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ienjoywritingfilth · 5 months ago

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a sinner i am

If its so wrong, why does it feel so good?

trope: Boyfriend's Dad PP character: Joel Miller x f reader summary: Your boyfriend Shawn Miller and his dad Joel bring you along to Hawaii for Christmas vacation. Things don't go as planned.

warning: 10/10 on the sexual tension scale, slowishh burn, kissing, grinding, cheating on your bf (but it’s cool, cuz its with Joel and everything is fictional in this universe), alternative universe b/c daddy miller stays alive and hates golf and he has a son named Shawn, no Sarah. rating: E

words 6.8k

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part i : takeoff

The best things in life are the people we love, the places we’ve been, and all the memories we’ve made along the way. - author unknown

"Loving him is a sin; of that I'm fully aware. But a sinner I am." - Bella Jewel

Your boyfriend Shawn brings over two iced coffees as the two of you work on a crossword together at your local coffee shop. You have been filling in the squares quickly.

"Thanks babe," you say warmly as you take the coffee from him. He presses a kiss to your temple, taking a seat next to you.

"Damn, you're fast this mornin'," he says when he sees all you've filled in. It's a tradition for the two of you; weekend crosswords over coffee. It's nice. It's domestic.

It's a little boring.

You're college sweethearts who met your sophomore year and have been inseparable since. And while the love is still very much there the butterflies have unfortunately been hibernating for a while.

It's normal, you tell yourself when you sometimes zone out during sex. It's normal when you've been together with someone so long.

"It's so nice to be doing this instead of college essays," you say.

"Fuck yeah it is."

This is your first summer of freedom without the threat of schoolwork looming in the near distance. Shawn is starting his master's in the fall and you've just accepted a position at the local museum.

“Just think I’ll actually be able to enjoy Christmas this year,” you tease. “Unlike someone who’ll be working on essays.”

“Hey now,” Shawn says with mock offence. “I’ll be able to enjoy my Christmas just fine. Actually, my dad wants to celebrate Christmas somewhere warm this year. He's talkin' about some resort in Hawaii."

Shawn comes from money, the son of the infamous Joel Miller of The Miller Company, the premiere construction firm in Texas. This means expensive vacations, nice cars, all of that is normal for him. You meanwhile have had to work hard for everything you have.

Being left behind at Christmas seems strangely unkind for the normally thoughtful head of the Miller family. Shawn's dad has always treated you like one of the family so this news is unexpected.

"Have a great time," you say trying not to be jealous. "Bring me back some chocolate macadamia nuts."

You can admit that even though both Shawn and his father are humble, kind men, you're always a bit bitter that they live so nicely. Leaving you out of their holiday vacation seems especially unkind.

"He's taking both of us babe," Shawn says with a grin. "You think he's gonna leave you behind on Christmas? After you’ve spent the last six with us?"

Christmas in Hawaii? Is this a dream? Your pencil lays forgotten on the table as you gape open-jawed at your boyfriend.

"Are you serious?"

"Babe," Shawn says meaningfully. "My dad likes you better than he likes me. Of course you're invited."

You've always gotten along with Joel. It's impossible not to. He's friendly, funny and charming. There's a reason he's good at his job. And you're a good girl, a kind girlfriend to his son with clear career ambitions.

A smile breaks out over your features and you pull Shawn into a tight hug. He chuckles, embracing you back, kissing your cheek.

"Make sure you don’t overpack, okay?" He murmurs in your ear as you giggle. “I don’t feel like helping you haul six bags of shoes for a week-long trip.”

Thoughts of lounging by the pool with a drink in one hand and a magazine in the other while the Hawaiian sun beats down on you is all too enticing. You kiss him fiercely, imagining the time together.

"I can't wait."

The two of you finish the crossword puzzle all the while talking about the drinks and food and the excursions you'll both take.

"Maybe once I've got a handle on school we can think about findin' an apartment in the new year," Shawn broaches, his hand over yours.

Sex fades, but this? This domestic stuff you have with Shawn? That's special. That's love.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He gives you a smile, that dimple poking out of his cheek that makes you swoon.

"Ready to go?" Shawn asks, extending his hand to you when your coffees are drained.

"Yeah," you say with your hand taking his. "Let's go."

When December twentieth announces itself with a thunderstorm you couldn’t care less because you’re at the airport. Your large rolling bag bag is stuffed with cute outfits, swimsuits and even some snorkelling gear.

"Feels like you got a dead body in here," Shawn laughs as he struggles with the two bags, handing you yours before swinging an arm around your shoulders.

"I wanted to be prepared."

"Let's go my little Girl Scout," he laughs with a gentle kiss to your temple. You both check in and then find your boarding gate.

"I'm gonna grab breakfast, you want anything?" Shawn asks as he parks you and the suitcases by the gate full of noisy travellers.

"Nah, I'm good."

Shawn jogs off in the direction of a Starbucks you passed on your way in.

Out the larger windows you can see planes taking off. You've never flown before; you thought that you'd be excited. But at the first view of those planes out the window you feel your stomach drop.

They’re so big and bulky. How does it fly properly? It couldn’t. What if people shift around too much in their seats? Surely this can’t be a safe form of travel!

You pull out your phone, distracting yourself with a game. You try for several moments but your eyes keep being drawn to the huge planes outside. You grimace, wondering if you should have gotten your doctor to prescribe you something for anxiety.

"Cheer up," a voice says. "You look like you're goin' to prison, not a five star resort."

You glance over to see Shawn's dad, Joel, at the other side of you, an amused look on his handsome face. He's wearing jeans and a faded grey Longhorns t-shirt. You're momentarily thrown as normally you see him in dress pants and button downs for work.

"I'm excited for the resort, just not the giant metal death box hurling through the air that is my only means of getting there."

"Touche."

Shawn jokes about Joel liking you better then he likes him, but the truth is you and Joel are very similar. Your senses of humour, your ability to read people, your tendency to see the worst in people before they prove themselves worthy.

Shawn is more like his mom, sweet and naive at times, always seeing the good in people. It's ironic considering which parent stuck around to raise him and which one escaped the country six years after Shawn was born.

Joel takes the empty seat next to you, his kneecap kissing yours as he pulls out his phone.

"Never flown before," you explain.

"Ah, I see," Joel puts his phone in his pocket, his attention fully fixed on your face. "Well what if I told you it's actually the safest way to travel?"

"I'd call you a liar."

Joel chuckles richly, his hand falling to your knee and squeezing as he laughs.

"I promise you, I wouldn't take you on anything unsafe. And if all that's not good enough, you'll have Shawn beside you holding your hand the whole time."

You grin at that, nodding. The thought of Shawn being there does help your anxiety. Joel smiles back, eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Thank you so much for inviting me along in this trip, Joel. I've always wanted to go to Hawaii."

"S'a beautiful place," Joel nods. "And you don't need to thank me. You're practically family at this point."

Shawn returns with a muffin and two coffees in hand.

"Hey dad, got you a coffee," Shawn says handing it to his father.

"Thanks," Joel says gratefully. Just then the intercom alert sounds

"Good afternoon passengers.This is the announcement for flight 82B for Oahu, Hawaii. We are now inviting passengers to begin boarding. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Thank you.”

“That’s us.”

The lineup goes uncomfortably fast. You stand beside Sean who is talking to Joel behind you, the two of them deep in conversation about football, a subject you couldn't care less about. You are still too preoccupied with the flight, being surrounded by almost all strangers sailing through the sky.

You're not a fan of heights. So when you get to the door of the plane you hesitate, willing your foot to move. When it doesn't and the flight attendants shoot you a confused look, you feel yourself start to panic.

Shawn has gone on ahead to grab your seats and place your carry-on bag in the overhead bin, not noticing that you're not behind him. A large hand flies to the small of your back, a comforting gesture. Joel. He rubs there, soothing you.

"You'll be okay darlin'," he rumbles in your ear. "Remember, it’s safer than drivin' a car."

��Liar.”

Joel’s deep chuckle makes you grin and you allow Joel to gently prod you onto the plane, shooting the waiting attendants grateful looks for their patience. He takes his seat near the front, watching as you make your way to your seat next to Shawn. As you buckle in a thought occurs to you and you move your voice to a whisper.

"Isn't it gonna be kinda weird with us being there all week with just your dad? I mean, sharing the place and all?"

"Nah, he made sure the rooms were far apart. Plus, he invited his girlfriend to come along so I doubt we'll see much of him."

Joel is a chronic workaholic, often pulling late nights and working on his phone. You’ve seen him out and about with beautiful women at the events Shawn takes you to but never formally dating them. You always assumed to be a lifelong bachelor. You wouldn't blame him, especially after what he's been through with Shawn's mother.

"I didn't know he had a girlfriend," you say honestly. "Good for him."

"A couple months now," your boyfriend tells you. "You know my dad, mister private. But he took me to dinner and told me about her so I think he's getting serious."

"That's really sweet," you say honestly. You want nothing but the best for him.

All of a sudden the plane starts to jiggle, sending people stumbling down the aisles and others gasping in surprise. You reach over and grab Shawn's hand, trying to regulate your breathing.

"Not so tight, babe," Shawn complains before gently sliding his hand from under yours. "You scratched me with your nails."

"Sorry," you mumble, eyes closed as the jostling of the plane continues.

You tighten your seat belt before gripping the seat arms so tightly that your knuckles are white. Sean squeezes your kneecap, murmuring that everything will be okay and that you’re safe. You keep your eyes closed, trying to focus on the soothing sounds of his words.

Eventually the plane enters smooth skies and the seat belt sign is turned off. Despite this you remain keyed up, sitting stiffly as Shawn fades into a nap.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

You crack open an eye to see a beautiful redheaded flight attendant bending down towards you with a glass of what appears to be whisky in her hand. She extends it towards you and you take it confused.

"This is from the gentleman in A-1. He says to take this and you'll be relaxed for the rest of the flight."

You look up a few rows to see Joel giving you a brief wave. You thank the women before raising it towards Joel in a Cheers motion.

Drink it. Joel mouths.

Yes, sir. You mouth back complete with a stiff fake salute before tossing back the drink.

He grins at you before settling back in his seat.

The drink does the job.

"Here we are."

The cab drops the three of you in front of the beach resort. When you step out the air is fragrant with the scent of flowers. You wait while Joel checks you all in before he's back, motioning for you both to follow.

There's the main section of the resort with luxurious hotel rooms. The more secluded section contains a variety of self contained houses that dot the waterfront. Its reserved for people who have unlimited credit card limits and drive cars that cost more than your parents first home.

When you arrive to your unit, your eyes are ready to bug out of your head. It's massive, as far as vacation rentals go. When you all step into the air conditioned unit you have to take a moment to take it all in.

The beach house is beautiful with floor to ceiling windows, stunning tile floors and tasteful furniture. All of this is topped off with spectacular views of the beach outside your door.

A plate of sliced pineapple and chilled wine sits on the kitchen table, along with a note that Joel reads when he wanders over.

"Welcome note," he explains when he sees you looking at it. "I knew the owner back in trade school."

You and Shawn nod, your boyfriends hand trailing down your back gently. It's much the same as what Joel did back at the airplane, but it feels different. You trail your suitcase behind you hearing the clack of it against the stone floor as you move around the room.

"Wow."

It's all you can utter as the three of you tour the rest of the unit. There’s a simple kitchen with an expensive looking coffee machine and a brand new bag of kona coffee waiting to be used. The living room holds a table and four chairs, a few board games and a list of nearby places to visit along with the wifi code. The couch is simple, placed in front of a large television that you’re sure you won’t use.

"My bedrooms on the right," Joel tells you both. "Yours it's on the left. We're sharin’ a bathroom, sorry about that. Pretty common in these places."

Who cares about sharing a bathroom when you're in one of the most beautiful places you've ever been? Even the bathroom is beautiful with its high waterfall shower head and sleek marble. This place must have cost a fortune for the week.

Joel encourages you both to take a look at your room down the hall and you don't hesitate to take Shawn's hand, dragging him there. Shawn pushes open the door to the bedroom and you can't hold in your shriek.

"Holy shit! It's gorgeous!"

The big windows overlook the ocean, the late afternoon beach beckoning to you. The bed is large and plush with white sheets, and framed prints of Oahu sunsets. Its spacious, the bed so large it looks like two giant beds pushed together. The closet is spacious and boats dozens of wood coat hangers.

“Wood, because it’s classy,” you tell Shawn in amusement who is already unpacking his suitcase while you continue to stare in a daze.

"You like it?"

Joel is standing at the door frame, a shoulder balanced against it, watching you take it all in. He's smiling at you in that gentle, sweet way of his that makes you feel cared for.

You're suddenly overcome with gratitude and you streak over to him.

"Thank you, Joel!" You say, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him. "This is the most beautiful place I've ever been."

Joel laughs along with Shawn at your embrace and enthusiasm, holding you around the middle and hoisting you in his arms. Your face presses into his neck as he squeezes you, and the scent of leather and sandalwood envelops you.

You've never really hugged Joel before. Maybe a polite side hug during family events, a high-five during baseball games and even once a hard push to his shoulder when he made fun of you for being afraid of a spider that had gotten into the house.

But you've never had your front pressed to his, never really felt the muscles of his back and arms, seen the tendons in his neck or realized just how big his hands are when they squeeze your waist before lowering you.

"I guess that means you like it," he says, red-faced. You pull back, embarrassed at your overzealous response.

Shawn and his dad are very similar in their looks. Except Shawn is clean-shaven while Joel has a beard and Shawn's eyes are hazel like his mom's while Joel's are the darkest brown you've ever seen. You've never really noticed how dark until this very moment.

You shoot him a cheery thank you again before smiling and skipping over to Shawn announcing that you'll unpack as well.

"You two enjoy, I gotta make a few calls but then we can head out to dinner."

"Sounds great," Shawn says as he searches for his phone charger.

Joel closes the door behind him and you turn to your boyfriend. You can't explain it but you feel turned on. The Hawaiian air must be doing something to you because

You crawl towards where he kneels unpacking. You grin, feeling the pulse of desire hitting you below the navel. You kneel beside him, dropping your voice to a husky murmur.

"Should we break the bed in?"

An hour later the three of you are sitting at a local eatery. Joel and Shawn are talking with one another while you scan the busy restaurant.

Couples, families, all laughing and cheerful. And why wouldn't they? This is Paradise after all. But you don't feel anything like it, if anything, you feel like a little black rain cloud.

Shawn turned down your earlier advances, citing that he was too tired. The problem is for the past three months Shawn has been too tired most of the time. At first he blamed grad school but when you pointed out he still made lots of time for gaming with best friends Brian and Kevin he'd been quick to explain that gaming relaxed him.

That conversation had gone over about as well as a turd in the punch bowl. You remember being so hurt at what you felt was a slight against you. Weren't you relaxing? Weren't you something that made him happy?

So yeah, you had hoped that this little vacation might stir some of that old spark back. But maybe you were too eager. You had just arrived at the place after all. Maybe you were being unfair. Still, the rejection stung.

"Thought we could do all the tourist-y shit while we're here," Joel says after you've all placed your orders. "Luau, sunset cruise."

"Snorkelling?" Shawn offers.

"Hell yes," Joel nods grinning. "ATV tour too."

The Millers like to have fun. They also like to keep busy. It's like second nature to them to be off on adventures or activities. You meanwhile plan on spending lots of time by the pool or the beach, reading and drinking.

"What about you, darlin'?" Joel asks between sips of whisky. "What're you hopin' to do?"

You know exactly what. The thing you've been dying to do since you were a kid at the aquarium.

"I wanna swim with the turtles."

Shawn bursts into amused laughter beside you, and if you weren't already irritated with him before, you certainly are now. He grins at you not understanding that you're secretly furious with him.

"Turtles? Really?"

"What's wrong with turtles?"

"Seems kinda babyish doesn't it?"

"What's babyish about liking animals?" Joel cuts in. "You forgetting about the time we wouldn't let you in the petting zoo and you threw your shoe at me?"

"I was five, dad."

"Yeah well, some things don't change," Joel says with a smirk. "Still throwin' tantrums when you don't get your way."

"Fuck off old man," Shawn says through chuckles. “Don’t forget I’m your only child. I pick which retirement home I’m gonna stick you in when your mind goes.”

“Little bastard,” Joel mutters, trying to hold back a loud laugh.

He settles for tossing a drink umbrella in Shawn’s direction, chuckling when Shawn dodges it easily. You can't help but laugh along with him, your bad mood fading.

By the time dessert arrives you're all several glasses of wine in reminiscing about Shawn's last attempt at surfing.

"I've gotten better," he exclaims. “I swear.”

"Yeah well we'll see about that," Joel says paying the check. "Alright team, let's head back and get some shut eye. This old man needs it."

You roll your eyes at that. Joel isn't even fifty and even if he was he's about the best looking man his age bracket and younger. You've seen the way women stare at him, whispering, blushing when he looks their way. He is not what you’d qualify as old.

The three of you arrive back at the unit to the sound of nighttime creatures croaking and buzzing.

"Alright I'll meet you two out here tomorrow morning around nine. We can go to the excursion desk and plan the week. Sound good?"

"Sounds good, night Dad."

"Night Joel."

The three of you part ways into the opposite bedrooms. Shawn nuzzles your neck gently kissing there. He always does that when he's been drinking. You smile delightedly at this, eager to get into bed.

When the lights are off and the two of you have slipped off your clothes and under the covers you roll towards him, peppering his face with soft kisses.

"It's late, babe," he murmurs, kissing you sweetly but with finality.

"We're on vacation," you remind him, slipping your hand under his boxers.

You feel him slowly start to harden in your grip. You hear his breath hitch and you smile, knowing those sounds so intimately. You tug off your panties and slide onto his lap, preparing to ride him.

"Fuck me," you whisper, hips grinding against his. "Wanna feel your cock in me."

“Baby, no.”

Shawn pulls you off of him and you tumble into the bed next to him, feeling your cheeks grow hot with humiliation.

"My dad is right across the hall," Shawn hisses. “I don’t want him hearing us.”

Rejection never sits well with you and immediately you feel yourself growing defensive.

"You're dad is gonna be across the hall the whole week, Shawn,” you whisper angrily. “So what, we're not going to have fuck this entire trip?"

"We'll have sex," Shawn said rolling his eyes. "Just not when my dad is ten feet away sharing a fuckin' bathroom with us."

Bullshit. Another excuse to put off the intimacy that’s been dwindling for months. You push yourself from the bed, tugging on your dress from earlier. Shawn leans up on his elbows, giving you a look of concern.

"Where are you going?"

"A walk."

"I'll c---"

"No," you say sharp as a knife. "I want to go alone."

You stalk out of the house, eyes glossy with hurt and anger. That's the thing they don't tell you about relationships that have gone on so long -- both partners need to work to keep the fires going.

You make your way to the beach along the softly lit pathway. Its well after midnight and the resort is quiet; the lights dimmed or off entirely. You take a seat on a nearby rock, listening to the gentle sound of the evening waters lapping by the shore. You're very excited to go swimming tomorrow. To feel the warm sand underneath your feet.

You can hear noise coming from the far end of the resort. You remember over dinner Joel going through the resort map on his phone, letting you know what amenities they had. He had told you both about the dance club the resort had.

Shawn had immediately laughed, stating that he’d take a pass on it. Shawn hates dancing. You tried to get him to do dance lessons with you once but he wouldn't even give it a shot.

Right now it seems all you can do is focus on Sean's flaws. You know that he's a decent man, you know the treats you well, but there are these bugaboos these irritants that can't help frustrate you right now.

"Fuck it," you murmur to yourself, raising yourself from the sand and brushing it from your sundress. You follow the sound of the music, stopping in front of a door with blinking lights. A man in a blue Hawaiian shirt smiles at you when you approach.

"Aloha, may I ask your Unit number?"

"Number 4, under Miller."

The man types into his computer before nodding, opening the door for you. You step into the darkness, letting your eyes adjust to the blue lights and colourful dance floor. The speakers are playing typical vacation music with a heavy bass.

Bodies writhe on the dance floor, half naked in revealing dresses or in the men's case, unbuttoned shirts. You order a drink at the bar, taking it with you as you scout the area for a free chair. A hand on your wrist surprises you.

"Joel?"

Joel is seated at one of the small circle tables nursing what appears to be a tumbler of Scotch. He motions for you to take the free chair next to him and you do gratefully falling into it, your arm bumping his.

"What are you doin' here? Since when does Shawn dance?" He asks over the bass, grinning. He looks a bit tipsy, his neck red.

"He doesn't, I'm here alone. I needed to blow off some steam," you tell him over the music.

"Me too," he says loudly back. "Couldn't sleep. Too excited, I guess."

You nod, looking back at the dance floor wistfully. Everyone looks like they're having such a fun time, their worries and concerns far away from them as they undulate to the rhythm of the music. Joel takes another sip of his drink, watching you from the corner of his eyes.

You wish Shawn was here with you, you wish he was spinning you around on the dance floor. You wish it was like those early years where you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

"You and Shawn doin' okay?"

Joel's voice cuts into your confusing thoughts. You glance his way.

"Why do you ask?"

"Cuz I'm a dad," Joel. "And I've been married. And I know what tension between two people looks like."

You sigh heavily, your mind drifting to earlier. You don’t answer Joel because what would you tell him? You can’t tell your boyfriend’s dad that you’re worried his son is growing distant. You can’t tell him that your sex life has been disintegrating for the past several months. Instead you just shrug.

"You two talked about marriage?"

"What? No.”

You and Shawn have been together a long time, but you have no intention of settling down anytime soon. Sean is still doing his masters and you're loving your job at the museum.

"Good. No, not like that," Joel amends when he sees your stricken expression. "I just mean you're both so young."

"You were younger than us when you got married.”

"Yeah and look where that got me," he says with a scoff.

"Yeah, well, I think it's just been a long time and we're hitting a rough patch. Nothing we can't overcome," you add quickly. "It's just hard sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah," Joel nods. "I know."

The two of you lapse into silence, watching the twirling, shouting, laughing people swan around you. You shouldn’t be glum, you should be experiencing life!

"You wanna dance?"

His voice is low and husky in your ear. You start, surprised to see Joel inches from your face. You know he's speaking so close to you because it's so loud in here, but it doesn't stop your pulse from ticking at the shock.

"Don't really know how.”

"Shit reason. C'mon."

Joel throws back the rest of his drink and drags you onto the dance floor. You laugh as he spins you, both of you almost knocking into an older couple who are taking the dance very seriously. They shoot you both a nasty look and you and Joel have to work hard to muffle your laughter.

"You're gonna get us kicked out!"

"Nah," Joel shakes his head, spinning you again but closer to him. "I'm too charmin’."

"You think pretty highly of yourself don't you?"

Joel shrugs, laughing as the song ends. Another quick one begins and Joel looks serious.

"I'm gonna teach you some moves Shawn's mom taught me."

"Okay."

You're surprised, he doesn't really mention Shawn's mother very often.

You watch as Joel attempts to teach you some simple dance moves. You don't know if it's the stuffy club, the drinks running through your veins or the fact that you're dancing with your boyfriend's dad, but you can't really focus on the steps.

"I give up," you moan after the fifth failed attempt at a two-step.

"You ain't a quitter," Joel assures you, trying to spin you slowly so you can get your footing.

You never realized that Joel was such a good dancer. Watching him move his tall body is strangely hypnotizing, mainly because you never expected a man that broad and muscular to move so fluidly.

"Atta girl," he says proudly when you get some of the footing correct.

You smirk when you see the women nearby watching him, shooting him smiles. But his focus is on you, teaching you the moves and assuring you: it's alright darlin', we'll get you there just take your time.

You're having so much fun with him you barely realize that an hour has gone by and you can only tell when you realize the back of your neck is damp with sweat.

You're about to announce your heading back to the unit when the beat slows and many trickle off the dance floor. It's a slow song, and only the couples remain in the glowing dance floor.

You go to step off when you feel Joel spin you again, back into his arms. You smile breathlessly up at him, the two of you shiny from perspiration from the dancing and the warm crowded space.

Joel is looking at you strangely, his eyes luminous in the reflection of the twinkling club lights. When he slides a hand at your lower back and urges your hands around his neck you don't hesitate. You lace your fingers there, shifting from foot to foot.

You feel strange to be dancing with Joel. And not because he makes you feel uncomfortable, it's the opposite, actually. You feel almost too comfortable. Joel’s eyes are trailing over your face, sometimes highlighted by the flash of the DJ’s lights.

“You talked to Shawn about all that’s botherin’ you and this rough patch?” Joel asks out of nowhere.

He looks vulnerable; unlike the Joel you know who is all smiles and jokes.

“Kinda,” you say shyly, looking over his shoulder. “It’s just hard. . . We can both get pretty defensive. Plus, I wonder if I’m maybe being unfair. He’s in school and everything.”

“Uh huh, and you started that museum job didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty demanding job, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Joel gives you a look as he rocks you both from side to side

“Can I say somethin’ you might not wanna hear?”

You nod.

“In my experience, it takes two people to make a relationship. Not one puttin’ in all the effort while the other one has his or her head in the sand.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. The song ends and Joel releases his hands you’re your waist before he announces he has to hit the washroom. You head to the bar for a glass of water and to wait for him.

"Hi beautiful."

An Australian man around Joel's age with a moustache is leaning against the bar next to you. His eyes are bleary and red-rimmed, his cheeks ruddy. He’s obviously very drunk. You give a forced smile before going back to wait for your water.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"No thanks," you answer quickly. "Just getting water."

"How about a dance then?"

"I'm good," you say forcing a polite smile. You’re facing away from him, eyes on the bartender hoping he notices you.

"C'mon beautiful," the man insists, eyes sliding over your chest in a very obvious way. "I'm a good dancer too. Could give you lots of lessons."

"She said no."

Joel's voice is there, having clearly come back from the bathroom. You step backwards and before you know it Joel is sliding his arm protectively around you. You glance up to see Joel's face contorted into a mask of fury. His teeth are bared like some wild animal and he grips you tightly to him.

"Sorry man," The guy says holding his hands up in surrender towards Joel. "Didn't know she was taken."

Joel sneers before leading you out of the club. The cool air is a welcome reprieve when you step outside, breathing deeply.

"That place is nothin' but perverts," Joel growls as the two of you make your way back along the beach in the direction of your unit.

"Joel, you were there," you say giggling. "That make you a pervert?"

"Ha ha."

You walk quietly along the shoreline, confused as to how you can feel this good when just an hour ago it felt like everything was falling apart. Maybe it’s the drink in your veins, maybe its Hawaii, or maybe it’s just Joel.

"Watch it--"

Joel takes your hand when you stumble over a rock in the semi darkness. You let him, not dropping it even when your walking evens out. It feels nice to walk hand in hand with him, it feels safe. He doesn't let go of your hand either as you continue along, your shoes making dual footprints in the sand.

"Thanks for in there," you say. “I hate creepy guys like that.”

"Was nothin'," he says, then he drops your hand after a moment. "Shawn would have done the same."

"No, he wouldn't have."

It slips out before you can stop yourself. Joel stops in the sand, his concern there in his face. It’s clear that what you’ve said has upset him.

"What?"

"He doesn't like confrontation, you know that," you say with a shrug. "And I like that about him."

"You do?" Joel challenges. "Really?"

"Sometimes."

Honestly you’ve never enjoyed the men who start fights for no reason, who act like cavemen when someone looks at their girlfriend. Shawn is too smart for that, too above it to engage with assholes like that. But you have to admit that there was a part of you that found Joel’s actions inside the club to be a bit attractive. Is that the word? Would you really call your boyfriend’s father attractive?

You look at him standing there, his grey t-shirt clinging to his muscles and wide shoulders, the muscular thighs in denim and you think, fuck, yeah he is attractive. You knew he wasn’t ugly, you’d just never looked at him like that. Like he was a man outside of being Shawn’s dad.

"I come from a time when you take care of what's yours." Joel runs a hand through his messy curls. "If you were mine I wouldn't let anyone talk to you the way that man did, let alone touch you."

If you were mine.

You can't understand why but you're nipples tighten under your dress at those words. The possessiveness in Joel's voice is so dark and husky. He’s looking off into the dark like he’s really upset.

"If I was yours," you murmur.

His glazed eyes move from the beach over to your face. You’re standing so close to one another and you can see his chest rising and falling quickly as he breathes. His scotch-coated breath huffs over your cheeks and you swear you’re getting drunker just inhaling it.

You must be, because why else would you be putting your hands on his shoulders. Why else would you be pressing your mouth to his? Why else would you be tracing his plush lips with your tongue and whimpering when he groans into your parted mouth?

And he must be drunk because he doesn’t pull away or hesitate. He dips his head and his hands wrap around your waist, bringing your body against him tightly. His palms slide over your skin, desperate to touch you everywhere as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You welcome it, going gooey in his arms, allowing him to take what he wants from you.

He’s so fucking broad, so strong, so masculine. You gasp into his mouth when he grips your ass with his big hands, pulling your hips against his, circling them as he kisses you. You feel his hardened cock through the layers of fabric, straining against the zipper of his jeans, desperate to bury itself in your slick heat.

To be desired like this feels powerful. It feels like years since Shawn wanted you like this much. It makes you lean more into Joel, desperate to keep the sensation going. His hands are sliding under your dress, up your silken thigh and you tremble.

A splash sounds nearby in the water, a fish or something startling you both and you simultaneously break apart. You both take a step back from one another in the sand, eyes wide. Joel looks completely crazed.

“The fuck—what are we doin’?” Joel whispers, the regret clear in both your faces.

You bring your trembling hands to your warm cheeks and tears immediately spring to your waterline.

What have you just done?

“Oh my fuck, no no, I don’t – I don’t know why-“

You bend at the waist, hands braced on your knees as you start to hyperventilate. Joel is pacing up and down the sand, his silhouette barely seen in the darkness of night. You can see his feet pacing back and forth. . . back and forth . . . He stops when you let out a hiccup, on the verge of throwing up.

“Honey stop,” Joel says, a hand on your back, rubbing gently along your spine. “Calm down. Calm down, its okay.”

“I don’t know why I did that,” you say, tears streaming down your face and dropping into the sand below. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“S’not your fault,” Joel says, his voice even and calm. It makes you feel calm. And yet, guilt still bubbles up in your lungs, making a small sob escape.

“I have to—you need to—I need to tell Shawn. Right now.”

“Hold on,” Joel says roughly, gripping you by the shoulder and urging you to stand. He peers into your face with a grim expression.

“You cannot tell Shawn anythin’.”

“I have to,” you whine.

“It’ll just hurt him,” Joel insists, nodding and hoping you’ll do the same. “It was a mistake. It was nothing, it was just the booze. We just drank too much and we were all hopped up on that asshole inside the club and we weren’t thinkin’.”

“Right,” you agree, relief sliding through every vein you possess as he lays it out for you. “That’s totally what it was. The drinking. We’re drunk.”

“Completely.”

“Okay. Good.”

You’re still shaken up by what just happened, still tipsy from the drinks. Joel runs an anxious hand through his curls, looking utterly wrecked.

“Let’s go back.”

The two of you walk the rest of the way back in silence. You still cannot believe what you did. You kissed your boyfriend’s father. You kissed him and he kissed you back. Fuck, you both must be utterly wasted. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll both forget it even happened. You would welcome the hangover from hell if it could erase the last fifteen minutes from both your minds for good.

Joel tugs open the sliding glass door, not able to look at you as you both pad towards the opposing doors. You glance over your shoulder to see Joel staring at you as you enter the bedroom where his son sleeps. You give him a sorrowful smile before closing the door.

You crawl under the covers, thankful that Shawn is asleep. You slip off the dress, your hair wild from dancing, your skin sticky with sweat, and your mouth still tasting of scotch. Your cunt flutters at the memory of the noises he made.

You roll onto your side, trying to drift to sleep. Shawn, still half-slumbering snuggles up against your back. His arm slips over your waist and he holds you, as he often holds you back home, gentle and tender and full of love.

“I’m sorry about before, babe,” he murmurs into your hair.

You feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You blink rapidly, closing your eyes and trying to swallow the guilt.

You know that Joel is in his bed right now similarly afflicted, thinking about how he did something so unforgivable and to his own son. Joel is the kindest dad you know; he loves his son more than anything. You know that what you both just did was awful and disgusting.

You also know that there is something deeply wrong with you because as you lay there in Shawn’s arms your pussy floods with memories of his father’s mouth on yours still vivid in your mind.

do you guys want more of this? or should it be a one-shot? also trying a new aesthetic what do we tthink?

#pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #joel x reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel x oc #joel the last of us #tlou joel #joel miller x original character #au joel miller #bdf!joel #but the dbf stands for boyfriend's dad #joel miller x you

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fayes-fics · 9 months ago

Text

Friends & Family

Friends + Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Anthony has a very important question to ask, but the universe appears to be conspiring against him. Threequel. Set a year after the first fic in this series

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Public sexual acts, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, woman on top, back-to-back orgasm. Also, on a non-sexual front, all sorts of emotions and thwarted proposals.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: This is VERY, VERY belated request fill for the divine @colettebronte. She has had the patience of a saint as I have grappled with this request for many months. I hope this is worth the wait, but to be honest, after this delay, I'm not sure anything could be. Thank you to @sorryallonsy for betaing. Please enjoy <3

“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, what is this??”

There is an undignified yelp, and a spatula drops to the floor with a loud splat. Apparently, he didn't hear you come in.

“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me… And what is the full-name business all about?” he exclaims, spinning around, holding his hands aloft as if in a hostage situation. The sight is made even funnier by the fact he is wearing one of your novelty aprons, complete with floppy bunny ears.

You have walked in from afternoon coffee with old friends to find your kitchen in absolute disarray. Pots, pats on every surface, opened containers, the contents of your spice cupboard all pulled out and haphazardly dotted around. There is a large pile of reusable shopping bags with half-open veggies in and what looks like a sourdough loaf cut open and likely going stale next to the complete wrong knife for the job at hand. There is almost no worktop surface that is left unused or covered in some sticky-looking residue from god knows what.

“I said yes to you making dinner while I was out; I did not say you could conduct some kind of controlled explosion in my kitchen,” holding your hands up in exasperated resignation.

Frankly, it’s a mystery why he offered to make dinner in the first place; you have never seen the man so much as boil an egg in all the years you have known him. And certainly not in the twelve months you have loved him. His idea of cooking is usually stopping at Whole Foods to pick up a hot rotisserie chicken.

He walks towards you with that adorable puppy dog expression, his perennial get-out-of-jail-free card. You pick a fleck of what you think is broccoli from his hair as he reaches you.

“Points for effort?” he pouts, a tiny smile toying with the corners of his mouth, seeking forgiveness. You let him pull you into his arms and kiss your cheek. “Do you still love me?” he teases, pulling back to shoot you that perfect-toothed charming grin.

“I’ll love you even more if you tidy all this up,” you counter, raising an eyebrow as he chuckles. “Although I’m intrigued. You have never once made dinner since we’ve been dating; why now?”

“Well, I wanted to do something special…” he says pointedly, pulling away to switch off the hob when there is a slight burning smell in the air.

“What’s so special about today?” You frown.

“Really?” He spins around to look at you, a slight pout as you wrack your brains. “What happened on this date one year ago?”

Ohhh…

You feel bad you had completely not realised it. Exactly one year ago to this day, you got together after many years of combative flirting. Heart melting in your ribcage as you suddenly realise this is him attempting to cook an anniversary dinner for you.

“You secret romantic, you,” you murmur, contrition and affection burning inside as you can't help but seek his touch.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he jests as he pulls you into his arms again and kisses your temple. “I have a reputation to uphold….”

“Of course…” you giggle, resting your head on his shoulders as you sway together in the bombsite that was your kitchen. “And here was me thinking you would do something far more risqué…”

“Such as..?” he prompts, intrigued by where your thoughts have gone.

“Oh, I don't know….” you run your fingers into his lush hair, pressing into him. “Maybe take me back to that same penthouse your friend owns. Maybe make it to that overpriced sofa this time…” his eyes flash dark and dangerous, licking his lips, and you feel compelled to continue, “Maybe even that enormous bed. And the balcony….”

He groans gently as his mind no doubt fills with the same images as yours. “Fuckkkkkkk….” he rues, “I should have done that. I’m definitely no Gordon Ramsey….”

You laugh and run your hands up his biceps. “Maybe not. But I do have a suggestion…” you offer, dropping your voice a little smokier.

“Tell me…” Anthony rumbles, nudging your cheek until your lips brush, fingers digging into your flesh where he holds you.

“Let's work up an appetite and then order from our usual. Tidying up can wait…” you whisper, mouth ghosting over his, fingers opening the top button of his shirt and toying with the patch of chest hair.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

You squeal gently as he picks you up and strides towards your bedroom. The little navy velvet box burning a hole in his suit jacket pocket can wait for another day. Perhaps.

—

During a boring editorial meeting the following morning, your phone buzzes in your lap.

AB: Can you be at mine at 7pm tonight?

Y/N: Yes… but why?

AB: All will be revealed 😉

AB: Come hungry for delicious protein

Y/N: Filthy. I like it. 😉😛

AB: OMG NO! Not THAT. Bloody hell…

Y/N: Shame…

AB: Well, okay, maybe a bit of that. Afterwards. 😉

Y/N: *victory dance* 💃

AB: I love you, you filthy animal 😛😘

—

You walk into Anthony’s kitchen at precisely 7pm that evening to find some very posh-looking man in a bowtie pouring some wine into the good glasses. The ones you are too scared to use.

“What is all this?” Your curiosity piqued.

“Cooking was a disaster, so this is recompense,” Anthony greets you with a hug and a brief kiss on the lips.

He looks handsome in his usual crisp shirt, undone just enough at the chest to be distracting, and custom-tailored trousers that cling to him just right. It takes some effort to tear your eyes away from him, but when you do, you now see a smorgasbord of cheese on his expansive, pristine white marble kitchen island, with fruit, crackers and all manner of chutneys.

“Oooh, lovely. Fancy cheese and wine night?” you guess.

“Indeed,” he replies warmly. “Baxter here is a world-renowned expert on such things. He will be taking us on a cheese world tour paired with the very best wines.”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you,” you nod to the man, then crowd into Anthony again. “The anniversary of our first proper date?” you guess, kissing his jaw, enjoying the slight rasp of stubble there.

“The lady is learning…” he ribs genially, taking your hand and pulling you along to take a seat on one of the stools.

Baxter speaks engagingly and knowledgeable, and admittedly, every cheese and wine pairing is exquisite. Just a bite from each, but after 10 countries, you are a little tipsy, leaning into Anthony and shooting him goofy smiles, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheekily grabbing his thigh where the fabric pulls taut right over his quad muscle so temptingly. You want to climb into his lap and wrap around him.

After an hour, the man politely takes his leave, mentioning he has left some more “adventurous” choices in sealed boxes in the fridge.

“What does adventurous cheese mean?” you tipsily ponder after the man has left. “Do you think it's abseiled down a mountain?”

Anthony laughs accommodatingly at your goofiness, taking your hand and leading you outside onto the balcony. “I assume strong-flavoured maybe. But I’m quite sure it's all bravado,” he assures.

You lean on the railing, looking down upon the Thames below, all of London seeming reflected in its inky depths, a thousand lights twinkling in its choppy waves, like a sea of stars beneath you.

“I could never tire of this view,” you declare wistfully, a warmth behind your ribs as he crowds into your back, placing a light blanket around your shoulders.

“It is yours to enjoy for as long as it is mine,” he breathes into your hair, kissing your temple and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sway together gently in the breeze, your hands over his, pushing back into his warm body.

“I love you,” you say quietly, turning to nuzzle his cheek.

“I love you too,” he responds immediately, “and I have for so long now; it feels wrong when you are not with me,” his tone ardent, gentle. “Wait here….” he whispers, a waver in his voice that makes you pause.

You wait patiently as he slips back inside, the breeze dancing through your hair as you inhale deeply and soak in the city. Although you are high above street level, the sounds are still there, like a background hum. It’s as energising as the country air at his rural ancestral home in Kent, just in a different way—so vibrant and teeming with life.

Anthony seems to be gone for a while, so out of intrigue, you wander inside to the fridge, grab one of the containers Baxter left and take it back onto the balcony before he reappears. When you peel it open, you are taken aback by the smell. It's very pungent, even out in the open air.

“There is an important question I wa…” Anthony freezes mid-sentence. “Dear god, what is that smell?” he exclaims, his face scrunching violently.

“Oh, I think it's the cheese Baxter left.”

You swing the container around so it's right under his nose and watch him go white as a sheet and then double over to one side, dry heaving.

“That's disgusting!” He gags, quickly putting something small from his hand into his trouser pocket as he coughs roughly, almost bent double.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” you frown, bringing the container back to your own nose, closer than you had it before.

Then, a wave of nausea hits you, too. It smells of decay and bad feet and turns your stomach so violently that you have to grab the balcony railing to stop yourself from stumbling.

“Fuck that's terrible,” you stutter, trying hard to keep down the rich wines and cheeses you have already consumed.

“Throw it!” Anthony blurts, somewhat frantic.

“Where?” you panic, holding it away at arm's length, desperate to stay upwind of it.

“Off the fucking balcony! Fling it in the Thames! I can't even have that shit in my bins….” he yelps before another wretch doubles him over again.

Gripping the container, you fling the contents as hard as you can, watching the blob of cheese sail downwards in an arc for twelve storeys, hitting the river below with a distant but satisfying plop. You both stand there wheezing and gasping as you reseal the container immediately, fearful of any residual scent.

“Dear god, am I going to inadvertently ruin every one of these special evenings?” he grumbles under his breath, sounding more like a rhetorical question than anything.

You have no idea what he could mean, but you don’t have the capacity to ask - you have to run to the cloakroom as the mere olfactory flashback makes you nauseated.

When you reemerge ten minutes later, full of regret and needing toothpaste, you find him in his en suite bathroom in a similar fragile state. You both crawl into his bed feeling delicate, curling up foetal and holding hands across the expanse of the bed, him muttering apologies.

—

III

The following week, Anthony takes you back to the same restaurant where you had your second date, one year to the day later. Seeing the pattern in advance, you wear the beautiful little black dress he bought you recently. And you are pleased to make him temporarily tongue-tied when you slip off your coat to reveal it, whispering coquettishly in his ear that you are happy to skip dinner and return to his.

“Oh, we will,” he rumbles, a promissory note that lights a fire low in your belly.

After perusing the menu, you decide to order the same dish you had last time. You are certain everything is terrific, but you remember it being so delicious it had you making noises only Anthony usually can. Also, you are hoping for a complete repeat of the same night from a year ago. Memorably, it was the first time he managed to give you three orgasms in one night—you are very keen to repeat that.

But rather strangely, Anthony’s energy seems slightly off, almost nervous. You can only assume it's apprehension that this night does not go as the previous two attempts at anniversary celebrations have.

While you are sharing a delicious starter, a familiar face over the room at the bar catches your eye.

“Is that Benedict?” you frown, causing Anthony to twist in your booth and look.

“Probably,” he sighs.

You are nonplussed by his reaction, so you take it upon yourself to wave to him, to Anthony’s seeming chagrin.

When Benedict wanders over, you notice his shoulders are hunched, a shuffled gait. Not the usual mister sunshine he is.

“Hey Ben, everything okay?” you check as he pulls up nearby, hovering a little.

“I got dumped,” he exhales. “So I’m drowning my sorrows,” he explains, holding his whiskey tumbler aloft in a rueful toast.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you grimace, knowing he has been more unlucky in love than not, which seems a shame; he’s a sweet, good-looking man but often gets used, attracted to people who take advantage of his giving nature.

“Anyway, I don’t want to interrupt your dinner…” he placates modestly, glancing at his older brother, who seems to be brooding.

“Don't be silly, you can join us,” you beckon him into the booth.

“No, he can’t,” Anthony interjects.

You frown at him. “Why not? It’s just dinner,” you dispute.

“No, it’s not; it’s our anniversary,” Anthony argues before turning to Benedict. “Brother, I love you and all, but would you kindly fuck off?” Anthony grouses, gritting his teeth.

“Anthony!” You admonish. “Don’t be a dick!” You roll your eyes. “Ignore your grouchy brother, Ben; of course, you can join us,” you offer again, seeing the hesitancy but also the sadness tugging at the corner of his eyes that means you are worried about leaving him alone.

He acquiesces, and as he wanders across to the bar to grab his jacket and join you, you scowl at Anthony. “He’s just been dumped. You could be nicer,”

“I could… just not tonight,” he says, almost harangued.

You decide not to dwell on why he seems unduly hung up on this evening’s plans, being so particular, watching him seem to fiddle with an item in his jacket pocket, then look askance across the restaurant, defeated.

“Anthony, are you okay?” You check quietly as Benedict walks back over.

“Yeah, I just….” He sighs and finally meets your eye squarely with a tinge of sadness. “I had other plans for us tonight. Not babysitting…”

At one point during the main course, Benedict excuses himself to the bathroom. Anthony has been mostly monosyllabic, almost sulking, and you feel guilty; perhaps he did indeed have other ideas for the evening.

You shuffle around to lean into him and grab his hand, placing it high on your thigh under the table, the message unmistakable.

“We can still have our plans for later…” you whisper hotly into his ear.

He seems to perk up immediately, his hand grasping your flesh in a way that catches your breath. “You always know what to say to make me feel better…” he murmurs, at once playful and reverent.

“Touch me…” you whisper, the need for him an instant, tart taste in your mouth.

“Here, in the restaurant? With my brother coming back to join us any moment?” His tone is incredulous but unmistakably aroused.

“Yes…” you hiss, pushing his hand up higher to the junction of your thighs where you burn molten for him always.

He growls when he realises you have made another style choice, this one scandalous—no underwear.

“I’ll do more than that, you wonderful minx,” he huffs, pulling your thigh over his lap under the tablecloth. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy and presses his thumb over your clit. You gasp and grip the table hard, just as Benedict reappears.

It certainly does wonders for Anthony’s disposition, like he is a different man now. Chatting amiably to his brother as you subtly try not to look flustered, dripping silently into his palm as he holds still.

“Whatever you did to put this one in a better mood, thank you,” Benedict jests at one point.

“I just had to give the old grouch a hug and his favourite toy to keep him entertained,” you joke back, him not realising exactly how true that is. Anthony’s fingers flex deep inside you at your cheeky riposte, and you can feel his smirk as you have to cough to hide your moan.

“Well, thank you,” Benedict smiles, “you bring things out in my brother I never thought I would see. So whatever magic trick you are pulling, keep doing it.”

Anthony’s fingers curl hard against your g spot, and you have to laugh loudly to not scream.

“She’s the very best brother,” Anthony replies, lips brushing your temple as he flicks his thumb teasingly over your clit. “I hope one day you find someone as special as she is,” he offers, his first sympathetic noise to his brother of the evening.

“I should be so lucky,” Benedict adds quietly, tone pensive, glancing at his phone as it lights up by his elbow.

Anthony withdraws from your pussy; you whimper mutely, feeling bereft but also relieved, not sure you can act any longer. You watch as he brings those fingers up to his mouth and sucks them decadently as Benedict is distracted by his phone.

“Thank you for dessert, my love,” he thrums into your ear, “and the show,” he adds cheekily, your clit and pussy clenching, denied, so very aroused.

“Take me home right now, Anthony!” Your order is through gritted teeth, quiet but brokering no argument.

And he does.

—

A tide of relief hits you as the door to his sleek penthouse clicks softly open; tossing aside your umbrella and slipping off your shoes in the fancy hallway. It's been a taxing work day; all you can think about is climbing into the shower, then curling up and watching something mindless until Anthony gets home.

“Y/n…”

An enticing but distant call in that familiar voice.

“Anthony?” you respond, puzzled. “I thought you would be out late tonight?” you add, wandering forward, trying to find the source.

“Change of plan….”

You cross the open-plan lounge area with its floor-to-ceiling view across the rooftops of London. It's been more than a year of dating, and still, you aren't entirely used to the sheer scale of his place compared to yours. It feels like it takes ages to get across just his living room.

“Where are you?” you frown, hands on hips. It sounds like he's likely in the bedroom.

“Follow the sound of my voice,” he entices, and yep, it's definitely from that direction.

However, when you wander in, the room is empty, the early evening sun blazing onto the soft, luxurious white duvet on his vast bed.

“Getting warmer,” he offers, quieter now, and you recognise his voice has an echo. He can only be in his en-suite bathroom.

You round the corner into that tastefully masculine room - all slate and birch - to be greeted by a sight that makes your lungs feel too tight.

There, in his sizeable sunken whirlpool tub, is one Anthony Bridgerton. Very naked and very wet. Standing so that the bubbling waterline hugs his hips—acres of toned torso, water droplets meandering down the washboard of his stomach and glistening in the thatch of hair across his chest. You bite your lips without even realising it, shifting your stance as you feel a ripple of excitement over your skin.

“Hello, Ms y/l/n,” he preens, knowing exactly how much the sight before you makes you tongue-tied and aroused.

“Hello…” you stutter back, eyes still feasting. “What is the CEO of Bridgerton Enterprises doing taking a bath at….” you glance down to check your watch, “... 5:25 pm on a Thursday?”

“It's a special occasion…” he smirks, wading towards the edge of the tub closest to you. “I thought a bath would be nice.”

You can't seem to look away from the wake of waves cresting his Adonis belt as he does so. The sight of something delicious just below the surface is almost hypnotic.

“My eyes are up here, you know,” he mocks gently, tongue literally in cheek, as you cut your gaze to his triumphant face.

“Wh… what special occasion?” you manage to stumble out.

“Surely you recall what happened on this night exactly twelve months ago?”

When you look nonplussed - frankly, you can barely remember your own name right now - he mock sighs.

“I surprised you on my way back from the airport?” he prompts.

“Oh!” you suddenly cotton on, “it's been a year since we exchanged keys!”

He nods, and a fetching beam breaks out across his face. “Ahhh, the lady remembereth,” he winks.

“So this is how you’re celebrating?” your eyes again drag covetously down his body.

“No, this is how WE are celebrating…” he corrects and gestures towards a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket at one corner of the tub, along with two long-stemmed flutes.

You can't help but match his grin now. “Well, I can’t find fault with that idea,” you admit, taking a step closer until you are at the edge of the tub surround.

“Hmm, I thought not,” he says silkily, closing the gap between you.

Grabbing the back of your neck with a firm hand, he draws you down into a deep, sensual kiss. His mouth claims yours. You shiver as warm water trickles down inside your top from the hand in your hair. He crowds into you, soaking your clothing with the press of his body as you kneel on the sunken tub surround.

“Oh no, this is all wet,” he feigns, tugging lightly at your sleeve, “you will just have to take it off.”

“Hmmm. I rather think that is your doing. How about you take it off?” you challenge, the banter between you never seeming to get old.

“Maybe I’ll just pull you into the water fully clothed?” he posits, raising an eyebrow.

You laugh and take a step back, revelling in his undivided attention as you strip for him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression hungry; the only sounds are his panted breath and the bubbles roiling in the tub. You are down to your underwear, a new matching lacy set, as if you knew, on some subconscious level, it was a special occasion, when he lunges forward and makes you squeal as he effortlessly picks you up and hauls you into the huge tub with him. The warm, effervescent water is a balm and tonic, making your skin tingle.

“What is the point of celebrating anything if it’s not an excuse to get naked?” he offers silkily, cupping your jaw with both palms, his wet thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones, then his lips are back, plundering, seeking, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands roam your skin, arranging so you are straddling his lap, his cock a solid press against your inner thigh.

This is indeed how you always want to celebrate every milestone of your relationship—with wonderful, sensual intimacy. Anthony pulls back from the kiss, and you stare into his rich eyes, blissfully tracing the lines of his face with fingertips as he easily unhooks your bra and pulls it gently over the rounds of your shoulders. This close-up and soaked, his face is all sharp contours and smooth, lightly tanned skin.

“You are too handsome,” your internal monologue spilling out with a light mewl as his thumbs brush your nipples.

“I love you too,” he chuckles drolly to make a point.

“Oh yes, that too,” you append with a playful pout. Then, a more sincere “I love you.”

“Wonderful to hear,” he rumbles into your ear as his hands slide underwater to tug down your underwear.

He pulls you deeper into his lap, your thighs pushed wide around his slender hips. His rigid cock nudges your slit promisingly, and you wait with bated breath for his much-wanted invasion. But he pauses, and you feel the curl of his smile against your cheekbone.

“Champagne?” he teases, holding still.

“Now?!” you splutter. “How about you get inside me first?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” he answers, wry and laconic.

Any witty riposte you may have dies on your lips as he surges into your body, knowing you need no warm-up, ready for him the minute you rounded the corner of the room.

“Happy key day,” he murmurs as your eyes flutter closed and you moan loudly, him nudging that spot that makes you so addicted to him.

“Happy key day,” your response is a ragged exhale as you adjust to his deep invasion.

Every time it still feels like the first, like it's just too good, and you just want to cling to him and be fucked into oblivion or fuck him into oblivion. A potent, heavy feeling inside that makes you crackle with energy and feel sated at the same time.

“Fuck me, Anthony,” you sigh into his wet hair, pushing closer into his embrace, voicing your exact desires.

“With pleasure.”

You squeak as his hands grasp tight around your waist and haul you up until just his tip is still inside you, then slams you back down, a curse falling from your lips as he does. His handling is slightly rough in a way that feels perfect, his teeth glancing your earlobe before he sucks it into his mouth and bites lightly.

Then it's a wondrous carnal dance, your joint noises echoing up the slate tiles as you fuck wantonly. Taking over at one point and gripping the edge of the oversized tub, you ride him for all your worth, chasing that feeling only he, his cock, has ever given you. So addictive ever since that very first night.

“I only ever want to fuck you, always…” the words tumbling from your lips unbidden, no filter between your thoughts and mouth as you spiral higher.

Even in the full throes of passion, his expression softens as you confess it.

“Forever?” something vulnerable in his panted tone as you rise and fall upon him.

“Forever, Anthony Bridgerton,” you vow, sensing his need to hear it, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders, pressing all of your being into him, wanting your bodies to be forged together somehow.

His thumb slips between your legs, and you cry out as he snags your clit perfectly, eyes rolling, feeling like a live wire.

“I need to feel it; please give it to me,” he implores desperately, thumb flicking almost violently over your engorged pearl.

It doesn't take much more, and you are fracturing around him. Crying his name, fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his shoulders as you reach that high, unable to stop slamming upon him as you flutter, your whole body spasming in pleasure but unwilling to stop. Him roaring his approval as you squeeze his cock tight, rippling around him.

“Please don't come,” you plead to him, “I need more, Anthony, more,” a wrecked sob, wanting to orgasm again. He snarls, his teeth on your cheekbone, his grip tightening around your hips, staving off his orgasm as best he can.

You grab his face and babble nonsense, saying you need his cock forever, strung out on the edge, almost a mania in your being, needing everything he can give. He pants harshly into your open-mouthed, sloppy kisses as you keep riding wound so tight like a coiled spring, wanting to be speared open by him always.

“Marry me!” he cries as you both reach that peak together, an explosion in both of your beings, feeling him come inside you harsh and deep, moaning your name like a prayer.

You collapse upon him, the bubbles of the jetted tub tickle your skin as you heave breaths, wracked and sated to your very core. A high like you have never known.

“Did you just…. propose?” you stutter as your brain comes back online, his cock still buried inside you.

“Shit…” he laments. “That was NOT how it was supposed to go! I had it all planned out!” he decries, burying his face into your shoulder where you still sit upon him.

“Anthony….” there are no other words, shock tying your tongue.

He pulls back and looks contrite. “Please allow me a do-over?” his face so beseeching.

Raw emotion and victory crest hard in your veins, and you can't help but banter with him - as you always have, as you always will, until death do you part now.

“No, Viscount Bridgerton,” you rag, holding his face, “No do-overs. You will just have to live with the fact you proposed to me as we came together….”

His face is a jumble of warring emotions as you realise you have kept him on tenterhooks about your answer.

“…And you will just have to accept that I said yes with you still inside me,” you add silkily.

A handsome grin claims his whole face, relief and devotion coursing through him. “We can’t tell anyone,” he whispers as you resurface from another kiss.

“Our little secret,” you smile back as he finally slips from your body.

—

“You know I might be the first-ever Viscountess with a garden flat in Zone 3,” you chuckle, sitting in matching fluffy robes on his balcony, the sky a riot of colour as the sun sets.

A few minutes before, he had gotten down on one knee and produced a little velvet box. You squealed and said yes again, watching transfixed as he pushed a flawless, elegant three-carat diamond onto your finger.

Anthony frowns deeply. “Err, no. You are moving in here with me,” he asserts loftily.

“I’m not selling my place!”

“You can rent it out!” he waves dismissively.

“Urgh, tenants. Hassle.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay, fine, then we can just use it to store all of my stuff you hate, alright?” he counters, catching your gaze with a fiery challenge. Your insides ablaze that your trademark flirtatious antagonism will always be there, even once you are married.

“Oh, Viscount Bridgerton, you have a deal…” you whisper coquettish and swing off of your lounger onto his, straddling him and sealing the pact with a kiss.

“I’m just so glad I could finally make it happen.”

You flip around and settle between his legs, your spine on his chest, lacing your hands together over your robe. “What do you mean?”

He barks a laugh you feel echo into your back. “So this is not the first time I have tried to propose to you. Remember that disastrous cooking? Attempt 1. Cheese night when we almost died? Attempt 2. Benedict interruptus? Attempt 3.” He holds up a hand before you, counting each on his fingers. “I almost gave up.”

You laugh and realise with hindsight how he seemed off kilter on those occasions, a soft ache behind your ribs in empathy. “I’m so glad you didn’t. Give up, that is,” you murmur, running your fingers over his lovingly once he lowers his hand back to your belly.

“I jest; I would never give up trying to make you my wife,” he pledges solemnly into your hair, kissing the shell of your ear. “And I hope you will never give up on me, as terrible of a husband as I will likely be….” he demures.

“I can do that, old friend…” you tease, a callback to that first night you got together.

“Less of the old,” he chides, immediately picking up your invitation, an exact repeat of your words to each other that first night you got together, heart melting as you realise he remembers the conversation word for word, too.

“I've known you my whole life, Anthony,” you continue, that conversation etched into your brain, turning back over in his arms. “You can't lie to me…”

“I never will,” he goes offscript, and you exchange laden looks. Then, a dangerous smirk takes over his face as he leans closer. “But you can handcuff me to our bed anytime,” he adds, a nod to the joke you made that night.

“You wish, you lucky fuck,” you respond, aping his line.

He grins widely and pulls back, handing you a champagne flute from the nearby lounger table.

“From old friends to new family…” he toasts, sincere and ardent, clinking his glass softly against yours.

“Friends and family…” you smile, your diamond ring afire in the setting sun, as you take a sip and pull him in for a blistering kiss.

Anthony taglist pt 1: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @Huffelpuffforlife @0x1harmonia0x1 @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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baelabong · 4 months ago

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ꜱᴀᴀɴ? (ᴡᴏɴʏᴏᴜɴɢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

rq: yessiree @geeminz

pairing: ump (international student)wonyoung x La Salle fem!reader

Plot: y/n being hotheaded after school. Almost screams her head off at some poor girl. Thank goodness Wonyoung’s beautiful face calmed the crazy girl

Note: ik this isnt that good or well written but i couldnt think of a cute interaction 💔💔

It was just another hectic afternoon along Taft Avenue, where the relentless Manila heat made everything feel ten times more chaotic. The sidewalk was a river of students—some in the distinct green and white of De La Salle University, others in the maroon of UP Manila—rushing to their next classes, ducking into nearby coffee shops, or hailing jeepneys.

You—Y/N, a third-year student at La Salle—were trying to navigate through the throng with your arms full of books. The weight of your bag was digging into your shoulder, and the sweat was starting to form at your temples. The last thing you needed was another reason to be late for class.

As you weaved through the crowd, someone brushed past you with just enough force to make you lose your balance. The collision sent your books tumbling to the ground, and you felt a spark of irritation flare up inside you. You turned around, ready to go off on whoever it was that had caused this mess, fully expecting to see some careless brat who couldn’t be bothered to watch where they were going.

But before you could unleash your frustration, you found yourself looking at a girl around your age, with a UPM lanyard around her neck and a concerned expression on her face. She immediately bent down to help gather your scattered books, her movements quick and efficient.

“I’m so sorry!” she said, her voice laced with genuine worry. The sound of her voice stopped you in your tracks—it was soft and sweet, the kind of voice that could melt even the hardest heart. Any anger you felt immediately began to dissipate as you watched her carefully stack your books.

You took a deep breath, trying to suppress the last remnants of your irritation as you knelt down to help her. “It’s… it’s okay. I wasn’t really paying attention either,” you said, though you knew that wasn’t entirely true. The truth was, you were caught off guard by her unexpected kindness, and it left you feeling disarmed.

Once the books were gathered, she stood up and handed them back to you, her smile gentle and sincere. “I’m really sorry about that. I should’ve been more careful.”

For a moment, you just stared at her, trying to reconcile the image you had in your head—the bratty student you’d been ready to snap at—with the sweet, apologetic girl standing in front of you. You were about to brush it off, when you realized she was waiting for you to say something.

“Uh, thanks,” you mumbled, still trying to process the sudden shift in your mood. “It’s no big deal, really.”

She smiled again, this time a bit more relaxed, and held out her hand. “I’m Wonyoung, by the way. I’m sorry we had to meet like this.”

You shook her hand, feeling that same strange spark you’d felt earlier. “Y/N,” you replied. “And yeah, it’s… not the best first impression, I guess.”

Wonyoung chuckled, a light sound that made you feel strangely at ease. “Well, at least it’s memorable, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Yeah, I suppose so. Are you heading to class too?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, glancing at her watch. “I have a class over at PGH, but I’m running a bit late, as usual.”

“PGH? So you’re a med student?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Something like that,” she said with a small smile, but then her expression shifted slightly as if she remembered something but not before you said“Wonyoung… that’s an unusual name. Are you an international student?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t often that people asked about her name so directly. “Yeah, I am. I’ve been here for a while, though. My parents moved here for work when I was younger, so I guess you could say I’m a local now.”

“That’s cool,” you said, and she could see the genuine interest in your eyes. “It’s always nice to meet people from different backgrounds. Makes this city feel a bit smaller, you know?”

She nodded, feeling a strange warmth in her chest. There was something about Wonyoung that made you feel at ease, like you could talk to her for hours without running out of things to say. But as the pedestrian light turned green and the crowd began to move, you realized you couldn’t stand there chatting all day.

As you both started walking, you found yourselves naturally falling into step with each other, the conversation flowing as easily as if you’d known each other for years. You talked about everything—school, the challenges of being a student in Manila, even the best places to eat around Taft.

When you finally reached the intersection where your paths would diverge, Wonyoung hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Hey, I know this might be random, but would you want to grab a coffee sometime? I mean, if you’re not too busy with school and all.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, surprised by the invitation but also excited by the possibility. “I’d like that,” you replied, your smile widening. “I’m usually at the café near DLSU after classes. Maybe we could meet there?”

“Sounds perfect,” Wonyoung said, her own smile brightening. “I’ll see you then, Y/N.”

With a final wave, Wonyoung headed off towards PGH, while you continued on your way to class, a spring in your step and a smile on your face.

#fem reader #reader insert #kpop #kpop girls #ive moodboard #ive wonyoung #ive icons #ive #wonyoung #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung x you #wonyoung x fem reader #ive x reader #ive x you #ive x fem reader #gxg #gxg imagine #gxg fluff

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 1 year ago

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$$$ Venus In The House: Divine Feminine Qualities & It's Natural Flow State - $$$

Venusian energy is the divinity we need to evolve in our sensuality, our grace, and our goddess frequency. I would like to express my feelings on the beautiful energy that is Venus, and how she highlights our beauty in miraculous ways. Wether shes in the first, the 6th, or the 12th, your divine sensuality can be a force once you recognize where it prospers and truly forms itself. Here are my thoughts on each of the houses and how you can absorb the magic that is Venus herself.

Venus in the First: Your persona, your aura, and your walk is the most important when strengthening your venus. You should be able to look in the mirror and feel truly yourself, of course we have some bad days, however your magic comes in handy when you use those bad days to make your presence known. Bad bitches never allow you to see them at their worst, and you shouldn't either. Allow your sweetness, your charm, and your grace to alam the senses of others to move mountains for you. That is your gift.

Venus in the Second: Your materials come first, not second. This is where you feel the most comfort. Your style, your bed, your pretty vases on that new table you just bought shows us your aesthetic. Your persona is covered in your space. You don't feel your best when you're not spending money. In fact, the more you embrace this desire for it in your life, the more it can come to you. Don't feel scared to let people know what you need from them, your giving qualities is one of your gifts, but it can bring difficulties dealing with some fleas. Be careful who you let in to your world, most can never enter the kingdom unless you let them.

Venus in the Third: Life isn't worth living if you cant express it through your words. Your essence is felt through your love of writing, the way you learn things, trying something new and exploring the little things. The divine feminine in you needs to see the world as one big photograph with you taking the photo. You see the prettiest versions of yourself through the way you move on to different horizons. Whether its a new city or a new coffee shop you're appreciation for what life brings you strengthens your bond with the universe and so much more.

Venus in the Fourth: Your divine feminine traits show in your passionate yet nurturing qualities. Home and family is where you deeply connect to yourself and your roots. The internal self shows us that beauty is so much more when you just realize the importance of who we truly are. Yes, the 4th house is about family but it is so much more than that. Your drive and imagination is a gift sent from your bloodline and you use it to create a home that is both magical and sensual. The divine femininity in you deserves to be treated well so boundaries around friends, family and people who are dear to you is a necessity. They must fill you up in some way in order to be filled with your grace. After all your magic blesses them. Be more open to escaping in a world that is located inside of you. Most people would desire to see this side of you but won't have the capacity to even engulf every bit of sweetness you carry in your temple. As this is the fourth house, the moons natural house, your emotions are in need for an outlet. Don't be afraid to express how you feel about something. This is how you get to master them, as it is connected to your feminine qualities.

Venus in the Fifth: The artist. The Actor. The Charmer. You enjoy a life of leisure and need it more than anyone else. Your romance life is in your hands, as you typically have the right to call the shots since you are the moment. You are literal royalty and you have to behave in a way that shows regal qualities because people respect that about you. Superstar energy is prominent here as this is a leo house, so you do have to be more boastful about yourself than most. Creative energy is constantly flowing and needs an outlet. This is your super power. Be more kind to yourself because your more prone to get depressed if you are not using your light in its full form. Your divine feminity expresses itself in your favorite hobbies, the way you look, and the way you appreciate art. In dating, you get the best of the best when you keep your standards high. In the movies, you'd be the person that everyone wants. Thats how life could be if you just allow the flow of venusian energy to move through you.

Venus in the Sixth : Your divinity comes out through balancing the mind. Creating a routine and having something going for yourself keeps you in focus on what you need and your desires can come through more effortlessly. You guys are natural students, but you are also teachers as well. Do not shy away from this gift because we need you. You attract people with your mind and intellect, and you must have boundaries on who you give certain knowledge too. You should also be okay with holding space for yourself in the work space because your health is prone to go through imbalances if the work environment is not for you. The way you care for yourself heightens your sensuality. Need new clothes? get em? new glasses and contacts? need to fix your teeth? some health problems? get it done. your health determines how much your sensual energy is. Pick your environment wisely, choose a good routine with affirmations that'll do it.

Venus in the Seventh: Charmer charmer charmer. You babes honestly get to choose some really good partners. Your gift is in the way you see yourself. This is the mirror house. Where people merely express the internal reality of the self. How you see yourself is what you get from others. However some people just cant help themselves, they don't know what to do with it when your vibe walks in the room. They cant handle it. Your divine feminity grows stronger when you see yourself as beautiful. It can only go up from there. You have to know yourself better than anyone. This could be a challenge because it may not 'feel' like this sweet gorgeous energy is yours but it is babe. Also, you have the gift of making people feel more about themselves when your near em. Just you flirting with someone can make anyone's day. And you being in the room just makes the energy feel better. You shift the room with your grace, sensuality and ethereal qualities. Use it. It might opens some doors for you to get that ideal love ;)

Venus in the Eighth House: Tremendous energy and power with this placement. Your gift is in shaking the table with your magic. Your ethereal qualities shine a lot on all our darkness. The mysteries you seek bring us to our knees. You can see the world in us but we cannot see it in you, that's why we love you so much. We just have to beg for it, because who doesn't want an empress telling them what they want to hear? Literally a goddess of fantasy. You mastered this in a past life, did u? ;) Your mystique is what we love about you and if everyone knew too much about you it would be deadly. The world wants to have you but they gotta charge for it babe, don't hesitate giving them a little but making them pay more. They dont mind ;)

Venus in the Ninth House: The beautiful philosopher. Your energy is so magnetic here. A lust for life and to grow in knowledge is what brings you to God. The divine feminine in you shows in ways that the mind could not fathom. You were created to be the muse that made Aristotle write his most profound work. Your light shines when your more intune with your beliefs and how you view society, life, and the journey ahead. Also luck favors you, when you express your divinity here in this house, you can achieve a lot of favor by just embracing what you feel about your ideas. You could also attract lovers from all walks of life and they'll proceed to win your hearts because your aura isn't just the only thing that caught their attention. Its your mind. Be more cautious when you're on road trips or going on voyages in the water. Your prone to accidents with this placement (just be careful). Don't be afraid to share your viewpoints with people because it helps us flow into new perspective with our own minds.

Venus in the Tenth House : A grand placement. Divine feminine energy flows better in this house. It's the house of being in the spotlight which venus clearly loves. Remember you are deserving of being seen and known for your beauty, your gifts and what you love. You can easily be a heartthrob here and no matter what you do people will love you. Your divine feminity flows when you just let go and allow others to give you attention. It flows when you allow people to see your light. When you operate in your goddess frequency people just cant help to want more. You're ability to lead is your finest quality. They'll worship the ground you walk on if you just let them. Be kind to others and you will see the world reflect that kindness back to you. Ok ;) Muah <3

Venus in the Eleventh House: Goals. Friends. Organic Connections. Philosophy. Pioneers & Humanitarians. That's the work of an eleventh houser. Through this placement, your divine feminine flows through allowing groups and organizations to come into your life. You need satisfaction with real life and growing as a community. Being filled with a purpose is what connects you to your feminine energy. Make sure you have friends who see the beauty in you the same way you see it in yourself. Have boundaries over your aura because you're not mother theresa and if they cant see you for you versus what you do for em they need to get out ! Have connections that help you flourish and see you as the butterfly that you are.

Venus in the Twelfth House: The mystic. The Oracle. The Dreamer. The muse. The cosmic creator. This is your divine feminine. Your magic comes through your imagination and your inner-child. You are the creator of your life and this is a remarkable placement for venus. The hidden house doesn't show its mystery to people, so you attract people like bees to honey. Divine feminine qualities must be expressed through closely connecting to outside, nature & rivers could be a theme for you because it connects you to the surface and helps you lean towards mastering your gifts. 12th house is the floaty house so it'll be easy to doze off and go back to that magical house you call your brain. Your connection to the universe naturally calls you to be a healer, so not everyone can get a taste. Embracing your truth is how you move the divine feminine to work in your favor. Creative outlets like painting can be a powerful expression for your emotions, which is a stellar way to morph your energy into where and what you want it to be. You have the power to move people with your sensual grace, so don't try to tame it. This energy should be left to be free as it was made to be formless.

#venus in the houses #tropical astrology #sidereal astrology #venus in the 1st #venus in the 2nd #astrology #astrology venus #astro knowledge #venus in the 8th #venus in the 3rd #venus in the 12th #venus in the 5th #venus in the 6th #Venus in the 11th #venus astrology #venus in the 9th #venus in the 4th

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flowerygrdn · 1 year ago

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chasin' you | z. maclaren

pairing: zach maclaren x reader

warnings: fluff, fluff, and... wait what was it....oh, MORE FLUFF!!!

summary: zach seems to have taken an interest in y/n. she definitely does not believe he actually likes her. no matter how often she says "it's never gonna happen" he can't seem to give up. maybe he actually does mean what he says...

a/n: um...hi. i'm back from the dead...anyways let's get on with the story. luv ya!!!!

---

For the love of God, I just couldn't get rid of him! Why me? Out of every single girl in this university, he has to go for me?! This has to be a joke. This has to be a dare...or or a bet, yeah that's what this is. A bet. Probably by his soccer buddies.

There is just no way that Zach Maclaren keeps asking me out. This is the third time this week he's weaseled his way next to me during a lecture. His arm was around the back of my uncomfortable wooden chair and his knee kept bumping mine every so often. Fuck my life, people were also dead staring at us. The universe must hate my guts.

"So, maybe after this, I can take you to that coffee shop a few blocks away." He whispered in my ear. His nose kept brushing the side of my face and chills kept spreading throughout my body. God damn it, why is he doing this to me?

"Unlike you, I'm actually trying to learn. So get your arm off me and leave me alone!" I whisper shouted the last part at him. I also whacked his arm off of my shoulder. However, instead of getting offended, he took it as a challenge. The arm that was once wrapped around my chair moved to my lap. He leaned forward in the chair, acting like he was paying attention just so he could put his hand on the farthest part of my leg. He started rubbing circles with his thumb and I'd be lying if I said it didn't give me butterflies.

I try to the best of my abilities to pry his hand off but he would not let go.

"You know some people would consider this harassment," I whispered to him again.

"And yet, your muscles relaxed when I put my hand there." I could hear the smirk in his voice, he didn't even have to turn his head. My mind blanked for the last half of the lecture, it wasn't until Zach snapped me out of my trance that I realized it was time to leave.

"Hey, baby, time to go." He took my hand as if he were trying to help me up, but I yanked it out of his grasp.

"I can get up myself, thank you. And don't call me baby. I am not your baby!" I shove my finger in his face and start towards the door.

"No...but you could be," Unfortunately for me, he has longer legs, therefore he caught up with me really fast. His head met my shoulder and his hand went to my waist.

"God, do you ever take a vacation from being an annoying jackass?" I roll my eyes and shrug my shoulder to get him off.

"Nah, it's too fun. Hey, but maybe, you can take me out. I would be a lot less annoying if you'd shut me up. Preferably with a kiss." He spun me around, hands landing on my waist, and smirked as he leaned in just enough for me to feel his breath fan across my face. I raise my hands to his neck, which causes his smile to widen. I smile and act like I'm going to kiss him.

At the last second, I smack the side of his head and begin to walk away.

"Ow...so what, no goodbye kiss?" Once again I hear the smirk in his voice as I walk to my car.

---

Once again, I was just minding my business eating and drinking my coffee, when all of a sudden the chair beside me was pulled out and a familiar figure was seated next to me.

"Ugh, not today Maclaren. I need a break." I lay my book down and begin to rub my temples.

"Aww, why so stressed, baby? Need me to rub your shoulders? Or better yet how about an infamous "feel better kiss" He leans in and fully expects me to kiss him, however, I pick up my doughnut and shove it against his puckered lips.

"I'll pass, thank you." He grabs the doughnut and takes a bite out of it.

"You know, I guess I'll settle for your half-eaten doughnut." He says as he begins to devour the treat.

"You're crazy, you know that, right?" I say in utter shock that he won't give up.

"Crazy about you, baby." He smiles wiping his mouth.

"Damn and cheesy." I pick up my coffee and take a large sip of it before picking my book back up. I hear a metal chair drag against the ground and the next thing I know, Zach is breathing down my neck. He lays his head on my shoulder and picks my legs up to lay them across his lap. And fuck me, I don't stop him. "Why the hell didn't you stop him?" you may be asking, and to that I say...I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!!!!

"You're so pretty and you smell good. You're smart and caring. You love your friends and family unconditionally. You read Jane Austin over and over again. You're taking Criminal Justice because you believe the justice system is fucked up and you want to change that. You're probably the most perfect person I have ever met." Zach says each and every word into my neck as he rubs his thumb up and down my thigh. All the words in my book began to blur. It's funny because, at the time, I was reading "Emma" by Jane Austin.

He knew everything about me. He listed the reasons why he liked me. To top it off, he's holding me like I'm the most valuable thing in the world. Does Zach Maclaren like me? Like actually? No Bullshit?

"I like you, y/n. No bullshit." It's like he read my mind. I look at him and see the complete adoration in his eyes. He actually means it. He lifts his head and kisses my cheek before softly setting my legs down. He gets up and turns to me one last time.

"I want you to like me how I like you. I want you to see me how I see you. And if you don't, then I can live with that. As long as you tell me the God's honest truth." Then he's gone. The coffee shop doorbell rings and I just sit there. He wasn't joking, he actually meant every word he said.

Zach noticed things no other guy had. He sees me as more than a pretty face. God damn it the justice system is fucked up! Maybe I do like Zach Maclaren...

---

I stand by the locker room doors and wait for him. He told me to tell him the truth, so that's what I'm coming to do. Fuck man, it's too cold and I am too nervous to be standing here right now. Soon, I heard the door open. Zach came out with a few of his teammates. He spotted me and froze for a second.

"Hey, I'll catch up with you guys later." He tells his friends and they run off. He stands in the same spot. The silence is so loud and I can't stand it.

"Hi," I said, full of nerves.

"Hi," The smile on his face was enough to make a girl melt.

"You did great, congrats on the win."

"Yep, thanks." I could tell he was waiting for me to say what I really wanted to say.

"That's all I needed to say...bye!" I went to run off but my wrist was caught by Zach.

"Nah uh uh, you could not pay me enough to believe you bought an eight-dollar ticket, sat through an hour-long game, stood by the locker room door for half an hour, and waited for me to come out just to tell me congrats." He could see straight through my bullshit and it was scary. He pulled me closer and let go of my wrist. His arm then snaked its way around my waist.

"Talk to me, baby." His words were like music to my ears. His voice was delicate and soft. I could just...well...you'll see.

"Um...so IcametotellyouthatIreallylikeyouandIwanttobewithyouandyoumakemereallyhappyandyeahthat'sall." My words were all jumbled and he looked so confused.

"Okay um...a little slower, please." He laughed and I took a deep breath before responding,

"I like you, Zach. And I want to be with yo-" Before I could get the last word out, he smashed his lips against mine. My hands went to his neck and his hand that was holding his soccer bag let go and went to my neck. The kiss was filled with so much adoration and passion. We only pulled apart when we had to breathe.

"I only needed to hear the first sentence." He smiled as he rubbed the side of my face.

"So...is that coffee shop offer still on the table? Baby" His smile widened and he looked up at the star-lit sky.

"Of course it is. Damn, all this chasin' you made me do, baby." With that, he connected our lips again.

---

a/n: hehe again, sorry for falling off the face of the earth. I'll try to be more active!

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#zach maclaren x reader #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren fluff #zach maclaren smut #the other zoey #the other zoey x reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x female reader #female!reader #emma's bullshit ♡

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zynari · 2 months ago

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♨ Of Cheesecakes and Reports

― Barista!Kazuha x Gn!reader

― Sometimes, a little connection could make all the difference, and even the smallest gestures could spark hope and warmth in our busiest lives.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 665

Notes: Half of this are based on my own experience hehe. Thank you for 100+ followers! Enjoy reading!

The aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the room as you sat at your regular table in the corner of the busy coffee shop. Even in this warm environment, you could feel a storm building within of you. Various tabs, research articles, and an incomplete report that appeared to be mocking you every time you looked at it cluttered your laptop screen. You massaged your temples in an attempt to release the tension there, but it didn't help.

Your mind was racing with deadlines and grades as you sipped your half-cold cappuccino. Snippets of laughing and conversation came from the other tables, but everything seemed so far away. Your worry made it harder to focus, and the outside world became a haze.

Damn reports…

All of a sudden, a cheesecake appears on your table and you look up.

There, stood a guy who appears to be the same age as you. He’s wearing an apron so you thought that he works here.

“Hey,” he said, offering a smile. “I noticed you’ve been glaring at your laptop screen for a while now. Here's a cheesecake to cheer you up. It’s on the house.”

You shake your head, surprised. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Really, it’s just a little pick-me-up. Trust me, it helps,” he insisted, carefully moving the plate of cheesecake next to your laptop.

You hesitated, but the sweet scent was irresistible.

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking a small portion and tasted it. “This is amazing.."

He smiled wider, glad to see a flicker of joy in your expression. “I’m glad you like it. It’s a new recipe I’ve been experimenting with.”

You took another bite, feeling a small wave of comfort wash over you. You look at the nametag on his apron. “Thank you, Kazuha. I really needed this. I’ve been stressing over this report for days.”

Kazuha came back to the counter and continued wiping the cups.

“I get that,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I’m a college student too, and it can be overwhelming. What’s your report about?”

“It’s about history, timelines and origins. You know how difficult science can get sometimes.” you sighed, “I just can’t seem to organize my thoughts.”

Kazuha nodded, genuinely interested. “That sounds difficult, indeed. History can be shits sometimes.”

“Right?” you sighed and leans on your chair.

Feeling comfortable, the two of you continue talking and sharing experiences about your college life.

You were surprised when Kazuha said that he studies at the same university as you. He’s also a year older than you, that’s why you never see each other at school. He said that he’s taking up computer science since he failed to secure a slot with his desired course, which is literature.

Part of you secretly wished that you see or bump into each other at school one day, and you mentally smiled at the thought. It sounds impossible given your busy schedules, but a simple wish can still be considered a hope.

After a while, you glanced at the clock, realizing you had been talking for nearly half an hour. “Wow, I didn’t mean to take up your break.”

“It’s all good. I enjoyed it,” Kazuha replied, “Sometimes you just need a little distraction.”

“I really appreciate it. You’ve made my day a lot better.”

“Anytime,” he said, a hint of warmth in his voice. “And if you need another cheesecake or just want to chat while you work, I’m here.”

You nodded, experiencing a level of comfort you hadn't anticipated. “I might just take you up on that.”

You noticed that you were less nervous and more concentrated when you went back to your report. You struck into a typing session, your fingers caressing the keys with newfound enthusiasm.

Meanwhile, from behind the counter, Kazuha observed you with a faint smile. Feeling lighter and a little bit proud, he went back to his work, secretly hoping that you would come visit again.

#― of cheesecakes and reports #zy.writes 🖋️#kaedehara kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #kazuha imagines #kazuha fluff #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin kazuha #genshin impact

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daycourtofficial · 3 months ago

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Princes of Ice

Pairing: modern!Azriel x Eris | WC: 2k | warnings: none

Summary: Eris’s blood pressure is rising when he finds himself alone in the locker room with one of his school’s hockey players. What happens when Eris’s preconceived notions of him might not be what he thinks?

Note: I loved AU day for @erisweekofficial I had like 15 ideas for this day and was typing like a maniac to try to get as many out as possible ❤️ I like the idea of Eris assuming the worst in everyone but being completely wrong lmao

The afternoon air was crisp, a slight breeze making leaves fall from the trees. Campus was beautiful as Nesta Archeron and Eris Vanserra walked through it, their eyes headed straight for the coffee shop in the student union. Eris could feel how badly he wanted the caffeine, practically tasting the pumpkin latte on his tongue as they walked.

The pair were heading toward a geography class together fresh off their pairs rehearsal. The two complemented one another on and off the ice, hardly seen apart - one set of judges even called them ‘beautifully lethal’.

“Can I see your notes from last week? She was speaking about weather hazards around the equator and she kept mumbling. I meant to get them from you after class but-“

“You were too busy sucking Cassian’s cock in his car?”

Nesta doesn't balk at Eris’s crass words, instead falling behind Eris, undoing his bag and digging for his notebook. The sneer was on Eris’s lips, a bite he desperately wanted to unleash.

“It’s not here.”

The bite wason the tip of his tongue, stopping at her words. No, she must have missed it. He was sure he had grabbed it from his locker before leaving. Eris stopped, pulling the bag from his back. He unzipped it fully before setting it on the grass, digging through the neatly organized folders and notebooks to find everything he needed for the day. Everything except for a green notebook that was in his bag instead of the blue one he needed. He rubbed his temple in frustration, annoyance simmering beneath his skin.

“That idiot was grating on my last nerve - I grabbed the wrong notebook.”

Nesta didn’t need Eris to clarify which member of their school’s hockey team he was referring to. They all had nicknames that he and Nesta once spent a drunken night determining - sun-kissed prick, annoying prick, dumb brute. Eris had insisted that Azriel was an idiot, that no one that pretty could be nice or have any functioning brain cells.

“You know-“

“Shut up, Nesta. Just because your dumb boyfriend is a hockey player doesn’t mean you like his teammates.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“You’ve never slept with a guy more than twice and your little car romp makes for a fourth time. I’ll consider you engaged soon enough.”

Eris put his bag over his shoulder, turning as he spoke to Nesta over his shoulder. “Get me a coffee - I’ll meet you in class.”

Eris marched back across campus, not bothering to wait for Nesta’s response. The trip back to the rink allowed Eris ample time to stew in his annoyance, his teeth grinding as he moved.

Fucking Azriel.

Oak University’s dominating right winger. The counterpart to Nesta’s boy toy Cassian, Eris had caught glimpses of him during team practices or during his and Nesta’s practices when the hockey team would be filing in, waiting for their time slot.

Fucking prick.

Eris didn’t like most people - they were tiresome and tedious. Most people he could brush off, the thought of them not lingering long enough in his brain for him to think too much about them. Something about Azriel dug beneath his skin, that prick nestling in just so he could always feel that shoot of annoyance at any mention of him.

By the time Eris had made it back to the rink, he was practically marching through the sports complex. A man on a mission. If he was quick, he could grab his notebook and make it to their geography lecture with about ten minutes to spare.

He pushed through the women’s hockey team as they left through the lobby, their time on the ice ending not so long ago.

One of them muttered ‘pretty boy’ beneath her breath, receiving no response as he continued to push past them. It was hard for any of the names to truly bother him - he had heard it all before from his own father and then some. His father was a cruel man who saw figure skating as a sport for ‘pansies and homosexuals’, but he still funded Eris’s adolescent career because of his mother’s pleading and the fact that Eris was undeniably skilled on the ice. He had even appeared in the last Winter Olympics a year and a half prior. His previous partner and him weren’t up to Olympic standards, but he moved forward to the world’s stage in the singles category.

He had placed a hare’s breath away from a medal. When he came to Oak University, his previous partner, Julia, went to a different school so he worked to convince his coach to pair him and Nesta up.

Renovations were being done to several parts of the rink before the season kicked up, including the small locker room for the figure skaters at the school. Nesta had been furious at the news they’d have to utilize the hockey team’s locker room, but not an ounce of insecurity came from her after every practice. Nesta made a statement - each time she’d get through the door, she’d immediately strip off and walk naked to the showers, her eyes daring anyone to stare for too long.

Eris had a much smaller act of defiance. He had considered jacking off in the showers every time he used them, hoping he could clog the drains and ruin the team’s cushy locker room. But that plan quickly fell through due to the realization that if their drains were messed up, they would simply come to their freshly renovated locker room and ruin it.

So, he chose pissing in the shower instead. It satisfied that desire in him to be petty just enough to prevent him from doing actual damage.

A handful of lockers weren’t in use, the team always having a few spare lockers, so Eris and Nesta had claimed the two in the corner. He pushed open the doors to the locker room, knowing that the men’s hockey team were watching tape today, their practice having ended half an hour ago. Nobody should be in here - hopefully his blood pressure won’t get too high just by being in the locker room. The door swung shut behind him, his mouth puckering in annoyance at the tan skin before him.

The idiot.

Nesta once called Azriel a “pretty boy with sad eyes that have women declaring they can fix him”.

Eris could handle walking the twenty feet toward his locker, not even acknowledging the man, and heading back for his lecture. Surely he could do that and not pop a blood vessel.

Eris truly had no idea what it was about the man that infuriated him so much. The two had hardly spoken - but whenever Azriel looked at him, he didn’t see the sad eyes Nesta saw. He saw something all-consuming, like a burning fire of hatred.

As a queer man with feminine interests, Eris knew what that look meant. I can see you. I know what you are. Different.

Eris didn’t glance at Azriel as he moved to his locker, the only one in this room with a lock on it. Nesta didn’t care - “if any of those pricks look through my shit, I’ll know.” Eris couldn’t leave it to chance. Not after having a father who insisted on prying apart every ounce of privacy Eris had.

No, he had to make sure no one would touch his stuff.

He found the notebook quite easily, a sigh escaping him at the mistake, catching himself before he slammed his forehead into it at his incompetence.

“Forget something?”

Eris turned his head to find Azriel standing less than a foot away from him, his tattoos peeking out from the fitted black tee he wore. Azriel’s jaw moved as he chewed his gum, a minty smell hitting Eris’s nose, his eyes following the sharpline with each movement.

“No, I wanted to come back and remember exactly what had been in my locker.” The man smirked, his eyes looking up and down at Eris as he chewed.

I’m going to die in a locker room. It was the only thought Eris had, his jaw ticking at the cliche: a queer man being killed by a man who dominates in a violent sport. How lovely - he’d become a statistic.

“I saw you practicing today.”

Eris hummed, no idea where Azriel was heading with his sentence, his eyes preoccupied with putting the notebook away and shitting his locker.

“I never got figure skating until I watched you on the ice.”

Eris’s head snapped up, shocked that Azriel was still speaking to him, much less complimenting him. A compliment? A compliment?

“You didn’t understand figure skating until today?”

Azriel’s cheeks reddened, his eyes looking down before meeting Eris’s. “I actually caught your performance in the Winter Olympics. I knew nothing about the sport, but I thought you were robbed.”

He had whispered the last part conspiratorially, as if he were on the judging panel. Eris’s stomach was flipping through his torso at how low Azriel’s voice got.

“Why’d you watch figure skating?”

He scratched his jaw, the lightest hint of a five o’clock shadow coating his sharp jawline. “My cousin’s really into it- she loves the outfits, the storytelling.” His voice deepened, “the way figure skaters look.”

Eris’s heart was pounding in his chest, nearly jumping from within his ribcage. Was he flirting? Was this a joke? If it was, he wouldn’t let Azriel win.

“I’m shocked something without violence could keep a hockey player’s attention.”

He laughed. It was big and joyous, a sound just for Eris in this big empty room. The corner of his mouth twitched before he quickly corrected it back into a scowl.

“I was too. I watched lots of other skaters, but I only really followed your career and when I saw you here for the first time, I couldn’t believe it.”

Eris’s mouth dropped in the revelation. Azriel had been following his career?

“To be honest, I was pretty nervous to speak to you, especially when they said we’d be sharing a locker room.”

Nervous? He had always been glaring at Eris anytime he saw him. Eris had always glared back.

Eris raised a brow, a questioning look that caused Azriel to keep speaking.

“You always look so devoted when practicing. It’s cute.”

Eris was sure he must have fallen on his way to the rink, his head bleeding out on some sidewalk as an ambulance wailed in the distance. He kept silent, for the first time in his life no words came to him.

“I never see you without Nesta.”

Was there a touch of sadness to Azriel’s tone? Or was Eris imagining it?

“She’s a friend.”

Something about his words changed the look Azriel had. His hazel eyes twinkled at Eris causing a heat to creep up his neck. He couldn’t process what was happening before Azriel surged forward, his hand wrapping around the back of Eris’s neck, pulling him forward to meet his lips. His tongue swiped across Eris’s lips, Eris holding the collar of Azriel’s black tee tight to hold himself up. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him, Azriel’s chest pushing him into the lockers all that was keeping him up.

He tasted of mint, the shock pulling all of the air from Eris’s lungs. Eris moved his hands up his collar, his hands grasping Azriel’s jaw instead as he kissed back just as fervently. It felt like Azriel was trying to force life into him with a kiss and by gods was it working.

The locker clanged behind them as Azriel’s knees hit them, caging Eris in even further. Hands moved through Eris’s hair, fingers tangling in the red locks. Eris could hardly breathe, his mouth only leaving Azriel’s long enough to get a quick breath before their lips met again.

A banging on the door interrupted them and as quickly as he was on him, Azriel had pulled back, moving away from the redhead. Eris was still grabbing the air, his hands where Azriel had just been.

“See you later, Eris.”

Eris’s eyes were blown wide as Azriel turned and walked out of the locker room, the echo of Cassian’s voice greeting Azriel the only sound in the room. He clutched his chest, desperate to get his racing heart to slow down. He felt around in his mouth, his tongue meeting the gum Azriel had been chewing, unsure when it had gotten there.

What the fuck?

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Azris taglist: @chunkypossum @the-darkestminds @mistandmemories @molcat07

Thanks for reading❣️

#acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #azriel shadowsinger #eris vanserra #eris fanfic #azris #azris fanfiction #eris #azrisweek2024

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punkypiscesell-writes · 4 months ago

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Like a sun, shining late at night

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie works in a coffee shop where you have been coming for the last few months. The crush from the first time he ever saw you is bubbling over on the hottest day of the summer.

warnings: Frankie and reader are in their twenties, small town vibes, pining, fluff, kissing, no use of y/n, reader has no pronouns and wears a dress, the picture in the header is just for the visual and isn't an indication of the reader's skin color. Not beta read.

word count: 9.3k

notes: Happy Frankie Friday! I wrote this for @secretelephanttattoo 's secret springs creative challenge and it's purely self indulgent. I'm graduating from university next month and the idea for this fic came from that. This also falls more in to the first week's theme, but I didn't have time to finish this until now. I hope you'll enjoy!

Dividers by saradika

”Frankie, can we switch, I need a break,” his coworker whines in a hushed tone, leaning against the wall. She has the gift of puppy dog eyes that she has perfected over time and uses only when absolutely necessary. No one can say no to her.

Frankie dries his hands on a too wet hand towel; the break doesn’t come a moment too late. He just finished cleaning the cabinets in the kitchen that’s more like a shoebox than an actual kitchen.

Their boss was right. Times like these, when waves of customers aren’t pushing in through the door, is the perfect time to clean. The narrow space of the shoebox-kitchen in a heatwave is an experience Frankie wouldn’t mind skipping though.

His skin is sticky and little droplets of sweat have formed into big splotches of wet fabric on his t-shirt, stretched across his shoulders and upper back. The electric fan in the cramped corner is barely functioning and begs to be replaced in a weather like this.

“The kitchen is all yours,” Frankie gives the damp rag to the younger coworker and sees her eyes light up when he relieves her from the front of the coffee shop. She might handle the humidity a bit better, at least she has enthusiasm to immediately push the damp cloth against the fridge door and find something to furiously scratch off.

Only a couple of tables are taken under the exhausted ceiling fan circling warm air in the cozy café. More people are sitting outside by small round tables under pastel striped umbrellas.

The pink lemonade they make daily from the boss’ recipe is sweating with ice in most customer’s cups, easing the effects of a seemingly endless spell of sweltering heat. The town center has fallen quieter as people are either enjoying their summer holidays by travelling or spending their time at the beach not too far away.

Frankie can’t blame them. Anyone would escape the temperatures in this weather. The ones who are brave enough to stand the scorch from the concrete and minimal shade from any dry trees lining the streets have made their way to cafes with cold drinks and ice creams. The amount of different fresh baked goods, bread and pastries, that are delivered daily have been cut in half just because people are more interested in something light and cold.

The sounds from the street flow into the coffee shop in waves through the open windows and door. Frankie says pleasantries to the few people who come and go and leave their tables for him to empty. He does a few turns outside to bring a straw for a child who dropped his to the ground and to wipe the artisan gelato off the table when someone accidentally knocked over their bowl.

There’s easy music playing from the speakers. They lull him into staring outside, at the people in their airy clothes and sun on their skins. There’s nothing else for him to do other than wait for someone to come in or leave.

The sweat that pushed through earlier sits against his temples and back like a second skin. It’s not going to dry until the sun has set and the night sweeps through the town with cooler air. He listens to the laughter from people sitting outside and the screech of seagulls somewhere nearby.

Some kids skateboard past the café, a few on rollerblades. Few cars drive towards the coast at a crawling pace, pumping out music that shakes the glasses on the shelves lining the walls, turning people’s heads, while some nod to the beat.

This morning, when Frankie got out of the shower with his hair still dripping wet and his skin too stubborn to dry even after toweling, he looked at a t-shirt hanging on the back of a chair. It’s still newly crisp and in need of a few washes. The neckline isn’t worn and stretched from overuse yet, like his usual clothes he wears to work. He has his t-shirts and jeans, and sometimes a cap that his boss always reminds him to take off.

That isn’t the case anymore. He pulled the new t-shirt over his head and decided today would be the day. If you were to come by the coffee shop, that is.

He leans against the counter, doodling on a piece of old receipt; another order of pink lemonade and a sundae. The customer is enjoying them under the shade of one of the pastel umbrellas while reading a book.

Frankie’s curls are enjoying the heat and humidity, the salty air blowing in from the coast making him look like he shouldn’t be standing behind a register in a coffee shop but at the beach by a lifeguard station overlooking the waves. They fluff every time the ceiling fan manages to flutter the air with something that resembles a cooler breeze. A strand tickles his temple, immediately remembering your fingers against his forehead. It was just a simple touch.

“There’s a dandelion seed…” you mumbled last week, when you reached for him over the counter. He was making your drink, focused on pouring the milk into the mug, when like you would’ve done it a hundred times before, your fingers caught the fluff and stayed against his temple a second longer.

“All gone,” you said and continued your story about painting a wall in your childhood home deep green, like nothing had happened.

Frankie drops the pen against the stone counter and touches his fingers against the spot where yours had been. His heart gives a thump and another, the thought of you like cotton candy in his mind.

Everything changed when you walked into the coffee shop with a canvas bag flung over your shoulder.

It was the end of March. The day was grey and windy and people were looking for comfort inside the warmth of the café. It looked like it would rain at any moment, the air even smelled like it. The first time this spring.

You unraveled a thick scarf from around your neck and stopped by the door to take in the café. You took note of the few empty seats and tables, most taken by people working or by those who were on their lunch breaks.

Frankie could only stare at you, with his head going blank, until you took a step forward and you smiled at him. A joyful, eye crinkling smile that comes out easily and stays on your cheeks for a long time.

There was something else to it as well. It wasn’t just the smile that left him dumbfounded. It was the way you lit up from inside first, your skin glowing, your eyes sparkling even on the grayest of days like you held stars in your soul. It was enigmatic, electric, magnetic. Frankie immediately wished to experience it again.

You made your way to the counter and asked Frankie what he’d recommend for lunch.

“You new here?” He asked when he had written down your order and given it to someone working in the kitchen that day. He got to making your drink, a mocha that you gracefully asked to be made with more milk and sugar.

“Oh no, I’m from here but I moved away for college. I don’t get to visit as often anymore as I’d like. But now my last couple of courses are online and I could come back home to finish my thesis.” You took a deep breath and laughed out of nowhere. “That must’ve been exciting for you to hear.”

Your brow arched with the edge of your mouth. He could’ve listened to you read the ten different tea options they had and then he would’ve asked you to repeat them. He would’ve still been hungry to hear your voice more.

“It’s okay,” he said and turned awkwardly from you to steam the milk to hide the blush that crept up to his cheeks. The heat of it burst in waves that showed up across his skin in red splotches.

The milk got done too fast. He thought of anything cold, anything mundane, that would make his blood stream calm down. Just another customer, just another damn customer, he repeated to himself.

He poured the milk gently on top of the chocolate syrup and espresso, folding the foam in on itself to make a pattern on top of the drink. He had made it hundreds of times before, a skill he was proud of, yet now his hand was trembling, and the lines got muddled.

The mug barely made a noise when he set it on the counter, even though his attention was on you eyeing the fat cookies on top of the display cases. You read each label of the options carefully; chocolate chip, white chocolate and cranberry, macadamia and walnut, raisin, triple chocolate, salted caramel, cinnamon and brown sugar, –

“I’ll take one of those lemon and blueberry cookies as well, please.” Your smile got softer when you turned back to him.

“I hope you enjoy it,” he could only say, unsure if he meant the café or the lunch you were about to eat. The cookie looked massive on the small plate he placed next to the coffee mug, reaching high with blue swirls. He was mesmerized by the spark in your eyes and the unsaid mischief in your voice.

You stood in front of him, quiet. Your brows rose slowly and the longer the silence stretched, the more you looked confused.

“Should I wait for the sandwich and pay after or…?” You finally asked and it got Frankie to shake back into action.

“Fu –,” he caught himself just in time to not swear in front of you, even though it made that beautiful smile spill onto your lips again, this time accompanied with a light giggle. His wish came true. Your laugh was just a tip he didn’t expect to get, much more valuable than money in that moment.

“You can pay now, I’ll bring the sandwich to you,” his mouth barely kept up with the words and the moment was over so fast that he wasn’t sure what he had actually told you. But you dug out your wallet and your card and he was tapping on the register to get the right amount charged which he checked twice before you paid.

You accompanied your generous tip with a soft thank you before you collected your drink and cookie off the counter. There was another customer behind you already, forcing Frankie to focus. From the corner of his eye, he saw you sitting by the windows, peeling your coat off and hanging it on the back of your chair.

You sat down and for a fleeting moment he could’ve sworn that you were watching him, still with that smile on your face. When he was done with the customer who came after you, you were already typing on your laptop.

You stayed for hours. So long in fact that Frankie’s shift ended, and other people came in for their evening shifts. You ate your lunch, got another coffee and the same cookie after a few hours, and then kept on sipping on the drink even when it had gone cold long ago.

Your brows were pulled together and at times you leaned closer to read something on the screen of your laptop. You wrote fast. Your fingers flew against the keyboard and at times you stopped just to keep your fingertips hovered over the letters before you kept on going. The sound got drowned out in the steady ambient chatter of the café.

You had a notebook next to you where you wrote a few words here and there. When the café was fairly quiet, he could hear you clicking your pen a few times, then tap it against the half-filled page. A soft, muffled rhythm against the paper.

You rolled your shoulders back and bent your neck from side to side. Every once in a while, you looked out the window, at the darkening day, and the first drops of rain against the glass.

After that day you became a regular at the coffee shop. Every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday Frankie could expect you to come by. Sometimes you came in early and spent the whole day there. Some other days you came in later and left early, but every time you had lunch and then typed away on your laptop.

Some days you looked more tired than some other days, and some other times your smile was a little dimmer than the others. It still fell on your face easily, but it wasn’t as wide or as energized as he had seen on you usually.

When the days were getting warmer and the sun stayed hung on the sky a little longer, you didn’t come to the coffee shop for two weeks. Frankie was doing his shift, waiting to see you that Tuesday like he normally would. To hear you tell him about your weekend, to hear your voice at all.

His shift ended and you didn’t show up. It left him empty, like something was missing. You had become such a constant at the café that when you broke the pattern, the day seemed off. Maybe you were sick, down with a cold that everyone seemed to have as winter shook from the trees and sunshine forced leaves to bud on the branches.

Then you didn’t come by the next day either. With his coworker Frankie tended to the constant stream of customers who came and went steadily in and out the door. When there was a break, he could only watch the cookies that managed to stay crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. There weren’t many left anymore and your chances at choosing one were getting slimmer every time the door opened, and it wasn’t you who walked in. You didn’t.

When the weekend rolled around, there was a hollowness in Frankie’s chest. He was missing you, as terrifying as that was to admit to himself. He missed seeing you sit at one of the tables by the window where you could watch people as an escape from your work. He had never asked what your thesis was about, how it was going or what made you choose the topic. In that moment he regretted it.

Frankie missed the way you paid attention to what was happening around you. You listened to others, and you started to say hi to some of the other regular customers. Until he noticed you weren’t only paying attention to them but also him.

Sometimes he caught you staring, watching him do his job, follow his moves as he made drinks for customers, wrote down orders and listened to answers for his polite questions about how their day was going. In the beginning, you hastily turned from him in an attempt to not get caught even though he always already had.

He could see you smile when he entertained a toddler by making faces at her while her parents were choosing what to eat. Your brow furrowed and you shook your head when he listened to an older lady shamelessly hit on him.

And then one day you didn’t turn from him when he caught you staring. You stopped hiding your interest in what he was doing. Your cheeks caught the smile on your face and then you got back to your own work.

All those looks, all those smiles, made him want to say he was done for the day and come sit and people watch with you even if you wouldn’t have watched other people, only him.

The next Friday, after another whole week of not seeing you, Frankie didn’t have high hopes for you to show up that day either. It was possible that you had grown tired of the place, of the same sandwich you took every time, the mocha that you usually ordered twice, or the one or two cookies that you always got after careful consideration. Or maybe you were finished with your thesis. Maybe you had left the town again and he was wasting his days daydreaming about you.

The line was long, and the kitchen was overflowing with orders. Frankie had just finished typing one more and had it register in the kitchen when he lifted his gaze to find you standing in front of him.

You didn’t look like yourself. You held your canvas bag in a death grip on your shoulder and you were inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth, steadying your breath as best you could. You avoided looking at him and you hid under your clothes.

Your voice was sunken and without your usual animation, the fall and rise of your tone was gone. You didn’t make conversation. You didn’t ask how Frankie’s day had been or if anything unexpected had happened, like you normally did.

“I’ve just had a bit of a hard time lately,” you dropped the façade completely without actually saying anything. You only had to see Frankie’s face once to read the worry from the furrowed brow and the seriousness in his eyes.

His mouth was in a tight line, and he tried to understand you without asking you a serious question. He never had; he didn’t think it was his place even after weeks of friendly banter.

As he was preparing your order, your distress crawled under his skin as well. You opened the light jacket you wore over your sweatshirt, you flinched from the hiss of the espresso machine, and you stood there making yourself as small as you could.

In that moment he decided to get to know you better, to do something about the thump in his chest when you opened the door to the café and to the shivers that ran up and down his back when you stood close enough and he could smell your perfume.

So far, Frankie was harboring a crush across the café, a stolen glance here and a playful look there, an attempted flirty tone in his voice on questions that were too basic to incite any interest or a spark in the corner of his eye. You had captured him without you knowing it, and without him knowing what to do with the swell of happiness every time you were around.

You tried so hard to seem like yourself, but you were on autopilot. You ordered your usual coffee and sandwich. You stared at the foamy milk on top of your mocha. He put too much effort into his attempt at making the leafy shape perfect, only to mess it up and then mess it up even more when he wanted to fix it.

You didn’t say a word about it like you would have if it was like any other normal day. He noticed the short-bitten nails and cuticles on your hand when you paid for your order.

“I’ll bring it to the table,” Frankie told you, watched you nod once and drag your feet against the floor to your usual table. You sat there, staring out the window, your head tilted, and your mind elsewhere. Frankie took heavier steps than usual to alert you, but placing the sandwich in front of you still spooked you out of your head. You tucked your hands between your thighs and let the last bit of steam evaporate from your coffee and the grilled sandwich sit untouched until the fillings looked sad and undesirable.

There was finally a break in the flow of customers. Frankie’s head was buzzing, and his feet were tired. The breather couldn’t have come any later. Yet he didn’t take his break. Instead, he was drawn to observe you like you were a magnet to him. Whatever he was doing, he always made note of you. Something was missing.

“Could I get one of those big cookies?” A customer asked and it clicked instantly in what else was off.

“I didn’t order this,” you told him when he placed the thick chocolate chip cookie next to your laptop that you had managed to get out of your bag. He saw the screen; a text editor open with a margin full of notes and different parts of the text highlighted with red.

“it’s on the house,” he gave you a soft smile, hoping it would ease at least some of the anxiety that had made you look ill while reading through the document on your laptop. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see you burst into tears at any moment.

You thanked him without any sound actually leaving your throat before you got back to reading. He was bothered by the state of you. It made him turn on his heels and take those two steps back that he had put between the two of you.

“Can I ask you something?” He didn’t stop himself to consider before he asked the question, but it got you interested. You looked at him straight in the eyes for the first time the whole day and waited for him to continue.

“Why haven’t you ordered the chocolate chip cookie before?” The cakey cookie draws both of your attention to it and the question takes you by surprise.

“Because I knew I’d like it the most and wanted to save it for something special.” You picked it up and cracked a piece from it. Even Frankie could smell the buttery richness laced with the caramelly sweetness from the brown sugar the baker had once told she uses.

The chocolate was in big chunks, some broken, some sticking out from the piece between your fingers. Instead of taking a bite, like Frankie thought you would, you set the piece down on the small white plate and fixed your attention on him.

“I didn’t know you had noticed, or kept book of what I ordered.” The words came out like a question, but there was nothing for you to ask. You just stated the obvious.

It made the peaks of his cheeks blush instantly. How much more of a creep could he even sound like, asking you about your order. “No one’s ever noticed,” you said a little quieter. Your tone made it sound like you weren’t talking about the cookie anymore. The words held much more weight to them.

“I hope I didn’t overstep any lines, it’s just that you’ve become a regular here, orders are easy to remember after a while.” Frankie watched you break the cookie into even smaller pieces, some of the chocolate falling on the plate.

“It’s okay,” you assured, and a hint of your smile faded across your face. He would’ve missed it if he blinked but he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He never can.

“Tell me if you need anything else.”

You ordered one more coffee that day. You didn’t stay as long as you normally would, but when you closed your laptop, you looked a bit calmer. Your shoulders weren’t pulled to your ears anymore and you seemed to be able to breathe without much effort again. You seemed relieved. You waved him bye from the door when you left and the corner of your mouth rose just the slightest, telling him that you’d be okay.

The next time you came in, the next Tuesday, you opened the door and immediately when your gaze landed on Frankie, you glowed. You gave him a chipper, “Hello!” and ordered your usual mocha and sandwich, this time with the salted caramel cookie.

“So, how long have you worked here?” You asked him while he was pouring milk into the steaming jug. After that he gave you pieces of himself to you, answers that were insignificant in context, but they created an image of what he was like.

He told you that he hadn’t worked at the café for that long, but it was a job that he enjoyed. He took care of his mom, which made you ask if she needed to be taken care of. “She’s just getting older,” Frankie smiled to you. He valued his time with his mom, especially after his dad left when he was still young.

At the same time he gently asked you questions too, usually over the counter when he was carefully making your drink and hoping it would last a little longer every time so you’d have more time to answer.

When you came in, he continued the puzzle of you, collecting your words into his memory. How you moved out of the town when you felt the time was right, nothing really holding you back. You went far, but still came back to see old friends and family every few weeks. How you ended up wanting to come back for the rest of your studies, knowing this would be the last time before you’d need to properly start a career and wouldn’t have time to visit as often as you normally would.

There were moments when you would’ve probably spoken for a long time. About your plans for when you were done with your thesis, what festival you were going later this summer, what you still wanted to experience before becoming a full blown adult. “I don’t know why, but I want to go to the beach and have someone cover me in sand.” You laughed when you said that, shook your head and continued, “The problem is that I don’t want to be washing sand off me for a week after that.” It made Frankie crack up as well.

You would’ve told him anything. But then the mocha was ready and he had to set it on the counter and it cut you off immediately. It was like an axe to your words, cutting them short and making you laugh before you collected your thoughts and said, “We’ll continue from here the next time.”

As spring turned into warm early summer, the sun stayed up a little longer and the birds started to sing more as a sign of their little nests getting full, you smiled even more. There was levity in your steps, almost like you could’ve taken one last one and then flown away without looking back. You swapped your long sleeved shirts and jeans to tops and flowy, lighter pants and dresses. There was a glow on your face from the sun and when it rained, you welcomed it with open arms to enjoy the smell of summer arriving.

Every time you came to the café, you brightened Frankie’s day. Seeing you brought a smile on his face, warm richness to his voice, and his eyes always glinted when they found your brightness. You started to call him by his name and every time you said it out loud, he wanted to hear you say it more.

“Frankie!” You exclaimed when you reached the counter after standing in line for a moment. He had already seen you and you had given him a wave of your hand before you got back to tapping on your phone.

“Frankie!” You approached him when there was a break in the stream of customers coming in. You switched in which hand you held your empty water glass in every few seconds. He reached for it but you pulled it back.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you began and cleared your throat. “I have these tickets…”

“Hi, could I ask for something to be changed in my sandwich order?” A middle aged man wearing a pressed suit cut in and pushed you from the counter. You took a step back and gave him all the room he needed. Your shoulders deflated and you stood awkwardly, shuffling from one foot to the other. Frankie listened to the customer while his attention slipped to you.

“Thank you, and sorry,” the man apologized to you before he went back to his table by the corner where he had spread all his stuff.

“He was in a rush,” you joked flatly, staring at the glass in your hand.

“What did you want to ask me?” Frankie took in the nerves on your face and softened his voice. You avoided his attention as he tried to ease the strained energy between the two of you. Instead, you offered him your glass.

“Could I get some more of the raspberry and lime water, the container over there is empty,” you waved your hand towards the water station. Your voice was flat, admitting defeat.

Frankie wanted to know what you had in mind, what tickets you were talking about, he would’ve pushed for it. There was no chance for it though, the moment was over. You took your glass with a quiet, “Thanks,” and returned to your seat, burrowing your head in your work.

“Frankie, are you serious?” You once asked, when you saw the new cookie flavors. White chocolate and strawberry, lemon and raspberry, coconut and ginger, and one that you wanted to save.

“Frankie?” You asked with a lower voice when there weren’t many customers around. He leaned forward instinctively. “Can you watch my stuff for a moment? I have to go make a call.” You waved your phone in the air. He nodded, all words lost when he was lost in your eyes in the closer proximity. He came to collect your empty plate and wipe the few crumbs off the table, and then stood by all your stuff like that was his job.

“Hi Frankie,” you said with mischief in your voice when you leaned against the counter. You didn’t have to tell him your order anymore. He knew it like he was the one ordering it.

“The carnival’s this weekend.” You swallowed after stating the fact.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” Everyone knew the carnival season was starting, information about it was plastered all over the town.

He could see the question on your lips, how they opened and closed like you were about to say something. You wet them with the tip of your tongue. Your eyes flicked to the shelves and machines behind Frankie, too nervous to look him in the eyes.

“Are you going?” You tapped your fingers against the speckled stone counter.

“Yeah, with some friends.” Immediately the hopefulness drained from your eyes even though the smile remained.

“That sounds fun. I hope you have a good time.” Whatever you had really wanted to say, or ask, drifted from reach. He wanted to believe you had planned to ask him out but chickened out at the last second.

“Are you going?” He rushed to ask when you refilled your water.

“Maybe.” You bravely held onto the smile even though it was slipping, cracking to show the disappointment that was already lacing your voice. You still waved him goodbye before you left, but you rushed off in a way that he hadn’t seen before.

Frankie straightens his t-shirt against his shoulders and sips at his water bottle. There’s only a couple of people left in the café and closing time is ticking closer. His coworker clatters something in the kitchen, but soon she’s whistling again to the music that she can hear through the speakers.

You would’ve come already, if you were to come to the café today. A sweltering day like this, wasted in a café, didn’t seem like something you’d do. “I can’t wait to hang out at the beach and do nothing all day,” you once said and even the thought made relief flood your smile.

“Frankie, can you come and help me a bit?” His coworker calls. Even though she was only supposed to clean the fridge, she has extended her task to include the cardboard boxes on the top shelves, with different types of napkins inside them. One is balanced against her chest, the other she’s barely able to hold on the shelf.

“I tried to wipe the shelf behind them but didn’t think how heavy they are,” she grunts as Frankie secures the box from her hand. “Thanks,” she sighs.

“And you cleaned the fridge already?” He asks, expecting to see the stuff inside it organized. The door opens to a fridge that looks incredibly like it hasn’t even been touched.

“I’ll get to it right away!” His coworker pushes the door back closed, and him out of the kitchen. “Thanks Frankie!” She hollers but doesn’t get an answer.

“Hi Frankie,” you say, in your strappy short sundress, sunglasses pushed on top of your head. Sweat beads against your forehead. Your skin glistens from the heat and the sun cream he can smell from far away. Sweet peaches.

You have a flower-patterned fan in your hand which you wave towards your face. The space between where your collarbones meet under your neck is wet with sweat trailing towards the neckline of your dress.

“Hi.” He combs his fingers through his hair and takes the necessary steps to meet you by the counter. The question he had on his mind for you this morning drains out of him. He can’t ask you out. He’s convinced it would be weird, it wouldn’t be appropriate. You would probably run away without a second thought.

“I’ve never seen this place this quiet before,” you wonder out loud. The cooler air that you fan against your skin wafts towards him with every push of your wrist. At the same time he can smell you more, that sweet sunscreen that takes him back to his childhood. The hot days when the sand under his feet was too hot, the sunscreen sticky on his skin and the salty water slipping into his mouth with every push of his arms.

“What can I get you?” Frankie asks, not wanting to assume you’ll go for your usual this time.

“Lemonade and…” You look at the cookies and stop in front of the one that you still haven’t tasted. “One of those triple chocolate brownie cookies, thanks.” You fidget with your dress while he pours plenty of ice into a takeout cup and drenches them in the tart lemonade. He chooses a cookie that looks the biggest and fattest.

“You’re not working today?” Frankie asks when he sees a smaller canvas bag on your shoulder and how it’s not bulging with contents as your usual canvas bag does.

“I actually finished my thesis.” You focus on digging out a couple crinkled five dollar bills and push them into the tip jar.

“Congrats.” What else is he supposed to say? His chest fills with disappointment. You said it long ago. You were here to finish your studies and now you’ve done it.

“Thanks.” The silence between the two of you stretches and teases the lines of discomfort. The look on your face matches the bittersweetness on Frankie’s face.

“You’re probably leaving soon then?”

You turn to look at the sweating cup on the counter and swirl your straw through the ice. You nod before you open your mouth, “Yeah, in a couple of weeks. I’m on holiday until then.”

“I’m happy for you,” and Frankie truly is. He saw how much you worked in the past few months. You’ve earned to have a breather before you’re thrown into work. “I hope you’ll come and visit again.”

“Of course.” You smile that genuine smile that is nothing but you. It’s the first thing that lights up your presence and the last thing he has seen in the past months when you’ve left through the door to go back home.

You take your lemonade and wrap your cookie in a napkin, leaving the plate on the counter, and head outside, under the shade of the sun umbrella. You watch people pass by and bask in the heat while slowly fanning your face and chest. The sun is finally sinking lower and the lower it gets, the faster the temperature seems to ease up. Frankie’s coworker finally emerges from the kitchen, just as it’s time to start closing up. You’re still sitting at the front while Frankie sweeps the floors.

“Hi!” He hears your cheerful voice say to someone. The edge of the broom clatters against one of the table legs, his attention on you and the small child you’re talking with.

Your muted voice carries into the café, the rise and fall of your excitement clear in your tone. You’re showing him something while his mom stands next to you, they’re both listening to your words intently.

Frankie continues sweeping, wanting to be done with work and get out of the sweaty cafe. The child’s high pitched inhale is clear and demands Frankie to look outside again. The air is full of rainbow colored soap bubbles. Some are smaller than the others but they all gleam in the golden sunshine.

The warm breeze carries them easily away from you before you blow on the soap bubble wand again and a burst of new bubbles escape into the air. The child follows the bubbles until they burst in the air. You offer the dripping wand to him, which he takes carefully into his small fist. He blows on it and the bubbles burst straight against your face. You pull back in laughter, wiping soap off your face.

“Frankie?” His boss calls for him, forcing him to meet her in the back.

The back alley is scorching hot, the sun trapped between the brick walls. Frankie drops the trash in the dumpster and takes his bike, the seat hot under his palm. This is the worst time to have his truck at the mechanics, and the only thing on his mind is driving with the windows down.

The air gets immediately cooler when he steps out on the street, the sun umbrellas closed and drooping in the light breeze. One of the seats isn’t empty.

“Don’t tell your coworker I stayed here even though she told me to leave.” You stand up and take slow steps to him. You take your sunglasses off and fidget with them, bathed in gold. You stop right in front of him and your smile pulls crows feet to appear next to your eyes.

Frankie is lost for words. Seeing you here, while he’s not in the café, is different, even though nothing has changed. Your closeness, the shy glances that you try to hide in the sun shining in your eyes while you don’t cover them with your sunglasses awakes those deep thumps in Frankie’s chest again. He’s even more confused when you put them in their case, and the case in your bag, no intention of shielding your eyes.

“Did you forget something?” Frankie’s voice is unsure, full of doubt on why you would’ve stayed after the closing time.

“I wanted to ask if you’re busy?” You swing your canvas bag next to your leg and wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. As he stands in front of you, he could swear it’s just the two of you on that street, bathed in the dark rays and the refreshing breeze that the day has been craving for hours. There’s salt in the air, blowing in from the coast.

“No?”

“Would you like to go to the beach with me?” Your voice shakes gently in a way that someone might mistake it for you being cold. Frankie’s heart flies heavily in his chest, the sound in his ears dizzying him into questioning if he heard you right. You beat him to it.

You switch your weight from one sandalled foot to the other and grab your bag with both of your hands. The uncertainty is back. You try to keep on smiling, but it falters the longer he doesn’t answer.

“Forget it—” You raise your hand in the air and are ready to wave it in the air to dismiss your question completely.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” Frankie snaps out of his reeling head, shutting you up in an instant. His hands sweat against the seat and handle of his bike. His mouth is dry and the pit of his stomach is filled with butterflies.

How long he has contained them, but you broke the jar with one question, filling him with the good kind of anxiety. He knows that whenever he gets nervous, he shuts down. Just like the first time he saw you, the first time you visited the café, his shyness takes center stage in how he acts. He gets quiet, his brain short circuits. No one else has been able to do that in a long time, no one else but you.

This time, seeing you standing in front of him practically radiant in the setting sun and by your happiness, he doesn’t want to lose any second of that to his reserved being.

“Hop on,” Frankie tells you gently.

“What?”

“I’ll ride us there.” He emphasizes the words by climbing on his bike, the seat still too warm even through his shorts.

“Okay,” you laugh and push your bag on your shoulder. Frankie offers you his hand, yours slotting with it like it has always belonged there. What he doesn’t expect is your other hand to land on his shoulder, holding on dependently as you swing your leg over the rear rack. You squeeze the muscle there, your fingertips digging into the tightness under his skin.

“Wait,” you say, and pull your hand back from his. Frankie misses the contact immediately, the imprint raising moisture from his palm. Your sandals scuff against the ground and the bike sways just a little as you find at least somewhat comfortable seat.

Your both hands are pressed against his shoulders, hanging from him awkwardly. Your hands are hot, gripping to him, and it makes his head spiral.

“Ready?”

“Mhm,” but you don’t sound sure at all. Immediately when the bike bumps on a crack in the pavement, no matter how much he tries to avoid them, you let out a sound somewhere between a screech and a yelp, your hands shaking and your balance flailing. Frankie’s feet are against the ground immediately.

“Okay, this won’t work. Wrap your arms around my middle, it’s more secure.” You don’t say anything for a beat, he only hears a light chuckle.

“More secure you say?” The meaning isn’t lost on him. You could understand his words in many ways, what wrapping yourself around him would imply, and apparently you stuck with exactly the one that suggests something else than riding a bike.

“You know what I mean,” his voice cracks with unintentional humor.

“Do I?”

“Yes, now just trust me.” You fix your chuckles and sigh out. Your breath fans against his back. You lower your hand from his shoulder, drag it against the muscle closest to his spine, and leave a trail of sparks that burst into goosebumps all over his body, every nerve ending awake and alert. Your hand rounds against the softness of his side, and over to his middle.

“Is this okay?” The question is full of uncertainty even though you’re trying to hide it under the smile he can hear in your voice. His confirmation gives you enough confidence to bring your other hand on him as well, tightly wrapping around him, securing you against him.

“You want to try again?” Frankie hears the drop in his voice and the slight tremble that your closeness causes. He can’t trust his voice at all, when you squeeze closer to him, your chest glued to his back.

“Yes.” You lift your feet off the ground and Frankie gets to pedaling.

You let out a squeak as the bike twitches into movement but relax against the broadness of Frankie’s back. The blowing breeze cools your skin and brings much needed relief for Frankie to keep his focus on the street and not in your hands that twine together around him in such confidence that it makes his stomach drop.

In the traffic lights you drop your feet against the ground at the same time as Frankie does and pull them back up when the light turns green. The salty water gets closer with every turn of the wheels. Streetlights flicker on and a deep blue mass swells across the sky behind you.

The sun colors the horizon in rusty yellows and oranges, the deepest parts already red that fade into the nearing night. Seagulls laugh somewhere up above, and the breeze turns cooler towards the sands that you’re already waiting to have under your feet.

You squeeze Frankie’s t-shirt into your palm, to hold onto him and to keep him close. There’s not much traffic around, some cars here and there, and the quieter it gets the more Frankie can hear the nerves talking to him in his head. For all he knows this could be a dream, after months of pining after you.

You gasp out loud when you see the sea. The horizon bathes in the last sunlight, wispy, blue and purple clouds swirled in like in the cookies you’ve been eating. Your hands untangle around Frankie and rest softly against his back. You’re pulling back, letting go, and the emptiness is already settling in with how he misses your touch.

Your feet brush up against the sandy ground and you’re off his bike, off him, drawn to the ocean. The metal chain clangs against a railing as Frankie locks his bike to it, eager to follow after you.

You stand in the ocean, the waves splash against your ankles, and you look like a vision. Frankie sits further back in the warm sand. His toes bury deeper in, and the remnants of the heat keep him grounded. He doesn’t care if it gets under his clothes and if he’ll find it for days to come. It’ll be a reminder of this night.

There’s a bonfire that crackles and sparks embers into the air, some people around it laughing. They’re making smores, the burnt smell of sugar wafting through the salt for a second. You point out a boat in the distance, the lights clear against the darkening sky. The waves crash in mellow waves against the sand, leaving white fine froth on it.

A fancy restaurant by the beach has a live band playing easy jazz, the sounds from the soft saxophone and the piano drifting towards the water. You stand in the foamy waves, watching your feet get devoured by the dark that ebbs and flows.

Frankie holds on to your bag and sandals and watches you against the rusty sky. He could watch you until it was completely dark and even then, he could make out the silhouette of you against the night sky.

“I’ve always loved the sea,” you say with your voice somewhere between a whisper and a soft sigh when you make your way back to dry land, like you were dreaming and wouldn’t want to break the spell or wake up. You don’t hesitate to sit next to Frankie, your thigh brushes against his.

“Thanks for coming here with me, I didn’t know if you’d want to.” It’s easy to lose himself in you. In the gentleness of your voice. Now in the warmth that pulls him in closer to you, searching for more contact with you.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know, I guess… I guess I’ve been scared that I’ve read you wrong.” You swallow and lick your lower lip between your teeth. He might not be the only one who has been shy this whole time. Your confidence comes and goes, sparks every few moments and then gets replaced by a timidness that holds you back. You can’t face him. You can barely let your voice be heard over the lapping waves and the music from the restaurant.

“How do you think you’ve read me then?”

“That maybe…” You stop yourself. You play with the hem of your dress. The fabric bunched against your bare thighs. “I’ve been a bit scared to be forward, maybe, just because I wasn’t sure what you thought of me. That maybe I was reading the signs wrong, it wouldn’t be the first time, you know. That maybe, possibly, you might… I don’t know…”

Listening to you try to wade your way to the point through the waves of your nerves is endearing, while it’s also pushing Frankie to smile. His crush for you is pulling it out of him with the heat that spreads from his chest up to his neck and cheeks.

“I mean I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while,” You finally admit and the crush he has been holding onto blooms into a garden. “And I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes but I had to ask. I had to know if maybe… you would’ve wanted to ask me out as well.” The words are out. You drop your hands and everything you wanted to say is now out in the open. It doesn’t erase the butterflies that flutter somewhere between the two of you, but finally having the truth out does bring out a safe peacefulness, something he can lean on.

“Hmm,” he hums out a breath. Words have left him completely. The warmth of your skin close to his is reminder enough for him to keep his head focused, his eyes on you and his heart from flying from him. He moves his leg just a little to get it pressed against yours. You’re waiting, your eyes on him, your body turned towards his.

“I wanted to ask you out the first time you came to the shop.”

The words take you by surprise. A smile spills on your lips. You try so hard to contain it, but hardly manage to keep yourself from laughing out loud.

“Why didn’t you?” Your eyes are tearing up, either from the breeze or the release of nerves. One lands on your cheek. Frankie is quick to reach his thumb out and catch it. The tear rolls down to his palm, heavy and beautiful, leaving behind a streak that gleams in the last rays of the sun. He closes it into his hand and spreads it onto his skin with his fingers.

“I’ve never been good at seizing the moment or being brave. I didn’t want to be a creep.”

“So, you’ve let me be a creep? Watching you work, coming in every other day?”

“But you’ve been working.”

“My thesis has been done for a while. If I was there only for that, I would’ve stopped coming about six weeks ago.” Laughter bursts from you and Frankie in disbelief. The more you laugh, the more the indifference he convinced you were feeling reveals to be plain blindness.

You press your forehead against his shoulder, a gesture he doesn’t expect but also isn’t surprised by. You’re in his space, on him, never breaking a boundary, but wanting to absorb him as much as you can.

“What have you been doing then?”

“Applying for jobs, reading different forums and articles, sometimes nothing.” He holds his hand out and like earlier, yours fits against it like it belongs there. It’s not just a simple touch anymore though. It’s revelation of what you’ve been hiding. It’s hope for something to come out of it. Whatever will happen might just be a short fling. Or maybe it’ll be the beginning of something Frankie hasn’t had before.

Frankie takes you home. The energy is different as the night has fallen above the town. The air has turned balmy promising a mighty thunderstorm in the coming days. It doesn’t stop you from pressing yourself against his back, sticking to him with your arms around him. He doesn’t mind it, neither do you. You only push in closer and hold on tighter.

“Thanks for the ride home.” You fix your dress and stand in front of him. Your eyes drift to his lips, and you wet yours.

“Sorry for the uncomfortable seat, I’ll have my truck back next time.” Your reaction is worth every word. The soft smile, the drop of your gaze, the hand that reaches for his and twines with his fingers loosely swaying back and forth.

“Next time,” you repeat back to him, the words hanging as a promise in the air. They’re wings to his heart that soars into a fast beat, excited for whatever’s to come and nervous of the same prospect.

“I better get going.” Your eyes still flit to stare at his lips.

“I’ll wait here, make sure you get home safe.”

“The door is right there.”

“I’ll still wait.” You reluctantly let go of his fingers and take a step back, then another before you turn from him. Frankie rests his hands on his thighs and waits. You dig your keys out and stop. Maybe you don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

The sound of your sandals against the concrete is loud in the quiet. You have a new kind of bravery in your steps when you come back.

“Would it be completely inappropriate if I kissed you?” Frankie’s heart is in his throat. He shakes his head, giving you permission to step even closer.

You lean in but you don’t rush into it. You bring your hot palm against his cheek, and further in to tangle your fingers into the hairs at the base his neck. Your first move is to press your forehead against his and take a breath.

Your chest rises and falls steadily when you close your eyes. He presses all the details of your face into his memory from such close proximity. Your lashes, the faint lines next to your eyes, the plumpness of your cheeks, the curve of your mouth which you breathe a heavy sigh from. Your nose nudges against his, as a final sign for him to throw away his insecurities.

Your lips press against his slowly, so soft it leaves room for so much more. Your kiss is a breath and Frankie needs to chase it to keep his lungs filled. It’s easy to deepen the kiss, to have your lips slot with his, to feel the tip of your tongue tease his bottom lip just to test how he reacts.

You press in closer, just to get Frankie to pull you in even more. The bike under him wobbles as he moves to hold you closer, from you pressing your weight against him, yet somehow, he’s the most secure he’s ever felt in anyone’s embrace. A sighed out moan vibrates in your throat and your hand tugs at the curls on his head. And then it’s over.

Too soon, yet just at the right moment. He wants more, his body craves you, and the blown out pupils in your eyes under the orange street lights is enough to tell him that he’s not the only one. You lick the moisture from your lips, the signs of his mouth from around them, and pull your hands back. The smile that he has learned to want to see appears again, this time with the heaviness of unadulterated lust on your skin. You’re an ember in front of him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you pledge and give him one more soft touch of your lips against his. Frankie doesn’t want to let your lips go and chases after them with the kiss still on his lips. You giggle and pull away.

Frankie’s hand slides from the back of your thigh, right under the hem of your skirt and slips off your skin with heat etched onto it. His fingertips are sensitive from holding onto you so tightly, from wanting to have you.

You give him one last look from the door, and you fix your dress on the thigh he was holding. Your own fingertips brush against where his hand was resting, excited and like it was his place to touch. He hears your tender laugh accompany the wave of your hand, before you disappear from view. He brushes his fingers through his hair with the hand he held you with, the scent of your sunscreen tattooed on his palm now forever etched to his memory.

#secretsprings #frankie friday #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fic #katsheadincloudswrites #like a sun shining late at night

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estellan0vella · 1 month ago

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Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Five: Scooby Squad SS: 7 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.3K & 1.2K Content Warnings: Nothing?

Previous Next Masterlist

As the clock barely strikes 7 a.m., Minho's sleek car glides to a stop outside the house, its headlights piercing through the gentle morning mist. The front door groans open, and Hayun, Jeongin, Jisung, and Felix emerge into the crisp air, wrapped in layers of clothing, still bleary-eyed from the early start. Hayun, clad in black cargo pants and an oversized, snug sweater, shields her eyes behind dark sunglasses, attempting to shield herself from the glaring morning sun. Her black-and-white high-top sneakers shuffle against the ground as she readjusts her ponytail.

Jisung, still squinting at the car, rubs the sleep from his eyes. "We barely know this dude, and we’re just letting him drive us around like it’s nothing?" he mutters, voice thick with sleep.

Felix stretches his arms above his head, yawning as he grins. "None of us have our licenses, Ji. It’s not like we have a lot of options here." He glances over, his tone teasing. "And let’s not forget—you and Hayun failed the test, what, ten times between the two of you?"

Jeongin snickers from beside him. "Five times each. Truly impressive."

Hayun shrugs nonchalantly, pushing her sunglasses up higher on her nose. "We decided to call it quits after that. Clearly, the universe was sending us a message—driving just wasn’t meant to be."

Jisung nods in agreement, stifling a yawn. "Scams. Driving tests are scams."

As they approach Minho’s car, Jeongin speeds up, a mischievous grin on his face. "Shotgun!" he shouts, claiming the front passenger seat with a triumphant bounce, ignoring the groans from the rest of the group.

Minho, sitting in the driver’s seat, looks half-asleep himself. He glances at Jeongin as he gets in and gives a nod. "Morning," he mutters, voice gravelly.

"Morning!" Jeongin chirps back cheerfully, far too awake for the hour.

Felix, Hayun, and Jisung squeeze into the backseat, with Hayun stuck in the middle, sandwiched awkwardly between the two. She leans back against the seat, crossing her arms as she tries to get comfortable. "Great. Human seatbelt again," she mumbles, rolling her eyes but smiling faintly.

Jisung pulls out his phone, already typing in the address to his family home. He leans forward, handing it to Minho. "Here, throw this into the GPS."

Minho enters the address, and the robotic voice instantly chirps, "Take the next left."

Hayun, her sunglasses doing little to hide her exhaustion, speaks up. "Please tell me there’s a drive-through on the way. We need coffee if we’re going to survive this hellish hour. It’s... seven. In the morning."

Felix nods in agreement, his head resting against the window. "I second that."

Jisung sighs dramatically, rubbing his face. "It’s almost a two-hour drive, and I want to get there early. I’m not risking running into my dad when he gets back from the university. He’ll lecture me for hours about prioritizing the podcast over my degree, and, worse, he’ll probably start making weird hints about setting one of you guys up with me."

Hayun groans, sinking deeper into her seat. "Please tell me he hasn’t started that again."

Jisung shakes his head, clearly exasperated. "Oh, he has. Just wait until he starts dropping hints about you and Felix."

Minho snorts at that, the first sign of life behind his sleepy expression. "At least we’re missing the traffic."

Hayun pulls her sunglasses off briefly, massaging her temples. "Yeah, but at what cost?"

Minho chuckles softly, glancing at her through the rearview mirror before turning back to the road. They pull into the drive-through of a nearby coffee shop, and the car comes alive with caffeine orders.

"Iced Americano for me," Jeongin announces, bouncing slightly in his seat as if the promise of caffeine has already hit him.

"Same," Jisung says, though his voice is far more tired and strained.

Minho, who clearly needs it too, taps the steering wheel absently. "Make that three."

Felix perks up, his eyes half-closed. "I’ll take a peach iced tea."

Then, of course, there’s Hayun. "I’ll have a honeycomb hazelnut frappuccino with an extra shot of coffee, please."

Jisung turns and stares at her, dumbfounded. "Really? You couldn’t just get something normal?"

Hayun grins, leaning back against Felix’s shoulder. "You know I don’t do normal."

Felix chuckles, shaking his head. "She’s got a point."

They also order a variety of pastries—croissants, muffins, and whatever else looks tempting at this ungodly hour. Minho, surprisingly, insists on paying for everyone, much to the group’s collective shock.

"Generous," Felix says, eyebrows raised.

Minho shrugs nonchalantly, pulling the car up to the window. "Don’t mention it."

As they collect their drinks and food, Minho shoots a glance back at them, his expression suddenly serious. "If any of you spill this shit in my car, you’re licking it up. Understand?"

Jisung raises an eyebrow. "Jesus, man. We’re not toddlers."

Felix snickers beside him. "No promises, though."

As soon as everyone has their hands on their drinks and pastries, Minho smoothly rejoins the flow of traffic. The car is soon filled with the familiar and soothing sounds of crinkling wrappers and contented slurping as they all eagerly tuck into their breakfast. A peaceful silence descends as everyone settles into their seats, enveloped by the comforting warmth of their coffee and the delicious food, slowly feeling more awake and energized.

Minho, eyes on the road, breaks the quiet. "So, Jisung... why does your sister ignore your messages? I thought you two were close."

Jisung sighs, his expression darkening slightly as he looks out the window. "We were close. She’s been avoiding me ever since Yuna disappeared five years ago. She moved out of the flat she shared with Yuna, went back to live with our dad. Lia was nineteen when Yuna vanished. They met at a fresher’s event at the university."

Felix frowns thoughtfully, stirring his iced tea. "Do you think she’s still in contact with Mingi?"

At the mention of Mingi, Hayun’s entire demeanor shifts. She stiffens, and the playful energy from before vanishes as she slowly hands the rest of her pastry to Jisung without saying a word. She turns toward the window, her expression hidden behind her sunglasses, her hands curling tightly around her coffee cup. Minho notices the sudden change in Hayun’s posture through the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t comment on it. He feels the tension building in the backseat, thick and heavy.

Jisung accepts the pastry, glancing sideways at Hayun before turning back to Minho. "Hayun hates Mingi. Avoids him like he’s got the fucking plague or something. Won’t even tell us why."

Minho, his voice careful, tries to ease the conversation back. "She probably has her reasons for not saying anything." He glances at Hayun through the mirror again. "Right?"

Hayun gives the smallest of nods, but she doesn’t elaborate. Her jaw is tight, and her expression stays hidden beneath her sunglasses.

Jisung rubs the back of his neck, looking out the window again. "Lia and Mingi have always been on and off. I think they’re off right now, though."

Hayun finally speaks, her voice quiet and measured. "Lia’s dating Mingi?"

Jisung nods. "Yeah, for a while. They’ve been back and forth for years. It’s weird."

Hayun just nods again, retreating further into herself, her gaze fixated on the passing landscape outside the window. Minho watches her for another beat in the rearview mirror, studying the tension in her body language, the way she completely shuts down at the mention of Mingi. He doesn’t press her for more but keeps it filed away in the back of his mind.

For the next few minutes, the car is quiet again, the only sounds coming from the low hum of the engine and the occasional sip of a drink. Despite the tension simmering just beneath the surface, there’s an almost peaceful quality to the early morning road trip.

Felix is the first to break the silence, his voice light in an attempt to lift the mood. "So, are we placing bets on whether Lia actually talks to us today or just slams the door in our faces?"

Jeongin snorts. "I’m betting on the door slam. She’s been dodging Jisung for a while now."

Jisung groans dramatically, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, she’s good at that. But we’ll catch her off guard this time."

The car pulls into the driveway of Jisung’s family home, the tyres crunching softly on the gravel as the mid-morning sun bathes the sprawling estate in warm light. Minho steps out of the driver’s seat and pauses, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the scene in front of him. The house is enormous, all ivy-covered walls, towering windows, and perfectly manicured lawns. It looks like something straight out of an architectural magazine—pristine and elegant, with not a leaf out of place.

“You live here?” Minho asks, more than a little impressed. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge of disbelief to it as he glances over at Jisung.

Jisung shrugs nonchalantly, slinging his bag over his shoulder like it’s no big deal. “Yeah, well, my dad’s the head of the social sciences department at the university. He’s got a bunch of books published and all that. So… yeah, we have money.”

Hayun snorts beside him, folding her arms across her chest as she surveys the house. “There’s having money, and then there’s this,” she mutters. “I practically grew up in this house, and I’m still not used to it.”

Felix grins, nudging her lightly with his elbow. “We’ve got money too now, remember? But we prefer to live like we’re broke.”

Hayun laughs, shaking her head. “Exactly. We could buy a place like this, but what the hell would we do with all that space?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he takes in their banter. “Wait… you guys are rich?”

Felix shrugs, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Only since the podcast blew up. But we don’t let it change anything. We still live like college kids with ramen budgets.”

Minho shakes his head with a small grin. “That explains a lot, actually.”

Jisung is already halfway to the front door, pulling out a key as he unlocks it with a flourish. He pushes the door open and shouts into the house, his voice echoing against the polished floors and high ceilings. “Lia! Get your ugly ass out here! You can’t avoid me forever!”

The group exchanges amused glances as Jisung’s voice bounces off the walls. A moment later, a voice calls back from the kitchen, dripping with sarcasm. “Fuck off, Jisung!”

Jeongin leans casually against the doorframe and smirks. “How you doin’, Lia?”

Before anyone can react, Felix reaches over and slaps Jeongin upside the head. “Dude, you embarrass us every time. Every. Time.”

Lia finally appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel draped over her shoulder, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her eyes land on Jisung, and then she glances around at the rest of the group, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “What do you want, Ji?”

Jisung grins, unfazed. “We’ve got questions about Yuna. We’re doing a podcast special.”

Lia’s face tightens the moment Yuna’s name is mentioned, and her gaze shifts toward Minho, standing slightly behind the others. Her eyes narrow, lips curling into a bitter smile. “So you brought her brother with you? That’s bold.”

The air thickens with tension, but Hayun steps forward, her voice calm but firm. “The police never definitively proved Chaeryeong did it. You know that.”

Lia lets out a sharp, humourless laugh, crossing her arms. “And you think a bunch of podcasters, their editor, and the brother of the accused can figure out what the police couldn’t? This isn’t some murder mystery game, Hayun.”

Jisung steps in, refusing to back down. “No, it’s not a game. But we’re not going in with the biased angle the police had from day one. We can at least approach this with a fresh perspective. You owe it to Yuna to hear us out.”

There’s a charged pause as Lia studies Jisung, her lips pressing into a thin line. After a moment, she exhales heavily, clearly frustrated but resigned. “Fine. Ask your questions, but don’t expect me to give you anything useful.”

Jisung pulls out his recorder, clicking it on with a quiet beep. He holds it out toward her, his voice steady. “Let’s start with the night Yuna disappeared. What do you remember?”

Lia leans against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms tighter, her gaze growing distant as she recalls that night. “We were at one of Mingi’s parties. The big one, the one you and Hayun were at too. You two were what, fourteen? Fifteen?”

Jisung nods. “Yeah. I remember.”

Lia’s eyes glaze over a little as she continues. “Yuna left the party at some point. She told me she was going to meet some older guy. She never said who. That was the last time I saw her. The next thing I know, the cops are knocking on our door, asking me questions. Then, out of nowhere, they tell me Chaeryeong confessed, and the case is closed.”

Minho, who has been listening intently, steps forward for the first time. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. “What else do you remember from that night?”

Lia’s eyes flick to him, and her expression hardens. “What else? We spent the night looking for Hayun because she disappeared pretty early on at the party. Remember that, Hayun?”

Hayun stiffens, her sunglasses masking her expression, but there’s a visible tension in her posture. She nods slowly, her voice quieter than usual. “Yeah… I drank too much.”

There’s a beat of silence, and though her words seem casual, everyone in the room feels the weight of something left unsaid. Lia watches her carefully, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she’s waiting for more, but Hayun doesn’t offer anything else.

“Right,” Lia says, her tone sharp. “We didn’t find you until the next morning.”

Hayun shifts uncomfortably, her hands fiddling with the sleeves of her jumper. It’s clear the conversation is making her uneasy, but no one pushes her for more. The tension in the room deepens.

Jeongin, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, quickly redirects. “Did Yuna ever mention the older guy again after that night?”

Lia shakes her head, her expression turning frustrated. “No. But I knew he was giving her money. That’s how she could afford all the shit she was into, pills, new clothes, all of it.”

Felix, frowning slightly, leans forward. “Do you think Mingi knew who the older guy was? He and Yuna were close, right?”

Lia shrugs, her eyes hardening as she speaks. “Maybe. Mingi was always around Yuna, but their relationship was complicated. If anyone knows who the guy was, it’s probably him.”

At the mention of Mingi, Minho notices the subtle shift in Hayun’s body language again. She tenses again, her hand tightening slightly around her coffee cup. She doesn’t say anything, but the discomfort is palpable.

Lia straightens up, breaking the tension as she looks around the room. “Look, if you really think you can find something the police missed, fine. But don’t expect me to get my hopes up.”

Jisung offers her a small smile, his voice softening. “We’re just trying to find the truth, Lia. That’s all.”

Lia studies him for a moment before her posture relaxes just slightly. “Good luck, then. You’re going to need it because you might not like what you find”

The group exchanges glances, the gravity of what they’re taking on sinking in. This case has been closed for five years, with no one questioning the official story. But now, with so many doubts hanging over it, they realize just how deep they’ll have to dig to find the truth.

And Hayun, quietly sipping her coffee, feels the weight of her own secret. A truth she’s not ready to share with the others, even as the past starts to catch up with them.

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount

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destieltropecollection · 6 months ago

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Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 24: Fluff

Animal | @ididitallofitforyou Rating: General Word Count: 1,014 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Kid Fic Summary: Cas and the kids stumble over a pet adoption event

The Bliss | @blessyoushondahurley Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,223 Main Tags/Warnings: established relationship, domestic fluff, halloween Summary: A fluffy domestic day in the life of a happy, settled, married, post-hunter Dean Winchester and family.

Kiss it better | @tami-ryver Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,332 Main Tags/Warnings: Season/Series 09, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Sick Castiel (Supernatural), Caretaker Dean Winchester, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel Summary: Cas is sleeping soundly, and Dean tries his forehead; it's not as hot as it was before. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and smiles. Cas is indeed in good hands, and Dean is going to make sure he is healthy as soon as possible. Because if there is one thing he doesn't like, it's when the people he loves are in pain. Wait, loves? He loves Cas? Oh. Oh.

Early Morning | @ididitallofitforyou Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,378 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Post Canon, Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Retired Dean and Cas, Baker Dean, Bookstore Owner Cas Summary: When Dean’s alarm goes off, he quickly silences it and groans as he falls back against his pillow. Before he can talk himself out of bed, Cas rolls over and snuggles up against him, head on his shoulder, arm around his waist. Dean leans down to nuzzle Cas’ hair as he slowly rubs his hand across Cas’ back and shoulder. How did he - Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, the guy with nothing but a GED and a give ‘em hell attitude - get so lucky as to end up here? Married to his not-quite-an-angel-anymore, best-friend-turned-love-of-his-life. He’s so goddamned happy he doesn’t know what to do with himself sometimes. Dean huffs an incredulous laugh and shakes his head. He’s got to get moving or he’s going to be late.

loving on island time | @deancaskiss Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,015 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Kissing, Boys Kissing, French Kissing, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Established Relationship, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Anniversary, Day At The Beach, Beaches, Sunsets, Road Trips, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Surprises, Surprise Kissing, Flirting, Castiel/Dean Winchester Flirting, Romance, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Roses, Alcohol Summary: Cas slipped a note into the handle of Dean’s coffee mug, set it on the bedside table, and placed a kiss against Dean’s temple. 'Let’s go on a road trip. I’ll drive.��

Hot & Cold | @macy2me Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,064 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Castiel Proposes Marriage to Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human Summary: When Dean accidentally finds out that there is an engagement ring hidden in the house, he plays a game of Hot & Cold with Cas to find it. Short fic created as part of the Love & Winchesters birthday drabble exchange.

Fairy Cake Shop | @verobatto Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,546 Main Tags/Warnings: Fantasy, love at first sight, fairy!Dean, human!Cas, modern setting Summary: Dean, Charlie and Benny are unpaid fairies working for Fairyland collecting human's emotions like pearls. To do this work, they run together a cake shop that fullfils human's good wishes. One day Dean meets Castiel, a widower father, and his life changes for ever.

The Starlight | @Velvethopewrites Rating: General Word Count: 3,803 Main Tags/Warnings: Meet-cute, AU, shy!Cas, awkward!Cas, fluff, bartender!Dean, human AU, pre-slash Summary: A cold and rainy night brings two people together.

The Way to a Man's Heart (In a Blizzard) | @thefandomsinhalor Rating: General Word Count: 4,344 Main Tags/Warnings: Neighbors AU, Dean Has a Crush on Castiel, Snowed In, Baker Castiel, Sweet Dean, Happy Ending Summary: Determined to spend the weekend on his own as a snow storm hits the city, Dean may change his mind when a handsome neighbor knocks on his door. Propositioning him with delicious food, no less.

One Way Mirror | @starstiels Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5,312 Main Tags/Warnings: outsider pov, fluff, didn't know they were dating, protective dean, protective castiel, episode: s12e01, episode: s12e02, cas and dean use their words Summary: When Mary comes back from the dead, she didn't expect her 4-year-old to be 37. She also didn't expect him to be a hunter and married to an angel. AU where deancas are just slightly more openly affectionate and Mary immediately assumes they're married.

The Royally Unexpected Jollification of Two Princes | @thefandomsinhalor Rating: General Word Count: 6,096 Main Tags/Warnings: Royalty AU, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Temporary Meg/Castiel, Helpful Sam Summary: Prince Dean has a lot of feelings to sort out when he hears the unexpected news that best friend Prince Castiel is engaged. Unsure if he’s upset about not having been told the news by his own friend—or perhaps because of another elusive reason—he plans on clarifying the situation. Good thing his friend is set to arrive at the castle on that very afternoon, unaware that an important discussion is awaiting him.

Their Own Personal Eden | @thisisapaige Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 7,394 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergence After Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Gardener Castiel, Gardener Dean Winchester, Inspired by Draft Script for Episode: s13e06 Tombstone, Language of Flowers, Fix It Summary: Years ago, Dean lost Cas and spread his ashes across a meadow with a windmill, a brook, and a garden. Years later, Dean loses Cas again and returns there to plant flowers in his honour. One day, while Dean lies in the meadow now full of forget-me-nots, a portal opens and Cas returns. With the help of soil, seeds, and the language of flowers— and perhaps a little meadow miracle— Dean and Cas learn how to navigate their relationship in the new, Chuck-free world.

#destiel trope collection #destiel trope collection 2024 #destiel #fanfic #supernatural #fluff

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starrgaziinggg · 9 months ago

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SMAU | UNDERCOVER JYP-U

chapter thirty eight -> swings and roundabouts (written 2.5k words)

directory | next part ->

The stress of exams was finally over. Classes were back to normal. You and Hyunjin couldn't be in a better place since the aftermath of the party. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly.

The only exception to this was the fact that you still didn't know who the evil mastermind behind the undercover JYP-U account was.

As much as you tried to push it out of your mind, it plagued your every thought. Who knew all these secrets about your friends? Why did they lie about Jeongin? How hadn't you been able to figure it out yet?

It was Jisung’s idea to get everybody together to discuss an action plan for figuring out the perpetrator and taking them down, which he had relayed to Chan. The first victim of the account was still as pissed off as everyone else, and although the repercussions for him hadn't been as severe as some others, he felt the exact same as you. You couldn't just sit back and let this account attempt to deface and destroy you all.

Chan had managed to snag a free room at the campus coffee shop, a secluded area, allowing you the privacy to talk about the subject without lingering people. You had to get away from the prying ears of your fellow university students. It was beyond time, you thought, for some action to finally happen against the account owner.

"So," Chan starts, student body president mode on. You sat to the left of Yuna and to the right of Hyunjin, listening to him intently. Everyone else in your friend group, bar Lia, was sat around too. "I've tried to trace the IP address - dead end. I've tried to contact the people who run the social media website and they've been useless."

"It's all dead ends," Jisung confirms solemnly. "Whoever it is knows what they're doing."

"So if we can't figure out who it is from a technological standpoint," Jeongin speaks up. "We're just gonna have to do it the old fashioned way."

You nod, shrugging your shoulders. "There's someone out there who knows all these secrets and we have no idea who they are. Doesn't that seem impossible?"

"Completely, but it's clearly possible," Minho sighs, giving you a half smile. "They knew about an injury I didn't speak a word of. Unless they got their binoculars out and watched me bandage up my leg through my window, I don't see how anyone could have figured that out."

Changbin snorts at that, quickly trying to compose himself. As much as Minho was trying to make the situation more light hearted, it was serious, and you weren't about to find out who was behind the account by cracking jokes.

"So let's just start naming people," Felix suggests, his eyebrows raised. "Go through anyone we suspect and cross them off the list if there's reason to."

There's a collective nod at that, everyone in agreement that this was the best way to go about things.

"What about Lia?" Jisung says, grabbing everyone's attention. He looks at everyone perplexed. "What? I'm serious, it could be her. We hardly know her."

Lia was the only person not in attendance at your meeting. You didn’t want her to bin off the extracurricular that gives her extra credit for her degree, so she’d given the meeting a miss. It might have been for the better anyway, since it was Jisung's first guess.

"Okay," Yuna sighs, her fingers pressing into her temples. "Let's think about this properly. Lia's a literal sweetheart, you really think she's behind this torturous account?"

"Sometimes people aren't what they seem," you shrug, a sad motion. You feel Hyunjin place a hand on your thigh and you smile up at him, glad to have the comfort. "And we've known her less time than anyone else at this school, so who knows what she could be capable of."

"That's true," Seungmin smiles at you sadly, looking as though it's paining him to talk about Lia like this. You knew the two of them were getting on well.

"But that's exactly the thing," Ryujin sighs exasperatedly. "We've known Lia for the shortest amount of time, but she's known us the same, so how would she ever know all these things about us?"

"That's true," Minho says, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. "Perhaps Yuna was drunk one night and let her secret slip without realising, and she found the old lyrics to Ji's song in class and whatever else; how would she ever know the details to my injury? Or about Seungmin's dad, which nobody else knew about? And why would she lie about Jeongin cheating?"

There's a couple seconds of silence as everyone takes in Minho's words, a nod of agreement running through your group. The silence continues when a worker comes into the room you're all in to clear some of the used mugs away, a clear indication that you did not want this conversation to get into the wrong hands.

"Unless Lia is just some psycho who wanted to wreak havoc, there's no real reason for her to want to spill these secrets," Jeongin says quietly once the worker leaves, putting it plainly, and you nod at him.

"And, I think we're all kind of forgetting something," Felix says almost sheepishly, as if he doesn't want to bring it up.

"What?" Ryujin asks without thinking twice, everyone's heads turning to Felix. You catch the way Changbin almost glares at Felix, and you realise he might not be as okay about their secret as you initially thought. Although Changbin and Ryujin had ended, it was still pretty fresh.

"Lia wasn't there that night, you know," Felix says with a cringe, desperately hoping everyone knows what he's talking about. You all do, easily, so you speak up to avoid tension as Felix attempts to hide in his baggy hoodie, letting his blonde hair fall in his face.

"That's true - Lia was sick in her room," you agree, remembering the night of the party. "She looked awful the whole two days beforehand, too, so unless she managed to somehow run to the frat and back whilst having a 39.5°c fever, I think we can start to cross her off our list."

"I can vouch," Yuna says, nodding her head with wide eyes. "She was so unwell, there was no way she could have known about that unless either of you two had told her."

"We didn't tell anyone," Ryujin mumbles, and you can tell she does not want to hang onto this topic of conversation long.

"So if we've concluded it can't be Lia, all that does is give us a whole lot of nothing since we still don't know who it actually is," Jisung groans, frowning. "This is a living nightmare."

"You can say that again," Minho yawns, checking the time on his phone. "At least we know who it's not."

"Hold on," Ryujin speaks up, a thoughtful look etching her features. "We're forgetting the one person who hates all of us."

All eyes turn to her as she tilts her head, staring back at everyone. "Yeji."

The thought had crossed your mind a million times. You'd basically kicked Yeji out your friendship group after all the drama she had caused, so who else would hate you enough to spread gossip about you all?

"I did think that," Yuna says, nodding her head at Ryujin. "But I don't really know anymore. Firstly, she's been almost MIA this whole semester."

"That's true," Jeongin nods, adding onto what Yuna was saying. "She attends classes and then heaps of study sessions and from what I've seen hardly goes out anymore."

"I don't think she's that spiteful," Chae says, and although you know she's trying to defend her, you can't help but agree. "Yeah, she could be a real bitch, but would she really waste her time on something like this?"

"Jeongin said the same thing to me before," you agree, watching the younger boy nod his head at you. "I've suspected her the most out of anyone, but I think at this point it's a stretch. Unless she did some serious digging, she wouldn’t know any of this shit about us. And, if she's as up to her ears in work as Jeongin says she is, how the hell would she have the time?"

Minho nods, sitting back in his chair lazily. "If I know Yeji, and unfortunately I do, she wouldn't bother her rats ass about getting 'revenge' on us. She has much more important things going on in her life."

"I agree with that," Hyunjin speaks up. "I know the way her family works. She'll have a lot of responsibilities that literally make it impossible for her to have the time to do this, and on top of her coursework? Doubt it."

You don't think twice about Hyunjin's comment, knowing that he probably knows how her family works because they're just as high up on the social hierarchy as his.

"Could it just be some random we go to school with?" Chae asks, deep in thought. "Someone who doesn't like the fact that our group is well liked?"

"I thought about that too," Changbin says. "But there's no intent. It would be genuinely psychotic for someone who hardly knows us to want to ruin our lives like this."

Jeongin looks around the room then. “Who hasn’t had a secret revealed about them?”

“Me, Hyunjin, Chae, Changbin, Chan, Lia…I think that’s it,” you respond, met with a chorus of nodding heads.

“Save from Lia, we’ve all been friends for years,” Chan speaks up. “And the secrets have impacted us all. If the person behind the account was someone at this table it wouldn’t make any sense whatsoever. Why would one of us want to attempt to destroy our own friendship group?”

“Exactly,” Seungmin chimes in, shooting you a grin. “It can’t be one of us.”

"This is bullshit," Jisung interrupts, rubbing at his eyes. "We've traced the IP address and it lead us to fucking nothing, we've contacted the website to shut down the account and they've done Jack, the uni can't do anything about it - how the hell are we supposed to figure out who this bastard is?"

That kind of leaves everyone stumped, because god if any of you knew. Nobody says anything for a while, just sitting in relative silence, until Chan speaks up.

"Look, we can't give up. This fucker has caused us all too many problems this semester for us to just forget what they've done. Nobody should be able to get away with spreading personal information like that with no consequences, and I'll be damned if I just sit back and let it happen," he says, and you swear it's the angriest you've ever seen him.

"You know what I'm thinking?" Jeongin says, inciting a bit of hope within you. "You know that school gossip page? What if they're behind it? They just put out that weird statement, but what if they’re just trying to cover their tracks now that things are getting serious?”

Everyone kind of looks at each other then, as it's something none of the rest of you had considered.

"I mean it would make sense, considering they're always spreading the drama after the account posts. Plus, we don't know who runs that account either, so if we find out whose behind the gossip account it could lead us closer to whose behind the JYP-U undercover account," Seungmin agrees.

"Knowing who it's not gives us a good start, we just need to keep looking for clues and narrowing it down," Chae adds on, trying to boost the groups morale as usual. "Why don't you guys trace the IP of the gossip account and see what you find and we can go from there?"

Jisung nods, looking towards Changbin and Chan. "We can get on that tomorrow, let you know what we find?"

The guys nod in response, and it makes you feel a little better knowing you at least had something to go off of.

Chan sighs after that, placing his hands on the table. "It's getting late, and we're all clearly exhausted. I say we go home, get some rest, keep doing our best to figure this out and reconvene when someone's got something. Hopefully the gossip account gets us somewhere."

There's a collective agreement that runs through the group, and it doesn't take long for you all to get your shit together and go your separate ways.

Hyunjin walks you home, hanging back so it's just the two of you. He intertwines his hand with yours easily.

"Do you realistically think we will figure out who this psycho is?" He asks, his hand enclasped with yours. You give his hand a squeeze in response.

"I think we will. It's only a matter of time before the truth comes out," you reply hopefully, walking up to your dorm building. He turns to you with a sinister look.

"It's not you, is it?"

You push his arm, laughing in response. "No it's not me, you idiot. And it's not you?"

"Never me," he replies, which makes you laugh even more. He pulls you in tight for a hug as he always does when you inevitable have to depart, kissing your forehead before pulling away. "Get some sleep, yeah? Big date tomorrow and all that."

"Yeah," you respond quietly, trying to take your time basking in his presence, excited about this surprise date he’d decided you were going on. "I wish you'd just tell me what we're doing, you know. I hate surprises."

"A master never reveals his secrets," he says cheekily, giving you a chaste kiss before turning on his heel, waving at you when you use your key card to open the main door to your dorm building. Once you get inside your dorm, the girls are silent for once, and you can imagine they've all crashed as soon as they hit their beds.

You can't help feeling dejected. The only good thing to come out of that whole conversation was that everyone was on the same page about who the account wasn't run by, yet nobody had a solid idea of who it was. You hoped something would come out of finding who was behind that gossip page, but you weren't sure. It seemed like opening Pandora's box; a task that was so impossible you didn't even know how to begin.

But you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind once again, doing your best to focus on preparing for the date you were more than excited to go on.

and we’re finally getting somewhere with figuring out who it is!! I’m estimating 10-15 chapters left, but god knows because I didn’t think this SMAU would be over 30 chaps nor last a year ahhahah

@cursed-mars-bars @imasimplol @hyunverse @aestaeticous @dorisnumber1fan @amnmich @detectivedoodle @amara-mars @end0rchans @raresevng @nhyunn @lixie-phoria @beomgyusonlywife @seolarpower @cuddlethebear @weird-bookworm @ceelestic @worcesheshestershiresauce @hyuneyeon @downbadreading @where-is-innie @weird0o0 @sxhxnax @moretinyideas @realrintaro @pinkcherryblossomangel @tesywesy @beaann @cutesince2000 @lynlyndoll @furryenthusiastbread @nyasstars @eyearebee @lynlyndoll @seungminindabuilding @chans1aptop @victio

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