#/if i missed character please let me know! :)

[vettelsvee]

SÍ... ESTAMOS SALIENDO | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Pérez!Reader

SUMMARY: Scared of everyone to find out, Y/N Pérez and Oscar Piastri decide to hide their relationship from everyone until Checo starts wondering how Piastri learnt to speak Spanish so good... and specially why he has a Mexican accent ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe one were she is checos daughter and they hide their relationship from him. And also maybe she teaches oscar some Spanish. At the end they end up telling checo about their relationship

WORD COUNT: 2399

WARNINGS: Use of Spanish. Important to say that even Spanish is my mother tongue, I may have some mistakes because it is Mexican Spanish and I don't know much about it, so I had to do some research. Otherwise, mentions of unwanted pregnancy, unprotected sex, drugs and alcohol

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Not writing related but I’m obsessed with a K-Drama I started watching yesterday and I just wanna write Come What May series since the main characters’ personalities are the same as Seb and Y/N (Di in case you read the OC Version) there lmao. Anyways, missed a lot writing about Oscar (I definitely will be writing about him more as he's my second fave on the current grid) and this one got me so happy with how it turned out! Hope you like it as well, and remember that I'd love to see your comments <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

“What if you taught me some Spanish?”

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“That's it, Y/N. Teach me some Spanish.”

You, completely absorbed in looking at the pictures you had taken during the date you had with your boyfriend that same day, lifted your gaze from your phone and raised an eyebrow, fully taken aback by Oscar's proposal.

“Spanish? You? You already speak English! English is the only language that matters to you all…”

Oscar shrugged, nervously playing with the steering wheel. At that moment, he reconsidered what he had said, unsure now, and realized that maybe it had been a somewhat strange proposal on his part.

“I just want to understand you when you talk to your dad or your family. I know no one knows we’re together yet, but sometimes when you do video calls with them, I feel a bit lost. I also feel like sometimes you talk about me, and I’d like to know if I should worry,” he confessed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“And why do you assume we talk about you, huh?”

“Well, because you always look at me out of the corner of your eye when you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with that unnecessary concern.

“Why do you have to be so chismoso?” You said, making Oscar give you a little tap on the shoulder. That just made you laugh more. “Alright, alright, fine! But I warn you in advance: if you laugh at me speaking Spanish or don’t take me seriously, I’ll break up with you.”

What started as a completely random proposal, with little prospect of a future or sense at first, eventually became one of your favorite routines. You took advantage of every moment together to practice, always hiding it from Checo or any member of the Pérez family when you were in the paddock. Moreover, whenever you were in your respective countries, you would watch Mexican movies and TV shows, and also some in their original version with English subtitles. You even started sending each other the occasional message in Spanish, thanks to the Australian’s initiative.

Oscar seemed to have, in your eyes, a natural talent for languages. Not only did he manage to learn greetings and basic words in less than a week, but after a month, he was already making the effort to use your Mexican accent and even incorporating words that seemed exclusive to your family’s vocabulary.

And that was exactly what, a few months later, turned into a real nightmare for the secrecy with which you kept your relationship.

While no one knew you were together as a couple, Oscar and you pretended to be just friends when you were in public. That’s why it was completely normal for Checo Pérez to see his daughter with the Australian, having coffee and chatting animatedly after a press conference.

“¡Buenos días, Checo!” Oscar said in almost perfect Spanish. “¿Cómo va, papá?”

You, hearing that last word, spat out the little coffee you had left in your mouth and opened your eyes, completely surprised. Checo, however, made a face and a frown, questioning his daughter’s friend.

“What did you say?” You asked, though you knew perfectly well that what your boyfriend had just said was something you hadn’t taught him, and he’d probably heard it from you.

“Well… ¿Cómo va, papá?” the guy repeated innocently. “Did I say it right?”

“Papá?” repeated the Red Bull driver, even more shocked. “Do you even know what that means, kid?”

“It’s an expression, right? Isn’t it like saying buddy?”

Checo stared at him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Oscar. Then, he turned his gaze to you, who was pretending to fiddle with your phone to avoid having to face an awkward conversation about why your secret boyfriend had just said that.

“¿Te importaría decirme por qué Oscar habla como tú?” Pérez asked quickly in Spanish, clearly aiming for Oscar not to understand.

“He doesn’t talk like me!” You quickly replied in English. “Oscar has been practicing Spanish, and well… he wants to fit in better so he’s trying. Duolingo isn’t the best app for learning, so he’s been watching YouTube videos... Right, Osc?”

The guy nodded, but that didn’t convince Checo. Still, he didn’t say anything else and, instead, coldly said goodbye to you both.

As soon as he was far enough away not to hear you, you turned to Oscar and started shaking him:

“Of all the things you could say, you call him papá?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, babe!” He rushed to reply, feeling bad for you. “I’ve heard it so many times that, well… I just said it without thinking. I honestly didn’t think it was anything bad.”

You huffed, knowing that it wasn’t Oscar’s fault or his curiosity and interest in learning your mother tongue, but yours for not setting boundaries or explaining the meaning of each word, as well as the context in which it should be used or who it was addressed to.

From that moment on, your father started paying more attention. He was an expert in discretion, but you knew him well enough to realize that, since the incident with Oscar, he had become much more alert and interested in you both, especially looking for clear signs that would confirm his suspicions that his daughter was dating one of the newest additions to the grid.

Unfortunately for you and Oscar, the Mexican didn’t need to investigate much, and he only did so for a month to confirm his theories.

During one of the briefings with all the drivers, Checo heard Oscar mumbling an “Órale, wey” followed by some insults in Spanish that you had made up when it had gotten pretty late and everyone was eager to return to their hotel. Also, instead of saying “sorry,” he let out a “¿mande?” which wouldn’t have been strange if he hadn’t continued speaking in English, as if nothing had happened.

You and Oscar seemed unaware of all your slip-ups; on the contrary, feeling like you weren’t arousing anyone’s suspicion, you lowered your guard. Displays of affection in public, though still cautious, became more frequent, especially when Checo wasn’t near you. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

The back of the McLaren garage, just a few meters away from Red Bull’s, as expected, wasn’t the most suitable place.

“We should go somewhere else,” you said softly while nervously fiddling with the collar of your boyfriend's shirt, who had his arm around your waist.

“Why? This place is perfect,” Oscar replied, unconcerned.

“Yeah, sure, perfect for my dad to catch us,” you muttered. “If he already suspects and looks like that doll from the red light, green light game on Squid Game, analyzing us so much to jump on us as soon as he catches us… imagine if he finds us. He’ll kill us, I swear.”

“Come on, Y/N, just try to relax. We’ve got it all under control. Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about, mi amor.”

You blushed at the compliment he had given you in Spanish, and couldn’t help but plant a chaste kiss on his lips, even though everything inside you felt chaotic.

“If you’re trying to convince me that everything’s fine by speaking to me in Spanish, just know that you’re doing it perfectly,” you declared. “But don’t forget, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a tremendous anxiety and keep thinking that we’re literally one step away from getting caught. Do you know what he could do if he finds out that you and I… that?” You asked hesitantly.

“Is he going to give us a lecture on how we have to stay professional whenever we’re in public? Or is he going to tell me he’ll kill me if I even think about getting you pregnant?”

“He’ll probably make you come home to have lunch with my family and only speak Spanish,” you tried not to laugh but couldn’t help yourself. “And trust me, you don’t want to be in that position because you’ll have all my aunts, and there are quite a few of them, right next to you, asking you some very uncomfortable questions.”

“Then we’ll have to tell him as soon as possible so he can prepare. How about I tell him that I’m absolutely and completely in love with his daughter?”

You shot him a glare, panic flooding your insides at the thought of that happening.

“No, don’t you dare do that, Osc, and especially not here. You have no idea how my dad would react if…”

“Why not?” He interrupted. Then, he stopped, and after a few seconds that felt like an eternity to you, he seemed to finally find the courage to speak: “I could tell him something like… ¡Señor Pérez, estoy saliendo con su hija porque además de ser la mejor mujer de este mundo, me hace la persona más feliz del mundo!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, filled with emotion inside at Oscar’s sweet yet innocent declaration of love aloud.

However, a cough behind you made you snap back to reality.

“Can I know what you’re doing with my daughter, Piastri?”

You both slowly turned around. There, standing before you, was Checo, arms crossed, with a very unfriendly look on his face. You swore that if Oscar walked out of there alive and without a reprimand from your overprotective father, he could do whatever he wanted for the rest of the year.

“Well…” Oscar began, his confidence suddenly disappearing.

“Esto no es lo que parece, te lo juro,” you said in Spanish, trying to calm your father, even though you knew your attempts would be in vain.

“Oh, really?” Checo asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing you were both lying. “Then, what explanation do you have for this kid shouting to the four winds in almost perfect Spanish that he’s in love with you? At least that’s what I understood, if my Spanish doesn’t fail me.”

You were about to reply, but instead, Oscar gently took you by the wrist and stepped forward, surprisingly confident.

“Checo, I’m not playing around. Okay, I was joking about that, but not about what it means… like…” Piastri explained slowly, nerves eating at him as he couldn’t bring himself to look Checo in the face. “Your daughter matters to me, well, like… you know, like a boyfriend cares for his girlfriend.”

Checo tried not to laugh at the declaration of love from the man who had just confirmed he was his son-in-law and did his best to maintain the protective fatherly composure, thinking no guy would ever be good enough for his daughter.

“So you care about my daughter… You, one of my coworkers, a twenty-three-year-old kid, care about my eldest daughter enough to believe you can have a relationship with her…”

“It’s not that I believe it, it’s that I know I do.”

Not only you and Checo were surprised by the boy’s words, but Oscar himself too. He regretted it immediately, but before he could apologize to Checo, the man stepped forward, raising a hand and staring at him:

“So… are you two dating or not?”

“Yes, for almost six months now,” you answered, feeling a knot in your stomach, but much less pressure now that your father knew the truth.

Checo sighed, running a hand over his face as he tried to process the news his daughter, his little girl, had just told him. The girl he knew ever since she was born and now he had to imagine her spending, if not the rest of her life, at least part of it, with another man.

“And why didn’t you tell me before?” Checo asked, his voice tinged with disappointment but also some understanding. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I knew you would react badly,” you answered, frustrated. “I trust you, and I know you want to protect me from any guy who could make me feel bad, but you have to understand that I’m twenty years old, and whether you like it or not, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Checo looked at you and then turned his gaze to Oscar, who had his head down. Besides his nerves being pretty evident, so was his willingness to face any kind of dispute or reprimand from him just to stay with you.

That made Checo feel a bit bad, though it also gave him some relief seeing that the Australian was truly concerned and, why not say it, in love, willing to do anything for his little Y/N.

Finally, he let out a small sigh, trying to calm himself. He repeated your words over and over in his mind before saying anything else because if you had never disappointed him in your life, then he didn’t want to disappoint you just because you were in love.

I’m not a little girl anymore.

“Checo…” Piastri spoke, but Checo raised a finger, silencing him instantly.

“I’m only going to say this once: you better not hurt my daughter, or I’ll hurt you when I kick you off the track or crash into you accidentally. Is that clear?”

Oscar swallowed hard, feeling that Checo wasn’t joking.

“Understood…”

“And as for you,” Checo now spoke to you, completely stunned, “don’t think this is over. Your mother, you, and I will have a conversation about this and several other topics when we get home.”

Unprotected wild sex, alcohol, and drugs, for sure, you thought, forcing a smile to try to hide your worry.

“Now go on and keep loving each other, but be careful where and how you do it. I don’t want to be a grandfather just yet.”

With those words, Checo left, leaving you both.

“Well… now he knows. Finally,” Oscar said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I told you he was intense. Do you believe me now?”

“Of course, mi amor,” the Australian replied, taking your hand and heading to your room in the McLaren motorhome, so, as Checo had said, you wouldn’t become grandparents just yet. “Your dad scared me, but I’m not going to lie to you, he gave me enough motivation to beat him in every race from now on.”

[bluem1lls]

Hii :3 I also miss se-mi a lot and I really want to see more content about her. Could I ask for sub!se-mi maybe? Besides being curious, I'm also quite upset by the little content about sub!squid game and i miss my wife se-mi so pleaseee 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

✧₊⁺ a little help

se-mi x fem!reader

✦ synopsis: your girlfriend is having a hard time studying.. all you wanna do is help her.

content: minors dni, dom!reader x sub!se-mi, fingering/oral (se-mi!receiving), vibrator

authors note: hiii! i've never wrote any of my fave characters as sub so i hope u like this?? thank u for your request!

"fuck it" se-mi said, frustrated.

"baby.. you're doing so good, keep going"

"i can't princess i want to but i really can't"

"se-mi.. you need to study" i rolled my eyes, laughing, as she rested the papers on her face, reclining against her chair.

"i'm done. i need a break" she said as she stood up, placing the papers on the desk. she grabs my face to kiss me.

i shock my head no as she kisses my entire face, making me laugh as i softly pushed her off.

"baby no. i'm serious. you know you can pass this test and we had plenty of breaks" i said staring at the mcdonald's bags resting on the floor.

oh. wait.

i'm a genius.

"sit" i ordered as she raised one brow.

she chuckles.

"sit dumbass, i'm serious" i said, pushing her to the chair as she stared at me, confused.

i kneel in front of her as i grab the flashcards. i get in between her legs, my chin resting on her inner thighs.

"okay so, when does a substance generates heat?"

"um..l-liquid to solid?"

"yes! good baby!" i smirked. my hands going to her black jeans, undoing the zipper and pulling them until they're out. she stares at me doe eyed, the outline of her pussy in display through her boxers. i can see a wet patch starting to form.

"already getting wet baby?" i smirked as she turned her gaze, embarrassed. "we haven't even started"

i smirk as she rolls her eyes and i give a slap to her thigh.

"focus, so ummm.. which element has exactly five electrons in the highest principal energy level?" i say, reading the flashcard as i stare into her eyes.

"the..um-i-i cant think when you're betw-"

"focus baby. which element?" i repeat the question.

"P.. it's P" she says.

"such a smart girl"

i open her legs, my mouth softly tracing kisses on her inner thigh until it reaches that wet spot.

i deposit open-mouthed kisses to her clothed covered clit, as she sighs, her hand rushes to pull my hair.

my tongue gives kitten licks over her boxers, creating a bigger wet patch as she quietly moans. she pulls me closer. i'm sure that if i pull her boxers down, they have her arousal all over. i smirk at the thought.

"ple-plea-"

"so.. let's keep going" i say, leaning backwards, going back to resting in between her inner thighs as she groans.

"baby-"

"for a chemical reaction it is usually found that the reaction rate is faster at higher temperature. the rate increases because?"

"what do i get if i answer correctly?"

"focus" i softly slap her cheek. "we're studying. remember?"

she bites her lip.

"more reactants collide with.."

i hum.

"um with... energy equal to or greater than the activation energy?"

"good" my hands pull the elastic band of her boxers, she excitedly pushes them down to her ankles.

i laugh at her desperation. my fingertips trace over her wet folds, as she bucks her hips into my hand. a moans leaves her pouty lips.

"say please baby" i whisper.

"please" she begs.

"beg once more?"

"please please please" she cries, moaning as my tongue attacks her clit.

up and down, in circles i move over her clit, her moans are all i hear in the room.

as i pull away, my fingers slide through her salivated cunt, spreading the wetness, slowly going to her aching hole.

she cups my face, kissing me as i introduce two fingers in her. she whines against my mouth.

"such a good girl. you're my girl am i right?" she quickly nods.

my fingers thrust again and again, scissoring moves inside of her as her moans go louder and louder. she's such a needy girl.

kneeling down, my mouth on her. my face buried in her pussy.

"f-fuck im-"she huffs.

my tongue moves on her clit as my fingers curl inside of her, touching that spongy spot that makes her whimper.

"please-yeah just like that" her eyes roll backwards as i slammed into her.

i can hear the squelching noises her cunt makes, becoming wetter as she rides my fingers. my mouth in her clit, kissing it, licking it.

"i'm so close, i'm so close" she says, her hands pull my hair tighter.

"nu-huh." i pull away. leaving her confused. she stares at me as she stutters.

"what?..."

she throws her head back, her eyes shut close from the pleasure, her mouth hangs open.

moans keep slipping out as i press the bullet vibrator on her clit.

"my needy girl" i grin as she grinds her hips against my hand.

"i'm so close, please let me cum, let me cum" she cries as her hands grip the armrest.

as i set it higher, she whimpers over and over until i plunge two fingers into her, making her release a loud moan.

i feel her pulsating cunt clench on my fingers as she cums. tears stream down her cheeks, her body twitches as she gasps. her thighs trap my hand in between her legs as she rides my fingers again, to make her orgasm last even longer.

i remove my fingers as she whines, feeling the lost of them inside her.

i quickly open her legs, putting aside the vibrator as my mouth licks her clean. she tries to close them as my hands prohibit. i taste her in my mouth, hearing her whimpers.

once i'm done, i place my fingers on my mouth, cleaning them with my tongue as she stares with her hooded eyes. she's panting, her cheeks are flushed and her mouth is open.

her lips leave a soft sigh escape her mouth as i kiss her forehead. her hair sticking to it from sweat.

"my sweet girl" i murmur.

"i can't study now. i need a break... and cuddles" she says, making me chuckle.

"okay, we study later?" i say as she smirks.

"like we just did? yes. please"

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

I drew inspiration from the TikTok lipstick challenge, which, to be honest, left me feeling incredibly lonely. The whole experience stirred something in me, prompting me to write about it.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Additionally, I was influenced by @fraternum-momentum and their OC, Sol, which added another layer to the idea. As for whether this should be marked NSFW or SWF, I'm torn—it's really more of a playful game involving lipstick, with a soft, romantic vibe and a lot of playful banter and chemistry between the characters. 

It's meant to be lighthearted and playful, with a bit of flirtation thrown in, but definitely nothing explicit! Also, I think I might've missed the birthday of a certain character in the game… I wonder who that could be?

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The student council room was eerily quiet after hours, lit only by the warm glow of a desk lamp on the far end. The usual hustle and bustle of meetings, debates, and planning sessions had faded, leaving the space unusually still. 

Except for him.  

Crowe was seated at the large oak table, his posture impeccable as he reviewed a stack of neatly organized papers. His sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows. His black bottom-up shirt was loosened but still perfectly modest, and his purple vest hung from the back of his chair. He looked, as always, impossibly put-together.

And that’s exactly why you’d decided to stop by tonight, coming from a late night studying at the library, you could help to pay him a visit, after all, you have the key. He was too perfect, too composed. It was high time someone tested just how unshakeable Crowe’s gentlemanly façade was.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him briefly before clearing your throat. "Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Crowe glanced up, his brows lifting in surprise at first, but his expression quickly softened into a familiar, warm smile. “You have a habit of sneaking up on people, you know that?”

“It’s one of my better skills,” you replied, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind you. “What are you doing here so late, anyway? Don’t tell me it’s another mountain of paperwork.”

“Would you believe me if I said it was?” he asked, motioning to the neatly stacked papers in front of him. “Someone has to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”

“Ever the responsible one,” you teased, crossing the room toward him. “But don’t you ever get tired of being so... predictable?”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Predictable? That’s a new one. Care to elaborate?”

You grinned, circling the table to stand behind his chair. “You’re always so composed, so polite, so... gentlemanly. Doesn’t it get boring playing the role of the perfect man?”

“Not particularly,” he replied smoothly, though his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “Someone has to keep things in order.”

“Mm, but what if someone didn’t?” you murmured, leaning down until your lips were close to his ear. “What if someone decided to mess with that perfect little image of yours?”

Crowe turned his head slightly, his deep blue eyes meeting yours with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Is that what you’re here to do?”

“Maybe,” you said innocently, stepping around to face him. Without giving him a chance to respond, you perched yourself on the edge of the table, just close enough to be in his space without overstepping.

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his deep blue eyes fixed on you with a spark of intrigue. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”  

You didn’t answer right away. 

Instead, a sly smirk played on your lips as you slid off the table in one smooth, deliberate motion, closing the small distance between you and him. Without hesitation, you eased yourself into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs.  

Crowe stiffened immediately, his posture going rigid as his hands hovered uncertainly in the air, unsure where to land. His usually composed demeanor faltered, and the faintest trace of a blush began creeping up his neck. It was subtle, but on his warm, light brown skin, it was enough for you to notice—and grin.  

“Well,” you started, looping your arms lazily around his neck, your fingers toying with the ends of his braided brown hair. “I thought I’d start by seeing how much it takes to make you blush.”  

Crowe’s breath hitched as you leaned in, your lips brushing his cheek in a featherlight kiss. “That’s one,” you murmured, your tone playful, your lips curling into a mischievous smile.  

His jaw tensed, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Are you keeping score?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with a nervous edge.  

“Maybe,” you teased, planting a second kiss on his other cheek. “Two.”  

Your hand moved to the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his single braid as you tilted his head slightly to the side. The motion exposed the line of his jaw, and you didn’t hesitate, pressing soft kisses along the sharp angles, your lips tracing the warm expanse of his skin.  

“Three, four…” you counted softly, letting your lips linger just a moment longer with each touch.  

Crowe swallowed hard, the tension in his body melting just enough for his hands to find a place—tentatively settling on your waist. His grip was light as if he were still unsure if this was something he should allow himself to enjoy. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Playing such a dangerous game.”  

“Am I?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still idly twirling single braid. Your voice took on a mockingly innocent tone. “Or are you just afraid I might win?”  

He looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled faintly. "I suppose that depends on what you’re trying to win."

You smirked, reaching into your bag and pulling out a tube of lipstick. Crowe’s brow furrowed in confusion as you uncapped it, applying the deep crimson shade with practiced ease. 

"And what’s this for?" he asked, his voice carrying the slightest hint of wariness.

You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his skin, lips hovering near his cheek. “Call it an experiment,” you murmured, your voice soft and teasing. Without waiting for a reply, you pressed a deliberate kiss just below his cheekbone.

The faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air as you pulled back, a perfect lipstick mark standing out against his warm, light brown skin. You tilted your head slightly, inspecting your handwork with a mischievous smile. “Not bad,” you said lightly, as if critiquing a painting.

Crowe blinked, visibly stunned, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours. He didn’t move, his breath caught as if trying to process what just happened.

But you weren’t finished.

Tilting his chin slightly with a gentle finger, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips along the edge of his jawline. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the tension in his shoulders betraying his carefully composed demeanor. Another kiss followed, slower this time, leaving a bold imprint just below his jaw.

Crowe’s lips parted, his breathing uneven now, though he still didn’t stop you.

“Hmm,” you mused, leaning back slightly, only to trail your gaze down to the column of his neck. “This feels incomplete.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat when your lips found the curve of his neck. A soft gasp escaped him as you pressed another kiss there, then another, just above his collarbone. His hand twitched as though he might reach for you, but he held back, his restraint only making the moment more electric.

When you finally leaned back, Crowe’s usual polished, gentlemanly demeanor was in tatters. His skin was a masterpiece of faint crimson marks—his cheeks, jawline, and neck all kissed and claimed. He reached up hesitantly, brushing his fingers over one of the marks on his jaw, his touch lingering there as if he were trying to memorize the feeling of your lips.

“You—” he started, his voice rough, but you cut him off with a soft laugh.

“Speechless?” you teased, recapping your lipstick and slipping it back into your bag with an air of nonchalance. “I must’ve done something right.”

Crowe’s jaw worked, his lips pressing together as he struggled to find his composure. His usual confidence had been thoroughly dismantled, leaving him looking uncharacteristically vulnerable yet… yearning. The once-pristine picture of composure—the meticulous student apart of the council—now looked delightfully disheveled, his face, jawline, and even his neck adorned with vivid, unmistakable stains.

“There,” you said, stepping back and tilting your head as if you were admiring a masterpiece. “Not so perfect now, are you?”  

“You’ve officially ruined my ‘gentlemanly’ image,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. His fingers hesitantly brushed over the fresh stain near his jawline, his expression equal parts baffled and amused. “I can’t believe you just did that.”  

“Oh, believe it,” you teased, crossing your arms and giving him a satisfied grin. “Honestly, I think it suits you. Adds a little color. You’re welcome.”  

Crowe let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. How am I supposed to explain this?”  

“Explain it?” you said, feigning shock. “You mean you’re not just going to own it? What happened to that legendary confidence of yours?”  

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off by leaning in again, adding a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now you’ve got the full set,” you said with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Face, neck, and...” You trailed off meaningfully, letting the pause hang in the air.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow, his composure slipping as he caught the implication. “You wouldn’t—”  

You didn’t let him finish. Before he could say another word, you planted a deliberate kiss at the corner of his mouth, then slowly worked your way to the center, leaving faint marks in your wake.  

When you pulled back, your face was the picture of triumph. “Now you’re officially branded. Guess that gentleman thing has its limits, huh?”  

Crowe’s deep blue eyes narrowed slightly, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”  

“Absolutely,” you replied without hesitation. “And admit it—you are too.”  

He exhaled, his hands resting lightly on your waist as if he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or himself. “You like testing me,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with both amusement and something deeper.  

“And you like failing,” you shot back, leaning in so your faces were barely an inch apart. “Don’t worry, though—I think you wear it well. Lipstick suits you.”  

Crowe’s lips quirked into a smirk, his usually poised demeanor finally cracking under your relentless teasing. “You’re not making this easy,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with a playful challenge.  

“And why should I?” you quipped, settling more comfortably on his lap and letting your arms drape lazily around his neck. You leaned back just enough to take in your handiwork. The soft smudges of lipstick painted a trail of your victory across his cheeks, jaw, and now his neck. A particularly bold kiss near his collarbone had left a bright red mark against his brown skin.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow at you, his deep blue eyes flickering between exasperation and amusement. “I look like I lost a fight with a makeup counter.”  

“Correction: you lost to me,” you replied with a smug grin, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. Your voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “And you didn’t exactly stop me.”  

Crowe huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and rich despite the predicament. “Oh, I’m fully aware,” he said, his tone dry but edged with amusement. “Do you make a habit of ambushing people with lipstick, or am I just special?”  

“You’re special,” you teased, drawing the word out in a sing-song tone as your fingers toyed with the loosened knot of his tie. “But don’t get too excited—I just thought someone as put-together as you needed a little... color.”  

His breath hitched, and for the briefest moment, his usual restraint faltered. His hand slid up to your waist, his fingers curling slightly as if to anchor himself. “And here I thought you were here to apologize for interrupting my work,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his eyes darker as they locked onto yours.  

“Apologize?” you repeated, feigning innocence. “For what? For making you look even more handsome? For proving you’re not as unshakeable as you pretend to be?”  

Crowe chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.  

“Impossible?” you echoed, shifting slightly in his lap, your fingers lightly tracing the collar of his shirt. You leaned in closer, your nose just brushing against his, and your voice dropped to a low, teasing whisper. “That’s funny, coming from someone who’s supposed to be a gentleman. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know... stopping me? Resisting temptation?”  

Crowe’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, though not quickly enough to mask the flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. His gaze dropped, lingering on your lips for a heartbeat too long before meeting your eyes again. His hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, his grip firm but still careful, as though he were holding himself back.  

“And why,” he murmured, his voice lower now, the usual steadiness giving way to something rougher, more deliberate, “would I want to stop you?”  

Your smirk widened, victory already bubbling in your chest. “That’s a good question,” you mused, leaning in until your lips brushed his, the contact feather-light and achingly slow. His breath caught, and you could feel the tension in his frame, the way he held himself still, like he was caught between giving in and holding on.  

“Good answer,” you whispered against his lips before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so composed and guarded, were darker now, his composure visibly slipping. You caught the faint flush rising along his neck, creeping just beneath his jawline, and you couldn’t help but grin.  

Crowe exhaled sharply, breaking the silence as he leaned his head back against the chair, a wry, unsteady chuckle slipping past his lips. “You’re trouble,” he said, though his voice betrayed him—uneven and laced with something softer.  

“And yet,” you replied, hopping off his lap with a triumphant flourish, smoothing the hem of your clothing as if nothing had happened, “you haven’t asked me to leave.”  

Crowe tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as that familiar glint of mischief returned to his expression. He looked at you now with the kind of calm that was just daring you to keep pushing. “Maybe,” he said slowly, his voice steadying again, “I like a little trouble.”  

You laughed softly, stepping back to admire your handiwork. His shirt was slightly wrinkled from where your hands had rested, and his face was a mess of lipstick smudges—on his cheeks, along his jaw, and the faintest stain at the corner of his lips.  

“Good,” you said with a mischievous grin, nodding toward the streak of lipstick on his neck. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Crowe’s eyebrow arched, his lips curling into a small, amused smile as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady and teasing. “Then I’ll be sure to prepare myself,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Oh, you’d better be,” you shot back, taking a step back from his lap with deliberate slowness, your eyes lingering on him for just a moment longer. “Because next time, I might not be so... gentle.”

Turning on your heel, you strode to the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Just before you left, you glanced over your shoulder, your grin still firmly in place. “Try not to miss me too much.”

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Crowe alone in the dim light of the student council room. He let out a quiet breath, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the mark you’d left on his neck. 

A faint chuckle escaped him as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the closed door with a small shake of his head. “You really are something else,” he muttered to himself, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. 

Trouble, yes—but perhaps the kind of trouble he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The living room was a cozy chaos, with warm fairy lights casting a golden glow over the dark walls and mismatched furniture. The lights draped lazily over the curtain rods, twinkling faintly as if encouraging the quiet mischief brewing within. The couch—a beloved relic, its cushions sagging in all the right ways—sat at the center of it all, surrounded by a battlefield of cosmetics.  

The coffee table groaned under the weight of lipstick tubes in every shade imaginable, from muted nudes to shocking neons. Tissue papers lay crumpled beside an array of smudged hand mirrors, and the faint scent of vanilla and wax lingered in the air. The room was comfortably warm, the heater humming faintly in the corner, adding to the intimate atmosphere.  

You perched on the couch's edge, your legs tucked beneath you, wearing an oversized hoodie that dwarfed your frame but left your enthusiasm unrestrained. A wicked grin played on your lips as you reached for the next weapon in your arsenal—a vibrant crimson lipstick labeled *Scarlet Desire.*  

Sol sat beside you, a reluctant participant in your glamorous experiment. His dark, disheveled hair framed his pale face, strands occasionally falling into his reddish-orange eyes that seemed to glow like dying embers in the dim light. He slouched dramatically, his arms crossed as if that might shield him from the barrage of attention you had planned.  

"All right, Sol," you announced with mock seriousness, brandishing the tube like a wand. "You’ve been chosen as tonight’s test dummy. Congratulations on your moment of fame."  

Sol let out a groan that was half dramatic and half genuine, tipping his head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling as if it might offer an escape. "Why do I feel like I’m about to star in a weird beauty guru horror story?"  

"Because you are," you replied with a smirk, twisting the lipstick open to reveal its bold crimson shade. The color gleamed under the fairy lights, a promise of chaos to come. "Now, sit still and quit whining. Let’s see if ‘Scarlet Desire’ lives up to its name."  

Before he could muster another complaint, you leaned in, one hand gently cupping his jaw to steady him. His breath hitched, his body freezing under the unexpected closeness. The faint scent of your perfume—something floral and sweet—floated between you, making his pulse quicken.  

You applied the lipstick to your lips with precision, pausing briefly to inspect the smoothness in the hand mirror. Satisfied, you leaned closer again, your face just inches from his.  

"Ready?" you teased, your voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper, your grin turning impish.  

Sol’s eyes widened slightly, their reddish hue glinting with a mix of trepidation and something else he couldn’t quite place. "Do I have a choice?" he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.  

"Not at all," you replied cheerfully, brushing aside his weak protests.  

Without hesitation, you pressed your lips to his cheek, the cool touch of lipstick contrasting with the warmth of his skin. The kiss was quick but deliberate, leaving behind a perfectly shaped crimson stain against his pale complexion.  

Sol blinked, his mouth parting slightly as he tried to process what had just happened. His usual indifferent mask cracked the faintest hint of pink creeping up his ears. The lipstick stain on his cheek seemed to burn hotter than the room’s heater, a brand he couldn’t ignore.  

You leaned back, tilting the hand mirror to inspect your handiwork. "Still intact," you mused, tapping your lips thoughtfully. "That’s a point for ‘Scarlet Desire.’"  

Sol finally found his voice, though it came out uneven. “Is… is this going to take all night?”  

“Probably,” you replied, lips curling into a mischievous smile as you reached for another tube. You held it up to the light, inspecting the label. “‘Forbidden Plum.’ Sounds dramatic enough, don’t you think?”  

The deep purple shade gleamed as you twisted the tube, the realization dawning on Sol that this was far from over. He groaned again, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed the fact that he wasn’t entirely upset about the situation.  

“Relax,” you teased, leaning in close, your warm breath brushing his ear. “I’ll be gentle.”  

Before he could respond, your lips pressed softly to his jawline, leaving a perfect, dark imprint just below the curve of his cheekbone. You lingered for a moment, letting the heat of the kiss sink in before pulling back to inspect the mark.  

“Not bad,” you murmured, tilting your head and running your thumb over the stain as if appraising your work. “But I think this color needs a little more flair.”  

Without waiting for his approval, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips against his neck. The touch was softer, teasing, and you felt the slight hitch in his breathing as your lipstick left another vivid mark just above his collarbone.  

Sol swallowed hard, his face now a canvas of warmth and embarrassment. This wasn’t just a lipstick test anymore—it was a battle to maintain his composure against your relentless, flirtatious charm.  

“Hm,” you mused again, holding up the mirror to check your lips, then twisting open another tube. “Alright, next contender: ‘Midnight Rose.’ Let’s see if it’s as dramatic as it sounds.”  

His reddish orange eyes tracked your every move, flickering between the lipstick in your hand and the playful glint in your eyes. As you leaned in to kiss his other cheek, the cool press of your lips sent a jolt down his spine, and his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the couch cushion.  

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, voice low and unsteady.  

“You say that like you’re not,” you shot back, your tone as playful as the smile that followed.  

This time, you kissed along his jawline again, dragging your lips lightly over his skin before pulling back with a smirk. The fairy lights cast a warm glow over the room, adding to the intimacy of the moment as your laughter filled the space.  

By the fourth or seventh kiss, Sol was no longer slouched but sitting ramrod straight, his breath uneven, and his lips parted in a dazed expression. The air between you felt charged, and every teasing glance you shot his way only added to his visible fluster.  

“Now how… how many more of these are there?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You tilted your head, pretending to count the remaining tubes. “Oh, only about five or six. Maybe seven. You’re handling this so well, Sol, I might just have to make you my permanent lipstick tester.”  

He groaned, a hand flying to his forehead in mock defeat, but his reddish-orange eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.  

“You must be getting bored with this experiment by now,” he mumbled, though his tone lacked conviction.  

“Bored? Not a chance,” you quipped, leaning in one more time, this time planting a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Though I think you might be getting dazed from all the attention.”  

Sol’s breath caught, and his cheeks flamed brighter than before. He could only sit there, speechless and utterly smitten, as you reached for yet another lipstick tube.  

“This one’s called ‘Velvet Sin,’” you announced, holding it up with a playful wink. “Let’s see if it’s worth the hype.”  

For a moment, he thought about protesting, but then he realized—what was the point?

He was already lost in the haze of your laughter, your teasing touches, and the warm, lingering impressions of your kisses. The pink, purple, and red smudges peppered across Sol's pale skin. He sat stiffly, his black and green streaks bangs veiling his burning cheeks as he avoided your amused gaze.  

You held up the mirror again, turning your head to inspect your lips carefully. "Still nothing, maybe I should just stick to clear gloss,” you said, a triumphant edge in your tone. "It’s like these lipsticks were forged in a lab to smudge. Great…."  

Then you turned the mirror toward Sol, revealing his reflection. His reddish-orange eyes widened as he stared, dumbfounded, at the chaotic array of lipstick marks scattered across his face—his jaw, cheeks, and even a faint smear near his collarbone from when you leaned in a little too close earlier.  

You burst out laughing, breaking the silence. "You look like a really sad art project," you teased, clutching the mirror with one hand and your stomach with the other as you doubled over in laughter.  

He huffed, clearly trying to mask his growing embarrassment, but the corner of his lips twitched upward in a sheepish smile. "You’re enjoying this way too much."  

Sol, typically composed in his aloofness, looked anything but indifferent as you leaned in, armed with yet another lipstick in your collection. His usual mask of stoicism had cracked, replaced by a look of pure, unguarded vulnerability.

“And you’re taking it way too seriously,” you teased, your voice low and dripping with mischief.

Before Sol could respond, you closed the gap between you, planting a kiss squarely on the tip of his nose. The kiss was playful, a soft smooch that left behind a faint, heart-shaped lipstick mark. The vibrant maroon stood out against his pale skin, and you pulled back, your lips curving into a satisfied smirk.

"Perfect," you murmured, tilting your head to inspect the tiny flourish you’d left behind.

Sol sat there, motionless, his lips slightly parted as if he’d forgotten how to form words. His reddish orange eyes were wide, darting to your lips and then back to your eyes. He looked completely out of his depth, his usual brooding demeanor utterly replaced by something unsteady and raw.

You didn’t stop. You leaned in again, closer this time, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Sol’s breath hitched audibly as your lips ghosted over his cheek.

“Let’s try something more daring,” you whispered, the heat of your breath brushing against his skin before you pressed a deliberate kiss just beside the corner of his mouth.

His entire body stiffened, his hand gripping the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The lipstick left a bold mark just shy of his lips, teasingly close. You pulled back ever so slightly, your gaze lingering on the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

“Hmm, maybe I should try it here next,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers gently brushing his chin to tilt his face toward you.

Sol’s eyes widened, his lips trembling slightly as you leaned in further. This time, you kissed him squarely on the mouth, a soft, deliberate press of your lips against his. The kiss was slow, your lips brushing his with just enough pressure to leave a faint imprint of the maroon shade.

When you pulled away, his lips glistened faintly, the color smudged ever so slightly. His cheeks were burning red now, the flush spreading up to the tips of his ears. Sol’s expression was a mix of stunned disbelief and something else—something heavier, like a quiet yearning he couldn’t contain.

"Oops," you said with a playful grin, holding up the mirror to show him the faint but unmistakable lipstick mark lingering on his lips. "Looks like you’re officially part of the experiment now."

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. His gaze dropped to your lips again, lingering there a moment too long before darting back to your eyes. "You... you’re really not holding back," he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly.

"Should I?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached for another lipstick. "I think you’re holding up pretty well, Sol. You’re a surprisingly good test dummy."

Sol didn’t respond. He just stared, his lips still tingling from the kiss, his mind racing in directions he wasn’t ready to admit. His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. You reached for the next tube—deep plum, almost black, its sleek metallic casing glinting under the dim fairy lights.  

"All right, final test," you declared, twisting the lipstick open with a satisfying click. The color was rich and bold, a shade that dared anyone to look away. You leaned in, closer than before, your breath brushing against Sol’s cheek.  

He stiffened, his head tilting slightly as though torn between leaning away and leaning in. "You’re relentless, you know that?" he muttered, his voice low and strained.  

"Let’s see how kiss-proof this one really is," you whispered, your lips curling into a playful grin.  

Before he could protest, you kissed him, deliberately slower this time. The plush warmth of your lips pressed deeper against his lips, lingering longer than any of the others. Sol’s breath hitched audibly, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as his tension melted into something softer. When you pulled back, you admired your work: a perfect, bold imprint on his pale red lips, perfect and center.  

You shifted slightly, cupping his chin with your hand to turn his face toward you. His eyes were half-lidded, his dark lashes casting shadows against his flushed cheeks. He looked wrecked in the most endearing way.  

"Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already," you teased, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.  

Sol didn’t answer. He seemed dazed, his lips slightly parted as though the words had escaped him entirely. Undeterred, you leaned in again, pressing a kiss to his temple this time, your lips lingering against the curve of his hairline.  

"Still intact," you murmured, half to yourself as you pulled back and inspected your own lips in the mirror.  

Sol blinked, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite manage it. The next kiss landed on the bridge of his nose, soft and playful, and the one after that trailed down to the corner of his mouth.  

"Okay, this one’s holding up really well," you remarked, leaning back to evaluate the results. You laughed softly at the kaleidoscope of lipstick stains that now adorned his face—a collection of reds, pinks, and purples, each mark a testament to your experiment.  

"Sol?" you prompted, tilting your head as you noticed his unusually quiet demeanor.  

He blinked again, his gaze focused on you but far away.  

"Hello? Earth to Sol—" You waved a hand in front of his face, but before you could finish the thought, his hand shot up, gently catching yours mid-wave.  

You froze, startled by the suddenness of the movement and the look in his eyes—smoldering and uncharacteristically intense.  

"Huh…" you trailed off as he guided your hand down, his fingers curling over yours in a firm but careful grip.  

"Enough," Sol murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.  

Before you could process the shift, he moved. In one smooth, almost predatory motion, he pressed you back into the couch, his weight pinning you against the cushions. Your back hit the fabric with a soft thud, and his hands found your wrists, holding them gently but securely above your head.  

"Sol—"  

"You're impossible," he said softly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark hair fell messily into his eyes, and his gaze burned with something raw, something that made your chest tighten.  

You stared up at him, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as he leaned closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. The space between you felt impossibly small, the room charged with a quiet intensity that neither of you dared to break.  

"All those kisses," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your cheek as his lips curved into a teasing smirk. "And you still act like you’re in control."  

Your heart raced, the world outside the living room forgotten entirely. "Sol, I—"  

But his expression softened, his grip on your wrists loosening slightly. "I think," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it’s my turn to test your limits, pumpkin."  

Oh shit.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

It’s one of those crisp afternoons, the air just cool enough to send a slight shiver down your spine as you sit on a bench by the archery range. The college campus is quiet, with students scattered here and there, but your attention is entirely on him—Geo. 

The archery field is his domain. He doesn’t know it yet, but you’ve got a plan that will catch him off guard.

Geo stands tall at the center of the field, adjusting his posture with precision, his focus entirely on the target in front of him. The sun casts a soft, golden light across his pale skin, making his aquamarine eyes seem even sharper. He’s dressed in a simple, black, form-fitting athletic shirt, paired with tight-fitting cargo pants that hug his long legs. 

His boots are rugged, the kind that make him look even more intimidating as he stands tall and composed. His hair, dark bluish-purple, is tied back neatly in a low ponytail, the bowl cut framing his face in a way that makes his expression appear even more brooding.

Despite his best efforts to look aloof, there’s something about him that calls for attention. His movements are deliberate, almost as if he knows he’s being watched. You lean back slightly, pretending to be absorbed in the scene but really just observing him, thinking about the plan you’ve hatched.

Geo pulls his bowstring back with precision, his aquamarine eyes narrowing as he takes aim. Everything about him is calculated, a display of discipline honed through years of practice. You bite your lip in anticipation, then grab the lipstick from your bag, uncapping it with a soft click. The color is a deep red, the kind that will stand out against his pale skin. You’ve decided: it’s time to throw him off just a little.

You stand up quietly, making your way to where Geo is, and as you approach, your heart beats a little faster. The air around you feels charged with the quiet energy he exudes. Geo is too focused on the target, his fingers inching toward the release. You take a deep breath, then step forward just as he releases the arrow.

Before he can even blink, you lean forward and plant a bold, quick kiss to his cheek, the lipstick leaving a bright red mark against his pale skin. The sound of the arrow shooting through the air fills the silence as you pull back, watching the surprise flash across his face.

Geo’s eyes widen for the briefest moment. He freezes for a split second, just enough for you to see his cheeks flush under his usual stoic exterior, the pale hue quickly warming to something deeper. The arrow he released flies off course, landing just beside the target rather than hitting the bullseye as it usually does.

He’s caught off guard.

You step back slightly, a mischievous grin on your face. “Missed it,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

Geo’s gaze shifts to you, his expression darkening. His lips part, and for a moment, it’s like the weight of the world shifts. "What the hell?" His voice is low, his tone not entirely angry, but certainly perplexed.

For someone who’s always so controlled, so composed, you’ve definitely managed to make him lose that edge. He quickly recovers, wiping his cheek with his sleeve, and for a second, you wonder if you pushed him too far. But then you see the slightest tug of a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns, but there’s no heat in his words—just that familiar sharpness that seems to be his natural state. It’s clear he’s still processing, but you can tell this little moment has left its mark on him.

You smile back, not backing down. "I thought I’d get your attention. Looks like I did."

Geo shakes his head, his smirk growing as he nocks another arrow. "You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into," he mutters under his breath, but you can hear the playful challenge behind it.

Despite his usual brooding demeanor, you can’t help but notice the slight curve of his lips as he prepares to take another shot. It seems that, for once, he’s not quite as untouchable as he wants everyone to think. You can feel the tension in the air as Geo reaches for another arrow, but you’re already plotting your next move. The excitement bubbling inside you is hard to contain—this is more fun than you thought it would be.

Geo draws his bow back again, taking aim with the kind of precision only someone like him could master. But before he can release it, you lean forward just enough to interrupt his concentration, tapping his shoulder lightly with a teasing smile. 

“What now?” he asks, his voice as gruff as always, though you can detect a hint of amusement hiding in his eyes. “You want me to miss again?”

You shrug innocently. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see if I could make you blush again." You let the words hang in the air, watching as his expression shifts. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and for a moment, you're convinced he’s actually considering the idea of doing something more than just shooting arrows.

Geo takes a deep breath, clearly trying to regain his focus, but before he can, you lean in—this time, a little bolder. You press another quick kiss to his neck line, leaving a fresh red mark on his pale skin. And just like last time, he freezes—eyes wide, jaw slightly ajar.

The arrow that should’ve been heading for the bullseye instead veers wildly off course, missing the target completely and burying itself in the grass.

You burst out laughing. "Not so precise anymore, huh?"

Geo whips his head toward you, eyes narrowed in something between surprise and irritation. “Are you trying to sabotage me?” he growls, though you can see the amusement hiding behind his scowl.

You’re still laughing, clearly enjoying yourself far too much, and that’s when Geo decides to do something about it.

With a swift motion, he reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can step back, his fingers tightening around it just enough to stop you from making any more cheeky moves. You stare at him, caught off guard for a moment—he’s not known for being touchy, but here he is, holding you in place.

"Alright, enough of this," he says, his voice suddenly less gruff and more playful, though his eyes still carry that glint of challenge. "If you think you can distract me with kisses, you’re mistaken."

You grin up at him, unfazed by his grip on your wrist. "Oh? Then you should’ve seen what happened when you missed your shot," you tease. “I think the whole campus heard your arrow crash into the grass.”

Geo rolls his eyes, but the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Don’t think this is over,” he warns, his grip on your wrist tightening a little more, though it’s more playful than threatening. "You’re gonna regret this, trust me."

“You sure about that?” you quip back, your voice filled with playful defiance.

Geo raises an eyebrow at your defiant tone, clearly weighing his options. For a second, you swear there’s a flicker of something almost... fond? It vanishes just as quickly, replaced by his usual broody persona. “I could have you running laps around this field by the end of the day,” he threatens, though his eyes are twinkling with the unmistakable sign of a challenge.

“Make me,” you shoot back, tugging your wrist free from his grasp just enough to push your luck a little further. 

Geo chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

“Yeah, all for you~” you tease, throwing him a wink.

Geo doesn’t acknowledge the comment, but the corner of his mouth lifts just a little higher this time. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Despite the gruff exterior, you’ve managed to ruffle his feathers just enough to see a side of him that’s not all business. 

And honestly? 

You kind of like it.

As you step away, pretending to give him space, you can feel his eyes on you. You’re not sure if he’s still trying to figure out what the hell just happened or if he’s plotting his revenge. 

Either way, you’re all in for whatever comes next.

Geo steadies himself, the bow string pulled taut as he lines up another shot. But the second you lean in, it’s like the world goes into slow motion. You can see his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching slightly as you get closer. He knows exactly what you're doing. His grip tightens on the bow, and for a split second, you think he might just let the arrow fly—into the target this time.

But before he can fully focus, you press a soft, teasing kiss to his bottom jaw again, the lipstick leaving a fresh red print. 

Geo’s eyes snap wide open in surprise, his finger twitching against the bowstring. “You—” He cuts himself off, trying to maintain his composure, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him, his pale skin turning a shade darker. The arrow in his hand nearly slips from his grasp as he blinks in confusion. 

You pull back just enough to see his expression, a mix of shock and that brooding intensity you’re so used to. His lips twitch, a barely-there smirk playing at the corners, more like disbelief?

However there’s something else in his eyes now—something... tempting.

"Alright," he growls lowly, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice now, "You want to play that game, huh?"

Before you can even react, he’s closing the space between you, his hands gripping your wrists with surprising tenderness, pulling you in with a quick, deliberate motion. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s more intense than anything you expected. The rush of warmth from his lips against yours sends a little shock of electricity through you, and your breath catches.

Geo’s kiss isn’t soft or tentative. No, it’s like he’s trying to make a statement—daring you to say something, to break the moment. You feel the pressure of his lips, firm and demanding, and you can tell he’s not just kissing you for fun anymore. There’s something deeper in it now. The playfulness has shifted into something a little more heated.

You’re breathless when he pulls away just enough to speak, his voice husky, dark with amusement. “Now you’ve really done it.”

You blink up at him, dazed from the sudden shift in his demeanor. “I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me back, especially on the lips” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heat crawling up your neck.

Geo doesn’t smile—he just stares at you, eyes dark with the challenge of it all. His hands still rest lightly on your wrists, but now they feel heavier, almost like he’s holding you in place. “You should’ve known better.”

Before you can reply, he gently lets go of your wrists, his gaze lingering just a little longer than you’d like. The air between you two is thick now—charged with the energy of the moment, and there’s a sense that things are about to get even more complicated. You’ve managed to crack his icy exterior, but you’re not entirely sure what that means for either of you.

Geo turns back to the target without another word, grabbing another arrow. His focus is entirely back on the bullseye, but there’s an undeniable smirk on his lips now. And the way his fingers curl around the bow, steady and sure, tells you that this game is far from over. 

“You missed your shot earlier,” you say playfully, “Think you’ll actually hit the target this time?”

Geo shoots you a look over his shoulder, a glint in his aquamarine eyes. "Watch me," he mutters, before losing the arrow. 

It’s a perfect shot—dead center. He doesn’t even flinch as the arrow hits the target. 

“Well, damn,” you say, impressed. “I guess I’ll just have to distract you more often.”

Geo doesn't respond at first, but the smirk that pulls at his lips says it all. "Keep trying me, and you’ll see," he murmurs a warning, almost to himself. 

And just like that, you realize—he enjoys this more than he lets on.

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[cocobeanncteez]

The CEO Collision - Part Six / Final

Pairing: CEO!Seonghwa x CEO!reader (f)

Warnings / content for Part Six: lots of fluff, smut warning: oral (f receiving), piv + protected sex (pill), facesitting, seonghwa taking his sweet time, multiple orgasms. Please note that other than Ateez, all other character names used are fictional.

Word Count: 6.6k

Masterlist for The CEO Collision

2 months later

The bridal suite was a whirlwind of activity, with everyone rushing to ensure that you were picture-perfect for the ceremony. Yeri was pacing frantically near the closet, her phone pressed to her ear as she barked orders at someone on the other end.

“Where are they?!” she hissed. “I swear I left them right here!”

“What’s going on?” you asked calmly, seated in front of a mirror as your makeup artist applied the finishing touches.

“Your heels, Y/N!” Yeri exclaimed, turning to face you with wide eyes. “The Louboutins we picked for the ceremony. They’re gone!”

You blinked, unbothered. “It’s fine. I can just go in my slippers.”

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone—Yeri, Nari, your makeup artist, and your hairstylist—turned to look at you in utter horror.

“Excuse me, what?” Yeri said, her voice climbing an octave.

“Slippers,” you repeated casually, wiggling your feet in the plush, white hotel slippers you’d been wearing all morning.

“Absolutely not!” Yeri screeched. “This is the wedding of the year, Y/N. Your wedding! You cannot walk down the aisle in slippers!”

“Yeri, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“It is exactly that big of a deal!” she interrupted, throwing her hands in the air. “Do you know how many fashion blogs will be dissecting every detail of this wedding? They’ll zoom in on your feet, Y/N. Your feet!”

Nari jumped in, her voice equally panicked. “I’ll go check the ballroom! Maybe someone accidentally moved them.”

Your hairstylist shook her head. “No, no, I’ll go with you. If they’re not there, we’ll call the concierge to buy a new pair from the boutique downstairs.”

“You guys are overreacting,” you said with a laugh, but your makeup artist chimed in.

“Y/N, sweetie, I love your ‘go-with-the-flow’ attitude, but please don’t ruin Yeri’s masterpiece with slippers.”

Yeri clapped her hands sharply. “Alright! Everyone split up and search. They have to be somewhere!”

Amused, you leaned back in your chair and sipped the glass of champagne someone had handed you earlier. The chaos around you was oddly comforting—proof of how much everyone cared.

Fifteen minutes later, Nari burst into the room, heels in hand. “Found them! Someone put them in the wrong closet.”

Yeri snatched the shoes from her, cradling them like they were made of glass. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

“Alright, alright,” you said, standing up. “Crisis averted. Let’s get me into those shoes and down the aisle before Yeri has an aneurysm.”

As they slipped the elegant heels onto your feet, Yeri muttered, “I swear, if you ever suggest slippers again, I’ll personally revoke your fashion sense.”

You smiled, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. “Noted, Yeri.”

With the heels crisis resolved, the bridal suite returned to its bustling yet organized chaos. You stood in the center of the room, a vision of elegance in your intricately designed wedding gown, as everyone fussed over the final details.

“Alright, let’s get this veil perfect,” Yeri said, stepping behind you with a determined expression.

Your hairstylist adjusted the base of the veil where it was secured to your updo. “Hold still, Y/N. We want it to cascade just right.”

Nari knelt to fluff out the long, delicate train of the veil, making sure it flowed seamlessly with your gown. “The photos of this moment will be iconic,” she said, her tone reverent.

Yeri crouched next to her, smoothing out a section of the fabric. “Iconic if everything is perfect,” she muttered.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” you teased, sipping your champagne.

“Not the time for jokes,” Yeri replied without missing a beat. ��This veil is practically an heirloom now. I swear, one snag and I’ll lose it.”

Your makeup artist leaned in to check your face one last time. “Lipstick touch-up?”

You shook your head with a smile. “It’s still intact, thanks to your magic.”

Nari stood and clapped her hands together. “The veil is perfect. Yeri, stop touching it before you overdo it.”

Yeri stepped back, giving the ensemble a critical once-over. “Fine. It’s perfect. For now.”

Your stylist handed you your bouquet—a stunning arrangement of peonies, roses, and orchids. “Alright, Y/N, deep breath,” she said, stepping back.

You took a moment to look at yourself in the mirror. The shimmering gown, the intricate veil, the dazzling jewelry—all of it came together in a way that took even your breath away.

“Wow,” you murmured, turning slightly to see the full effect.

“Wow is right,” Yeri said, her voice softening. “You look… incredible.”

The room fell quiet for a moment as everyone admired you, their faces filled with pride and affection.

“Alright,” Yeri said, breaking the silence. “Let’s get you down that aisle and married to your ridiculously handsome fiancé.”

Nari grinned. “Who’s probably nervously pacing right now, knowing him.”

You laughed softly. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”

A soft knock at the door pulled everyone's attention, and the bustling room fell silent. Your father stepped inside, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his expression a mixture of pride and emotion.

“Ready, darling?” he asked, his voice steady but warm.

You turned toward him, your bouquet clutched tightly in your hands. The sight of him standing there, ready to walk you down the aisle, made your eyes sting with emotion.

“Dad,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer. “You look beautiful, Y/N. Absolutely stunning. Seonghwa’s going to lose it when he sees you.”

A laugh escaped you, light and airy, though it barely masked the lump in your throat. “You think so?”

He smiled, his eyes soft. “I know so. Now, let’s not keep him waiting.”

Yeri, Nari, and the rest of the team scrambled to make the final adjustments. “Veil’s perfect,” Yeri confirmed, her voice slightly trembling with excitement.

“Bouquet—spot on,” Nari added, stepping back to admire the final look. The girls quickly snapped photos of you on their personal phones before leaving to take their places by the aisle.

Your father extended his arm to you, and you slipped your hand into his, feeling the steadiness of his grip. “Alright,” he said, his voice low so only you could hear. “This is your moment. Let’s make it unforgettable.”

The door opened, and the soft hum of the ceremony music drifted in. The coordinator outside gave a nod. “It’s time.”

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest as your father guided you toward the grand ballroom doors.

The world seemed to slow as the doors swung open, revealing the breathtaking scene before you.

The ballroom of the hotel was transformed into a dreamscape for the wedding of the year. Glittering chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the room, where towering floral arrangements of white orchids, roses, and hydrangeas adorned every table. The decor was opulent yet tasteful, with accents of gold and crystal lending a regal air to the space.

This was no ordinary wedding—it was a celebration befitting two of the nation’s most influential figures. Yeri, true to her promise, had planned every detail meticulously, ensuring that the event was not only grand, but also uniquely personal.

A grand staircase wrapped in garlands of greenery and white blooms served as the entrance to the ballroom. Guests, dressed to the nines in haute couture, mingled under the soaring ceilings while an orchestra played a symphony of classical and modern pieces.

Seonghwa stood at the altar at the far end of the ballroom, a vision of perfection in a custom-tailored white tuxedo by one of Italy’s finest designers. His hair was styled immaculately, and his polished black shoes shone under the soft lights. Despite his calm exterior, his hands were clasped tightly in front of him, betraying the nerves coursing through him.

Standing beside him were his groomsmen: Wooyoung and Yunho, all equally dashing. Hongjoong, as the man of honor, stood proudly on your side, his presence a steadying force for both you and Seonghwa.

The music shifted, signaling your arrival. All heads turned to the staircase, where you appeared at the top, your arm lightly resting on your father’s.

“Let’s go,” your father whispered, his voice steadying you as you took your first step forward.

Your wedding gown was nothing short of breathtaking—a custom creation by a Parisian designer, with intricate lace detailing on the bodice that shimmered with hand-stitched crystals. The voluminous skirt trailed behind you like a cloud, and a delicate cathedral-length veil completed the look.

As you descended the staircase, a wave of awe rippled through the crowd. Gasps and murmurs of admiration followed your every step, but your eyes were locked on Seonghwa. His expression was a mixture of pride, love, and barely contained emotion as he watched you make your way to him.

When you reached the altar, your father placed a gentle kiss at the side of your head before he handed you over to Seonghwa, who took your hand gently.

“You look…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “like a dream.”

“So do you,” you whispered back with a smile.

The officiant began the ceremony, weaving together stories of your journey together.

Seonghwa’s vows were heartfelt and raw, spoken with a confidence that carried the weight of his feelings. “Y/N, you are my light, my anchor, and my greatest adventure. I promise to love you with everything I have, to support you, and to cherish every moment we share. I’ve waited my whole life to stand here with you. I love you, and I can’t wait to see what comes next.”

Your vows were just as moving, bringing a tear to Seonghwa’s eye. “Seonghwa, you are my partner in every sense of the word. You challenge me, complete me, and make me believe in a love I once thought was impossible. I promise to stand by your side through every storm and every sunny day, to celebrate your successes and pick you up in your moments of doubt. Today, I choose you, and I’ll choose you every day after.”

The officiant’s voice echoed gently in the grand ballroom, a quiet yet commanding presence, “Now, the rings—a symbol of eternity and unending love.”

Seonghwa turned to Hongjoong who handed him an emerald-cut, white diamond ring with a platinum band. His hands were steady as he held it, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but filled with conviction, “with this ring, I promise to love you, to honor you, and to stand by you in every moment of our lives together. You’re my everything.”

He slipped the ring onto your finger, the cool metal warming instantly against your skin.

Yeri passed you Seonghwa’s ring, her hands trembling slightly with excitement. You took a deep breath, meeting Seonghwa’s deep, earnest eyes.

“Seonghwa,” you said, your voice wavering for a moment before it steadied, “with this ring, I promise to love you, to respect you, and to stand by your side as your partner and your equal. You’ve given me so much happiness, and I vow to spend the rest of my life giving it back to you.”

Sliding the ring onto his finger, you watched as his lips curved into a small, almost shy smile—a rare expression that made your heart flutter.

The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, the significance of the gesture heavy in the air. You felt Seonghwa gently squeeze your hand, his warmth grounding you in the moment.

The officiant’s voice broke the stillness, light and celebratory. “With the exchange of these rings, your bond is sealed. I now pronounce you as husband and wife. You may now kiss your br—”

But before the sentence could finish, Seonghwa leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss that sent the guests into delighted applause, cheers, and laughter due to his impatience. You felt his hands gently cup your face as the moment stretched, filled with warmth and undeniable love.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was boyish and unapologetic, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Sorry,” he whispered, though he clearly wasn’t.

“You couldn’t wait, could you?” you teased, your cheeks flushed as the crowd continued to cheer.

“Not a chance,” he replied, squeezing your hand.

The officiant chuckled, shaking their head before saying, “Well, there you have it—sealed with enthusiasm!”

As you walked hand in hand down the aisle, the orchestra struck up a lively tune, and confetti in shades of gold and ivory rained down, catching the light like tiny stars. The air buzzed with joy, the grandeur of the ballroom matching the overwhelming happiness in your heart.

Friends and family lined the path, showering you with petals and congratulations. Seonghwa leaned close to you, his voice low so only you could hear, “Mrs. Park, I hope you’re ready for forever.”

You glanced up at him, your smile as radiant as the moment. “With you? Always.”

After taking pictures with each other and the guests, you and Seonghwa changed into different outfits for the reception, both of you in full black. Seonghwa wore a black suit while you wore a short, glittery dress with a v-neckline.

By the time you got to the reception hall, it was already in full swing, with guests mingling, sipping champagne, and enjoying the luxurious ambiance of the hotel’s second grand ballroom, which was much bigger than the first. The lights suddenly dimmed, catching everyone’s attention, and the emcee stepped onto the stage with an infectious grin.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice resonating through the space, “I hope everyone is having a great time tonight. Your night is about to get even better as we have a very special surprise for the bride and all of you tonight! Please put your hands together for the groom, Seonghwa, and his crew!”

A spotlight illuminated a section of the ballroom as Seonghwa appeared, flanked by Hongjoong, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho, Yunho, and Yeosang. They all wore matching sunglasses, their confident smirks drawing cheers and applause from the crowd.

Your jaw dropped as you realized what was happening. “Oh my God,” you murmured, unable to hide your amusement and disbelief.

The music started—a high-energy K-pop hit with a pulsing beat. Seonghwa was front and center, leading the routine with effortless precision. His sharp movements, combined with his undeniable charisma, had everyone screaming. The others followed suit, their choreography perfectly synchronized.

Hongjoong oozed swagger, pointing directly at you at one point, while San’s fluid moves drew audible gasps from the crowd. Mingi and Wooyoung, always the life of the party, brought their playful energy, making exaggerated gestures and winks that had the audience laughing. Jongho’s powerful presence and Yunho’s natural grace balanced the group, while Yeosang’s calm confidence added a touch of elegance.

“They look like a k-pop group!” Nari said to you while laughing and moving to the beat.

“Right?!” Yeri chimed in. “I had no idea all of them could dance this well!”

Halfway through the performance, Seonghwa broke away from the group, extending his hand toward you. The crowd roared as he gestured for you to join him. You shook your head, laughing and blushing, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Come on, Mrs. Park!” Wooyoung shouted, his mic catching his playful teasing.

With encouragement from everyone around you, you finally relented, taking Seonghwa’s hand. He pulled you onto the makeshift dance floor, spinning you gracefully before leading you into a simple but romantic move that fit seamlessly into the choreography.

The performance ended with Seonghwa dipping you dramatically, his face inches from yours. The room erupted in applause and cheers as he leaned in to kiss you, sealing the moment with a perfect touch of romance.

As the music faded and the lights returned to normal, the emcee took the mic again, laughing. “Now that’s how you make a reception unforgettable! Let’s hear it for the groom and his incredible crew!”

The energy in the room was electric as Seonghwa pulled you into a hug, his lips brushing your ear. “Did you like it?”

“Like it?” you replied, grinning. “I think you just set the bar impossibly high for every other wedding.”

Seonghwa laughed, his hand resting on your waist. “Good. Only the best for you.”

“Did you all think we were done?” the emcee teased, his voice brimming with energy. “The bride and her girls also prepared a surprise!”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me?” he asked, his tone playful as he leaned closer.

You smirked, your eyes glinting with mischief. “You’re not the only one who’s slick, Mr. Park.” With a wink, you turned and made your way toward the dance floor, joined by Yeri, Nari, and two of your closest friends.

The lights dimmed again, and a spotlight followed you and your squad as you took your positions. The crowd’s anticipation was palpable, with guests craning their necks to see what was coming next.

A sultry beat filled the room, and the five of you burst into a lively and perfectly coordinated routine. The choreography was bold, fun, and flirtatious—an exciting mix of sass and elegance that immediately captivated the crowd.

Yeri, ever the queen of confidence, flipped her hair dramatically, earning loud cheers, while Nari’s graceful moves balanced the group’s energy. Your other two friends brought their own flair, their expressions playful and cheeky.

But it was you who stole the show. Your movements were sharp yet fluid, your expression a perfect mix of allure and confidence as you worked the floor. Every step seemed to be aimed directly at Seonghwa, whose stunned expression quickly turned into a wide grin.

Halfway through the performance, the music shifted into a high-energy medley, and the routine became even more dynamic. The girls hyped you up as you took center stage, hitting the moves with precision and a touch of attitude that had everyone cheering, though you were mentally screaming at yourself to not fall in the heels you were dancing in.

Seonghwa, who had been seated at the edge of the dance floor, stood up and clapped along, his pride and admiration evident. He exchanged amused looks with Hongjoong and the others, who were just as impressed.

As the routine ended with a dramatic pose, the ballroom erupted in applause and whistles. The emcee’s laughter boomed through the speakers. “Wow! Give it up for the bride and her girls! I think Mr. Park’s speechless!”

Breathless but exhilarated, you walked toward Seonghwa, who was still clapping, his smile impossibly wide. “So?” you asked, tilting your head. “What do you think?”

He stepped closer, sliding an arm around your waist and leaning in to whisper, “I think you just became even more perfect in my eyes.”

You laughed, brushing a hand over his chest. “Good. Only the best for you,” you quoted his words from earlier.

“Looks like the Park couple knows how to entertain,” the emcee quipped. “Now let’s get the party going again!”

The music transitioned to an upbeat tune, and the dance floor flooded with guests, all eager to keep the energy alive. Seonghwa pulled you close, his hands resting on your hips.

“Care for a dance, Mrs. Park?” he asked, his voice low and warm. “Unless your performance tired you out?” he challenged.

You smirked, taking his glass of whiskey from him and downing it in one go. “Oh, you’re on.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed, as you handed the empty glass back to him with a smirk. “Bold move,” he murmured, his voice full of amusement and intrigue.

“I thought you liked bold,” you teased, taking his hand and leading him toward the center of the dance floor.

The lights dimmed slightly, and the vibrant beat of the music pulsed through the room, urging everyone to let loose. Seonghwa pulled you closer, his movements smooth and confident as he matched your energy effortlessly.

“Mrs. Park, you’re full of surprises tonight,” he said, spinning you around before bringing you back into his arms.

“Get used to it,” you replied, your grin wide and mischievous.

The two of you moved together in perfect sync, your chemistry undeniable. Guests couldn’t help but stop and admire the newlyweds as you owned the dance floor, a mix of elegance and playful charm radiating from every step.

At one point, Yeri and San joined in, adding their usual chaotic energy to the mix. Wooyoung tried to out-dance Seonghwa with exaggerated moves, earning a round of laughter when Seonghwa effortlessly countered with a smooth twirl and dip of you, leaving Wooyoung mock-defeated.

“You’re showing off now,” you whispered, breathless from the dance and the adrenaline coursing through you.

“I’m just smooth like that,” Seonghwa replied, leaning down to steal a quick kiss amidst the cheers and applause surrounding you.

As the song ended, the emcee’s voice boomed once more. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think it’s safe to say that the Parks are officially the king and queen of the dance floor tonight!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Seonghwa wrapped an arm around your waist, his face glowing with happiness. “We’re just getting started,” he said softly, his gaze locked on yours, his love and admiration shining through.

You smiled, leaning into him as the next song began to play. The celebration was far from over, and with Seonghwa by your side, it was shaping up to be the perfect beginning to your new life together.

The night air was crisp as you stepped out of the venue after the reception, Seonghwa’s hand firmly holding yours. Guests formed a lively crowd, clapping, cheering, and waving sparklers as they sent you off in style. Yeri was shouting playful advice about married life, while Hongjoong pretended to dab tears from his eyes dramatically.

Seonghwa chuckled at the spectacle, guiding you toward the sleek black car waiting by the curb. Your family’s trusted driver stood ready, offering a respectful nod as he opened the door for you.

“Ready, Mrs. Park?” Seonghwa asked, his voice warm and full of pride.

You grinned, sliding into the back seat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Seonghwa followed, settling in beside you. The driver closed the door and got into the front, smoothly pulling away from the venue. Guests cheered louder, throwing flower petals and confetti in your direction as the car disappeared into the night.

Inside the car, a peaceful silence settled. Seonghwa leaned his head back, his hand finding yours instinctively. The soft leather seats and the muted hum of the engine made the moment feel cozy, a stark contrast to the buzz of the reception.

“You’ve been quiet,” you said, breaking the silence. “What’s on your mind?”

He turned to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Just thinking about how surreal it feels. Tonight was perfect. You were perfect. And now, you’re my wife.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “It still feels unreal to me too,” you admitted.

The car glided through the city streets, the twinkling Seoul skyline glowing in the distance. Before long, you arrived at the private parking garage of your new apartment building. The driver stepped out, opening the door for you both.

“Thank you, Mr. Yoon,” you said with a grateful smile as Seonghwa helped you out of the car.

“Always a pleasure, Ms.—Mrs. Park,” the driver replied, correcting himself with a chuckle.

Seonghwa chuckled softly as well, resting his hand on the small of your back as he led you to the private elevator. “That’s going to take some getting used to,” he said playfully.

The ride up to the apartment was quick, and when the elevator doors opened, Seonghwa unlocked the door, stepping aside to let you enter first.

Your breath hitched as you took in the sight of your now fully furnished new home. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the glittering Seoul skyline. The living room was a perfect blend of modern elegance and inviting warmth, the plush furniture and carefully chosen decor reflecting both your styles.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice tinged with awe. Most of the décor was chosen by Seonghwa, though you knew Jongho and Mingi helped him a lot with it.

“I wanted it to feel like home for you,” Seonghwa said softly, his arms wrapping around you from behind.

Your gaze wandered to the open kitchen with its sleek marble countertops, the balcony with a luxurious jacuzzi overlooking the city, and the spacious bedroom that exuded a serene, cozy vibe.

“You really outdid yourself,” you said, turning in his arms to look at him.

“I’d do it a hundred times over for you, sweetheart,” he replied, his eyes filled with love as he leaned down to kiss you.

The kiss lingered, full of promise and the unspoken excitement of starting your new life together. When he pulled back, he smiled. “Welcome home, Mrs. Park.”

“Home,” you echoed, the word feeling heavier with meaning as you smiled up at him. You walked around the whole house, checking out each room before finally walking into your bedroom.

You stop right in front of the massive king-size bed, staring down at the golden sheets. Seonghwa moved to stand right behind you, pushing your hair to one side. You felt a shiver run down your spine as Seonghwa’s warm breath brushed against your skin. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him as he pressed a kiss to the curve of your neck.

“Well, my wife,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing against your sensitive skin, “imagine the things we would do in here…”

You let out a soft laugh, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze. His dark eyes held a mischievous glint, his lips curled into that signature smirk that never failed to weaken your resolve.

“Is that so, husband?” you teased, leaning back into his embrace, feeling his hard dick press against your back. “And here I thought we’d just use it for sleeping.”

Seonghwa chuckled, the sound deep and rich. His hands moved to your hips, gently turning you to face him. “Oh, we’ll definitely be sleeping,” he said, his tone playfully suggestive, “eventually.”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk, but before you could retort, Seonghwa closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His hands slid up your back, anchoring you against him as his kiss deepened, filled with passion and unspoken promises.

When he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered, “I’ve waited for this moment for so long—just you, me, and no interruptions.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “Me too,” you admitted softly.

Without breaking eye contact, Seonghwa lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you the rest of the way to the bed. He placed you down gently, his hands brushing against the golden sheets as he leaned over you.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” he said, his voice filled with reverence, as if you were the most precious thing in his world.

Seonghwa’s eyes held yours as he reached for the delicate clasp at the back of your dress, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. Slowly, deliberately, he undid the fastening, the fabric loosening and sliding down your shoulders like a whisper.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost reverent. He leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to your bare shoulder, his lips warm against your skin.

He didn’t rush. His movements were deliberate, his attention solely on you. His hands followed the trail of the dress as it slipped further, revealing more of you to his gaze. His fingers were gentle, grazing your sides and lingering over the curve of your waist.

When the dress finally pooled at your feet leaving you in your lacey black lingerie that was made especially for this night, he knelt, his hands gliding down your legs as he helped you step out of the dress. He looked up at you from where he was, his eyes filled with adoration and something deeper—something that made your heart race.

He placed gentle kisses on your inner thighs and you could feel the heat at your core. Seonghwa placed a kiss on your clothed pussy before he rose slowly, his hands finding yours and guiding them to the buttons of his shirt. “I want you to undress me too,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You complied, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked each button free, revealing inch by inch of his toned chest. He didn’t rush you, his hands resting lightly on your hips as he watched you, his gaze tender and full of love.

When his shirt joined your dress on the floor, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks. “We have all the time in the world,” he said, his voice steady, grounding.

His lips found yours again, the kiss deep and unhurried. It was a kiss that spoke of devotion, of commitment, of a love so profound it left you breathless.

Seonghwa’s hands continued their gentle exploration, tracing every curve, every line, as if committing you to memory even though he’s done it so many times before. He guided you back to the bed, his touch never leaving yours.

Your arms snaked around his neck, pulling him into a kiss, falling back on the sheets of your shared bed. He hovered over you, his knee moving in between your legs, rubbing against your pussy. You whimpered at the contact, causing him to move his knee again before he stopped to trail kisses from your lips to your neck, down to your breasts. He took his sweet time there, gently pulling the fabric down enough to lightly suck your nipple while his hand toyed with the other one. He mirrored his actions before continuing his kisses down your stomach before stopping at the waistband of your panties.

“Now, my love…” he whispered against your skin. “I’ll let you decide how you want me to taste you. Should I take you like this, or do you want to sit on my face?” His words made you whimper, your thighs pressing the sides of his body.

“Uh, anything is fine,” you replied. “Whatever you like.”

“Mhmm.” He kissed your clothed pussy before standing up to take your panties off, tossing it aside. “On my face it is, then.”

He moved to lie down on the bed, his head resting against a pillow, gesturing for you to come to him. You moved so that you were positioned over his face, knees on either side of him, being careful to not put your weight on him. He placed your hands on your hips, bringing you down until your pussy was right above his mouth. He started off slow, his tongue exploring your wet pussy before he latched onto your clit. He gently sucked at your nub, his wet tongue darting out to put pressure on your clit. You moaned and couldn’t help but grind yourself against his tongue. He pulled away for a brief second before lapping at your pussy in a faster pace. He put more pressure on your hips to lock you in place while he ate you out like a starved man.

“Hwa… I’m…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before your orgasm hit you in waves, coming undone on his tongue. Seonghwa didn’t stop though and instead lapped at your pussy even more until you were overstimulated and couldn’t handle more.

When he pulled away, you felt like you could cum again at the sight of his lips glistening with your wetness. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, a satisfied smirk on his face. You moved away from his face, lying down next to him, pulling him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

Seonghwa broke away from the kiss to take his pants off along with his briefs before hovering over you. He pumped his hard cock a few times before smoothly entering your wet pussy. He leaned down to hungrily kiss you while he moved in you. He wanted to take things slow and savor this moment, but he was finding it difficult to do so with the way your walls clenched around him so tightly and the way you were bucking your hips up to meet his.

You pulled away from the kiss. “Hwa… please… faster,” you begged. He did as you said, increasing his pace, his dick continuously hitting your sweet spot. You screamed his name as your second orgasm washed over you quickly and you moved away from his dick so it would slip out. You swiftly turned onto your stomach and got on all fours, lowering your upper body so that your ass stuck out to him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Seonghwa growled. “I can’t believe this beautiful woman is all mine.”

You wiggled you hips slightly, begging him to fuck you. He entered you again, going deeper than before. He kept a faster pace, his hands gripping your hips while he fucked you from behind. The sound of skin slapping and your loud moans filled the air, and you pressed your face harder onto the sheets while he rammed into you. It wasn’t long before his own orgasm caught up, shooting his load in you. He stilled and you felt his dick throb with every release before he carefully pulled out.

You laid down on your stomach and he joined you, placing a kiss to your head.

“Sleepy?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” you  murmured. “I need to shower first.”

“You don’t have to move,” Seonghwa said softly, his voice warm and low. He shifted closer, his hand gently brushing your hair away from your face. “Just rest for a bit. I’ll run the shower for you.”

You hummed in response, eyes fluttering closed as you felt his lips press against your temple. “You’re spoiling me, Mr. Park,” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“I intend to,” he replied with a chuckle, his fingers trailing soothing patterns along your back. “It’s my job as your husband now.”

The word "husband" made your heart flutter, and you turned your head slightly to glance at him, your cheek resting against the golden sheets. “I could get used to this.”

Seonghwa grinned, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. Reluctantly, he pulled himself away, heading into the en-suite bathroom. You heard the sound of water running as he adjusted the temperature, and a moment later, he returned, crouching down beside you.

“Shower’s ready, love,” he said, his hand brushing lightly against your arm.

You groaned softly but pushed yourself up, Seonghwa’s hands immediately steadying you. “You’re too good to me,” you said, stretching as you stood.

“Not possible,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with affection.

He followed you into the bathroom, his hands resting on your shoulders as he guided you toward the warm cascade of water. “Let me help you,” he offered, stepping into the shower with you, reaching for your bottle of bodywash.

Seonghwa’s hands worked the bodywash into a soft lather, his touch gentle as he began to glide his hands along your shoulders and arms. The warm water cascaded around you both, and you sighed, leaning into his touch.

“It’s been a long day,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

His movements were slow and deliberate, his fingers kneading away any tension in your muscles as he worked his way down your back. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t rushed or fueled by desire but instead filled with an overwhelming tenderness that made your chest tighten.

“You don’t have to spoil me like this, you know,” you said softly, tilting your head back to look at him.

“I want to,” he replied without hesitation, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve done so much for me, for us. This is just a small way to show you how much I appreciate you.”

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as water trickled down his arm. “You’re everything to me, Mrs. Park,” he said, his voice low and filled with conviction.

The way he said it, like you were his entire world, made your heart swell. You smiled up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “And you’re everything to me too.”

Seonghwa leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the warm water making the moment feel like a dream. When he pulled back, he continued his task, his touch lingering on every inch of your skin as he helped rinse away the suds.

By the time the shower ended, you felt entirely refreshed, your mind and heart lighter than they’d been all day. Seonghwa wrapped you in a fluffy towel, his hands brushing against your arms as he tucked it around you snugly.

Standing side by side at the bathroom sink, you and Seonghwa brushed your teeth in comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other in the mirror. His hair was slightly damp, and his eyes softened every time they met yours. When he caught you staring, he wiggled his eyebrows playfully, making you giggle through your toothpaste.

After rinsing and doing your skincare, you both changed into the matching pajamas Yeri had gifted—simple and cozy with little embroidered hearts on the cuffs. Seonghwa looked down at his set with mock disdain. “I never thought I’d wear something like this,” he teased, tugging at the hem.

“You look adorable,” you countered, stepping closer to adjust the collar.

“Adorable enough to make me rethink my choices,” he quipped, grinning, but his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him.

Together, you walked into the bedroom, the golden glow of the bedside lamps casting a warm light over the space. The king-size bed, with its luxurious golden sheets, felt more inviting than ever. Seonghwa pulled back the covers and gestured dramatically for you to get in.

“Your throne, my queen,” he said with a flourish, making you laugh.

You slipped into bed, feeling the cool, silky fabric against your skin. Seonghwa climbed in beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. The day’s excitement melted away as he nestled you against his chest, his steady heartbeat soothing you.

He kissed the top of your head, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet room. “I still can’t believe we’re here, like this, married.”

You tilted your head to look at him, your hand resting on his chest. “It feels like a dream,” you admitted. “A really, really good dream.”

Seonghwa chuckled, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “If it’s a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with the kind of happiness that felt almost surreal. “Mhmm… I love you, Seonghwa,” you said softly.

“And I love you too,” he replied, his voice full of warmth and promise.

As you lay there, wrapped in his arms, the world outside faded away. The future felt bright, the love between you unshakable.

With a content sigh, you closed your eyes, knowing that no matter what lay ahead, you’d face it together—always.

The End

[winchesterwild78]

Unspoken Words pt 7

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, other characters

Warnings: fluff, a little angst, David’s court date, more fluff

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This one is about a single mother with a nonverbal autistic daughter who loves Supernatural. The reader is going to a Supernatural Convention with her daughter and things unfold from there. The daughter character is near and dear to my heart. I have someone very close to me who is nonverbal, but he’s such an amazing kid. 

*One more chapter after this. Features a time jump or two. *

This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Jensen is single in this story. 

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

*Time Jump 3 months*

After coming back from California  I decided to move Lily and I in with Jensen. He was excited I agreed to it. Living with him in California felt perfect, like we were exactly where we were meant to be. 

Lily began talking more, and Jensen insisted on paying for a private speech therapist. I told him I was fine with the one she had been going to, but he wanted the best for her. 

I quickly realized it was pointless to argue with him about her wellbeing. He stepped into the role of dad without missing a beat. We were a united front when it came to Lily, but he also used his status and money to help fill in gaps. 

*Flash Back to the month after we left*

We flew back for the court date for David’s attempted kidnapping. Sarah watched Lily so Jensen and I could go. He was found guilty and sentenced to jail time. There was also a lifetime protective order put in place that prevented him from any contact with Lily, myself or Jensen. 

When we came home for the court date I was sick for days. Chalking it up to nerves, I did my best to ignore it. After a few days and heading back to California Jensen started to get more concerned.

“Baby, you’ve been sick since before we went to court. Maybe you should go to the doctor.” He was right, I knew he was. I was just being stubborn. 

“I can’t just drop what I’m doing and go to the doctor for a little bug. It’ll pass. It always does.”

Jensen just looked at me, “Baby, please. I’m worried about you. I’ll keep Lily and you go see Dr. Pickard. Please.” I sighed, “Okay. I’ll make an appointment.” 

The next day I was sitting in the doctor’s office. I checked in and sat in the lobby. A young woman was sitting to the left of me and kept looking at me. I just wanted to get in and out without issues or being recognized. 

The young woman leaned forward. I knew what was coming. “Excuse me, ma’am?” I turned and smiled, “Yes?” “I’m sorry to bother you, but are you dating Jensen Ackles?” I nodded, “Yes I am.” She grinned, “I thought that was you. It’s very nice to meet you. My name is Mary. Are you two getting married?” “It’s nice to meet you too, Mary, and I don’t know. He hasn’t asked, so I’m going to say no. Not right now.” “Oh, okay. Well maybe he will soon.” I smiled as my name was called, “Maybe. We haven’t been dating long, so we have time. You have a great day, Mary.” 

I walked to the back with the nurse and explained why I was there. She told me the doctor would be in soon and would let me know if any tests would be needed. I nodded and she left. 

Sitting in the room I felt really dizzy and sick. Dr Pickard came in and noticed I was sweating and was pale. “Ms Y/L/N, are you okay?” “No, I feel really dizzy and sick to my stomach.” 

She checked me over and asked some questions. “Okay, let me run some tests. The nurse will be in soon and take some blood, do some swabs for the flu and other illnesses, and we need to check for pregnancy.” 

I chuckled, “Wow, just checking everything, huh?” Dr Pickard looked at me, “Just trying to be thorough.” She left the room and the nurse came back in a few minutes later. They took my blood, she swabbed my nose and throat and had me pee in a cup. 

“I’m gonna run all this to the lab, we should have the results for everything except the blood work before you leave today. The doctor will be back shortly.” I nodded and thanked her. I pulled out my phone and sent Jensen a text. 

Me: I’ve been poked, prodded and swabbed. Waiting on some of the results. I’m being checked for flu or other things. I’ll keep you updated. How are you and Lily?

Jensen: Okay, hopefully they figure it out soon. I’m really worried about you, and we are fine. *1 image sent*

Jensen sent a picture of him with a princess tiara on and Lily in her princess dress. I laughed.

Me: aww look at the pretty princesses. I love you two

Jensen: We love you too, mommy. Come home soon.

Me: I will. TTYS

After about twenty minutes Dr Pickard came back in. “Well, Ms Y/L/N, you don’t have the flu or strep, your iron is a bit low and you're a little dehydrated, and you’re pregnant.” 

“I’m sorry, what? I’m pregnant? How did that happen?” She chuckled, “Um, I’m assuming you and your partner had sex. Maybe unprotected?” I sat thinking, no, Jensen and I were always so… “Oh, yeah. That one time over a month ago.” She chuckled, “That’s all it takes. So I’m prescribing some prenatal vitamins and I want you to schedule an appointment to get the baby checked.” 

“Okay. Thank you for everything.” My heart beat fast in my chest. I was pregnant. Jensen was the father. Would he be okay with this? We never really talked about children. How would Lily handle this?

My head was spinning by the time I got home. Jensen greeted me at the door with a hug and a smile. He saw the bag from the pharmacy and smiled. “So I see you have some medicine. I’m assuming the doctor found something?” 

I took a deep breath, “Yeah she did. Jensen, we need to talk.” He sat down beside me and took my hands in his, “Okay baby. Is everything okay?” 

With a shaky breath I looked at him, “Jensen, I’m okay. She didn’t find anything devastating, but what she did find is going to change our lives.” 

Jensen looked at me, eyes so full of love, “Okay, now you’re scaring me. Y/N, please just tell me.” 

Tears pricked my eyes, I was so scared. “Jensen, I’m pregnant.” He softly gasped. Silence filled the room and I didn’t know what to say or do. 

The longer the silence stretched on, the more anxious I got. I swallowed hard, and the tears started to fall.

“Jensen, please say something.” His voice barely above a whisper, “You’re pregnant?” I nodded. “Jensen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get pregnant. I know this isn’t something we talked about and I understand if you’re not ready. Lily and I can stay at our place and I won’t keep the baby from you if that’s what you want. I think Lily and I should go home. I’m so sorry Jensen.” 

I stood up quickly and walked towards the bedroom. The tears fell fast as I felt the bile rise in my throat. I walked into our bedroom and grabbed my suitcase. Jensen was hot on my heels. He grabbed my hand and spun me around. His lips crashed on mine in a heated kiss. 

I was shocked. When he pulled back he was smiling. “You’re pregnant. We’re having a baby!.” “Jensen, you’re not mad?” “What?! Why would I be mad? The love of my life is pregnant with our baby. Lily’s going to have a baby brother or sister. Oh sweetheart, please don’t leave. I want to be with you every step of the way.” 

I cried harder. I wasn’t expecting his reaction. He pulled me in his arms, “Shh baby. Don’t cry, please. I love you and I can’t wait to have this baby with you. I know you’ve been hurt in the past, but I promise I’m not going anywhere. You, Lily and this baby have me forever.” He wiped my tears away and placed a soft kiss on my lips. 

His hand rested on my stomach and he smiled. “I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am.” I took a shaky breath in and out, letting go of all the anxiety I was feeling. 

*Current Time*

I was heading to my doctor's appointment to check on the baby and Jensen was going with me. We had been back home in Texas for about a month and Lily and I were adjusting to living with Jensen. 

I was worried she would have a hard time adjusting to the new house, but she loved it. Jensen made sure he put a gate around the pool, and a safety cover on the pool just in case. He also had her a swing set built in the backyard. They both spent a lot of time outside in the backyard playing. I couldn’t wait for the baby to be old enough to play with Lily and Jensen. 

I stood at the full-length mirror in our bedroom and placed a hand on my belly. I was just starting to show more and I knew we couldn’t hide the pregnancy much longer. My biggest worry was telling Lily. I wasn’t sure how she’d react. 

Sarah and Steve knew I was pregnant. They were excited for us. The two of them were coming over to watch Lily while Jensen and I went to the doctor. 

I was too busy looking at my growing bump to notice Jensen standing at the door. He leaned against the doorframe and watched me with a smile on his face. 

He walked up behind me and snaked his arms around my waist, placing his hands on my belly. He kissed my cheek, “How’s my babies today?” I smiled and leaned into him, “We’re okay. I’m hungry, but what else is new.” He laughed, “We’ll get you a snack before we head out. What do you want?” 

“Hmm, pickles, peanut butter and apples sound delicious.” He chuckled, “Okay. I’ll get it and you finish getting ready.” I kissed his lips, “Thanks baby.” He nodded and smiled.

Lily knew something was different, but we hadn’t told her yet I was pregnant. We wanted to make sure everything was okay with the baby before we told her. The appointment today was going to include an ultrasound and measurement of the baby. I was about 3 months pregnant and so far the pregnancy was going well. 

Jensen was by my side through it all. He was in between filming schedules at the moment, so he was home. I knew he was leaving in about 3 weeks to head to Toronto for filming. We weren’t sure if Lily and I were going or staying home, honestly it depends on what the doctor told us. 

Sarah and Steve arrived to watch Lily and Jensen and I were about to leave to go to the appointment. I was nervous but excited. This would be the first ultrasound and I was happy Jensen was going to be there for it. 

Sarah gave me a hug and told me she couldn’t wait to see the baby when we got back. Lily looked at me and Sarah and whispered, “baby?”

I looked at Sarah and she mouthed, “sorry”. I just nodded. 

I took a deep breath and sat Lily down. Jensen sat beside her. “Lily, sweetheart. Mommy and Jensen have something we want to tell you. You know how mommy has been sick and going to the doctor a lot? Well, mommy has a baby in her tummy. You’re going to be a big sister.” 

Lily sat beside Jensen and I very still. She looked up at me, then down to my stomach, then up at Jensen. Tears filled her little eyes and she started to cry. I pulled her on my lap but she wiggled free and went to her room. 

I started to follow her, but Sarah told me she’d go so we weren’t late. I wanted to go and see her, but I had to get to the appointment too. 

“Y/N, honey. I’ll take care of her. You go check on the little bean.” I nodded and Jensen and I left. 

The ride to the doctor’s office was quiet. I was worried about Lily and felt a pang of guilt for leaving like I did. Jensen sensed my uneasiness and took my hand in his. 

“Hey, she’s going to be okay. Take a deep breath.” “I know Jensen, she was just so upset and I left. What kind of mother does that?”

“Y/N, don’t do that. You’re an amazing mother. Lily is safe with Sarah, and we had to get to this appointment. I know you’re upset, but she’s going to be okay, I promise.”

I nodded and wiped the tears that started to fall away. We arrived at the doctor’s office and got checked in. 

The nurse checked my vitals and everything she needed to do. She asked how I’d been and told me the doctor would be in soon. Jensen stood beside the exam table and held my hand. 

The doctor came in, did their exam and got me ready for the ultrasound.

I was so excited and nervous to see the baby. She put the gel on my belly and commented that she was surprised I was showing as much as I was. I thought it was an odd statement to make, but brushed it off as my eyes were glued to the monitor. 

The doctor had a puzzled look on their face and kept looking at the monitor with an unreadable look on their face. I started to get nervous. “Hmm, that’s interesting.” 

I looked at her and then at Jensen. He saw my distress, “What’s interesting?” He asked her. “One second, let me just check one more thing. Hmm, yep. Okay.” 

Jensen looked at the screen, at her and then at me, “Is everything okay with the baby?” I started to panic a little because I wasn’t hearing a heartbeat. “Why don’t I hear a heartbeat?! Jensen, what’s wrong with the baby?!”

The doctor turned to us and offered a soft smile. I felt the bile rising in my throat. She flipped a switch on the machine and I heard the heartbeat. I let out the breath I was holding. 

“Everything looks great. The heartbeats are strong and it looks like growth is on target. You both can relax. It looks like both of them are perfectly healthy.” 

Jensen leaned down and kissed me and I turned back to the doctor to thank her, then it hit both of us. “Wait, what?! Heartbeats? Both?” She chuckled, “Congratulations, you’re having twins, and from the looks of it they are fraternal.” 

Jensen chuckled, “Wow, we’re adding two babies to the family.” He kissed me again. I was filled with joy and then a wave of anxiety hit me. I was worried how Lily would handle the news of twins. 

The doctor gave us pictures and we made our next appointment. I couldn’t take my eyes off the pictures. I clearly saw two babies in the pictures. 

On the way home my hand rested on my stomach as my mind drifted to what life would be like with three children. 

“Whatcha thinking about darlin’?” Jensen asked, breaking the silence in the car. “Just the babies and Lily. I don’t know how she’s going to feel about two babies. I’m just worried about her.” 

He took my hand, “Hey, I get it. It might be hard for her at first, but she’s going to be a great big sister. When Mackenzie was born I wasn’t thrilled at first, but after a bit I loved her and protected her. Lily is going to be the same way.” “I hope so.”

When we got home We shared the news with Sarah and Steve and they both were excited. I asked Sarah where Lily was and she said in her room. “I talked to her, but I don’t know if it did any good. I’m sorry Y/N.” 

I touched her arm, “No, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. We will talk to her. Thank you both for watching her.” 

Sarah nodded, hugged me goodbye and she and Steve left. I walked to Lily’s bedroom door and found her sitting on her bed holding her squirrel stuffy. 

I walked in and sat on the bed, “Lily, honey, we’re home. Do you want to see a picture of the baby?” She turned her back to me. It broke my heart. I touched her arm, “Baby, look at mommy, please.” 

She turned away and grunted at me. Jensen walked in and saw it. He walked up to me, touched my shoulder and motioned for me to come on. I looked at Lily and then back at him. I got up and left her room.

I started crying, “She’s so mad at me, Jensen. What am I going to do?” He pulled me in his arms and held me, “Hey, it’s okay. You get a snack and rest, I’ll talk to her.” I nodded and walked downstairs.

Jensen walked in her room and sat on the bed, “Hey baby girl. Will you look at me?” She turned further away. He put his hand on her shoulder, “Hey, Lily girl. Please look at me.” 

She slowly rolled over and looked at him. Her big beautiful eyes red from crying. “No love Lily.” Jensen’s heart broke. He immediately pulled her in his lap and held her tight, “Oh sweet girl, no. Just because mommy is having a baby doesn’t mean we don’t love you anymore. We will always love our Lily girl. You’re our first baby, our first princess. We love you and love the new baby too. Just like you can love mommy and love me.” 

She looked up at him and he wiped her tears away. “Love Lily?” “Of course we do. Forever and always. Do you want to see a picture of the baby?” She cautiously nodded. Jensen pulled out the ultrasound picture he had and showed Lily. “So, Lily, mommy has two babies in her belly. We don’t know if they are boys or girls, but there are two of them.” She smiled and held the picture looking it over. “Babies?” Jensen chuckled, “Yes, babies.” 

She climbed out of his lap and ran to her closet. When she came back over she had a duck toy and handed it to Jensen, “For baby.” Jensen smiled and kissed the top of her head, “Come on sweet girl, let’s give it to mommy.” 

Jensen carried Lily downstairs and to me. She hugged me and handed me the duck. I was a little confused. “She said it’s for the babies.” I smiled and nodded. 

Lily sat beside me and looked at my belly. “Babies?” I placed my hand on my stomach, “Yes, mommy has two babies in her belly.” Lily looked at Jensen and then back at me. She slid closer to me, placed her hand softly on my stomach and then leaned down and kissed my belly. 

My breath hitched and I looked at Jensen. He smiled and said, “See I told you, best big sister ever.” 

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[xo-hugs-n-kisses-ox]

𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 ❤︎︎

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾Twilight☽

Ongoing Series:

✰ Rumination (Paul Lahote x Reader)

Forks, Washington

Adjustments

Revelation

The Wolves

Protection

Hurt

Confrontation

Home, Safe

Ultimatums

Reconciliation

Contemplation

Consequences

Grief

Preparations

❀ Oneshots:

Fox and the Hound (Paul Lahote x reader, Requested)

Pebbles (Paul Lahote x reader, Requested)

Headcannons: Visiting the Cullens’ house for the first time (Cullens x reader, Requestsd)

Headcannons: Taking Things to Heart (Cullens x reader, Requested)

———

I’ll write for about anyone from Twilight, though I’m more comfortable with the main cast since theres more about them in the source material! I’m open to requests, though I’m getting through them rathwr slowly due to school.

Currently, I’m only writing for Twilight, though I’m getting back into some older hyperfixations again and am considering writing for them, too :)

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬:

I will not write for things like smut as of now

In the same vein, I won’t write “dark” themed things (like the whole “dark romance” stuff)

I’m always open to requests, and please be nice! I don’t have many hard boundaries for my writing, so despite my first two rules, feel free to request things! If I’m not comfortable with it, I’ll tell you and we can figure something else out/move on :)

I divert from cannon to make my story a bit better (esp regarding the Native American characters in Twilight). I do try to focus more on them as characters in the story so I don’t misconstrue the culture from which they were sourced, though.

Adding on to 4, if there’s something I didn’t portray right/that could be better, please let me know! Again, be kind, but I’m always open to improving my writing and my accuracy. Also, I try to comb over my work every few weeks to make sure I’m not missing any typos, but if you see some, lmk so I can fix them!

I’m creating a tag list since some people requested it, so if you want to be put on it, you can either DM me or comment!

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 28

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Sydney, May 18, 2022.

NOAH

"Your call has been forwarded to voicemail..." the automated voice announced for the eighth time in under five minutes.

I paced back and forth, fists clenched, gripping my phone with such force that it wouldn't be long before I wore a hole into the floor. My impatience gnawed at me as I failed to get through again. I raked my fingers through my hair, exhaling a heavy sigh.

We had been away from home for five months, touring non-stop. Five months away from Los Angeles. Five months since I had last heard from her. Five months of her ignoring every attempt I made to contact or reconcile with her. It felt like a game—a twisted game designed to drive me insane by vanishing completely from my sight.

"Try her phone again, please!" I said, my voice trembling with exhaustion, my chin jutting toward Jolly as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He’d always been closer to her, and lately, I was clinging to the thin hope that he might have better luck reaching her.

“We’ve tried, Noah. She still won’t answer,” Jolly reminded me, his tone calm but firm.

I shook my head and lowered my phone from my ear, pressing my lips together.

“We’re going home tomorrow. You’ll have your chance to talk to her face-to-face,” he said, stepping closer and patting my shoulder.

“I don’t feel right…” I muttered, swallowing the tightness in my throat as I turned my gaze to the window. “Something feels wrong.”

“You’re probably just anxious. How about you get some rest? Lie down, try to sleep. I’ll keep calling her and let you know if I hear anything. But you need to rest.”

There was no order in Jolly’s voice, no harshness—only concern, evident in the lines of his forehead and the tightness around his eyes. I nodded faintly, giving him a small, strained smile to reassure him enough to leave me alone in the room again.

Empty and jagged.

I knew this wasn’t guilt—not the kind that gnawed at your conscience. I didn’t regret anything I’d done so far. My conscience was clear. But still, I felt it—something was missing.

The truth is, we’re never satisfied with anything.

We tie our happiness to external things, believing that once we achieve certain goals or acquire what we desire, we’ll finally cherish those accomplishments. We put our ambitions above logic, battling tirelessly until we reach them. But when we do, the thrill of victory dulls the joy of having won.

That was how I felt.

Even though I had accomplished everything I’d set out to do, I still felt hollow—like a tree trunk eaten away by termites.

“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail…” The voice interrupted my thoughts again as I collapsed into the chair by the window. “Leave your message after the tone.”

“I haven’t seen cloudy skies and drizzle the same way since you left, little storm. Today, more than ever, I woke up thinking of you, with a feeling that claws at my chest with every breath. Every day in a message like this, I tell you how much I miss you, but today it feels unbearable. I’m sorry.” I sighed.

I breathed deeply, my eyes drifting between a blank spot on the floor and the fogged window, blurred by the rain.

“If your plan was to punish me, congratulations—you’ve succeeded. I haven’t stopped feeling like a worm since the moment you walked out of our house on a day just like this.”

I inhaled sharply, dividing my gaze between the rain-washed glass and the suffocating silence on the other end of the line.

“I feel like something’s terribly wrong. I can’t explain it, not to anyone. But you’d understand. It feels like a part of me is dissolving, and I can’t put it back… just a gaping, hollow hole left behind.” My head tilted upward as I whispered, “I’d leave you alone forever if I could hear your voice just one last time. Even if it’s to call me selfish or tell me to disappear from your life. Not that my promises have meant much lately.”

A notification buzzed, cutting me off—voicemail full.

My breath quickened. Fury rose inside me like a storm, and I launched my phone against the wall. It shattered into fragments, leaving a jagged hole in the dark paneling. The sound of impact was deafening, but I barely noticed.

I sprang to my feet, adrenaline surging. Rage coursed through my veins as I tore through the room, toppling my desk, sending my laptop crashing to the ground. Glass splintered into sharp shards, scattering across the floor. I grabbed them and hurled them at the mirrors, cracking the glass until my reflection was a distorted mess of fractures.

I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. It felt as though the world was collapsing, and I was determined to bring it all down with me.

When the storm passed, I stood amid wreckage, my chest heaving, my hands slick with blood from the shattered glass. I slumped onto the bed’s edge, gripping the mattress so tightly my fingers pressed through the fabric.

The door creaked open. In my peripheral vision, I noticed curious heads peeking in. Gerard stepped forward, closing the door behind him, leaving the others outside. He weaved his way through the glass-strewn floor, his eyes locking on mine as my grip on the mattress tightened further.

“You’re paying for the damage,” he said, his tone flat. “Every cent the hotel charges for this mess.”

I shrugged.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Gerard asked, grabbing a few shirts from the back of a chair and tossing them into my lap. “We’ve got a show in a few minutes and an interview on the way. Now’s not the time for tantrums.”

“I’m not feeling well.”

Sometimes, a single event sets off a chain reaction. The stress of not hearing from her had worn me down completely.

I wasn’t just tired—I was spent, hollowed out. Every show over the past five months had drained me, each performance pulling the worst out of me. I was exhausted, and there wasn’t much left to give.

I just wanted to go home. I had an almost delirious urgency to go home.

"Did you see a doctor?" Despite the concerned tone, he had little real interest.

"Yeah, after I got sick during last week's show. He said it’s something like burnout."

Gerard sighed, his shoulders slumping.

I nearly jumped when he sat beside me on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on my shoulder. If he was tense, his presence made me twice as uncomfortable. I caught a glimpse of his empathetic expression out of the corner of my eye.

"Noah, I’ve known you long enough to think of you as a son..."

"Think of?" I raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

"It’s normal to feel tired. You’re working hard—onstage, offstage, promoting the new album. Look, the band is growing the way you always wanted, making new strides every day... This isn’t the time to lose steam." His voice was low, deliberate, as if weighing every word. "This dream has always been more yours than anyone else’s, hasn’t it? I’ve always noticed you’re the one who puts in the most effort."

"I disagree."

"She may be a good singer, Noah, but she’s never been a real professional. She never treated the band as a priority, never made it her life’s purpose. She’s always been more concerned with pleasing you. I never got involved because I’m not here to give relationship advice. My job is to focus on your career. But now the inevitable has happened. Your personal life is bleeding into the stage." His words felt like a blade carving into my skin.

Confusion must have filled my eyes. I turned fully toward him, studying his face. He wasn’t angry—nor did he wear his usual smirk of indifference. That only made the conversation feel even more surreal.

"I was your age once, and I loved someone so deeply it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist. But looking back, I don’t think it was worth it. You know why? We wanted different things. She believed she had the right to suffocate my dreams. That’s what happens when you put people in places they don’t belong." Gerard took a deep breath before continuing. "I don’t think her distance is a coincidence. You should see it as a reason to move forward."

No. No. Not even close.

"You don’t know us—not enough to compare my story to yours!" I snapped, rising to my feet. I grabbed clothes and belongings from the mess around me, stuffing them into my bag. With every piece I collected, the tightening in my chest worsened.

He spoke about her decision with such conviction that it gnawed at me, as if he knew something I didn’t.

"I know enough to say this is the smartest decision she’s made in years. You both function better apart, and more importantly, the band doesn’t suffer." He shrugged. "Frankly, I’d suggest we keep the lineup as it is now, but I figure you’d make that a headache, just like these past five months chasing after her!"

"Do whatever you want with the lineup. I’m taking the first flight back to Los Angeles."

"If you can afford the cancellation fee for the show, you’re free to go wherever you want, darling!" He mocked, wagging a finger. "I’ve already lost enough covering for one absent member. You won’t make it two!"

I could afford the fee by now, but one thing held me back—I wasn’t alone.

The band was bigger than my whims. It wasn’t fair to drag my friends into my chaos.

"I’ve tried putting a sliver of sense into your head, but if you insist on this path, that’s your problem," Gerard muttered, standing and dusting invisible specks from his hands. "Just get the job done. I don’t care how much you cry backstage..."

He moved toward the door but paused next to me, leaning in with a smirk, his voice dripping with mockery.

"And unlike her, I’m not worried about how you’ll handle this pathetic heartbreak after the show."

The punch I delivered struck before he could retreat. My knuckles collided with his face in one swift, solid motion.

Gerard staggered backward, and I pinned him against the wall. He licked the blood from his lip as I shoved my hair out of my eyes, my chest heaving with fury.

"Don’t ever talk about her like that again," I growled, leaning so close I could see his eyes widen. "You can hate her all you want, but you’ll swallow every insult. Because the day she walks away for good, I’ll be next. Without her, there’ll be no album, no tour, no shows—nothing to keep padding your bank account. So don’t you ever speak about her like that again!"

His brief smirk faded the moment I jabbed my finger into the fresh cut on his jaw, pressing into the tender skin.

"You don’t know me, baby. Not even close," I whispered, shoving his face away with enough force to send him stumbling into the door.

Gerard straightened his posture, took a breath, and left.

Alone at last, I leaned my forehead against the wall, the weight of it all finally crashing down on me.

After the show, I refused all fan photos. I didn’t stay to watch the other festival bands with the guys, didn’t record any interviews, didn’t say goodbye to anyone. I simply grabbed my things from the hotel and rushed to the next flight home. No layovers, no delays, desperate to breathe in the familiar scent of my city. As soon as I got off the plane, I kept trying to call her over and over as I waited for a taxi, but every attempt ended in silence.

That drive from the airport to home had never felt so long.

When I finally arrived, sitting still inside the car on the other side of the street, I noticed the closed windows and the pile of letters in the mailbox. Dry leaves scattered across the porch. I tried to push the thought away, but the signs were clear—maybe she hadn’t left the house in days.

Because of me.

Each step along the short path to the porch tightened the ache in my chest. A hundred terrible ideas raced through my head of what she might have done to herself, alone in that empty space. I quickened my pace, hesitating only a moment before forcing the door handle until it gave way.

Silence.

Everything was exactly as I had left it before I traveled. Clothes still lay draped over the sofa, and the plants on the table were wilted. But something stood out—her shoes weren’t behind the door, and her jackets weren’t hanging on the rack.

If I had felt anxious and agitated before, this realization only made it worse, my heartbeat thundering so loudly I was sure it could be heard from across the room. Dropping my bag, I bolted up the stairs to the second floor and into our bedroom.

The bed was made, everything in its place. But something felt wrong.

The closet held only my clothes. None of hers. The shelf beside it was empty of everything but my shoes. I blinked several times, stumbling backward, my feet weightless as I moved toward the bathroom. The counter beneath the mirror, where her makeup, perfumes, and hair products had once cluttered the space, was bare. Nothing remained but a toothbrush and toothpaste.

"No... no, this can’t be..." I whispered to myself.

I tore through every corner of the house in a frenzy, my throat burning from the lump I fought to keep down. I didn’t want to cry. Her suitcases were gone. There was no trace of her—no sign that she had ever shared this space with me.

Pacing the floor with my hands tangled in my hair, I let the most painful tears I had ever known flow freely. I hated myself for this. It was all my fault. I had been the one to turn my back on her, to sweep her aside like she didn’t matter.

But I never imagined I’d come home to an empty house.

I felt it. The street stretched endlessly, each step echoing in the hollow silence of the night. Low fog clung to the sidewalks, and the cold air tore through my lungs. I walked as though I were the last person alive, revisiting places that had once been ours, chasing even the faintest flicker of clarity.

The park where she laughed at my terrible joke and made the world feel lighter. The café where she dared me to abandon my habits and try something new. The bridge where we swore we would never be just another passing moment in each other’s lives.

Now, all of those places were as empty as I felt.

My mind was chaos. Every time her image surfaced, it felt like the noose around my neck tightened a little more. I was drowning, spiraling into a despair without end.

Then, an idea flickered to life.

"Why didn’t I think of it sooner..." I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I broke into a run. My body protested, but I didn’t stop. Her old house. The one she left behind when we decided to build something together. Maybe—just maybe—she had gone back there.

When I arrived, the sight of the familiar façade hit me like a punch to the gut. It was like confronting a ghost from my past, only this time, it felt far too real.

My ragged breathing filled the silence as I stood before the door. The house seemed smaller than I remembered, compressed by time into something stifling and suffocating. My hands trembled as I reached for the handle. I forced myself forward.

It was unlocked. The door creaked as it opened, the sound cutting through the heavy stillness of the night.

And there she was.

For a moment, my vision blurred as my mind struggled to reconcile the image I had held of her with the person standing before me. She was in the hallway, a living shadow, likely coming to see who was at the door.

Her sweatshirt hung too loose on her thin frame, swallowing her frail shoulders. Her hair was carelessly tied back, and deep shadows under her eyes marred the face I had once memorized. Her lips, once vibrant, were pale, drained of life and color.

She looked like a distorted version of herself.

Her eyes met mine—wide, guarded, and wary, like a cornered animal. My chest clenched.

"You left." My voice broke, a mere whisper, but heavy with anguish. "You left, little storm..."

She didn’t move. Her gaze drifted over me as though deciding whether I was real or just another ghost haunting her mind.

"You shouldn’t be here, Noah." Her voice was cold, fragile. The pain she tried to hide was as plain as the exhaustion etched into her face.

"Not supposed to be here?" I repeated, my voice catching in my throat. "You just left—disappeared—and wouldn’t answer my messages, driving me insane these past months. How do you expect me to..."

I stepped closer, unable to hold back, and cupped her face in my hands. Her skin was ice-cold, sending a shiver down my spine. She didn’t react. Her eyes darted away from mine, refusing to meet my gaze for more than a fleeting second.

"You can’t do this to me." My voice cracked. "You can’t leave me alone in that house."

She stirred, trying to pull away, but I didn’t let go.

"Look at me." I begged, my voice thick with emotion. She didn’t budge. "It was just a stupid fight like all the others, wasn’t it? You’re coming home, right? We’ll work it out like we always do, and everything will be fine… won’t it?"

She sighed, weary, as if the weight of the conversation was too much to bear.

"For God’s sake, answer me!" I tightened my grip before loosening it immediately, horrified as she shrank further into herself, shame radiating from her every movement.

My hand fell to my side. I watched as she rubbed her face, as if trying to erase me from the room.

"I know I messed up, okay? I know I disappointed you, acted like an idiot. But I need you. I can’t do this alone." My voice broke, my last defenses crumbling. "Come back home. Please."

She shook her head slowly, resolutely, without ever meeting my eyes.

Then I saw them.

Bruises. Faint at first, shadowy traces through the sleeves of her sweatshirt when she raised her arms. Some purple, others faded to yellow.

I didn’t think.

I grabbed her arms, panic surging as I held her frail body. She didn’t resist. She couldn’t even slip from between my fingers.

"Who did this to you?" I demanded, barely able to keep my voice steady, my eyes roaming from one mark to the next. I pushed her sleeve higher, finding more bruises staining the delicate skin of her arm.

Then I saw the cut.

A deep, vertical gash, a row of stitches trailing along it in mid-healing.

The world went cold.

"What happened?" My voice rose, frantic, my heart thundering as I grabbed her shoulders. "What happened to you?"

"Answer me!" I shook her, my desperation pouring out.

And then she smiled. A weak, hollow curve of her dry lips.

"You already know the answer."

"Me?" I whispered, my own voice foreign to my ears. "It doesn’t matter." I shook my head fiercely. "We’re going home. We’ll talk there."

I fought to control the tremor in my hands, my dry throat constricting as I began grabbing whatever I could find. A bag. A pair of shoes. Anything that belonged to her—anything that proved she still had a place with me. My mind raced, a blender of jagged thoughts spinning wildly out of control.

But her words stopped me.

"This is my home now."

I froze, the weight of her statement crushing every thought that tried to form.

"No..." The word slipped out, broken, more to myself than to her. "No, it’s not. It can’t be."

I ignored her and continued gathering her things, convinced that if I just kept moving, we could fix it.

"We’re going home. Now." My voice was firm, a brittle mask over the chaos inside.

"No."

It sliced the air like a blade.

I stopped, a bag still clutched in my hand, and turned to face her. She stood with her arms crossed, her posture rigid, as if trying to shield herself from everything I was unleashing.

"I’m not going anywhere, Noah." She swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the floor. "You told me that time alone would help me think. And I did. I think we..."

"Don’t finish that sentence!" I cut her off, my heartbeat spiraling.

"We’re not working anymore, Noah. We’re out of sync, and as much as I’ve tried to be someone worthy of you, I can’t keep pretending." Her voice wavered, her tears falling freely now. "These years haven’t healed me. I can’t change. It’s not fair to keep you tied to someone like me."

I stood there, her words echoing inside me like a verdict.

"No..." I whispered, the denial a plea. "Don’t do this."

Tears burned my eyes as I took a step closer. "Please, little storm... don’t leave me."

She looked away, wrapping her arms around herself like a fragile barrier.

"You don’t understand, Noah. This isn’t healthy for either of us anymore."

"Don’t say that!" The shout ripped from me, raw and agonized. "You’re all I have! I need you!"

The words tumbled out in sobs, the anguish clawing through my chest like poison. My legs gave way, and I leaned against the doorframe, my heart racing too fast, too hard.

"I know I screwed everything up..." I choked, fingers running through my hair. "I hurt you. I was selfish. But tell me how to fix it. Just tell me."

She wept, and it destroyed me.

"It’s not about fixing it." Her words were knives, each one sharper than the last. "It’s about what I’m doing to you."

"Turning your back on me will destroy me!"

"I’m not turning my back. I’m giving you a chance—to be so much more than I’ll ever be. I can’t keep you chained to someone marked by her past, who ruins everything she touches." She shook her head, despair dripping from her voice. "Look at me, Noah. I’ll never be more than this."

"I don’t care!" I shouted, my face wet with tears. "I don’t care about any of it. I just want you."

I couldn’t hear her anymore—not her words, not her reasoning. All I felt was the gaping wound in my chest, bleeding out with every breath.

"You love me, right?" I whispered, the words a trembling breath of panic. "Tell me you still love me."

"Noah..." She shook her head, her eyes even more filled with tears, clutching her chest as if each word tore her apart from the inside, as if avoiding my gaze would somehow ease the pain.

"ANSWER ME!"

She hesitated, and that single fraction of a second was enough to send my world crumbling further.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't be saying this. You wouldn’t be leaving me like this!" I pressed forward, my voice sharp and desperate. "You would try one more time and finally understand that I chose to be yours despite your flaws. I didn’t care about your past, I didn’t care how far apart our dreams might have been—I just wanted to be yours..." I argued. "I don’t care how far we are from perfect. I never wanted to give up on you."

She turned her face away, tears streaming down her cheeks as she slowly shook her head.

"Tell me you still love me," I repeated. "Little storm."

"I... I don’t love you anymore, Noah."

Everything stopped.

The sound, the air, the ground beneath my feet. Just an all-consuming, deafening void. A chasm opened inside me, dark and endless, swallowing everything I knew.

"No..." I whispered, shaking my head as my throat tightened to the point of pain. "That’s not true. You can’t even say it looking me in the eyes."

She didn’t respond, and the silence that followed was worse than any words she could have spoken.

My legs finally gave way, and I collapsed to the floor. The hardness of the ground didn’t matter—nothing mattered. I buried my face in my hands, the sobs tearing through me like a storm I couldn’t weather.

She was there, only a few steps away, but it felt like she was already a million miles from me.

I had lost her.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

[sapphoscreature]

Caitlyn and the Grey- Symbolism

I think it’s interesting to consider the Grey, within the narrative, as symbolic of Caitlyn’s character arc throughout Act 1, and how she is influenced by and influences the wider context.

The Grey is, I think, a morally grey choice. Its symbolism and use encapsulate the tensions at the time both within Caitlyn’s character and within the wider context of Piltover and Zaun. It also preludes the outcome of Act 1, and where this leads Caitlyn, Piltover, and Zaun.

I’ve tried my best to unpick the threads which twine together in the narrative, but this is only my interpretation and there are aspects I may have missed. Along the same line, I have decided to focus on Caitlyn, so my analysis of why other characters (like Jinx and Vi) make their choices is not as in-depth, and definitely deserve their own analysis.

(I made an earlier post about Caitlyn & the Grey, but some of my wording was a bit shoddy and the analysis not as explored as it could have been. I hope this offers something better.)

Caitlyn- loss, the crown, and vengeance:

Following the attack on the council which kills her mother, Caitlyn is grappling with her emotions.

She feels a deep, deep grief for the loss of her mother. She is also guilt-ridden, blaming herself for not stopping Jinx whilst she could- ‘I had the shot.’

And she is angry. Incredibly angry. Jinx is the target of her anger- literally; Caitlyn fantasises about shooting her. ‘I want to tear that laugh from her throat forever.’ Clearly, she wants some kind of vengeance.

On top of this, she now has the ‘legacy’ of the Kiramman house sitting on her shoulders. Guilt-ridden, she admits to her father she feels neither ready nor deserving of becoming the matriarch. But nonetheless, people are now looking to her. Her father can collapse at the funeral, but she must stand tall. The only people she admits vulnerability to are those closest to her- Jayce and Vi (especially Vi emotionally, crying in her arms).

The crown is heavy, the grief is drowning her, but Caitlyn does recognise that her anger is having a negative influence on her thinking. ‘I know,’ she says to Jayce he expresses alarm at her desire for revenge (this is a line I will come back to later).  

And that self-reflection is important to consider, too. Caitlyn in season 1 is intelligent and perceptive, and recognises in her succinct, direct manner both her own ignorance to and the extent to which the Piltover/Zaun divide stretches. ‘This city needs healing. More than I ever realised.’ ‘Please,’ she asks Ekko, ‘let me help you,’ or else, ‘the cycle of violence will never stop.’

Following the council attack, some kind of conflict does, unfortunately, seem inevitable between the two cities. Whether this be all-out war or not, the cycle continues. But whilst Caitlyn is impacted by the attack, she retains being driven by the same empathy and perception which made her open to recognising her own ignorance.

Both Caitlyn and Mel are reluctant that a full-scale invasion of Zaun occur, knowing this was the act of a ‘single deranged individual’ and that ‘innocents could be caught in the cross fire.’

With Ambessa’s interjection, however, the invasion is set to go ahead, although without the use of Hextech.

Ambessa fans flames further by aiding the chem-baron attack on the memorial service. And this attack exacerbates all of Caitlyn’s negative emotions.

The pressure on her shoulders as the Kiramman heir, her guilt, her grief. Her anger, absolutely. I think that this is when they become the prevailing emotions which influence her choices and cloud her self-perception, as well as her perception of others.  

And this is when things get grey.

Establishing the Strike team:

Caitlyn and Vi’s relationship in Act 1 definitely deserves its own deep dive. I’m painfully aware I’m not giving it the attention it deserves here. But, for the sake of brevity, I think, for Caitlyn, Vi anchors her to the self-reflection she is beginning to lose sight of.

Following the memorial attack, Vi is looking for the Caitlyn she knows, the Caitlyn who took on the council in season 1. The Caitlyn who, after that failed, was ready to make a new plan and ‘fix’ things. The Caitlyn who was a misfit to her own society. The Caitlyn she fell for.

But Caitlyn is hemmed in by the Kiramman pressure and her emotional struggles. Vi urges her to stop the invasion- this will only lead to more hurt on both sides- but Caitlyn cannot think of how to ‘fix’ things. ‘She dies and leaves this giant hole, and I’m just supposed to fill it.’

She needs Vi to anchor her. ‘Everything is falling apart,’ she laments. ‘We won’t let it,’ Vi promises. She retains that connection, that grounding and belief in Caitlyn, in the woman she knows (and loves). They can stop the invasion, take matters into their own hands.

This holding onto their optimism to ‘fix’ things remains important, even as tensions are incredibly heightened after the memorial attack. Even as they are trapped in these tensions, part of the cycle. The choices they make becoming part of the cycle.

It’s a battle within itself. Vi is trying to hold onto Caitlyn for as long as she can throughout Act 1. And Caitlyn is still there, but she is battling with herself. With her grief, guilt, and anger.

And as they devise their plan, we see Caitlyn at the Kiramman archives. She is taking up the mantle. She uses the literal symbol of her family- their key- to discover the archives, the vents, and the Grey.

The Grey reflects back on her face, her pensive expression. In an earlier post, I said this represented the dark path Caitlyn is going down. However, I think it is more complex. I think it reflects her struggling to grapple with her emotions and the pressure and tension of the current situation and how these are convincing her to make a morally grey choice.

It is important to place the establishment of the strike team and their use of the Grey within this context.

The Strike Team and the Grey

The Grey is indicative to me of the situation in which it is used. This is reflected in how it is used, and in its very nature itself. It is a morally grey action because of the what, why, and how.

The wider context is also important, and we are invited by the framing to consider the comparisons and contrasts in the strike team’s use of the Grey the historical precedent of its presence in Zaun.

I want to explore what the Grey actually is and the strike team’s use of the Grey first before turning to Caitlyn specifically and why she chooses the Grey and what it represents.

There are a lot of layers you could consider when breaking down the moral greyness of the Grey. In the process of writing this I saw more and more from other people (I will link an interesting reddit post at the end). I have included some, but I think I’d rather this just add to the conversation than be in any way an attempt to make a ‘definitive’ post about the Grey.

Zaun: Context:

First, a brief summary of what is happening in Zaun when the strike team enters to provide context.

Jinx puts it best- ‘it’s all going to shit.’ Fighting has broken out amongst the chem-barons now vying for power in the vacuum Silco has left. The ‘Sucker’ sequence shows fighting on the streets, fires breaking out. Children like Isha are running from the chem-barons’ goons, part of the child labour they employ in the shimmer factories. The Firelights are bringing people to their safe haven because of all the fighting. Deaths are referenced in a meeting with the chem-barons organised by Sevika.

Sevika calls these ‘turf wars.’ I have inferred that different chem-barons control different areas of the city- ‘you started this dance when you raided the Rapturewalk.’ Innocents are getting hurt because the conflict is in the city itself.

(I will discuss Jinx later)

What is the Grey?

There is actually a lot of grey area when it comes to the Grey in the specifics. But we do know:

Air in the fissures became increasingly toxic owing to the rise of industry, this toxic air became known as the Grey

This can lead to negative physical effects- reddened eyes, irritation of the lungs; long periods of exposure can lead to the deterioration of the affected areas

Kirammans installed ventilation systems to prevent the air from being so polluted  

We do not know whose industry created such pollution. We do not see anyone die as a direct result of the Grey, but clearly, ‘factory smog’ is not a healthy thing to be breathing in over long periods of time. 

How do the strike team use the Grey?

The strike team have three key objectives:   

Locate Jinx

Dismantle shimmer

Neutralise any agents still loyal to Silco

The Grey is used by them to target these three objectives. We are shown this both in episode 2 and through the ‘Hellfire’ sequence in episode 3. They deploy the Grey on Silco’s goons, then the chembarons’ bases and the shimmer factory (destroying amounts of shimmer), before seeking out Jinx in the arcade.

To an extent, their actions could actually benefit Zaun. Destroying shimmer, something which stems from the damage Cait and Vi see shimmer cause, because of Silco and Singed, during season 1, would be to destabilise the power struggle going on between the chem-barons causing violence on the streets.

The literal use of the grey does de-escalate the violence. When chembaron Smeech reaches chembaron Margot’s base (a big statue of her face- someone’s got power), he comments that the Grey has ‘cleared the place out. Might have made our jobs a lot easier.’ They were anticipating confrontation, but it has been prevented.

The use of the Grey is not a long-term nor Zaun-wide affair. The strike team moves from one spot to another (using the vents to do so, something you could argue allows them an element of surprise on their targets which prevents them from fleeing to a place where innocents might be put in direct danger, and also prevents alarm among people at the sight of the strike team in Zaun), targeting the chembarons and their lackeys who monopolised the streets of Zaun for their violence and shimmer trade.

The Grey seeps from Margot’s base but the street itself is not flooded. As the strike team enter the arcade the Grey seeps in, but when Jinx escapes afterwards, the street outside is clear.

The Grey is used as part of a mission targeting specific objectives to prevent a full-scale invasion which could put civilians in danger.

And yet, the Grey is used. It functions as a weapon to debilitate their targets. It has unpleasant side effects, which alongside the strike team’s use of violence with their Hextech weaponry, allow them to incapacitate their targets.

(We can’t be sure how long the Grey takes to dissipate, or how long the chembarons’ people are exposed- we see some of the same characters at Sevika’s rally in episode 4, and they appear physically fine; I interpret it as short bursts of exposure- Caitlyn has control over the stopping and starting of the fans in the vents- we see her pulling levers, twisting handles).

The framing invites us to consider this morally grey approach through comparing and contrasting the strike team’s use of the Grey to its historical precedent in Zaun.

The Kiramman archive illustrations present it as a monster, a billowing mass which swallows Zaun. Through the eyes of both Jinx and Heenot, Smeech’s lackey, it also appears as such, as do the strike team who emerge from it.

This emphasises its harmful potential, which comes, more crucially, from the fear it derives. Vi argues with Jinx that they used the Grey to ‘clear the streets. To keep people safe.’ The violence has been de-escalated, there are no civilians being directly harmed by the Grey, but it has based itself on this fear owing to the historical precedent of the Grey in Zaun.

And yet you can also contrast. That the strike team are presented as part of the monster suggests they control the dissemination of the Grey, contrasting with the swamping monster, out of control, which floods through all of Zaun in the historical images.

A frame of Silco’s goons running from the strike team and their cloud of Grey is immediately followed by an historical image of innocents Zaunites running from a billowing beast. We are seeing once again the historical precedent of fear, but we are also noticing the differences- the Grey is controlled by the strike team, it follows them, and the only people in the frame are Silco’s goons, no innocent civilians.

(Once again, we don’t know how far it could spread but as others have suggested, the thick air of the undercity could impede its progress, and it never makes it down to the Firelight base. Combined with the targeted use, I think it is fair to therefore make this contrast).

All of this illustrates my earlier argument- the Grey is indicative of the situation in which it is used. The objectives of the strike team which could benefit Zaun intertwine with a way of going about those objectives which is morally grey and therefore underlines how the characters and their choices are becoming enveloped into the historic cycles of tension and violence which exist between Piltover and Zaun.

This neither makes them good nor evil- they are morally grey. It represents their interactions with their wider context, how they are influenced and influencing the wider context.

It represents how Caitlyn is doing this, how she is morally grey.

So why does she make this choice? What is influencing her which makes the good objectives of the strike team tainted so grey?

Caitlyn- Why choose the Grey?

‘Can I do the right thing for the wrong reasons? Is it bad that I’m making friends with my demons?’ - 'Hellfire'

What is key for me about the Grey in the narrative is how it symbolises Caitlyn’s emotions, her mental state. The Grey is a pollutant, and how its smog affects the physical body is a reflection of how Caitlyn’s emotions are affecting her mentally, and therefore how she in turn interacts with the wider context.

As I said earlier, the memorial attack exacerbates her anger, which is in turn exacerbated by her grief, her guilt, and the pressure of the Kiramman name.

As the strike team conduct their mission, we see how Caitlyn’s negative emotions influence her choices and cloud her self-perception, as well as her perception of others. This, for me, is why the Grey is the weapon of choice within the narrative.  

There are literal considerations you could take into account as to the why, and I’ve sort of explored these in the how- preferable to full-scale invasion, vents allow for targeted use, short-span use non-fatal etc. But for me the symbolic nature of the Grey reflecting Caitlyn’s emotions, and crucially how these push her to make morally grey decisions, is what defines the why- the above lyrics to ‘Hellfire’ encapsulates this nicely.

So, what is the ‘wrong reason’?

Vengeance:

Vengeance. That is what Caitlyn wants. Vengeance against Jinx.

It is born, crucially, from her grief, her guilt. It stokes her anger and soon becomes an all-encompassing smog which clouds Caitlyn’s thinking.

Jinx remains the spectre of Caitlyn’s fantasy as the strike team carry out their mission. She appears as a silhouette in the vents. She taunts them in the arcade with the shooting game. Caitlyn hyperventilates before taking a shot at a figure which mirrors her earlier fantasy in her hideaway. The impact frame of her eyes is pretty disturbing, evocative of how twisted Caitlyn’s mental state is becoming the longer Jinx remains elusive.

She becomes increasingly aggressive as their hunt continues. She shoves wanted posters in the chembarons’ people’s faces. She is cold and threatening with Heenot. And the ‘Hellfire’ sequence makes clear just how vengeance is twisting her as she appears a figure tinted red, eyes fiery.

Caitlyn is losing sight of herself. Losing sight of the wider context. This is affecting how she treats others.

Recall her conversation with Jayce in the hideaway, his alarm at her anger. ‘I know,’ she acknowledges, and confesses, ‘I just understand now how easy it is to hate them,’ she admits. The attack on the council has made bolder the line of divide cycles of violence bring- ‘them’- but Caitlyn is hanging onto her self-perception.

But the memorial attack changes things. ‘Animals,’ she calls the attackers. This dehumanising word demonstrates how much Caitlyn is losing sight of herself. Her empathy, her prior reluctance to see any difference, on a human level, between Piltover and Zaun (hiding in Vi’s childhood home in season 1 she says, ‘we’re people, just like you’).

Losing sight of the humanity in others means Caitlyn is also losing sight of herself. Her own humanity. And, if the Grey is depicted as a monster, and the monster is reflecting Caitlyn (and under her control), this says a lot about how vengeance is twisting her thinking, suffocating her person, and causing her to contribute to cycles which divide and hurt.

‘Leader of House Kiramman’:

This ‘losing’ of identity can be reflected further, I think, in how Caitlyn’s personal motives define her using the Kiramman name, her first taking up the mantle.

She utilises the power of her family name to assert her choices over the council. Once again, it is important to consider that this does prevent the full-scale invasion, but I think it is fair to argue Caitlyn is also being influenced by her need for vengeance. The Kiramman name is tool, a key, which can get her what she wants.

And I think it is interesting to consider how her reversing the helpful intentions of her ancestors in installing the vents, utilising the Grey instead of dispelling it, represents both Caitlyn losing sight of herself and her prior issues with her family name.

‘I know you doubt the merit of your birthright, Caitlyn,’ Cassandra says. In season 1, we see her resisting the stifling confines of what her mother expects and wants for her. She is a misfit.

After Cassandra’s death, the pressure of the name Caitlyn does not even want bears down on her, along with the guilt of perceiving herself as complicit in her mother’s death.

And Caitlyn struggles under this weight until the Kiramman name is twisted, too, into a tool not dissimilar to the Grey. She is not yet ready for the responsibility and how such power and privilege affect both Piltover and Zaun. It is her ‘legacy,’ but Caitlyn is losing herself.

This is even more impactful when considering that many of Caitlyn’s issues and arguments with her mother derive from her being a reluctant and unwilling heir. The Kiramman name came between them in life, and in death is twisted, as Caitlyn’s grief and love for her mother become twisted themselves by vengeance.  

There is irony in learning the Kirammans helped the undercity with the vents, something altruistic similar to Caitlyn’s own values when she is not choking on grief and vengeance. But the placing of the crown on her head happens at the hands of tragedy, and it rests twistedly for now.

The Grey becomes Black and White:

This is all key in why I think the Grey, what it represents, and how it is used, act as a prelude to the culmination of Act 1- Caitlyn’s appointment as commander.

Ambessa is impressed with Caitlyn’s assertion in the bunker, observant of her grief (and Salo’s) after the council attack, and perceptive of the power of the Kiramman name. As Salo says, ‘it bewitches people.’

By the end of Act 1, Caitlyn has failed to capture Jinx and left Vi after feeling betrayed by her for stopping her from shooting Jinx, therefore endangering Isha. By this point, I think there is no stopping the sliding slope into the black and white brooding figure of vengeance we see in the ‘Paint the Town Blue’ sequence.

She is choking on her emotions, and with Vi, her anchor, gone, is ripe for Ambessa’s picking. Caitlyn needs direction and Ambessa is offering it to her. She promises Caitlyn the thing which has slowly consumed her over the course of Act 1- vengeance. She steps further down this course.

Thus, grey turns to black and white. Caitlyn becomes complicit in, is the face of, the Piltover/Noxian occupation of Zaun, the violence this brings. Caitlyn has lost sight of herself in her hunt for Jinx and therefore others are harmed for her purposes (and Ambessa’s).

Caitlyn comes back to herself, slowly (from episode 4 we see her grappling her position), although of course, remains permanently changed (it’s interesting how the vengeance and idea of either doing the ‘wrong thing for the right reason’ or ‘wrong thing for the right reason’ follow on in act 2 but that’s not my focus here).

Jinx and the Retaliation:

I think Jinx’s retaliation to the strike team’s mission and their use of the Grey underlines how its moral greyness feeds into the cycles of violence (I’m only going to analyse here her actions in relation to Caitlyn’s- this is already way too long and she deserves her own post).

Jinx is, like Caitlyn, motivated by her emotions, particularly related to Vi and her upset at seeing her as part of the strike team. She tells Sevika she is going to ‘finish what’s left of her family’ after their fight with Smeech, referring to their confrontation in the Temple of Janna.

She retaliates against the strike team to do so- setting trigger explosives in the vents, hanging vivisected dolls of them from a propellor she ties Heenot to in the first step of luring them down to the temple.

He says, ‘Jinx is off the rails, even for her. She’s got a real fire lit under her ass. She’s planning something big, right here in the pipeworks. She was heading towards the old tunnels. Something about rerouting the vents.’

Jinx begins using the Grey against the strike team. She breaks a pipe and, along with arrows, uses it to lead them to the temple. And, most significantly, at the conclusion of the fight, Sevika triggers explosives which puts Jinx’s ‘big’ plan into action. The rerouted vents drive the Grey up into Piltover, where it explodes in great plumes which flood streets and paint the town in a multicolour splash.

The cycles of violence have continued. Caitlyn wanted vengeance on Jinx, but Jinx has retaliated right back. In light of the ways in which Caitlyn and Jinx parallel each other near constantly throughout ‘Arcane’ (especially in season 2), I think this is suggestive of the futile nature of vengeance.

‘An eye for an eye,’ and you lose sight of yourself. Caitlyn’s hideaway is blasted with the Grey, the wind chime feature which had represented her feelings in episode 1 broken. There is no more space in herself, at this time, to piece apart her thoughts.

And the attack on Piltover allows Ambessa to consolidate her position as Piltover’s saviour and assert her will.   

There is so much more you could say about Jinx and Caitlyn, especially because of how they parallel each other constantly throughout the show (how their uses of the Grey contribute to them becoming symbols of something of which they are doubtful is really fascinating to me), but for the purposes of this deep dive on the Grey, I hope this suffices.

Conclusion:

The conflict which so much defines the shared history of Piltover and Zaun is growing steadily more volatile during act 1, and it is interesting to piece apart how characters impact upon this- there are good intentions in the strike team’s mission, but these are inseparable from the morally grey means through which they go about it.

Means influenced by emotions which have grown from the prior continuance of the cycles of violence. ‘Arcane’ is a tragedy, and there is certainly tragedy in watching Caitlyn be so changed by events.

The Grey is a reflection, a symbolic representation, of how Caitlyn changes throughout Act 1. How she is influenced by and influences other characters, and the impact this all has on the wider context. The morally grey path she goes down in her quest for vengeance.

By act 3, we see her having realised the error of her ways, knowing what she has done cannot be erased, but willing to fight against cycles of violence, walk away from her vengeance, and ‘trust in tomorrow.’

But in the smog of the conflict, everything seems grey.

I hope this exploration of the symbolism of the Grey was interesting. If you’ve reached the end of this, thank you so much for reading- I realise it is really long. I’m just very much fascinated with this show, so… I appreciate it!  

Reference: the reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/arcane/comments/1grizex/s2_spoilers_a_lot_of_people_are_misinterpreting/?share_id=6QplLMckmb2t4DnH3uGfw&utm_content=1&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_source=share&utm_term=1&rdt=56152

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Girl At The Rock Show -9-[smut 18+]

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Characters: Reader. Jensen. Megan. Mac [o.c] Robert [o.c] Erica [o.c]

Mentions of: Jared. Alex. Josh.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Drinking, Smut, Unprotected Sex [no!], Fingering, P-I-V

You guys are amazing. Seriously thank you for every heart, reblog, and comment. I love hearing your feedback. 🫶

Please do not copy my work.

Tag List

Master List

Jensen

He felt the corner of her mouth twist into a smile on his chest. "Would this happen to be the same baseball game your nephew will be playing in?"

He chuckled. "Yes."

"The baseball game your family will be attending?"

"That's the one."

"Jensen Ross Ackles. Are you asking me to meet your family?"

"Maybe..." He teased, gliding his finger through her hair. "What if I was?"

"I would have to inform you that this is a big step"

He chuckled again. "Oh, I was not aware."

She giggled. "You sure you're ready for that, Ackles?"

"I wouldn’t ask if I wasn't baby."

She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest she peered into his eyes. He raised his brows. "Whatcha doin?" he asked

"Looking for any sign or nervousness or uncertainty." She razzed him.

He smiled. "And how’s that going for you, darlin’?”

“I think you got a little bit.”

“I think you’re full of shit too.” He retorted, her laughter echoed through the room, making him smile.

She crawled up his body until they were nose to nose. “I can see a smidgen right.”

A soft squeal escaped her lips as he shifted his weight, rolling her on to her back. Hovering over her, he pressed his lips to hers. “Trust me, you ain’t gonna find any in there.”

She smiled. “Ok.”

“Yeah?” his face lit up

“Yes Jensen, I would love to meet your family.”

Jensen

He woke up with the weight of her head missing from his chest. His arms stretched, as his hands searched for her, but found nothing. 

He pulled on a pair of sweats and headed downstairs. 

He stopped and leaned on the kitchen doorway, a smile spread across his face as he took in the view. She was sitting on the bar, flannel pjs covering her crossed legs, sipping coffee, watching one of her drama Netflix shows. Her hair in a messy bun, wearing one of his Family Business hoodies. 

“Well good morning sleepy head.” She smiled at him.

“Good morning sweetheart.” He replied. 

She sat her coffee down and uncrossed her legs letting them dangle as he moseyed over. He rested his hands on her hips, stepping in between her legs. She took his face in her hands, bringing his face to her. He kissed her lips then started placing kisses all over her face, making her giggle. He placed another on her lips and reached for her coffee. Her eyes went wide when he brought the mug to his lips. He smirked and took a sip. “Sir! That is mine.” raising her playful tone.

“Alright, alright. No violence needed.” 

“Smart choice, Ackles.” 

He smiled. “How long have you been awake?” He asked, walking over to the coffee maker.

“Eh, for about an hour, I couldn’t go back to sleep. So, I came down and made a breakfast casserole. It’s done, just turned it down on low to keep it warm.” She hopped off the bar and made her way over to the stove.

“You could have woke me up. And shouldn’t you be more careful?!” he sipped his coffee.

She pulled out the casserole and sat it on the stove. “Shush. No high hopes.”

His brows arched “Says the girl who would drink A beer yesterday.”

“I had to drive.” She exclaimed  “Grab the sour cream for me, would ya?”

“I can do that.” He poked her side making her jump as he walked past.

“You’re really pushing it today.”

He laughed as he handed her the bottle.

“Do you have anything planned for today?” she asked.

“I have to go to the brewery and take care of a few things. My brother said something about going fishing, but I don’t know if he wanted to go today. Why what’s up?”

“Mac asked about watching Supernatural today,”

Her phone started to ring, she hit the ignore button as private caller showed on the screen.

“I didn’t know what you were up to.” She said, sitting her phone back on the counter.

“Am I not invited to supernatural day?” He asked in a dramatically offended tone as they made their way back over to the table.

She giggled. “You are always invited. I just know if you had something or anything planned for us.”

He took a bite. “Damn baby, this is so good.”

She smiled. “Another one of Mama Jo’s recipes.”

He playfully sighed. “I guess Mac can have you today, But I get you for dinner.” He winked.

Jensen

“So, I’ll pick you up at 6?” He asked her, walking to her car. 

“It’s a date.” she winked at him

He smiled leaning in to kiss her.

“Drive safe.” He opened the car door for her. She got in. He dipped his head in the car and kissed her again. “I love you baby.” He smiled.

“I love you too, Mr. Ackles.” She returned his smile 

Reader

“Hey.” You shouted walking through your front door.

“Kitchen.” Mac and her dad yelled at the same time.

“That sweatshirt is kinda big there, don’t ya think?” Robert asked you as you sat beside him.

“It’s her boyfriend’s.” Mac teased.

“Please tell me you're not back with.”

“No dad. Her new boyfriend, not really new though it's been almost a month.”

“A month? You've been dating this guy for a month and I don't even know his name?”

You chuckled. “It's Jensen.”

“Jensen? Huh. Not a very common name.  Where’s he from?”

“Dallas.”

“And what does this Jensen do?”

“He’s an actor.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Has he played in anything?”

“Lots actually.”

“[Y/n] would you like a cup of coffee with your interrogation?” Mac laughed.

You chuckled. “No thanks.”  She furrowed her brows, relaxing them as her dad’s head turned towards her.

“Anything else Robert?”

“Just 1 more.” He turned back to you, “When do I get to meet him?”

“Soon,” you looked over to Mac. “Last night, He asked me about meeting his family.”

You looked at your phone screen as it started to ring. Private number. You hit the ignore button.

“Oh. So, you guys are like serious?” She asked sarcastically.

Your phone rang again. You sighed when you read private number again. Robert held out his hand, you handed it over. 

“State trooper Goodwin. How can I help you?” He handed your phone back. “They hung up. Hopefully they don’t call back.”

“Let me grab a shower and we can start.” You gave your adopted father a kiss on the cheek. “I will check with him and see what his schedule looks like.” He nodded with a smile, and you made your way upstairs.

Reader

You sighed when your phone started to ring again, you pulled your shirt over your head and strolled over to your dresser. A smile spread across your face when you read his name.

“Hello there handsome”

“Hey babe, don’t be mad.”

“That’s not what you wanna hear at the beginning of a conversation.”

“So, TMZ was at the airport the other day.”

“Oh, of course they were.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just a picture of us hugging. They didn’t say anything mean. Just that I might have a new girlfriend.”

“Ok.”

“OK? You’re not mad?”

You chuckled. “No, I’m not mad. Kinda comes with the territory of dating a celebrity doll face. Did you really think I’d be mad at you?”

“Not so much me. Just the situation. I’ve had a couple buddies lose girlfriends because of it.”

“At least they weren’t mean.” A question forced it's way out of your lips. “Is it a bad thing if people know you have a new girlfriend?”

“Seriously?”

“Just askin’.”

“ Well don't.... So, whatcha doin?” He changed the subject.

“Just got dressed.”

“Booo!”

You chuckled. “What are you up to?”

“Bout to pick Jared up and meet Josh out at the lake.”

“Tell sasquatch I said hi.”

He snickered. “ Will do. Oh, yea, dress fancy tonight.”

You heard a soft chuckle, as you let out a hefty sigh. “Fine. But it better be worth it.” you teased. 

“Oh it will be.” You bit your lips at his husky seductive tone. 

“Have fun. Tight lines.” 

“Did you really just use the term tight lines?”

“I'm from Michigan, baby. You come out of the womb with a fishing pole in hand.”

He laughed. “I’ll see you later, pretty lady.”

“Not if I see you first, doll face.” you hung up, making your way down the stairs.  “Let the supernatural marathon commence!!”

Reader

You took one final look in the mirror. “Are you sure I look, ok?”

“Really [y/n]?! You are gonna knock his socks off.”

You glanced over your shoulder. The borrowed black dress did make your ass look good. Your eyes moved up your bare back to the halter tie at the top. Your hair in a classy bun with curled strands dangling out here and there. You let Mac go a little extra with the make up. The smokey effect she blended perfectly on your eyelid really made your irises pop.

“Be right back.” Mac was back in a second. Black heels in one hand and a silky black shawl in the other.

Fastening the straps of the heels around your ankle, you heard the car. 

You grabbed the shawl, along with your black clutch, and made your way to the stairs. He knocked on the door when you got to the bottom.

You opened the door, and you felt the warmth spread through you as the fluttering began in your stomach. His soft locks were brushed back, a pin striped, black suit clung to his perfect body. The first three buttons were undone, showing off some of his sexy chest. A big smile spread on his face as you checked him out.

Jensen

She opened the door, His brows raised, as all the air left his lungs. He shifted his weight, trying to steady his wobbling knees. God she was breathtaking. She always looked good, but all dolled up in that sexy black dress. ‘Good lord’

“Good evening Mr. Ackles. “

“Good evening,” he choked out. “Babe. You look amazing.”

She smiled. “Me? Have you looked in a mirror?”

He chuckled as his cheeks turned pink, sticking his elbow out  “You ready?”

 “Absolutely.” She slid her hand in the crease. “I can’t believe you drove the Porsche.”

“Well, a deal’s a deal.” He winked at her. She started to step in front of the car, his elbow caught her hand.

 Her jaw dropped slightly as a small gasped slipped out. “Now?!”

He smiled and held up the keys . She squealed as she grabbed them and practically skipped to the driver’s door.

“Can you do this in heels?” He teased as she released the e-brake.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just tell me where to go, Ackles.”

Jensen

“Not too shabby darlin’,” He held his elbow out again as she made her way around the car. “At least the tires are ok.” She sighed, making him chuckle.

“Good evening.” The valet greeted, as he approached.

“Evenin’.” Jensen said, handing the keys to the man.

Jensen opened the she let out a small whistle as she walked through it. “This place sure is fancy.” She spoke in a whispered southern accent making him chuckle.

“Reservation for 2. Under Ackles.” he told the hostess.

Right this way Mr. and Mrs. Ackles. He smirked at (y/n) not correcting the young lady. His hand automatically went to the small of her back as she followed the hostess. She glanced over at him as his hand slid down further. “Sorry,” she smiled.

 Jensen slid her chair out for her and slid it back in. He sat in the seat beside her.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly, here’s the wine list if you need anything just let us know.”

“Ok thank you” the young lady walked away. Jensen grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers  “Well Mrs. Ackles,”

 Her smile fell. “You should have corrected her”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He brought her hand to his lips kissing the back of it. She shook her head with a smile.

“Can I get you started with a drink from the bar, or we have a nice 1982 Chateau Margaux on the list tonight?” The waiter asked as he approached.

“No thank you, water is fine.” Jensen looked over to her.

“Same. Extra lemon please.” She told the waiter. He nodded and walked away. Her face turned to Jensen with a confused look “You’re not drinking tonight?”

“Nope.” He affirmed.

The waiter brought back the waters with extra lemons on the side “Are we ready to order?” Jensen looked over to you

You go first he chuckled “I’ll have the 12 oz New York strip medium, no sauce or toppings, with the Yukon gold pommes purée.”

The waiter looked over to her. “Can I have an 8 oz tenderloin filet, well done, no sauce or toppings, with steak fries please.”

“Of course. We will have it out shortly.” He took your menus and walked away,

Jensen smiled. 

“What?” she asked.

“Fries?”

“Steak fries. I got a steak.”

He laughed. “Touché.”

“So  did y’all catch anything?”

“Jack and shit, but it was really nice to hang out with my brothers, Josh is excited to meet you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, especially after Jared’s review.”

“What can I say, I'm pretty awesome.”

He chuckled. “You’re not wrong.” He took another drink of water. “How was your day?”

“Good. Mac’s dad was at the house when I got there today.”

“How’d that go?”

“Well, I had to explain the oversized hoodie. Which led to him asking when he gets to meet you.”

“And you told him…?”

“That I would ask you about it and see what your schedule looks like.”

“Should be easy to set something up. Not a whole lot going on right now.”

“I can’t wait to see his face when he meets you.”

“You didn’t tell it was the guy from the show his daughter is obsessed with?”

She chuckled. “Like he would have believed me.”

Jensen opened his mouth but was cut off by the food.

Jensen

“That was amazing, babe.” she said walking out the door.

Recognizing him the valet nodded and walked off. Jensen stayed silent, his eyes looking into the distance. 

“Are you really giving me the cold shoulder right now?”  she asked, looking up at him and tilting her head. He couldn’t stop his eyes from glancing down at her, she was so damn cute.

 “And how long do you think that’s really going to last Mr. Ackles.” She stepped in front of him and slid her hands up his chest. He felt the anger melt away as her arms wrapped around his neck. He leaned in to kiss her as her lips got close she leaned back slightly aching her brow. “You gotta talk to me to get kisses.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine, but next time you pay the bill behind my back, I’m gonna bend you over my knee.”

“I can’t wait.” She challenged, making him smile.

Reader

The only light in the dark house came from the flickering tealight candles that led up the stairs. You flashed him a smile and took his hand, following the trail laid out for you. You pushed the bedroom open, and your eyes filled with tears as they scanned the room. The glow of the dancing flames filled the room while soft country music played in the background. You stepped in and your eyes found the rose petals scattered on the bed and some arranged in a heart making you laugh out loud.

"That was Jared's idea, he said it was classy and romantic. I told him it was cheesy and cliche. He said if anything you would get a good laugh out of it. You can destroy it if you want."

"Absolutely not. It's beautiful." you said in a dramatic tone making him smile.

He swaggered over to you. “Not compared to you.” He matched your tone, making you laugh again. His arms wrapped around your waist as his lips found yours. Yours found their way around his neck. His hold tightened as your feet left the ground, deepening the kiss. He returned your feet to the ground; you rested your head on his shoulder as your hips swayed with his. 

You stepped back, sliding your hands back down to his chest, pushing the suit jacket they made their way to his shoulders, your eyes followed it as you pushed down his arms, you brought your eyes back to his as it fell to the floor. His viridian gaze locked onto yours as his fingers found the small zipper on your hip and pulled it down. His fingers gliding up your back raising goosebumps, his fingers gripped the dangling end of the halter tie and pulled. The dress fell to the floor, you brought your lips to his as your fingers started undoing the buttons on his shirt. His fingers grasped your ass as his tongue pushed past your lips, making your fingers fumble with the last button. He chuckled softly against your mouth. 

You unbuttoned his pants as he slid his shirt off, a groan left his lips when your fingers brushed against his length, as you slowly pulled the zipper down. He shimmied out of his pants, making you giggle. A small yelp left your lips as he grabbed you up and took you over to the bed.

He smiled as he loomed over you. He brought his lips close to your ear. “You really are beautiful.” His hot breath sent shivers down your spine. He trailed kisses down your neck, going up the other side once he got to the hollow of your throat. Finding your other ear. “Just perfect.” His words made you smile. He thrusted his hips, brushing his hard shaft against you, muffling your whimpers with his lips. You walls clenched as he took your breast in his grasp, kneading gently. His fingers wandered down, finding your clothed clit. You moaned as he started tracing circles, his lips found your ear again. “And those sexy little noises you make mmm.”

He pushed your black lace thong aside, your core throbbed as his fingertips teased your entrance. He groaned, feeling how wet you were for him already. He slowly slid 2 fingers inside you, making another moan escape you.

His fingers started pumping in and out as he rose to his knees. He bit his lip, watching your hips writhe in pleasure.

You felt the tension in your stomach as the pleasure rippled through your body, he smirked and began to pump them faster. Making your walls clench around his fingers as the tension reached its peak. 

You heard him groan as he curled his fingers, as soon as he hit your spot the tension snapped and your moans echoed through the room as your orgasm crashed over you. He slowed his fingers, as your walls pulsated. 

Bringing his fingers to his mouth he moaned as he tasted your sweet juices, licking them clean. He pushed his boxers down and fell back on top of you, his arms catching his weight just before he crushed you, he laughed in response to your giggles. His thumb stroked your chin, as he stared.

“What?” you asked with warm cheeks.

He smiled. “Nothin’.” He leaned down, his lips hungry lips captured yours. Your hands slid up his back as he lined his tip to your entrance. Your fingers gripped, as he moaned you named burying himself inside you. You could feel his cock throb against your walls as he stretched them.

“You ready baby.?” He asked, kissing your jawline.

“Yes.” You whined.

He drew his hips back, pleasure coursed through you again as he thrust back inside you, praising him with moans of his name. Your nails dug into his back as he increased his speed, causing him to thrust harder.

 Heavy pants and moans filled the room as your walls started tightening  around him, the tension almost to its peak again. “Jensen.” You whispered.

“I know baby,” he pounded harder. “Come on. I wanna feel it.” He groaned, nibbling at your neck.

Your release crashed over you again, sending shock waves of bliss through you. He pushed you as far as he could and with a loud moan he pulled out. You felt the warm liquid ooze on your stomach as he kissed your lips and then nuzzled your nose with his.

“You know if we used condoms this whole clean up thing would be easier.” You smiled at him as he dried your stomach.

“Or I could jump cum inside you.” your jaw dropped. A grin stretched across his face as his eyebrows jumped “Yea that shut you up.” he teased.

Reader

You finished brushing your teeth and turned the light out and stopping in the doorway, staring with adoration, he laid there on his back, arm resting across his forehead, his chiseled chest on display, boxers pulled low enough to display that v he had, his socked toes wiggling along to the music that was still playing.

His eyebrows raised as he looked over at you. “Can I help you?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

A smile spread across his face “You gonna come cuddle or just stand over there like a creeper all night?”

Jensen

He watched as she took a bite of bacon. “So?” He asked 

She smiled. “Close, but no cigar baby.” His face scrunched. “Still delicious though.”

“You could just tell me ya know?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”  she teased, making him laugh. “Do you have anything exciting today?”

“Depends on what you call exciting, The first half of my day will be spent on a zoom meeting, probably gonna be a lot of them in the next few weeks while we get scheduling and all the final details for countdown. And then I’m going to the brewery to do an inventory check and make sure everything we need is on order.”

“Never a dull day with you.”

“Nope, What’s on your schedule today?”

“Well let’s see.” She pulled her phone out and signed into her office’s daily schedule app. “I have a newborn checkup, a 3-year checkup, an ear recheck for a 7-year-old, a sports physical for a 12-year-old, and another newborn checkup. So far. If calls come in, they schedule with whoever is available.” 

“So, what do you do if you don't have time spots filled?”

“Charting, help other doctors, help any nurses if they need it, just whatever needs done. Around the office. “

“Never a dull day”

“Nope.” She smiled. “I’ll ask Erica today. What day were you thinking?”

“Either Wednesday or Friday. You don’t go in on Thursdays, right?”

“No, that’s my on-call day.”

“Noted.”

“So, I’ll meet you at your place when I get done?” he asked, walking to the driver side of your car.

“Sounds good.”

He laughed “Alright drive safe baby I love you”

“I love you too” She stretched on her tip toes and kissed him

Reader

“So, the 2 newborn checkup mamas left great reviews for you today.” Erica told you as she walked across the lot with you. “Keep up the good work y/n!”

“Will do boss. Have a good night.” you told her reaching for your door handle. 

“You, too.”

You sat down in your car and started it. You waved as Erica drove by you. Thinking about the kids you helped today, as you pulled out of the parking lot your mind began to wander. 

If you had a baby, would he look just like Jensen? He would be such a good dad. You smiled as you pictured it. He’s holding a little bundle of joy, swaddled in a blue blanket, bright green eyes just like his daddy. The proudest smile on Jensen’s face.

“Lucy, I’m home.” You yelled walking through the front door.

Mac sat in the recliner on her phone. “Hey babe.” She giggled. “Not you. y/n just walked in.” you nodded at her and walked into the kitchen.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket when it started to ring. Your smile turned into a frown as you read, private caller. You hit the red icon and laid your phone on the counter. You opened the fridge grabbing a bottle of water, Mac walked in and sat down at the bar. You swung the fridge door closed.

“Alex says hi.” She smiled.

“So, that’s a thing now?”

“Kinda, maybe, we’ll see.” She Stammered making you chuckle. “He did invite me to the Dallas convention.”

“That sounds fun!!”

She got up and got into the fridge. “Beer?”

“No thanks.” you held up your water 

 She peered at you, closing the fridge door. 

“What?”

“I have a question for ya.”

Your brows arched.

“Are you...” she hesitated. “Never mind.”

You sighed, “Probably not, but I would feel horrible if I was and I drank.”

“Hm. Well it’s kind of bad timing.”

“Well, it’s not like I planned it.”

“Did you use protection?” your face scrunched as you looked down. She signed.

Reader.

You popped your head out of the closet when you heard your bedroom door open. Jensen had his phone to his ear. He blew you a kiss and held up a finger.  You nodded and went back to getting dressed.

“No. It’s not like that.”

“I know, but you don’t need to.”

You walked out of your closet, finding him sitting on the edge of your bed. He looked up and winked at you.

“I’ll take care of it. I gotta go.”

“Just don’t worry about it.”

“Bye.”

“Baby!!” he exclaimed

“Well, that sounded intense.” You commented.

“Eh, just work stuff.”

You knew he was lying. “How was your day?”

He motioned you over, hugging around your waist once you got close. “Better now.”

“Hey guys!” you heard Mac yell through your door as she knocked.

“Yea.” You answered.

“Have you seen this?” she held her phone up as she approached you.

She had a TMZ article pulled up. You read the headline under the photo of you and Jensen from the previous night outside the restaurant “Jensen Ackles Remarried?”

You felt him tense.

“I told you; you should have corrected her.”

“Oh man, can you imagine, if you were showing.” Mac remarked.

“So, we are telling people now?”

“Not people. Mac. And she figured it out.”

“Still.”

“Still nothing. At least I didn’t lie to your face.”

He scoffed. “And when did I lie to your face, sweetheart?”

“Just work stuff?”

His phone started to ring, a different ringtone than usual. He raised it to his ear, holding your stare. “Hey mama.”

Jensen

He felt a pang in his chest as he watched her sleep, curled up on her side facing the other direction.

He didn’t know if it would help or hurt if he cuddled up behind her, so he stayed on his back where he was.

His phone started to vibrate. “Hi Megan,” he whispered.

“Hey Jensen, can you talk?”

“I can whisper.” His voice soft, still watching her.

“That works. So, we got TMZ to retract the article, but it’s out there. Everyone is talking about it on social media. “

“So how do I make this better?”

“Jay, I know you love her, but there’s only one way to completely keep her out of all this.”

“Not an option.”

“I know. I’m just sayin.”

“No.”

“Ok, well then you need to embrace it. Introduce her to your fans, do a live, take her to the Dallas con. Let your fans get the chance to know her. Show them why you love her.”

“And the paparazzi?”

“Well, it kinda comes with the territory of being with a celebrity.”

“That’s what she said when the first pictured got out.”

“See she gets it. I think she will be fine.”

“Ok, ill call you tomorrow and you can help me set up the live.”

“Alright. Get some sleep Jay, everything is going to be ok.”

“Thanks Meg.” He sat his phone on her nightstand after he hung up.

She rolled over. “Did you get everything sorted out?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“In and out.”

“You know what might help?”

She chuckled and scooted closer to him, resting her head on his chest. He left out a sigh of relief.  ‘That’s better.’

“Are you still mad?” he asked his fingers finding her hair.

“Are you gonna tell me who was on the other end of that phone call?”

He clicked his tongue. “It was Heather.”

He felt her muscles tense up. “As in your ex?”

“Yes. She just wanted to make sure.”

“You weren’t married to a gold digger.” She cut him off.

“I told her it wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah, but that’s what everyone is thinking.”

“The important people know it’s not true. I’m sorry about all this and for lying, I was just trying to keep my drama away from you.”

“Jensen, if we are going to do this its not just your drama. We face everything together. No matter what. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“And don’t freaking lie to me again about anything.”

“I promise baby.” He kissed the top of her head.  “Megan and I have a plan to make this better. It includes a Supernatural con if you’re interested.”

“Uh absolutely.”

He peered into her eye as his fingers lifted her chin. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for an uncertainty.”

She laughed. “You won’t find any in there, doll face.”

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[itendtothinkalot]

the checklist

summary: beomgyu swore he'd never get into a relationship. it’s cringe, it’s stupid. but when he starts getting nervous and flustered around you, his best friend huening kai creates a checklist to figure out if he’s into you.

genre: fluff

characters: beomgyu x f!reader

words: 5.1k

warnings:

a/n: im glad txt's hvg rest but oh i do miss them <3<33

Beomgyu was baffled. Relationships? Love? Please. He’d never been in one, much less fallen for anyone before. The whole concept of being in love sounded like a scam to him—a nightmare wrapped in pink ribbons. The idea of dating someone was even worse. What, he’s supposed to shower them with constant attention? What is this? A puppy adoption program? A full-time babysitting gig? No, thanks.

Every time his friends gushed about their latest romantic escapades—"Oh, we’re going to this cute little café together!" or "We stayed up all night just talking!"—Beomgyu would roll his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck in the back of his head. He didn’t get it. Why would anyone willingly sign up for this chaos?

But then, you happened. And suddenly, Beomgyu found himself staring at his reflection, wondering when the hell he became one of those people.

“Kai.” Beomgyu tapped his friend's shoulder insistently, desperate for some sort of wisdom. “Kai!” He repeated, louder this time, when his friend blatantly ignored him.

Kai sighed dramatically, pulling off his headphones with the kind of irritation reserved for someone whose game was going so well. “Beomgyu, I’m literally in the middle of a match. Can this wait?”

“Sure,” Beomgyu replied with an unusually calm nod, flopping onto Kai’s bed and staring at the ceiling like he’d just been hit by an existential crisis.

That’s when Kai froze. Something wasn’t right. Beomgyu wasn’t whining, nagging, or hovering over his screen like a bratty sibling waiting for their turn to play. This was weird. Alarm bells went off in Kai’s head.

“Wait…” Kai spun around, yanking his headphones off completely. “You’re not being annoying? You’re not rushing me? What the hell happened?” He plopped down next to Beomgyu, who looked suspiciously… deflated. “Okay, who hurt you?”

“No one.” Beomgyu sighed dramatically, staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. “I was just… thinking.”

Kai raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “You think?”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes and flicked Kai’s forehead without hesitation. “Occasionally. Yes. Shocking, I know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Kai said, rubbing his forehead with a smirk. “Continue.”

Beomgyu hesitated, then sat up slightly, his voice quieter now. “It’s just… you see… there’s this girl.”

Kai’s eyes lit up, his tone immediately shifting from curious to obnoxiously teasing. “Ooooh, a girl, huh?”

“Shut up.” Beomgyu groaned, shoving him lightly. “It’s not even like that. I don’t like her like that. Or vice versa. Or—whatever. It’s complicated.” He sighed again, the weight of his confusion palpable.

Kai leaned back, crossing his arms with an amused grin. “You sound real upset for someone who doesn’t care.”

“Can you just listen to me for once? Please!” Beomgyu groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Okay, fine! I’m sorry!” Kai held his hands up defensively. “I’m listening now. Go ahead, Romeo.”

“Thank you.” Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So… there’s this girl.”

Kai smirked. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Beomgyu shot him a warning glare before continuing. “She’s new at the café. Yeonjun told me to, y’know, mentor her on the drinks. So, I’ve been doing that. It’s been a couple of weeks, and, well… she’s just this normal girl. She’s studying at the same school as us, but I think she’s in a different building.”

Kai tilted his head, squinting. “Right. A totally normal girl who you’ve been thinking about so much, she’s made you think.”

Beomgyu let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “And lately… I don’t know. Yeonjun’s been putting our schedules together, and I… I don’t know how to feel about it. Like, all I know is I like working with her. I enjoy being around her. But I hate what this feeling is doing to me. It’s like—what’s the word—annoying.”

Kai raised an eyebrow, leaning back smugly. “Not gonna lie, Beomgyu, it sounds a lot like you kinda… like her.”

“That’s impossible.” Beomgyu threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t like anyone. I don’t want to be in a relationship. You know me! I couldn't care less about dating, romance, or whatever nonsense everyone seems obsessed with.”

——

One Month Ago

“And of course, this is Beomgyu,” Yeonjun said with a teasing smirk as he gestured to the tall, ridiculously attractive guy standing in front of you. “Do not be charmed by his good looks—he’s not interested in anyone. Except himself, of course.”

You blinked, gulping down the sudden lump in your throat. Okay, Yeonjun wasn’t lying—this guy was good-looking. Too good-looking. Like, unfairly good-looking. But "off-limits"? Perfect. You weren’t exactly in the market for romance anyway, not with your recent breakup looming over your head like a bad rom-com cliché.

This job was supposed to be your escape—a way to distract yourself from your ex and maybe stop scraping together couch change for instant ramen. A few shifts, some good times, and some side cash—easy, right? Except now, you were standing face-to-face with someone who looked like he belonged on a billboard instead of behind a café counter.

It would be fine. Totally fine. You weren’t interested in him. And according to Yeonjun, he wasn’t interested in anyone. Which meant you had nothing to worry about. Right?

“Hey!” you said with a small smile, offering it to the brooding guy standing before you. But instead of the moody half-nod you were expecting, he returned your smile—a sweet, disarming one that completely threw you off.

Well. Scratch “emo” off your presumptuous first impressions.

“Y’know,” you said, tilting your head curiously, “you look super familiar. Are you from the university across the street?”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your question. He nodded quickly. “Uh, yeah! Have you seen me around?”

“No,” you said, grinning as you delivered the punchline, “but I’ve seen the posters…”

Ah, the posters. A wave of embarrassment immediately washed over Beomgyu. Back in his first year, he’d been strong-armed recruited by the university’s marketing team to pose for promotional posters plastered around campus. At the time, the promise of a couple hundred bucks had been too tempting for a broke freshman to pass up. But now? Those same posters felt like his own personal humiliation tour.

“Oh. Those posters,” he mumbled, cheeks reddening as he scratched the back of his neck. “Right. Darn things…”

You laughed—a sweet, melodic sound that tugged at something unfamiliar in his chest. “It’s okay! They turned out great.”

And just like that, you walked away, following Yeonjun into the staff pantry, completely unaware of the tiny earthquake you’d just triggered in Beomgyu’s world.

He stood frozen in place, replaying the interaction in his head. The way your eyes lit up when you spoke to him, like you’d known each other forever. The way your laugh lingered in his ears, soft and warm. The way your hair bounced as you walked, catching the light in a way that felt almost cinematic.

Beautiful. That was the only word his brain could come up with. You were beautiful—too much for him to process, let alone admit. And it wasn’t just how you looked. It was the ease, the effortless charm you carried, like you’d just walked into his life to flip it upside down.

It hit him like a punch to the gut: if he did have a type, you would be it. Except…

He didn’t have a type. He didn’t want a type. He didn’t want to date anyone. Absolutely not.

So why was his heart doing cartwheels in his chest?

——

Present

“You literally like her,” Huening Kai groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it looked like they might stay that way. “Dude, you’re just in denial at this point.”

“I don’t like her!” Beomgyu shot back, glaring daggers at his best friend, hands clenched, this close to shoving Kai off the bed.

“Okay,” Kai said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Then let’s do a quick little checklist, shall we?”

Beomgyu narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

“How do you feel when she’s this—” Kai leaned in obnoxiously close, practically nose-to-nose with Beomgyu, “—close to you?”

“Uh…” Beomgyu faltered, his face heating up faster than he could come up with a retort.

——

2 Weeks Ago

“Beom, can you pass me the sugar, please?” you asked, glancing up at him.

Standing almost two heads taller than you, Beomgyu had become your unofficial ladder. Need something on a high shelf? Just call Beomgyu. And honestly? He didn’t seem to mind.

Working with him was surprisingly easy. Too easy, actually. Everyone said earning money was tough, but when Beomgyu was around, the shifts flew by, lighthearted banter here and there, and the occasional spilled drink, it was just like kindergarten. 

“Beom?” Beomgyu blinked at the nickname, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You’d only started calling him that a few days ago, but hearing it felt… weirdly nice.

“Here,” he said, reaching for the sugar. “Just don’t drop it like last time.”

“Hey!” You protested, pouting. “That’s unfair. If I recall correctly, you made me laugh, and that’s why I dropped it. So technically, it was your fault.”

“Oh, so now being charming and funny is my fault?” Beomgyu quipped, a teasing smirk dancing on his face.

“Yes,” you said with a playful nod. “But also, thank you for taking the blame for me.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, handing the sugar container to you. “It's not like Yeonjun can fire me. He needs me more than he thinks.”

Just as you reached for the sugar, your hand brushed against his. It was brief—barely a second—but it sent a jolt through Beomgyu like he’d grabbed a live wire. His grip faltered, and the container slipped from his hands.

“Beomgyu!” you laughed, not realizing that the simple touch had completely short-circuited him.

He mumbled an apology, crouching to pick up the container, but his mind was still reeling. Why was his heart suddenly pounding? Why couldn’t he stop staring at the way your smile lit up the entire room?

You. Your hands brushing against his. Your laugh ringing in his ears. Your eyes meeting his and holding his gaze just a second longer than necessary.

Perfection.

And he hated it. Absolutely hated it. Because it made him feel things he swore he’d never feel. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the truth was painfully obvious.

He was in trouble.

——

Present

“It feels… funny,” Beomgyu muttered, struggling to find the right word. But even as he said it, he knew "funny" didn’t even come close to describing what you did to him.

“Funny?” Huening Kai snorted with laughter. “That’s the best you can do? Alright, let’s get into the details. Do you ever... get nervous around her?”

“Does the feeling of needing to take a shit every time she’s near me count?” Beomgyu asked, his brain still scrambling for the right words.

Kai slapped his forehead, groaning. “You’re hopeless.”

——

1.5 Weeks Ago

For the past week, Beomgyu had been stuck opening the café. Normally, Yeonjun handled mornings, but some emergency had left Beomgyu in charge. He hated the added responsibility. But if he was being honest—though he’d never admit it—it also gave him an excuse to tweak the schedule so that your shifts overlapped with his. Taehyun would be okay with working late shifts for 2 weeks, right?

This morning, he found himself nervously fidgeting in front of the shiny coffee machine, using its reflection as a makeshift mirror. Was his hair okay? Maybe the little bit of gel he’d added was too much. Should he spritz on more cologne? No, too obvious.

The café was quiet, only a handful of early-morning customers scattered across tables. The clock ticked toward 9 a.m., and Beomgyu felt his heart rate pick up. Any second now.

And then the door chimed.

“Morning, Beomie!” you called cheerfully, your voice like sunshine cutting through the morning haze.

Beomgyu froze, his breath hitching as he turned to see you. You were radiant. Effortlessly glowing, even in your simple two-piece outfit that hugged you just right. Your smile was enough to knock the wind out of him.

“M-Morning!” he stammered, barely able to string two words together.

You cocked your head at him, a giggle escaping your lips. “You alright there?”

Walking over to the counter, you placed your bag down and grabbed the apron you’d left the night before. Without hesitation, you slipped it on and turned toward him, pulling the strings into your hands.

“Can you help me tie this?”

Beomgyu nodded stiffly, stepping closer. His fingers fumbled with the strings, brushing against the soft skin of your lower back. His heart skipped a beat. Why did she have to wear a crop top today? he thought miserably, trying not to combust on the spot. The warmth of your skin sent shivers racing up his spine.

“Thanks!” you chirped, spinning around to face him. But your brows furrowed as you studied him more closely.

“Gosh, Beomie, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, leaning in and placing your hands gently on his forehead as if checking for a fever.

The sudden closeness made Beomgyu’s brain short-circuit. His knees felt weak, and his entire body betrayed him, a blush creeping up his neck.

“I—uh—I gotta use the washroom,” he blurted, stepping back awkwardly. “Be right back.”

And before you could respond, he was gone, leaving you to shake your head with an amused smile. Meanwhile, in the restroom, Beomgyu leaned against the sink, staring at his reflection.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. But deep down, he already knew the answer.

——

Present

“I hate to break it to you,” Huening Kai said, deadpan, “but that literally sounds like you’re in love with her.”

“No! It can’t be that. I’m probably just… sick,” Beomgyu stammered, shaking his head as if that would banish the thought.

Kai raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you’re only ‘sick’ when she’s around? Sure, Beomgyu. Totally normal. You’re absolutely fine.” He rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck.

“I shouldn’t have asked you,” Beomgyu muttered. “Should’ve gone to Soobin. He’s less… devilish.”

Kai smirked, leaning back against the wall. “Oh yeah, Soobin. Because he’d totally never make fun of you. Not at all.”

“You’re right. I need to make new friends.” Beomgyu stood up abruptly, pretending to walk away.

Kai grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Aww, come on! Don’t be like that. I’m serious. I’m here to help. I can do this, I swear.”

“Kai,” Beomgyu groaned, “I think we should just call it a day.”

“No!” Kai exclaimed, holding up a finger like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci Code. “We’re this close. Once you admit whatever it is you’re avoiding, life will be so much easier. Trust me. I can see the future.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Just answer me one last final question.”

“What?”

“Does your heart… race? When you’re with her?”

——

2 Days Ago

“Choi Yeonjun, you stupid little shit,” Beomgyu muttered under his breath, blowing into his hands to keep warm. Sending him and you to run errands in the middle of winter felt like some kind of cruel prank.

Next to him, you were bundled up in a cozy puffer jacket, scarf, and beanie, your nose red from the cold. Beomgyu had to bite back a grin. You looked like the cutest Pop Mart figurine he’d ever seen.

You pouted, your breath visible in the freezing air. “Why couldn’t Yeonjun be more accurate with the timing? I’m freezing my ass off.”

Beomgyu crossed his arms, scowling. “I’m killing him later.”

You shook your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Or… we could always take revenge.”

Beomgyu’s brows lifted. “Oh, my sweet genius. How?”

You grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “We can replace all the coffee beans in the grinder with decaf tomorrow morning. Let’s see how Yeonjun functions without caffeine.”

Beomgyu blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re dangerous. I didn’t realize you were as devious as you are adorable.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, but you didn’t seem to notice. You just smiled, giggling. “I got it from my mom.”

He laughed along with you, his heart feeling lighter despite the cold.

“Gosh, is it coming yet?” you sighed, your voice trembling. The icy air seemed to suck all the energy from your words.

“Yeonjun said it’ll be here around 3:15,” Beomgyu replied, glancing at his watch. “So… about ten more minutes.”

You groaned, shivering as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “O-okay.”

“Hold on.”

You blinked, watching as Beomgyu walked away without explanation. Confused but not wanting to leave in case the truck arrived, you stayed put, hopping in place to keep warm.

A few minutes later, Beomgyu returned, holding two steaming, foil-wrapped sweet potatoes.

“Here,” he said, handing one to you.

Your face lit up, your smile bright despite the cold. You pressed the warm sweet potato to your face, sighing in relief. “I can’t feel my face.”

Beomgyu chuckled, stepping closer. “Here.” He pressed his own sweet potatoes against your cheeks, squishing them gently. “Better?”

You blinked up at him, your cheeks squished in his hands, making you look even more adorable.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stop. Beomgyu’s heart pounded in his chest as the warmth of your skin and the softness of your smile hit him like a freight train.

Then you reached up, stopping him from pulling his hands away. “Aw, no, come on. Keep them there. I’m freezing.”

Beomgyu’s cheeks burned, and for once, he was grateful for the cold air, it gave him an excuse. But even as he tried to steady his breathing, he could feel it. His heart was racing faster than ever.

——

Present

“I have feelings for her, don’t I?”

Huening popped a chip into his mouth, “I hate to say it but I told you so.”

“Well, what do I do now?”

“You’ve gotta tell her. And after you do, let Soobin know that I’ve officially won the title of Beomgyu’s top best friend this month.”

“And how am I supposed to ask her?”

“Well, just a suggestion, but you could text her?”

“That’s not romantic!” Beomgyu deadpanned.

“Oh, sorry for trying to help. You’re the same guy who once swore he’d never, in a million years, tell a girl she looks pretty because apparently, that’s basically signing up to be chained to a cage like a love-struck animal.”

“That was the old me.”

Huening smirked, popping another chip into his mouth. “Sure, that’s the ‘old you,’ but the new you is in love with her.”

Beomgyu ran a hand through his hair, pacing around the room. “I don’t even know how to start.”

Huening leaned back, watching his best friend spiral. “Well, look at it this way: if you’re already thinking of telling her, you're in the right direction.”

“I want something memorable, you know?” Beomgyu muttered. “Something more… romantic. Something she won’t forget.”

Huening raised an eyebrow. “And you think a dramatic speech in the middle of the cafe is the answer?”

Beomgyu froze. “That... actually might work.”

“Wow, you really are whipped,” Huening said, sarcastically.

“I’m serious! I’ll walk in, tell her how I feel, and let her know how much she means to me. I’m going all in, no holding back,” Beomgyu said, determination lighting up his face.

Huening sighed, shaking his head dramatically. “Alright, but just so you know, you asked me for help. And when she swoons, don’t forget to tell Soobin I won the ‘Best Friend of the Month’ award.”

Beomgyu shot him a deadpan look. “I’ll make it happen. Thanks, Best Friend.”

“Could I get that in writing? You know, so Soobin doesn’t think I’m just making stuff up.”

Beomgyu’s heart pounded in his chest as he thought about it. Texting was out of the question. He’d have to make his feelings known the right way—face-to-face, just like in the movies. He was ready for this.

——

"Okay. You’ve got this, Beomgyu," he muttered to himself, giving himself a thumbs-up. "Just say something smooth... something charming. You’re Beomgyu, the irresistible coffee god. You can do this."

He looked around, making sure no one was watching, then smiled at his reflection in the window.

“Hey, I think you’re really cool, and I like you. Wait—no, that’s too casual. Let me try again.”

He put a hand to his chin dramatically, thinking for a moment.

"How about… ‘I think you're the most beautiful person I’ve ever met and I can’t stop thinking about you.’" He immediately cringed. "Nope, nope. That sounds fucking disgusting."

Just as he was about to try again, a voice from behind him interrupted.

“Dude, just go in,” Yeonjun said, raising an eyebrow as he walked up. He'd been watching from across the street for the past ten minutes, taking in Beomgyu's solo performance with mild amusement (and taking a couple of short videos to fill his stories with).

“Yeonjun! What the hell? You scared me!” Beomgyu jumped, heart leaping into his throat.

“Stop talking to yourself like a loser and just go in already. You’re getting weird looks from the store across us," Yeonjun scoffed. “Also, I’m pretty sure the entire neighborhood has seen your failed rehearsals by now.”

Beomgyu grimaced. “I just don’t want to mess it up, okay? I need to make it perfect.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “You’ve been here for 20 minutes and the only thing you’ve perfected is looking like a robber who's about to rob MY café. Get it together. It’s just a confession. You’re fine, she’s into you. Go!”

Beomgyu shot him a glare. “I’m not a robber, Yeonjun. I’m a man with feelings... and a very fragile ego.”

“Oh, please,” Yeonjun chuckled, pushing him toward the door. “If I had a dollar for every time someone said they were ‘fragile’ before a confession, I could buy this entire block. Just go in there and stop making it a bigger deal than it is.

Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, then turned to face the door of Junnie’s, which was now just a few steps away. He took a deep breath and shot Yeonjun a look that screamed ‘I’m regretting this already.’

“You’re really doing this,” Yeonjun said, an exaggerated smirk on his face. “Alright, Beomie, go make history.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Beomgyu sighed, taking a step toward the door. “I’m going... but if I faint in there, you’re taking the blame.”

With a last nervous glance at Yeonjun, Beomgyu shoved the door open. The bell above it jingled as he walked in, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, and that's when he found you behind the counter, waiting.

“Welcome to Junnie’s! How may I help you—Beomgyu? What are you doing here today?” you laughed, wiping your hands on your apron as you looked up from behind the counter.

Beomgyu leaned against the counter with a grin that could melt the coldest of hearts. “I came here to see you.”

You blinked, trying to process his words. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he said, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. His hands were twitching like he was about to do a dance routine.

“Should I be on my break for this?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

Beomgyu shook his head quickly, as if trying to shake off his nerves. “No, no. It’ll be quick. I think. Probably.”

You chuckled, unable to hide your confusion. “Okay, you’re acting like you’re about to tell me you robbed a bank or something. Is everything alright?”

Beomgyu froze for a second, his eyes wide. “I'm getting rid of this stupid black beanie tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, sighing.

Getting called a robber for the second time today wasn’t exactly on his to-do list.

“Then why are you sweating?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not sweating!” he replied, wiping his hands on his pants—clearly in denial. “Okay, maybe I'm a little nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” You genuinely didn’t understand, your head tilting to the side in bewilderment. “You’ve literally seen me like... a hundred times.”

“I just—” Beomgyu paused, and the silence between you two felt like forever. “Okay, maybe more than a hundred... but—”

“So, you’ve been nervous about seeing me a hundred times?” you asked, trying to piece it together.

“Definitely not,” Beomgyu said quickly, then muttered, “Well, kind of...”

“Okay, I’m lost,” you said, eyes wide, still trying to figure out why he was so flustered.

Beomgyu nodded, “Well…this is gonna be awkward, and I’m not really sure how to do this or what I’m supposed to say because I don’t want to ruin things between us—but, well, here it is.”

You immediately put your hands up, practically begging for mercy. “Oh, no, please don’t say it. Don’t say you’re not interested in me or anything like that, please.”

Beomgyu froze, looking absolutely panicked. “Huh?”

“Listen,” you said, starting to pace behind the counter like you were preparing for some dramatic monologue. “If you’re going to let me down easy, you don’t have to say anything. I know you’re not really into relationships, and I totally get it, okay? You’re the independent type. I respect that. Honestly, I wasn’t planning on doing anything crazy with my feelings. It’s all good, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Beomgyu’s face went from confused to deeply distressed. His eyes were wide, and his shoulders slumped as if someone had just stolen his favorite hoodie. “Wait, what? No! No, that’s not what I came here to say! I—”

You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms. “I mean, it’s okay. Yeonjun told me you weren’t interested in relationships. And hey, it’s fine. I’ll just stay in my lane and respect that you want to focus on… I don’t know… life, or being a free spirit or whatever. Like, I get it. I’m totally cool.”

Beomgyu blinked, frozen in place for a second, like you’d just dropped a bombshell on him. He quickly stepped forward, eyes wide with determination. “Hold on! That’s not— I’m not saying what you think!”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “Really? Because I’m getting the vibe you’re not, you know, in the relationship market. Like, at all.”

He inhaled deeply, as if trying to muster all his courage to say the right thing. “I swear, I came all the way down here to tell you something completely different. Look, if I’m being honest, I… I really like you. Like, really, really like you.”

Your jaw dropped. You were completely taken aback. “You… You like me?” you stammered, suddenly feeling all kinds of flustered.

Beomgyu nodded, looking at you like you were the most beautiful person in the entire world. “Yeah. I do. A lot. Like, so much that it’s kinda scary sometimes, but also really exciting. I’m not great with words and I’ve never been good at this, but… I want to try. I know I said that I’m not interested in relationships but I don’t know…with you it just seems easy. I like you. And I want to figure out whatever this is with you, if you’ll let me.”

There was a moment of silence, your heart racing from the sheer intensity of his words. And then, like a switch flipped, you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Wow, so all this time I was thinking I had to keep my feelings to myself..”

Beomgyu flushed red, looking both nervous and utterly adorable. “Well…you’re different.”

You leaned across the counter, smiling, as you finally met his eyes. “So, wait… does this mean you’re actually asking me out? Like, for real?”

Beomgyu’s face lit up, nodding expectantly, “ Yes. I want to take you out. If you’ll let me.”

You grinned, your heart doing little flips. “Well, that’s a relief, because you’ve been driving me crazy. And I was starting to think I was gonna have to ask you out first. But of course, I wouldn’t, y’know, the whole off-the-market thing did catch me off guard at first.”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Well, a cute guy like you—who’s charming and funny—charms my ass off and apparently is off the market. Huge bummer, no?” You leaned forward slightly, making your playful tone even more obvious, but a hint of real affection crept through.

Beomgyu chuckled, his smile wide and warm. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m officially back on the market.”

Your smile widened even more. “Hopefully not for long,” you teased, winking at him. “I’m a go-getter.”

“Oh really?” Beomgyu’s grin was teasing as he leaned just a little bit closer, eyes locked with yours. “Weren’t you the one who just said you’d respect it if I wanted to be independent?”

Your chest tightened, the playful back-and-forth somehow turning into something more serious. “Do you?”

He took another step forward, practically in your personal space now. His voice softened, but the warmth in his eyes was undeniable. “Not if it means I can’t go out with you.” 

You felt the space between you both shrink with every second. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath just barely brushing your skin. The intensity of the moment wrapped around you both as your eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes, unsure whether it was the right moment to do what he wanted to.

Then, just as Beomgyu’s hand was hovering almost instinctively near your arm, his head slightly tilting to get a better angle, the door to the café swung open with a sharp "ding!" and Yeonjun walked in, looking around casually until his eyes landed on the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Oh no, no, no,” Yeonjun groaned loudly, immediately striding over. “Beomgyu, you’re not even supposed to be here. It’s not your shift. You’re killing the vibe. Like, really killing it.” He grabbed Beomgyu by the shoulder and pulled him away, literally lifting him off the ground as if he were a rag doll. “C’mon, man. Move it. You’re ruining the whole romantic café ambiance with all this sexual tension. Get outta here.”

Beomgyu sputtered, his face going bright red. “I wasn’t— I mean, we were—”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you were doing,” Yeonjun interrupted, giving him a smirk. “And I’m putting an end to it before things get too heated in here. Don’t think I didn’t see those looks. You two are about two seconds away from having an impromptu makeout session right in front of all the customers.” He turned to you with a grin. “No offense, but you’re about to turn this café into something disgusting, and I can’t handle that right now.”

“There’s only one customer!” 

“And he has two eyes!” 

You tried to hide your grin but failed miserably as you watched Beomgyu attempt to protest while being dragged out. “Fine, fine, I’ll go,” Beomgyu grumbled. “But you’re not getting rid of me for good.” He shot you one last flirty smile before Yeonjun practically shoved him out the door.

You stood there, stunned and flustered, trying to regain your composure as the moment you thought might just happen slipped away. As Beomgyu’s laughter faded down the street, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. Yeonjun shot you an apologetic look. “I know, I know, I’m a buzzkill. But don’t worry. Knowing how annoying he is, he’ll probably be back in a couple of minutes.”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. “He’s lucky you stopped him, or I’d have kissed him right there.”

Yeonjun’s grin was full of mischief. “Why do you think I stopped the both of you?”

[justwinginglife]

Tomorrow

Guyssssss- I haven't written smut in a HOT minute, so sorry if it's sub par, I am warming back up lmao. But I just find it so funny that the thing that gets me back into writing smut is the new Caleb trailer. Anyway, yes this is NSFW, 18+, yada yada. Please don't send hate, I know as much about Caleb's character as you do, and probably less because I'm not as attentive as some of yall, but I am just as feral after the new trailer so I HAD to write a fic. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was-”

Familiar eyes gazed back at you, halting your train of thought in its ever spiraling tracks. Even in your dreams (and your nightmares, which had lately begun to outnumber the dreams), his eyes weren’t as vibrant as they were now, and you’d started to hate that you couldn’t even remember that one detail about him properly when you’d just laid him to rest not three months ago. You never thought you’d see those shimmering eyes of his ever again, but now there they were, bright as day, and your voice had chosen this moment to sink back down your throat and bury itself deep in your stomach. 

He looked away, only giving you a quick nod to convey his hasty acceptance of your apology, before he turned to leave. 

“You’re… you’re…” Your words stumbled through your lips like a baby learning how to walk for the first time and you cursed yourself internally for your sudden ineptitude. It wasn’t like you’d never thought about what you might say to him if you’d ever been given a chance to see him again, if it ever happened that there was some god out there to take pity on you and see fit to return his life to him, or if ever there came a time when you obtained the ability to travel back to the past and undo your previous mistakes, protect him like you should’ve, but now that he was actually standing here before you, seemingly alive and well, leaving you possibly blameless (when you’d done nothing but fault yourself these past few agonizing months), you found that any possible words you could summon fell short of anything you actually wanted to convey. 

You settled for a simple, “You’re… alive?”

At your words, his shoulders tensed and his eyes - the eyes you’d always loved so much, the eyes you’d grown to miss so much- suddenly began to dart back and forth, as though scanning his surroundings. You recognized that behavior. You’d been taught to assess for threats in the very same way. 

You weren’t sure what was going on, but you wanted to touch him. To reassure him. You reached a hand out but hesitated a moment before your fingers graced his sleeve. When you made the decision to rescind your touch, a flicker of pain flashed in his eyes but it quickly disappeared as though you’d merely imagined it. 

You cleared your throat, drawing his attention (and anxiety) once more. You knew you shouldn’t be talking to him, not like this, not in the middle of the street, but you didn’t know if you’d ever get the chance to again. Whoever was threatening him would have to wait. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone I once knew. He used to always climb up my balcony and sneak in without warning to play tricks on me. I miss him doing that. Sometimes I leave the door unlocked in case he ever wants to again.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “But it appears I was mistaken, so I’ll let you go about your day. Excuse me.” And with that, you continued on your way home, hoping and praying that he’d gotten your hint. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caleb hesitated at the door.

He shouldn’t be here. What the hell was he doing here? He’d stayed away all these months, endured all the emptiness and all the loneliness all on his own, suffering in silence to keep you safe, only to throw it all away again just because you’d asked, just because you’d missed him. He’d known you would miss him; it shouldn’t have changed anything. Shouldn’t have changed his goal, shouldn’t have affected his plans. But he hadn’t expected to run into you on the street like that, in a neighborhood so far from your own, at the most random hour of the day, and he hadn’t expected the way his heart would throb in his chest at the sight of you, at the sound of you. He hadn’t expected the way your words would move him. The way your words would remind him what you meant to him. How much you meant to him. How much you always meant to him. 

He knew he was being selfish, climbing up your balcony like this, when it could very well put the both of you in danger again, just because he wanted to see you, but was it so selfish to want to dry your tears? Was it so selfish to want to hold you in his arms, to stop your shaking? To remind you that he still loved you? To ask you not to forget him? 

So he turned the door handle. You had left it unlocked like you said. He wanted to laugh and he wanted to scream. How could you be so careless? Didn’t you know what kinds of people there were lurking in the shadows? He’d have to reprimand you properly before he took his leave. 

When he entered your room, shutting the door quietly behind him, there was no one in the bed. His brows furrowed. You’d left the door unlocked, so where were you? 

Arms surrounded him from behind and his heart thundered in his chest. If he hadn’t caught a whiff of your perfume, he might’ve assumed you were an assailant and slammed your head through a wall. God, you were so careless. Didn’t you know he could’ve hurt you when you snuck up on him like that?

“Idio-” He turned to hiss at you, but stopped when he saw your tear stained eyes and quivering smile. 

“You came.” You whispered. Your arms around him trembled but your grasp was firm, as though he might disappear at any moment if you let him slip away. It broke his heart. What had he done to you?

“I did. I’m here. I’m here.” He repeated, wrapping his arms around you protectively as he rested his head atop yours. He held you until the shaking subsided. “I’m… I’m sorry.” The words were strained, and he knew they’d never make up for anything, and they’d never change what diverging paths they’d have to return to after tonight was over, but he felt the need to offer his apology to you anyway, useless as it was. 

“It’s… it’s okay. I don’t know… I don’t know what’s going on, but I know you have your reasons. You wouldn’t do something like this to hurt me. I just… I missed you. More than you could possibly know.”

His heart shattered into pieces at your words. “I… I know. Because I missed you too. So much.”

You smiled at that and he felt undeserving of such a smile, not when he was the reason it’d disappeared in the first place. 

“Stay with me tonight.” You said firmly, your voice finally finding its strength.

He shook his head apologetically. “I can only stay for an hour or two. I shouldn’t even be here at all; it’s dangerous to stay the whole night.”

“But I won’t be able to see you again, right? After this, it’s all over? So stay with me for the night. Just one night. Give me something to hold onto for the rest of my days.”

He winced. When you put it like that, it was hard to refuse. Didn’t he owe you this? Didn’t you deserve this much? He’d be gone before you woke up; the least he could do was hold you tight and fight off your nightmares as you slept. So he begrudgingly agreed, telling himself it was for your sake that he laid beside you, not wanting to admit that he also just wanted one more chance to pretend that you were his. To pretend that he’d be waking up to find you singing some song in the shower or flipping pancakes in the kitchen in the morning. To pretend that you and him could go on like this forever, that you could simply belong to each other for an eternity. 

So he climbed into bed beside you. He climbed into bed and conveniently ignored the fact that, knowing you as well as he did, you should’ve asked him by now what was going on. Knowing you, you should’ve demanded that he stay. Knowing you, you should’ve insisted you could fight whoever was against them together. And he should’ve told you that you were being naive and that wasn’t how the world worked. He should’ve had to claim he was doing this to protect you. But you asked no questions and he gave no answers. So maybe he was being naive too, when he simply held you and figured that holding you was all there would be to it. 

And then you turned over and kissed him. 

And his heart stopped.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You could feel his tension.

You could almost drown in it- it was so thick.

But you kissed him again and again, until it began to melt away, as you murmured, “If all we have is tonight, I’m going to make the most of it.”

He was hesitant at first, and you figured he would be. You’d always had this unspoken connection with him, but neither of you had ever admitted to it and you were sure he chalked your relationship up as nothing more than adoptive siblings or childhood friends. But time was running out and you needed him with every fiber of your being. And you needed him to know that. 

You threaded your fingers through his hair as you pressed all your passion into his lips. Eventually, his hands began to find your waist, pulling you closer, as he deepened the kiss. His tongue snaked its way into your mouth, tangling with yours in a messy dance. When you let out a moan, he couldn’t help but groan, knocking his hips against yours in a desperate attempt to satisfy himself. You returned the friction, dry humping the bulge that had begun to grow in his pants. 

And suddenly, he was kissing you harshly now, not caring who heard you, not caring who could be lurking in the shadows. If he died tonight, he’d die happy. If he hurt you, he’d apologize later. 

His hands fisted in your hair as he tugged your head back so he could devour the length of your neck, leaving a burning trail of bruises in his wake. When he practically tore your nightgown off, hungrily sucking and biting at your breasts, pinching your peaked nipples in between his fingers, just like he’d always dreamed of doing, and you suddenly whined his name, he nearly lost it. 

His whole life, he’d always seen you as someone to protect, someone to safeguard, someone to watch over, even if he knew you could take care of yourself. But right now, with you arching at his touch, with you whimpering at every press of his lips, at every drag of his tongue, he couldn’t help but want to utterly ruin you. He wanted to make a mess of your hair, to make a mess of your pussy, to make a mess of your life. He wanted to make you need him, to make you obsessed with him, to make you entirely devoted and dependent on him and only him. 

He wanted to fuck you so hard that you were bedridden for the rest of your life. He wanted to fuck you so deep that you felt his dick in your throat when he drilled it into your pussy. He wanted to fill you up so entirely that his cum was still spilling out of your used up cunt months after he’d left you. If he got you pregnant, at least you were sure to remember him. 

He was completely lost in his addiction to you, mind swimming with salacious thoughts, when you suddenly cried out in pain, jolting him from his deranged state. He quickly let go of you, breathing heavily as he attempted to regain some control over his current, sorry state. He was about to apologize when you let out a frustrated huff.

“Why’d you stop?” You demanded.

He blinked. 

You could tell he didn’t understand. You dragged his hand to your soaked panties. “I didn’t want you to stop.” 

He sucked in a sharp breath in attempts to steady himself, but he couldn’t help the feeling that had begun to surge through his entire body. He wanted you. And he wanted you NOW. And if you weren’t going to stop him, he wasn’t going to stop until you were on the verge of losing consciousness and he was shooting blanks into your fucked out cunt. 

“You just woke up the devil, baby. Now you’re going to have to take everything I give you like a good, little girl.”

Wasting no time at all, he yanked down your panties, tossing them god knows where. You’d have no need for them tonight. You only had time to gasp, before he began jamming his fingers inside your dripping pussy. 

On more than one occasion (more than even ten or a hundred), he’d imagined how he’d take you for the first time. He’d be patient, gently coax you open with a finger, then two, maybe three. He’d lovingly dote on your clit, teasing it with his tongue, before trailing down to lap up your juices. Maybe his tongue would work your pussy open even wider for him before he finally, slowly, inserted himself inside you. He’d only go as fast as you wanted. He’d be as gentle as you needed. He’d tell you that you were doing so good, tell you that he loved you so much, tell you how perfect you were. 

But he’d already fucked that up tonight when he started with three fingers and pumped them so roughly, so hastily, into your cunt that if you hadn’t already been soaked, it might’ve hurt. And then he got impatient and decided you were spread wide enough for his cock and yanked his pants down his legs. Before you knew it, he was flipping you over, pinning your wrists harshly against your back, before he slammed his dick so deep inside you that you felt it in your stomach. 

“Caleb!” You groaned into the pillow, biting down on it. 

“Shiiit,” He hissed. “Shit, shit, shit.” With every cuss, he thrust into you harder and harder. “That’s right, baby. Say my fucking name. Remember who makes you feel this good. Not fucking Zayne, that’s for sure.”

Maybe you were feeling particularly masochistic tonight, but when you heard his words, noting the hint of insecurity he’d probably been hiding your entire life, you couldn’t help but feel devious. Letting out an exaggerated moan, you replied, “Ughhhhh, I bet Zayne would split open my pussy so nicely though… I bet he could last for hours.”

Suddenly the bed snapped as the weight of his evol drove you barreling into the floor. “Hours, huh? I’m going to make you mine all goddamn night and you won’t even remember your own name by the time I’m finished with you, let alone anyone else’s.”

He made good on his word.

It was a good thing you weren’t particularly attached to your furniture, because he nearly destroyed the entire bedroom, fucking you against every square inch of it. It wasn’t until you both literally had no cum left to release that he finally let you rest in his arms. The two of you quickly fell into a deep slumber beside each other, your bodies exhausted from the brutality of the night. 

When he woke up in the morning, both of his hands had been cuffed to the bed frame. He frowned, tugging at them as he called his evol to aid him, but it was no use. You’d put evol blocking cuffs on both his hands. When he searched what he could see of the room for you and didn’t find you, he called out your name, frustrated. When you didn’t answer, he called again. “Baby!” 

You popped your head into the room, grinning. “Mm, so I’m baby now? I like the sound of that.”

He was about to chide you when he saw a plate full of pancakes in your hands. Pancakes. He’d woken up to you making pancakes. Just like he dreamed of. His heart was practically bursting. 

“Open!” You smiled as you fed him a forkful. 

He groaned at how deliciously sweet they were. When he leaned forward for another bite, his cuffs yanked him back, reminding him of the situation he found himself in. He huffed. “Care to tell me why I’m handcuffed?”

You smiled again, your smile as sweet as the syrup on his tongue. “Oh, that’s an easy question to answer. Because you’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on, and when you do leave, you’re taking me with.” 

He scoffed. So that was why you hadn’t asked him any questions last night. You had already planned this. “Taking you with? Do you know how dangerous it is out there?”

You waved your gun in his face. “Hunter. Remember? I can handle myself.”

He rolled his eyes. And there it was. He knew you were like that. He knew you’d take on the world for him. This was the part where he said you were naive, that things didn’t always work out the way you wanted them to, that you’d be better if he stayed away from you. But as he watched you munch on your freshly made pancakes without a care in the world, snuggling up to him like it was just another Tuesday, he couldn’t bring himself to rebuke you. 

He only loved you more for it. 

Here you were, feeding him breakfast, sitting in his lap and telling him everything would be okay. So maybe it was his turn to be a little naive. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe, after all the secrecy and the lies and the hiding, maybe you were the only person in the world he could trust. And maybe he trusted you to make it okay. Maybe you would be safer without him, maybe you would have a good life without him, but maybe it’d never be a great life without him either. Maybe he didn’t want you to have a life without him. Maybe he didn’t want to have a life without you. 

Maybe tomorrow he’d make you pancakes.

Maybe tomorrow he’d make you babies. 

Maybe tomorrow could start today.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @inkytypewriter @tbaluver

[lillaydee]

Matchmade Part 5

Millionaire! Joel Miller / Reader

Having experienced traumatic, life altering events, a freshly divorced Joel worked to repay his debt to the person he owed his life to.

WARNINGS:

Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Character Death, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 4

---

“Hi.”

Shit, it’s cuckoo lad, and he’s so close.

Wait, he’s Sarah’s dad?

You squirmed your way out of his hold, thanking him for not letting you fall.

“Daddy, no, this is Miss Addie, not Wiyams,” Sarah said, frustration in her voice.

He gave her a soft laugh, sorry BabyGirl. He held his hand out to you, and said nice to meet you, Miss Addie.

You took his hand with a small smile, and said nice to meet you too, Mr Miller, to which, he corrected you with Joel.

He told you he was glad to have found you. He’d been looking for you. He was wondering if he could talk to you? You nodded and asked him to wait for you in the office as you handled the pickup for the other kids. Sarah had completely forgotten Daddy was there and had gone back to playing with one of the kids.

He waited patiently for you to settle the kids, practicing what to say to you in his head. So you are Miss Addie. Small world. He felt as if he knew so much about you already, the way Sarah wouldn’t shut up about you. You finally came back in and asked if you could get him anything. Coffee? Tea? Water? No, thank you, he said. You asked if Julia could watch Sarah for a bit. She waved her hands at you, go, I’ve got her, she signed.

You sat down across from him and waited for him to speak. He placed his hands on the table, interlacing his fingers with each other.

“I heard about Allie. I’m so sorry, Miss Addie. How are you doing?”

“Thank you. I’m doing okay, considering the circumstances.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

“It’s kind of you to ask, but I’m alright.”

“May I know where she’s interred? I’d like to visit, bring Sarah with me, if I can?”

You fell silent. What do you tell him? She’s in an urn in the trunk of my car cause I can’t afford a proper burial for her?

“I haven’t finalized anything yet, but I will let you know.”

He had a contemplative look on his face, as if he was going to say more, but ultimately decided not to. He nodded softly, and told you that if you ever need anything, anything at all, please do not hesitate to contact him. He took a card from his wallet and gave it to you. You took it, thanking him with a smile. He got up and made to leave but paused and turned back to look at you.

“Miss Addie, as far as I’m concerned, I’m still here because your sister saved my life. I owe her my life. Nothing is too small, or too big to ask of me. Please. Call me if you need anything at all.”

You smiled and nodded again. After prying Sarah off your person, he left.

You locked up after Julie left. You looked at the card he gave you. Damn… a CEO of his own company, judging by the name of the company. You kept thinking about what he said. It would be so easy to ask. If only you were not taught to never ask for help if you could help yourself.

**********

Your working days at the daycare went by pretty smoothly. Before you knew it, it had been a full month since you had started working there. Your days were spent with children you love spending time with, making their lunches and snacks, putting them down for a nap and reading or doing activities with them. If things stay this way, you could move out in three months. Sarah was dropped off by her dad every day, but picked up by different people, depending on who was free. You couldn’t help but notice Julie clamouring to handle Sarah’s pickup if Tess was involved, the two spending a long time chatting until Sarah pulled Tess away, wanting to go home. She would be conveniently busy whenever Joel did the pickup, insisting that she’s got whatever it was you were doing. Go, I’m sure he’d like to hear about Sarah from you.

And he really did.

You admire how involved this man was with his child. You found out from Julie what had happened to Sarah’s mother, your eyes widening at the bit where she tried to kill him at the hospital. So he wasn’t lying. You had honestly thought that was part of his cuckoo thing. Apparently not. Oh God, the poor man. No wonder Sarah had never even mentioned a mother. It’s good she had three very dedicated women in her life who loved her so much.

You were deep cleaning the playpen one day when Julie asked if you were busy that long weekend. Apparently, there was a convention in the next town, all the local businesses would flock to the big seaside resort for the event, promoting their businesses, exchanging ideas, getting business tips, the likes. The resort was massive, it could easily house the event, usually fully booked during this time, in fact, it was the resort your parents were going to when the accident happened. You were aware of the convention, it was a big event, this year lasting for two full days, although most people would go Friday and come back Monday. There were activities for everyone. But you had never attended, not being high up enough in the company you used to work for to ever represent them.

Anyway, Julie said, the Millers were going, as they usually do. But the parents, Anita and Jake, who would usually take care of Sarah during times like this, had booked a holiday with friends during that weekend, and the rest of them were involved with the convention. They were looking for someone to look after Sarah. You would get your own room, of course. You just need to make sure Sarah was occupied and safe during those two days. They will pay you handsomely, of course. Would you be interested?

You didn’t really have to think about it. Spend a long weekend with Sarah at a nice hotel for some extra pocket money? Uh, yeah! Of course you are interested.

So, that Friday morning, when Joel asked where he should pick you up to check in that evening, you told him he didn’t have to worry, you can drive yourself after closing. He insisted, parking would be a nightmare anyway, and he had valet service. He’s free to pick Sarah up, since the event would only start Saturday morning. He would just be there to mingle and make contacts, his staff would handle the rest.

You couldn’t tell him you live there. What would he think of you? Julie saved the day, telling him that you could just leave with him when he picked Sarah up, she’ll handle the closing. That way, Joel could just drop you off at the daycare on Monday, and you could leave your car here in the meantime, she said. That’s settled, then, Joel said. Pick you up at 4.30, he said. You just nodded and brought Sarah inside with you, glad that your status as a semi-homeless person was safe.

You were not ashamed, per se. But what would he think of you if he knew the woman he trusted to take care of his daughter was without a home at the moment? You needed this job, you needed this extra money, so you chose to keep quiet, and Julie was kind enough to help you do the same. 

That evening, he picked you and Sarah up, buckling her in the back seat before helping you up into his truck. Only when his door slammed shut did you realize that this was the first time you would be alone with him in a car for an amount of time. Shit. What do you talk about with someone like him? Can you even do that with someone like him? The man owned a business. You were an uneducated, homeless nobody.

You worries turned out to be unfounded. Sarah did all the talking, despite falling asleep every ten minutes, before waking up and continuing her stories as if she didn’t just doze off for two full minutes. Two full minutes, which Joel filled with questions about you and Allie growing up. During the hour drive to the resort, you got to know him a little, and him, you. And not once, you realized, did he talk about his wealth, in fact, he didn’t mention anything about his business to you all that weekend, preferring to talk about his family, namely Sarah, and asking you about yours, and getting to know you.

You also found out during that drive that the cuckoo lad gets better looking the longer you look at him, so you resorted to not doing that. He’s your boss. Stop it Miss Addie.

When you got to the resort, he picked a sleeping Sarah up, the concierge taking care of the luggage. Tess met the three of you at the door, giving you a quick hug hello, and escorting you to the penthouse. Joel took Sarah to her bedroom, while the concierge took the luggage to the rooms, and you stood waiting to be taken to yours, until Tess told you that you would be staying in the penthouse with Joel. Separate rooms, of course. She, Tommy and Maria would be right next door.

You were flustered, to say the least. You had never been in a room this grand. The first floor of the penthouse was bigger than the house you and Allie grew up in, including the land around. That vase on the dining table looked as if it would cost all your savings to replace. What if you broke something? Shit.

Yeah, you’re just going to stand right there until Sarah woke up.

Joel came out of Sarah’s room, tipped the concierge and got your luggage himself, asking you to follow him. He took you to the room right next to Sarah’s and placed your luggage on the rack. He actually asked if he could get you anything. Like, sir? Excuse me? I should be getting you things, not the other way around? Hello? You really felt out of place there, how were you supposed to behave around people like him and his family? He seemed to sense it, so he got on to business.

“Make yourself at home. We’ll have dinner here tonight; the family will join us. Tomorrow onwards you will be mostly on your own but call us if you need anything. Charge everything to the room, just show them your key, okay?”

You nodded, eyes wide from trying to get the concept of charging things to the room.

You heard Sarah call for him. He immediately rushed over, and your heart freaking melted at his commitment to her. Stop it. You’re here to work. Stop it.

As you unpacked your luggage and Sarah’s, you couldn’t help but wonder what Allie would’ve thought of this place. You went out to the expansive balcony and looked at the glorious view, the wind in your hair, feeling like a massive failure. You had always wanted to take her here. In the twelve years you had taken care of her, not once did you ever take her on a holiday, trying to save as much money as you could for more important things, just the beach on the weekends, or the park or the pool sometimes. You’d never allowed pets, worried that the cost of their food and health care might be too much. Movies were a treat, much less the concession stand. Pizza? You can make one for cheaper, and far tastier.

You wondered, at that moment, if Allie hated you for that. If she did, she didn’t show you, or maybe you were too blind to see it? She didn’t get to enjoy the normal things kids her age did, because you were too tight with the purse strings, thinking that her college fund was more important than having fun. And where did all that lead you? She’s gone, you’re alone, that fund you were so keen on saving was gone within weeks, and you were sleeping in the spare room at the daycare where you worked.

You didn’t even realize it, but your face was wet with tears in no time. You should have taken her here. Surely one night here wouldn’t have bankrupted you. And she would have known what it was like to stay at a hotel at least once.

“Miss Addie, are you okay?”

You wiped your entire face with your sleeves and turned around to greet a groggy Sarah. You lifted her up and asked her if she would like to go to the pool. She excitedly nodded. You got ready, putting on your simple swimsuit that you had owned since God knows when, covering it with an old flannel that belonged to your father and a pair of knee length bike shorts. You then got Sarah ready, running into Joel who was on a phone call, and told him you were taking Sarah down for a swim. He nodded and said he will join you shortly, lifting the phone off his ear to say when he was done.

The kiddie pool was glorious. Sarah squealed with joy. She made you pretend to be a mermaid so she can sit on your back while you swam, giggling happily, her water wings smacking you on your face every few seconds. You had pool noodle sword fights, and built sandcastles on the fake beach, and watched as the fake waves wash the castle away.

She wanted ice lollies, so you took her to the stand that sold them. The two of you were heavily debating what flavour to get when a familiar voice greeted you.

“Addison? Is that you?”

And of course, Tanya had to be here. You put on a smile and greeted her back.

“What on earth are you doing at this hotel? Who did you fu…”

She stopped when she saw Sarah. You lifted her up, not wanting her to continue with her usual foul-mouthed poison which seemed to happen whenever she spoke to you.

“Well, hello there,” she said, her body angled away from Sarah, nose scrunched as if she smelled bad. “Who’s this?”

“Are you here for the convention?” you asked, not wanting to expose Sarah to her at all, remembering how bad she had been with kids, Allie in particular,

“Of course, the question is, what are you doing here, with a kid, no less.”

“Hi, everything okay?” Joel appeared out of nowhere behind you.

“Yeah, we’re just getting some ice lollies,” you said, as he took Sarah from you. “What flavour do you want?”

“See if they have blueberry,” he said, eyeing Tanya, who had by now, taken her sunglasses off, and trailing her eyes all over Joel. “Get extra, Tommy, Maria and Tess are here, they got us a few chairs. 

You got the ice lollies, and Joel immediately placed a hand on the small of your back and led you away. He had no idea who Tanya was, but he didn’t get good vibes from her, so he took charge and got you and his daughter as far away as he can from her.

You let him lead you away, but your heart wouldn’t give up the worry. Although you had always bit your tongue when it came to her, Tanya being here, as far as you’re concerned, brought nothing but trouble for you. When he asked you who that was, you just said she was your neighbour growing up. And he left it at that, clocking how uncomfortable you were with her.

The rest of the family cheered when you got there with the lollies. And within minutes, you almost forgot you were there to nanny for Sarah. None of them treated you like the staff. You were just one of them. You were just Addie, although Sarah kept correcting everyone and telling them your name was Miss Addie, thank you very much. You spent the evening talking to Tess, who couldn’t stop asking you questions about your boss Julie, blushed, and told you to shut up when she noticed that you were looking at her with sly smile.

Maria asked how you got to be so good with children. She had heard about the way you coaxed Sarah to come out of the playhouse on her first day. You told them you had been babysitting since you were ten and taken care of Allie since she was born. You were just used to it. You all toasted Allie with lollies, even Sarah, and after a while, left to go back upstairs.

And of course, Tanya was in the elevator. She didn’t say anything to you, but her eyes widened when she saw Tommy press the button for the penthouses. Joel eyed you the entire time, trying to figure out what was going on, but didn’t say anything.

By the time dinner was over, you actually felt like you were part of the family, having gotten your hands smacked away every time you tried to clean up. Sarah sat on your lap during dinner, by the time the plates were cleaned, she was sound asleep. You lifted her up and brought her to bed. She woke up just as you were putting her down and asked if she could have a story from Daddy. Joel came in and laid next to her, so you got up to leave, giving them some privacy, but Sarah said no, Miss Addie, stay. Lie here and patted her other side for you.

Okay, this was awkward. But Joel just said, yes, Miss Addie, stay, a teasing smile on his face, his hand going over Sarah’s head, patting the same area she was.

Well, Sarah was right there, and you couldn’t resist the pleading look. It’s not like you were next to him. Sarah was there, cutest little buffer to ever exist.

So you laid down and listened to the story with her. Before long, you fell asleep to his deep, calming voice reading Goodnight Moon, his daughter snuggled in your arms.

**********

You groggily woke up way too the next morning with Sarah on the other side of you, somehow she had rolled over you and gotten to the other side, still snuggled up to you. You smiled a little at the thought. Allie used to do that too. How wonderful to be young and able to sleep so soundly to the point that you could literally roll over someone and not wake up.

A small, masculine snore properly woke you.

That didn’t come from the little girl in your arms.

Oh shit, whose arm was hugging Sarah over your waist?

Who’s sleeping behind you?

You carefully let Sarah go, and shimmied your way down the bed, under the arm, and slid onto the floor.

Oh crap. Joel Miller was sleeping on the bed. Behind you. His arm was over your waist.

Awkward, right? Yeah…

So, you slowly got out of the open door, and went back to your room.

Joel woke up as you softly shut the door, realizing where he was, feeling the warmth you left on the bed in the space between him and Sarah, wondering what just happened. He fell asleep in Sarah’s room. That much he realized. Did you spend the whole night here too? Had you just woken up? But before he could even think further, Sarah turned and shuffled over into his arms, and he closed his eyes, the smell of his daughter’s hair lulling him back to sleep.

When he woke up about two hours later, you were not in the penthouse. He got ready for his very full day, having agreed to meet some people at breakfast downstairs. You came back in just as he was putting his shirt on, a bag in your hands. He found you in the kitchen, putting fresh fruits away in the fridge, some dried fruits and nuts on the counter. Snacks for Sarah throughout the day, you said. It’s okay, he could go if he needed to, you’ve got Sarah. You’ll bring her down for breakfast when she wakes up.

You didn’t mention anything about the sleeping arrangement, so he didn’t either, thinking that he had just imagined the whole thing. Surely you would say something if that really happened? So, he told you to call him if you needed anything, went to Sarah’s room to kiss her goodbye, and left.

You got Sarah ready; she was excited to spend the day outside. She had seen the elaborate set up for kids the resort had put out for the event and was practically vibrating with excitement. Breakfast first, you said. She pouted, eager to go to the bouncy house, but followed you to the dining hall quietly.

You saw Joel immediately as you walked into the room, chatting with an older man, a cup of coffee in his hands. You went around the buffet, asking Sarah what she wanted for breakfast, to which she pouted and said she wanted to play. You kneeled in front of her and told her if she wanted to play, she needs to be strong. Otherwise she would fall asleep while playing, and we don’t want that, now, would we? She contemplated your words for a bit, her face scrunched up in thought, before telling you she wanted eggs and tomatoes for breakfast. You got some for her and was walking towards an empty table when Tanya spotted you, running a little to get to you.

You got to your table and made sure Sarah started eating. Tanya had taken the seat across from you, asking you what you were doing there, and who you were there with. Sarah asked you if she could have some juice with her milk, and Tanya rolled her eyes at the interruption. You told Sarah she could have juice after she finished eating, and she nodded.

“Come on, who was that delicious hunk from yesterday? Is that your boyfriend?”

You were annoyed that she would ask you questions like that with Sarah sitting right there. She’s three, not deaf.

“What’s a boyfriend?” Sarah asked you.

“Hey, little girl, when adults are talking, you don’t speak, okay? That’s rude.”

You looked at her disbelievingly. Was she serious right now?

“What? It’s true!”

“Please keep your voice down. And what I’m doing here or who I am here with is none of your business, Tanya.”

“Oh, come on, Addie. We’ve known each other forever. I can’t ask you if you’re with someone?”

Her phone rang, and she got up to answer it, moving a few steps away from the table towards the nearest windows.

“Daddy!!!” Sarah squealed.

Joel came to the table and gave Sarah a kiss. He told her he had to go to work, but she has to listen to Miss Addie, okay? Don’t give Miss Addie any trouble?

She nodded excitedly. Joel turned to you, taking something out of his wallet.

“So, you should be able to charge anything to the room with your key, but if that doesn’t work, just use this card, okay? Anything she needs. Don’t be shy to use it for anything you need too,” he said, giving you one of his credit cards, before bending a bit, whispering the pin code to your ears.

Oh… goosebumps.

You just nodded, pocketing the card. He kissed Sarah goodbye one more time, told her to be good, and placed his hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, telling you he will see the two of you at lunch.

He was still in your line of sight when Tanya sat back down, a disbelieving and smug look on her face.

“Oh, my, God. You’re his nanny? I knew you didn’t have it in you to get someone that hot. He’s too good for you,” she said, a satisfied look on her face, before placing her elbows on the table.

“So, is he single?”

---

Part 6

@peelieblue @feenoire @vickie5446

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

yes, ma'am

Dave York x dominatrix!reader | 9.5k w | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

warnings: sub-ish!Dave (how sub can a born dom be?), dominatrix!reader, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied, Dave is a good husband and father™️, Molly throwing up, slight humiliation (the boy being called dummy <3), slight ball torture, (guided) masturbation (m), finger sucking, petnames (ma'am, good boy, love), cum eating, slight shoe worship, dick+pussy pronouns, reader wears lipstick, nail polish and stilettos, squint and you miss unprotected PinV; dm me if I missed any

a/n: my submission for @wannab-urs dmamc 2025. i had so much fun domming my man and I tried to make it believable because, well, he's Dave 'the dom' York. enjoy another character study including his dick. thank you @guiltyasdave for the beta and constant love, even though sub!Dave isn't your cup of tea 🥹💛

"Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time."

“Fuck!” His hand slams down on the steering wheel, once, twice. Again, again, again, until his palm hurts and the thrumming pain helps him to push aside the anger boiling inside of him. He rips down his beanie, ripping out a few hairs as well, not giving a shit about it.

He fucked up. If it wasn’t for his partner the mission would have gone south completely, pulling him along. The plan had been perfect, the preparations perfect as well. All he had to do was to pull the trigger and take the target out. But he fucking missed. He fucking missed. Hit the target into the shoulder, and if Dave’s partner didn’t take initiative and put a bullet through the target's head… He doesn’t want to think about it.

He already saw his domestic life passing before his eyes. The police arresting him at home, his daughters terrified and not understanding why they would take their daddy away. Carol at the trial, being questioned if she really didn’t know about her husband’s assassination side hustle, her face puffy and red from crying.

Dave hisses out another curse, hitting the hard wheel in front of him again.

He could always just disappear, always has an emergency duffle bag stowed away with fake IDs and some cash. But he wouldn't stomach it, couldn't stomach it, leaving his family behind.

It was a close call today… He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, the tail lights of his inconspicuous car slowly blending in with the dozens of others on the nightly roads as he heads home to his inconspicuous life.

The next few days were difficult, to say the least. His higher up at the CIA was a pain in the ass, deadlines were piling up, Molly got sick and needed attention and care, Carol needed his support, the almost-failed mission was still breathing down his neck… He needed a break and there was no break in sight. Not now. His family needs him, his job does, he needs to fucking function now.

“Daddy, ‘m not feeling good,” Molly mumbles, curled up on the couch, her head in Dave’s lap while he’s working on a report on his laptop.

“Just a second, baby.” He’s almost done, he just needs a minute and the worst part of his report would be finished. Molly stirs on the couch, hastily now. God damnit.

“Daddy…” Her little body starts trembling and with a shudder and a sound that makes Dave’s heart hurt, she slumps over and pukes. All over his notes. Over his pants he had just picked up from the dry cleaning. All over the cream colored couch that Carol wanted so badly and that looks like shit now. All over his laptop. The screen flickers a last time before it goes dark.

“I'm so sorry… Please don't be mad, Daddy.” Molly starts crying, feeling sick and miserable, her little hands shaking as she grips her ruined blanket.

The vein on his neck, he feels it throbbing. His laptop, his fucking work laptop, broken. The sticky, disgusting warmth of what once was chicken soup seeps through his trousers and makes his eyelid twitch.

Just pick your baby up, just comfort her, just help her change into new pajamas, just be a good father, just be good…

“Daddy?” She sounds so fragile, her voice nothing more than a weak breath. She clumsily pushes herself up and accidentally nudges the laptop off of Dave’s knees. The carpet swallows the low thud when it hits the ground, but the cracking of the screen is still very much audible, just as much as Molly’s shocked gasp.

“You broke it. You fucking broke it, Molly,” Dave hisses and is on his feet in an instant, his daughter toppling back onto the couch, now crying even more because she upset her dad.

He doesn’t look over to her but picks up his laptop, trying to bring it back to life. The muscles in his jaw clench when Molly’s sobs start pealing in his eardrums. Dave turns towards her, a barked shut up already on his tongue when Carol appears in the doorway.

One quick look is enough for her to assess the situation. Their crying daughter, a picture of misery and guilt written all over her pale face and Dave, nostrils flared and one hand balled into a fist, the unmistakable smell of vomit reaching her nose… No, this wasn’t good.

“It'll take it from here, Dave,” she says when she strides past him. “Go and calm down.” There's no bite to her words, bite wouldn't do any good at this moment. It would only make it worse, make Dave lose the last bits of reason.

Carol scoops Molly up in her arms, pressing a few soothing kisses to the little girl’s temple. She looks over her shoulder and gestures towards the door with a tilt of her chin as if to say please, just go.

And he does. He flees from the living room and the feeling of shame that starts licking at his insides. It gets too much. A thought crosses his mind, a simple calculation, it has been almost ten months since…

A shiver runs through him and he shakes the idea off his mind like a dog tries to shake off an annoying tick. No, he wouldn't need to do it this time, there sure is another possibility to finally get a grip on his life. He just needs to focus more. Needs a better sleep regimen. More training. More protein. More control over all the small bits and pieces of his life.

Dave shuts the door to his home gym behind him and gets to work. If his muscles are trembling and his lungs are begging him for air, he has no time to think about what kind of an asshole father and husband he is. And so he starts tormenting his body to shut off his mind, to keep the guilt and shame at bay. For now.

That night, when he slips under the bed sheets, almost silently to not wake his sleeping wife, the idea creeps back into his head. Like a tick it has sunk its teeth into his skin and he can’t seem to get rid of it since the first time he has done… it.

It has helped him before, more than he likes to admit it. But he hates it. Because he cannot do it on his own. Because he needs someone else doing it for him, to him. And Dave never liked to be dependent on something or someone.

The sheets rustle and Carol’s hand finds his own, wrapping her fingers around his in the darkness as if she was trying to comfort him. But in reality she wanted his comfort and soothing. Dave wasn't a man who was dependent. Because he always was the man everyone else depended on.

He turns on his side and lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to Carol’s knuckles.

She hums, shuffles closer, her feet slipping between his calves. After a moment of content silence a murmur crawls over the pillows to Dave and settles right on his chest, where the thought about it sits and gnaws at him like a night terror.

“Maybe… maybe you should go see that therapist again? They really helped you the last time.”

Therapist. That was what he told his wife you were. And the things you did, it was therapy. It is, in a way. It helped him. And he hates that it does. He hates that he can’t function like he needs to. He hates that Carol sounds so timid when she suggests therapy, afraid that he could snap at her, too, because she dares to point out his weakness.

He sighs, her soft knuckles still held against his lips. “Is Molly okay?”

“She’s a little better, yes.”

The silence weighs heavy for a moment, Carol’s unanswered question pressing down on Dave’s rib cage. Or is it the feeling of guilt? About being a shit show of a father and husband? About needing you to function, even if it all feels so wrong but afterwards it always feels good and right and he feels better, every damn time?

“It'll make an appointment,” he murmurs and his lips find her ring finger, kissing the spot where the simple golden band always sits. She never takes the ring off, just like him. Carol nestles into his arms, the relief clear when she whispers her thank you, I love you into the hollow between his clavicles. God, he is such a failure, he thinks to himself with his wife in his arms and you in his mind.

You are completely booked out. Months ahead. Of course you are. There never is a shortage of people who want your services. Or to be exact, who need them. So when you received the request for an appointment “asap, ma'am”, signed by David York, you told him you were free again in three months. But then another customer canceled their session and because you like David, you give preference to him.

So a week and a half later you find yourself entering the bar of the Rosewood, one of the finest hotels of the city. Doors magically open because there’s always some finance or marketing guy holding them open for you. Each step with your pointy high heels parts the crowd in front of you and is paved with sleek smiles and licked lips of the men who move out of your way.

You pay them no mind, they only exist at the periphery of your focus. They are not important and will never be. What is important is your customer for this day. You recognize him, the way he sits at the bar, one foot on the footrest of the empty stool next to him, the other one firmly planted onto the ground. Just another pretty man in a suit, interchangeable for most who might look at him.

But for you he was different. A customer, first and foremost. A challenge, too. And he's probably the only man in this bar who is not doubling over to get a crumb of your attention. You had to work for what your customers usually give you gladly and freely: their acceptance and sometimes even devotion.

That is why you like Dave York, because working for him and with him is rewarding. It satisfies you to no end to finally turn his smoothness into something with cracks and weaknesses. And to have him thank you for it.

One of the many men in suits in this bar moves from his place on the outer borders of your attention into the spotlight and obscures the view on Dave. The guy looks you up and down, tries to smile a flirty smile but all you see is a pathetic obstacle. Your mouth already opens to tell him no to whatever suggestion he wants to make, when a big hand lands on the man's shoulder.

Thick fingers, blunt nails, a simple golden wedding band. You look past the surprised strangers face and find Dave, standing behind the man.

“Sorry buddy, not tonight,” Dave tells the man. For a moment they look at each other, like two wolves who found a piece of meat and now silently fight for ownership. Two alphas in suits. But only one of them is a wolf, the other one is just a dog.

“Not ever,” you add when you pass the stranger. The sting of your words gets soothed by your sweet smile, showing off your wolfish canines as you do. Your gaze meets Dave’s own. Two alphas looking at each other again, this time both are wolves.

You don't even bother to care about the other man who disappeared into insignificance as quickly as he had the guts to peek his head out of it. Your focus is solely on Dave now. He looks tired, frail even in the small details of his facial expression. He already looks cracked, maybe you wouldn’t have to work as hard as usual today.

“It has been a while.” You sit down at the bar and Dave gestures for the bartender. He always orders you a drink before you both go up to the booked suite. He never not acts according to the unspoken rules of those kinds of arrangements. He is polite and respectful, even if the air around him very much tastes like aversion. Not against you as a person or the work you do. The aversion is directed against himself and the fact that he was sitting in this bar with you and not at home with whoever was waiting there for him.

He nods his head. That would have to do as an answer. “The usual?” he asks instead when the bartender waits for the order.

“The usual,” you confirm and watch Dave order your vodka on ice. It is a nice change of pace, to not talk and to enjoy the silence, to stretch it like a fabric until it becomes see-through and the silent words between them become audible. Two wolves, dressed in white shirts and blouses, in polished shoes, mustering each other over the rims of their glasses. Sizing each other up.

You take a big sip of your vodka and set the glass down. There’s still a good portion of the booze left, but you need to keep a clear mind for what comes next.

“Are you done?”

Usually he obliges and leaves the rest of his drink on the counter, usually he wants to get over and done with it, with you, with himself. But tonight his need for some more liquid courage is bigger.

“Not yet, ma'am.” His legs spread a little more when he leans back on the barstool. Not in a sleazy manner, not to act like he is hung like a horse. No, taking up space comes naturally to him. And again he is respectful about it. He gives your crossed legs enough room between his thighs, almost like he acts as a buffer between the bustling bar and you.

A thought crosses your mind and makes you smile. He is protective, even though you mean nothing to him. You stretch out your leg, just enough to let the tip of your pointed stiletto brush against his shin. A silent praise for him being good.

Dave’s hand suddenly grabs your ankle, following his first impulse of inhibiting an unwanted touch. Your eyes snap up and meet his, your surprise showing in your raised brows. The grip of his fingers loosens immediately, like he touched something that he wasn’t allowed to, like a too hot cookie fresh from the baking tray.

“Finish your drink then.” A demand dressed up as a friendly request. You pull your foot away, Dave’s privilege of getting a feel for you is already over.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says lowly, just loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the bar. He swirls his drink in his glass and takes another look at you. You look like some partner in a law firm or some higher up shoving around numbers on paper and employees in meetings. Expensive clothes, expensive designer bags, expensive heels. He had seen them often enough to know that you only wear those 700$ pairs. You’re sleek, smooth, polished, with edges that look round and safe to touch but will cut through skin and flesh if you want to.

He takes a sip of his drink and watches you smile, the red lip stretching over your teeth. He feels a part of him getting excited, this one stupid part of himself, the part which constantly makes troubles. Some corner of his brain just loves this. And apparently needs it too, needs it to make him function as a person. This little part loves to make you smile. And he hates it.

You let him finish his drink, let him buy himself a few more minutes before you leave the bar and enter the grand and shiny hotel lobby. Having people move out of your way just by the way your heels click is satisfying. But having someone in front doing it for you is better. You watch Dave plowing through the lobby as he makes his way to the elevators. His ass looks cute, you think to yourself and enter the cabin with him.

He’s so well behaved for you, pressing the buttons, shielding you from the other guests and making sure you can stand comfortably without anyone standing too close to you, himself included, You smile at him again and for a moment one corner of his lips twitch. Good, that's good. He's responsive tonight.

Dave exits the elevator and struts through the long hallway, countless doors left and right until you reach the right one. A quiet beep when the key card opens the door, muffled footfall on the thick carpet and a discreet click when he closes and locks the door behind you both again. Another reason you love this hotel so much, beside the soft beds and high end shower products in the marble bathrooms: the soundproofing.

No matter how hard the stomp, how loud a scream, how sharp a smack, the walls of these rooms seem to swallow the noises and they are never sated. They drink down every word and whisper and always seem to want more. Like the people you work with.

“Tell me about your rules and limits tonight, David,” you say and look around the suite for a moment. You gesture for him to sit down on one of the plush chairs facing a full body mirror.

All you know about Dave is his name, his phone number and another number as an emergency contact. The rest is guesswork you did over the last months and years. The golden ring on his ring finger? He never takes it off. He's married or maybe widowed.

Dave takes off his jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the velvet chair. One time a little toy figurine fell out of his pocket when he took his jacket off. So there must be a child who he has a close enough relationship with for it to sneak little gifts into his pockets. This time nothing out of the ordinary happens. He simply follows your instructions and sits down.

“The same as always.” He lifts his hips again to tug his slacks down, just enough for them to not cut into his groin. “Nothing that leaves marks on me, no touching me between waist and knees, no restraints, no gagging, nothing enters my body, nothing leaves my body without my consent.”

Yeah, just like you thought. “So basically just talking. You know, you could have ‘just talking’ a lot cheaper, down at the bar for example.” You pull a chair for yourself closer to Dave, with the mirror diagonal behind it.

“I'm not here for just talking,” he says quietly with his eyes fixed on his knees.

“Oh I know, don't you worry.” You sit down now, your legs crossed over your knees and one of your high heels swaying in the air just between Dave's spread legs. “Next: safety. Repeat the rules for me, will you?”

He looks up at you and sighs. “We use the color system. Green means more, yellow means keeping the intensity, red means stop.” He likes the simplicity of this system, appreciates it at home, and loves the way Carol loses it whenever he keeps her on yellow for a little too long. But he doesn’t like to be the one using it himself.

“Good. What else means stop?” Your leg is slowly bouncing up and down and Dave's focus shifts to the pencil thin heel for a moment.

“The… the safeword. Helsinki.”

His eyes meet yours again. Dark ponds of raging brown, the storm behind them perfectly contained, for now. “And…?” you prompt, prodding him a little bit with the sweetness in your voice.

“And there's no shame in using my safeword. Or not using it if I'm… feeling good.” He almost chokes on the last words. There is shame in the whole situation, no matter how he looks at it. But you smile again and this one part of him is relieved. He did good, fuck.

“Good job, you remembered,” you praise and the shiny leather of your shoe ghosts along his calf. “Let's start then. No touching yourself or me and no talking unless I tell you to. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He never sounded less enthusiastic than now. His pretty mouth curves into the tiniest scowl and he looks a little more handsome like this. In another life you two could have a lot of fun. Real fun. Fucked up fun.

In another life you might kneel before him and beg for some peace of mind. He could be the therapy the therapist needs. But not in this life. Because in this he was the one needing peace of mind and you were the provider.

“Now, Dave, I want you to take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. Right into your eyes.”

He obeys. When he meets his own gaze through the mirror the scowl becomes more prominent. You will let him sit with his own thoughts for a minute or so. Enough time to recap your last sessions with him.

Pretty quickly into your business relationship with Dave you found out about his history with the military. No details really, you just knew that he had served for several years. Being degraded on a daily basis in your forming years does something to the brain. And it surely did something to Dave's brain because his tough outer layer cracked beautifully for you as soon as you called him a ‘weak fucking loser’.

And that was all that you did since then: humiliating him, watching him turn from the hard and controlled man into one who is struggling to loosen up and finally a man who spits out ‘Helsinki!’ and flees from the scene with a raging boner. He is the weirdest customer you have. Because his requests are so tame, so small scaled for what you could do and for what he could really take.

But all you had to do was calling him names and having him palm himself through his pants. You are not exactly complaining, he paid you as much as the guys who go the whole nine yards. Dave makes you work for your money though. It is a fight, every time.

You see it in his face, he is fighting right now, while he stares himself down through the mirror. A fight he can never win. His upper lip twitches, like he is going to growl at his own reflection any moment. Oh, it is clear as day to you, he really needs this session.

You might need to switch things up a bit, you want your customers satisfied after all. And the way he glares at himself tells you that he needs more today.

“What are you thinking, tell me.”

Your voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. It’s sweet like honey but also sticky. He knows that your mouth is a sugary trap. Every word and gesture and touch a carefully laid out crumb to lead him to where you want him: staring up at you, doing whatever it takes to get your sugar lips to smile at him.

A little nudge of your heel against his thigh. A little harder than it had to be to get his attention. He doesn’t like that he likes it.

“Whimp,” Dave says with heartfelt disdain.

“What else? And keep looking at yourself.” Your heel digs a little more into his thigh and you can feel the tremble of his muscle beneath his slacks. He sure was a runner, you think. Thick thighs look so pretty with a few streaks on them. But no, no marks. “You can tell me everything, you know?”

Dave swallows thickly, the soft velvet of your voice is making his throat tight. He's trapped, caged in between your shiny stilettos and your mouth. His thigh throbs against the thin heel.

He takes in his reflection, the man in power, in slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, in polished shoes. A high heel prodding him. His fingers clutching the armrests. His face tight and sour. His wedding ring glinting.

“Cheater.”

You hum, pleased with his answer and gracing him with a small smile in return. So he is in a relationship. Good, this would make it easier. For you.

Your foot moves, the pointy heel being exchanged with the flat of the sole, pressed against his inner thigh. You drag it up the seam, just a little bit.

This is breaking the ‘no touching’ rule. And yet, he endures, fighting his silent internal fight.

Interesting.

“What’s your color, love?” You tilt your head to the side, enjoying how Dave’s nostrils flare at your audacity. He is defying the sweetness of your words. But he wants more of the stickiness. Just a little bit. It won’t hurt, right?

“Green,” he grits out. Fucking whimp, cheater, loser, failure, he tells himself silently through the mirror. Your sole moves higher now, the pointy tip already indicating towards your final destination.

Green. He wants more, he will get more. Your shoe slides higher and leaves a trail of dusty dirt on his clean pants. He will hate that, you know he will, because you would be pissed off, too.

“Are you not embarrassed, Dave? Sitting here, paying money for this? What would she say, if she knew?”

His eyes snap from the mirror to you, the corner of his lips move into another scowl. The wolf would be baring his teeth soon.

You tap the sole of your shoe against his crotch, just enough for a little sting that lets him jump slightly. Dave looks at you, stunned. Such a pretty sight.

“Oh what's with the attitude now? Did I say you could look at me?” You smile at him, the tip of your tongue running along the edges of your teeth. “Do you think you deserve it, looking at me, dummy?”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, ready to protest, to call this off, ready to show you your place. But the only thing leaving his throat is a choked sound. Probably because you keep rubbing your foot into his groin, pushing into the not-so-soft-anymore softness.

“Eyes back on the mirror.” Another quick rap, sole meeting joined seams, another jolt and, oh yes, a moan, finally. The walls with their expensive satin tapestry greedily drink down the throaty sound. “Now.”

Your command has nothing of the powdered sugar quality anymore and he obeys. Who even is he, he wonders for a moment of clarity when he meets his own eyes through the mirror again. A stupid man, growing hard under the shoe of a stranger, a stupid man with a loving wife at home. A stupid man with guns hidden all over town. Growing hard.

He looks into the mirror, feeling detached from his own reality. He watches the shiny shoe move between the thighs of this man in the mirror, he sees the stomach of the man tense under his dress shirt, he notices how the man's mouth opens. He hears him groan, this man who looks like himself.

“God, are you seriously turned on by this? That's embarrassing. No wonder you pay me for it instead of getting it at home.” You love being mean for money and you love how Dave writhes beneath your high heel and squirms under your gaze. “Do you like this? Answer me, dummy.”

“Yes.” You only get a single hissed word as an answer. Adorable.

“Yes what?” you hiss back, applying a little more pressure to the bulge showing so beautifully.

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarls now. The wolf is showing his teeth and you're gonna pull one out. You are the only one allowed to bite in this arrangement.

“Christ, do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?” Your foot drops lower, right over the tight little package nestled under the thick, elongated dick outline. The pointy shoe tip slowly pokes into the squishy warmth of Dave’s clothed balls. His breath hitches. “Yes, ma'am, what?” you prompt him, the sugar returning to your words.

“I… I like this, ma'am.” His eyes are still glued to the picture in the mirror and he seems to register that this is him. The visual of an expensive high heel pressing against balls matches the thrumming, stingy feeling of pain in his own slacks. And another thing belongs to him, besides the pain. The jumping hard-on, right above this damned shoe.

He swallows thickly, his blunt nails digging into the velvet of the armrests. “Fuck. I like it,” he stutters, staring at his face, like he is seeing himself for the first time. Like he recognizes himself. His stormy eyes become a little calmer, the silent internal fight becoming more quiet.

“There we go. Good job.” You pull your foot away from him and lean closer, elbows to knees, one finger coming up to his chin. He just now notices that your nail polish matches your lipstick. The color would look good around his dick. In another life.

“Look at me,” you croon, laying out your trap for him again. The pad of your finger so warm and gentle under his chin, guiding his eyes to yours. You're smiling, red stretching over white, he did good and his cock throbs against the zipper. He’s wagging his tail for you.

“Good boy.” You lean closer and he can smell your perfume, the mint and vodka on your breath, your amber-scented dominance tinted in black and scarlet. The sweetness of your praise coats his tongue and he swallows it down, to make it a part of him. A little secret part on the inside only he knows about. 

“Color?” Soft, alluring, a trap made for him to curl up in.

He takes a moment to think, but not too much. The thinking part of his brain was already beginning to shut down. “Green,” he rasps with his eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows dance when you smile again.

“Good. Now, I have a question for you.” Your thumb rubs against his chin, just enough to feel the day worth of scruff beneath the digit. “Will you take your cock out for me? Let me see him?”

Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time.

Dave nods his head. There’s no harm in showing his dick. That doesn't make him a cheater, he tells himself. Maybe he could make you smile again, he knows he has a good cock. Good balls too. Maybe you could squish them again. Just a little bit.

“That's a good boy. Show him to me. Show me how hard I make you.” You lean back in your chair and watch Dave hesitantly fumble with his belt, then top button, then zipper. He still has a little fight left in him. You would be concerned if not. A man like him will never give up completely, that is what makes him so interesting for you, so much fun to play with.

The teeth of the zipper hiss, the fabric rustles when he pulls it over his ass and down his thighs, over his knees. He looks a bit disgraceful like this, sitting in the velvet chair, slacks pooled around his shoes, tented black briefs, looking at you expectantly. You would have let him take his shoes off and fold his pants if he wanted. But he chose to be… excited. And a little impatient. Truly adorable.

You move a little closer again, inspecting what you can see so far. You never saw his dick and usually you are not too keen on seeing your customers’ genitals, they were just extensions, more of the canvas you like to work on. But since Dave always made a fuss about decidedly not showing signs of arousal you became curious. Out of professionalism, of course.

It was looking good, the tent. A thick head pressed against the cotton and crowned with a now black, later milky stain.

“You’re leaking? For me?” You sound like he presented you with a bouquet of flowers or a painting he doodled with crayons. You reach out, your fingers stopping shy before touching the wet spot. You look up at him, a glint of horror in his eyes. No touching, with your hands. “Is this okay?”

A head shake and a dry swallow, then he finds his voice again. “No. Ma'am. I’m sorry.” You touching him would be cheating; in his head this makes sense.

“That's okay, don't worry.” You purse your lips, tapping a finger against the red on them. Then you hold out your hand, palm up. “Lend me a hand?”

Dave hesitates. His dick protesting with stirs against the briefs, not caring about who would touch him and how. He puts his hand in yours, trusting that you would accept his limit.

And you do, of course, you're a professional. Which means you know how to work your way around limits and how to stretch boundaries. You guide his thumb to the wet, glossy spot and rub the pad over the fabric, once, twice, until Dave grunts from the tingling friction.

“Let me know how you taste,” you coo and lift his thumb to your mouth. You open it wide, your tongue sticking out, reversing the roles but he still is your wolf in a dog costume. His eyes glint and for a second you can smell his dominance, too, lingering under the scent of his precum.

Two beasts who recognize each other, just for the fragment of a second, as you look into each other's eyes. But only one can be in charge tonight. You lean in and take his thumb into your mouth. Deeply. You sink down until your lips leave a red lipstick print around the base, one half on his palm, the other half on the back of his hand.

He tastes salty, with a sharp bite to it, just like the man himself. He presses his thumb deeper, can’t resist to have the upper hand with you just once. Your pussy clenches. She likes him.

Oh, in another life, you would let him wreck you. But not now. You suck his finger until you can’t taste his precum anymore and pull off of him.

“Kneel.”

He huffs and his brows draw together. “What?”

“Wrong answer, stupid.” Your foot snaps up, sole pushed against his hard dick, pointy heel somewhere in between his balls. “Try again.”

There it is again, the storm in his eyes. He is so much fun to work with, so easy to rile up, always keeps you on your toes. The same toes that feel Dave's cock throb through his briefs and the leather of your shoe. You move your heel from left to right, just enough to make him squirm and hiss.

“Yes, ma'am.” That's what he says but it sounds a lot like ‘fuck you’.

You laugh at that, sit back in your chair and put your foot back down on the ground. “That's more like it. Come on, chop chop. On your knees.”

He does as he is told. Growling and glaring, avoiding his ridiculous reflection in the mirror, of a tough guy with his pants around his ankles and leaking like his cock is drooling for you. Dave finds himself on his knees as he sinks into the thick carpet. Your feet are right in front of him, he catches a glimpse of his face in the glossy black tip of your heels. He looks twisted, but unmistakably like him.

“And now: touch yourself. Over your briefs. Nice and slow. Eyes on my shoes.” You place one foot on his thigh and his eyes follow the movement without moving too much. “You seem to like them?”

His hand, the one with your lipstick on it, runs along his length, slowly, calculated, avoiding his sensitive tip as he does. “Yes, ma'am,” Dave mutters and squeezes his girth like he's trying to soothe himself because your voice doesn’t do it anymore. It's all harsh now and not sticky-sweet.

Your heel gets pressed into his thigh, the thin end biting into his skin. “Yes, ma'am, what?”

His jaw ticks. His thumb is soothingly rubbing over the head of his cock, knuckle pushed against the underside. “Yes, ma'am, I like your shoes.”

“I thought so. You got so hard for them, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath and keeps on palming himself, a steady back and forth. The wet blotch grows. “I-...” He breaks off when you start caressing his balls with your sole. Back and forth. Front to back, in the same rhythm as he strokes himself. “I did get hard for them, yes. For you, ma'am.”

He just wants some of that sugar back, some of those honeyed words from you. He's on his knees already, what else could you want?

You let him kneel and watch his hand move, register his hip twitch. You brush your fingers through his hair, just a light pet.

“Take him out now. I can look at him, right?”

He nods his head and tugs himself out. Caught behind the waistband you get a first peek. Girthy, a stunning color, a dusty rose turning into an earthy pinkish-red, cut, a clear bead of precum forming over the slit before it runs down and spreads over the already glistening skin.

With another tug he pushes his briefs under his sack, forcing it up nice and tight, right under his cock. He has a slight curve, too. Fucking perfect. Your pussy clenches again.

Dave's hand fists the base, some of your red lipstick transfers to his shaft. The closest your mouth will probably get to him. Such a shame, you think, swallowing down some pooling spit, because you really would like to get a sore jaw from sucking him off.

“Now that's a pretty cock you got there. Hold still.”

You crouch over to Dave and place your palm over his hand, giving his dick a good squeeze with Dave's hand. 

“I won't touch him, I promise. But let me guide you.” Molasse thick, that's how your voice sounds. Almost too thick to be swallowed down. 

He manages to do it nonetheless. Ignoring that this is out of the comfort zone of David York, the husband and father. But oh, those words taste delicious for the man who knows rules and laws but lives outside of them. 

His own hand relaxes under yours and with the first stroke another yes, ma'am drips from his lips. 

This is a strange feeling. He guided several hands in his life, taught them where to rub, how to twist, how much to squeeze. But having his own hand touch him with those foreign movements was… new. Sexy. Frustrating too, because you seem to know exactly what not to do.

He looks down between his thighs and sees two hands moving and he really tries to imagine it was just your hand. He wants your touch. Christ, he wants your mouth on him, too. And you would do it, you would gladly accept the proposal and call him a good boy again. But he can't. He can't do it, it's not the right thing to do. He feels his wedding ring slide up over his tip and back down. No, he can’t have you touch him directly.

But he can give in to you a little more. His dignity hangs over the other chair, taken off together with his jacket right at the beginning. You might as well make him your bitch. He throbs against his fingers and Dave asks himself if you can feel it, too. Without being able to stop it his hips buck into his fist, your fists. You were moving his hand so goddamn slow, he needs more. More pressure, more speed.

“Are you not happy, love? Are you being ungrateful?” You slow down even more until your palms reach his top again. Dave has lubed himself up so nicely with his own precum, you can feel it spreading between your own fingers. With a tight grip you flick and twist, like screwing open a bottle, twisting the cork out of a bottle of champagne. 

Dave’s body jerks as do his hips and he moans again, feeding the soundproofing of the hotel room the delicious sounds he makes.

You tut at him, smirking and mocking and twist his hand over his cock again.

“Oh, so you are ungrateful? You have to ask for the things that you want, dummy, That's how this works.” You loosen your grasp and straighten your back, cross your arms and then your legs until the sole of your shoe hovers over his balls. “So…? Are you ungrateful?”

He shakes his head and fights the urge to rock himself against your shoe. More precum gets pushed out of his slit, he fucking aches. He could just spit out the safeword and jerk it in his car, like usual. But he is too proud for that. He is going to finish what he started here, in this room with you.

“No, I’m not. I just-...” he breaks off when you start bouncing your foot, knocking against his balls with almost gentle pats. Dave clutches his girth with a groan, his hips bucking forwards again. “I…,” he strokes himself once, hoping you would get the implications without having to put it into words.

A finger hooks under his chin again, he can smell himself on your skin. A nudge and he looks at your face again, the way you bare your teeth at him in a graceful smile doesn't cover up the authoritative tone hidden in your sweet words.

“You already did so good today. But I want you to do one last thing, yes?” You rub your finger under his chin, smearing some of his sticky precum over his skin. “Will you try it, for me?” 

He'd do a backflip, if you kept up the carrot and stick game for a little longer. 

And then you do it again, showing him the treat he could have if he only was a good enough boy for you. You start licking your hand clean. Languid laps with the flat of your tongue, starting with the little finger.

“Love, I want you to fuck your hand. You don't have to hold back.” You suckle on the tip of your finger before licking Dave's salty residue off of the next one. You stop at the tip, twirl your tongue around the fingernail painted all ruby and smile at him. Just as if you were licking an ice cream spoon clean. 

“Just make sure to keep your hand still and fuck into it.” Now middle and index finger. Your tongue runs over both of them before you put them into your mouth. In and out they go, sluggish and without hurry, you hum at the taste like it's the sweetest cream. 

And then, instead of doing a backflip, Dave starts moving his hips. His eyes glued to your mouth and the red of your lipstick transfers to your fingers before it disappears in the dark, tight, wet cavern of your mouth. 

His hand doesn't feel anywhere close to what he imagines your mouth does. Dave is just glad that he can finally care for his aching boner. With every thrust, in sync with your fingers sliding in and out between your lips, his balls slap against the leather sole of your shoe. It stings, but it stings good. He didn’t even know he liked this before tonight. Before your expensive stiletto pressed and rapped and pushed into them.

He ruts his hips faster now, not matching the speed he needs, but he makes it up with squeezing himself hard. Soft squelches come from between his legs now with every back and forth. More noises for the thick carpet and walls to swallow, never to be heard again.

You’re sucking on your thumb now while Dave's clutching himself harder, hips thrusting in a relentless pace. He fucks his hand like you told him to. 

He looks so perfect in the mirror, that little piece of ass that you can see from your angle. Clenching and unclenching, the movements draw you in, hypnotize you. The perfect cream-white canvas for blotches of red and sprinkles of violet, for scarlet streaks, oval imprints of your teeth even. 

You lick your lips when his thighs start trembling. How good he would look if he fucked himself on your strap-on. In another life, you muse and press your thighs together. The sound your thumb makes between your lips resembles the one that will come from your wet cunt later, when you're at home again. With Dave's salty taste in your mouth and a girthy vibrator, one to match the size of his cock.

His eyes meet yours again, just for a second before they dart down to your tongue again when you start licking your palm. He's still in there, the hard man, the one who's fighting against himself, the one who probably whispers insults inside his head. You can see him in that short moment, somewhere swimming in the stormy mahogany.

You stop licking your palm when Dave winces after snapping his hips harder into his hand and his balls against your sole. He’s at his personal limit.

“Almost there, love, hm?” Another lap to your palm, seemingly unbothered by the state he is in. “Do you want to come?”

He groans and growls, his glutes are burning, his knees hurt, his fucking balls thrum. Oh, he wants to come alright. “Yes, ma'am,” he grits out.

“Say that you're pretty when you fuck your hand for me.” Your tongue flicks over your palm again and reveals your canines again. Just a wolf cleaning her silky fur.

If the need for his orgasm wasn't bigger than his pride, he would have rolled his eyes and fucked that smug smile right out of your face. But he really, really needs to come. He is so close. He can play along a little longer.

“I'm pretty when I fuck my… fucking hand for you,” he snarls and a something in the depth of his guts starts fluttering with a burning strength.

“Good job. You really are pretty like that, love.” You pull the leg of your pants up, the heavy, black fabric now rests bunched up on your knee. Dave still ruts into his hand, chasing the release he knows he can’t have that easily. 

“Say ‘I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am.’,” you order and push your fingers through his hair, careful to not ruin his side part. A single unruly strand gets fixed with your spit-wet fingers. Nothing that leaves marks on me. Well, he can wash off your little saliva mark later.

More carrots, more sweet words and sugar touches, more of your smug but also content smile. Christ, he just wants to do something right. And you are offering him an easy fix. Dave whines and leans into your touch. Vigorously he pounds his hand, his balls trapped between his waistband and your sole and it all feels so warm, hot, his pulse beats in his ears and throbs in his straining cock. “I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am. Fuck. I need to move my hand.”

His big browns look up at you, same parts furious, pleading and desperate.

“Say please,” you chirp and tilt your hips to feel the middle seam of your pants pressed against your clit. “Be good, say please and you can come for your ma'am.”

“Please. Fuck, please!” he barks as he steps into your honeyed trap you have laid out for him from the beginning. He is stuck in it knees first, tail between his legs, barking, howling, wagging. How to catch a wolf.

“That's my good boy. Go on, you can come. Make a mess.”

He did good, thank god. Dave starts moving his hand, jerking his cock hard and fast, his teeth sink into his flew to bite back a loud howl when he feels himself coming.

It is beautiful to watch for you, how his eyes roll back slightly, how his hand moves so fast that the smacking sounds are like a rapid fire, how he thrusts a few more times into his tight fist until he squirts his thick creamy cum all over. It feels hot on your skin, like molten wax poured over your shin, down to your foot and finally your high heel.

You moan in unison with Dave. You never are above feeding the soundproofing some of your noises as well. An offering to the gods, to keep you blessed with men like Dave.

He continues to stroke himself, choking on a few whimpers, milking the last remnants of cum out of him. His wedding band isn't shining as much now, all dull and foggy with his seed dimming the golden hue. His hand trembles, his runner thighs tremble too, his briefs, still tucked under his balls, are ruined and he slowly, slowly loosens his hard grip around his cock.

“Love, you did so good. That wasn't so hard, was it?” His cum starts running down your leg now and you both watch it for a moment. 

“I'll get you a tissue,” he mutters breathily, ready to finally get off his knees and gain some dignity back.

“Nuh uh. Clean up without tissues or towels.” Nothing enters my body without my consent. He looks at you and scoffs out single disbelieving laughter. You shrug your shoulders. “Listen, you came this far. You can be a coward and use your safe word. Or you can take responsibility and clean up the mess you made. It's an easy task.”

You are right. It is an easy task, compared to the mess his life is. It's easy. It's easy. It's easy. He leans forward and swallows, thickly. He looks up at you and sticks his tongue out. It's easy. 

You lift your leg up to his mouth, nodding your head, smiling, baring your teeth like a docile pet wolf. Dave tongue meets your skin, smooth under his slick, powdery scent under his salty stench. He licks a stripe from your ankle up your shin, then another one and another one. Slowly. It's easy. One lick at a time. Fixing the mess he made.

His clean hand holds your foot, nestled in your stiletto, and he laps his cum from the bridge with shorter strokes. 

Dave doesn't flinch away from his own taste, he’s licked his own hands clean often enough to enjoy it to a degree. A form of cannibalism, eating his young, feasting on his own potential.

He cleans your skin, lifting your foot higher and his tongue pressed into the small gaps between the leather and your toes. You pet his head again, humming, purring under his ministrations. Dave's lips purse half above the leather and half above your skin, a small kiss before he sucks his cum out of the tiny gap.

It really is easy. He licks over the glossy black, leather and salt coating his senses, another sugary good boy in his ears and in his hair your claws graze over his scalp. 

A few more licks and kisses and the creamy white has disappeared from the shiny piece of leather. He can see himself in it again. A twisted image, but unmistakably Dave.

He rubs his spit into the smooth animal skin, you can wash his mark off later if you want. He's done. With cleaning and with this. It's over, for tonight at least.

He lowers your stiletto onto the thick carpet again and offers free sight to his spent cock, heavy and sticky. No more wagging, no more dog. He's back to being an equal.

“You did amazing, Dave. Really good.”

Your hand falls to his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat before you rise to your feet and over him your hand to pull him up. He takes it, groaning quietly when his knees crack. Dave feels a little shaky, or maybe more shook than shaky. But he feels good, lighter, loose. Not even ashamed.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink, something to eat?” You don't even wait for his answer and turn to the minibar, pulling out a cold water for him.

“No, thank you. I'm good. I'll just take a quick shower.” With a thud his shoes land on the floor as he kicks them off. His slacks follow, then his damp briefs.

You watch him undress, amazed and attracted to his confidence and nonchalance, attracted to what lies beneath Dave's clothes, too. In another life you two would be a great match. 

“Do you want me to wait for you?” You turn towards the minibar again, looking for something else. There it is, a kitkat.

“You don't have to, but thank you.” Dave smiles at you and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. He holds out his hand now, naked in front of you and not bothered by it. Smug. Big dick energy and he can afford it.

You shake his hand, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. “Until the next time then. Take good care, Dave.”

You smile at each other, the possibilities of being reckless crackling between you, but then he lets go of your hand and turns his back towards you, heading into the bathroom. When the water starts running behind closed doors you take his shirt from the pile of clothes and nuzzle into the fabric. It's a good smell. Masculine, of course.

Slipping a few fingers into your pants and deeper, behind the elastic of your lace underwear and still deeper, dipping them into your sopping pussy, you inhale his scent deeply, clenching to the thought of his tongue on your skin.

You treat yourself to a moment with your fingers buried in your cunt before you pull out again. You write your name on the inside of his collar, invisible ink made out of your slick, setting a scent mark, a last reward for this good boy. 

When Dave enters the room again later you have disappeared, in thin air, no trace of you is left. But something churns inside of him when he gets dressed. 

Later, in his car, it clicks. Pussy. It smells like pussy, right in front of him. You god forsaken menace. Of course you had to have the last word. Marking him, mocking him, making him hard again. And of course your pussy smells delicious. Sticky sweet. He groans and adjusts himself, driving home a little faster now.

The house lays in silence when he steps over the threshold. The girls are fast asleep, he checked it immediately with a peek into their rooms. Carol is asleep as well. Soft and warm and plush under the blanket, curled up on her side. Dave kicks his shoes off and steps out of his slacks and briefs. They are still damp in the front, from the precum you urged out of him. But the shirt stays on. 

He slips under the blanket and pulls Carol closer, her perfect ass against his already half-hard cock. A hand gently kneads one of her breasts, the other one tugs down her pajama pants. 

She's awake in no time, whimpering when he grinds against her rear and lets his dick glide between her ass cheeks.

“Therapy was good?” Her voice is so soft, always sweet for him, never harsh, rarely ever does a no come from her.

“Yeah. Missed you…” he mumbles into the crook of her neck, biting and pulling on her skin until she winces softly.

“Dave-...”

He pinches her nipples and she winces again. A waft of your pussy hits him and he breathes it in deeply.

“Color, baby.”

“What?” Carol chuckles, not yet believing that she’s about to be fucked by her always loyal, always loving and caring husband.

“You’ve heard me. Give me your color.” His cock now slides between her legs and through her folds. He’ll slick her up real good, leaking already with a quiet thrumming sting in his balls. Carol’s pussy feels as good as yours smells.

“Green,” she gasps and rocks back against him.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls before biting the flesh over her shoulder blade and pushing into her.

When Dave finally is satisfied, soaked in Carol and him, she rolls on her back and watches him get a warm towel for her. Whatever this therapist did with Dave, it did wonders. He should go more often.

thank you for reading! and remember, kids, comment or reblog to show me I've been a good girl and did a good job, please and thank you

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

more a/n: I'd probably suck as dominatrix, shout-out to all the bad ass professionals and hobby dom(me)s out there, you are amazing and I'm literally on my knees for you

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[calling-miya]

The Deception of Color - Squid Game - Chapter 1

Characters - Park Gyeong-seok (Player 246), Kim Ji-lon (oc, Player 77)

Fic Summary - Two people have the unfortunate luck of having the same idea.

Chapter Summary - The hospital is an overbearing place that can lead to bad decisions for a good reason.

Word Count - 4,591

Warnings - cancer, sickness, hospitals, not beta read, not edited

A/N : cross-posted to A03. I don't speak Korean nor have I ever visited South Korea. It's a bit confusing using the character's names because I know there are all types of honorifics to be used. Please let me know in the comments for the things I should do differently and change. That is, if anyone actually reads this obscure fic. If you want something to exist, though, and it doesn't exist already, you must do it yourself. I call myself a pioneer.

The drip drip drip of the machine kept Ji-lon awake. The little girl asleep on the hospital bed did not stir, though. Ji-lon was thankful for that. She had been awake constantly as of recently with the treatments and whatnot. It was good this girl was getting sleep. However, Ji-lon wished the same grace was allowed unto her.

She tossed and turned on the flimsy couch against the wall of the room. She refused to turn her back on Na-yeon, though. So she became incredibly uncomfortable for laying in the same position for so long. Still she refused to move. She became quickly restless and she sat up, finally giving up on any sleep for the night.

It was only when Ji-lon was certain that Na-yeon was sound asleep did she creep out of the room and close the sliding door as quietly as she could. Because it was nighttime, many of the lights of the hospital were off. It created quite an unsettling ambience where she was unsure of what was around the corner. For some odd reason, she worried that she may run into a doctor. It wasn’t as if she was doing anything untrustworthy, and she had every right to be there. But she just couldn’t deal with any more depressing glances as they recognized her. Na-yeon had come to this hospital plenty of times for them to be familiar with all three of their faces.

Ji-lon found herself in the cafeteria. She sat at a table by herself, nursing a cup of burnt coffee. Since she had given up on sleep, she couldn’t allow herself to suddenly pass out. She sipped it slowly because it burned her tongue. That was okay. Soon enough she wouldn’t recognize the burn and would be able to drink it completely. 

“Miss Ji-lon.”

She looked up to see a familiar face. “Oh,” she said. “Doctor. I thought you would have gone home for the night.” 

“Please,” he said. “Call me Seong-min.”

“Right,” Ji-lon answered. “Seong-min.”

The doctor smiled. He was not the doctor assigned to Na-yeon’s case, but he was a friendly face at the very least. He had been there to help when it was needed. “Mind if I sit?” He gestured to the empty chair across.

“Of course not.”

Seong-min nodded gratefully and pulled the chair back. He took his seat and folded his hands on the table, giving her a warm smile. That was the exact sort of smile that Ji-lon was sick of getting. Pitying looks. Acceptance glares. She was just so tired of people accepting the inevitability of what would happen to that girl.

“I guess I understand,” Ji-lon said, eyes on her paper cup. “Doctors have such a busy schedule. I’m just not used to being in hospitals. Do you really work so often?”

“Not always,” Seong-min explained. “This place is a lot like a second home. I like it here. I do good work with good people. Well,” he glanced over his shoulder. “Mostly good people.” He winked. “Seriously. Some of the attendants here have an attitude.”

Ji-lon smiled softly. “Yes. So I’ve learned.”

“And, er…” Seong-min started. “How have you been dealing?”

Where she once just smiled fell into a depressed expression. “The same as anyone would be.”

“I mean… You haven’t been sleeping. I can tell,” he gestured to his eyes. “Your eyes are very heavy. You should get some rest.”

“I will when her father returns,” she argued gently, bringing up the coffee cup to her lips and taking a sip. She was right. It no longer burned. Not because it was no longer hot, but because her tongue no longer noticed it. She set down the cup. “He will be here by the morning.”

“He’s retrieving things from your home, correct?”

“No. Their home,” she corrected. Her bottom lip twitched. “I don’t… I don’t live with them.” Before Seong-min could ask any questions, Ji-lon answered them for him. “However. I stay with them on occasion. He is bringing clothes for Na-yeon.” The memory of her bright pink room tickled the back of her brain. She had spent many nights sleeping on the floor of that room when Na-yeon couldn’t sleep while her father had picked up another odd job.

“If you don’t mind my asking…” The doctor started. Ji-lon did mind, but she allowed him to continue out of tiredness. “What is your relationship to Na-yeon?”

“I…” She’s mine, was Ji-lon’s first instinct. It was so simple to say, and so true. Na-yeon was hers. If not in blood, then in love. But Ji-lon wasn’t her mother. She knew that. But she couldn’t have just been nobody, either. “I grew up with her father.” It was a quick explanation, and certainly a lot had been left out. 

The truth is that Ji-lon was not always Ji-lon. She had been adopted from the States by her adoptive parents and brought to Seoul. She grew up in the city, learning Korean diligently. Many of the other students were rude and avoided her. But never Park Gyeong-seok. He was a few years older than her and lived next door. The two of them did everything together. By the time they reached high school, though, they had taken different paths. Gyeong-seok became very interested in art while Ji-lon became interested in teaching. 

After high school, Ji-lon returned to the states for an abroad learning experience having been given a scholarship due to her diligent grades. But Gyeong-seok never excelled greatly in school. He did not attend college and instead pursued his career in art. He wanted to start his own animation studio. He ended up meeting his wife during that time.

“I should return to Na-yeon,” Ji-lon shook her head to rid herself of memories. She stood abruptly and bowed her head to Seong-min. “Thank you for your kind words.”

“Yes. If you ever need anything, Miss Ji-lon. Let me know. I’m always just around the corner.”

-

Ji-lon opened the sliding door to Na-yeon’s hospital room and stopped suddenly in her tracks. In the chair beside her bed was her father, Gyeong-seok. He was petting the girl’s head. His back was to the door, so Ji-lon could not make out his expression. But it could not have been anything but soft when it came to his daughter.

“You’re back…” Ji-lon said, eyes widening. “I… I only stepped out for a moment.”

Gyeong-seok did not turn around. Ji-lon hoped she did not look as tired as he did. If he had an issue with her stepping out, he did not voice it. He changed the topic, “I brought some of your clothes from the house. I’m certain it’s something you no longer wear, but… I thought you may want to change. The bag is on the couch…”

Ji-lon became suddenly aware of her current outfit. She had come straight from work as an afterschool helper in a little town right outside of the city. As soon as she got the news that Na-yeon had collapsed, she dropped everything right away and came straight to the hospital. 

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

Gyeon-seok nodded. It appeared that he had changed too. Now he was only wearing a black shirt and a flannel with his dirty artist jeans. It made Ji-lon smile. He looked just like he did in highschool.

Ji-lon carefully took the folded clothes from the bag and went into the bathroom. She changed, shrugging the t-shirt over her head and pulled her arms through the holes. It was too big on her, and it occurred that it must’ve been one of his. She also pulled on a pair of jeans, something comfortable. She tugged at the hem of the shirt, content.

She flicked off the light and emerged from the bathroom, coming to sit in the second chair beside Gyeong-seok. His head was in his hands. 

“Hey,” she said, sitting down. Her hand went to rest on his shoulder softly. He looked up at her through the cracks in his fingers. “She’s going to be… okay.” She wanted to slap herself as soon as she hesitated. But the truth was that they didn’t know what was going to happen. Na-yeon was a very sick little girl. They’d been hoping the medication would have been working, but now it was clear it hadn’t. That had been the last effort before something irresistible. 

He did not answer.

Ji-lon bit her tongue and looked down, guilty. She didn’t know what to say to this man. Her best friend, the one who they’d gone through thick and thin together. But not this. Nothing like this.

When Na-yeon was first diagnosed at two years old, the two had been fairly confident. But that was before Gyeong-seok lost his job. Then the medication rose in price, and it became harder and harder to get their hands on the treatment the little girl so desperately needed. She had been doing well, too. Or at least appeared to be.

Tears gathered in Ji-lon’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she choked. The hand that had been resting on his shoulder to provide comfort had fallen back into her lap. “I’m so sorry.”

Gyeong-seok held an alarm in his eyes. “No, no.” He said, reaching for her. Immediately she leaned forward and rested her head against his chest, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders.

Her heart was in so much pain. Any more and she may have had to check herself into this very same hospital. But it must have been nothing to the absolute grief Gyeong-seok was currently undergoing. Ji-lon suddenly felt selfish. How dare she fall apart in his arms?

But then she realized he was crying as well. The silent kind of crying. He was always the quiet type. He took shaking breaths and sounded stuffed up as he breathed. She felt his air against her hair. It was warm compared to the cold air of the hospital. They always kept hospitals so cold because it was hard for illness to spread through it. But it didn’t matter. The cold was suffocating all the same.

Ji-lon was the one to pull away first, but only because her arm had begun to cramp. She rested her head against his shoulder and scooched her chair closer, so their thighs were touching. He had once made a joke that she was too touchy and that people would get the wrong idea about them. It was a flirtatious joke. Ji-lon told her co-workers about that comment. None of that mattered now. Now it was all about Na-yeon. The love they may or may not have had for each other was nothing compared to the love they had for her.

Both of her hands clasped his, while his other hand held Na-yeon’s. It was like they were all holding each other. A little family. 

Ji-lon tasted something bad in her mouth. She recalled an argument she and Gyeong-seok had at one point some time after Gyeong-seok lost his job and shortly after Na-yeon was diagnosed.

“I could get a second job?” she said. “It could work.”

“You barely have enough time in a day as it is,” he stated, sitting at the kitchen table. Once upon a time Ji-lon would’ve taken offense to his stern tone. But it had become normal at that point. The stress of it all had just been too much. He shook his head, shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes. Ji-lon wanted to brush it aside but refrained from doing so. She crossed her arms instead. “Besides. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Fair?”  She said suddenly. “What do you mean fair?”

Gyeong-seok turned away from her tear-stained cheeks and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re doing enough for us as it is,” he inhaled deeply. “I can take another job.” He explained, as if the logistics were enough to keep themselves level-headed in this situation. “But I’ve already asked too much of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ji-lon asked softly, bending down in front of him and placing a hand on his thigh so he would actually look at her. 

Gyeon-seok turned to her slowly, eyes heavy with emotion. “You’re not her mother,” he said. “And you aren’t my wife. There is nothing I should expect from you…  and you certainly shouldn’t assume responsibility for us.” He took a shuddering breath.

She was stunned. She just stared at him and retracted her arm. The two years it had been since that fateful day in that maternity ward flashed before her eyes. She had been there when she was born. She had watched her take her first steps. She had been there for everything. 

He seemed to have realized his words. “Jil-on—”

“Is that what you think?” She stood up, brushing off her knees. “That I’m here because I’m obligated to be?”

“No, that’s not what I—”

“Do you really think so little of me?”

His eyes softened, but not enough for it to matter. For any of it to matter. 

Gyeong-seok nudged her shoulder with his. “Ji-lon,” he said. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” He murmured, reaching up and tilting her chin closer so he could examine the bags under her eyes. “Please.”

Ji-lon contemplated arguing against him, but there was no use. Now that he was back, she was infinitely more tired than she had been. Instead she nodded and stepped away from him and towards the couch. “Could you wake me up before the sun rises?”

He frowned but nodded. 

Ji-lon crawled onto the couch and threw the flimsy blanket the hospital had provided over her shoulders. Her eyelashes tickled her cheeks as her eyes fought to close. It had become an instinct to not let them. She stared at the cushion of the barren couch and thought about how many nights she’d slept on the pullout couch that doubled as Na-yeon’s bed in the small studio apartment Gyeong-seok and she lived in. How many packed lunches she had made. How many times she held Na-yeon’s hand while walking across the street.

She fell asleep dreaming about watching a cartoon with them. Or maybe her dream was the cartoon. She was asleep, so she couldn’t tell. Dreams had strange logic, after all.

-

“...not covered by insurance, at this point.”

“Doctor, I’ll get the money somehow. Please help Na-yeon.”

A young woman emerged from where she had been standing in a shadow. Not necessarily hidden, per say, but the ambient lighting of the hospital did not match her footsteps. She had become accustomed to blending in. Although she may have seemed like an ordinary college student with a cap and jean jacket, she in fact knew just how to dress to be inconspicuous. But that was not a skill that was needed for her anymore.

Her eyes rested on the room number before her. 4104. She peered through the glass rectangle of the door to see a little girl lying in bed - the same little girl she had encountered prior. She had wandered into the mascot’s room after their shift had completed in hopes of giving the bunny mascot a kind-hearted drawing. 

But where the girl’s bright, innocent smile used to be was now hidden by a ventilation mask. She was hooked up to a variety of machines that kept track of her heart and breathing. She looked almost like a porcelain doll. Her hospital gown was too big on her - as if nobody had wanted to create such an outfit for such an undeserving patient. She was tucked in neatly to the white blankets of the bed, guardrails up to prevent her from turning over and falling.

What took the young woman by surprise though was someone lying on the couch beside the bed. The person’s hair had fallen in front of their face - and she recognized it as another woman. It was strange. The woman on the couch looked not many years older than she herself was. Was it the girl’s mother?

Careful not to wake either of them, the young woman reached out very slowly, debatingly, and took the child’s finger gently between her own. She was cold - much too cold. Her eyes softened, reminded of a time when such a touch was common. 

The woman on the couch shifted, murmuring in her sleep. She could not have been comfortable. She looked to have been in the midst of a nightmare. Or that also may have just been the symptom of being in such a desolate, hopeless environment. 

The young woman pulled the hand away and sniffed. She reached into her bag and took the forgotten strawberry hat that the child had dropped in the chaos of her collapse. She touched the individual stitches of the crocheted item. Such love and care was put into this simple item. 

She placed the hat gently atop the child’s body and stepped back. Just then she made a vow. A promise. A lot of promises were made in hospitals. Promises to get better. Promises to let go. Promises to be okay. But this was a different sort of promise. One that erased any sort of humanity that those other promises might’ve held.

She was gone when Gyeong-seok entered the room to find the strawberry hat. He stiffened for a moment. How had it gotten there so suddenly? Then his eyes went over to Ji-lon sleeping on the couch. She must’ve found it somewhere and placed it there for Na-yeon to see when she would wake. He took the item and carefully lifted Na-yeon’s arm so she could feel that it was there. Then he looked out the window. He could’ve sworn he had seen something shimmer, almost like fire, away in the parking lot.

-

“I talked to the doctors.”

Ji-lon stretched her neck by holding a hand on her shoulder and tilting her head in the opposite direction. Na-yeon was still sound asleep in the bed, but Gyeong-seok had informed her that she had woken up briefly. Her eyes flickered open, trying to capture the moment before it all went wrong. She had a tendency to do that. 

“A new medication just came out,” he said tiredly, not quite sitting but rather leaning on Na-yeon’s hospital bed.. “It’s not not covered by insurance.”

Ji-lon grimanced. “I wish you would have woken me up.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “But you needed the rest.” He bit the inside of his mouth. “I’ll  get the money. I just—” He sucked in a breath. “I’ll find a way. There must be a way.”

She dropped her hand.“Please,” she said softly, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Don’t take this on by yourself. Please, Gyeong-seok…” We’ve been through this, she wanted to say. Don’t hold onto the same beliefs. Ji-lon reached forward and took his hand. 

He contemplated and squeezed her hand back. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… hard.” It was hard to drop the act of being so able. Of being the strong one. Of being the single father with the wife who died in childbirth. “I don’t… I can’t…” Gyeong-seok reached up to his chest and balled his shirt into a fist. “It just hurts. Oh, God. It hurts.”

Ji-lon stood quickly, wrapping one arm over his shoulder and resting the other on his back. She thumbed the baby hairs on the back of his neck.

Gyeong-seok took a shuddering breath. He let go of his chest and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her infinitely closer to him. He cried, then. A real cry. He wasn’t even sure Na-yeon wouldn’t wake up from it, but Ji-lon held him all the same through his shaking. It felt like he was breaking. Like glass splinting and breaking apart. Only she was keeping him in place, not allowing him to fall into the floor.

Her lips found the top of his head in a silent reassurance. He nodded against her, trying to show he was thankful. But she knew. She already knew.

“We’re going to figure this out,” she vowed. Ji-lon pulled away so she was looking at him right in his brown eyes. “We’re going to figure this out together.” 

We’re a unit, she once said. It had been the day after that fight that constantly replayed in her mind - the one she still felt the reeling effects of. If you think family is just blood, then that’s okay. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. If you don’t consider me a part of your family… Then consider me a part of your unit.

-

Ji-lon stared at the stuffed bunny from outside the gift shop. It was perched in the window, surrounded by numerous other pink items attuned for both genders, separated by pink and blue. Ji-lon imagined how many grandparents or aunts may have been scrabbling for a gift for a newborn child after only finding out the gender. 

Still, she couldn't bring herself to step inside. Instead she just stared at that little bunny, imagining Na-yeon’s careful little hands wrapping around it weakly. It brought tears to her eyes. 

“Searching for a gift for a loved one?”

She hadn’t realized someone was beside her. It was a businessman dressed in a tuxedo suit. He held a briefcase at his side. His smile was elegant, coy, and professional. Like he was about to pitch her something.

“Oh,” she said, caught off guard of seeing such a man. “Yes.”

“The bunny?”

She raised an eyebrow instead of responding.

“The bunny is the star of the show. Would you really have been looking at anything else?”

What a cryptic man, Ji-lon thought to herself. “I was looking at the bunny,” she said. “However, it’s more than I thought it would be…” She had one hand in her jacket pocket, fumbling with the paper won crumpled up in there. She already knew it would not be enough.

“Money problems?” The man asked. He looked both curious and… maybe shocked? She didn’t really understand why. Maybe it had been her clothes? She made it a habit to dress very well, even though money was tight. It had not always been that way.

Part of her wanted to argue with him. It was such a personal question. But he was so well put-together. He had this odd sort of charisma about him, too. She bit her cheek.

“My daughter is in the hospital,” she answered. Ji-lon froze. She was shocked at how easily the word had come out. “I wanted to get her something. But now… all I can think about is how the money I may spend on this should end up contributing to her medicine.”

“She’s very sick?”

“Yes,” her eyes darkened. “It’s gotten to a point of no return.”

“And the medicine is expensive.”

“Also yes.”

Ji-lon and the businessman stood in silent contemplation for a moment. Both of them just stared at the bunny wordlessly. It was an odd sort of companionship. 

He seemed to think to himself for a moment. He stared at her while he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a very small envelope. He held the small brown envelope out. There were three shapes on the cardboard paper it used - a circle, a triangle, and a square. He beckoned her to take it. He watched her carefully. Wiggling the envelope as if it were a toy taunting a cat.

So this was a marketing ploy. Still, she took it out of curiosity and flipped it over. There was nothing on the back. “What is this?”

“Have you ever played the lottery?”

“Once,” she said skeptically. Her eyebrows furrowed.  It was strange for him to offer her this, and more so that it seemed that he was doing her a favor. Nothing in this life came for free - and certainly not on a street right outside of a hospital.

“No,” he stated, voice suddenly serious. “It’s just a chance.”

She looked down at the envelope and took her bottom lip between her teeth. Her gut tingled - but she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. It really did feel like a chance - for better or worse. 

Just as she was about to give it back - or perhaps throw it at his feet - he was already walking away. Ji-lon’s feet were planted in place. She held onto the envelope like a lifeline. Her fingers itched, so she opened it. Inside was a business card - at least, what it looked like. On the back was a phone number in black text, stark against the background. 

She shook her head. She'd throw it away as soon as she found a trashcan.

-

That night she went to her own apartment to shower. Ji-lon wished she stayed, and kept thinking about turning around while she was driving, but in the end she stepped through the threshold of her front door. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto her couch. She really should’ve gotten rid of this place a long time ago since she was practically living over with Gyeong-seok. But it was her first taste of independence. And rent wasn’t too bad, either. 

The living room was dark but moonlight came in through the windows. She fished out the card from before and frowned, examining it once more. She should've just thrown it away. But then she recalled the look in that man’s eye. How serious he had gotten. 

With her phone in her hand, she dialed the numbers written on the card. The phone line rang for long enough where she considered hanging up, but as soon as it was answered, she went silent. 

“Please state your name and date of birth.”

Ji-lon blinked at the monotone voice. What was this?

She pictured Na-yeon’s small body in the hospital bed. It’s just a chance, the man had said.

“... April 16th, 1998. Yoon Ji-Lon.”

The voice on the other end was quiet. Cars drove by on the street below her apartment building. Rain pattered against the window.

Then.

“Information confirmed.”

“What is this?” She said as soon as they were finished speaking. “I received this card from a man… He said it was a chance. What does that mean?”

The monotone voice did not flinch. “If you received the card, it means you are in debt or in great need of money. We are offering you a way to earn that money.”

If she had any sense, she would’ve hung right up. This was suspicious, insanely so. But the letters and words of the invoice echoed around in her head, taunting her with the amount. She sat up. Her dark living room now seemed unsettling. “How so?”

“You will be participating in a selection of games. If you make it to the end, you receive a grand prize. One that will fix your problems.”

She was quiet.

“The pickup location is Noeul Campground and will occur on October 31st, 2024. Please confirm your placement.”

Well, if it doesn’t go well… I can always leave, she thought to herself. That’s what she would do. She was still very curious, but if what the man was saying was possible? If she could save Na-yeon’s life? It didn’t matter if this was someone calling for hard manual labor. She would do it. She would do it a million times over if it meant saving Na-yeon.

Gyeong-seok was probably not sleeping very well in the hospital. She would have to get back as soon as possible in the morning.

She took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

[jesncin]

Hi it's me again (the person who asked about Harley in CC).

This isn't really an ask, I just figured if I did the first anonymously I might as well keep that up now, which is why I didn't make this a comment instead.

I kind of figured her Jewishness had something to do with why her case was complex. I kept waiting in the show to see if they would reference her being Jewish, since Asian Jews exist even if many people seem oblivious to that fact. Anyway, they never did. So it ended up feeling like they just decided Asians had more diversity points than Ashkenazi Jews (maybe they do, but personally I don't like to rate different minorities on how rewarded I will be if I include them). But since she's only visibly Asian, then that especially puts a light on how they are only diversifying their story in a shallow way, since being Jewish isn't always visible (and isn't visible in Harley's original design), and they are trying to look as "diverse" as possible, rather than actually consider the implications.

I feel like with Harley, it could have actually been a great chance to move away from Ashkenormativity that is so present in Western media.

I wish she was at least allowed to keep her accent, I miss it, because I knew what it meant.

Not gonna lie, did not expect this to be so long. I guess this was bugging me more than I realized. When I wrote my original ask, I guess I was trying to confirm a suspicion, and when it got confirmed I just let my thoughts spill out of me. Anyway, I'm not trying to erase the fact that Harley is half-Jewish with this. Interfaith families deserve to be regarded as such. I think it's just hurtful because out of the major Jewish DC characters (Batman, Batwoman, Hal Jordan, Superman (allegorically)), she is one of the few that people actually know is Jewish, and who's Jewishness often impacts her character.

If there's a perspective you feel like I'm ignoring with this, please tell me. I'm always open to learn.

Pretty much all this! If I was to add just a little bit of additional interesting information was that I too was holding my breath, thinking there was a possibility that Harley's Jewishness would show up in CC even after the casting news because her voice actress (Jamie Chung) is married to a Jewish man. Their wedding incorporated Jewish traditions and even now the two have baby twins who are raised in an interfaith family and celebrate holidays from both heritages. How cool would that be for someone to have that personal experience and bring that to Harley!! But alas. Nothing in CC.

Even when Harley was white, her Jewishness has been chiseled away in a lot of adaptations lately. Which is so sad when her character is literally defined by Jewish identity and a straight up real Jewish woman. We're entering this insidious era of "representation" where characters are being superficially race or gender bent for "diversity" while taking away what made their original characters radical to begin with.

Lois went from being this no nonsense, exceptional career woman to regressing to being less than her 50s era. Now she needs the help of two men to get hired by the Daily Planet and the lesson is "I might not be as career savvy, but at least I got my man" in MAWS. But she's Asian now so you're a racist loser if you hate that. This is the case for sooo many characters in modern adaptation now and it's sad seeing people easily fall for it.

[bumblingbabooshka]

People who act like Seven of Nine is a naive child being taken advantage of when it comes to c/7 but not j/7 hmm...examine that.