#Cuckoo Steps | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kisseslikecoffee · 4 months ago

Text

AHHHHH obsesseddddddd

1-800-CALL ME, FAKE FIANCÉ

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: (part of my mini fake-fiancé series) the fbi agent you met at the bar helped you out of a jam so you decide to pay him a visit at work. warnings | a/n: unhinged reader, rossi being a lil instigator, reader has no shame in her game at ALL & makes the first move, the usual banter & chem, channelling all the rom-com feels word count: 3.3k

✧ masterlist | first part can be found here

It had been a week since your little fake fiancé fiasco, and while it had been enough to satisfy your mob group of fake friends and stop them from asking questions, it wasn’t enough to satisfy your questions.

Because now, you were curious – dangerously so.

You couldn’t concentrate on much else. It was ridiculous. Absurd. Completely unnecessary. And yet…

You had googled him.

You had googled Aaron Hotchner.

And oh boy did you find things.

FBI Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. Head of some ultra-serious-sounding department in behavioural analysis. There were articles. Court cases. Mentions of serial killers – plural. You even found a grainy news clip of him giving a statement outside a police station, looking all important and broody.

And as if that wasn’t enough, there were forums. Entire internet threads dedicated to the man. Debates on how often he smiled. Speculation on his past. A truly unhinged corner of the internet where a small but passionate group of people seemed convinced he had once been a male model.

You may or may not have spent a questionable amount of time scrolling through that last one.

But none of this answered the real question: why did an FBI Unit Chief go along with your ridiculous fake fiancé charade without hesitation? That was not normal federal agent behaviour. You were pretty sure actual government employees had policies against indulging unhinged strangers.

Which led you here. More specifically in the FBI headquarters parking lot.

Okay, you were actually insane. But you had good intentions. Intentions of thanking him properly for the night of madness he had endured.

So, you had baked him cookies. Because, according to your mother, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach – which was a wildly inappropriate saying to be applying to an FBI agent, but here you were.

You took a deep breath, staring up at the intimidating glass doors, clutching your box of cookies like it was a ticking time bomb. This was fine. Completely normal. People brought cookies to law enforcement all the time… right?

Swallowing your nerves, you marched inside, heels clicking against the polished floor as you approached the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind the counter barely glanced up as she typed away at her computer.

“Hi! Uh, could you do me a favour and give these to an Aaron Hotchner?” you asked, setting the box down with a nervous smile. “He’s, um, Unit Chief of something very official and serious, which I’m sure you already know, but I just wanted to thank him because he helped me out of a situation – not like a legal situation, nothing weird, I’m not a criminal or anything – oh my God, that sounded suspicious –”

The receptionist finally looked up, blinking slowly. “Ma’am?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving a hand. “I mean, technically, everyone is a criminal in some way, right? Like, who hasn’t jaywalked or taken a pen from a bank? Oh my God, I’m not confessing to anything, I just –”

“Ma’am,” the receptionist interrupted, her voice flat. “Are you delivering something, or…?”

“Wow, you guys are really strict on the whole professionalism thing, huh?” You huffed, then quickly corrected yourself. “Not that I’m not professional. I can be professional. I wore a blazer once.” You paused, glancing at her name badge. “Clarissa! I am delivering cookies. They are divine, you can have one if you’d like?”

Clarissa squinted at you, clearly debating whether or not to press a panic button – one that, realistically, would probably result in you being swarmed by tactical agents in full riot gear.

Was that even the FBI? Or was that, like… SWAT? Was SWAT part of the FBI? Were you about to go down for cookie-related crimes?

“Are you cleared to be here?” she asked.

“Depends on your definition of cleared –”

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s take a breath before you actually incriminate yourself.”

You spun around to find none other than David – if you recalled correctly – standing behind you, looking just as entertained as he did back at the jazz bar, his eyes bouncing between the cookies and you. “Well, well. If it isn’t Hotch’s fiancée.”

“Not his fiancée anymore!”

“Sure. And I’m not Italian.”

You shook your head, exhaling dramatically. “I just made him some cookies as a thank you. Do you mind passing them on to him, please? And then I can get out of yours and Clarissa’s hair. You have fabulous hair, both of you, by the way.”

Clarissa stared at you like you were personally responsible for every inconvenience that had ever befallen her. Rossi, on the other hand, grinned like you had just made his entire day.

“You know what? No,” he said, shaking his head. “You should give them to him yourself.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary –”

“I insist.”

Clarissa folded her arms. “She’s not authorised to be here.”

Rossi rolled his eyes. “Clarissa, I’ve worked in this building longer than some agents have been alive. If I say she’s authorised, she’s authorised.”

Clarissa let out a long-suffering sigh but didn’t argue further.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go surprise Hotch.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Oh. Yay.”

Rossi led you through security and about four different hallways before you found yourself in an elevator. You barely had time to process what was happening before you were stepping into a bullpen that made your brain go fuzzy. There were far too many people in suits, all looking intimidatingly competent.

A woman with blonde hair and a bright cardigan – finally someone who understood the power of colour – shot you an intrigued glance over the top of her glasses.

“I really don’t think this is necessary, David,” you whispered. “You guys look like busy, busy people, and I just wanted to bring some cookies. I don’t think Hotch will appreciate being called out of his very legitimate FBI career just for me.”

“Oh, I know he won’t.”

“Okay, now you’re making me panic, and I have a habit of jumping to conclusions when I’m under a lot of stress. Please, really, it’s no big deal –”

“Yeah, Hotch mentioned something along those lines,” Rossi hummed as the two of you came to a halt in front of a door, to which he knocked before stepping inside.

You followed hesitantly, barely making it over the threshold before you locked eyes with Hotch, who was standing behind his desk, looking very confused.

Rossi gestured at you grandly. “Look who I found wandering the FBI headquarters.”

“Okay, that makes me sound like a stalker and – wow, okay, I guess maybe I am a stalker, but the good kind, I promise! I come in peace. And with cookies… as a thank you.”

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” Rossi grinned, giving you a nudge as he sauntered out, shutting the door behind him with far too much enthusiasm.

Hotch, still staring at you like you had just crash-landed into his office from another dimension, slowly folded his arms. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not until you try one of these,” you said, flipping open the lid of the cookie box, only for your smile to falter the second you actually registered what was inside.

Heart-shaped cookies. Pink frosting. Extra sprinkles.

Oh no.

You stared at them. Then at Hotch. Then back at them.

He was still staring too, looking at the cookies like they were an active FBI case file he wasn’t quite sure how to classify.

You let out half a laugh. “Oh. Oh, boy.”

Hotch raised a brow, arms still crossed, looking every bit the intimidating federal agent he was.

“Okay, I know what this looks like,” you groaned, snapping the box shut like that would somehow undo the visual catastrophe. “I got slightly carried away – as I tend to – and my mind just kind of… took its own course when I was making them. I wasn’t thinking about you – well, I was thinking about you, but not like that, I swear. I just – ugh – I put a little bit myself into them.”

Hotch tilted his head. “Yourself?”

You nodded, slowly reopening the box as if the cookies might suddenly jump out and throw up edible glitter all over his office. “You know… they’re kind of chaotic but well-intentioned, possibly too much but ultimately harmless –”

“How did you find me here?”

“Oh. That.”

He just stared at you.

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in the cookie box. “Well, it’s not that hard, you know? I have a great memory, and I did get a pretty solid look at your badge – after I thought you were going to murder me, of course – so I just… searched you up.”

His brows lifted.

You panicked. “But only to figure out where you work so I could bring you cookies! That’s it! I had every intention of leaving them with Clarissa but your friend David saw me and said I should bring them up myself. And well… now I’m here.”

Hotch’s hand pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did.”

You rocked on your heels, watching him carefully. “Sooo… does this mean I’m officially on an FBI watchlist, or is that, like, a separate process?”

Hotch exhaled, lowering his hand. “You’re not on a watchlist.”

“Oh.”

His brows furrowed. “Would you like to be?”

“I feel like I shouldn’t answer that without a lawyer present,” you mumbled, setting the cookies down on his desk.

“So, let me get this straight. You looked me up, managed to talk your way into a federal building without authorisation all just to bring me heart-shaped cookies?”

You lifted a finger. “Okay, first of all, let’s not make this sound like an obsession – I googled you. That’s a normal thing people do! It’s called being informed. And second, the hearts were an accident. I only had one cookie cutter. You think I wanted to show up here looking like some lovesick lunatic?”

Hotch glanced at the cookies, then back at you. “…Yes.”

“Okay, well, this has been fun,” you said, dusting your hands before adjusting your jacket. “Enjoy the cookies, and thanks again for the other night,” you continued, already backing toward the door. “I have not had my name mentioned once in the Veronica Posse group chat since, and for the first time in years, I have actually known peace.”

“Wait,” he called just as you reached for the door handle. You spun around to face him. “Why did you really come here?”

You paused before speaking.

“I need a fiancé again,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Yup. Need one again, preferably the same one, but this time it’s my parents hounding me, and they’ve already arranged a dinner and everything.”

Hotch opened his mouth, then closed it. A second passed. Then another. Finally – “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you beamed, completely unbothered by the scowl on his face. Hotch looked like he was about to reply, but his phone began ringing. He glanced down at it on the desk.

“Alright, really leaving now. I’ll let you get back to all this serious business,” you said, but then a realization dawned, making you pause.

Hotch looked back up, brows raising slightly. “What is it?”

You shifted, glancing toward the door, then back at him. “So, funny thing… I don’t actually know how to get out of here.”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head as he pressed a button to silence his phone before slipping it into his suit jacket. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, no need,” you replied quickly, waving him off. “I’ll just ask David – he loves helping me.”

Hotch gave you a flat look. “Absolutely not.”

You blinked innocently. “Why? He was so excited to see me earlier. You should have heard him, all like Oh, if it isn’t Hotch’s fiancée! He really sells it.”

“That’s exactly why,” Hotch muttered, already moving toward the door.

You followed Hotch out of his office, barely managing to keep up with his long strides. “Wow, you walk fast,” you huffed, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. “Is this an FBI thing? Do you all just power walk everywhere?”

He slowed his pace ever so slightly so you could catch up. As you glanced around, you noticed several pairs of eyes discreetly watching the two of you – one of them being David who had zero shame in making his interest known. You offered him a small wave to which he responded with a not-so-subtle wink. When your eyes landed on Hotch he was watching the exchange.

“Keep walking.”

“I am,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh. “I just happen to also be social.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

You gasped, doing a light two step jog to catch up. “Gosh, what happened to ‘Marry me, sweetheart?’”

“You called it nonsense, remember?”

“I did,” you admitted. “But that was after you said something that was incredibly true about me.”

Hotch threw you a curious glance. “And what was that?”

“That I’m too good to consider that group of women my friends, especially ones I feel the need to impress.”

Hotch didn’t say anything right away, just reached for the door, pushing it open and holding it for you. As you stepped past him, you caught the smallest trace of something in his expression, something very close to approval.

Stepping into the hallway, you glanced around, already feeling disoriented. “This place is like a maze,” you muttered, spinning in a small circle before looking back at him. “How do you manage to not get lost here?”

“Spatial awareness.”

Before you could question him further, you felt his heads on your arms, gently guiding you to the left just as you were about to head right.

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

His lips twitched. “You were about to walk into a closet.”

You glanced back at the door you had almost pushed open. “That’s not a closet. That’s –” You squinted at the sign. “Okay, that’s definitely a closet.” You sighed dramatically, walking ahead this time – making sure to pretend like you totally knew where you were going. “See? This is why I need a fake fiancé. Navigation assistance.”

His voice followed you, dry as ever. “That’s what Google Maps is for.”

You turned, walking backwards now, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, Google Maps doesn’t have your spatial awareness, does it?”

“You’d rather rely on me for directions?”

You stopped walking, tilting your head. “Huh. Good point. Maybe I should just take my chances with the closet.”

Hotch sighed, stepping past you. “Come on. I’ll make sure you get out of here without accidentally locking yourself in a supply room.”

You grinned, following him. “See? Fake fiancé duties are still active.”

This time, you definitely didn’t miss the half-smile he tried to hide.

After what felt like literal hours of navigating the endless, identical floors and hallways of the FBI, the two of you finally stepped outside. Freedom at last, you thought, basking in the sight of the actual sun – something you’d only glimpsed through windows you were convinced had some kind of tint designed to make the inside of the building feel even duller.

“Do you know where you parked?”

You scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Uh, duh. What do you take me for?”

Hotch just looked at you.

You blinked.

Then, very slowly, you turned your head, scanning the parking lot.

Oh, no.

Where did you park?

You wracked your brain, desperately trying to retrace your steps, but the problem was… you hadn’t exactly been focused when you arrived. You had just parked somewhere and hoped for the best. But now, with Hotch watching you like a disapproving parent, the pressure was on.

You pointed vaguely toward a random row of cars. “It’s… that way.”

Hotch didn’t even bother looking. “No, it’s not.”

You spun back to him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re guessing.”

“I am not.”

“You’re stalling.”

“I am not!”

Hotch arched a single, knowing brow.

You huffed. “Fine. I may be stalling. But in my defence, I had a lot on my mind when I got here!”

Hotch inhaled, glancing at his watch. “Just describe what your car looks like and what you remember seeing when you got here.”

You frowned, thinking. “Okay, so, my car is… car-shaped.”

His stare was unmoving.

You cleared your throat. “It’s, uh… blue. Or, like, bluish. Depends on the lighting.”

“Anything else?”

You squinted at the parking lot, hoping for divine intervention. “I think I was near… a pole?”

“There are multiple poles.”

“A very specific pole.”

“Right.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Ugh, this is so unfair. I have many talents, okay? Parking lot navigation is just not one of them.”

“Shocking,” he muttered before moving toward one section of the parking lot. “Let’s start from here.”

You followed, chewing the inside of your cheek.

A few minutes later – after much grumbling, a completely unnecessary debate about why all parking lots look the same, and one slightly humiliating moment where you tried to unlock someone else’s car – Hotch finally spotted your actual vehicle.

“Would you look at that! There she is, in all her glory!” you sang and this time, when you hit the unlock button, the lights actually flashed. Progress.

You pulled open the driver’s side door and tossed your purse inside before turning back to Hotch. “Thank you… again.” You let out a laugh. “It feels like that’s all I ever say to you.”

Hotch gave a small shrug, hands finding his pockets. “You do seem to require a lot of rescuing.”

“Alright, alright.” You pointed a manicured finger at him. “Despite what you might think, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I just happen to have a mild navigational deficiency and… questionable taste in men. And friends, apparently – according to my ex fake fiancé.”

“Sounds like you’re finally learning.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding into your seat. “I hate that you’re good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Reading people.” You gestured vaguely in his direction. “It’s very annoying.”

He smiled at you, one hand slipping from his pocket to rest against the edge of your car door. “I’ll try to be worse at my job next time.”

You leaned forward, placing your arms on the steering wheel with a playful spark in your eye. “Listen, Hotch, Hotchner, Aaron – I have a slight confession to make before I go.”

“That sentence doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“This one’s harmless. Promise.”

Hotch stood there, shaking his head like he could not believe he was still standing there entertaining this conversation.

You tapped a finger against the wheel. “So, if mid-cookie bite you accidentally choke on a piece of paper, do not be alarmed – well, actually do be alarmed. I don’t want you to die before you’ve asked me out on a date.” You flashed him a pointed look. “But it’s my number – since apparently, having my address isn’t enough.”

“You hid your number in food?”

“Listen, it was either that or carve it into your desk with a knife, and I figured that would raise some concerns with your co-workers.”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose again, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like why me?

“But, you do have my number now, so really, the ball is in your court, Hotchner.”

“Is it?”

You nodded, sitting up straighter. “Mhm. And just so we’re clear – I expect a dramatic, over-the-top use of it. Maybe a cryptic, we need to talk text. Or a mysterious meet me at midnight type of situation.”

Hotch’s lips twitched. “You’d rather I text you about urgent matters than, say… just a normal conversation?”

“Aaron Hotchner, are you saying you want to have a normal conversation with me?”

He sighed, stepping back from your car. “Drive home, before I change my mind about letting you leave.”

You smirked, finally turning on the ignition. “Oh, so you let me leave now? That is so controlling of you.”

Hotch shook his head as he shut your door—just in time for you to lift a hand, making a finger phone gesture and mouthing Call me.

tags - @fandomscombine @dohmeti

divider by cafekitsune

#aaron <3 #fic recs #aaron hotchner the man you are #i too wish to low-key trespass in fbi headquarters just to give heart-shaped cookies to a pretty fake fiancé of mine #i love that there’s this immediate understanding that they make each other better from the get-go #she keeps him on his toes. she makes him think. she’s kinda a perfect distraction for him #meanwhile he can see her value and—despite her bein a lil cuckoo for coco puffs—doesn’t try to dampen her quirkiness #and even though he’s mr.workaholic he doesn’t mind stepping away for her????#he lets her be her independent/individual self but guides her (physically and socially) in the ways she lets him. obsessed w the trust

1K notes · View notes

moonriizing · 2 months ago

Text

Begin Again | p.js (18+)

Jay didn’t know much about love. But he knew what he wanted—and it was you, even if you came with a kid, emotional baggage, and walls he had to work his way through.

Genre: strangers to lovers, smut, fluff? Pairing: Park Jongseong/Jay Park x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), MDNI, reader is older than jay and has a child, no angst just light and easy Notes: 11k words. Listening to Begin Again by Taylor Swift. Fought through my broken laptop and writer's block to finish this baby on time. I hope you like it! I appreciate comments A LOT so don't hesitate if you got smth to say :> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally nor claim they would ever behave in real life like they were portrayed in this story.

enjoy~

In a quiet suburban neighborhood on the south side of the city, Jay was making an inventory of the products that came yesterday, boxes of them filling up the small storage room at the far back of his pharmacy. Just another part of his mundane routine in a town that rarely gave him anything new.

He was quite content with it, despite the mundanity. Business was great in these areas, it was closer to home, no rush hour traffic, and he was far from the hustle and bustle of the downtown area. He liked to think it was a privilege to have this peaceful means of earning a living.

Most of the people were nice. He’d had his fair share of problematic and entitled customers, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d also never had to deal with robbers and whatnot that were more rampant downtown. Sure, he kept seeing the same faces, but he didn’t really mind. The folks around here were older, some of them in retirement age who liked to bring him produce or food from time to time, and the others were married people going through their own day-to-day routine of driving kids to school and picking up prescriptions.

It was nice, and he never really had any grand expectations of experiencing anything out of the ordinary.

Until today, when you walked into his pharmacy while he was in the middle of his inventory task. The chimes on the door made Jay whip his head around, surprised by the way the door was forcefully pushed open. For a second, he thought he was being robbed, craning his neck, trying to catch a glimpse past the shelves blocking his view.

Then you came into sight.

You looked like you’d been running, breathing just a little too hard, eyes darting over the shelves like you were hunting something. Jay took a step forward, halfway ready to offer help, when you spotted what you needed on your own: a pregnancy test kit.

You grabbed it without hesitation and made a beeline for the counter, where he barely had time to straighten up before you slapped it down, pulled out your wallet, and blurted, “Do you have a bathroom I could use? It’s kind of an emergency.”

He blinked. “Uh—yeah. Just through there.” He gestured toward the hallway behind him. “Last door on the right.”

“Thank you,” you said breathlessly, taking the kit with you like your life depended on it.

Jay stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where you’d been. That wasn’t a robbery. And that was definitely not the usual retiree bringing him extra zucchinis from their backyard garden.

Five minutes passed. He tried to go back to inventorying—a box of ibuprofen, a box of multivitamins, a box of whatever—but his eyes kept drifting back to the hallway.

When you finally emerged, you were looking less panicked, breathing lighter as you offered him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” you said, brushing hair out of your face. “Had a bit of a cuckoo fit back there. All good now.”

Jay raised his eyebrows, unsure if he was allowed to ask what “all good” meant. Instead, he managed a small smile. “No worries.”

You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge near the register, twisting the cap open before you’d even paid. “I’ll take this too, please.”

He rang you up, still caught somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “That would be 4.60.”

“Awesome, thanks.” You paid for it, gave him a quick wave and a parting smile—bright, genuine, and completely disarming. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he replied, a little too late. The door had already closed behind you.

And just like that, you were gone. Jay stared at the now-quiet door for a moment, then turned back toward the storage room to continue his forgotten inventorying.

He wasn’t in the habit of wondering about customers after they left, but still, he couldn’t help but wonder: Was it positive? Or negative?

If he were being honest, he could be quite nosy when something intrigued him. But more important than the question about your pregnancy test: Would he ever see you again?

Jay saw you again the following week. And the week after that. You never came in for anything urgent. Just little things—a couple bags of candy, Band-Aids, headache pills. One time, allergy tablets.

But what he noticed the most were the tampons. You picked them up fairly regularly. So, naturally, he assumed the pregnancy was probably a bust.

Not that it was any of his business. But the nosy part of him filed that information away with some sort of satisfaction.

You didn’t talk much when you came in. Just the usual, greetings, item requests, and a soft “thank you” when you left. Still, you were always polite and nice. You had this calming presence about you, and a smile that made the store feel a little less sterile. Jay couldn’t say when it started, but he found himself looking forward to your visits.

Not that he was doing anything about it.

Okay, maybe he was doing a little.

He might’ve started taking a bit longer bagging your items, adjusting things unnecessarily, or recounting if he got the right number of items. And a few times, he’d tossed in a cookie from the counter and called it a freebie. You always laughed a little and thanked him, like you didn’t realize it was a bribe for your attention.

He let his hand brush yours sometimes when passing your card back. And maybe his eyes lingered more than they should, along with a charming smile that he knew girls liked about him. But it wasn’t a big deal. He figured you didn’t notice. Or if you did, you didn’t mind.

Jay wasn’t planning on making a move. He liked the way things were—harmless, light, the occasional heart skip when you walked in.

That changed the day you asked, “Hey, which cold syrup would you recommend for a five-year-old?”

The words didn’t even fully register at first. He was distracted, caught up in how you looked that day, button-down blouse, and faded jeans with your hair bunched up in a bun.

Then he noticed the ring on your finger. Thin and simple, on your left hand.

He didn’t know how he’d missed it before. “Is it for your kid?” he asked, trying not to sound like he was confirming anything.

You nodded. “Yeah. He’s got a little cough. Nothing crazy, just, you know. First week of school.” You sighed. “His pediatrician’s halfway across the country, though. We haven’t sorted out a new one yet.”

Jay turned to grab a bottle from the shelf behind the counter, masking his expression. “There’s a clinic a few blocks down,” he said. “Good pediatrician. I know him. I can give him a call and tell him to expect you, if you want.”

Your face lit up, surprised and grateful. “Really? Oh my god, you’re such a sweetheart. Thank you.”

Jay gave a small nod, sliding the bottle into a paper bag. “No problem.”

And that was that. A little piece of information tucked into place. Married with a five-year-old kid. He didn’t know what he felt about it—only that it made sense. It shouldn’t even come as a surprise. This suburb was a place for people who wanted to settle down. There was no way a gorgeous, clearly intelligent woman like you would move here for nothing.

Still, he watched you walk out the door like he always did. And this time, he didn’t let his fingers linger when he handed you the receipt.

That night, just as he was eating his dinner at home, he got a phone call that had him shaking his head in amusement. Jay knew exactly why his friend was calling and part of him didn’t wanna entertain Sunghoon nosing around his affairs, but a larger part of him wanted to hear how the day went.

“Yo,” he answered, mouth still half full of kimchi fried rice.

“Hey,” Sunghoon said. “Quick question, what’s going on between you and that woman you sent over today?”

Jay fought the urge to smirk. “Who?”

“You know who I’m talking about. The one with the five-year-old. Said you recommended me to her. Pretty. Dressed nice.”

Jay leaned back in the chair, eyebrow raised, even though no one could see him. “There’s nothing going on. I just told her about your clinic. I thought you liked referrals?”

“Yes, I do, but you, my friend, have never referred anyone to me ever since I put up shop here,” Sunghoon replied, chuckling. “You never told people about my clinic. I had to hang my own damn poster in your window last year because you said—and I quote—‘people don’t look at windows anyway.’”

Jay chuckled. “I let you advertise, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point. Who is she?” Sunghoon asked again. “I have a feeling.”

“Everyone has feelings.”

Sunghoon sighed in exasperation. “Okay, smart boy. You won’t tell me? Fine. I’ll ask her myself when she comes in for their next appointment.

Jay shook his head with a soft laugh, standing up to put his dirty dishes away. “What do you take me for? She’s a married woman with a kid. I’m not interested in her like that.”

A pause. Then Sunghoon said casually, “Dude, she’s not married.”

Jay blinked. “What?”

“Well, she was, but from what I know, she’s in the middle of a divorce. So technically, she’s not married.”

Jay sat up a little straighter. “How do you even know that?”

“I asked the kid where his dad was. He said, ‘Far away.’ Then his mom clarified. Told me they’d moved recently, and she’s still figuring stuff out. You know, small talk between patients.”

Jay didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just chuckled and said, “So you violated patient confidentiality and now you’re airing out other people’s businesses?”

“For the record, my patient was her son,” Sunghoon replied defensively. Then he added, “Didn’t seem like she was trying to hide it, anyway. Just honest, you know?”

“Huh.” Jay glanced toward the windows where he could see his pharmacy from across the street. “Well. Good to know, I guess.”

He ended the call not long after, but the subject of their conversation lingered in his mind.

She’s not married anymore. He wasn’t sure what the feeling in his chest was—maybe surprise, maybe… relief? Whatever it was, Jay found himself watching the door a little more than usual after that day.

Just in case you walked in again.

After that conversation with Sunghoon, Jay didn’t do anything drastic. He wasn’t about to pull a move just because he found out you were single—not officially, anyway. But he started to be less subtle about his interest.

He started talking more. Not just the usual small talk about the weather, but real casual, yet still low-risk questions.

“How are you liking the neighborhood so far?” “Your kid doing better?” Or, “You always this early on Saturdays?”

You answered, always polite. Sometimes amused. Once, you even teased him back when he told you the cold medicine you picked was the second-best option.

“Aren’t pharmacists supposed to say they all have the same formula anyway?” you said with a soft laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. Jay liked that more than he probably should have.

He didn’t flirt, not really. But he started offering you things. A pack of cookies he claimed was “going stale anyway.” A small bottle of hand sanitizer because “everyone’s getting sick.” And once, a chocolate bar he claimed was “part of a promo” even though there was no promo.

You smiled every time, said thanks, and walked out with your usual grace—hair tucked neatly behind one ear, blouse always crisp, trousers cleanly pressed. Jay noticed everything. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

Still, you never said anything. Never called him out on the extra attention, never gave him a look that told him to stop. That was all the encouragement he needed.

He was still taking his time. But now, at least, he had a reason to hope.

One day, Jay was standing outside the school gates, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the crowd of chattering kids and waiting parents. It didn’t take long before he spotted his niece, bouncy steps, pigtails flying, and a pink backpack two sizes too big.

“Uncle Jay!” she yelled, running toward him.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, crouching down to catch her in a hug.

The second he pulled away, she blurted out, “I have a boyfriend.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, amused. “You do?”

She nodded proudly, pointing across the pavement. “That’s him.”

Jay followed her finger, and there you were, walking hand in hand with your son. The kid was talking animatedly, and you were smiling, eyes soft as you nodded along. It was a nice sight. Sweet and warm in a way that tugged at something in his chest.

“Well, baby girl,” he said slowly, lifting his niece into his arms, “you can’t date him.”

“Why not?” she asked, all sass.

“Because,” he said with a smirk, “Uncle Jay’s thinking about making him my son.”

She squinted at him, suspicious. “Why? That’s gonna make us cousins.”

“Yeah,” Jay chuckled, “pretty much.”

You spotted them then. Your car was parked nearby, and your gaze landed on him as you crossed the lot. You gave him a little wave, your smile as kind as always.

“Hi,” you said, your son hanging off your arm.

Jay straightened, offering a smile back. “Hey, nice to see you.”

“You know what, yeah,” you chimed, brows creasing slightly. “It’s quite nice seeing you outside your pharmacy for a change.”

Jay just nodded, eyes flitting to your son, then back at you. “This is my niece,” he said quickly, patting her back. “Not my daughter.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve met her parents,” you said with a friendly grin. “Did you know your niece’s been telling everyone my son is her boyfriend?”

Jay glanced at the two kids, now locked in a shy, giggly standoff behind him. “He’s got good taste.”

You laughed lightly, genuinely, and just a little surprised. “Apparently so.”

He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t think about anything other than how he could casually bring up coffee and smoothly segue to asking you if you wanted to grab one with him. But then the moment passed before he could even get a word in.

“Well, see you around,” you said, nudging your son gently toward the car.

“Yeah,” Jay managed. “See you.”

You gave him one last smile, then disappeared behind the driver’s seat, pulling away with a wave.

That was fine. There’d still be a next time.

After that afternoon at the school parking lot, Jay found himself suddenly with a new reason to pick up his niece every single day. Sure, he loved his niece, but let’s be honest—he wasn’t complaining about the extra excuse to see you more often.

Naturally, you bumped into each other more and more thanks to this slight shift in his daily routine. You kept popping up in the right places at the right times, too. At the pharmacy, at the school gate, on the sidewalks. Slowly, the awkward ‘strangers’ vibe turned into something more friendly and familiar. More conversations, more smiles, until he was finally able to ask you out.

Well—technically, it wasn’t him. It was his niece who asked you out, although he had to admit he’d orchestrated the whole thing when he casually brought up ice cream one afternoon while picking her up. The little girl, who was more or less nuts about ice cream, naturally asked if they could get some.

“Of course we can,” he told his niece. “What about your boyfriend? Does he like ice cream?”

She gave him a glare. “You said he can’t be my boyfriend.”

Jay smiled and said, “Doesn’t mean you can’t hang out with him as friends.”

Next thing he knew, there they were—Jay, you, your son, and his niece sitting at the little picnic tables by the park, one ice cream each. The kids were loud, the sun was warm, and the conversation between you felt… right.

Jay wasn’t proud of using his niece as a wingman, but hey—he had to get creative.

In that short afternoon, he learned you weren’t originally from the city. You said you moved around a lot growing up—something about your dad being in the military—and now you craved stability for your son. Jay told you he was born and raised here but had spent a couple of years abroad for school. You asked if he missed it. He said, sometimes, but this place always pulled him back.

He also found out you liked black coffee, hated olives, and were deathly afraid of frogs. You learned he once worked as a barista, still played the guitar sometimes, and secretly hated studying pharmaceutics in college but was too lazy to change courses.

Then, at some point—Jay didn’t even remember what led to it—he found himself asking, “How’s it going, by the way? The divorce with his dad?”

You looked a little caught off guard, but not upset. “We’re almost done with it,” you said. “That’s why my son and I made the move already, but…” You paused, brow furrowed slightly. “How did you know?”

Jay hesitated. “Sunghoon, the pediatrician. He’s a friend and he mentioned it.”

Your eyebrows rose. “But he’s a doctor. You know, patient confidentiality and all that.”

“But you weren’t the patient,” Jay pointed out, smirking.

“Ah, a loophole,” you said with a small laugh.

“I’m sorry,” Jay said. “We weren’t gossiping or anything. It just came up in passing. He didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you said, before he could finish. “Really. I don’t mind. I was just surprised you guys talked about me, that’s all.”

You gave him a small smile—reassuring but a little distant—and he didn’t press any further.

Later, you drove off in your car and he in his, both of you back to your own worlds again—at the pharmacy, at the school gate, little moments here and there. The year slipped quietly by like that.

Jay still wasn’t in a rush. You probably have enough on your plate as it is without him trying to work his way into your heart. But he liked that he was getting to know you piece by piece, week by week. And you… Well, you didn’t really mind.

Life simply kept happening in the last year that you knew each other. Jay still saw you at the pharmacy. You didn’t drop by as often anymore—just the occasional cough syrup run or a forgotten errand on your way home—but when you did, he always noticed. Noticed the way you gradually started dressing more comfortably now, with your hair tied looser. The way you started greeting him by name. The way your son would run straight for the vitamin gummies section without asking.

There were school events, too. Halloween parades, bake sales, parent-volunteer days. Jay somehow always ended up manning the drink table with you, or stacking plastic chairs nearby, or chatting while the kids ran wild in the gym. You once made him try your brownies, then smugly told him they were store-bought after he said they were amazing.

Sometimes the kids would ask for another ice cream day, and you’d give in because it was summer, or the end of a long week, or just because. You’d sit with Jay at a park bench while the kids played, sipping iced coffee and trading random bits of adult life. Insurance. Streaming shows. Grocery hacks. Divorce lawyers.

Once, he bumped into you at a bookstore downtown. You were by yourself, reading the back of a novel. He offered to walk you to your car. You ended up getting coffee instead, sitting at a corner table while the rain tapped against the window. You didn’t talk about anything deep that day, but Jay went home thinking about it anyway.

The friendship never needed defining. You never talked about what it was or what it wasn’t. But it was warm and consistently growing. And though it never crossed any clear lines, Jay knew exactly where his heart had been all year—right there, slowly unfolding beside yours.

Your son’s birthday came on a Saturday with clear skies and just the right kind of weather for running around. Jay arrived with his niece in one hand and a tray of slightly overbaked brownies in the other. He’d insisted on bringing something because he said it felt rude to come empty-handed. You’d invited him ahead of time, not just as his niece’s chaperone, and he’d been flattered—even if you said it as casually as offering someone gum.

The party wasn’t anything extravagant. Just an inflatable playhouse in the backyard, a long table of finger foods, and a few cartoon-themed decorations here and there, but it was perfect. Kids were loud and happy, the food was good, and you looked relaxed for once.

Jay kept mostly to the sidelines, hovering near the snack table or helping pass out juice boxes. You were on the patio chatting with other parents, glancing toward the kids every so often. Later, he found himself in the kitchen with Lucy, your friend from the city, godmother to the birthday boy, and someone who had clearly known you long enough to tease you without remorse. Jay had just helped hand out second helpings to hungry kids and was wiping his hands on a napkin when you walked in.

“Thanks for helping out,” you said with a smile. “Didn’t realize kids’ parties require keeping kids entertained and their parents too. Just not with inflatables but with random stories and gossip.”

Jay chuckled as he leaned against the counter. “No problem at all. I like helping.”

Lucy smirked from her perch on the stool. “I think he just doesn’t want to hang out with the moms.”

“The moms seem nice,” Jay said. “I just can’t relate to them much.”

You chuckled as Lucy raised an eyebrow like she didn’t quite buy it. But she didn’t press. Instead, she turned her attention to you. “His dad didn’t show?”

You shook your head. “He’s abroad. Business.”

Lucy scoffed softly. “Of course he is.”

“I honestly don’t mind,” you said. “It’s better this way.”

Jay watched your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, then loosen again.

Lucy nodded in agreement. “Birthday boy wasn’t thrilled, though.”

“No, he wasn’t,” you admitted, exhaling softly. “But he’s fine now. Kids bounce back quickly.”

Lucy smiled. “Wish adults could do that.” Then she excused herself to the bathroom, leaving the two of you alone.

You turned toward him. “You want anything else to drink?”

Jay glanced at the counter. “I think I maxed out on the juice.”

You pulled open the fridge. “There’s soda, a couple beers... nothing special.” A second passed. “Actually—” You reached for the cabinet above the sink. “I have a bottle of wine I’ve been saving.”

Jay raised a brow. “Saving it for what?”

“Finished the house renovations last month,” you said, pulling out the dusty bottle and turning it in your hands. “Figured I’d celebrate.”

He smiled. “But?”

You gave a small shrug. “Didn’t really feel like opening it alone.”

Jay’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, how you said it offhand, but didn’t quite meet his gaze.

“Well,” he said, holding out his glass. “You’re not alone now.”

You poured for both of you and handed him a glass, your fingers brushing briefly against his.

“To the house,” he said, lifting it slightly.

You clinked your glass to his. “And to a finalized divorce and custody battle.”

That earned a laugh from him, surprised, but not mocking. You were blunt sometimes, but not bitter. He liked that.

Jay took a sip, then caught a glimpse of your hand as you lowered your glass. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you’re still wearing that?”

You looked down at your wedding band, brows lifting like you’d forgotten it was even there. “Yeah. I can’t take it off.”

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head. “Still in love with the guy or something?” he quipped.

“God, no,” you blurted, shuddering. “Ew.”

“Then?”

“I literally can’t take it off,” you said plainly, making a show of trying to pull it out. “It’s stuck.”

Jay squinted. “Seriously?”

You held your hand out, fingers splayed. “Tried soap, oil, all the TikTok tricks. Nothing.”

He took your hand gently, eyes narrowing as he inspected the ring. “Have you tried the dental floss trick?”

You shook your head.

“It might work. Can I give it a try?”

“Oh, yes, please,” you said, sighing in relief. “I beg.”

He smiled, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckle. “Alright then. Let’s see what we can do.”

You disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a spool of dental floss, handing it back to him with a look that says you were leaving your life in his hands. “How does it work exactly?”

“You thread the floss under the ring, then wrap your finger tightly. It compress the skin around the ring. Then it slides right off.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Wrap my finger in string and watch it turn purple? Sounds great.”

“Don’t mock the science,” Jay quipped, chuckling lightly. “Doctor Jay is in. Patient, please assume the position.”

You exhaled sharply and held out your hand, resting it on the towel. Jay gently took it, careful and delicate as he turned your palm over.

“Okay,” he said, threading the floss under the ring. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“It already hurts.”

“We haven’t started yet.”

“Just mentally preparing,” you muttered.

He began wrapping the floss tightly, brows furrowing in focus. He tugged on the floss and the ring began inching up slowly, twisting as it went. You hissed in pain.

“Okay, okay. That hurts.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Like… a six,” you hissed, then muttered, “seven now.”

“Almost there,” he murmured, still tugging on the floss. “You’ve got teeny fingers, but this thing is clinging for dear life.”

“Story of my marriage,” you muttered under your breath.

Jay snorted, caught off guard. “That’s a little dark.”

“Sorry. Reflex.”

“Don’t apologize. I laughed.” He twisted the ring again

You squeezed your eyes shut, muttering curses under your breath. Then finally, the ring came free and rolled across the counter.

You stared at your hand, red and slightly dented. “Holy crap.”

Jay laughed, shaking out the floss like he’d just defused a bomb. “Beauty is pain.”

You laughed breathlessly, cradling your hand. “I think I need a splint.”

He picked up the ring and set it gently on the towel, giving you a look that was half playful, half something else. “Now your marriage is officially over.”

You flexed your hand, laughing through the sting. “Yeah, but I think I lost circulation.”

“I’ll write you a prescription,” he said, chuckling.

“You’re a pharmacist.”

Jay shrugged. “No need for prescription then. I can just bypass the system, I guess.”

You rolled your eyes. The joke wasn’t funny, but he was endearing. Leaning your hip against the counter, you studied your finger. The faint groove where the ring had been was already fading. “That feels weird. But like, good weird. Lighter.”

Jay glanced at the ring, now sitting quietly on the towel. “Looks better off, honestly.”

You met his eyes, and for a second, the kitchen felt a little smaller. A little quieter.

“Thanks,” you said, softer now. “For doing that.”

He offered a small smile. “Anytime.”

There was a few seconds of silence before you nudged the wine bottle toward him. “Be a dear and give me a refill.”

Jay obliged, beaming as he poured you another glass. He didn’t say it out loud because he knew he sounded delusional, but he was pretty sure this counted as a date.

On a routine pickup one afternoon at school, Jay was cornered by a mom at the school gates, asking about his niece’s mom.

“She’s at home with the baby. Her husband’s out of town so I’m on pick-up duty today.”

“Pretty sure I’ve seen you on pick-up duty every day,” the mom, Mila, quipped, smiling at his niece. “That’s a shame, I was going to have a small dinner party at home for my birthday. I was hoping she could come.”

“I’m sure she would have loved to,” Jay replied, smiling politely.

Mila was about to say something when she spotted you walking out of the gate holding hands with your son. She waved you over and you walked over with a smile that had Jay staring at you, momentarily distracted.

“Mila! Happy birthday!” you greeted, giving Mila a quick peck on the cheek.

“I texted the group chat, but you didn’t respond. You’re coming tonight, right?” said Mila, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s just dinner with the regular group. Nothing fancy. Just wine and some good food.”

You nodded. “Of course. Count me in.”

Then Mila turned to Jay, who had just helped his niece buckle into her booster seat.

“You should come too,” she said, smiling warmly. “It’s a pity your sister isn’t here, but you’re welcome to join us if you like.”

Jay was slightly caught off guard. “Oh, uh... I wouldn’t want to intrude. It’s a mom thing, right?”

“Nonsense. You’re very much welcome,” Mila insisted, brushing him off like he’d just said something ridiculous. “We can be a little crazy, but we promise we won’t bite.”

Jay glanced over at you as if he was seeking out your permission. You seemed to have recognized his cue because your brow arched slightly in amusement, then you gave a casual shrug that said up to you. So he nodded. “Alright. I’d love to.”

“Excellent. No need to remove a seat, then,” said Mila.

The dinner was held at Mila’s place, a cozy house with a low-lit patio and a long table set with mismatched wine glasses and shared platters of food. The conversation was endless, aided by a few open bottles of red wine, and soon enough, Jay found himself the lone man among a lively circle of moms who had so much more in common than he could even begin to fathom.

For the first ten minutes, he felt like he was on a reality show. The Real Housewives of Suburbia, featuring one slightly panicked guest star. They were curious, but kind. Their questions flew in fast and with zero malice.

“So the pharmacy is yours alone, right? That’s impressive.”

“And the house too?” another mom asked. “For someone so young, you’re doing amazing.”

Jay chuckled shyly. “Well, I had help when I was starting out.”

“And you’re not dating anyone?” someone else chimed in, barely letting him breathe.

“Not at the moment,” he said carefully, sipping his wine. He hesitated for the briefest second, eyes finding your across the table, then he smiled. “I’ve got my eyes on someone. Just… haven’t worked up the nerve yet.”

That earned a round of swoons, some playful nudges, and exaggerated sighs.

One of the moms, already tipsy, leaned over and said, “You’ve got your eye on someone? She better not be married. Like our new girl here, finally single and free!”

You looked up mid-sip. “Sorry?”

“Oh, come on. You’re beautiful, young, finally divorced. Are you back in the game or what?”

Jay glanced at you, curious.

You set your glass down and smiled politely. “I think I’ll sit the game out for now. Right now I’m just focused on getting things in order. My son’s adjusting well, and I’d like to keep the stability going for him before I add anything new to the mix.”

There were understanding nods around the table, murmurs of approval. Still, one mom leaned in, waggling her brows. “But you have thought about it.”

You only smiled again, sipping your wine without answering.

Jay watched you quietly, your calmness, the way you dodged the question like it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to nudge you back into the dating scene. And for a second, he wondered what your answer would’ve been if the question had come from him.

After dinner, the moms trickled out in pairs and small groups, some tipsy, others still laughing and giggling. Jay stood near the front gate with his keys in hand, offering casual goodbyes as they passed. You were lingering on the porch with your arms folded, smiling at something Mila was saying, when Jay caught your eye and tilted his head toward the driveway.

“I’ll drive you?” he asked casually, then noticing the other moms added a little louder, “Anyone else need a lift?”

He’d consider it a smooth save, but he knew the other moms still picked up on it. A few exchanged looks and grins, but no one said anything. One mom, clearly not reading the room, raised her hand. “Oh! If it’s not a bother, just two blocks from here.”

“Not at all,” Jay said, unlocking his car and popping the doors open with a charming little smile. “Hop in.”

And so, his spontaneous rideshare plan took off. He dropped off the others with polite small talk and exaggerated cheer, playing the gentleman driver role perfectly. By the time the last one stepped out with a hurried thanks, the car felt quieter with just the two of you left inside.

“Where to?” he asked as he merged back onto the road.

You gave him your address, which Jay quickly memorized, plotting the route in his mind as he slowly drove back into the highway.

Breaking the silence, you said, “The dinner was nice. Except for that dessert.”

“Not a fan of lava cake?”

You winced. “Nope. Chocolate cakes leave a really odd aftertaste in my mouth.”

Jay shrugged. “It was a tad too sweet though, I’m not gonna lie.”

“I’m sure it was good. I’m just…” you trailed off, shrugging.

He glanced at you. “Sorbet? To get the taste out?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Why not? I know a place that’s open late.”

He wasn’t kidding. He swung by a small dessert bar on the corner and returned with two cups of lemon sorbet, one hand shielding the cold from the summer air as he climbed back in.

The car was now parked right outside your house. You ate with your knees drawn up on the seat, your sandals dangling off one foot as you stared out the windshield at the quiet street.

“This is good,” you said, savoring a bite.

“Told you.”

The conversation wandered from weird birthday cakes to the shows your son was currently obsessed with, to which neighbor always overwatered their lawn. Jay made quips here and there, some funny but most of them had you rolling your eyes in exasperation. Nevertheless, you seemed to be enjoying his company as usual.

At one point, when the laughter had subsided and there was nothing else to say, you looked at him abd said, “Jay, be honest.”

Jay hummed, scraping at the bottom of his cup.

“Do you like me?” you asked.

Jay paused mid-bite. Then he glanced over, lips twitching. “Are you drunk?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a ‘no’?”

“No,” he said briskly, shaking his head once.

“No?” you asked back, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Huh?” he asked, and you were both quiet for a second. Jay looked away, chuckling awkwardly. “No. I don’t mean to say I don’t like you. I do. You’re pretty cool.”

“Thanks,” you replied, still a little confused. “I like you too.”

Jay felt his heart pick up pace. “You do?”

You nodded casually, putting your now empty cup back into the plastic bag. “Yeah. You’re nice and funny. You’re good with kids. What’s not to like?”

Then you mumbled, “Not to mention good-looking.”

“Sorry, what?”

You glanced up at him, feigning an innocent smile. “Nothing.”

Jay was unconvinced but he just nodded. “So…” he trailed off, deep in thought. “Wait. What’s going on right now? Are we… you know, confessing… feelings?”

“I guess,” you replied, shrugging.

“This is not how I pictured it would happen.”

“Me neither,” you chuckled. “It’s fine, this isn’t deep or anything. I just genuinely think you’re nice and funny and…” You looked away, murmuring under your breath. “Hot.”

“I heard that.”

You glanced back at him. “You did? Heh. Well, it’s true.”

“I think you’re hot, too.”

Silence stretched between you for a second too long. Jay looked at you, his sorbet cup long forgotten in his hand. You weren’t smiling or saying anything, just watching him with a soft, unreadable expression that made his heart kick a little harder in his chest.

And then you leaned in to press a gentle, curious kiss on his lips. Jay froze for a second, startled, then kissed you back just as gently. Your mouths barely moved. Just pressed against each other’s, satisfying a curiosity you both didn’t know you even had.

You pulled away first. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your eyes lowering. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Jay blinked. “Why not?”

“I just… I wasn’t planning on—” You shook your head, voice faltering. “A relationship’s the last thing on my mind right now. I’ve got too much going on. My head’s not in the right place.”

Jay nodded slowly, his eyes still on you. “I get it,” he said. “I really do.”

You smiled faintly. “I’m not saying I don’t want this. Just…” You sighed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jay replied, chuckling. “I just want to get to know you more. No pressure. No expectations.”

You didn’t say anything else, you just smiled, opened your door and stepped out. Jay climbed out after you, walking with to your front door. You stopped just by the porch light, and for a moment, it felt like everything slowed down again.

Jay rubbed the back of his neck. “Would it be okay if I asked to take you out sometime? You know… like a date. If that’s not too much.”

You didn’t answer with words right away. Instead, you leaned in again—this time slower, more certain—and kissed him on the lips.

Then you pulled back, hands cupping his jaw and your thumb rubbing gently against his skin. “I would love that.”

Jay couldn’t hide the satisfaction in his smile. He held your hand on his cheek and nodded. “Good night, then.”

“Good night, Jay.”

Jay didn’t jump into something right away. There were no talks or commitment, just a mutual understanding that something was beginning. Or that something had already begun and was now picking up pace.

The next time he saw you after that night, it wasn’t anything special. Just a routine playdate between Jay’s niece, your son, and a couple of other kids. He showed up at your door with takeout. You let him in.

You ate together on the couch while the kids built a fort in the next room, the two of you laughing every time someone got “shot” and screamed dramatically for help.

Later, with your feet tucked under you and half a spring roll in your hand, Jay glanced at you and said, “This feels dangerously like a date.”

You smiled without looking away from the TV. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Maybe if you give me some, it’ll feel more like a date,” Jay quipped, glancing sideways at you.

You met his gaze, scowling in confusion at whatever he meant by that. Jay simply grinned and tapped his index finger on his lips. That made you roll your eyes.

You rolled your eyes. “What are we, teenagers?”

He shrugged. “What about asking for a kiss is teenager-ish?”

You gave him a look. “Asking.”

Jay tilted his head like he was considering that. “Then should I just… not ask?”

That made you narrow your eyes at him. “How old are you?”

“What’s age got to do with anything?”

“Just tell me.”

“Twenty-five.”

Your brows furrowed. “Really?”

He chuckled. “Why? Do I look younger than that?”

“Be serious. How old are you for real?” You scooted an inch away from him on the couch.

“Old enough.”

“Jay Park,” you warned.

He held his hands up, amused. “Okay, okay. How old do you think I am?”

“Like, twenty-six. At least.”

He was, in fact, twenty-three. “Close,” he said, lips twitching.

But your suspicious glare didn’t waver. Jay sighed, raising both hands in surrender. “Fine. I’m twenty-three.”

You gasped, shot up from the couch, and covered your mouth like you’d witnessed a crime.

“What—why? What’s wrong?” Jay asked, chuckling though he was panicking.

You stared at him, completely silent. And then you placed a hand on your temple and started laughing like you were slowly losing your mind.

“Say something!” Jay said, standing to follow you. “You can’t be that much older than me.”

“Get out,” you said through your laughter, but you didn’t mean it. Jay could tell by the way you let him pull you into a hug, your body warm against his.

He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your shoulder, playful and close. “Okay, they told me it’s rude to ask a lady her age, but how old are you?”

You rolled your eyes, but he felt you soften a little in his arms. “I had my son when I was twenty.”

Jay pulled back just enough to look at you. “Isn’t he six now?”

You nodded. He blinked. “So… twenty-six?”

“Almost twenty-seven.”

Jay grinned. “That’s not bad.” You gave him a skeptical look.

“What?” he said. “It’s like a four-year gap. That’s nothing.”

You gave a noncommittal hum but didn’t pull away. Jay counted that as a win. He sighed in relief. “This is nice.”

That made you roll your eyes and push him away. “Get away from me, kid.”

A few days later, he spotted you at the farmer’s market. He almost didn’t say anything—your hair was pulled back, and you looked calmly beautiful in a way that made his chest ache. But then your son spotted him first.

“Uncle Jay!” he called out, waving a hand in the air.

And that was that. He tagged along while you picked out vegetables, carried your bags, passed you napkins when your son smeared apple juice on his face. You teased him for overpaying for pears. He told you your taste in fruit was ‘objectively incorrect.’

And when the three of you sat together on a bench, quietly sharing a cinnamon roll, Jay didn’t say anything about how close your shoulders were. He didn’t dare. If he pointed it out, you might pull away, and then he wouldn’t know how to make you scoot back again.

Some nights, he texted you dumb things.

Jay: I strongly recommend some Vitamin J for you. Jay: yknow? Vitamin JAY. You: I’m blocking you. Jay: Pls don’t. I will literally cry You: You text like you’re 15 Jay: I’ll take that as a compliment Jay: Didn’t have this much game when I was 15

On weekends, he found excuses to drop by. Sometimes it was a coffee run. Other times, it was helping your son with a diorama project, both of them hunched over cardboard and glue while you watched from the kitchen.

“Is it scientifically accurate for the T-Rex to sparkle?” Jay asked.

Your son looked serious. “Dinosaurs loved glitter.”

Jay nodded solemnly. “That tracks.”

He didn’t ask for more than you were giving. He liked the way things were unfolding in casual conversations and small glances, in the way you teased him when he stared too long and smiled absentmindedly at you.

At one point, you started handing him little tasks like picking up paper towels, grabbing snacks for the kid, helping carry folding chairs for a school event. Jay liked it. Not because he wanted credit, but because it made him feel like a part of your life in ways that felt natural.

It was like that, for a while. Gentle and organic. There were no talks about what you were or where it was going, just two people figuring it out between shared errands, porch conversations, and casual brush-of-the-hand moments. Jay didn’t push.

One evening, you were out on your front porch with glasses of wine in hand, the air cool and quiet around you. Jay leaned against the railing, watching the way you curled your legs under yourself in that familiar spot on the porch swing.

You’d been talking for over an hour, swapping stories about bad haircuts, his old part-time jobs, and your failed employment stories. You were laughing, really laughing, and Jay found himself watching you in the porch light. The way your eyes twinkled, the lilt in your voice. It made him ache a little. Not in a sad way.

“You know,” he said, swirling what was left of his wine, “I still don’t get it.”

You looked over. “Get what?”

“You,” he said simply. “You’re smart. Kind. Thoughtful. You’re an amazing mom. You’re…” He hesitated, then just let it land. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”

You let out a soft laugh, looking away. “Okay, relax.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “I just don’t understand how someone could… fumble you. Like, how does that happen?”

The laughter left your mouth, but the smile lingered for a second before fading. You glanced down at your wine glass, turning it slightly in your hands.

“It wasn’t always bad,” you said. “Found out I was pregnant right after college and everything moved fast. We got married but it didn’t feel rushed at the time. It actually felt right.”

Jay didn’t say anything, letting you continue.

“He was loving. Supportive. Took care of me, took care of our son. We had years of what I thought was happiness. A good marriage. A stable home.” You let out a breath. “And then one day, I found out he’d been cheating on me. For years. With like dozens of women.”

You said it plainly, without drama, but Jay could feel how heavy it was when you sighed. The pain that had long since been folded and packed away.

“He was too good, actually. He never failed to show himself being the good husband, the doting dad. Said ‘I love you’ every chance he got, brought me flowers for no reason, took me on dates regularly. He was… I don’t know. Perfect.”

Jay set his glass down. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t speak right away. Just gave you space.

“He used to want to be an actor you know?” you continued, rolling your eyes. “He would’ve been really great at it. He managed to fool me for years that he was a devoted, painfully loyal husband. God, it still annoys me every time I remember how blindsided I had been.”

You looked up at him then, expecting maybe pity in his face. But there was none. Jay reached over and brushed his fingers against yours on the porch swing.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that,” he said.

You chuckled softly. “Don’t be sorry for something you didn’t do.” You rolled your eyes and laughed. “And he was a jerk, alright? But I dropped his ass as soon as I found out. He said he had his reasons, but he was probably just gonna make excuses and pin it on me. For all I know, he was just sorry because I found out.”

Jay smiled proudly. “You did well.”

You shrugged. “I’m just glad that part of my life was over. It was a nightmare. I even had a pregnancy scare last year. We had just moved here, and it had only been like a month since I filed for divorce. Missed a period and genuinely thought I was pregnant again. It would’ve sucked because I'd be forced to stay with him.”

Jay remembered that. It was at his pharmacy that you went to buy a test kit, after all. It was then that he first met you. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since.

Soon the conversation became lighter and the night grew later. At one point, it was time for Jay to go. He had ran out of reasons to stay and he could see you were getting tired and sleepy.

You walked him to his car. “Thanks, Jay.”

Jay blinked. “For what?”

“For being here. For…” you shrugged. “Everything.”

“Don’t mention it. Anything to impress someone you like, right?” he said, defusing what would have been a serious conversation. It was not that he didn’t want serious conversations. He was just a little nervous that the grateful look in your eyes would end with you telling him you appreciated him, but couldn’t return his feelings.

Jay wasn’t the type to overthink, but he knew how to manage his expectations

You rolled your eyes and huffed a laugh. “Get out of here before I get sick of that face.”

Jay grinned, shaking his head as he pulled you into a hug. “I don’t think that’s possible. I’m under the impression that you like this face a lot.”

“Dream on, I guess,” you quipped.

He didn’t kiss you, though he wanted to. When he pulled away, he kept his hands in his pockets, nodded, and said, “Good night.”

“Good night, Jay.”

Jay didn’t hang out with his friends much. It was mainly because they lived halfway across the country or were too busy with adulthood to make time for old friends. It wasn’t really a big deal. They kept in touch, met at least once a year, and reached out to each other when needed. Jay liked his low-maintenance friends.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was the opposite. He always checked in on them, always the one who made plans to meet, always the main reason the friend group was even alive. And naturally, since Jay and he were practically neighbors, Sunghoon always made sure they saw each other at least twice a week.

“What’s the score?”

“97 and 80. Your team’s toast,” Jay replied, leaning back on his couch, eyes fixed on the basketball game they were watching on his TV.

Sunghoon chuckled. “Not the game. I meant with you and the single mom.”

Jay scowled at his friend. “She has a name.”

“Yeah, I know, sorry,” said Sunghoon, hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

Jay didn’t say anything, just grabbed his bottle of beer and took a swig, his frown still in place. Sunghoon watched him for a few seconds before carefully broaching the subject again.

“So?”

Jay sighed. “We’re fine. We’re hanging out, going on dates. Having fun.”

“Is it serious?”

“I don’t know, man,” Jay replied honestly. “I think she likes me too, but I don’t think she’s… fully here. You know, emotionally.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “I mean, can you blame her? She just got divorced, and she has a kid. Getting into another relationship is probably the last thing on her mind right now.”

Jay leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m taking my time.”

Sunghoon shook his head with a grin. “Man, you really have a thing for wounded older women with pretty eyes and emotional baggage, don’t you?”

Jay didn’t flinch. “She’s not broken,” he said, not harshly, just quietly. “She’s doing good and she’s perfect just the way she is.”

Sunghoon blinked. “Damn, bro. You’re down bad.”

The next day, Jay went to pick up his niece at school and say hi to you. He knew he could just text you to say ‘hi’, but nothing beats seeing you in person.

He stood near the fence, waiting for the school bell to ring, when he caught sight of a familiar group gathered near the benches—a circle of moms you were friends with. You were there too, and the sight of you made Jay grin from ear to ear.

Damn. Sunghoon was right. He was down bad for you, and frankly? It was getting a little embarrassing.

Jay shook his head at himself, chiding himself as he approached your circle. He stopped when he heard his name pop up.

“I knew he liked you,” Mila said, chuckling. “What guy would hang out with a bunch of moms for no reason? I mean, it’s not like he could talk to us about homemade croutons or loose baby teeth.”

They laughed while you looked down at your hands with your cheeks burning and a shy but unmistakable smile on your lips.

“He’s so young, though,” another mom commented. “Not that it’s bad. You’re pretty young, yourself.”

One mom snickered playfully. “Does it matter? Jay doesn’t seem to mind the gap at all. And, honey, let me tell you about them young men—”

“Oh my, God. Stop!” another mom chided, discouraging the subject when she noticed Jay approaching.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks but keep smiling as your mom friends quickly scattered, shooting you quick knowing looks as Jay came closer.

“Hey,” Jay said, smiling as if he didn’t just catch them gossiping.

You tried your best to smile normally. “Hey.”

“Am I wrong to think I’m pretty famous among your mom friends?”

You laughed, tilting your head. “Don’t let it get to your head. Moms have short attention spans.”

“Really?” he asked, genuinely curious. That made you laugh again.

“Of course, not.”

Jay grinned, then reached for the sleeve of your jacket, brushing some lint off it absently.

You gave him a look. “See that? That’s why you’re the subject of moms’ gossip.”

Jay rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and he didn’t let go of your sleeve right away. Not long after, your son came running out of the gate, and you welcomed him with a big hug and a peck on his forehead.

“How was your day?”

“Amazing! The teacher brought a volcano into class today!”

Your eyes glimmered as you smiled. “Oh, that is amazing. How did she do that?”

Jay was watching fondly when he heard his niece call out to him. He glanced at the gates, waving a hand and beckoning the child over. You exchanged pleasantries and a quick chat before Jay offered to walk you to your car.

“See you, Monday, big guy,” Jay said to your son, giving him a high-five before turning to you with a smile. “See you, pretty.”

You scoffed, trying to downplay how it made your stomach flutter. “See you around, Jay.”

Jay gave one last wave before stepping back from the car, watching you turn your engine on and start to drive. But you didn’t leave right away, instead, you rolled your window down and called him over again.

“What’s up?” he asked.

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, but Jay caught the way you swallowed nervously as you tucked your hair behind your ear. “Do you wanna… come over Friday night?”

Jay blinked. Did he hear that right?

“My son’s got a sleepover with a couple of his friends. I’ll be at home, making dinner. I was wondering if you’d like to join me.”

Jay’s heart did this little flip in his chest. This was something entirely new to him. You’d never made a move on him before, never made plans first. Now you’re inviting him over for dinner?

“Like a date?”

For a second, something flashed in your eyes that made Jay think you were about to take it back. But you didn’t. You just looked away, scowling like this was hard for you to say.

“Yes,” you said begrudgingly. “Like a date.”

Jay tilted his head, grinning mischievously. “Why are you saying it like you don’t mean it?”

“Forget it,” you grumbled, rolling your windows up.

“No, no, wait!” Jay tapped on your window just before it completely closed. “Yes. I’ll go. I’d love that. I’ll even wear a tie.”

You rolled your windows back down, glaring at him but unable to control your smile. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Yeah? Well,” he said, shrugging. “You’re cute when you get all shy like that.

You leaned your head on the backrest and sighed. “Go away before I change my mind.”

Jay was quick to move away from your car. “Yes, ma’am.”

You grabbed the steering wheel, glancing at him again and saying, “I’ll text you.”

“Looking forward to it!”

You nodded, cheeks still blushing, and you went your separate ways. Jay walked to his car with his chest a little lighter, already thinking about what Friday night might mean.

Jay showed up at your door at seven that Friday night. On the dot, not even a minute late.

No tie, but he wore a navy blue coat over a crisp, white button-down. His hair was styled, not too polished, but enough to show he’d put in effort. He had wine in one hand and a smug little grin.

“Wow,” you said, leaning on the doorframe. “Didn’t I say I was making dinner?”

“You did,” he replied, stepping inside as you held the door open. “And I put on a jacket for it. I’d feel severely overdressed if you’re feeding me grilled cheese.”

You laughed, closing the door behind him. “About that…”

Jay turned to look at you, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

You took a deep breath and said, “I thought about it and realized—I’ve never actually tasted your cooking. You talk a lot about it, but I have zero proof you’re not just making things up.”

He stared at you for a few seconds, recognizing the mischief in your smile and the twinkle in your eyes. “But this is Prada,” he quipped, pointing to his coat.

You clasped your hands together and let out an exaggerated gasp. “Really? So was my lip balm! Come on!”

Jay dropped his head back as you grabbed his hand and led him into your brightly lit kitchen. “How good can you make steak?”

“Good?” he smirked. “I make the most amazing steak and not break a sweat.”

“Uh-huh. Impressive,” you deadpanned, stopping in front of the countertop where ingredients were waiting for Jay.

He gave the countertop one sweeping gaze before sighing and shrugging off his coat. You offered to put it away, and he watched you cross the hall with grace, disappearing into the living room as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

By the time you returned, he already had an apron in hand.

“You conned me,” he said, slipping it on. “But I’m gonna let it slide because I don’t play when it comes to my cooking.”

You giggled, grabbing your own apron. Jay stepped behind you, wordlessly taking the ribbons from your hands. His fingers brushed your waist, then lingered for a moment as he tied the knot. You gathered your hair, and he caught the faint scent of your perfume—soft, floral, familiar. The curve of your neck made his mouth go dry, and suddenly, he was nervous about the fact that there was only you and him in this house right now.

He cleared his throat, a half-smile forming. When he was done, he placed both hands lightly on your shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You glanced back at him, surprised but not displeased.

He held your gaze, smiling. “And also because you look amazing tonight.”

You rolled your eyes at his compliment but couldn’t help smiling. “Flattery’s not gonna get you out of making the steak.”

Jay grinned. “Wasn’t trying to get out of it. Just setting the mood for the night.”

Jay got to work, moving around your kitchen like it was second nature. You handed him utensils when he asked, refilled his glass without being prompted, and watched as he expertly diced garlic, tossed ingredients into a pan, and swirled them with a flick of his wrist. He tasted the sauce, frowned, added a splash of something, tasted it again, then smiled in satisfaction.

“You always this smug when you cook?”

“I’m not smug. I’m confident,” he said, smirking shamelessly. “Cooking’s my therapy. And it’s also how I assert dominance.”

You snorted. “Oh, wow. Color me impressed,” you said sarcastically.

At one point, you tried to reach for the tongs while he was sautéing garlic for the butter. Jay swatted your hand away gently, not even looking up. “You said you wanted to try my cooking, not ruin it.”

You gaped at him, laughing. “Wow. You’re so lucky I like you.”

He finally glanced over with a boyish smirk. “You like me?”

You pretended to groan. “Not for much longer.”

“Too late. I’m about to steal your heart with the best damn steak you’ve had in your life. You’ll be in too deep to back out.”

You leaned against the counter, chin resting in your palm as you watched him melt butter and swirl in the garlic, rosemary, and thyme. The sizzle filled the kitchen, along with the warm scent of herbs and richness. It smelled like something out of a cozy restaurant.

Jay caught your expression and smirked. “See? I told you.”

You chuckled. “Are you cooking to make food or to impress me?”

“How about both?”

It was true. Jay was thriving under the praise. Every time you made a noise of appreciation or leaned in to ask, “What is that you’re adding?”, he lit up just a little more. The more you complimented him, the more he showed off. He angled the skillet toward you to let you smell the browning butter, showed you the trick to checking the steak’s doneness with the press of a finger, and even flicked a bit of salt at you just to make you laugh.

It worked.

Dinner didn’t drag. In fact, it barely felt like a full meal had passed. You ate at the kitchen island with your stools pulled close, sharing bites off each other’s plates and laughing through most of it, especially when you dramatically insisted on plating the sides like a five-star chef and then immediately spilled the garnish. He kept joking that he was gonna post a review.

By the time you made it to the couch, the plates were in the sink and the lights were dimmed, leaving only the soft, amber glow of a lamp nearby.

Jay sank into the cushions first, two fresh glasses of wine in hand, his shirt now a little rumpled from cooking—and two buttons undone at the top. You probably didn’t even notice when that happened. Or maybe you did and just pretended not to.

You curled up next to him, barefoot now, wine in hand. Your legs folded beneath you, your head eventually resting on his shoulder as the minutes passed and the buzz in your veins mellowed everything out.

“This is nice,” you murmured, fingertips brushing the hem of his sleeve.

Jay glanced down, amused. “The wine or the company?”

You let out a small laugh. “The wine’s good.”

“Well, I brought it, so I’ll take that as a win.”

You nudged your shoulder into his chest, but you were smiling. “You know I mean both.”

He hummed, satisfied, his arm settling comfortably around you. It was warm there, the kind of warmth that made it feel like the night could stretch on forever. You stayed quiet for a bit, your head nestled against his chest, right where you could feel the subtle beat of his heart. It was steady. Comfortable.

You talked about nothing for a while. Your son’s latest obsession with volcanoes. Jay’s niece and her newfound fear of ladybugs. The way old friends would drop off the radar then suddenly reappear with three kids and a golden retriever. All random stuff. Comfortable stuff.

You were warm and laughing. He liked hearing you laugh like that, relaxed and unguarded, a little sleepy from food and wine.

But then the mood shifted just slightly. There was a pause, a second longer than usual, and then you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Jay?”

Jay glanced down to meet your eyes. “Yeah?”

“Why do you like me?” You asked it softly, almost like you regretted it the second the words came out.

“I mean—really. I’m divorced. I’ve got a kid. I’m older than you. Not by a lot, but enough. Meanwhile, you’re…” You gestured vaguely at him. “You’re you. Handsome and young and sweet and patient. You could be with anyone.”

You looked down at your wine glass, twisting it slightly in your hand, like you were bracing for some kind of gently-worded pity.

But all he said was, “I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

You looked back at him, searching his face for more.

Jay sat up a little, just enough so he could look at you properly. “I don’t need some checklist version of perfect,” he said gently. “I don’t even know what a perfect woman is. I just know I like you.”

He reached out and took the wine glass from your hands, setting it aside on the coffee table. Then he cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb across your skin. “You’re smart. You’re funny when you’re not trying to be. You make me nervous sometimes, in the best way. And watching you with your kid? That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at him, like maybe you weren’t used to hearing things that simple and kind without a catch. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Jay leaned in and kissed your forehead. “So don’t talk about yourself like you’re anything less than that.”

You exhaled, then you nodded, pressing your face back into his chest like you didn’t want him to see the look on your face. He held you a little closer, resting his cheek against the top of your head, and you stayed there like that.

“I think this is the part where I tell you that I like you too,” you said softly, but Jay heard every single word.

He glanced down at you and you looked up at him with a shy smile. You stared at each other for a while, then he leaned in slowly, giving you every second to pull away. But you didn’t. You tilted your face up to meet his, and your lips touched his with a softness that almost knocked the breath out of him.

When he pulled away, you reached up to cup his face. Jay kissed you again, this time longer. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing behind your ear as he deepened it. When he felt your fingers slide over the open buttons of his shirt, resting on the warm skin underneath, he exhaled a shaky breath against your mouth.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded and that made him smile before he caught your mouth in another kiss. His hands roamed up your sides, under your shirt, across skin he’d only brushed in passing before. You were warm and soft beneath him, sighing against his mouth as he slipped his tongue between your lips, coaxing yours into something wetter, deeper, and hungrier.

Your dress came off in the blur between one kiss and the next, and then he was kissing down your neck, sucking gently at the base of your throat, hands on your breasts like he’d been dying to touch you. You gasped when his thumbs brushed over your nipples, hips instinctively bucking forward against him.

“Still with me?” he rasped.

You nodded. “Don’t stop.”

He slipped his hand into your shorts, fingers finding you slick and ready, and the way you moaned needily when he pressed went straight to his spine. He worked you slowly, mouth never leaving your skin. He kept his free hand on your hip as you parted your thighs for him. And you tried to stay quiet. Biting your lip and holding your breath to stifle your moans. Jay noticed that.

“No one’s home, love,” he whispered against your jaw, in between the small kisses he was planting on your skin. “You don’t have to hold it in.”

For you, that was persuasive enough. You cried out softly when he slid two fingers inside you. Your head fell back against the couch, lips parted, pussy pulsing around his fingers as he coaxed you closer into an orgasm.

His mouth around your nipple was making you lose your mind and it wasn’t long before you trembled underneath her and came with a sharp gasp.

Jay kissed you through it, slowly and tenderly. You snaked your hand under his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one. And when Jay pulled away for a second to tug it off, you placed a hand on his chest to stop him from kissing you again.

“Bedroom,” you said.

That one word was sentence enough for Jay. He rose to his feet, lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing and walked briskly toward the staircases. You pointed to your bedroom and he made it there in a flash. He laid you down like he was handling something precious, but the look in his eyes was anything but patient.

“Can you believe this is happening?” he asked, tucking a few strands of hair behind your eyes.

You didn’t say anything. You just opened your legs for him without shame, without hesitation. Jay got rid of the last articles of clothing he had on and jumped into bed. Then he slid inside you slow, eyes locked on your as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and your thighs around his hips.

You clenched around him with a soft cry—and Jay had to bury his face in your neck just to keep himself together. You were warm, tight, perfect around him, and he moved in a rhythm that was more reverent than rough, more worship than want.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel so good.”

You moaned softly, fingers digging into his back. “Keep going, Jay.”

That broke something in him—self restraint. He moved faster and steadier, hips slamming against yours delightfully. You clung to him, gasping his name as he fucked you deep and steady, pace growing rougher with each thrust, like weeks of tension were pouring out of him all at once.

You didn’t bother holding back. You cried out, loud and shameless, each sound feeding the fire between you. He kissed you again, swallowing your moans, one hand gripping your thigh, the other tangled in your hair.

“Oh, fuck, I needed this,” he whispered, panting against your lips as he continued his relentless thrusts.

“Oh, Jay.”

You came first—hard and fast, legs tightening around his waist as your cunt clenched tight around him, making him cum too. His hips stuttered, and he spilled inside you with a guttural moan, burying his face in you neck as you both lost your mind in the titillating euphoria brought about by the passion between you.

After a long moment, Jay fell onto the bed beside you, then pulled you closer to himi. Your head rested on his chest.

“Was that supposed to happen?” he asked, his voice still a little raspy.

“Absolutely not,” you chuckled, wrapping an arm around his torso. “Not without a condom, anyway.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

You shrugged. “It’s fine, I guess. I’m on birth control.”

Jay let out a quiet laugh. “Right. You picked them up regularly at the pharmacy.”

You pulled away just enough to glare at him. “Okay, I’m switching to another drugstore. Having you keep track of things like that is a little creepy.”

Jay smirked and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re only complaining about it now? Really? Right when I’ve seen everything there is to see?”

You slapped his chest, but didn’t argue. He hugged you tighter and you stayed like that for a few minutes more before you sat up with a sigh. Jaay propped himself up on his elbow, watching you blink sleepily.

“Bathroom?” he asked and you nodded.

He sat up on the bed and moved to press a kiss on your forehead before gently tugging you out of the bedroom.

The sound of water filled the bathroom as Jay adjusted the temperature in the tub. You were already curled in the basin, knees folded to your chest, chin resting on them while warm water wrapped around your skin. He climbed in behind you and pulled you between his legs, arms wrapping around your waist.

“Too hot?” he murmured near your ear.

You shook your head and let your body relax into him. The heat, the scent of your soap, the feel of his chest behind your back, all of it made you feel like you were floating.

He pressed a soft kiss to your damp shoulder. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About us? I keep thinking about my boy. What am I gonna tell him?”

Jay was quiet for a second. Then he said, “You tell him whatever you’re ready to tell him. I’ll follow your lead.”

You rested your head against his collarbone, comforted by how safe it felt. “Don’t follow my lead. I’m not good at this. I haven’t done this before. Dating as a single mom.”

“I know,” he said softly, chuckling. “But you’re forgetting that I haven’t done this before either.”

“Really?” you teased, glancing back at him. “Good to know. I had my suspicions that you liked older single moms.”

Jay laughed, and you felt the vibration of it through his chest. “Where did that even come from?”

You didn’t say anything, just giggled and shrugged. Then you turned your hand palm-up in the water, and Jay’s fingers intertwined with yours like they belonged there. You squeezed once, and he squeezed back.

“I’m not in a rush,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t worry about me.”

You nodded, comforted by his understanding. After a while, Jay chuckled. “Can’t believe I dressed up for dinner just to end up cooking and sitting naked in a bathtub.”

You snorted. “Feel free to leave if you hate it.”

He grinned into your shoulder. “Be honest. You conned me into cooking and sleeping with you, didn’t you?”

“In your dreams, Jay,” you scoffed, trying to shrug him off. He didn’t budge.

“It’s okay, love. I like it. You can con me every day, I won’t complain,” he said, smug.

“Oh, shut up!” you chided, recoiling when his chin tickled your neck.

He didn’t know what the next day would bring—or the next week, or month. But for the first time in a long time, Jay had something he wanted to hold on to. Something he wanted to last.

You.

[fin]

789 notes · View notes

torpublishinggroup · 1 year ago

Text

Celebrate Pride with Tor Publishing Group!

Bury Your Gays by @drchucktingle

After so many years, Misha’s big Oscar moment is here. All he has to do? Kill off the gay characters in his long-running streaming series, “for the algorithm.” Misha refuses, but that’s hardly the end, because monsters from his old horror movie days have begun to step out from the silver screen and stalk him.

Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin

Something evil is buried deep in the desert. It wants your body and wears your skin. Welcome to Camp Resolution, a queer conversion center where everyone leaves a different person. In 1995, seven queer teens were abandoned here by their parents, but survived. Sixteen years later, they’re scarred and broken, but back to face an evil that threatens the world.

#nightfire #tor nightfire #horror #horror books #lgbtqia+#gay books #tbr #chuck tingle #bury your gays #cuckoo #gretchen felker-martin

1K notes · View notes

pseudowho · 1 year ago

Text

Daylight Robbery

Gojo Satoru likes when other men stare at what they can't have...but maybe he's underestimated Nanami Kento.

Warnings: 18+, cucking, I actually like Gojo so please don't misunderstand me 👀

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

When a cuckoo visits a nest, he brings a most precious treasure, places it amongst others like it (but not exactly like it), and leaves.

And this is, of course, the most crucial point; for he does leave, and takes nothing with him.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Oi! Nanamin. I've got a favour to ask."

Nanami Kento stood, abruptly, looking at his watch and flapping his newspaper shut-- "My, my. Just look at the time."

"Don't be that way-- Nanamin, come back-- it's about my girl."

Nanami stopped, his hand upon the door handle. Gojo's smirk grew fast, grinning wolfishly, a squirm of possessive pleasure unfurling in his belly and his cock.

"Thought that might stop you...yeah, I've seen you looking. Can't have her though, right? My girl."

Of course, he had looked, at first, Nanami thought, his fingers on the handle. He had looked upon you, in all of your finery-- those glittering smiles, the rubies upon your lips, the marble-carved touches, so deliberately and exquisitely formed. Only after your heart and the life of you, had granted you animation, had Nanami then watched, now art in motion, art with a story.

"You can have her. If you want."

Nanami maintained his composure. Barely. He turned to face Gojo, stern and impassive.

"For one night, and one night only."

Ah. I see. You would like that, wouldn't you.

"And I get to watch. What do you say?"

A dozen questions flew through Nanami's mind, and none of them for Gojo. Nanami's cock twitched now, despite himself, calculating on bated breath.

"Sure. I'd like that. Tonight? Tell her to wear something...comfortable."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You'd only have said yes to Satoru, for the other guy to be him.

As he stepped into Satoru's bedroom, gracing you with a gentle, reassuring smile, you softened, feeling so exposed and foolish in your lingerie. You glanced over at Satoru, barely lit in the dark, fingers on his temples with one pinched between his teeth, the other hand grazing lightly over his already hardening cock.

Nanami stepped over to you, sat on the bed and looking up at him with the tiniest glint of fear. His hand reached out, strong and soft, and cupped your jaw, brushing a thumb over your lips.

"I thought I said something comfortable," he chided without malice. Your lips parted just-so under his thumb, the briefest flick of your eyes towards Satoru, a half-hearted shrug and an awkward smile. Nanami snorted, derisive.

"I understand you," he purred, leaning down to you, both hands cupping your face as he whispered against your ear, "remember...you're in charge, darling, and I am entirely at your disposal."

"Nanami...I-- I don't know...where to start." Kento hummed, nodding, his thumb moving to stroke your cheek. Despite his outward self-control, your face was directly in front of his groin, and you could see a bulge, huge and heavy, under his tan trousers.

"Kento," he insisted, "please. After all...if I treat you as well as you deserve...it's my name you'll be crying out tonight. Not your boyfriend's."

Satoru shuddered in the chair in the corner, smirking, a hushed clink as he undid his belt, reaching down to hook his long, pale, pink-tipped cock free of its restraints. His hand reached down to cup his balls, rolling and fondling them in his palm, until beads of pre-cum began to dribble onto the neat white hair leading down his belly.

"F-Fiancé," you corrected, captivated as Kento's arms moved to bracket you, nosing at your neck, the shell of your ear, hips nudging you up the bed until you settled, feather-light, on sinking pillows. Kento huffed lightly.

"Yes. My apologies. Your fiancé." You were splayed beneath him, helpless as a kitten. Satoru was tall, and big, but...nothing like this bronze Adonis above you. Broad and mountainous, Kento's shoulders rolled, his breathing getting heavier, whiskey-brown eyes drunk on you. It was just he and you in the room, you were sure. And you felt so...safe.

"Well, then," Kento hummed, one hand reaching under your back to unclasp your bra, deft and dexterous, "I'm going to treat you like it's your very first time. Please, tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't." You urged, swallowing a sigh of relief as your corseting bra unclasped, "Don't stop," and Kento's eyes smiled at you.

"Is that better?" He whispered, kissing your forehead with such tenderness, you could have wept. Kento felt the way you pressed up against him, thrilled, roiling with such righteous rage at your misuse.

If Satoru had not been so captivated by the way Kento trembled with restraint above you, at the way your nipples pebbled as your bra was pulled softly from your body, he would have felt the fine thread of uncertainty that ran through him, as Kento treated you like spun sugar.

Used to dulling himself, Satoru gripped his cock, sighing and cursing as he stroked himself slowly, reaching to the table beside him to grab a bottle of lube, pumping it over his twitching cockhead.

Hearing the little wet sucks of Satoru's hand, masturbating himself with practiced strokes, your head tipped to watch him, teeth gritted and hungry as he watched you graze your hands over Kento's thick, corded biceps.

"Get on with it, Nanami," Satoru sniped, "or do you not know what you're doing with a girl like her? Scared I've ruined her for you?"

You blushed, moving an arm up to cover your face, as Satoru teased you both. Kento shushed you, removing your arm, pressing a kiss to your inner wrist before plaiting his fingers with yours, calm, confident and ungoadable.

"She's a rare gem, it's true," Kento answered, more to you than to Satoru, "and certainly not one that could be ruined by something so...insignificant." You felt a hot appreciative surge in your belly, so overwhelmed by the want in Kento's eyes, by his advocacy of you. His thumb was brushing over your lip again, eyes flicking between your mouth, and looking deeply into the heart of you.

"I'd kiss you," Kento whispered, "but only if you wanted me t--"

All at once, you grabbed Kento by the tie, pressing your lips to his, your first drink after a month of summer, tangling your fingers into his blond hair. Kento grunted against your mouth, pressing his body down onto yours, letting you lead the kiss, but guiding you into unexplored waters. You waded through them, calm, exotic and unfamiliar.

Kento kissed you with all the warmth and precision he had promised. Each time you tried to push the kiss further, he held you warmly back, controlling your desperate haste for your own sake. He pulled away from your mouth, a fine string of spit connecting you, and you seared at his refusal to use you, your breasts untouched, pussy untouched, so virtuous. Kento's mouth sucked at your neck, leaving his mark, subtle and inconspicuous, as he spoke to you.

"Would you like to undress me?" He offered, your hand still clutching his tie. You felt like you'd been given a gift to unwrap.

"Yes," you pleaded, body thrumming with the need for his skin on yours, "god yes, I--I'd love it. I love--...yes. Please."

"Good girl."

Kento continued to lap at your skin, his hands now ghosting over your hips, the soft plush of your belly, the dimpling in your thighs. Your hands shook, never thinking for a second that you could be edged by something as simple as removing Kento's tie, unbuttoning his shirt; simplicity made erotic. By the time you had pushed his shirt off his shoulders, caught on his brown leather harness, your irritatingly stringy underwear felt tight, wet and clingy with your own arousal.

"How wet are you, baby? D'you think he can fuck you as well as me, hmm?" You jumped at Satoru's voice from the corner. Hesitating to answer, unsure if Satoru would like what he heard, you chose silence, whimpering softly as Kento's tongue moved over your breasts, achingly close to your sensitive peaks. Satoru's breathing came ragged, watching another man devour you, just so he could wrench you away after...his hand gripped the base of his cock, twitching and wet, gasping with the effort to not spend himself all over his belly.

Your fingertips ghosted over Kento's harness, thoughtful. Just as Kento was about to graze his lips over your plump nipple, he stopped.

"You like it? My harness?" He chuckled, his hand rising to brush over yours, still fingering the brown leather. You bit your lip, nodding. Kento understood fully; in moments, he had stripped his shirt, replacing the harness only. You almost melted at the sight of him above you, buckling the harness over the front of his pecs, his own nipples being grazed by the tight leather press.

Kento watched you shudder, taking your hand, stroking it over the leather, down his belly towards his belt, feeling the veins of his V-line tracking down to his cock. Your mouth watered, and Kento shivered as your fingers tickled just beneath his belt.

Not breaking eye contact, Kento lowered his mouth back to your breasts, resuming as he pulled your nipple into his mouth, moaning around you at the sweet yielding softness. His tongue traced you so gently-- too gently, for the relief you needed.

"Harder-- please, Ken..." Kento acquiesced, ever your servant, as he drew your nipple deeply, the pleasure tangy and sharp as your nipple grazed the roof of his mouth, his thick fingers kneading and rolling your other breast. Your hips bucked up against nothing, and you whimpered in despair, no longer used to such ceaselessly tender foreplay. Your hands tangled in his hair, trying to push his head down your body, and Kento mumbled, voice husky and rumbling against your spit-wet nipple.

"Where do you want my mouth?" Before you could answer, Satoru interrupted, his voice low and feverish, working at his balls again with one lube-wet hand, flicking at his own nipples beneath his white undershirt.

"Eat her out, Nanamin. I want to see how fast you can make her cum...or, if you even can." Kento smiled at you again, soft, not rising to the taunts, casting an embargo on the forced air of toxic masculine competition.

"Let me know...if it's too much," Kento offered, his mouth kissing down your belly. As he reached your underwear, all silky straps and ties, Kento paused, tongue grazing just above them.

"Do you like these?" He asked, sincere. You bit your lip, mortified at having been read like a book.

"No," you whispered into the back of your hand, too quiet for Satoru to hear, "not really."

Kento hummed. His strong hands gripped your underwear, snapping one side at a time. Satoru groaned at Kento's fractured restraint, his thighs and back prickling with the edge of his orgasm; "Oh fuck, baby...you see how bad he wants you? Shit. Gonna look so beautiful with his cock inside you...get on with it, Nanamin."

Kento knelt above you, removing the scrap of your underwear, tossing it aside to his shirt. He looked down at you in reverence, his fingertips grazing past the puffy lips of your pussy, to dip his fingers into your wetness, lubricating himself with you. As Kento brought two fingers back up to gently pinch your clit, rolling it between them, he sighed, whispering again at your mewls and cries.

"Beautiful...gorgeous. You take as long as you need."

Kento undid his belt, chest straining against his harness, abs and pecs twitching as he fingered you with devastating expertise. He had imagined you like this so many times, mathematic in his fantasies, calculating how he would orchestrate your divine undoing. His free hand undid his belt, lowering himself to his belly as he rucked off his trousers, boxers and socks, his desperately aching cock now sandwiched between his abs and the bedsheets.

When Kento removed his fingers from your clit, you shot up on your elbows to look down at him with a cry of remand. Your breath caught at Kento gazing at your slick on his fingers, dipping them into his mouth, long pink tongue licking them clean and shivering at your taste.

Satoru's head pressed back against the chair, arching into his hand with a breathless laugh; "Doesn't she taste good, Nanamin? Don't worry...I'll finish her off, if you can't get her there." Satoru didn't know how much longer he could keep going, his cockhead a deep, angry pink, balls tight and full from almost spilling into his hand so many times, determined to outlast Kento. The thrill of the chase consumed him in holy fire.

Kento's eyes twinkled at you, unflappable, chuckling at how you bit your lip down at him, embarrassed by him tasting you with such enthusiasm. He chuckled as you covered your eyes again, nuzzling your inner thigh as you giggled, sharing a moment of companionable silliness. Kento broke it swiftly, dragging you out of your wall-breaking moment, by nuzzling his nose between your folds, and you gasped, moaning, high and long.

Kento had built you up with such precision, that by the time the tip of his tongue slid between your folds, flicking from side to side to part them and lay claim to your neglected bud, you came with a jolted cry, one hand clutching the pillow behind your head, the other entwined in his hair, pressing his face down into your bucking sex.

"--oh fuck-- shit, baby, are you serious? For Nanamin, huh? Fff--fuck-- so fucking beautiful." Satoru was shaking now, competitive bile rising in his throat, sorely tempted to throw Kento off of you, jealously coveting you in a way he hadn't earlier.

Satoru yanked his balls away from the base of his cock with a stilted growl, gripping himself, staving his orgasm away. He wouldn't waste a single drop of his seed until he could throw Kento out, and show you how a real man could fuck you. Kento knew the rules; he could not stay after to watch, and he could not spend his seed inside you. That privilege was Satoru's alone. Satoru ripped his blindfold off with a hiss, tossing it aside, staring into you and Kento and seeing you both in his own unique completion.

Kento wrapped his forearms around you, looped over the top of your thighs, licking you softly down from one orgasm, nuzzling you until you trembled, before lapping you back into his lips, and beginning to build you again, delicate, piece by piece.

"Kentooo-ooooo...aaahhhhh--put your--put your tongue in me-- please please pleas--"

Satoru almost ejaculated untouched, hearing you beg and twist under Kento's hungry tongue. He could see Kento's euphoria from your taste and twitches beneath his tongue. He could see the way Kento subtly fucked himself against the sheets, denying himself, and looking so cool about it, but still undeniably just a man.

"Shit-- baby-- see the way Nanamin's fucking our bed, huh?...fuck, why wouldn't he-- taste so fucking good, should we even let him fuck you, hmm?"

As lights and stars fell in your vision, rutting your clit against Kento's nose, his tongue licking as deeply as he could penetrate inside your cunt, you wondered faintly, that Kento was not fucking you, but making love to you instead. You felt wholly possessed, worshipped.

With Kento at your altar, you revelled, divine and cumming over, and over, and over, lost in some blissful fever-dream. Time lost meaning as he made you fluid beneath him.

Satoru moved to stand, and, still with his face between your legs, guiding you down from another orgasm, Kento raised one impeding just-a-moment finger to Satoru. Satoru's breaths were ragged, and he released his grip on the arm of the chair, moaning weak little moans as his aching cock sat, sore and in desperate need of something softer than his own hand.

Kento kissed his way back up to your mouth, face cupped, swiping the tears from your lashes with his thumbs.

"What do you think?" He whispered, teeth nipping at your tilted throat as you panted and shivered beneath his touch, "Can I give you what you want, goddess?" You nodded, short and incoordinate, and Kento could have burst with covetous pride to feel you hook your legs up and around his back, urging him, inviting him in.

Kento growled, feeling his leaking tip ghost the puffy tight wetness of your entrance. His breath caught in his chest, pins and needles all over his hips and cock as he bit back his orgasm, his brain fighting him with the image of you with his seed dripping all over your folds.

"Like it's your first time," Kento repeated, dipping his thumb over your tongue, groaning in approval as you sucked it, doe-eyed and supple and desperate to taste him, "I'll be gentle...I promise." You shivered, born anew as he began to press his cockhead inside you, both of you balanced on a knife's edge.

Satoru could have wept; your insistence on Kento taking you in missionary, of all positions, shielded you from his view, Kento's cock about to penetrate you behind the plush of your thighs.

"Stop," Satoru ordered, voice rasping, dry, clipped, "I'm here to watch, and you're here to do as you're fucking told, Nanami."

Nanami caught how your face twisted in frustration, anger at having been interrupted. He rose one hand to plait with yours again, licking your jaw as he stroked his cockhead between your folds, teasing your clit, shivering as he slyly encouraged you to give him a pussyjob. You mewled, feeling a hot dribble of pre-cum over your clit, dripping down towards your entrance.

"I only follow one person's orders here, Gojo," Kento rumbled, pressing his slit over your hard little bud, wiggling them together with a hiss so your most sensitive spots slipped together as puzzle pieces for a moment. You felt yourself, shaking like a leaf, feeling such copious amounts of Kento's arousal seep out around the seal his slit had made over your bud. You felt dizzy, clutching Kento's beautiful, clenching arms.

The centre of your world focused so entirely on Kento, you had placed yourself into the palm of his hand, aching for him to control you in a way that was so thoroughly in defence of you.

"Besides," Kento said, pressing his cock deeper now, husky as he felt your tight, gummy walls suck him in, "you should watch her face instead of her pussy...it's the best part."

Satoru whimpered, moaning as he fucked up into his own fist, lube splattered onto his groin, white hair wet with fluids; all for the look on your face as Kento bottomed out, thick and long and filling you with his oozing perfection. Your jaw fell slack, eyes dewy as you drank in Kento's muscular form, still bound by his brown harness. You sobbed with relief at the blissful stretch of his cock within you.

"So good...not too big for you, sweetheart? So brave...move yourself around my cock when you're ready."

You gripped Kento close, your arm round his chest and gripping his harness from the back, face buried into his chest. Your sob of relief at having been filled, threatened to grow into full tears at the exquisite beauty of being possessed with no selfishness. Kento felt you, one enormous hand tangled in the back of your head, the other leaning above you, intertwined with your free hand.

Kento was stock still, mumbling into your hair, kissing your ear, as you rolled your hips upwards, sweeping your slick pussy up and down his length, fucking him as he caged you in. Kento cursed, sweating and groaning, the leather of his harness creaking as his chest strained against it. His brow furrowed, and he cupped your hip in one hand, guiding you to keep sliding your pussy around his throbbing cock, rutting deeply down into you to meet your thrusts.

Hearing your gorgeous little mewls at Kento's blunt cockhead kissing your cervix was Satoru's last straw. His hand stuttered around his cock as he threw his head back, his orgasm hurtling over him with force.

"--agghh shit-- no more, I can't-- fuck you Nanami, you piece of--piece of shit--" Satoru's seed spattered over his belly, dripping down his hand, cock and balls as he groaned, interrupted by breathless, fractured gasps. He watched Kento's hips pick up pace, and watched as you pressed your forehead to his, all honey-rich and sweat as you panted into each other.

Kento couldn't have cared less about Satoru's jealous spitting, for he was wholly possessed by a primal urge to take you, and make you his. He kissed into your belly with his cock, gasping, feeling your walls clench around him, milking so much pre-cum from him that he shook, hot and thirsty, grunting against your clamouring lips.

Kento locked your ankles behind the small of his back, tipping your hips back into a press, pushing you past your pussy's limit to take any more of him. He rutted into you hard, barely pulling back, bullying your spongy walls with savage attentions, fully feral.

"--come on, girl--such a good girl, gonna--ahhh fuck gonna--hold--hold onto me--"

Taking full advantage of Satoru's dopey post-orgasm laxness, Kento pushed himself past the point of no return, loving you greedily and with no intention to share. Kento felt his balls tighten up, his seed loaded and ready to spill.

Satoru realised a moment too late; "--Nanami--pull out--don't you fucking dare--"

Kento came with a bark, feeling his cum start to pulse into you in long, thick spurts. Satoru darted forwards, still messy with his own cum, still half-dazed. Kento slung out an arm, his fingers fixing round Satoru's throat as he grunted, deep husky moans as he continued to spurt inside you, Kento's face the picture of serenity and rage.

Fingers gripped tight around Satoru who stood, teeth bared and considering murder, Kento came down from his high, panting, still rutting lazily into you. You lay, euphoric and full of thick cum, so sticky that it coated your inner walls, clinging to your slick pussy, barely leaking out as Kento pulled out.

"Sorry," Kento huffed, voice uncharacteristically light, "not sure...what came over me. You know what it's like, Gojo."

Kento released Satoru, reaching down to swipe your hair from your eyes, his own amber and affectionate; "Want me to run you a bath?"

You laughed softly, trying to cover your blushes. Satoru gripped Kento by the shoulder, throwing him back. Kento stepped smoothly into it, still looking longingly into you like Satoru was less than the most fleeting of irritations.

"Shut the fuck up, Nanami. Get out."

Satoru climbed over you, pressing you back onto the bed. Feeling his once familiar, adored body and kisses felt so curiously alien. As if you had been overwritten by something so much...more.

Satoru mumbled sweet nothings into your throat, restraining and possessive, as he lined his cock up with your entrance. A core instinctive knowing took control, and you closed your legs with an odd finality.

As Kento did up his last button, you looked to him as his eyes caught yours, fire burning within. He stepped away with a gracious nod, and with the click of the door, your stomach fell.

For Kento had left something behind, blooming within you, and took a part of you with him, pocketing something which you would surely be obliged to follow.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

It took Satoru many years to accept his own mistake. He did not accept it, when you told him you were leaving him. He did not accept it, when Nanami opened his doors to you and your suitcases, in the wee small hours of the night. He did not accept it as he watched you bloom, belly round and full with Nanami's growing seed, Nanami's hand overlaying yours, holding you and your baby. He did not accept it as he saw something between you and Nanami, that he had never felt between himself and you.

His mistake, was that Nanami Kento would not partake in cuckolding.

For Nanami Kento was not a cuckoo at all, but a thief, of the highest calibre.

3K notes · View notes