#curvy reader

you whine dramatically while he hauls you away from the bar like an oversized cat, one massive arm locked around your middle while your heels scrape uselessly against the floor.

"noo, toji, Im dancin.." you complain loudly, head falling against his shoulder while he drags you through the crowd.

"you were damn near upside down on top'a the counter," he replies flatly, tightening his grip when you wobble again.

"thats not illegal.." you argue immediately, pouting up at him while the cold air hits your face the second he carries you outside.

"felt illegal." he mutters, finally setting you down near the entrance while keeping one hand firm on your waist so you dont drift away. usually this is the part where people get shoved into an uber and sent home, but not you, because youre special apparently.

thirty minutes later youre still standing beside him at the front entrance with his security jacket hanging off your shoulders while you "help" check IDs.

"you missed one." you whisper suspiciously while leaning heavily against his arm, pointing at a completely normal man entering the club. toji glances down at you slowly, cigarette tucked behind his ear while his hand stays braced against your back.

"you can barely see straight," he says dryly, watching your eyes struggle to focus on the line.

"Im checking. I can tell when someones lying from how theyre dressed." you reply seriously, narrowing your eyes at the next person walking up.

"that aint a real thing," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face while you dramatically stick your hand out toward the poor guy in front of you.

"ID," you demand sternly, trying your hardest to sound authoritative despite swaying slightly, and the man actually hands it over.

you stare at it for several long seconds, lips pursed in concentration while toji watches the whole thing.

"I dont know what any of this means.." you admit finally, turning toward him with complete sincerity while holding the ID up helplessly. toji lets out this rough tired laugh through his nose before taking it from your hand, shoulders shaking slightly while he hands it back to the customer.

"go sit down somewhere fore you mess this all up. ya cant even read right now." he mutters, steering you gently away from the entrance with one large hand against your lower back.

"no," you reply immediately, grabbing onto his arm with both hands while your cheek presses against his shoulder. "Im working."

"you are absolutely not workin," he says flatly, but he still keeps you beside him anyway while you whisper nonsense security concerns into his ear for the next twenty minutes.

and by the time toji finally gets his break, youre still attached to him, warm and tipsy beside his body while his security jacket nearly swallows you whole.

"you see them shoes?" you whisper to him, leaning closer.

"baby, focus on standin upright first."

you glare at him immediately. youre not having the disrespect.

"I am upright." you huff, even though you almost trip while saying it.

"that guy has fake gucci.." you whisper seriously while pointing toward the entrance, eyes narrowed with drunken suspicion.

toji snorts quietly around the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth before grabbing your waist and pulling you straight into his lap the second he sits down behind the club, your ass hitting his thighs.

"you can barely see," he mutters, settling back in the chair while one thick arm locks securely around your middle, hand resting on your upper thigh.

"I can feel it," you insist stubbornly, immediately melting against his chest while your fingers start playing with the rings on his hand.

"that dont even make sense." he replies, smoke curling into the cold night air while his rough palm rubs slowly up your thigh absentmindedly. one of the other bouncers walks past and laughs under his breath after spotting you curled up comfortably in tojis lap.

"you babysittin again?" the guy asks, grinning while toji shoots him an irritated look.

"mind your business," toji mutters immediately, pulling you a little closer against his chest while you mumble something sleepy into his shoulder. a couple minutes later your head starts drooping heavier against him, lashes fluttering while the alcohol finally catches up to you completely.

"..toji" you mumble tiredly, fingers hooking weakly into the front of his shirt. "i think m'gettin sleepy.."

"yeah?" he mutters, glancing down at you while putting out his cigarette against the metal chair beside him.

you squint up at him lazily, still curled against his chest while music pounds faintly from inside the club.

"am I fired?" you ask.

toji actually laughs at that, one hand sliding up your back while he shakes his head.

"course. cant have you takin my job, aye? gonna leave me broke."

tou hum thoughtfully like youre genuinely considering that before your eyes start closing again. the second your body goes limp against him, toji sighs quietly through his nose before adjusting his grip under your thighs and standing up with you still in his arms.

one of the bartenders passing by raises an eyebrow immediately.

"you takin her home already?"

toji glances down at your sleepy face tucked against his neck, his security jacket bunched around your body while you cling to him without even realizing it.

"yeah," he mutters, tightening his hold slightly. "shes done causin' problems for tonight."

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You were so sweet, so good, and he would treat you so well if you were his.

And you were so deserving.

You ought to have someone dote on you, take care of you. You were fiercely independent, fully capable, but you shouldn’t need to be.

He was more than willing to take care of you. He always insisted it was no trouble to hold a door open for you, to help carry your groceries, to pick up your mail when you were out of town, to help you put together the table you ordered online when it was delivered. Not only was it no trouble, he liked doing those things for you.

He wanted to do more.

He heard you late at night with your vibrator.

He could give you so much better.

How many times had the super’s wife said to him what a sweet couple the two of you would make?

What was the harm with hurrying you along into something he was so sure you wanted with a little sex pollen?

Before he’d been The Winter Soldier, the efficient and essentially untraceable assassin for decades, he’d been a damn good soldier as Bucky Barnes. He was still an asset now whether he was consulting or going into the field. Constantly valued for his keen mind.

Why shouldn’t he use his expertise and strategy now?

It was just traces at first. You hardly noticed.

There’d be the odd moment when you hesitated in a sentence, blinking, eyes glossy as you lost your train of thought. That little fluster was delicious, but not enough. He watched you closely, reading the microexpressions that drifted across your features: confusion, a tiny flicker of heat, embarrassment you squashed down. You’d shake your head briskly, recenter yourself, and apologize with a laugh he could tell was forced.

And he always smiled warmly at you, but inside, it was with the energy of a satisfied smirk.

It was working.

He made minute adjustments. Ratcheted the levels up and down, spiked your mail with just enough to make you breathe deeper when you opened it. He traded in your regular coffee beans for a new bag from the “cool indie shop on the corner,” slipped the powder into the grounds. It was a delicate balance: he never wanted you to feel sick, just hungry. Desirous. Needy.

Once, he heard you through the wall, weeping with frustration. He’d never heard that in your voice before, and it made him burn with satisfaction and anticipation.

But he was always successful in his missions because of his expertise, his ability to gage proper timing.

He struck early, before the city could shake off its Saturday morning haze. Heat already radiated from the bricks, the kind of July swelter that made people yearn for lemonade and picnics and pools. He moved in darkness as much out of habit as necessity, crossing the handful of feet between your fire escape and his with the ease of a man who’d spent too many years navigating roofs and ledges and the soft places between shadows.

The mixture was clear, almost invisible, but he applied it in a glistening line along the edges of your window frames, working methodically. His hands did not shake.

He returned to his own apartment and pulled up the port he’d developed to control your HVAC system, and shut it down just before he knew you were typically up and stirring around on a Saturday morning.

And then he waited.

By 8:37 a.m. your apartment was growing warmer than usual, and you woke with a slick hairline, a sheen of sweat over your skin. He watched you from the camera he installed as you slipped out of bed and down the hall. You pawed at the digital thermostat first, muttering under your breath, but only the error message blinked back at you: HVAC ERROR. CALL MAINTENANCE. You let out a laugh, brittle and bitter, and trudged to the windows, pushing up the panes to at least get the fresh air. You left every window open, desperate for a through breeze.

You braced your palms against the sill and he could see the relief already blooming in your posture as the pane slid open. The breeze was gentle but constant, carrying with it the faintest hint of the compound’s sharp, metallic sweetness. It was immediate, the way it worked instantaneously: you inhaled, unaware, then blinked rapidly. Your jaw slackened for a fraction of a second, mouth parted in an unintentional invitation. Your hands lingered on the window frame, before you pulled them back and wiped one over your brow, while the other went to your chest, and no wonder since he assumed that you’d be feeling an uptick in your heart rate.

And now, he would wait.

He watched you pad into your little kitchen, tugging at the hem of your sleep shirt. You filled the kettle, set it on, and stood at the counter, hands fluttering as if you’d forgotten what to do with them. You took a breath—he could see the shudder of your shoulders—then craned your neck, face tilted to the open window, and inhaled again, a long, greedy drag.

Inside a minute, you began to fidget. Your thighs pressed together, then parted, then pressed again, the rhythm building. Your head tipped forward, eyes closing as you gripped the countertop, knuckles going white. A slick little shiver wound through you. The kettle whistled, shrill and out of place, and you startled so hard the mug tumbled from your hands, landing on the floor with a muted thunk.

Bucky chuckled.

This was going to be fun.

You were not, generally, this unbalanced. You could ride out a wave of sexual frustration for weeks, even months, and never let it show in your polite smile or the hand you’d lend to old Mrs. Lopez on 5B with her packages. You had learned to live with your little obsession with your neighbor Bucky Barnes in the same way you’d learned to ignore the drip in your bathroom sink: a low-level, constant irritant, a fixture of your life that you could, with sufficient self-control, simply tune out.

It was only a quarter past nine in the morning and you were already panting like you’d just climbed six flights in July, not merely rolled out of bed. Something was wrong with your body. Not sick—more like your skin had outgrown you overnight, every inch of you thrumming with an ache that had nothing to do with exercise and everything to do with need.

Because as bad as the heat was, you’d woken up at 3:21am, rolled onto your stomach and pressed your thighs together and rocked your hips, humping your mattress to no avail. It was as unfulfilling as the dream you’d woken up from, a dream featuring your neighbor Bucky Barnes pinning you in place, fucking you so well, so close you could taste the climax, only to have jolted awake, desperate and empty.

Now with no AC, it just figures that the universe would align for the worst day of your sexual frustration to peak when your AC went out.

You had lived through enough New York City summers to know the heat would try to kill you, but you’d never expected it to go for the slow, erotic smother instead.

Great. Now your brain was writing romance copy.

You took a cold shower, or as cold as the pipes allowed, and stepped out feeling more feverish and frustrated than ever. After that you stood in front of the open fridge for several minutes, eating string cheese in small, desperate bites, willing the chill to transfer from your tongue to your bloodstream. It didn't work. Cold air kissed your shins momentarily, but it was already evaporating.

Your phone, sticky with sweat, offered no solutions. The building super had already responded to oyour texts, but with the city-wide sweltering temperatures, he said it was going to be difficult to get someone to come look before Monday. You scrolled through social media, found only posts about the heat, people frying eggs on their windowsills, and, for some reason, an uptick in thirst traps. You slammed it facedown on the kitchen table, stood there, and considered your options.

Maybe you would have to resort to leaning on your own personal thirst trap and endure the torture.

Look but not touch.

As always.

You jogged your memory for Bucky’s likely status. His AC always worked, a source of neighborly gloating he pretended to feel sorry about. You’d seen him on the fire escape last night, watering an improbable pot of basil, so he hadn’t left for one of his mysterious, week-long trips.

You counted on him to be up, and you counted on him to be kind and neighborly. How many times had he said to let him know if you needed anything?

You slipped your feet into flip-flops and padded across the hall, the chill of the corridor almost pornographically relieving. Ignoring the urge to just lie down in the communal patch of coolness, you knocked. Not politely, but as un-desperately as you could manage.

His door opened before the second knock. He wore an old t-shirt and gym shorts in the way of a man who didn’t expect guests but was always ready for them. He grinned, broad and easy, and you wanted to slap it off his face or maybe—maybe—sink your teeth into the soft underside of his jaw, alternate violence and adoration. If it weren’t for the white socks on his feet, he would have been wholly unapproachable. He blinked at you, a little surprised, before his expression softened in recognition.

His blue eyes slid from your face down the length of you—bare-legged, sweat-sheened, half-dressed. If he noticed how untethered you looked, he didn’t say a word.

He just leaned against the doorframe, forearm braced above his head, a little smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Hey, neighbor,” he said, voice just hoarse enough to sound like he, too, had just woken up. “You okay?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. No, you were not okay. “Yeah, no, my AC’s dead. Reuben says maybe Monday.”

“Damn. That’s rough.” He stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come on in, you can cool off in here. It’s like an igloo compared to the hallway.”

You tried to say “thanks” but it came out thin and breathy. You hesitated in the threshold, pulse hammering in your ears, palms sticky. You were acutely aware of every inch of your skin and the patches where your tank top clung and stuck to your warm skin. You kept your arms tight at your sides and followed him in, trying not to look too hard at the wide set of his shoulders and the deliciously lived-in swoop of his hair.

His apartment was frigid. A gasp left you, startled, as the coolness curled around your ankles and up your shins, relief so sharp it tasted almost like salt. You braced a hand on the wall, felt your knees threatening to buckle for a whole, embarrassing second.

Bucky closed the door behind you and put a hand in his pocket, rocking his weight once up and back on the balls of his feet. As you adjusted to the temperature, your brain came back online, time stretching out but your thoughts not clearing so much as multiplying, all scrambling around the same basic theme: need.

Every little physical sensation felt magnified and weirdly erotic—Bucky’s clean-laundry scent, the chill bristling your nipples, your own rapid breathing, every sound echoing in his silent apartment.

Bucky peered at you with gentle concern, vaguely amused, like he could hold both those things in his expression at once. “You want some coffee?” he offered, casual, normal.

“Only if it’s iced,” you answered, following him into the kitchen.

You perched at his breakfast bar, gripping the edge, trying to appear unbothered. Up close, the scent of his skin and aftershave filled the air, a dizzying magnetism that was entirely unfair. You shifted, restless, gnawing the inside of your cheek.

Bucky moved with measured, assured movements behind the counter, opening a cupboard for glasses, filling them from a pitcher of cold brew. You couldn’t help but follow the flex of his forearm, the way his veins pressed up beneath the thin skin, the way his hands dwarfed the glass when he reached to set it in front of you.

His close proximity, the press of cold air from the vent above, the frisson of want that kept pooling in your belly and lower—god, was there anything left of you but need, at this point? It was getting hard to think, and you had to grip the glass hard to keep your hand from trembling. The iced coffee gave you the jitters. Or maybe it was just him, and the way he looked at you—just for a second, a slip out from behind his affable neighbor mask. It made your skin flare with fresh heat, the want sharper now for the momentary suggestion that maybe he knew exactly how ruined you felt by him.

He didn’t sit, just stood at the other counter a few feet away, tilting back his own glass.

He watched you over the rim, unhurried, eyes steady and watchful, and you thought, briefly, incoherently, that if you didn’t put something else in your mouth besides ice, you were going to say something reckless and humiliating. The coffee wasn’t helping at all. The caffeine sharpened your need, made it into a nervous, electrified ache, made you more aware of the incessant want.

“How’s your week going?” he asked, mild as ever. His voice was a low vibration, something pleasant you wanted to crawl inside.

You tried to recall anything that had happened since Monday, but it all seemed distant, unrelated to the desperate present. “Um. Work’s a lot,” you said, then, quickly, “How about you?”

He waited a beat, as if debating whether to give the default “fine” or to try for something more interesting. “You know. The usual. Little consulting, some paperwork, surveillance for an old friend. Watered the plants.”

There was a small silence. When you spoke, your voice was tight. “Your place is always freezing.”

He shrugged, a smile tugging the edge of his mouth. “Just lucky for once, I guess.” He was looking at you—really looking, with that steady, disarming focus of his, like he was cataloguing everything from the way you shivered to the fact that you couldn’t seem to unclench your legs. “You can hang out as long as you want. I’ve got snacks, TV, whatever you need.”

You needed something, and it was not TV.

But you had worked so hard to manage this—all your strange, out-of-joint attraction to Bucky, your embarrassing daydreams about what it would be like, the impossible softness that sometimes came over his face when he listened to you talk. You knew it was only the pheromones, the chemical trick of proximity that had you feeling so desperately out of control.

God.

He was just being the nice neighbor and friend he always was, and here you were actively fighting some itchyearndesperateneed to fuck him.

Maybe it wasn’t the heat or the coffee. Maybe it was just you, and the unsolvable, hungry problem of wanting him.

You finished your glass with a gulp that left your throat sore. The chill bloomed through your veins, hitting the heat in your core and swirling the want into a sharper, thinner line that tethered you, drove you. You wiped condensation from your lip and found Bucky staring at your mouth. You caught him, or he let himself get caught, because he didn’t look away—he watched, and then, slow and unapologetic, he smiled.

You could feel the edges of yourself getting fuzzy, your boundaries dissolving in the cold and the ache. His name was a bell in your head, a reflex: Bucky Bucky Bucky. You wondered what it’d be like to say it while he was inside you. Or after. Or never.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, but he came closer, leaned over the counter, invading your space as if he knew you weren’t, as if he needed to be sure.

Instead you cleared your throat. “Yeah. Sorry. I think I’m just a little, uh, loopy from the heat.”

His gaze flicked purposefully down your throat, over the pulse jumping there, then back up to your face. “Don’t apologize,” he said, softer than before, which made it worse. “It’s not your fault. Heat’s a killer.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound that came out was so thin it hurt. “Is it weird if I jus sit here for a little?”

“You sure you’re okay? No fever?” he asked, his eyes on the exposed column of your throat as you swallowed.

You shook your head and then realized that wasn’t entirely true. “I don’t know. Kind of feels like it.”

“Want me to check?” His question was so innocent you almost missed the note beneath it, the glimmer of amusement in his gaze. “Had to pick up some medical skills in the field. Got really good at feeling foreheads.”

Some combination of mortification and anticipation made you pulse all over. But you wanted the excuse—needed the contact.

“Sure,” you managed, low and hoarse as you scooted your stool a few inches closer to the counter.

He reached across the bar, his cool metal fingers a sharp relief, thumb feathering just under your jaw, palm broad and hot against your cheek. You wanted to press into it like a cat, you wanted to be ruined by it.

He drew in a breath, slow, deliberate, as if he were inhaling more than just your scent. His thumb brushed the hair back from your forehead, and his skin was so much colder than yours—you tingled where he touched you, the contrast as intoxicating as his closeness. “You’re burning up,” he said, with a gravity that made it sound like it was your fault and also exactly what he wanted.

You must have made some noise, some keening thing, because he chuckled, low in his chest. “You okay?” he said again, but this time, not moving back, not letting go.

It wasn’t the move of a guy checking for fever in a platonic way, not really—the way he cradled your chin, thumb brushing over your face, was too familiar, too practiced. His callouses rasped against your skin, a roughness you liked maybe too much.

He started to draw his hand back, and your own moved lightning fast to catch his wrist and bring his touch back to your face. “I…”

“Yes?” he asked, infuriatingly patient.

“Please, I need help,” you whimpered.

The words hung between you, unbearable. He held there, giving you every opportunity to pull away. You stayed, rooted, nails warm on the metal of his wrist, breath short and staccato.

He ducked his head just a fraction, eyes still on you, as if waiting for more. “What kind of help?” he asked.

You couldn’t say it. Not outright. Your grip on him was enough, maybe. You hoped. You hoped not. It trembled out of you: “I don’t know. I just—” You let go, finally, as if releasing his wrist would break the spell. Instead the ache in your palms was replaced instantly by the ache everywhere else.

“You can ask me anything,” he said, as if the answer was simple. You felt the tenderness in the way his hand returned to cup your cheek with unexpected gentleness, thumb stroking along the apple of your cheek, cooling it, coaxing you to keep going.

You shuddered, half in mortification and half in surrender. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you managed, voice high and thin. “It’s not just the heat, I swear, I just—” You pressed your thighs together, pulse jackhammering. “I can’t even think.”

His smile softened, the smugness replaced by something darker, intent. “Hey,” he said, voice lower now, “it’s okay. You trust me, right?”

You nodded, feeling the flush climb to your ears. “Of course I do.” Because you did, more than you’d ever admit. If you didn’t, you’d never be here, letting him touch you, letting your body confess the truth your voice couldn’t find.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, so steady, so direct it made you dizzy.

You tried to answer, but it caught in your throat, a wordless plea. Maybe the problem wasn’t just the heat. Maybe the problem was that your body had been braced for so long against this tidal pull; now it was finally time to give in.

You pressed your thighs together, yet again, and his eyes dropped to the movement immediately.

Then he leaned in, crowding your space, his presence as immediate as the frozen air and the thump of blood behind your ribs. You held your breath, and when he spoke, the words ghosted over your cheek.

“Let me help,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

You nodded, and it was like the cord inside you snapped. He moved so fast, so fluid, that you barely registered being turned—his hands a gentle but unbreakable grip as he rotated you on the barstool, so your knees faced him directly. His palms, one human and one metal, slid up your thighs, thumbs stroking the inside seam, and he sunk to his knees in front of you, the nearness of his face a gravitational force.

The world funneled down to the place where his hands pressed, and you realized he was holding you apart. Not obscenely, not yet, but enough that you were completely open to him, the thin cotton of your shorts doing nothing to hide the flush, the damp.

You made a soft, startled sound—the kind of sound that would have mortified you any other day, but now just seemed like a necessary release valve. The edge of the counter pressed into your back, bracing you, and there was nowhere to look but at him.

He glanced up at you, eyelashes impossibly dark, the blue of his eyes cool and unhurried as the rest of him. “Is this what you need?” he asked softly, one thumb circling closer, not quite touching you where he must have known you needed it most.

“I—” You gripped the counter as your own breath left you high and bright. “Yeah,” you whispered, then stronger. “Yeah. Please.”

Something old and hungry flickered in his eyes; for a second, it was like witnessing a mask falling away, exposing the pure, adoring greed underneath. He nodded, almost formal, and then both his hands bracketed your hips, holding you steady on the stool.

He started at your knee, a glancing scrape of blunt nails and calloused knuckles that sent shivers up your thigh. He traced the seam of your shorts slowly, as if there was all the time in the world, as if he wasn’t about to devour you.

His eyes didn’t leave yours, even as his mouth hovered over the thin cotton barrier. He ghosted a breath across the damp spot he found, and you lost all chance of composure. There was no longer any you, only some open, yearning thing perched on a stool, barely holding itself together. He thumbed the edge of your shorts aside just enough to press against you directly, the heat of his mouth and the shock of his cool fingers alternating in a way that broke your sanity into a thousand flickering, animal senses.

You grabbed at his hair without even meaning to, the urge so primitive it felt like a survival reflex. He hummed appreciatively at the contact, as if you’d pleased him, as if you were doing him a favor by yanking his mouth closer to your cunt. The sound vibrated through you, under your skin, rattling your bones. You tipped your hips, your nerves on fire, and his tongue licked a slow, deep stripe from your inner thigh up, not touching your clit, not yet, just lavishing the tender skin in a way that felt almost teasingly reverent.

You made a strangled noise, one part protest and one part plea, and Bucky’s hands tightened ever so slightly, anchoring you. He mouthed softly at you through the cotton, kissing and tasting like he had planned this moment, fantasized about it, orchestrated it down to seconds.

“God, Bucky, please—” you heard yourself say, shame gone, language stripped down to pure imperative.

He obliged, finally, dragging the fabric aside with both thumbs and kissing you directly, a cool blast of breath ghosting over your slick heat before his tongue pressed flat and broad against your clit. The relief was so acute you almost sobbed, hands convulsing where they tangled in his hair. You heard the low, satisfied growl in his throat as he set in, slow at first, until your hips bucking.

He didn’t tease, not in the sense of withholding; he controlled the pace only so you wouldn’t go off too soon, so you wouldn’t lose yourself before he had you in exactly the state he wanted. He gripped your thighs, thumbs stroking up and down, pinning you gently but completely, and sucked softly at your clit, laved it, flicked it until you heard yourself choking on a sob. Your hands curled into his hair, desperate for more, for anything, and he let you grind against his mouth, so attentive that he’d match every desperate movement with the exact pressure you needed.

It was embarrassing how quickly you came, shameful and glorious at once. You still had enough self-awareness to gasp his name in something like apology. “Bucky, Bucky, ah—fuck, so close.”

He growled, mouth pressed to you, and angled his tongue just-so, and the orgasm hit with staggering force, a white-out that blitzed your vision and stole any words from you. He didn’t stop. He held you through it and past it, swallowing down the shudders and the desperate sounds you made, like he’d known exactly how this would unfold. When you came down it was only because he let you, retreating from your cunt with a last, obscene kiss to your inner thigh.

He stayed on his knees as you caught your breath, looking up at you through the mess of his hair with a carefulness that could almost have passed for concern, were it not for the dark, starved edge to his gaze.

“It’s not enough, is it?” he asked, voice warm and hoarse, a dangerous temptation.

You shook your head before you realized what you were doing. The need was still there, louder if anything, a metabolic demand your body had never known before. The aftershocks of your orgasm didn’t blunt it; they just made you more sensitive, skin electric, greedy for any touch. The taste of his name was still burning on your tongue.

“I don’t—” You tried to get your breath, but every inhale was a plea, an invitation. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” It sounded like a lie as soon as you said it. You did know, and so did he; the only thing you didn’t know was how far either of you would let it go.

Bucky’s hands slid up your thighs, palms broad and possessive suddenly, not the gentle friend but a man answering a hunger of his own.

He rose in a single uncoiling, smooth and predatory, and you found yourself wanting to press back, to get some space, but you didn’t want space—what you wanted was to be pressed under him, to feel the full weight of him locking you down, holding you together.

He didn’t say another word, just bent and swept you up. His hands were careful, but the grip was decisive, one arm braced under your ass, the other curling around your upper back so your body instinctively folded against his chest. You clung to his shoulders, dizzy from the abrupt motion, but he was already hauling you past his kitchen, navigating the hall with a single-minded purpose. In the living room he set you on your feet behind the couch, spun you so you faced the window, city sun slicing in through the blinds and painting stripes over the room.

He nudged you forward until your hips bumped the cushion, then planted his hands on your waist, pressing you down in a gentle but unmistakable command. You braced your palms on the back of the couch, arms locking to hold yourself upright, the cool leather shivery against your bare thighs. His breath ghosted over your shoulder as he leaned in, mouth at your ear.

“You’re desperate for me to ruin you, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

His tone was so wicked, so knowing, that you felt your knees threaten to buckle. Before you could respond, Bucky’s hands slid down, splayed wide over your hips, and then he used a foot to nudge your legs apart.

The movement was so natural, so certain, that you obeyed without thinking, planting your feet wider, arms braced. Your shorts were still tangled around one thigh and even that didn’t matter, there was nothing in the world but the way his hand slid between your legs and the sound you made when he did. He pressed the heel of his palm right to your cunt, pushing up against the fabric, feeling exactly how soaking, how frantic, you were for him.

Bucky made a low, appreciative noise, and you could feel the shape of his cock, hard and urgent, as he moved in closer behind you. He raked his thumb up your spine and you arched for him, made yourself an offering.

There was a trembling pause as his hands found the elastic, hooked under it, peeled the shorts and your underwear down in a single, devastating motion. He left them tangled around your knees, a shackle you could feel, and then he was there—close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the shape of him, hard and insistent, through his gym shorts.

You heard the rustle of his clothes behind you, the elastic snap of his waistband, the uneven jolt of his breath. You tried not to turn back, to break the spell, but his hand fisted gently in your hair, holding you forward, not cruelly but as if he worried you might float away from him. You felt the graze of his knuckles against the small of your back and then the soft, heavy head of his cock against your inner thigh, thick and achingly hot. You made another helpless sound, impossible to disguise as anything but want.

You half heard him whisper, “Good fucking girl,” and it was more grounding than anything—the way he said it, not for praise but as a pure statement of fact, as if you’d always belonged to this moment.

A heartbeat later you felt him line up, one broad hand bracing your hip, the other guiding himself between your legs. He slid in slow, first just crowning the tip, then a steady, unhurried advance until you pulsed around him, all the breath knocked out of you. He was big, God, he was fucking huge, and you felt every inch of him, slow and relentless, until your body gave up its resistance and let him in all the way.

You choked on a sob and he stilled, letting you adjust, the metal of his hand biting into your hip in an anchoring grip that kept you from collapsing. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, feather-light, before rolling his hips forward, testing. The drag was so exquisite, so sharp, that your eyes filled up and spilled over before you understood you were crying. It didn’t feel sad or even humiliating; it felt like relief, like every nerve in your body finally tuned to the right frequency.

“There you go,” Bucky murmured, and the silk in his voice slid down your spine. “Let me take care of you.”

You arched back into him, jaw gone slack, and he took the cue, holding onto your hip with steel precision as he drew out, then thrust in to the hilt. The both of you made sounds then—animal, necessary, a tangled braid of shameless arousal. You were seared open, body and brain in ruins for him, and Bucky’s every move felt designed to keep you right at the rawest possible edge without letting you tumble off. With each slow, grinding thrust, he’d flex his fingers into your skin, and you were glad for the force. Otherwise, you might have rocketed apart.

He fucked you like he had nowhere else to be for the rest of his life. Each pass in and out was deep, so deep you saw stars, and he bit down on every gasp and whimper you made like treasure, hoarding them, making sure there was nothing you could give that he wouldn’t take. When you shuddered, he braced you. When you tried to hide your face in your arms, he made you look out the window.

“Imagine how wrecked you look if someone could see you like this, how good you are, how pliant, how utterly fucked out and feral for me.”

You could only groan beneath him.

But that wasn’t good enough.

“Because you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp.

“Fuck yeah, you are. Should film you next time so you can see.”

And that promised sentiment or threat or blessed assurance of a next time only barely registered in your head.

You felt the shape and girth of him everywhere, not just inside you but in your fingertips and jaw and even your toes, curled white-knuckled against the plush carpet. It felt like a breaking-open, a shudder that rattled the cage of rib and skull and emptied you in the best way. After the first spasm hit, it didn’t really stop; it just crested and broke, and then again, and again, as he drove you relentlessly through every aftershock.

Your throat was raw from the sounds you made, but you didn't care. Let the whole damn building know, let the heatwave carry it down to the street—anyone who heard would only know what you’d always suspected: that you were made, and remade, by the hands and cock of James Bucky Barnes.

He came with a groan that sounded like it had been torn up from the pit of him. You felt it, impossibly deep, an anchoring warmth at your core. He didn’t pull out right away, just pressed you down and into the couch, his breath ragged against your shoulder, sweat mixing with your own. The sun striped you both, pale and blurred, in the window’s glare. He cupped your waist, held you like he was scared you might disappear. The sound of your pulse was everywhere, in your mouth, your cunt, the tips of your fingers.

Eventually he eased out, then tossed you gently over the back of the couch and onto its cushions, hoisting himself immediatle after you, and settling between your thighs.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, he cupped your jaw in both his hands, and you met halfway in a kiss. Slow, charting, but eager to map, to pour into each other.

You should be spent, you knew that, and yet there was still a flickering need for even more, and ultimately you couldn’t keep from squirming your hips up beneath him like a bitch in heat.

Bucky growled but grinned against the crook of your neck. "Already? Thought I wore you out." He was half-teasing, half hopeful, and all of it made you ache more.

You panted, little strains of whimper leaking out as you shifted beneath his weight. "It's not—" You couldn't catch your breath. "It's not gone."

He drew back enough to see your face, the marvel and hunger written in every line of him. He was giddy on it now, drunk on you, the endlessness of your need. His thumb traced a path under your eye, along your jaw, a tenderness just as striking as the force when he'd bent you over the couch.

His hand was already sliding down, finding the tremor in your thigh where you'd hooked your heel into the small of his back. “C’mon, pretty girl, take what we know you need.”

He was still hard, not as superhumanly so as thirty seconds ago, but the evidence of his stamina pressed hot and thick against your thigh. The animal edge to his smile dared you to test him. So you did.

Your hand slid down between the bodies, still trembling, and guided his cock back home. Then you canted your head up, eyes wide, mouth open to him even before he took it. The kiss was deep and viscous as he slid his thick length back into you.

“You gonna let me fill up this tight cunt all day?”

Your head fell back, the surrender automatic. “Yes,” you managed, “please, Bucky—just—”

He didn’t give you time to finish the thought before he buried himself again, the shock of it so perfect you clenched hard around him, a plea and a welcome and a thank you all at once. You couldn’t believe there was anything left in you to give, but every stroke proved you wrong, dragged up a new, desperate need that was only satisfied by the relentless rhythm of his cock and his hands and the way his mouth fixed on you, starved.

He took you harder this time, body layered over yours on the couch, arms caging you in, fists in the cushions, the infected animal in your belly delighted to be conquered. The slap and drag, the obscene wet noise of your bodies meeting, should have been mortifying, but you couldn’t care less. All you could think about was the way he felt inside you, the fullness.

You fucked up into him like it could ever be enough, like you could reach the end of it, but all it did was ratchet higher the more you got. Illogical. Perverse. You wanted it so bad you felt like you might splinter from it.

He kept his eyes open, watching your every twitch and lost syllable, and when he spoke, it was a benediction and a dare all at once. “That’s it,” he cooed, “—take it, sweetheart, take every fucking drop.”

This man who you’d pegged as your polite, kind, helpful, funny neighbor, a gentle giant, a friend but not possibly interested in anything more… how could you have been any more wrong about him? It seemed his need was as insatiable as yours, as rough as yours.

He braced a hand on your ass and fucked into you so deep your vision actually blurred, and you had a moment of floating, refracted through heat and sensation, no thought in your head but the total occupation of Bucky’s cock and Bucky’s hands and Bucky’s words, which were now a white-noise loop of fuck, that’s so good and look at you and you greedy little thing.

You lost count of how many times you came, whether it was three or four or one long endless melt that crested and crashed and kept cresting again. Each time you clenched harder, he grunted, all approval and gratitude, like you were thriving on the mutual destruction. The only thing that finally stopped him was the way your body seized under him, shaking with exertion, whole frame slick with sweat and blown wide open—and even then, he only slowed to kiss the tears off your cheek before pumping in shallow, locking thrusts, filling you a second time.

He rolled and shifted so he was below and you were arranged on top of him, cock still inside you, and petted your head and back, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

But somehow your body still wasn’t done. The pitch of wasn’t as feverish, but you still ached for more, and you shifted, pressing your hands firmly onto his chest and pushing your hips back.

He growled and grinned up at you in approval, letting you take the pace, lazy hip rolls and shallow thrusts, like he was content to be used if only you’d keep him inside your cunt.

"That’s it, baby," Bucky murmured, hands cupping your hips in living brackets of steel and warmth, "workin’ it all out of your system, huh?" He let you ride him at your pace, let you grind and flex and arch your spine in a slow, deliberate torture, as if the last hour hadn’t emptied you. He watched the place where you were joined with worshipful fixation. Sometimes his hands drifted up your plump sides, moving over the sweat slicking over your ribs, sometimes they hovered beside your tits, thumbs circling the soft underside without quite squeezing. He wanted you to take, to use.

It was so much. The room, the man, the way your senses flattened and then sharpened around only the pressure and friction, the molten bracket of his thighs under yours. You could feel the outline and density of him in your gut, could feel the part of him inside you as an ache in your own bones.

Your hair stuck to your face, skin flushed and slick. You looked down at him, saw the blue of his eyes gone wild with something that wasn’t just lust but an infatuation so raw it jolted you harder than any thrust. You felt gorgeous and filthy and alive.

You braced your palms on his chest, the sweat-slick warmth of him grounding you to the world, to the precise coordinates of this couch, this apartment, these four walls where everything inside you had been rewritten. You rolled your hips, slow at first, test-driving this new sense you’d grown this morning. Each drag, each grind made the both of you moan, made his jaw go slack with admiration and something wild behind it.

“You look so good like this,” he whispered, almost reverent. His hands continued to wander, kneading your waist, your ass, committing every detail like a man who’d been in a famine so long he didn’t trust that the feast would last.

You uncurled from his chest and sat up, knees braced against the outside of his thighs. The angle changed everything—it let you drop down with gravity on your side, and the sudden invasion made you gasp, then laugh a little at the reckless power of it.

“Didn’t know you had this in you, pretty girl,” he said, eyes bright with admiration and a little awe, as your bodies met again and again. You shuddered, every nerve ending tuned to the raggedly sweet friction. You braced one hand on the couch back for support, the other pressing his chest flat to the cushions so he couldn’t move, so you could wring every last drop out of him.

He let you, his hands only guiding, though you could feel they itched for more, alternately cupping your ass and tracing the slick line along your spine. He never looked away, and you couldn’t either, not really. Part of you was afraid if you stopped, you’d never start again, that all of being alive was compressed into this blinding, needy cycle, the slow slide up, the brief gasp at the crest, the smashed-together bodies and the static-burst of coming apart.

You both dissolved into it, rode out the rhythm together, a storm system of skin and sweat and salt air. You wanted to memorize every flicker in his face, the way his jaw tensed when you clenched around him, the soft snarl of delight when you scraped your nails up his stomach, the groan from somewhere ancient when you rocked down, hard, and took him to the hilt. Like this, you were animal and angel at once, an ache shaped just for him, every ounce of pain and pleasure remade as a message to Bucky that he could have you, all of you, if only he asked.

This time when you came, it was a slower surrender, a low-voltage tremble that climbed your spine and made you shake all over. You fell forward onto him, collapse and comfort in the same gesture, and Bucky wrapped his arms around you, rocked you gently even as you whimpered from the aftershocks. He kissed the top of your head, and it was tender but also bespoke a possessiveness that you felt curl happily inside you.

“That’s it,” he crooned, lips against your hairline, “breathe. You did so fuckin’ good.” His hands swept over your back, grounding you, stoking the heat that was already beginning to spark again in the depths of your belly. You wanted to fight it, or at least express some normal human embarrassment at the way you’d let yourself melt into a horny puddle in your neighbor’s arms, but the pleasure sparked with every breath and touch, making defiance impossible.

It was fortunate that this man was a super soldier and could give you what you needed.

You wondered how many times you would come before you burnt out completely, or if you’d just fuse into something new, a singularity of slick and want and Bucky’s name.

Bucky knew he could see you through all of it.

He looked forward to being the conduit you found your relief in since he was the architect of this sweet, filthy, exquisite destruction.

And he couldn’t imagine that this brain-altering type of experience wouldn’t yield him exactly what he’d been waiting so long for: you, surrendering to him completely, admitting there was more than neighborly friendship between you, content and eager to finally be his.

The chemicals would burn out of your system in a few more hours, and then he’d take such good care of you in your recovery. He’d keep the AC off in your apartment so he could coax you to accept his invitation to stay all weekend.

He was sure two days was all he needed to secure you forever.

small 300-word scribble that happened the next day

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You’ve never held on to something so tight before.

Not even when you were younger and held your mamas hand.

Not when you tripped and reach out to grab the nearest person.

Not even your phone when the wind almost blew it away.

But Bucky, your fingers are cramping from the force of your grip on his jacket.

The bike bobs and weaves between cars, his chest rumbling from laughter when you squeak and lock your arms harder. His left hand moves to rest on your thigh, fingers drumming softly along the curve of your knee.

Your mouth is dry from panting, and your insides feel like goo. Vibrations from the bike are making it really hard for you not to moan into Bucky’s helmet and press yourself harder against his back.

This is checking off every box on your dirty biker fantasy, and dear Gods above – if he doesn’t bend you over the second the bike stops, you might fall to your knees and beg for every sin available for purchase. Dignity doesn’t exist in your vocabulary when a wall of a man like Bucky has you draped along his back. Let alone on his damn bike.

So, when he leans the bike to follow out of downtown and to the suburbs, you can only hope he’s not a murderer. Honestly, he could choke you out and you’d say thank you.

The other two had given him a thumbs up and stayed on the path in the city. Red Bike had leaned over and fist bumped Bucky, and wiggled his fingers at you before speeding to catch up to Star Spangle Banner Biker.

You take in your surroundings as the bike start to slow.

It’s a relatively quiet sub, most homes are dark – porch lights on, but all windows dark. Save for a few with soft lights in the living room from a TV playing.

The home Bucky pulls into is modest, a sweet brownstone with an already open garage awaiting your arrival.

You slowly flex your fingers, releasing your hold on him when he kicks the stand down.

Bucky gracefully stands, running a hand through his hair, “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought you to mine. I kind of forgot to ask where you wanted to go.” A sheepish grin blooms on his face.

Taking a deep breath, you slide the helmet off, “It’s okay. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with my roommate anyways.” You hand him his gear.

He places it on a shelf besides the bike, taking a moment to remove his protective gloves.

And you take that moment to very openly ogle at him.

His shoulders are wide – you literally had your face between the blades – but theres something comforting about the size of him. Wide. Tall. Arms that look they could crush watermelons. Thighs that look solid enough to hold you there for hours.

A back so muscular the muscles are seen through the thick leather jacket. His hair is on the longer side. Long enough to grab fistfuls of and curl at the nap of his neck.

You’re practically drooling when Bucky looks over his shoulder at you.

“You like what you see, sweetheart?” The fucker smirks.

Licking your bottom lip, “I’m not complaining about the view.”

He faces you fully, one hand going to rest on bike behind your seat, the other on your cheek. “You know, I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman –“

“And how’s that working out for you?” You lean into his touch.

You watch in real time as his pupils dilate, “You’re making it rather hard.”

You let your eyes wander over him. Down his torso to his jeans, “You talking about your restraint or that?”

There, as clear as the moon in the sky, is a bulged in his pants. Your thighs twitch, your fingers raising to find purchase on his waist. When he doesn’t answer, you meet his gaze.

Blue eyes nearly swallowed by black. The hand on your face slowly slides to the back of your head, fingers slightly twisting to grab your hair. Your breath hitches at a soft tug, “Both.”

His eyes track your tongue when it flicks out to lick your lower lip again, “I had a shit night, Bucky. I don’t want restraint.”

Famous last words before his mouth is on yours.

The kiss isn’t soft. It’s not sweet. And it sure has hell is not slow.

Bucky kisses like a man starved. Parched. Lost in the desert and you are the first lick of water he’s tasted in days.

It’s complete of teeth grazing lips, tongues fighting for dominance, and fingers gripping for dear life.

Bucky’s hand from the bike moves to your thigh, finger tips digging into the meaty flesh of you. A groan leaves his mouth and into yours. Your own hands unzip his jacket and shove it off him while still keeping your lips locked. Jacket makes a soft thud when it hits the floor.

His hands go back to you after shaking the gear off, turning your body to sit sideways on the bike. For a moment, you think about jumping off the bike, but then he’s shoving your thighs apart and stepping between them.

He towers over you like this, and your neck starts to hurt from how far back your head is leaning to keep kissing him. You break apart to breathe, but his lips just descend to your neck. You grip the bike for support with one hand — the other finding his hair.

You yank when his teeth find that spot below your ear. And the sound that leaves his throat is enough to send slick drooling out of you.

It’s like you unlocked Bucky because then he drops to his knee, fingers curling into your leggings and pulling them down so fast, you almost fly off the bike. You gasp, “Bucky—”

The look on his face will forever be etched into your frontal lobe. Eyes blown wide, mouth pretty pink and wet, and hair falling on his forehead. He just stares at your bare pussy for a moment before looking up at you with a lopsided grin, “Oh sweetheart. Louder for the neighbors to hear.”

The words barely reach your ears when his mouth meets your wetness. Your hand dashes to his hair as a breathy moan leaves you. And Bucky eats pussy like he’s tasty the sweet nectar of a plum.

It’s loud— his tongue against your clit, flicking and lick quick swipes. His right fingers tracing the opening of you, his left hand holding open your trembling thigh.

You watch him watch you. Your mouth hangs open, brows drawn together, and filth falling from your lips. “Bu-Bucky!” You gasp loudly when a finger sinks in, “The garage is— “, another loud moan, thighs twitching, “Open!”

Bucky has the audacity to roll his eyes and then press another finger in just to curl them.

Your back arches, head thrown back, moaning to the ceiling and praying to God someone doesn’t hear—let alone fucking see—what Bucky is doing to you.

You clench when he curls his fingers harder, pressing that soft spot he seems to have found ungodly fast. His chooses that second to also suck on your clit, harshly.

Stars burst in your eyes, the sound between you legs is sloppy, and all you can do is cry out his name as you come. On his bike.

Your biker fantasy list is headed to being completely filled if he keeps this up.

Bucky doesn’t slow his fingers, only moves his mouth to give kisses to your thighs, “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

Heat blooms on your face, you pussy crying around his digits, “Please.”

He licks his lips, “Please what, sweetheart?”

Your eyes start to cross as another orgasm builds embarrassingly fast. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for. Mercy? More? His cock? His mouth again?

His free hand grips yours still holding onto the bike, “Come one, sweet girl. Give me one more and I’ll give you my cock. Think you can do that for me? For yourself?” And then he slips a third in, all the way down and twists them.

For a brief moment, you think you break his hand holding yours and maybe yank a couple strands out of his head. You come again. A high cry echoes in the garage. Clenching so tight around him, he just leaves his fingers buried deep within you. Wiggling the tips to draw out your orgasm.

Tears fall form your eyes when you realize he’s lowering his mouth back down to you. “Bucky, please.” You hiccup, “You – you said – “, and his lips are making out with your clit again.

You sob loudly. Fat tears spill from your face, sweat dripping down your back, and you can’t seem to catch your breath. His mouth feels like sin and heaven and his fingers just keep playing that spot deep inside you. You pussy cries with you. Two orgasms in, a third approaching, and your poor thighs cant close around his big body.

Bucky’s shoulders keep you spread, and his eyes stay locked on your wet face. The evil bastard looks smug. Looks like he could die there and be so thankful.

“I know, sweetheart.” He pulls away, lips wet and smirking, “I promise. One more. Give me one more and I’ll fuck you right.” He licks your shaking thigh, “You look so fucking beautiful on my bike. Letting me eat your pussy.” Bites the juggle of your inner thigh, “I could do this all fucking night. You taste so good. One more, there you go.” And he wraps his lips back around your clit.

You might pass out, you’re not sure, when your third hits. It’s so wet and loud and Bucky just drinks you up. You push on his head, your feet kick at his sides, too overstimulated. Your poor pussy weeps when he pulls away and withdrawals his fingers. Not without keeping them curled the whole way out.

Your lungs aren’t filling with enough air, but your chest feels light and heart feels full. And pussy feels fucking recked and its just from his mouth and hands.

Bucky lifts you off the bike, holding you open and carrying you as if you weigh a sack of potatoes. You cant even find your brain to care, to fight him to put your down. That you’re heavy.

You just get wetter at the idea of him holding you against a wall and fucking you until the wall gives way.

When your mind catches up, he’s dropping you on his bed and his clothes are shedding. Bucky’s mouth finds yours as he climbs over you, hooking your thighs over his.

You cant help put looks down and nearly pass the fuck out because what do you mean he’s hung like a goddamn horse?

You must make a choked sound because Bucky laughs softly, hands moving to remove your shirt and snap your bra off. “It’ll fit, sweet girl. Youre a good girl, right? You can take it.”

You nod along, wide eyes watching the way his cock glides between your wet folds. You whine as the shaft slides over your clit. “I can take it.”

Bucky moans, “Fuck – “, and sinks his cock halfway in you.

You both gasp out, your hands gripping his biceps as his grip the sheets beside your shoulders. “Oh – Bucky – fuck me!” Back arches off the bed as he thrust the rest in.

“Shit, I knew you’d be perfect. Taking me so fucking good. Look at how pretty you’re taking me.” Bucky shoves a hand into your hair and angles your head down.

Your lower lip wobbles at the sight.

Your pussy stretched wide to take his girth, thighs wet from your three orgasms, and your legs spread so fucking wide you can feel a mild pinch in your hips.

Wet eyes meet piercing blue, and you clench around him “Please.” You beg again. And this time, you know what you’re begging for, “Fuck me, Bucky. I can take it.”

Bucky slowly leans back; gaze still locked with yours. He takes one hand and presses it to your thigh, lifting it up to spread you wider. You gasp when he somehow slides in deeper. His other hand moves from your hair to your right breast. “Hold on, sweetheart.”

Your hands grip his arm above your chest just as he drawls out, and slams back in.

The pace he sets is punishing. Headboard shakes against the wall, the bed creaking with each thrust of his hips. His heavy balls smack against you and the squelching between your legs is almost as loud as your sobs.

“Oh my god!” His cock drags along spots inside you never even knew where there. The head hits deep, your walls keep quivering, “Please, Bucky – don’t stop – I can – “, you blabber.

Bucky groans, hips snapping fast and harder, “Jesus Christ,” his eyes watch your breast bounce, the softness of your body jiggling with each pound, “Ima keep you tied here. Keep you all to myself and fuck you whenever you want. That sound good, sweet girl, huh?” He tilts his hips, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

You nod because there’s no way you’ll say no to that, “Whenever you want.” You’re crying again.

He licks his lips before lowering himself nose to nose with you. His hips not once faltering, “Yeah, sweetheart? Whenever I want?” You just nod. “Good girl, such a good. Fucking. Girl.”

Each word punctuated with a thrust harder than the last. And that’s what sends you over the edge.

You clench down, hard, and come harder than you’ve ever before. You fly off the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sob his name over and over.  

Bucky lets out a deep growl, drilling one last deep thrust in before releasing inside and painting your fluttering walls.

It takes a long moment of gasping, twitching, and sharp sobs before either one of you lets the other go. Bucky slowly lowers your legs onto the bed as he pulls out.

Your eyes slip shut, his cum dribbling out, “Bucky – “, you start.

“Im right here, sweets.” A warm hand finds your cheek, “Ill be right back. Don’t worry.”

You lay there, feeling boneless and thoroughly stretched out. In all parts of your body and soul.

A deep feeling washes over you as you hear him down the hall running water. Is this when he calls you an uber to send you home? Is he just going to come back to clean you up and then go take the couch?

Your spiral pauses when he walks back in, “I hope it’s not too hot.” Bucky’s voice washes over you and he’s gently wiping you clean.

You sigh, keeping your eyes closed. Its stupid. Just met like a few hours ago and he fucked you so good now you’re going to compare everyone after him to him. But you don’t want to go. His bed is warm, his hands are gentle and soft, and he smells like comfort and desire.

Bucky must notice. Of course he does.

“You’re staying.”

Two simple words that cause your eyes to open and widen. Had you said those things out loud? Did he fuck the filter right out of you? Is your brain still on the bike?

“I’d like to take you for breakfast. Maybe get your number and see you again, if you’ll have me.” Bucky looks so open and kind and your eyes start to swell.

“I’d like to stay. And breakfast. And you can have my address and social too if you ask nice enough.”

Bucky laughs, wrapping his big arms around you and pulling you to him. A blanket joins his arms, locking in all warmth.

“Rest, my beautiful girl. I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”

-fin-

“You do not think I can do it?” you asked, slightly hurt that he was doubting you.

Cold paint felt tacky on your skin as it slowly settled. “I know you can do this, but by design it will bring you to death’s feet,” he explained.

You gritted your teeth, “I have to complete the ritual. There’s no going back for me. I want to be one of the people, that's what you have been training me for,” you insisted.

He nodded, eyes set on your stomach as he led his fingers around in more swirls and lines. The sensation tickled, but you did not allow yourself to move. “Then you must be strong, no hesitation. Follow the path Eywa lays out before you and do not falter, Unilnyu (dreamer).”

“Don’t worry, I had a good teacher,” you smiled and his yellow eyes flicked up to yours. 

He was quiet as his hands moved to your face, making twin curves on each of your cheeks, “Even a good teacher cannot prepare their student for this. Keep hold of your strong heart.” 

“I will, Tsyeyk,” you promised and he nodded, two fingers moving down your nose and falling to your lips, lingering a moment longer on them than necessary. Your breath hitched before he finally moved on, adding more details to your torso and forehead. 

“One last thing,” he murmured, dipping his entire hand in the white and bringing it to your chest. He moved the woven fabric of your top down and you froze at the touch. He brought his hand to you and laid it over your heart. His warmth bled through the coolness of the paint and then into your skin. “So you remember who you are,” he explained, eyes on yours.

“Someone with a strong heart?” you asked breathlessly.

He nodded, “and… that you are mine.” 

-

You splashed water over your face as you sat in the stream, legs still weak from the poison and psychedelics. You laughed as you realized how much joy was in your heart because you had really done it. You passed the dream hunt, you were one of the people now. 

You scrubbed harshly at your skin, washing the last of the paint off of you as footsteps crunched through the leaves behind you. You turned, expecting to see Tsyeyk but instead found Neytiri.

You smiled at your friend as she stopped at the bank. “Congratulations, sister,” she said proudly. 

You and Neytiri had become friends over the last month or two. She was wary of your human ways at first as was everyone else, keeping a wide berth and sending you nasty glares. Eventually though, she realized you were in it for the long haul and she made an effort to get to know you. She was one of Tsyeyk’s closest friends and it made you overjoyed to be accepted by her, even if it was slow going at first.

“Thank you sister,” you beamed at the title.

She sat down beside you as you made your way back up to the shore. “I have brought many adornments. The men get a cumberbund, but women have to show their status in other ways,” she said, opening a pouch that was slung over her shoulder and showing you beaded items, flowers attached to woven fibers, and colorful hair accessories.

“Which do you want?” she asked, big eyes staring at you expectantly and you felt overwhelmed at the choice.

“You pick for me. What will make me most beautiful?” you asked, looking to her.

“You are already beautiful,” she playfully sighed, “I wish I looked like you.” she said and it made your brows jump. She started rifling through the bag, pulling out various items.

“Stop teasing me,” you shook your head, plastering on a smile to hide the prickly feeling in your chest at her mockery. She chose a piece and removed it from her bag.

“I am not!” she exclaimed, eyes meeting yours again and she pulled your arm through a carved wooden cuff, letting the swirling, beautiful jewelry sit on your bicep.

“Really?” you asked, eyes narrowing at her as she rolled her eyes. 

“Everyone’s eyes are on you. Surely you know the effect you have on the people,” she pointed out.

Your head recoiled at the idea. “I thought that was because I was a dreamwalker. I mean, Tsyeyk said that it was desired among the na’vi, but I thought he was just being nice. Humans can sometimes… make fun of people who look like me. They all want to look like you,” you explained.

“Well, that is stupid,” she pointed out. “Tsyeyk does not mislead you. In fact, I would say he stares the most,” she grinned mischievously. You blushed thinking of his words earlier, calling you his. 

That sent your thoughts racing all over again. You wondered if he truly meant it. What would a life together look like when you weren't even living in your real body?

“Now you are teasing me,” you stated. She wound a string of beads three times around your neck, creating a choker that sat at the base of your throat. 

“Yes, but the words are true. He has told me you were the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.” Neytiri confessed, looking at you in a I-told-you-so way that made you even more curious.

“Which one?” she asked, holding up two hair accessories for you to choose between as if she hadn't just told you earth shattering information. 

The air left your lungs, but you choked out, “that one,” and pointed to a yellow stone attached to a carved comb.  

“Did he really say that?” You asked, as Neytiri stood up to walk around to your back. She gathered your hair and spun it in her hands, your kuru being the only thing left down as she clipped it up securely.

“Yes!” she insisted, laughing at your dumbfounded tone. “That is why you must look extra beautiful tonight, so he will finally sweep you off of your feet,” she explained, 

“I just passed my Uniltaron, is that not enough excitement for one night!” you argued with a laugh.

“No, not when you are one of the people now. Not when my friend looks at you as if you are a Tìhawnuwll fruit he would like to sink his teeth into,” she chided, grabbing your hands and helping to pull you up so that you were standing. 

“He does not!” You exclaimed, regaining your balance as you stood in the ankle deep water.

“His handprint is gone, this will make him furious. That is good,” she stated, tapping your heart with her finger before she bent back down to her bag and pulled out another piece of jewelry.

“I washed off all of the paint,” you argued, gesturing to your whole body.

“You washed away his claim on you, he will restake it,” she promised, holding up what you thought was a necklace at first but as you took it in your hands, you realized it was more of a top. A leather strip of dangling beads shaped like a deep v that had another piece of leather that led to an attachment for your waist. It was highly decorated, the leather pressed with swirls and the beads having a hundred different colors and differentiations.

“Let us put him to the test tonight,” she said, brows jumping in challenge. “This is my gift to you for becoming one of the people. It will fit,” she assured you.

“Neytiri,” you gaped, looking at the intricate and beautiful piece she had given you. “Thank you sister,” you smiled, tears welling in your eyes.

“Do not cry, that will make me think you do not like it,” she tutted. She took it back in her hands and gestured for you to take off the top you already had on.

“Tsyeyk made it for me,” you confessed, hesitant to part with it.

She rolled her eyes, “I am not asking you to burn it. Just for the night you can wear something different,” she pointed out and you sighed.

“Right, okay,” you acquiesced and slid the top over your head, careful to not mess with your hair. She helped you attach the new top and it fit beautifully. You moved and the beads clacked together, giving a pretty tinkling sound that made you smile.

“Thank you,” you repeated, grabbing her three fingered hand and squeezing once in gratitude. 

“Come, the men will be on the prowl tonight. We must give them something to hunt,” she laughed, tugging you behind her back to hometree.

The drums were already pounding as she pulled you up the spiral to the second floor where fires flamed at full force and dancers twirled with dyed fibers attached to their arms and torsos.

You were immediately swarmed with Na’vi as they congratulated you, some even bringing you in for an enthusiastic embrace. Neytiri waved them off as she pulled you closer to a fire. “Dance with me!” she requested and you barked out a laugh.

“I don’t know how!” you argued but she rolled her eyes. 

“I will show you. There is no one way,” she insisted.

“Okay,” you agreed, both of you giggling as she showed you how to spin and move your body the Na’vi way. You know you sucked, but it was fun.

“Look,” she suddenly said, nodding to the corner where Tsyeyk stood, arms crossed over his broad chest as he stared you down. “He is not the only one,” Neytiri teased.

You glanced to where she was looking to find a group of hunters looking at you as you danced. Your cheeks flushed at the attention, becoming aware of your surroundings.

“Do not stop having fun,” she requested, “this is your celebration, do not worry what others think.” She could easily pick up on your apprehension now.

You shook your head, “I know, I’m sorry, I just think I need something to drink,” you excused yourself, stumbling away from the other dancing bodies and into the more open space. You crossed your arms over your stomach, feeling self conscious as you still felt eyes on you. 

“Having fun, Unilnyu?” a deep voice asked, and you looked up to narrowly stop right in front of Tsyeyk’s chest, your nose an inch away from his chin.

“Geez,” you stuttered, stepping back in surprise. He laughed at your reaction and it made you smile too, ”Yes, a lot of fun. Neytiri has been very kind to me tonight,” you responded to his question.

“I see that. Is this her doing?” he asked, grasping your hands and pulling your arms away from your stomach so he could see your top and jewelry. You let him hold your arms up like a T, but tugged them away when his eyes flicked back to yours.

“Yes,” you admitted, “She would not let me wear your gift tonight,” you explained.

“You look beautiful regardless,” his eyes flashed down again as he said, “But you washed away my reminder,” he pointed out, gesturing to your chest. Only beads danced across it now and you knew he was upset at this by the way his eyes burned into the spot.

“I passed, I didn't think I needed it anymore,” you stated, eyebrows furrowing at his reaction, as you watched his face harden.

“I-” he started, but was cut off as another man approached you.

“Dance with me!” a male that you didn't know the name of said in rusty English. He held out a hand, offering to pull you back into the throng of people. 

You didn't know what to say, but Tsyeyk didn't give you the chance to respond anyway. “Tsun nga ke kame po lu plltxe ne oe (Can you not see she is speaking to me)?” he barked at the man who stared back wide eyed. You had picked up much more Na’vi at this point and understood most of what he was saying. Your cheeks flooded with heat at the territorial display.

The man’s eyes darted from Tsyek to you to somewhere over your shoulder as Neytiri suddenly appeared. “She would love to!” she said in English, taking your hand and placing it in the man's. 

“She doesn't know him,” Tsyeyk growled at Neytiri, putting out a hand to stop you from moving.

Neytiri scoffed, “Y/n, this is Lopal. There, now she knows him.” She pushed you as Lopal pulled and you were swept into the dance. He looked as confused as did you, but instead of asking questions, he spun you, arms moving strangely and you tried your best to follow. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Neytiri talking to Tsyeyk, his arms crossed over his chest as he kept his eyes trained on you. The Na’vi would not touch metal, but he was glaring iron daggers at where this hunter's hands held yours.

Tsyeyk and Neytiri seemed to be arguing. He gestured his arm at you as he bit out words you couldn't make out. Neytiri didn't let his foul mood intimidate her though, she said her own words and pushed past him. He followed after her, arms still flailing. You rolled your eyes at the dramatics of the two Na’vi, but your mind was quickly distracted as Lopal twirled you.

You danced until your feet throbbed and Lopal finally let you go. You thanked him for the dance, but went to finally get that drink you wanted so desperately. 

You found water hanging on the wall in a plant-made skin and let the cool water drain down your throat, happy for the relief it brought you. You hadn't realized how dry your mouth was until now. You hung it back up and were about to rejoin the party when a shadow fell across the wall.

You spun around to see Tsyeyk approaching you, stopping a foot away. Your eyes widened when you realized he had a handful of yellow paint. 

“Tsyeyk, what are you-” you stopped as he planted his hand firmly on your chest. You looked down to see yellow sandwiched between blue skin.

Your eyes flashed back to his as he started talking, face hovering near yours. “The reminder was not for the Uniltaron, it was for you. You are mine, do not dance with anyone else tonight,” he ordered, hand still pressed to your chest as you stared open-mouthed back at him.

He ripped his hand away, the paint making a wet sound as it separated. He took his paint covered thumb and pressed it below your lips, right on your chin. His eyes smouldered as he staked his claim. 

You searched for words but before you could find any, Tsyeyk sent you one last heated look and removed his finger, leaving a large yellow dot in its absence.

“Agreed?” he asked in a clipped tone, his head cocking slightly to the side as he waited.

You barely nodded before he muttered “good,” and turned to stalk back into the crowd, leaving you breathless and wide eyed in his wake. 

You didn't see him again until nearly an hour later. You had spent the time replaying the scene in your mind, his words making you blush anew each time. You were a frazzled mess.

When he finally appeared again, he took your hand in his, not even asking before he swept you into a dance that had your heart racing under his hand print.

“Where were you?” you asked him when the tempo slowed and he could hear you over the din.

“Cooling off, I do not like people seeing me angry,” he explained as if he made any sense. His eyes searched yours, looking afraid of rejection, like he feared he had been to much, but was realizing it too late.

“Oh…” you stuttered, watching as his eyes visibly softened. "It's okay," you murmured.

“I am sorry, I just…” he trailed off, shaking his head as you bit your lip in thought.

You smiled bashfully at a memory that resurfaced. “I think I understand,” you said, “It is like when Peyral gave you that arm guard and I wanted to claw her eyes out. I had to leave,” you confessed and he raised his brows at you.

“I did not know you saw that,” he said, “I did not accept it. My heart already belonged to another,” he said in your ear and you smiled, eyes focused on his smooth shoulder as he held you, hands around your waist.

“Good,” you said smugly.

He held you away from him, searching deeply into your eyes. “Can I show you something?” he requested.

“Anything,” you agreed.

Tsyeyk took your hand and tugged you out of hometree and through the forest. He pulled you around trees and your feet tripped through the grass and brush. You both were laughing when you came into a clearing, your face sobering when you realized where you were. 

The Tree of Voices… Grace was gonna freak out.

Tsyeyk’s steps didn't falter or hesitate as he dragged you forward, twisting so that he was walking backwards to see your face. Your footsteps illuminated beneath you as you picked your way closer. Purple hued tendrils of the tree hung down around you and you gaped in fascination. Tsyeyk caught your wonder and smiled at the sight.

“This is a place for prayers to be heard,” he explained over his shoulder and he let go of your hand. He grabbed his kuru and held it to two vines, letting the thin nerves from his braid stretch over the glowing tendrils. “And sometimes they are answered,” he added, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

You reached out and brushed over a tendril feeling the warm, softness of it. “It's beautiful,” you mumbled, looking to the top of the tree where the brightest concentration of light emanated. 

Tsyeyk grinned again, “We call this utraya mokri, the Tree of Voices. Try it,” he instructed, nodding for you to follow his lead. “They are the voices of our ancestors. When Na’vi die, our spirits go to live within Eywa.”

You reached forward, grabbing a few vines within your reach and Tsyeyk watched as you attached your kuru, eyes shutting as your mind was filled with the comforting sound of happy voices. 

“I can hear them,” you smiled, opening your eyes to look at Tsyeyk. He gently tugged his kuru away from the vines, walking over to you. His chest nearly touched your back and you were hyperaware of his scent, his closeness.          

“Now that you have passed the rituals, you are Omatikaya now. You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree. And you may choose a mate,” he explained. 

You glanced over your shoulder, tearing your braid away from the vines as the conversation shifted. His eyes were fixed on the atrokarina softly floating between the vines. You didn't turn around, not wanting to bump him or distract him from his next words.

“Layitxi is the best drummer,” he said, reaching out to catch a woodsprite in his palm and send it flying again.

“I don’t want Layitxi,” you said, watching his hand movements. You realized what he was doing. He was feeling you out to see your intentions. You decided you would play his game, and you would have fun with it. 

“Hmm,” his chest made a warm sound close to being pleased and it made you grin.

“There is Kaim. He is kind, although his aim rarely is true.” Tsyeyk said, fingers curling around a glowing vine in front of you. 

“Kindness is important, but so is skill,” you tutted.

“Zìey is the best hunter, although he has many lovers,” Tsyeyk continued.

“He is a good hunter, perhaps he shall gain another,” you agreed teasingly, knowing you were pushing his buttons but enjoying watching as his hand tightened around the vine.

You shook your head, “I've already chosen,” you gave in, not feeling mean enough to torture him any longer. You turned and continued, taking in his handsome face, “but this man must also choose me,” you urged hopefully.

Tsyeyk smiled softly, eyes locked on yours, “He already has.” He reached up to the back of your head and tugged the comb out of your hair, letting it fall freely in a curtain around you.

He went to pull you into a kiss but paused when your mouth was about to hit his. “Wait…” he said and your heart dropped. “I do not want to trick you, you do not know our ways. Na’vi, they… we mate for life,” he explained slowly, eyes trained on your lips still.

“Oh,” you breathed. “I mean, is that what we’re about to do?” you asked him, genuinely curious.

“That is what I wish to do,” he corrected you, “but if you need more time, if you-” you cut him off.

“No, I don't need more time. I already told you, I chose you, Tsyeyk,” you promised. “but you know, my real body is far away, sleeping. You would mate with a dream walker?” 

His hand left your jaw, covering your heart instead, “This body is real,” he said, moving his hand again to tap your forehead, “This spirit is real. I choose you.”

He continued, “When I was first your teacher, I hated all Sky People. But you have also taught me something. Spirit is all that matters,” he assured you.

You smiled up at him, “I see you,” you muttered.

He smiled back, lowering his forehead onto yours, “I see you, Ma’Unilnyu.”

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His mother, grandfather and teachers all shaped him like a monk. Discipline, knowledge, sacrifice, practice, endurance. Those were all concepts he was very well acquainted with.

Pain, whims, feelings, desires… Anything that kept humans in a ‘constant state of mediocrity’, was to be suppressed. For he had greater purpose. If he had to be the leader of all countries, seas and creatures, he had to rise above. His whole upbringing was about not being human, about being sentient enough to lead.

Those beliefs were something his father worked hard for years to wipe away, along with all the brainwashing his son suffered. It wasn't easy, and after getting more or less accepting and understanding of what he was supposed to be if his life started different, Damian even grieved a little about how he might never be… Normal.

So when he actually, naturally, got to that age where young people are interested in concepts like dating, or hanging out with friends, it was a whole process for him, easier just because his family and friends seemed proud of him. It was jarring when he realized other parents were disapproving of their kids having a life, and exploring. But he felt human enough with his evolution. Everyone noticed the subtle changes in his personality, temper and goals, the older he got.

Still, Damian never fit in with those groups of boys, and some girls, whose world is centered about sex, even though they're way too young for that. Like, yes, he felt his heart beating faster, a wave of sheepishness, when he very much enjoyed his first kiss with his teenage fling, Nika. And he had many crushes, he read shoujo, Damian understood what those feelings were, what was a part of a couple’s routine, and he even found himself checking some girls out, politely, every once and a while. Just admiring their beauty and something about their aura. And with you, he even ventured in flirting and taking initiatives the closer you got to each other.

As your relationship progressed, Damian learned he enjoyed other things too.

Like for example, digging his fingers on the pudding of your waist. Sinking his fingers between your curls and pulling on your hair just enough to hold your face firmly in place to control the rhythm of your kiss. The way you looked at him under those long lashes, and over the rim of your glasses and drinks. How larger your thighs got when you sat down. Arriving somewhere to meet you and just stopping dead on his tracks to admire your silhouette, watch your beauty from afar like everyone else does, because he's the only one who gets to be close to you.

The shine and volume of your hair. Your scent. Your warmth.

Yes, you were beautiful, he knew that, and in his mind, everyone knew that too. But that's not all. Sometimes, Damian Wayne has to suppress a smug smirk because his girlfriend is hot. And if he's not superior to everyone due to his glorious upbringing, then at least he knows he has something other men, other guys, envy. He's the worst peer ever. Damian is smart, rich, athletic, handsome, excels in anything he prompts himself to do, and his girlfriend is smoking hot.

Damian likes your face. Damian likes your body. Damian likes your voice. Your scent. Your style. Your mannerisms.

Damian likes the view when you're on all fours for him. His eyes roam over the tiny waist, sliding down to the edges of the expanse of your lower half growing further apart until it reaches the round and large hips, with two ample buttcheeks that fill up his hands and shake with every snap of his flesh against yours.

He likes to find new moles. He likes to run his hands over your length, delightening in the soft skin and body hair, while observing your reaction to his touch. He likes to stand behind you, circle your plush waist with his thick arms and squeeze your soft body against his, your pillowy belly transforming you on his own emotional support human plushy. He likes to run his palms up your torso and marvel at the fact that you have boobs. Like a 12 year old boy, he's excited about boobs. Even though he’s an ass guy.

He would never say it outloud, it's too obscene, too immature. He's a reserved person. But yes, he's an ass guy.

Still, he likes you, and you have boobs. They're soft to the touch. They're wiggly to the eyes. They have big aureolas with a nice colour. The nipples get pointy and he even gets to see them through your clothes, which is fucking sexy, but also gives you a very domestic appearence. He likes that you're very comfortable with your body. That's the most attractive thing. No matter if you're out and about all dolled up, or if you're just wearing his shirt while hanging out at home.

Damian likes to go deeper down this hill too, but that's something between the two of you in the bedroom. Like yes, of course he loves [insert a bunch of very obscene sexual scenarios] with you. But no reason to expose that, right?! Of course he likes it. Of course he likes sex. With you, exclusively. He hasn't had eyes for anyone else since he fell for you. You're superior. He might not be. But you are.

He knows what’s happening now, he’s seen this play out again and again over the past two weeks whilst Yongsoo has been finalising her wedding plans and so with that, the seating plan. You’re certain that when you told him your friends had a habit of seating you with the kids at their weddings, he thought you were joking. But now it’s clear that it seems that someone being single, in your friends’ eyes, goes hand in hand with free childcare.

It did used to be you and Minhyun, an old friend from university but he decided to become an OnlyFans streamer and so your friends, ultimately being prudes, decided he wasn’t allowed to sit with you and the ever-growing brood of children.

You had asked him if you could star in a video with him, but he said your bosses probably wouldn’t like it. That and he was very much still as gay as ever and so unless you grew a key appendage, he wasn’t interested.

Discrimination. That’s what it was.

And so now all you have to look forward to this weekend, at your bestie's wedding, is being the entertainment for the kids.

“Yeah, right babe, like ____ has found anyone. She never leaves her office.”

Mingyu glares at your phone but you shake your head to tell him to ignore them, you’re used to it. They don’t mean it in a horrible way, they just don’t understand that you enjoy your work. You enjoy designing things and seeing people love them, to create their homes and families in the buildings you’ve designed. And it isn’t like you haven’t had boyfriends, you have, but they just were equally as dedicated to their work and so they’ve always fizzled out.

Their need to get married and have kids is great for them, it’s not even something you’ve ruled out, you’re still young. But it’s just not something you want now, and they find that whole idea foreign.

“You’ll die alone if you don't start living your life!"

Well, that’s just fucking harsh.

“Actually, I’ll be coming with her.”

You stare at Mingyu. He’s leaning over your desk, shirt sleeves rolled up, speaking into the phone that now has nothing but a stunned silence on the other end of it.

“____? Who’s that.”

You can’t speak. What the hell is he doing?! It’s one thing to go alone. It’s another to turn up with your assistant. You can hear it now, “Oh _____, the only man you can find is your assistant?” or “oh my god, are you paying him?”.

Before you can even answer them, your brain only just catching up to what he’s said, he speaks for you.

“I’m her fiancé.”

WHAT THE FUCK?!

“What the fuck?!” You hear them shout in unison at the end of the phone, such is the shock of you having a fiancé.

You can understand it, you didn’t know you had one until about ten seconds ago.

You hear Yongsoo asking a question, but Mingyu cuts her off.

“Sorry!! We can’t talk right now! We have dinner reservations. Bye!”

You stare at your phone, the screen illuminating with messages from Yongsoo and within a couple more seconds, your group chat, her probably having told the rest of your friends what just happened.

“Sooooooo…you need anything else? Or am I ok to head home?”

Did you imagine what just happened? You must’ve done because he’s just acting like it hasn’t just happened. That he hasn’t just announced to your whole friend group, basically, that he’s your fiancé.

Does he think it’s a joke? He thinks you’re a joke? That he can just set you up like this and then laugh at the fact you have to arrive there alone and explain that your own assistant thinks you’re a fucking joke?

You didn’t think Mingyu was like that, he’s always been kind and caring, making sure you work more as a team than as an assistant and boss. He’s your eyes and ears in the office to make sure your team work well and he makes sure you eat, sleep, even drink water, when you’re heading for a deadline and panicking.

So why has done this to you now?!

“Have I done something to annoy you?”

He stares at you, standing in front of your wide glass desk like a deer caught in headlights.

“No, boss.”

He doesn’t seem to be lying. But then he’s also acting like what he’s just done, hasn’t happened.

“Then why have you set me up like this, Mingyu?!”

You lean back in your chair, taking in the man in front of you. What doesn’t help is the number of dreams you’ve had where the adonis of man you call your assistant, is waiting for you at the end of the aisle. But he has a girlfriend and he’s never shown any interest in you like that anyway. It wouldn’t be right, you’re his boss. Nothing could ever happen. It doesn’t stop you thinking about it a lot. Particularly on nights where it’s just you and your rose toy. But it could never happen. Never will.

And you hate that you feel bad for shouting at him. You hate that little pout he does.

“They were being dicks to you _____! I couldn’t just stand there and let them laugh at you like that!”

“They were just being how they normally are, it’s a running joke!”

“Well, it’s not very funny!”

Why is he getting annoyed about this? He’s caused this!

“And how funny is it going to be when I arrive there on my own and have to explain that the fiancé, they didn’t know about, has disappeared?! Fuck Mingyu…..my parents will be there. All my friends. Why the fuck have you done this?!”

“I just panicked!!”

“It was nothing to do with you!!”

He looks pissed, his usually handsome features tarnished with frown lines as he glares at you.

“I thought…..I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t think.”

“No shit Sherlock.” You rub your temples, thinking of a way to get round all of this. “Just go home Mingyu, I’ll hire someone or something.”

He doesn’t move though. He just stares at you.

“Hire someone?”

“There must be apps where lonely women can hire a man for the day.”

“Like a prostitute?”

“I don’t want to sleep with them. I just want…” you gesture your hands trying to think of how to put it, “company!”

“You’re going to ring up a random man and pay him for company? And you don’t think that they’re going to think you’re paying them for sex?”

You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with him. But he does have a point about that, you suppose.

“Or I could go to a bar. Find someone there.”

You need to do something because the prospect of turning up there without the fiancé Mingyu has just made up, makes you want to throw up.

No. You’ll find a man and then in a couple of months, he’ll very sadly be hit by a car. Not literally of course. It might actually work out well, they’ll leave you alone about finding yourself a man, because you’ll technically be in mourning. Mingyu may have inadvertently done you a favour here.

“I’ll come with you.”

It’s the perfect plan really, it’s. Wait. What did he just say?

“Pardon?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Where? I don’t really want to go to a bar with you when I have to meet someone. They might think we’re a…..”

“No. I’ll come with you to the wedding.”

You stare at him. You’re sure there’s several reasons human resources can pull you into an emergency meeting because of the suggestion he’s just made.

“You’re my assistant.”

“No shit Sherlock.”

You can tell he’s enjoyed using your own line against you, his smug grin threatening to break free as he watches you struggle.

“You’ll come to the wedding with me? And how do I explain where my fiancé is?”

“He’ll be there. I’ll be him. It’ll only be for a weekend anyway.”

Your heart both leaps and cracks at that. What you wouldn’t give to be in his girlfriend’s position.

“I can’t ask you to do that Mingyu, that goes way past being professional.”

“You’re not taking a prostitute or some random drunk you find at a bar looking to make a quick buck. At least if it’s me, you’re safe.”

“Hyejin won’t mind?”

Mingyu looks perplexed, your question obviously having caught him off guard. You know he thinks they’re both being sneaky, but it’s clear as day to you that they’ve been dating a long time now.

“No? Why would she mind?”

“I guess it’s just work,” you nod, more to yourself than Mingyu. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, boss.”

“And you’ll tell human resources that it was all your idea, if they ever find out?”

“I will.”

You’ve got a bad feeling in your stomach and in your heart about this, but he’s not really left you much choice.

“Ok.”

“Perfect,” he smiles, “I’ll bring my over night bag with me tomorrow and we can leave straight from here after work.”

“O-ok.”

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything though, just happily walks out of your office like this little plan is the most normal thing in the world.

“Haven’t you filled that damn diary with ‘I love ____’ yet? How have you still got shit to write?”

Mingyu slams his diary shut when he hears his friends enter the staff room. The last time his friends got hold of it, they spent the next two weeks laughing at his drunk ramblings about how the love of his life doesn’t even care that he spends his nights planning their wedding.

“I’m just writing a couple of rules for this weekend that’s all,”

“Oh shit have I forgotten game night again?! I swear I’m not playing if she still hasn’t learnt the rules.”

“Oh does ickle Wonwoo not like losing?” Hyejin squeezes Wonwoo’s cheeks together much to the disgust of Wonwoo.

“I just don’t like losing to someone who cheats.”

“Prove it bitch.”

Just before Wonwoo can gear up to have yet another argument about Hyejin’s wavering loyalty to any game rules, Mingyu interrupts.

“I’m going to pretend to be _____’s fiancé for the weekend.”

Silence. Hyejin drops the finger she was aggressively pointing at Wonwoo and stares in horror at Mingyu.

Shit, he was hoping they’d be a little less shocked and a little more ‘oh that’s weird but totally normal and in the realms of what an assistant should do for his boss.’. But instead, he’s met with a look of disgust and utter confusion.

Because of course he is, none of this is fucking normal.

“You’re going to…..” Hyejin looks at Wonwoo who just shrugs before they both look back at Mingyu, “you’re going to pretend to be your boss’s fiancé? For….. what reason? Have you banged your head and got a concussion? Let me see that diary, have you been drinking?”

“NO!” He pulls his diary away and puts it under his ass.

“You’re going to pretend to be your boss’s fiancé?”

Is that not what he said? Why are they just repeating it back to him?! He knows what he said, he just needs to know how to get through it.

“It’s her best friend’s wedding and they normally just use her as free childcare because she’s the only single one, which is so fucked up.”

“Oh well you should have said that sooner, now it makes perfect sense!”

“Exactly,” Mingyu nods.

“NO, YOU IDIOT.” Hyejin shouts causing Wonwoo to snort but Mingyu to jump about a foot into the air, “You cannot think this is a good idea. How did she even agree to it?”

“I didn’t really leave her much choice. I just said it to her friends when she had her phone on speaker.”

Wonwoo can’t control himself at this point, he all but falls to the ground in laughter.

He wishes he’d never told them. Assholes.

“Mingyu, seriously, you’ve been in love with her since the day you started working for her. Your puppy dog eyes follow her around any room she’s in. And she’s fucking oblivious to it, how is any of this going to end well?”

“It’ll work. I can do it, she shouldn’t be treated the way they treat her because she’s single.”

“I agree. She’s a badass with a great ass,” Wonwoo nods along with Hyejin, Mingyu tries to not let the jealously of others commenting on your ass get to him. His opinions on your ass stay between him, his hand and his 3 am ramblings in his diary, “but that doesn’t mean you have to make it awkward for both of you. How does she explain where you are at other gatherings? Or is this a long-term acting job?”

“I don’t know, she can say we broke up or something. I just thought I was helping her.”

The true horror of what he’s done is only just catching up with him, his head lands on the table of the staff room as he lets out a deep groan.

“Is it too late to back out?”

He knows it’s bad because Hyejin never shows her caring side all that often and now her hand is rubbing soothing circles on his back. Even Wonwoo gets up to make him a raspberry tea to try and calm him down.

“We’re leaving after work.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“What were your rules? You said you’d written rules.”

“Don’t kiss her and don’t tell her I love her.”

He hears them chuckle but to their credit they don’t out right laugh at him.

“They’re pretty solid rules I guess, make sure you stick to them.”

“I will,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat, “there’s no way someone like _____ would ever be interested in someone like me.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind driving?”

“_____, I’ve driven your car more than you have. Just sit back and relax.”

He’s right, he does drive this car more than you. Every few weeks you panic that he feels more like a chauffeur than an assistant, but he more or less tells you to shut the fuck up and get in the car.

“Thanks for doing this,”

You must’ve thanked him ten times today already but now you’re actually on the road, it feels more real. Like there’s no going back.

“It’s cool. It’ll be fun to finally meet your friends, I hear enough about them.”

That warms your heart, you know he’s probably just saying it but the fact he cares enough to try and put your worries at ease, helps a little.

To say you felt a little embarrassed about this whole thing would be an understatement. You spent most of last night tossing and turning worrying that he thought you were pathetic or that you couldn’t find a date on your own, so he’d taken pity on you.

You’re aware you’re not ugly but when every single woman you’ve come across recently looks like she should be walking a runway, and you’re stood there just bigger than them in general, it can knock your confidence.

Even last night your normal routine would’ve been to orgasm your worries away, but your mind always wanders to Mingyu. Which on a normal night would only tip you over the edge quicker. But with your mind plagued with worries that he thought you were just some desperate woman who couldn't find a date, it felt almost like you were insulting him to use the image of him in your mind, to get yourself off. Like he’d take it as a personal offence that someone who wasn’t as hot as him would think about him that way.

“Which one?”

“What? Sorry, I was miles away.”

“I could tell that,” Fuck there’s that smile again that makes you go weak at the knees, this weekend is already seeming like a massive mistake, “I was saying do you want the crispy potato or the chicken skewers from the service station. I think I’ll get both because it’s like a three-hour drive and it’ll be late when we’re arriving at the hotel. Oh! And some of those little doughnuts then we’ve got a sweet treat.”

He looks so happy rambling on about what food he wants. Does he even realise what an amazing person he is? He probably doesn’t, you just hope Hyejin tells him every now and again.

The thoughts from last night are still in your mind, and you just can’t seem to shake that he must think you’re this joke that he has to humour. You're not even sure you could eat even though you are hungry.

“I’m good thanks.”

You look out the window, ignoring the look on Mingyu’s face. Is the way he’s clenching his jaw now the same as he does when he…..

“You need to eat something _____.” he interrupts your thoughts.

“I’m still full from lunch.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that “you have something! Use my company card.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll wait till we get to the hotel, then we can both eat together.”

You wish your heart didn’t flutter when he says together. And you hate that he’s called out your bullshit in the kindest way possible.

Even though Mingyu is your assistant, you had shared a bed a few times. When you’d had to travel for work, and hotels had made an error, which had happened at least five times from what you can remember. So, you weren’t overly phased about sharing a bed with him now. Presumably Hyejin was ok with it, you can’t imagine he hadn’t mentioned it to her and if she was ok with it, then you could be too.

The room was exquisite, but then you’d expect nothing else from Yongsoo, since you were children, she’d been planning her perfect wedding and so you knew it would be nothing less than incredible. You weren’t a bridesmaid, she had asked but her sister was the other bridesmaid and you'd still not forgiven her fully for making out with your college boyfriend, add that to having to stand in front of room full of people? No thank you. Yongsoo understood, she didn’t agree, always telling you about the many men that look at you, but she respected your feelings and didn’t push it. She did make sure though that you had all the perks of a bridesmaid, a suite for yourself and various little gifts saying how pleased she was she was spending her wedding with her oldest friend.

For all their bitching and joking about your love life, in all other respects your friends were your rocks, and you know they just wanted you to be happy.

As soon as you got to the suite, you rushed to take a shower, hoping all of the bad thoughts and worries would be washed away with the stinging hot water.

And they were. That is until you’re confronted with Mingyu, taking the cloches off the room service in shorts and a tight vest. How does he just look like that on a daily basis? Muscles rippling, broad golden shoulders flexing whenever he moves, he’s like every woman’s perfect fantasy. He is your perfect fantasy. You’re suddenly pleased you’ve changed into baggy sweats and sweater, the less he can see of you, the better.

“Feel better?”

His dazzling smile lights up when he sees you walking over to the dining table in the corner of the suite.

“Yeah, much better. Thank you again for driving.”

“No problem. I hope you’re finally hungry now, I think I went a bit overboard.”

He scratches the back of his neck and all you can do is desperately try not to stare at his biceps, so you avert your eyes.

In doing that though you realise just how much food he’s ordered.

“Are we expecting guests?”

“No, I just didn’t know what you’d feel like, and I could eat a literal horse and so yeah…. hence all this food.”

You nod and take a seat. He doesn’t speak, when he said he was hungry, he wasn’t lying. You’ve never seen one person inhale a burger in two mouth fulls, but somehow, he manages it.

It’s only when you’re both finishing off the two sundaes he’s ordered, desperately trying not to watch him bite into a strawberry, trying even harder to not to watch as a little trickle of juice falls from his lip and down his chin.

You need to stop thinking of him like this, he’s taken and not interested.

“Are you sure Hyejin doesn’t mind all of this.”

He pauses, spoon in his mouth and eyes wide, like he’s been caught out. Does he really think it’s not obvious about them? They’re always together.

“Why do you keep asking about Hyejin?”

“Well…..I can see you’ve been trying to keep it low key but….”

“Keep what low key?”

“Your relationship?”

He stares at you and you find yourself wanting to shrink into your seat. For a man with such a beautiful smile, his stern face can be a little unsettling, to say the least.

“S-she’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? Sorry, I just noticed it and I know I’m both of your boss but honestly, I don’t see a problem with workplace relations….”

“She’s my best friend.”

“That’s sweet,” you try to smile through the fact that they have that kind of perfect relationship, where they call each other their best friends, as well as partners. It’s what you’ve always wanted to be honest.

At least he has that, he deserves it. And that’s what you’ll keep telling yourself to make yourself feel better.

“_____, she’s my best friend. No offense, but we’d kill each other if we were in a relationship. Plus, you’re much more her type than me.”

Oh.

Well shit.

“I’m sorry! Shit I’m so stupid. I just thought because you spend so much time together.”

“I spend a lot of time with Wonwoo too. I’m not dating him either.”

“True. Sorry…..Not that it’s any of my business anyway. Sorry.”

“It’s ok, boss.”

You wish he wouldn’t call you that. It’s just another reminder that you’re just his boss to him.

Mingyu can clearly see there’s something on your mind, but he presumes it’s about the mix up that’s just happened and not because you’re literally in love with your assistant.

He leans forward a little bit to try and catch your eye, you looking everywhere but at him.

“It’s ok,” fuck his voice is so soft, like he actually cares more than employee should or would.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, you just need to get through this weekend, and things will go back to normal.

“I think I’m going to go find my parents room, I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

“Cool just let me get my shoes.”

You freeze as you get up from the table to get your own shoes, why had you not even thought about him having to meet your parents properly?

“You’re coming with me?”

“I mean, it’ll be weird when they think you’re bringing your fiancé, if I don’t come with you?”

“Oh. Yeah, true.” You try to remain calm but already the idea of having to lie to your parents doesn’t sit well with you.

He just smiles at you as he makes his way to the suite door, holding it open for you like the gentleman he is.

Luckily, he’s put a hoody on over his vest, otherwise you’re not sure you’d make it through the rest of the night.

The universe really has a way of being spiteful. Why would it put you in a position where the man of your dreams is pretending to be your fiancé and then it turns out that your parents actually like him?

Your dad hasn’t liked a single boy you’ve brought home since you were a child. He’s always been overly protective and didn’t want any boy in your room, even if it was your gay best friend from high school. He even threatened an ex-boyfriend once for the mere suggestion that you’d be sharing a room over the holidays when you visited them. Whenever he was introduced to ex- boyfriends he’d sit and glare like something out of a mafia film until eventually they left.

But Mingyu? He must be some sort of parent whisperer because your dad is currently telling him all about the fishing retreat he’s booked with his friends. Your mom has said four times what a “charming young man” he is and already planned out what she intends to cook for him when you both go to visit. At this point it’s hard to tell who’ll be more upset when you and Mingyu call off this fictitious engagement, you or your parents.

“You should come with us! I’m sure there’s an extra room in the cabin.”

You smile at how kind your dad is being and you don’t want him to be disappointed, but you know there’s no way Mingyu can go. Why should he even want to?

“I’d love that! What were the dates?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls up the calendar on his phone, looking to see if he’s free or not.

“Don’t look so horrified _____! Your dad and his friends won’t bite!” Your mom chuckles, before she goes back to watching your dad and “fiancé” plan their, now joint, fishing trip.

What the hell is he even thinking about, agreeing to go on a trip with your dad. It’s one thing to do this whole fucking performance for the weekend but it’s another to drag your parents into it. This is already hurting you. You don’t want them to get hurt in the process.

An hour passes by and you note it is getting pretty late. And it isn’t like you’ve gotten a word in anyway, Mingyu has gone down a storm with your parents and although it warms your heart that he seems to like them as much as they like him, it’s pissing you off how careless he’s being.

But is it even carless? It feels more like spite to be honest. He knows none of this is real, it’s going to make the whole thing so much harder to deal with when you have to tell them that you’re not together.

That you’ve broken off the engagement that never was.

You hug your parents goodbye, Mingyu holding the door for you, smile faltering slightly when he realises that your smile drops as soon as you’re away from your parents, a look of simmering anger replacing it.

If you weren’t so hell bent on getting back to your room and finding out what the hell his game is, you might have heard what your parents said behind you.

“It’s not like you to like a man she brings home.” Your mom mumbles.

“I wanted to hate him. Wanted to obliterate the fucker for not even asking permission to propose. But he seems a great guy and……did you see the way he looked at her? As soon as they walked in, I could see it in his eyes.”

“He loves her.” Your mom nods, both then retreating into the room.

“He does.”

You walk ahead of Mingyu back to your room, you’re not sure how you’re feeling because you don’t know what the fuck he’s doing. It’s seeming more and more like this is all a game to him, that he doesn’t care about what happens after this weekend with your friends and family, because he doesn’t need to be involved in the aftermath.

He gets a free weekend away, in a nice suite, free food, free drinks and then gets to go back to his life and you have to watch your dad be upset because Mingyu isn’t going away with him and his friends.

You can take your emotions being played with. But not your family’s.

You wish you hadn’t showered when you’d first arrived because now you’ve got no way of getting away from him for a little while. You’re not even sure what you want to say to him. You’re caught between your heart feeling like he’s sticking tiny pins in it to break is slowly and wanted to strangle him for being so careless where your parents are concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

You look up from your phone to find him sitting on the bed next to you.

“Nothing.”

You turn your eyes back to your phone. You’re not even doing anything, you’ve been staring at the same email confirmation for the past two minutes.

“Don’t lie to me, boss.”

There he goes with the boss thing again. Is he going to say that tomorrow, in front of your friends? Just to reaffirm that you’ll never be with someone like him, not in reality anyway.

“Could you just decide what your fucking angle is with this whole thing?”

“What?” You can tell he’s confused, but you don’t care.

“You keep calling me boss. Are you going to do that tomorrow too? It’s like going from one extreme to the other Mingyu. You go from whatever the fuck that was with my parents to calling me boss? It’s hardly going to be very convincing is it.”

“What do you mean ‘whatever the fuck that was with your parents’?! I liked them! They liked me!”

“You liked them? That’s why you’re messing with their feelings?! We’re not together Mingyu and you’ve led my dad to think he’s taking you on a fucking fishing trip! Do you know how many men he’s hated, not even given the time of day to, and then he meets you and likes you so much he opens up his heart to you like a father would a son in law?!”

“So, you’re mad your parents liked me?” He frowns.

“YES! Because now it’s playing with their feelings as well as m….. As well as being confusing for us.”

Your hearts pounding in your chest. Nearly telling him that it’s playing with your feelings would have made this whole thing even more embarrassing.

“As well as what?” He presses, eyes burning fierce.

“As well as nothing.” You dismiss, “I get my words mixed up when I’m stressed.”

“I’ve seen you stressed. You don’t get words mixed up then.”

Fuck him for knowing you so well.

“Well, I did this time. Is this all a joke to you? I’m a joke to you?”

Now he does look pissed, he stands up quickly, staring down at you whilst you’re still sat cross legged on the bed.

“Why would it be a joke to me?!”

“Why else would you be here Mingyu?! What, you think I’m that pathetic I need you to do this for me? I bring the seemingly perfect man whose way out of my league, he makes my family and no doubt friends fall in love with him. And you don’t expect me to wonder what he’s getting out of all of this?! It’s just fucking cruel. It’d have been kinder to just laugh at me like my friends do!”

He’s silent for a moment, shock masking his usually kind features. It breaks your heart a little more that he doesn’t deny he’s out of your league.

“You think I'm like that? That I'd treat you like that?!” Him shouting so loud makes you jump in your seat.

“I didn’t until you just dragged my parents into this!”

“What was I meant to do?! Say no? Tell your dad to fuck off?!”

“I don’t know! Just not that! It’s going to make it even harder when they never see you again!”

A flash of hurt crosses his features before he just scoffs and walks off to the bathroom.

Leaving you alone. Again.

You should be used to this feeling by now. But sadness washes over you when you realise once again, he’ll never see you as anything more than his boss.

By the time he comes back from his shower, you’re pretending to be asleep on the very edge of the bed. He doesn’t come to bed straight away and you wonder if he’s going to sleep on the sofa. But instead, you open your eyes enough to see him, he’s writing in a pink and purple diary, stuffed with extra pieces of paper and looking like it’s more than well used. Your heart aches a little when your spiralling thoughts try to tell you that that diary is probably filled with thoughts about you. About how pathetic you are and how much he hates being here or even working for you.

Once he’s done, diary secured in his bag, you feel the bed dip as he gets in.

You fall asleep pretty quickly once he’s there with you. There’s just something about him that makes you calm even when you’re heartbroken.

Thank god Yongsoo booked a suite, you and Mingyu had managed to avoid each other somewhat for most of the morning. You showered whilst he still slept, when he went in the shower after you, you went to catch up with Yongsoo before the wedding. When you came back, he was changing in the bathroom into his suit and so you took the opportunity to change into your dress in the suite’s dressing room.

You’d chosen your dress before all your insecurities around Mingyu reared their ugly head. You loved it, a sky-blue slip dress which had a small matching string belt to accentuate the small of your waist. You weren’t thrilled about the thin straps, feeling somewhat exposed but you felt sexy and confident in it none the less. Or you did. Now you just feel like shit, having to pretend to be the fiancé of a man who sees you as nothing more than his boss.

You put your final thin silver necklace on, deciding to layer your two favourites, one was from your parents and one from Yongsoo on your last birthday, deciding they matched quite well with your bangles and simple pearl earrings. Your makeup was simple, classic you could say, minimal base, a small smudge of light pink blush, a simple shimmer on your eyes and your old reliable soft pink gloss. You wore your hair down, not really feeling the need to do some fancy hair do, being just a regular guest rather than a bridesmaid, so soft curls were the easy answer.

If this had been the you of two days ago, before Mingyu decided this was a good idea, you’d have been proud of how you looked. But now? After yesterday? You hated everything about it.

But today isn’t about you. It’s about your best friend. The best friend who took you to the emergency room when you were in university because you’d fallen off a bar table, drunk. The best friend who you’d move heaven and earth to make sure was happy.

You had to man up and do this.

You take one last deep breath, grounding yourself by holding the cool doorknob, before you finally leave the dressing room.

He doesn’t notice you when you first leave the room, you being quiet as a mouse and him being once again engrossed in his diary.

And you’re pleased he doesn’t because the second you see him, your soul bids you farewell and launches itself off the balcony. He looks, for want of a better word, beautiful. The type of man every woman thinks about when they picture their perfect man. He wears suits to work but nothing like this, this one looks like it’s been fitted just for him rather than off the rack, and to your surprise he’s paired it with a black dress shirt and black tie. If he’d have described it to you before today, you’d have reminded him this isn’t a funeral, but seeing it? There’s no hint of morbid around this outfit choice. It’s suave and sophisticated and if he’d just let you, you’d happily climb him like……

“Hey,” he interrupts your thoughts once he spots you standing by the dressing room door.

You swallow heavily when he runs his eyes up and down your body. You’ve never wanted to run away and hide more in your life, you’re caught between wanting his opinion on your look for the wedding and never wanting to hear a single thought he has about your body in your life.

“You look b…….”

“Shall we go?”

You interrupt him, you’d just feel like an even bigger fool hearing whatever pitiful compliment he was going to offer you.

“S-sure.”

He rushes to put his diary in his bag as you head for the door. You walk side by side but a stoney silence follows you all the way to hall which the ceremony will be held in.

You quickly find your seats next to your parents, them greeting Mingyu almost as warmly as they greet you.

You take in the scene around you, it’s opulent and exactly how you’d imagined it to be. Luscious fabrics adorn the chairs, rose petals are scattered along the aisle and candles are lit on every surface you can see. Yongsoo has really done herself justice with this, five-year-old her would be squealing with joy at what adult her has managed to achieve.

“I meant to ask last night,” your mom murmurs to you, not wanting Yongsoo’s nosey aunts in front of you to hear what she’s saying, “where is your ring? You’ve surely not said yes without a ring.”

Shit.

Why didn’t you think of this?! Of course, engaged people have rings!

You stare at your finger, hoping somehow an answer will appear to help you.

“My mom always promised me my grandmothers,” Mingyu leans forward to speak to your mom, “and I haven’t been able to get home in a few months. I didn’t trust her mailing it because, well, we all know what the mail service is like at the moment. So _____ said she’d be happy to wait until we manage to visit in a few weeks, then I can give it to her properly.”

Your mom looks fit to burst with happiness at that answer, a proud smile plastered on her face.

“You don’t have to tell me! Three weeks I’ve been waiting for my new engine for my train!”

“Your train?” Mingyu looks at you and your mom, a little confused.

“It’s his train set.” Your mom huffs in disgust.

You can’t help the sheepish grin as you watch your parents knowingly, as they carry on with their same old argument. Your mom hating his train set and your dad believing it’s his most prized possession.

Mingyu watches it play out, sending you a smile as he settles back into his seat.

You wish that smile didn’t shoot right into your heart, somewhere between happiness and crushing pain.

“Thanks for that, I didn’t think about the ring.” You say for only Mingyu to hear.

“No problem, boss.”

You don’t respond, just sit in the broken pieces of your heart as he once again calls you boss. Another rotten reminder that you’ll never be anything more.

The ceremony passes by in a blur of muffled sobs from family members and vows that sounded more like poetry than any who’ve heard before. But you’re not really paying much attention, you’re not even sure how you came to be stood at the side of the dance floor watching your best friend and her now husband share their first dance.

“Should we d…..”

“Should we get a drink?”

This time you don’t mean to interrupt him, but you’re relieved you did. You’re not sure you could cope with being so close to him, him being that close to your body, holding you.

“I’ll go get us some,” he rushes, probably relieved he doesn’t have to spin his boss around the dance floor, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

He’s gone as quick as he says it as you happily watch all the in love couples strut their stuff on the dance floor, now the music has become slightly more upbeat.

Five minutes pass and no Mingyu.

10 minutes and you begin to wonder just how long the queue for the bar is. You avert your eyes but quickly spot him. Leaning against the bar, Yongsoo’s sister hanging on his every word and her hand on his bicep.

You feel your last scrap of confidence wither and crumble. This is history repeating itself. Only this time, he’s supposed to be your fiancé and not your dead-beat university boyfriend.

You’ve no idea why but your feet move of their own accord, different thoughts throwing themselves at you with every step you take.

Of course he’d like her, she’s gorgeous. Why did you think this was a good idea? What happens when your parents spot him flirting with some other woman?

This whole thing has just been a lesson from Mingyu in how to embarrass someone and ruin their life. Has he been like this the whole time you’ve worked together? You didn’t think so but then you don’t truly know him.

You thought you did. But you didn’t.

It’s only when you end up at your feet’s desired destination, do realise you’ve brought yourself to the children’s table. Old habits die hard and, to be fair to them, they always inflate your ego, them all thinking you’re very cool building great big buildings.

“_____!”

They also say excitedly, one of them knocking over their fake pink plastic wine glass of soda.

“I couldn’t miss out on the fun, could I?” You huff as you throw yourself in a seat at their table.

Has Yongsoo just decided they can look after themselves? Surely, they need someone.

It’s just as you’re pondering Yongsoo’s lack of care for the little terrors that you spot her grandfather, fast asleep and with a moustache drawn on his face.

“Who’s work of art is that?”

“Mine.” One of the little boys says proudly, knowing you’d never tell any of them off.

“I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10, good work.”

His proud smile warms your heart, at least they’d never judge you and make you feel like an idiot.

“Why aren’t you with your furniture?”

“Fiancé.” You chuckle, happily letting Jiyoung sit on your knee.

“He’s talking with some people.”

You don’t know what takes over you, you really don’t.

“Never trust a man Jiyoung. All they do is break your heart and disappoint you.”

Well, that’s great, now you’re mentally scaring the younger generation and making sure their parents will be asking you some very odd questions when they inevitably snitch on you.

“Is your heart broken? I could try and fix it, if you like.”

She truly is the kindest little girl you’ve ever met. Sadly, you’re too far gone in your wallowing and not even her looking at you like you know everything in the world, stops your rant.

“You can’t break a heart that was already in a million pieces.”

Way to dampen the mood _____.

“I broke something into a million pieces once.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, my mom bought a glass photo frame, and I knocked it off when I was being spiderman.”

“That’s cool.” You and the other five-year-olds all agree.

It’s only when you’ve finished re-braiding Jiyoung’s hair that you spot Mingyu looking round the hall.

“I just need to make a call.”

“I just got comfy!!”

“You’re a big girl Jiyoung, I’m sure sitting on a chair won’t hurt your bum.”

She moves but not before glaring at you.

“Don’t frown, the wind might change and your face will stick like that.”

She smiles begrudgingly as you make a quick dart away from the table.

“What shall we tell your fridge?”

“Fiancé.”

“That’s what I said.” She rolls her eyes.

“Just say I went back to the room, he probably won’t ask.”

“Will you come back though? We normally dance together.”

You never thought you’d miss the children’s table, but you now realise how much fun you have entertaining them.

“I’ll be back for that.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“And” you stop to look at Yongsoo’s grandfather before you leave, “he could really do with something rude written on his forehead.”

“LIKE POOP?!”

“Good idea! You do that and I’ll make my call.”

This softens the blow of you leaving, all of them rushing to write poop on the poor man’s forehead. It’s lucky you know him and know he’ll see the funny side. If it was her grandmother, you’d all be grounded for two weeks. Even you.

“Why are you in here?!”

Shit, you hadn’t even heard him come in the room. Why does he look so pissed?

“I just needed a break.” You stand up from the sofa.

“From what? You’ve barely spoken to anyone, apart from your fellow children.”

“Fellow children? What the fuck is that meant to mean?!”

“You’ve been acting like a child all day. Sat in a mood and pouting. Do you know how many people have asked me if we’ve had an argument?”

“Not many, I expect. I’ve only seen you talk to one person.”

He stares at you, breathing ragged like he is genuinely pissed off at you.

“This can’t all be about your dad and that fishing trip.”

“It is about that! That and the fact it’s fucking embarrassing having to be the woman that can only pretend to mean something to someone like you. And then I see you flirting with her and I thought, what’s the point? She’s already stolen one boyfriend off me, why not a fictious fiancé.”

Your stomach drops. You didn’t mean to say that. Your mouth opens and closes, no words coming out as he stares at you with an unreadable gaze.

You presume he’s going to say something but instead he rushes past you to his bag.

Is he leaving? How the fuck do you explain that?

You hear the shuffling of pages before he rushes back to you.

“Read that.”

It’s not a request, it’s an order.

Your eyes scan the page.

“There was no need for them to bring April into the show, it ruined the flow and stunted…..”

“NOT THAT PAGE SHIT.” He snatches it back and skips forward a couple more pages. “That’s from my rewatch of Gilmore Girls. Read that.”

He shoves the diary back into your hands.

“Don’t kiss hot boss. Don’t tell her you love her.”

The world stops around you, you can feel your heartbeat all over your body. Your first thought is that it’s a joke, but why would he write it in something nobody ever sees?

He loves you? Mingyu. Loves…..you?

“You.....” you stare back at the page, “you love......me?” you point at yourself. “What?!”

He startles slightly at you shouting but slowly takes the diary off you and places it on the table.

He edges closer ever so slightly, like he’s not sure what reaction he’s going to get.

“That whole diary, well most of it anyway, is filled with every little thing about you that makes my heart flutter and melt. About how much I think about you every day.....and every night. About how much I want you. Need you. More than I’ve ever needed anyone. How you’ve had my whole heart since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Tears well in your eyes, heart trying to break free of it’s cage.

“If you skip forward a few more pages,” he points back to his diary but makes no attempt to get it, “it’ll say how fucking pissed off I was with you last night for saying you’re not my type or not in my league. I know my type. My type is you. Just you.”

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, arms folding over you out of shame.

“I think you’re the only one that didn’t. Your dad caught me just as I came to find you to say that he could see it in my eyes how much I adored you. Fuck, when I told Hyejin about this weekend she was worried I’d even make it through it, laughing at me because apparently my eyes follow you around every room like a lost puppy.”

You chuckle a little at that and he finally sees that as his sign to move a little closer.

“I didn’t think you’d like so......”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence if you’re going to say what I think you are. You’re perfect. Pick up that diary on any page and there’ll be something written about how perfect you are.”

“Any page?” you challenge, remembering his rant about Gilmore Girls.

“Well. Almost any page.”

“I spoke to your friends.” 

“She’s not my friend.” You snap.

“Not her, she didn’t stay for long when all I spoke about was how beautiful you looked tonight,”

“But she touched your bicep.”

The words leave you before you can stop them. Your cheeks heating a little at your jealously bubbling over.

“She did. And I asked her to move her hand. Told her there was only one woman I wanted to touch me.” 

Your body tingles at that, though you try to remain calm.

“And I meant your other friends. The ones that are about 3 feet tall.”

“They’re all liars.” You dismiss with a shake of your head. “Famous for it.”

“Are they?” He grins, moving so he’s standing as close as possible to you without touching.

“Hm-mm.”

Your eyes are transfixed by him, your mind and body frozen in his whole aura.

“So she was lying when she told me you’d said all men do is break your heart?”

You scoff, a nonchalant act trying to shield your embarrassment.

“Or that you didn’t suggest that they write something on that poor old man’s forehead?”

“Did she just tell you everything I’ve ever said?! When I get hold of her,” you shake your head. “She’s lost her dancing privileges with me.”

“Good. Maybe I can have them instead.” 

You can’t help but smile, your heart now doing somersaults.

“Can I take all of this to mean that you might just feel the same way I do?”

Your eyes dart across his face, trying to find the tiniest hint of a lie on his features.

“I feel the same way you.” You say quietly.

He doesn’t even give you chance to say anything else, his big hands cover your cheeks as he connects his lips with yours. Any shock that may have been there disappears when his hands move off your cheeks and onto your waist, bringing you flush against his chest.

His kiss is desperate, filled with need and longing, his soft lips moving against yours easily as his fingers dig into your skin. His tongue prods at you, begging for entry and you happily accept it. It’s wet and needy, his tongue roaming around every part of your mouth it can. His tongue swirls around and around, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, when you tug it slightly your pussy tingles at Mingyu’s moan that vibrates on your tongue.

He moves you back towards the bed, lips never leaving yours and tongue continuing it’s assault on your own.

It’s only when the backs of your knees hit the mattress that your brain catches up with your pussy.

“What are you doing?” 

“I didn’t get breakfast because someone was acting like a five year old,” he ignores your horrified face, instead deciding to drag his tongue along your tits. A satisfied chuckle leaving him when you arch slightly into his touch. “so I’m pretty hungry.”

You know where this is going. But you need a couple more seconds to build up the courage to show someone, even Mingyu, your body after a shit couple of days in your own head. So you stall him.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Your breath hitches when he bites the soft flesh of your right breast.

He raises his head to look at you.

“Please, let me taste you. Please, I’ll be so good for you.”

Fucking hell he looks so pretty when he begs. You always wondered if he’d be some sort of hard dom or the type to whine when he came. Now you know and you can’t help yourself.

“Well when you ask so nicely.” 

You kiss him once more as he guides you back onto the bed, making sure you’re comfortable with your head resting on the pillows.

He moves onto the bed after you, eyes eating you up, as he moves closer. It’s only when you try to spread your legs for him you remember how tight the dress is over your thighs.

“Can we move this up?” 

You take a deep breath.

“Ok.”

He smiles at you for trusting him as your lift your bum for him to hitch your dress up over your thighs and ass, it bunching pretty messily around your waist.

You’re suddenly plagued by the same thoughts as this morning, the tightness of the fabric around your waist making it even more obvious you’re not flat and toned and sexy like the women he’s probably used to.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, you look beautiful in your dress.” He looks up and his smile falters when he sees worry on your face. “What’s wrong _____?” he leans over you, thumb stroking your cheek.

You almost lose your train of thought when you feel something hard poking your thigh.

“Just. I don’t want you to see me and change your mind. The past two days since we decided to do this, I felt like I was playing at someone you’d like. I always thought you’d be with someone.....smaller?” your heart skips a beat when he clenches his jaw, “just even during the night when I’d normally....”

You slam your mouth shut. That is absolutely not something he needs to know.

His dark eyes snap to yours.

“During the night what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me ______.”

“I-i. Normally......when I can’t sleep I........”

“Masturbate?”

“Well you don’t have to say it like that.” You frown.

“How else should I say it? You finger yourself? You tease your clit again and again until you cum undone and finally go to sleep?”

Your mouth hangs open at his words. Not really sure how to answer it.

“Do you think of me when you do it?” 

You nod.

“So what was different about the other night? After we’d made this plan?”

“It felt like I was insulting you. Using thoughts of you to get myself off.”

You say it quietly but see no reason to not tell him the truth. He says he loves you, after all.

“Insulting me?” His gaze looks down the bed, taking in your exposed lower half, “someone with the greatest tits I’ve ever seen? With an ass that literally mesmerises me every time I’m behind you. Fuck I could’ve murdered Hyejin when she said you had a great ass the other day. I hate the idea of anyone seeing you. And it’s a shame you weren’t playing with yourself the night before we came here. Because I was thinking of you, thinking of how much I want to fuck your incredible thighs until I’ve cum all over them.”

Well shit. You’re not sure what’s more wet, the tears streaming down your cheeks or the ones that would be streaming down your thighs if not for your, probably now ruined, panties.

“I don’t ever want to hear you question how much I want you. How much I need you. I think you’re the hottest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I think the same about you. B-but man I mean, hottest, most beautiful man.” 

He laughs, eyes glittering as he looks down at you.

“You know what’s stupid. We’ve both been sat thinking the exact same thing? I didn’t think someone like you would ever look at someone like me.”

He can’t be serious. He’s like something out of a high-class porn film!!

“Well that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Guess we’re both stupid then.” He shrugs. “Now. Can I please get on with what I wanted to do?”

He’s almost whining, fuck his eagerness only makes you wetter.

“Be my guest.” You say smugly, legs opening as he settles between them.

The second he spots the wet spot on your panties it’s like he’s been possessed. He rolls your panties down your thighs, putting them in his pocket and takes off his suit jacket and tie. Him rolling his sleeves up shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does but it’s like he’s preparing himself, wanting to make sure he has no barriers stopping him from getting to you.

Mingyu lays on the bed, tiny, teasing kisses being placed up your leg until he reaches your pussy. He stops for a second to truly take in the beauty of it, staring in awe at how wet you are. He gives you one quick glance before he dives in. His finger and thumb spread you open, his high-pitched moan making your clench around nothing, when he sees truly how wet you.

He licks a long stripe from your aching hole to your clit before twirling his tongue around the tiny bud before his tongue sets back down on its journey down to your hole, again.

Your hand comes down into his hair, pressing him a little closer and your hips buck slightly when you notice just that first taste of you has him rutting his hips into the mattress.

You’ve never been one to take charge in the bedroom but the way he’s sucking on your clit like he’s desperate and his hips are humping the bed, you have a sudden burst of confidence.

Not in the ‘I’m going to dominate him' kind of way, although maybe one day, but in the talk him through it a little bit, kind of way.

“Does it taste good Mingyu? Does my,”  you moan when he sucks harder upon hearing your voice, “does my pussy taste good?”

“Hm-mm,” he nods, humming into your pussy, the vibrations on your clit making your mind spin.

“It’s feels really good baby,”

The pet name has him pressing his face further into you, tongue twirling up and down your pussy before carrying on sucking your clit.

You’re hypnotised by the way his hips move with every sucking motion on your clit. Shit, he really wasn’t lying when he said he wanted you, needed you.

Two big fingers prod at your entrance, as though he’s silently asking if he can slip them into your sopping hole. You don’t answer him, just move your hips slightly so the tip of his fingers stretch you open a little.

Your head throws back onto the pillows as he moves them slowly, easing them into you at a tantalising teasing pace. When he thinks you’ve adjusted, he moves them quickly in and out of your clenching pussy as his tongue now flicks over your bundle of nerves again and again.

Your moans are quiet compared to Mingyu’s. If someone was to walk past the room they’d think he was being fucked into next week. The fact he’s making those noises just because he’s pleasuring you, only makes you wetter. The room is filled with his moaning, bordering on whining, and the sounds of your sopping cunt as his two fingers plunge in and out of you.

You grind your pussy down onto his face, the need to cum on it ever increasing, causing the hand he has on your thigh to ripple into your skin. His hips move quicker the more you pull and tug on his hair keeping him exactly where you need him as you basically ride his face.

“I’m really close,” you manage to get out before a strangled moan takes over when he adds a third finger, that taunting tongue never stopping on your clit.

You can feel your heart beat in your ears as your hips keep grinding onto Mingyu’s face, his fingers being sucked into your greedy pussy every time it thinks he’s leaving it. It takes a couple more flicks off his tongue before he sucks hard and you come undone on his face. You hear a strangled moan from him which only makes your pussy clamp down on his fingers, as they try their best to keep finger fucking you through your orgasm.

Your whole body twitches, heat spreading through every fibre of your being, his big hand on your thigh the only thing reminding you that you’re not floating. His tongue slows, gentle twirls replacing the harsh sucking action as his fingers finally leave you. You continue to twitch slightly as he licks up every last drop of you that he can, before begrudgingly leaving your pussy and sucking his fingers clean whilst he’s still between your legs.

You’re both catching your breath, fingers running through his hair as he rests his forehead on your thigh.

“You’re really good at that.” You whisper, a chuckle escaping when you feel him huff out a breathy laugh against your thigh.

“Thanks.” He mumbles into your soft flesh before he kisses it gently.

“Did you....”

“Hm-mm.”

You stare at the ceiling, a goofy smile on your face at the idea of going down on you making Mingyu cum in his own pants.

“Are you laughing at me?” he challenges, moving up your body and looking down at you.

“No,” you smile up at him, moving his hair back off his forehead, “just feeling.... I don’t know...... Proud?”

“Proud?” his eyebrows draw together in confusion, though his smile remains.

“It’s not very often you make a man cum in his pants.”

He rolls onto his back then he doesn’t collapse on top of you with his laughter.

“What can I say, I finally got my head between the thighs I’ve admired for so long, what’s a man to do?”

He wraps his arms around you, bringing you into his chest.

“I don’t normally speak like that during sex,” you admit, it just now catching up with you that you’d been bold enough to even ask a question like that, “I hope it wasn’t weird.”

He draws back to look at you.

You decide there and then you hope he always looks at you with so much love in his eyes.

“It was perfect. You’re perfect. Everything about it.”

You grin and kiss his lips once more before settling back into his arms.

“I need to change my underwear before we go back down to the party.” 

He wants to go back?! If you’re being honest with yourself you were hoping to see what exactly was poking against your leg, not that long ago.

Your face must say as much because he laughs into your hair.

“I believe you promised a certain little lady a dance and I’m owed several dances. Plus. Now I can show you off properly, like the couple they think we are.”

You freeze.

“We’re not....we haven’t been on a date yet Mingyu!”

You sit up and look at him, ignoring the way your dress digs into the soft flesh of your stomach. Your body is covered in goose bumps when he sits up with you, fingers slightly soothing the skin you were so wary to show him, with nothing but affection. 

“They don’t need to know that do they! But we’ve both said we love each other. Well. I.....”

He freezes in horror when he realises you never said it back.

“I love you too.”

He sighs bringing you into his arms, both of you sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Then they don’t need to know we’re not engaged. People take years to get married, we both work and stuff, by the time we do get married they’ll never know we weren’t engaged here. And plus...... Now I can finally hold your hand down there, like I’ve been wanting to all day. I swear people were starting to wonder why we were barely stood near each other.”

“I’m sorry for yesterday.....”

“Hey now, I get it. You were protecting your parents. But I am going on that trip, I’m pretty excited to be honest.”

You look at him skeptically.

“I am! I really like them and they seem to like me.”

“I meant what I said, my dad has hated every man he’s ever met. I think that’s why I got so annoyed because he’d have been so upset when you flaked on him.”

“Well that won’t be happening. Come on, we need to get back down there.” He stands, grimacing slightly when his underwear feels sticky.

“I’ll change my underwear and then we can go,”

He turns to leave so you can sort yourself out before you head back.

“Hold on! You’ve got something of mine!”

You stand, pulling your dress down, trying to smooth the creases.

“What?” 

“My underwear.”

He looks you up and down, tongue poking his cheek before a smug grin forms on his lips.

“Nah, I think I’ll keep them.”

He walks off, leaving you staring after him in horror.

“I’ll just put fresh ones on then!”

“I wouldn’t bother!” he hollers as he enters the bathroom with his fresh Calvin’s, “As soon as we’ve stayed a polite amount of time, you’ve paid your dancing debts and I’ve eaten actual food, they’re coming straight off!”

“Fuck.” You mumble, willing your pussy to not start dripping.

“Exactly.” He smiles when he comes back in, having changed in record time. “Now.” He looks down at his suit trousers, “have I got cum on these?” 

You can’t help but laugh as you wander over to him, now you’ve got your shoes back on.

“Mingyu?” 

He looks up at you straight away.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He pulls you into him, kissing you dramatically before letting you go.

“I love you too.”

He takes your hand to leave but you pull him back one last time.

“Please never call me boss again.”

“Yes.......boss,” he winks before he drags you out of the room.

“It’s my turn!!!!”

Jiyoung ignores Mingyu as he stands, whining next to your dancing bodies. You’d been jumping around, twirling her in your arms for the past three songs.

“I think it is his turn Ji.”  

“Tough. He was eating instead of being a good fridge.”

Mingyu frowns at her as you try not to smile.

“Fiancé.”

“That’s what I said!” She rolls her eyes again, just like earlier.

“You know. I heard they’re going to throw the bouquet soon. You don’t want to miss that, do you? If you leave now, you’ll have a good spot for when the dancing finishes!”

“REALLY!!” She stops mid-jump, a look of wonderment on her face. “BYE _____, I HAD A REALLY NICE TIME!!” She shouts as she runs off.

The music changes into something slow as Mingyu finally gets his hands back on you.  A proud smile on his face as his hand lands on your waist, the other holding your hand, as you both begin to move to the music.

“You don’t want to try and catch the bouquet?”

“I already have a fiancé.” You smile proudly. “I don’t think he’d be very happy if I went knocking over five years olds to catch a bouquet.”

“Damn right he wouldn’t. Not that bouquet anyway,” he looks over at a flower arrangement in disgust, holding your waist a little firmer, almost possessively, “the ones I’ve picked out are much more elegant.”

You freeze, feeling his body tense under your fingers.

“The ones you’ve picked out?”

“W-well,” he shrugs, “I had a lot of free time on my hands when the woman I love was utterly oblivious to it, so I’ve pretty much planned out the wedding.”

His cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink when you throw your head back in laughter, though he does pull you even closer to him

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I need to see more of that diary."

“You wait until you see the corseted lingerie I’ve drawn for the wedding night. Your tits will be falling out of it as I fuck you again and again until you’re crying.”

He whispers it right into your ear, snickering a little when he hears the tiniest of moans leaving your mouth.

You don’t get a chance to reply, your parents fast approaching from the dining area.

“We’re heading up to the room ______ , my nights of dancing the night away are behind me and your mother says her bunion is agony.”

“I DID NOT SAY THAT!” She slaps his shoulder.

You and Mingyu end your dance and turn to face them, him holding your waist so you’re as close as possible to him.

“I’m really happy for you, munchkin.” Your mom says proudly, kissing your forehead. “Don’t leave it too long until you visit, we could go to a spa or something whilst they go fishing.”

“I’d love that, thank you mom.”

“You make a beautiful couple,” she adds, moving to hug Mingyu goodbye, “look after her. She’s our most treasured posession, even more than the trainset.”

You roll your eyes but laugh along with the three of them anyway.

Your dad hugs you goodbye before moving to shake Mingyu’s hand.

“You make sure you always look at her like you did last night and we won’t have a problem. And I’ll email you about the fishing retreat.”

“When did you exchange emails?” You frown.

“Come on dear,” your dad rushes off whilst you stare at Mingyu, “lets leave the love birds to it!”

“We swapped emails earlier.”

“But we were fighting earlier.”

“Last night, after what you’d said, I decided I’d finally tell you how I felt when I was brave enough. It was the first time I felt like you’d given away that you felt the same way as me. And so I figured I’d be going on the fishing trip.”

“That’s very cocky Mingyu.”

“What can I say. I always knew we were meant for each other.”

He kisses you to stop you arguing back.

“Have we stayed a polite amount of time?” you mumble against his lips.

“I reckon so.” He grins, shamelessly looking at your tits.

“Eyes up here Mingyu.”

His eyes flit up to yours, nothing but mischief in them.

“Yes, boss.”

“You okay?”

Michael’s voice was soft beside you, gentle enough to calm some of the nervousness twisting around in your stomach.

You nodded quickly even though you definitely were not okay.

Meeting the Jackson family?

That was terrifying.

Especially when you knew exactly how beautiful the women around Michael usually looked. Tiny waists. Model faces. Glamorous.

And then there was you.

Soft stomach. Thick thighs. Full chest. Hips that pressed against the passenger seat every time you shifted nervously.

But Michael looked at you like you were something sacred.

Actually looked at you.

Even now at the red light, he was staring again.

Not in a dirty way.

Just completely gone over you.

“What?” you laughed nervously, smoothing your dress down over your thighs for the fifth time.

“Nothin’,” he mumbled shyly, smiling to himself.

He reached over immediately, fixing one of your curls where it had fallen into your face.

“You look pretty.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly.

“You already told me that.”

“I know,” he said softly. “Still true.”

Lord.

That man was dangerous.

By the time you pulled up to the house, your hands were sweating.

Michael noticed instantly.

He always noticed instantly.

“Hey,” he whispered, taking your hand before you could pull away. “They’re gonna love you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

The confidence in his voice made you blink.

Michael smiled a little, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Because I love you.”

That shut you up fast.

And the worst part?

He said it so naturally.

Like breathing.

Like it was obvious.

The second you walked inside, the house felt alive.

Voices overlapping. Music somewhere in the background. Somebody laughing loudly down the hallway.

Then suddenly all eyes landed on you.

Instinctively, you moved closer to Michael, and immediately his hand slid around your waist protectively.

“It’s okay,” he murmured quietly near your ear.

But he didn’t remove his hand.

Didn’t even loosen it.

If anything, his grip tightened slightly like he wanted everybody to know exactly who you belonged to.

“Oh, she is pretty,” a woman’s voice said warmly.

You turned to see Katherine approaching with the sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

And beside her was Janet Jackson, already grinning knowingly.

“You must be the girl he never shuts up about,” Janet teased.

Michael immediately got embarrassed.

“Jan—”

“No, seriously,” Janet continued dramatically. “This man calls everybody talking about ‘she likes this’ and ‘she said that’ and ‘she’s so sweet.’ I said oh brother, he in LOVE love.”

You started laughing before you could stop yourself.

Michael looked horrified.

“Would y’all leave me alone?”

“Oh my God,” Janet laughed. “Look at him blushing.”

Katherine just smiled knowingly at you.

You expected judgment.

Maybe a little awkwardness.

Instead, Katherine gently took your hand.

“Honey, any girl that makes Michael smile this much is welcome here.”

Your entire chest warmed.

And when you looked over at Michael—

He was already staring at you again.

Softly.

Completely.

Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

The rest of the evening blurred into warmth.

Michael barely let you leave his side at first.

Every time somebody new spoke to you, his hand found your waist again.

Or your lower back.

Or your fingers.

Guiding you through rooms.

Pulling you gently beside him.

Checking constantly to make sure you were comfortable.

But slowly, little by little, you relaxed.

Especially once Katherine and Janet pulled you into the kitchen with them.

“Oh, he loves you bad,” Janet said immediately once Michael was out of earshot.

You nearly choked on your drink.

Katherine laughed softly.

“He does look at you very sweetly.”

“He stares,” Janet corrected. “Like all the time.”

You laughed shyly, ducking your head.

“I catch him doing it too.”

“Mhm,” Janet nodded dramatically. “You got him gone.”

And honestly?

Maybe you did.

Because from the living room, Michael’s voice suddenly floated into the kitchen.

“Can y’all stop talkin’ about me?”

Everybody started laughing.

Meanwhile in the living room, Michael’s brothers were making his life miserable.

“Took you long enough to bring her around,” Jackie teased.

“She fine too,” Tito added immediately.

“REAL fine,” Marlon laughed.

Michael rolled his eyes hard.

“Man, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Jermaine grinned. “You look sick.”

“What?”

“The way you keep starin’ at that girl. You down bad.”

Michael tried not to smile.

Failed immediately.

Randy leaned back against the couch laughing.

“Mike can’t even think straight around her.”

“And can you even handle all that?” Marlon added teasingly.

Michael’s ears turned red instantly.

“Would you guys stop that?”

The room exploded with laughter.

But even through all the teasing, Michael couldn’t stop glancing toward the kitchen.

Toward you.

And every single time he heard your laugh—

His whole face softened.

Jackie noticed immediately, shaking his head with a grin.

“Oh yeah,” he laughed quietly. “That’s his wife for sure.”

Michael looked down for a second, trying to hide his smile before glancing back toward the kitchen again like he couldn’t help himself.

before he mumbled quietly,

“Hope so.”

Its here more to come probably today im in a craze