#Grace is a widow now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

science-hoes · 5 days ago

Text

You Are In Love: Chapter Two

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: Incredibly fluffy, trauma, Jack's widower status is slightly explored, light sexual references

Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two

Description: Jack and the reader haven't spoken since the night Robby's daughter broke her arm. Trying to get them back in the same place, Robby and his wife ask them to babysit the kids while they go to a wedding.

“What if one of them offers to go home?” Robby asked, slinging a powder blue tie around his neck, a move usually reserved for his stethoscope.

His wife leaned over the bathroom counter slightly to get a closer view of her eyelashes in the mirror as a mascara brush painted them. “Neither of them will actually go home.” She answered nonchalantly.

He raised an eyebrow as he snaked the tie into a Windsor knot. “And why is that?”

“Eliza is going to beg both of them to stay.” She responded like it was an obvious answer.

“You think that’s all it’ll take?”

“It’s hard to say no to those Robinavitch brown eyes.”

Robby smirked and slid an arm low around his wife’s waist. “Oh, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “We do not have time.”

“We hired babysitters.”

“So we can go to a wedding.”

“What about after? I’ll show you a good time in the back of the truck. Just like your intern year.” A swat at his ass had him howling in surprise. “Oh, yeah, just like that, Mama.”

“Michael!”

—

You pulled up to the address that Robby’s wife had texted to your phone a couple of days ago. She had asked if you could babysit the kids for a few hours while she and Robby went to her cousin’s wedding. And, of course, you couldn’t say no after meeting Eliza and baby Abbot in the emergency department a couple of weeks ago.

You turned onto their street as instructed by your phone, counted the mailbox numbers, and…that was weird. You knew Robby had a navy truck, but you didn’t recognize the second black truck that was sitting in front of the house. As you rolled forward, you parked behind the black truck so you wouldn’t obstruct the driveway. The license plate caught your eye, and…fuck.

U.S. Army Veteran.

Jack was here. You quickly pulled your sun visor down to check your appearance in the tiny mirror. Light mascara and blush from your day of running errands. A lavender oversized sweatshirt and black biker shorts that hugged your ass (covered by the sweatshirt though). You didn’t look bad, but you certainly didn’t put in enough effort to be around him.

The night Eliza broke her arm was the last night on your rotation with Jack. About thirteen days ago. Now you were on the day shift with Robby and his wife. Even though shift changes overlapped, Jack was always pulled immediately into a room when he arrived at dusk. And he never seemed to wait for you when you came in the mornings.

Your last interaction with him was warm, tender, and promising. Talk of the future, even if it wasn’t explicitly about you and him. The innocent touch of your hands around his bicep. The press of his lips against your hair.

You had expected a call or text. But you received nothing from him outside of work discussions. A piece of your heart crumbled every time his name popped up on your lock screen, just for it to be about a patient’s chart.

Robby’s wife made a thorough effort to become your friend. She was a senior resident, just returning from maternity leave. A couple of times, she asked how Jack was doing, assuming the two of you had kept in touch, but you couldn’t provide her with an answer. You didn’t know.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, deciding that the only way to approach tonight was with confidence and grace. Don’t let him know you’re hurt. Don’t let him know you care. But still be sugary sweet. This wasn’t your first rodeo.

You knocked on the door, not too loudly, and avoided the doorbell in case baby Abbot was sleeping. Following a click, the door swung open to reveal Robby, uncharacteristically polished in a navy suit, with Abbot tucked into his right arm like a football.

“Hey! Come on in.” He greeted, stepping out of the doorway.

You smiled, giving his wife mental props for scoring a hot older man, and stepped inside. Baby Abbot was kicking his legs, blowing spit bubbles. You tickled one of his bare feet.

“Hey, handsome!” You cooed. “It’s only been two weeks, you look so much bigger!”

Robby chuckled and shut the door. “He is definitely not failing to thrive.” He commented.

High heels clicked on hardwood floor, softening as they hit the entryway hall runner. You turned to see his wife, looking elegant as ever, but certainly much more youthful than him.

She greeted you with a hug and grabbed your hands. “Thank you so much for helping us out. This is actually the first time we’ve left them both behind...” She said, and a streak of anxiety flashed through her eyes. Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. “So we needed extra reinforcements. Jack usually watches Eliza, but she can be a lot. And with a 4-month-old…” She trailed off, looking to make sure nobody was behind her. “He’s just older, you know? Can’t get around like he used to.”

Behind you, Robby narrowed his eyes at the last sentence as he bounced baby Abbot in his arms. But you nodded in understanding. “No, yeah. I totally get it.” You replied, an unusual feeling wrestling in your stomach at the mention of Jack.

“I mean, Robby already has a hard time keeping up with both of them when I’m away. With Eliza running around and Abbot learning to crawl-“

Robby stepped forward, throwing his free arm around his wife’s waist. “Okayyy, she said she gets it.” He cut the conversation short, but clearly he wasn’t too upset. “We need to get going.”

His wife giggled and leaned into his side. “Okay, okay.” She conceded before calling out, “Eliza! Come see who’s here!”

Robby looked to his wife as tiny footsteps grew louder. “For the record, I get around just fine. I’m in my physical prime.” He protested.

All he received in return was a “Sure, babe.”

From around the corner, Eliza appeared in a pink, glittery princess outfit, wielding a star wand in her casted arm. As soon as she spotted you, she squealed your name and sprinted to you.

You swooped her into your arms, matching the tight hug she gave you. “I didn’t know a princess lived here!” You exclaimed.

Eliza giggled and did a spin in her dress. “I’m a doctor princess!” That’s when you noticed a toy stethoscope around her neck.

You nodded and tapped the plastic stethoscope. “Oh, I see.”

“Uncle Jack gave it to me!” She explained.

As if on cue, you could hear his signature foot pattern. Slow, steady, but heavier on the right foot. Your eyes flicked up, meeting his piercing gaze. You couldn’t bear to hold it, so you looked back at Eliza.

“That’s very nice of him.” You commented, standing up to adult height.

The silence that followed was a half-beat too long. Robby received a say-something glance from his wife, and he cleared his throat. “Eliza, you get two babysitters tonight. Are you excited?”

Eliza looked between you and Jack, processing this new information. “But I only need one.” She replied as frankly as a five-year-old could.

Robby’s wife carefully took baby Abbot from her husband’s grasp, kissing him on his tiny forehead. “That’s true, but your baby brother needs a babysitter, too.” She reasoned.

Eliza tilted her head. “But Abby is little.” She replied.

You and Jack gave identical looks of confusion to the parents, not exactly following the child’s statement, but they were just as lost. Robby shrugged, indicating to move along.

“I can-“ you stuttered, making an awkward step backward to the door. “I can go if that makes her more comfortable.”

“No!” Four different voices exclaimed. Desperately from Robby and his wife. Loudest from Eliza. But surprisingly, from Jack. Even he was caught off guard by his response.

You relaxed and smiled, feeling a little more welcome. “Okay, I’ll stay.” You replied.

Eliza cheered, jumping up and down. “Two babysitters!” She shouted.

Robby’s wife carefully transferred baby Abbot to your embrace, giving him one last kiss on the cheek. “Bottles are in the fridge, bottle warmer is next to the kitchen sink.” She told you.

“Got it.” You answered, bouncing the baby in your arms.

Both parents knelt to hug and kiss Eliza, sharing I-love-yous and goodnights. As Robby stood up again, the joints in his knees cracked, and he let out a slight grunt as he straightened out.

“Physical prime, my ass.” You heard his wife say under her breath, earning a glare from the old man.

Jack had made his way to your side, picking up Eliza in his arms as she waved goodbye to her parents. You took baby Abbot’s tiny hand and waved for him.

“We’ll be back in a few hours.” Robby reminded, and the door shut behind them.

There was a moment of silence. Eliza watched the door, fighting the urge to chase after her parents like every child. Baby Abbot stared up at you, holding your gaze with the same big brown eyes that matched his father's and sister's. Jack glanced down at you, trying to find the right words to say, but his search was cut short.

“Uncle Jack, can I paint your nails?”

—

Everyone was on the ground in Eliza’s room. Jack had laid a towel down for the inevitable nail polish spill that would occur. You set baby Abbot on a blanket, letting him lie on his tummy, and mirrored him on the floor. Eliza sat crisscrossed, the rainbow assortment of polish out in front of her. Jack sat with his left leg bent, right leg extended out, awaiting his glittery and messy fate. Peaceful instrumental music played from the tiny stereo in the bedroom, giving a warm aura.

“What color do you want?” Eliza asked.

Jack hummed in thought, browsing his choices. “Give me your best shade of pink. I want to look pretty.” He answered very seriously.

Eliza giggled and snatched the light pink glitter polish before swiping the others aside. “This is the best pink.” She advertised.

You couldn’t help but smile at Jack’s devotion to making his niece happy. The cynical veteran remained still with his hands pressed on the towel while Eliza slathered the nail polish onto his nails and knuckles.

“I think he’ll need his toenails painted, too.” You commented.

Eliza looked up to you, eyes blown wide like you’d revealed an entrepreneurial secret. “Yeah!” She exclaimed.

Jack’s jaw slackened as he slowly looked over to you, tongue in cheek. You gave him a sweet smile before returning your attention to baby Abbot, who cooed as he tried to figure out how to crawl to you.

Eliza continued to work diligently, covering each nail with an excessive amount of polish. “Have you kissed her?” She asked casually.

The color drained from your face, but you refused to turn around. You didn’t see his reaction, but his silence was deafening.

“Not yet.”

Now that caused you to turn around, only to find him smirking right back at you.

Eliza raised an eyebrow, the same look her mother gave patients daily. “Why not?” She asked.

You tilted your head in curiosity, smiling slightly at Eliza’s annoyance. “Yeah, why not?” You asked.

Jack looked away for the first time with an odd look on his face. Was he…blushing? Was he getting shy with you? He shrugged with the bashfulness of a teenage boy. His lips twitched as he cycled through his answers.

“She’s been working in the day with your mommy and daddy. Not at night with me. I don’t see her anymore,” was the answer he settled on.

Your eyes softened. For the first time in two weeks, you realized that maybe he was waiting for you to make the next move. After all, he was the older man, not wanting to seem like a perv by snatching up the young intern.

Eliza closed up the pink glitter polish and wiped the residue from her fingers onto the towel. “Why don’t you work with Uncle Jack anymore?” She asked.

You smiled at the child’s innocence. “It’s the rules at work. I’ll work with Uncle Jack again in a few weeks.” You explained, then gambled. “I miss working with him.”

Jack’s amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glimmer of something hopeful in them. One side of his mouth curled up just slightly, but not too much. Eliza pulled out her nail polish selection again and spread them out. “Uncle Jack, she misses you.” She reiterated.

Jack chuckled, the smile pulling all the way now, dimples sinking into his cheeks. “I miss her, too.” He finally responded.

You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and tackle him to the ground with a million kisses, but baby Abbot had other plans. The tiniest Robinavitch began to cry, face reddening as he fussed. You sat up on your knees and scooped him into your arms, shushing him gently.

“I think it’s time for a bottle.” You said to the baby and moved towards the doorway. “Are you two going to be okay in here?”

Jack watched you leave, resisting every urge to yank you down into his arms. “Oh, we’ll be fine. Besides…” He pulled off his left shoe and sock. “It’s time for my pedicure.”

Eliza squeaked in laughter as he shoved his foot near her face. She tried to push it away, but Jack wouldn’t give in. “It’s gross!” She screeched.

“I will leave a bad review online if I don’t get the pedicure I was promised.” He threatened, finally setting his foot down.

Your cheeks ached from laughter that matched Eliza’s. You felt that odd feeling of warmth again, watching him. Jack was meant to be a dad. And deep down, you wanted to do everything you could to make that happen for him.

—

After feeding baby Abbot, burping him, and giving him a quick diaper change, you returned to Eliza’s room. Jack now had bright green polish splattered across his toes.

“Oh, I think that’s your color, Uncle Jack.” You complimented.

Jack gave you that famous half-smile in response. “I think so, too.” He replied.

Eliza typed at her toy cash register, tallying up the salon bill. “Your hands are a hundred.” She announced, then pushed a few more buttons. “Your foot is not a lot because you only have one foot.” She added.

An unexpected laugh escaped you, and Jack snapped his head up at you. A wide grin slapped across his face as you covered your mouth by pulling baby Abbot closer, hiding your snickers. “Oh, you think it’s funny?” He challenged.

You sat down next to him, carefully shifting the baby in your arms. “Half off discount, right?” You teased.

Jack laughed with you and nudged your shoulder with his. He fished his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, opening one of the folds to reveal Monopoly money. “Here ya go.” He tossed the assorted colored cash to the register.

Eliza let out a big yawn as she shoved the paper into the register. “Oh, are you tired, baby?” You asked.

She didn’t say yes. No child ever admitted to being sleepy. But she rubbed her eyes before saying, “We have to do snuggle pile.”

You looked to Jack for an explanation, but he just furrowed his brow. “What’s snuggle pile?” He questioned.

Eliza pulled at Jack’s hand to make him stand up. “We have to do snuggle pile before sleeping.” She explained.

Jack carefully put his weight on his left leg, slowly standing with a practiced ease until his right foot could drag up with him. “You’ll have to show me what you mean.” He replied.

The little girl then pulled at your shirt to help you up. Jack took baby Abbot into his arms so you could stand up as well. “We have to go to the couch.” Eliza said before leading you both to the living room.

She first pushed Jack into the corner of the L-shaped sectional. “That’s where Daddy goes.” She listed.

Still holding baby Abbot, Jack was unable to reach for his right leg to pull it onto the couch, and you saw the brief conflict in his eyes. You gingerly grabbed the ankle joint of his prosthesis and lifted until it rested on the cushion. Jack watched you with a vulnerability that you’d only seen the night Eliza broke her arm. Before he could thank you, you were being led by a tiny force to sit down.

“Then Mommy goes here…” Eliza explained. She pulled Jack’s arm out, the one that wasn’t cradling baby Abbot like a football, the same way Robby had. Then, she pushed you down into his embrace. “Uncle Jack, you have to hold her.” She instructed.

Your face reddened as Jack shifted on the couch, lounging against the cushions. But he kept his arm out for you, waiting like the spot had always been meant for you. You slowly sank back, not breaking eye contact with him as you did. Once you had settled, he curled the arm around your waist, the motion turning your body more towards him, more against him, the closest you had ever been to him. His breath pooled against your cheeks, warming them further. For the first time, you could smell more than just antiseptic and coffee on him–a blend of sandalwood and citrus.

Eliza marched to the other end of the couch and hauled a fluffy blanket in tow back to you. She climbed into your arms, cuddling between you and Jack. “And I go here.” She finished her tutorial.

You spread the blanket across your bodies, securing the warmth. Not another word was said. Only the hum of the fan above accompanied the soft breaths from each of you. Baby Abbot already had his eyes closed, snuggled into Jack’s arm. Eliza began to drift off, turned towards you, head on your chest.

But you were lost in Jack’s eyes, and the perfect blend of every color stared right back at you. Blinking slowly in your haven of peace. You caught him beginning to smile, the real one with dimples, the corners of his eyes crinkling. And it was so beautiful. You had no choice but to smile with him. There was nothing that needed to be said. You could hear it in the silence.

—

It was midnight when the front door opened. Jack was the only one awake, still holding together the snuggle pile. You had dozed off, unable to fight the alluring urge to rest in his embrace.

Robby and his wife entered the living room, both smiling at the sight before them. “Snuggle pile?” Robby whispered.

Jack just smiled and nodded, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. The deep vibrations were enough to wake you from the best nap you’d had in years. You felt a weight being lifted off you as Robby carefully lifted his daughter from your body. Flustered, you sat up quickly, disoriented.

“I-I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m so sorry.” You breathed.

Robby’s wife waved you off. “You’re fine. The Lieutenant Colonel kept watch.” She replied, lifting baby Abbot from Jack’s arms, allowing him to sit up as well.

Both parents left to transport the children to their respective bedrooms. Jack slid his right leg off the couch, his foot hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud. “Did you sleep okay?” He asked quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah. I did actually. I didn’t even mean to. I wasn’t tired.” You rambled. “I just felt…safe.”

Safe. That was the perfect word. And Jack’s chest puffed out with a primitive pride. Then he smirked. “You talk in your sleep.”

Your eyes widened. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you absolutely do.” He was smiling, dimples and all. “You were reciting the steps for a laparoscopic appendectomy. Correctly, I might add.”

You wanted to feel embarrassed, but you just giggled. “I can’t stop studying. Even in my sleep.” You joked.

Jack chuckled with you and ran a hand through his silvered curls. “Do you need me to drive you home?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice.

You shook your head, smiling still. “No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”

“Then let me walk you to your car.” He offered.

Robby reentered the living room, and you heard his wife moving in the kitchen. “Let me update her on how the baby did. Don’t leave without me.” You said before standing to go to the kitchen.

Jack watched as you walked away, and there was an involuntary ache in his chest just at the notion of your absence. Robby flopped down on the couch next to his friend.

“Sooo…” He started, trying to pry. “How’d it go?”

“I got overcharged by your daughter for a mani-pedi.” Jack flashed his pink glittery nails as he spoke.

Robby laughed, examining his own nails that he’d scrubbed with nail polish remover just before the wedding. “I’ll wire you some more Monopoly money at the end of the week.” He joked, but then shifted to face his friend more. “How’d it go with her?” He tilted his head towards the kitchen, where you spoke with his wife.

Jack sank into the couch, uncharacteristic of his natural military posture. “I feel like I need to wait. I don’t want to rush into anything or scare her off.” He admitted.

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Wait? Jack, you’re almost 50. If you wait any longer, you’ll turn to dust.”

Jack shook his head, fiddling with his hands in his lap, another oddity from the veteran. “Michael, I’m scared.” He finally said.

Robby’s brow wrinkled in surprise. Of all the things they had been through together, all of the traumas, all of the disagreements, all of the near-jumps from the roof of the Pitt. Jack had never admitted to being scared. And he had never, ever called him "Michael."

“Scared of what?” Robby finally asked.

More silence. And then, “I don’t want to lose her, too.” The tiniest crack in Jack’s voice threatened to unleash a reservoir of tears if he said anymore.

Robby scooted closer on the couch and threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Jack, listen to me.” He whispered. “You’re ready for this. You have been for years, you admitted it yourself.”

Jack looked to him with glassy eyes, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. “Tonight, when I held her, watched her sleep, heard her breathing. Holding the kids. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And the thought of losing that…of losing her. I can’t go through that again. You saw what it did to me the first time. I don’t know that I could come back from it a second time.”

Robby felt tears sting his own eyes at Jack’s words. The suffering his friend had endured when his wife passed away almost a decade ago was insurmountable. The only thing he could do to escape was go on another tour overseas, and it cost him his right leg and sanity. He tightened his grip around Jack’s shoulders.

“Do not let fear keep you from being happy.” He said firmly. “Jack, you deserve this. You are ready for this. You know I would tell you if I thought otherwise.”

Jack just nodded, taking in a heavy breath to control his emotions. “I don’t like silence.” He said simply. “I mean, you know that. Always have the police scanner on, always have music playing, always finding ways to fill the void. Because silence is when I go back to a dark place. Or that’s what my therapist says anyway.”

He looked to the kitchen, and he could see your reflection in the window as you chatted with Robby’s wife. “But tonight, for the first time…I enjoyed the silence. I didn’t go to a dark place. I was happy with her and the kids. Just at peace.”

And with that, Robby smiled and nodded. “I’ll tell ya, brother. Being able to hold my entire family in my arms at the end of a shift from hell…no amount of therapy could equate to that.” He said. “My only regret is that I didn’t let myself find happiness sooner.” His eyes trailed off to the window, watching the reflection of his wife. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jack smiled slightly, stretching as he prepared to stand. “You’re an hour late, by the way.” He mused.

Robby hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of his head, a dead giveaway. “Uh, yeah. It was a Catholic wedding, so the ceremony ran a little long, and-“

“You have lipstick on your neck, and you’re missing two buttons on your shirt.” Jack cut him off.

Robby shrugged, still rubbing the nape of his neck. “What can I say? She keeps me young.”

“What are you boys talking about?” His wife asked as you both reentered the living room.

Jack shrugged casually. “Ah, not much. Quick question, though. If I go to Robby’s truck right now, am I going to find the two missing buttons from his shirt in the back seat?” He asked.

“Michael!”

Robby glared at the silver-haired man. “Snitch.” He hissed.

—

You walked outside, and Jack shut the door behind you. He placed a protective hand on the small of your back as he led you down the driveway.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you?” He asked.

You smiled, walking slower to savor your time with him. “Jack, I’ll be okay. I’ll even text you when I make it home.” You promised.

That was good enough for him. You both passed his truck to get to your car. Instead of opening the driver’s side door, you leaned against it, facing him.

“Is this the last time I’ll see you until I’m on nights again?” You asked.

Jack watched you for a second, memorizing the way the moon lit up your features, highlighting every perfect ridge and curve of your face. “I don’t want it to be.” He admitted.

You smiled and grabbed his hands in yours. The smooth pads of your thumbs traced against the rough, slightly wrinkled skin of the back of his hands. “I’m honestly surprised you can work nights. Guys your age are usually in bed by 9 pm.” You teased.

Jack huffed a laugh, and his grin twinkled like the stars behind him. “Guys my age?” He repeated, stepping closer to you, placing a hand beside your head on your car window.

His body was nearly pressed against yours, but you knew you could reel him in some more. “Oh, you know. Old.”

He inched closer, the harsh denim of his jeans brushing against your exposed knees.

“Ancient.”

His free hand mirrored the other now, enclosing you against your car door.

“Elderly.”

His chest bumped against your breasts with every inhale. Your fingers looped in the belt buckles of his jeans, closing the gap between your hips.

“Archaic.”

His smile was gone. It had been long gone since the first brush of contact.

But your smirk remained. His breath was hot on your cheeks, just like before, but there was a new energy in the heat. “You better wipe that smile off your face.” He warned.

Jack’s piercing eyes bore into your soul, and you had to look away, blushing at the strong eye contact. “Or what? You’ll wipe it off for me?” You called his bluff.

He was as still as a statue, and even his breathing had stopped.

“Look up.”

It was a command from your soldier, and you obeyed. There was that look in his eyes again. The vulnerable one. And suddenly you realized he wasn’t going to make the first move. He couldn’t do it. He was scared.

You moved your hands from his hips, trailing up his upper body, muscles trembling underneath your fingertips. You cradled his face on either side, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple visibly shifting. He whispered your name, a shaky resonance from his throat.

You stood on your tiptoes, brushing your nose against his. His breathing stuttered, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Please.”

That was the final drop that broke the dam. You pulled his face close and kissed him hard. He let out a desperate, pathetic moan of relief, like he had been in agony until your mouth was on his. One hand anchored to the back of your head, the other dropping to your waist.

The kiss was ethereal. Your face buzzed like you’d had an entire bottle of wine. Jack’s stubble nearly cut your skin, but the sensation was addictive. Finally, he grabbed your face, pulling you away just enough to look at you.

“Come home with me.” He pleaded.

—

Robby’s wife sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hands, a frustrated look on her face. “They’re not doing anything.” She mumbled. “They’re just talking.”

Robby pulled the knot out of his tie, slipping it off once it became loose. “Just give it a second.” He said.

His wife zoomed in on the security camera app, adjusting the brightness on her phone to see better. “Waiting…waiting…waiting…” She tolled.

“A watched pot never boils.” He mumbled.

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Aristotle.”

He chuckled, walking to the closet to hang up his suit until a squeak of excitement drug him back to the bedroom.

“There it is!!” His wife cheered.

Robby sat next to her, focusing on the phone screen. Sure enough, you and Jack were kissing. “Atta boy, Jack!” He high-fived his wife and tackled her in a hug.

Their plan worked.

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I love writing domestic fluff for Jack, so I had to do more than just a two-parter. Also, I love writing for Robby and his wife (aka the reader, which is why she has no name lol) as an intro and an outro like a shot and chaser before the actual fic.

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #doctor robby #dr robby

549 notes · View notes

formula-ghost · 2 months ago

Text

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Even though you agreed to forgive Oscar, you realize quickly that nothing can go back to how it was before, and some old flames never die.

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

WARNINGS: Lando is very mean to reader behind her back, also reader is lowkey so dumb and frustrating but that's intentional.

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles @mimiastroos @mrs-reeves-17 @milkysoop @amalialeclerc @starksztony @llando4norris @ginsengi @angxlzinthesky @makanirock05 @htpssgavi @lilypat @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @ameliaalvarez06

A/N: A few things: (1) This one is for Billie. The Grammys did her DIRTY. (2) I realized I have horrifically messed up the pacing since real F1 races are so close together so we’re gonna pretend like there are a few weeks in between Imola and Monaco because this is my fanfic and I make the rules. (3) If this is bad I’m sorry, my life is a mess right now and I’m so sorry it took me so long to get this out to you guys! (4) I went back and found a few people that accidently got left out of the taglist, my bad! I’ve linked the previous chapters below so you can catch up (5) As always, I hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

From your balcony, you sighed in contentment as you heard the gentle lapping of waves from the endless expanse of water that stretched out before you. There were yachts teeming with giggling models, the chattering of French spoken on the streets below, the buzz of such a city of opulence. It was music to your ears.

The view of Monaco was one you never thought you’d get tired of. The place, though so new, also felt so much like home to you. The streets were paved with hope and memory, the water brimming with joy yet to be.

All of it was yours. Because of Oscar.

Yet again, his name came to your mind to taunt you.

Maybe taunt was too strong of a word. You weren’t quite sure. You weren’t sure of much of anything, anymore.

Your interactions with your friend had been…awkward, to say the least. You had made a vow to yourself to forgive him, but he seemed…a little too excited to be forgiven, if that made any sense. He wanted to go back to the way that things had been before all of this, but how was that possible?

You had explored every inch of each other’s bodies. You had held each other in the heat of passion. How are you supposed to act as if none of that ever happened?

His words echoed in your brain. I can’t be the boyfriend you deserve. Not right now, at least.

You had never even asked Oscar to be official. The thought was too far-fetched. I just want my friend back in my life. Like all of that never happened.

Well, at least one of you got what you wanted.

But then again, you truly didn’t know what you wanted from him anymore. To Oscar’s credit, you weren’t exactly making it easy to get back in your good graces.

The one thing you had been sure you wanted was more independence. No more living in an apartment that Oscar owned, or letting him jetset you across the world to his races and paying for all your expensive dinners.

No, it was time to be your own woman. That meant leaving Monaco.

So you took advantage of every morning you still had in this city that you’d grown to love, knowing that soon, you’d have to leave.

“You don’t have to go.”

Oscar’s voice floated into your ears. He had practically moved in; he was trying to sell his larger apartment, and the place was constantly swarming with real estate agents and potential buyers. Even if it wasn’t so hectic, he hated being there alone, and you refused to go back there with him. Not after the confrontation with Lily back in Imola.

“You don’t have to leave,” he repeated. “I know you’re thinking about it.”

Sometimes it felt like Oscar could read your mind.

“Yes I do,” you responded, sipping your tea, not shifting your gaze from the water.

“I can just give you the apartment, if you’re worried about it being in your name. I can pay the gift tax too.”

“No,” you whispered.

“I have more money that I’d ever know what to do with, YN—”

“I don’t,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “So I can’t stay here.”

Oscar knew his arguments were all in vain. You were nothing if not stubborn.

“I need you here,” he said.

“I’ll be just across the border.” It was more than likely; you could probably get a decent apartment in Nice within your budget.

“And what about at my races?”

“I’ll always come to Monaco.” You were also contemplating quitting your job; you hadn’t said it aloud yet, but Oscar knew. You were just waiting until you found something stable to quit. It was only a matter of time.

He was already pushing his luck. You walked past him back into the apartment and the Aussie sighed.

He didn’t have long to fix all that he had fucked up.

Especially considering your newfound friendship with Lando, although you had done your best to keep that hidden. Something about it felt…wrong. Like a betrayal.

Morning pretty girl, read the message from the Brit on your phone. You smiled but rolled your eyes. Lando’s playful flirting and banter was comical to you. Of course, it meant nothing. Lando wasn’t your type, and you weren’t his.

You shot him back a good morning text of your own, before setting your phone down in the living room to clean up your breakfast. Your phone buzzed again, and Oscar grabbed it.

“You got a message from…Lando?”

“Put my phone down, Oscar.”

“Why are you texting Lando?”

“Am I not allowed to have friends?”

You walked back into the living room, where Oscar handed you your phone. You plopped down on the couch, opening the device to see what he had texted you.

You up for a coffee later today? There’s a new cafe I’ve been wanting to try.

You texted back quickly, affirming that you’d be there.

“What did he want?”

“Oscar, seriously? I’m grown.”

“I’m just curious.”

“He just wanted to get coffee later today.”

“He asked you on a date?” His face was red with impending anger.

“It’s not a date. It’s coffee. Amongst friends and coworkers, which we are. You weren’t this worried when you all left me with him in Italy,” you said, staring into the stitches on the decorative pillows on your couch.

“Things were different then.”

His words were dripping with some unrecognizable emotion—regret, maybe, or sadness. You couldn’t be sure. But it startled you.

So you ignored it, instead grabbing your laptop and headphones before sitting at your kitchen table. “I have to get this stuff done,” you said, and Oscar just nodded.

He had his own work to take care of.

Later that afternoon, as you wrapped up your work and got ready to meet Lando at the cafe, you were already feeling Oscar’s absence throughout your small apartment.

It was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place; you wanted to stay in Monaco, to stay by Oscar’s side, for everything to stay the way that they had always been. But you knew that you just couldn’t.

“Why?” Lando asked, sipping on some fancy tea ordered from the admittedly adorable cafe in a hidden corner of Monte Carlo. Despite your better judgements, you had confided in him about your anxieties regarding the future. “Why would you need to leave so badly? I don’t get it. Just let him pay for all your shit. It’s the least he can do.”

“No, I’ve relied on him for too long,” you answered. “I just need to be more of myself. We’ve always been so…intertwined.”

“I know you two are close.”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s like…our lives are just, I don’t know, connected? Like I didn’t know where my story ended and his began. It’s hard to explain.”

“You must be heartbroken.”

You raised a brow. That wasn’t quite the word you’d use. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, to have all of this happen. You must miss him a lot.”

“Oh, well, he practically lives with me,” you laughed. ��This all started because we got into it before Miami, but we’ve made up now. It’s just hard having to navigate all the logistics.”

“Oh,” he replied, his voice tinged with a snark that you weren’t quite sure what to make of. He raised his eyebrows and took another sip of his tea.

“What?” you asked.

“Well, it’s just…I mean, that was quick.” He wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Back in Imola, you seemed pretty pissed at him.”

“I was. But,” you paused, swirling a small spoon around your own drink, “That crash was bad. Things like it just put everything in perspective, you know?”

“So everything’s fine between the two of you now, because he hit a wall?” Lando chuckled, sarcasm dripping from every word.

You looked up, your brows furrowed in confusion. “Really?”

“I just think you deserve better. You shouldn’t have to beg someone to love you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek before replying, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but that’s not what’s happening at all.”

“It isn’t?”

“Who told you any of this?” you asked.

You didn’t know that Oscar had told him everything, that drunken night after Miami. And what you didn’t know, Lando decided, couldn’t hurt you. He liked having the upper hand, dropping little hints that his knowledge was far beyond what anyone thought. “Why does that matter? It’s obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes.”

“Just like it was so obvious that Oscar was cheating on me with Lily?” You looked back down to the now cold contents of your cup.

Lando was silent for a minute. “Things don’t have to be like this, YN.”

“It’s funny, cause that’s exactly what Oscar told me.”

“Why do you let him get away with all this shit?”

“Do you really think I just welcomed him back into my life like nothing happened? Forgiveness isn’t that simple. Just because we’re not screaming at each other doesn’t mean that everything is fine. It’s… complicated.”

“I’m sure it is. But can I ask you a question?”

You just tilted your head in response, mentally preparing for whatever curveball he’d throw you next. You liked the banter with Lando; it was challenging, like a back and forth dance, or a chess game.

Lando leaned in close, lowering his voice. “You said Oscar practically moved in with you. Where does he sleep at night?”

You laughed at the implication. “I’m not sleeping with him anymore.”

“Anymore?” he asked.

You paused, your smile fading. Lando’s smile spread ear to ear.

You had lost the game, finally revealing the truth without even intending to.

“You’re good, Norris,” you said, swirling your spoon around the cup just to give your hands something to do. “Too good. You know, Oscar’s not too fond of me being here.”

“I’m sure he’s not,” Lando replied. “I’m sure he tells you all sorts of horrible things about me.”

“Are they true?” you asked, though Oscar had told you nothing of the sort. His hesitations came off more as paranoid ramblings rather than juicy gossip or evidence-based skepticism.

Lando leaned in and smirked at you. “Why don’t you roll over in bed tonight and ask him?”

Your phone buzzed as you fumbled in your bag for your keys outside your front door. You spotted the lanyard, and held your phone in one hand as you closed your bag in the other.

It was really nice to see you today. I’d like to do it again.

You let out a half laugh, half exhale. Lando was… fun. Dangerous, in a way. He had a mysterious air about him that surprised you, and it was intoxicating.

You knew you needed to be more careful about what you let slip. He seemed to know every detail, all coming from some phantom source you couldn’t trace. Being a social media manager, you were acutely aware of how easily words could get misconstrued and livelihoods could be destroyed.

But so was Lando, and after all, it wasn’t like he was a stranger to controversy.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and locked your phone. You’d get to that text later. For now, you had a seemingly endless mountain of work—domestic and professional—to tackle.

But as you set down your bag, you heard the familiar sound of your kitchen sink running.

Oscar was…doing dishes?

You made your way into the kitchen and stood in the entryway. “You didn’t have to do that,” you said. “I was just about to take care of it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“You should be, like, training or something, not doing my dishes.” You smiled. He didn’t.

“How’d your afternoon with Lando go?” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the sink, facing you. His expression was unreadable.

Truthfully? Odd. Exhilarating. Anxiety-inducing. But you couldn’t say that to Oscar now.

And as you saw his imposing form, even sloped away from you, the words that the Brit had planted in your head echoed.

The more time you spent with Lando, the more tense you were with Oscar. You recognized that.

“It was fine,” you said. You guessed that was the right word to use, at least.

Oscar hung his head low, studying the floor. He was nervous. “Can I tell you something, friend to friend?”

“What?”

“I don’t really like you spending time with Lando.”

You just looked at him, stopped in your tracks by his audacity. “Are you serious?”

“You know he’s up to nothing good, right? Conveniently hitting you up when we’re fighting for the championship, and then he ran brake checked me into the fucking wall in Imola—”

“Oh my God, you are serious.”

“I don’t know what he’s told you, but you can’t trust him.”

“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds coming from you?”

“YN, just hear me out—”

“Now now, Oscar,” you said, grabbing your headphones and laptop and walking out onto your balcony.

You took a deep breath before slipping your headphones on and trudging through the work.

You closed the laptop as the sun began to set over Monaco. Oscar walked out onto the patio and sat next to you.

“I’m going to say this once,” he said. “Please just listen to me, YN. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I know,” he said. “But I know a liar when I see one. He doesn’t love you, YN. He’s just using you.”

You were digging your nails into your palm.

“I don't know what his game is, but we’re all just pawns in it,” he said, his tone more frantic.

“I need to go to bed,” you said. ‘I have to be up early,” you walked past him into the apartment, but he grabbed you by the sleeve.

“YN, listen to me!”

You turned around to face him, your anger now fully unleashed. “Has it ever occurred to you that someone might just like me for me? Can you even imagine a man loving me for more than my body? He’s never even tried to get in my pants.”

“I see the way he looks at you.”

“And so what if he does?”

“He’s trying to drive a wedge between us.”

“You’re the only one driving a wedge between us, Oscar.”

“YN, I’m just saying this because I’m worried about you! You shouldn’t trust him.”

“And I should trust you instead?”

Oscar paused. “YN, I love you and—”

“Stop. Just…stop. I actually do have to go to bed.” You wiped your eyes, swatting away the faintest trace of tears that had come up. “I have to go look at an apartment tomorrow.”

Oscar bit his lip and huffed. “I thought you had forgiven me, YN.”

“I have.”

No. At the hospital, in Imola. I asked you to forgive me so we could be friends again and you said yes. Then you go and start flirting with my teammate and saying you're going to leave Monaco. I don't understand why you’re still so mad at me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Oscar, none of this is about you!” you exclaimed. “I mean, it is, but this isn’t some petty act of revenge. This is about the fact that I need my own life.”

“I used to be part of your life.”

“You used to be my entire life,” you said, and laughed. “Shit, you still are. You don’t get it.”

“I guess I don’t.”

You both paused, soaking in the tension of the scene.

“And you didn’t ask for my forgiveness,” you said. “You asked to act like none of this ever happened. I can’t do that. We…crossed a line. Things are different now.”

The tiniest part of you wanted to hop back on the other side of that line and drag Oscar into your bedroom right now. You craved the feeling of him stretching you, your hands clawing up his back or burying themselves in his hair as he buried his tongue—

“You said never again,” he whispered. “But we both still feel the same, don’t we?”

“I really need to go to bed.”

That night, Oscar took the couch. It didn’t matter. You couldn’t sleep.

As you tossed and turned, you considered Oscar’s word against Lando’s, Lando’s against Oscar’s.

Lando had said you shouldn’t forgive Oscar. And to his credit, Oscar was making that very difficult. But had you not given your best friend your word?

And what Oscar had said about Lando; he wasn’t trustworthy, he was just using you as a pawn. You hated to admit it, but it was probably true. Hell, Lando would never go for a girl like you. But the back and forth of your banter brought you a thrill you hadn’t felt in months.

Shit, you had never texted him back. Did you really want to see him again?

You didn’t know how long this charade could go on, until Lando got whatever it is that he really wanted. But Oscar’s words still burned you with fury.

I’d love to.

You rode the train to Nice like a zombie, traversing the shitty apartment with lead feet, yawning the entire time. You weren’t missing much.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Oscar, and you read it on the train ride back.

I’m sorry for last night.

It’s fine, you replied.

Almost instantly, another message. No, it’s not. I should have just minded my own business.

You were too exhausted to think of a reply, needing all your energy to make it from the train station back to your apartment in Monaco unscathed and collapse on the bed.

“How was the apartment?” Oscar asked from the bathroom, preoccupied with his shaving.

“Shitty,” you mumbled, face into the pillow.

Oscar looked over. “Sleep badly last night?”

“You don’t even know,” you huffed. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Buyer,” he said simply, sparing your exhausted brain the boring details of real estate management.

You made some unintelligible noise in response. “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll wake you up when I’m back, yeah?”

You handed him a thumbs up as you pulled the covers over you and fell asleep within minutes.

Oscar would have given anything to be back in that bed, curled up next to you. Instead, he was inside his old, empty apartment, with Lily.

It had been in her name too, after all. She had to be there for the sale, though neither were too happy to see each other. They looked over documents wordlessly, shuffling the papers back and forth between them, just anxious to get it over with.

As the lawyers and real estate agents packed up their belongings, Lily sighed, clearly unamused. “It's a bit ridiculous that I had to fly all the way to Monaco for that, no?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Oscar said, doing his best to make idle conversation. “So, how are things at work?”

“Fine,” she replied, her lips pursed. “How’s the season going?”

“You haven’t been watching?” he asked.

“I’m busy on Sundays.”

“Ah.” The tension was thick. “It’s been okay.”

Lily bit the inside of her cheek, determining how far she wanted to take her next move. “How’s YN?”

“Fine,” he replied, too quick and sharp to be genuine.

“That’s not what I heard,” she said. “I heard you made a move on her days after we broke up, and she dumped you because she felt so bad about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oscar said, a reflex more than a conscious choice to lie.

“Yes you do,” she replied. “And honestly, you all deserve each other.” Her words dripped with venom.

“Why do you care?” Oscar replied, his polite exterior broken by the confrontation. “Isn’t that exactly why you left? But now you’re mad because I actually did it.”

“I thought you were better than that. I wish you could have proven me wrong,” she said. “Oh my God, I was so stupid. Lando was right,” she said, bringing her palm to her forehead and fixing her gaze on the floor.

“Wh— Lando?”

“Why do you think I finally got the nerve to tell you how I felt? Lando knew you were cheating. And I don’t care what you or her say, I don’t believe you anymore. There’s no way you just…crawled into her bed 4 days after I left you. You had to have been cheating.”

“Lily, I never cheated on you. Why would Lando tell you that?”

“Because it was happening right in front of my eyes! And for so long I just ignored it and pushed it all down.” Her eyes were prickling up with tears, the effect of the emotion being so fresh in the presence of her now ex-lover. “I just told myself that you all were friends. It was normal for your boyfriend to look at his best friend like that. Oh, yes, it’s so normal for your boyfriend to bring his girl best friend on every vacation, every night out, every trip home! I can’t believe that your fucking teammate had to be the one to open my eyes.”

“Lily,” Oscar repeated, “I never, never, cheated on you. Yes, I was a horrible boyfriend. And yes,” he paused and sighed before continuing, ‘YN and I… it’s complicated. But never before you left. I don’t know what the hell Lando is telling you but it’s a lie.”

“You’re the only liar. You and YN. She acts like she’s so honest, but I know. You had to have been cheating. You all wanted each other for years.”

“Lily—”

“Don’t, Oscar,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It doesn’t really matter anymore. What’s done is done. I just hope you two are happy.” Lily grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter and swiftly left the apartment, leaving behind only the soft clicking of her heels against the tile of the hallway, and the echo of what once was, reverberating around the apartment before slowly fading into the quiet of the afternoon.

Back at your place, Oscar entered quietly, careful not to wake you. All he wanted was to sleep.

He slowly took off his shoes and jacket, sinking into the bed next to you. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep; his mind was racing, his nervous system wired. But he wanted to rest, to feel the warmth and weight of your sleeping body next to his own. For just a moment, the world could stop, and he would feel okay again.

But it couldn’t be. You had always been a light sleeper. The mere sound of his opening and closing the front door had caused you to stir. The feeling of his weight down on the bed led you to rise, stretching your arms about your head before rubbing your eyes.

Oscar couldn’t help it; his eyes glanced to the exposed skin of your stomach from where your shirt rode up when he stretched. You had said no more sex, and he respected that. But it didn’t mean that he wanted you any less.

“What time is it?” you mumbled.

“Almost five,” he answered.

“Oh, shit,” you said. You hadn’t expected to sleep this long. You looked over to Oscar, who was hiding his face in his hands. “You can have the bed, I’ll go make food.”

You swung your legs over the bed, but Oscar reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Stay,” he said. “Please.”

That woke you up quick. Oscar could feel the blood pulse through your veins as he held your wrist, a whispered plea for comfort.

“Osc…”

“Lily was there. At the apartment.”

“I don’t think—”

“She said…God, YN, I feel like I’m going fucking crazy.”

“Let go of my arm, please.”

Oscar awkwardly let you go, not realizing that he had essentially kept you pinned to the spot. You wordless rose and left the room for the kitchen.

As you stirred the pot of food to a simmer, you watched the little bubbles rise to the top, like the little kernels of emotion that ran through you. If it were up to you, you’d close the lid on them and leave them forever. But then the house could burn down.

What an apt metaphor.

But truly, you knew you were trying to outrun something, a force so strong you couldn’t ignore it.

Love, lust, desire? It couldn’t be named. Unfortunately, it followed you around the apartment.

“How are we friends if we can’t even talk?” Oscar said, having followed you to the kitchen, now standing in the doorway. What he was doing was a bit unfair, cornering you here when you couldn’t really leave. But what else could he do?

“You can talk to me,” you said. “Just not in my bed.”

You refused to look at the Aussie, instead putting all your focus into chopping the vegetables, drowning out his words in the sharp sounds of the knife tearing through the onion and shallots.

“Lily was there. She told me that Lando told her that I cheated on her with you.”

You snorted. “What are we, back in middle school? He said, she said?”

“Well, considering she left me over it, I don’t find it very funny.”

“Oscar, you never cheated. Everyone knows that.”

“Lando is—”

“Who cares what Lando says?” You used the flat blade of the knife to swipe the chopped vegetables off the cutting board and into the pot.

“I care!”

“Do you blame him for thinking we were hooking up?”

“I blame him for putting thoughts in my girlfriend’s head that weren’t true.”

You put the knife on the counter with a thud. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Oscar paused, mentally cursing himself for the slip of words. “I’m just saying, he’s going around saying things without any regard to what damage they may cause.”

“You sound paranoid,” you said, grinding salt and pepper into the mixture.

“I just…” Oscar grasped for the right words, careful to not let his frustration take over, “I would just really appreciate it if you don’t tell him anything. Because he already took her from me.”

You put the lid back on the pot and turned the heat down. “The male audacity never ceases to amaze me.”

“What?”

“Oscar, she didn’t leave you because Lando was poisoning her thoughts, or whatever. She left because she was unhappy.”

“She left because she felt threatened by you. Because of what Lando said.”

You finally turned around to face him, your cheeks now red with frustration. “It only took you four days to prove her right! This isn’t about Lando. This is about the fact that you still can’t accept what you did. With her or with me.”

“You wanted it, too,” he responded, his voice now low and husky. “And you still want it. Deep down, you know it.”

You swallowed, suddenly noticing how his arms filled out the sleeves of his shirt just right, and how the blood rushed to his cheeks while he was angry, painting his face a delightful shade of blush.

“That’s irrelevant.”

“If I’m guilty, then so are you. Because you imagined every second of it.”

“Not like this,” you whispered. “And you did too.”

He stepped forward, closing the gap between you two. “Stop talking to Lando.”

Your voice rose to a normal level, relieved by the changed tension. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

God, how badly you wanted him to push you up against the wall and take you right then and there. No, you couldn’t. But he was right.

You had wanted this. You were guilty.

It was eating you alive.

The Monaco Grand Prix. The epitome of glitz and glamor, wealth and class, speed and history. It was everything that you and Oscar loved about the sport of Formula 1, right from the comfort of your backyard.

Well, not for much longer. But that was a thought you were trying to avoid.

You had looked at a couple more apartments in your budget, only to be disappointed by all of them. Of course, nothing could beat the picturesque view you had right outside your living room every morning.

If it were up to you, you would have watched the race from your balcony, but duty called. You put on your best face of professionalism for the weekend.

It turns out, going back to being “just friends” was a paradox. You couldn’t; not after the unhealed wounds, the ghost of phantom touches and unforgettable nights that still haunted both of you.

But even when you pretended, you couldn’t deny the sexual tension that underlied every interaction.

You had almost forgotten that feeling; it lingered after your first encounter with Oscar, where you had taken each other’s virginity, but it had been different then. Only a few days and a handful of awkward texts before things just went back to normal. He went back to the UK, you went back to school, he met Lily, and the rest was history.

But now, it was inescapable, breaking into every crack and crevice of the apartment, in every breath between you two that held a second too long of eye contact.

It was torture. At least professionalism was somewhat of a reprieve.

You raised your camera up to take a shot of Oscar walking out of the McLaren garage, thankful to be able to hide behind your lens. Through it, you could see the strained outline of his muscles underneath his fireproof shirt. His hair was glistening with sweat, and his chest heaved, letting out a frustrated sigh at the results of quali.

“Care to get a picture of the pole sitter, YN?” you heard behind you, and turned to see Lando’s cheeky grin as he shook his hair. His discarded balaclava was in one hand, and he ran his other through his loose curls, balancing his helmet on his hip.

You let out a small huff of a laugh and snapped a quick picture.

“Let me see,” he said, walking next to you. You held up the small screen for him to see.

“Wow, you make me look good,” he teased.

“Oh no,” you bantered back, “that’s the magic of editing.”

“No way. The only Oscar can look that good on Instagram is because you’re behind the camera.”

You laughed out of reflex at the crude joke. “Actually,” you said, “most pics I take don’t make it to social media.” Lando raised an eyebrow. You continued, “Yeah, most of what we post is from the actual photographers. Leave the beautification to the professionals.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Well, I just like to take pictures, but I’m not very good at it. Most of my actual work is all the boring stuff with the merch.”

Lando’s grin returned. “So all those pictures you took of me at Imola, was that just because you wanted to look at my face, huh?”

“I’d need more than just photoshop to make you look pretty, Norris.” You both knew the joke was false. Lando was perfect—tanned skin, chiseled body, brown coils catching the sunlight and caused golden highlights to cascade through his locks. You couldn’t deny that Lando Norris was fucking hot.

“Ouch! And here I thought you liked me,” he joked. “Considering I’m taking you out to dinner, and all.”

You looked over your shoulder, checking for any other McLaren drivers who may be listening. But Oscar was far out of sight.

“Just a little friendly meal between colleagues,” you said, a tense smile coming to your face.

“Keep telling yourself that, love,” he said, before being called over to the media tent.

You gave him another smile as he walked off, but truthfully, you weren’t exactly excited. You weren’t quite sure what to make of Lando, especially given Oscar’s reservations. Getting this close to him, especially in public, was…dangerous.

You felt that familiar knot of anxiety in your stomach. Maybe Oscar was right.

But Lando turned around and flashed you his award winning smile and a wink, and you giggled out of reflex. Maybe Oscar’s paranoia was wearing off on you.

It didn’t matter now. You had a job to do.

Which was very hard to do, considering that no one could find Oscar after he left the media pen.

Unbeknownst to you, Oscar was back in his driver’s room, doing anything he could to avoid losing his mind.

Quali had gone horribly. At a track like Monaco, where overtaking was so scarce, he had essentially sighed away potential points. And to make it all worse, Lando had gotten pole, and to celebrate, he had stood in front of Oscar’s own garage, chatting you up without a care in the world.

Oscar couldn’t even bear to see it. He had trudged off to the media pen, quickly gave his statement, then booked it to the room to be alone for a while.

But it felt like he was going crazy. He couldn’t relax, his leg bouncing up and down at a fervent pace, his breaths strained. Was he having a panic attack? This must be close to it.

But no, it wasn’t panic. It was anger. He felt like a cringy teenager, wanting to punch a wall, ro drive a car way too fast (as if he didn’t already do that for a living), or… no. He couldn’t go there. He couldn’t indulge his most unhealthy coping mechanism. Not now.

But he felt all the blood rush down south at even the mere thought of the last time he had you in his driver’s room.

No. No, no, he said to himself again and again. You had said no sex. He didn’t want you to feel used. But just the memory of your mouth on him, the curves of your body underneath his own, was enough to rile him up.

There were too many people outside. He could hear their voices outside the door. The whole damn country of Monaco was too small; there was nowhere to hide from his urges, or from you, for that matter.

Not that he usually wanted to. But he had a little problem to take care of.

His phone buzzed. A text from you.

Where are you?

What was he supposed to say? Hiding from you, because I’m so stupidly aggravated and horny that I can’t even be around you for fear of ruining our friendship?

He let out an angry groan into a pillow to muffle his frustrations. It wasn’t just the physical aspect that he missed; he missed your warmth, the comforting weight of you beside him in the bed, the tentative way you were always just an arm length’s close, never more, never less.

He should have held you. He should have made you feel loved and not used. It haunted him every day. And yes, he was paying the price for it.

“Congrats on pole, man!” he heard, the voice clear enough to indicate that someone was outside his door.

“Thanks,” Lando’s voice replied, before he heard the familiar sound of the door around the corner opening and closing.

Yeah, he was definitely paying the price.

Oscar contemplated not going back to your place tonight.

He still had a few days where he could sleep in his old apartment before the sale fully went through. On one hand, the place was empty and quiet, devoid of life and love. He’d be alone with his thoughts—for better or worse.

On the other hand, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep anywhere except your bed or couch. He had gotten too used to the familiarity of your apartment. And he wanted to savor every second of you living in Monaco, before your inevitable departure.

He finally decided against a night of solitude. By the time he finally left the circuit, you were nearly ready to go to bed.

“Jesus, Osc, where have you been?” you asked, and you tried to ignore how his eyes traced the bare skin of your thighs in your sleep shorts.

“At the track,” he said.

“Well, no shit,” you said, “but no one could find you. I texted you and you never responded.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Quali was just…shit.”

He seemed reluctant to answer where he had actually been, so you didn’t press the issue, but you couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room much longer.

“I’m sorry,” you said. You sat on your couch next to him, where Oscar had his head buried in his hands. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a headache.”

“I can get you—”

“I’m fine,” he said again, this time quicker and more dismissive.

“Osc…”

“I just wanna go to bed,” he whispered.

“Okay,” you said. “You can take the bed tonight.”

It broke your heart to see him so down. Things were nearly as bad as when Lily had first left him. It scared you—there was only one way that you were able to really help him in that scenario, and you couldn’t go there.

“Just let me grab my phone charger,” you said, getting up to go to the room. He followed you, walking like a zombie. When you turned to leave, he moved to let you walk past, then sat on the bed, hunched over.

You stopped in the doorway, looking him up and down.

He looked up at you, locking eyes, and it took everything in you not to scoop him up in your arms and kiss him. He looked so…pathetic, sad, something you couldn’t quite name.

You really needed to find a new apartment soon. Or kick him out.

You couldn’t do either.

Amongst the many things you could not do was sleep. It was 3 in the morning. Against your better judgement, you slipped into your room, praying that Oscar was still asleep.

You just wanted to see him. To gaze upon his face, smoothed with rest, imbued with the peace of sleep despite the stress of the day. Maybe when he was asleep, you could really pretend that none of this had ever happened.

As you softly slipped next to him under the covers, his eyelids fluttered open and met yours.

“You can’t sleep either?” he softly whispered, to which you shook your head. You adjusted, rolling over to your side to face him, curling up into the blankets as cozy as you could get. His eyes never left your form.

Neither of you knew what to do. You felt like strangers.

You had been avoiding any real discussions like the plague. But seeing him now, so vulnerable, you finally broke. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?” you whispered.

“I don’t want to argue,” he replied.

“We won’t. I’ll listen, I promise.”

His eyes drafted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes to meet your gaze. You both knew what was going unsaid. But still he spoke, saying, “I’m lonely. I miss Lily and I miss you. I know that I did this, and that’s why it hurts even more. And I’m so scared of losing you forever.”

His eyes welled up with tears as he continued. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Feeling so far from you, feeling like strangers. I wish I could have shown you how I felt earlier. I wish I didn’t hurt you and drive you away. And I know it’s all my fault. But it hurts.”

“Oscar…” you began, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. But the words didn’t find you.

“The championship is all I have left, and I can’t even focus because of fucking Lando. And I’m scared that he’s up to something and that he’s going to hurt you too, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“There is something…odd about him,” you said. “I get what you mean.”

“Can I ask you something?” Oscar said, and you nodded. “Does he make you happy?”

“It’s not like that,” you replied. “It’s… I don’t know, like a back and forth. I don’t know what his aim is. It feels like a game. But it kind of scares me.”

“Then why do you keep talking to him?”

“I don’t know.” That was a lie. You did know. “I guess because I feel like I can’t talk to you.”

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek. He understood what you meant. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t like a knife to the chest.

“It’s not…like this. I know we can talk like this. But it’s…” you stopped, swallowing hard. You had to say it. Somebody had to say it.

Maybe you’d regret it in the morning. But you couldn’t stop now.

“It’s like…” you began, choosing your words carefully, “I wanted you for so long. And then I had you, but it…it wasn’t right.” Your eyes drifted downward, tracing the soft sliver of light that rested on Oscar’s exposed arms. “I don’t know how not to want. But I can’t want you anymore. Because now I can have you too easily.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Yes, you do,” you responded. “You said it the other day. We both want it. But we can’t do it right.”

You spoke around the issue, carefully tiptoeing around the discussion of…desire? Lust? Wanting, you had called it. Every word you had said was true. He had felt it earlier in the day. You were feeling it too.

He could change everything. He could just reach out his hand and touch you. But he was frozen, and so were you.

“What’s so wrong about it?” he asked.

“You didn’t touch me like you loved me. You hurt me. And I loved the way it hurt. But…”

“I’ll make love to you right now if you’ll let me. I’d do it right, show you how I really feel.”

The air around you was electric with intensity, like the very first night that he touched you. In the same darkness, you had finally gotten what you so desperately wanted. And you could have it now, if not for one thing.

“I know you would,” you whispered, “and you don’t even know how badly I want it. But… what about her?”

“Her?” he asked, confused.

“Lily.”

The silence that filled the room was heavy, and it threatened to suffocate both of you.

“Lily left you. Because of me,” you said.

“Because Lando was putting thoughts in her head.”

“Thoughts that weren’t far off the truth.”

“So, what? You’re going to deny yourself what you always wanted, for years, because she was here first? Because I fucked up?”

Oscar’s wording made it sound so trivial. And truthfully, you had been there first.

“How did you feel when you first saw Lando talk to me?” you asked.

“Pissed. Like I wanted to run him off the track.”

“That’s how Lily felt for years. And she didn’t say anything, and we lied to her and to ourselves until the very end.”

“It’s not the same, though. You know that.”

“The details don’t matter. What matters is that the guilt is eating me alive. I feel like I’m drowning. Even if things between us were better…I don’t want to do that to her.”

“What if she never forgives us? Are you just going to let that ruin our friendship?”

You looked away from him, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze. You couldn’t answer his question.

“I feel like,” you said, “whatever Lando is up to, I know it’s not good, but I deserve it. I deserve him.”

“That’s the most stupid logic I’ve ever heard.” Oscar replied. You laughed. Oscar didn’t.

He reached out and touched your cheek, causing your eyes to dart back to his. No matter how badly you wanted to avoid him, you couldn’t look away from his gaze that pierced right through you. He saw something deeper. He saw you, in a way no one else could or would. And it was terrifying.

“YN,” he whispered. “Forget what everyone else said, forget all the messy feelings. What do you want?”

I want you.

That’s what you would have said, if you were not a coward, if you could truly let him in and even try to imagine a world in which your emotions and desires didn’t feel like an ocean that you were close to drowning in.

“I don’t know,” you replied. That was a lie. You knew it. He knew it. He knew that you knew that he knew it. He just looked at you, biting the inside of his cheek. You wouldn’t admit it. Not after everything that had happened.

In that way, things had gone back to normal.

You turned over to stretch, seeing the first rays of sunlight tinge your window the slightest shade of pink.

“We should get some sleep. Goodnight, Oscar,” you said, pulling the blanket higher and closing your eyes for a brief sleep.

Come the next morning—really, only a few hours later—Oscar’s anger from the previous day had faded to a depression. All he wanted was for you to hold him, or for him to hold you, but your words still hung heavy in the air.

This was your punishment, for both of you.

But by the time he finally dragged himself out of the warm comfort of your bed, you were already nearly ready to head out the door.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you joked, reaching your hand up to tousle his already messy hair, and he melted into the touch. “Are you ready to show them all the Piastri overtake masterclass?”

“I feel dead,” he mumbled, and you sighed.

“I’m sorry for keeping you up.”

“It’s okay,” he said, as he yawned into a cup of coffee. “I’m glad we talked.”

Oscar’s reference brought forth an awkward silence that didn’t dissipate until you eventually left for the track, ready again to dawn your thin veneer of professionalism.

Unfortunately it was raining, and the race had to be delayed. That meant hunkering down in the McLaren garage with Oscar—and Lando.

If looks could kill, Lando would have died ten times over as the two drivers waited for the rain to pass.

You hovered near Oscar’s side of the garage for the sake of appearances. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You were his social media manager, it made sense for you to hover around him, always ready to capture the next candid shot.

But truthfully, you couldn’t shake the pit in the feeling of your stomach every time you caught Lando looking at you from the corner of your eye. And while you pretended to be oblivious, Oscar didn’t.

“Okay guys, clear out the garage,” you heard from across the room, as the booming voice of Zak Brown trudged his way inside. “FIA decided that right now was the perfect time for a surprise inspection!”

His voice dripped with sarcastic annoyance, even more than his clothes dripped with rainwater. All non essential personnel—including drivers—needed to leave the garage at once.

You walked along, on your way to find a random spot in the paddock to hunker down. That was, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“YN!” Lando called, smiling when you turned to greet him. His cheeky grin brought butterflies and nausea to your stomach. “You can warm up in my driver’s room if you want.”

You looked over Lando’s shoulder and locked eyes with Oscar, who was close enough to hear every word. If he had been in his car at the time, Lando would have been roadkill.

“Oh, thanks, but I’ve got to get to the paddock and make sure the new guy hasn’t drowned our camera,” you said, a polite and professional smile across your face.

“No wor—” He was cut off by Oscar’s shoulder bumping into the Brit as he passed. “Oh, hi Oscar, my bad.”

“I should go,” you said, swiftly continuing in the path towards the paddock. You didn’t want to be around for what you knew was happening next.

But if Lando also knew, it didn’t dissuade him from following Oscar back to his driver’s room.

“Go away, Lando,” the Aussie warned as he stomped down the hallway.

“No, I don’t think I will. I think you’ve got something to say to me.”

“I think you should shut your fucking mouth and leave YN and I alone.”

Lando ran ahead of him, blocking the door to Oscar’s driver room. “Why? Why should I leave her alone when she keeps telling me yes, hm?”

“What?”

“I’m just saying, if she really wanted me to leave her alone, she wouldn’t have agreed to go to dinner with me tonight, would she?”

Oscar was dumbfounded by Lando’s claim, and his first instinct was to refute it. But after the conversation last night, he couldn’t put it past you to have accepted his offer of a date. Why you did this, he didn’t know. He couldn’t understand how you let your guilt lead you to such self-sabotaging decisions.

Actually, he could. It wasn’t like he was any better.

“You’re taking advantage of her,” Oscar said, his voice stern. “You don’t love her.”

Lando laughed. “Of course I don’t. She knows it, though. Do you really think she’s that stupid? Well, I guess she kind of is, ‘cause she’s playing right into my hands even though I know she doesn’t trust me. ”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I know it fucks with your head and drives you insane. No matter what you tell her, she won't listen to you. That’s the funniest part. She knows you’re right and she’s going to do the worst possible thing anyway, because she thinks she’s so self-righteous. It’s hilarious. You can tell her every word I say and that won’t stop her from being right where I want her. So you'll just get to watch me use her until she's got nothing else to give me.”

Oscar crossed the short distance between them and grabbed Lando by the shirt. “I swear to God, if you hurt her, I will run you off the track until you're nothing but a spare car part.”

Lando laughed again at his teammate’s warning. “Why are you so mad? I'm not doing anything worse than what you did.”

Oscar released him. “That is not what happened between us,” he sneered.

Lando continued, "You’re right. I guess I'm actually better than you, because I'm not fucking her. Well, not yet at least. I get it, though. I mean, she's not really good enough to bring home to mum, no? But I bet she's a good lay. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Get the fuck away from me, Lando. And leave her the fuck alone.”

“Oh don't worry, I'm leaving,” the Brit said, putting his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Just tell YN to wear something nice tonight for me, will you?”

Lando finally turned to leave, but couldn’t resist one last quip at Oscar. “You know, last season, Max taught me something really smart. To win, you can't just outdrive someone. You have to get in their head. Works pretty well, don't you think?”

“Get the fuck out, Lando, before I hurt you,” Oscar threatened, truly at the end of his rope.

Lando just laughed as he finally walked away, turning the corner and going into his own driver’s room.

Oscar did the same, taking a deep breath when he finally closed the door. He needed to punch something. He needed to scream. He could do neither.

But that wasn’t the worst problem at hand. He knew Lando was right, about everything. And it terrified him.

He had to find some way to prevent you from going on that date. But how? Was there anything he could say that could prevent what his own failures had set in motion so long ago?

There was a knock at his door. It was a McLaren engineer, telling him it was time to come back to the garage. He had wasted so much time bickering with Lando that he couldn't get his headspace right for the race.

God, he was good at this.

Oscar made his way back to the garage and locked eyes with you. You had looked over your shoulder, still preoccupied with the new guy and his inability to work a camera. You held Oscar’s gaze for a second too long.

He made his way over to you. “Hey, YN,” he said, “why don’t you get some rain shots before we have to go back out?”

Oscar was never the type to tell you how to do your job, unlike his teammate, who often jokingly ordered you around like his personal photographer. You recognized his attempt to get you away from the new guy.

You stepped away and brought your camera back up to your eye, taking a gorgeous picture of Oscar’s side profile looking at the rain outside. His hair was perfectly tousled, his jawline perfectly sharp, his cheeks shaded a perfect pink, still flustered from the conversation you knew nothing of. Even after being his friend for so many years, and admiring him for so long, it was moments like this when you were truly reminded how much you loved him.

Because just as Oscar saw you, you saw him. You saw through his carefully crafted exterior; truthfully, as his best friend and social media manager, you had been instrumental in making it. When others saw him as unemotional, you saw the small nuances in how he moved and spoke, the subtle changes in expression. You two had your own language in that way, and your devotion showed itself in moments like these, where you could capture the most beautiful photographs of your friend, letting the world have just a brief glimpse into the complex soul that you had become so enraptured by.

Yeah, you were fucked.

Oscar finally put on his helmet and began to get ready to roll the car out to the grid.

“Good luck,” you whispered. You reached out your hand and intertwined it with his, squeezing it as an act of comfort. Even through the rough material of his gloves, you hoped to send him a real message of love.

Maybe that was too strong a word. You couldn’t tell anymore.

Though you followed both cars out to the now dry grid, you kept your distance, knowing that now the focus was on the monumental race ahead of them. You let the camera be your shield against emotion, though you couldn’t help how it focused in on Oscar so easily. Even from afar, his eyes quickly glancing at your lens could tell you depths of information.

At the front of the grid, Lando occasionally looked back on you. He was ready to go, determined to win this race; Oscar was no longer a threat, in the back of the grid and distracted beyond measure.

But the Brit couldn’t help being distracted a bit himself. You weren’t looking at him. You were pulling away a bit too much for comfort.

It doesn’t matter now, he thought to himself. He knew you. Not in the deep way that Oscar did, but still enough to know exactly what buttons to push, when to give and when to pressure. It was a skill that he’d come to refine in the past few years, fighting not only against world-class athletes, but also against master manipulators, for the Formula 1 World Driver’s Championship title.

He never thought he’d have to play this dirty to eliminate a teammate. But so far, it was working like a charm, and at this point, there wasn’t much he was above doing to get that title.

Unfortunately, Lando’s ambitions couldn’t keep up with his abilities. He bottled pole at the start and wasn’t able to recover.

Oscar had a few overtakes, but not anything spectacular. Monaco would not be a race to remember for McLaren that year.

After getting all your shots of Oscar in the garage after the race, you made your way back to your apartment. You had to get ready for your date with Lando that night.

You had never been the type to have a very strong intuition. You could never distinguish it from anxiety or paranoia. But you couldn’t ignore that pit in the bottom of your stomach that just grew and grew, devouring all your thoughts as you fixed your hair and applied your makeup.

In the middle of your beauty routine, Oscar came home, exhausted from the race.

“You did great out there today,” you said, giving him a small smile as he flopped down on the bed.”

“I barely got points,” he said.

“Yeah, but it’s a track that’s awful for overtaking and you were going on, what, 2 or 3 hours of sleep? Take the small wins where you can.”

“How are you not exhausted?” he questioned, sitting up to watch you apply your skincare at your vanity.

I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest, that’s why, you thought. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to confide your anxieties to Oscar right now.

You knew why. Because you knew that he could change it. He could convince you to give in to your desires, to drown in him. And you couldn’t. You were too goddamned stubborn.

You didn’t answer Oscar’s question, and that familiar heavy feeling dawned in your room.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked. Neither of you really had the energy for talking, but you knew it was more a statement than a request. “I talked to Lando today.”

Ah, so he knew what you were doing.

“He said some…really messed up stuff about you, YN. He doesn't care about you.”

“I know he doesn’t,” you said, your voice flat and quiet.

“It’s more than that. YN, the things he said disgusted me, and he laughed about it like it was the funniest thing. Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t, Oscar.”

“YN—”

You got up and walked into your closet to get dressed for the night, cutting him off.

You heard him sigh, and the sound of ruffling clothing filled the room as you both changed out of eye shot of each other. The thought of Oscar undressed in your bed again made your head spin.

You snaked the fabric of the dress over your skin, smoothing it out. You put on your shoes and grabbed your purse before taking a deep breath and stepping out.

“How do I look?” you asked. But you were distracted by a shirtless Oscar sitting on your bed, muscles still taunt from the race hours before.

“Beautiful,” he said. “You’re perfect.”

His voice was too tender, his words too strong. You couldn’t bear it for much longer. You shuffled around your room, organizing your makeup and applying your perfume, trying to distract yourself from the elephant—or rather, shirtless F1 driver that you were in love with—in the room.

“I’m not sure what time I’ll be—”

“YN,” Oscar said, standing up to place himself in front of you, between you and the door. “Don’t do this.”

“Oscar…” you began.

“You don’t have to do this. Stay here with me.” he advanced towards you, closing the gap by placing his hands on your waist.

Your heart skipped a beat. The thin line that had so carefully been drawn after his apology was gone now with his sensual touch.

You looked away from him. He reached up and grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to look up at his.

“You don’t have to go to him. You don’t have to leave Monaco or find another job. You don’t have to do any of this. YN, let me take care of you.”

Instinctively, you reached your hand out to rest against his bare chest, and you felt his breath hitch. You were going to give in, right here and now.

And God, you wanted to. You missed the warmth of Oscar’s body against yours, the liminal space he occupied in your bed after a night of collision and pleasure. And in that moment, with his soft heart beat and the steady rhythm of his breaths right under your fingertips, you felt…safe. At home. Seen.

Your phone buzzed in your purse.

“I’m going to be late,” you muttered, stepping back and walking around him. He let you go easily.

“Get some rest, Oscar,” you told him, a final goodbye, or at least that’s how it felt, as you closed the door behind you and left to go meet Lando.

377 notes · View notes

aeralux · 5 months ago

Text

"Shadow of Your Past" - Aegon Targaryen

Summary: Long ago, your heart belonged to your past betrothed, Cregan Stark. Those times are long gone, as you now reside in King's Landing with your newborn babe and doting husband, Aegon. However seeing your wolf after all these years makes feelings come up in unexpected ways, making Aegon question your love for him.

Warnings: slight angst; Cregan is the other man (I'm so sorry, Cregan girlies); slight love triangle; jealous and sad Aegon; happy ending; he took you from your home tho; Helaena is dead (gets mentioned once); slight Cregan x Reader

Words: 2.9k

Notes: This was based on an anonymous ask. I changed it a tad bit but kept the original idea. First time ever written something adjacent to angst or fluff.

In the frigid lands of Winterfell, your destiny had long been sealed - to become a Lady of the North, wed to a formidable Lord from the North. Raised within Winterfell, you had been groomed from birth for this inevitable union. This future seemed as immutable as the unyielding winters that gripped the region.

Yet fate, it seemed, had other plans. When Cregan's beloved wife tragically passed, leaving him a widower with their young son Rickon, you found yourself pulled into their lives like the warm embrace of a dwelling fire. A fast friendship blossomed between yourself and Cregan, gradually kindled into the smouldering embers of new love. The whole of Winterfell looked on fondly as the once-bereaved Cregan's heart defrosted in the radiant presence of his new intended bride.

However, the fragile promise of this love was soon overshadowed by the towering curiosity of King Aegon II Targaryen. Whispers of the Northern beauty's unparalleled loveliness and grace had spread like wildfire through the realm. Bewitched by the tales, Aegon stated that this virtuous woman would be his, consequences be damned.

With a heavy heart, you bid farewell to the only home you had ever known and the love you had so fleetingly tasted, bound for the regal prisons of the Red Keep.

Within the crimson towers of King's Landing, a surprise awaited - Aegon's children were nothing like the spoiled, bratty offspring you had envisioned. Instead, they were kind, generous souls, undoubtedly a legacy of their late, beloved mother Helaena. Though resigned to your fate as a mere royal broodmare, you found yourself powerless against the innocent charms of the young princes and princesses, who swiftly embraced you as their "mummy."

Unprepared for the tenderness that blossomed between this makeshift family, King Aegon too found his calloused heart unexpectedly stirred. What had begun as a selfish pursuit of beauty transformed into a spirited courtship of genuine affection. Though still haunted by the ghost of your lost love in the North, over time you developed strong feelings for Aegon, especially after welcoming your first son, Prince Rhaevar. As you embraced your role as mother to Aegon's children and grew into your position as Queen of Westeros, you could not deny the sincerity of Aegon's keenness.

To commemorate the beginning of this new chapter in your life, Aegon declared that a grand tournament would be held in your honour on your name day. The air was thick with excitement, and the vibrant colours of the banners fluttered against a clear blue sky. Laughter and music filled the atmosphere as noblemen and commoners gathered to celebrate.

Yet, even amidst the revelry, shadows of the past loomed large. Your heart quickened as you caught sight of him—Cregan Stark, surrounded by his loyal men, his presence commanding and undeniable. The moment your eyes met, time seemed to stand still. Memories of stolen glances and whispered promises flooded your mind, overwhelming you with emotions long since buried.

In a surge of reckless abandon, you broke through the crowd, propelled by an all-consuming longing. The world around you faded away as you ran into his arms, feeling the warmth of his embrace envelop you like a familiar, cherished blanket. His scent—the wild, crisp scent of the North—stirred something profound within you.

As he pulled you closer, old feelings resurfaced with a ferocity that took your breath away. The way he held you felt both achingly familiar and electrifyingly new. You could hear your heart thundering in your chest, drowning out the sounds of the festival, as you melted into the safety of his arms. In that moment, surrounded by laughter and celebration, it felt as if you had returned to a lost piece of yourself, igniting a fire that you thought had long cooled.

"Cregan," you whispered into the thick furs of his coat, your breath mingling with the cold air that surrounded you. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this moment. Looking up at him, your heart raced as you were met with those familiar, loving grey eyes. The same eyes that had haunted your dreams for years apart.

He seemed taken aback by your sudden rush towards him, a mixture of surprise and warmth flooding his expression. You could see the shadows of longing and concern etched on his face as he stepped back slightly as if he were afraid that if he embraced you too tightly, he would shatter the fragile connection that still tethered your hearts together.

"I missed you," Cregan managed to say, his voice barely more than a whisper. A soft smile crept onto his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your heart flutter. "You've changed," he continued, his gaze roaming over you with awe and affection. "You've become a woman."

A blush crept to your cheeks as you recalled the innocence of your past, the days spent dreaming of knightly heroes and fairy-tale endings. "And you," you replied, tinged with affection and sadness, "you've become even more captivating."

His eyes darkened for a moment, and the smile faltered. “Yet here we are, in a world that insists we belong to different stories,” he said, his voice heavy with unvoiced thoughts. “I should never have allowed myself to come here."

You stepped closer, drawn to him irresistibly, the warmth radiating from his body beckoning you like a moth to flame. “You really think so?” Your voice firm yet laced with sorrow.

Cregan shook his head slowly, the weight of reality settling between you like a thick fog. “You know I don't. But we are not in the North anymore.” His voice was a gentle storm, swirling with complex emotions. “You have a life, a kingdom. And I… I am but a shadow of your past.”

Tears welled in your eyes at the bittersweet truth of his words. “A shadow who holds my heart,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of longing. “I thought of you every day, every night.”

He looked down, his fingers running through the thick fur of his coat as if seeking comfort. “Then let me be the one to give you the freedom you deserve. I won’t hold you back. I won't hold you back from loving your husband, your kids.”

You reached out, your hand brushing against his, a soft spark igniting between your fingertips. “But it is you I dreamed of for so long,” you insisted fiercely, pressing your body against his. “You are the one I dreamed of, Cregan. You are my heartbeat.”

His head snapped up, catching your gaze with an intensity that made the air crackle around you. “And yet, we are bound by what we cannot change. If only the fates were kinder…”

You both stood there, worlds apart yet painfully close, the silence wrapping around you like a delicate embrace. Finally, Cregan stepped back, his heart heavy but resolute. “Go back to your life, my queen. But remember this moment. Remember us… even if we cannot be together.”

With that, he turned away, every step echoing with unfulfilled promises and lingering affection, leaving you standing in the cold, the weight of your love a bittersweet reminder that some stories, despite their depth, are never meant to unfold.

It felt like a shard of glass had been driven into your heart for the second time, twisting painfully with every thought of Cregan. The memories flooded back, uninvited and relentless, like a storm you couldn’t escape. You stood there, grappling with the truth he had laid bare before you. It wasn’t just about nostalgia; it was the realization that he was right. You had built a new life, filled with the laughter of children and the warmth of a husband who loved you deeply. Yet, no matter how hard you tried to bury those feelings, your first love left a mark that time could not erase.

You remembered the way Cregan had looked at you, that spark in his eyes igniting something profound within you — a connection that felt electric and raw. The ache of what once was gnawed at your insides, threatening to unravel the carefully woven fabric of your current life. You wanted to forget, to silence the inner turmoil that his memory stirred, but how could you, when a piece of your heart belonged forever to him? The struggle was suffocating, a cruel reminder that some loves cling to your soul no matter how far you run.

The icy reality of Aegon's presence loomed heavily over King's Landing as he stood on the balcony, his piercing gaze fixed upon the tournament and the people. The vibrant colours of the celebration below only intensified his resentful fury, each laugh and cheer from the crowd grating against his simmering emotions. How dare that barbarian come so close to his sweet wife, daring to touch her with such intimacy? The very thought ignited a wildfire of jealousy that blazed in his chest.

He knew he had snatched you away from Cregan, that steadfast Stark who had cherished you. But Aegon was the King, a crown heavy with authority resting upon his brow. He convinced himself that he could do as he pleased, but the sight of you laughing, your eyes sparkling with delight as you spoke to another man, felt like salt in an open wound.

Aegon raised the ornate golden goblet to his lips, the richness of the deep crimson wine swirling within—a stark contrast to the bitterness seeping into his soul. The velvety liquid flowed smoothly down his throat, but it did little to quell the storm raging inside him. Rage coursed through his veins like a volatile poison, making him feel as if his heart might burst against the confines of his chest.

From the intensity of his stare, one could almost feel the air crackle with tension; any Stark worth their salt should have sensed it, and should have begun preparing for the inevitable conflict that was brewing. He envisioned himself unleashing the full fury of his wrath, flames licking at every corner of the city, consuming anything and anyone that dared to come between him and his queen. The jealousy, sharp and relentless, gnawed at him, and with each passing moment, it became more apparent that he would not let this slight stand unchallenged.

Aegon stalked across the polished wooden floor, his long strides echoing in the grand hall as he approached your still figure in the stands. The sound of his boots clinking sharply against the wood pierced the air, drawing attention from those nearby. You turned around swiftly, the remnants of tears shimmering in your eyes like morning dew. With a quick motion, you wiped your cheeks, summoning every ounce of strength to mask your vulnerability. A shaky smile broke through, holding onto the semblance of normalcy.

“Aegon, my love,” you called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, quivering with emotion.

His eyes narrowed, a storm brewing beneath the surface. “Do not play games with me,” he snarled, the low growl of his voice sending a chill down your spine. “What did he say to you? I demand to know, right this instant!” The intensity of his accusation was palpable, rage and jealousy intertwining as he loomed closer.

You took a small step back, startled by the ferocity of his words. “It was nothing, truly. He only greeted me, husband,” you stammered, your heart racing as his gaze bore into you, searching for the truth amidst the tension of the crowd’s watchful eyes.

“Nothing?” Aegon scoffed, throwing his arms wide in a dramatic display of disbelief. “You think I would believe such an absurd claim? What man merely greets a lady of the court without ulterior motives? You know better!” His voice was a fervent mix of jealousy and protectiveness, each syllable dripping with accusation.

“I assure you, Aegon, it was merely a courteous exchange,” you replied, striving for calm amidst the chaos swirling within. “You know how these formalities are.”

“Formalities?” he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm. “You may call it that, but I see a man with intentions far from noble. Do not underestimate my concern for you, for your well-being—my beloved wife.”

You watched as the tension washed over him, the play of emotions battling within those stormy eyes. “Please, my king, I ask you to trust me,” you implored, reaching out to touch his arm gently, hoping to quell the tempest within him. “There is nothing more between us than mere civility.”

His gaze softened slightly at your touch, but the underlying fury simmered beneath the surface. “Civility, they call it, yet it feels like a betrayal,” he murmured, clenching his jaw. “I would not let any man tarnish what belongs to me.”

“Aegon,” you said, your voice steadier now, “I belong to you, and only you. Let us not allow jealousy to poison what we hold sacred.”

The tension hung thick in the air, a palpable force that seemed to wrap around you both, suffocating yet electric with unspoken words. Aegon stood before you, his posture rigid, an imposing figure clad in regal attire that glinted with the weight of his title. His expression morphed swiftly from blazing rage to sharp realization, as if the realization itself cut deeper than any dagger.

"You still harbour feelings for him, don't you?" His voice was cold, each word deliberate, imbued with a bitterness that struck at your very core. His eyes, usually filled with warmth, now gleamed with a piercing scrutiny that threatened to unravel the very fabric of your devotion.

Your heart raced, a wild drumbeat of panic and despair. "No! No, of course not!" You exclaimed, an edge of desperation creeping into your tone. "I only love you and our children. You must believe me!" The plea dripped from your lips, each word a frantic attempt to bridge the chasm of doubt that had formed between you. You nearly sank to your knees, the guilt eating you alive.

Aegon’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, a devilish glint in his sapphire eyes. "Do you even love me? Or has this all been a grand farce?" His voice, while playful in tone, carried an undercurrent of pain that clutched at your heart with icy fingers. The regal confidence he usually commanded wavered, revealing the vulnerability that lay beneath the surface.

Tears, unbidden and unwelcome, began to stream down your cheeks, trailing down to your chin. You could feel the weight of your emotions, raw and unfiltered. "Of course, I love you, Aegon!" you cried, your voice cracking under the strain of your sincerity. "You must know that. Every part of my soul is bound to you!" The desperation washed over you, carrying with it the echoes of your commitment, louder than any accusation.

Aegon’s gaze softened for a fleeting moment, the familiar warmth flickering beneath the icy facade, before insecurity took hold once more. “Then why does he haunt the corners of your heart?” he challenged, crossing his arms, the royal crown upon his brow seeming heavier than ever.

You took a shaky breath, the air thick with tension and longing. "He is a shadow from the past. But you, Aegon," you implored, your eyes locking onto his, "you are my present and my future. Please, don’t let envy poison what we have built together. Can you not see how much I need you?" The words tumbled out, a cascade of heartache and fervour, hoping to illuminate the depths of your true feelings.

Aegon’s expression faltered for a brief heartbeat, the storm in his eyes giving way to a vulnerability that he rarely let show. “You swear it?” he whispered, his voice softer now, laced with hope and disbelief.

“I swear it,” you replied fervently, your heart laid bare before him, an offering of unwavering love despite the tempest that had arisen between you. “You are my king, my love, and the father of my children. I would never betray you.”

At that moment, the air shimmered with unspoken oaths, and you both stood on the ridge, caught between jealousy and the desperate hope for reprieve.

Aegon's face softened, the storm in his eyes receding like clouds parting after a storm. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing away the tears that stained your cheeks. The tenderness of his touch sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the love that had grown between you over the years.

"My queen," he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "Forgive me. I should believe you over anyone." He pulled you close, enveloping you in his strong arms. The familiar scent of him - smoke and spice - filled your senses, grounding you in the present.

You melted into his embrace, feeling the rapid beating of his heart against your cheek. "There's nothing to forgive," you whispered, your fingers curling into the rich fabric of his tunic. "We've weathered storms before."

"But I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Not to him, not to anyone," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gently, you placed your hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palm. "You won't lose me, Aegon. I am yours, now and always."

His eyes closed at your touch, leaning into your hand as if it were a lifeline. When he opened them again, they shimmered with unshed tears. "I love you," he breathed, the words carrying the weight.

465 notes · View notes

gatorbites-imagines · 4 months ago

Note

Friedrich getting 'infected' by proximity and becoming obsessed with dhampir reader?

Friedrich Harding x Dhampir male reader

Ficlet

I can’t deny I felt myself drawn to Friedrich, and it’s not just cuz its Aaron Taylor-Johnson playing him. The scene in the mausoleum… was something. This takes place somewhere after anna and the daughters die, but before Friedrich, well, you know. Tried to really go with the handsome mysterious vampire vibe here.

Hope this meets the “intro to obsession” vibe I was going for. I had a lot of fun writing this, would honestly love to write a part 2, if y’all are interested…

Nosfertatu 2024 spoilers ig

The plague was ransacking Wisborg, people dying by the dozen, bodies littering the streets faster than they could be moved away. Rats ran around, running about peoples feet, some even climbing up pedestrians legs if they could.

But Friedrich could not find it in himself to care. After his sweet Anna was gone, his beautiful daughters too, taken by this plague, for he still did not believe that it was some demon that took them. That was simply the ramblings of a woman who should have been locked away a long time ago. The alcohol on his tongue was sour like his thoughts. He truly should have convinced Thomas of turning his eyes onto another woman all that time ago.

Friedrich was not at his estate. He knew that would be the first place Thomas would find him, along with the two doctors who only played into the delusion. He simply couldn’t stand being in their presence right now, not after burying his beloved Anna and their daughters.

His eyes were bloodshot, throat raw from all his sobbing and weeping. He had not even changed out of the clothing he had worn to their funeral. The keeper of the bar he had found, had left the bottle with him after he had pair, deciding to return to the safety of their home, and not be stuck here with Friedrich.

The door of the establishment opened with a creak, cold air seeming to flood the room. What few candles stood about flickered before snuffing out, the room suddenly so cold that Friedrich’s breath was making vapors as a horrible cold sank into his bones.

The moment Friedrich turned his head, still so heavy and weary, the room seemed to warm up again, the candles flickering back on, the flame stronger and brighter than before. A man stood in the door, tall and broad in a way that spoke of good lineage, of a healthy diet, someone rich enough to eat enough to grow tall.

The clothing was similar, but not what was popular in Germany, but rather what you would see the upper class of the kingdom of Great Britain would wear. Most of it, at least. Down the middle of his coat, was stitching’s and details that felt like it was from somewhere else. It made Friedrich think of the few traders he had met from Romania.

What was most peculiar, was the mans eyewear. They looked like Windsor glasses, but the glass was tinted red. Not a dull weak red that most craftsmen could achieve, but a red so vibrant that the shades almost seemed to glow in the mans shadow. Last but not least, was the cane the man was holding. Polished and dark, with a pommel shaped like that seemed to be a bat of all things.

A feeling started filling the room as the men stepped closer to the mourning widow, the door slamming shut behind the mysterious man as if the wind itself as pulled it, his polished shoes and heels clicking across the flooring as he neared.

His walk was graceful, as if his feet were not touching the ground as he moved, like the weight of the world was not holding him down like everyone else. The world so heavy that Friedrich wanted it to swallow him whole.

A shiver that felt both molten and freezing ran down Friedrichs spine, as this graceful man sat down beside him on another stool at the door, the ship merchant finding himself almost bewitched as the unknown man pulled off his skintight leather gloves. It felt almost promiscuous, the way the gloves slowly pulled off his fingers and folded up so neatly on the bar top.

“You would not mind if I joined you for a drink, would you, Herr?” he finally spoke, his voice purred and accented, like a big fancily dressed feline, perhaps like one of those lions Friedrich had heard of. The voice was accented, something British mixed with Romanian. Seemingly out of nowhere, a crystal glass was in front of him, the mans eyes hidden behind the tinted glass of his special eyewear, but Friedrich felt like a mouse before a cat, like he was seeing someone greater than himself.

“N… not at all” he finally mustered out, voice gasped and breathless, like something besides his heavy grief was weighing on his lungs. The bottle of whatever alcohol Friedrich had bought in his blind grief felt heavy in his clammy hands as he pulled the stopper, turning it to pour it into the mans glass.

Friedrich could not wrench his eyes from the tall mans face, he felt almost bewitched. It felt like when he would look at Anna, but… more. Anna was always his beloved beautiful wife, who made him feel like an animal at times with how much he yearned her. But with her, he was the wolf, the hunter, and her his fluffy rabbit.

But now, he felt meek, sensitive, the hairs on his skin standing on end. Friedrich felt spit pool in his mouth as his sudden companion lifted the now filled glass, slowly bringing it to his plush lips, the bop of his throat as he swallowed making sweat gather on the merchant’s brow.

The beating of his heart was loud in his ears, Friedrichs hands twitching on the bar top in a need to wipe them on his trousers, but under this man’s attention he felt stuck as if he was submerged in stone or ice. His smile was… so beautiful. Dizzying, like alcohol and tobacco, like the medicines that made your world spin and colors dance before your ears.

Some of the man’s teeth were sharp, sharper than any Friedrich had ever seen, but his attention was stuck on the way his tongue flicked across his bottom lip to catch any stray drops of alcohol.

“You seemed burdened by a great weight, my friend” he purred, placing the now empty glass down, just to reach upper and take Friedrichs chin between his pointer and thumb. A loud shaky exhale left Friedrich, his Adams apple bouncing as he swallowed, his insides burning at such a small touch.

“I… I lost my wife… my daughters. To this plague” he gasped, the words wrenching from his chest like his daughters wrenching the favorite doll from each other’s hands. Why did he say that? spill such a painful fact to a complete stranger.

“You have my deepest condolences” his accented voice cooed, like one would coo at a small pitiful animal. Yet, Friedrich did not feel put down by the tone of voice, instead his very heart seemed to pump twice as fast as something like euphoria flooded his veins. The very attention of this man had Friedrich feeling more alive than any other moment of his life.

“It saddens me that my father’s obsession should take such important beings from you. I will find a way to repay you, anything you may want. You simply come find me, when you know what that is” his almost erotic voice rolled, his face drawing closer and closer to Friedrichs.

He knew he should pull away, claim disgust and horror of a man, and a strange at that, drawing so close, just after his wife had been put away in the mausoleum. But Friedrichs blood rushed, both to his face and downwards, his lips parting in a soft hungry gasp as his eyelids drooped.

The mans lips were cold, but not as cold as a corpses. Cold, like when you just got in from the pouring rain and you were soaked to the bone. His tongue tasted metallic, salty almost, mixed with the minty flavor of pastils. The kind a man would use to fix his breath.

It should have disgusted Friedrich, yet he found himself arching into it with a needy hungry whimper, a noise his sweet Anna never had drawn from him. The merchant wanted to grasp onto this man, to devour his tongue and mouth in ways he never dared with Anna, to climb upon him and be taken in ways he had only heard shamefully spoken of by others.

Pure ecstasy, what must be a taste of heaven, enough for Friedrich to fear he would spill in his trousers like a fool. Addicting, more than any drug. But just as he was about to indulge himself, the man pulled away, his grin wider and more akin to the demon paintings of the churches.

His teeth were painted red, his tongue flicking across his sharp fangs. His tongue seemed sharper and longer than the average person, but Friedrich felt nothing but want. In his hazy state, Friedrich did not even see him leave. One moment he was there, the next, gone, the door of the establishment wide open and the candles put out.

Rats ran by the door, yet none entered, as if there was a barrier in the way. It was only now that Friedrich felt the ache of his tongue, his hand clumsily reaching up and brushing against it, drawing away only to see them coated in blood. His mouth tasted like blood, his handkerchief soaked in it when he pressed it against his mouth.

His tongue hurt, did it start bleeding on accident when you two coiled yours like a pair of mating snakes? The throbbing of his tongue was almost as addictive as the throbbing between his legs, a wild feeling in his mind and body.

Friedrich stumbled to his feet, neglecting to pick up his hat as he stumbled out of the establishment, leaving his bottle behind as he tripped towards his home. With all the death around them, no one had time to pay attention to the befuddled man whose mouth and chin was soaked in blood, and nobody had time to pay attention to how the rats seemed to go right around him like a parting sea.

He must get home. He had too… he had to find that man again, he had to find you.

312 notes · View notes

kyunghwannie · 4 days ago

Text

"Second Chances" (Part:1)

Yoo Jeongyeon x M!Reader

➤Genre: Romance, Smut, Second Chances in Love, Slight and minor little angst(?)

➤Tags: It's just fluffy lovemaking (Still a smut though)

➤Teaser: Losing the one you loved doesn’t mean you can't find that love in someone else. Because you certainly changed her mind about that. (A/n: Small rant: I hate the 1000 Block limit)

Chapter 1: A Night to Remember

Scene: Jeongyeon’s House – Late Afternoon

The sun peeked through the half-drawn curtains, casting a soft orange hue across the modest living room. Toys were scattered here and there—plastic dinosaurs, crayons without caps, a half-built LEGO tower leaning like it was exhausted too.

Jeongyeon stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, a pot simmering quietly on the stove. She stirred out of habit more than need, her eyes drifting toward the living room where her five-year-old son was sprawled out on the carpet, deeply engrossed in a cartoon.

There was peace in this routine. And a quiet loneliness she didn’t talk about.

"You should really get a dishwasher," came Nayeon’s voice from behind as she leaned against the kitchen counter, munching on a baby carrot she’d stolen from the fridge.

Jeongyeon didn’t even flinch. "You should really stop showing up uninvited."

"Please. You’d miss me if I didn’t." Nayeon smirked, tossing a piece of carrot toward Jeongyeon, who dodged it with the grace of someone who’d been friends with her too long.

"Don’t encourage her," Jihyo chimed in as she stepped through the front door, holding a bag of groceries. "You know how she gets when she's bored."

Jeongyeon shot both women a tired look but smiled anyway. "You two act like you don’t have lives of your own."

"We do," Jihyo said cheerfully, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. "But this is more fun."

"Intervention, actually," Nayeon added, brushing imaginary lint from her jeans. "We came for a mission."

Jeongyeon raised an eyebrow. "A mission."

"Operation: You-Need-To-Get-Laid," Nayeon said with zero shame and both hands in the air like she was announcing a game show prize.

Jeongyeon blinked slowly. "You’re unbelievable."

"No, she’s just observant," Jihyo defended, lifting out a bottle of wine and setting it aside like a prop. "And she’s right. When was the last time you went out just for yourself? No kid. No work. Just... Jeongyeon."

There was a pause. Jeongyeon stirred the soup again, slower this time.

"It’s been five years, hasn’t it?" Nayeon asked, her tone softening. "Since he passed."

Jeongyeon didn’t answer, but the shift in her posture said enough.

"You’re still young, Jeong," Jihyo said gently. "You deserve more than just bedtime stories and reheated soup."

From the living room, her son let out a laugh—small, pure, and full of joy. Jeongyeon’s lips curled into a faint smile.

"He’s enough."

"He’s your whole world, we know," Nayeon replied, stepping closer. "But you’re still part of that world too. You can’t forget yourself forever."

Jeongyeon met her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t push the thought away instantly.

Jeongyeon leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, as if trying to shield herself from the invisible pull of their words.

"I'm serious, guys," she said, though her voice was softer. "I’m not ready for... anything like that."

"No one's asking you to marry a stranger," Nayeon replied, leaning her hip on the counter, voice smooth. "We just want you to remember what it feels like to be noticed. To laugh with someone new. To look at a man and know he’s looking right back at you—not because you're a mom, or a widow... but because you're you."

Jeongyeon’s throat tightened. She looked away, but Jihyo stepped into her line of sight, eyes shining—not with pity, but with affection.

"You're still beautiful, Jeong," Jihyo whispered. "You still deserve to feel adored."

"You act like I’ve turned into a ghost," Jeongyeon mumbled with a light chuckle, trying to defuse the weight in the air.

"You act like you’re not the most effortlessly stunning person in any room you walk into," Nayeon shot back, flashing her a look. "Do you know what it’s like watching men glance your way when we go shopping? Or that barista last week who practically melted handing you that latte?"

"He spilled milk on his own shoe," Jeongyeon said dryly.

"Exactly," Nayeon grinned. "You're still magnetic. But you’ve locked all that charm away like it’s a sin."

Jihyo stepped closer, voice softer now—more persuasive than pushy.

"We’re not trying to push you into anything," she said, gently taking Jeongyeon's hand. "But tonight... let yourself just exist. No titles. No expectations. Just Jeongyeon. Let her breathe a little."

"Let her dance," Nayeon added, her eyes twinkling. "Let her flirt. Hell, let her be kissed."

Jeongyeon held back a smile, but it flickered at the corner of her lips. The warmth in the room shifted, like the wind had changed direction.

"And if something... or someone... catches your eye," Jihyo said, squeezing her hand, "you don’t have to run from it. You’re allowed to want more."

"More what?" Jeongyeon asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nayeon stepped beside her and whispered with a teasing smile, "More smiles. More sparks. Maybe... more hands in your hair and whispers in your ear. You know. The good kind."

Jeongyeon rolled her eyes, but she was laughing now—and the laugh sounded like a piece of her long buried under grief had peeked out again.

"You two are dangerous."

"No," Jihyo said, tugging her toward the hallway. "We’re your best friends."

"And tonight," Nayeon added, already flinging open Jeongyeon’s closet, "we're your fairy godmothers. Now go shower. You're not wearing those mom jeans to meet your destiny."

As Nayeon tore through outfit after outfit, tossing half of Jeongyeon’s closet onto the bed with theatrical grunts, Jihyo remained quiet—just watching her best friend with that knowing, grounded look only she ever truly mastered.

Jeongyeon sat on the edge of her bed, arms limp at her sides, her smile from earlier fading into something more solemn. She stared out the window, watching the sun dip lower, as if uncertain whether she should let the night arrive.

"You know what this feels like?" she said softly. "Like I’m betraying him."

The room stilled. Even Nayeon froze mid-blouse toss, her arms half-raised.

"Jeong..." Jihyo said carefully, stepping forward.

"I know you two mean well," Jeongyeon continued, not looking at them. "But every time I think about putting on a dress, or letting someone flirt with me, I see his face. And it hurts. It makes me feel like I’m choosing someone else over him."

Her voice trembled on the last word.

And that’s when Jihyo stepped in—slowly, purposefully—and knelt in front of her.

"You’re not choosing someone else over him," she said, taking Jeongyeon’s hand. "You’d be choosing someone because of him."

Jeongyeon blinked, eyes glossing.

"You remember that letter he wrote?" Jihyo asked gently. "The one you let us read that night after the funeral... when the baby was just a few months old?"

Jeongyeon swallowed hard.

"I remember."

"Then you remember what he said in the last paragraph," Jihyo pressed, squeezing her hand. "That he didn’t want to be the reason you stopped living. That if you ever found someone who made your heart skip again... someone who could hold your hand when things get quiet and the grief comes creeping back... he wanted you to take it. Take the chance."

Jeongyeon’s lips parted like she might speak—but no words came.

"That’s not betrayal, Jeong," Jihyo said softly. "That’s honoring him. He gave you permission to keep loving. Because he knew you’d have so much of it left after he was gone."

Nayeon slowly walked over, holding a soft navy dress in her hands—simple, elegant, understated.

"You’re not forgetting him," she said, her voice quiet for once. "You’re just remembering yourself."

A silence settled, deep and meaningful. Then finally—after what felt like a century—Jeongyeon exhaled.

Long. Shaky.

And nodded.

"Okay."

Nayeon’s eyes widened. "Okay?!"

Jeongyeon smiled, this time with something lighter in her chest. "Okay. I’ll go."

"Girl, you better—!" Nayeon squealed, rushing forward and throwing the dress into Jeongyeon’s lap.

"But if I end up in the news for kicking some sleazy guy’s shin," Jeongyeon warned, pointing at them, "I’m blaming both of you."

"Please. With that face, that voice, and those legs? They’ll be the ones crawling to you," Nayeon grinned.

Jihyo chuckled. "Let’s just get her ready before she changes her mind."

The navy dress was gently set aside as Nayeon sprang to her feet with a dramatic gasp.

"No, no—wait! I just remembered something better."

Jeongyeon blinked. "Better than that?"

Nayeon darted out of the room like a storm on heels, yelling from the hallway,

"Jihyo, remember that vintage dress we got on that impulse shopping trip last year? The one we said Jeong would never agree to wear?"

Jihyo's eyes lit up. "The polka dot one with the pleats and the bow?!"

"Yes!! Get the steamer ready!"

Jeongyeon raised an eyebrow, skeptical but too exhausted to argue.

"You two are acting like I’m about to walk a red carpet."

Jihyo shot her a look. "You’re walking into a bar with us. That’s our red carpet."

Moments later, Nayeon returned, dress draped over her arms like she was presenting a priceless treasure.

"Tada!" she beamed.

Jeongyeon’s eyes widened. It was beautiful—more than she expected. The fabric shimmered subtly under the light, the light beige and dark green tones catching her breath. Black polka dots danced across it with just enough flair to be playful. Ruffles framed the front and sleeves, not in an overpowering way, but enough to make a statement. The bowtie neckline sat just beneath the striped high collar, all wrapped up in vintage sophistication.

"You seriously expect me to wear that?" Jeongyeon asked, eyeing the sheer sleeves and dark green pleated panels along the sides.

"I expect you to wear it and make men cry," Nayeon replied proudly.

After a few playful protests and a whole lot of laughter, Jeongyeon found herself standing in front of the full-length mirror, now dressed—unrecognizably so.

Nayeon was behind her, carefully working on her hair. A few elegant twists, pinned and tucked, turned her soft brown strands into a messy updo, with a couple wispy tendrils curling by her cheeks and ears. A faint spritz of floral mist hung in the air.

"I look..."

Jeongyeon didn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t.

Jihyo, sitting on the edge of the bed, gave her a soft, satisfied smile. "Like a woman who deserves to be loved again."

"You’re not just a mom," Nayeon added, tying the bow around Jeongyeon’s collar. "You’re still you. And tonight, we want the world to remember that too."

Jeongyeon looked at herself in the mirror. The dress, the hair, the gentle blush of makeup across her cheeks—it was like seeing a memory of someone she used to be, but now stronger, wiser... ready to feel again.

And in her chest, something fluttered. Not fear. Not guilt.

Something closer to hope.

The sound of the front door creaking open was followed by a sudden thud and a loud:

"AUNTY CHAEYOUNG!"

A flurry of small footsteps galloped across the hallway tiles before Jeongyeon’s son, Minjae, launched himself toward the door like a mini cannonball. The boy’s squeal of excitement echoed through the house.

"I’m here! I’m here! I brought snacks, I brought games, and—yes—I brought slime!" Chaeyoung’s voice rang out with chaotic energy, right before Minjae practically tackled her knees.

"SLIME?!" he gasped in awe, his voice bouncing with uncontainable joy.

"Shhh! Indoor voices, tiny human," Chaeyoung teased, ruffling his hair before tossing her oversized tote bag onto the couch.

She crouched down to his level, holding up two fists like she was unveiling treasure.

"Okay, tonight’s options: galaxy slime, or... glow-in-the-dark dinosaur goo. Choose wisely, young warrior."

Minjae’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. "BOTH!"

"Wrong answer," Chaeyoung grinned, scooping him up and spinning him once. "But I like your spirit!"

From the hallway, Nayeon called out,

"Don’t spoil him too much or he’s going to start thinking you’re the fun mom!"

Chaeyoung peeked around the corner with Minjae clinging to her like a backpack.

"I am the fun mom. Just ask him."

Minjae stuck his tongue out at his actual mother. "She lets me eat ice cream before dinner!"

Jeongyeon stepped into the living room, her arms crossed—but a smile tugging at her lips.

"And that’s why I said no sugar tonight, Son Chae."

"Relax, I brought sugar-free fruit snacks. I’m not trying to turn him into a raccoon," Chaeyoung said with faux offense, setting Minjae down gently. The boy immediately ran toward the kitchen, yelling something about showing her his new toy spaceship.

As soon as he disappeared, Chaeyoung walked over to Jeongyeon, her eyes traveling up and down with impressed delight.

"Whoa."

"What?" Jeongyeon asked, fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress.

Chaeyoung gave a slow whistle. "I didn’t know we were sending royalty to the bar. Who are you and what did you do with Minjae’s mom?"

Jeongyeon flushed. "I feel ridiculous."

"You look beautiful," Chaeyoung said sincerely, placing a hand on Jeongyeon’s shoulder. "Like... vintage Chanel magazine-cover beautiful."

"I told you!" Nayeon shouted from the kitchen, grabbing a juice box for Minjae.

Jihyo appeared behind her, holding Jeongyeon's coat like a fashion stylist on standby.

"Honestly, if you don’t get hit on at least twice tonight, I’m filing a complaint with the universe."

Jeongyeon rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"You three are too much."

"You’ve been ‘too little’ for too long," Nayeon murmured, her voice softening.

Chaeyoung caught the tone and stepped back, giving them their moment. "Don’t worry. I’ll make sure this little whirlwind is fed, washed, and not jumping off furniture. Go be hot, have fun, and come back with a mysterious story I can pretend to believe."

Jeongyeon turned to her, gaze grateful. "Thank you, really. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable leaving him with anyone else."

Chaeyoung smiled. "Hey, he’s my favorite human under four feet. You deserve one night where your name isn’t ‘Mommy.’"

Minjae came running back, clutching his spaceship in one hand and a crayon in the other. "Aunty Chae! Look, I made him a jetpack! Wanna help me draw fire?"

Chaeyoung dropped to the floor like it was her natural habitat. "Let’s make it explode!"

As Minjae giggled and dove onto the living room rug with her, Jeongyeon stood watching for a moment. The sound of her son's laughter, the softness in the air, the gentle tug of her ruffled dress—it all swirled into a moment of stillness in her heart.

Maybe... just maybe... tonight could be a good thing.

Maybe she was ready to feel something new.

The car engine purred to life as Jihyo pulled out of Jeongyeon's driveway, the city lights starting to flicker in the distance like they were winking at them.

Jeongyeon sat in the passenger seat, her hands clutched around her purse like it was a lifeline. In the backseat, Nayeon had already kicked off her heels and was cranking up the volume on the car stereo.

“Okay, I need to set the tone for tonight,” Nayeon announced. “We’re not going out with the ghost of Jeongyeon’s past clinging to her ruffles. We’re going out with her future sitting on her neckline like a damn diamond.”

Jihyo laughed. “Preach, Sister Pastor.”

Jeongyeon turned with a sigh. “I didn’t even want to come out in the first place, you maniacs.”

“And yet,” Nayeon drawled, sliding forward to point at Jeongyeon’s legs, “those silky stockings say otherwise. Don’t lie to us with your mouth when your calves are giving single-but-open-to-fun.”

“She’s right,” Jihyo added, grinning as she switched lanes. “Your dress says Downtown Abbey, but your eyes say Downtown Daddy.”

Jeongyeon groaned, covering her face. “Why did I let you two do this to me?”

Nayeon reached forward and gently tugged at the bowtie at Jeongyeon’s neck. “Because deep down, under all that ‘Mom Mode,’ there’s still a woman who misses feeling wanted. Touched. Adored. You don’t have to marry someone tonight, Jeong. Just remember what it feels like to be the center of someone’s attention.”

Jihyo nodded, voice softening. “You were always the quiet beauty. The kind people don’t forget. You didn’t stop being that just because life got hard.”

Jeongyeon didn’t reply for a moment, staring out the window as streetlights brushed across her face in a golden rhythm.

“He really wanted this for me,” she murmured.

“Who?” Jihyo asked gently.

“My husband.” Jeongyeon smiled faintly. “He left me a letter. Said he knew I’d bury myself in motherhood and grief. Told me I deserved to smile again. Even if that smile came from someone else.”

The car fell into a still silence.

Even Nayeon, who was rarely quiet, simply leaned forward and rested a hand on Jeongyeon’s shoulder. “Then tonight... we honor him by letting you feel alive again.”

Jeongyeon swallowed hard, blinking away the unexpected sting behind her lashes. “God. Why do you two have to make me cry right before I walk into a bar?”

“Don’t worry,” Nayeon smirked. “If your mascara runs, just cry on some hot guy’s shirt. Works every time.”

“I’m not you.”

“No one is.” Nayeon leaned back smugly. “But tonight? You’re my protégé. Mama Bunny’s teaching you how to flirt again.”

“I don’t need flirting lessons.”

“You haven’t flirted in five years, Jeongyeon. That’s like... 35 in Flirt Years. You're practically a fossil.”

“Then you’re my fossil friends dragging me into extinction.”

Jihyo cracked up, slapping the steering wheel. “Shut up, that was actually good.”

“See?” Nayeon grinned, reaching over the seat to nudge Jeongyeon’s arm. “The sass is returning. She’s back, baby.”

“Halfway back,” Jeongyeon muttered. “Still feel like vomiting.”

“Totally normal,” Jihyo replied. “That’s just your body rebooting its hot-girl system. Happens to all of us after a dry spell.”

Nayeon tapped on her phone and held it up as a familiar beat filled the car.

“Okay. Final prep song. Cue confidence.”

The unmistakable bass of Doja Cat’s “Woman” flooded the car, and Nayeon howled.

“JEONGYEON, CLAIM YOUR INNER GODDESS!”

As the beat picked up, Jeongyeon couldn’t help but laugh, covering her mouth as her two best friends screamed lyrics and danced like lunatics in a moving vehicle. It was wild. Ridiculous. Loud.

But it was also warm.

It was home.

And somewhere between the thumping bass and the city lights growing brighter, Jeongyeon realized...

Maybe she was ready.

Meanwhile…

You tug your jacket over your shoulders and slide into the driver’s seat of your modest but clean car, the scent of worn leather and fresh air settling into your lungs like a balm.

The key turns. The engine hums awake.

It’s been a good day. A quietly fulfilling one.

Not loud. Not thrilling. But the kind that leaves a gentle smile tugging at the corner of your lips—like something inside you has finally exhaled.

“Alright,” you mumble to no one in particular, eyes on the soft orange hues bleeding into the horizon. “Just a drink. A soft seat. And a little music.”

It wasn’t about meeting someone. It never was.

You weren’t dressed like a man on the hunt—no cologne, no sharp-cut blazer, no coldblooded swagger. Just a loose button-up rolled to the elbows, slightly tousled hair from the breeze, and a book still sitting in the passenger seat like your most loyal companion.

The city moved around you like a lazy river. Headlights flickered past. Some couple laughed on a sidewalk. A dog barked in the distance.

You tapped your fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with the faint hum of jazz spilling from the radio.

You weren’t rugged. Or overpowering. There was nothing loud in your presence.

But people noticed you.

The way your eyes lingered just a second longer on a moment. How your words seemed like they were chosen from a shelf of poetry instead of a bin of clichés. How you smiled like you’d seen heartbreak... and forgiven it.

You were the type that women remembered long after forgetting the names of men who shouted for their attention.

“Peace and a pint,” you muttered, parking outside a small tucked-away bar you’d passed a dozen times but never entered.

It didn’t look wild.

It looked... right.

Dim lights. Soft music. A little warmth spilling from its windows like it knew you needed it.

You stepped out, closed the door gently behind you, and with one hand tucked into your pocket, walked in like a breeze—not a storm.

There was no story waiting for you inside.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

But the universe doesn’t always ask your permission before writing the next chapter.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in the dimly lit parking lot behind the bar, the neon glow from the front sign casting flickers of amber light across the windshield. Inside, the music was muffled, more like a heartbeat than a song.

Jihyo popped the door open first, stepping out in sleek heels with a casual grace. She took a moment to stretch, arms overhead, as if preparing for battle.

“Alright, ladies,” she announced like a general. “Tonight, the mission is clear: make Jeongyeon remember that she is hot, wanted, and not a ghost living in a Victorian novel.”

“Says the woman who brought two backup dancers to a low-key bar,” Jeongyeon muttered, but her lips were already twitching upward as Nayeon rounded the car.

“Backup dancers?” Nayeon scoffed, flicking her hair dramatically as she shut the passenger door. “Please. We’re the main act. You’re the special guest star. Mystery. Vintage. Forbidden fruit. You're like... emotional Dior.”

Jeongyeon laughed, trying to suppress it, but Nayeon knew that tone was a win. She circled her arm around Jeong’s and looked her up and down.

“No but seriously, this dress is insane on you.”

“It's... weird. I haven’t dressed up like this in years,” Jeongyeon admitted, smoothing the pleats near her hip, feeling the way the silky fabric clung and flowed. “I look like a time traveler who got stuck in the wrong decade.”

“Yeah, the decade where she was the heartbreaker every poet cried over,” Jihyo added, meeting them at the back of the car. “The messy updo? The ruffles? The bow? Jeong, you’re walking cinematic tension. Men will write songs after this.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Jeongyeon’s voice was quieter now. The nerves were creeping back in, her thumb grazing her ring finger out of habit. “I don’t want to be anyone’s song. I just... want to have a night where I’m not ‘Mom’ or ‘Mrs. Yoo.’”

The air turned softer. Nayeon’s grip on her arm loosened but didn’t let go.

“Then that’s all this night has to be.”

“And if something more comes along,” Jihyo added, nudging her side with a wink, “that’s just... dessert.”

Jeongyeon glanced at the warm glow leaking from the bar windows. Inside, she could hear laughter. Glasses clinking. A low hum of music and life.

She hadn’t felt part of something like that in... years.

Not since her world became smaller. Quieter. Not since everything good she had felt like it belonged to someone else first—her son, her job, her memories.

Tonight, maybe she’d belong to herself again.

“Okay,” she said softly, squaring her shoulders. “Let’s go inside before I change my mind.”

“Too late.” Nayeon grinned. “Operation: Jeongyeon Glows begins now.”

And just like that, the door to the bar opened with a low chime.

Unaware, just a few feet away, someone else had walked in not long ago—quietly, gently, without expectation.

The door swung open with the soft chime of a bell overhead, spilling warm golden light into the cool evening air. The three women stepped inside, and immediately, the world outside melted away.

It wasn’t what Jeongyeon expected.

No pounding bass. No crowds grinding against each other. No headache-inducing neon. Instead, there was soft jazz laced with the occasional acoustic cover floating through the air. Amber pendant lights hung low over dark wooden tables. Shelves lined with books and vintage record covers adorned the walls. And in the far corner, a modest bar glowed with the gentle flicker of candlelight and a smiling bartender polishing glasses like a movie character who probably had sage advice.

Jeongyeon slowed her steps, eyes scanning the space with open surprise.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispered, a low whistle slipping from her lips. “You two really didn’t bring me to a hookup factory.”

Nayeon gave a knowing smirk. “You thought we’d dump you in some club with twenty-year-olds doing body shots?”

“Yes,” Jeongyeon deadpanned. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

Jihyo giggled beside her, slipping off her coat as she surveyed the scene like she owned it. “This place has an energy. Like... slow-burning romance. Or whispered secrets.”

“Or freshly-divorced writers meeting strangers who buy them tea,” Nayeon added, pointing to a pair in the corner, laughing quietly over what looked like a plate of shared fries.

“That’s oddly specific,” Jeongyeon muttered as they approached an empty table near the window, tucked just enough into the shadows to feel cozy.

“Point is,” Jihyo said, sliding into her seat, “we picked this place because it felt like... you. Not some version of you we think should exist. The actual you. The real Jeongyeon.”

Jeongyeon paused before sitting, fingers brushing over the back of the chair. That simple statement... it settled deep. Like honey stirred into tea.

She looked around again. The quiet laughter. The clinking of soft drinks and wines. The music drifting through the space like it had nowhere else to be.

It didn’t feel like a bar.

It felt like possibility.

She sat down slowly, exhaling in a way she hadn’t done in months.

“I like it here,” she admitted.

Nayeon reached across the table and took her hand for a second, squeezing it. “We knew you would.”

Jeongyeon sat in the soft velvet seat, letting herself settle into the unfamiliar comfort. The place still wrapped around her like a new coat—foreign, but warming fast.

The low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the flickering candlelight on the table—it all created an atmosphere that felt suspended in time. She watched the way people leaned in a little closer here, spoke a little softer, smiled a little slower.

It was…intimate. Not in the way that begged for rushed romance or one-night blurs. It was the kind of intimacy built from noticing—the small details, the pauses between sentences, the second glances.

“You good?” Nayeon asked, chin propped on her palm.

“Mm-hmm,” Jeongyeon replied absently, eyes drifting across the bar. “It’s... peaceful. Not what I expected. But in a good way.”

“You look like you’re actually thinking of relaxing,” Jihyo teased with a smile. “Careful, or we’ll think you're enjoying this.”

Jeongyeon chuckled, rolling her eyes before standing. “I’ll grab us some drinks. My treat.”

“Ooh, responsible and generous,” Nayeon smirked. “You really are a catch, Jeongie.”

“Shut up,” Jeongyeon muttered, brushing her fingers through her loosely styled updo as she made her way toward the bar.

The floors creaked softly beneath her boots, the scent of old wood and citrusy cocktails mingling in the air. She wasn’t in a hurry—just letting herself drift between thoughts and the ambiance.

And then—

Thump.

She bumped into something—or someone—solid yet warm.

Her balance tilted, just slightly. Enough to send a quick flutter of panic through her chest, until—

A hand caught her arm. Gentle. Firm.

Steadying.

You.

You looked down at her, brows lifted in gentle surprise, the corners of your lips pulled into the beginnings of a smile.

"Oh—careful," you murmured, your voice a soft lilt, calm and melodic. "You alright?"

Her breath caught.

Not because she was hurt. But because—god—who the hell did she just bump into?

And across the room, Nayeon’s elbow met Jihyo’s ribs.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, her eyes laser-focused on the scene.

“Did Jeongyeon just bump into some novel protagonist level man?”

Jihyo blinked once, then again.

“Is he glowing?”

“He might be glowing.”

They both leaned slightly forward, drinks forgotten, curiosity taking full control.

Jeongyeon, meanwhile, blinked up at you, stunned into silence for a beat too long.

"I—uh, I’m okay. Sorry," she finally managed, her voice laced with that involuntary softness that came from being caught off guard.

Your hand lingered just a second longer on her arm, not presumptuous—just enough to make sure she was stable.

"No harm done," you smiled again. "You’ve got the kind of entrance people write about, though."

And that was it.

Something shifted. In the air. In her chest. In the quiet way her fingers curled inward when you let go.

She didn’t even notice Nayeon and Jihyo staring like they were watching the start of a drama they didn’t know they’d been waiting for.

You didn’t move just yet.

Your fingers slid away from her arm slowly, respectfully, and your head tilted just a little as your eyes met hers—curious, but warm. There wasn’t a trace of urgency in your gaze, nor anything predatory. Just... wonder. The kind of wonder reserved for art you didn’t expect to find hanging quietly in a forgotten hallway.

And then you said it.

Soft. Clear.

"You’re... stunning."

Jeongyeon blinked.

There was no smirk behind your words. No suggestive lean-in. No glance downward or over her shoulder. Your compliment wasn’t aimed at the shape of her or the dress she wore. It was aimed at her.

The energy she gave. The quiet grace. The way she stood there, framed in polka dots and soft light, still a little dazed from the bump, still grounded by your presence.

"There’s something about your aura," you added, voice as smooth as old vinyl on a rainy night. "It’s peaceful… like you’ve lived through a lot, but it didn’t break you. It just made you glow differently."

Her lips parted. Nothing came out.

What the hell do you even say to that?

Across the room, Nayeon nearly spilled her cocktail as she leaned into Jihyo’s shoulder with a giddy squeal.

“Jeongie’s blushing.”

“That’s not a blush, that’s a slow emotional meltdown,” Jihyo whispered, her eyes wide with delight.

“He’s like a soft-spoken Miyazaki character—with a jawline."

Jeongyeon felt the heat on her cheeks rise. This wasn’t a line. She knew lines. She could sniff them from ten feet away. But this? This was… disarming.

“Thank you,” she said, quieter than she meant to, eyes searching yours as if trying to find where the strings were hidden.

There were none.

Your smile remained, gentle and easy.

You didn’t reach for her again. You didn’t push. You simply looked at her like someone who’d bumped into beauty and couldn’t help but say so.

Back at the table, Nayeon elbowed Jihyo again.

“This is it. Push her. Go.”

“Push her where?” Jihyo whispered, still entranced.

“To the bar. To him. Push her into fate!”

“You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

Jihyo gave her a look—and then stood.

She approached with all the grace of a seasoned general in stilettos, catching Jeongyeon’s eye and mouthing something quick and quiet:

“Get drinks. With him. We’re watching.”

Jeongyeon’s brows shot up in panic, but her mouth betrayed her with a small, flustered smile.

She opened her mouth like she had something to say… then closed it. Then opened it again.

“W-Would you… maybe—want to sit? A drink? With me, I mean? Just—if you’re not busy.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the bowtie near her collar as she said it. Her voice wasn’t the smooth, commanding tone she used when managing a house, calming a child, or brushing off small talk. This voice… was shy, unsure, yet blooming with something that hadn’t stirred in years.

You let out a warm, air-soft chuckle—not at her, but in gentle amusement. She was adorable in the way a spring bloom is after a long frost—uncertain, but undeniably vibrant.

“I’d love that,” you said with a small nod.

Then, you made no move to lead. You let her take the lead.

Her hand gestured toward a more secluded two-seater table, half-tucked near the warm golden light of a wall lamp. The bar buzzed with a calm hum of conversations and clinking glass, but this little corner? It might as well have been its own world.

She sat first, a little stiff. You took the other seat slowly, giving her time to adjust to this unfamiliar gravity between you both.

You smiled again—this time introducing yourself, voice gentle like you were speaking not just to her ears, but to the hesitation in her chest.

“I’m L/N Y/N.”

You didn’t add more. No title. No job. No posturing. Just… a name. Like it was an offering.

She nodded, her fingers still lightly fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

“Jeongyeon.”

Then, like realizing how dry that sounded, she added quickly,

“Sorry, that was—Just. Jeongyeon.”

You smiled deeper, folding your hands on the table as you leaned in just enough to show you were fully present, fully listening.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

She looked down at her hands for a second… then smiled. That rare smile—the one people wear when something inside them dares to believe they’re still allowed to be noticed. Desired. Human.

Meanwhile, Nayeon and Jihyo, a few tables down and half-hidden behind a tall potted plant, were peeking like teenagers watching the first episode of a drama they instantly knew they’d binge.

“He said her name like it meant something,” Jihyo whispered, stunned.

“If she doesn’t marry him by winter, I’ll do it myself,” Nayeon muttered, sipping dramatically from her drink.

You didn’t rush anything. The moment had a rhythm of its own, and you let it breathe.

Jeongyeon sat across from you with a polite posture, one hand resting on the stem of her drink, the other slightly curled in her lap. But her eyes—they searched yours like they couldn’t decide whether to retreat or lean in.

You leaned forward slightly, just enough to make your voice feel closer.

“You know… you carry a kind of stillness with you.”

Her brows arched.

“Stillness?”

“Yeah,” you said, with a soft smile. “Not silence. Not distance. Just… something quiet and strong. Like you’ve been through storms, but never let them take away your sun.”

Her lips parted, the compliment slipping into her like warmth after a cold breeze.

“That’s… oddly poetic.”

You tilted your head with a small grin.

“I like finding poetry in people. Especially ones who don’t realize how much of it they carry.”

Jeongyeon chuckled—really chuckled—and something about it loosened the stiffness in her shoulders.

“That’s new,” she said, brushing a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Usually when I get approached, it’s a ‘You look like you’ve got secrets’ or ‘Are you a model from the 80s?’”

“Oh no, definitely not from the 80s,” you teased, your eyes gleaming. “Maybe timeless. Or someone who looks like they stepped out of an old French film, wearing ruffles and stealing hearts with one uncertain smile.”

Her hand flew to cover her mouth, half from laughing, half from surprise at how easily your words slipped under her skin.

“Are you like this with every woman you meet?” she asked playfully, narrowing her eyes with a tiny smirk.

“Only when they make me forget I came here alone,” you answered, sincere, no pause in your tone.

Her fingers tightened slightly on her glass, but her gaze didn’t turn away. She wasn’t used to this—being looked at like she was more than just a pretty face, more than a passing interest.

You gently asked, “So… Jeongyeon. What makes you laugh when the world’s heavy?”

That question. It surprised her. She looked away briefly, then back, and something in her shifted. The part that had been locked behind grief, behind duty, behind years of putting herself last.

“My kid,” she said quietly. “He’s… five. And wild. Like a spark that just never dies out.”

You leaned in slightly.

“He sounds like someone who inherited that spark from you.”

She smiled—this time without hesitation.

And she continued. Talking about her son's obsession with dinosaurs, his habit of making up bedtime stories, how he once dressed as a ‘superhero doctor chef’ because he couldn’t pick just one career. You listened with real curiosity, eyes steady, head tilted occasionally, a soft smile gracing your face like you were learning the story of your new favorite book.

Her guard melted more with each passing minute.

And somewhere between her laughing about her son drawing on the walls with jam, and you sharing a story about how you once tried to "fix" your microwave with YouTube tutorials and nearly blew the kitchen up—Jeongyeon… relaxed.

She leaned her elbows on the table. She played with her straw absentmindedly. She met your gaze without flinching.

The soft hum of conversation and mellow jazz threaded through the bar like silk, gentle and soothing. The lights above cast a golden warmth on the table between you two, but Jeongyeon hadn’t spoken for a moment.

Not since she noticed it.

You hadn’t flinched when she said “my kid.”

You hadn’t leaned back, blinked rapidly, asked, “Wait, you have a child?”

You hadn’t done what every other man she’d met over the years had done—turn that curious sparkle into retreat.

She turned her glass slowly in her hands, watching the condensation bead down its side. And then, after a quiet beat, her voice came out gentle but testing.

“You didn’t react.”

You glanced at her.

“To what?”

“When I said I have a kid.”

You tilted your head, a small, curious smile playing on your lips.

“Was I supposed to?”

She hesitated. Then offered a dry, self-aware shrug. “Most do. Some ask how old. Most don’t ask anything. They just politely excuse themselves. Or they stay… but you can see it in their eyes. That they already checked out.”

You leaned back slightly, folding your arms loosely on the table. Not defensively. But comfortably. Like you were settling in to listen to something important.

“A woman like you,” you said softly, “doesn’t walk into a bar like this alone unless something’s changed. A woman with a child wouldn’t come here on a whim—not unless there was someone to trust the child with. And not unless… maybe she needed to breathe again.”

You paused. Met her eyes fully.

“So I figured. Either you’ve parted ways with the man you had him with… or…”

You trailed off—not out of fear, but respect. Leaving space. Letting her choose.

Jeongyeon exhaled slowly. Something flickered across her face—recognition… and permission. She didn’t even realize how tightly she’d been gripping the ruffles of her sleeve until she let go.

“He passed.” Her voice didn’t break. Just softened. “Five years ago. Illness.”

Your expression didn’t shift into pity. Not the patronizing kind, anyway. Just a stillness. Reverence.

“I’m sorry,” you said gently. “That must’ve been a cruel weight. Especially right after bringing life into the world.”

She looked at you with a mixture of surprise and reflection.

“He knew.” She smiled faintly, not bitterly. “We didn’t talk about it much, but he knew he didn’t have long. He was sick before I even got pregnant, but we hoped… we tried anyway. And when the baby came, he said it was worth it. That even if he couldn’t stay, he wanted to leave part of us behind.”

You didn’t say anything. Just listened. Her eyes glossed over slightly as her words tumbled out, careful but unfiltered now.

“After he passed, I didn’t try again. Not dating, not intimacy, not… being wanted. That part of me just shut off. I had a baby. I had grief. I didn’t have space for anything else.”

A silence sat between you both. Not awkward—just… honest. She wasn’t someone who aired her heart often. And you? You treated it like something sacred.

Your fingers brushed against your glass absently before you leaned in just enough.

“You know…” you said, voice a low murmur, “you don’t wear sadness the way people think grief should look. You wear it like armor. Beautiful. Silent. But heavy.”

Jeongyeon blinked. Slowly.

“You don’t see me as… broken?”

You smiled, the kind that curved with warmth but didn’t lighten the gravity of her question.

“No. I see you as… someone who’s been full of love. Enough to carry two hearts. And maybe now, your own heart wants to feel something for itself again. Not out of guilt. Not out of need. But because you’re still here.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her drink again.

Your voice lowered even more.

“If love came once… it can come again. And I don’t mean to replace anything. Some things aren’t meant to be replaced. Just… honored, as we allow more in.”

Jeongyeon swallowed thickly. She had been strong for so long. Smiling for others. Crying in quiet corners. Rebuilding herself piece by piece after the storm.

And now, here was someone… offering to see her. Not save her. Not fix her. Just see her.

“You’re kind,” she whispered, her eyes soft now. Exposed. “Maybe too kind for someone like me.”

You tilted your head with a soft laugh.

“I’m not sure you get to decide who you’re worthy of, Jeongyeon.” You met her gaze. “Not tonight, at least.”

And for a moment… she smiled. A real one. Not the polite smile she offered in passing or the practiced one for her son. But a smile from her.

And somewhere near the bar’s far corner, two pairs of eyes—Nayeon and Jihyo—watched with glimmering awe and matching grins.

Jeongyeon didn’t even notice how close she’d leaned in.

Maybe it was the warmth of the booth light catching on the curve of your jaw, or the calm way your fingers played with your drink as if nothing in the world could startle you. Or maybe it was the way you didn’t press too hard, didn’t try to perform.

Whatever it was… she liked it.

And she was liking you.

She straightened slightly, brushing a finger over the ruffles of her sleeve with a smirk tugging on her lips. Her voice came with a familiar lilt—cool, teasing, a bit challenging.

“So…” she started, eyes narrowing playfully, “are you always this smooth, or do you just turn it up when you see a hot single mom in a vintage ruffle dress?”

You blinked, then let out an easy, low laugh.

“Only when the dress comes with a woman who could silence a room just by raising her eyebrow.”

She scoffed. “Okay, that was smooth.”

“I practice in the mirror,” you quipped. “Sometimes I imagine I’ll bump into someone who looks like she walked out of an old film reel.” You gestured to her whole ensemble with a nod of appreciation. “Guess I manifested it.”

Jeongyeon chuckled and rolled her eyes, but it came with the kind of blush she didn’t even try to hide.

“Manifested a woman with a kid, emotional trauma, and sarcasm issues?”

You leaned in slightly, gaze steady.

“No, I manifested a woman who knows who she is. And looks like she could flirt and win a bar fight in the same breath.”

That made her laugh—head tilting back, one hand instinctively reaching for your wrist for support as she wheezed.

From their spot at the bar, Nayeon let out a small squeal and practically slapped Jihyo’s arm.

“Look at her, Jihyo! She's touching him. She's literally touching him.”

Jihyo, biting back her grin, sipped her drink and said, “They’re matching energies already. We should leave before it turns into a drama series.”

Back at the booth, Jeongyeon finally composed herself and gave you a mock squint.

“Alright, Mr. Novel Character. You’ve clearly been trained by romantic comedies. What’s your tragic flaw?”

You blinked like you had to think seriously about it. Then leaned in and said solemnly,

“I snack on cereal at midnight like it’s a drug.”

She bit her lip to suppress another laugh.

“Okay, fair. But if it's cornflakes, I might walk out.”

“Only the sugary kinds,” you said with mock offense. “I’m a man of decadence, Jeongyeon.”

She smirked, her elbow propped on the table now, fingers resting under her chin.

“That so?” she asked, eyes gleaming. “Then tell me, decadent man—what made you come here tonight?”

You paused for a second. Not for dramatic effect—but to be real.

“Good day. Clear sky. Thought I’d end it quietly. Something about mellow bars and soft jazz just makes the soul… hum, y’know?”

She hummed softly, mirroring your answer.

“Maybe we both came for quiet… but found something that made the hum turn into music.”

You smiled at her. Genuinely.

“Maybe.”

And that was when the tension shifted. Still playful. Still dancing on the edge of something flirtatious.

But now it pulsed with something warmer, more magnetic—an energy not born out of want, but mutual curiosity. The kind that builds not from fast-paced sparks but from slowly lit candles.

Jeongyeon tilted her head at you, eyes unreadable but glowing softly.

“I don’t know if I want to kiss you or roast you for being this poetic.”

“Why not both?” you teased, resting your chin on your hand.

“Dangerous man.” She smirked, but her fingers—delicate and slow—tapped twice on the table, her subtle sign of wanting the conversation to keep going.

And so, it did.

Jeongyeon swirled her glass lightly, the ice clinking as her gaze floated from the amber liquid to your face. Her tone stayed casual, but there was a softness behind her next question—curious, not prying.

“So… have you ever had anyone?”

You didn’t pretend to misunderstand. You leaned back a bit, resting one arm on the edge of the booth, your lips quirking up.

“Only once. After high school.”

Jeongyeon blinked. “Wait—just once?”

You nodded. “One. Singular. Dramatic. Cringeworthy. Absolute first love type.” You let out a soft laugh, not bitter, just reflective. “The kind where you think you’d give up everything and leap off rooftops for them if they asked.”

“Yikes,” Jeongyeon muttered, amused. “So what happened?”

You offered a soft shrug, your fingers now lazily tracing the rim of your glass.

“Got two-timed. The guy was older, richer, and apparently knew how to talk like a movie character. And I was just... me.”

Jeongyeon winced, tilting her head. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” you smiled faintly. “Cried over her for two whole years. Proper main character arc. Even wrote bad poetry and drank instant coffee like it was whiskey.”

That made her laugh—loud and unfiltered. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” you chuckled, raising a hand in mock surrender. “Dead serious. Like tragic-boy-in-a-hoodie serious. It was my full-time job, grieving that heartbreak. Nine years ago, though. And no regrets.”

Jeongyeon blinked at you for a moment, mouth parted just slightly. Not just from amusement—but intrigue. You didn’t tell the story like it was a badge of honor or a dramatic wound to show off. You told it honestly. Easily. With enough distance to show you healed, but not so much that you forgot the weight of it.

“That’s…” she started, voice a little lower, “...honestly kind of beautiful.”

“The heartbreak?” you raised a brow.

She smiled softly. “No. The fact that you grieved it, and then grew from it instead of pretending you didn’t care. Most people fake it. You sat with it.”

You met her eyes, and this time you didn’t speak right away. Just smiled.

“Yeah. I think pain’s only useful if it becomes fertilizer.”

Jeongyeon stared at you for a beat longer than necessary. Her lips were still curved in a half-smile, but her throat worked in a subtle swallow. Something warm spread along her spine.

It wasn’t just your words—it was the way you said them. Like they had been marinated in years of lived experience, then served up gently without expectation.

And suddenly, she was aware of how close your knees were under the table. Of how the booth light caught the slight gloss of your lips, the graceful tilt of your neck, the calm way your body existed without trying to command attention.

She crossed one leg over the other, maybe just to ease the tension. Or maybe to release it.

“So you’ve been single for… a while then.”

You grinned at her teasing tone. “A long while. Nothing’s stuck since. I don’t chase. If someone stays, they stay. I’ve learned people leave no matter how tightly you hold.”

Jeongyeon’s smirk flickered—there was heat behind it now, tucked beneath her cool exterior. Your honesty had drawn her in. But it was your patience and lack of motive that made her feel safe... and uncomfortably curious.

And you? You hadn’t noticed. You were too busy admiring how expressive her eyes were when she listened. How she sometimes bit her lip to keep from smiling too much.

But the sexual tension? The way her body subtly shifted toward you, her breath slowing when your hand brushed the edge of the table near hers? You were still clueless. She wasn't.

Jeongyeon’s next words came a little quieter, her head tilted.

“You talk like someone who’s had a lot of time alone.”

You smiled faintly. “Alone’s not bad. It makes you more aware of how lovely company can be.” You looked at her with a little tilt of your own. “Present company, especially.”

Her breath hitched just slightly. She covered it with a smirk. “Careful. I’ve got a weakness for poetic men who don’t realize they’re flirting.”

“Ah,” you grinned, playing along, “then I must be a danger to your type.”

“You really are.” Her tone came almost under her breath.

A brief silence passed. Not awkward. Just thick with something. Something warming between the two of you like a low flame.

From across the bar, Nayeon whispered to Jihyo:

“She’s doomed. She’s totally doomed. Look at her! Her legs are crossed, her head’s tilted, she’s—God, she’s in trouble.”

“He doesn’t even know,” Jihyo murmured, sipping. “That’s the worst part. He’s just existing and she’s two inches from falling for him.”

Back at the booth, Jeongyeon was still watching you, her fingers now idly brushing a strand of hair from her neck.

And for a brief second, she wondered what your voice would sound like in the dark. Not just the flirting, not just the clever lines… but the voice that came when lips were close and breaths were shared. And that thought made her shift in her seat. Just barely. But enough to feel her own pulse.

Your booth was dimly lit, with the warmth of golden lights painting her skin like candlelight. Jeongyeon leaned her elbow on the table now, chin cradled in her palm as her eyes fixed on you like a cat sizing up a very interesting beam of sunlight. You weren’t trying. That’s what killed her the most.

You weren’t leaning in too close, weren’t dropping cheesy lines or overly-present hands. You were just you. Calm. Curious. That unbothered charm with no strings dangling behind your words.

And it was working better than any rehearsed move she’d ever known.

She caught herself laughing again—hand over her mouth this time, her head thrown slightly back as you told her the story about trying to cook dinner for your date once and nearly setting your curtains on fire. The way you reenacted it, flailing like an idiot with a flaming towel and a fire extinguisher that wouldn't work, had her wheezing.

But then she looked at you again, and realized something even more dangerous than your sense of humor.

You were handsome, yes. But it wasn’t that. It was how present you were. How your eyes didn’t wander. How you noticed the way she twisted her ring and asked about it. How you smiled like she wasn’t one woman in a sea of options—but like she was the most interesting story you'd found that night.

Her chest tightened. She shifted again—closer without meaning to. Your knees brushed lightly. You didn’t flinch away. You just smiled, and asked her what kind of music she listened to when she couldn't sleep. And that did it. Jeongyeon exhaled, subtly pressing her thighs together under the table.

Across the bar, Jihyo leaned back against the counter, sipping her drink with a raised brow.

“She’s on a roll.”

Nayeon turned, her cheeks already pink from the wine. “Mmhmm. It’s getting warm in here or is that just her sexual tension?”

Jihyo didn’t look away from the booth. “Girl’s vibrating like she’s sitting on a speaker. But she won’t pull the trigger unless we give her a little nudge.”

Nayeon’s lips twisted into a devious smirk. “You want me to go save her with a bathroom break?”

“Save her? No. Coach her.” Jihyo turned, holding her glass lazily. “Tell her to go for it. Just for tonight. Feel it out. Doesn’t have to be a forever-thing. Just a moment.”

Nayeon chuckled. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m a realist,” Jihyo said, swishing her drink. “She deserves something that doesn’t come with baby bottles and snack crumbs. Tell her—impulses can be good. Sometimes they lead to the best decisions.”

A minute later, Jeongyeon blinked as Nayeon slid into the booth beside her, gently tapping her on the knee.

“Bathroom. C’mon.”

“Huh—what, why?” Jeongyeon glanced at you, then at her, confused.

“You need air,” Nayeon whispered with a knowing smirk. “And also, I need to talk to you.”

You politely smiled and gestured. “Take your time.”

As they disappeared into the hallway, Nayeon tugged Jeongyeon into the women’s bathroom and locked the door behind them.

“Alright,” she whispered, leaning back against the sink, “here’s the thing. I’ve seen you flirt. I’ve seen you date. But I’ve never seen you like this.”

Jeongyeon scoffed, brushing her hair out of her face. “Like what?”

“Like you’re two seconds from crawling into his lap and whispering Shakespearean sonnets.”

Jeongyeon tried to laugh it off, but the fluster in her face betrayed her.

“I’m not—look, it’s just... he’s different, okay? He’s not pushy. He’s not weirdly smooth. He’s just... nice. And thoughtful. And hot, like a dark academia dream without the pretentiousness.”

“So?” Nayeon stepped forward, arms crossed. **“You’re here. You’re single. He’s clearly into talking to you. If you feel it... go for the moment.”

Jeongyeon blinked. “You mean... like—”

“Yes,” Nayeon said flatly, “I mean sex. One night. Test the waters. See what it turns into. Maybe nothing. Or maybe something. But don’t overthink it.”

Jeongyeon laughed breathlessly. “You make it sound so casual.”

“It is casual,” Nayeon said, tilting her head. “If you want it to be. But here’s the thing, Jeong.”

She stepped closer, gripping her friend’s shoulders gently.

“You’ve been everything for everyone lately. A mom. A sister. A provider. A protector. But tonight... maybe just be a woman.”

Jeongyeon swallowed. The words hit her harder than she expected.

“If it doesn’t feel right, walk away,” Nayeon added, softening her voice. “But if it does… then don’t. Don’t rob yourself of a good moment just because you’re afraid of how it might end.”

Silence hung for a few seconds. Then Jeongyeon exhaled. Looked at her reflection in the mirror. And for once… she didn’t see just a mother. Or a tired woman trying to hold everything together. She saw someone a man like you looked at like a warm story.

Back at the booth, your fingers were tracing a ring of condensation on your glass. You glanced toward the hallway, smiling softly to yourself—no rush, no expectations.

Just hoping she’d come back. And she would. But when she did… something in her eyes would be different. And maybe the night wasn’t going to end as quietly as you thought.

The women’s bathroom wasn’t silent anymore.

The moment Jeongyeon turned from the mirror, still processing what Nayeon had just whispered into her soul, the door creaked open—and in stepped Jihyo, heels clicking, lips curled in that “don’t-worry-I’m-already-caught-up” kind of smirk.

“You look like someone who’s about to back out,” she teased, closing the door behind her.

Jeongyeon groaned and leaned her head against the tiled wall, both palms braced on the sink. “This isn’t just ‘hook up and go,’ Jihyo. He’s different. I know it. What if I mess it up?”

“Or what if you don’t?” Jihyo replied simply. “What if this time… you get to be the one who wins?”

Jeongyeon turned to say something, but Nayeon cut in with a grin so smug it could start a fight.

“Well, if you’re not going to make a move,” she began, sliding her lipstick back into her clutch, “I might go take your place.”

Jeongyeon blinked. “What?”

Nayeon shrugged casually. “I’m single too. Divorced. Been through hell. That man outside? Looks like someone who could make me forget my ex and probably massage my back after I collapse from joy.”

She grinned and added slyly, “And you know… my daughter does deserve a good male role model someday.”

Jeongyeon’s jaw dropped.

“Yah—Nayeon!”

But the way her hands immediately gripped the edge of the sink… the way her eyes flared with something protective, possessive, primal—didn’t go unnoticed.

Jihyo raised both eyebrows and crossed her arms. “Ohhh. That’s new. You jealous?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not—!”

“Jeong,” Nayeon cut in, chuckling now. “If you don’t want to act on it, then don’t. But don’t expect me to just sit here when I’m watching someone give you exactly the kind of attention you haven’t had in years.”

“He’s mine,” Jeongyeon muttered without thinking, her voice low, like it belonged to someone more confident than she’d felt in ages.

There it was. Jihyo gasped dramatically. “Okay, ma’am.”

“Didn’t know we were doing declarations tonight,” Nayeon added with a grin. “Go then. Take your seat back. Before I do.”

Jeongyeon rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny smirk tugging at her lips. She fixed her hair in the mirror one last time. Her cheeks still had that warm flush—not from the wine—but from you. When she walked out, she didn’t hesitate.

You were sitting exactly where she left you. Elbow resting on the table, chin on your hand, slowly rotating your glass by the rim like you were passing time with your thoughts. But the moment your eyes caught hers across the room, something happened.

They widened. Not dramatically—but just enough to be noticeable. You tilted your head slightly. A subtle furrow creased between your brows. There wasn’t a trace of suspicion or discomfort—just simple, gentle concern.

Like: "You okay?" “Did I do something?” “Was it something I said?” And for some reason, that tiny, honest reaction knocked the breath out of her. God, he’s so—adorable. Not even trying. And here she was burning up inside.

She slid back into her seat, fingers lightly trailing over the edge of the table before resting neatly in her lap. She tried to say something casual. Didn’t work.

“Sorry, bathroom break turned into girl gang therapy.”

You chuckled softly. “I figured. I was close to sending the bartender with a search party.”

That made her giggle—husky, warm, from deep in her chest. She tilted her head as she looked at you, feeling herself slip right back into that easy current you seemed to create around you.

You smiled at her, eyes still holding that soft glow.

“You okay?” you asked gently. “You seemed a bit… out of it for a second.”

Jeongyeon leaned her cheek against her knuckles now, eyes narrowing playfully.

“You always this observant?”

“Only when I care,” you replied with a playful wink. “Which apparently is… now.”

She laughed again—fully this time. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m honest.” You sipped your drink, then added with a tilt of your brow: “Big difference.”

The air between you thickened again, but now it was warmer. Heavier. Like something shared and unspoken was starting to wrap around you both.

Jeongyeon ran her thumb along the base of her glass.

“You really wouldn’t have blinked if I said I had five kids, huh?”

You leaned back and grinned. “I’d probably ask if they’re all carbon copies of you or if the world got lucky and mixed in some chaos.”

She blushed—again. And it hit her again: this… whatever this was? It was starting to feel dangerously good.

So when her knee brushed yours again, she didn’t pull away. When your elbow grazed hers while reaching for your glass, she let it linger. And when she caught your gaze lingering on her lips—just for a split second—she didn’t look away.

Maybe Nayeon was right. Maybe it was just a moment. But maybe… just maybe, it was her moment.

The glasses between you both were nearly empty, the clink of melting ice cubes in yours the only sound between the playful laughter and the occasional brush of arms.

Jeongyeon’s eyes had grown a shade softer, lashes fluttering a little slower, gaze lingering longer with each sentence you said. There wasn’t much left of her mask—the cool sarcasm, the effortless hot girl energy. It was still there, sure—but softened now. Not because she was hiding anything. But because, for the first time in what felt like years, she didn’t feel like she had to pretend anything.

She looked up from her drink, resting her cheek in her palm again, but this time her fingers swept lightly across her jaw, showing more of that easy, quiet flirtation.

“You know…” she began, voice slower now, lower, “you’re kind of annoying.”

You blinked, half-laughing as you tilted your head.

“That so?” you grinned. “Didn’t realize I was causing you such distress.”

She leaned forward just a little, elbows on the table, her chin now resting on the back of her hand. “Mmhmm. You’re all… kind, and real, and charming in that annoyingly comforting way.”

“Annoyingly comforting?”

She smiled, shoulders swaying just slightly with that husky chuckle of hers. “Yeah. Like, you say the right thing without even trying. You’re gentle, but not boring. Funny, but not trying too hard.”

You rested your forearms on the table now, mimicking her posture without realizing it. Your smile softened as you replied:

“That’s a lot of overthinking for someone who called me dangerous a few minutes ago.”

She smirked. “You are. That hasn’t changed.”

The music from the bar's speakers shifted to something smoother, more sensual—but not overtly romantic. Just enough to make the space feel closer. More personal.

You didn’t notice it at first, but Jeongyeon’s knee had moved again. This time not brushing—but resting lightly against yours under the table. Her body slightly turned toward you. Like she had stopped debating with herself and simply decided to be there with you. Fully. No hesitations.

You hadn’t pulled away either. Maybe it was the slight warmth from the whiskey. Maybe it was the way she tilted her head when she laughed. Or how your name sounded softer in her voice every time she said it.

But your voice dipped slightly now, your words a little more careful. A little deeper.

“You’re fascinating, Jeongyeon.”

She blinked at that. Not pretty. Not hot. Not fine as hell. But fascinating.

She swallowed once, and that shift? That invisible line between playful flirting and something smoldering underneath? It flickered into place.

“No one’s called me that before,” she admitted, letting her fingers lightly trace the condensation ring from her glass. “It’s always something skin-deep. Sexy. Gorgeous. Fun.”

You tilted your head, voice softer now.

“Well, you’re all that too. But you also got layers. Hidden storms. Quiet confidence that doesn’t beg to be noticed.”

Jeongyeon was suddenly very aware of how warm her chest felt. How the alcohol wasn’t making her dizzy—it was you.

Her lips curled into a softer smile than any before, a hint of shyness breaking through her usual confidence. Then she said:

“What about you? Feeling brave yet?”

You raised a brow, amused. “Brave?”

“To say something about me that’s not poetic,” she challenged gently. “Something bold. If you dare.”

You chuckled lowly. “You sure?”

“Mmhm.”

You leaned in a little closer—nothing dramatic. Just enough so she had to breathe you in a little more.

“I think you’re dangerous too,” you murmured. “But in a slow-burn kind of way. The kind that sneaks into people’s heads at night when they’re alone. And keeps them warm without asking for permission.”

Jeongyeon laughed again, but this one was breathy. Flushed. That laugh that happens when a woman hears something she didn’t expect to love so much. She reached out this time. Fingertips grazing your wrist where your hand rested near your drink.

You looked down, then back at her. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t move. Just let her touch linger. She was quiet for a moment. Then:

“If I kissed you right now… would you stop me?”

That made your throat tighten. You blinked once, expression unreadable for half a beat. Then, your voice—low, calm, honest—spoke:

“I’d ask why you waited so long.”

And her smile—slow, dangerous, magnetic—curled at the corner like the start of a fuse being lit.

But she didn’t kiss you. Not yet. Instead, she let her fingers trail back to her lap, let the tension thrum between your locked eyes, and said with a whisper:

“Good answer… L/N Y/N.”

The game had shifted. And neither of you were playing anymore.

The song shifted again.

A slower groove now—a rhythm with soul, laced with light percussion and that kind of bass that could make your chest thrum if you stood close enough to the speakers. The bar’s lighting dimmed just enough to cast soft golden hues on the scattered dancers by the wooden floor near the back.

You had just taken another small sip when Jeongyeon suddenly stood, smoothing her shirt down casually and reaching for your hand.

“C’mon,” she said.

You looked up, one brow rising with a laugh already building in your chest. “What?”

“Let’s dance.”

“Jeongyeon,” you chuckled, keeping your voice low, a little teasing, “I’m warning you. I dance like Mr. Bean. Real floppy arms. Wrists everywhere. A national tragedy.”

She didn’t even blink. She leaned down slightly, grabbed your wrist, and tugged.

“Good. I need a partner who isn’t afraid to embarrass himself with me.” Her grin was pure fire, teasing and electric. “Besides, camaraderie, remember? Shared humiliation builds stronger bonds.”

“That’s not in any psychology book.”

“Yeah? Sue me.”

You let yourself be pulled, half-laughing, letting her lead you out of the booth like a dare you never intended to take. But here you were, feet moving across the cozy wooden flooring toward the not-so-crowded dance floor.

The first few steps were awkward—on your part.

You did try. It was maybe one part shoulder shimmy, two parts foot shuffle, and ten parts ‘what the hell am I doing with my limbs?’ Jeongyeon, however, was swaying like it was muscle memory. The bass carried her hips, her shoulders relaxed, her body confident.

She turned her head, grinning as she caught your effort.

“You’re not that bad,” she said, laughing.

“You’re lying.”

“Of course I am. But you look hot doing it.”

You gave her a look—mock offended, mildly stunned, and deeply amused. She laughed again, that husky giggle echoing as she moved in closer now, until her hands found your sides, fingertips brushing the hem of your shirt.

You froze slightly at the contact—not because you were uncomfortable. But because it was the first time she touched you with intent. Not teasing. Not playful. But guided. Sure.

Her fingers gripped gently and guided your hips just a little. “Follow the beat. Let your body loosen. Just… feel it.”

You weren’t great—but you let go. You didn’t care anymore. You let the beat thump in your chest. You let your hands lightly hover near her waist, careful not to assume anything. She noticed that too. The respect.

She rewarded it.

Jeongyeon stepped in again—this time much closer. Her body pressed just enough to your front to feel the low warmth between your ribs. And her arms, snake-like, slipped around your neck as she whispered:

“There… better already.”

Her eyes were on you again. Those mischievous, unreadable eyes—burning under dim amber light.

You were about to say something, maybe tease her back—

—but then she tilted her head.

And kissed you.

There was no pause. No hesitation.

She leaned in slow, lips brushing yours like a soft question, then answering it herself with a kiss full of ease and quiet fire. Her fingers curled slightly against your nape as her mouth moved against yours—testing, savoring, not rushing anything.

You froze for half a second.

Then your hands found her waist, light and respectful but steady. You kissed back—slowly, honestly. Letting her lead. Letting her decide where this moment would go.

But you met her there. With warmth. With intent. She pulled back just an inch, breath brushing your lips.

“You kiss like you speak,” she whispered.

“How’s that?”

“Like you mean every fucking word.”

She kissed you again—hungrier this time.

And something in your chest opened like a floodgate. All the warmth, all the tension, all the soft affection now rushing toward heat. Toward something that went beyond playful drinks and dancing.

Jeongyeon pressed closer, her body flush with yours now, her lips moving in sync with yours as the music wrapped around you both like a cocoon.

You didn’t notice the others. The other dancers, the bar chatter, even the world outside. Just the smell of Jeongyeon’s perfume—earthy and elegant—and the feel of her body leaning into yours like gravity had finally found its way.

She murmured against your lips between kisses:

“Still think you’re embarrassing me?”

“Not unless this is a public punishment.”

She chuckled, breathy, one hand sliding behind your neck to tangle softly in your hair. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew where this night was going. But neither of you said it. You didn’t need to.

Jeongyeon had barely broken the kiss when something over your shoulder caught her eye.

She blinked, a little dazed but still sharp enough to spot the two culprits near the bar—Nayeon and Jihyo watching like a live drama audience.

Nayeon’s smirk could be seen from a mile away, glass in hand like a toast to Jeongyeon’s success. Jihyo winked, subtly mouthing, “Get him out of here.”

Then Nayeon raised her brows and pointed to the door like some sexy, smug Cupid.

Jeongyeon bit back a laugh, shook her head slightly, but gave the smallest, most evil smirk in their direction. She tilted her head like, “Yeah yeah, I got it.”

The girls made no effort to stick around. They waved off any sign of goodbye and subtly slipped out the side exit—grinning like they’d just passed a romantic baton into Jeongyeon’s hands.

You were still breath-warm and dazed when Jeongyeon turned her head back toward you, biting her lower lip, debating something silently.

But instead of asking… she just acted. Her fingers slid down from your nape and slipped into your hand—intertwining with a grip that left no room for questions.

“Let’s go.”

“Go?” you echoed, amused.

“Somewhere private,” she said with that same low, husky edge you were growing more addicted to by the second.

And then—without waiting for your nod—Jeongyeon tugged you by the hand, threading through the low-lit bar, through the blurred dancing bodies, and out into the cool evening air.

You didn’t resist. Not once. Your heart was thudding behind your ribs, not out of nerves—but anticipation. A calm, assured pull toward something magnetic and raw.

The two of you reached the curb, breaths fogging lightly in the cool spring night. She stopped, realizing the pause.

“I can’t go home,” she said, almost apologetically. “My son’s with Chaeyoung tonight. I don’t… want to explain why I’m bringing a man home at 1AM.”

You nodded. “Makes sense.”

“There’s a hotel I know. Cozy. Clean. Not a hookup spot. Just…” She paused, eyes locked with yours. “Nice. And quiet.”

You pulled your car keys from your pocket and held them up between two fingers.

“Lucky for us—I drove.”

Jeongyeon blinked at the keys, then looked at you.

Then she smiled. Not a cheeky smirk. Not a flirty grin. A real one.

Like for the first time all night, she was letting herself be present in the idea of this. Of you. No more nudges, no more jokes. Just something that felt right. Spontaneous, but not stupid. Impulsive, but safe.

She led the way to your car, still holding your hand like a quiet lifeline. Neither of you rushed—but there was a tension, a hum beneath the silence.

And when she slid into the passenger seat, she looked over as you settled behind the wheel.

“Is this okay?” she asked softly, even though she had been the one to drag you outside.

You turned your head slowly, meeting her gaze, voice steady.

“It’s okay if you want it.”

That made her inhale. Sharp. Soft. Honest. She nodded, her voice nearly a whisper:

“I do.”

You pulled onto the quiet road, the world around dim and hushed. Only the occasional passing car or night breeze filling the gaps in conversation. Jeongyeon rested her elbow on the edge of the window, her other hand still linked with yours over the gearshift.

Nothing more needed to be said.

The hotel wasn’t far. It wasn’t grand or flashy—but when she led you through the lobby and up the elevator, you saw it was exactly like she said. Quiet. Warm lighting. Comfortable.

You entered the room behind her. She didn’t speak, didn’t joke. She just turned to you once the door closed.

The silence in the room wasn’t awkward. It was full. Loaded with all the unspoken things you both wanted to explore.

She stepped closer again. Hands finding your collar. Eyes scanning your features like she was trying to memorize how you looked before things changed.

And her voice was a soft hush when she said:

“Still not regretting letting me pull you to the floor like that?”

Your smirk was gentle, your tone even more so.

“I think you’ve got a talent for making good decisions.”

She leaned in, forehead pressing to yours. And kissed you again. And this time… it wasn’t just fire. It was home.

The moment the hotel door clicked shut behind you, the air thickened—charged with something slow, deliberate, and intoxicating. Jeongyeon’s hands were still tangled in your collar, her breath warm against your lips as she kissed you again, deeper this time. There was no rush, no frantic urgency—just the quiet, aching need to savor every second of this.

Her fingers slid down your chest, tracing the outline of your muscles through your shirt before settling at your waist. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes searching yours.

"You’re sure?" she murmured, her thumb brushing over your hipbone.

You answered by cupping her face, tilting her chin up to kiss her again—softer this time, lingering against her lips. "I’ve never been more sure of anything."

A small, breathless laugh escaped her as she leaned into your touch, her body pressing flush against yours. The heat between you was undeniable, but neither of you moved to undress just yet. Instead, Jeongyeon’s hands roamed over your back, fingers kneading into the fabric of your shirt as if memorizing the shape of you.

Her lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your throat, her teeth grazing lightly over your pulse. "Mmm… you smell good," she hummed, her voice low and husky.

You shivered as her hands slipped beneath your shirt, her palms warm against your skin. She took her time exploring—tracing the ridges of your abs, the dip of your waist—before sliding back up to push the fabric up your chest. You helped her pull it off, tossing it aside, and Jeongyeon exhaled sharply at the sight of you.

"Fuck…" she whispered, her fingers ghosting over your collarbones. "You’re—"

You didn’t let her finish. Catching her wrist, you tugged her closer, your mouth finding hers again in a slow, deep kiss. One of your hands slid up her side, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of her breast through her blouse. She gasped into your mouth, arching into the touch.

"Jeongyeon…" you murmured against her lips, your other hand slipping to the small of her back, pressing her even closer.

She let out a soft, shaky breath, her fingers tightening in your hair. "Yeah…?"

"Tell me what you want."

She pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, her cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted. For a moment, she just looked at you—like she was deciding how much of herself to give. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she took your hand and guided it to the first button of her blouse.

"This," she said quietly. "But… slow."

You nodded, your fingers working the first button free, then the next, revealing smooth, pale skin inch by inch. Jeongyeon watched you, her breath hitching as your knuckles brushed against her stomach. By the time the last button came undone, her blouse hung open, the lace of her bra just barely concealing the swell of her breasts.

Your hands settled on her waist, thumbs stroking over her ribs as you leaned in to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. She tipped her head back with a quiet sigh, her fingers threading through your hair.

"God…" she breathed, her voice trembling. "You have no idea how long it’s been since someone touched me like this."

You kissed lower, your lips brushing the curve of her breast just above the lace. "Then let me remind you," you murmured against her skin.

Jeongyeon shuddered, her grip tightening in your hair as you continued your slow descent, worshipping every inch of her with your mouth and hands. The air between you was thick with want, but neither of you rushed—content to let the moment stretch, to savor the way her body responded to every touch, every kiss.

This wasn’t just about pleasure.

It was about rediscovery.

And Jeongyeon was letting herself feel it—all of it—for the first time in years.

The bed dipped beneath you as Jeongyeon guided you both backward, her fingers still tangled in your hair as you continued to trail slow, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. The vintage fabric of her dress whispered against the sheets, the high collar and ruffled sleeves framing her like something out of a dream.

You pulled back just enough to take her in—really take her in. The way the soft lamplight caught on the sheer panels of her sleeves, the way the dark green pleats contrasted against her smooth skin, the way the bow at her neck trembled slightly with each unsteady breath.

"God, you're beautiful," you murmured, your fingers tracing the edge of her collar.

Jeongyeon’s cheeks flushed darker, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she reached up, slowly undoing the bow at her neck with deliberate fingers. The high collar loosened, revealing more of her throat, the delicate hollows of her collarbones.

"This thing…" she said, voice husky, "is a pain to get out of."

You smirked, catching her wrist and pressing a kiss to her palm. "Then let me help."

With painstaking slowness, you worked your way down the tiny buttons at the back of her dress, each one giving way beneath your fingers like a small victory. The fabric parted gradually, revealing the smooth slope of her back, the delicate straps of her bra, the faintest hint of lace at her waist.

Jeongyeon shivered as the cool air hit her skin, but she didn’t rush you. She just watched—felt—as you pushed the dress from her shoulders, letting it pool around her hips.

"Fuck…" you breathed, your hands skimming up her sides, over the dip of her waist, the gentle swell of her ribs. Her body was a masterpiece—soft yet toned, curves that begged to be touched, skin so smooth it felt like silk beneath your fingertips.

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, then the crook of her elbow, then the slope of her shoulder. Every inch of her deserved reverence.

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched as your lips found the curve of her breast just above her bra, your tongue flicking over the lace. "Ah—" Her fingers tightened in your hair, not pushing, just holding, like she needed something to ground her.

You took your time, lavishing attention on every exposed inch of her—the dip of her navel, the subtle arch of her hipbones, the sensitive skin just beneath her ribs. When your fingers finally brushed the waistband of her panties, she tensed for a fraction of a second before melting into your touch.

"Okay?" you asked against her skin.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "More than okay."

You hooked your fingers into the lace, dragging it down her legs with agonizing slowness, kissing every new patch of skin as it was revealed. By the time the last scrap of fabric fell away, Jeongyeon was trembling, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You settled between her thighs, hands sliding up her legs, thumbs brushing the inside of her knees. "Look at you…" you murmured, your voice thick with awe.

Jeongyeon bit her lip, her messy updo coming undone in soft waves around her face. "I—I haven’t let anyone see me like this in…" She trailed off, her throat working.

You leaned up, catching her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. "Then I’m honored," you whispered against her lips.

And with that, you began your worship in earnest—hands, lips, tongue mapping every curve, every dip, every shuddering breath she gave you.

Because tonight wasn’t about taking.

It was about remembering.

And you intended to make sure she never forgot.

The air between you was thick with warmth, with want, but neither of you rushed. Jeongyeon’s hands cradled your face as she kissed you deeply, her tongue sliding against yours in slow, intoxicating strokes. Every movement was deliberate—every sigh, every shift of her body against yours spoke of years of pent-up longing finally being set free.

You let her lead, your hands resting lightly on her waist as she explored your mouth with hers. When she finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her eyes dark with something tender yet commanding.

"Tell me what you want," you murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

Jeongyeon exhaled shakily, her fingers trailing down your chest. "I want…" She paused, considering, then guided your hand to her thigh, pressing your palm firmly against her soft skin. "I want you to touch me. But how I say. When I say."

There was no harshness in her voice—only quiet certainty. A request, not a demand.

You nodded, your thumb stroking absent circles against her inner thigh. "However you want me."

A slow, pleased smile curved her lips before she leaned in to kiss you again, this time with more insistence. Her hands slid down your arms, guiding your touch where she wanted it—first to the curve of her hip, then higher, skimming the dip of her waist.

"Here," she whispered against your mouth, pressing your fingers into her skin. "Just… like that."

You obeyed, kneading gently, relishing the way her breath hitched when you found a particularly sensitive spot. She arched into your touch, her nails scraping lightly over your shoulders.

"Good," she breathed, her voice low and honeyed. "Now… slower."

You slowed your movements, letting your hands roam her body with agonizing patience—tracing the swell of her breasts over her bra, the flutter of her ribs, the softness of her stomach. Every touch was deliberate, every caress designed to draw out another quiet gasp, another shiver.

Jeongyeon’s control never wavered, but her breaths grew uneven, her kisses more desperate. When your fingers finally brushed the lace of her panties, she stilled your wrist with a firm grip.

"Not yet," she murmured, her lips grazing your jaw. "I want to feel you more first."

You let her guide your hands back up her body, let her set the pace, her quiet commands leaving no room for disobedience—not that you’d ever want to disobey.

This was her night.

And you were more than happy to let her take what she needed.

The room hummed with quiet breaths and the soft rustle of fabric as Jeongyeon arched beneath you, her fingers threading through your hair to guide your mouth lower. You obeyed without hesitation, lips brushing the delicate column of her throat, savoring the way her pulse jumped against your tongue.

"Mmm… right there," she sighed, tilting her head to give you better access.

You nipped lightly at the sensitive skin beneath her ear, smiling when she shivered. Her bra straps had slipped down her shoulders, the lace barely clinging to her curves, but neither of you moved to take it off—not yet. This was about the almost, the not quite, the torturous pleasure of feeling but not taking.

Jeongyeon’s hips rolled up against yours in a slow, deliberate grind, the thin barrier of your boxers and her panties doing little to dull the heat between you. She let out a shaky exhale, her nails scraping down your back.

"Touch me," she murmured, guiding your hand to her waist. "But don’t—ah—don’t move yet."

You stilled, palm pressed to the warm skin just above her hipbone, letting her set the rhythm. She rocked against you again, her breath hitching when your cock strained against the fabric separating you.

"Fuck…" she whispered, her forehead dropping to yours. "You feel so good."

You kissed her deeply, swallowing her moans as she ground down again, her thighs trembling with the effort to keep the pace slow. Her hands slid down your arms, fingers intertwining with yours as she pinned them to the mattress beside her head—not to restrain, but to share the moment.

"Like this," she breathed against your lips. "Just like this."

And so you let her lead, let her take what she needed—your bodies moving together in a haze of want and restraint, every touch, every kiss, every whispered plea building the tension higher.

The air between you was thick with reverence, every touch a whispered prayer against her skin. Jeongyeon lay beneath you, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as your lips traced the slope of her shoulder, the delicate hollow of her collarbone. The straps of her bra had long since slipped down her arms, the lace clinging to her curves like a final, flimsy barrier between you and heaven itself.

You took your time.

Your mouth followed the path of your hands—kissing the inside of her wrist, the soft skin of her inner elbow, the gentle swell of her breast just above the lace. Jeongyeon shuddered, her fingers tangling in your hair, not pushing, just feeling.

"God…" she breathed, her voice trembling. "You’re killing me."

You smirked against her skin, nipping lightly at the curve of her breast before soothing it with your tongue. "Good."

Her bra was a work of art—black lace, delicate straps, the kind of thing meant to be seen but not worn for long. Your fingers traced the edge of it, teasing, toying with the clasp at the front.

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched.

"You gonna take it off?" she asked, her voice low and husky.

You hummed, pressing a kiss to the lace-covered peak of her breast, feeling it harden beneath your lips. "Not yet."

She groaned, her head falling back against the pillows as you continued your torment—kissing, licking, worshipping every inch of her through the fabric. The lace grew damp with your saliva, her nipples pebbled and desperate for more.

Finally, when her hips were rolling restlessly against yours and her breaths came in ragged gasps, you unhooked the clasp with a single, practiced flick of your fingers.

The bra fell away.

And fuck—

Jeongyeon was gorgeous.

Her breasts were full, perfectly shaped, her nipples flushed and begging for attention. You didn’t rush. You just looked, drinking in the sight of her like a man starved.

"You’re staring," she murmured, her cheeks pink.

"Yeah," you admitted, your voice rough. "Because you’re fucking perfect."

Then you leaned down and took her into your mouth—slow, deliberate, savoring the way she arched off the bed with a broken moan. Your tongue swirled around her nipple, your teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.

"Ah! Fuck—" Her hands fisted in the sheets, her thighs squeezing around your hips. "Don’t stop, don’t stop—"

You didn’t.

You worshipped her like this for what felt like hours—sucking, licking, switching between her breasts until she was writhing beneath you, her skin flushed, her body trembling with need.

And when you finally pulled back, her chest glistening with your saliva, her nipples red and swollen from your attention, she looked at you with hazy, desperate eyes.

"You—" Her voice cracked. "You’re mean."

You grinned, kissing your way back up her body. "You love it."

She did.

And you were far from done.

The moment your palms cupped her bare breasts, you felt the difference—the way her flesh yielded more generously under your touch, the weight of them heavier in your hands, the faintest stretch marks like silver threads against her skin. Motherhood had reshaped her body, and god, it was perfect.

Jeongyeon let out a shaky breath as your thumbs brushed over her nipples, already stiff and flushed. "They're... softer now," she murmured, a hint of self-consciousness in her voice.

You answered by leaning down and taking one into your mouth, sucking deep—not rough, but with enough pressure to make her back arch off the sheets. "Mmmf—fuck," she gasped, her hands flying to your hair.

The taste of her skin, the way her breast molded against your tongue—it was intoxicating. You lavished attention on one while your hand kneaded the other, your fingers sinking into the impossibly soft flesh. Every gentle pull of your lips drew another broken sound from her throat, her hips rolling helplessly against the air.

"S-sensitive—" she choked out as you switched sides, your tongue flicking over her nipple before drawing it back into the wet heat of your mouth. Her back arched beautifully, pressing more of herself against you. "Oh god, right there—"

You worshipped her like this—sucking gently, then harder, then easing off to lap at the stiff peaks until they glistened. Your free hand roamed the fuller curves of her stomach, her hips, committing every new slope and swell to memory.

When you finally released her with a wet pop, Jeongyeon was panting, her chest heaving, her skin flushed pink from collarbones to cheeks. A thin string of saliva still connected your lips to her nipple for a second before breaking.

"Look at you," you murmured, thumbing over her slick, swollen nipple. "So fucking beautiful like this."

Jeongyeon whimpered, her thighs pressing together. "You—ah—you really love them, huh?"

You answered by sealing your mouth over her again, sucking hard just to hear her cry out, your hand squeezing the other breast possessively. The way her body gave under your touch, so soft yet so responsive—

It was enough to make you dizzy.

A quiet moment settled between you as you pulled back, your lips leaving her flushed skin. Jeongyeon’s chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, her eyes half-lidded but searching yours—not with hunger now, but something softer. Something vulnerable.

Her fingers brushed your cheek, hesitant. "You’re... not what I expected," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You tilted your head, thumb stroking the curve of her hip. "What did you expect?"

She exhaled a laugh, though it trembled at the edges. "Someone in a hurry."

The honesty in her words made your chest tighten. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead—slow, lingering, letting your lips linger against her skin like a promise. "I didn’t come here for expectations," you murmured. "I came for you."

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched. For a heartbeat, she just looked at you, her dark eyes shimmering with something unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, she pulled you down into a kiss—not heated, not desperate, but deep, her fingers curling into your hair like she was anchoring herself to you.

When she finally broke away, her voice was steadier. "Then show me more."

And so you did.

Your mouth returned to her breasts, but slower now, savoring. Each flick of your tongue, each gentle suckle drew a sigh from her lips, her body melting further into the sheets. Her hands roamed your shoulders, your back, not guiding, just feeling—relearning the pleasure of being touched without urgency.

The room filled with quiet sounds: the rustle of fabric, the soft wetness of your lips against her skin, her breathy murmurs of encouragement.

No rush.

No demands.

Just her, and you, and the slow, aching pleasure of rediscovery.

Your lips left a trail of slow, worshipful kisses down the soft plane of her stomach—each one a silent question, each pause a chance for her to breathe. When you reached the delicate lace of her panties, you hovered there, your breath warm against the damp fabric.

"Jeongyeon," you murmured, lifting your gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were dark, her lips slightly parted. "Can I keep going?"

A shiver ran through her. For a moment, she just looked at you—really looked—as if weighing the years of absence against the heat of now. Then, with a slow exhale, she nodded.

"Yes," she whispered. "But... go slow. It's been—" Her voice caught. —"a long time."

You pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, feeling the tremor that raced through her. "However you need," you promised.

And then, with aching slowness, you hooked your fingers into the lace and drew them down her legs, revealing her fully.

She was beautiful—flushed and glistening, her thighs pressing together instinctively before she forced them to relax. You didn’t rush. You just kissed the crease of her hip, the softness of her inner thigh, letting her adjust to the vulnerability.

"Okay?" you asked against her skin.

Her fingers tangled in your hair—not pushing, just holding on. "Yeah," she breathed. "Just... gentle."

You obeyed.

Your first touch was featherlight—a slow, reverent stroke that made her gasp. Your name spilled from her lips like a prayer as you leaned in, your mouth following where your fingers had been.

And when you finally tasted her, she arched off the bed with a broken cry, her hands clutching the sheets.

"Oh—god—"

You held her hips steady, your touch as tender as your kiss had been. This wasn’t about claiming.

It was about remembering.

And you’d take all the time she needed.

The first slow drag of your tongue through her folds drew a sound from Jeongyeon that was half gasp, half sob—her hips jerking instinctively before she forced them still. You could feel the tension in her thighs where your hands rested, the way her body trembled with each careful stroke.

"Breathe," you murmured against her, your lips brushing her sensitive skin. "Just feel it."

She let out a shaky exhale, her fingers flexing in the sheets. You took your time, mapping her with unhurried laps of your tongue—learning what made her shiver, what made her whimper, what made her thighs tighten around your shoulders. Every flick, every slow circle was a question, and her body answered in trembling sighs and hitched breaths.

When you finally closed your lips around her clit and sucked gently, her back arched off the bed with a broken cry.

"Oh—oh—" Her voice was raw, unfamiliar with this kind of pleasure after so long. "That’s... different, it’s—"

You hummed against her, the vibration wringing another gasp from her lips. Her hands flew to your hair, not pushing, just holding on, as if she might float away otherwise.

And you didn’t rush.

You licked into her like you had all night, savoring the way her taste bloomed on your tongue, the way her body clenched around nothing, desperate for more. Every soft noise she made, every twitch of her hips, was a gift—a reminder that she was here, with you, relearning what pleasure could be.

When her thighs began to shake, her breaths coming in ragged pants, you eased back just enough to meet her dazed gaze.

"Good?" you asked, your thumb brushing her inner thigh.

Jeongyeon stared at you, her chest heaving, her lips parted around unspoken words. Then, with a helpless laugh, she covered her face with one hand.

"I... forgot," she admitted, her voice muffled. "I forgot it could feel like this."

You kissed her hip, smiling against her skin. "Then let me remind you."

And as you lowered your mouth to her again, her fingers tangled in your hair, her body opening to you like a flower to the sun—slow, aching, and so damn beautiful.

The moment your lips returned to her, Jeongyeon made a sound like shattered glass—high, fragile, beautiful. Her thighs quivered where they bracketed your shoulders, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers wove through your hair, not guiding, just anchoring herself to the sensation as your tongue traced slow, worshipful circles around her clit.

"That’s it," you murmured against her, your voice honey-warm between her thighs. "Just like that. Let me take care of you."

She whimpered, her hips lifting in tiny, involuntary rolls against your mouth. You rewarded her with a long, luxurious lick from her entrance to her aching peak, savoring the way her taste bloomed sweeter with every passing second. Her breath came in staggered sighs, her stomach fluttering like a trapped butterfly as you teased her—alternating between broad, flat strokes and pinpoint flicks that made her jolt.

When you finally sealed your lips around her clit and sucked—gentle but insistent—her back arched clean off the mattress.

"Ohgod—ah! AH!—" Her voice cracked, her thighs clamping around your ears as she trembled. You didn’t relent. You hollowed your cheeks, drawing her deeper into the heat of your mouth, your tongue swirling in relentless, perfect circles.

Jeongyeon dissolved.

Her orgasm crashed through her with a sob, her body bowing tight as a drawn bowstring before collapsing back into the sheets. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not when she was this radiant—her skin dew-kissed, her lips parted around silent cries, her cunt fluttering around nothing as you gentled your touch but never ceased.

"T-too much—" she gasped, her hips twitching away instinctively, but you caught her waist with careful hands, holding her still without force.

"Shh, I’ve got you," you soothed, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh before returning to her with a slow, savoring lick. "Just a little more. You’re doing so well."

And Jeongyeon, oversensitive and shuddering, let you.

Her thighs fell open wider, her fingers tightening in your hair as you laved at her with unhurried devotion, coaxing out every last ripple of pleasure until she was writhing again—not away, but into you, her breathy moans rising in pitch like a hymn.

"I—I can’t, I can’t—oh!"

Her second climax was slower, deeper, a tidal wave rather than a crash. You drank her in, your name spilling from her lips like a prayer as she trembled through it, her body pliant and boneless when you finally lifted your head.

Jeongyeon blinked dazedly down at you, her chest heaving, her lips kiss-swollen and parted. For a long moment, she just stared, her expression caught between awe and something dangerously close to reverence.

Then, with a shaky laugh, she covered her face with both hands.

"You’re…" Her voice cracked. "That was filthy."

You grinned, pressing a kiss to her hip. "And you loved every second."

She peeked at you between her fingers, her blush deepening.

She couldn’t deny it.

Her stomach quivered beneath your lips as you traced idle patterns across the soft expanse—kissing the faint silver lines left by motherhood, the gentle curve of her waist, the warmth of her skin as it rose and fell with each shuddering breath. Jeongyeon exhaled a laugh, half-dazed, her fingers combing through your hair with lazy affection.

"Mmm… what’re you doing down there?" she murmured, her voice still thick with pleasure.

You smiled against her skin, pressing another kiss just below her navel. "Admiring you."

She huffed, but you felt the way her body arched subtly into your touch, seeking more. "Flatterer."

"Truth-teller," you corrected gently, smoothing your palms up her sides in a slow, worshipful glide. "Look at you. All unraveled and glowing. Like something out of a dream."

Jeongyeon’s breath hitched—not from overstimulation this time, but something quieter, more vulnerable. Her hands stilled in your hair, her thumbs brushing your temples as she watched you through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Been a while since someone looked at me like this," she admitted softly.

You lifted your head just enough to meet her gaze, your lips grazing the dip of her waist. "Then they were blind."

The sound she made was barely a whisper—half a laugh, half a sigh—before she tugged you up by your hair, her mouth finding yours in a kiss that tasted like shared warmth and something dangerously close to tenderness.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were pink, her lips swollen, her eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

"Keep talking like that," she murmured, nipping at your lower lip, "and I might just believe you."

You grinned against her mouth. "Good."

The kiss lingered—soft, unhurried, her lips moving against yours with a sweetness that made your chest ache. When you finally pulled back, Jeongyeon’s eyes fluttered open, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her flushed cheeks. You brushed your thumb along her jaw, marveling at the way the dim light caught the faint sheen of sweat on her skin.

"You’re staring again," she whispered, but there was no teasing in her voice now—just quiet wonder.

"Can’t help it," you admitted, tracing the curve of her bottom lip with your fingertip. "You’re…" Words failed you for a moment. How could you describe the way her laughter lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes when she smiled? The way her breath hitched when you touched her just so? The way she looked at you—like you’d hung the moon and stars just for her?

Jeongyeon tilted her head, waiting, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck.

"You’re alive," you finally murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Like… sunlight through leaves. Or that first sip of coffee in the morning."

She let out a breathless laugh, her nose scrunching adorably. "That’s the cheesiest thing anyone’s ever said to me."

"And yet," you teased, nipping lightly at her lower lip, "you’re still blushing."

She was. A pretty pink flush spread from her cheeks down to her chest, her pulse fluttering beneath your lips as you kissed your way along her throat. Her fingers tightened in your hair, tugging just enough to make you groan—and god, the way her breath caught at the sound, like she was filing it away somewhere precious.

"Say it again," she breathed, arching into you.

"What? That you’re beautiful?" You grinned against her skin, relishing the way her stomach muscles tensed at the words. "That you taste like honey?" Another kiss, this time to the hollow of her throat. "That I could spend forever learning every way to make you sigh like that—?"

Jeongyeon cut you off with a searing kiss, her hips rolling up against yours in a slow, deliberate grind that stole the air from your lungs. When she pulled back, her eyes were dark, her lips swollen, her voice a husky whisper:

"Keep talking. Please."

And so you did—between kisses, between touches, between every shared breath—until the room spun with nothing but her name and the honeyed weight of your admiration.

Her hands were gentle but insistent as she guided you onto your back, her lips trailing fire along your collarbone as she settled between your thighs. You could feel her smile against your skin when her fingers brushed the waistband of your pants—the way she paused, just for a heartbeat, to savor the way your breath hitched.

"Let me," she murmured, her voice thick with promise.

And then, with agonizing slowness, she peeled the fabric down your hips, freeing your aching cock into the cool air. Her breath caught—a soft, reverent sound—as she took you in, her fingers hovering just above your length like she was afraid to touch something so sacred.

"God, you're beautiful," she whispered, her thumb brushing the swollen head, smearing the bead of precum that had gathered there.

You shuddered, your hips lifting instinctively, but Jeongyeon pressed a firm hand to your stomach, holding you down with a smirk.

"Patience," she chided, her eyes flicking up to yours. "I want to savor this."

And then she leaned in, her lips parting, and took just the tip of you into her mouth.

The heat of her tongue was electric—a slow, swirling caress that made your toes curl into the sheets. She hummed around you, the vibration shooting straight to your core as her fingers stroked the base of your shaft in lazy counterpoint.

"J-Jeongyeon—" you gasped, your hands fisting in the sheets.

She pulled off with a wet pop, her lips glistening. "Mm? Too much?"

You shook your head frantically, your cock twitching against your stomach. "Not enough."

Jeongyeon laughed—a low, throaty sound that went straight to your already throbbing length—before diving back in, her tongue lapping at your slit like she was tasting the finest wine.

And as she worshipped you—with her lips, her hands, her words—you realized:

This wasn’t just about pleasure.

It was about belonging.

Her lips were softer than you remembered—or maybe you'd just never noticed before how tenderly they could worship. Jeongyeon took her time, her mouth a slow, searing brand against your length as she kissed her way down your shaft, pausing to nuzzle the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before returning with deliberate care.

"You taste like sunlight," she murmured against your heated flesh, her breath ghosting over your tip. "Warm. Sweet."

The words alone made you throb, but it was the way she looked at you—eyes dark with affection rather than hunger—that unraveled you completely. When she finally took you into her mouth again, it wasn't with the frantic pace you'd expected. Instead, she lavished attention on every inch, her tongue tracing the veins along your length as if memorizing them, her lips sealing around you in slow, sucking pulls that drew moans from your chest rather than your groin.

"Jeongyeon—" Your voice cracked as her thumb brushed the base of your cock, her other hand cradling your balls with a gentleness that bordered on sacred.

She hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight to your spine. When her eyes flicked up to meet yours—holding your gaze as she swallowed you deeper—it felt less like a blowjob and more like a confession.

Every movement was a whispered I see you.

Every suckle a silent I adore you.

And when your hips jerked involuntarily, she didn't pull away. She simply pressed a soothing hand to your stomach, her rhythm never faltering, her devotion never wavering—

Until the pleasure crested like dawn breaking, spilling into her waiting mouth with a gasp of her name that sounded more like a prayer than a curse.

Jeongyeon swallowed every drop, her lips lingering at your tip to kiss away the aftershocks before resting her cheek against your thigh with a sigh.

"Beautiful," she whispered, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. "You're so beautiful like this."

And for the first time in your life—

You believed it.

The moment your lips brushed her temple, Jeongyeon stilled beneath you—her breath catching in that fragile way that had nothing to do with pleasure. You paused, your hand hovering over her hip, waiting.

"We don’t have to—"

"I know," she interrupted softly, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. A single tear slipped free before she could stop it, glinting in the low light. "It’s just… he used to say that. ‘Be happy.’ Like it was that simple."

Your chest ached. You caught her tear with your thumb, cradling her face as if she might dissolve under your touch. "And are you?"

Jeongyeon closed her eyes, her lashes fluttering against damp cheeks. For a long moment, the only sound was her unsteady breath. Then, with a shuddering exhale, she pressed her forehead to yours.

"I think," she whispered, "I could be."

The kiss that followed was salt-edged and slow, her lips trembling against yours before steadying—choosing, with every brush of her tongue, every sigh into your mouth, to stay here, in this moment, with you.

When she finally guided your hips between her thighs, it wasn’t with desperation, but something far more vulnerable: trust.

"Show me," she breathed against your lips. "Show me how you love."

And as you slid into her—slow, reverent, achingly careful—Jeongyeon didn’t cry. She bloomed.

The first push inside her was met with a gasp that had nothing to do with pain—her body arched like a bowstring, her nails scoring lightly down your back as she adjusted to the stretch. You stilled, forehead pressed to hers, your breath mingling in the scant space between your lips.

"Okay?" you murmured, your voice rough with restraint.

Jeongyeon nodded, her hips canting up in silent demand. "Mmm… more."

You gave it to her—not with a snap of your hips, but with a slow, rolling thrust that drew a moan from her throat. Her legs wrapped around your waist, her heels pressing into the small of your back as if to keep you there, deep, where the heat of her threatened to unravel you.

The way her body clung to yours was obscene—every inch of her fluttering around you, her inner walls pulsing as if trying to memorize the shape of you. You groaned, your fingers tangling in her hair as you angled your hips just so, watching her eyes flutter shut at the new pressure.

"There?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeongyeon bit her lip, her thighs trembling where they bracketed yours. "Y-yes—god, yes—"

You set a rhythm then—not fast, not frantic, but deep, each thrust a deliberate stroke designed to wring every ounce of pleasure from her. Her breasts swayed with the movement, her nipples pebbled and begging for attention, but you resisted. This wasn’t about chasing an end.

This was about savoring.

Her fingers traced the sweat-slick planes of your back, her breath coming in ragged pants against your ear. "You feel—ah—so good—"

You swallowed her words with a kiss, your tongues tangling as you moved inside her, the slide of your bodies slick and sinful. The bed creaked beneath you, the sheets tangled around your ankles, but neither of you cared.

Not when she was looking at you like that—like you’d hung the moon and stars just for her.

The room filled with the slick, sinful sounds of your bodies moving together—each thrust drawing Jeongyeon higher up the sheets, her breasts bouncing slightly with every deep stroke until her head nearly touched the headboard. You caught her hips, pulling her back down your length with a groan, the muscles in your arms straining as you angled yourself just right to watch her face crumple in pleasure.

Her thighs trembled where they hugged your waist, her slick folds clinging to every inch of you as you withdrew only to sink back in with deliberate, aching precision. A pearl of sweat rolled down between her breasts, catching on her peaked nipple before disappearing into the valley of her chest. You followed its path with your tongue, laving over the stiff peak until she gasped, her back arching off the mattress.

"Mmm... sensitive?" you murmured against her skin, your lips brushing the flushed swell of her breast.

Jeongyeon whimpered, her fingers scrambling against your shoulders. "Y-you know I am," she panted, her voice honey-sweet even as her hips rolled up to meet your next thrust with a wet slap. "A-ah! Right there—"

You obliged, your pace never faltering as you drove into her again and again, the heat between her legs bordering on scalding. Her inner walls fluttered around you, her body trying desperately to pull you deeper even as you kept the rhythm slow, maddening.

Her hands found your face, her thumbs brushing your cheekbones as she pulled you down for a kiss—deep and messy, her tongue sliding against yours between breathy moans. When you broke apart, her lips were swollen, her gaze hazy with need.

"You're beautiful like this," you breathed, your voice thick with awe as you watched her body take you—her stomach quivering with each thrust, her thighs squeezing your hips in silent plea.

Jeongyeon whined, her nails digging half-moons into your biceps. "T-talk too much," she managed, though the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her.

You chuckled, rolling your hips in a slow, circular grind that had her seeing stars. "You love it."

She did.

And as the room filled with the sounds of your lovemaking—skin against skin, breathless laughter, whispered praise—neither of you cared about anything but this moment.

This feeling.

This love.

The moment your hands found her waist, rolling her hips against yours in a slow, filthy grind, Jeongyeon shattered—not with an orgasm, but with something deeper. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her nails biting into your shoulders as she clung to you like you were the only solid thing in a spinning world.

"F-feels like—" Her voice broke as you angled your hips just so, the head of your cock brushing that sweet spot inside her that made her thighs quake. "Like I'm waking up—"

You understood.

Every drag of your length inside her was a reminder—of heat, of sensation, of the way her body could still sing beneath someone's touch. Her back arched off the mattress, her breasts flushed and heaving as you set a pace that was less about friction and more about feeling—deep, rolling thrusts that had her seeing stars with every slow withdrawal, every aching push back in.

Her legs locked around your waist, her heels digging into the small of your back as if to keep you there, buried to the hilt where the heat of her threatened to undo you. The way her walls fluttered around you—clenching rhythmically like a heartbeat—was obscene, the slick sounds of your joining filling the room alongside her breathy whimpers.

"Look at me," you murmured, your voice rough with restraint as your thumbs brushed the damp hollows of her collarbones.

Jeongyeon's eyes fluttered open, glassy with unshed tears—not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelm of it all. The way you moved inside her, the way your breath hitched when she clenched around you, the way your hips stuttered when she rolled her own to meet you.

"I see you," you whispered, your forehead dropping to hers as you pressed in deep, holding there as her body trembled beneath you. "God, Jeongyeon—alive, so alive—"

Her answering sob was muffled against your lips as she kissed you—desperate, messy, her teeth catching your lower lip as her hips lifted to take you even deeper. The stretch burned, her inner muscles fluttering wildly as if trying to memorize every ridge, every pulse of your cock as you moved within her.

And when your hand slid between you, your thumb finding her swollen clit in slow, deliberate circles, she broke—her back bowing off the bed as her thighs shook, her walls clamping down on you in rhythmic waves that had you seeing stars.

But you didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

Not when every gasp, every twitch, every tremor was proof that she was here—Alive, Loved, Maybe...yours

Her orgasm hit like a slow-moving storm—building in the tremors of her thighs first, the way her toes curled against your calves, the desperate clutch of her fingers in the sheets. You felt it everywhere: in the way her breath stuttered against your neck, in the sudden flutter of her walls around your cock, in the choked-off whimper that escaped her lips as the first wave crested.

"Oh—oh god—"

Jeongyeon's back arched beautifully off the mattress, her head tipping back as pleasure rolled through her in relentless waves. Her breasts heaved with each ragged gasp, her nipples pebbled and flushed, her stomach quivering as the sensations wracked her body. You held her through it—your thrusts gentling but never stopping, your lips pressed to the frantic pulse at her throat as she trembled beneath you.

"That's it," you murmured, your voice thick with awe as you watched her come undone. "Let go. Just feel it."

And she did.

Her climax was a living thing—rippling through her in slow, syrupy pulses that had her clenching around you rhythmically, her inner muscles milking your length as if trying to draw you deeper. Her thighs shook where they bracketed your hips, her heels digging into the small of your back as if to anchor herself.

"T-too much—" she sobbed, her hands flying to your shoulders, her nails biting into your skin. But even as she said it, her hips rolled up to meet your next thrust, her body demanding more even as it threatened to overwhelm her.

You obliged, your pace never faltering as you guided her through the aftershocks—each slow, deep stroke prolonging her pleasure until she was gasping, her eyes screwed shut, her lips parted around silent cries.

When the last tremor finally subsided, Jeongyeon went boneless beneath you, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin glistening with sweat. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, her touch feather-light as she floated back to earth.

"Alive?" you teased, brushing a damp lock of hair from her forehead.

She cracked one eye open, her lips curving into a drowsy, sated smile. "Mmm... very."

The room was quiet save for the sound of your mingled breaths, the sheets tangled around your legs like afterthoughts. Jeongyeon lay sprawled beneath you, her skin still flushed, her chest rising and falling in slow, contented waves. You traced idle patterns along her hip, smiling when she shivered at the touch.

"Tickles," she murmured, her voice drowsy and thick.

You hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. "Good tickles or bad tickles?"

She cracked one eye open, her lips quirking. "Annoying tickles."

You laughed, your fingers dancing higher, skimming the dip of her waist. "What about here?"

Jeongyeon squirmed, her breath hitching when your thumb brushed the underside of her breast. "You," she accused, though there was no heat in it—just a fond exasperation that made your chest warm.

You grinned, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. "Me."

She huffed, but her arms wound around your shoulders anyway, her fingers carding through your hair in a way that was more affectionate than teasing. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," you murmured, kissing the spot just below her ear that always made her gasp, "you haven’t pushed me away yet."

Jeongyeon sighed—a long, exaggerated sound—before rolling you onto your back with surprising strength, her thighs straddling your hips with practiced ease. Her hair was a mess, her lips still swollen from earlier, her eyes bright with mischief.

"Who said anything about pushing you away?"

And then she leaned down, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was less about heat and more about promise—slow, sweet, and entirely too confident for someone who’d just come undone beneath you minutes ago.

You groaned, your hands settling on her waist. "You’re gonna be the death of me."

She smirked, her teeth nipping at your lower lip. "Good."

The words left her lips in a breathless rush, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your chest. "I love how you love me," she murmured, her voice still hazy from her first climax. "But... I need you to ruin me now."

A shiver ran down your spine at the quiet plea in her tone. You cupped her face, kissing her with a reverence that bordered on worship—slow, deep, your tongue sliding against hers in a silent promise. When you pulled back, her lips were parted, her eyes dark with anticipation.

"How bendy are you, baby?" you asked, your thumb brushing her swollen lower lip.

Jeongyeon blinked, her brows knitting together in adorable confusion. "I—what?"

"Yoga. Stretches. That kind of thing," you clarified, your voice dropping to a husky murmur as your hand trailed down her body, skimming the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip.

A slow, dawning realization lit her features, followed by a smirk that was all mischief. "Oh, please. I could out-stretch a pretzel."

You grinned, pressing one last kiss to her lips before shifting your weight. "Prove it."

With careful hands, you guided her legs up, folding them toward her chest until her knees brushed her shoulders. The position arched her back beautifully, her body open and achingly vulnerable beneath you. Jeongyeon gasped as you settled between her thighs, the new angle allowing you to sink into her with a single, devastating thrust.

"F-fuck—!" Her voice cracked, her nails scrabbling at the sheets as you bottomed out inside her, the stretch bordering on too much.

You stilled, your forehead dropping to hers as she adjusted, her inner walls fluttering wildly around your cock. "Okay?" you breathed, your voice rough with restraint.

Jeongyeon nodded frantically, her hips canting up in silent demand. "More—"

You obliged.

The first pullout was slow, deliberate, your cock dragging against her walls in a way that had her seeing stars. The second thrust was harder, deeper, the head of your length brushing that sweet spot inside her that made her scream.

"There—right there—!" she sobbed, her thighs trembling where they bracketed your shoulders.

You set a brutal pace then—each snap of your hips driving into her with pinpoint precision, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room alongside her broken moans. The angle was obscene, allowing you to watch every inch of your cock disappear into her, her slick folds stretched taut around your girth.

Jeongyeon unraveled beneath you, her back arching off the bed, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. Her hands flew to her own nipples, pinching and tugging at the stiff peaks as if chasing even more sensation.

"Look at you," you groaned, your fingers digging into her hips as you pistoned into her. "—god, you feel unreal—"

She could only whimper in response, her body alight with pleasure, her walls clenching around you in rhythmic pulses as if trying to pull you even deeper.

And as the room filled with the sounds of your joining—her choked-off cries, your ragged breaths, the lewd squelch of your cock moving inside her—neither of you cared about anything but this.

210 notes · View notes

absurdthirst · 8 months ago

Text

Online Love {Javier Peña x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.3k

Warnings: Online dating, feelings of inadequacy, anger, upset, mentions of past bullying, Javi having restraint, oral sex (male and female receiving), tiny bit of body worship, unprotected sex, vaginal sex

Comments: Coming home after Cali, Javi finds that his dad has moved into modern times. There's a computer in the house. Unsatisfied with his reputation proceeding him, he decides to go online to find out if he can be the man he wants to be. Except the one he connects with, you, has a very complicated past together.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Javier Peña MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The last thing that Javi expected to find at the Peña ranch upon his return, was a computer. He wasn’t even sure that his father had known what one was, let alone how to turn one on. But there it was. A great hulking machine that is set up in the dining room, taking up half the damn table. He had frowned at his pop, hands on his hips as he asked him what the hell he did with the damn thing. “Talk to people.” Chucho laughs at his son’s confused ire and slaps him on the back. “I got that dial up package added to the phone line. Even my accountant told me I needed one.”

Javier avoids the computer for weeks, eying it like it's going to turn on and take over the world. At least, that's what every Sci-Fi movie is about lately. He watches his pa try to cook scrambled eggs and snorts at the curses coming from his father's mouth while he flips through the paper. ‘Free Online Dating Membership. Join Match.com today!’ The ad in the corner catches his eye and he snorts again, wondering who the hell goes on the internet to find a date. He can go to any bar and pick up a woman. Well, he can get a one night stand. Every woman within fifty miles knows about the infamous Javier Peña and his reputation precedes him. The doorbell rings and Javier huffs, folding the paper to get the door. "I got it, pa." He tells his father who is still cursing the now burnt scrambled eggs.

"Oh, uh, hi. Javier." You clear your throat and Javier's eyes widen. He says your name and you are surprised he remembers you. "I have papers for Chucho." You hold up the folder and Javier steps aside. You walk into the kitchen to find Chucho rinsing out a frying pan, the smell of burnt eggs in the air, and you smile at the older Peña. "Just dropping off the quarterly report." You set the folder down.

“You’re his accountant?” Javi asks, following you into the kitchen and he can’t help that his eyes have fallen down to your ass as you walk in front of him. It is a habit when he is around a beautiful woman and you have become that. No longer the awkward and gangly girl he had remembered before he had left for Columbia, you have matured into a graceful woman. It isn’t quite fair because you weren’t too much younger than him.

“Yes.” You turn and give him a confused smile and tilt your head in curiosity at what he was meaning. You had always been good at math, enjoying numbers more than socializing.

“So that-” he points to the computer in the dining room, “is your fault?”

You chuckle a little, "don't you want to join us in the 20th century, Javier? It's nearly the 21st. A computer is the future." You take a step closer to Javier, lowering your voice, "besides, your dad can join forums. Speak to other ranchers. Other widows. There's a whole world out there and that computer brings it to him." You had noticed how lonely Chucho was and he is far too proud to say anything so you suggested the computer.

“What’s wrong with the annual rancher’s association meetings?” Javi snorts, rolling his eyes at the idea of his father courting widows through a computer. His mother was the love of his life, and he had honestly never even suggested moving on. He was still wearing his wedding ring that his mother placed on his finger nearly fifty years ago. “Going to town to the tack and feed store? Meeting people in person?”

You shake your head, "your dad is a proud man. He's loyal to your mother, even after all these years. You can't be honest about how you feel with people you've known for years. On the computer, you can be anonymous, you can tell someone how you truly feel without seeing the judgment on their face. You can be who you really are when you're behind a screen." You confess, knowing you have your own experience with that anonymity. "You wouldn't understand it. You've never had a problem with saying what you think."

That’s not true, and Javi opens his mouth to tell you that, but he stops. You said that one could be the person they wanted to be. Who they really are. Javi glances back at the computer again, contemplating that in a different light. Everyone knew Javier Peña, by his reputation, by the stories that had been written while he was in Colombia. They judged him, or treated him how they expected him to act. Every woman he had met recently just wanted to ‘see if the rumors were true’. He hadn’t taken many of them home. Looking back at you, he shrugs slightly, as if it’s not anything to him. “They are a pain in the ass when they act up.” He grunts.

You chuckle, pointing to the big book on the dining room table next to the computer. "Good thing you have the instruction manual." You quip and walk back over to Chucho who thanks you for bringing the report. "We need to work on the W2's next month." You tell Chucho who nods, "thanks, chiquita." He winks at you and grabs the egg carton. "Any chance you can cook scrambled eggs?" He asks and you giggle, "I would show you but I have to go meet Maria to explain why her new RV is not a tax write off." You chuckle and Chucho winks at you, "luego." You turn to look at Javier, "see you around, Peña." You show yourself out, exhaling deeply as you recognize that you couldn't avoid Javier forever.

Over the next few days, Javi eyes the computer. Debating with himself as he smokes out on the front porch. His dad still won’t allow smoking in the house even though his mother’s oxygen tanks were long gone. Looking at the outline of the large monitor through the screen door and contemplating your comment. He could be someone other than Javier Peña, manwhore or DEA disgrace. He wouldn’t be grumpy or sarcastic, not unless he wanted to appear that way. The person he could be online wouldn’t be burdened with the sorrows and mistakes that seemingly weigh him down. He blows out a breath and crushes out the butt before he yanks the door open and steps back into the house. His father is out for a few hours and he can at least turn it on to see what all the fuss is about.

You bite your lip as you log onto the website. You never imagined you'd join an online dating website. You had seen the video tapes from dating agencies and you never allowed yourself to get so lonely that you resorted to that but the internet brought a new option. You like that there's no photos. Only an initial and a location. It's anonymous and you chat, then decide if you like each other. Sure, you've had some bad matches in person. Some not at all like they described themselves, some total assholes. You keep trying though. You want to find your person.

“Goddamnit.” Javi scowls at the computer and bangs the enter button several times. “Why won’t you do it?” He hisses, seeing the little arrow over the area he wants to go, but it’s not doing anything. “Fuck.” He rolls his eyes at himself and grabs the stupid thing called a mouse. Why it was a mouse, he will never know, but he clicks buttons until the page starts to load, leaning back with an annoyed sigh while he waits.

You have a sip of wine as you wait for the website to load. You sigh, watching the screen flicker as the website is displayed pixel by pixel. When it's loaded, you type in your email address and password. Grabbing the mouse, you click the 'log in' button and lean back, waiting again for the website to load.

It’s been nothing but a pain in the ass to set up this page. Debating on what to put, he had gotten annoyed at himself several times and almost walked away. Now he’s ready to browse available women, but knowing his luck, there won’t be anyone for hundreds of miles.

You set your wine glass down, surprised to see there's a new person online. "J" is the name and his tagline says "here to be myself." That intrigues you. You bite your lip, contemplating clicking on the profile until you select it and wait for it to load. "Name is J. Looking to be myself, find someone to talk to who wants to get to know who I truly am. Texas born and raised. Work in law enforcement so not a creep." You chuckle at the bio and decide to click on the 'chat now' button. You take another gulp of wine and select his profile, typing out a simple "hi".

A box pops up with a loud ding, making Javi sit up. Someone is messaging him already. He tries to suppress the surge of pleasure in his stomach as he remembers to click the line so he can peck at the keyboard. “Hi.” He hits enter and then frowns slightly because it seems so impersonal. “How are you?” He notices the initial and adds that before sending the next message. Frowning as he waits for a response.

You are surprised he responded so fast and your stomach clenches with nerves as you type out “I’m good. Just having a glass of wine. How are you?” You type, glad for those hours you spent on typewriters back when you were a teenager trying to write a novel. It sucked but your typing skills are excellent.

“Well shit.” Javier huffs, slightly amazed at the speed of the reply. He’s used a computer, he had to in those final years with the DEA. Hated it, preferred the typewriter, but he had never really talked to someone online like this before. “What do I say now?” He asks himself, wishing he could light up a cigarette. Hunching over the keyboard, he begins a two finger pecked response. “Wine sounds good right about now, although a glass of whiskey and a cigarette is more my speed.”

You have another sip of wine, waiting for his response. It takes a while and you wonder if he’s walked away from the computer but it soon pings through the speakers and you read his reply. A chuckle escapes your lips, “typical man.” You snort to yourself and reply quickly, hitting enter to send the message. “I don’t smoke. Never have. I don’t care if someone does smoke. So what brings you to this website?” You chew on the skin of your thumb as you wait for his response. It’s nice to talk to someone different. Someone you haven’t known your whole life growing up in Laredo.

Javi feels slightly guilty about smoking as he reads your reply. He will have to air the house out before his pa gets home. Wondering why he’s actually here. “Want someone to get to know me and not what they think they know about me.” Javi types out slowly. “Like I’m trying to quit smoking again, and everyone tells me that I shouldn’t try.”

Your heart clenches at his honest reply. You glance over at the photo of you and your parents when you were younger, remembering how you’d get made fun of for being too geeky. For liking numbers instead of boys. “If you want to quit smoking, you should try. Do it for you. Not anyone else.” You hit send, and then type out “everyone tells me I need to get laid but I don’t want meaningless sex. I want a real relationship. Someone I can talk to and be real myself with.” You hit send before you can think too hard about your reply.

Javi snorts to himself. “Meaningless sex doesn’t help.” He types out. “Not in the long run. I know. Sometimes it just makes you feel worse.” He’s had plenty of time for self reflection and regret. “So who is the real you?”

You sigh and type out “I guess that’s what I’m wanting to figure out. I have been so sensible my entire life. I want to let loose a little. Enjoy life. I struggle to trust anyone and it’s led to me to isolating. Hence why I’m on here.” You hit send and take another gulp of wine, feeling vulnerable.

Javi understands that. “People always call me an asshole, not understanding that I’ve seen shit that would make grown men cry. They wouldn’t believe me if I told them I’ve cried.” He tells you and continues the message. “Letting loose sounds like something I need to do too.”

“Were you in the armed forces?” You type out and he replies, “something like that.” You hum, typing again, “well at least you know yourself. You should be able to cry. Doesn’t make you any less of a man because you cry. As for letting loose, maybe we could help each other out with that.” You hit send and take another sip of wine, glancing over at the clock. It’s getting late.

“We could do that.” Javi hums to himself as he starts to type out his response. “What’s your idea of fun?” He asks. “Or the theory of fun.” His idea of fun is so far removed he doesn’t remember anymore. “I like watching movies.”

“Watching movies is good. I love bowling. I haven’t been since I was a kid.” You confess when you type, “or just a day out in the sun. I work so much. It’s hard to relax. I want to succeed. Stand on my own two feet.” You hit send and exhale, realizing how long you’ve been holding this inside of you.

“Do you like the beach?” Javi asks in return, smirking to himself about going to the bowling alley a few towns over. “Or more of a swimming pool kind of girl? You are a girl, right?”

You giggle, imagining J furrowing his brow. “I’m a girl. It says so in the bio.” You hit enter and continue typing, “you’re a boy?” You ask him to confirm and he responds, “yes.” It said so in his bio but you can’t trust anything on the internet. “I love the beach. And the swimming pool. Pool is better for sex. The beach…sand gets in places you don’t want to imagine.” You shudder, remembering when you went to the beach with your first boyfriend and got sand in too many crevices.

Javi’s brows shoot up when you admit that. He chuckles to himself and decides to be completely honest. “Never had sex in a pool or at the beach.” He types. “Fucked in a swimming hole, does that count?” He asks, remembering the time him and Lorraine went down to the local swimming hangout.

You giggle, typing back, “it kinda does. So, what is the true J? A man of mystery. Perhaps you’re a spy and that’s why you haven’t let anyone close to you.” You smirk as you hit send.

Javi chuckles as he reads that and shakes his head like he is in the room with the other person. “Hardly. No one could ever accuse me of being Bond. I don’t have the patience for it.” He pauses, considering your question. “I’m secretly a romantic. Wishing that I had someone to share a future with. I want to love someone, have them love me. I want laughter and fun, quiet nights reading books, early morning cups of coffee with someone.”

You smile softly at the way he says he wants romance. You want the same thing. You want someone to be happy with, to make happy. You quickly type back “that’s exactly what I want. A partner. I want someone to laugh with, to share my day with.” You hit send before you can think too hard about it.

Smiling as he reads the message, he feels like someone is listening to him for the first time. Really listening to him. He licks his lips and feels like he’s crazy for feeling connected through a computer screen. “Until you find that partner, maybe we can share our days?” He offers, biting his lip and wishing he could unsend it just as soon as it’s posted.

“Absolutely.” You type back and hit send before you think twice. You have a good feel for J and you want to get to know him more, be that person he can talk to. It’s nice to have someone want to talk to you that doesn’t even know what you look like. You yawn, the wine and the long day getting to you, and you type out “I’m exhausted. Long day today. Chat tomorrow?”

Javi looks at the clock and is surprised by how long he’s spent online. Soon, his father will be back. “Sounds good. Sweet dreams.” He types out, sending it and wondering if whoever the other person is will sleep soundly or toss and turn like he normally does. He hopes that it’s the former.

You log off, getting ready for bed and you fall asleep to dreams of a partner who loves you and makes you happy and you make them happy.

****

The entire day you spend thinking about logging back onto the website. You try to concentrate on the numbers in front of you but it’s almost impossible to calculate when you think about what J might look like. His bio said brown eyes and brown hair. You wonder if he’s tall or short. You don’t care, you like talking to him. When you arrive home, you eat dinner and disconnect your phone so you can connect to the internet. The shrill tone of the dial up is a familiar sound to you but still makes you wince until you can log back on the website, tapping your fingers as you wait for any sign that J is online.

“Pa! Don’t pick up the phone, I’m going to be online!” Javi calls out from the dining room to the living room where his dad is laid back in the recliner in front of a soccer game. “I thought it was stupid?” The rough laugh of the older man feels like teasing but Javi rolls his eyes and huffs slightly. His reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he had a headache from staring at the screen last night. “Just don’t pick up the phone!” He demands again and starts to connect the computer so he can see how his online friend is doing this evening.

You smile when the speakers chirp with a new message alert. “Hi. How was your day?” He asks and you type out a quick response. “Long. Boring. But it’s looking up right now. How was your day?” You respond, wondering if he had a good day or if he found it as laborious as you did.

Javi has been looking forward to this all day, if he’s honest with himself. It was what had gotten him through another day of repairing fences and trying to fix everything on the ranch that his pop hadn’t been able to get to. “Seemed like it would never end.” He grins to himself when he thinks that you might have been looking forward to talking to him. “But I’m settled down with a beer, how about you? Got a glass of wine?”

You smile at his response, quickly typing “of course. Cheers, J.” You hit send and type another message. “I was thinking about you today. Wondered what kind of movies you like. What kind of music you like.” You know these questions are juvenile but you like chatting to him and getting to know him without any pressure.

Javi hums to himself. Intrigued that his mystery friend was thinking of him. He taps his chin, wishing for a cigarette, but he had put on a patch this morning, and starts to list them out. “Grew up watching westerns, but I think I like dramas.” He types out. “Action is alright, but they always depict shit wrong. Shooing a car’s gas tanks isn’t going to make it blow up.” He goes on. “Music, I’m still an easy listening, 70’s kind of guy. What about you? What’s your taste in movies and music?”

You snort at his answer about action not being accurate. You type back, “I love dramas. And romance. Westerns…my dad used to watch them so I’ve seen almost every western out there. John Wayne was a big hit in my house growing up. As for music, 70s, 80s. I’m not sure about the 90s. Music is changing. I miss the ballads and classic rock.” You hit send and take a sip of wine, the dial up crackling in the background.

Javi snorts and shrugs slightly, like he’s talking to someone in person. “80s music is a little too peppy for me.” He admits with a grin as he types it out. “Power ballads are amazing.”

You nod as if he’s in the damn room with you and you fluster as you catch yourself. “I can’t imagine you as a Huey Lewis listener.” You type out and he types back, “how do you imagine me?” You bite your lip, “well, your bio says you have brown eyes and brown hair. So I’m guessing your eyes are a little jaded from shit you’ve gone through but also soulful, like the key to your emotions is in your eyes. Most men are guarded but their eyes tell their story.” You hit send, hoping he doesn’t think you’ve overstepped.

Suddenly, he feels like this person is in the room with him and has stripped him naked. Not of his clothes, but of his armor. “I rarely look in the mirror. Except when I’m shaving.” He admits. “But my momma used to say she could tell everything I was feeling through my eyes.”

Your heart aches for the man, clearly he’s been beaten up by life and you want to hold him, tell him it’s all okay. You type back, “wise woman your momma. I understand how you feel. I’m not haunted by demons but I was bullied as a kid until I left school. Too nerdy, not pretty enough. Not thin enough. It still affects me to this day.” You hit send and take a large gulp of wine.

Javi frowns when he sees your words and hates how that could be possible when you are a sweet person. “Size doesn’t matter. Every body type is beautiful in some way.” He types out. “I love women of all shapes and sizes. Pretty only lasts as long as age. It’s the soul that makes a person beautiful.”

His words melt your heart, a man who doesn't just want the pretty Playboy bunny girl to fuck. He seems genuine, unlike most men you meet. "Exactly. That's how I feel. You are attracted to their aura, their personality...looks are a bonus." You hit send and smile into your wine glass, wondering if you should suggest meeting up. His bio shows that he is within 20 miles of you.

“Exactly.” Javi types back immediately. “I want someone who will build a future with me, but also be willing to jump into the truck with a cooler of sodas, a full tank of gas, a map and no destination in mind.” He had imagined taking a road trip once, with Lorraine and she had immediately vetoed it. It might be one of the things that caused him to start rethinking their upcoming marriage so many years ago.

Your stomach twists at how perfect he seems, how he seems to completely understand you. "Well, if you ever need a road trip buddy. I'm your gal.” You type back, a grin on your face and you know you look ridiculous. His chat goes offline after that and you frown, confused and wondering if you did something to upset him.

"Pa! Get off the phone!" Javi yells at his father who picked up the landline, forgetting that Javi is online. "Sorry mijo. I forgot." He admits, slamming the phone down.

“Damnit.” Javi hisses, hoping that you weren’t insulted by his internet dropping out. He listens to the modem dialing and it seems like it’s taking forever. “Hurry up, hurry up!” He growls, his stomach flipping unpleasantly at the idea of you thinking that he’s just done with the conversation. It takes forever in his mind, even if it’s just a few minutes and he’s relieved when the chat reconnects. “Fuck, I’m sorry. My dad picked up the phone.” He types out quickly.

You’re surprised that he lives with his dad but you can’t judge, you lived with your parents until you finished university. His bio says he’s over 40. “It’s fine! Shit happens.” You hit send and giggle slightly, wondering if he was frustrated that the connection dropped. “Thought you didn’t want a road trip buddy.” You tease, watching the message go through for a few seconds until it says delivered.

“Get me out of here!” Javi types back quickly, chuckling to himself. “I never thought living with my dad again would be so frustrating.” He admits. “I moved back to help him and it doesn’t make sense to live somewhere else. He’s stubborn and doesn’t want to admit he’s getting older.”

You like that he is living with his dad to help him. You like that he seems to be a family man. “One day you’ll miss him when he’s gone.” You type, hitting send. “Do you want kids? Marriage?” You ask, curious if he’s interested in that.

Javi frowns as he contemplates that question. It had been one that Lorraine had sort of asked him, in a way, when she asked him if he had imagined their life together. He had. He would have never had kids while he was DEA, but he’s done with that part of his life now. He could have that if he wanted, so does he? He flexes his fingers and starts to type. “Never really thought it was going to happen for me.” He replies. “But I could see it. Now. Had a dangerous job for a long time and I wouldn’t have ever thought about it then. But yeah, I would want that. You?”

You ponder his answer, appreciating his honesty and you aren’t rushing him down the aisle but you like to know if you’re on the same page because you like him. You type back “I want kids someday. If it happens. I’m a big believer that things that are meant to be, happen.”

Javi leans back, running a hand through his hair as he thinks about that. There’s been plenty of times he probably should have become a father, by accident, but it had never happened. He had made sure not to leave any kids behind for the mothers to take care of while he had moved on. He notices that your profile says you are in your 30s. So there’s still time. “One? Two?” He types out. “Boy? Girl? Both?”

You are surprised he’s not running a mile at this conversation. Most men would. “Two. One of each ideally but I’d take healthy babies any day.” You hover to hit send before you add, “what about you? Any ideas on kids?” You hit send and rub your cheek, hating how much you like this guy. Someone whose name you don’t even know. You have no photo, no additional information.

Javi never really thought about it before, not sure if it would matter. He shrugs slightly. “Happy, healthy, safe.” He replies. “Not sure if you really have any options. You’re gonna get what you get. Least that’s how I look at it.”

You chuckle, replying back, “very true. Healthy. Happy. Safe. That’s what everyone wants.” You like that he didn’t say “boy” like every other man would. You chat for another hour, turning the conversation to the best movies of all time until you look at the clock. “I could spend all night talking but I have to get up earlier to get to work. Goodnight J.” You hit send, deciding to wait for his response before you log off.

****

Javi is happy that he installed a second line to the house for the internet. Now he doesn’t have to worry about his pa picking up the phone and kicking him offline. He’s been talking to the woman online for weeks, deciding to call her ‘sweetheart’ instead of just by her initial. It’s funny, because he’s received messages from other women, but he isn’t even interested in responding. Despite his playboy ways before, he had no desire in getting to know anyone else. Grinning as your chat pops up, his typing improves, he quickly greets you. “Hey sweetheart, how was your day? That client’s son still being an asshole?”

You scoff to yourself as you type, “hey handsome. Yeah, he is. God, he thinks he knows better and he’s always been that way. He was best friends with my brother when we were growing up and he was a dick back then.” You hit send, glad you can vent about Javier Peña. He questioned the amount of write offs his dad was submitting with his quarterly filing.

“Just ignore him, he’s probably unhappy.” Lord knows he’s fully aware some people are just unhappy with being questioned. He had tangled with his dad’s accountant again today, frustrated because he knew that the assholes he used to work with wouldn’t stoop to hit his dad to get back at him. Of course, Miss Priss had looked like she was sucking a lemon talking to him about everything. Like he was just trying to make her job harder. He didn’t want his dad to get audited. “Wine or something stronger tonight?” He asks.

“Stronger. Whiskey.” You confess, “he really annoyed me. He thinks he knows best and I wish you could go head to head with him. I think you’d come out on top.” You hit send and take a sip of whiskey. You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you look down at your nails, you really need to get a manicure soon.

Javi chuckles to himself, grinning at the screen and feeling oddly proud to have the confidence of his sweetheart. “I’ll talk to him, see if I can’t get him to back off.” He volunteers. “Can’t let someone upset my sweetheart.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at the way he calls you his sweetheart. You have talked every night for weeks. You know that he struggles with the things he’s seen. “You’re too sweet, handsome. He wouldn’t know how to handle you.” You giggle as you hit send and take another sip of whiskey, feeling brave. “I know we have been talking for a few weeks. Would you like to meet up?” You hit the backspace, changing your wording, “would you like to meet me sometime?” You hit send and exhale shakily, nervous of his response.

Swallowing harshly, Javi’s eyes must run over your worse half a dozen times before he can grasp that you want to meet him. He types “Yes” before he thinks about it and changes it to “Yes, absolutely.” He doesn’t know when you want to meet but as soon as he sends it, he’s immediately typing again. “You said you haven’t been bowling in forever. Why don’t we do that?”

You are shocked that he remembered what you said from one of your first conversations together online. You immediately type back, “yes, absolutely! I would love that. Are you free on Friday? 7 pm?” You hit send before you think twice about it and you feel giddy at the thought of finally meeting the mystery man you’ve been talking to for weeks on the computer. Hope that you can meet his expectations of you and that he is some kind of creep. Normally you would never meet someone off of the Internet without knowing their full name but you do like the aspect of mystery of him and also you trust him. As insane as that sounds, you trust your mystery man.

Javi hasn’t grinned so widely since he was a teenager, feeling his stomach flutter and twist in pleasure. He types out the name of the bowling alley that is in the next town over, he’s heard that one is better. “Is that one close enough for you? I’ve heard there aren’t as many bowling leagues there, taking up all the lanes. We can bowl and have a few drinks, nothing too fancy.” He sends that and then chuckles. “I’ll even get some nachos and hamburgers.”

Your face hurts from grinning and you type back, “you are spoiling me, handsome. That works for me. I’ll see you there on Friday at 7pm. I’ll wear red lipstick so you know it’s me.” You hit send, reaching up to touch your lips. J had said he loves when a woman wears red lipstick.

Javi can’t even stop nodding at the computer screen. It’s a dumb habit, but he always feels like he is talking to his sweetheart face to face instead of through a screen. “I’ll get there early to make sure we’ve got a lane.” He promises. “I’ll be in a red shirt to match your lips.”

****

Friday comes around and you are nervous all day. Exhaling shakily, you check your red lipstick in the mirror of your car before you lock it up and head into the bowling alley. You’re here to meet J and you are nervous as shit. What if he doesn’t like how you look? What if you don’t live up to expectations? You enter the bowling alley and glance around, not seeing a red shirt so you make your way over to the front desk, hovering as you wait for your mystery man.

He’s got the lane and for some damn reason, Javi had decided to have too much coffee. Now paying for it with having to piss right as he sat down to wait. Trying to hurry as he washes his hands and rushes out of the bathroom. Scanning the people eagerly for the sight of red lips. His sweetheart will be early, he can tell from getting to know her over the past few weeks.

You glance around and see the one and only Javier Peña come out of the bathroom. You huff, "fancy seeing you here, Peña. Did not take you as the type for bowling." Your eyes drift down to his red shirt and your eyes widen, "J?" You choke, realizing he's the only person wearing a red shirt. This has to be a joke. Surely your online companion isn't here yet.

Javi’s eyes widen and he glances down at your lips. “Sweetheart?” He frowns slightly and wonders if this is some kind of sick joke. You hate him, think that you’re better than him because you deal with numbers all day. He could tell you things about numbers that would have your stomach churning. “What are you-“ he can’t even finish the question.

Your eyes widen at the nickname until you shake your head and let out a sarcastic laugh, "is this some kind of joke? Someone hiding with a camera? Did you - did you set up an account to mess with me? Manwhore Peña making out like he wanted something real? Please, you gotta be dreaming. I - oh God. You did this to mess with me. Well, fuck you handsome." You spit the nickname that once held affection for you and you spin on your heel, making your way out of the bowling alley, cheeks burning with mortification and tears stinging in your eyes.

Embarrassed at the people who are staring, Javi rushes out of the bowling alley, abandoning the lane he had already paid for. Spotting you as you hurry to your car, he admires the dress you are wearing even as he calls your name, breaking out into a jog to catch you. “Will you stop, goddamnit?”

You spin as you fumble to unlock your car. Your hands shake as you try to get the key in the lock. "What?" You hiss, knowing that you'll be a funny story he tells his friends tomorrow. The way it's always been. Javier used to make fun of you when you were in high school, your brother his best friend. Hell, your brother was supposed to be his best man until the wedding never happened.

He’s breathing harder as he comes to a stop in front of you, not panting but almost there. “Don’t- don’t leave.” He tells you, not reaching out but the anger on your face cuts deep. You loathe him, but there had to have been something you liked when you were talking to him online. “Look, if you’re - you go in and bowl.” He offers, holding out the slip to claim the shoes from the counter. “I paid for two games, there’s a pitcher of beer and nachos that should already be waiting.” He explains. “I’ll leave, okay?” His eyes slide away from yours, unable to continue staring at you when you despise him so much.

You shake your head, your heart clenching. You really thought you had something special with J. You don’t take the slip from his hand, your eyes stinging with unused tears. “I’ll go. You go bowl, enjoy the beer.” You spit and growl as you try to open your door, managing to yank it open after a while. “I don’t want to be the butt of your jokes ever again.” You hiss as you get into your car and slam the door, turning on the engine.

Javi frowns as you throw your car into gear and pull out of the parking spot, swallowing harshly. His jokes? Yeah, he teased you when you were both younger, but you still take that to heart? He steps back and shoves the claim ticket into his pocket, turning to walk to his truck. The date is ruined and he feels like shit even though he doesn’t know why.

You make it home and when you enter your apartment, you start to sob. Embarrassed that your entire online relationship has been a big joke. You know Javier is probably laughing about leading you on. You collapse on the sofa, burying your face in your hands, and you spend the first night in a long time not on the computer.

Javi comes into a dark house, his pop already in bed and he sits down in front of the computer. Staring at the dark screen and wishing he had never agreed to meet. Now that he knows that it’s you, he doesn’t regret that he created the profile, but he hates the image of your distraught face. Sighing, he turns the computer on, deciding to send you one last message.

You sniff as you log onto your computer after dialing up, wanting to send an email to your mom to vent about what happened when your email pops up with “message from ‘J’ waiting.” You huff and log into the website. You open the message and rub your cheek, hating that the mascara you so excitedly put on is now smudged all over your face.

“Sweetheart….I want to apologize for ruining your night, and your life it seems. I’m sorry that the night was ruined and I wasn’t the man you had been looking for. Your dress was very pretty. I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed getting to know you over the past few weeks and you are wonderful. I hope that you don’t give up looking for that special person that you can explore and share with. Javier.” The message is simple and straightforward, but Javi worries that he might have overstepped by contacting you again at all.

You read his message a few times. Your heart pounding in your chest and you bite your lip as you ponder what to say to him. You thought about what happened during your drive home. You try to reconcile the Javier you know in the daylight to the man you’ve been speaking to for weeks. You clear your throat and type your response, “Javier. I didn’t know it was you when I was messaging you. I guess I was shocked because you used to make fun of me when we were teenagers. You joining my brother to make fun of his geeky sister. I thought you weren’t interested in anything but sex - I heard the rumors about you in Colombia. I can’t figure out how the man who fucked his way through Texas is the same man who told me he wanted romance. All I can think is that this is a big joke at my expense.” You sniff, hating that your eyes sting again. “I really like J and if you are that man, not the man who rolls his eyes when I point out some issues with his dad’s receipts, then I would like to try again. Talk in person.” You hit send before you can regret it.

Javi reads your message and it hurts. The magic of talking to you is now gone and he feels a heavy weight of guilt settling back down on his shoulders and he wishes he had a fucking cigarette. He sighs and starts to type. “Yeah, I made fun of you with your brother when we were teenagers. I was an asshole and it was wrong. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t address the manwhore comments, and decides to address the issue with his father. “I will stay out of your business.” He continues on. “I used to work with men who would dig and have others dig until they had leverage on you. I was just trying to make sure my pop didn’t suffer from me pissing them off.” He sighs and rolls his head around before continuing on. “For what it’s worth, I really was looking forward to that bowling date.”

You read his message, leaning back against your chair, and you swallow down the guilt that swirls in your stomach. Maybe you jumped to judging Javier. He was an asshole, but the guy who has been messaging you for three weeks has made your heart flutter. You bite your lip and type back, “I was really looking forward to it too. I’m sorry I'm defensive. I guess I have a complex from high school. Never being the girl that got asked to the dance and it’s given me some issues. I would never let your dad be dragged into something. I want to make sure he’s protected and doing things above board. Maybe we could try again? I really like J. I’m sure I’d like Javier if I gave him an actual chance.” You hit send and sigh, knowing that you have to accept what he says when he responds.

Javi sighs softly, aware this could be some kind of payback, but he doesn’t think so. “I guess it’s too late tonight.” He would go out, but you might not be able to do it tonight. “How about this? I’m free tomorrow night. If you want to do something, we absolutely can.”

You smile softly, typing out your reply. “Miguel’s? Tomorrow at 8?” You hit send and you know that this could be a massive mistake but you want to try. The man you’ve gotten to know has to be inside of the asshole you grew up with.

The bar in town is much more his speed and Javi quickly types out an agreement. “That sounds good. I’ll see you then.” He bites his lip. “Have a glass of wine and soak in a bath, sweetheart, you deserve it.”

You reread his words a few times, loving and hating the smile on your face. You log off the computer and follow his advice, soaking in the bath with a glass of wine.

****

You glance up at the shitty sign that Miguel’s has had since your papa used to come here and drink after work sometimes. You brush down your dress, walking into the bar and classic rock is playing as you look around for Javi. He’s sitting at the bar, glass of whiskey in front of him, and his eyes widen when he sees you. You walk over to him, a little unsure. “Hi. I guess we should reintroduce ourselves after yesterday.” You tell him, wanting him to know that this is you trying again.

Javi smirks slightly and nods, noticing that you are wearing that red lipstick again. “Red lips.” He hums, wanting to reach out and see if they are as soft as they look. “Guess that makes you sweetheart?” He asks, standing up and pulling out the barstool beside him for you to sit down. “Javier.”

You sit down on the stool beside him, “handsome.” You murmur, taking in the sight of him in a red shirt and you like how he’s trimmed his mustache. He offers you a smile and the bartender comes over. You order a glass of wine and you turn your gaze back to Javier. “I’m sorry I ran off yesterday. I was - it was a shock to see you standing there.” You confess, thanking the bartender when he sets your drink down.

“I could tell.” He doesn’t smile or make light of it, nodding to the bartender himself. “I was surprised that it was you standing there.” Javier admits as well. “Although I guess I should have recognized the asshole son you had to deal with.” He snorts, having gone back through the archived conversations now that he knows it’s you and it’s almost silly that he didn’t figure it out before.

You fluster slightly, knowing you said some mean things about him. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was venting. It’s not easy dealing with numbers all day and then you come along and argue it all.” You raise your eyebrows, “I understand that you’re trying to protect your dad but you really are a pain in my ass.” You nudge him and he chuckles, shrugging a shoulder, “I won’t apologize for being protective.” You nod and pick up your drink to have a sip. “Cheers, J.” You reach out to clink your glass against his.

He chuckles again, nodding at sentiment and taking a sip as you do. “We could have used you in Colombia.” Javi compliments you. “Being so good with numbers, you could have spotted things that took us months to figure out with Escobar.” He snorts. “When he was in “jail”-“ Javi uses air quotes. “That asshole would truck in live lobsters. I would have paid money to see you go through his money trail.”

You set your drink down, “I highly doubt that his accountant was tracking his hard earned cash.” You snort and shake your head, “the things you’ve seen down there…I couldn’t even imagine it.” You confess, knowing that he went through a lot during his time in Colombia. “Thank you for the compliment though.” You offer him a smile, “could’ve used your interrogation skills when old man Garcia refused to pay for his filing.”

Javi snorts, imagining putting the screws to that old coot. “That’s when you threaten to tell Mrs. Garcia about his drinking.” He tells you with a wink. Old man Garcia’s wife is heavily religious and has a strict no alcohol rule in her house. You laugh and he taps the bar self consciously. “I wasn’t lying. Online.” He adds. “You know what people think of me. Hell, what you think of me.” He looks at you softly. “Our conversations have been the best parts of my day.”

You soften at the sincerity in his eyes, “me too. I loved talking to you.” You sigh and shake your head, “I think I have misjudged you. I just remembered you when we were younger and then the rumors I heard about Colombia. And leaving Lorraine at the altar. Didn’t exactly paint a pretty picture but I shouldn’t have judged you like that. I think J is the real you, right? If it is, then I want to start again because I like you, Javier. I liked J a lot so if you are the same man, I want to see where this goes.”

Javi smirks at you slightly and leans in. “I thought this was starting again, sweetheart?” He teases playfully. “I don’t mind you misjudging me.” Not exactly the truth, but there’s nothing he can do about it. “Not as long as you give me a fair chance now.” He leans back. “Are you hungry? You always complain about waiting too long to eat. I don’t want you to do that tonight.”

You soften even more at the way he remembers how bad you are at eating and you nod a little too fast. “I’m starving.” You admit, “are you hungry? I wouldn’t mind getting some food after this drink.” You gesture to the bar top and you let your eyes take him in now that you aren’t fighting. His eyes are crinkled when he smiles and his dark hair has grays scattered throughout but he’s as gorgeous as ever. No wonder he fucked around so much. He could have any woman he wants.

“That sounds good.” He admits. “If you don’t want bar food, we could go somewhere else?” He knows you prefer casual over formal, which he really appreciates, but sometimes bar food isn’t what someone wants.

You shake your head, “I like the food here. They have amazing burgers.” You say and he nods, “the fucking best.” You relax a little more, taking another sip of your drink, and you let your eyes wander a little more, taking in the golden skin beneath his shirt, peeking through from the buttons he’s left undone. He notices your appraising eyes and smirks. You fluster and set your glass down, “you know how women see you.” You scoff softly, trying to cover your embarrassment at being caught.

Javi chuckles softly. “Like a notch in their bedpost.” He admits, shrugging slightly. “Last woman that hit on me told me she wanted to see if the rumors were true.” It’s not been a bad thing, but it’s not what he wants now.

His words make you frown and you feel a little guilty for eying him. "For the record, I don't think you could fuck all night long. At least that's what I heard in the grocery store a few weeks ago." You nudge him to show you're joking, "you are more than that. More than what people see." You add with a murmur, recalling the things he said to you. "You're handsome but you're smart, loyal, and funny." You say about the man you know online.

He’s grateful you don’t buy into the rumors and you are willing to judge him on what you’ve talked about. “I’m not eighteen anymore.” He huffs. “Three good rounds is about all I’ve got in me these days.” He admits, smirking slightly. “Four if you’re counting the next morning.”

Your throat goes a little dry and you pick up your wine to take a gulp. “Three is…more than I’ve had.” You confess, “one…sometimes half.” You snort and Javier chuckles, “one and a half.” You shake your head, “no. Half. He came before I did and he didn’t -” You sigh and chuckle softly.

Javi grimaces and shakes his head. “Fuck.” He snorts. “Every man has had a time where he’s too excited or worked up. But you have to make sure your girl squeals in pleasure.” He sends you a small sigh. “Sounds like you slept with some real assholes.”

You snort and nod, “absolutely. Some real assholes.” You echo his words and sigh, “I just want someone who wants me and I want them. To make them happy.” You echo your typed words, knowing he feels the same way.

Javi nods, listening rather than jumping in and offering to make you feel good. He wants to take this slow and show you - and himself - that things can be different. The bartender comes over and he asks for two menus before giving you his attention again. “When was your last relationship?” He asks. “I find it hard to believe that it’s been long. You’re too pretty to be single.”

You thought that Javier would have offered to take you to bed but the fact that he didn’t is refreshing. “Uh, you remember Frankie from the auto shop? I went out with him about two years ago. I’ve been trying to build my business and I haven’t really had time to date. I’m not a one night stand kind of girl.”

He cannot say the same, but he nods, understanding what you mean. “You have to have an emotional connect, right?” He asks, wanting to know more about you. He's still reconciling the woman online with his ex-best friend’s little sister.

You glance down at the menu, his dark eyes burning into you, but you love how his attention is solely on you. “Emotional and primal. I think that the chemistry has to be there from the beginning otherwise you’re possibly waiting for something that could never happen. I thought you were a dick for so many years but I’ve always been attracted to you. Our chemistry was bickering but it was still there from the beginning.”

Javi smirks proudly, his eyes heating up at your confession and he lifts a brow. “I won’t lie and say I’ve always wanted you.” He tells you honestly. “There was a time when you were too young for me. But now…..” he winks. “I can tell you that it’s not just innocent thoughts.”

You bite your lip at his own confession and you lean a little closer to him, “glad we are on the same page now.” You reach out to touch his hand just as the bartender comes over to ask you what you want to order. You lean back from Javier as he gestures for you to go first and you order the burger and fries. Javier orders the same and you hand the menus over. “Best fucking burgers.” He says when he takes a bite into the burger after it arrives. “Damn right.” You groan in agreement after you swallow your bite.

“So.” Javi wipes his mustache with a bar napkin and looks over at you. “If there’s one thing that you’ve never done but always wanted to, what would it be?” He asks, grinning when you lift your brows in surprise at his question.

You hum, tapping your chin after you push your empty plate away. “I want to ride a mechanical bull.” You admit, giggling at the way his brows immediately shoot up. “Seriously?” He asks and you nod, a smirk on your face. “I’ve never had the guts to get up and do it. Always figured I’d look like an idiot and fall within seconds.”

“Everyone looks like an idiot and falls within seconds.” Javi snorts. “You’ll look like everyone else.” You huff and pout slightly, making him tap his chin. “There’s a bull a town over. Hole in the wall place. We could drive over and give it a whirl.”

You grin, “let’s go, Peña.” You reach for your purse and he tuts, “my momma would whoop me for letting a lady pay. It’s our first date.” He reminds you and pulls out his wallet, throwing enough cash down to cover the bill. You thank him, unused to such gentlemanly behavior from him and his gender. You take the hand he extends you and he guides you out of the bar to his truck. “You wanna follow me or I can bring you back here?” He asks and you are hyper focused on the feel of his calloused hand in yours. “Let’s ride together.” You decide and he nods, escorting you around the truck to open the passenger door for you, helping you up.

Javi rounds the front of the truck and climbs in beside you. “It’s only about a twenty minute drive.” He promises as he turns the engine over. “We have another drink, check something off that bucket list of yours and maybe even dance a time or two.”

His truck rumbles as he pulls out of the parking lot and the radio plays a country song. You admire the way his arms flex as he navigates the road, knowing that he realizes he’s attractive but maybe not aware of how much.

“Did you always want to be an accountant?” Javi asks, glancing over at you before looking back at the road. You’re so damn pretty sitting in his passenger seat and he wonders if you will bristle at the question. “I know you’re a math whiz, but was it a goal? Or something you fell into?”

“Kinda?” You answer, “went to college for math and I wanted to work for NASA. Then - then my mom got sick after I graduated and I couldn’t go to Houston. I had an internship there and I turned it down to stay at home. Became an accountant to stay local. She’s better now, thank God, but I always wonder what could’ve been.”

“Holy shit.” He’s impressed. NASA would have been an incredible career and he wonders what kind of life you would have had if you had been able to go for that. “I understand.” He nods, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Mom having cancer while I was in college really changed things for me. Honestly? I don’t know if I would have joined the DEA or not married Lorraine if she hadn’t passed.” He still misses her everyday, not regretting taking care of her one bit, but he had wondered what would have happened if she had lived. Or even lived longer than she did.

You were there the day he left Lorraine at the altar. The whole town was there. “I’m sorry. I remember your mom. She always made me feel so warm. She was kind and always made the best empanadas. I know you were a sheriff. What made you want to join the DEA?” You ask, curious what made him sign up, “was it to get away from Lorraine? From town?”

“Partly.” Javi snorts, remembering how the family he had once been almost welcomed into, had smeared his name through the streets. “She - or her family - told everyone I was fucking her best friend. Never even looked twice at her. But there were a lot of drugs running through town when I was a sheriff's deputy. Wanted to cut it off before it got here.”

You remember the rumor and you weren’t sure if you believed it. Javier was not a womanizer when he was with Lorraine. He seemed to only have eyes for her. “Yeah. It’s still bad. Those assholes will always win. You get rid of Escobar, someone else will take his place.” You sigh, “Lorraine did railroad you down the aisle.”

Javi shrugs slightly. "I loved her, but not enough." He admits. "I had some growing up to do and I don't regret it. Not really. She wouldn't have been happy in Colombia, and I wouldn't have let her stay."

You nod in understanding, “then she dated my brother. He was her rebound and I guess he didn’t really care about his best friend being her ex.” You scoff, remembering how your brother moved in on Lorraine as soon as Javier left town. “I’m sorry he was such an asshole and didn’t respect you.”

He huffs slightly and glances back over at you with an amused look before turning his attention back to the road. "Not a great look." He tells you. "Always wondered if they were fucking around before I left." He admits, revealing something that had been rolling around in his mind for a long time, but never voiced. "Doesn't matter anymore, though. We are all different people than we were back then."

“My brother is an asshole. He lives in Dallas now with his pretty wife and two kids. I haven’t seen him for a while. When Mom was sick, he stayed away. Didn’t even come to see her.” You shake your head and lean back in your seat, “he’s always been an asshole. Used to say I was a nerd who would never have a boyfriend.” You chuckle, “guess he was kind of right.” You look up as Javier pulls into the parking lot of the bar.

“I was an asshole too.” At the time, Javi had thought it was pretty funny. He took part in the teasing thinking that it was all in good sibling fun between you and his best friend. He had been an only child and had been too immature at the time to realize the hurt that it caused you. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs as he shifts the truck into Park and looks over at you. “For everything I did back then. For the hurt I caused. I’m sorry I didn’t stop him.”

You appreciate his apology and you know it’s ridiculous to be hung up on the teasing you got as a teenager but words hurt and they have always stuck with you. You reach out to squeeze his hand, “I appreciate you saying that, Javi. Now…let’s go ride a mechanical bull.” You grin, letting go of his hand so you can unbuckle your seatbelt.

He chuckles as he follows your lead. Sensing that you want to move past that, he climbs out of the truck and comes to your door to help you out. His perusal in your outfit is both to admire you and make sure you will be safe on the bull. “Good thing you wore jeans instead of a dress this time.” He hums.

You snort, “yeah. Don’t want to be flashing my ass to everyone in the bar.” You chuckle and Javier takes your hand to escort you inside the bar after locking his truck. The bar is busy but not slammed and you walk up to the bar to take a seat. Javier gestures for you to say what you want when the bartender comes over and you order a glass of wine while he orders a whiskey. “Liquid courage.” He declares and you giggle, “maybe wine isn’t strong enough.” You hum but don’t change your order.

He smirks slightly and turns to watch the bull in the corner of the room. The floor is covered in mats around it and he leans in, his elbows braced back on the bar. “There she is.” He talks into your ear since it’s loud with conversation and music. “You nervous?”

You shiver at the way his breath fans over you and you turn your head, bringing your face closer to his, “I’m ready. Nervous, but ready.” You promise, knowing that you could look like a fool but you desperately want to try this. It has always looked fun.

“Squeeze your knees tight.” He advises you, his voice dropping slightly on instinct. “Move your hips like you’re riding a man. You’ll do just fine, sweetheart.” The bartender brings your drinks over and he leans back to grab your wine and hand it to you before he takes his whiskey.

You take a gulp of wine, stomach twisting at the way he advises you, his voice lowering. You set your glass down, “you ready Peña?” You ask and he nods, calling the bartender over to say you want to ride the bull. “Sure man. We can get it revved up.” The bartender nods, calling his coworker over to get the bull up and running.

“Now, when you fall, just tuck your body into a ball.” Javi tells you. “People hurt themselves when they try to catch themselves.”

You nod, walking over to the bull. You’re nervous and a little scared but you are excited to try this. You eye the bull, taking Javier’s hand as he helps you up onto the bull. You grip the handles, preparing yourself and you squeeze your thighs like Javier suggested. The machine whirls to life and you squeal, eyes widening as it starts to move.

The bull starts slowly, turning as the front of the machine dips down before it bucks up. Javi watches as your hand flies up, like you’ve seen Bull riders do. Your thighs clench tight around it and you make the first full turn on it. You are damn good, his brow shoots up and his cock twitches in his pants. Making him wonder if you would ride his cock like you are riding the bull, your hips swerving and rolling with the movement of the ride.

You grin, giggling as you ride the bull. It flings around but you remain on top, you rock with the motion, squealing when it swings you around again, and you rock back, feeling invincible as you conquer something on your bucket list.

The speed of the bull increases and Javi can tell you are starting to lose your seat. Knowing you are about to lose your grip on the bull’s sides, he’s still impressed. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he whistles proudly.

Loving his enthusiasm, you try to hold on for as long as you can but eventually, you fall off. You curl in on yourself like Javier recommended and you hit the mat and the bull stops. “Shit.” You hiss, stumbling a little as you stand up.

“Holy shit.” Javi rushes over and takes hold of your waist, grinning proudly. “That was great!” He tells you. “You’re lying. You have to have ridden a bull before.” He doesn’t think you actually lied, but he loves the breathless exhilaration on your face.

You shake your head, letting him guide you out of the ring. “Never. I - holy shit. I can’t believe I just did that.” You grin and your heart pounds in your chest as you lean against him. “I just did that.” You exhale breathlessly and he nods, a grin on his face. You can’t help it, you cup his cheeks and surge forward to press your lips to his.

Javi is shocked you are kissing him, but he doesn’t push you away. Letting you wrap your arm around him while your tongue slides into his mouth boldly. Groaning, he squeezes your waist and reminds himself that it’s just the adrenaline. Enjoying the fact that you are pressed up against him before you break away.

You pull back and grin at him, still riding your high, and you grab his hand, “let’s go get our drinks. I’m thirsty after that.” You guide him over to the bar again and pick up your glass of wine to have a sip. “You gonna have a ride?” You ask him, wondering if he will attempt to ride the bull.

Javi chuckles as he takes a drink of his whiskey. “Why the hell not?” He asks, pushing the empty glass towards the bartender. “It’s only been at least ten years since I’ve been on a mechanical bull.” He shrugs. “Like riding a bike, right?”

He strides over to the bull and your mouth goes dry as he swings his leg over it to straddle it. You bite your lip as you watch him adjust himself and the bull starts to move.

Javi grew up on the back of a horse and when he was younger, him and his cousins all rodeoed a little. Plus the hell raising younger years where he would come here simply to see how long he could hang on. He's older and isn’t used to it anymore, but he still hangs on and throws you a wink while the bull twists him around for the first rotation.

Your stomach twists with arousal as you watch him swivel his hips and stay on the bull. You lean against the soft barrier and take in the sight of Javier Peña riding the bull. He is sexy and you can feel yourself getting wet from the display he’s putting on.

The operator turns up the speed faster than he did with you and soon enough, Javi is flying off the bull and tucking his body like he had advised you to do. Grunting as he climbs to his feet, he smirks when you rush up to him again. “You lasted longer.” He teases. “Just like a woman.”

You snort, reaching up to brush his hair back that had fallen into his face. “You were amazing. Very sexy to watch.” You confess and he smirks, “yeah?” You nod, “amazing.” You haven’t felt this good in so long, carefree and happy.

“Do you want to try it again later on?” Javi asks, watching you grin at him. “You were really sexy riding it too.” He had a semi from watching you, even though he had no intentions of taking you to bed tonight. This was going to be different.

You love that he thought you looked sexy and you nod, “yes. I’d love that. For now, another drink?” You suggest and he smiles, taking your hand to guide you over to the bar again. You enjoy your drinks, squeal over another round on the bull, and now, your arms are wrapped around his neck as you dance to the music playing. “I really didn’t expect you’d be a dancer.” You confess, enjoying the way his fingers grip your waist.

“Too much of an asshole?” He grins at you, making fun of the unrealistic views you each had of each other. “I like dancing. It’s a good way to be close without being naked.” He hums playfully. “There were a lot of times that it was a good cover for watching sicarios. I would get a trusted asset to come with me. It wouldn’t be fair to make her sit there and just look pretty all night.”

You hum, rocking to the beat. You know about Javier's adventures in Colombia but you know he did that to find Escobar. You dance for a while longer until last orders are called. "One more or shall we head out?" He asks and you are reluctant to go home but you can't have another drink. "Let's go. I need to run errands tomorrow and I don't want to sleep in too late." He nods and pays the bill before escorting you to his truck once again. "I had a really good time tonight." You confess when he is driving back to where your car is parked.

“I did too.” Javi admits easily, probably the most relaxed he has been in a long time. You are easy to talk to now that you aren’t butting heads and Javi doesn’t just look at you like his old friend’s little sister. “Maybe we can do it again soon?” He doesn’t want to assume, you said you were extremely busy with your business at times.

“Absolutely. I’d love to do this again. I’m free on Tuesday if you want to do something?” You ask, knowing it’s crazy to like him this much already but you’ve been getting to know him online for weeks.

“I think I can make that work.” He thinks about the work he has scheduled with his dad and nods. “I’m sure we’ll talk online?” He asks. “If something comes up, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds like a plan, Peña.” You hum, looking out of the window at the passing streetlights until you turn your head to look at him, admiring his profile highlighted by the dashboard and the dim light outside. When you arrive back at your car, he opens the door for you and you reach into your purse for your keys, unlocking your door and before you can open it, Javier cups your cheek, bringing your face to his. His kiss is sweet, tilting your head so he can deepen it a little and you moan softly into his mouth. He’s a good kisser. He pulls back before he goes further and you smile, “goodnight Javier. See you soon.” You slide into the car and buckle your seatbelt then turn the engine, offering him a wave before you put your car in drive and make your way home. Javier stands there for a few moments, watching your car disappear in the distance and he sighs, “holy shit.” He shakes his head and gets into his truck, heading home to his bed. Alone.

****

“You missed!” Javi pumps his fist as he crows playfully, watching you spin around and stick your tongue out at him. He wants to show you what you can do with that tongue, but he just smirks as he gets to his feet after marking out your last set. It’s the third game you’ve played tonight and both of you are almost equally bad at bowling. Making it fun as you joke and play around on the lane. “Watch a professional.” He jokes, blowing on his fingers before he picks up the red and blue swirled ball he had picked out.

You roll your eyes, “sure thing, babe.” You watch him as he makes a show of positioning his feet, rolling his shoulders, before he throws the ball down the lane. It rolls into the gutter and you smother your giggle with your hand until you mark the sheet. “Professional, huh?” You tease, walking over to grab your ball. “How about a bet?” You suggest and he nods, “sure. What’s the bet?” You smirk, “first person to get a strike…gets a kiss.” You proposition and Javier smirks, “you’re on.”

You make a show of positioning yourself to throw the ball, concentrating on the middle line, and you bowl it, holding your breath as you watch it go straight down the middle, all the pins flying as you get a strike. “Hey, that’s cheating!” Javier accuses halfheartedly and you grin, dusting off your hands as you walk over to him. “Now…my prize, Peña?”

Javi leans back in the hard plastic chairs and reaches for your waist, dragging you down into his lap. It’s been a long goddamn time since he’s felt this lighthearted and it’s all because of you. You giggle and throw your arm around his neck as he pulls you closer. “Your prize,” he teases, brushing his nose against yours. “You cheater.” Before you can protest, he lunges forward and presses his lips to yours.

You melt into the kiss, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. His tongue slides against your lower lip and you allow him access, moaning softly into the kiss. His hands slide along your back and you feel giddy, heart pounding as he kisses you. You pull back after several moments, pecking his lips. “What a prize.” You murmur, your lips burning from his kiss. “And for the record, I didn’t cheat. It was luck.”

He chuckles, knowing you haven’t pretended to suck at bowling for three games to suddenly become good. “I know.” He pecks your lips again and pats your hip. “Lucky ass strike. I’m not complaining at all. I reaped the benefits of it too.”

****

You watch Javier shove a handful of popcorn into his mouth and giggle, “slow down. We can get a refill, baby.” You nudge him then take a sip of the large soda. “I heard this is a good movie. I always liked Russell Crowe.” You say as the trailers start.

“It’s Gladiators, hermosa. It’s gonna be epic.” Javier says, channeling the teenage boy who would’ve loved this movie. He used to watch Westerns and Sci-Fi with his dad. They had to go to the movies to watch Star Wars at the midnight showing when it came out. You settle in beside him, leaning closer as the movie starts.

Javi throws his arm around your shoulders and watches you while he watches the movie. Wanting to make sure that you aren’t bored with the movie, but it’s soon apparent that you are just as thrilled with the action as he is. “They used to sleep together.” Javi predicts, talking about the Emperor’s sister.

Javier rubs your arm when you shiver but it’s not from the AC, it’s from him being so close. “I feel like he’s going to die.” You whisper, having a feeling that Maximus isn’t going to make it. You lean over to grab the soda, having a sip, and Javier leans in so you tilt the straw towards him so he can take a sip.

He feels like you are right, sucking down some of the soda and looking over at you and his eyes slide down to your lips. He leans in hums, "I think so too." He admits and leans back, reaching over and taking your hand when you put the soda down.

You feel like a teenager when he squeezes your hand and you watch the rest of the movie. When it’s over, Javier drives you home. His hand in yours as the radio plays and the wind is in your hair from the open windows. When he pulls up outside of your place, he cuts the engine and walks around the truck to open your door. He takes your hand and escorts you to your door. When you get there, you smile at him, “next time, I pick the movie.” You tease and he chuckles, reaching for your waist to pull you closer.

“Rom com.” Javier guesses and you chuckle, reaching up to grip his shirt, dragging him closer.

“You love them really.” You joke and he presses his lips to yours. His tongue slides against yours and he backs you up against the door. You whimper into his mouth and he kisses you thoroughly. He pulls back and your lips tingle when you say “do you want to come in?” You ask and he sighs, “not tonight. I gotta get up early to help Pa with the cows.”

You nod, stomach twisting as you wonder why he hasn’t wanted to sleep with you. “Sure. I’ll see you soon.” You offer him a smile even though it’s a little tight. “Bye, cariño.” He murmurs and you turn to open your door. He stands there until you close it, waving at him until the door is shut. You sigh when you drop your purse down, confused as to why Javier hasn’t slept with you yet. You’ve been dating for 2 months, talking for 3 and you don’t understand why he hasn’t touched you when his reputation displays his willingness to fall into bed. You ponder it all night long until you come up with a plan. You’re going to invite Javier over for dinner and seduce him.

****

Another cold shower. Javi hisses as he shivers under the icy spray of water, closing his eyes and willing his erection to go down. Every day he is hard, especially when he is around you. He’s tried very hard to make sure he doesn’t rush this, he doesn’t rush you into bed. Wanting there to be a solid foundation of trust and respect between you both. He just has to wait until the time is right to move things forward. “Fuck.” He twitches despite the cold temperature and reaches down to wrap his hand around his cock. You are so fucking sexy and he is more attracted to you as the days pass. He’ll have to jerk off, he closes his eyes and thinks about you, reaching out with his other hand to turn the hot water on.

****

You check the chicken is cooked and cover it with foil just as the doorbell rings and you walk over to the door to open it after adjusting your dress. It’s tight and black and you hope he likes it. “Hey baby.” You greet him with a smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Hey." His eyes widen slightly and he wonders if he had misread the situation and undressed. He's glad he stopped to get flowers and a bottle of that wine you like. "You look nice. Very nice."

“Thanks, baby.” You wink and take the flowers from his hand. “These are gorgeous. Thank you.” You carry them into the kitchen and grab a vase to put them in. “Would you mind opening the wine? Dinner is nearly ready.” You tell him and fill the vase to put the flowers in.

“Sure.” You’ve got the wine glasses out as well as a bottle opener, so Javi brings the bottle over to the table to pour out some drinks. “It smells great!” He calls out to the kitchen, listening to you hustle around. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. We could have gone out to dinner.”

You look at him over your shoulder after you put the vase down on the side. You smile at him, “I wanted to treat you. I know you and your Pa don’t cook a lot so I figured you’d enjoy a homemade meal. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus and red wine jus.” You tell him about tonight’s menu as he pours the wine out.

His brows lift in surprise at how elaborate the dinner is and he is impressed. “Are we celebrating something that I wasn’t aware of?” He asks with a slight smile, watching as you give him another one in return. It makes his heart flutter and he can’t help but think how beautiful you are. “Just a nice night together.” Your answer makes Javi hums in approval.

You work fast to put dinner together, setting it down in front of him, and you sit down in the seat beside him at your small kitchen table. “Enjoy.” You tell him and you pick up your knife and fork so you can dig in.

“It looks delicious.” Javi compliments as he looks down at the meal you’ve put in front of him. “Thank you, sweetheart.” You smile at him and again that fluttering in his heart makes him feel young and he wonders if this is that complete love his pa would always claim would one day find him and knock him on his ass.

You talk about your days while you eat. You still message online on nights you can’t see each other, complemented by phone calls, and after you finish eating, you clear the plates and grab the dessert you bought. “Still like pie?” You ask, placing a piece of apple pie and ice cream in front of him.

“You’re spoiling me.” Javi groans, watching the steam from the still hot pie rise and the ice cream start to melt over it. “I will have to plan something special for our next date.” He picks up his spoon and cuts into the pie for a large bite.

You like that he likes the dinner, making you feel special that you can look after him like this. You sit down and watch him devour the dessert. You eat your own plate and after the plates are cleared away, you find yourself on the sofa with your glasses of wine. Your radio plays in the background and you sit beside Javier, your legs tucked beneath you. “You’re so damn handsome.” You reach up to caress his cheek, “and smart. And funny. And I am so happy that we met online.”

“And you are blind.” He chuckles, leaning into your touch. “You are the one who is beautiful, kind and hilarious, you should be running from the disaster that I am. But for some reason you like spending time with me and I’m happy you do.”

“Me too. You’re not a disaster. You’re incredible.” You murmur, leaning in to press your lips to his. He tilts his head and you deepen the kiss, tangling your tongue with his. You kiss for a few moments until you break the kiss, kissing along his neck, and you shift to straddle him, your dress riding up your thighs.

Javi groans, his hands sliding up and down your thighs and he wonders what you are doing. He’s been good at not letting things go too far. “Sweetheart….” He pants, closing his eyes as he can’t believe he’s about to push you away. “Sweetheart, stop.” He murmurs.

You lean back and frown at him, “what’s wrong?” You ask, confused about why he’s pushing you away. “I don’t - not tonight.” He says and you shift off of him, “I don’t know - I’m confused. Am I - are you not attracted to me?” You question him, confused and hurt at him pushing you away.

“What?” He frowns at the question, looking at you like you are crazy. “No- no of course not. I am attracted to you.” He promises, but you shake your head, not believing him. “I am, sweetheart, I just- I’m trying to behave.” He tells you, shoving his hand through his hair and wishing you don’t look like he’s just broken up with you.

You shift to stand up, your stomach twisting, and you stare at him, “you’re trying to behave? I don’t want you to behave.” You look down at him, “I want you to fuck me. It’s been 2 months of dating. I never imagined you would go bowling, go to the movies like a teenager. I love that, don’t get me wrong, I loved all of our dates but God, Peña, I just want you to fuck me.” You exclaim, chest heaving.

Javi swallows harshly, watching you stand in front of him, practically begging him to fuck you. His mouth is dry and he rubs his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “Show me your bedroom, hermosa.” He demands. “You want me to fuck you, that’s where I’ll do it.”

His dark eyes are almost black and you see something in them that makes your stomach twist with arousal. “Baby, I want you.” You take his hand and guide him towards your bedroom, opening the door and you are nervous. Javier has had a lot of lovers. What if you don’t match up?

He’s groaning when he sees your bed and imagines spreading you out on it. You’ll look so pretty thoroughly fucked and exhausted. “I had a physical when I got back home.” Javi murmurs quietly. “And I haven’t slept with anyone, but I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control and I haven’t slept with anyone for a while.” You tell him and you reach for the tie of your wrap dress. You slowly untie it and let your dress fall open to expose the lingerie you picked out in hopes that Javier would touch you tonight.

“Fuck.” He exhales roughly, cock twitching in his pants as he takes in your curves, showcased in lace. “So fucking sexy.” He starts to unbutton his shirt as he strides closer, feeling cocky and yet also nervous because you are so important to him. “What were you thinking about when you got dressed? Me fucking you? I think about that a lot.”

“I was thinking about you. Fucking me. Touching me. I think about that a lot too.” You tell him and reach out to run your hands down his chest. “You’re so gorgeous, Javi.” You murmur, caressing his skin and you slide your hands up to push the shirt from his shoulders.

Javi hums, not used to really accepting compliments. Women would flatter him, in Colombia to earn a bit more, or to get him to fuck them. You, you have nothing but honesty and desire in your eyes and it’s thrilling. “Thought about it a lot too.” He admits with a smirk. “Too many cold showers lately.”

You giggle, “no more cold showers.” You promise and slide your hands lower to unbuckle his belt. You pull it from the loops and let it drop to the floor. You unbutton his jeans, reaching in to squeeze his hard cock and you are shocked to find he doesn’t wear underwear. “Oh God.” You gasp at the girth of him and you pull him out of his underwear.

Javi groans as your fingers wrap around him, twitching in your palm and glancing down at your hand engulfing him. “Fuck.” He hisses, eyes closing when you give him an experimental pump. “You seem surprised, hermosa.” He pants. “Rarely wear underwear. Too hot.”

“I didn’t know.” You admit, “God, didn’t know you had such a gorgeous cock. No wonder every woman from Texas to Colombia wanted you.” You pump him again, shifting down into your knees as you admire his girth and you lean in to wrap your lips around him.

“Shiiiiit.” He hisses, jaw clenching as he looks down at you on your knees in front of him. He’s imagined it, but this looks ever sexier than what he had thought. “Fuck baby, you thought about sucking my cock?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “You like doing it? I want to tongue fuck you. See how you like being licked.”

You moan around his cock at his filthy words, loving the way he talks dirty and it has you soaking your panties. You take him deeper, keeping your eyes on his, and you wrap your fingers around the back of his cock, starting to pump him.

“You’re good at this. Tell me you don’t love sucking cock, you could be a pro.” He grunts, caressing the hinge of your jaw and pushing slightly deeper. “Gonna be thinking about this when I’m working. My cock down your throat while you bat your eyes at me.”

You relax your jaw, letting him push deeper, and his words have you moaning around his cock. Fuck, he’s so gorgeous standing above you. His stomach is slightly soft but you love that. You are proud that he’s enjoying this when he’s had so much experience. You choke around him as you try to take him deeper. You exhale through your nose and try again, taking him deeper into your throat.

“Fuck, don’t hurt yourself, hermosa.” Javi groans, pulling you off of him slightly as he pulls his hips back. “Are you wet? Dripping from having my cock in your mouth? Why don’t you sit on my face while you do it? Let me eat your cunt.”

You nod, dripping wet from him and the idea of him eating you out while you suck him off. Pushing his jeans down, he kicks them off and is bare before you. You stand up on shaky legs and he steadies you. You lean in to kiss him, your tongue tangling with his and he pushes your dress from your shoulders.

He has a lot of experience with undressing a woman. His hands are skilled in stripping someone down and he does it with an eagerness that is more than just hungry for sex. He wants a connection, a bond that cannot be broken even when he pulls away.

You let him reach behind you to unclasp your bra, dragging the straps down your arms until it drops to the floor and your tits are exposed to his hungry gaze. "Javi!" You gasp when he grabs your back, pulling you close so he can duck down and take your nipple into his mouth.

He’s always been a greedy man. Sex is addictive. It's honestly just as addictive as the cocaine he had chased down and tried to prevent people from snorting up their noses. The feeling of losing himself, pleasure both given and received lets him forget about the problems or guilt that weighed him down. Now he gets to just feel you, learn what makes you cry in pleasure.

You moan as his hands slide down to squeeze your ass while he bites and sucks on your nipple until he switches to the other. His fingers hook into your panties and he pushes them down as he kisses along the swell of your breast. “Fuck, need more.” You whine, lightly pushing him away so you can kick your panties aside, patting the bed. “Lay down, baby.”

He chuckles at how eager you are. Following your orders and laying down, giving himself plenty of room away from the headboard. Watching as you peruse his body, your own eyes just as hungry as he knows his are.

You shift to kneel on the bed, shuffling up the bed until you face away from him and straddle his chest. His hands immediately go to your hips to drag you backwards to hover over his face and you bend down to take his cock into your hand.

Javi groans as he takes in the sight of your soaked folds. They are perfect and puffy, soaking wet because of your want of him. His fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you back more so he can flatten his tongue against your folds.

You cry out when he slides his tongue through your folds, making you grind back onto him. “Fuck baby. That’s good.” You whimper and lean down so you can take his cock into your mouth with a moan, wanting him to feel just as good.

Javi groans happily, enjoying the tang of your juices on his tongue. Licking into your cunt eagerly and making it messy. Groaning again when your mouth wraps around his cock again.

You love how he moans into your flesh and you grip his cock, sloppily sucking his cock as you want him to enjoy this as much as you are. You love how enthusiastic he is, sucking your clit into his mouth and you moan around his cock again.

He continues to lick into you, rocking your hips back and burying his tongue deep inside your soaked walls. Twitching in your mouth and groaning when a dribble of precum is spurted into your mouth as you suck.

You moan, hollowing your cheeks around his cock as you take him deeper, rocking back on his face as he sucks on your clit a little harder. It’s so good. You moan and pull off of his cock, continuing to pump him in your hand.

Javi moans into your folds, pulling back slightly. “I don’t want to cum yet.” He grunts before he is diving back in to make you cum.

You huff but loosen your grip on his cock, not taking him back into your mouth but he ducks harder on your clit. You rest your cheek on his thigh as he slides his tongue inside of you. You pant, “God baby. You’re gonna make me cum.” You moan, so close to your orgasm as he pushes his tongue deeper.

That’s the point. He doesn’t stop, speeding up his tongue as it flicks through your walls and pulls you back more firmly on his face. Willing you to cum for him, wanting to hear you and taste you.

You rock back onto his face, unashamed of your need and lust for him, and you moan his name when you fall over the edge. Your thighs gripping his face as he works you through it. “Javi. Oh shit. Baby, I - oh God.” You ramble against his thigh.

Javi loves it. The slick of your release covering his mouth and jaw as he works you through it. Keeping ahold of your hips and your cunt firm to his mouth until you are whimpering his name as a little protest.

He pushes you over the edge and keeps pushing, making you hiss as you get overstimulated. "Javi." You whine his name again, needing him to pull back and he relents, leaning away from your cunt with a groan. You sigh, closing your eyes, "God, so good." You murmur, taking a moment to ride your high.

Javi pants, licking his lips as he strokes your ass. He knows that feeling, riding the wave. He would need a cigarette if he hadn’t been using the patches and he still hasn’t even cum. Shoving his arm under his head, he watches you shift off of him a few minutes later. His cock is throbbing but he doesn’t mind.

You shift to lay beside him, leaning in to kiss him, and he turns his head so you can slide your tongue against his. You moan into the kiss, uncaring about your tangy cum on his lips, and you slide your hand down to grip his cock, squeezing him before you pump him slowly. "You're too good, Javi. How do you want me?" You ask, wanting him to enjoy this in case you don't cum again. You've already gotten more than you would have from other lovers.

Javi groans into your mouth. “I like to kiss and be close.” He admits. “But sometimes I change positions.” He rolls onto you and slides his hand down to bring your thigh up to his hip. “Start this way and end up however we do?”

You nod, sliding your hands along his back, loving the way his muscles flex under your touch. "Sounds perfect." You murmur and he reaches between you to position his cock at your entrance. You close your eyes as he pushes inside of you, your head tilting back while you silently moan at the stretch.

He watches you closely, loving how expressive you are. How you don’t care about how you look. You care about how you feel, how he is making you feel. It looks like you are feeling good and he wants to make you always feel this way. “So pretty.” He moans quietly. “So goddamn pretty and all mine. My pretty girl.”

You slide your hands up into his hair, "yours. All yours." You promise, lifting your legs so you can wrap them around his hips. He sinks deeper inside of you and you whimper, "God, you feel so good inside of me. Move, please." You beg, "don't care if you cum too fast. You already made me cum."

Javi snorts and shakes his head. “Fuck no.” He grunts, pulling his hips back to surge forward again. “Not going to do that to you.” He hisses out, eyes rolling back when you clench down around him. His lips find your skin and he starts to kiss, everywhere he can reach as he starts to move.

His lips on your skin have you on fire, rocking your hips up to meet his thrusts, and you caress his back, loving the way he feels covering your body. You tilt your head back so he can kiss down your neck until you grab his cheeks, bringing his mouth back to yours and you moan into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his as he rocks into you.

Every thrust of his hip makes both of you pant in pleasure, breath exchanged and mingled together as the two of you move. Javi slides his arms around your body and pulls you up close, sinking deeper as he pushes into you again and again.

He drops his hips and he grinds against your clit, making you gasp in pleasure, and he smirks, focusing on that spot again. “Good girl.” He murmurs and the praise makes you push your heels into his ass to press him deeper inside of you. “Shit. Feels so good. I - never felt like this before.” You admit breathlessly, getting closer and closer.

“Good.” It’s not good that you’ve never been fucked properly, but he’s glad you are making sure that you get the attention you deserve. “You feel so good. Tight little pussy squeezing my cock.” He praises roughly. “Could spend all night right here.”

His words make you gush around him and he caresses your thigh as he rocks into you, making you moan when he hits something just right. “Yes. Yes. Javier. Fuck, right there. That - oh God!” You squeal as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him, and his name echoes on your bedroom walls as you cum around him for the first time.

“Fuuuuuck.” He growls, slowly thrusting into you as you fall apart on his cock. Loving how tight you get, how wet. Bracing his knees on the bed, he pulls you up until you are in his lap.

You gasp, feeling him sink deeper and press against your cervix in this position. Your hands grip his waist and you scramble to brace your feet on the bed. “God, Javi.” You cry out when he starts to rock his hips again. “Yes. Love - love this.” You choke out, tilting your head back.

He groans as he rolls his hips up, using his thighs as he works in and out of you. “Fuck, you’re-“ he chokes out, gasping your name when you squeeze him inside your walls again. “Fuck, hermosa.” He hisses, lunging forward and biting down on your jaw as the thrusts become sharper, snapping his hips up.

You love the way he bites as he nips and kisses down your neck until he’s taking your nipple into his mouth. You tangle one hand in his hair, tugging on it to bring his mouth back to yours. Your tongues slide against each other while he thrusts into you and you use your feet to grind down onto him. “Shit. You got me worked up. Might cum again.” You pant against his chin.

“Do it.” He huffs, his hands sliding up and down your back, gripping your ass as he grinds into you. “Cum all over me again. Wanna feel it. So good.” He babbles slightly, hoping you are enjoying this as much as you seem to be. It’s been awhile since he’s had sex but he’s holding out. Jerking off before the date had been a good idea.

You pant, rocking down onto him and it doesn’t take long but it does take you by surprise when you cum again, clamping down on his cock and soaking him for the second him. Your chest heaves as you tilt your head back, moaning his name as you experience bliss once more.

Javi takes that opportunity to kiss along your throat, licking and biting your skin as he rocks up into you, fucking you through your orgasm. Starting to move a little faster as he chases his own pleasure, while the grunts and groans get louder.

You try to rock down onto him, wanting him to cum, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging his face to yours. "Cum for me, Javi." You plead, leaning in to kiss him while he grunts into your mouth.

It doesn’t take many more thrusts, stiffening and moaning your name into your mouth, his cock pulsing deep inside you. Flooding your cunt with ropes of his sticky seed while he pants in pleasure. “Fuck.”

You smile against his chin as he relaxes beneath you, shifting you to lay you down on your pillows. You feel like you're floating as he leans in to gently nip your chin. "So fucking good." You murmur, "rumors were not wrong."

He chuckles quietly. “Glad I could live up to the hype.” He teases. “Fuck- I wish I had a cigarette.” He groans. “Nothing better than a cigarette after amazing sex.”

You sigh, caressing his cheek, "I don't have any cigarettes, baby." You murmur, "sorry." You lean in to kiss his cheek and he nods, "it's okay. I'm trying to quit." You shift to lay down and he pulls out of you, shuffling off the bed to head into your bathroom for a rag so he can clean you up.

Javi cleans up quickly and brings the rag back, damp and soapy to make sure you are wiped clean before he tosses it back into the sink. Not sure if you want him to lay with you, he stands in the doorway and looks at you laying in your bed like a warm puddle, boneless and content. It makes him smile, watching you almost glow in the aftereffects.

“Come here.” You pat the bed and he nods, slipping back into the bed with you after he pulls the comforter from under you. You curl into his chest, swinging your leg over his hip, “are you going to stay the night? I’ve been told I make great pancakes.”

“If you want me to.” Javi settles back against the pillows and holds you close, his fingers tracing the lines of your back as you cuddle close. The fan spins lazily above you and he feels completely relaxed. “I’ll do whatever you want me to.” He chuckles. “Had no other plans, except maybe logging online and talking to this girl I’ve been seeing.”

You grin against his peck, “is she nice?” You ask and Javier smirks and shrugs one shoulder, “she’s alright.” You playfully slap his chest but he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. “I want you to stay.” You murmur, turning your head to kiss his chest.

Javi hums happily and agrees. “Then I’ll stay.” He promises. “But your pancakes better be worth it.” He teases, happy that he had found someone that it was so natural to be with, in and out of bed.

You snort, “just you wait, Peña.” You promise and snuggle into his side again, enjoying the closeness between you.

****

Javier groans as he walks into the kitchen, his jeans on and unbuttoned after he cleaned up in the bathroom. He rubs his eyes and you turn around to look at him, dressed in his shirt. “Pancakes are ready.” You declare, setting a plate down on the table for him but you grab the can of whipped cream to squirt a smiley face on the top cake for him.

He huffs in amusement as he looks down at the smiley face on his pancakes. “Did I do that good fucking you last night?” He teases as he reaches around and pats your ass. “I get the special pancakes?” The last time he had seen this was on a kids menu in some pancake diner. It’s cute and he pulls you down for a kiss.

You giggle against his lips, pecking them a few times, "you did real good, baby. Wanted to show you my appreciation. You said you've been hungrier since you quit smoking so I figured you'd want a big breakfast. Bacon and eggs are nearly done."

“I could have helped you.” He had slept longer than he meant to, intending to wake up with you this morning. However, when he opened his eyes, he was all alone in the bed. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do this. I could have taken you out.”

You shake your head, “I woke up early and didn’t want to wake you up. You looked peaceful. I know you’ve been up early with your dad so you needed the sleep. I like cooking, I like taking care of you.” You confess, biting your lip as you plate up the eggs and bacon and set the plate on the table.

Javi softens and smiles at you. “I’m not complaining at all, sweetheart.” He promises. “I really appreciate it.” He gets up to grab the two mugs of coffee you have poured. “Let’s eat while your hard work is hot.” He tells you, pulling out your chair for you to sit.

You sit down, picking up your knife and fork to dig in to eat and your eyes meet Javier’s as he groans when he takes a bite of your pancakes. “Good?” You ask and he hums, swallowing his bite. “So fucking good.” You grin, proud that he likes them. You watch him eat, enjoying the product of your labor and you notice him staring at you. “Do I have something on my face?” You ask, reaching for the napkin.

“No.” Javi shakes his head and forks up another bite of eggs. “Just admiring how pretty you are without makeup on.” He admits. “You are pretty with it, but I think you’re even more beautiful without it.”

You fluster, cheeks warming at his compliment. Something soft that you never really expected from Javier Peña, especially the one you knew from childhood. “Thank you. I like the five o clock shadow on you.” You gesture to his unshaved face.

“Yeah.” He rubs his face with his hand, feeling the raspiness of the hair growing in. “Can’t grow a beard for shit though.” He snorts. “Comes in all patchy.”

You lean closer, resting your elbow on the table, “sexy no matter what.” You promise and he offers you a bashful smile, making your heart flutter.

****

You wrap your arms around his neck, swaying to the music. Javier decided to take you to the fair that’s happening a town over and you are currently on the makeshift dance floor, swaying to the music played by the teenage band.

“Are you having a good time?” Javi asks, pulling you a little closer and leaning his cheek against yours as the band plays. Tonight has been wonderful, but he can’t remember a time that he’s not had a good time around you. You’ve played some games and ridden some rides, had plenty of fair food, and now he gets to hold you close.

"Always with you, baby." You promise, breathing him in. He's become your home, your person to vent to, to cry with, to laugh with. You've never experienced anything like this.

He leans back to look at you and you lean forward to nudge your nose against him. "I love you." He blurts out and you pull back in surprise. Neither of you have mentioned your feelings yet but you are shocked that he was the first one to say anything. He looks surprised with himself then he gets nervous and you cup his cheek, "I love you too." You declare, leaning forward to brush your lips with his.

Javi smiles against your lips, his fingers digging into your waist as he deepens the kiss. He is home, in mind, body and spirit. Healing every day while sharing himself with you. Your accounts are both canceled, no need to chat online, now that you have each other.

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña imagine #javier peña narcos

698 notes · View notes

cherriecove · 6 months ago

Text

A New Dawn

Alicent Hightower x M!Reader

Summary: With the Hightower plot to place Aegon on the thrown a failure, Queen Rhaenyra finds herself unsure with what she should do with her old-friend. After some consideration she decides to remarry Alicent to her Hand, a man she trusts wholeheartedly, this of course upsets Alicent who belived her marital duties died when her husband did. Cherrie's Notes: This was a request that i really loved the idea of! Would like to apologiese in advance becasue this is so long I changed some things slightly but not too much. This is the first time I am writing a male reader and although there is no real description i hope it is satsfactory! There are so many words im sorry i got carried away! Masterlist

The bells of King’s Landing tolled in the early dawn, marking the end of one era and the uncertain beginning of another. With the death of King Viserys I, Queen Rhaenyra had ascended to the Iron Throne, securing her rightful place as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, the victory was bittersweet, marred by treachery and near civil war. Alicent Hightower, Viserys’ widow and mother to Rhaenyra’s half-siblings, stood on the losing side. Her father’s ambitious plot to place Aegon on the throne had failed, and the Greens' hold on power was shattered.

Now, Rhaenyra ruled over a fractured court, her mercy the only thing keeping Alicent and her children alive. Otto Hightower, once the most powerful man in the realm, rotted in the dungeons. He was still scheming, still whispering plans of future influence, and Alicent found herself torn between loyalty to her father and a growing desire for peace.

Though Rhaenyra was urged to imprison or execute both Alicent and Otto, she hesitated. Old bonds of friendship still lingered in her heart, even if they had been buried beneath years of betrayal and political manoeuvring. In this delicate balance, you—Rhaenyra’s loyal Hand—offered a solution.

“If you wish Lady Alicent to live freely, Your Grace, then perhaps she should be placed under the care of someone you trust implicitly,” you had said, knowing full well the weight of such a suggestion.

“And who might that be?” Rhaenyra asked, her eyes searching yours with a knowing look.

You held her gaze. “Your Hand, Your Grace. I can see to it that she remains free but under close supervision.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened into a sly smile. “Then you shall marry her.”

The queen’s words struck you as sharply as they did Alicent when she was informed of the arrangement. It was the last thing she expected. After all these years, she had thought herself done with marriage, with the expectations and duties thrust upon her. The mere thought of submitting again, of being bound by obligation, made her heart ache.

Yet on the day of the wedding Alicent stood before the sept, her hands clasped tightly, the weight of the world resting on her slender shoulders. The vows echoed around her like a distant murmur, a ceremony that held little meaning for her heart. She barely glanced at you, her brown eyes, once so bright and commanding, now distant and guarded.

This was not the life she had envisioned. After Viserys’ death, she had assumed her time as queen was over, that she would fade into the shadows, left to a quiet existence without further demands. The idea of marrying again, especially to someone with no ambition, no thirst for power, had seemed almost unreal to her.

Yet here she was.

The thought of being bound to another man filled her with dread. Despite your reputation for loyalty and honour, she couldn't help but fear what this union might become. Marriage, in her experience, had always been about duty, submission, and control. The idea of yielding herself once more, her body and will, to another man’s authority terrified her. This marriage felt like a new prison, different from the gilded cage Viserys had kept her in, but a cage nonetheless.

On the night after your wedding, Alicent retreated to her chambers, her heart a swirl of confusion and bitterness. She had braced herself for what she assumed would come next—a knock at her door, a quiet but insistent demand to fulfil the duties of a wife. Viserys had not been cruel, but he had expected certain things from her, things she had learned to accept despite her reluctance. She feared history would repeat itself, that you too would seek an heir, another way to secure this alliance.

But you surprised her.

There was no knock. No intrusion. The silence of her chambers stretched into the night, uninterrupted by any demand or expectation. The following night passed in the same manner, and the one after that. You did not come to her room, did not impose yourself upon her. Instead, you gave her space, a freedom she had not anticipated. It unsettled her at first, the lack of pressure, but slowly, she began to breathe easier.

You treated her with respect, never asking for more than she was willing to give. You allowed her to visit her father in the dungeons, though under strict guard. Each visit left her feeling more conflicted than ever, as Otto, ever the schemer, continued to urge her to find ways to manipulate you, to regain some of the power she had lost. Yet, despite his machinations, you remained distant from those games, patient and steady.

One evening, after another tense meeting with her father, Alicent returned to your chambers, her face drawn and her steps hesitant. She hovered at the threshold, her fingers curling around the door frame. You sat by the fire, a book in hand, your features calm and focused. The warmth of the flames cast soft shadows on the room, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside her.

“I need to speak with you,” she said quietly.

You looked up, closing the book and setting it aside. “Of course. Come in.”

She stepped inside but did not sit, her voice low and uncertain. “My father… he’s still trying to use me. He wants me to manipulate you, to influence Rhaenyra’s decisions. He believes I can sway you.”

You didn’t react with surprise, nor with anger. Instead, you simply nodded, as if you had already expected this. “Thank you for telling me.”

Alicent exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly with relief. “I don’t want to be used anymore. Not by him. Not by anyone.”

You stood, your expression soft but serious, and approached her with a deliberate slowness, careful not to make her feel cornered. “Alicent, you are not under anyone’s control now—not your father’s, not mine, not anyone’s. I won’t let him use you, and I won’t treat you like a pawn in his or anyone’s schemes.”

She looked up at you, her guarded expression flickering with something close to disbelief. “You… you truly mean that?”

“I do,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “I never wanted this marriage for power or gain. I have no interest in forcing anything upon you—marital duty or otherwise.I don’t expect anything of you that you’re not willing to give.”

She blinked, her lips parting in surprise. The firelight danced across her face, casting shadows that highlighted the tension in her features. For a moment, there was silence—unspoken words hanging in the air between you, an understanding growing in the space that had long been empty.

Finally, Alicent spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "You... don't want anything from me? Not even—" She hesitated, her words stuck in her throat leading you to shake your head gently. "No," you said, your tone calm. "I don’t expect that from you, unless that is something you desire.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, a mix of confusion and hesitation clouding her eyes. “But we are wed,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Isn’t it… isn’t it your right to expect me to fulfil my duty? Is that not what this union is meant to be?”

Your gaze softened as you stepped closer, but still you remained careful not to approach too quickly. “You are not a vessel for duty, Alicent,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “You are a person, not a means to an end. We are married because it is the only way to allow you peace, and to give our realm stability. Anything within our marriage is based on because you desire it—because we decide it together. Not because you’re bound to some obligation.”

Alicent stared at you for a long moment, as though searching for something deeper beneath your words. Perhaps a hidden motive, a secret ambition. But all she saw was sincerity. There was no calculated manipulation, no power-hungry intent in your eyes.

Her hand fluttered to her chest, her fingers absently tracing the fine embroidery of her gown. “I never thought… I never thought I’d be free from such burdens,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

You offered her a soft smile, a reassuring one. “Then let’s make this work in a way that brings you peace. I know that it might take time for you to believe that.”

She nodded slowly, as if the weight of your words was beginning to settle. And though she remained distant, there was a subtle shift—a crack in the walls she had built around herself. You didn’t want her to be caged, not even in the gilded prison of a marriage. You wanted her to feel free to breathe, to live her life on her own terms.

In the days that followed, your quiet respect for her space became apparent. She had come to your chambers less frequently, yet when she did, you never pressed her for anything more than conversation or companionship. The two of you would sit together, occasionally exchanging stories of the past, speaking of times before the chaos that had defined both your lives.

One afternoon, as the sun cast long shadows across the chamber, you and Alicent found yourselves engaged in a quiet conversation by the window. The room was filled with a soft, golden light, and for once, it felt peaceful—unnaturally so, in the midst of the court’s usual tumult.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked, looking out at the gardens below, where the birds fluttered amongst the flowers.

“Miss what?” you asked, your gaze following hers.

“The life before all of this,” she said, her hand resting on the windowsill. “The days before the schemes, the plotting, the weight of responsibility.”

You leaned back against the wall, your gaze drifting to the same view she saw. “I miss the simplicity of it,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t trade the peace I have now for it. The quiet moments like this. The stillness.”

Alicent was silent for a while, as though considering what you had said. Finally, she turned to face you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You find peace in the simplest of things, don’t you?”

“I try to,” you said softly. “It’s the only way to survive in a world like ours.”

She nodded, though her eyes were filled with an uncertainty that had yet to fully leave her. For years, she had been used to a life filled with turmoil, her mind constantly burdened with the weight of others’ expectations. To be here, in this moment, with a man who did not want to control her, who did not demand anything of her, was a strange feeling—one she had not yet fully understood.

In time, as the days passed, your actions proved your sincerity. You allowed her to breathe, to make her own choices, while still offering her the safety of your protection. You never pressured her, never tried to push her into a role she did not want. And with each passing day, the distance between you lessened, even if only by a fraction.

The Small Council meetings had become more tense ever since your marriage to Alicent. The lords who sat at the table were no fools—they knew the weight of such a union. Whispers circulated through the court that you could no longer be impartial, that your marriage to the widow of the late king would compromise your loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra.

One such meeting came to a head when Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, leaned forward across the table, his brow furrowed. "You have served the queen faithfully for many years, Hand," he began, his voice deep and steady, "but now you are bound to a Hightower. Can we be certain your loyalties remain with the crown, rather than the family that sought to usurp it?"

Eyes turned to you, waiting for your response. The room was heavy with unspoken accusations, but you met them head-on, calm and unflinching.

"My loyalty has always been, and will always remain, with Queen Rhaenyra and the realm," you replied, your voice steady but firm. "I did not marry Lady Alicent for ambition or power. I married her because it was the Queen’s will, to keep the peace and ensure stability. If anyone here doubts my impartiality, let me assure you—my actions have always been for the good of the realm, not for the ambitions of any one family, including my own."

Lord Corlys, while still sceptical, leaned back in his chair, considering your words. The others exchanged glances, but no further accusations were made. Still, you could feel the lingering doubt, the tension in the air. It was a challenge you would have to face repeatedly as long as your marriage remained a topic of interest.

After the meeting, Rhaenyra sought you out, her brow furrowed. "They are suspicious of you," she said quietly, her eyes searching yours for any sign of resentment.

"They have reason to be," you admitted, not denying the reality. "But I will not betray you, my Queen. My marriage to Alicent does not change that."

Rhaenyra smiled, though faintly, and nodded. "I believe you. And that is all that matters to me."

While the realm questioned your loyalty, another tension brewed between you and Alicent. Though you had grown closer, there were still moments when her insecurities resurfaced, especially regarding her role as your wife.

One night, as the two of you sat in your chambers, she turned to you, her voice quiet but strained. “Do you expect me to give you an heir?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I know I am still of childbearing age. You must expect children from me.”

You looked at her, surprised by the question. “Alicent, I do not expect that of you,” you said softly, setting aside the parchment you had been reviewing. “I married you because it was necessary for peace, not because I desired heirs.”

She frowned, her brow furrowed. “Then what do you want from me?”

You sighed, stepping closer but keeping your tone gentle. “What I want is for you to feel free. If you wish to have children, then that is your choice, not mine. But if you do not, I will not hold it against you. I am content to leave my titles to others—your children, or perhaps my nieces and nephews. My duty is to the realm, and to you, as my wife. Not to some legacy of blood."

Her eyes softened, surprise evident in her expression. “You are… different,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Not like the men I’ve known before.”

You offered a small smile. “Is that a good thing?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. It is.”

Over time, the relationship between you and Alicent deepened. Though it was not a marriage of passion, it became one of companionship. You spent evenings together, discussing matters of the realm or simply sharing stories from your past. Occasionally, she would speak of her children—her love for them, her fears for their futures—and you would listen, never judging, always offering comfort.

One evening, as you sat by the fire, Alicent glanced at you, her expression soft. “You’ve always been kind to me,” she said quietly. “Even when I didn’t expect it.”

You met her gaze, your voice gentle. “You deserve more than kindness, Alicent. You deserve peace. And if I can give you that, then I will.”

She smiled—a rare, genuine smile—and for the first time in many years, she felt a warmth she had long since thought lost. The heavy burden of her past was slowly lifting, thanks to the quiet strength and respect you had shown her.

As the months passed, Alicent grew more at ease in her new life. The tension between you eased, replaced by a mutual understanding and trust. She no longer feared manipulation or control, and you respected her autonomy in a way no man had before.

One afternoon, as you both walked through the gardens of the Red Keep, she turned to you with a soft smile. “I never thought I would find peace in marriage again,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “But with you… it feels different. It feels… free.”

You smiled in return, warmth filling your chest. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

For the first time in years, Alicent felt as though she was no longer a pawn in someone else’s game. She was finally allowed to live her own life, with a man who valued her not for her name or her power, but for who she was.

And in that, she had found something she never thought possible—contentment. A new dawn had come, for both of you.

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #male reader

329 notes · View notes

gingerteafairy · 2 months ago

Text

THE SEASON BEFORE SUNRISE

friedrich harding x fem!reader

summary: feelings shift like the changing seasons.

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, angst, arranged marriage, death, post anna death, widow!reader. word count: 6.4k

Everyone knew of the desolation Friedrich Harding faced after the loss of his beloved wife, Anna, his dear companion since childhood. Yet little was spoken of the grief you were enduring from the recent death of your husband, a man who had been your companion since your early youth, and from the loss of Anna just a few months ago. Even though the years had diminished the frequency of your contact, your affection for her remained, deep and unaltered. Perhaps it was the weight of society at the time that inhibited such feelings, where female grief was treated as fleeting hysteria, a whim of weak minds and idle hands.

Women, they said, should keep themselves busy, as if the burden of suffering could be softened by daily tasks. It was due to a peculiar tradition in your family, where bloodlines and fates intertwined in strange ways, that you were now the next in line to marry Friedrich. You, the only woman not bound to him by blood, but with a dowry substantial enough to offer comfort to a widowed man. A cold comfort, perhaps, like the silent pact between two broken hearts. It was ironic, you thought, how a marriage without love could be the most fitting consolation. Two widows united not by passion, but by a shared grief and a common memory: Anna.

You and Friedrich had agreed to set aside the formalities of courtship, and secret meetings in the winter garden of your home had become a regular practice. There was no time to waste. Youth had already passed, and both of you had experienced the weight of losing something precious. Now, only pragmatism remained. The marriage would come, and with it, the certainty that the wedding night would not be consummated. There was no reason for it. There was no more urgency.

The next morning, you woke early and dressed simply, but appropriately, for breakfast. When you entered the kitchen, you saw Friedrich seated at the table, his tired eyes absorbed in a thick book. His cup of tea was nearly empty, and the morning sunlight cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting the lines of weariness that loss had etched into him. When he noticed your presence, his body straightened subtly. He closed the book with a careful gesture and set the cup back onto its saucer with an almost automatic delicacy, as though the simple act of drinking tea was a ritual of composure.

"Good morning," he said, his voice rough and formal, clearing his throat with a slight motion of his hand—an old habit of someone accustomed to maintaining an elegant facade, even amidst pain.

"Good morning," you replied softly, almost inaudibly, as you moved closer to the table. You sat down with the grace of someone who already knew the intricacies of the space, your eyes briefly settling on the fresh pastries and fruits laid before you. The gentle scent of herbs from the tea filled your nostrils, offering an unexpected sense of comfort.

“Had an unpleasant night?" Friedrich asked, lifting his cup with precision, his eyes—tired but alert—never leaving you. He took a pastry, bit into it carefully, and paused, letting the silence linger for a moment before drinking his tea with measured, slow movements, as though each gesture were calculated.

"Quite the opposite, Mr. Harding," you said, offering a gentle smile, feeling the weight of the title. The word "Mr." seemed so distant, a barrier that still lingered between you. "You have a lovely place." You paused briefly, your fingers almost absentmindedly tracing invisible circles on the edge of your cup.

"Friedrich, please," he corrected, his tone softening in contrast to his earlier stiffness. His hand moved to the napkin, white and clean, to remove a tiny crumb that had settled on his elegant mustache. Even now, after Anna's loss, he exuded an unshakable class. "We agreed to make this as normal as possible. We are adults."

"Yes... Friedrich. I apologize." You spoke with a cordiality that flowed naturally. Your smile was timid yet sincere, and you resumed your breakfast with a slower pace, as if you were still adapting to the new routine—strange and, at the same time, familiar.

The ensuing silence wasn’t uncomfortable. There was an unexpected tranquility in the air, like a silent conversation that both of you knew how to navigate without words. Being with Friedrich was different from anything you might have expected. The void left by shared losses had turned into a tacit alliance. You weren’t just widows; you were companions on a journey that no one else could truly understand. The bond between you was more than just suffering; it was the mutual acceptance of the present moment—a silent contract that, despite the pain, something new could grow. Not from love, but from necessity, from the understanding that, in some way, both of you were navigating the same turbulent waters.

"I’m afraid I must go to work," Friedrich announced with his usual polite formality, rising from the table with a smooth motion, as though every gesture of his were part of a well-rehearsed ritual. You, too, stood up, moving instinctively to give a curtsy, but he raised his hand, halting your movement with a gentle yet firm gesture.

"There’s no need," he said, his voice low, almost impersonal, but with a hint of something more—an unspoken desire to break free from the formalities.

"I always did this at my old home," you murmured, an unexpected wave of discomfort washing over you for the first time in his presence. The seemingly simple gesture felt like something larger, something from another time, something you still carried with you as a relic of upbringing.

Friedrich merely offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile as he folded the napkin with deliberate calm, his gaze briefly dropping to the table. "Don’t worry about that here." His voice softened, almost intimate, as though he were trying to push away a part of himself you didn’t yet know. "Get used to being free, without those mechanic acts."

You swallowed hard, sitting back down at the table, a little disoriented, and turned your attention back to your coffee, trying to find comfort in the small things, like the warmth of the tea. "I… Thank you, Friedrich… Have a good day."

"Thank you, Miss. Have a wonderful day," he said, giving a small nod. With a nearly imperceptible movement, he stepped away from the table, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the heavy silence that filled the air.

That small encounter, despite its simplicity, ignited something in you. A forgotten spark, a glimpse of something approaching freedom—a faint light, yet still, something that could guide the way. Even with the emotional distance between you, that moment felt significant in some way. He seemed emotional, perhaps even unsettled. You tried not to be drawn into it, but then, you heard it.

"I’m sorry." His voice broke the silence, the softness of the words catching you by surprise. When your eyes lifted, you found his gaze. Blue, deep, seeming even more lost than before. "For your husband. It must not have been easy."

There it was. The strange and unexpected connection you had sensed between you. It was the first time anyone had expressed their condolences in such a genuine way, without offering empty advice about remarrying or retreating to a convent. He understood your grief. He understood you.

"Well… Thank you for your condolences… Friedrich," you said, your voice trembling slightly, the lump in your throat tightening. You adjusted yourself in the chair, trying to find a more composed posture, yet something inside you was shaken. "My previous marriage wasn’t as happy as yours. Your loss, without a doubt, must have been much greater than mine."

"On the contrary, my dear," he responded softly, almost warmly, and leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh, as if sharing a painful secret. "You suffered the most of us all. I heard the stories of your husband. I have happy memories of my Anna. But what about you? What remains?"

His words were a sharp blow, like a knife driven deep into your chest. He knew the stories, knew the whispers and murmurs about your marriage. You fell silent, lifting the tea cup to your lips, trying to hide the tremor that spread through your hands. You sipped the tea more forcefully than you intended, attempting to silence the pain that surged up in a way you hadn’t expected. The past, with all its lies and absences, seemed to manifest once more.

"I loved him." The words came out softly, almost like a silent confession. That phrase, so simple, still felt like a heavy burden. Even after all this time, you could still feel the echo of something that, for a brief moment, seemed like love. "It was a shame we never had the chance to have a child before the… accident. I feel like it might have distracted me, perhaps."

He took a deep breath, the air seeming heavy in his lungs, and nodded, as if the words didn’t need to be spoken for both of you to understand the pain. The atmosphere, once light, now carried the weight of memories neither of you wished to revisit. Plague, death, lost causes. The torture of being left behind by those you loved.

"Would you like to take a walk?" His question caught you off guard, and the tension seemed to drain from your posture as if by magic.

"Yes. Of course. That would be lovely," you replied more quickly than you had intended, feeling an unexpected lightness in your chest. For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a glimmer of something softer in Friedrich’s eyes—something you couldn't quite define, but it stirred a mutual curiosity.

He forced a small smile and rose from the table. You took a final sip of your tea before following suit, gently wiping your face with the napkin. Friedrich took deliberate steps until he stood beside you, extending his arm so you could walk closer to him than you had expected. You looped your arm through his, and together, you walked in silence toward the garden. The only sound was the steady rhythm of your steps, almost in unison, and the faint noises of a few servants at work in the distance.

The soft morning light touched your face, the cool breeze contrasting with the warmth of the sun, kissing your cheeks with a refreshing coolness. You glanced briefly at Friedrich, who returned your look with a small smile, his blue eyes sparkling under the soft morning light. He inhaled deeply, the fresh air filled with the scent of newly blossomed flowers and the distant scent of pine trees in the garden. It was spring, but there was still a chill in the air. The birds chirped carelessly, crossing the blue sky with few clouds, which looked more like mere decorations in the landscape.

"If it weren’t for the circumstances, I’d say this feels like a romantic play," you remarked, letting the gentle breeze play with your hair. The sense of freedom felt almost absurd against the complexity of the situation.

"Indeed. It’s a beautiful day today," he replied, his tone lighter as he scanned the scene around him. Then, he paused briefly, a subtle movement that indicated a puddle in front of you, his attention that of someone who had done this countless times before. Attentive, but almost unconscious.

"Did you always do this with her?" you asked, carefully stepping around the puddle and continuing your walk. Your gaze followed his movements, unhurried, almost automatic. It was a gesture that seemed to be part of his nature.

"Not really. She was careful, as though she knew every stone she stepped on." His tone grew distant, as if momentarily transported to memories of times past. Then, a small, almost nostalgic chuckle escaped him. "But I never stopped doing it. At least it served a purpose with you. You’re a bit clumsy."

"Clumsy?" you laughed, surprised by the playful and sarcastic jab he’d thrown your way. Your laughter echoed lightly through the tranquility of the garden. "Is that an implicit signal for me to pay more attention, Herr Harding?"

"Don’t be silly." He smiled, a look of amusement crossing his face before he stifled a chuckle in his throat. "Don’t change your behavior because of some nonsense I let slip. I just mean, it’s easier to handle it that way."

"What do you mean by that?" you asked, feeling the proximity of his presence, the warmth radiating from him in contrast to the cold wind that still marked the changing of the season.

"Anna was perfect. Fabulous." He paused, searching for the right words, as if he were touching something painful, yet inevitable. Then, he cleared his throat, a subtle attempt to clear the tightness before continuing. "But sometimes I felt like I always had to be…"

"Nervous?" you completed his sentence, your gaze attentive to every unspoken word, the soft rustle of the breeze contrasting with the heavy silence. Friedrich gave a slight nod, acknowledging your guess.

"Like I always had to be perfect," he sighed, coming to a stop and sitting down beside you on a small bench in the garden, shaded by thick trees. He seemed exhausted, yet relieved at the same time, as though the weight of the words had momentarily lightened. "I know I’ll never replace her. But with you, I feel at ease. Like a confidante."

“Well, two widows together. Is there anything more tragicomic than this?” You joked, once again touching on the peculiar humor that seemed to flow so naturally between you. This time, Friedrich couldn't suppress the laughter. The sound came from him lightly and effortlessly, like a wave, vibrating through his chest, free of the constraints that had held him back before.

“You’re quite subversive, aren’t you?” he said, a playful expression spreading across his face. He ran a hand over his mouth, as if brushing away his smile, crossing his legs and slowly retrieving a cigar from his pocket. The movement was deliberate, almost like a ritual. “Do you mind?”

“No.” You shook your head with a smile, signaling for him to go ahead. Still, he placed the cigar back in his pocket with a silent respect, as if he already understood what truly mattered between you. “I’m subversive because I have a sense of humor? I didn’t know you were so conservative.”

“Spare me. These rules of etiquette are nonsense invented to rob us of life.” He chuckled, shaking his head as if pushing away the weight of societal expectations. “Look at us. We were forced to marry because someone said it’s not good for man to be alone.”

“Are you tarnishing the holy word, Friedrich?” You teased, raising an eyebrow, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. He uncrossed his legs, relaxing beside you, his posture loose.

“I think I’m not punished more than we are in this situation,” he laughed again, the sound genuine and unconstrained, a rare, welcoming laugh that echoed melodically, breaking the last traces of tension between you.

“We still broke the wedding night rule,” you reminded him, and he threw his head back in a hearty laugh.

“My God, we’re a lost cause,” he chuckled, but the laughter soon softened, fading as he turned to look at you, trying to calm his amusement.

There was something captivating in the way he seemed to reflect on the moment, a mix of enjoyment and resignation. With a nearly imperceptible movement, he tilted his head to the side, distracted, then pulled out his pocket watch. The gesture marked the end of the lightness in the conversation.

“I fear it’s time for me to attend to business,” he interrupted, his tone turning more sober.

“Of course,” you replied, standing up at the same time he did, the tension between you both dissipating as you shared one last light smile.

However, noticing that he had briefly watched you, you couldn't resist offering a small, mocking bow, one that escaped you almost without thought. He caught the gesture, and for a moment, his smile curved just slightly, a polite expression that nonetheless betrayed a shared intimacy between you.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” he promised, his words carrying a promise of something unsaid, something suspended, waiting for the right moment to be picked up again.

Even in his haste, he accompanied her to the hall. What once seemed like a simple, everyday obligation had now transformed into a silent ritual, almost a shared pleasure between them. As if fate were playing with its invisible threads, their marriage had occurred at the end of winter—an understated departure of the season’s chill, while spring began to make its first tentative steps, blossoming alongside hearts now beating in sync.

The scent of roses lingered in the air, reminding her of the bottles Friedrich would gift her from time to time—subtle gestures that concealed more than mere intentions. A soft breeze wound its way through the house, reviving memories of his elegant presence, lifting the curtains in an ethereal dance, sweeping away the dust, and bringing a refreshing coolness to every room.

Then came summer, and with it, the sun’s awakened rays poured life into what had once seemed faded. Morning conversations, filled with musings on the weather or trivial matters, filled the emptiness of a new day. In the afternoon, their exchanges became sharper, commenting on the neighbors and the townspeople who fancied themselves important, yet were, as he put it, "clowns dressed in finery." In the evenings, conversations grew rarer, more spaced out—not just due to the fatigue they both felt, but because of the weight carried by the “unsaid.”

Even though they were married before God and the law, invisible barriers still separated them. But in the rare moments they sat together after dinner, those moments felt almost precious—revealing a little more of the inner worlds hidden behind the curtains of formality.

As days passed, summer slowly gave way to the melancholy of autumn. The golden glow of warm days was replaced by a softer, almost nostalgic light that painted the afternoons in shades of amber and crimson. The wind, once a messenger of warmth and life, now blew with a distinct coolness, carrying the earthy aroma of dried leaves that gathered along the paths.

The house, once flooded with vibrant sunlight, now seemed to be wrapped in a cozy shadow. The curtains no longer danced so freely, weighed down by the thicker air of the season. Friedrich, always attentive to the subtle changes around him, watched time shape every corner with its unshakable patience. The silence of autumn was not empty; it was filled with meaning—a quiet invitation to introspection, a harbinger of something new.

The garden, once a sea of vibrant colors, had now transformed into a mosaic of orange leaves drifting from the branches like unsent letters to the wind. The last rosebuds held firm, defying the growing cold, as though refusing to accept that everything must, eventually, wither. It was a season of transition, of fleeting beauty. And, in some way, it mirrored the silent shift that was settling between them.

“You know, from the first time I saw you, I felt like I could trust you,” he confessed, his voice low but steady. As he took a draw from his cigar, he exhaled the smoke with a deliberate movement, as if releasing more than just tobacco. His free arm was lazily draped over the divan, fingers almost brushing against her clavicle, but not quite making contact—just grazing her skin in the subtlest of gestures, as if the touch was unnecessary, yet still undeniably present in the space between them.

“At the church?” You asked, turning your head to look at him. He slowly rotated his eyes to meet yours, his head slightly tilted, watching your face with an expression that could have been contemplative, though, at its core, remained inscrutable. It was as though his mystery deepened with each word spoken.

“In the garden,” he answered, pausing again to take another puff from the cigar, his eyes focused on the horizon, searching for something invisible in the landscape. When he exhaled the smoke, it moved slowly, almost poetically, as if his words were still being shaped. “When you made the agreement. You were firm. You knew what you wanted. I admire that. Strong, determined people.”

“Do you think I’m strong?” You asked, your voice softer now, a trace of curiosity slipping into the words. It wasn’t a rhetorical question, but a genuine uncertainty. Your eyes met his, waiting for an answer that might reveal more about him than about yourself.

“Stronger than anyone I’ve ever seen,” he replied, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. The world could have fallen apart around them, but in that moment, on that divan, there were only the two of them, as though nothing else mattered.

As always between them, emotions and glances didn’t need words to communicate. It was a mutual, silent understanding—the kind of connection only those who share a bond so complex can truly grasp. What they both needed in that moment was simple: touch. Warmth. Something physical and pure, the reminder of what it meant to be near, to be present. Friedrich pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was brief yet intense, pulling away slowly, as though making sure you wouldn’t pull back, that you were there, willing to allow it.

It had been so long since he had touched anyone, and neither had you. As if, for a moment, you both had forgotten the softness of human touch, the way bodies recognize each other when they are close. He absently crushed his cigar in the ashtray, his focus now completely on you. Nothing else mattered.

Slowly, he brought his hand to your face. First, his fingers slid gently over the texture of your skin, as if every millimeter was a discovery. His eyes were fixed on you, not just any look, but a deeply attentive look, as if he were memorizing every detail. When the palm of his hand met your cheek, the fit was perfect, as if your faces had been made to touch this way. He stood there for a few moments, just watching, his fingers tracing a delicate path across your lip with his thumb. A gesture that, although simple, carried immense meaning. He was with you, entirely.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” The question came naturally, without haste, without expectation. It wasn't a simple rhetorical question, it was something genuine. Something he wanted to know.

The silence that followed was an implicit answer. You watched him for a moment, almost as if you were reflecting on the weight of those words, and then, as if confessing a secret you had kept, you answered:

“Maybe never like this.”

“You are beautiful.” He repeated, as if those words were the key that fit perfectly into your heart, as if he knew you needed to hear them in a way no one had said before. “Can I show you that?”

With the soft touch of your hand on his, you asked for more, without saying a word, but the request was there, clear and transparent. Consent. Desire. Begging. He noticed, and the answer was immediate. He leaned in once more, his lips meeting yours in a hesitant kiss, but not without intensity. It was as if the world dissolved even more in that moment.

It was just a brush. A soft touch, as if the very air between you was impregnated with something sweet and ancient. You could feel the softness of his skin, the faint scent of nicotine that still lingered on his fingers, the trace of expensive cognac, the kind of drink he kept in his library for special occasions, and even the delicate scent of strawberries, which mixed with the sensation of his touch. It was a mess of gastronomic and artistic sensations that you longed for, something sublime and complex, where each detail seemed like a fragment of something that, perhaps, had never been fully understood until that moment.

"Stay with me, Friedrich." Your voice came out weak, a whisper laden with pleading, dissipating in the thick silence of the room. The only immediate response was the crackling of the wood in the fireplace, soft clicks that seemed to mark the time between each of his breaths, warm and deep, brushing against your skin. "Stay with me until sunrise. Just for tonight." An indecipherable gleam passed through Friedrich's eyes, as if this was the prayer he had been waiting to hear for centuries. A slow smile formed on his lips before he tilted his face towards you.

"How can I refuse you, my dear?" The answer came in a low, intimate whisper, as his lips traced a reverent path across your face. First, a delicate kiss on your forehead, then on your temples, as if he wanted to engrave you in his memory.

He moved down to your cheeks, his lips brushing your skin in an almost imperceptible touch, warm and devoted. Your chin, the tip of your nose — every inch was graced with his attention. It was a silent blessing, a profane sacrament sealing a bond forgotten by time. Then, Friedrich closed the distance between you. His lips took yours with precision, without hesitation. The kiss was neither hurried nor voracious — it was a wordless oath. There was no sarcasm, no ghosts from the outside world. Just that moment, charged with something greater than the two of you. Love or not, there was an uncontrollable impetus there, something unforgettable.

Friedrich's fingers slid along your jaw, slowly rising until they intertwined in your hair, tugging lightly, as if he wanted to keep you from disappearing. In response, your hands sought his, groping until they found them, fitting your fingers with his. The touch was cold, but not unpleasant; on the contrary, it felt like the anchor of something much deeper. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes half closed, his breathing ragged. The fire in the fireplace cast shadows on the walls, dancing to the rhythm of the growing desire between you.

"Until sunrise," he murmured against your mouth, almost a promise. "All night."

Friedrich stood up with his usual elegance, extending his hand to you. Your fingers gently wrapped around his, and in an almost ceremonial gesture, he lifted you, guiding you with a care that made it seem as if time slowed down around you. Like a prince leading his maiden through an enchanted castle, Friedrich led you to his room—a previously unknown territory that you had only glimpsed in passing, always disorganized, with books piled haphazardly and traces of sleepless nights.

But now, everything seemed different. There was an unexpected order to the usual chaos, as if he had prepared the environment for this moment. The furniture was impeccably arranged, the curtains slightly open, letting the pale moonlight fall on the sheets. His familiar scent permeated the space, a mixture of stale tobacco and the woody aroma that always lingered on his clothes.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Friedrich turned the key in the lock, a discreet click echoing in the silence of the room. A simple gesture, but one that carried an invisible weight—he didn't want to be interrupted, not now.

"I prefer our night to be comfortable for you." He communicated, approaching, his steps calm but full of intention.

His gaze was a veiled invitation, a wordless promise. When his lips touched her face, it was not a hurried kiss, but an intimate mapping of her skin. He kissed her forehead as if consecrating that moment, her temples like a devotee in prayer. The line of her jaw, the curve of your cheek, every inch explored as if it were a rediscovery.

Nine long months without being touched by him, adding to the tally the months in which your husband had not touched you. You thought you had forgotten what it was like to be kissed. But the moment Friedrich’s lips met yours, all the dormant memories came back to life—not as distant memories, but as something as vivid as the warmth of his body against yours.

“Touch me.” You asked, sincerely. Need gave no room for shame at that moment. You needed to be touched by him.

“Anything you want.” His hoarse voice came out like a sinful whisper against your face.

Friedrich took a step back, then, walking behind you, he began to pull the lace of your dress with a mastery that you knew where it came from. But, at that moment, it was as if it were only yours. With precise speed, you felt the thin and expensive fabric, every penny intentionally bought by Friedrich, falling to the floor, with any other old rag that you forgot after a long time, leaving only the small nightgown and the corset underneath, which was also untied by him, allowing your muscles to relax again.

You turned your ankles, meeting Friedrich’s hungry gaze on your body covered only by the thin cotton with carefully embroidered lace on the sleeves. You moistened your lips, bringing your hands to your hair. Your fingers began to remove the pins, your perfect hairstyle falling apart, your long strands falling down your spine like a colorful waterfall.

Friedrich felt a fleeting tremor in his vision, Anna’s memory mixing with his own in his head. No. He murmured, no. You could never be her. Not even if you tried in a million years. But there was something about you that pulled him back like a magnet. You stepped forward, giving him a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Anna would never do that.” He murmured, not sure how this would affect you or himself, trying to explain himself. “She was always so chaste, so reserved, so… pure. Even when I touched her. But you— I feel like a boy playing too close to a lake, where I fall in and never want to get out again.”

“What’s in that lake?” You asked, reaching your brave hands for Friedrich’s vest, each button being unbuttoned faster with the courage inside you.

“So many things. So much… life.” He paused, his gaze so distant, yet so present in that moment, alternating between which of your eyes he should look at. “It’s enchanting. There are so many fish, frogs, mud where I slip, but I always come back for more. And in this lake it rains, so hard. God.”

“Are you cold?” You encouraged, Friedrich helping you, putting the vest over your arms and taking off your shirt in just one pass over your head.

“I am.” He says, closing his eyes to one of your hands, cold from the night air, touching his neck, the other lazily in his strong arms. “I never want to leave here. I want to be trapped in this moment forever.”

It was your turn to be silent, swallowing hard at the confession between Friedrich’s eloquent lines. Noticing your hesitation, his strong hand took yours and placed it on your chest. Your hand feeling the strong and accelerated beating in his chest, you were causing this.

Intertwining his hand with yours, his other hand went to your waist, holding you as he guided your steps to the bed, where you lay right in the middle of the huge mattress. Friedrich put his fingers in the waistband of your pants, pulling them down, recording the memory of you, so delicate, but so honest and brave in that bed. It didn't seem like you were going to be devoured like a little lamb, but that he knew you would give pleasure and be pleased, like a nymph.

Friedrich crawled across the bed until he was on top of you, supporting himself on one arm, the other hand easily unbuttoning your nightgown, your beauty being served to him. With a gentle touch, he groped your breasts, rolling the small spot with his thumb, admiring the view.

“I had forgotten this feeling.” He commented, lifting your breast, palming it, squeezing it, like a boy discovering the female body for the first time. “It feels so good.”

You nodded, enjoying the moment, glimpsing every admirable reaction Friedrich had in that part of your body. He kissed both your breasts, moving down with kisses to your exposed sex, inhaling your essence.

“What’re you gonna do?” You asked, closing your legs instinctively, a touch of fear laced with desire in your voice.

“Have you never been touched like this?” He asked, surprised by your desperate reaction, opening your legs and doing his best not to embarrass you by facing your intimacy.

“No.” You confessed, without even knowing what he planned to do. There were hypotheses, but the ideas that went through your mind were hot, but they didn’t make sense.

“Can I show you?” He suggested, wetting his lips with his tongue in anticipation. You nodded, reluctantly opening your legs.

Friedrich took a deep breath before lowering his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. He sucked a small part of your skin, going down with small bites to your groin, where he placed a small kiss that made you shiver.

When he licked your pearl, you understood the surprise in his eyes. That was heavenly good. Your fingers went to Friedrich’s head, pulling his hair as a way to dissipate the pleasure that was growing between your legs.

His tongue licked your sex, pressing harder to hear your louder moans, switching to small, weak licks to turn you inside out. His large hands were firmly on your thighs, keeping you in place as he sucked on your sensitive spot with precision.

Lifting your head to look down, you saw Friedrich with his eyes closed, concentrating. The scene was stimulating enough to feel the pressure building in your stomach. Hearing your needy moans, he ended up licking faster and faster with more pressure. The tremors indicated that you were close and he focused only on your clit, punishing the flesh with his tongue fast and strong in sinful circles until he felt you collapse into his mouth with one last loud moan, lifting your hips against his mouth.

Not wanting to push you to the limit right away, he lifted his body, returning to be on top and kissing you, the taste of your pleasure mixing on his lips. He lowered his lower part, showing his ugly cock that was throbbing hard against your belly, smearing your skin with pre-cum.

“Ready?” He asked, wiping the cloth down your legs and throwing it on the floor.

“Yes.” You confirmed, watching Friedrich grab one of the pillows and place it under your hips, which you lifted to help him.

Guiding his cock to your saliva-soaked and aroused intimacy, he pressed the tip against your entrance, showing a small reaction of discomfort before pleasure took over your face when you felt the length entering your canal, stretching your walls.

His hips began to move, slowly at first, so that you could get used to the recent intrusion after so long. When you were already showing pleasure, the rhythm became frantic, almost merciless. He murmured sweet nothings in your ear, not hiding any sound, and it drove you insane. You wanted everything from him, the sounds, the contorted expressions of pleasure, every thrust he changed the rhythm of, every compliment and disgrace he whispered. All of him.

In a short time, he melted inside you, loving you to the last drop, a hint of pride for having made you arrive before him, kissing your mouth to finish you off, leaning his forehead against yours, his breathing calming down.

He stood up, holding your hand firmly but unhurriedly, guiding you to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror revealed the marks of the night—sweat, tears and fluids, strands of disheveled hair. Friedrich smiled sideways, an almost complicit glint in his eyes, before taking a damp cloth and starting to clean you.

His every gesture was calm, almost ritualistic. He gently wiped the cloth over your face, removing traces of intimacy, his fingers brushing your skin with a caress that made your heart slow down. When he wiped your collarbone, he took a second longer than necessary, as if he were memorizing the touch. When he passed it through your hands, he intertwined his fingers with yours for a brief moment, before continuing.

The world outside was slowly waking up. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the curtain, dyeing the room with soft golden tones. The air still carried a remnant of the night—of whispered promises, of something unnameable that hovered between you.

But then, something sour settled in your mouth. A bitter taste, an inevitable memory. You looked away from Friedrich, the echoes of the previous promise resonating in your mind. Until dawn.

"I... I think I should go." Your voice came out hesitant, almost trembling. You turned your back, preparing to leave, but before you could take another step, you felt a firm tug.

Friedrich wrapped you in an intense, almost desperate hug. His body was a wall against which you snuggled without resistance, feeling his heat pass through your skin. Friedrich's breathing was heavy against your hair, and his fingers, once so careful, now tangled possessively in the strands, as if he wanted to hold you there, forever.

"Never leave my side again." The whisper was filled with something primal, something he didn't usually express. "It's an order. The only one I give you." He inclined his head, his lips brushing your temple, the touch as gentle as a shared secret. "I will make you happy in your marriage. I will make you create good memories, I will be your anchor, your wine, your pleasure."

You lifted your face, your eyes searching his, and then you moved closer, placing your lips on his bare chest, right over the place where his heart beat slow and deep. Friedrich's breathing faltered for a moment, and you let yourself sink against him, listening to that steady rhythm, like a melody that only the two of you understood.

"I'm already yours, Friedrich." You whispered, filled with certainty. You closed your eyes, resting your head against him. "And I will be yours until the end of my life, living every sunrise by your side."

#friedrich harding #friedrich harding x reader #x reader #imagine #reader insert #fanfic #aaron taylor johnson x you #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson fandom #aaron johnson #aaron taylor johnson #atj x reader #nosferatu fanfic #nosferatu

272 notes · View notes

improbable-outset · 10 months ago

Text

📄 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭

Kenji Sato x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.3k (FUUUUUUU)

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: One sided pinning (or that’s what Kenji believes), Reader is a daddy’s girl (me) and Kenji has daddy issues :,) brief harassment from a drunkie, Kenji saves your ass though, insecurities from Ken, Friends to More (?)

𝐀/𝐍: First Kenji fic I’m posting. If this does flop uhhh no one saw that 🫣🫣

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Kenji tells himself that he only frequents the local restaurant because their food is always the best, made with the freshest ingredients. Definitely not because he enjoys finding excuses to chat with the owner’s attractive daughter, who often helps out as an unofficial waiter.

Kenji rarely found a place to eat without being overwhelmed by baseball fans who knew nothing about personal space. While he appreciated the admiration, it was increasingly frustrating having to sit down for a meal and being disrupted.

But that wasn’t his main concern. He knew that if fans saw him dining at a certain restaurant, it would soon be flooded, limiting space in the establishment.

Fortunately, he found Kokochi Tei, a small family-owned restaurant run by a widower and occasionally his daughter, who helped as a waitress. The place quickly became his sanctuary, offering both privacy and delicious food.

Initially, Kenji frequented Kokochi Tei for its food and respect for privacy. But everything changed when you started helping out at the restaurant.

He found himself looking for you the moment he entered, hoping you were working that day. He didn’t understand what it was about you that piqued his interest.

But he knew that the hidden gem of the establishment seemed even brighter when you were there—or maybe that was just the sun reflecting on the window.

At first, he thought at all stemmed from his envy of your relationship with your father, as self-projecting as it sounded.

It never crossed his mind that he might actually be interested in you as an individual until you started interacting with him more one-on-one while serving the other patrons.

His brows creased from carrying the day's weight as he sat behind the shoji screen, though he was hopeful that coming to Kokochi Tei would turn things around.

He noticed your figure behind the screen getting closer as you headed to his table, menu in hand. Your strides always seemed to carry some grace.

“Are you sure you don’t want the menu this time?” You asked, clutching onto the menu against your chest.

“Yeah, no.” Kenji shook his head, his lips tugging up in a small smirk. “Your father is like a maestro in the kitchen, I think I’d rather take the chance,” he leaned back in his seat with his broad arms crossed over his chest.

Eating at Kokochi Tei meant expecting the unexpected, especially when it came to your father’s cooking. He was always experimenting with different dishes and Kenji would accept it, even if it was something he never had. “So, what’s special for tonight?”

“Well…Dad’s been experimenting with some Vietnamese dishes, and he nailed a chicken pho ga recipe,”

“Pho, really now?” He arched his brow, interest piqued. “How can I pass up on some chicken pho? Sounds good.”

“Alright, one bowl of pho it is,” you said.

“You’d dad was practically busting his ass in the kitchen before I got here. Is he…doing okay?” The question lingered for a moment, Kenji’s gaze drifted towards the kitchen at the far back.

“Ah…he will be once I run him a bath after,”

“Oh is that so?” He responded, his lips curled to a full grin. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full then, huh?”

“Mhmm I think he’s trying to keep himself distracted after Mom’s not around anymore…” your voice trailed off at the end. It was a sensitive topic that you wouldn’t elaborate on. You blinked and spoke again, “So…pho ga?”

“Yeah. Oh, and a glass of your dad’s homemade green tea if he’s got any,”

“Of course…should be ready in 15.” You turned your heels to leave.

“Oh…and by the way,” Kenji called out, making you halt in your tracks before you turned back to look at him. There was something about the way you perked up when he called after you that sent a flutter through him. “Did you happen to catch the game today?”

“You know I always do. Dad’s always a fan.” You responded. He held his gaze at you, watching your every expression as you spoke.

“So, I assumed you saw my little fight with the catcher, too.”

“Yeah…what’s with that?”

He sighed, ranking a hand through his hair as he recalled the event. “Long story short: the guy had a smartass comment he just needed to say.” He said, a hint of irritation evident in his voice. “And, I’m sure you know me. I don’t tend to stay quiet when I get riled up,”

He wondered what you were thinking when you watched him tussle with the catcher live on television.

Shifting in his seat at the thought, he continued, “You uh…probably saw how the coach pulled from the game after that…”

“Heh—” you stifled a laugh before covering your mouth, clearly amused by his compromising anecdote.

“What’s that sweet giggle for, huh?” He said with a tease before adding on “Don’t you have tables to wait,” he pointed out with a huff, though he couldn’t hold back his smile that gave away his unseriousness. You always found a way for him to bring out his more relaxed side.

“Uh huh,” You managed to compose yourself before you left his table to attend to the other patrons.

“Yeah…that’s what I thought,” he watched you walk away with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. A few silent moments passed by, his eyes darted around the restaurant, observing anything that could keep his attention.

There were a few paintings hung on the wall with contemporary art pieces and a few plants dotting the space. He leaned over to look past the shoji screen, trying to get a quick glance of you.

He couldn’t help but take note of you as you walked around and served the other patrons. The restaurant wasn’t busy tonight, so your movements were more fluid, with a smoother flow, rather than rushed and on your toes when the restaurant was packed.

It was enticing, even though he knew he could never be in that position— but you always made it look so easy with your welcoming demeanor.

Eventually, you headed over to his table at the back with a tray in hand.

“Here’s your pho go. I got dad to add extra chili just how you like it.” you placed the bowl of hot, steaming pho on the table in front of him. The delicious aroma was irresistible.

“And tea!” You placed a teapot with a cup next to the bowl, along with some cutlery and napkins.

“Thank you,” he said, glancing up at you with a smile. He knew the tea would be divine as always. “Pass along my compliments to your dad, yeah?”

“Always,”

“Perfect,” he started taking a spoonful of the pho, blowing the steam away before he brought it up to his lips and took a sip. He let the pho sit on his tongue to savour the flavour; it was definitely something different but still incredible. “You’re a damn good waitress, you know that.”

“I’m just…doing my job when I can,” you said meekly.

“Well, you do it damn well, if anything,” a thought erupted in his mind, wondering about your love life. He never saw you with a partner, even if he saw a glimpse of your life.

Even if it felt a little invasive, he was conflicted on whether he should ask you or not, especially with the small relationship you’ve built over the months of talking.

He knew he should hold his tongue about it, but he took the risk and asked anyway, before his doubts overtook him. “You got a boyfriend or anything,”

“Sorry?”

Oh God, don’t make him repeat himself.

“Come on, a boyfriend? Any guy at all that you’re seeing?” He always imagined asking the question with a better, more smooth delivery— not like this. Nevertheless, he was glad the question was out of the way now.

“Nope,” you said. Despite the newfound revelation, a part of him made him doubt that you would even give him a chance, given his status.

You probably only saw him as the famous baseball star who was a regular at your father’s restaurant with a big ego. Although the latter wasn’t completely wrong, he knew he was more than that but he was unsure if you were curious to explore more, like he was.

“Ah, single then, are you?” Even with his lingering doubts, there was still a sense of satisfaction with your answer, maybe some underlying hope now that he knew you weren’t seeing anyone. “I was starting to believe you’d have line of guys at your feet,”

Whether it was true or not— and he really hoped it was the latter— he didn’t want to further broach the thought of other men trying to flirt with you. He was aware of how selfish that must’ve sounded, hence why he tried to keep his feelings in check.

“Yeah…heard of that one before,”

“Heh, just trying to compliment you,” he quipped. “No need to shoot down every word that comes out of my mouth,”

He caught a playful eye roll from you as he resumed eating, taking another spoonful of the pho and relishing its taste.

He could taste the slight kick from the chili just the way he liked it. It made him wonder if you remembered other small details about him, but he quickly brushed it off before he started speculating other scenarios.

After another spoonful, he asked, “So, when do you close?”

“We’re not closing until another hour,”

“Right, right. Just another hour,” he said with a hum, continuing on the pho in front of him. “And I’m guessing you’re aren’t gonna sit down and keep me company,”

“Yeah, probably not…”

“Ouch, you’re breaking my heart here.” He teased, clenching his chest to add emphasis to his feigned hurt. “You’d rather run around catering to other people than keep this baseball player company.”

“Well you've got your tea to keep you busy,” you shot back, your teasing words matching his wittiness.

He chuckled at that, giving the tea that was sitting besides his bowl a pointed gaze. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s a great listener,” he said sarcastically.

“Oh, for sure. Totally silent and won’t interrupt you and such.”

He let out a scoff, but his amused smile was still present on his face. “Yeah, smartass. Keep it up and I might decide to stay here all night.”

You arched a brow at that. “We’ll see what dad has to say about that.”

“Please,” his lips curled into a smirk. “If anything, he’ll probably beg me to stay. The tips I give are probably the only reason this place is still in business.” He knew full well how much your dad loved serving him and having him around, and not just because of the hefty tips he gave everytime.

It’s not often that Kenji let his insecurities get the best of him. Matter of fact, it was so rare, the feeling was almost foreign to him.

He wouldn’t let them overshadow his confidence, especially when he needed it the most on the field when there were hundreds and hundreds of eyes on him in real-time or when he’s doing his Ultraman duties with the citizens relying on him to keep them safe.

But being in a situation like this felt like navigating a complex maze where he has no sense of direction. Whenever he was with you, Kenji felt like the doubts in his head were a little louder than usual, and he was worried that one day, his blasé mask would slip away.

“You know, he was on my case last time when I was hanging around your table.” You commented.

“Oh really? You think he’s afraid of losing his regular customer to a pretty waitress? I won’t ditch him anytime soon. Gotta show my appreciation to these heavenly meals, you know,”

“I think he’s more concerned about me hitting on you,”

Kenji froze momentarily, the spoonful of the noodles halfway to his mouth, before he looked up at you with genuine surprise. “Wait wait wait— he seriously thinks you’d try making a move on me?” The thought alone seemed too baffling for him to comprehend.

“Yes, he does,”

A small chuckle escaped him before it morphed into a full blown laughter. He noticed through his teary eyes that you still held your serious expression. “That’s-” he began, taking a deep breath to compose himself. “Oh wow…your old man actually thinks you’re after me?”

Although the claim sounded comical hearing it out loud, Kenji hoped that there was some truth to it—even if he did disguise his hope with his laugh just now.

Just the thought of him catching your eye like that made something in him stir with a spark of excitement and nervousness.

“Unfortunately, and that’s all he talks about,” you finished your sentence with a groan. Kenji wondered how you really felt about the situation. Were you truly denying any interest, or was there something you’re holding back?

“He’s been talking to you about me, then, has he? About how you’re all falling for my charms and such?”

“Urgh, I don’t even want to feed that idea into his head,”

“But why not?” He leaned forward on his chair with his arms resting against the table. “I’m sure this whole thing is giving him a good laugh,” It was quite charming seeing the dynamic between you and your father and how your father felt about your interaction. Though he really hoped that he wasn’t temperamental about it.

“More like another reason to be on my case…I’ve already stressed him out for giving the wrong order to a few customers this week alone,”

He recalled one incident that had been going around the dining area. “Right…didn’t you give a guy beef noodles when he was supposed to get pork instead?”

You pressed your lips together in mild annoyance at the reminder, and he chuckled at your quiet response.

“Yeah. Poor fella probably had a fit once he realised what happened. I’m sure you had an earful from your dad after that,” he add

Just at that moment, another customer entered the restaurant, and you were already on your toes to serve them a table.

There was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes at the interruption; he was really enjoying your conversation, but of course, your job comes first.

“Duty calls, huh?” You nodded in silent response. “Go on then, go play nice and serve your customers.”

The male customer trotted over to an empty table, trying to hide the clumsiness in his steps. Kenji was never superstitious, but something about that man just at first glance rang all alarm bells in him.

He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but his instincts were telling him to keep a close eye on the interaction and stay on high alert.

The longer he watched the the conversation between you and the newcomer, the more he could pick up on his behaviour.

His crooked smile, his relaxed yet provocative body language, and his slight slurred speech all pointed to him being intoxicated.

The man’s presence disrupted the calm atmosphere in the room, and Kenji couldn’t help but find himself on edge.

As you left for the kitchen to fetch his order, Kenji didn’t miss the man staring at your backside. It was obvious that he was eyeing your body like a shark sizing up it’s prey.

Kenji’s protective instinct kicked into overdrive, making him clutch the spoon in his hand hard enough to leave a dent on his palm.

He continued to watch as you returned from the kitchen, only to be met with the obnoxious patron who was getting more unruly by the minute. Kenji couldn’t hear the conversation from where he was sitting, but he could tell that you were uncomfortable.

You maintained your forced smile through your nervousness, and he could only seethe from his seat.

It took every ounce of willpower not to step in and cause a scene.

But something in him snapped the moment the man reached out and tried stroking her leg. All the tension he had held back boiled over.

In a swift motion, he stood up from his seat, the chair scraping against the wooden floor with a loud screech. He strode over towards the table, each step fueled with purpose and irritation.

He placed a hand on your shoulder and felt you jolt from the sudden contact.

“Come here,” he muttered, his voice gentle yet firm.

“What?”

“Just come closer,” he urged, the grip on your shoulder growing slightly tighter. Despite his calm exterior, his eyes betrayed his irritation.

You did as you was told and moved towards him. Immediately, he pulled you close and wrapped a protective arm around your waist, making sure you were behind him, shielding you from the man’s lecherous gaze with his athletic frame.

In the deepest pit of his gut, he felt a tinge of nervousness having been this close to you and having his arm around you. He always imagined what it would be like to be in this position but not in a situation like this.

But he brushed that thought aside as he looked down at the man, his eyes narrowed into slits. His voice instantly dropped to a dangerous tone, dripping with menace. “You got a problem?”

The man didn’t seemed fazed, still maintaining his lopsided grin, which only fueled his irritation further. “Nah, just having fun with the waitress here,”

Kenji felt his gut twist as the man’s spoke. ‘Fun.’ The word echoed in his head “Well, your fun ends here.”

“What, you got a problem with a guy just having a good time? Look at her, she loves the attention.” The man tried to lean to the side so he could take a look at you, but Kenji immediately blocked his view.

“She clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you,”

“You her boyfriend or something?” The customer sneered.

Kenji felt you tense behind him at that question. A part of him wanted to claim that title— not only to get the man to back off, but also to finally say it out loud, just to see how it felt like on his tongue.

But feeling how you tensed up made him second guess, so he kept his answer vague. “It doesn’t matter if I am her boyfriend or not, you’re going to leave her alone now.”

The man was completely oblivious to Kenji’s mounted annoyance. Kenji was surprised he didn’t recognise him, but that could be the alcohol completely skewing his judgment. Kenji leaned in so he was forced to focus on him.

“Eyes on me,” his voice sharpened, a hot razor blade. “She's not for you to touch or ogle, do you understand?”

The drunk man’s bravado evaporated under Kenji’s intense glare. He realised that continuing to provoke him would only lead to more trouble. He shifted in his seat before standing up unsteadily.

“Fine, fine I get it. She’s yours. No need to get all territorial, man.” The man muttered before staggering out of the restaurant, his balance wavering as he walked.

Once he was out of sight, the restaurant slowly resumed to its usual buzz and the patrons turned their attention back to their food. Though there was still a lingering awkwardness in the room that was hard to ignore.

Kenji’s attention shifted back to you, his fury melting into concern. You still look shaken and he could feel your muscles still taunt from the encounter.

His voice lowered to a softer tone, a mix of concern and protectiveness. “You alright?”

It took a moment before you could respond, your voice barely above a whisper but still audible enough for him to hear. “Y-yeah…I think so,”

Kenji could still send the remnants of fear lingering in your eyes and notice the slight tremor in your frame. The shock of the incident was still fresh and you were still trying to process what had just happened to you.

“I think I might close up early for the night,” you said, and he nodded in understanding. The whole ordeal must’ve taken a toll on you and you probably weren’t in the right state of mind to continue serving.

“Let me help you,” he offered.

“You don’t have to. Your pho…” you started, but he waved off your concern. His only focus was to make sure you were comfortable.

“Forget about that, it’s cold anyways. I’m helping you, no arguments.” He insisted firmly, leaving no room for debate in his tone.

Without waiting for a response from you, he reluctantly let go of you, wishing he could hold you a bit longer.

Fortunately, the place was quiet tonight and there were only a few customers scattered around finishing off their meals. He approached them one by one and politely asked them to finish up and head out, explaining the place was closing early.

As he waited for the place to clear out, his gaze lingered back on you as you started cleaning up the counter and counting the tip jar. You were uncharacteristically stiff and mechanical. Seeing you like this made his chest ache.

He wondered how often these things happened to you while you were on the clock. This was the first time he had witnessed anything like that, and he hated that some jackass ruined your night after seeing how relaxed you were earlier.

A few minutes later, once the last customer had walked out, Kenji returned to you, vigilant. “They’re all gone now.”

You didn’t meet his eyes, too stunned to focus on anything other than the floor. His chest tightened at the sight. “My dad’s gonna be pissed,”

“Why would he be pissed? It’s not your fault some drunk guy was harassing you.” He took a step closer, trying to study your expression.

You let out a solemn sigh, enough for him to feel the weight of your worry. He wanted to reach out and comfort you, but he knew you probably didn’t want to be touched right now.

“Hey, look at me.”

You glanced up at him briefly, then quickly interjected before he could speak, “You should uhm…finish off your pho. Don’t want it to get wasted, huh?” You quickly added, “Do you like dorayaki?”

He paused, surprised by your sudden change of topic. He couldn’t tell if it was a coping mechanism from your distress, but he appreciated your attempt to lighten the mood. “Dorayaki? Yeah, I love them,”

“Let me give you one…it’s on the house for helping me.” Before he could respond, you were already heading to the front counter where the dorayaki were displayed.

You wrapped one in a napkin and handed it to him. He accepted it gracefully, wrapping his large hand around the treat. “You sure your dad won’t get mad at you for giving away free food,”

“I don’t think he’ll notice anyway,” you said. “Plus, he’ll probably do the same, being his favourite baseball player and all.”

“Oh, so I’m the favourite, huh?” He unwrapped the dorayaki and took a bite. “Well, I had to admit, your dad’s got good taste in baseball,”

“Yeah…don’t see why he’d have an issue with me hitting on you, if that was the case, considering how much he admires your game play and such.”

“Can't blame him for being protective of you. I wouldn’t want some cocky bastard hitting on you either,”

“Oh, so you admit that you’re a bastard,”

“Guilty as charged, but I’m the kind of bastard that knows how to treat a girl right. Unlike those idiots that only see you as a piece of meat,”

He paused, recalling the incidents from earlier. He didn’t want to mull over what could’ve happened if things turned out differently. “I’m just glad I was here tonight. I wasn’t going to let some asswipe take advantage of you.”

A sudden outburst could be heard from the kitchen before the back door slammed open, revealing your father’s hardened face.

You stood upright, preparing for the confrontation. “Baba…”

You dad eyed both of you and he could almost feel the suspicion rising from him. His voice was gruff with a protective anger, “What is going on here?”

“It’s not what it looks like. I had to close the shop half an hour early,” you said quickly.

“And what’s the reason for that?”

Kenji took this opportunity to step in before things escalated further, not wanting you to revisit the story again. “Because some drunkard was harassing her. She felt uncomfortable and decided to close up early for safety reasons.”

Your dad’s attention darted at Kenji, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He was used to people recognising him along with the shocked and awestruck look on their faces when they see him. But the way you dad was looking at him was something new, and he didn’t know how to react in the situation.

He quickly looked back at you and asked, “Is it true? Someone was messing with you?”

“Yeah…he touched me,” you said before gesturing to Kenji, “but Kenji stopped it from escalating,”

Your father still seemed guarded as he asked, “You stepped in?”

“Yeah, I did. I wasn’t going to stand by and watch her get harassed,”

You father’s gaze flickered between the two of you, his earlier suspension giving way to grudging respect. He was aware of Kenji’s reputation, both on and off the field. If the pro-baseball player had intervened, it must’ve meant the situation was serious enough to warrant it.

You picked up on your dad’s hesitation. “Baba, I was never trying to make a move on Kenji. You can even ask him,”

For some odd reason, Kenji felt his heart quicken at your words. Hearing you actually mentioning it to your father felt almost cathartic.

Kenji felt his eyes on him again, almost looking for confirmation from him. Kenji nodded, keeping his voice level, despite his senses going haywire right now, “She’s telling the truth, nothing inappropriate is going on between us,”

The room seemed to relax as your father’s tense demeanor faded. Perhaps after hearing it from Kenji himself was enough to convince him.

“Alright, I just wanted to make sure that nothing is going on behind my back,” he said. “Looks like I have to pack everything away in the kitchen,”

“I’m sorry, Baba.”

“It’s not your fault, don’t apologise. I’m just glad you’re okay,”

Your father looked back at Kenji, his expression more sincere now. “And I guess I owe you a thanks for stepping in and saving the day,”

“I gave him free dorayaki,” you chimed in.

“Ah, rewarding him with food, huh? That’s my girl.” He turned back to Kenji and stuck his hand out.

“I appreciate you looking out for her, son. Thank you.” He gave Kenji a firm handshake, though the word ‘son’ had struck him more than he let on, sending an odd feeling through his body. He didn’t think hearing another father calling him that would affect him.

Though he simply nodded, his expression was sincere, “No problem. I wouldn’t have let anything bad happen to her,”

He was still taken back by the unexpected term of endearment from your dad, cutting through his usual confidence. Memories of his own strained relationship with his father flickered in his mind, something he hadn’t confronted with for a while.

Your father gave you both a final nod before he headed back to the kitchen to finish off the last bits of closing.

Kenji maintained his gaze on the back door where you dad just exited, his mind now racing. He started speculating on how different things would be now, and more importantly, how you felt about the situation.

“What’s with that face?” You voiced snapped him out of his deep trance. He didn’t realise how silent he had been until you spoke up.

He turned back to look at you, “I just can't get over the fact that you dad seems to consider me a hero for saving you today,” he said jokingly, though there was some truth to it.

It was refreshing to be seen as more than just a star player; your father saw him for his character and actions. Even if it was just a brief glimpse, gaining your father’s trust and respect felt like a significant accomplishment— something he hadn’t achieved with his own father.

“I can’t believe he called you son, eugh.” Kenji couldn’t believe it either, still hung up on that moment. The gratification still felt fresh, and he hoped that feeling would last.

“Yeah, that too. Seems like he’s accepted me into the family,” he smiled.

“Oh God…” you groaned, massaging your temple to emphasise your feigned exasperation.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take offense to it. I actually find it entertaining.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” you said.

It was definitely more than that to him, given the gravity of the situation with his own father.

But he wasn’t going to admit that to you. Maybe one day he’d share more of his family life with you, now that he seemed to be more than just a customer here.

“You know, it’s actually kind of amusing how you’re so bothered by this,” he mused.

“I think you got on his good side, so good for you.”

“Oh, I think I’ve got more that just his good side,”

“What do you mean?”

His smile morphed into a full grin, “Well I just saved his daughter from being harassed. He’s probably thinking of seeing me as a potential son-in-law.”

Shit, why did he say that. Did he sound weird?

You grumbled. “Don’t get excited now,”

Seeing your grumpy expression gave him some relief. It was better than seeing you disturbed. Then again, you were probably used to his teasing by now, so he couldn’t be too surprised.

“Relax, I’m not getting my hopes up…”

Lies.

“…I know you’re not swooning over me like your dad thinks,”

“But I’m pretty sure he’s noticed the way you freeze everytime I look at you when you come into the restaurant,”

He almost choked on his own saliva when you said that. He didn’t think that you’d notice, but now that you had, he wondered how obvious he was.

“I…don’t do that. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mentally cursed himself for stuttering. No one had this much of an effect on him, and he didn’t know how to act.

“Just the other day, a man scolded at you for holding the queue,” you commented. Of course you would remember that.

“Alright, fine. I admit it. Maybe I do get a bit distracted sometimes when you look at me. But can you blame me?”

You covered your mouth to hide your snickering, holding back from laughing too hard. “Wow…I didn’t think you were that whipped,”

He huffed at that but he wasn’t going to deny it, even if it did hurt his pride. He knew he was more than just whipped; with those pretty eyes and beautiful smile, you could make him do just about anything.

“Yeah, okay. Laugh it all you want,” he muttered. He didn’t expect you to lean in towards him, invading his line of sight.

Oh no…you were more breathtaking up close.

“Hmm, I might be tempted to drag this out a little, just to see how far you’ll go.” You said, a small smile hinting a tease.

He swallowed thickly before he spoke, mirroring your tone, “Oh, really? You’re gonna make me work for it?”

He wouldn’t mind that if it meant spending more time with you. Every interaction with you was exhilarating and he would take the chance if it meant taking things further with you outside of your work.

The positive interaction with your father gave him a much-needed boost of confidence. If your father trusted him, maybe you would, too.

“Well…what if we start things slow and I asked you to dinner then? I’ll do you good and take you somewhere fancy since you have good taste in food,”

Seeing the way your eyes light before you answered made his chest warm with gratitude. “That sounds nice actually….yeah, I’d like that,”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @lovingyeet @aise-30 @moonjellyfishie @dear-detested @nommingonfood

@luneariaa @ittomain1 @slushycoookie @roserfz27 @starriestarlight

@lily-337

#★— ayrus writes #my yoinky sploinky <3 #ultraman rising #ultraman x reader #ultraman ken #ultraman #ultraman kenji #kenji sato #ken sato #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you #kenji sato x y/n #ken sato x reader #ken sato x you #ken sato x y/n

726 notes · View notes