straight on top of you.”

He groaned. “That hurt.” He chuckled painfully, remembering taking his eyes off you for a second, only for you to drop on him from a tree branch literally. “Your mom thought I broke a rib.”

You nodded and snuggled up more to his side. “Fortunately, you didn't. But see, I could have broken my neck.”

He shook his head — there was no way he would have ever let that happen. “What about when I was running on the pool deck, and you tackled me into the pool? Mid-air?!”

You shook your head, though you were laughing with him. “We were so reckless back then.”

“Yeah, but it was sooooo cool!”

He grinned as you leaned to put down your empty mug next to his. “It wasn’t always cool. Remember when we used to fight?”

His grin widened despite squinting his eyes. “Ahh…”

“How old were we?”

“Six? Maybe seven?”

“It got rough, and you got so upset because I’m stronger than you,” you continued, returning to your spot with his arm over your shoulders.

He had to laugh. “Stronger than me?!” You had a wide Cheshire grin, and he shook his head. “At the time, perhaps. But I shouldn’t have kicked you like that.”

You shrugged. “And I shouldn’t have eaten your chocolates behind your back.”

He gasped dramatically with wide eyes. “So you admit it!”

“It’s all bygones now, right?”

“No!!” He scoffed despite his incredulous smile. Meanwhile, you had that familiar angelical smile he remembered so well. “I believed you when you said you didn’t eat them! You started crying!”

His accusation made your smile wider. “Ahh, yes… I always cried.”

“To fool me!”

“No, I was upset you were getting mad at me.”

You tried pouting with sparkly eyes, and he felt the need to hold you in his arms and whine, “You ate my chocolate!”

“But I didn’t know that would make you so upset,” you smiled, and he scoffed. “What about that time you drank my banana milk when I asked you to hold it while I tied my shoe laces?”

It was his turn to have a wide, mischievous grin. “Ahh, revenge.”

You opened your mouth in mock outrage. “You said you believed me! You’re horrible!”

You raised one leg from his lap under the blanket and kicked him playfully, and he tried catching your foot. “You got another one!”

“Because you drank mine!” you insisted, kicking him again.

He laughed and finally caught your foot, pulling on it to drape your leg over his lap again. As he did, he realised, “You stole my chocolate all the time, but still, I love banana milk the most. Your favorite.”

His heart skipped a beat when you leaned in with a playful smile and asked secretly, “Want one?”

You sprang from the couch in a second, giving him no opportunity to reply. He stayed seated as you went back to the kitchen, and Nal followed you. He already missed your legs on his lap, but now he was sure you’d come back.

You returned to him with a gleeful smile, passing him one banana milk bottle while you kept the other. He pierced the foil with a straw, same as you, playfully and silently, as you both kept an eye on the other.

As soon as there was a faint noise from the hallway, your head snapped in its direction. “Nal? Ah, shit. Nal, no!”

You leaned further to get a peek at Nal, forgetting all about your drink. After a third call, Nal finally stopped whatever she was doing and happily trotted to you for a pet.

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” you apologized, petting her head before turning to him. “She likes to play with sh—”

You gasped, and he pulled back before you could swat him. While you were distracted, he sneakily leaned in to drink your banana milk. He knew you’d catch him immediately, and your shock was priceless.

“You are horrible!” you whined, then tried drinking some more. It lasted barely a second before you gasped again. “You drank it all?!”

He could only laugh mischievously as he went back to drinking his banana milk, but you weren’t having it.

“Give me yours!”

He dodged your first attempt easily, but you didn’t give up. You put the empty bottle on the coffee table and got on your knees on the couch, trying to grab his drink. He kept slowly drinking out of his straw, keeping you at bay with his free hand, even as you huffed and puffed.

“Jeon Jeongguk! Stop being mean!”

He almost choked with how much he wanted to laugh at your reaction, but eventually his taunt backfired. You managed to pass through his defenses and grab his hand, and he had to let go of the straw and pull away to prevent you from using your whole body weight against him.

You managed to fall on top of him, and he let go of the bottle to support you. You exclaimed victoriously before putting the straw in your mouth, only to whine two swigs later.

“You—! You’re the worst!” you accused, and all he could do was laugh as he supported you on his lap. “You owe me a banana milk!”

“And you owe me a mountain of chocolate,” he retorted, knowing you could see in his eyes how gleeful he was.

You tried slurping the last drops of banana milk before saying, “You first.”

He chuckled. “My mom always said ladies first…”

You swatted his shoulder, leaning back to put the empty bottle on the coffee table, fully supported by his hands on your waist. Then, you placed your hands on his shoulders. “Ladies first, huh… Does that mean you’re waiting for me to make the first move?”

“The first move?” He hummed. “Wasn’t that me?”

He tilted his head, and you squinted. “You’re here, yes.”

“And I kissed you yesterday.”

You huffed lightly. “You don’t have to win every time, you know?”

“On the contrary.” He grinned, feeling the way you adjusted yourself on his lap. “I’ll always win, regardless of who does what first.”

You chuckled, leaning in slowly with your arms around his neck. “Such bullshit, Jeongguk-ssi,” you whispered, then pressed your lips to his cheek. “You like to brag.”

For a second, he was caught up in the way his body was warming up underneath yours. But your words made him smirk and relax. “Not really,” he challenged, closing his eyes as you kissed his jaw. “Not about this.”

“No?” you teased, pecking his skin as he heated up underneath you.

“No,” he breathed, hoping your lips would meet his. Instead, you nuzzled him, and he looked up at you. “We’re in this together.”

Your lips curved in a smile as though his words warmed your heart, and you finally closed the gap between your mouths. He couldn’t help but sigh as you grazed his lips gently, your kiss tasting sweet, like home. He very much liked that you kissed him on that note — he had asked for a present and a future, and it felt like you wanted the same.

His heart fluttered as you kissed, letting you guide where things were going. As always, he’d gladly go wherever and at whatever speed you needed, but things sparked quicker than usual. He groaned mutely when you deepened the kiss, making him heat up even more, but it wasn’t just that. His hands gripped your sides firmly as you adjusted yourself on his lap, and at first, he didn’t think much of it. But eventually, the air between you became torrid as you ground against him, his fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.

He realized the state of things when you moaned into his mouth, sparking such an intense desire that he had to stop you and hide in your neck. Inhaling your perfume as he heard you panting, both soothed and taunted him, but he stayed put, calming down. All rational thought left him as he held you in his lap by his grip in your hair, your own hands tangled in his hair. He had stopped thinking and just did what he wanted recklessly, but he wanted to do things right.

“What’s wrong?” you whispered near his ear as he nuzzled the crook of your neck.

“I don’t want to go too fast,” he whispered. You stayed silent, so he pulled away to look at you, relieved when you rubbed your nose along his and caressed his cheek. “I want us to take our time.”

“You said we've been apart for too long,” you recalled, brushing his hair sweetly. “I agree. Which means we have to catch up, not wait.”

He could see the fire in your eyes, hear the passion in your voice, and feel the want in your fingers. He sighed. “I don’t want this to be an impulse. We have time, we can wait.”

You smiled as you kept caressing his jawline. “I understand what you mean. How about a compromise? We do it slowly, but we don't hold back.”

He closed his eyes as your nails grazed his scalp gently, treading dangerously between a tender caress and an inflaming touch. He didn’t want to stifle something as beautiful and intense as what you two had, but he also didn’t want to mess it up. He was sure he wanted something more with you, and looking into your eyes, he trusted you wanted the same.

“Okay,” he whispered, feeling the tension between you become even tighter.

“Good,” you crooned, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I want to see you,” you confessed, looking into his eyes.

He was about to ask what you meant when your hands moved under his sweater, grazing his stomach. His breath caught before he breathed, “I want to see you, too.”

You smiled and eagerly pulled on his sweater so he’d take it off. Instantly, you were so caught up in the view that you barely thought to put the sweater aside so you could touch him. So he did it for you; he pulled the black fabric out of your hands to free them, and your fingers instantly splayed over his broad shoulders. His heart thrummed under your touch, but it was more than desire. The way you looked and touched him didn’t invoke only lust, but recognition. A mix of memories and dreams with the need to set all the details straight.

You touched every inch of skin, noting his moles, marks, and scars, and asked about them. You knew the one from when he fell from his bike and pointed at a mole that used to be much bigger. He smiled as you did this — you didn’t just make him feel seen, but remembered.

Then you trailed your fingers down his arms, and of course, you focused on his tattoos. They were part of him, but they were, in a way, examples of his impulsiveness.

“It’s incredible,” you breathed, tracing over the details on his skin.

“Do you have any?” he asked, much more interested in talking about you.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” you teased, passing a digit over the inked microphone. “Why do I have the impression you didn’t think them through?”

He let his head fall back as he laughed mischievously. “'Cause you know me too well,” he agreed, fiddling with his lip ring.

You noticed. “Same with the piercings, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But those you can take off, so it’s not as permanent if you regret them.”

“I don’t regret my tattoos,” he explained, following your finger over the details of his birthflower. “I might not have started them with a clear idea of what I wanted or gotten them in shady places…” Your eyes darted to his, and he chuckled, knowing what you’d say. “But I don’t regret any of them. I’ll keep improving them; my arm is like my canvas.”

You shook your head. “At least do it at a trustworthy place.”

“I was… a bit reckless.”

“A bit?” You raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “You have a good one now?”

“Yes,” he assured you with a grin.

“Good.”

He bit his lip as he observed your focused features. Your worry made him all fuzzy — he felt thirteen again, about to do something stupid, more excited about you trying to stop him than actually doing it.

Your fingers traced the lines of his stomach until they reached his lower stomach, grazing his abs, and he eyed you expectantly. What would you say? How would you react?

All you did was look back up at him before you took a deep breath. “My turn, right?”

“If you want to.”

You did your best to hold back a smirk. “I think I want to.”

His hands stayed on your hips as you grabbed the hem of your sweater and pulled it over your head. He couldn’t see much as you lowered the fabric in front of your chest, yet the way your hair fell all around you made him swallow dryly. His heart was racing as he waited with bated breath to see more of you. And as your eyes locked with his, he knew you realized how caught up he was.

But you didn’t keep him waiting. You pulled your arms out of the sleeves and let the sweater fall on the couch, near his and the crumpled blanket. Despite the lack of obstacles, his eyes stayed on yours, waiting, and you smiled. You leaned in to peck his forehead and the tip of his nose before straightening up so he could see you, and he did.

He tried his best to do it slowly, but it was hard to deny how immediately smitten he was. You were beautiful; that much he knew, his hands had shown him. What he didn’t know was that your round breasts were even more perfect than he had imagined, or that your waist was so tiny. But what really surprised him was what eluded him while being right under his nose.

“Woah!” he let out as his inked fingers traced your navel piercing.

You smirked. “You didn’t notice it yesterday, did you?”

“No!” he admitted, touching the two-beaded golden piece of jewelry. He was surprised by it and was about to tell you this when his eyes raised and he noticed something else. “Oh, wow!”

You raised your arm slightly to let him see the tattoo on your side, right where your bra should have been. It was a flame about the size of his thumb, contoured in black, filled with orange and red hues. At the base, a black line shaped into a diamond was a window inside you, letting the flames peek out. He touched it with his thumb and could swear he could feel the flames’ relief on your skin.

“Why fire?” he asked, although, meeting your eyes, he instantly thought it was perfect for you.

“Because it’s our element,” you replied, referring to the birth year of both of you. He nodded in understanding. “I’m impulsive and passionate but also have a temper at times.” He chuckled, sliding his hands to your waist again. “It’s complicated, but fun, right?”

“I didn’t think it was fun when you ran away from me…”

You huffed. “I explained it to you.”

“I know, and you’re right,” he soothed, shuddering with your fingers playing with his hair around his neck. “You’re all those things, and I’ll learn how to balance them.”

You pursed your lips as he leaned forward to trail his lips over your collarbones. “We’re both fire,” you breathed, and he saw the goosebumps form as he kissed your skin. “We might just burn to ashes.”

He shook his head as he nuzzled down your chest. “No, we won’t. We’re older now,” he whispered, letting your sigh make the hair on his neck stand on end. “And we’re the same. The same flame. Separated for many years, and now together again, reuniting our flame back into one.”

You cradled his cheeks and raised his head so he could look into your glistening eyes, and he gave you a subtle nod. He was in this with you, through and through.

Your kiss was more than an acceptance; it was an invitation. You shifted closer to him, letting the skin of your chests touch, and he had to force his brain to stay focused. His hands traced your back as you kissed him, feeling your warm and feminine figure. Every curve was another chance for him to lose sight of reality. Your hands slipped down his chest, and he shuddered. Your touch was like a flame licking his body, and a permission to burn further.

You moved slightly away, fumbling with his jeans’ button, and he gave you space. He grumbled something, brushing your hair falling on both your faces when you got up from his lap. He had to jump and squirm to get his pants off, forcing him to break your kiss. Fortunately, there was an instantaneous silver lining — you also took the opportunity to get your leggings off, letting him see and feel your smooth legs as they were revealed. Then you stood in front of him only in panties, and as soon as your eyes locked, his dick throbbed. You must have noticed as you glanced at the bulge in his boxers, and he didn’t try to hide it. He didn’t want to rush things, but suddenly, he craved you like the air he breathed. He needed to feel you; nothing else mattered.

You reached out your hands for support, and he helped you get on his lap, knowing then and there that he really liked that. It was strangely liberating, despite being pinned down under your body, because it meant he could touch you with both hands, pepper your neck and chest with kisses, and still look at you whenever he wanted, which was just perfect.

You moaned gently when his lips found their way to your breasts and his dick throbbed yet again from the anticipation. Once a nipple was inside his mouth while he pinched the other one, he realized that trying to stop things from developing quickly between you two was futile and silly. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, and neither were you, and yet he felt as wild and unrestrained as he had back then. With the bonus that it was you, and this time he knew exactly what he wanted — you in his life with no end in sight.

And your hips bucking on his lap, trying to align with his hard, stiff length, only made him more sure. You wanted to take this all the way, and he didn’t dream of stopping you.

At least, voluntarily. When his stomach thundered, you stopped your keening and pulled away to look at him. He couldn’t help a groan or the thread of saliva that connected his lips to your nipple.

“You’re hungry? Wait, let me grab something.”

He was so dumbfounded that he watched you get up and go to the kitchen in stunned silence. Only when he saw you bending down to open a cabinet did he realize what had just happened. He had to bite down on his lip so as not to whine at you to get back on his lap. His dick throbbed painfully and he had to adjust it, though it made it worse. His eyes closed as the elastic squeezed the tip of his dick, giving him the slightest bit of pressure.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, looking down. There was a bead of precum wetting his skin.

“I only have choco pies and American chocolate chip cookies,” you told him, returning to him with two boxes in your hands and more banana milk. His hand darted to the side to grab the blanket and cover his lap before you placed everything on the coffee table. “I hope you still like those.”

“I do,” he croaked, leaning forward to take a choco pie.

You eyed the blanket. “Are you cold?”

He hummed, stuffing the cookie with marshmallow filling in his mouth. He needed to focus on food before he’d start begging you for more.

Slow. He had said slow, and he was not going to change his mind minutes after promising you he could wait.

Not even when you were almost naked in front of him, grabbing the blanket and leaning in. “I’ll warm you up.”

He grabbed your wrist to stop you from uncovering his lap and swallowed the cookie harshly before looking up at you. Your shining eyes and raised eyebrow were a dangerous tease right now, and he told you as much with a look that was probably half desperate, half brimming with lust.

“I know you said we should take our time,” you crooned, setting one of your knees on the couch next to his thigh. “And I promised we would do it slowly, but remember we also agreed not to hold back.”

The tension relented as he nodded; you did say that. You were partners in this; he had to trust you as well.

He let go of your wrist and pulled the blanket away, heating up at your mere gaze. He was so ready for you.

“Just so we’re clear, you can see and are one hundred percent sure that I’m not a boy, right?” you taunted, taking support on his shoulders to get your leg over his lap to straddle him.

Your question annoyed him, so he grabbed your waist and pulled you in to fall on his lap. “Yes, I know. I always knew, and now I’ll never forget it. How warm and beautiful you are,” he muttered, licking across your chest while his fingers grabbed fistfuls of your ass and squeezed. “So don’t you forget that.”

You chuckled sensually. “I might tease you about it forever.”

He nipped your breast. “If you do, I’ll remind you how well I know it.”

“By telling me I’m warm and beautiful?” you whispered, and he pulled away from your chest, then leaned in to ghost your lips.

“By being inside you.”

He spoke without thinking, and instantly the need to have you reared its ugly head. You smiled and glanced down between your bodies, knowing without a shadow of a doubt how much he wanted you. How easily he could slip your underwear aside and push his hard cock into you, doing so much more than prove his point.

The thought alone made his balls tense up, yet your soothing voice meddled with his mind. “Not yet. Slow and all that.”

For a split second, he believed you were teasing him yet again, and his fingers lowered to your waist, pressing, ready to show you just how badly he craved you.

He couldn’t trust himself to speak. He realized that you genuinely agreed with him, so he just nodded, quietly enjoying your proximity again.

“Have you ever thought about us like this? I mean, us doing this,” you clarified, brushing his hair back absentmindedly.

“Yeah,” he rasped, observing your lips as you smiled.

“Me too. What have you thought about?”

“Everything,” he breathed, struggling to focus.

You giggled and nuzzled his cheek. “Same, but come on… Pick something. The last time you thought about it or—”

“Eating— Eating you out,” he pushed out, after trying to interrupt his snitching mouth. Your eyes were curious, so he explained, “Last night, your taste. I couldn’t help thinking about it.”

You licked your lips as you listened, then bit down on your lip, and he hoped. If you were curious as well, perhaps you’d let him.

“Last night… As anxious as I was when I got back, I must confess the thought crossed my mind,” you admitted, licking your lips again, and that was all he needed.

In a flash, he grabbed you and rose from the couch with you, only to place you back down gently with your legs wide open around him. Instantly, he noticed the dark, damp spot on your panties, and his mouth started salivating. He wanted to bury his face in you and get your slick all over him. The thought alone made his eyes glint dangerously. But he couldn't do it. All he did was press his lips to your inner thigh, and suddenly, his personal space was invaded.

Nal had woken up, perhaps because of how abruptly Jungkook had moved. But now that your Jindo was trying to lick his face, he couldn’t continue. On the contrary, you started laughing, and he had to laugh too. Nal thought it was time to play, and Jungkook had to keep her at bay.

“She’s so cute!” you gushed, and he nodded as he petted your dog.

“She is, but she’s interrupting.”

He couldn’t help the slightest frustration in his voice, and you smirked. “Can’t have that, can we? Can I invite you to my bedroom?”

He got up and grabbed your hands, pulling you to him and picking you up in his arms in a heartbeat. You giggled and held onto him as he carried you with a happy Nal following you.

As he had done so far, Jungkook didn’t even take in his surroundings — your home, your style — he’d have time to look at it all later. For now, all he wanted to do was get back on track to getting his mouth on you as quickly as possible.

So he placed you gently on the double bed, even as Nal tried to stop him playfully before attempting to get on the bed.

“Nal, no. Off.” Your commanding voice was enough for Nal to get back down. “Bed.”

Nal hesitated for a second, then left the room with a purpose, and Jungkook closed the door behind her.

Looking at you, you had the widest smirk. “Thought you wouldn’t get lucky, huh?”

He stalked back to the bed, his eyes focused entirely on you. “Don’t you mean you?”

You chuckled sensually as you opened your legs for him. “No, I mean you.”

Your confidence was sexy as hell, bringing him to his knees before you figuratively and literally. He took his time nuzzling your leg from your knee to your thigh as you tried reaching for a pillow behind you to get comfortable. You threw one to the floor next to him as well as he looked at your beautiful naked form above him. This was really happening. He was overcome with excitement and driven to nibble on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You squirmed, holding your breath as your legs trembled around him. His eyes were glued to you, taking in the way your breathing was ragged, and you bit your lip. Your sparkling eyes were beautiful, making this worth every second of longing.

His kisses led him down, closer, and he followed his deepest wishes — he pressed his face to your covered core and inhaled deeply.

He loved the way you writhed against his face as the heady scent of your arousal permeated his senses. Getting pussy drunk was a personal favorite. He had to have your taste flooding his mouth.

He licked you through the delicate lace covering you, nuzzling you with curiosity. Your hips swiveled around, controlling every point of contact, and when he chased your clit to suck on it, you moaned. It was a deep, breathless sound by someone caught by surprise, and it made him throb inside his boxers. You were so fucking delicious, and he didn’t mean just your taste that he was so close to devouring.

But first things first.

“Tell me what you like,” he whispered, nuzzling your sex hard before pulling away to pepper kisses on your inner thighs instead.

You sucked in a raspy breath. “What?”

“I want to know what you like,” he repeated, stopping his kisses so you could think.

“You’re doing great,” you said, and your voice trembled as he nuzzled your clit through the fabric. Schooling your emotions must have been hard, and he had barely started.

“Could you cum like this?”

“Definitely,” you declared, with no hesitation. The way you looked at him made him smile.

“See, some of it can be good.”

He couldn’t help a teasing smile, and you laughed, letting your head fall on the pillow. “Ahh, you’re right! Finally! You’re giving me something good to remember.”

“More,” he mumbled. “I want to be more than something good you remember.” His words gave him the final push to withdraw and pull your panties down your legs, never looking away from your eyes. “You’ll never have to complain about dating or not being satisfied,” he told you, then his eyes dropped to your slicked folds. He drooled. “You found the right person,” he promised, lowering his lips.

His first taste was a light lick from bottom to top, yet the second wasn’t as kind. He pushed in between your folds with his tongue, diving into where your taste was strongest, and you whimpered. Your legs squeezed around his head as he dove in, licking and searching, following your warmth and clenching entrance out of pure hunger. And you replied to him in kind, your fingers curling into his hair while trying to raise your hips, chasing the pleasure. He loved it, every little buck made him want to give you more. He’d be the best for you, the one you should have had all along. Make you crave him as much as he craved you. Make you never want to leave.

“Your—” You could barely talk between moans, and he didn’t want to slow down. “Your fingers,” you breathed, and he immediately obliged. He moved his mouth higher, around your clit, and brushed your folds with his fingers. Your reaction wasn’t as strong as he expected, so he touched harder, feeling how wet you were, slippery and welcoming. Your clenching hole instantly tried sucking his fingers in and he burned as he let it happen. “Fuck,” you moaned, trembling from head to toe. He licked and licked, but he was greedy, pushing inside you to know how you felt all the way. You tightened around him, and he groaned into you. “Stay—” you tried, and it took a second and more information for him to make sense of your request. “In and out and in and out—”

Your voice wavered. You were dripping and warm and perfect. Just imagining how he’d feel with his cock burried in you instead of his fingers knocked his thoughts right out of his head. Your taste was finally getting to him, as was everything. You were a moaning mess, covering his face with your juices as he slurped hungrily, and it was almost bliss.

Bliss came when you trembled against him with a deep, wanting moan before you let your head fall to the pillow as your back arched off the bed. You spasmed around his fingers, and he chased you, preventing his mouth from losing you.

He licked and fingered you to completion, becoming increasingly gentle as your hips relented their bucking as well. Then, he groaned, reluctant to let you go.

“What the fuck,” you whimpered, and he parted his tongue from you, only to shove his wet fingers inside his mouth. He probably looked as crazy as he felt, with his hair disheveled and his mouth and chin covered in your wetness, but he didn’t care. When you looked at him, with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, you didn’t seem to mind. “You’re damn good with your mouth you know that?”

He nodded, eyes glazed as he licked his fingers with his eyes fixed on you. “Would it be too much if I asked you to get on top of me?”

You were flushed and beautiful before him and bit your lip. “I thought you said to wait.”

His stomach dropped. He let his hand fall to the mattress as he reeled it all in, trying to shake the haze clouding his brain. How could he do this? He said he’d wait and now—”

“Hey, look at me,” you said, and he realized he had closed his eyes. Opening them, he saw you sitting at the edge of the bed with him between your legs. Your hands cradled his cheeks and made sure he looked at you. “I’m joking,” you whispered, but he was still stunned. Maybe he was doing something wrong, and in any case— “Jeongguk, look at me,” you insisted, nuzzling him. “I’m just teasing you. Please forget it, I said something stupid,” you whispered. Your voice became wanton as you pecked his lips and confessed, “I just like teasing you, I don’t want you to stop. I want to keep going. I want to get on top of you and give you the ride of your life,” you revealed, and he felt his cheeks burning underneath your lips. Your legs wrapped around him as you hugged him. “I want to feel you inside me, I need to.” Your voice morphed into a whimper as you moved closer to his ear, and he closed his eyes, focusing on feeling every detail, from the need in your voice to your nipples brushing his chest. “I need us to make a mess and make everything right. I don’t want to stop.”

He shuddered from head to toe, and when he opened his eyes to face you, there was no need for words. He had concluded there was no use in trying to hold back, and if you wanted him… he was already yours.

He pressed a firm kiss to your mouth, a final warning before he touched you, and your reaction was instant. Your fingers gripped his hair as your legs locked behind him, pressing his hardon to your wet core, and he was unleashed. He grabbed your hair by the nape of your neck and squeezed your side so hard, you whimpered, opening your mouth. His tongue darted out to meet yours, telling you faster than words could how much he wanted you. That there was a fire inside him to be with you, as though that was his sole purpose. He wasn’t holding back. He was in it with you. All the way.

He got up from the floor with you on his lap and crawled on top of the bed, lowering you as gently as possible. He could feel by the way you kissed him and pressed him to grind on you that you wanted this just as badly, but he needed to get the damn bowers off.

So he pulled away and sat on the bed to strip them, and you wasted no time. You were on your knees in a flash, gluing your mouth to his neck. You suckled, and he was no longer responsible for the sounds exiting his mouth. The band of his boxers was forgotten, pressing the swollen tip of his dick to his lower stomach, and before he could get a grip and strip, you took over.

You kissed him harshly, biting on his lip ring and pulling gently before withdrawing, and he could barely catch his breath. You had kissed him hard enough that he was lying back on the pillows now, but he still tried to reach for his boxers to get rid of them. Because he needed to be inside you as quickly as possible. But you were faster than him.

You were still trailing your lips down his chest and stomach, but your fingers were already hooked on the hem of his boxers, sliding them down in an instant. He tried kicking them off his legs, but the world stopped when you sank your mouth on his dick.

He writhed under you, groaning from the bottom of his heart, gripping the sheets desperately as you kept going greedily. You sucked him into your mouth unabashedly, taking him as far as he could go, and he moaned. His hand managed to let go of the sheet to find your hair, and the way you looked at him with his hard cock disappearing between your lips made him throb. Your eyes glistened as you swallowed around him, and again, whimpers fell from his lips. He wouldn’t last if you kept going, not when you looked at him like that.

But you looked down and gave him a reprieve, letting his dick go with a pop, and he sighed. He could finally stretch his legs and—

Your lips became tauten around the tip of his cock as you hummed, closing your eyes, and his chin dropped. Your suckling had him holding on to the sheets and your hair with everything he had. Meanwhile, your hand searched for his balls. One tender caress was enough for him to shiver, but then you grabbed them firmly, and he tensed up from head to toe.

His mind soared to another plane of existence. Your massage had the perfect rhythm to match your mouth, and suddenly, he was floating. His toes curled, and he couldn’t breathe without moaning. The pleasure got such a hold on him that he just closed his eyes, starting to see white.

But then you pulled away, stroking him as you looked at him. “Are you close?” you whispered, and he looked at you.

“So fucking close,” he almost whimpered, bitting his lip.

“I thought I recognized that sound,” you teased with a mischievous smile, and he groaned. His hips bucked, making your strokes slightly faster, but that wasn’t the problem. He could edge himself forever, but you knew better. You knew to make a fist and add pressure and it was too fucking good. He tried his best not to squirm but still had to throw his head back and groan. You did some fucking magic with your hands on him like that. “I want to ride you. Can I?”

He almost got whiplash. “Fuck yeah!”

He groaned when your hands released him, but he was eager to help you get on top of him and straddle him. He had to bite his lip as you grabbed his cock and aligned it with your slit as quickly as possible, wondering if he’d burst as soon as he was in. Wondering if his soul would fucking combust the moment he was finally united with you.

You looked him in the eyes as you sat down, and everything was perfect. You moaned as you sank slowly, and he had to close his eyes. He felt everything. He finally felt you around him, and as you bucked your hips, accommodating his size, he did feel like he would combust. You were wet, warm, tense, restless on his cock, like riding him was as essential as breathing, and when he looked up at you, he finally was certain that everything was exactly how it was meant to be. Yes, he was supposed to be writhing under you on the verge of orgasm as you moaned above him. Yes, he was supposed to hold your waist and fuck you, letting the squelching sounds complement your every moan. And yes, he was supposed to have you drapped over him like the goddess you were, fucking him like you needed your insides covered in his cum.

“Fuck,” you moaned against his lips.

He tried kissing you as he rutted into you, feeling a roaring fire climb his spine, but he didn’t stop. He knew he was risking it, but your moans, your eyes, your wet cunt taking him so well, and your nails on his neck and shoulder as you held on were everything. Your moans turned to whimpers as you arched your back, and he somehow knew to stay consistent. He locked his legs with yours and fucked you with purpose. He was so fucking happy. He was with you. You.

You tried speaking but couldn’t, and he just looked at you, transmitting as much trust and safety as possible with his gaze. He knew you were close; you were telling him in other ways. Every moan, writhe, and breath of yours was pure, sharing with him as rawly as possible how you felt with every pound.

“Fuck,” he groaned, suddenly realizing it — he was raw inside you. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your hips even more, not relenting his thrusts. The thought almost blindsided him, but he was in control. “Mimi— Where do I—?”

You couldn’t answer him because you gasped and arched as much as you could inside his arms, and he selfishly kept you close. In seconds, your climax started a thrum around his cock and he thought he could take it, but he couldn’t.

His orgasm started from so deeply within him that he saw white again. He moaned with you, crushing you to him as he fucked into you desperately, letting your walls milk him dry. He couldn’t breathe because it was as though your orgasms fed off each other, pushing aftershock after aftershock that made you whimper and him tremble and sweat.

And then suddenly you both collapsed, and he thought he would faint. He was lightheaded and breathless as you lay on top of him, but he didn’t dare move as he recovered. Even his balls had tensed up to empty inside you and now needed a moment.

He chuckled at his thoughts, soothingly trailing his hands up and down your damp spine. He was so happy and at ease. He just knew you were the one.

“I’m so happy we didn’t wait,” you whispered near his neck, and he smirked.

He kissed your head. “We should have done it sooner.”

“Sooner?” you asked, raising your head to look at him. “When?”

“From the start,” he whispered, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It was you all along.”

He could have sworn that you blushed even more. Meanwhile, he couldn’t be happier to say such soppy things. He grinned as you tried to comb your hair properly. Then you seemed not to know what to do with his full attention, so you started brushing his hair with your fingers.

He couldn’t stop smiling widely and happily until you stopped, looking at him, mesmerized.

“Perfect as always.”

“That’s my line,” he told you as he brushed your cheek. Your sparkling eyes, along with your endearing smile, enveloped his heart, and he kissed you. He was finally connected to you, and every second a bit more. He couldn’t be happier.

You kissed his lips and then his chest before sliding off him. He hoped to snuggle, but you suddenly raised your legs, bent at your knees above your chest.

“Can you grab a tissue or something?”

He blinked at you before nodding and getting up, but you called him back. You pointed at the tissues on your nightstand, and he cleared his throat, grabbing a few to clean you. You teased him as he did, and for the first time, he couldn’t keep up with you.

“Couldn’t help yourself, hmm?” you taunted while he cleaned you carefully, unable to keep his eyes away from every detail of your naked body. “Needed to make a point about being the right person, huh?”

Your voice became softer, but he still didn’t reply. You had his cum forming rivulets out of you and it changed something for him. You were beautiful, the one, and his.

“Yes,” he breathed, finally looking into your eyes. “Can I be the one for you?”

Your expression soothed as you lowered your legs and raised your hands to welcome him to lie beside you again. As he did, you tangled your legs and held him close, and he hid his face in your hair, breathing you in.

“You are, Jeongguk,” you whispered, caressing his head, and he sighed. He didn’t know what would happen now, but at least every piece had fallen in its rightful place. “What’s next?” you asked.

“I think breakfast.”

“We have to go to the grocery store then. What do you like to eat?”

He withdrew to look at you and smiled widely. “Will you cook?”

“We can alternate,” you answered cautiously. “How are your skills?”

“I’m improving.” He grinned, excited. “We need drinks, too.”

“Yup, let’s go,” you told him, tapping his leg. “We need to get condoms, too.”

He raised an eyebrow, and you laughed.

“Let’s go!”

250 notes · View notes

th3mrskory · 4 months ago

Text

Lessons in Desire

Pairing: fem!Reader x Professor!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, explicit language, coercion, power play, handjob, fingering.

Summary: In the classroom, their power dynamics shift, drawing them closer to the edge of what’s acceptable. Caught between desire and the threat of scandal, they push past boundaries, each unable to deny the magnetic pull between them. But with stakes this high, the real question is: how much will they sacrifice for a forbidden passion they can’t control?

Word count: 7.7 k

A/N:For those that know me know that I love history (it was almost my major but life happened), so this was me basically thirsting over this pictures of Hugh and imagining him as my history teacher. Yes I’m exposing myself, anyways I hope you guys like it. If you guys have ideas that you would like to share with me, please let me know, and maybe we can create something. I’m rambling … please enjoy!

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

"Power is not always obvious," Professor Logan said, his eyes scanning the room, catching the attention of his students. "It doesn’t always come with a crown or a title. Sometimes it comes with a whisper, a glance, a gesture. And sometimes—sometimes it comes when you least expect it."

The lecture hall was a quiet hum, a symphony of the mundane—pens scratching against paper, the rustle of pages turning. Logan’s voice carried through the room, steady and calm, but beneath it ran an undercurrent of something else. He spoke of empires, of power, of rulers who bent the world to their will. His words were sharp, his delivery precise, but always with an edge of something darker, something more elusive.

His eyes lingered a moment longer on Y/N, sitting at the front, her pen poised over her notes. She was one of the best in the class, her focus unwavering, her understanding evident in the way she took in every word. He could see the intellect in her eyes, but there was something else too—a quiet defiance, a knowing. She met his gaze for just a fraction of a second before looking back down at her notes, but in that brief exchange, the air between them shifted.

"History," Logan continued, his voice low and resonant, "is full of those who understood this—those who knew how to wield influence without ever raising a sword." He let the words linger in the air, letting the students process, but his eyes were already searching, narrowing as they locked onto a figure in the front row—Y/N.

She sat with her chin propped in one hand, a look of quiet disinterest in her eyes as she scribbled down a few notes. Her friends, a small cluster of chatterboxes seated next to her, whispered among themselves, the occasional giggle slipping through the otherwise hushed atmosphere. Y/N didn’t seem to mind; her eyes drifted lazily over Logan, then back to her friends, her attention more drawn to the familiar cadence of their conversation than to the lecture itself.

Logan could feel her presence, could sense the way she seemed to float above his words. She was too intelligent to be completely consumed by his lecture, and perhaps that was the greatest challenge—how to captivate someone who had already mastered the material long before it was ever spoken aloud. And yet, every now and then, she would glance back at him, those eyes meeting his with a flicker of something unspoken. It was the same each class—brief, fleeting, but enough to remind him of the subtle power they held in each other's gaze.

"But what happens," Logan’s voice dipped lower, growing more intense, "when the power shifts? When authority is tested?" He paused, holding her attention a moment longer, the words weighing more heavily now. "We’ll see that today."

A student in the back row raised a hand, his voice eager. "Professor, are you suggesting that power is always a matter of perception? That someone can be in control without others even knowing?"

Logan glanced at the student, a brief flicker of amusement crossing his features. "Exactly," he replied, his eyes shifting back to Y/N, even though he answered the question. "Power often hides itself in plain sight—subtle, insidious. True power doesn’t need to announce its presence."

Another student chimed in, this time from the middle row. "So, like—manipulation?"

Logan paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Manipulation," he said, eyes narrowing with a trace of something dangerous, "can be a tool, if wielded wisely." His gaze, though, remained fixed on Y/N. "But power, true power, is about controlling the game without ever touching the pieces."

The students exchanged murmurs, their intrigue growing, but Logan’s focus never fully left Y/N. She wasn’t engaged in the discussion—not like the others—yet there was something about the way she let his words wash over her that made her more dangerous to him than any of the others.

"Take the rulers of ancient Rome," Logan continued, seamlessly drawing the class back in, his tone now lighter, almost conversational. "They understood this very well. The true power wasn’t in the Senate or the legions, but in the whispers of the people. In the alliances made not on the battlefield, but in the shadows."

Y/N’s eyes flicked back to him, a moment of acknowledgment passing between them. She was listening now, more intently than before, but only just. Logan could feel it—how her mind moved faster than his words, how she already knew the direction he was going. And yet, something about the way she looked at him—something in that moment—made him pause, made the tension between them swell, palpable and thick.

Before he could finish his thought, Y/N interrupted him, her voice cutting through the air, the usual quiet of the room briefly shattered. "You’re going to tell us that real power isn’t in war or force, but in control, right?" Her words hung in the air, bold and playful, a challenge and a tease all at once.

Logan blinked, momentarily taken aback, but his gaze sharpened. His lips curled, not into a smile, but something more dangerous—acknowledgment, maybe even respect. "Control?" He leaned forward, his voice lowering, drawing her in. "Yes, it’s about control. But it’s not just any control. It’s the kind that’s invisible, the kind that makes others think they’re in charge while you hold the strings."

A flicker of something passed through Y/N’s eyes, a sharpness that matched his own. "Manipulation," she replied, her tone low but deliberate, her gaze never leaving his.

The words hung between them, charged. Logan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She’s onto me, he thought, and that thought sent a current through him, an unfamiliar thrill. "If you want to call it that," he said, his voice low and smooth. "But manipulation only works if you understand who you’re manipulating—and why. It’s about knowing how to move, when to act, and when to let things fall into place."

Y/N didn’t flinch, her eyes never wavering. She leaned back slightly in her chair, arms crossed, as though she were more an observer than a student. "And when does the power shift?" she asked, tilting her head. "What happens then?"

Logan’s gaze shifted, a slight pause before he answered. He had expected her to be sharp, but this was something different. "When the power shifts," he said slowly, his voice turning almost wistful, "you learn who really holds it."

The room settled into a quiet anticipation, the kind that only arose when the lecture strayed from the script. Logan turned to the chalkboard, picking up a piece of chalk and scrawling a name in bold strokes: Julius Caesar. The classroom watched, but Y/N’s eyes followed the movement with an almost lazy attentiveness, her focus as sharp as it was disinterested.

"Take Caesar," Logan began, his back to the room. "Brilliant general. Unstoppable conqueror. But what truly made him dangerous wasn’t his victories on the battlefield." He underlined the name, his strokes precise. "It was the way he made himself indispensable to Rome—how he turned loyalty into a weapon."

He turned back to face the class, letting his eyes drift again to Y/N, who hadn’t moved, her expression inscrutable. "He didn’t just seize power. He made them give it to him. The Senate, the people—they thought they were in control. But every step they took to restrain him only tightened his hold on them."

A hand shot up near the back of the room. "Wasn’t that what got him killed, though? Didn’t the Senate turn on him because they felt he had too much power?"

Logan’s mouth curved into a faint smile. "Exactly. But even in his death, Caesar proved his point. The Republic collapsed soon after, and the empire he had envisioned took its place. His name—his legacy—became synonymous with authority. Even those who conspired against him couldn’t escape his influence."

He leaned back against his desk, arms folding loosely across his chest. "So, the question isn’t whether power shifts. It always does. The question is—" his gaze swept over the class, settling on Y/N once more, "—who has prepared for the moment when it does?"

Her friends exchanged murmurs beside her, but Y/N stayed silent. Her fingers tapped idly on the edge of her notebook, her posture casual, but there was something coiled beneath it, something deliberate. She tilted her head, her lips parting as though to speak, but then she stopped, a ghost of a smile brushing her face as she leaned back again.

Logan noticed the hesitation. His jaw tightened, just for a moment, before he turned his attention back to the broader audience. "In Rome," he continued, voice steady, "Caesar’s power wasn’t in the Senate or the legions. It was in his ability to command the loyalty of others. He made them believe in him, even as he dismantled everything they held sacred."

The room buzzed faintly with whispers, but Logan didn’t silence them. He allowed the undercurrent to fill the space, his words sinking in slowly. He glanced at the clock—five minutes until the hour.

"All right," he said, his tone shifting to something lighter, "we’ll stop there for today. Read the chapters on Rome’s transition from Republic to Empire. And," he added, his gaze briefly flitting to Y/N, "consider what it takes to hold power without ever appearing to grasp it."

The students began to shuffle their things, the noise of zippers and chair legs scraping against the floor filling the room. Y/N stood, slipping her notebook into her bag as her friends chatted beside her. But as she made her way toward the door, Logan’s voice cut through the hum.

"Y/N," he called, his tone neutral but firm. "Do you have a minute?"

Her friends shot her curious glances, but she waved them off. "I’ll catch up," she said, her voice easy, almost careless. She turned back toward Logan, stepping away from the others.

He waited until the room had cleared, the door clicking shut behind the last student, before he spoke. "I need some help with grading," he said, his words measured. "“I could use some extra hands this evening—are you available?”

Y/N raised a brow, her lips quirking in faint amusement. "Grading? Or a lesson in subtlety?"

Logan’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. "We’ll see," he replied, his tone low, charged.

She considered him for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. When and where?"

"My office," he said simply. "Six o’clock."

Y/N didn’t respond, but the glance she gave him was answer enough before she turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the empty classroom.

Logan remained seated on the edge of his desk as the classroom door swung shut behind her. The faint click of her heels against the hallway floor lingered in his ears, each step an echo, a countdown. He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, his fingers catching briefly before dropping back to his side. The room, now empty, felt larger somehow, its silence almost accusatory.

Grading. The excuse had come so easily, almost too easily, but it was better than nothing. He couldn’t very well say what was really on his mind—hell, even he wasn’t sure what that was. All he knew was that when she spoke, when her gaze pinned him in place, the careful structure he maintained in his world started to shift, brick by brick.

He pushed himself off the desk, straightening his tie as he crossed the room to gather his notes. His handwriting, normally steady, seemed slightly uneven today. He glanced at the last page, where his lecture had trailed off into a cluster of jagged phrases—power, perception, control. He closed the notebook sharply, the sound satisfying in the empty space.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, Logan was in his office. The space was small but personal—bookshelves crammed with volumes of history and philosophy, their spines worn from years of abuse. A map of the ancient world hung on one wall, dotted with small push pins marking significant events. His desk, a heavy wooden piece with years of scratches and scars, was cluttered with papers, a half-empty coffee cup, and a small brass figurine of a Roman eagle.

The knock on his door was soft, but deliberate. He glanced up, already knowing who it would be. "Come in," he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the anticipation simmering beneath the surface.

Y/N stepped inside, her expression calm, almost detached, but her eyes gave her away—bright, alert, scanning the room in a single sweep before settling on him. She carried her bag over one shoulder, her free hand resting casually on the strap.

"You’re early," he remarked, leaning back in his chair.

She shrugged, letting the door click shut behind her. "Figured I’d get this over with."

Logan smirked, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. "Glad to know I’m such a burden."

Y/N didn’t sit immediately. Instead, she wandered a few steps, her fingers lightly grazing the edge of one of the bookshelves as she glanced over the titles. "You’ve got a lot of books about power," she noted, her tone light but probing.

"Comes with the territory," he replied. "History is about power—who has it, who wants it, and what they’ll do to keep it."

She turned then, meeting his gaze. "And you? Are you one of those who want it?"

Logan’s smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, more guarded. "You don’t get to ask questions like that without sitting down first."

Y/N tilted her head, amused, but she complied, settling into the chair across from him. She crossed one leg over the other.

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "grading. What’s the plan?"

Logan slid a small stack of papers across the desk, his fingers brushing hers briefly as she reached for them. "Freshman essays on Rome’s decline. Half of them won’t even spell Caesar right."

Y/N flipped through the stack, her expression unreadable. "Sounds riveting."

"Welcome to my world," he said dryly.

For a while, they worked in near silence, the occasional rustle of papers or scratch of pen filling the air. But Logan couldn’t help watching her, the way her brow furrowed slightly as she read, the way her fingers tapped absently against the desk when she paused to think.

"You're good at this," he said after a while, his voice breaking the quiet.

She glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "At grading?"

"At analysis," he clarified. "You see things most people don’t."

Y/N set the paper she’d been holding back on the desk, leaning forward slightly. "And what do you see, Professor?"

Logan met her gaze, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, the air heavier. "Someone who doesn’t like being underestimated," he said simply.

Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, but something close. "Good," she said softly. "Because you’d be wrong if you did."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the unspoken hanging between them. Then, Y/N leaned back, breaking the tension. "So, what’s the verdict on these essays? Anyone worth saving?"

Logan blinked, the spell broken, and glanced at the stack. "A couple, maybe. But how is it possible,” he muttered, “to spend weeks discussing the rise and fall of empires, only for them to write that Julius Caesar’s greatest achievement was dying?”

Y/N burst out laughing, the sound breaking the otherwise quiet room. She set down her pen, shaking her head. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Logan picked up the offending essay and held it out to her. “See for yourself. Apparently, his second-greatest achievement was ‘Romeo and Juliet.’”

She snorted, her eyes scanning the page as she leaned over the desk. “This is tragic. This one essay could single-handedly set the entire field of history back by centuries.”

“Well, at least they’re consistent,” Logan said dryly, tossing another essay into the reject pile. “This one thought the ‘divine right of kings’ was God handing out crowns like participation trophies.”

Y/N laughed again, the sound warm and unguarded, and Logan found himself watching her for a beat longer than necessary. Her shoulders shook as she leaned back in her chair, an easy confidence radiating off her.

“So, what about you?” he asked, shifting the focus. “How’s your thesis coming along?”

“Slowly,” she admitted, crossing her arms. “I’ve narrowed it down to the influence of religion on political systems, but it’s like peeling back an onion. Every time I think I’m getting somewhere, there’s another layer waiting.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’re taking on a beast of a topic. What angle are you focusing on?”

“The shift from divine justification to secular authority,” Y/N replied, her tone more serious now. “How religion was weaponized to maintain control, and how that control evolved when religion started losing its grip.”

A flicker of respect passed through his eyes, though he kept his tone light. “Ambitious. Let me guess—you’re arguing it’s all manipulation in the end?”

She smiled, tilting her head. “What else would it be? Power is power, whether it’s cloaked in faith or reason. It’s still about controlling people.”

Logan leaned back slightly in his chair, his pen tapping idly against the desk. His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful yet laced with curiosity. “You’ve got your thesis to worry about, and still, you’re helping me out. I appreciate it. I just hope I’m not keeping you from anything—or anyone—important. A boyfriend waiting for you, perhaps?”

Y/N snorted softly, her lips curling into a wry smile. “Hardly. He’s low-maintenance.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her answer. “Low-maintenance? What does that mean?”

Y/N’s gaze flicked to him, mischief dancing in her eyes. “It means he’s rechargeable. Silent. Never argues. And he always knows when to stop.”

Logan’s smirk deepened, his voice smooth as he leaned forward just slightly. “So, he’s an easy out? No strings attached?”

“Exactly,” she replied, her tone playful. “No messy complications. Just... straight to the point.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rich, almost predatory. “Hmm, sounds like you’ve found the perfect solution. Clean, uncomplicated.”

Y/N’s eyes twinkled with amusement, but there was a steel edge beneath her teasing tone. “I like things simple. No mind games. No drama. Just... what I need, when I need it.”

Logan leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening, intrigued by the calm confidence she wore. “Control. You’ve got that down to an art, haven’t you? Even in your... choice of company.”

She met his gaze, a sly smile curving her lips. “I learned from the best.”

Logan paused, his breath caught for just a moment, before he let out a quiet chuckle. “Flattery. That’s a dangerous game.”

Y/N’s smile deepened, her voice low but unwavering. “Maybe. But I’m not the one playing it.”

The brief silence between them felt charged, the space between words crackling with unspoken thoughts. Y/N allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to form as she leaned back slightly in her chair, her gaze steady on him. She tilted her head, her expression one of quiet challenge. “And what about you, Professor?” she asked casually, her voice laced with a hint of mischief. “Anyone waiting for you back home?”

Logan’s eyes darkened briefly, his expression shifting as he leaned back in his chair. The pen in his hand tapped against the desk, a rhythmic, deliberate motion that betrayed his otherwise calm demeanor. “No,” he said after a beat, his voice carrying an edge sharper than intended. “Commitment’s not really my style. I’m more of a... here-and-now kind of guy.”

Y/N’s brow lifted, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “‘A here-and-now kind of guy,’” she repeated softly, the words brushing the air between them like a challenge. Her smile deepened, almost wistful. “That’s... disappointing.”

Logan’s gaze flickered for a moment, though his expression remained controlled, as if weighing her words, testing the waters. “Maybe,” he said, his voice quieter, almost nonchalant. “But complications have a way of unraveling things you don’t want to lose. Simpler’s safer.” He let the words hang in the air, deliberately guiding the conversation.

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes never leaving his. “Uncomplicated, sure,” she murmured, her voice soft but threaded with a quiet challenge. “But sometimes, don’t you think... what you’re missing is worth the complication?” Her words lingered in the air, but there was an almost imperceptible softness to her tone—a fleeting crack in her otherwise cool demeanor. Logan noted it, watching her with a careful, calculated look.

Logan smiled, just slightly, letting the moment breathe. “Maybe,” he replied, his voice now cooler, as though he were drawing back, pulling her deeper into the web without her fully realizing it. “But I’ve found that sometimes, it’s easier to avoid the... complications. Keeps things from getting messy.”

He let that hang in the air too, deliberately creating space, knowing the pause would make her respond. He met her gaze again, just long enough for her to sense his scrutiny. “You wouldn’t want that, right? Complications?”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, one that was almost... understanding, but it wasn’t quite enough to give away what she was thinking. “Maybe I don’t mind a little ‘complication’ every now and then,” she replied, her voice calm but her eyes locking onto his with quiet intensity. “After all, some things are worth the risk.”

Logan didn’t let the moment slip. He leaned forward slightly, maintaining just enough distance to keep the tension taut but still under his control. The words between them had reached a tipping point, and he could see it in her eyes—there was curiosity, but it was laced with something more.

For a brief second, Logan allowed his gaze to soften. This wasn’t just about testing her; it was about controlling the situation, manipulating it into the direction he wanted. “You sure you want to go down that road?” he murmured, his voice quiet, almost intimate. He was close enough now that the question felt like a warning, though Y/N couldn’t know it was a game he’d already planned out.

Y/N’s lips parted, her breath hitching slightly as she met his gaze. There was a faint hesitation in her eyes—one that she quickly masked, but it was there. “Maybe it’s just... curiosity,” she said, the words slipping out with an almost vulnerable undertone. She was playing along, but Logan knew she was being careful, trying to keep her emotions in check.

He smiled, watching her carefully, knowing exactly how to push without breaking the illusion. “Curiosity,” he repeated softly, his voice low but laced with something almost indulgent. He leaned in a fraction closer, just enough to close the space without crossing that line completely.

“You know,” he said quietly, his breath warm against her skin, “curiosity has a way of leading people to places they didn’t expect.”

Her heart rate quickened, but she held her ground, her lips barely moving as she whispered, “And sometimes, that’s exactly where you want to go.”

Logan’s breath hitched for the slightest moment, but he masked it instantly, his focus shifting to the game at hand. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers in a tentative kiss. Soft. Calculated. His lips barely touched hers, enough to send the message, enough to make her feel something deeper.

It wasn’t a kiss of passion. It was a kiss of deliberate provocation.

When they finally broke apart, the air between them hummed with a charged silence, like the crackle of electricity in the aftermath of an intentional spark. Their breaths were shallow, their eyes locked, as if neither could move, both caught in the weight of what had just passed between them.

Logan was the first to speak, his voice lower than before, with just the slightest edge of something darker—more guarded. “This... we shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his words meant to sound like a regret he didn’t quite feel, the weight of the moment a tool in his hands. He wasn’t sorry—not truly. He wanted to see how she would react, whether she would flinch, show any sign of vulnerability, or challenge him. The flicker of desire was still there in his gaze, but it was buried under layers of calculation.

Y/N didn’t react the way he expected. Her lips curled into a wry smile, but her eyes stayed locked on his, steady, almost daring him to push further. “You don’t sound convinced,” she observed softly, her voice a careful blend of playfulness and something more—an understanding of the game they were both playing. It was a challenge, yes, but also a recognition of the unspoken truth between them.

Logan scoffed, his laugh a low, almost bitter sound. “I’m not,” he admitted, but his words weren’t filled with regret—they were loaded, deliberately dismissive. He wasn’t retreating; he was testing the waters, watching for a reaction. His gaze flicked away from her, then back to the desk in front of him, as if trying to avoid her unyielding gaze. “But it doesn’t change what just happened, does it?”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second—was it doubt? Or something softer?—but it was gone before it could fully surface. Her expression returned to its calm, controlled mask, as if the whole moment had been anticipated. “No,” she answered quietly, her voice steady, distant. “It doesn’t.”

Logan’s posture shifted as he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, a gesture that made him seem a little more disarmed than he’d intended. “Y/N... we can’t—” He started, but she cut him off, her tone decisive and calm, as though she had already moved past the tension he was still dwelling in.

“We don’t have to say anything,” she interrupted smoothly, the words hanging in the air between them like a challenge. “Not yet.”

The certainty in her voice gave him pause, something in her demeanor catching him off guard. She wasn’t flinching. She wasn’t retreating into regret. There was something about the way she held her ground that intrigued him—something that suggested she understood exactly what was happening and wasn’t going to let him dictate the narrative.

Logan studied her closely now, his arms crossed, his expression thoughtful but guarded. His gaze never wavered, though there was a flicker of something else there—something more complicated than simple curiosity. “You’re not exactly... conflicted about this, are you?” he asked, the words almost slipping out too easily, the hint of a challenge in his tone.

Y/N met his gaze head-on, her eyes sharp with unspoken challenge. “Not in the way you think,” she replied, her voice quiet but resolute. "I know the risks, Logan. I know exactly what this means." She leaned forward, just slightly, her posture relaxed but full of intent, a subtle power radiating from her. "But sometimes... the things we want the most come with the heaviest consequences."

Her words weren’t a warning, they were an invitation. She was offering him something, but it was still unclear whether she understood just how deep the game they were playing could go.

"Maybe I'm willing to deal with those consequences," she added, her voice low, the challenge unmistakable. Her eyes stayed steady on his, unwavering. She was daring him to take the next step.

Logan’s breath hitched, his gaze flickering just briefly. He saw it then—the confidence, the control. It made him pause, just for a moment, before he masked it behind the careful composure he always maintained. But this wasn’t how he expected her to play this. He'd thought he’d be the one to make the move, to pull her in. Yet here she was, letting him know exactly what she was willing to risk.

“And what happens now?” His voice remained steady, but there was something in it now—something that betrayed the tension between them, an undercurrent of desire buried beneath the layers of control.

Y/N didn’t answer with words. She didn’t need to. She grabbed the front of his shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric with a boldness that surprised him—pulling him toward her without hesitation, without doubt.

A calculated move in this dance they were engaged in. Logan’s breath caught in his throat, a sharp intake as he felt the force of her pull, the heat of her body so close to his. This wasn’t what he planned—this wasn’t the distance he had wanted—but he wasn’t backing down now. Her boldness wasn’t a weakness; it was part of the game.

Their lips crashed together, urgent and raw, a kiss filled with all the unspoken tension that had been building between them. This wasn’t soft or teasing—it was the culmination of everything they’d avoided saying, everything they’d skirted around. The heat of it was overwhelming, and it swept away the logic, the control. This was about need.

Her fingers gripped his tie, pulling at it as though she wanted to tear down every barrier between them—every piece of control he’d set in place. She wanted him, but this wasn’t just about physical desire. It was about the power struggle between them, the unspoken understanding that they were playing with fire and knew it.

Logan’s hands moved to her hips, pulling her even closer, the urgency mirrored in his movements. His mind raced with the implications, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was pushing him, but he was in control. He always had been.

Her lips parted slightly, and he felt the shift in her kiss, felt the hunger in the way she responded. This wasn’t just an act of passion—it was a statement. A declaration that she was willing to go there, even if it meant everything else unraveled in the process. She wanted more, and now, Logan wanted to see just how far she was willing to go.

Breaking the kiss for a brief moment, Y/N’s voice came out shaky, but her words were sharp with need. “I don’t want to finish grading,” she breathed, the teasing edge in her tone now thick with desire. “Not when there’s something else I want more.”

Logan’s chest tightened, his grip on her waist instinctively tightening as he absorbed her words. The pulse of desire in her voice triggered something inside him, something he’d carefully cultivated, and without hesitation, his lips found hers once more. This kiss wasn’t tentative; it was frantic, hungry, and more driven than the one before, as if they were both racing toward a precipice neither had ever dared approach before.

Her fingers tugged at his tie, pulling it free and discarding it like the insignificant obstacle it was. The classroom, the grading, the rules—everything that had once stood between them shattered into nothing. There was only the burning need they couldn’t contain any longer. Logan’s hands roamed her body, pulling her closer, and with each touch, the world outside of that classroom faded further. There was no right or wrong anymore—only this.

Her breath was quick, her lips leaving his only to trail across his neck, her hands moving over his chest, exploring the heat of his body beneath the fabric. It was like a spark had ignited inside her, and she needed more of him—more than the stolen glances, the moments of tension.

Logan’s hands slid lower, finding the curve of her hips as he lifted her onto the desk, papers scattering in their wake. She felt the rush of blood in her veins, the heat of his touch, and the magnetic pull that had been drawing them together from the very start. The kiss deepened, more urgent now, as if their bodies were trying to communicate what their words hadn’t. Each movement, each shift, brought them closer to the inevitable.

Y/N moaned against his lips, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him in closer, as if she needed him to fill every space inside her. Every caress was an electric shock, a wave of heat that seemed to surge through her, leaving her breathless and craving more.

Logan’s hand slid under the hem of her skirt, his touch firm but gentle, as though testing her response. The shock of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she gasped, her pulse racing with the rush of adrenaline and need.

“Logan,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to speak, her voice ragged with desire. “I don’t care anymore… about the rules, about anything. I just want this.”

He didn’t need to answer with words. His mouth claimed hers again, slower this time, but with an intensity that suggested he was savoring the taste of her, the feel of her beneath his hands. He was in control, but it didn’t feel like control—it felt like something more dangerous, something they were both choosing to step into.

His hands slid under her blouse, his fingertips brushing over her skin, sending a rush of heat through her veins. She moaned softly against his lips, her body arching toward him, urging him on. She wanted more. She needed more.

Everything else, every rule, every boundary, seemed insignificant compared to the way they were consumed by each other. This moment—this connection—had been building for far too long, and now that they were here, there was no retreating, no second-guessing. Only the fire between them, only the pull that neither of them could resist any longer.

Logan’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of heat that made Y/N’s breath hitch. His rough hands moved to the hem of her blouse, his fingers brushing against her bare skin as he lifted the fabric slowly, deliberately. She shivered at the sensation, her own hands not idle—they slid along his chest, tracing the defined muscle beneath his skin, her touch both curious and confident.

"Do you always move this slow?" she teased, her voice breathless yet playful as her eyes met his.

Logan chuckled, his smirk equal parts charm and challenge. "You in a hurry, princess?" he murmured, his voice thick as honey.

Instead of answering, she took matters into her own hands, tugging at his belt with deft fingers. The clink of metal echoed in the room, sharp against the background of their heavy breathing. Logan growled low in his throat, the sound sending a thrill straight through her as he captured her lips again, more fervent this time, as if her boldness had spurred him on.

The blouse slipped from her shoulders, pooling on the floor alongside the papers and books that had already been scattered. Logan’s hands roamed her now-bare skin, his touch reverent despite the urgency building between them. His calloused palms brushed over her ribs, his thumbs tracing the edges of her bra before sliding beneath the straps and slowly tugging them down her arms.

Her own fingers worked quickly to rid him of his shirt, pushing it back until it joined her blouse on the floor. She took a moment to drink in the sight of him—broad shoulders, a chest covered in hair, and a strength that had always been hinted at but now stood fully revealed before her.

"You’ve been hiding this under those button-ups?" she asked, her voice low and teasing as her nails grazed his skin from his chest and down his abdomen.

Logan chuckled again, a rich, gravelly sound that sent a rush of warmth through her.

His hands slid to the waistband of her skirt, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric as he pulled it down slowly, letting it fall to the floor. She stood before him now, clad in just her bra and panties, her confidence unshaken as his eyes roamed over her, lingering on every curve.

"You're beautiful," he muttered, almost to himself, as he reached out to trace the line of her hip.

Y/N smiled, stepping closer to him, her hands moving to the waistband of his trousers. "So are you," she whispered, her voice softer now, almost tender, as she undid the button and slid the zipper down.

The clothing between them quickly became an afterthought, discarded piece by piece until there was nothing left but bare skin and the electric tension that had built between them. Logan’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him, the heat of his body making her gasp softly.

Her hand slipped between their bodies, the heat of her palm pressing against him with an aching precision. She wrapped her fingers around his length, her touch firm and deliberate, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him.

Logan’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the intensity of her touch forcing him to steady himself. He leaned into her, his forehead resting against hers as she began to move, her hand stroking him with a rhythm that was both torturously slow and utterly consuming.

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest, and his hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer until there was nothing between them but the slick heat of skin against skin. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a strained rasp, thick with desire.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her breath came in short, quick bursts as her movements grew bolder. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who’s supposed to have all the control.”she whispered, her tone teasing yet tinged with her own need.

He chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Don’t push me, darlin,” he warned, though the way his hips moved into her touch betrayed just how much power she held in that moment.

“Oh, I plan to,” she shot back, her voice playful, her fingers tracing deliberate paths that made his entire body tense beneath her touch.

Logan’s hands slid up her back, his fingertips digging into her skin with a restrained urgency. He caught her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her soft gasp as he shifted their positions, guiding her back against the desk. The wood was cool against her bare skin, but the heat radiating from him made it impossible to focus on anything else.

His lips left hers to trail down her jaw, then lower, nipping at the curve of her neck. “You think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” he murmured against her skin, his voice a low growl.

Y/N’s laughter was breathless, her hand never pausing in its steady rhythm. “I think you like it,” she countered, her tone light, though her body betrayed her own rising need.

Logan pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his smirk dangerous and full of promise. “I think you’re about to find out just how wrong you are.”

His hand moved with deliberate slowness, tracing the curve of her thigh with rough fingertips, the contrast against her softness making her tremble. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over hers as he whispered, “It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

Y/N barely had time to reply before his lips descended to her neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that made her arch beneath him. His hand slid between her thighs, his touch light but purposeful as he explored her heat, teasing and testing her resolve.

A soft gasp escaped her lips, her head tilting back as his fingers moved with skill, parting her gently. Her breathing quickened, her body instinctively shifting closer to him, seeking more of his touch.

“You’re so sensitive,” Logan murmured against her collarbone, his voice a low growl filled with a mixture of admiration and intent. He pressed his thumb to her clit in a slow, deliberate circle, his movements calculated and unrelenting.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp as she struggled to form coherent thoughts. “Logan…” she breathed, her voice catching on his name, both a plea and a warning.

He smirked against her skin, the trace of something darker in his eyes as he planted soft, deliberate kisses along her neck. His lips brushed over her shoulder, sending a shiver through her, before he whispered in her ear, his voice thick with desire. “No, not Logan, darlin’.”

She froze for a second, the weight of his words hanging in the air between them. The tension crackled with unspoken authority. Logan’s breath was warm against her skin as he continued, his lips brushing the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “You know what I want you to call me.”

Her pulse quickened, a flicker of resistance sparking within her, but she couldn’t deny the way his voice, low and commanding, made her heart race. She met his gaze, the challenge still alive in her eyes. “Professor,” she whispered, the word feeling foreign yet somehow right on her tongue.

A low chuckle rumbled from him, and he pulled her closer, the grin on his face both triumphant and dangerous. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice now a gravelly whisper that sent a fresh wave of heat crashing over her. “Just let me take care of you.”

Her body arched as he pressed deeper, his fingers finding a rhythm that had her gasping, her thighs trembling against his forearm. Logan watched her intently, his gaze dark and hungry, taking in every reaction as though it fueled him.

Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her head falling back against the desk as her body succumbed to the pleasure he built within her. Logan didn’t relent, his movements growing more insistent, his free hand gripping her hip to steady her as she began to fall apart beneath him.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice a rough command, and when her eyes fluttered open to meet his, the raw intensity in his gaze sent her spiraling.

Her release came like a tidal wave, her body tensing and then shuddering as a broken cry escaped her lips. Logan didn’t stop until the last tremor left her, his touch slowing but never fully leaving her, grounding her in the aftermath.

As her breathing steadied, Y/N met his gaze, her lips curling into a lazy smile. “Fuck Professor.”

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth, his words a mix of accusation and surrender.

“And you’re stalling,” she replied, her tone daring as she tilted her head to meet his lips fully, capturing them in a kiss that was fierce and demanding.

Logan groaned against her mouth, his self-control shattering as his hands roamed over her body, claiming every inch he could reach.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, the heat between them building with every stolen touch. Logan’s lips left hers, trailing down the line of her neck, his stubble scraping her sensitive skin in a way that made her gasp.

“Y/N,” he rasped against her throat, his voice thick with desire and restraint, his hands tightening on her hips.

Her answer was to arch into him, her breath hitching as her body pressed against his. “No more talking,” she whispered, her voice firm but breathless, her fingers tugging him back to her.

The cool edge of the desk met her back, but the warmth of his body was all she could focus on as he leaned into her.

She could feel his hands roaming gently, tracing the contours of her body, but it was the way he moved—intentional, slow, and purposeful—that had her pulse quickening. His lips ghosted over her skin, just enough to leave her shivering in anticipation.

Logan’s hands were firm on her hips, his grip possessive as he pressed her back against the desk. His mouth was everywhere—her jaw, her throat, the dip of her collarbone—hot and unrelenting, like he was making up for all the time they’d spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

But Y/N wasn’t in the mood to just take whatever he gave her.

With a smirk, she pushed at his chest, catching him just off guard enough to make him step back. His brows furrowed in confusion, lips parted like he was about to argue, but she didn’t give him the chance. Instead, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him into his chair.

Logan let out a low, breathy chuckle, eyes dark and sharp as they flicked up to meet hers. “That so?” he murmured, his voice all gravel and challenge.

Y/N just smiled, swinging a leg over his lap and settling onto him like she belonged there. Like she was claiming him the way he always tried to claim her.

Logan’s hands immediately found her thighs, sliding up with slow, dangerous intent. His gaze was locked onto hers, heavy-lidded and unreadable, but his fingers dug into her skin like he was daring her to keep going.

And she was going to.

She rolled her hips against him just enough to feel the sharp hitch of his breath, the way his fingers tightened in response. He groaned low in his throat, his control cracking, his grip guiding her just a little rougher, a little more desperate—

Knock.

They both froze.

A heartbeat. Then another.

Knock.

“Professor Howlett?”

Y/N stiffened. Logan’s jaw locked, his grip on her waist iron tight as if he was physically restraining himself from losing his goddamn mind.

The voice was muffled through the door, but the words were clear. “I just had a question about the midterm—are you in there?”

Silence.

Y/N barely breathed, her body still pressed against his, her heart pounding so hard she swore Logan could feel it.

His hands didn’t move. His eyes didn’t move. He was staring at her, exhaling slow and steady through his nose, and fuck, he looked like he was about to ruin something.

Instead, he leaned in, his lips barely brushing against her ear as he muttered, voice thick with frustration, “This isn’t over.”

Y/N smirked, her lips ghosting over his jaw as she whispered, "I wouldn’t dream of it."

Logan exhaled sharply, a low, frustrated sound rumbling in his chest. His hands flexed against her thighs like he was this close to dragging her right back down, to make sure she regretted every ounce of that teasing bravado.

And with painful reluctance, he lifted her off his lap.

The second her feet hit the floor, she felt the loss of him—the heat, the weight, the way he’d held onto her like he wasn’t ready to let go.

She met his gaze one last time, taking in the way his jaw was tight, the way his knuckles were white against the arms of his chair.

And she already knew—when this moment finally came back around?

It was going to be worse.

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