#As easy as it would be to have them make out here or even go further than that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonriizing · 2 days ago

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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]

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yourstrulynobody · 2 days ago

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"[...]escape EAPS angst[...]" I said in my post earlier, acting like I didnt have the motivation to make a contination of this post because of what Eclipse said to Henry in EAPS newest ep

[FAKE EAPS EP] "RETURNING THE FAVOR in VRChat"

No story for this (discarded), BUT I do have a letter written in Henry's POV to Eclipse under cut :3

(MAY BE OUT OF CHARACTER, SO I DO APOLOGIZE! PLEASE DO CORRECT ME IF IM WRONG. THANK YOU :D)

" To Eclipse,

I doubt you'd ever get this letter knowing what has happened, but I write this in case you ever were to be released from that prison once Ruin completes the cure. Hopefully that would be soon as your kids have been isolating themselves for weeks straight, not even bothering to play with Charlie or FC out of their sadness because of you. You being gone from their life.

( I wonder if this was what Charlie felt when she first became what she is now and I had refused to acknowledge her. Then again, the situations are different. )

Andrew has been acting more mature, same goes to Andy and Jake, and I don't know how to tell them that they don't have to be knowing you want them to be the kids they were again. I know you left letters for them but I can't seem to find a single one yet, but I hope it contains something that tells them they can be kids again even if you are gone.

On the contrary, Charlie and FC made them a plushie of you. FC may or may not have stolen a Sun plushie from a pizzeplex near here for the base... but all that really matters was that 1) he wasn't caught doing it, and 2) it was remade with love and care.

Today was the first time the three have gone out of their shared room, and they all took turns just holding that plushie for a bit. I haven't seen them even let go of that thing even when we ate dinner.

Did you know how much they would miss you, or did you think you didn't make much of an impact to them, Eclipse? Because from what I can see, you meant a lot to them.

Other than that success today, I have began making their bodies. You have nice blueprints, by the way—easy to understand, although your cursive writing made me pause a lot, but I managed either way.

The kids were interested in the thing when night came, so I had to stall for an hour or two just to get all of them to bed. Yours were pretty easy to get to sleep, but Charlie and FC? Not so much, but I managed. (Still, it was hard to. I know how to get Charlie to bed, but I struggled a lot with FC for some odd reason.)

Thank you, again, for putting your trust in me to take care of your kids. I never would've expected it until you said it to me directly. You're a good person, Eclipse, even if you can only view what you see in your shadow—the monster you were then and made to be now.

From your friend, Henry Emily. "

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clockwayswrites · 17 hours ago

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The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 4, Part 3

Masterpost, (pls no editing or concrit. I am still ill, editing is hard)

“Go deep sea fishing, mother fucker!”

Well, that was sure a phrase to wake up to. Danny wasn’t convinced that someone in the room had actually said it. Maybe he was having a lingering dream. The hand in his hair was nice though.

It was nice to be touched.

So many of that Titans were easy with their touch. Kori was constantly hugging people or draping herself over their shoulders. Nightwing was the same, but he’d also just touch people as he passed them, like he was taking count. Gar loved to sit on a couch with people as an animal. Cyborg was big on high-fives and Donna clasps on shoulders. Raven wasn’t a toucher, but somehow Danny knew that she was reaching out to her teammates in her own way. He wondered how Wally would be, once he was back. He looked like a hugger.

Danny’s pillow shook with laughter. Not wanting to actually be awake yet, Danny turned his face further towards the darkness with a little mumble of noise. The hand scratched satisfyingly against his scalp.

“Is he awake?”

“I don’t really think so,” Danny’s pillow said, “but I think it’s going that way.”

“Good timing, pizza will be here soon!” Another voice chirped.

“You have to make sure he eats.” That was Flash. He could tell by the static hum.

“We will,” the Pillow said. “Gar’s been good about that.”

“Course I have,” replied who must be Gar.

Gar… gar gar gar, gar fish! Beast Boy. Beast Boy had been feeding Danny. His food was pretty good and the vegan stuff was easy on Danny’s stomach. He’d been nauseous on and off since Flash showed up to haunt him.

“Wally,” an accented voice said. Oh, Kori, right. Who was Wally? “It is still your turn.”

“Yeah, but my acting hands are a little busy.” Oh. Oh. Flash was Wally?

Wally.

That fit him, Danny thought. Wally. Cheerful. Also dealing with him has been a real ‘where’s Waldo’ sort of thing. Danny’s own bad joke made him laughter. The snicker was smothered by his pillow.

“Everything good over there, Dick?”

“Probably!” the Pillow said. The Pillow was named Dick?

Danny rolled over enough to peer up at the person he was resting on. It was Nightwing. Or Nightwing without his mask. Unmasked Nightwing was called Dick?

‘Nightwing is a real Dick.’

Really?

“Really?” Danny asked out load. He twisted until he could see Flash. Wally. Whichever. Sure, he as looking at Wally upside down, but he still tried for a scowl. “Really? You secret code to get me into the tower was a joke about his name?”

Wally shrugged. “What? Knowing a hero’s secret identity is a big thing and you didn’t even know you knew. I thought it was pretty prefect, and besides, it worked!”

“I can’t believe you,” Danny said.

“No, this is peak Wally,” Raven interjected dryly. “It’s very much a thing he would do.”

Danny blinked upside down at the rest of the crowd. All of the Titans that had come to support and wait for the Flash were gathered around, sitting on stools and pillows in a semi circle around several pile of cards.

“Are those Uno cards? Aren’t you playing Go Fish?”

“Super Mega Ultra Go Fish!” Gar said, complete with jazz hands.

“Right, what is—no, wait!” Danny spread an arm out, stopping himself. He slipped a little, though Nightwing made sure he didn’t fall, bless him. “Knowing a hero’s secret identity is a big deal! Why are all of you using real names?”

Nightwing—Dick—shrugged and Danny shifted with the motion. “Because we trust you and wearing a mask all the time sucks.”

Danny blinked up at him. “What?”

“You were a hero too, Raven likes your vibe, you nearly killed yourself to help Wally, and you’re kind,” Dick said like that explained it. “We trust you.”

“Oh. Okay?” Danny still didn’t get it, but what else was there to say? “Now what the fuck is Super Mega Ultra Go Fish?”

“You have to do the jazz hands,” Raven said.

With her usual deadpan tone, Danny didn’t know if she was joking or not.

He did the jazz hands anyways.

“Super Mega Ultra Go Fish—” Gar did Jazz hands “—is the Titan’s special version of Go Fish. It’s been developed over many years of friendly games, brutal arguments, post battle insomnia, and one very boring abduction by aliens. We add a new word each time it goes through a major shift, so this is version four!”

“Right,” Danny said, drawing the word out. “And there are Uno cards?”

“And flash cards!”

“Trivial pursuit cards if you’re unlucky.”

“Candy Land—”

“That explains the monopoly board, I guess,” Danny mumbled.

“—and one of Raven’s old oracle decks if shit gets really weird.”

“Y’all are way too proud of yourselves,” Danny said. After a beat he added, “and are so teaching me how to play.”

“Yes!” Gar cheered. “Super Mega Ultra Go Fish has a new player in town!”

“After food,” Dick said, looking at his phone. “Pizza is here. Danny, do you think that if we all move upstairs that Wally will stay around?”

Danny tilted his head in thought. “I think so? It’s always been about his proximity to me, right Fl—Wally?”

“Yep. It’s like you’re my focus point. I don’t know if the machine expands that though based on its location. We can only figure it out if we try though,” Wally said.

“Okay, I missed a lot of that,” Cyborg said. “Translation?”

Danny paused in sitting up. “Huh?”

“Wally is staticy to us. We don’t get every word of what he’s saying,” Dick explained as he reached out to steady Danny.

“Oh that’s… huh. Something to look into. Um, I’m Wally’s focal point but the machine might expand things to you all. We won’t know what the anchor is, me of the machine, until we try,” Danny explained. “Or that’s basically it.”

“But if he disappears, we can get him back?” Kori asked.

Danny nodded and finished sitting up with a little waver. “Yeah. He won’t really disappear, I’ll be tied to him, it will just be y’all's perception of him.”

Kori nodded back. “Okay, then we try.”

“Then we try,” Wally agreed and came to stand by Danny.

If he could have taken Wally’s hand, he would have. Instead he walked out through the door, to the elevator, and rode it up. Everyone else watched Wally so intently that he started to fidget.

They reached the personal floor.

The elevator dinged.

Wally was still there.

#dp x dc #thodf #danny/dick/wally #rocket fuel

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fireinmoonshot · 20 hours ago

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THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: When your mental health gets bad, Bob is always there for you. Warnings: References to bad mental health – reader is struggling with their mental health and there are mentions of Bob and the other Thunderbolts mental health as well. Word Count: 696 A/N: Thank you so much for the love on all my Bob fics. They're actually some of my most popular fics on this blog and I'm so grateful. Anyway, a small drabble tonight – haven't been feeling my best mentally the last few days (today has been the worst) and randomly wrote this because I know Bob would be great in this scenario. It's not much, but it helped me a little to write it so I hope it might help others that need it. 💗

Bob is always there when you need him.

It’s one of the things you love most about him – the fact that when you gently knock on his door, you know he’s going to call out for you to come in. He always knows it’s you without even having to see you. The fact that he’s always sitting on his bean bag, book in hand and often, a thickshake of some kind sitting on the table beside him. The fact that no matter what, he’ll always stop looking at his book to look at you.

The second he sees the look on your face, he closes the book without even putting a bookmark in or a dog-ear on the page. He raises his arm and beckons you over with a hand, feeling relieved when you close the door behind you and walk towards him.

“Sit with me,” he says, reaching out and taking your hand as soon as you’re close enough.

He shuffles back a little on the bean bag so that you can sit with him. You lean your back against his chest, your body between his legs. He lets go of your hand to rest his arms over your shoulders, and then takes your hands in his again.

Carefully, he starts to play with your fingers and for a few moments, the two of you sit there simply watching your hands moving together. Eventually, he entwines your fingers together and gives your hands a gentle squeeze.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, voice soft in your ear.

You shake your head. You know it’s the wrong thing to do because talking about it will make you feel better. Ever since you’d become a member of the New Avengers, you’d accepted that fact. Yelena always reminded you when you talked about your mental health that pushing your feelings down wasn’t the way to handle them. But sometimes, it wasn’t that easy. Getting the actual words out, having them make sense, was sometimes too much effort.

Right now, all you wanted was to be in the company of your favourite person, feel his hands on yours, his skin against your skin, and to let your mind be quiet for a moment. Even if it really only was a moment. Even if the thoughts and the feelings were going to overwhelm you again eventually. But until you had a few moments of quiet, you were never going to be able to organise your thoughts enough to say anything more substantial than ‘something feels wrong with my head’.

Bob would understand that – all of your team would. But over the months since you’d moved into the Watch Tower, your relationship with Bob had grown stronger than your relationship with everyone else except Yelena.

Being with Bob was like being in the calmest place in the world, which was kind of ironic considering the chaos that Bob had accidentally caused in New York that had ended up in you even being here in the first place. He still didn’t remember any of that, but he’d heard enough from all of the team to know what had happened. Every day he’s grateful that all of you had stuck with him through that. Now, to him, you’re like the calm in the storm of his mind.

“You sure?” Bob asks, not trying to pressure you but just offering again.

“I’m sure,” you confirm. “I just need you. Until I can get my head sorted.”

Bob nods and gives your hands another squeeze. “There’s no rush.”

You smile a little and lean further back into his chest. He leans down to rest his chin on the top of your head, careful not to apply too much pressure and make you uncomfortable. He’ll sit here with you all day, all night, however long it takes you to be ready to talk to him. Just like he knows you would sit with him until he’s ready – just like you have sat with him in the past.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “We can stay here till whenever you’re ready. For as long as you need, love.”

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #lewis pullman

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interact-if · 1 day ago

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Writing Spotlight: Infamous (Interview)

We had the great pleasure to interview Amy, author of the massively beloved IF Infamous (@infamous-if). She shared some tips, tricks, and insights on her approach to writing.

One of the most notable things about Infamous is how quickly readers get sucked into its world and invested in its web of characters — be it Orion or Blake or G or Victoria or the slightly controversial Seven. They are all incredibly multi-faceted, complex, and sometimes heartbreakingly real.

Amy says:

“I’ve read something by a writer once that I’ve followed faithfully: you should always know what’s happening in the other room. Even if it won’t be available to readers, it helps establish the world and characters as real, tangible things that don’t just poof out of existence once they walk ‘off-screen’ so to speak.”

Here’s the full interview:

1. What drew you to interactive fiction as a storytelling medium? Did you have any experience writing in other formats before, and if so, would you say there’s any differences in the way writing for IFs should be approached?

There’s so much about writing interactive fiction that I love, but I think the main one is the freedom that comes with it! There are so many ideas I can explore, so many endings and storylines. It’s just as fun for writers as it is for readers to push the limits of what their world and characters can do. You can truly sink your teeth into it and develop the story in ways you don’t see often.

Coming from writing traditional fiction and having never written an interactive story before, I did need to change my mindset a little. You have to learn to be flexible. Very often, I’m writing routes I wouldn’t particularly take as a reader, and it’s interesting to go against my gut to offer a varied experience. I’ve discovered a lot of fun things about Infamous and its characters from routes I would never take if I were reading it in another IF!

2. What does your writing process look like?

I am a plotter to my core! I am endlessly envious of writers who can pants their way through a scene or a chapter. I need to outline every single beat, every scene, every conversation. The plot comes to me first and then I slowly build the main character around that and ask myself what kind of story I want to tell with that main character.

The MC in Infamous leans heavily into the ‘underdog’ trope. That’s how I got much of MC’s personality from. The main thing I ask myself when building the main character is: what do they have, what do they want, and what do they need? I use that to inform the rest of the cast and the stats. My main goal is that every piece works in tandem with the others. They all make sense in my head!

3. What does good writing / good characters / good world-building etc. mean to you, and what are some central tenets or principles you follow to achieve that?

A story that gets me invested is a success in my eyes. I want to care for the characters and feel like the world is one that truly exists somewhere. I’ve read something by a writer once that I’ve followed faithfully: you should always know what’s happening in the other room. Even if it won’t be available to readers, it helps establish the world and characters as real, tangible things that don’t just poof out of existence once they walk ‘off-screen’ so to speak. The characters had lives before the story started, people they knew and things they’ve experienced. It informs their personalities and builds them what they are once you meet them on page.

The world is still turning even while the main character is asleep. Things are still happening everywhere…even when we don’t see it. That’s how I try to approach every story to bring it to life.

4. What’s one piece of advice you’d give to someone just starting out in interactive fiction?

Be firm! It’s so easy to get swept up in the excitement of having an audience and wanting to keep that audience. It’s not uncommon to make the mistake of overpromising to please every reader. You won’t be able to, trust me! You’ll only write yourself in a corner. It’s healthy to find a good balance between sticking to your gut and accepting/being open to suggestions.

A tinier one but: know your endings! It’s best to know what you’re writing toward. It’ll be so much easier to stick to the story and avoid meandering through the plot if you know how each route ends. Everything I write is to get to that ending in one way or the other.

5. Where do you find your ideas or inspiration for new stories or mechanics?Where did your story idea originate? Has it strayed far from that concept/evolved during the writing process?

I guess it’s quite on brand to say that almost every story idea I’ve had came from a song, Infamous included. My head is always thinking of songs as potential needle drops or playlists as movie soundtracks. Infamous in particular, was formed from Brie Larson’s cover of Black Sheep in the Scott Pilgrim movie. It features a Battle of the Bands sequence that made me want to read a story with the same concept. I scoured and scoured for a band IF that scratched that particular itch but didn’t find any. Eventually, I gave in and did it myself! That’s one of the best parts of the community; you can just do it.

Surprisingly, this is one of the few stories of mine that hasn’t strayed far from the original idea. I think it helps that I’m writing exactly what I wanted to read once upon a time.

End of interview

—

A big thanks once again to Amy for her insightful answers, and @veswrites-if for taking the time to coordinate the interview. Hope that this was a fun and interesting read.

Stay tuned for more of these interviews :)

#interactive fiction #cscript game #author interview #writing Spotlight #writing tips #infamous #interview series #author feature

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silens-oro · 1 day ago

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Rest My Chemistry

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. John Shen x f!Dr!Reader Fluff

The Pitt Playlist located here The Pitt Masterlist Masterlist

Synopsis: John really needs to keep his mouth shut on quiet nights Word Count: .8k Content Warning: content typical warnings for The Pitt A/N: I just love him

“It’s going to be a baaaad night.” Shen said with a sigh as he came to stand between you and Ellis at the Hub as you were going over who was taking which room. The night was still young, but the ED was oddly quiet -words you would never, ever say out loud. Not that it mattered when you had someone like John Shen opening his gob to say it for you.

“You’ve got to stop saying stuff like that, man.” Ellis’ exasperated voice responded immediately as she dropped her hands against the top of the nurses station. Bridget raised a brow as she looked over to the three of you. You turned to Shen, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your scrub pants so you didn’t strangle him.

“Yeah, the last time you pulled that crap, we had four separate MVA’s and a man with a screwdriver stuck up his ass in the span of an hour,” You spoke lovely through clenched teeth. “—and I got puked on by a drunk frat kid.” You glared at Shen. “Twice.”

“Look at this,” He shook his iced coffee to make his point, ignoring the pleading from you and Ellis. “The color is wrong and it tastes like battery acid. It’s a bad omen.” Ellis leaned over the nurses station and pointed her finger in his face.

“I swear to god-” Bridget interrupted from the other side of the Hub, catching your collective attention as she spoke with the cell phone still held up to her ear. Your eye twitched and you wanted to swipe that coffee straight out of Shen's hand, but that would've made more work for the kind and wonderful environmental services night staff and that was the last thing you'd ever do to them. They didn't deserve to pay for John's idiocy.

“We’ve got a three car pileup. Three patients inbound -two critical, eta four minutes. No casualties. Trauma one and two needed.” Shen had the wherewithal to look shameful for a split second at his temptation of the medical gods.

“I didn’t do that.” He said looking between you and a pissed off Ellis, still sipping at his coffee. He made a face after every sip, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to drink it. You heard Dr. Abbot call your name from down the hall behind you, and your nostrils flared in irritation as you glared at Shen.

“You’re with me!” Dr. Abbot directed you, his hand patting your shoulder and tossing a gown to you as he passed by without slowing down. “Shen and Ellis, you're on Trauma one and two.” Your eyes met John's as you gave him one last sharp look before hastily putting the gown on, Ellis quickly tying it behind you.

“Your ass is grass, Shen, and I’m gonna mow it.” You said angrily, pointing a finger into his chest as you stepped around him to follow Dr. Abbot out to the ambulance bay just as the ambulances started rolling in.

“Was that a threat or a proposition?” He looked at Ellis, who grunted in an irritated response to Shen’s question as they both got a move on. John's eyes followed you as you disappeared through the sliding doors.

“Easy, boy.” Ellis laughed, tossing a gown to him. “She’ll chew you up and spit you out before you even know what’s happening.”

“I could only be so lucky.” Shen replied dreamily, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re insufferable.” Ellis rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless as she decided to be an agent of chaos for the night since Shen decided to open a can of worms for the night. Two could play at that game. "Ask Doug in neurology if he felt lucky to get chewed up by her. Guarantee you his answer won't be yes." Ellis baited.

"She went out with Doug in neurology? Really?" Doug in neurology was the poster boy of what a doctor was by Hollywood's standards with his wildly attractive looks, perfectly coiffed hair, and exuberant charm. He wasn't a bad guy per say, but if Doug in neurology didn't stand a chance with you...

"Briefly." Ellis confirmed as she tied his gown behind him. Shen made a face, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned back to face her.

"Ah, shit." Ellis shook her head, but directed her attention to the first patient that was wheeled into Trauma 1.

“So,” John rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“I don’t even want to look at you right now.” You mumbled as you grabbed your backpack from under the nurses station and set it on the counter so you could dig around for your headphones.

“I’m sorry!” Your head snapped up to glare at him. “You really think I caused anything that happened tonight?”

“I think you caused all of it, actually.” You pocketed the earbuds and zipped the main pouch with more force than was necessary. The bag swung, hitting him purposefully as you shrugged the straps onto your shoulders.

“See you later, Princess.” Princess nodded at you, glancing between you and Shen before she leaned over to Perlah to whisper into her ear. Perlah spun around in her chair, not being sly about also looking at the both of you, narrowing her eyes at John, then responded to Princess in Tagalong.

Both of the nurses shook their heads and Princess gave you a look, her eyes shifting quickly to John like she was trying to tell you something, but you couldn’t decode Princess after the exhausting shift you had.

“If you two are done being weird, I’m going home so I can fall face first into my bed. John,” You turned to Shen who was already looking at you. “Sleep with one eye open.” With that, you cracked a small grin for him to see, but didn’t stick around when he started sputtering.

“That’s…fair.” He exhaled as you walked past him. “See you tonight!” He called after you, but you were already out the door to the waiting room. Shen heard someone clicking their tongue in disapproval and turned back to Princess and Perlah, who were both watching Shen expectantly. “What?” “She likes you.” Princess teased as she passed by him to check on the patient in South 4. Perlah quickly turned away when Shen looked over to her for confirmation. Princess was messing with him, right? Right?

#John Shen x reader #John shen #Ken kirby #the pitt #the pitt imagine #the pitt x reader #the pitt fanfiction #x reader

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luvrgirl-f1 · 19 hours ago

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behind the paddock walls

charles leclerc x verstappen!reader

summary: Max’s little sister has been secretly seeing Charles Leclerc behind the scenes. It’s getting harder to hide, and the couple navigates through a race weekend.

———————————————————————————

The paddock was buzzing. Monaco always had that unique energy—a pulse that beat faster than any other race weekend. The harbor shimmered in the sunlight, and the crowd buzzed like bees around a hive. And somewhere between the flashes of cameras and the quiet hum of engine talk, you were trying not to look too obviously in love with Charles Leclerc.

You leaned against the Red Bull hospitality wall, arms folded, pretending to listen as Max explained something about car setup and tire degradation. You loved your brother—really, you did—but he never knew when to stop talking about racing. Especially now that you were trying to keep your face neutral while your heart was doing somersaults just across the paddock.

Because just a few meters away, Charles was laughing with his Ferrari engineers, occasionally flicking his gaze over to you. Brief. Careful. But enough to ignite that familiar flutter in your chest.

He wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. Not here. Not when Max could turn his head at any moment and figure it all out.

You were Max Verstappen’s little sister. A year younger. Grew up in the same garage, around the same pit crews, used to the screech of tires and the scent of rubber. You were supposed to be off-limits. That unspoken code between drivers—don’t mess with each other’s families. And Charles… well, he’d tried to follow it.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

It had started in Singapore.

-FLASHBACK-

Singapore ‘24

You had wandered off from the Red Bull suite one evening, unable to sit through another round of championship strategizing. Charles had been walking back from media duties, tie half-loosened, and you’d crossed paths outside the paddock gates.

“I think we’re both trying to escape,” he said with a crooked grin.

You’d laughed. And then he’d asked if you wanted to walk.

It had been light and easy at first—talking about anything but racing. About books and late-night takeout, about growing up with pressure in your bones. You told him about how Max would always test drive your go-karts before you could, how you hated it but secretly loved knowing he cared.

Charles listened. And somewhere along that walk, something shifted.

It wasn’t a grand moment. Just a quiet pause. A glance that lasted a little too long. And then, with the softest uncertainty, he asked, “Is this okay?”

You kissed him before you could overthink it.

Now, months later, you were balancing this tightrope. Private texts. Hotel rooms booked under fake names. Glances that could burn if someone looked too closely.

You hated lying to Max. But you also knew what he’d say.

“Charles? Really? He’s the competition.”

Not just on track—but in every sense. Max had always been protective, and the idea of his sister falling for the guy he’d traded paint with more times than either of them could count? It wouldn’t end well.

But Charles was worth it. You saw him in ways others didn’t—when he’d call his mum after every race, no matter how late. When he’d panic over a chipped fingernail because it “looked unprofessional.” When he whispered in your ear, “You make all of this feel normal.”

The night before the race, you slipped out of the hotel through the service elevator. You wore a hoodie and sunglasses, even though it was dark.

Charles was waiting in the shadows, cap pulled low, hands buried in his pockets.

He grinned when he saw you. “Very incognito.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him.

His apartment was quiet, tucked above the noise of Monaco’s nightlife. He poured wine, and you kicked off your shoes, curling into his side on the couch.

“Are we idiots?” you asked, watching the city lights through the window.

“Definitely,” he said. “But I’d be an idiot every day if it meant having this.”

You laughed softly, pressing your forehead to his chest. The silence between you wasn’t empty—it was warm, like a blanket wrapped around everything unsaid.

“I hate hiding,” you murmured. “I hate lying to him.”

Charles’s arms tightened around you. “I know. I do too.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continued. “After the summer break… maybe we tell him. Give him time to cool off before the end of the season.”

You pulled back to look at him. “You’re serious?”

“I want to stop pretending. I want you with me—not just when no one’s looking.”

Your heart twisted, full and aching all at once. “Okay,” you whispered. “After the break.”

Race day came with its usual frenzy. Max was in pole. Charles right behind.

You watched from the Red Bull garage, nerves splitting you in half. You hated this part—the pretending. The cheering for Max, even while your heart pulled toward someone else.

Charles finished second. Max first. Champagne and celebrations. You saw them bump shoulders on the podium, competitive smiles masking a thousand unsaid things.

Later, in the hallway near the drivers’ room, you caught a quiet moment with Charles. Just a brush of fingers as you passed, your smile barely visible.

“I love you,” he mouthed.

You didn’t reply out loud. Just squeezed his hand once. That was enough.

For now.

———————————————————————————

part 2?

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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oogaboogasphincter · 13 hours ago

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Jackson!Joel spicy alphabet 🦫☕️🪕

Next up on my spicy alphabet conquest: Joel Miller, specifically Jackson!Joel (HBO's version). And yes, to me there's a difference between HBO!Joel and game!Joel, and also between pre-outbreak!, post-outbreak!, and Jackson!Joel. i hope you enjoy reading! (i wish there was an acoustic guitar emoji😭) MDNI 18+ ONLY under the cut! (alphabet template credit here)

A - Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Joel's job of caring for you isn't finished as soon as you stop having sex. He's incredibly affectionate, tearing himself away from you (even if you call for him to come back) just so he can get you a glass of water. He would prepare it ahead of time, but once things start getting hot and heavy his thoughts are tunneled to you and only you. He cleans you up with a warm washcloth and his calloused hands run impossibly delicate over your tender areas. He's a massive cuddler and will fall asleep with you in his arms, cradled to his chest, with his nose and mouth pressed gently against your hairline.

B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

Joel likes his torso. He's big, broad, and burly and he knows it. He likes what it can do for him, whether that's intimidating enemies or acting as a shield to protect the ones he loves. Thanks to your reassurances, he's even grown fond of the soft belly he's developed with age and finally living a life as close to comfortable as he can get. On you, he's also drawn to your waist. No matter its shape, he likes settling his hands there whenever he can. He's a sucker for hips, too. He always teases that he hates to see you leave, but he loves to watch you walk away.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's got a pretty dastardly load stored up in his heavy, hairy balls. Joel's been celibate for the better part of the past seven years, but he's still a hot-blooded man. Once he met you and fell in love, it was like his body remembered its neglected endocrine system and started to nurture it again. His cum is a nice and thick opaque white that looks glorious wherever it ends up splattered across your skin. Joel doesn't really have a preference of where to come; instead he's too focused on the look in your eyes when he does.

D - Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Joel has too many dirty secrets as is to keep sexual ones also. He has a few fantasies that he wouldn't mind telling you about if you asked because there's nothing loaded or emotionally charged behind them — they're just for fun. For example, he thinks he'd enjoy a lap dance from you because his eyes would be free to eat you alive as you flaunted your body just for him, and he'd go even crazier if you didn't let him touch you as you make him just sit there and grind yourself all over him. He keeps a few other thoughts on the back burner of his mind that he visits when he needs something to envision while he jerks off, but you'll have to try harder to get the details about those out of him.

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Like I mentioned, Joel's body went into hibernation after Tess and before her, sexual encounters were sparse post-outbreak. But when his desire is rekindled with you, all of the tricks Joel collected from charming women up and down the streets of Austin pre-outbreak come flooding back to him. His aging muscles still have their memory, rediscovering just the right pattern of hooks and rubs to bring you to glory. Joel's a little shy about his body count only because he doesn't want you to think of him as an easy conquest, but he suddenly finds pride for it when he pulls a certain mind-blowing maneuver on you (or when Tommy pushes his buttons a little too much).

F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

While he enjoys cowgirl because it gives him a chance to marvel at you while resting his achy bones, Joel's theoretical favorite is missionary. Call him old school, but he can't get enough intimacy with you now that he's let you inside the walls he's built around his heart. Realistically though, his favorite go-to is doggystyle because it's a crossroads of all the best: it's easier on his back than missionary, he gets to satisfy his dominant streak, and he can admire your beautiful form all at the same time. He's also a fan of lying on his side behind you, spooning you and cocooning you in his chest with his arms wrapped around yours so that his short thrusts reach deep inside you. (Basically, every position with you is his favorite.)

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

If there's one thing about Joel, he's got jokes. However, I think the first time you two are intimate with each other he's very serious because he wants to make sure he's giving you a good time. From a genuine standpoint, he'd never want to do something that would ruin the moment for you or burst the peaceful bubble you've fought so hard to create. But after you've been together for a while and have become familiar with each other's language of intimacy, he likes to amuse you because making love is a happy time for him. Plus, he thinks your giggle is wildly sexy.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Joel does little if no grooming downstairs. He's not the hairiest guy to start, but he likes what he has so he keeps the bush around his cock full. If it starts to look a little scraggly he'll trim himself up, but only then. His love for the all natural extends to you; whatever you have going on when you leave yourself untamed, he'll love it. If he could choose, he likes thick bushes (he had his sexual awakening in the 70s, after all). And there's something about the heat from your hairy navels rubbing together when he's fucking you, or burying his mouth in your pussy and getting a noseful of your soft hair... it drives him wild.

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect?)

Joel's fierce protectiveness morphs into delicate tenderness and care when you're intimate. Since he still has his struggles with emotional constipation, he tries to make up for it by prioritizing your physical comfort. He's always making sure the position you're entangled in isn't making you strain. He'll do things like stuff a pillow underneath your hips or wrap his arm around the top of your head when you're underneath him so it doesn't bump into the headboard on his eager thrusts. Actions like these are sometimes easier for him to show you how much he cares rather than speaking the words.

J - Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I literally wrote an entire blurb about this (see: coming soon!).

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dom/sub - This goes both ways. Joel has controlling tendencies that win him over sometimes, and there's nothing he'd love more than to have you fully submit to him and listen to his every word. He'd never compare you to an animal, but think about what he said about sheep: how they're quiet and do as they're told. When it comes to you, he loves your personality to bits, but... there's a lurking thought in the back of his mind that craves having you on your knees, doing whatever he wants. On the other hand, Joel gets equally tired of ordering others around and being designated as the reluctant voice of reason. Knowing he can place his complete trust and faith in you to keep him safe, he dreams about the relief that would come with just listening for once.

Choking - I think this goes hand in hand with Dom/sub, but again I think Joel would like the power/control this exerts over his partner. Most of the time he doesn’t do it very rough — instead his hand is almost just resting on your throat and keeping you in place. His forearm will be pressed down the middle of your chest and his nose will be smooshed into your cheek while he stares deep into your eyes, watching for every flicker of emotion that they betray. He’ll give you a soft squeeze to redirect your gaze back to his when it falls away or just as your orgasm hits so the deprivation and subsequent supply of oxygen floods your nervous system with that much more ecstasy.

Restraints - This one he uses sparingly and only when the mood is just right. He usually brings out a tie worn soft with wear or his belt when he’s had a particularly rough day. Joel has some trauma around instruments like these, so using them on you reframes the bad memories in his mind to something farther away from terrifying. He likes to restrain your wrists behind your back or bind your ankles together, tightening his belt enough so that it leaves a mark on your skin… and surprisingly, he’ll be incredibly gentle and sweet to you. No spankings, no slaps or hits - his rough hands position you with incomparable tenderness and care. His favorite thing to do is run his hand down the slope of your back slowly, feeling every inch of you, and carefully hold you down on the mattress by the back of your neck while he takes you from behind.

L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

Joel likes being intimate at home because he's worked so hard to build a sanctuary amidst the chaos with you. It makes it easier for him to feel like he can let his guard down for once and focus entirely on you instead of having to constantly be looking over his shoulder, for Infected and nosy Jackson neighbors alike. He'll take you in multiple spots around the house just for the rush of something different, just because he can now: on top of the kitchen island, in the laundry room, on the stairs. He LOVES fucking you outdoors too. He tries his best to schedule dates with you to venture into the wild outside of patrol, since he thinks fooling around during patrol is a little irresponsible. Yet sometimes he still can't resist when you tease him while he's just trying to fulfill his duties; it's torturous watching you strut around the empty buildings or riding through the woods on horseback, knowing he can just ravish you on the floor or against a tree if he wanted and no one would ever know.

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

One word: intimacy. Joel gets hard by expressing his love for you and feeling it returned (so sweet, right?). Late night conversations with your thighs draped over his lap; gentle, admiring touches all over your still-sleepy faces in the morning sunlight; kisses where he can feel the desire for something more barely contained within you. He’s a big acts of service guy too, so if you had dinner waiting for him after he got back home from a long patrol shift he would fall to his knees at your feet in utter glory of you; he’s a simple man in that sense. At the end of the day, you can take the man out of the South but never the South out of the man.

N - No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Joel doesn't like things that feel forced or gimmicky. He'd never shame someone else for having these preferences, but things like role-play or sex toys beyond your standard vibrator just don't do it for him. As much as he's afraid of it, he needs genuine connection with another soul. To him, these things get in the way of or poorly try to substitute that. And of course, he would never do something you didn't like. While he enjoys pushing your limits with consent at the forefront of both your minds, he'd never think of doing something that was a hard limit of yours. If you're having a bad time so is he.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Heaven is a place on Earth where Joel can spend hours between your legs. He prefers giving to receiving because his blood types 100% service top. His skill is impeccable because he’s so receptive: he’ll keep his eyes on you the entire time, reading flickers of your expression and feeling flutters of your folds around his fingers as cues to go faster, deeper, maintain, etc. Now, this isn’t to say he would turn down a blowjob; to him, that would be just downright disrespectful. But your taste is unparalleled in his opinion. And your moans, Jesus Christ — he could come in his pants just from listening to you, and with his tongue buried in your heat? He’s a goner.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

-BOAF. Capital b, capital o, capital a, capital f.

-Boaf?

-BOAF!

Joel has the gift of rhythm, whether that’s fast and rough or slow and sensual or a heavenly mix of both. He knows how to read your mood and pick the exact pace to make you see stars. Despite his age, he’s capable of making the bed creak if he wants to — in fact, he’s joked before that he can go as hard as he wants because he’s been meaning to make a new bed frame from scratch, anyways.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Joel enjoys the occasional quickie, it just depends on the situation. If the two of you are alone and it’d be more of a struggle to ignore your desires than to satiate them, then he’s pinning you up against the wall before you make a trip to the market or taking you behind stable walls just before you head out on patrol. If there’s any real risk of getting caught and it’s not just an imaginary scenario to make you both hot though, then he’s not really into it. Joel has a possessive streak, but it runs so deep that he’d rather covet you all to himself than show you off in your most vulnerable beauty to unworthy eyes.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Again, overall Joel is risk averse. At this point in his life, he’s had to weigh too many difficult choices to actively pursue something without a guarantee of it working out in his or your favor. However, in the sanctuary of your bedroom, he’s open to exploring different facets of his sexuality. To get to this point in your relationship, he’s already put so much faith and trust in you that he knows you’d never push him past his limits. Plus, he’d do absolutely anything for you that brings that beautiful, excited smile to your face.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Joel lasts 20 minutes on average from start to finish. Nothing crazy, but just enough that you’re perfectly satisfied and ready to go again should your desires be rekindled. Speaking of which, he can confidently go two rounds. He’s accomplished three once before, but the next day he was fucking exhausted (and not particularly in a good way).

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Besides dirty magazines (do those count?), Joel doesn’t own any toys and never had the desire to. He uses your vibrator on you whenever you ask, though he’s smug enough to claim that you usually don’t need anything besides him to get you to come. Getting him to try a new toy might take some convincing or destigmatizing, but he’s open to trying anything that you think will make you happy at least once (though he can’t promise he’ll like everything).

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

To me, Joel wouldn’t like to tease much when it comes to sex. He pulls your leg plenty in nearly every other situation and he never wants you to think that he doesn’t take intimacy with you seriously. Like I said, he might crack a joke or two, but he doesn’t make you hold back or lead you on (for very long, at least). For instance, when he comes out of the shower and you make a comment about how sexy he looks in his bathrobe, he’ll only make you wait as long as it takes him to brush his teeth before he starts rolling around in the sheets with you.

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Sexy old man noises are abound when you make love with Joel. He’s less about moans and more so about grunts and panting exhales. He likes to talk, both to constantly check in on you to make sure you’re enjoying yourself and because he can feel you clench around him whenever he murmurs gravelly praise in your ear, making his breath catch in his throat. He also likes to talk with you in hushed whispers while you make love because it makes the whole experience so much more intimate for him. Even if it’s just catching up on your day, Joel likes anything that reminds him he’s making love to you. That might sound stupidly simple, but Joel doesn’t have sex with you for primal reasons (though those aren’t completely lost on him). In other words, he doesn’t have sex for the sake of having sex. He makes love with you because he wants to show you how much he cares, to completely envelope himself in everything you.

W - Wild card (a random head canon for the character)

When he went to summer camp as a teenager, one of his bunkmates had brought a Playboy and proudly showed it off to the other boys. The day before the campers returned home, Joel quietly swiped the contraband and his pension for dirty magazines was born. While that specific magazine is long gone, to this day — half a century later — Joel feels unsettled if he doesn't have some sort of printed porn in his possession. Since you entered his life, he doesn't feel the need to use stuff like that as much but he unironically thinks that some of the pictures are beautifully shot. Sometimes, he'll look at them like one would a piece of art. He likes to imagine photographing you like that, beautiful in your vulnerability, so that he can always have a little preservation of your beauty and his love to last the test of time. He's a connoisseur, but if anyone ever called him that he might just implode from humiliation.

X - X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

In short, Joel is perfect. He’s got a girth that demands a satisfying stretch from you but it never hurts. His length is the same, reaching deep inside you without poking uncomfortably at your ending. As previously mentioned, he’s hairy all over his navel and it sparsely climbs up his shaft and around his balls. He’s got a few cute freckles too; one just right of center at his base, on his left inner thigh, and another right on the curve of his ass.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Joel won't lie; his increasing age has taken a toll on the rabid energy that used to consume him whenever he found himself remotely attracted to someone. Yet when he started going out with you, he felt like an old pervert: wanting more than he thought was gentlemanly, worrying that it would drive you away. When you reciprocated eagerly, it soothed that itch which comes with the question of unrequited love. Since your love has been proven to him time and time again, he doesn't feel rushed and the need to prove himself through sexual means is lessened. He knows you're understanding when he says he wants to but his body just doesn't cooperate every time. However, Joel makes sure every time counts for more than once when his physical form finds itself capable of the task.

Z - Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes Joel longer than he would like to fall asleep. Even after having a wonderful time with you, sometimes he gets stuck in a loop in his brain. As he holds you, he can’t help but think about how life would be like with you, what his family would look like, if the outbreak hadn’t happened. With your sleeping form of peaceful warmth snuggled against his chest, he feels safe to let the weight of agony push down his heart for as long as it needs. For once, he doesn’t suppress the pain but willingly, albeit reluctantly, embraces it. After his quiet tears clear, he looks around his bedroom, down in his arms at what he does have, and then he’s able to sleep with the hope that he’ll get to experience it all over again in the morning.

main masterlist 🤎 join my taglist!

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel my beloved #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us

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ilguna · 2 days ago

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☼ deflection (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; ever since you were young, you dreamed of the day you would meet your soulmate. you always pictured him as a knight in shining armor. never in your wildest dreams would you have thought they would be your mortal enemy.

warnings; swearing, alcohol and vomit mention, use of weapons, physical violence.

wc; 3.6k

notes; soulmate au!!

Every time you step into the Betting Room, it feels like you’re stepping into an active warzone from how disgusting it usually is. For an elite group that lives their life in luxury, they sure know how to destroy a beautiful sunroom. When it opens early in the morning, it smells fine and it’s in pristine condition. By the time the afternoon comes around, the entire place is reeking of body odor and vomit.

It’s your least favorite place to be in the Tribute Center, which is why you avoid it as much as you possibly can. It’s taken you a couple of years, but you’ve got your timing down to the minute on when you should be here. You always stick around for the first couple of days in the arena, since that’s when tensions are at its highest.

As soon as you’re in the clear, you won’t be caught dead in the Betting Room unless there’s an emergency with your tributes. There’s absolutely no reason for you to spend two weeks surrounded by people you don’t like. You’re helpless when it comes to your tributes most of the time, anyway.

They’re not dumb enough to get themselves in a situation where they’re hurt, hungry or dehydrated. Which means the time you spend here is wasted. You could be making connections elsewhere, but instead you’re required to be here for at least ten hours throughout the week.

And if you’re being honest, which you usually are, you wouldn’t mind being here if it weren’t so awful. The issue you have lies beyond the smell and the way the room looks, though. It has something to do with the fact that you’re not able to be down there and be left alone.

If you were to try to have a relaxing afternoon, you’d likely be interrupted about a dozen times in just an hour. It doesn’t matter who it is, it could be by potential sponsors of fellow mentors. Either way, they’re trying to cut a deal or pry any secrets they can out of you about your private life.

It’s extremely irritating, even on a good day.

If you want to make a deal for the sake of your tributes, then you’ll get up and get the work done yourself. Otherwise, you let the Games play out how the tributes want them to. It’s not your fault if tributes from other districts get themselves in a sticky alliance with yours.

Beyond that, people can be so nosy nowadays, and they’ll sell out to the Capitol if it means they’ll get a boost while they’re mentoring. Which is why you keep a strict lockdown on what people know about you. They already got more than enough insight on your life during your Victory Tour.

All in all, the Betting Room is a miserable experience, no matter what way you try to take it.

You sit back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest as you observe the Career pack. So far, the Seventy-First Hunger Games has gotten off to a slow start, there weren’t a lot of deaths during the bloodbath, which means it’ll be a matter of time before the Gamemakers intervene.

This year, the arena’s a forest. The Cornucopia was placed in the middle of one of the many fields they have throughout the woods. From what you can tell so far, it’ll be a good environment to survive in if there’s plenty of water sources and a reasonable amount of animals.

Your tributes will have it easy this year, which makes you incredibly jealous. When you won five years ago, the Gamemakers were just starting to go through a phase of throwing tributes in weird arenas. A couple of trees is nothing compared to an abandoned city.

“Have you reached your quota yet?” A voice asks.

You tilt your head back, finding your mentoring partner, Thorne. “I have for today, but I was going to sit here for a little while longer so I don’t have to tomorrow.”

He lets out a laugh through his teeth, shaking his head. “I thought Lyme was kidding when she said you hated this place.”

“You like it?” You ask him, raising your eyebrows.

“No, but I don’t despise it nearly as much as you do, apparently.” He leans on the table, tilting his head to read the journal you have open.

You turn it so he can read it better. “Did Lyme catch you up on the note-taking?”

“Is this high school?”

You roll your eyes a bit. “Trust me, I don’t like doing it, but we’ll get our heads bitten off by the Academy when we get back if we don’t have something to give them.”

Thorne reads over what you have written down so far, face twisting. He pushes the book back toward you, “Can’t the leaders just write this stuff down?”

“We get more insight.” You tell him, resting your chin on your hand. “We have upfront access to the betting odds and whatever.”

He squints at you. “But how are you supposed to keep an eye on that if you don’t spend a lot of time here?”

You shrug, “I’ve gotten good at it. I come in the morning to see where they’re at, and then I come right before closing to make sure odds haven’t changed. If anything big happens throughout the day and I’m not here, then I’ll stop in for a moment. It’s really, really easy to do.”

“Do they know you do this?”

You smile, “They do, actually. And I told them that if they have a problem with the way I mentor, then maybe they should be here instead.”

Thorne makes a face, “You know they’ll never do it.”

“Which is why I get away with it.” You place your pen in your journal, folding it shut. “I think I’ll talk to some of our sponsors before I go. That way if anything happens while I’m gone, you’ll be set up.”

“Meeka and Amias will be fine. We’ve just barely started.” Thorne says.

“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” You tell him, getting to your feet. You nudge the journal in his direction. “I’m leaving this with you, I’ve got a meeting with our escort to talk about our tributes and sponsors.”

“Do you want me to write in it?” He asks.

“Only if it’s something significant. You can read through it if you’d like to get a better idea of what you’re looking for.” You pat him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

You wander away from Thorne, looking around the room, trying to spot a group you’d appeal to. You’re sure you could approach anyone and end up with a few extra dollars in your pocket, but that’s not exactly what you need. You need someone that can stick around through a few sponsorships.

You find a group in the corner, dressed in the latest trend, expensive bags hanging off their elbows, skin shaded unnatural colors. As soon as they notice you’re interested in them, they wave you over. This is where you spend the next hour and a half of your life.

It wasn’t your intention to stand here this long, you thought you’d be here for maybe another thirty minutes, but you got carried away. They were really interested in what your tributes are like and how they spend their freetime. Once you started talking about their home life, it was all over from there.

You don’t regret a single minute, though, because it got them to commit to being sponsors.

You start toward the exit of the Betting Room, since you really need to get moving now. Earlier, you’d saved yourself enough time to have lunch before the meeting, but you’ve got less than fifteen minutes to get yourself across the building. It won’t be the end of the world if you’re a few minutes late, you just know the escort will never let you hear the end of it.

“I always knew you were full of yourself.” An irritating voice says, you stop where you stand, turning to look over your shoulder. “But I didn’t think you’d stoop low enough to steal sponsors.”

Finnick Odair.

“I wasn’t stealing your sponsors.” You tell him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Finnick motions behind him to where Thorne is, surrounded by the group you’d been talking to. It seems like they’ve migrated to him on their own, which you’re sure he’s thrilled about. Being stuck in a conversation with them for longer than a couple minutes is his version of hell.

“They went over there on their own.” You shrug.

“Right after you spent the last hour talking to them.” He raises his eyebrows.

You stare at him, not entirely sure what he wants out of this conversation. If he wanted to continue to have them as his sponsors, then maybe he should’ve gone over there to say so. Why would he wait until you were leaving to tell you they belonged to him?

“Well, you weren’t over there.” Your arms drop back to your sides. “You’re a pretty lousy mentor if you’re letting things go like that.”

Finnick scoffs, “After what happened last year, you shouldn’t be calling anyone lousy.”

“I was at a disadvantage.” You tell him, eyes narrowing.

It’s true, even the Capitol officials were saying they’d never seen a sickness go through a district that fast. By the time the reaping came around, most of District Two was sick, including the victors. The tributes who were chosen were beginning to show signs they’d caught it, too. The only reason why they didn’t fully come down with it is because the Capitol administered medicine as soon as you stepped foot on the train.

You were given quite a dose, yourself.

You were the only victor well enough to be sent to the Capitol to mentor, everyone else was just starting to recover. They couldn’t afford for you to be coming down with some illness you could easily pass on. Which meant you were forced to mentor by yourself for the very first time.

On top of that, the pair of tributes that had been reaped did not want to listen to the advice you had to give. They wanted to make the decisions for themselves, they didn’t really care about what you had to say about the Games. A part of you wanted to give up on them because you were exhausted, but you knew it would make you look bad.

You fought tooth and nail for them to look decent during the tribute parade. You kept telling them to score high during training, otherwise sponsors were going to suck. And it honestly felt like a miracle had taken place when they got through the interview without accidentally insulting the Capitol in some way.

He makes a face, “And that’s an excuse? The rest of us run around here with one mentor all the time. You, my friend, saw what it was like to lose your privilege.”

You glare at him, “It’s not a privilege to have two mentors. It’s not my fault everyone else’s tributes can’t tell the difference between their ass and a hole in the ground.”

“Just like yours?” Finnick asks back. “I’m sure it eats you up inside that a girl who lost her mind won the Games and not your stupid pedigree pets.”

You point a finger at him. “You forget my tributes are the reason why she couldn’t think straight at the end.”

“She was still able to swim herself to victory, wasn’t she?” Finnick is smug.

You grit your teeth. You don’t like Finnick, not even under different circumstances. Ever since you met him, he’s been nothing but rude. You’re not sure what happened in order for him to treat you this way, but you’re fucking sick of it.

There’s only about a years difference between you two. You won the year right after he did, you were sixteen, which made him fifteen at the time. And the following year, you were able to talk to him as a mentor. Or rather, you didn’t, because he came up to you, talking about some nonsense while you were in the middle of an important conversation with the escort.

You looked at him, confused and disgusted. He stunk like fish and saltwater, and looked like he’d barely dragged himself out of bed. His hair was a mess, his clothes weren’t matching, and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was another lowlife trash from your district.

But he couldn’t have been, because you two were in the Capitol, where luxury is a first and everything else falls into a neat line behind it. So, you weren’t entirely sure why a boy like him was approaching you, who looked the exact opposite. You looked like your life was put together, while he was just starting to get a hang of it.

You didn’t like the situation, so you ignored it. You went back to the conversation you were having before he came around, pretending as if it never happened. He left, you got what you wanted, and you never spoke about it. In fact, you don’t speak to each other at all unless it’s mandatory. Even then, you make your mentoring partner do it for you.

“That’s the only thing she could do, since she’s so braindead.” You tell Finnick.

“You know, maybe if you hadn’t been so caught up in what you looked like last year, your tributes would’ve been more inclined to listen to you.”

Your hands ball into fists, anger dripping inside you. Before you can put a thought behind your actions, your knuckles are already aimed for his nose, fully intending to break it to teach him a fucking lesson about appearances.

Finnick doesn’t realize what’s happening before it’s too late. Your fist makes his head whip to the side from the amount of strength put behind the move, but nothing else happens. There should be pain throughout your hand, you know what it’s like to punch someone—something—because you train at home with a bag. There’s no ache when you flex your hand.

You watch as Finnick reaches up to touch his nose out of habit, which hasn’t moved in the slightest. You should’ve broken his nose from the force alone, and there’s not even blood to back you up. With the way he’s prodding his skin, the area isn’t even tender, it didn’t even hurt.

Your lips part, staring at him in shock. The entire room has gone still, as if they’re afraid any noise will trigger another attack. Finnick stares right back at you, hand slowly lowering, the gears turning in his head.

This piece of District Four trash cannot be your soulmate. The thought of spending the rest of your life around this asshole makes your blood boil. You waited twenty-one years to meet the love of your life, and it’s him? And the only reason why you found this out was because you punched him and it didn’t do any damage?

“This is bullshit.” You tell Finnick.

He looks down at your hands, eyes widening when he realizes they've formed fists again. He takes a step back, shaking his head, mouth opening to speak, but you won’t hear it. You don’t want to hear anything he has to say.

You back toward the doors that will lead you out of the Betting Room, only a few more steps away. Right as you slam through the door, you can hear your name being called behind you.

—

Well, it seems like your sudden violence yesterday afternoon was enough to get everyone off of your back. You haven’t been approached once after what happened, and it feels like it’ll stay that way until the trip is over.

For now, Thorne has agreed to keeping your sponsors straight as long as you keep track of the tributes. All you have to do is tell Thorne what you need and he’ll take care of it, not that you think you’ll have to.

Since you’ve been effectively banned from the Betting Room, and sitting in the Two apartment is less than ideal, you decided it would be best if you picked a nice spot to have lunch and watch the Games.

It’s been pretty mundane so far, you doodle in the journal, you sip your drink. You’ve been picking at the food on your plate for the last thirty minutes because you’re hungry but not enough to actually eat. The avox came around a little while ago to see why you weren’t eating and you had to tell him you were going to be here for a while and he didn’t have to worry about you.

You draw circles on one of the napkins you can spare, watching as your tributes travel from one side of the arena to the other. They’re hunting, as they always do. It’s typical for the Career pack to look for other tributes the first couple of days of the Games, they do it while they have the energy to.

Although, they’d be able to do it for longer if they got a re-up on supplies every couple of days. If they’re well-fed and rested, then that makes it easier for them to keep going, but they usually get a second chance at supplies during the second bloodbath, anyway. By then, there’s not many tributes left. The ones who are still alive are either on the brink of death or they’re ready for the long haul.

You reach for your journal, flipping it open to the page you were writing on earlier today. If you were able to give the Career tributes an extra backpack of supplies at the end, then they’d be able to hunt one more time and end the Games without risking an event from the Gamemakers.

You stop writing mid-sentence, eyes flickering up to see why someone is standing over your table. At the sight of Finnick, your face contorts. He’s got his hands on the back of the chair across from you. “That seat is taken.”

“Really?” He asks, turning to the table closest to you. He grabs the chair, placing it next to you. “I’m sure this one isn’t.”

“Get away from me.” You sigh, going back to writing in the journal.

Finnick sits in the chair he’s stolen. “We should probably talk about what happened yesterday.”

“I don’t think so. I’m fine pretending as if it never happened.”

He laughs, “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

You put the pen down, flipping the journal shut to give him your full attention. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Maybe kissing one of the many hundreds of girlfriends you have?”

“Nope.” He smiles. “No one to be kissing. Maybe soon, though?”

You squint your eyes at him. “And you say that I’m full of myself.”

“You are.”

You make a face at him. “I am not.”

“You don’t remember how we met?” Finnick asks, shaking his head.

“Yes, I do. You came up behind me, interrupted my conversation, only to ask me where I got all this honey.” You motion to your body.

“You were wearing a gold colored dress.” Finnick says with a smile. “I was trying to flirt.”

“Well, you’re a fucking idiot for thinking that would work.”

“I was sixteen.” He says back. “Of course I was. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was what put you off.”

Your eyes narrow, looking him over, trying to decide if he’s being genuine or not. He might be trying to get information out of you to use as leverage. If you agree to forgiving him, then he can claim you had a change of heart because you realized your true feelings about him or whatever.

“Really, (Y/n), I’m sorry.” He says.

You relax a little, “I suppose I can forgive you.”

Finnick raises his eyebrows. “That’s it? It was that easy?”

You press your lips together, shaking your head.

“I’m kidding.” Finnick says. “I would like to start over, if you think it’s possible. We don’t have to agree to anything in the future, we can just let fate take it as it goes.”

You bite your cheek. “We live in two different districts.”

“That hasn’t stopped soulmates in the past.” He says.

He’s right, there were a pair of victors who realized they were soulmates a couple years back. The boy was from Six and the girl was from Three, they were friends working on a project for the Capitol. He’d accidentally swiped at her with a knife when he was trying to hand it over, it glided right over her skin, not a scratch on her.

The Capitol recognized they were soulmates, and since the boy didn’t have any living family, they allowed him to move to District Three under the condition he continued to work for them. They’re both still alive, neither of them mentor anymore.

“It wouldn’t be that simple for us.” You tell him. “I have family, and you’re the Capitol Darling. We’ll be lucky if Snow doesn’t kill me just so he can keep you for a little while longer.”

“He won’t kill you, but he’ll definitely have a talk with you.” Finnick says. “Are you willing to try, then?”

You sigh, “I am.”

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littlemissrbf · 3 days ago

Text

Summer Lovin’ (pt. 2)

Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!Reader

(No use of y/n, reader is a SoCal native & Bob is from Montana, language, reader has an annoying but loving uncle, Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a jackass, & Natasha "Phoenix" Trace is amazing and I love her, the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department of shits and giggles is my new favorite thing)

Part 1, Part 2 [Word Count: 2.6k]

Until now, you’d only seen Lt. Robert Floyd from across the room, sitting or standing to the side with his shoulders pulled inwards like he was worried about taking up too much space. The distance between the two of you only made him look smaller, more like a “little nerd” according to your uncle.

But now that you have him all up close and personal, you realize just how big this man actually is. He's at least six feet tall with broad shoulders which only seem to add to his height. He practically towers over you, and when he stands too close you have to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

You realize you fucked up as he began to set up the pool balls into a diamond shape. You had asked him to play 9-ball but you've only ever played 8-ball, where the balls are set up in a triangle and you have to pocket all the stripes or solids before you go for the 8-ball. You couldn't even last 5 minutes without making a complete fool of yourself.

"You wanna break?" he asked, holding out the cue ball.

You laid your cue stick to rest against the table before making your way over to him, you took the ball from him and laughed at yourself before he could,

"I'm sorry I meant to say 8-ball instead of 9, but I got them mixed up in my head. I actually have no idea how to play 9-ball."

But he didn't laugh at you. He just smiled, grabbed the rack from another table, and started pulling six more balls from the pockets to rearrange them into a triangle.

"I'm really sorry about that, I should've said something before you'd finished setting up." you looked down and began to roll the cue ball in your hands.

He paused from lining up the rack with the foot of the table to look up at you, "It's okay, I don't mind."

When you still didn't look at him he made his way over to you, leaning down to get you to meet his eyes,

"Hey, it's alright. I figured I could show you how to play 9-ball after our bet." then he added "As long as you're okay with that."

You couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, that sounds good. But only after you've bought me a drink 'cause I'm about to destroy you."

"Oh someone's feeling confident all of a sudden." he smirked at you.

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at him.

"I'm still breaking," you said as you grabbed your cue stick and placed the ball on the table.

The two of you probably spent more time chatting than actually playing pool. The initial trash talk quickly blended into full-blown conversations that ended up with both of you forgetting whose turn it was (you ended up using rock-paper-scissors to decide who would go). At one point, you got so distracted that you forgot you were solids, accidentally sinking one of Bob's stripes into a pocket.

"You from around here?" he asked before taking a shot, the cue ball hitting a red one with a satisfying click, it rolled towards a corner pocket but bounced off the rails.

"No, I'm actually from OC," you said looking for an easy shot.

"OC?" he tilted his head.

"Orange County," you lined up for a pocket shot, "I live in Anaheim, it's about a two-hour drive from here." You hit the cue ball and watched as it rolled straight past your target and into the pocket. You sighed and lightly slapped your forehead, this was probably the fifth time you'd scratched. "What about you?" you asked as he reached into the pocket and pulled out the cue ball.

"I'm was born and raised in Montana, my family owns a cattle ranch in Whitehall." he placed the ball on the table and leaned over to take a shot.

"Robbie, are you telling me that you're a cowboy?"

"No ma'am," he chuckled and shook his head, "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm just a Weapons System Officer."

"Yeah I have no idea what that means, you mind explaining?"

It's like you just triggered a sleeper agent, Bob immediately stood up, completely forgetting about his shot, and started to explain every last detail about what he did as a WSO. He talked with his hands and the pitch of his voice raised when he got excited.

"So, the pilot flies and you shoot, but you're also like the pilot's second set of eyes and ears?" you asked.

"Yep that's pretty much it," he nodded.

"That sounds... intense." You couldn't imagine being in charge of all of that, not to mention being responsible for someone else's life. "Have you always wanted to do something like this?"

"Well, my mom says I always really liked planes and jets." He made his way back to the table and lined up for one of the side pockets, "When I was a kid I told her 'One day, I'm gonna fly one of those things' and I figured the Navy was the best way to do that." He took the shot and the target ball rolled straight into the side pocket.

"It's really impressive." You started, he just shrugged and smiled to himself, he's too humble. "So is this your first time in Cali?"

"Actually, I was stationed in Lemoore for a bit before I got transferred here."

"San Joaquin Valley area?" That area is mostly farmland, so you can't help but ask, "Is it true that it smells like shit all the time?"

He smiled, "You get used to it."

He took another shot and sunk the ball into a corner pocket.

"You're pretty good at this," you said looking down at the table. He only had one ball left and you had five, at this rate you should just go buy his drink already.

A quiet "Thank you" slipped out as he leaned down over the table and lined up to knock his last ball into a corner pocket. He paused for a second, then hit the cue. He scratched.

He just looked at you and shrugged, trying to hide a small grin.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Lt. Robert Floyd, are you letting me win to make me like you more?" You asked, hand on your hip.

You expected him to look down or maybe blush, instead, he held your gaze and tilted his head. That stupid grin showing up again,

"Is it working?"

Now you were the one blushing.

"Maybe." You said, brushing past him to grab the cue ball from the pocket.

This went on for a bit, you miss your shot and then Bob misses his (but on purpose), the cycle continued until some of his fellow pilots made their way back towards the pool tables, putting a pause on your game. It was a woman you recognized from earlier, two men who always seemed to trail behind her, and Mr. Mustache aka Rooster. Bob introduced you, and you shake their hands and learn that Natasha, Reuben, and Rooster are all F/A-18 pilots and Mickey is Reuben's WSO. You ask Natasha if Bob is a good back-seater and she laughs,

"I sure hope so, I haven't gotten the chance to fly with him yet. Most of us just got in today."

"Ooo something important about to happen?" You asked

"Well, I'd tell you if I knew." She smiled, and holy shit she's pretty, actually forget pretty, Natasha Trace is drop-dead gorgeous. Maybe the Navy is only taking hot pilots or something?

As if to prove your point, Rooster, who is tall and ridiculously good-looking, decided to make his way into the conversation,

"Nah you wouldn't, 'c'mon we all know you're a goody two shoes." Rooster pipes up and without missing a beat, she reaches up and slaps him up the back of his head.

"Don't mind him, he's an idiot," she says, "So what brings you around here? Family? Maybe a boyfriend?"

"No, no boyfriend," you say, trying not to look at Bob, but you can see Mickey out of the corner of your eye nudging him with his elbow. "I'm here with my uncle, he just retired from the Navy, today actually."

"Oh good for him, you guys here to celebrate?"

"Well he's definitely here to celebrate, I'm sure he just brought me along to be his designated drive-home." It was a good cover story, there is no fucking way you are about to tell these people that you were brought here to find yourself a husband.

"That's sweet," she starts "I love your dress, by the way, does it have pockets?"

You reach down and fluff out the skirt a little, "Thank you so much! I wish it had pockets, then it would be perfect."

You got to know the group better after just minutes of chatting apparently Natasha and Rooster go way back, Mickey is a chatterbox once he starts talking and won't shut up unless he's either eating or asleep, and Reuben's had his (albeit less dramatic than Rooster's) mustache since high school.

While listening to Rooster, Reuben, and Mickey get into it about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. You subconsciously start drifting towards Bob, who is standing off to the side and silently observing the heated debate. Once you were side to side you gently bumped him with your shoulder, and he smiled before leaning over to whisper,

"I think it's your turn."

He was so close now and you could feel his breath against your neck, your heart decided to skip a beat and you figured if you didn't move soon this man was gonna give you a heart attack. So you quickly shuffled closer to the table and you locked eyes with Natasha, who saw the whole interaction, she gave you a knowing smirk and you felt the flush spreading further up your cheeks. You look down and try to focus on your next shot, but before you can pick which ball to go for you hear a new voice coming from the bar.

"Would you look at that, 'Baby on Board' actually has some game."

The man standing across from you is tall and blonde, he's got a set of perfect teeth that he flashes with a shit-eating grin, you notice the way Natasha looks at him as if she's fantasizing about punching him in the face or setting him on fire, or maybe both.

"Excuse me?" You tried to sound as polite as possible.

"You know B-O-B, 'Baby on Board'. I'm starting to think that's what his callsign actually stands for"

"Bob is just his nickname," you started, "It's short for Robert."

"No sweetheart, see 'callsigns' are what we fighter pilots use for communication and identification." he explained.

"So like a nickname." you replied with a flat tone.

You can hear Rooster and Mickey snickering, Natasha is still standing with her arms crossed but at least now she's smirking.

You decided to press your luck, thinking maybe if you annoyed him enough, Mr. Pearly Whites would just go away.

"What's your nickname?" you quickly corrected yourself "I mean, what's your callsign?"

More laughter came from the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department but Mr. Pearly Whites just stood there and grinned.

"I'm Hangman, this here is Coyote." he nodded to the man next to him.

"Hangman?" You asked, you saw a slight crack in his smile and decided to go in for the kill.

"Do you just really like kid's word puzzles or something?"

At this, the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department fucking lost it, cackling as they leaned on each other for support, Natasha was laughing too but at least she was still standing up on her own.

To your disappointment, Hangman just kept on smiling.

"At least someone's got a sense of humor, isn't that right Bob."

When you turned to glance at Bob, his mouth was pressed in a thin line, he nodded politely but his shoulders were hunched inwards again.

"Listen, it was great to meet you Hangman, and you too Coyote, but if you don't mind I'm gonna go back to playing 8-ball." you said turning back towards the table.

Before you could register it, you felt the pool cue being snatched from your hands and suddenly Hangman was in your place, shooting the cue ball perfectly to sink a ball into a corner pocket.

"I'm really good at this kind of stuff so let me give you some pointers," He started.

"No thank you." You reply immediately, but still polite.

"Aww c'mon I'm just trying to be nice, besides, it looks like you could use the help." He pressed on.

Before you can repeat yourself, Bob made his way around the table and he stood right next to Hangman, bringing his hand down onto his shoulder with a bit more force than necessary.

"You having some trouble with your hearing, Hangman?" He asks.

"Pardon?"

"I guess you are because I just heard her say 'No thank you' loud and clear. Maybe you oughta get your ears checked." He said, smiling sweetly, feigning concern.

Oh shit, he's hot.

Now Rooster got in on the action, "Nah, with that level of hearing loss I say we just let him get discharged."

"It's a shame, I was really looking forward to working with you, Bagman." Natasha chimed in.

And Hangman, the smooth son of a bitch just chuckled and patted Bob on the back, "Looks like we're all a bunch of comedians now." And he turned to you.

He held out the pool cue but when you took it in your hand, he held on, looking straight into your eyes.

"I apologize," he said with his other hand on his chest, it almost sounded genuine. "You have a good night, sweetheart." He flashed his pearly whites again, still holding on.

"Thank you." You replied, not breaking his gaze, not backing down.

He nodded and finally let go, making his way towards the dartboard on the other side of the bar. Before following him, Coyote nodded to you saying "Take care." You nodded back and said, "Thank you, you too."

The second the two men were out of earshot you whipped around to the group, "Oh my god, how do you guys put up with that?!"

Natasha lets out a groan, "He's the worst."

"Tell me about it." Rooster said leaning against a wall.

"You guys deserve a fucking medal of honor or something, I mean he is just such a..." You trailed off while trying to fish out the ball that he sunk.

"Jackass?"

"Dipshit?"

"Asshole?"

You placed the ball down on the table with a thud, "Yes, yes, and yes."

You made your way to Bob and placed your hand on his arm,

"Thank you for sticking up for me, I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome." Is all he gets out, looking down to where your palm rests on his arm, smiling softly.

When you pull your hand away, you barely see the way he leans towards it, as if his body is trying to chase your touch.

Natasha grabs the boys and makes a half-assed excuse about going for another round of drinks, winking at you as she gives you and Bob some privacy. No surprise, Natasha Trace is a solid wingman.

You let out a small laugh, "So, where were we?"

"I think you're about to win."

"Ha ha very funny," you said, aiming for one of your remaining balls. You took the shot and missed with flying colors. "Alright, Robbie go ahead." You said with a defeated sigh.

He sunk his last striped ball then picked a corner pocket for the 8-ball. He lined up his shot, looked at you, and hit the cue ball. It knocked the 8-ball into its pocket before rolling straight across the table and into the other pocket. Scratch on the 8-ball, he lost.

He turned to you and grinned.

"Oops."

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

(Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Part 3 is in the works. This is still my first ever fic so let me know if you have any writing tips or suggestions!)

#bob floyd #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #fanfic #robert floyd #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #tgm x reader #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction #dagger squad

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glossykissies · 16 hours ago

Note

anon is soooo onto something. summer fling with an older!price in some small beach town, running into each other when you're stung by a jellyfish & he just can't help but jog over and give you a hand - 🍓

he hasn’t really had to deal with this kind of thing before. the small beach town didn’t really get tourists over the summer anymore, basically abandoned at best and all the locals knew eachother — so of course he’s going to notice the sweet young thing crying on the beach clutching her thigh. ૮꒰ྀི ◡ ˶ ◡ ꒱ྀི১

he’s squatting by you helplessly now, looking the giant red welt on your skin over as you sniffle and whine. he knew it so wasn’t the time, so he was trying to not look at the way your thighs had fallen open, thin ocean-soaked bikini bottoms perfectly cupping the fat mound of your cunt.

“y’have to pee on me! it’ll get in—infected!” you sniff, gripping the sleeve of his jacket. you, a sweet stranger begging him to whip out his cock and piss on you in public. it was perverse, and only because it seemed like you meant it totally innocently.

“can’t do that love. got a medical kit back a’ mine. can bring’it here?” he wipes the wet sand off his hands onto his pants as he stands and you simper, reaching a weak hand up at him.

“don’t leave me here!” you complain, making him sigh and run a hand over his beard. reading his mind, you speak again. “jus’ take me there. please. s’hurting!” you hiccup. fuck.

he carries you, of course he does. it’s been a while since he’s actually gotten the chance to show off his strength, turns out living in a fishing town and not getting out much doesn’t call for lifting up pretty girls, needless to say he wasn’t fucking frequently either. you seem appreciative, calming down a bunch by the time he’s got you to his humble but gorgeous beach house.

as he cleans you up he finds out a lot about you, the fact you’re staying in your families beach house alone for the summer, your age, the sounds you make when you’re in pain. you’re surprisingly easy to chat to, barely having an off button whenever he calmly sends a question your way. you find stuff out about him too, such as the fact he’s ex military, and he doesn’t have a wife or kids.

“you’ll do well to have a kip. got yourself into a bit of a state earlier you’re probably tired.” he stands up, re fastening the opening of his medical kit. what he meant was, go home and sleep it off — but you nod obediently, snuggling down into his beige couch, fingers intertwined in a cable knit throw. still wearing just a damp bikini. you’re ridiculously trusting in a terrible, cruel word — but he honours your trust anyway, shaking his head in that grumpy old man way he’d adopted, making himself a cup of tea and wandering off to sit on the porch swing, looking over the grey waters. it looked like it was going to storm soon. he tried not to think about your soft thighs and the way he had to part them to tend to your wound.

you only slept for an hour, and he stayed there the whole time, even when you came toddling out to join him with the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, eyes sticky and half closed, asking if your wound looked any better, completely over familiar with just a kind stranger doing what any one would have done. he’d do well to send you away, a young thing like you. should warn you to be more guarded around men you don’t know — but he’ll be the first to admit he’s lonely, and that you’re pretty, and he’s already liking your company more than he should. you’re like a sick puppy that he didn’t adopt, instead just showing up at his door demanding care.

your body is sleepy and warm still when you mutter something about thanking him for being so nice when you clamber onto his lap, sitting directly on the semi hard on john hadn’t managed to rid of since they met a few hours ago. he only tells you to stop it a few times as you rock your hips on your lap, plush tits in his face as you sigh and whimper against him, equally saying sorry as you were saying you were mega grateful.

“not meant’a being doing this, sweetheart.” he sighs defeatedly when your breaths pick up, already working yourself into a frenzy as your soft bikini clad pussy grinds itself into his bulge.

“m’sorry— just… owww!” you cry into his shoulder, your thigh wound scraping the harsh material of his pants.

“see, need to be careful lovie.” he grips your hips, deciding if you were gonna hump all on him, you were gonna do it carefully.

#div by strangergraphics #🍓 anon #j.p ♡#john price prompt

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wongyuseokie · 2 days ago

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Theories & Heartstrings | k.m.g

Chapter 4: Speaking First and Thinking Much Later

Summary: As a writer with a mildly cynical take on love, you’ve always believed people have a “type”—a pattern they never stray from when it comes to dating. And Kim Mingyu? He’s the textbook definition of someone who wouldn’t go for someone like you, nor would you go for him. But you test your theory when a fateful run-in with your charming neighbour sparks an unexpected attraction.

The plan? Go on dates with him and count how many it takes before your heart gets involved—if it ever does. But Mingyu is unpredictable, effortlessly breaking down your carefully constructed walls with every smile, every late-night conversation, every moment that feels too easy to be just an experiment.

The real problem? Secrets never stay secrets for long. And when Mingyu finds out the truth behind your so-called theory, will it prove you right, or that love doesn’t follow the rules you thought it did?

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut

Word Count: 10,645 words

Pairings: Neighbor! Mingyu x Journalist! Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!.

Content Warnings: honestly? its just all around a bit weepy and sad yn just feels very isolated and granted she did most of it to herself girlie is sad. men being creepy, nothing too serious just men being gross, but mingyu is the bestest. alcohol consumption, mentions of food. not really infidelity, but someone is deffos kissing someone they shouldn’t. yn is just not very good with her words. more angst because its me hehehehe Smut Warnings: handjob, mountain sex (it’ll make sense when you read it, dont worry its not anything super precarious) cum licking, handcuffs, sex toy use, nothing super crazy, overstimulation for them both, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex. morning sex, he gives her oral to wake her up which is such a wonderful thought. oral sex. fingering. squriting. yn doms him for a secon its nothing too serious. mingyu whines because ofc he does. not really orgasm denial, more orgasm control. amazing aftercare because duh. Author's Note 1: I'd be remiss if I didn't thank the lovely people who helped beta this monster of a story. thank you @lovetaroandtaemin @nebulousbrainsoup @strxwberry-skiess for your patience time and love thank you guys so much!! Author's Note 2: welp here it is guys my last fic, ever, but good news, this is only chapter 4, and if i can finally learn to stop adding more and more, then we're going to almost be at the homestretch very soon. heheh. Series Masterlist

A couple of days later, you were in the grocery store. You were looking for something sweet but also adding some vegetables to your cart, because you told yourself that this is what adulting is, quietly scanning the aisles, when you heard someone call out behind you.

“Hi.”

You jumped slightly and turned to see Seungcheol standing next to you in the cereal aisle, a carton of oat milk in his hand and a hesitant smile on his face.

“I just—look, I wanted to apologise,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been so aggressive the other night. I was being protective, but... I won’t lash out at you again. Not in the name of protecting him.”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. “Why?” You asked, the word slipping out before you could filter it.

Seungcheol gave you a knowing smile. “Because he still likes you. And I don’t want to hurt someone he cares about.”

Your heart thudded painfully. “You think he—?”

“He’s a stubborn ass, but he’s not a lost cause,” Seungcheol said with a grin. “You just need to give him a reason to trust you again.”

You nodded slowly, watching him disappear into the next aisle. You stood there for a long moment, mind spinning, until finally you made your way to the checkout. ~~

Later that evening, you found yourself at a nearby bar. Not drinking. Just seated in a booth, laptop open, trying to map out your next article. The bar was quiet and half-empty, the way you liked it. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the sunlight was gone and the neon signs outside flickered on.

“So,” a voice interrupted. “How can I convince a girl as beautiful as you to get a drink with me?”

You looked up from your laptop and instantly regretted making eye contact. A stranger had slid into the booth opposite you, reeking of cologne and entitlement.

“You can’t,” you said flatly. “Now, please leave.”

He grinned, undeterred. “Oh come on, pretty girl. You look good. Way too good to be single.”

You glared at him. “I’m not.”

“Oh really?” He asked, eyes dropping to your hand. “Then why are you all alone on a Friday night?”

“Because I have things to do,” you snapped.

But before the man could say anything else, a familiar voice cut through the space between you.

“Baby, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

Mingyu slid into the booth beside you with practiced ease, wrapping an arm around your waist and planting a kiss on your temple. His hand brushed protectively over your lower back as he turned to the guy.

“Do you mind?” Mingyu asked, voice low and cold. “My girlfriend and I are busy.”

The stranger muttered something unintelligible and stumbled away. You were still frozen in place when Mingyu turned to you.

“Did he try to touch you?”

You shook your head, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t a fiery, messy kiss. It was gentle. Hesitant. Warm.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you said, pulling away.

Mingyu was breathless, lips slightly parted. “Yeah, but I kissed you back.” He smiled a little, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Thanks for letting me play knight in shining armor.”

You gave a small laugh. “You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to.”

You both sat there, the tension quietly humming beneath the surface, until finally you both spoke at once:

“Look—”

You both stopped and laughed, a little shy, a little sad.

“I guess…” Mingyu began again, voice softer now. “I guess no matter what happens, I always end up running into you.”

You smiled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No. It’s not. Look, you messed up. A lot. You hurt me. But I still care. I still like you.”

Your chest ached as he continued, “I want to believe you. I want to trust you again.”

You hesitated—then slowly reached for his hand, your fingers lacing with his. “I can show you. Everything. The journal. The article draft. All of it.”

He looked at you for a long time, then nodded. “No more lies?”

“No more lies.”

“Okay,” he said, standing up and pulling you to your feet. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Yours,” he said simply. “We’re going through that journal.”

You laughed, following him out into the night. The car ride was filled with easy silence, the kind that felt like progress.

When you reached your apartment, Mingyu threw you a teasing look as you stared at his thighs again. “You drooling or just admiring?”

You glared at him. “You know ripped jeans are impractical in this weather, right?”

“They’re for accentuating purposes,” he replied smugly.

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, I’m grabbing wine. You make yourself comfortable.”

You came back with a bottle and two glasses, setting them by the bedside table before digging out the journal. Mingyu had already poured the drinks when you sat beside him, handing over the small black book like it was an offering.

He patted the space between his legs. “Sit. Makes it easier to read.”

You did, leaning back against him with the journal open in your lap. “Okay,” you said. “Forget the article for a second. How would you have rated me on our first date?”

Mingyu smiled, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You? A ten. Even with the lava cake accident.”

You laughed. “It was so dramatic. I had to rate you a six to keep myself from falling too fast.”

“And how’s that working out for you now?” He asked, chin resting on your shoulder.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

The warmth of his body behind you, the weight of the journal in your hands, and the taste of wine on your tongue told him everything he needed to know.

It had been an hour of Mingyu simply reading, and you couldn’t take the silence any longer. You exhaled deeply, nerves fraying with every word.

“You asked me to be your girlfriend,” you said quietly, voice tight, “and the joy in your face... I didn’t want to ruin that. And I know I did.”

Mingyu didn’t say anything right away. He just reached over, took the wine glass and the journal out of your hands, and set them on the bedside table. His movements were careful, like he didn’t want to make you flinch.

“I never meant to hurt you,” you continued, eyes locked on your lap. “I wanted to fall for you. I knew I felt something. In hindsight, it was a terrible idea. But the more I saw you, the more the article faded. I almost forgot why I even started writing it.”

“I could kind of tell,” Mingyu said, a soft smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

You looked up, startled. “Really?”

Mingyu nodded. “Your entries... they went from bullet-point lists of ‘what he did right’ and ‘what he said wrong’ to what basically looked like love letters. Rambling sermons about how whipped you were.”

You let out an embarrassed groan. “Oh god.”

“I’m serious,” Mingyu said, hand returning to your thigh, “you went from ‘dresses well, smells nice’ to ‘he made me laugh so hard I cried, and I felt like my chest was full of sun.’”

You covered your face, mortified. “I shouldn’t have used you as a story.”

“No,” he said softly. “You really shouldn’t have.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek, gentle and light—like something fragile had cracked open again but hadn’t quite healed.

“I want to see the draft,” Mingyu said, pulling back.

You hesitated, then nodded and reached for your laptop.

When the document opened, you scrolled down to the only paragraph that had made it onto the page.

“Blah, blah,” you mumbled, trying not to cringe. “All I know is this may have been a stupid way to test how much I like someone, but I’m glad I did. I know deep down I’m falling for him. Hell, I think I fell for him the first time he kissed me. But now I know that I’m well and truly head over heels for him. And a deadline shouldn’t dictate that.”

Mingyu went still.

“Why is this the only thing you wrote?” He asked quietly.

You shrugged. “I guess I didn’t need to write the rest. I already knew how it ended.”

He stared at you for a long moment, then smiled to himself and closed the laptop gently. “So... you liked me from the first time I kissed you?”

You rolled your eyes. “‘Like’ is a strong word. But yeah, something started then.”

Mingyu chuckled. “Butterflies?”

You groaned. “Ugh, you’re never going to let that go.”

“Nope,” he said, laughing as you smacked his chest lightly.

In one easy motion, he pulled you around so you were facing him, legs straddling his lap, and his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Finally, one more thing,” Mingyu said, his voice lower now, more serious. “If I can’t bring myself to trust you again, please... allow me that. Don’t push.”

You nodded. “I get it. I won’t pressure you.”

“But I won’t drag you through ten dates to test my feelings either,” he teased.

You smiled and pressed your forehead to his. “Can I ask for one thing then?”

“Anything.”

“If we do this—if there’s even a small chance—we start fresh. You don’t throw the article at me every time you’re upset, and I don’t beg you to forget what I did just so I can sleep at night.”

Mingyu was quiet for a beat, then nodded. “Fine.” He pulled you in tighter for a moment before slowly letting go.

He stood up, brushing off his pants and stretching his arms overhead. “When do you plan on taking me out then?”

You laughed. “Tomorrow night?”

He grinned. “I’ll be in the studio, but I’ll need to eat. So yeah. You’re on.”

You walked him to the door, your fingers brushing his as he stepped out. “See you tomorrow?”

Mingyu smiled. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

And with that, the door closed behind him, and you leaned against it, letting the quiet echo of hope fill your chest.

You hadn’t expected to see anyone else there.

You knocked softly before stepping into Mingyu’s studio, the takeout bag in your hand still warm. You were smiling—nervous but hopeful—until you saw her.

She was stunning, lounging on the studio couch like it was her own, one hand tucked under her chin, smiling softly at something Mingyu had said. He stood near her, camera slung around his neck, laughing as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

They looked close. Too close.

You cleared your throat. “Hey.”

Both of them turned. Mingyu straightened when he saw you. “Hey.”

The woman stood, brushing imaginary lint from her clothes. “Oh. I see you’ve got company,” she said lightly, casting a glance at the takeout bag in your hand. “I was heading out anyway. See you tomorrow, Gyu.” The nickname slid from her mouth with practiced ease. And then she was gone, breezing right past you.

“I brought noodles and stir-fried beef,” you said quietly, holding up the bag like an awkward offering.

Mingyu motioned to the couch. “Cool. Have a seat.”

You hesitated, eyes flickering to the exact spot she’d just vacated.

Mingyu clocked your expression instantly. “We didn’t have sex if that’s what you’re thinking.”

You blinked.

“So if you’re wondering whether there’s some trace of her left on the couch, there isn’t,” he snapped. “She’s my work partner.”

“Right,” you muttered, sitting down stiffly.

“She’s helping me with a concept shoot. We’ve been collaborating closely—nothing more.”

You crossed your legs and tried to ignore the sting behind your ribs. “Didn’t look like nothing.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t mean to be harsh, but photographers get close all the time. It doesn’t mean it’s personal. You’re being dramatic.”

You flinched. “Not like you have a right to be mad.”

He looked at you sharply. “Excuse me?”

“You said it first,” you said tightly. “I don’t get to be upset, remember?”

Mingyu looked away, jaw ticking. “So is this our date? You coming here to glare at me and sulk over something you imagined?”

You exhaled slowly. “Do you want to play a game or something?”

“No,” he said. “Your jealousy already killed the vibe.”

Silence stretched between you. The food sat untouched.

“I had something else in mind,” you said after a moment. “Saturday. Are you free?”

He didn’t look at you. “What time?”

“Seven.”

“Seven AM?”

“Wear trainers.”

You grabbed your bag and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Mingyu asked, still seated.

“This was a terrible date,” you said honestly. “You’re right—I got jealous for no reason. I’ll see you Saturday.”

He stood slowly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Okay. But text me before you come. I sleep like the dead.”

You gave him a small nod. “Text me the code to your door.”

You hated how stilted it all felt, how far from the natural rhythm you used to share. But you weren’t going to let one awkward night ruin the rest.

You were determined to try—one slow, imperfect step at a time.

“Gyu,” you whispered, gently nudging his shoulder. “Wake up.”

It was 6:45 a.m. on Saturday, and Mingyu was still buried under a pile of blankets, curled in like a child avoiding the world. His long hair was a mess of waves across his cheek, his plush lips parted slightly in sleep. The only reply you got was a soft grumble and the blanket being tugged tighter around him.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

“You said that ten minutes ago,” you replied, already trying to peel the blanket off him.

“No,” he groaned dramatically, “too early. Regret. Everything is regret.”

You smiled, despite yourself. “I brought coffee.”

That got a response. Mingyu cracked one eye open, squinting at the light. “You’re evil,” he muttered, but slowly began to sit up. His limbs stretched out stiffly, and he blinked blearily at you. “What time is it again?”

“Early. Come on, lazy.” You tugged at his arm. “You promised to let me plan this date.”

“Was I drunk when I agreed to this?” He asked, but he allowed you to drag him out of bed anyway. You handed him his coffee as he stumbled toward the bathroom, muttering curses under his breath. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You were waiting by his door when he came back out, clean and dressed but still half-asleep. “You’re in workout gear,” he said, eyes scanning you. “It makes your ass look incredible.”

“Romantic,” you muttered. “Can I drive?”

“Sure, but if you scratch my car, I’m ghosting you.”

You snorted, accepting the keys and tossing him a breakfast sandwich. “Eat. You’ll need it.”

The drive was quiet for the first fifteen minutes, Mingyu alternating between sipping coffee and dozing with his head tilted toward the window. But as the city began to fade behind you, he suddenly spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”

You glanced over at him. “Sure.”

“Do you remember once, you told me the reason you had trust issues was because he cheated on you? What were the signs?”

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. “Straight to trauma at sunrise, huh?”

Mingyu shrugged, sheepish. “Sorry. Just curious.”

You exhaled. “He came home late, smelled like someone else. I walked in on him once—literally walked in.” Your voice was flat. “It wasn’t subtle.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That’s… messed up.”

“It was,” you agreed. “But I’m over it.”

Mingyu placed a warm hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. “I’d never do that to someone. Even when I was mad at you, I never thought about it.”

You glanced at him, his brows furrowed in sincerity, and nodded. “I know.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence, but it was no longer uncomfortable.

“We’re here,” you said, nudging him awake as you parked.

Mingyu blinked rapidly. “Oh my god, we’re hiking?”

“You said you like outdoor dates,” you replied, grabbing your backpack.

“I meant like coffee-on-a-patio outdoor,” he muttered, dragging himself out of the car.

You led the way up the trail, the morning air crisp and biting at your cheeks. Birds chirped overhead, and sunlight broke through the trees in patches, warming your back.

“You’ve been quiet,” Mingyu said after a while, trailing a few steps behind you. “Uncharacteristically so.”

You stopped abruptly, and he bumped into you.

“Okay, maybe warn me next time,” he said, rubbing his chest.

“I just…” you turned to face him. “I didn’t want this to feel like pressure. I wanted to do something that made you happy, and now I feel like I’m failing again.”

Mingyu blinked, taken aback. “What? No. I’m just groggy. I’m sorry.”

You looked away. “You’re allowed to not be into it. I just—wanted to try.”

“Hey.” He stepped closer, brushing your wrist with his fingertips. “I like it. I do. I’m glad you remembered what I said. I was sleepy and grumpy.”

You nodded, feeling the tension melt a little. “Okay. Then follow me. I want to show you something.”

You led him further up the trail, the path narrowing slightly. Mingyu didn’t speak again, just stayed close behind, his eyes fixed on your back until you reached the final turn.

“I brought you here for the view,” you said, pointing to the clearing ahead.

Mingyu stepped up beside you. The trees fell away to reveal a sweeping valley bathed in soft morning light, gold and green stretching endlessly beneath a powder-blue sky.

“Wow,” he whispered, the breath knocked out of him. “It’s beautiful.”

You looked at him. “I wanted to do something that wasn’t about guilt or apologies. Just… us.”

Mingyu turned to you, his gaze softer now. “Thank you,” he said. “Really.”

You smiled. “So… worth waking up for?”

“Not the waking up part,” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “But this? Absolutely.”

“Oh.” Mingyu stayed silent as you both got to the peak.

“Sit,” you said, motioning to a patch of rock.

“Here.” You handed Mingyu a granola bar.

“Fine dining?”

You laughed, “I’ll feed you later, I couldn’t exactly carry a whole meal up here, could I?”

Mingyu nodded, taking the granola bar.

“Okay, this view is worth waking up for.”

You smiled at his words, “How did you find it?” Mingyu asked.

“Joshua told me about it, and he dragged me here twice, so that I’d appreciate the trees.”

Mingyu smiled at you. “So why’d you bring me?”

“I wanted to bring you somewhere serene and calm.”

Mingyu nodded, looking out at the sunrise stretching wide over the valley.

“It’s beautiful.”

He patted the spot between his legs. “Come here. Cuddle me.”

You laughed but obliged, settling between his legs as his arms wrapped snug around your waist.

His chin rested on your shoulder.

“I’m thinking you might be the koala in this relationship,” you teased, running your hands over his fingers.

Mingyu turned his head toward you, eyes dark. “Fuck. I meant…”

You tilted your head toward him and caught his lips in a kiss. It was soft, lingering, like neither of you were in a rush to let go.

“I know,” he murmured, forehead brushing against yours. “But in my defense, you dragged me out of bed, and you’re very nice to hold.”

“I’ve never seen the sunrise with anyone before,” Mingyu added, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as the sky began to shift from gold to a pale orange. “I like this date.”

He pushed your ponytail aside and kissed your neck softly.

“It’s not over,” you whispered, “I haven’t fed you yet.”

You felt the grin on his lips before he spoke.

“I have something I want to eat.”

You groaned, smacking his thigh.

“Not on a hike.”

Mingyu just pulled you closer into his lap, and you could feel the heat of his body and the hardness pressing against you.

“I swear to god,” Mingyu muttered as he pulled you back into his lap, his voice already strained with need, “these yoga pants should be illegal.”

You raised a brow, smirking. “They’re literally for exercise.”

Mingyu slid his hands over your thighs, up to your hips, and then cupped your breasts, tugging lightly on the hem of your sports bra. “No. They’re for driving me insane. From the moment I saw you today, all I’ve been thinking about is this—” His fingers tugged gently on the fabric covering your chest, then rolled your nipple between his fingers. You shivered, your breath catching.

“My tits have been killing you?” You teased, your voice breathy despite your attempt at sarcasm.

“And your ass. And you,” Mingyu said with a soft groan, his thumb brushing over your other nipple. “Every inch of you.”

You gasped as he pinched gently. “What if someone sees us?”

Mingyu just grinned. “Then they’re in for a good show.” He shifted you in his lap so you were straddling him, chest to chest. “But seriously,” he murmured against your neck, “tell me to stop, and I will. No games.”

You tilted your head slightly, giving him better access as he pressed soft kisses along your skin. “Not even tempted,” you whispered.

Your hand slid down to palm him over his sweats. He gasped against your neck, his hips twitching into your touch.

“Let me take care of you,” you said softly, your lips brushing his jaw as your fingers slipped into his waistband and freed him from his boxers. “Let me do this for you.”

“Fuck,” he groaned as you wrapped your hand around him and started to stroke. One of his hands slipped under your top, fingers splaying across your lower back while the other resumed toying with your breasts.

The sounds he made were low, needy, the kind that made you ache. You picked up your pace, thumb swiping over his tip, and he let out a ragged moan.

“Oh my god, that’s—shit,” he gasped, his voice unraveling as you reached down to cup his balls, your other hand still stroking him. “Fuck, Y/N—I’m not gonna last.”

You leaned in and kissed him, open-mouthed and messy, as he finally came in your hand. His body trembled under yours, and he moaned into your mouth as you milked him through it, not stopping until his hips jerked in overstimulation.

“Well, fuck,” he breathed, blinking up at you with glassy eyes.

You grinned. “Breakfast served.”

Then, because you’re wicked, and you knew he’d like it, you licked your hand clean slowly, and Mingyu let out a strained groan.

“You’re evil,” he muttered.

A few moments later Mingyu speaks up, “This was nice, and right now it’s the first time I’ve felt happy with us in a while, and I’m not just saying that only because you made me cum so hard.”

You turned your head and looked at him. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The wind rustled the trees gently, birds called in the distance, and the only warmth you needed came from the boy who held you like he never wanted to let go.

You stood up after a few more minutes, stretching like a cat. “Come on. Let’s eat before I drag you back to the car by your hair.”

“Are you my breakfast?” He asked, his voice half-playful, half-sincere.

You laughed, already walking away. “Keep up, Gyu. Race you to the car.”

Mingyu groaned, grabbing his hoodie as he stumbled to follow. “This is so unfair.

“I’ll drive,” Mingyu said as you both reached back to the car, “so, where are you taking me?”

You smiled at him as you keyed the address into the GPS. “It’s a surprise.”

“Acai bowls?” Mingyu asked skeptically as you both stepped into the café and saw the menu.

“Do you not like them?”

He shook his head. “Never had them.”

You gasped, clutching your chest in mock horror. “You’re a twenty-something who hasn’t had acai? That’s blasphemy.” Mingyu rolled his eyes. “Should I grab us a table, Your Majesty, Queen of Acai?”

You laughed and nodded. “Go on, peasant. I’ll order.”

You came back with the acai bowls a few minutes later and prompted Mingyu to take a bite first.

“Oh, it’s like ice cream,” Mingyu said as he took a bite.

You smiled at him.“Okay, I’m crap with dates, but how’s this one?”

Mingyu grinned. “Let’s see—you dragged me up to a mountain at the buttcrack of dawn, and made it better by making me cum, and now you’re feeding me. You’re doing just fine.”

You smiled at him, “Thank you.” ~~

“Hey, I’ve got to head to the studio tonight,” Mingyu said as you walked back to the car.”

“Want to come? I have a solo shoot, just me. No assistants or models.”

You smiled. “Sure, and then we can get dinner after?”

Mingyu nodded. “And a movie. Or two. I’m not getting tired of you anytime soon.”

You beamed. ~~

You had planned to surprise him at the studio, but your steps froze when you saw him. He was on the couch, locked in a kiss. With the same photographer from the last time. The one who smiled too much and lingered too long.

You backed out of the studio and quickly slipped out of the building. Your phone buzzed relentlessly with his name, but you replied once—urgent work call, can’t talk, see you later for the movie.

“Hey, you okay?” Mingyu asked as you sat stiffly at the far end of the bed, watching the movie from what felt like a separate timezone.

You nodded. “Want to cuddle? Or I can grab a blanket?” He asked.

You shook your head.

He paused the movie and scooted over, pulling you in.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

But you didn’t pull away either.

“I saw that girl, the one you told me not to worry about?”

Mingyu sighed. “So I thought I saw you, and running out.”

You looked down. “I know I don’t have the right. I know I’m the last person to get jealous. But it hurt.”

He paused the movie. “She kissed me. She asked if I was single, I said yes—because we’re not official—and she kissed me.”

You nodded, silent.

“I pushed her off and told the director I need a new lighting tech. One that doesn’t flirt with me.”

You laughed quietly. “Is there even such a person?”

“Well the new one is married to a woman, so I don’t think I’m her type.” You smiled as you finally curled into his side.

“We’ve had a lot of roadblocks, but you’re worth it,” he whispered.

“Whatever it takes, Gyu,” you said softly. “I’ll make you trust me again.”

Mingyu tightened his arm around you. “Just don’t break me.”

“I won’t,” you whispered. “Not this time.”

The following week with Mingyu was…surprisingly smooth. No arguments, no awkward tension, and no stormy silences. Just a steady, gentle rhythm that felt dangerously close to peace.

Which is why it felt like a slap when his phone wouldn’t stop ringing in the middle of your very heavy makeout session on his couch.

You were straddling his lap, flushed and breathless, when he sighed, muttering, “Sorry, I just need to reply to a few messages—it’s about the new showcase tomorrow.”

You climbed off him reluctantly, brushing your hair back. “Ah. The big one?”

Mingyu nodded distractedly, texting. “Yeah. It’s kind of a huge deal. And sold out already.”

You blinked. “Sold out?”

He glanced up at you sheepishly. “Yeah. I can maybe see if someone has a spare ticket, but—”

You shook your head before he could finish. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Mingyu set his phone down. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m happy for you.”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“We can hang out after, maybe?” He offered.

You nodded, but it didn’t sit right. If he wanted you there, he would’ve said so. You didn’t want to beg for a place you weren’t invited to.

You stood, gathering your clothes. “I should get going. I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Mingyu stayed silent as you dressed. “So…what are you writing now?” He asked finally.

You smiled faintly, tucking your top into your jeans. “Nothing yet. Guess you’ve taken up all my recent material.”

He nodded slowly, biting his lip. A strange look crossed his face—like he didn’t know whether to be flattered or deeply uneasy.

You leaned in and kissed him goodbye, murmuring, “See you later, handsome.”

Mingyu caught your wrist, tugging you into his lap. “You know, you could stay.”

“Do you want me to?”

That was the wrong question.

Mingyu's jaw clenched, and he let go of you, shifting away. “You know, I get that you’re trying to rebuild my trust, but you’re playing this so safe it’s like you’re scared of me.”

You sighed. “I’m trying not to push. I didn’t want to overstep.”

“But you had no problem shoving your hand down my pants earlier,” Mingyu snapped.

You blinked. “You think this is about sex?”

“Who initiates it every time?” He said, standing now, pulling his sweats on.

“You do,” you said quietly. “I just…follow your lead. I’m trying to be careful.”

Mingyu exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. His voice dropped. “I just want us to be okay again.”

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind. “We will be. I’ll keep trying, Gyu.”

He turned, wrapping you in his arms. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Mingyu leaned in, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

You smiled. “Only if you let me shower first. I can barely feel my legs.”

Mingyu chuckled, releasing you. “Do you need help walking?”

“No. But I’ll take cuddles after.”

He grinned. “Deal. I’ll leave out a shirt for you to wear.”

“Thanks,” you said, disappearing into the bathroom, already feeling a little steadier.

That evening, you were finishing up your dinner when a knock sounded at the door. Mingyu stood there, beaming, holding up two showcase tickets like they were a prize he’d just won.

“Got one!” He grinned. “You’re still down to come tomorrow?”

You wiped your hands, trying to hide your excitement. “Absolutely.”

You leaned in slowly, testing, giving him the space to pull away. But he didn’t. His hand slipped to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and his lips met yours with a quiet, aching certainty.

It was soft. Warm. The kind of kiss that made time blink out around the edges.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little unevenly.

“So,” you whispered.

“So,” he echoed, grinning, “does this mean you’re staying?”

You smiled at him. “Only if you give me something comfier to sleep in.”

Mingyu stood up immediately. “You want the grey hoodie or the black one? Wait, no — I have that really soft tee that’s a dress on you—”

“Dealer’s choice, Gyu.”

He paused and then turned back to face you, suddenly shy. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Your smile softened. “Me too.”

And just like that, you stayed — brushing your teeth with his spare toothbrush, folding into the right side of his bed, and his warmth behind you as the room faded into quiet.

And for the first time in a while, things felt like they were just right.

The following day, you were awakened by a wet and warm sensation ghosting over your inner thigh.

“Gyu?” You mumbled, your voice hazy with sleep.

There was no answer—just the slow, sinful drag of his tongue against your folds. Your body jolted fully awake, your hips twitching as he used his hands to lift your ass slightly, pulling you closer and locking you against his mouth.

“Mingyu—fuck,” you gasped, your fingers threading through his damp hair.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His mouth was reverent—almost lazy—as if he had all the time in the world to worship you. He licked you slowly, like he was savouring the taste of you, letting your soft moans guide his pace.

But just when your legs started to tremble, just when you were teetering on the edge, Mingyu pulled away.

“No—why did you stop?” You whimpered.

He only smirked, eyes dark as he slowly slid your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside.

“I stopped,” he said, voice gravelly, “because I want to do this properly.”

That’s when you realised he was naked—he must have ditched his sweats—and now he was crawling over you, his body all heat and pressure and weight. He hovered above you for a second, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Okay?” He asked softly.

You nodded, too breathless to speak.

Then he pushed into you with a low groan, filling you. You bit your lip to keep from moaning too loudly. His thrusts were deep and slow at first, and you could feel how badly he’d wanted this—how long he’d been holding back.

“You’re so warm,” he whispered against your neck, “so perfect.”

You held onto him as he began to move faster, his rhythm sure and desperate. When his hand slipped between your bodies to rub your clit, you gasped, barely able to hold yourself together.

“Come with me,” he panted. “Come on, pretty girl. I want to feel you fall apart.”

You cried out softly as your orgasm hit, clinging to him as your body clenched tightly around him. A moment later, he groaned against your shoulder and came inside you, his thrusts slowing, more tender now.

When it was over, Mingyu didn’t pull away. He stayed where he was for a beat longer, breathing hard, then kissed your forehead gently.

“Morning,” he murmured.

You laughed breathlessly, nuzzling into his chest. “God… that was a really nice way to wake up.”

He wrapped both arms around you and let out a low chuckle. “Mm, I agree.”

“What do I wear?” You asked Mingyu later that morning, he was over at your apartment, helping you decide what to wear, you felt overwhelmed by just glancing at the mess of clothes scattered on the floor.

Mingyu gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s in a club, so… heels and a dress you don’t mind getting a little messed up,” he said, his voice dipping lower as his hand traced a line down your stomach.

You raised a brow. “Why?”

He smirked, leaning in closer until his lips brushed against your ear. “So I don’t feel bad when I rip it off you,” he whispered, and before you could process his words, his hand slid between your legs, fingers brushing against your core.

Your breath hitched. “Mingyu…”

He pushed a finger inside you, his eyes darkening with desire as he watched your reaction.

“Good?” he asked, his voice soft and attentive.

You couldn’t even form a proper response, just a breathy moan slipping past your lips. He added another finger, his movements slow and deliberate. “Come on, baby. I asked you a question,” he teased, his thumb pressing lightly against your clit.

Your body arched into his touch, and you gasped, “S-so good.”

He leaned down to kiss your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s what I like to hear,” he murmured. He didn’t rush, taking his time as his fingers moved in and out of you, his other hand resting on your hip to keep you grounded.

Your hands gripped the sheets as pleasure built inside you. Mingyu’s lips ghosted over your collarbone, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your clit.

“You’re shaking, baby,” he whispered. “You hear how wet you are? So pretty when you’re like this.”

You barely managed a nod, your legs trembling as his fingers curled just right, hitting that spot that made you lose your composure. Mingyu kept his eyes on you, drinking in every little gasp and whimper.

He slowed down just a little, teasing you, and you whined in protest. “Think you can squirt for me, baby? Hm?”

Your head fell back against the pillow, his words pushing you closer to the edge. “I-I can’t,” you stammered.

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, his voice coaxing and gentle. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”

With that, he increased the intensity, his thumb circling your clit with more pressure. Your vision blurred as you cried out, body shuddering as waves of pleasure overtook you. Mingyu held you through it, murmuring soothing words as you rode out your orgasm.

When you came back to your senses, you saw him grinning down at you, his hand still resting gently on your thigh. “There she is,” he teased, brushing some hair from your face.

You shot him a half-hearted glare. “Don’t look so smug.”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You made a mess of your sheets,” he teased, but his tone was light, clearly proud.

You rolled your eyes, still catching your breath. “Shut up.”

Mingyu just laughed, the sound warm and reassuring. “Come on. We both have to get ready, don’t we? Let’s get cleaned up,” he said, scooping you up effortlessly and carrying you to the bathroom.

In the shower, he was surprisingly gentle, helping you wash up and pressing soft kisses to your shoulder every now and then. Even with the limited time, he couldn’t help but slip his hands around your waist and kiss you deeply, his lips slow and unhurried despite the morning rush.

“Can’t help myself,” he murmured when you gave him a playful glare.

You couldn’t help but laugh, resting your head on his chest as the warm water cascaded over both of you. “Neither can I,” you admitted.

When you were both dressed and ready, he kissed you again before heading out. “I need to get there earlier to set up,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, “Mm, I need to go into the office too, just for a bit.”

“So, I’ll see you tonight at the showcase?” Mingyu asked, lazily draping his arms around your waist while you changed into your work clothes.

You nodded. “And I’ll have you all to myself?”

He smirked. “Not entirely, but most of the night, yeah.”

You leaned up to kiss him, only for Mingyu to deepen it into something slower, lazier, like he had no intention of letting you leave.

You pulled away with a laugh, fixing your hair. “Go, I need to make sure my legs are still working for tonight. I already know I’m going to be limping, thanks.”

Mingyu just smirked wider. “I’m proud.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag. “See you tonight.”

“Y/N! Just the woman I wanted to see,” Keira called out as you walked into the office. She shut the door behind you like she’d been waiting.

“You’ve been very bubbly lately,” she said with a grin. “Things good with the infamous Mingyu?”

You gave a sheepish nod. “We’re… trying. Slowly.”

“Well, I was thinking—” Keira’s smile widened, “maybe you could write something about how a stupid article led you to the love of your life.”

You raised a brow. “Keira.”

She shrugged, unbothered. “I’m serious. The Mingyu profile did great. And I was thinking… a follow-up. Maybe something a little deeper?”

You blinked. “You want me to write about him. Again.”

Keira leaned forward. “Think about it. Not just a profile—something personal. A retrospective. How it started, where you are now. People would eat it up.”

“No,” you said, firm.

Keira blinked at your sudden shift in tone. “You sure?”

“I’m not doing that again. Not for any readership numbers or viral engagement.” You stepped past her and set your bag down. “Mingyu and I barely recovered the first time. I’m not jeopardising it just to feed the same cycle.”

Keira exhaled. “Look, I get it. But you’ve only written light pieces lately, and this would be something—”

“I said no,” you interrupted. “I’ll write something else. But I’m not writing about Mingyu again.”

Keira stared at you for a beat, then slowly nodded. “Okay. I’m not going to push.” She turned toward the door. “You’ve just never turned down something like this before.”

You smiled tightly. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Later that evening, you stepped out of the cab just as you applied a final swipe of lip gloss. The buzz of the crowd outside the showcase venue was electric, pulsing with camera flashes and music.

“Ticket?” The security guard asked.

You froze. Your heart dropped.

“Oh no,” you muttered, scrambling through your bag. “Shit. Shit.”

The ticket was still on your desk at work.

“I left it at work,” you said to the guard. “I’m supposed to be inside.”

“Sorry, we’re at full capacity,” the guard replied. “No entry without a ticket.”

“I know, I just—let me make a call,” you muttered, stepping aside as you tried calling Mingyu. “Gyu, pick up,” you hissed. You tried again. And again. No answer.

So you sat on a nearby bench, watching the lights flicker from inside the venue. You played Candy Crush. Checked your texts. Nothing. You waited. One hour passed. Then another.

Eventually, you gave up.

You trudged back to your apartment, heels clicking against the pavement, still checking your phone with every step. You looked up and stopped in your tracks.

Mingyu was sitting on your doorstep with a bouquet of roses in hand.

“What the hell?” You said, completely thrown.

Mingyu looked up at you and smiled. “Hi to you, too.”

“You’ve been here?” You asked, bewildered.

“My phone died,” he said, rising to his feet. “I couldn’t get inside. I figured if I couldn’t find you, I’d wait.”

You stared at him, silent momentarily, before unlocking the door and heading inside. Mingyu followed, still holding the flowers.

Once in your room, you kicked off your heels with a sigh. “I forgot my ticket. It’s at work. I was texting you for two hours. And the whole time, you were just... here?”

Mingyu shifted awkwardly, holding out the bouquet. “I just wanted to spend the night with you. The showcase didn’t feel right without you there.”

You sat on the bed, tired. “Keira asked me to write about you again.”

Mingyu looked at you, curious. “What did you say?”

“I told her no. I told her I couldn’t. That I wouldn’t.”

Mingyu blinked. “You… you said no?”

You nodded. “Because I couldn’t be objective. And because I wouldn’t risk hurting you again. I want us to be real, Gyu. Not words on a page.”

He smiled slowly, his entire expression softening. “So… you said no to a cover story about me because you like me too much?”

You nodded. “And because I already did that once. I want this to be real.”

Mingyu stepped closer and handed you the roses. “They’re for you. I know I missed the performance. But I meant it when I said it didn’t matter.”

You smiled, placing the bouquet on your desk. “Please tell me you didn’t fight the bouncer.”

Mingyu laughed. “Almost. But I decided not to get banned from the venue.”

You sat down beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I spent the whole night wishing I could be in the crowd. But now I think… this is where I was supposed to be.”

Mingyu leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I get you to myself now anyway.”

You turned to face him, grinning. “I’m not mad about it.”

Mingyu smirked, kissing you again—slowly this time, with no audience, no cameras, no pressure.

Just you.

Mingyu's fingers gently threaded through your hair as he leaned his forehead against yours. “You smell like overpriced lip gloss and takeout,” he murmured. You grinned. “You smell like sweat and roses.”

“I showered,” he protested.

“I know. I was complimenting the roses.”

Mingyu laughed softly, his breath ghosting over your skin. For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet hum of your apartment and the way his hand moved lazily over your back.

“So,” he finally said, his voice low, “no more writing about me?”

You shook your head, “Nnope. No more story. No more experiments. Just us.”

“And if Keira offers you a book deal tomorrow?”

“I’ll say I’m not interested… unless it’s fiction.”

Mingyu raised a brow, smirking. “So if I show up in a smutty romance novel one day, should I be flattered or worried?”

You laughed, tucking your face into his neck. “Flattered. Very flattered.” “God, I want you, but I’m so tired. Can I first just cuddle you, darling?” Mingyu

“Yes. Let me just shower first.” You said as Mingyu nodded and started to strip, “You go first.” You smiled as you headed into the bathroom.

The water beat down over your shoulders as steam curled against the shower glass. You let yourself exhale, just a little, trying to shake off the day's weight. It was warm, soothing — the kind of shower that melted tension from your bones.

Mingyu didn’t mean to look at your open laptop, but his eyes landed on a word document with a few sentences, and he couldn’t help but notice the phrase “the most unlikely encounter.” His chest tightened as his mind raced, trying not to overthink. He took a deep breath, deciding to just simply ask you.

When you finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel and rubbing at your damp hair, you poked your head into the bedroom — and there he was, lying in your bed. You changed into a large shirt and joined him in bed.

You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, snuggling into him without hesitation. Mingyu’s lips curled into a fond smile. “Cute,” he murmured, brushing his nose against your forehead. You hummed contentedly, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

“So,” Mingyu started, trying to sound casual, “are you working on anything new?” His tone was light, but there was an edge of curiosity that made you look up at him.

“No,” you replied softly, nuzzling closer. Mingyu hummed again, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling. Maybe he’d just misunderstood.

“Gyu,” you said, turning to meet his gaze, eyebrows slightly raised. “Why do you ask?”

“Just... curious.” He offered you a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Would you tell me if you were working on something new?” His voice was steady, but you could feel the subtle tension.

You smiled but faltered when he continued, “I saw your laptop earlier. Are you... writing another dating article? About me?”

You froze, heart thudding against your ribs. “You snooped?”

Mingyu’s expression shifted, jaw tightening. “No. Don’t you dare get defensive. I didn’t snoop. Your laptop was open, and I couldn’t help but see. What’s the article about?”

You sighed, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s just a fluff piece about dating. It’s got nothing to do with us.”

“Show me,” Mingyu said, voice a little firmer. You hesitated but eventually reached for your laptop, pulling up the document. You pointed to the part he’d seen. “See? It’s just about how people can meet in unexpected ways.”

Mingyu scanned the text, his frown softening. “Oh.” He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, guilt flickering across his face. You shut the laptop and pushed it to the side, lying back down.

He bit his lip, clearly unsure how to navigate his own feelings. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I should trust you, but... I have a reason to doubt. I just... I didn’t want to get blindsided again.”

You didn’t respond, your back still turned to him. Mingyu hesitated before calling your name again. “Y/N?” No answer. A little louder, he tried again. “Y/N?”

You finally turned, your glare cutting right through him. “What?” you muttered, clearly still irritated.

Mingyu softened, leaning back against the headboard. “Fair enough. I deserved that. I just... I got scared. But you’re right, you promised you wouldn’t lie, and I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.” His hand reached out, hesitant, but you eventually scooted closer, crawling into his lap.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you a little tighter than before, as if silently apologising. You huffed, the tension slowly dissipating as you rested your head on his shoulder.

Mingyu kissed the top of your head, murmuring, “I’m sorry for doubting you. I really am.”

You didn’t say anything, but the way you buried yourself deeper into his chest was enough for him to know you were ready to forgive.

“Good,” he whispered, his voice dropping. “What if I just show you how sorry I am?”

You pulled back with a smile. “I thought you were sore and drained from the showcase?”

“I was.” He leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time. “But you’re kind of a miracle cure.”

“I won’t hurt you again. I promise,” you said softly, crawling onto his lap.

Mingyu nodded quietly at your words, his eyes lingering on your face, then trailing down your bare skin pressed against his. “You know… not to kill the mood,” he murmured, “but you’re looking insanely gorgeous, and now you look so cosy and comfy? I’ve just wanted to take you from the second I saw you.”

You didn’t answer with words. You simply rolled your hips against him, slow and deliberate, watching the sharp exhale leave his chest.

“I guess we both have our priorities in order,” you teased, pressing your lips against his neck. “Let me take care of you, Gyu. Just… let me.”

You undressed quickly and Mingyu followed suit as both your clothes hit the floor in a trail behind them, until skin met skin and nothing else remained between you two. You then got back onto the bed, this time straddling him.

Mingyu’s breath caught. He nodded. “What—do you want to tie me up or something?”

You bit your lip, eyes gleaming with mischief as you reached for your bedside drawer. “Maybe.”

When you pulled out a pair of fluffy handcuffs, Mingyu blinked, then burst into laughter. “Oh my god, are those—?”

“I was a naughty tiger for Halloween once. Don’t ask.”

“Kinky,” he grinned, letting you cuff him to the headboard. “Very kinky.”

“You know what?” you smirked, sitting back on your heels. “Maybe you can just watch instead.”

Mingyu groaned in protest. “Wait—no. That’s just cruel. You said you’d take care of me.”

“I will, baby,” you murmured, settling between his legs with the vibrator in your hand. You spread your legs, deliberately letting him see the shine of your arousal. “Just not how you expected.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he rasped. “Please let me touch you.”

You leaned forward, close enough to kiss him, but didn’t. “I never pegged you for a whiny sub,” you whispered.

“Pun intended?” He muttered, breathless.

You laughed softly and straddled his lap, your lips finally brushing his. He kissed you back hungrily, groaning when you tugged his hair and slid, sliding your tongue into his mouth. Then you shifted your hips, letting your slick folds glide along his cock—slow, teasing pressure that made him writhe beneath you.

“Ah, fuck. Please, baby. Please fuck me.”

“Gladly.” You sank down onto his cock in one slow, indulgent motion, watching his eyes flutter shut. You stayed still.

“Wait—why aren’t you moving?”

You turned on the vibrator and pressed it to your clit. “Because you’ll like this.”

Mingyu whimpered. “Fuck. You’re getting so wet. You’re clenching around me—baby, please—”

You reached for his face, kissed him softly. “Don’t move. You cum when I say.”

His eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling as you moaned louder and louder. You came first, your body shaking as you clenched around him, and he gasped as if he was about to break. You slowly lifted yourself off him, undoing the cuffs with care.

“Y/N,” he whined. “Please—baby—”

You smiled and pulled him into your arms, letting him rest his head against your chest. “Lean back, Gyu,” you whispered, stroking his cock with long, slow strokes. “I’ve got you.”

His moans were soft and desperate, his hands trembling on your thighs. When you brought the vibrator to his balls, he practically cried out. “So good. So fucking good—”

You kept your strokes steady, pressing kisses to his temple as you whispered, “Cum for me.”

He unravelled in your hands with a broken moan, your name leaving his lips like a prayer. His body shook from overstimulation, but you kept stroking him gently through it all.

“Too much,” he whimpered. “Fuck, too much.”

“Want me to stop?”

He shook his head. “No. But—fuck—I’m gonna cum again—”

And he did, spilling into your hands again, eyes screwed shut, mouth slack with pleasure. You kissed his shoulder and wiped him down gently, the moment soft and hazy.

“You made me cum twice,” he breathed, blinking up at you in wonder. “You’re unreal.”

“Tired?” You asked.

“Mm, nope, besides I still need to make sure you fall apart the way you made me.”

He didn’t let you think much flipping you over, and sliding his fingers into your soaked cunt. It didn’t take long, he the way he moved his fingers inside you and thumb rubbed your swollen cunt until you came again, hard, gasping his name as your body went limp.

“Gyu,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed your forehead before carrying you to the bathroom.

He sat you gently on the counter, filling the tub with way too many bubbles and bath salts. You smiled, too fucked out to tease him.

“Come here,” you pouted.

Without a word, he lifted you into the warm water and slid in behind you. You turned to lay on his chest, melting into his embrace as he gently washed you. When the bath was done, he dried you off, changed the sheets, and tucked you in with a soft kiss.

“Way too much cum on those sheets,” he muttered with a smirk.

You laughed sleepily, curling into his chest. “Gyu?”

He hummed, rubbing your back.

“I love you,” you mumbled.

His heart stopped for a second, but you were already asleep.

He groaned softly and kissed your forehead. “Please let that be real,” he whispered. “Please.”

The next morning, you barely noticed Mingyu’s presence behind you until his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into his warmth. His voice was low, almost sulky. “You left me alone.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his tone, still focused on scrambling eggs. “I’m making us breakfast.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Still, you’re cuddly,” he mumbled, holding you tighter, as if afraid you might slip away. You felt a gentle tug in your chest — the kind of ache that came with knowing someone wanted to hold on to you.

“Sit down, Gyu,” you whispered, squeezing his hands before nudging him towards the table. “I’ll plate this up.” He sighed dramatically but finally obliged, plopping down at the small kitchen table.

Mingyu glanced down at his grey sweats and smiled. “Glad I left these here,” he mused. “Otherwise, Joshua and Wonwoo would’ve gotten a free show.”

You smirked as you set the food in front of him. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

He shot you a look, lips curving upward despite himself. “Of course not. You can’t get enough of me.”

You shot him a playful glare before sitting down. “How do you feel?” Mingyu asked, his voice softer now, a little hesitant. “Last night was... a lot.”

A flush crept up your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Sore, but... a good sore.”

His eyes flickered with concern. “I didn’t go too far?”

You shook your head. “No. You were perfect.”

Relief softened his features, but he didn’t touch his food, just absentmindedly pushed it around on his plate. You furrowed your brows, leaning in closer. “Gyu? Why aren’t you eating?”

He hesitated, his shoulders tensing, as if he was waging a war with himself. “Just... thinking.”

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his. “About what?”

His fingers tightened around yours, and he looked at you with an unreadable expression. “You said something last night.”

Your stomach dropped. “What did I say?”

He pushed his plate away, his eyes fixated on the table. “You said you loved me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart pounded against your ribs. “Oh, I... it didn’t mean anything.”

Mingyu’s gaze snapped to yours, hurt flickering through his eyes. “It didn’t mean anything?”

You could feel the air between you tighten, and you winced. “I mean... I just... it was in the heat of the moment, you know?” Your voice sounded small, and you hated how unconvincing you sounded.

His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened. “No, I don’t know. I don’t know what you mean.”

Your hands were shaking, and you couldn’t meet his gaze. “I was about to say it back,” he admitted, softer now, like he was confessing a secret. “But you fell asleep. I thought... I thought I’d say it to you in the morning.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart squeezing painfully. “Isn’t it... too soon?” you whispered, trying to make sense of the turmoil in your chest.

His expression hardened. “Why? Do you need more dates to fall for me? More proof that I’m serious about you?”

Before you could answer, Joshua’s voice cut through the tension. “Hey, what’s going on? You two wouldn’t stop last night, and now you’re arguing?”

You hadn’t even realised how loud your voices had gotten. You figured Joshua probably popped into the kitchen concerned when he heard the raised voices. You gave Joshua a tight smile. “Nothing, just... a little misunderstanding.”

Mingyu scoffed bitterly, the sound sharp enough to cut. “Just like your confession, right?”

Joshua glanced between the two of you, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What happened?”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to stay composed. “It’s nothing, Joshua.”

Joshua hesitated, clearly worried. “Okay, well... I’ll be in my room.”

Once Joshua was gone, Mingyu’s shoulders slumped, the anger melting into something raw and vulnerable. “I was ready to say it. You think I’m impulsive? Maybe I am. I take risks. I believe in just saying how I feel. But you... you’re worse. You impulsively wrote a story about me, lied to me, and I still gave you a second chance. Why? Because I’m an idiot who fell in love with you.”

His confession hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Tears pricked your eyes, and you barely managed to breathe out, “Mingyu, I—”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “I thought I’d wait until I could trust you again. But I’m starting to realise... I can’t. I can’t keep risking my heart like this. Not when I keep feeling like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Your voice came out shaky and small. “So... that’s it?”

He took a shaky breath, struggling to keep his composure. “I think... we’re done.”

Your legs felt weak as the reality of his words sank in. “Mingyu, please—”

He looked at you one last time, his face a mixture of heartbreak and resignation. “Don’t. I’ll get my clothes and go.”

You watched helplessly as he walked to your room, your mind racing with every possible way to fix this. When he returned, he stopped in front of you, his expression softer but still pained. “Take care, okay?” He hesitated, then pressed a light, lingering kiss to your forehead before turning and walking out the door.

You barely heard Joshua come out of his room, his face etched with concern. “Y/N?”

Your voice cracked as you whispered, “I think... I just got dumped.”

Joshua wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight as you sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s okay. Just let it out,” he whispered, his hand stroking your back gently.

Later, sprawled on the couch with Joshua and Wonwoo, you numbly took a sip of wine. “Is it a record to get dumped twice by the same guy in two months?”

Wonwoo sighed, pulling the bottle from your hands. “That’s enough. You’re just making it worse.”

You pouted at him. “Why aren’t you comforting me?”

Wonwoo’s expression hardened. “Because we’ve been doing that for months, and you keep repeating the same mistakes. You keep acting without thinking, and it’s hard to feel bad for you when you won’t own up to it.”

His words stung, but deep down, you knew he wasn’t wrong.

Joshua shot him a look. “Wonwoo, that’s a bit harsh.”

“No, it’s honest. She needs to hear it.” Wonwoo crossed his arms, refusing to back down. “Y/N, you said you loved him and took it back. That’s not fair to him.”

Your hands shook as you muttered, “Since you started dating Mia, you’ve only been on his side.”

Wonwoo huffed in frustration. “It’s not about sides. It’s about being honest with you because you keep hurting yourself and him. You never take responsibility. You just run away and play the victim.”

Joshua gave you a sympathetic look, but he didn’t disagree. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were the problem all along.

You didn’t know how to respond. Your chest felt tight, and your throat burned from holding back the sob threatening to break free. The truth in Wonwoo’s words hurt, but not because they were harsh — they were just real. It was one thing to mess up repeatedly, but another to have someone you cared about lay it all out so plainly. You felt exposed, raw, and more than anything, ashamed.

Joshua glanced between you and Wonwoo, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. He reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey. I know it feels like a lot right now, but maybe some space will help. Just... think about it, okay?”

You nodded numbly, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I just... I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Wonwoo’s tone softened just a fraction. “Take some time. Figure out what you actually want. Stop acting on impulse and hurting the people around you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to argue. Instead, you slowly got up, murmuring something about needing air. Neither of them stopped you. You ended up in your room, the door closed behind you, finally allowing the tears to flow freely. You felt like you couldn’t breathe — like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. You hated feeling this way — guilty, embarrassed, so painfully aware of your own flaws.

For the next two days, you avoided everyone. You could hear the occasional muffled conversations through the walls, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face them. You couldn’t face yourself. You spent most of your time in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling or scrolling through your phone without really looking at anything.

You replayed the scene over and over in your head — the way Wonwoo’s voice had cracked just a little when he told you how hard it was to be your friend. You’d never considered that before — that you could be difficult to be around. Sure, you’d made mistakes, but it had never felt this bad, this suffocating. You wished you could rewind time, take back the careless words and the impulsive actions.

Eventually, the suffocating feeling became too much. You needed to get out, get away from the constant reminder of your mistakes. So, you decided to go home — to your family. A change of scenery, even for a little while.

Because just maybe, you thought, distance could help you all heal.

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pomefioredove · 2 days ago

Note

Can I have a sugar cookie, #5, with chocolate chips, whipped cream and powdered sugar?

thank you for waiting so patiently! <3

order #5, sugar with whipped cream, chocolate chips, powdered sugar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ an easy solution

summary: accidentally chosen as kalim's spouse-to-be tropes: royalty au, coffee shop au (barely), fake dating characters: kalim additional info: romantic or platonic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu

"This is not good. Not good. Very, very not good. Would anyone like a date cookie?"

After explaining everything, each mistake, each misstep taken, each panicked, poorly timed-and-placed response, that's all Jamil has to say. "Would anyone like a date cookie?"

"What?" he asks. "I'm not going to eat them."

Kalim almost reaches out to the golden tray of treats, but you grab his hand and pull him back.

"Jamil, were you even listening?"

He scoffs, setting the sweets on the table and taking a seat across from you. The pillows in the palace are soft, of the finest silks- and yet nothing sounds more comfortable now than those of your own bed.

At home.

Far, far away from here.

"I heard you," Jamil says. "When Kalim's father, that's the Sultan, mind you, said he was going to arrange a marriage for him, Kalim panicked and claimed that he couldn't, because he was already in love. There's lie number one- then, in another panic of poor decisions, he pointed out the first person he saw. Which happened to be you, a coffeemaker. A peasant. A stranger. There's lie number two- and then you, you go along with it. There's lie number three- and now you're getting married. Have I covered everything?"

You nod. Kalim nods after, following your lead. He likely wasn't listening to him.

Jamil sighs. "...I'll be honest, I'm not coming up with an easy solution for this,"

"But you have to!" you exclaim. "I can't be a monarch! I can barely remember to clock in after I've gotten to work! I can't even stand up to my manager!"

"I'm very aware you're unfit for this position," he glares. "Kalim's father is too soft on him. He just lets him have anything he wants... you, in this case."

Kalim makes a muffled Mhm! sound, his mouth stuffed with cookies. You massage your temples.

"I feel sick,"

Jamil sighs, standing and taking the sweets away from Kalim before he can make himself sick.

"Not on the carpet, please, the craftsman who wove it is retired,"

You glare. "Does this mean nothing to you?!"

He spins on his heels faster than you can follow, and he points a finger right at your face, nearly poking between your eyes.

"Obviously, it means something to me. It means I have another mess to clean up- a big one. Honestly, Kalim! What if the person you pointed at had been married? The scandal!"

"Sorry," he pouts. You frown.

He's depressingly pathetic- and that's worse is that, despite your own exasperation, you can tell he really is- sorry, that is. And he's perfectly pitiful about it.

"It's not his fault. Anyone would have done the same thing,"

Jamll scoffs. "Some of us know our place. Kalim, stop eating, you'll spoil your appetite,"

"Sorry,"

"Don't apologize," you tell him. Taking a commanding tone with the king's son raises some eyebrows, but no one objects. Jamil just bites his lip in thought.

"...I suppose we could... no, no, calling off the engagement so suddenly would turn heads. And that's not even saying what could happen to you- you can't just go back to being a private persons after this,"

"I know," you murmur, crossing your arms and slumping into the perfectly fluffed pillows.

"You life very well may be in danger, whether you go through with this or not," Jamil says. "...And if you call everything off, that leaves Kalim right where he started- an arranged marriage he doesn't want. Then who knows what he'll come up with?"

"What're you saying?"

He sighs. "I just don't see any other way out of it. It'll be a nice wedding,"

You stand before he can finish, and you bolt out of the lavish lounging room.

Kalim's family palace is bigger than any building you've ever seen, let alone been inside of. There are countless libraries, lounges, bedrooms, kitchens, studies, and so on, you could spend one day in each of them and still not have visited them all until you were old and gray.

You suppose you'll have plenty of opportunities to do that, now.

Except- right. You'll have to rule by Kalim's side. You won't have time to partake in the ten pools or twenty playrooms, you'll be running a country.

Might as well familiarize yourself with the family home while you can.

You grab the first doorknob you feel, cold metal (gold, probably, like everything else) under your fingertips, and you find yourself in some sort of game room. Tables and cushions, pillows of every shape and size and thread count, chess and checkers and mahjong and any board game you could possibly picture. You're sure this is only one room of many, but it's still one of the nicest places you've ever cried in.

You curl up by a mancala board, crying your eyes out for as long as you can manage, or at least until you've had enough hiccupping and hacking and coughing for the night. You dry your eyes on the silk sleeves of whatever million-thaumark robe you'd been stuffed in for the occasion, and the door opens.

"Go away, Jamil," you snap. But there's no biting reply.

"It's me,"

You look up, and,

"Kalim?"

He stands in the doorway, hands behind his back, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. But he isn't. He's here.

"...Did Jamil-"

"No, he doesn't know I'm here," he says. "I-I have something to say."

Oh, great. Now he's going to lecture you, too? As if Jamil wasn't enough...

"I'm going to tell everyone the truth,"

Oh.

OH!

"What?" you ask, standing, though your legs are stiff and numb. "But that means- the marriage-"

"I know," he says. "I'll tell everyone it was all my fault, and that I'm a liar and you had nothing to do with it. You'll be left alone and I'll get married to a princess... it'll probably be fun, I don't know what I was so worried about."

He's doing a really good job at making you feel guilty while trying not to make you feel guilty.

"There are lots of really nice princesses, and the wedding will be beautiful..."

You bite your lip. "Kalim,"

"And my father will be really happy..."

"Kalim,"

"And it'll be really fun, I'm sure! I'll ask Jamil to make those date cookies again, those were really good!"

"Alright, I get it!" you say, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him. "I-I'm really thankful that you'd do that for me!"

Kalim's eyes go big at your outburst, and then he giggles. "Haha, that was fun! Shake me again!"

You hesitate, wondering if he'd heard a word of what you'd just said, but you shake him at his behest, anyway. He beams with laughter, and you can't help but smile, too.

"Listen," you say, holding him still.

"I want a solution for both of us. Anything but that is a bad answer- I'm not going to let you take the fall for this."

Kalim's smile falters, and a small shadow of doubt falls over his face. "But Jamil said-"

"Jamil said he didn't have an easy solution. So, we'll come up with one ourselves,"

"Ourselves?" he asks. "But- I dunno, Jamil is really smart. I'm not so sure... it'd take a while for me to think of something good."

You smile slightly, your hand slipping down to take his and tug him out of the room.

"We've got time. Luckily, weddings take forever to plan,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #kalim al asim x reader

107 notes · View notes

waynes-multiverse · 5 hours ago

Text

P.S. This chapter was originally 3k… 😉

I may know the feeling... Weird phenomenon, really 😆🤷‍♀️

But you go, Abbie! Pound those chapters out!!! 💪👏👏👏

Love your choice of picking this up two years later and we get to see their actual wedding 🥹👰‍♀️🫶

I was so in trance with how everything and everyone just came together to support and celebrate them during this special day. Especially John's words stuck with me:

John nodded. “She had me wrapped around her little finger before I even knew what hit me. Still does.” His voice softened. “Women like that, they keep you on your toes. They challenge you, make you work for it. But, son, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Nowhere better to be.”

It's honestly true – at least for me here. I once asked my husband what he loves the most about me, and he answered, "You challenge me" 😂 Seems to be a thing for men lol

"You always were a handful," she teased, blinking rapidly as if to stop herself from full-on sobbing. "But damn if I ain’t proud of the woman you’ve become. How grateful I am to be your mother.” You bit your lip, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to ruin all of Jess’s hard work on your makeup. You squeezed Ellen’s hands. "I love you, mom."

This was also such a sweet and pure moment between Ellen and reader, especially considering how much she misses her birth mom and probably would want her there on such a day 🥺 But it's so good to see how they both have accepted each other as mother and daughter over the years. That's not always easy in their situation, and I love it so much 😭🫶

And I'm almost glad you cut out the vows after all of this because I would've bawled my fucking eyes out 😭😅

Gabe's speech was perfection – not subtle at all – but perfect in every way nonetheless 🤣👏

And my God, of course, Dean picked Ramble On as their wedding song. She might've made a mistake by letting him pick it alone 😂

He had done it under the stars in your father’s scrapyard, the place that had always been special to you as a kid, where you had felt closest to your mom. He had decorated it with fairy lights, roses, the whole nine yards, and when he dropped to one knee, looking at you like you hung the damn stars, you hadn’t even let him finish his speech before tackling him to the ground with your answer.

Love that we're getting a little glimpse of their proposal too 🥹 I wondered how and when he did it! Wouldn't've put it past him to lock it down a week into their relationship lmao

You’d always imagined a warm, beachy destination for your honeymoon—Hawaii, maybe the Florida Keys. Something close, something simple. But you never expected this. Your parents and Dean’s had banded together, insisting you take your first trip as husband and wife international. A wedding gift so extravagant it had left you both stunned, speechless even.

This is so sweet of them! Perfect wedding gift, honestly! And The Maldives are so damn pretty and romantic. They've been on my list forever 😍🏝️

Your lips twitched at the memory of the exact moment Dean had opened the gift, his expression shifting from excitement to sheer, unfiltered dread. Because the Maldives didn’t just mean a long flight. No, it also meant taking a seaplane to reach the private island resort.

Hahaha wait till he realizes he has to go back too 😂😂 And this time, there was no rude awakening. No air horn. No sudden jolt back to reality.

Fuck, I forgot about the damn air horn lmao! Love that you brought this back!!!

And man, their honeymoon smut was everything you'd want and more. But it was so beautiful to see them finally be openly in love now ❤️‍🔥😍

Rummaging through your toiletry bag, you exhaled in relief when your fingers brushed against it. A pregnancy test. One Charlie had slipped in as a joke—a homage to her annual Twilight binge—thinking she was hilarious. And right now? You were thanking her ridiculous sense of humour.

Hahaha I can totally see Charlie doing this! That Twilight reference had me dead, tho 💀🤣

“Dean,” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Oh, you're gonna be fine, kids 😆🫶💕

YAY! Baby and a new spinoff series? Sign me tf up! 👀👏 Also, if you need some baby/pregnancy/parenting stories for inspo, I gladly help out. I shit you not – a lot of them have to do with poop. And worrying about everything 😂🤪

Abbie, seriously, this series was so wonderful! I love this whole goddamn trope so much and you absolutely nailed it! The angst, the smut, the fluff, the amounts of times I screamed and cried – it was perfectly paced and so emotionally investing, you kept me on my toes throughout. Well done! Can't wait to see those two return!!! 🩵🩵🩵

The Arrangement - Chapter Ten (End)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Two years have passed since you and Dean finally lay everything out on the table, a lifetime of love and friendship, and it's about time it's made official.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings/tags: Smut (18+) Fluff!! Emotions are high in this one! and a surprise ending...👀

AN: Alright guys! We have officially reached the end of this series! It's been a ride and I'm so grateful for those who stuck around till the end and rode this journey with me! 🥹 It was my first time writing a full series and I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I have! 😭❤️ (gifs not mine, found on google)

P.S. This chapter was originally 3k… 😉

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Series Masterlist

Dean exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for what had to be the hundredth time. The reflection staring back at him felt surreal—like he was looking at someone else. Someone settled. Someone whole.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. If someone had told him two years ago that this was where he’d end up—with you—he’d have called them crazy.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

Sam stepped in, already looking dangerously glassy-eyed.

Dean smirked. “You gonna cry, Sammy?”

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he stepped forward, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Just… proud of you, man. And happy for you. You deserve this.”

Dean swallowed. He hadn’t expected the weight of the moment to hit quite like this, but suddenly, it did. All those years—the two of you orbiting each other, pushing and pulling, too damn stubborn to admit what was obvious to everyone else. For so long, he’d been afraid to want this, to believe he could have it. But now?

He shook his head, smirking. “Jesus, if you start bawling, we’re gonna have to seat you in the back.”

Sam laughed, shoving him lightly before pulling him into a tight hug. Dean clapped his back, holding onto the moment longer than he’d admit.

Then, the door swung open again, and the rest of his friends poured in—Benny, Cas, Gabe—all wearing varying degrees of smug grins.

"Well, well, well," Gabe drawled. "Look at you, all cleaned up and looking respectable. Never thought I’d see the day."

Dean rolled his eyes, but Benny clapped him on the back. “You ready for this, brother?”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yeah.”

Then, the door opened one last time, and John Winchester stepped in.

The room quieted just slightly—not out of tension, but out of the weight that John always carried with him. His gaze swept over Dean, taking him in.

“How you doin’?” John asked.

Dean let out a breath as he smoothed his hands over the invisible wrinkles in his suit jacket. “Good. A little nervous, but… good.”

John nodded, stepping closer. His sharp hazel eyes softened as he studied his son, and after a beat, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle.

“You know,” John started, rubbing a hand through his thickening beard, there was more and more grey beginning to run through it now, “I knew she was the one the moment you brought her home.”

Dean huffed a little shocked. He never thought his father paid much attention to his relationships, unless Dean was asking for advise about something. John had always been the kind of father who seemed absent, out of the loop per se but, if you ever needed him, poof he was there.

“Yeah?”

John smirked. “Damn right. You trailed after that girl like a puppy since the moment you met her.”

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not true.” It was. But Dean wasn’t about to admit that, he had to keep some dignity at least.

John let out a low laugh, glancing toward Sam, who was already grinning. “Oh, it is. Everyone saw it—hell, you’d look for any excuse to be near her. You’d act like it wasn’t a big deal, but soon as she walked in a room, you lit up like a damn Christmas tree.” He chuckled along with the other men in the room, and then added,

“And if she so much as smiled at another boy?” He blew out a breath, like it was the damnest thing. “You’d sulk for hours.”

Benny let out a laugh, and Cas muttered a “it’s true” whilst Sam and Gabe outright cackled.

Dean huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright, let’s not turn this into roast-the-groom day.”

John’s smile lingered for a moment before he took a breath, his expression growing more serious. “You know, that’s how it was for me with your mom.”

Dean blinked, straightening slightly at the sudden shift in tone.

Dean swallowed hard, something thick settling in his chest. He didn’t think he’d ever heard his dad talk about his Mom like that—not in a way that was this raw, this honest.

John held his gaze. “You found something rare, Dean. Something worth everything.” He let out a quiet breath. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

Dean felt his throat tighten, but before he could find the words to respond, John pulled him into a firm hug.

It caught Dean off guard for half a second, but then he exhaled, sinking into it. His dad wasn’t a man of easy affection—not by a long shot—but when he did something like this, it meant something.

And it warmed Dean straight through.

John clapped his back before stepping away, clearing his throat. “Now, let’s get you married.”

Meanwhile...

You smoothed your hands over the fabric of your dress, breathing in deeply as you stood in front of the mirror. The reflection staring back at you barely felt real.

The dress was perfect—elegant but effortlessly you. Every delicate detail, every soft fold of fabric. It was another thank you to Jo and her wizardry in dress picking.

Your fingers brushed over the locket resting against your collarbone—the one that had belonged to your mother, the one Dean had returned to you. It was your something old, something borrowed, and as you held it gently, your heart ached with the weight of her absence. But there was comfort in knowing that a part of her was with you today.

Behind you, the room buzzed with excitement as all the ladies in your life gathered.

“Holy shit,” Jo breathed, eyes wide and a little watery as she took you in.

Charlie joined her, the both of them clinging to each other like proud aunts.

Jess, ever the romantic, clasped her hands together, beaming. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Mary stepped forward with a warm smile, adjusting your veil with careful hands. Her touch was gentle, but you didn’t miss the slight tremble in her fingers.

“You’re glowing, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion.

She lingered, taking you in with soft eyes. Mary had been like a third mother to you for as long as you could remember—always there with quiet wisdom, unwavering support, and a love that felt just as fierce as if you were her own.

“I’ve watched you grow into this incredible woman,” she continued, blinking back tears. “And I’ve always known—always—that you were meant for my boy. No one else could love him the way you do.” A watery smile pulled at her lips. “And God knows, he needs someone like you.”

Your throat tightened, emotion swelling in your chest.

Mary cupped your cheek, her touch featherlight. “I’m so proud of you. And I know, without a doubt, that you and Dean are going to build something beautiful together.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, squeezing her hand. There was a nervous energy thrumming beneath your skin, but it wasn’t the bad kind—it was the kind that came with knowing something life-changing was about to happen.

Then, a soft knock on the door.

Ellen and Bobby stepped inside, and the moment Ellen saw you, she gasped. Her expression softened as she reached for your hands.

"You look beautiful, baby." Her voice wavered just slightly, and when you saw the glisten in her eyes, it nearly broke you.

Ellen Harvelle never cried.

But today, she did.

You bit your lip, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to ruin all of Jess’s hard work on your makeup. You squeezed Ellen’s hands. "I love you, mom."

"I love you too, sweetheart.” She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly, and for a moment, you just let yourself be held.

Jess sniffled. "Damn it, you’re making me cry already!”

A collection of watery chuckles rippled through the room as you pulled back, watching Jess and the other women dab at their eyes. But when Bobby stepped forward, the laughter faded, replaced by something heavier.

He looked at you, and for the first time in your life, you saw him struggle for words.

“Ah, kid…” Bobby murmured, voice thick as he took you in. “Your mom… she’d be so damn proud of ya.”

Your throat tightened instantly, tears pricking your eyes for the millionth time that morning. You pointed at him warningly. “Nope. Don’t you do that. Do you know how long this took?” You gestured to your face in emphasis.

A chuckle rumbled from Bobby’s chest, but the warmth in his eyes didn’t fade. He stepped closer, squeezing your hand.

“I mean it. You’re gonna be the best thing that ever happened to that idjit. Not that he don’t already know it.”

A watery laugh bubbled from your lips. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bobby cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Now, uh… before we go, I just need to make sure you’re sure about this. ‘Cause once you marry into that family, there’s no gettin’ out."

“It’s true.” Mary added with a shrug and a chuckle.

You smirked. "Well, damn. And here I was thinking I could just return him if I changed my mind."

Bobby snorted as everyone else laughed. "You’re stuck with him, sweetheart." He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. "But I gotta say… I don’t think he’d ever let you go, even if you tried."

Your heart clenched, warmth spreading through your chest, because you believed so too.

"You ready?"

You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and then—

“More than ever.”

The first notes of Canon in D drifted through the air, soft yet powerful, carrying with them the weight of the moment. The murmur of the guests faded, the world narrowing to the centre aisle where one by one, your loved ones took their places.

Sam stood tall at Dean’s side, ever the loyal brother and best man, while your bridesmaids passed Dean with knowing grins. He barely registered them, too caught up in the pounding of his own heart, in the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, in the anticipation buzzing in his veins.

And then—

The doors at the end of the aisle opened.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

There you were.

The world fell away, dissolving into a blur of nothingness. His vision narrowed, locking onto you as you stepped forward, arm looped through Bobby’s. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating you like something out of a dream—his dream. And damn, if he didn’t feel like the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

You were stunning, but more than that, you were you. The same girl who had been his best friend for more than a decade, who had driven him crazy and made him laugh harder than anyone. The same woman he had spent late nights with on the couch, teasing and pushing each other, pretending you weren’t falling long before either of you admitted it. You were the one who knew him better than he knew himself, who had stood by him through every fight, every high, every low.

And now, here you were, walking toward him, about to be his forever.

His throat tightened. His chest ached with the sheer force of everything he felt. And it took him a second to realise—damn it, he was actually crying.

Bobby’s grip on your arm was steady, though Dean didn’t miss the way the older man’s fingers clenched just slightly, like he was holding on for one last moment. Bobby had been your rock, your father in every way that mattered, and today, he was giving you away.

When you reached the altar, Bobby turned to Dean, meeting his gaze with the kind of silent understanding only a father figure could give. His eyes softened, but there was steel beneath them—a warning, a promise.

"You take care of her, ya hear me?"

Dean swallowed hard, nodding with confidence as he told him, “always.”

Bobby gave your hand one last squeeze before placing it in Dean’s, stepping back with a small, gruff sniff.

The warmth of your touch sent a shiver up his spine, grounding him, steadying him.

You looked up at him as you stepped up to the alter, eyes shimmering, lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “Hi.”

Dean let out a quiet, shaky laugh, shaking his head as he drank you in. “My god, you’re beautiful.”

Emotion swelled in your chest, thick and overwhelming, and as you stared into his eyes. Those same green eyes that had been home for as long as you could remember. You knew, without a doubt, that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Every step that had led you here—every late-night conversation, every argument, every kiss, every stolen moment—had been leading to this.

To forever.

The reception was already in full swing, the room buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses, but everything quieted when Gabe stood, a smirk already tugging at his lips as he raised his champagne flute.

"Alright, folks, settle in," he started, flashing a wink at you before glancing at Dean. "Now, I had a whole touching, sentimental speech planned—real tearjerker, would’ve had you all sobbing into your drinks—but then I thought… nah, let’s tell the truth instead."

A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd, Dean shaking his head while you rolled your eyes fondly.

"This story? This epic love story? It didn’t start with a grand romantic gesture, or some movie-worthy meet-cute. Nope. It started… with a dream." Gabe let the words settle before arching a brow. "And not in the chase-your-dreams kinda way—though, to be fair, there was some chasing involved."

Laughter rippled through the room, Dean groaning as he dropped his head into his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, we all know what I mean," Gabe continued smugly, clearly enjoying himself. "But let’s be real, this was always inevitable. It was clear as day these two were made for one another, the rest of us were just waiting for them to catch up. And when they finally did? Well, let’s just say… history was made. And, in some small way, I’d like to think I played a part in that. Y’know, a guiding hand. A little nudge. A subtle push toward the right direction."

Dean snorted. "Subtle, my ass."

Gabe ignored him, raising his glass higher. "So, here’s to them—two people who took their sweet time figuring it out, but who got it right in the end. To love, to laughter, and to the two luckiest people in the world."

The room filled with cheers and the clinking of glasses, and you turned to Dean, shaking your head.

"You still sure we shouldn’t have revoked his speech privileges?" you teased, despite the tears in your eyes.

Dean chuckled, pulling you closer. "Nah, he’s an ass, but he’s our ass.” You hummed in agreement and allowed Dean to pull you in for a sweet kiss.

Gabe clinked his fork against his glass again, clearing his throat dramatically. "Alright, lovebirds, enough of the mushy stuff, before you make us all sick. Let’s get to the part we’ve been waiting for." He shot a wink your way before grinning at Dean.

"Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, it’s time for the bride and groom’s first dance!"

Another round of cheers erupted as Gabe lifted his glass in your direction, smirking. "Try not to step on her feet, Winchester."

Dean rolled his eyes as he stood, but then grinned down at you, taking your hand and guiding you toward the dance floor. Your heart pounded—not from nerves, but from the sheer overwhelming happiness swelling in your chest.

Then, the unmistakable opening chords of Ramble On filled the space.

You blinked, then let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head as you glanced up at him. "Seriously?"

Dean smirked, pulling you in close. "What? You really thought I’d let our song be anything else?"

You melted into him as he wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting warm and steady on your waist. The world faded, leaving just the two of you swaying together as Plant’s voice crooned through the speakers.

It was perfect.

From childhood best friends to navigating the tangled mess of emotions that came with your so-called arrangement. The night you finally admitted the truth—that you had always loved him. And whats more, so had he. You’d both been naive idiots thinking you could be anything other than this.

A year later, Dean had proposed.

And now, here you were.

Your matching wedding bands, new but already familiar, warm against your skin.

Your arms around him, your heart pressed to his, exactly where you were always meant to be.

Dean pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, swaying with you in time to the music, his voice low as he murmured, "Took us long enough, huh?"

You smiled, tightening your hold on him. "Yeah," you whispered. "But we got here."

The song carried on, and as the tempo picked up, you felt Dean shift against you. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, "You ready to really do this?"

Before you could ask what he meant, he pulled back, a devilish grin spreading across his face just as the beat kicked in. With a playful tug, he spun you out, making you laugh in surprise, and when he pulled you back, he didn’t slow down.

The two of you let loose.

Gone was the slow, tender sway. Instead, Dean twirled you, moving with an effortless ease that made your heart race for an entirely different reason. You chuckled, shaking your head at the fact Ramble on was your first dance song, but damn if it wasn’t so him—so you.

When the lyrics hit, Dean pointed straight at you, his voice loud and clear as he sang along, "I'm goin' 'round the world, I gotta find my girl—"

You didn’t miss a beat. Grinning, you sang right back, "I've been this way ten years to the day—"

The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy crackling through the room like wildfire. One by one, your friends and family got swept up in it—feet tapping, hands clapping, laughter spilling from every corner.

Charlie and Jo grabbed each other, twirling dramatically before rocking out to the familiar riffs, their hair flying as they head-banged in sync. Sam was pulled in by Jess, who grinned up at him with that determined look he never could resist.

Even Bobby, usually content to watch from the sidelines, let out a gruff chuckle before grabbing Ellen’s hand, the two of them stepping onto the dance floor like they’d been waiting for an excuse.

And then there was Gabe—fully committing to the moment, arms flailing, air-guitaring like his life depended on it. The sheer ridiculousness had you dissolving into laughter as you twirled in Dean’s arms, breathless, giddy, caught up in the rush of it all.

Your friends and family surrounded you, the circle growing tighter as the song surged on. Twirling, jumping, shouting the lyrics like you were at the best damn concert of your lives. It was wild. Chaotic. Perfect.

And through it all, Dean never let go of you.

No matter how much he moved, how hard he laughed, how off-key he sang, his hand always found yours. Always drew you back to him. Like he was tethered to you, like you were the one thing in the world he’d never lose sight of.

By the time the song came to an end, you were breathless, cheeks aching from smiling so hard. The room blurred around you, a hum of joy and celebration, but all you could see was him.

Dean pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips as he panted slightly from the exertion. His green eyes, bright with mischief and something even deeper, locked onto yours.

“I love you, Mrs. Winchester.”

The way he said it—like he was savouring the words, letting them settle into his very bones—you knew he’d never tire of calling you that. And neither would you.

“And I love you, Mr Winchester.”

Dean’s smile was radiant, warmth and adoration shining in his gaze as he cupped your face, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss so soft, so reverent, it stole what little breath you had left. In that moment, with the music fading and the world narrowing to just the two of you, your heart felt impossibly full. Your soul, finally, was whole.

3 weeks later.

The soft sound of waves gently lapping against the shore blended with the distant chirping of tropical birds as the golden morning light seeped through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the plush California king-sized bed.

A gentle breeze drifted in from the open window, carrying the scent of salt and sun-kissed sand, ruffling the gauzy fabric ever so slightly. The silky sheets were cool against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of Dean’s body beside you. With a contented sigh, you burrowed deeper, letting the warmth of the moment settle in your bones.

It had been a whirlwind since your wedding three weeks ago—an intoxicating rush of something long overdue. Of love, laughter and celebration with everyone who mattered most, all of which still echoed in your mind.

Unfortunately, reality had hit fast afterward, with both of you needing to dive back into work almost immediately, your honeymoon put on hold until the vacation days finally kicked in. But now, you were here. Just you and Dean. Together. Alone in paradise.

And what a paradise it was.

Ten glorious, sun-drenched days in the Maldives, tucked away in your own private villa perched over the crystalline water. The white sand stretched like silk beneath your feet, the ocean a dazzling shade of turquoise that shimmered under the endless blue sky. Every morning felt like something out of a dream, like waking up inside a living postcard.

Of course, you knew why you and Dean had initially opted to keep things local.

Looking at him now, utterly at peace, snoring softly beside you, his upper body bronzed from days in the sun, freckles scattered across his golden skin like constellations, it was almost impossible to believe this was the same man who damn near lost his shit on both flights. The contrast was almost comical.

Gone was the stiff, panicked man who had sat ramrod straight in his seat, white-knuckling the armrests like his life depended on it. The man who had hissed “This is a terrible idea” every time the plane so much as dipped slightly. The same man who, when faced with turbulence, had squeezed your hand so hard you were genuinely worried about circulation loss. And when the seaplane landed on the water? He’d practically kissed the ground the moment you stepped onto the dock.

Your heart ached in the best way as you thought back on the past week—warm sand between your toes, the taste of tropical cocktails, the lingering press of Dean’s lips against your sun-drenched skin. Late nights filled with soft laughter and slow kisses, tangled sheets as you celebrated your marriage in the best way possible.

It had taken you both a long time to get here, to this moment, but damn, were you happy.

Unable to resist, you swam through the sheets, moulding yourself against the familiar warmth of Dean’s body. Your fingers trailed across his chest, tracing over the scattered freckles like your own personal game of connect the dots, mapping out the skin you had come to know so intimately.

Your touch was light, teasing, before finally settling over the hand resting on his stomach, now adorned with the simple silver wedding band that matched the ring on your own finger. A symbol of forever.

Dean stirred as the soft press of your lips ghosted along his shoulder, trailing kisses up the strong column of his neck. A deep breath shuddered through him, his muscles tensing before melting into your touch. He shifted fully onto his back, blinking his tired eyes open, only to be greeted by the most beautiful sight.

The soft glow of morning light behind you, your hair tousled, your eyes sparkling with warmth and mischief.

That damn smirk of yours.

His lips curled up at the edges, but before he could say anything, you leaned in, continuing your path of lazy, unhurried kisses along his jaw, your mouth warm and soft against his skin. His breath caught when your teeth grazed his pulse point, the sharp contrast sending a thrill straight through him. His eyes fluttered shut again at the feeling, his breath coming quicker.

But then a thought, albeit fleeting, hit him. Why did this feel so familiar?

However, his grip tightened instinctively on your waist, heat blooming low in his stomach as you suckled at his skin and he pulled you up, crushing his lips to yours in a slow, searing kiss.

Your tongue caressed his, your touch sending fire through his veins, and then your hand slid down his abdomen—fingertips just barely grazing the hard planes of his abdomen, slipping beneath the sheets with agonising slowness.

And that’s when it hit him. Just like Déjà vu.

The dream.

This was exactly what he had pictured two years ago. The one thing that had shattered every illusion he had about what you were to him, the moment that had forced him to confront the truth—that he wanted you in ways he had refused to acknowledge before. That you were so much more than just his best friend.

It had led to The Arrangement. The realisation. The confession. Everything between then and now had stemmed from that dream.

And now, here you were. Not some figment of his imagination. You were real, you were his wife.

And this time, there was no rude awakening. No air horn. No sudden jolt back to reality.

Just you and your fingers curling around his hard length in a teasing grip, that had his breath stalling in his throat.

A dream literally come true. And damn, if this wasn’t a full circle moment.

“Fuck.” Dean huffed, head falling back against the pillows as your touch grew more purposeful, the whole thing made more intense by this little realisation. You tugged him softly, playfully, the pads of your fingers stroking his heated skin with an almost lazy confidence, and Dean let out a long, shuddering exhale.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he groaned, one hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in your hair. “Feels so good, baby.” You hummed in response, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, then down his throat, your pace never faltering as you worked him, watching the way he came undone beneath you.

Dean’s stomach tensed when you suddenly slid lower, a slow, teasing descent, your mischievous gaze locked onto his as you kissed your way down his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body thrumming with anticipation as your lips trailed lower.

“Shit,” he rasped as you reached his lower abdomen, your teeth grazing over the sensitive dip of his hip. His cock twitched in your grip, thick and pulsing with need, and you smiled against his skin, amused at just how wrecked he already was.

“You okay there, handsome?” you teased, your voice warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the absolute sin in your eyes.

Dean let out a strangled chuckle, shaking his head. “You know what you’re doin’.”

“Mm. Maybe.” Your fingers tightened around him, stroking him once, twice, before your tongue darted out to tease the tip, swiping across the leaking head in one slow, torturous lick.

Dean’s hips bucked on instinct, a wrecked groan spilling from his lips. “Fuck—”

And then, without warning, you took him into your mouth, warm and wet and perfect, and his whole world tilted.

“Shit—baby—” His hand fisted in your hair as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, your tongue working him in a way that had his jaw clenching and his abs flexing beneath you.

You were relentless, sucking him down with slow, deliberate drags, your eyes locked onto his the entire time, like you wanted to watch him fall apart. And he was—fuck, he was unraveling at the seams, barely holding onto control.

“You’re too good at this,” he rasped, his fingers tightening their grip in your hair. “So goddamn good. Fuck—gonna make me—”

But before he could lose himself completely, he forced himself to move, a growl ripping from his throat as he reached down and hauled you back up, capturing your mouth in a desperate, heated kiss.

“Not yet,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick and rough, still breathless. “Wanna taste you, sweetheart.”

And then, in one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you, his lips trailing down your body, kissing, worshiping, taking his time to appreciate every inch of you.

His hands spread across your thighs, parting them, his breath hot against your skin as he settled between them. His mouth found your inner thigh first, teasing, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh just to hear the way your breath hitched.

“Dean,” you whimpered, your hips shifting beneath him.

He smirked, dragging his lips up, and up, until he was right where you needed him. “Relax, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough, filled with promise. “Lemme take my time with you.”

And he did.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate, savouring you, his hands gripping your hips as he pinned you down, determined to make you feel everything.

You gasped, your fingers threading into his hair, your back arching off the bed as he worked you open with his mouth—licking, sucking, teasing, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

“Dean—”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with hunger, dark with raw need. “Let me hear you.”

And so you did.

You didn’t hold back.

You cried out as two thick fingers slid deep into your dripping cunt, curling just right—hitting that devastatingly perfect spot he had long since memorised, learned by heart just to ruin you over and over again. Your back arched, muscles clenching as he pumped them in and out, each stroke dragging a fresh moan from your lips.

His mouth came away from you, slick with your arousal, his focus now solely on his hand as he fucked you with his fingers, determined, relentless. His wrist flexed, his pace quickening, the wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

Your thighs trembled violently, your body caught between the unbearable pleasure and the overwhelming pressure coiling deep in your core, rising fast, too fast.

“I know, baby,” Dean groaned, his free hand gripping your thigh, holding you wide open as you writhed, instinctively trying to fight what you knew was coming. “Don’t run from it. Let it happen. Give it to me.”

The raw command in his voice shattered you.

With a strangled cry of his name, your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot, electric, tearing through every nerve in your body. Your release poured out of you, soaking his arm, drenching the sheets beneath you. The sheer force of it left you shaking, gasping, completely wrecked beneath him.

And Dean all but growled.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, dragging his fingers from your pulsing cunt, watching in fascination as your slick dripped down his wrist. He lifted them to his mouth, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he sucked them clean, groaning at the taste.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and something darker, something purely possessive. “Every time… I swear, it just gets better.”

Heat flushed through you, but the shame that once crept in at moments like this was gone.

Dean had stripped it from you, erased it with every moan, every praise, every time he worshipped the way your body responded to him. He loved this. Loved dragging you over the edge so hard, so deep, that you couldn’t hold back. Loved watching you come apart, seeing the proof of how fucking good he made you feel.

And fuck, did he make you feel good.

You swallowed, watching as he smirked, his hand gliding up your trembling thigh, rubbing soothing circles as he took in the mess between your legs like the goddamn masterpiece it was.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, trailing his fingers through your slick folds, groaning at how sensitive you still were. His cock twitched from where it was trapped against the mattress. “And already dripping for more.”

You bit your lip, eyes half-lidded with need, your body still molten, still buzzing, but the hunger in his gaze sent another sharp pulse of arousal straight to your core.

“C’mere,” you murmured, crooking a finger at him, and Dean obeyed instantly, moving up your body with a predatory grace until he was caging you beneath him, his forearms bracketing either side of your head.

You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him down for a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, desperate and messy. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue, the way he devoured you without shame. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, tugging him closer, needing him now.

Dean chuckled against your lips, low and husky, cocky as ever, but fuck, he loved you like this—needy, impatient, desperate for him. He rolled his hips, his thick cock gliding through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick, teasing you both with the friction.

“Dean,” you whined, your nails biting into the firm muscles of his back.

He groaned, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. “Goddamn, baby—”

You whimpered as the head of his cock caught at your entrance, your whole body arching, pulsing, silently pleading.

“Baby, please,” you breathed into his ear, your voice drenched in pure want.

And fuck—Dean couldn’t deny you anything when you begged like that.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he tilted his hips and pushed in, inch by glorious inch, stretching you open, filling you to the brim.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt in your tight, throbbing heat. His forearms trembled where they held him up, his jaw clenched as he fought for control, fought against the primal urge to pound into you, to take you the way he needed to.

“Jesus Christ,” he gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. “You’re perfect.”

You gasped, your walls fluttering around him, nails dragging down his back, your body begging for more.

“Fuck me, baby,” you pleaded. “Please—”

And with that, he was gone.

All restraint shattered.

Dean fucked you, deep and unrelenting, hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that had you keening, moaning, gasping his name like a prayer. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your stomach, palming your breasts, fingers finding your throat, owning you.

He growled against your lips, biting at your bottom one as he pulled back, eyes dark, feral. “This what you needed, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t even form words, just nodded frantically, lost in him, in the overwhelming pleasure he wrung from your body with every deep, punishing thrust.

“Goddamn, you’re so good for me,” he groaned, voice wrecked, his pace growing erratic as he felt you tightening around him, pulling him deeper. “Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna soak my cock this time?”

You sobbed, your entire body trembling, on the edge of bliss so sharp it made you ache.

Dean reached between you, his fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles.

That was it.

That was fucking it.

Your climax crashed over you, stealing every last bit of breath from your lungs, and you screamed his name as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing him like a vice, milking him for everything he had.

Dean groaned, long and deep, his hips stuttering, his body locking up as he spilled into you, filling you with everything he had, holding you tight, panting against your sweat-slicked skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just lay tangled together, bodies trembling, completely spent.

Dean finally let out a slow, satisfied breath, brushing damp hair from your forehead as he kissed you, slow and deep, nothing but pure devotion in the way his lips moved against yours.

“God, I love you,” he murmured between kisses, voice hushed and reverent, as if the words themselves weren’t enough to contain the depth of what he felt.

Your heart fluttered, as it always did when he uttered those three words, and your arms around his neck tightened, holding him closer.

“I love you too,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers ghosting over his cheek. His green eyes softened as he leaned into your touch, letting out a contented sigh before turning his head to press a lingering kiss to your palm.

And then a quiet huff left his lips as he dropped his head onto your chest, the weight of him grounding you, comforting in a way you could never quite put into words. Without a second thought, your fingers drifted into his sweat-slicked hair, combing through the damp strands, soothing him as exhaustion slowly pulled you both under.

“I can’t believe this will be our last night here,” he mumbled into your skin, his voice thick with sleep.

You hummed in agreement, a pang of sadness settling in your chest. This place, this little bubble you’d created together, had felt like a dream—one you weren’t quite ready to wake up from.

“Maybe we should just move here,” you murmured playfully, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Quit our jobs and stay forever.”

Dean let out a lazy chuckle, his breath warm against your skin. “Don’t tempt me.”

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling him snuggle closer, his breathing deep and even. Within moments, sleep, once again, claimed you both.

A couple of hours later, the sharp grumble of your stomachs had dragged you both from your unplanned nap. The two of you groggily peeled yourselves from the tangle of sheets, reluctantly leaving the comfort of your bed to shower and dress.

The day passed in a slow, blissful haze—lounging on the terrace, nibbling on fresh fruit and pastries, talking about home, about work, about everything and nothing at all.

As the evening approached, you had one last dinner reservation at the resort’s restaurant. Dean opted for a quick dip in your private pool while you got ready, the sound of water rippling as you slipped into a white, flowy sundress, the light fabric brushing against your ankles. You left your hair down, the soft waves cascading naturally over your shoulders—just the way Dean liked it. A touch of mascara, a swipe of lipstick, and you were ready.

“You look beautiful,” Dean’s voice was thick with appreciation as he appeared behind you in the mirror, his reflection stunning—his hair damp, torso bare and glistening with droplets.

You bit your lip, heat pooling in your stomach as he trailed his fingers over your exposed shoulder. Respectfully, he refrained from pulling you flush against him—knowing he’d soak your dress—but he still pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your skin.

Dean winked before stepping back, and with zero shame, dropped his shorts, giving you a perfect view of his delectable peach of an ass. He caught you staring as he looked over his shoulder, and with a cheeky grin gave his own firm cheek a light smack before stepping to the shower.

You were still giggling and shaking your head as you slipped on your sandals.

The restaurant was breathtaking—an open-air dining space set against the endless stretch of ocean, the sky painted in fiery hues of orange and pink as the sun melted into the horizon. Soft lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, casting a golden glow over the wooden tables adorned with crisp white linens and delicate floral arrangements.

The scent of salt and grilled seafood hung in the air, mingling with the distant hum of waves rolling onto the shore and light spoken conversations from the other guests.

Dean pulled out your chair for you before settling into his own across from you, already reaching for the menu with a familiar furrow of his brows.

“You know, we’ve been here all week, and I still don’t know what half this stuff is.” He let out a huff, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The two of you had tried different restaurants around the island, and while the menus varied, the dishes always seemed to push him slightly outside his comfort zone.

You giggled, shaking your head before deciding to take pity on him. “How about the steak?” You leaned over, tapping the menu where the 8oz fillet with sautéed potatoes was listed. “It’s about as close to a burger and fries as you’re gonna get.”

Dean followed your finger, eyes scanning the description with renewed interest before nodding. “Alright, yeah. I can work with that.” He flagged down the waiter, ordering you both a beer along with his steak, while you opted for grilled salmon with fragrant coconut rice.

When the food arrived, Dean eyed his plate warily, poking at the steak as if it might bite back. Clearly not used to the meat un-minced and patty-like. He cut into it, taking a tentative bite, chewing slowly as he mulled over the flavours.

“Well?” you prompted, watching him closely, lips twitching.

Dean let out a low hum of consideration. “It’s… not bad.”

You let out a laugh. “That’s practically a glowing review from you.”

He rolled his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “Hey, I like what I like.”

Still, he indulged in the experience, even letting you feed him bites from your own plate after some playful coaxing. He’d grumble about it, but the way his eyes flickered with enjoyment every time he took a bite of your dish didn’t go unnoticed.

The night carried on in soft conversation and easy laughter, the warm glow of the lanterns reflecting in his eyes. And through it all, his gaze never strayed far from you—watching, adoring, committing this last night to memory.

Back in your villa, the island's natural warmth was thick in your hut with the scent of salt and jasmine as you pushed open the patio doors. Behind you, a familiar melody drifted through the space—the soft, unmistakable chords of Your Song filling the air as Dean messed with the vinyl player. The resort seemed to be a big fan of Elton, you'd noticed.

You smiled at the song choice, turning just as he held out a hand, a boyish grin tugging at his lips.

“Dance with me?”

Your heart melted, and without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you close. His hands settled at your waist, yours looping around his neck, and he swayed you both to the slow rhythm. His chin rested atop your head, his fingers tracing lazy, absent patterns along the small of your back.

The gentle hum of Elton John’s voice wrapped around you both, the moment steeped in quiet affection.

“I hope you don’t mind, that I put down into words…” Dean sang along to the chorus, his voice soft and deep, trailing off as he smiled down at you.

“How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world,” he finished, his gaze holding yours, warm and full of something that made your chest ache.

Just as you rose on your tiptoes, he wasted no time meeting you halfway, capturing your lips in a kiss—slow and deep. The warmth of his body, the press of his hands against you, the way he kissed you—it all built into something deeper, something more desperate.

But then—

A sharp pang shot through your stomach.

You froze, your breath hitching. Then, it twisted, turned, and a wave of nausea slammed into you so suddenly, you barely had time to shove Dean back before sprinting to the bathroom.

“Shit—sweetheart?”

Dean was at your side in an instant, gathering your hair as you lurched over the toilet, emptying your stomach. His warm hand rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, his voice laced with concern.

“Do you think it was the food?” he asked, frowning.

You let out a weak breath, wiping your mouth. “Maybe,” you murmured, though doubt crept in. If it was the food, wouldn’t Dean be sick too? He had shared bites of your meal, after all. However, another wave of nausea hit you and had you hugging the toilet bowl once more.

You spent the rest of the night curled on the cool tile floor, Dean refusing to leave your side. He wiped your clammy forehead, whispered reassurances, cradled you against him when you finally had nothing left to give.

By the time the early morning light filtered through the windows, you were drained, barely able to crawl into bed.

When you woke a few hours later, your body was still heavy with fatigue, your stomach uneasy, but you managed to push through, packing sluggishly as Dean went to check out.

You were in the bathroom, collecting your toiletries, when your gaze landed on something that made your breath hitch.

Your box of tampons.

Unopened.

A strange, uneasy feeling settled in your chest as you stared at it. Slowly, you did the math in your head, counting back the days, trying to recall the last time you’d needed them.

Two weeks late.

Your stomach flipped—not from nausea this time, but from something far more terrifying.

No. No, it was impossible.

You were on the pill. You took it religiously.

But they aren’t always foolproof, your annoying voice of reason argued.

A sharp breath left you as you stared at the box, heart hammering in your chest. However, a thought hit you. You remembered finding it on your first night here.

“Right. You’re just being irrational,” you whispered, trying to calm yourself. “You just ate something bad and your body rejected it. It’ll be negative and you’ll feel real stupid for freaking out over nothing.”

Your fingers fumbled with the packaging as you ripped it open, barely noticing the way your hands shook. Luckily, you needed to pee anyway, and with a deep, steadying breath, you settled onto the toilet, slipping the stick between your legs.

When Dean returned, the sight of your half-packed suitcase made his stomach tighten. You weren’t in the main room where he’d left you.

Had you gotten sick again?

The thought unsettled him. He’d spent the entire walk back hoping last night had been a fluke—that you wouldn’t suddenly take a turn for the worse, forcing him to figure out where the hell the nearest hospital was on this island.

You looked better this morning. Tired and a little pale, but no vomiting. No fever. That had been enough to ease his nerves—until now.

Then, he saw the bathroom door slightly ajar.

Quietly, he stepped forward, pushing it open. You were sitting on the edge of the bathtub, head down, shoulders tense.

“Hey, is everything o—” His words died in his throat when his gaze landed on the object grasped tightly in your hands. A little white stick.

His heart spiked.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up, eyes wide and alarmed, not easing his nerves at all.

“Dean,” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

AN: Now... I have a confession. I had originally ended this at the wedding, but inspiration struck. And maybe stubbornness to finish up with these two. So the honeymoon was added and thus the premise to... *drum roll*... The Predicament. A sequel series that will follow Dean and the reader becoming parents. That's right! This isn't the last of this pair. 🤪 Also want thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me throughout this series! I hope you're all excited for another adventure with these two! 💙

Dean Winchester/Series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you

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