#it’s not gonna be as fun if you’re not there???? it was the best thing that ever happened to me??? NOT TO ME???????

[kianamaiart]

Were you the one directing the actors? If so, what was that like? Have you directed before?

Yes! With a lot of help from my friend Marieve Herington!!

She voice directs on BCG and offered to help me out on this project. She helped me direct Anairis, Bennett and Christine and really helped me set the tone and vibe for the pilot! I directed her, Aleks, Michele and Shara on my own afterwards

It was really fun! It’s such a tricky and specific skill and one I’d really like to get better at. You have to keep the vibe up, make sure the actors are having a good time and also find efficient ways to get the exact take you want. You gotta get really creative with how you direct them. The number one rule I learned was to not say the line how you want it read to the actor. You should always try to explain the emotion and vibe you’re going for instead.

A lot of it’s about trust and letting the actors do their job. It was a tricky thing to unlearn be you have a way that you imagine it in your head. BUT I feel like the best reads I got were from the actors improvising and doing something wildly different from what I had in mind. The pilot’s so much funnier and the characters have so much charm because of it

[yaniluvs]

“nerds don't date , right?” ⎯ how to lose a bet and your heart in seven days.

[ 정인 ] ✷ ‎. . things just get more interesting when you're fake-dating the hot nerd and are involved in a bet with him.

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑛erdy!jeongin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , humour , crack , forced proximity , classmates to lovers , uni au , fake dating , skz ensemble . 64OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ LiBRARY ⟢ cw. suggestive , as of now . ┆ 📹 ⋮ a y.jg mini series .ᐟ ֹ ₊

yani's note 𑁍ࠬܓ hihi >< so like, part two hehehehhehehe. this turned out to be literally double the wc from the previous one..... oh and i just crossed 8OO followers???? what???? like two posts ago i crossed 7OO, oh good lord, thank you so much!! comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading, love <3

you had never seen jeongin this stressed in your uni year.

it had been barely a day since the dinner, and he was already acting like his life was spiraling out of control. not that you blamed him—you were a handful, after all. but still, the man looked like he was fighting for survival, while you?

you were thriving.

not only were you fake-dating him in front of his family, but thanks to him, you also had the perfect bet to keep things interesting.

and now? now, you were at the usual café on campus, sitting comfortably with your group—felix, ryujin, yeji, and minho—while absolutely basking in the aftermath of your deal with jeongin.

the blonde leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. "so let me get this straight," he began, voice amused.

"you made a bet with the yang jeongin—topper, nerd, absolute try-hard—where you get to flirt with him for three whole months, and if he falls for you, you win?"

you grinned, stirring your latte lazily. "mhm."

ryujin raised a brow. "and if you lose?"

you waved a dismissive hand. "then he gets to ignore me forever, i guess."

yeji snorted. "as if he'd actually do that. boy’s definitely gonna lose."

minho, who had been silently observing all this time, sipped his americano before finally speaking. "you're really confident, huh?"

you flashed him a smirk. "min, have you met me? of course, i'm confident. i know he’s gonna fall for me. i learn from the best, you know."

felix grinned. "well, duh. everyone loves you."

yeji smirked. "hyunjin and jisung sure do."

ryujin laughed. "oh yeah, didn’t hyunjin say you were literally his type?"

you shrugged, fighting back a smirk. "maybe."

felix gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "oh my god. is this why jeongin is acting so feral? is he jealous?"

"no, he’s probably just pissed that i exist."

minho scoffed. "that’ll change soon enough."

"exactly," you said smugly. "so, obviously, i’m winning this bet. there’s no way i’m falling first."

your friends exchanged looks, all of them barely holding back their very obvious amusement.

"sure," yeji said, lips twitching.

"of course," ryujin agreed.

minho sipped his drink again. "i totally believe you."

felix just grinned. "this is gonna be fun."

meanwhile.

jeongin had never been this mentally exhausted in his life.

one dinner. one stupid dinner. that was all it was supposed to be.

now? now he was fake-dating y/n in front of his entire family and locked in a three-month bet that would undoubtedly ruin him.

and to make things worse? jisung, seungmin, hyunjin, aeri, and yunah were not helping.

"bro," hyunjin was saying, leaning against the café booth with a stupid grin, "you’re done for."

"over. finished." jisung added, looking way too entertained.

jeongin shot them both a glare. "i am not going to fall for her."

hyunjin raised an eyebrow. "really?"

seungmin, ever the realist, merely sighed. "jeongin, have you met y/n?"

"yes, seungmin," jeongin deadpanned. "i have. unfortunately.*"

yunah giggled, twirling her straw. "she’s really pretty, though."

aeri smirked. "and hot. and cute. and bold."

hyunjin nudged jeongin. "she literally calls you 'hot nerd.' i would’ve folded instantly." he said, dramatically putting a hand on his heart while pretending to faint.

jeongin shot him a disgusted look. "you have no standards."

jisung snorted. "and you have no chance."

"i hate all of you." (and we're back !!)

"no, you don’t," jisung said, grinning. "you hate that you know we’re right."

seungmin nodded. "statistically speaking, you're screwed."

"oh my god," jeongin muttered.

jisung clapped his hands together. "alright! place your bets! how long do we think it’ll take for jeongin to fall first?"

"two weeks," hyunjin said immediately.

"a month," aeri guessed.

yunah smirked. "three weeks, max."

"one week," jisung announced proudly.

jeongin slammed his drink down. "i hate every single one of you."

almost a week later.

you found jeongin in the library, because of course you did.

dressed in an oversized cream sweater, silver-rimmed glasses perched perfectly on his nose, black slacks, and expensive-looking loafers, he looked annoyingly good for someone who spent all his time studying.

unfortunately for him, you were here to ruin his peace.

sliding into the seat across from him, you grinned. "morning, iyennie."

jeongin didn’t even look up. "no."

you gasped dramatically. "no? that’s all i get? where’s my 'good morning, beautiful?' my 'you look stunning today, y/n'?"

jeongin exhaled sharply. "why are you here?"

you leaned forward on your elbows, smirking. "to see my lovely boyfriend, obviously."

jeongin twitched. "we are not fake-dating at uni."

you shrugged. "doesn’t mean i can’t flirt with you."

jeongin dragged a hand down his face. "i hate this bet."

"you literally proposed it, genius."

his jaw clenched. "i hate you."

you batted your lashes. "no, you don’t."

jeongin physically recoiled. "oh my god."

across the library, hyunjin and jisung sat at another table, watching the interaction with matching grins.

hyunjin nudged jisung. "one week?"

jisung smirked. "one week."

. . .

“i’ve decided that i’m going to end you.”

jeongin barely looked up from his notes. “cool. try not to be too obvious about it.”

“no, really,” you said, leaning forward across the library table, resting your chin on your hands as you stared at him. “i’m going to make your life miserable.”

jeongin finally glanced up, adjusting his silver-rimmed glasses with the most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen. “isn’t that what you’ve already been doing?”

you gasped, placing a dramatic hand over your chest. “wow. that was hurtful, iyen.”

jeongin twitched. “stop calling me that.”

you grinned. “make me.”

his fingers curled around his pen, and for a second, you wondered if he was genuinely considering launching it at your forehead.

the library was quiet, aside from the occasional whispers of students flipping through books, the dull hum of the air conditioning, and the muffled sounds of footsteps against the carpeted floor. your table was nestled in the back corner, surrounded by towering bookshelves and dim lighting that gave the whole setting a very academic romance kind of vibe—not that jeongin would ever admit that.

and, of course, the two of you weren’t alone.

like said earlier, across from you, at another table, were felix, ryujin, yeji, and minho, watching with way too much amusement.

they can't miss good entertainment, right?

and a few tables away, jisung, hyunjin, seungmin, aeri, and yunah, were also watching with expressions that ranged from entertained to downright smug.

because, honestly? no one believed jeongin was going to win this bet.

not even jeongin himself.

"are you done?" he asked, voice clipped, flipping a page in his notes.

you smirked. "not even close."

leaning back in your chair, you crossed one leg over the other, watching him with open interest. he was dressed as he always was—annoyingly fashionable for someone who didn’t seem to care about fashion. a fitted black turtleneck, an oversized houndstooth blazer, tailored slacks, and his signature silver-rimmed glasses that rested so perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

his black hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it in frustration all morning (which, knowing you, he probably had).

"you know," you mused, tilting your head, "if you weren’t so insufferable, i’d probably have a crush on you."

his pen hovered mid-air, his lips parting slightly before he turned to glare at you. "what?"

you shrugged. "what? i’m just saying. you’re kind of my type. hot. smart. dresses well. severely grumpy. i like a challenge."

jeongin’s eye twitched. "w—"

"oh my god," hyunjin suddenly groaned from across the room, throwing his head back. "can you two just kiss already?"

jeongin immediately choked on air.

your lips twitched as you turned to hyunjin. "not yet, jinnie. i have a bet to win, remember?"

hyunjin smirked. "oh, you will win. no doubt about it."

jisung laughed. "he’s already halfway there."

"this is a library, hello?" the librarian hissed.

"but we're the only ones here, miss y-"

jeongin slammed his book shut, stood up, and turned to you with murder in his eyes. "we’re leaving."

you blinked innocently. "we are?"

"yes." he grabbed your wrist and tugged you up from your seat, ignoring the very loud, very obnoxious oooohhhhhs coming from both friend groups.

felix gasped. "look at him. so dominant."

"i didn’t know he had it in him."

"they grow up so fast."

seungmin merely shook his head, unimpressed. "he’s just running away."

jeongin glared at all of them before practically dragging you out of the library.

now playing, if you love me by colde

the late afternoon sun draped the campus in warm, honey-colored light, stretching long shadows across the pavement. the air was crisp but comfortable, carrying the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee from the campus café nearby. a few students walked past, caught up in their own conversations, but none of them paid much attention to the very mismatched pair walking down the sidepath.

jeongin was suffering.

because you were practically dragging him.

"y/n," he grumbled, his arm stiff as you held onto his wrist. "why are you like this?"

you hummed, pretending to think. "born this way, i guess?"

jeongin sighed, shaking his head. "no remorse. none at all."

"absolutely none," you confirmed cheerfully, still leading him forward.

he didn’t know where you were taking him. you probably didn’t either. but that didn’t seem to matter to you. it was just one of those things—where you decided something, and everyone else just had to go along with it.

he really should have thought this through before making that bet.

the sky was beginning to shift into soft hues of orange and almost blue when jeongin’s phone buzzed in his pocket. he pulled it out, glancing at the screen, and immediately stiffened.

his mom.

he stopped walking so abruptly that you almost crashed into him.

"whoa—" you blinked at him. "what’s wrong?"

he held up a finger. "be quiet."

you snorted. "like hell."

"y/n."

you grinned, unbothered, as he answered the call.

"hello?" jeongin said, his voice immediately shifting into something softer, more polite.

"oh, jeongin! how are you, sweetheart?"

you gasped dramatically beside him. sweetheart?

jeongin shot you a look. a warning. a plea.

you ignored it completely.

"hello, ms. yang!" you chirped before he could stop you, leaning in way too close to the phone. "how are you?"

there was a pause on the other end.

and then—

"oh, y/n, dear! how lovely to hear your voice!"

jeongin closed his eyes. no, no, no—

you beamed. "aw, you're so sweet. it's lovely to hear yours too!"

jeongin wanted to die.

his mother laughed. "such a charming girl! i hope my son is treating you well?"

you turned to him with the smuggest smile, tilting your head. "oh, he’s wonderful, ms. yang. so sweet. so attentive."

jeongin gave you a blank stare, deadpan. you? a menace.

his mother sighed happily. "ah, that's good to hear. oh! that reminds me—jeongin, darling, you haven’t forgotten about next weekend, have you?"

jeongin blinked. "uh… next weekend?"

you raised an eyebrow, watching him.

"the family gathering, jeongin!" his mom continued. "your uncle’s wedding anniversary celebration. you have to come. and of course, you must bring y/n!"

jeongin froze.

you?

you? (i'd be offended)

he turned to you so fast you almost thought his neck might snap.

you, on the other hand, were staring at him with way too much excitement in your eyes.

he cleared his throat, forcing his voice to stay neutral. "oh… right. that."

you leaned in, lips parted in interest.

ms. yang laughed. "don't tell me you forgot?"

jeongin exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his temple. "i… might have."

you gasped. "baby!"

he glared.

"oh, don’t worry, dear," his mom said, brushing past his frustration entirely. "it’s going to be a lovely event! you must come with him, y/n! i won’t take no for an answer."

your grin widened.

jeongin knew that look.

it was the look of pure evil. the look of someone who had just won. (no he just read too many comics)

you placed a hand over your heart, feigning surprise. "oh my gosh, ms. yang, really? you’d want me there?"

"of course!" his mother said immediately. "you’re practically family now!"

jeongin almost choked for the umpteenth time that day.

you looked so pleased.

"well, in that case," you said sweetly, "i’d love to come. wouldn't want to disappoint a lovely lady like you, ms. yang."

ms. yang sighed, completely oblivious to his suffering. "wonderful! oh, i knew i liked this girl!"

jeongin shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. why him?

"alright, sweetheart, i won’t keep you two," his mom said. "make sure to text me later, okay?"

"yeah, yeah," he muttered, still trying to process what had just happened. "bye, mom."

"have a good evening, ms. yang!" you called cheerfully.

the call ended.

silence. and then—

"you evil, evil woman," jeongin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

you grinned. "aw, is my baby upset?"

"don’t call me that."

"oh, but i must," you teased, tapping his arm. "we are dating, after all."

jeongin groaned.

you rocked back on your heels. "sooo. a family event, huh?"

"shut up."

"your entire family is gonna be there?"

"y/n—"

"and your relatives?"

jeongin exhaled slowly, praying for patience. "yes."

you beamed. "god, i love this bet."

jeongin stared at you. "why are you enjoying this?"

you shrugged. "because you're not."

his eye twitched. "i hate you." (.........yeah, yk the drill)

"you love me."

"shut up."

you giggled, nudging his arm as you started walking again. "come on, hot nerd. we have so much planning to do."

jeongin sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he followed after you.

he wasn't going to lose this bet.

he wasn't.

but, why did it feel like you had already won?

—

the city was beginning to glow.

golden streetlights flickered on, one by one, casting soft halos onto the pavement. neon signs buzzed to life in the distance, painting the skyline in hues of red, blue, and green. the cool evening air carried a mix of scents—freshly brewed coffee from a nearby café, the faint spice of street food stalls setting up for the night, and something softer, like rain on warm pavement.

and in the middle of it all—you and jeongin.

he was still following you, albeit begrudgingly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

"are you actually planning on telling me where we're going?" jeongin asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

you only grinned, walking a little ahead of him, as you turned around, still walking backwards, facing him. "nope."

he sighed. "of course not."

as the two of you had left the campus a while ago, jeongin had expected you to stop at the nearest café, maybe a convenience store. but instead, you kept walking. past the busy streets, past the familiar landmarks, past the places where most students usually hung out.

and now?

now, you were leading him through quieter roads, where the buildings weren't as tall, where the sky was starting to open up above you, where the city lights didn’t drown out the stars entirely.

it was weirdly peaceful.

not that he'd admit it.

"you're too trusting," jeongin muttered, watching as you walked ahead of him without a care in the world.

you glanced over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "oh? and why's that?"

"you’re just… walking around at night, alone, dragging me—your supposed fake boyfriend—to some unknown location." he narrowed his eyes. "for all you know, i could be leading you into danger."

you let out a soft laugh. "oh, please. if anyone’s the danger here, it’s me."

jeongin rolled his eyes. "right."

"you think i'm scared of you, topper?" you smirked, nudging his shoulder. "you’re, like, the least threatening person i’ve ever met."

"good," he said flatly. "that means i can stop pretending to tolerate you."

you gasped dramatically. "so rude! and here i was, thinking we were bonding!"

"bonding?" jeongin scoffed. "you kidnapped me."

you hummed, tilting your head. "wouldn’t call it kidnapping. more like… involuntary adventuring."

"that’s literally just a fancier way of saying kidnapping."

"details, details." you waved a hand dismissively, your bracelets jingling softly.

jeongin shook his head, but there was a small—very small—curve to his lips.

for a while, the conversation drifted into comfortable silence. the only sounds were the rhythmic tapping of your footsteps against the pavement, the occasional passing car, and the distant chatter of city life.

"you come here often?" jeongin asked suddenly, his voice softer now.

you glanced at him, slightly surprised by the question. "hmm?"

"wherever it is we're going," he clarified, watching your expression closely. "you seem… familiar with the way."

you hesitated for a second, but then you smiled. "yeah. i do."

he studied you, noticing how your fingers fiddled with the strap of your bag—a small, almost absentminded gesture. "alone?"

"sometimes." you exhaled lightly, looking up at the sky. "other times, with my friends."

jeongin didn’t miss the slight shift in your tone. it was subtle, but it was there.

"and tonight?" he asked, glancing at you. "why me?"

you turned your head toward him, meeting his gaze.

and for a moment—just a moment—you didn’t say anything.

the city lights reflected in your eyes, turning them into something almost ethereal. the night breeze played with the loose strands of your hair, making them dance against your cheekbones. there was something unreadable in your expression, something jeongin couldn’t quite place.

but then— you grinned.

"because i felt like annoying you," you said simply.

jeongin blinked. and then scoffed. "wow. and here i thought i was special."

"oh, you are," you teased, looping your arm through his before he could react. "you're my favorite victim, actually."

he stiffened. "y/n—"

"you’re warm," you interrupted, pressing closer. "a human heater. i should keep you around more often."

jeongin let out a very long sigh, tilting his head toward the sky like he was asking some higher power for patience.

"you're insufferable," he muttered.

"and you are cute."

"shut up."

you giggled. "ooooh, that blush is telling me a different story."

jeongin groaned, refusing to meet your gaze. "i hate this bet."

"you love this bet."

he side-eyed you. "you know, i think you might be evil."

you only winked. "oh, honey. i'm very aware."

and the walk continued like that—small banter, stolen glances, the occasional brush of hands when neither of you were paying attention.

jeongin hated how natural it felt.

hated how easy it was to talk to you.

hated how, despite himself, he was actually curious about where you were taking him.

he didn’t get attached.

he didn’t, right?.

but with every teasing smile you threw his way, with every time your fingers lingered against his, with every moment you laughed at something he said—

he started to wonder.

maybe jisung had been right.

maybe this bet was a really, really bad idea.

the view you chose for me

the path sloped upward, curving gently along the hillside. the city behind you had slowly started to fade, the buzzing neon signs replaced by the soft hum of cicadas, the distant rustling of leaves, and the whisper of the evening breeze. the sky above stretched out like a painting, shifting from the last golden hues of sunset into the deepening blues of twilight.

jeongin slowed his steps, glancing at you. "are we almost there?"

"patience, iyennie," you hummed, walking ahead with a skip in your step. "good things take time."

he rolled his eyes, but a small, amused exhale escaped his lips.

then, finally, the world opened up.

the trees thinned, revealing an expansive hilltop that overlooked the city. a vast, open field of wild grass spread around you, swaying lightly in the wind. the horizon stretched endlessly, where the last golden threads of daylight kissed the deepening night. below, the city twinkled like scattered stars, a soft, pulsing glow of blues, oranges, and whites.

and above, the first stars had begun to appear.

tiny, glimmering specks against a sky that seemed endless. wisps of deep indigo melted into shades of violet, streaked with soft pinks from the remnants of the sun. there was something ethereal about it—something quiet, untouched, almost unreal.

jeongin exhaled, barely noticing how his breath caught for a second.

you, on the other hand, stretched your arms out with a dramatic sigh. "isn't it beautiful?"

he glanced at you.

the wind had tousled your hair, strands of it floating like silk against the dim light. your face, turned toward the sky, was bathed in soft twilight, the shadows curving gently along your cheekbones. your eyes reflected the distant stars, and when you smiled—

your lips curled into a slow, satisfied grin, and your eyes crinkled into tiny crescents.

something in jeongin’s chest lurched.

"yeah," he murmured before he could stop himself. "it is."

you turned to him, blinking. "see? told you it was worth it."

jeongin tore his gaze away, clearing his throat. "it’s… alright."

you laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. "wow. that almost sounded like a compliment, yang."

"don’t push your luck," he muttered, walking past you.

you grinned, plopping down on the grass before patting the space next to you. "sit. enjoy the view."

he hesitated.

then, with a small sigh, he sat down beside you, the grass cool beneath his palms. the air smelled faintly of earth and rain, the breeze gentle as it curled around both of you.

a moment passed in silence, the two of you simply staring at the sky.

you reached into your bag, pulling out a small snack box.

jeongin glanced over. "what’s that?"

"food, obviously," you teased, opening the lid. inside, neatly packed, were a few triangular onigiris wrapped in seaweed. "can't survive without snacking every moment,"

you picked one up and held it out to him. "here. i made these this morning."

jeongin blinked. "you cooked?"

"is it so surprising? i'm a good chef, i'll have you know." you frown, and wiggled the rice ball in front of him. "c’mon. try it. first time making them, so i need honest feedback, topper."

he hesitated, eyeing you for a second before reaching out to take it.

and that’s when it happened.

you looked at him—waiting, expectant, your expression filled with the kind of excitement that was so genuine it almost startled him. the soft glow of the evening light traced the edges of your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the arch of your brow, the slight parting of your lips. your lashes cast tiny shadows against your skin, and when you smiled, your dimples deepened, your eyes turning into crescents once again.

jeongin—

forgot to breathe.

for a fraction of a second, he didn’t care about the stupid bet. didn’t care about the fake dating, or the fact that he was supposed to be annoyed by all of this.

all he could think about—

was how pretty you looked.

and then—

you turned your gaze back to the sky.

the moment broke, like ripples in a pond.

jeongin blinked rapidly, forcing himself to look anywhere else. he bit into the onigiri, trying to act normal.

it was good.

really good.

but he wasn’t about to inflate your ego, obviously.

"it’s… okay," he mumbled.

you frowned, clutching your chest. "just okay?"

he smirked, raising an eyebrow. "i’m just being honest, like you asked."

you narrowed your eyes, then suddenly leaned in closer, way too close. "are you lying?"

jeongin stiffened.

you were right there, inches from his face, eyes locked onto his like you were searching for the truth. the scent of vanilla and something faintly floral drifted from you, and jeongin—

had to grip his knee to keep himself from leaning back.

"i—" he swallowed. "no."

you hummed, tilting your head. "hmm. suspicious."

then, before he could react, you grinned.

"well, i think i did an amazing job." you leaned back, stretching your arms behind you. "maybe i should become a chef. quit university. open a cute little café. i’d call it ‘y/n’s love bites.’"

"love bites?" jeongin actually choked on air this time.

"hey, careful!" your eyes widened, your hands immediately burying into your bag, pulling a bottle out. you hand it to him, after opening it.

"what? is it not a nice name?" you pout at the look he gave you after gulping down the entire bottle, still coughing.

"really though? love bites?"

"mhm." you laughed. "because.. love bites. and because i’m good at biting. and love. and actually, love b-"

"god forbid a man wants to have a snack in peace."

you burst out laughing. "jeez, relax, iyennie. i’m kidding."

"you’re really insufferable."

"and you are fun to tease." you winked.

jeongin groaned, looking away.

but his ears—

were very, very red.

—

the stars were out in full now, scattered across the endless stretch of the night sky. the city below twinkled in response, as if the lights of the world and the heavens were competing for brilliance. the grass beneath you both was soft, slightly damp from the evening air, but comforting in a way that made neither of you want to move.

the silence between you had settled into something familiar—not awkward, not tense. just there. a moment where neither of you had to fill the space with meaningless words.

but then again, you’d never been one for silence.

"so," you started, shifting slightly so you faced him, "i realized something."

jeongin barely glanced at you, still watching the stars. "what?"

"i don’t know anything about you."

he raised an eyebrow. "you know plenty."

"mm, do i?" you leaned back on your palms. "i know you're stinky smart. i know you have the ability to make even professors shut up with a single argument. i know you have the fashion sense of a pinterest model and the patience of a grandma stuck in traffic."

jeongin let out a dry chuckle. "that’s oddly specific."

"am i wrong?"

"…no."

"exactly." you grinned before tilting your head. "but i mean, i don’t know you. like, i don’t know what makes you tick. what makes you.. you. i don’t know what you wanted to be when you were a kid, what your childhood was like, what your favorite memory is."

jeongin stayed quiet, eyes flickering toward you briefly.

you rested your chin on your knees, watching him. "i wanna know."

"you’re way too curious."

"and you’re way too closed off."

he sighed, shaking his head. "you don’t need to know all that. we’re only dating in front of my parents. not here."

"yeah, well, i want to get to know you," you said simply. "and this is completely unrelated to the whole fake dating thing. it can be platonic, you know? i just think it’s unfair that you probably know way more about me than i do about you."

jeongin looked at you, thoughtful. "do i?"

"you tell me, topper."

his lips twitched slightly, and for a moment, he looked like he was considering something. then, with a small sigh, he leaned back on his elbows.

"alright. what do you want to know?"

your eyes lit up. "anything?"

"within reason."

you hummed, thinking. "okay. what did you want to be when you were a kid?"

jeongin let out a short laugh. "you’re gonna make fun of me."

"oh, now i really have to know."

he rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly. "i wanted to be a detective."

your eyebrows shot up. "no way. detective yang jeongin?"

"yeah, yeah," he muttered. "i used to love mystery novels as a kid. thought i’d grow up solving impossible cases, catching criminals, the whole thing."

you grinned. "that’s actually kind of cute."

he scoffed. "yeah, well, then i realized i’d have to deal with actual crime, and i was like, ‘yeah, no thanks.’"

you burst out laughing. "you wanted to be sherlock holmes but without the danger?"

"pretty much." he shrugged. "so i settled for something else."

"which is?"

"business and english."

you made a face. "oh so we're almost twinning?"

"i thought you knew?"

"um no? we barely share any other sessions, only sometimes, business."

"well that's because we have different batches, genius."

"huh. when's yours?"

"at nine."

you clicked your tongue. "good lord, typical topper behavior."

he shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him. "alright, your turn. what did you want to be as a kid?"

you hummed. "i went through so many phases. i wanted to be a singer, a poet, an author, a fashion designer, a painter… i was all over the place."

jeongin’s eyes softened slightly. "you’re still kind of all those things."

you blinked, caught off guard, ready to fight. "excuse me?"

"no, i mean, you write. you sing. you compose. you’re always dressed like you just walked out of a magazine." his voice was casual, as if he wasn’t just casually complimenting you without thinking.

and for some reason—

your heart stumbled a little.

you quickly recovered, clearing your throat. "well. somebody is paying attention."

he smirked. "unfortunately."

you gasped, nudging his shoulder. "and here i thought we were having a moment."

"you should know better by now," he teased, but there was something gentle in the way he said it.

you huffed dramatically. "fine, whatever. but i thought walking out of a magazine was your thing?"

"i wouldn't mind someone appreciating fashion, darling."

"...moving on. next question. what’s your favorite memory?"

jeongin hesitated for a second. then, with a small exhale, he said, "when i was ten, my family took a trip to japan. we went during the cherry blossom season, and i remember standing under this huge tree, just watching the petals fall. it felt like…" he paused, searching for the word. "magic."

your lips parted slightly.

for a moment, you could see it—ten-year-old jeongin standing under a sea of pink, eyes wide with wonder, cherry blossoms falling around him like soft whispers of a dream.

"you still remember it that vividly?" you asked softly.

"yeah." he looked up at the sky. "some moments just… stick with you."

your chest ached a little at that.

you didn’t know why.

you shook off the feeling. "well. that’s a very wholesome memory."

he smirked. "what were you expecting? something embarrassing?"

"maybe," you admitted, grinning. "but i like this one, too."

a comfortable silence settled between you again.

"what about you?" he asked.

you blinked. "huh?"

"your favorite memory."

you smiled slightly, hugging your knees. "i have a lot of good ones. but, if i had to pick, maybe…" you trailed off, thinking.

jeongin waited patiently.

you finally spoke. "back home, we used to have power outages a lot. and whenever that happened, my mom and i would sit outside with candles, just talking. we’d make shadow animals on the wall, tell stories, and drink warm milk while waiting for the lights to come back."

jeongin listened intently, his expression unreadable.

"it was such a simple thing," you murmured, "but it always made me feel.. safe."

for a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

then, finally, he said, "that sounds.. comforting."

you glanced at him.

there was something warm in his eyes, something quiet and understanding.

and for the first time that night—

you weren’t thinking about the bet.

you weren’t thinking about how you were supposed to be fake dating in front of his parents.

it was just the two of you.

sitting under the stars.

sharing pieces of yourselves you never expected to.

and somehow— it didn’t feel fake at all.

it was peaceful.

you were still determined to learn everything about him.

not just for the bet.

not just for fun.

but because, if you were honest, he intrigued you.

and you always liked figuring people out.

so, after a few minutes of silence, you spoke again.

"so," you started, shifting slightly to face him, "we were talking about memories."

jeongin glanced at you. "we were."

"you know what we weren't talking about?" you raised an eyebrow. "your love life."

he scoffed. "love life? who said i have one?"

you gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to your chest. "wait, no way. don’t tell me you’ve never had a girlfriend before, iyennie."

"i literally told you i've never been on a date.. like on day one." he shot you a look. "also, don't call me that."

"i think you know that i don't believe that," you grinned. "also, i will always call you that."

he exhaled through his nose, clearly regretting ever agreeing to this conversation. "i’ve had one."

you perked up. "so you did!" your eyes lit up with curiousity. "so, one? as in, just one?"

"yeah."

"how long ago?"

he hesitated for a second. "three years."

your mouth dropped open. "damn, that’s—wait. that means you’ve been single since you were—"

"yeah, yeah," he cut you off, rubbing the back of his neck. "i just… haven’t really been interested in dating since."

"interesting," you mused. "so what happened?"

jeongin sighed, clearly debating whether to answer.

then, after a moment, he said, "she was.. nice. we just weren’t meant to be, i guess."

you narrowed your eyes. "that’s such a boring answer, yang. give me details."

he smirked slightly, shaking his head. "you’re really nosy, you know that?"

"and you're really secretive." you tilted your head, watching him. "it’s okay if it.. ended badly. you can tell me."

he was quiet for a beat, then finally spoke.

"it wasn’t bad, exactly. we just had different priorities," he admitted. "she wanted a lot more attention, a lot more time together. and i was…" he paused, exhaling. "i was too focused on school, my goals. she got frustrated. said i didn’t care about her enough."

you hummed. "did you?"

he frowned slightly. "i did care about her."

"but maybe not in the way she wanted," you guessed.

jeongin gave you a look, as if surprised at how quickly you caught on. "yeah."

you nodded, thoughtful. "so, you’re the kind of guy who expresses love in actions, not words, huh?"

he blinked. "i guess you could say that."

"noted." you grinned. "i’ll expect a bunch of favors and free tutoring sessions as proof of love."

he rolled his eyes. "we’re not in love."

"not yet," you teased.

jeongin let out a dry chuckle. "you really think you’re gonna win this bet, huh?"

"oh, i know i will," you said smugly. "face it, topper, you like me."

"i tolerate you," he corrected.

"that's what they all say," you laughed. "give it time."

for a moment, he just watched you, his gaze unreadable. then, shaking his head, he muttered, "unbelievable."

you turned your attention back to the sky. "alright, next question."

"you’re not done interrogating me yet?"

"of course not. i’m just getting started." you shot him a smirk. "so, mr. future ceo, what’s something you’re actually passionate about? like, not just academically."

he hesitated.

you raised an eyebrow. "you do have hobbies, right? you don’t just study for fun?"

"of course i have hobbies," he muttered.

"well?"

"…i like music."

you blinked. "wait, really?"

he nodded. "yeah. i don’t do it as much now, but i used to sing trot with my grandparents all the time when i was younger."

you stared at him, genuinely surprised. "you? music?"

"what’s so shocking about that?"

"i don’t know! you just seem like ‘i only study and occasionally judge people’."

"well, i do judge people." he smirked. "i also kinda life photography, for some reason."

"really? so he likes singing and photography? what kinds?"

"mostly landscapes. architecture. things that don’t move too much."

you hummed. "so, no people?"

"not really." he glanced at you. "though… i think i’d like taking pictures of someone if they were interesting enough."

you tilted your head. "like who?"

for a second, jeongin didn’t answer. his eyes flickered over your face, something unreadable in his expression.

then, with a small smirk, he simply said, "dunno. haven’t found them yet."

your stomach did a weird little flip.

you cleared your throat. "huh. well. you should show me your pictures sometime."

he shrugged. "maybe."

you nudged his shoulder. "that means yes."

"that means maybe."

"sure, sure." you grinned before shifting topics. "alright, what’s your biggest ick in a person?"

he smirked slightly. "besides you?"

"rude," you huffed.

he pretended to think. "probably… people who pretend to be someone they’re not."

you nodded. "yeah, i get that. fake personalities are exhausting."

"what about you?"

you didn’t hesitate. "people who can’t communicate."

jeongin raised an eyebrow. "that’s… a very mature answer."

"right?" you sighed dramatically. "like, if you have a problem, just say it. why do people make everything so complicated?"

jeongin chuckled. "agreed."

there was a pause before you added, "also, people who wear socks to bed. they scare me."

he burst out laughing. "what? why?"

"i don't know, it just feels wrong!"

"you’re insane," he said, shaking his head.

"maybe. but at least i’m not a sock-sleeper."

jeongin laughed again, and for some reason, the sound made your chest feel warm.

the conversation continued, shifting from childhood stories to embarrassing moments, from random questions to deep musings.

at one point, you found yourself just… watching him.

the way his dimples appeared when he smiled.

the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

the way his gaze softened ever so slightly when he looked at you.

and maybe, just maybe—

you were in trouble.

but you weren’t going to admit that.

not yet.

for now, you were just a girl sitting under the stars with a boy who was supposed to be your fake boyfriend.

and yet, somehow—

it didn’t feel fake at all.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 9 - cute note

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

you and the girls were huddled on sarah's bed as you debriefed the night before, it still not processing with you.

"i mean we left you for 5 SECONDS and i turned around and you two were eating each other" kie laughed

"no like seriously i thought we were gonna have to push harder for project city but it seems you didn't need our help after all." cleo joined in the laughter.

"guys i don't even know like i'm still in shock." you said.

"well was it a good kiss...?" sarah questioined.

"maybe the best i've ever had," you blushed. "but i'm nervous to see him next like what happens now."

"well you have his number," kie started "and you also don't have long because we're actually about to meet them all for lunch!"

"you're fucking joking." you muttered.

"nope!" sarah chimed in. "so let's get you ready."

after a quick outfit change, you left your room to meet the boys downstairs to have a walk around LA and grab some lunch.

you nervously waited for them to appear, but they finally did, rafe leading the group.

he smirked at you as he came to say hi, pulling you into a hug to whisper in your ear "cute note."

your cheeks went red while you pushed him away, turning to jj to say hi to him too.

"good night?" he winked at you.

"shut up jj." you laughed, as john b and pope also bought you into a hug.

"seems like someone had fun." john b laughed with you, and rafe just stood back with his stupid grin on his face, but no sense of shame.

topper however gave you a little disheartened wave, and your stomach dropped slightly, knowing he was probably upset that it wasn't him.

"ready to go?" sarah interrupted much to your happiness.

"yeah let's" cleo replied, now holding hands with pope.

the group made their way down the steps of the hotel, the chatter flowing easily now that everyone was outside and on their way to the street.

you caught jj glancing between you and rafe, his eyebrow raised playfully, before he bumped your shoulder with his. “so, how was last night?” he asked with a grin.

you rolled your eyes. “you’re ridiculous.”

"no i'm serious. i want to know. it's been a long time coming." he was speaking in a hushed voice to avoid rafe's ears.

"what do you mean?" you asked.

"he's been talking about you non stop since he met you. like the dressing room chat before shows has been exhausting." he sighed.

"really? then why did it take so long for him to make a move?"

"because you're mysterious at showing how you feel. plus your sarah's friend and he's always been told to stay away."

"but he didn't stay away from me?" you said.

"i don't think he could even if he tried." and with that, jj joined the rest of the group.

rafe then fell in step next to you, his pace slower than the others as he leaned in, his voice low. “are you avoiding me?” he asked with a playful tone.

you shook your head, “now why would i do that?" you replied.

"thought you'd been freaked out by last night." he replied softly, with a hint of fear in his words.

"i would never," you reassured him. "just trying to figure it out."

"figure what out?" he smirked.

you looked at him with sarcastic eyes, shaking your head.

rafe's eyes softened, his eyes meeting yours with intensity “don’t worry,” he said, “i’m figuring it out too.”

his hand brushed against yours, just barely, but it was enough for the electric connection to spark again, making your heart race. you could feel his gaze on you, but when you looked up at him, he was already looking ahead, as if he hadn't done anything at all.

you both fell into step with the others again, the easy banter resuming, but you couldn't shake the feeling that everything had just shifted—and you weren’t sure whether to lean into it or hold back.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: happy friday guys!! was struggling on how to approach the morning after so i hope this is ok

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1

i will be taking people off taglist if that don't interact! just as more people want to be added and need to make it fair<3

[jungwnies]

wrong time, right person - carlos sainz (1/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : carlos sainz x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : years after a bitter breakup, you and carlos sainz reunite unexpectedly. old wounds resurface, but so does undeniable love. will history repeat itself?

୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor, drama ୨ৎ : tws : mild language, arguing, friendships ending, bantering, suggestive humor, mentions of alcohol consumption. ୨ৎ : wc : 952

part one | part two | part three | part four

Spain was never supposed to feel like home.

You were just an exchange student, a stranger in a country where the language tripped you up, where conversations flowed around you like a current you couldn’t quite swim in. The other students were nice, polite even, but distant. They smiled, but no one really saw you.

Except for him.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t just friendly; he was relentless. He talked to you like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had made it his personal mission to make you feel at home. The first time he sat next to you at lunch, he didn’t ask the usual "Where are you from?" or "How do you like Spain?" Instead, he stole a fry from your plate and smirked.

“You always eat this little?”

It took you a second to process what he said, your brain scrambling for the right words. When you did, you narrowed your eyes and stole a fry right back.

“Mind your business.”

He laughed, loud, unapologetic. And just like that, best friends.

He made Spain feel like home. He dragged you to local karting tracks, shoved a helmet on your head, and laughed until he was breathless as you struggled to drive at half his speed. You sat on the asphalt after his races, drinking cheap sodas and listening to him talk about his dreams; Formula 1, podiums, championships. You still remember the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his father, the legendary Carlos Sainz Sr., how he wanted to make him proud.

“You think I can do it?” he asked once, voice quieter than usual.

You scoffed, nudging his shoulder. “I think you’re already doing it.”

And you were right.

He climbed the ranks, and you were right there beside him, just like he was there for you. Modeling started small, with local gigs, small shoots. but soon after, your face was showing up in magazines, whispered about in the industry. The first time you booked an international job, Carlos picked you up and spun you around like it was his victory too.

“You’re gonna be famous,” he said, grinning. “I’m gonna see your face on billboards, aren’t I?”

It was fun, easy, and natural, until it wasn’t.

The higher he climbed, the further away he felt. The more you succeeded, the less you seemed to talk. At first, it didn’t feel like a big deal. You still sent texts, still FaceTimed when you could. But slowly, the missed calls turned into silence, and suddenly, you were watching each other’s successes through headlines instead of in person.

Then, he made it to Formula 1.

And you? You were stepping into high-fashion modeling.

The night it all fell apart wasn’t supposed to be anything special. Just another call that went unanswered. Just another missed "good luck" before a race. But this time, Carlos called back, and he called back angry.

“You don’t even care anymore.” His voice was sharp, cutting straight through your exhaustion.

You blinked, phone pressed to your ear, the weight of his words settling deep into your chest. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “You missed my race. Again.”

Your stomach twisted. “Carlos, I had a show. You knew that.”

“Right, right,” he said bitterly. “Another shoot, another runway, another excuse. Siempre tienes una razón, ¿verdad?” (You always have a reason, right?)

Heat flared in your cheeks. “Excuse me? Don’t you dare act like you’re the only one with a career! I support you, Carlos, but I have my own dreams too.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t the kind that made your heart feel light, it was sharp, hollow, cold. “Support? ¿Eso es lo que llamas esto?” (Is that what you call this?) “Because it feels a lot like you just don’t give a damn anymore.”

Anger burned hot in your chest. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” His voice dropped, quieter, but somehow even more dangerous. “Entonces dime, when was the last time you actually showed up for me? When was the last time you watched me race, not through a screen, but actually there?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because the answer was obvious. And it wasn’t one you wanted to say out loud.

Carlos exhaled sharply, like he had been hoping, hell, borderline begging, for you to fight him on it. But you couldn’t.

He scoffed. “Eso pensé.” (That’s what I thought.)

Tears burned behind your eyes. “This isn’t fair, Carlos. You’re always traveling, I’m always traveling! What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to care.” His voice cracked. Just slightly. But it was enough to break you.

Your breath hitched. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and that hurt worse than anything else.

Because Carlos always knew. He always understood you, always read between the lines, always saw you even when you felt invisible to everyone else. But now? Now he wasn’t even sure.

The silence stretched between you like an open wound.

And then he said it.

“Quizás sea más fácil así.” (Maybe it’s just easier this way.)

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. “What?”

His voice was flat, emotionless. Like he had already given up. “Maybe we’ve just been holding on to something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

You felt something inside you shatter.

Carlos had been your best friend. Your person. Your safe place. But now he was just...just nothing.

“I don’t have time for this.” Your voice was quiet, raw, aching. “I have an early flight.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Por supuesto que sí.” (Of course you do.)

Neither of you apologized.

Neither of you fought for it.

Neither of you said goodbye.

Carlos left for another race. You left for another shoot.

Neither of you looked back.

Until you were given no choice...

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[piastrisun]

the second account.

pairings: franco colapinto + singer female reader.

summary: after franco accidentally exposes his secret twitter account, fans accuse him of being delusional about his supposed relationship with you.

faceclaim: malina weissman.⠀warning: none.

request: could you make a franco and singer!reader where he "shows off" his girlfriend on his secret twitter acc but her fans don't believe him so she decides to surprise them by finally making a music video of "bed chem" casting him?

notes: messy dates, as usual. a brief use of gracie abrams for the music video part. and i know franco would put everything in spanish but it had to be in english for u guys. thank you so much for the request, i had a lot of fun making it. :)

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translations: “every time she sings i forget how to breath, do you guys think it’s a medical condition” “my pretty princess” “check out her eyes, dude” “good morning to my girlfriend and my girlfriend only” “i’m head over heels for her what do i do” “no one sings like she does, man”

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francolapinto added to their story.

yourusername and others liked your story.

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liked by username, username1 and others

yndaily day 1 of using @/francolapinto’s tweets as captions: “imagine waking up and the first thing you see is yn’s face. a dream for you, a reality for me”

tagged yourusername

view all comments

username NOOOO THIS IS SO FUNNY PLS KEEP THIS GOING

username1 if i looked like this, i’d just walk around expecting people to fall in love with me

username2 franco is gonna see this and panic

username3 petition for this to become a daily series until he acknowledges it

username4 it’s crazy how all his tweets work as captions bc he’s LITERALLY a yn fanpage

username5 okay but why is she actually the most beautiful person alive

yourusername i fully support this, keep going

username6 she’s so chronically online IM CRYING

username7 SHES INSANE LMAOOOO

username8 @/francolapinto i get you man

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liked by username9, username8 and others

43updates @yndaily has inspired us to start talking about franco the way he tweets about yn, wish us luck

tagged francolapinto

view all comments

43updates guys what if i’m actually yn and i’m doing this to bother him

username9 i’ve never seen you and yn on the same room

43updates 👀

43updates joke it can’t be me, i’m clearly unemployed… like SOMEONE I KNOW

username8 PLEASE let’s make him experience the secret account treatment

username7 he has created monsters i fear

francolapinto i suddenly understand how this might have looked from the outside, PARAAÁ

francolapinto but i mean, if you’re gonna do it, go all in. but NO ONE, can talk about me the way i talk about her

username6 LMAO, yeah okay, ‘her’, you mean the girl you run a fan account for?

username5 are u confirming or denying this i’m confused

username4 girl we need receipts, you look delusional

username3 we’ve been through this already, no one believes you 😭😭

username2 franco finally getting a taste of his own medicine

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liked by francolapinto, username and others

yourusername bed chem video drops tomorrow!! 🌟 i couldn’t be more excited for you all to see it. it’s one of my favorite projects yet, and i had the best co-star.

also, since you guys are basically detectives. yes, this is my boyfriend. yes, he’s been running an account to talk about me this whole time. and no, i did not ask him to do that. but i was aware of it and i love him.

tagged francolapinto

view all comments

yourusername p.s. he’s been mentally preparing for this moment since the second account incident. be nice to him!!!!

francolapinto please!! i’ve suffered enough

username NO WAY i need a moment

username2 SHE JUST SAID IT LIKE IT WAS NOTHING HELLO??? 😭

username3 “yes, this is my boyfriend” GIRL I HAVE BEEN HAVING A MELTDOWN FOR WEEKS

yoursister you two are perfect together!! 🥹

francolapinto but seriously, every day with you is my favorite. you already know that, but saying it here too just in case, te amo 🤍 ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername i’ll put you in my pocket starting now, te amo más <3

username3 forget it when i said this was one sided…

oliviarodrigo need all the behind-the-scenes footage!!

francolapinto also hi. yes boyfriend here, happy to be included!! ♥︎ liked by author

francolapinto and for the record, my account was NOT a fan account. it was a highly curated appreciation page. there’s a difference

username4 five comments from him, he’s so obsessed 😭😭

username4 the way we all thought he was a lovesick fan and turns out he was just a boyfriend with too much free time

francolapinto i’m trying to not take any offence by this

username5 this is the funniest celebrity hard launch ever

alex_albon wow. shocking. so unexpected. truly a plot twist.

yourusername ❓

username6 she’s so funny for that caption 😭😭

username7 he was running a whole stan account for his own girlfriend and she just let him

username8 his twitter account was a love letter, i’m gonna be sick

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©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 25’.

[rafesbabygirlx]

JJ having a couple years long crush on kook princess reader and gets super flustered when out of nowhere reader starts flirting with him every chance she gets

I'm talking gobsmacked JJ losing all his game and blushing super hard at reader, stammering and everything (even if all his friends were there watching) and reader just finds it adorable so she keeps finding ways to fluster him and see how much she can get away with before his brain explodes ahahah

Hiiiii omg flustered JJ 🥹🤭

𝚓𝚓 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚡 𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

You always noticed the way he looked at you when he thought no one was paying attention—like he was trying to figure out how someone like you, a Kook princess through and through, had ended up orbiting the same world as him. He always kept his cool, flashing that signature smirk and tossing out some cocky remark whenever you caught him staring. But you wanted to see what would happen if you flipped the script.

It started small. A playful touch here, a lingering glance there. A teasing remark about how good he looked with his shirt off after a long day on the water. The first time you did it, he choked on his beer so hard Pope had to slap him on the back. You’d only barely brushed your fingers against his arm and murmured, “Damn, Maybank, didn’t know you had that kind of muscle on you.”

From that moment on, it became a game.

JJ Maybank—the most confident, flirtatious, smooth-talking Pogues of them all—was utterly useless against you.

He tried to keep up at first. He really did. He’d throw out a flirt of his own, something meant to get you blushing, but the second you doubled down—tilting your head, biting your lip just enough to send his brain short-circuiting—he was done for. His usual cocky demeanor crumbled in real time, replaced by wide eyes, red cheeks, and stammered nonsense that had the rest of the Pogues howling with laughter.

“Dude, you’re embarrassing us,” John B teased after you had leaned in just a little too close, dragging a finger down JJ’s chest under the pretense of dusting off some sand.

“Shut up,” JJ muttered, glaring at John B before whipping back to face you. “You—” He pointed accusingly at you, as if trying to form a coherent thought, but whatever he was going to say died before it left his lips because you just smirked at him.

“What about me, J?” you asked, tilting your head innocently.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Nothing.

You grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

It only got worse from there.

You brushed against him unnecessarily when squeezing past him on the boat to get off The Wreck's dock. You played with the hem of his shirt and told him how soft it was—while he was wearing it. You leaned in just a little too close whenever he was talking, acting like you could barely hear him when in reality you just liked watching him lose his train of thought every time he got a whiff of your perfume.

And the best part? He was so obvious about how much it wrecked him. His ears turned pink. His hands fidgeted. He ran a hand through his hair so much you thought he might rip it out. He couldn’t even look you in the eye half the time.

“You’re gonna kill him,” Kiara muttered to you after JJ nearly walked straight into a post at The Wreck because he’d been too distracted watching you lick salt off the rim of your margarita glass.

“I know,” you mused, barely holding back a laugh. “But it’s just so easy.”

That was the thing about JJ. He was smooth with girls—other girls. The moment it came to you, it was like his brain fried on the spot. And you weren’t about to let up anytime soon.

Not when it was this much fun.

just realized I didnt tag anyone :,)

tags + some moots 💗

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @maybankslover @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @percysley @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slut-4-gojo @akobx @jjmaybankmylovee @slurpdew @rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @writingroom21 @v3n1ce-bxtch

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter VI

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.928 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW (p in v, unprotected, implied m!masturbation); Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

OMG Bonnie what is that? A JJ chapter? Yeah, maybe I went insane. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

JJ takes a slow step forward, his shoulders rolling back, his fingers still coiled tight around the handlebars of his bike. There’s a heat rolling off of him, a barely contained energy that makes your stomach twist.

His gaze drifts over to you. The rage burning through his eyes as he climbs down, drifting through Rafe’ arms, how they wrap around you, how close he’s holding you to him. – What’s going on, huh? – His voice is taught, barely restrained. You think of the hiss a rattlesnake makes before pouncing, the barely restrained violence simmering under each sound. – What are you doing here?

– I could ask you the same thing, Maybank. – Rafe hums. You call his name, trying to reel him back before it gets dangerous, but he seems entertained more than anything. – We’re a little far from the salvation army. Not much for you to do around here.

– Rafe!

The kook holds your hand to his chest when you push him, smiling down at you like it’s the funniest thing in the world. – I’m just having a little fun with him, that’s all.

– Get off of her, Rafe.

He’s looking at you with a focus that’s never a good sign, but don’t miss the way his eyes flick to where Rafe’s hand still lingers at your waist. The moment stretches, thick with the weight of his anger, but you can’t bring yourself to move first.

Rafe doesn’t bother hiding his grin. If anything, it grows, slow and deliberate, like this is the most fun he’s had all night. – Why? You scared she won’t come back when she realizes there’s more to life than being leeched off of by her brother’s friends?

– Rafe, this isn’t funny.

– JJ must think it is, it’s the only thing he does well. – Rafe drawls, tilting his head as he finally steps back from you—but not without dragging his fingers along your side, a pointed reminder. – Right, JJ?

JJ’s lips press into a thin line. His fingers flex around the handlebars, his nostrils flaring as he exhales hard through his nose. His gaze cuts to you now, sharp and demanding. – What the hell are you doing with this asshole?

His voice grates you. Every word echoing in your head like nails on a chalkboard.

– This is none of your business, JJ.

He doesn’t even pretend to hear you. – Kie told me what happened at work. We were all worried about you.

You open your mouth, but Rafe hums before you can speak, stepping in again, loose and easy, barely putting in effort but still commanding all the space between you. – Worried? Were you worried that you’re finally gonna have to get a job and deal with your own shit?!

– You don’t know what you’re talking about, okay?! Shut the fuck up!

– Or what? Are you gonna freeload off of me too?

JJ moves before you can stop him. His bike crashes to the pavement as he lunges, fists already clenched, fury twisting his face. Rafe barely shifts, like he’s been expecting this all along, like he’s been waiting for the moment he can finally push JJ over the edge.

– THIS SHIT ISN’T ABOUT YOU RAFE!

You step in fast, hands catching JJ’s arm before he can swing, your pulse hammering. – JJ, don’t. Fuck off. Don’t fucking do this right now.

– He’s the one who needs to fuck off! We’re talking right now, it’s none of his fucking business! – His breath is ragged, his muscles stiff under your grip. But Rafe just grins, smug and taunting, eyes alight with something dark. – Tell him to go away.

– You can’t tell me that yourself? Is that how much of a bitch you are, JJ?

JJ lunges, nearly pushing you into the asphalt by mistake. Rafe’s the one that catches you, his hand steadying you as you hold JJ back. – LET GO OF ME!

– JJ step the fuck back, I’m not even kidding you.

– He started it!

Rafe whistles lowly, laughing just under his breath as his arm wraps around you again. – Your brother really knows how to pick them, doesn’t he?

– Not helping, Rafe.

– I’m just trying to enjoy myself while you talk him down from his tantrum. I’m great.

– Stop fucking talking to her like that!

– Or what? You gonna hit me? – He muses, tilting his head, like the thought actually amuses him. – Go ahead, man. Take your shot. I bet it’ll feel real good.

JJ’s jaw tightens, his arm twitching under your hold. You can feel the war inside him, the barely restrained urge to throw that punch, to finally give Rafe the fight he’s clearly asking for.

But you don’t let go.

And JJ doesn’t swing.

For a second, the only sound is the thick silence between you.

Then Rafe sighs, exaggerated and disappointed. – Shame, – He mutters, stepping back, shaking his head like JJ’s let him down. – I was really hoping you’d play along, JJ. It’s been what? A week since you last got arrested? Has it ever been so long? I bet they’re missing you down at the station.

He flashes a grin at you, sharp and knowing, before brushing past, hands moving over your back like he owns you. – Y’know what, baby? We should really get going. I’m getting kinda bored.

– You’re out of your fucking mind if you think she’s going anywhere with you.

– JJ. – You warn, but he doesn’t seem to hear you.

– She came here with me, buddy. Maybe you wanna look around you. – He glances at you, blue eyes gleaming as he takes you by the arm. – C’mon. It’s getting late, right? Your brother’s probably struggling to figure out the oven right now.

– You don’t know what the fuck your talking about. – JJ growls.

– You’re gonna go home with this pogue? –The question comes out in a hum, almost condescendingly. His laughter thrills up your spine like a shiver of fear. – You’re gonna let him strongarm you like this?

You swallow, breathing in deep.

Rafe’s grip on your arm tightens, fingers warm against your skin, but you don’t move. His smirk twitches—just barely—before he tilts his head, watching you with curiosity, even if the smile he’s giving you doesn’t seem too pleased.

JJ notices too. He exhales sharply, barely holding himself together. – You’re not leaving with him.

His voice is low, coarse. And he’s clinging, moving his arms within your hold like a whiny kid. But it’s not a plea. It’s a demand.

Rafe hums under his breath, low and pleased, like this is all going exactly how he wanted. – She’s not staying for you, JJ. – He flicks his gaze over, like he’s looking at something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. – You have John B’s useless ass to thank for her not leaving with me right now.

JJ clenches his jaw so tight you swear you hear his molars crack. – Shut the fuck up, Rafe.

Rafe grins, slow and knowing. – I will if she makes me. Right, baby? Maybe you can give me a goodnight kiss before I go.

JJ takes a step forward, but you press a hand to his chest, stopping him. He seethes, nostrils flaring, but you shake your head. – Just go, Rafe. Please. – Your voice isn’t sharp—it’s tired, annoyed.

And that’s exactly why Rafe thrives on it.

He tsks, squeezing your waist in his hold on you before pulling his keys from his pocket. – That’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow, right? – He leans in, voice dipping lower. – You can make it up to me.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. – Rafe—

– You’re cute when you get all flustered. – He laughs, tapping your chin with his knuckle. – I’ll call you later.

JJ lunges, and it takes everything in you to shove him back.

Rafe just whistles, all relaxed amusement, stepping back with an easy grin. – Damn, Maybank, you’re really gonna let her hold you back like that?

JJ is shaking in anger, chest heaving.

Rafe doesn’t wait for an answer. He shoots you a wink and a lazy salute before finally turning away, tossing over his shoulder, – Don’t miss me too much, baby.

JJ exhales sharply, shaking off your hold. His head drops for a second, his hands clenching at his sides before he looks at you, eyes blazing. – What the hell was that?

You swallow hard, the weight in your chest pressing down heavy. – JJ—

But he shakes his head. – Nah. No way. You don’t get to brush this off. – His voice is rough, disbelief coating every syllable. – Tell me you’re not— He stops himself, exhaling sharply again before taking a step back, shaking his head like he’s trying to make sense of it. – Tell me you’re not seriously falling for this shit.

You don’t know what to say.

Because maybe you don’t have an answer he wants to hear.

– Oh my God. – You don’t know what exactly in his face shifts, but you feel the air around you thicken. – You are, aren’t you?!

– Spare me the outrage, JJ. I’m not in the mood for your lectures.

– The guy is a fucking psychopath! There’s no fucking way you do’t see that! He’s insane!

You roll your eyes, a sigh falling from your lips before you can think of it. – You say that like you’re some sort of model of normalcy.

– I can’t fucking believe you!

– I don’t fucking need you to believe me, JJ. Clearly you fucking don’t. It doesn’t matter what I say, you already have your pitchfork ready! So what exactly am I supposed to be getting out of this?! Huh? Tell me. – A beat of silence lingers between you, as you turn your back on him. It’s long past 6 PM. The sky is pitch-black. – Can we just go? I don’t wanna do this.

You can see the gears turn in his head when you speak. His eyes soften, jaw unclentching. – I’m trying to look out for you. – You scoff. – Look, I know you’re stressed and all, but you don’t need to be taking it out on me, okay?! Chill out.

– Thanks, Mother Teresa. I feel much calmer now.

– Can we just put down the boxing gloves, right now?!

– I don’t know JJ, can we? I can’t put my guard down with you for a moment. Because that’s what you do. You tell me I should calm down, and when I do, you come up with some insane shit to piss me off all over again!

JJ watches you, chest still rising and falling like he’s trying to catch a breath that won’t come. Then his expression shifts—like something clicks into place, like he’s realizing something he doesn’t like.

His lips curl, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek. – Are you serious? – His voice is quieter now, almost disbelieving. – This is where we’re at?

You shake your head, swallowing back the lump in your throat. – I don’t want to do this right now, JJ.

– Oh, that’s rich. You don’t wanna do this right now? – He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. – You wanna pick a better time? Should I make an appointment? Because it’s like you never have time for me these days! You’ll speak your mind, talk all the game you fucking want, but when it’s time to talk about my feelings, suddenly you’re too tired to deal!

Your stomach twists.

JJ scoffs. – You know, I keep trying. I keep trying to get through to you, and you just— He stops, shakes his head again, shoving a hand through his hair like that’ll help get rid of some of the frustration bleeding off of him.

– Trying to what, JJ? What is it that you’re trying to get through to me so much? That I can’t even talk to people while you go around fucking whatever girl you want? – The words come out before you can stop them.

– That’s funny, I don’t remember leaving with your mortal enemy!

– And I don’t remember kissing your best friend after leaving your bed, JJ. But here we are!

JJ goes still.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just confirmed something he was trying not to believe. – There you go again, – He mutters, half in laughter, half in scorn. – You’re insane. Like. You’re actually sick in the fucking head. You and Rafe are perfect for each other. Maybe that’s why you’re here right? I was too normal, so you got bored. And that’s why you’re here in the Country Club, fucking that psychopath!

You stare at him, heart still pounding, but there’s something else gnawing at the edges of your mind now—something off. Something you didn’t notice in the heat of it all.

The country club.

You’re not at your job.

You’re not at home.

You’re not even on your side of the island.

Your stomach twists again.

– JJ, – you start, voice quieter now.

But he doesn’t hear it, or he doesn’t care. He scoffs again, throwing his hands in the air as he turns away, pacing. – I should’ve known. I should’ve listened to John B. He always said you were fucking twisted! But leave it to me! It’s my fault or thinking you could act like a person for once!

Your pulse stutters.

You don’t even register his words.

You don’t remember telling him where you were.

Your job isn't anywhere near the Country Club. You didn’t text him. You didn’t call him.

So how did he find you?

Your skin prickles as you stare at him, the words barely coming out. – JJ... how did you know I was here?

– What?! – He laughs, like you’ve just said something stupid, but you’re not gonna let him do this. Keeping your face neutral, even while your blood runs cold, you repeat:

– How did you know where I was? – He looks at you for a moment, frozen in place. You don’t even see him breathe. But the thoughts run wild behind his eyes, his mouth hanging open, unable to keep up with the speed at which his mind is running. – Answer me. How did you know I was here, JJ?

– I— He swallows, looking between each of your eyes frantically. – I was gonna pick you up at work,

– At a quarter to seven PM? You know I get the bus. It leaves at 5:20. You know that.

– Why are you making a big deal out of this?! I was driving to the wreck and I saw you here—

– No you weren’t. The wreck is East. To get here, you need to be going West.

He’s quiet again.

– Are you following me? How did you even— Realization dawns on you. JJ and John had your phone all day after you left. The notification you saw when you finally got it back, was from your maps app, which you’ve never opened in your life. You pull your phone out of your pocket. The location is on, but you don’t remember activating it. You open your messages. The latest contact is JJ. But you haven’t texted him in days. The chat is empty. – You sent my phone location to yourself, didn’t you? You and John are fucki— Your voice dies within your throat. The hair at the back of your neck standing. – John doesn’t have my password, though.

– You’re acting insane.

– How the fuck did you figure out my password, JJ? It’s a thousand characters long. I expect that shit from Pope, but— You stop again, opening your settings. A second fingerprint is set there, next to yours. – What the fuck is wrong with you?

– Don’t turn this around right now!

– That’s rich, JJ! And I’m the one who’s insane?! You’re a fucking stalker!

JJ scoffs, but it’s different now—less angry, more… wounded. Like you just slapped him in the face instead of uncovering something deeply fucked up. He shakes his head, stepping back like he needs distance from you.

– Are you serious right now? – His voice is quieter, rougher. – After everything?

You stare at him, blood still thrumming in your ears. – After everything? JJ, you just—

– No, you don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it. – He lets out a breathless laugh, dragging his hand down his face. – I knew something was off. I knew you were pulling away. I knew you were sneaking around, lying to me—

– I’m pulling away because you’re messing around with Kie!

– I’m not! Baby, I— He’s slapping himself, pulling out his hair. – I was trying to make you jealous, okay?! I just want you to pay attention to me! But you’re either glued to your phone talking to Barry, or you’re around John B, doing everything for him, everything I want you to do for me!

– What the fuck are you talking about?! He’s my fucking brother, JJ!

– BUT HE DOESN’T DESERVE IT! – He screams, the vitriol burning against his lips like acid. – He was always horrible to you, and I was there! I was there! I wanted you!

– What are you talking about?! You’ve hated me since we were kids!

– NO! I— I wanted you to look at me. I just wanted you to—Please. Just look at me, okay? I don’t want you sneaking around with Barry or with Rafe, or whatever! I want you here! With me!

– Sneaking around—JJ, you broke into my fucking phone—

– Because you wouldn’t fucking talk to me! – His voice cracks on the last word, and it throws you for a second—because the anger is still there, but there’s something else now, something desperate. His hands are in his hair, gripping like he’s holding himself together. – Do you even hear yourself? Do you even care? Or are you just gonna act like I’m some fucking psycho and not the guy who’s been there for you? The guy who—who has wanted you since I was kid?!

Your breath catches.

JJ exhales sharply, jaw clenching like he hates himself for saying it, for letting it slip out in the middle of this.

– You were there for me. – He continues. – When your brother couldn’t be. When my dad started— When he drank. You remember that, don’t you? You took care of me. You always took care of me. John B couldn’t get that! Even if he tried, y’know, who knows, maybe he did! But he was always this golden boy! Your dad, he— He treated him like he could do no wrong— He’d never get it. But you did! You always got me!

You’re quiet. Because you remember.

You remember taking a beating for JJ the day John sent you there to give him his surfboard. You remember laying there on the floor, his dad pulling you by the hair, because you stood there while JJ ran. You remember the face he made when his dad threw you out.

How he fell apart in your arms.

How you remained there, holding him, as he bled through your clothes.

And it tears you apart.

Because the way he spoke to you before, is exactly the way his father used to speak to him.

– But yeah. Sure. I’m the stalker. I’m the crazy one. – He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. – You’re so fucking worried about me following you, but you don’t care that you’re running straight to him! – His eyes flash with something sharp, something dark. – You think he gives a shit about you? You think Rafe fucking Cameron isn’t watching your every move, waiting for you to fuck up so he can sink his claws in? Like Barry did? – He steps forward, voice lowering like he’s telling you some ugly secret.

Your heart jumps in your chest at the mention. JJ knows this is a low blow. – You don’t know anything about Barry and me.

– I know he hurt you. – He’s almost pleading. – He hurt you because you were with him, when you should’ve been with me.

– JJ—

– I did this to protect you. Let me protect you. Like you protected me.

There it is. The flip.

You feel like you might faint.

JJ exhales shakily, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. The anger is fizzling out, but what’s left is somehow worse—smaller. He looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly it’s like all the fight drains out of him.

– I can’t keep doing this. – His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He shakes his head, eyes flickering away like he’s embarrassed, like you’ve just torn him down completely. – I don’t—I don’t know how else to prove it to you. How else to make you see that I just wanted to keep you safe.

His shoulders drop. He looks exhausted.

– But you don’t believe me. You won’t ever fucking believe me, will you? – He laughs, but it’s hollow, broken. – It doesn’t matter what I do. Doesn’t matter that I would literally die for you—Jesus Christ, I would, and you don’t even fucking see it. I’d do anything for you, and you’re just standing there, looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

– I mean—fuck, what am I supposed to do? Huh? – His voice cracks. His eyes are glassy now, but he swipes a hand over his face before anything can fall. – You want me to apologize? I will. You want me to beg? Fine. – He laughs breathlessly, shoulders shaking as he sinks down onto the curb like his body just gave up. – I’ll fucking beg.

Your stomach twists.

– Just— he exhales, hands clinging to your hips. – Can we go home? – His voice is so quiet now, so defeated. – Please. I don’t wanna fight anymore. I don’t wanna—fuck, I don’t even care. Just let me take you home. That’s all I want.

He looks up at you, and for the first time tonight, he looks fragile. Worn down. Like he’s carrying something too heavy for him, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing is you.

And God help you, part of you wants to believe him.

– JJ. – Your voice is sharp, but your hands are shaking. – This isn’t about that—this isn’t about you wanting to take me home. This is about what you did—

– I know! – he cuts in, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. His hands fist in his hair, like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force. – I know, okay? I fucked up, I fucking know— He stumbles over his own words, gasping, like the weight of it is physically pressing down on him. – But I can’t—

His voice breaks.

– I can’t lose you over this. Over Rafe fucking Cameron and his bullshit.

The air between you shifts. Something inside him just collapses.

– Please. – His chest is heaving, his eyes wet, his whole body trembling like he’s about to snap. – I don’t—I don’t know how to make you stay. I don’t know how to fix this. – His voice cracks again, and this time, his knees buckle.

You barely have time to react before he’s falling into you, grabbing fistfuls of your clothes, his breath hitching against your belly. His whole body is shaking.

– I’m sorry. – His words spill out in a frantic, broken rush. – I’m so fucking sorry. Please—please don’t go. Just—just let me take you home, baby, please—

His arms tighten around you, like if he holds on hard enough, he can force you to stay. And God, you shouldn’t. You should push him away, make him listen, make him answer for this.

But he’s crying.

JJ Maybank—loud, reckless, impossible JJ—is sobbing into you like a little kid, like he’s breaking apart right in front of you.

You inhale shakily, your hands hovering before you finally give in, falling before him on the ground, wrapping your arms around him, pressing your cheek against his hair.

– It’s okay, – you whisper, even though it isn’t. Even though nothing is.

But it’s all he wants to hear.

JJ exhales sharply, his whole body collapsing into yours with something like relief. – Don’t leave me.

– I won’t.

And maybe you mean it.

Maybe that’s the scariest part.

You let him fall apart against you, his body wracked with silent tremors as he clings to you like a lifeline. His breath is uneven, ragged, hot against your skin, and his fingers fist into your top, desperate, like letting go isn’t an option. He presses closer, his whole body sinking into yours, like he’s trying to disappear inside you, like that’s the only place he might be safe.

And you let him. You hold him as his shoulders shake, as he fights to keep from outright sobbing, as the weight of whatever broke him presses down so hard you swear you can feel it, too. He’s unraveling in your arms, piece by piece, like he’s been holding himself together for so long that the second you touched him, he lost the strength to keep pretending.

So you kiss the top of his head, soft but steady, and something in him shifts.

JJ exhales, a long, shuddering breath against your skin, like you’ve reached inside him and pulled all that tension from his chest. His body, wound so tightly, begins to loosen—his grip on you eases, but only enough for his hands to smooth over your back instead of clutching desperately. He leans into you now not just from pain, but from something quieter, something softer.

You feel it in the way his breathing slows, in the way the tremors start to fade as your fingers trace slow circles over his back. His arms tighten around you again, but it’s different this time—not frantic, not desperate. Just… needing you. Needing to be here, against you, in your warmth, in this small, quiet moment where he can finally let go.

His face stays buried in the crook of your neck, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse but steady.

– I’m sorry, – He murmurs, again and again, lips moving against your skin.

You shake your head slightly, your fingers still stroking his back. – It’s okay.

And maybe for him, it actually is. Maybe just for a moment, with your hands in his hair and his body wrapped around yours, he feels something like peace. He doesn’t let go—not yet. He holds on, reveling in the comfort you offer, pressing into you like he never wants to leave. Like you’re the first real breath of air he’s had in a long time.

You stay like that, until the silence grows too heavy and you sigh. – We should go.

JJ doesn’t argue. He pulls back slowly, blinking, his eyes still red-rimmed but calmer, softer. His fingers linger at your waist before he finally steps up, exhaling like he’s reluctant to leave the space you created for him.

The drive is quiet, with him pulling your arms tighter around him everytime he gets the chance. You don’t protest. For a moment it's almost comforting, sitting on the back of his bike, without a word being spoken between you. But the feeling sits there, in your chest, that shiver you got when you realized he’s been following you.

It's not just caution.

It's not strangeness.

It's fear. A real, tangible fear of what he did, of what he can still do. Of what he might have continued doing had you not realized it. —It curls up around your throat, that fear. Pressing against your windpipe. You almost struggle to breathe.— You remain there, arms fastened around him as he slows down, pulling the brakes just before your house, even when he finally stops.

JJ leans back into you, breathing deep, clutching your hand to his chest, his body completely relaxed against yours. You’re still wondering. Mind still running.

How long had he followed you for?

Had he been trailing you? Close behind, just out of reach, or had he stared at your location, waiting, watching you without seeing you?

You don’t know which is worse.

– John B’s with Sarah tonight. – JJ mumbles, his head thrown back against your shoulder, the ends of his hair tickling your face. – I saw him sneak out. He’s probably gonna sleep there. – You hum, not really sure of what to say. – Pope and Kie are gone too. – His thumb brushes over the back of your hand slowly, his voice growing deeper, lower. – It’s just the two of us now.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t know what to say.

JJ looks back as you throw your leg over the other side of the bike, and climb down. He still clings to your hand like he’s got you on a leash: you have to remain there as he pulls the key from the ignition, as he sets his things in the top-box, as he leans back against the seat, pulling you in for a kiss.

You meet his mouth briefly, close-lipped, his fingers interlocking with yours as he pulls you in for another, and another, and one more. – I missed this. – He whispers, eyes barely open, already leaning in again.

– It’s been two days. – You remind him, but JJ only laughs.

– Two too many.

You don’t resist when he pulls you closer. His hands find your hips, sliding beneath the waistband of your jeans, calloused fingers pressing into the small of your back like he’s trying to mold you against him. He kisses you again—deeper, messier, his breath warm and tinged with something desperate.

JJ doesn’t just want this. He needs it.

That's what you like about him. He takes like he can’t get enough. He begs, and he grasps and he clings and he needs you like he needs air to breathe.

His hands are restless, traveling up your ribs, down your waist, over your thighs, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, like touching you might steady him, might ground him. But it doesn’t. The more he touches you, the more insatiable he gets. He’s humming against your lips, sighing into your touch, a little frantic, a little unsteady.

You pull him inside, but JJ can’t seem to break the kiss. He takes your hands to the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently, his lips dragging from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin between whispered pleas.

– Touch me, – he breathes, his voice cracking like the weight of everything is still right there, lingering beneath the surface.

Your fingers slip into his hair, threading through the strands, and JJ shudders. He melts against you, knees almost buckling as he exhales a sharp, shaky breath.

– Fuck, – he mumbles, almost laughing, giddy and drunk on your touch. He’s clinging to you now, pressing his body into yours, murmuring against your lips, deeper, please, until you give in, kissing him the way he wants. The way he needs.

He moans softly, hands gripping your waist, pushing your top up just to feel your skin against his palms. He’s lost in this, lost in you, smiling against your mouth in that dazed, breathless way, like nothing else exists beyond the way your body fits against his.

Like everything is fine.

Even it isn’t, not really.

You lead him to your room, kicking the door behind you as he falls back on the bed, tearing his shirt off of him as if it were burning. He doesn’t even give you the time to think before he’s pulling you on top of him.

You try to guide him through the motions, letting his hands explore, letting him pull you closer, letting him bury his face in your neck, all while your mind is somewhere else. Detached. Floating.

Because underneath it all—beneath the heat of his mouth and the weight of his body and the way he pleads for you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart—there’s that feeling.

That cold, creeping thing at the back of your mind.

That fear.

It wraps around your throat, pressing tight, squeezing, reminding you of what he did. Of how long he must have followed you, watching, waiting, just out of reach.

Of how much worse it could’ve been if you hadn’t noticed.

JJ doesn’t see it. He doesn’t feel it. He only sees you, only feels your hands, your lips, the comfort he’s so desperate to take from you.

– I missed this, – he murmurs again, voice slurring slightly, hands still moving, still searching. – Fuck, baby I missed this so much.

You swallow hard, exhaling slowly, before finally answering.

– I know.

And you let him keep touching you, let him revel in this, let him have this, because maybe if he does, he’ll calm down. Maybe if he does, you’ll feel safe again.

JJ exhales against your skin, his body completely unwound, pliant beneath your hands. – Take it off. – He groans, hands shaking against his breeches. – Take it off of me, baby. Please. I just want you to be on me. I need it. Please.

You don’t need to be told twice.

He watches, almost breathless while you strip him bare, moaning at every touch, hips bucking every time you brush against him.

That doesn’t last long though.

It isn’t enough that just your hands are on him. So he drags you onto his dick, still clothed, and he grinds himself into you, eyes rolling back.

There’s something raw about the way he touches you—like he’s savoring every inch, like he’ll be going through withdrawal unless he doesn’t hold on tight enough. His fingers dig into your sides as he pulls your hips into his, his laugh breathy, almost delirious.

– God, I fucking love this, – he mutters against your shoulder, his hands slipping beneath your top, his thumbs brushing lazy circles over your skin.

This.

Not you—this.

The warmth. The closeness. The way you let him touch you, take what he needs. – You love this too, right baby? Your hips— He moans, head thrown back when you roll your hips against his cock, the fabric of your jeans giving just the friction he needs to work himself up. – You're so fucking good at this.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he kisses up your throat, his lips tracing familiar paths, his breath hot and unsteady. He hums when you card your fingers through his hair again, pressing into your touch like he’s melting from the inside out.

He's getting wilder, humping you with this reckless abandon he never seems to shake off. But you can see him unraveling. Just the friction isn't scratching the itch.

He needs more.

– Take it off, baby. Please. Please. – he sighs, voice catching, eyes blown out. – Fuck, give it to me. Just ride me.

You hesitate. Your fingers still against the nape of his neck. The sounds he makes, strangled, anguished. Like he’s going mad.

You actually hear him whine when you lift your hips, and his hand flies down to palm himself while he watches you pull the jeans down.

He tilts his head up, catching your mouth again, dragging you deeper into him. His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer until he's practically in you.

But you don’t let him sink in just yet.

It's more fun when you drag it out.

When you move against him, teasing him, watching him twitch and moan and plead with nothing but the wetness, the softness, the warmth.

There’s a slow, creeping sickness curling in your stomach.

Because you’re leading this. Because you know what he needs, and you’re not quite giving it to him. Because you’re letting him press closer, letting him unravel, letting him forget—for just a little while—that anything is wrong at all.

And a part of you wants to forget too.

It feels good.

It doesn’t matter what he did, what he would do, because he needs you. He can’t get enough of you. He won't leave.

– Please. Please. – He repeats it like a mantra, writhing beneath you, clutching you so fucking tight. His hips go rogue, bucking wildly. – Please let me fuck you. I need to fuck you. Please. Fuck, I can't take this anymore!

The laughter that falls from your lips almost seems to stoke the flames.

He groans out loud when tip pushes into you, and for a second, his entire body just collapses against yours, heavy, needy.

Then his hands slip under your bra again, tugging at the fabric, his breath hot and desperate against your skin.

– Let me see you, – he murmurs, voice thick, rough. – G-Go ahead, baby. I need you to move. Please.

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen, his expression open in a way that makes you ache.

JJ wants you. That much is obvious.

But more than that—he wants to disappear into you.

To sink into your warmth, your touch, your body, and let it drown out whatever’s eating him alive from the inside.

Your stomach twists.

His fingers have long stopped tracing slow patterns against your ribs, now he's bruising you, nails digging in, shaking, waiting. Pleading.

You could give him what he wants. It would be easy. So, so easy.

But for the first time since this started, you wonder if you should. – And who said you deserve that, JJ?

– Huh?

– Because with the way you talked to me before, I don’t think you do. – You move, just slightly, and he folds, back arching. – I think you’re gonna have to convince me.

– Please. Baby, please.

– You think I'm pathetic. – You tsk, your hips rolling so slow his eyes flutter when they roll back. – I'm not the one who’s begging, though.

– Please! – He's screaming now, and you’re moving faster. The bed creaking beneath you. – I need it! Faster, baby. Faster!

He's splayed out, a puppet with the strings cut loose, yet he's anything but relaxed. You can feel him tensing, hands fisting the sheets so tight his knuckles have gone white.

He screams.

Almost yelping when you start going at the pace you know he likes. And it still isn't enough. He still grabs your hips, pulling you closer, and closer, again and again, banging against that soft spot within you like it's the only thing that can relieve him from this torture.

And you let him.

You ride him like a bronco, as if he’s trying to fuck you off instead of closer. As if he isn't begging for it. Screaming for it. – MORE, BABY, PLEASE!

You want more too.

At some point you lost yourself in trying to punish him, and it started to feel good. You're biting him, teeth dragging against the skin at the crook of his neck, the spot that always makes him shudder, that always makes him writhe.

Your nails have mapped half his body over.

He's red. —His face, his eyes, his lips, his scratches.— He’s gasping. Shaking. His whole body trembling, his eyes rolling back. You can’t even make sense of what he's saying anymore.

The only thing that leaves his mouth are these incoherent pleas, these oohs and aahs that make you laugh, humming to yourself as you ride into your orgasm, feeling him fall apart.

– F-uck, fuck! Don’t stop! Feels so fucking good baby, so fucking good! – He pushes it in faster, but it's still not enough. He needs more, he was going mad! Grabs you by the waist, tosses you on the bed, rutting like a wild dog, head thrown back, eyes rolling upwards. – Fuck! Fuck! Feel s-feel so fucking good!

All that was heard was your laughter, the pleased little gasps that escape your mouth as he fills you up over and over and over again, animalistic and heaving, laughing as well, but out of his mind, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the building release. He crashes against you, once, twice, getting careless. But by then he couldn’t hold it in. More! More! is all you heard from him.

And then you felt it.

His body shudders all over again, still rutting like his life would end. – God. God! I need to cum— fuck! I need— I need— Keep going! Don’t fucking stop baby, don— FUCK! FUCK!

You felt him coat your walls, white, hot, and endless. By then, you were shaking as well, the waves of your own climax washing over you as you arch against him.

He collapses over you, trembling and crying as he smiles, moaning your name in that shaky, adoring voice, eyes clinging to you in utter joy as he pumped lazily, through your climax and his, he still needed more of you. – It won-won’t stop. Fuck, there’s so m-much of it. – Laughter. Yours, his.

Your mind is blank.

He's heavy, heaving, still inside you.

JJ's breathing is ragged, each exhale a shaky whisper as he remains, still there, still trembling with the aftershocks. His hands wander aimlessly across the sheets, his body warm and heavy, as though he's been consumed entirely. His eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, and a soft whimper escapes him as he reaches for your hand.

– Baby... can you...? – His voice is slurred, broken, as if he’s still caught between the pleasure and the exhaustion of it all. His hand gently tugs at your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin. – Just... touch me. Please... softly.

There was that, too.

He was always sweeter when he was done.

You give a soft, reassuring smile, your fingers gently grazing his messy hair, pushing the strands out of his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment before you speak in the same soft, soothing tone. – I’m here, JJ. I got you.

He hums in response, his eyes fluttering closed, a content sigh escaping his lips as you run your fingers through his hair, the action slow and comforting. – I’m... Fuck— Laughter buzzes against your skin as he presses his lips on you again. – I'm never getting used to this... I’m not used to this, – he mumbles between shaky breaths, his hand coming to rest on your arm, the weight of his touch grounding him. – Feels... too good. I need you to... keep me close. Just... just a little longer.

You hate the way your heart skips.

But you love the way he says it.

The way his voice brushes against your skin when he pleads, so softly, so sweetly. Like he could never do you harm.

You shift slightly, pulling him into your chest, the warmth of his body a constant reassurance. His hand rests over your heart, the frantic pace of his pulse now slowing, but his face is still pinched with that lingering tension, a mix of exhaustion and need for reassurance. He lets out a soft groan as you press your lips to his temple, whispering, – I’m right here. You’re okay.

His breath evens out, and as the minutes pass, you keep stroking his hair and kissing his head, each kiss lighter than the last, until his body relaxes fully, his grip on you loosens. – Love you.

You feel yourself tense up.

It’s not the first time he says it.

But it might be the first time you know he doesn’t mean it.

Still you smile down at him anyway, pressing another gentle kiss to his forehead before whispering back, – Sure you do, baby. Go to sleep, okay?

He doesn’t need much encouragement.

JJ's never been easy to tire out, but when he does, it's immediate. His ear is pressed to your chest, to your heart, and you wonder what kind of dreams he’ll be having with that soundtrack, but it doesn't take long for his breath to even out.

The house is quiet.

Completely so.

And though you're glad John wasn't there to hear it, laying there, without his snoring to lull you into even halfway into reality only means that it crashes against you like a bucket of cold water a soon as JJ is out.

The day dawns on you, as it has done several times, but still the loathing blooms in your chest and spreads through your body faster than your mind can process.

You're broke.

You're jobless.

The girl you thought was your best friend is a snake.

The boy that's sleeping on you is a stalker.

Your best prospect right now is famously the most spoiled and volatile person on the island. That, because your best friend, the person that could actually get you out of this, has faded away after abandoning you, and you have no idea if he’ll even come back.

What's funny is that this is the thought that hurts you most —Not that you're unemployed, that your now previous boss could ruin you forever, that your relationship with only family member is as unstable as your financial situation, or that the people you thought you could trust don’t care about you— that Barry is gone.

Something he has been plenty of times before.

You lie there in the stillness, the weight of JJ's body pressing against yours. The sheets feel too warm, too much, a world you can’t find a way into. JJ’s steady breathing is a lullaby of sorts, pulling you toward the edge of exhaustion, but it’s not enough to quiet the thoughts tumbling relentlessly in your head.

Barry's absence gnaws at you —You know he’s not gone forever, not really. Or at least you hope so. He’s done this before, pulled away just long enough for you to convince yourself it doesn’t matter. And yet, it hurts like it does. Like it’s different this time.

You turn your head to glance at him—JJ, still sleeping soundly, unaware. His face is soft, the usual edge to his features dulled by exhaustion, but even now, with him so vulnerable in your arms, you feel the invisible distance between you grow. He’s a comfort, but only in the way a warm blanket can make you feel safe when the storm is too loud. And it is too loud. So loud you can barely breathe through it.

Your fingers trace patterns along his skin, but it’s absent, mechanical—the world outside the room, the boy in your arms, the life that’s slipping from your fingers, and the ghost that won’t stop haunting you, and you don't even know why.

Barry.

You know, deep down, that it’s not about him being gone. It’s about the fact that, despite what JJ has just tried to convince you of, Barry actually is the one person that was there for you.

When your father went away, he celebrated with you. When he was declared missing, he comforted you, even if you said you didn't care. Even if you didn't even know you needed it.

And maybe that's the problem: He saw you better than you saw yourself. He knows you. Really knows you.

But does he now?

So much has changed in two days.

You can’t even tell yourself it was real anymore because everything you thought you knew about him, about you, is shifting—becoming something else you can’t identify.

There’s no way to put a name to it, though, is there? That dull ache you’ve learned to live with. Not quite loneliness, but not contentment, either. Just an empty space where hope used to live, and you're so used to it now that you don’t know what it would feel like to fill it.

You let your gaze fall to JJ again, watching the way his back rises and falls with the easy rhythm of sleep. Maybe this is it—this is what you have now. A boy who doesn’t even know what he’s asking for when he whispers his need into the quiet night. And you, too tired to push him away, too lost to turn to anything else. You can almost convince yourself it’s enough, and for a second, you do.

But then, Barry’s face flickers in your mind again, like a ghost.

You wonder, just for a moment, if you would’ve been able to say anything if he were here. If you would’ve told him how much you needed him to help you, how much you needed him to be here, not just physically, but with you in the way that only he ever did.

But he’s not here.

And you’re not sure when he will be again.

The buzz of your phone slices through the silence. You freeze. What's the likelihood that he would call you right then, when you needed him most?

You slide from under JJ, and he grumbles, hands reaching for you even deep into sleep, but you don’t see it. All you see is the unknown number flashing on your screen amidst the darkness, and your heart races as you bring the phone to your ear. – Bee? – The word falls from your lips almost fearfully. You don’t want to know where he's been, what he's doing, or how much of what he had to take to call you like this, in the middle of the night. But you’re impatient to hear his voice, you just want to know if he's okay. – Bee, is that you?

The line scratches softly, the familiar sound of skin whispering against the microphone echoing in-between the two phones. Your pulse thrums against your ear. – Not bee. – You finally hear. – Are, actually.

– “Are”? Barry, what are you talking about? What did you take?

– It’s not Barry, baby. – The edge of his words resounded even through the distance. Pleased, but not quite satisfied. – It’s Rafe.

You let go of a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

– Oh, “R”. Okay I got it.

He chuckles, a long, breathy noise. His breathing is heavy. – Did you put the cry-baby to sleep or is he still up whining?

JJ turns in his sleep. His arm, still lying, lax, over your lap shifts, and he pulls himself closer, brow brushing against your thigh. – JJ is… gone.

– Good. Thought I was gonna have to call CPS or some shit. – He scoffs, turning, in bed, you gather, since you hear the squeak of furniture.

– How considerate.

– Well, baby, I'm nothing if not considerate. – He hums. – What are you doing awake?

Regretting your life decisions, pondering the benefits of suicide. – Thinking of you. – It was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like one as it slipped from your lips.

There's half a second of silence from him before you hear that laugh again, like you shocked him.

Rafe Cameron was shocked.

That's definitely a headline.

You can almost hear the smirk on his face. – I was thinking about you too, baby. What are you wearing?

You scoff, almost rolling your eyes. – Rafe.

He laughs again, even breathier. – Sorry. Was that too soon? – His bed creaks again. – You don’t seem like the kind of girl who needs a lot of foreplay.

– Hilarious.

– I was really hoping you'd give me a taste of what you’re wearing tomorrow, though.

You look down almost unconsciously. The only thing covering your skin is sweat. – Definitely not what I'm wearing right now. Unless you're hiring for a job other than personal chef.

Rafe’s quiet again. He moves around. You can hear him breathing. – Maybe I am. What kind of job are you thinking?

– Well, aren’t you the little hiring agency? Should've met you before. There’s some things on my resume I'm definitely not proud of. – He laughs with you now, though there's something strange in his tone. – Did you talk to your governess, or that other guy you said you didn't know the name of?

– Did. We'll be waiting for you.

– Well, you call and I come. – He laughs at the double-entendre, another noise escaping his lips. – What time should I be there?

– How's 10 AM sound?

– Perfect, Rafe. Thank you. Again, really. I can’t thank you enough.

– You're welcome, baby. You really are. – He groans, the bed creaking. JJ moves around again, his head on your lap, hands around your knees, and he mumbles something unintelligible. – What was that?

– Sorry, uhm. Just… thinking out loud.

You swallow, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. – And what are you thinking about?

– About… What I'm gonna wear. – Improvising was never really your forte.

Rafe hums, a long stretch of the M, then something smaller, a sound you can't quite catch. – That skirt. – He sighs. – The blue pleated one.

You pause.

– What?

– It's pretty. – Is all he says, then a groan, or a purr. The phone falls on his pillow, you can hear it scratch against his skin as he moves. But the way he says it, as if he’s seen it a thousand times in the two days you've known each other, as if he can picture you wearing it right in front of him. – Fuck, baby. You’re so pretty.

The compliment grates at your ears.

How does he know your clothes?

You think of the skirt. Your blue pleated skirt. It's been ages since you've worn it. It's way too short. You’ve outgrown it a while ago. – What else, baby?

– Hm?

– What else are you wearing for me?

His bed creaks again, over and over, and he doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just sighs.

– I, uhm. I don’t know. – What even is this conversation?

– Far as I'm concerned you don't need to wear anything. You can come— He laughs, low and unsteady, a strangled “yeah” cutting through the word. – Come as you are.

You feel a trickle of repulse run down your back. You don’t wanna talk to him anymore. You don’t want to talk at all.

– Talk to me, baby. – He groans, again.

– I, uhm. – You kick the nightstand, the noise echoing loudly around your room. – Shit, uhm. Sorry, that's my brother. I'll see you tomorrow.

You kill the line before he can say anything else.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @sassyvillaintrophy @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss

[oldsoul007]

Guess

older!joel miller x brat!younger!reader

summary: Joel never asked to be saddled with you—wild, reckless, and always testing his patience—but what started as a favor turned into something he couldn’t ignore, and by the time he realized he was in far too deep, it was already too late.

a/n: I never got over brat summer, forced proximity, tension, banter, kissing, suggestive scenes

joel miller masterlist

The first time I see Joel Miller, he’s scowling.

Like, really scowling. Deep line between his brows, mouth set in a firm, unimpressed line, arms crossed over his chest like he’s already exhausted before I’ve even said a word.

And that just makes me want to push his buttons.

He was older—forty-five, maybe—but damn if he didn’t wear it well. Tall, broad, built like a man who knew hard work and even harder days. The kind of man who didn’t waste words or time on things he thought weren’t worth it.

“Y/n,” Tommy grins, throwing an arm around me, “meet my older brother, Joel.”

Joel gives me a once-over, slow and deliberate. I feel his eyes drag over me, taking in my short dress, the bare skin, the slight smirk tugging at my lips. And just for fun, I shift my weight, tilting my head, letting my smile turn just a little more smug.

Tommy, oblivious, keeps talking. “Figured you two should finally meet since you’re always hangin’ around.”

Joel sighs, clearly already over this interaction. “Yeah. Great. Nice to meet you.”

I raise a brow. “Wow. So warm. So welcoming.”

Tommy snorts. “Don’t take it personal. He’s always like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, tilting my head, eyes flicking back to Joel.

Joel just stares at me, like he’s debating whether or not to entertain me. Finally, he mutters, “Serious.”

I grin. “And I’m guessin’ Tommy here told you I’m the opposite?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but the way his jaw flexes tells me enough.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

I step a little closer, watching him carefully, waiting to see if he pulls back. He doesn’t—just watches me, unimpressed, unreadable, but I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, like he’s restraining himself.

“You got somethin’ against fun, Miller?” I tease.

Joel exhales through his nose. “Just don’t got patience for trouble.”

I grin. “Good thing I ain’t trouble then.”

His eyes flick down to my lips for half a second before snapping back up. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

Tommy laughs, clapping Joel on the back. “She’s a handful, huh?”

Joel shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before looking back at me. “You always this much of a pain in the ass?”

I beam. “You always this grumpy?”

His jaw tightens. I know I’m getting to him. And I love it.

Something about Joel Miller tells me he’s the type to resist—to hold himself back, to act like he doesn’t want.

But the way he’s looking at me now?

Yeah. He wants.

I never planned on ending up at Joel Millers house.

But life has a funny way of screwing with me.

One busted pipe in my apartment—water everywhere, maintenance useless, and suddenly, I had nowhere to stay. Tommy was out of town, and before I could even think of booking a motel, he was already on the phone, talking to Joel.

“Just for a few days,” Tommy had said. “Joel’s got the space.”

Joel, who was already looking at me like I was a problem before I even stepped foot in his house.

Now, standing in his doorway, duffel slung over my shoulder, I give him my best grin. “Miss me?”

Joel just sighs, running a hand down his face. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

“No promises.”

His jaw tightens, like he knew I was gonna say that.

I step past him, into his space, and the second the door shuts behind me, something shifts. It’s one thing to tease Joel out in the world, to push his buttons when there’s always somewhere else to go. But here? His house?

There’s nowhere to run now.

And by the way his eyes flicker over me—quick, sharp, like he already regrets agreeing to this—I can tell he’s thinking the same damn thing.

The first night at Joel’s place is… tense. In a way that has nothing to do with the fact that my apartment is currently unlivable and everything to do with him.

He didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat when Tommy volunteered him to take me in. He just grunted, muttered something about “just for a couple nights,” and now here we are.

Joel’s house is simple. A little messy but lived-in. It smells like sawdust, coffee, and whatever soap he uses. I shouldn’t be noticing those things, but I do.

“You got a spare bedroom, or do I gotta fight you for the bed?” I ask, dropping my bag by the couch.

Joel gives me a look like he’s already regretting this. “Spare room’s down the hall. Not much in there, but it’s got a bed.”

I smirk. “A bed and a grumpy host? Wow, I’m spoiled.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his beard like he’s trying to summon patience. “You need anything, just… don’t.”

I grin. “Don’t what?”

He glares. “Don’t push it.”

Oh, but that’s my favorite thing to do.

—

It’s late when I finally settle in. The house is too quiet, too still, and I can’t sleep. Not used to this place, not used to him just a room away.

I pad down the hall, oversized t-shirt hanging off me, socks silent against the wood floor. The lamp in the living room is still on, and Joel’s sitting on the couch, looking lost in thought.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, leaning against the doorway.

He looks up, eyes flicking to me—just for a second, just long enough to make me feel barely covered. He exhales, looking back at his floor. “Didn’t expect you to be the quiet type at night.”

I snort, walking over to perch on the arm of the couch. “Bet you thought I’d snore or talk in my sleep.”

Joel shrugs. “Still debatin’ it.”

I watch him for a moment, the way the lamp casts shadows over his face, the way he looks at everything except me. There’s something charged in the air, something neither of us want to acknowledge.

“You don’t like this, do you?” I tease, nudging his knee with my foot. “Having me here.”

Joel takes a slow look up at me. “Ain’t about likin’ it. It just is.”

I hum, watching him closely. “You’re so bad at lying.”

Joel’s jaw flexes.

And I know, I know, if I keep pushing, I’ll get something out of him. But for once, I don’t.

Instead, I stand, stretching dramatically. “Alright, Miller. I’ll stop bugging you. For now.”

Joel huffs. “Doubtful.”

I grin, heading toward the hallway. But just before I disappear into the dark, I hear him mutter—just low enough that I almost miss it.

“Sleep tight, trouble.”

And damn it, that shouldn’t make my stomach flip. But it does.

—

The thing about living with Joel? It’s too easy to mess with him.

I’ve been here for three days now, and I swear, every time I walk into a room, he looks like he’s debating whether or not to strangle me or throw me out. And honestly? I love it.

Like right now.

He’s standing in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, flipping through the mail like it personally offended him. His shirt is still wrinkled from sleep, hair a little messy, eyes heavy with whatever dreams he never talks about. And I? I’m perched on the counter, swinging my legs, eating the last piece of toast he made for himself.

Joel notices. His eyes flick to the empty plate in my hand, then to his own very empty hands, and then—then—he exhales so sharply it’s almost funny.

“Really?” he grumbles, setting the mail down with way more force than necessary. “You ain’t got hands to make your own damn food?”

I grin, taking a slow, deliberate bite. “Yours just looked better.”

Joel mutters something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like a curse, and turns to pour himself more coffee.

“Y’know,” I continue, voice sweet, “for a man who claims he doesn’t like me being here, you sure do take good care of me.”

Joel tenses. His grip on the coffee pot tightens.

“Wouldn’t have to if you took care of yourself,” he mutters, taking a sip.

I smirk. “Aww, Joel. You worried about me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just glares over the rim of his mug like he’s daring me to push him further.

So, of course, I do.

I hop off the counter, stepping closer, my bare feet silent against the floor. Joel watches me warily, like I’m a stray cat that might bite. I stop just in front of him, tilting my head.

“You sure you don’t like having me here?” I tease, my voice dropping just a little, just enough to make his fingers twitch.

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. But his eyes darken just enough to make my stomach flip.

“You really wanna test me this early?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The challenge sends a thrill down my spine. I grin, leaning in just a fraction, enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Maybe,” I whisper. “Depends on what happens if I do.”

Joel huffs a laugh—one of those deep, frustrated, you’re-gonna-be-the-death-of-me laughs. Then, suddenly, his turn to get close. He leans down, voice right against my ear.

“You keep pushin’,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, “you ain’t gonna like what happens.”

My pulse jumps. My smirk falters—just for a second.

Joel sees it. And the bastard smirks.

Then he pulls back, grabbing his coffee, walking away like he won this round.

I exhale sharply, watching him go, my skin still tingling.

I really need to stop underestimating him.

—

I know he’s awake the second I step through the door.

The lights are dim, but Joel’s still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a half-empty beer. He looks relaxed—pretends to be, anyway—but his eyes flick to me the second I walk in.

I smirk. “You waitin’ up for me, Miller?”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Just happened to be up.”

Uh-huh.

I ignore him, walking into the kitchen, feeling his eyes drag over me as I move. The dress I’m wearing is short, tight, and backless—very backless. My tattoo is on full display, the black ink running across, teasing the dip of my lower back.

I reach for a glass, pouring myself some water, letting the silence stretch, letting him look.

Finally, I hear him shift behind me. “Where the hell were you?”

I take a slow sip. “Out.”

“With who?”

I glance over my shoulder, raising a brow. “Didn’t know I had to check in with you, dad.”

Joel clenches his jaw. His fingers flex on his knee. “Y/n.”

I turn fully now, leaning against the counter, glass in hand. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” The lie is so blatant, so immediate, that I almost laugh.

I take another sip, watching him. “You sure about that?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks lower, over the curve of my back, the exposed skin, the ink. His jaw tenses even more—like he’s mad. Like the tattoo itself is personally offending him.

I set my glass down, smirking. “Something wrong?”

Joel exhales, drags a hand down his face. “You got no damn shame, you know that?”

I grin, stepping closer, closing the space between us. “And you got no damn claim,” I say, tilting my head. “So what’s your problem?”

Joel watches me, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

I lift a finger, tracing a slow, teasing line down my own spine, over the tattoo he won’t stop staring at. “You like it?” I ask, voice low.

His nostrils flare. His fists clench.

Then—just like always—he forces himself to lean back, to put space between us, to shove all that tension down deep.

I take my time walking past him, making sure he gets a real good look at what’s been driving him crazy all night. I can practically feel the heat of his stare burning into my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Not yet.

Instead, I reach for my water again, taking a slow sip, just to draw this out a little more. Joel exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

“You always go out dressed like that?” His voice is low, rough, like he’s forcing himself to sound casual.

I smirk against my glass. “You always staring at me?”

Joel lets out a sharp breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

I finally turn, leaning back against the counter, crossing my arms so my dress shifts even higher up my thighs. His gaze flickers, betraying him for half a second before he locks it back on my face.

“I just don’t get why you feel the need to—” He waves a hand vaguely at me. “—put everything on display.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Everything?”

Joel rubs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “You know what I mean.”

I grin. “What, you don’t like my tattoo?”

He clenches his jaw. “Ain’t about the tattoo.”

I tilt my head, watching him closely. “Then what’s it about?”

He doesn’t answer.

I push off the counter, closing the space between us, slow and deliberate. “Is it the tattoo, or is it the fact that other people got to see it?”

Joel tenses. Just a flicker. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

And I know.

I smirk. “That’s it, isn’t it?” My voice drops, just above a whisper. “You don’t like that someone else got to look at me like this.”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his fists clenched at his sides. “Go to bed, y/n.”

I step even closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the faded whiskey and aftershave clinging to his skin. “Make me.”

His jaw flexes. His hands twitch. For a second, I think he might actually do something, might finally snap and grab me, kiss me, claim me like we both know he wants to.

But then—

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before turning away from me. “You’re a damn brat, you know that?”

I grin, victorious. “And you love it.”

Joel mutters something I don’t catch, shaking his head, still refusing to look at me.

I lean up on my toes, just enough to whisper near his ear. “Sweet dreams, Miller.”

Then I turn and head toward my room, my steps slow, unhurried, knowing damn well he’s watching.

Knowing damn well he won’t sleep tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

—

Joel is a walking contradiction.

Always looking out for me, always acting like I’m some damn problem he’s gotta fix. But then, when he thinks I’m not paying attention? He watches me.

Like right now.

I’m sitting on the tailgate of his truck, sipping a gas station soda, swinging my legs while he loads up the last of the supplies he picked up. The summer heat is thick, sticking to my skin, making me feel slow, lazy.

Joel, meanwhile, looks like he’s one deep breath away from losing his patience.

“Where’d you run off to last night?” he asks, not looking at me.

I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

That gets me. I raise an eyebrow. “You are keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel exhales, setting down a case of water a little harder than necessary. “Just know when you start trouble.”

I grin. “Who says I started trouble?”

He gives me a look.

Fair enough.

I take another sip of my drink, watching him work, the way his shirt clings to his back, damp from the heat. My stomach tightens, and I blame it on the weather.

“You got somethin’ to say?” he mutters, not turning around.

I smirk. “Nope.”

“Then quit starin’.”

I laugh, kicking my feet against the truck bed. “Oh, that’s rich.”

His jaw tightens. “What’s that mean?”

I tilt my head. “Means I see you lookin’, too.”

Joel freezes.

It’s quick. A small thing. But I notice.

For the first time, he actually looks at me, really looks. And there’s heat there, burning under all that restraint.

I set my drink down, hopping off the tailgate, stepping close—too close.

“You ever wonder what’d happen,” I murmur, “if you stopped pretendin’ you don’t want me?”

Joel’s breath is slow. Measured. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t move.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he says, voice low, gruff.

I tilt my head, biting back a grin. “Maybe I do.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Something dangerous.

For a second, I think maybe—maybe—he’s gonna snap. Gonna grab me by the waist, drag me in, let all that tension finally break.

Instead, he just exhales, long and slow, before stepping back.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters.

I grin. “You like trouble.”

Joel shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath as he turns away.

But his hands? They’re clenched into fists.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

—

Joel’s been trying to ignore me all damn day.

Which, honestly? Fair. I’ve been making it real hard for him.

I’m leaning against the counter in his kitchen, the space between us just enough for me to feel that slow, simmering tension that’s been building up all afternoon, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of—well, that’s the game, isn’t it?

Joel walks in, fresh from a shower, hair damp, t-shirt clinging to his chest just enough to make me look. He barely glances at me as he grabs a water from the fridge, pretending I’m not there.

Like I’ll just let him get away with that.

“You ever gonna put on some damn clothes?”

I smirk, not even looking up. “I am wearing clothes.”

Joel exhales sharply, taking a long sip of water. “Not enough.”

That makes me grin. Gotcha.

I stretch, letting the hem of my shirt ride up just a little. “Oh, relax. It’s just a t-shirt.”

Joel scoffs, finally looking at me. His eyes flicker down, slow, then back up, jaw tightening. Yeah, he noticed.

“Guess,” I say suddenly, watching him.

His brow furrows. “What?”

I sit up, tilting my head. “Guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

Joel exhales, shaking his head. “Not playin’ this game, y/n.”

“C’mon.” I stretch, making sure the hem of my shirt lifts just enough to tease. “Just one guess.”

“Clothes.”

I grin. “Not much of ‘em.”

That does it. His grip tightens on the bottle, jaw going stiff. He still doesn’t turn around, but I see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath goes a little heavier.

But then, to my surprise, he plays along.

Joel finally turns, slow, lazy, eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

Slow. Controlled. Like he knows exactly what this is doing to me.

And I feel it—his presence filling the space, the heat between us thick and undeniable. Joel stops just a breath away, too close for comfort, but I don’t move. I won’t.

“You’re awful pushy tonight,” he mutters, eyes dark as they settle on me.

I tilt my head, not backing down. “You’re awful curious for someone who doesn’t wanna play.”

Joel’s eyes drag over me, deliberate and slow, as if he’s taking in every inch, every detail. Then, like he can’t help himself, he leans in a little more—close enough that I feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his presence.

His breath hits my cheek, and I’m sure my heart skips a beat. I freeze, barely able to keep my focus.

The space between us is thick with something heavy, something that has my pulse racing, but Joel’s not moving. He’s standing there, looking at me like he’s debating something—maybe whether or not to keep playing. I keep my eyes locked on his, deliberately challenging, just to see how long he’ll stand there before he breaks.

I know he can feel it too—the weight of the air between us. It’s thick. Electric.

But I’m not the one to crack first.

I lean back a little, letting my hands slide across the cool counter, trying to act casual, like I’m not aware of every inch of space between us, of how close he’s standing now.

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while. He just watches me—his eyes intense, like he’s studying every move I make, waiting for me to slip up.

And then, in one smooth motion, he steps forward, close enough that I feel his presence without him even touching me. Just the weight of his gaze, the pull of his body.

I freeze for a second, breath catching in my throat. Damn it.

He doesn’t rush—he never does. Joel’s always deliberate, calculating. But I can see it now, the way his lips press together, the faintest twitch of his jaw like he’s trying to hold something back.

Without saying a word, his hand moves slowly to the bottom of my t-shirt. His fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing the skin of my thigh. The touch is light—almost too light—but it still sends a shiver through me.

I stay still, even though every part of me is aware of what he’s doing, of the way his hand hovers, teasing, as if he’s testing my patience.

“Alright,” he drawls, voice lower now. “Guessin’ you want me to say somethin’ like… lace?”

My mouth goes dry.

Oh.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I recover fast, tilting my head. “Maybe.”

Joel takes a slow step closer, his eyes locked on mine, like he knows he’s caught me off guard. Like he’s finally flipping the script on me.

“Red?” he guesses, voice all deep and rough.

I swallow. “Wrong.”

“Black, then.”

I press my lips together, refusing to react.

“Bet they even have a little bow”

Joel just huffs a quiet laugh, taking another slow sip of water, looking way too satisfied with himself.

I narrow my eyes, sitting up. “You think you’re real smooth, huh?”

He just shrugs. “Ain’t that hard, darlin’. You’re an open book.”

And then, just as I’m about to respond, he shifts again—moving in, just enough to make the back of his hand brush mine. The contact is so light, but I feel it like a damn spark.

His lips are so close to my ear now, and I know he’s teasing. He’s testing me, waiting to see what I’ll do.

But I don’t move. I hold my ground, staring up at him, willing myself not to let the heat get to me.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “but you ain’t nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

I try to keep my cool, but there’s a hitch in my breath.

Joel steps back then, like it’s nothing. But I can feel the pull, the weight of what just happened. I know he’s not done with this—not by a long shot.

—

Joel is pissed.

I see it in the way his shoulders tense as he shoves open the bar door, his grip firm around my wrist, dragging me outside like I’m some wayward kid in need of a lesson. The humid Texas night air wraps around us, thick and sticky, but it’s nothing compared to the heat burning between us.

“What the hell was that, y/n?” Joel snaps, letting go of my wrist just to turn and face me, standing toe-to-toe like he’s ready for a fight.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “I was having a drink, Joel.”

“You were flirtin’ with every damn guy in there,” he growls, his hands landing on his hips like he’s holding himself back.

I smirk, tilting my head. “Oh, that’s what this is about? Didn’t realize you were keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel huffs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head. “I am keepin’ tabs on you. Tommy asked me to keep an eye on you, and you—” He gestures toward the bar behind us, exasperated. “You don’t make it easy.”

I laugh, the alcohol warming me but not enough to dull the way my pulse spikes at his words. “I’m twenty-five, Joel. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“Well, you sure as hell act like you do,” he shoots back, eyes dark and burning with frustration.

That gets me. My spine straightens, my chin tilts up, and suddenly, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation.

“Excuse me?” I take a step closer, poking a finger against his chest. “I don’t belong to you, Joel. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Joel exhales sharply, like he’s trying to get a grip, but it’s useless because I can see it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flex at his sides, the way his eyes flicker down to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

Oh, he hates this.

Hates that I push him.

Hates that I get under his skin.

Hates that he wants me.

“I didn’t say you belonged to me,” he mutters, voice lower now, rougher.

“But you sure as hell act like it.” My voice is quieter too, the space between us shrinking, the air crackling.

Joel clenches his jaw, breathing hard, and for a second, I swear he’s about to say something—admit something. But instead, he just lets out a frustrated growl, dragging a hand down his face.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters.

I grin, stepping even closer, my chest nearly brushing his. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel goes still.

I see it—the moment something shifts between us, the way his breathing changes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to grab me, pull me closer, do something about it.

But instead, he just exhales sharply, turns away, and runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake me off.

“Get in the damn truck.”

I laugh, but there’s something breathless about it, something shaky. Because if he had made a move—if he had snapped—I don’t know if I would’ve stopped him.

Hell, I know I wouldn’t have.

But for now, I just smirk, walking past him with a slow sway in my step, knowing damn well he’s watching me.

And as I climb into his truck, I wonder just how long it’ll take before Joel Miller finally breaks.

—

Sometimes, Joel does the dumbest shit, and I can't help but laugh at how he digs himself deeper without even realizing it. I've been pushing him all night, just little jabs here and there, watching him get more and more frustrated. It's my favorite game-seeing how long I can mess with him before he finally cracks.

But this time? This time, he really crossed a line.

He thinks he knows what’s best for me, and the way he treats me like some helpless kid? It drives me insane. I’m 25, not a teenager, but he always acts like I need someone to babysit me. It’s honestly infuriating.

But I guess he just couldn’t let it go anymore.

I’m standing there, crossing my arms, staring him down as he tries to come up with something to say, but all he can do is look at me like I’ve broken his favorite damn toy. He’s so damn stubborn, but right now, there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—guilt.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel drops to his knees in front of me.

What the hell?

For a moment, I just stare at him, caught off guard.

I'm not even sure what he's doing, but the way he looks up at me-like he's some kind of punished dog-throws me off balance. He's trying to make a statement, I can tell. He's not embarrassed, but he's also not letting this go.

"I messed up," Joel says, his voice gravelly, as he slowly slides his hands up to rest on my thighs.

I blink at him, not sure how to react. The tension is different this time-this isn't about him giving in; this is something else entirely. There's no fear in his eyes. No submission. He's still the same stubborn bastard he's always been, but there's something else there too-something challenging.

He wants to make things right, but he's doing it on his terms.

"You're not sorry enough for this to work," | tease, holding back the grin that's threatening to break free.

He smirks, eyes flicking up to meet mine. He's still got that damn cocky attitude, even with me standing over him, and I don't know whether I want to slap it off him or kiss him.

Maybe both.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his hands tightening on my thighs, but there's no hesitation in his voice. "But I'm not getting off my knees until you know I'm serious."

I let out a laugh, not backing down, my body giving off every signal that I'm in control. "And what's that supposed to mean? You think this is gonna impress me?"

His grip on my thighs tightens, pulling me in closer, and now I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. But instead of giving me an inch, he's still staring up at me with that damn challenge in his eyes.

"You want an apology? You got it," he says, voice low and steady. "But l'm not some puppy you can just command. Don't think for one second you're gonna play me like that."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. I was expecting him to grovel, to at least try to show some weakness. But Joel? Joel doesn't do weakness.

"I never said you were a puppy," I murmur, looking down at him with a smile that's too smug for my own good. "But you are on your knees."

His eyes darken as he holds my gaze, not backing down, not even a little. "Yeah, and I'm here because you deserve the apology, not because I'm asking for permission."

The heat between us shifts again, and it's not the playful teasing anymore. It's something more-something a little darker, a little more real. He's not going to give in, but he's also not letting me win either.

"So, what do you want?" l ask, my voice almost a whisper, the challenge still there but mixed with something else.

Joel doesn't hesitate. "I want you to stop testing me and accept that I'm not going anywhere."

And for just a moment, it feels like he's got me right where he wants me.

But then, I realize-he's not the only one who knows how to play this game.

"Well, if you're so eager to apologize," | start, running my fingers through his hair, "maybe you can make it up to me in a way I actually want."

Joel looks up at me, his hands still gripping my thighs as his breath catches. There's a flicker of something in his eyes-something wild, but also totally surrendered.

"Name it."

The words land between us with the weight of a promise. And for the first time, I feel the air between us change completely. I step back, my body a little off balance from how suddenly he's shifted everything.

But damn, if that doesn't make my heart race.

And then—

His hands are on me.

Gripping my waist, dragging me in hard, pinning me against the wall like he can’t hold himself back another second.

“You happy now?” His voice is low, rough, wrecked. His breath is hot against my lips, his hands firm, possessive on my hips.

I grin, breathless. “Ecstatic.”

And then he’s kissing me.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s everything he’s been denying himself—all the tension, all the frustration, all the goddamn hunger crashing down on us at once.

I moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He groans, deep and low, like he needs this, like he’s craved this for so long it’s driven him mad.

His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly against him. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as my back presses harder against the wall, his body solid and hot against mine.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls, dragging his lips down my jaw, my neck, biting just enough to make me gasp.

I laugh breathlessly, tugging his head back up, eyes locked on his. "Took you long enough to admit it."

Joel glares at me, but there's something wild behind it now, something dangerous. "You got no idea what you just started."

I smirk, running my fingers down his chest, feeling the way his breath shudders at my touch.

"Then don't stop," | whisper.

And he doesn't.

—

It’s like once we started, we couldn’t stop.

Every touch, every look, every little moment of tension we used to ignore? Now it’s all fire.

It starts in the kitchen. I brush past Joel to grab a glass of water, my fingers barely skimming his arm, and I swear I hear his breath hitch. It’s subtle, but I know him. I know how much I get under his skin.

And then, before I can even turn around, he’s on me.

One hand grips my waist, the other presses into the counter beside me, caging me in. His body is warm against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

“You do this on purpose,” he mutters, voice low, rough, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I smirk, tilting my head slightly, just enough that his lips graze my neck. “Do what?”

Joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening on my waist. “Brat,” he murmurs, but it sounds wrecked, like he’s already given in.

And he has.

Because in the next breath, he spins me to face him, pressing me against the counter. His hands grip my hips, his body hot against mine, and I can feel the tension rolling off him.

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he warns, lips barely an inch from mine.

I grin, dragging my fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Joel groans, kissing me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like every ounce of restraint he had is just gone. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, gasping into his mouth when his fingers dig into my skin.

We barely make it to the hallway before he grabs me again, pressing me against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine.

“You just can’t help yourself,” I murmur against his lips, breathless.

Joel groans, his forehead pressing to mine, his grip firm like he's staking a claim. "Neither can you."

And he's right. Because the second we're alone again, I'm on him-hands in his hair, pulling him down, both of us too far gone to stop now.

Because now that we've started?

We're never stopping.

—

I leave the bathroom door open on purpose.

And the glass shower door? Yeah, that stays cracked, too.

The hot water cascades down my body, steam curling through the air, fogging up the glass just enough to blur the edges but not enough to hide me. I know Joel’s home. I know he’ll walk past. And I know he won’t be able to help himself.

It takes a minute, but then—there he is.

I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, the way he pauses in the doorway. I can’t see his face through the steam, but I know that look—the one where his jaw tightens, where his fists clench like he’s fighting every urge in his body.

I smile to myself and tilt my head back, letting the hot water pour down my neck, dragging my hands slowly over my skin.

Joel exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ, y/n.”

I bite my lip. Bingo.

There’s a beat of silence, thick with tension. And then—I hear him move. The rustle of fabric. The soft clink of a belt buckle. The sound of a shirt being pulled over his head.

My pulse spikes.

The shower door swings open wider, and suddenly—Joel is there.

Steam clings to his skin, droplets forming against the hard planes of his chest, his broad shoulders.

His eyes are dark, locked on mine, his expression somewhere between exasperation and something dangerous.

“You really are a damn brat,” he mutters.

Before I can reply, his hands are on me, gripping my waist, pushing me gently but firmly against the cool tile. His body is hot, solid against mine, his breath warm against my skin as he leans in.

“You left that door open on purpose,” he accuses, voice rough, wrecked.

I smirk, fingers sliding up his arms, feeling the tension there. “Maybe.”

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But there’s something else in his eyes now—something wild, something hungry.

His hands grip my hips, fingers pressing hard into my skin, and he kisses me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like he’s been waiting for this, like every ounce of restraint he’s ever had just snapped. I moan into his mouth, pressing up against him, feeling the heat of his body, the way his hands roam, gripping, claiming.

"You gonna keep playin' games, sweetheart?" he mutters against my lips, his voice rough with need.

I grin, breathless, pulling him closer. "Always."

Joel groans, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath heavy, his fingers digging into my skin like he needs this.

And then he kisses me again.

And this time, neither of us stop.

—

The first night back in my apartment should feel good. Should feel like a breath of fresh air. No more waking up to Joel grumbling in the kitchen, no more stolen flannels, no more him lurking in doorways like he’s just waiting for me to do something reckless.

But it doesn’t feel good.

It feels wrong.

I don’t like waking up alone. I don’t like the quiet. I don’t like that Joel just let me go without a damn word.

So I do what I always do. I go looking for trouble.

And I find it at his doorstep.

Joel barely reacts when he opens the door and sees me standing there, arms crossed, wearing one of his shirts I forgot to return. His face is unreadable, but I know him. I see the way his shoulders tighten, the way his jaw clenches.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, voice low, cautious.

I step inside without waiting for an invitation, brushing past him like I belong there. Because I do.

“I dunno,” I say, throwing myself onto his couch. “Figured I’d see if you missed me.”

Joel exhales sharply, closing the door, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s already tired of this conversation. “Y/n—”

“—You didn’t even call me.” I cut him off, watching him carefully.

He shakes his head, pacing like a man who’s got too much in his head and no idea how to get it out. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

I scoff, leaning back against the cushions. “Bullshit.”

Joel stops pacing, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters something under his breath.

“What?” I push, sitting up. “Go on. Say it.”

“You know why,” he says, finally looking at me. His eyes are tired. Guilty. “I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did.”

I laugh. A short, bitter thing. “Let things go as far as they did? You mean you finally gave in? You finally admitted you wanted me?”

Joel clenches his jaw, turning away, but I’m already off the couch, already closing the distance between us.

“You do want me,” I say, softer now. “You just don’t want to let yourself have me.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, looking like a man at war with himself.

“You think it was a mistake?” I ask, my voice steady even though my chest feels tight.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. And that silence? It kills me.

Finally, he exhales, voice rough. “I think it ain’t fair to you.”

I stare at him, disbelief creeping in. “Fair? That’s what you’re worried about? Jesus, Joel, I’m not some kid you need to protect. I know what I want.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” I snap. “I waited for you to stop fighting it. I waited for you to stop treating me like I’m too young, too reckless, too much for you. And the second you let yourself have me, you run?”

Joel’s breathing is heavy now, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I ain’t runnin’—”

I step closer, forcing him to look at me. “Then what the hell do you call this?”

His face twists, something breaking behind his eyes. “I call it tryin’ to do right by you.”

My chest aches. God, he’s so damn stubborn.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, softer this time. “You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

Joel looks at me, looks through me, and I see it—that need, that longing, that war inside him.

But I won’t beg.

So I take a slow step back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Fine,” I say, voice carefully even. “You wanna push me away? Go ahead. But don’t you dare pretend it’s for my sake.”

I turn, heading for the door, my heart hammering in my chest.

And I wait.

I wait for him to stop me.

But the door closes behind me, and Joel lets me go.

—

I should slam the door in his face.

I should.

But I don’t. Because it’s Joel. And even after everything—even after he let me walk out that door without a fight—I still want him.

And the bastard knows it.

He stands there, looking rough around the edges, like he hasn’t slept. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet, like he doesn’t know how to say whatever it is he came here to say.

“I fucked up,” he says, finally.

I snort, arms crossed. “No shit.”

Joel exhales, glancing down for a second before his eyes meet mine again. They’re dark, tired, but honest.

“I was scared,” he says, voice lower now. “Ain’t used to wantin’ something this bad. Ain’t used to thinkin’ maybe I could have it.”

That stops me.

Because this? This is new. This isn’t Joel pushing me away, telling me I’m too young, too much, too reckless. This isn’t him trying to convince himself he doesn’t need me.

This is him admitting that he does.

I swallow, my throat tight. “You can have it, Joel. But not if you keep pulling this shit.”

He nods, like he knows, like he’s been sitting with that realization since the second I left.

I should make him work for it. Make him suffer a little. But then he steps closer—slow, cautious, like he’s making sure I don’t shut him out first.

And when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

“Come back.”

It’s not a demand. Not a plea. Just Joel laying it all out, raw and real, for me to decide.

I let out a slow breath, studying him, making him wait.

Then I step forward, just enough that I can tilt my chin up and brush my lips against his—light, teasing, cruel.

His breath hitches. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s dying to touch me.

And I smirk. “Took you long enough.”

Joel groans, grabs me, and finally—finally—kisses me like he’s making up for every second he wasted.

[operationslipperypuppet]

New to your blog and I'm curious and think this will probably be a good ask for you to cook on for a while: Sell me on Naddpod?

well first of all welcome! as much as i walk like a d20 blog and talk like a d20 blog i am in fact a naddpod blog a lot of the time so. look out. (everyone)

this is gonna get long.

now, to the task at hand.

naddpod.

imagine if you will that four improvisers/comedians who are very good friends combine their powers to tell stories that they want to completely sit in while also having the ultimate goal of making each other laugh.

naddpod is first and foremost a comedy podcast, there’s a reason dragon pussy comes up four and a half minutes in, there’s a reason “cumpatriots” being said in today’s episode left me completely unfazed. they want it to be silly. they enjoy it being silly.

but god do they also just simply care.

they care about their characters, they care about each other’s characters. they create a world together where when the dm (murph, most often) gives them a shocking twist, you can hear them waiting with bated breath, the same as you, for what will come next.

there are also so many deeply devastating emotional moments. “you ruined my night, brian.” is said in the show and oft repeated by the fans for a goddamn reason. you feel for the characters when bad things happen. you can’t wait to see them resolved. and they don’t feel cheap when they happen. you’re having a great time even as they have terrible times.

the worlds feel lived in. you also feel like you can see the worlds be created as you listen. it’s just so fun. there are several episodes where if i listen to them during a shit day i feel so much better.

sometimes, it’s deeply stupid. and it’s very fun. god are some bits insane. (shoutout to dip spit). but it’s just a good time.

they’re also incredible writers. the stories the dms are trying to tell come from this pure place of loving what they’re doing and being very good at it.

murph’s encounters are also some of the best in the game. even when they’re similar they don’t feel tired. he creates pictures you can see so vividly without having any visual aids. he keeps the stakes high even though he clearly wants his players to win. and they’re so endlessly creative. (c3 def has some of the best encounters due to his experience at that point but don’t discount some of the mighty c1 and c2 ones either)

in conclusion, listen to naddpod. please. you’ll have a great time. if you don’t enjoy the dragon pussy of it all, you might not love it, but if you enjoy it or can power through it, you’ll have fun.

and now. a quick rundown of like the general conceit of each (completed) campaign off the top of my head. in case you’re curious about where to start. (you can start at the beginning of any of these, in any order) and fuck it. i’m including a spotify link to every ep 1. i’m also def gonna do a bad job so. grain of salt etc etc.

bahumia (campaign 1): three legendary heroes saved the world three years ago, cumulating in their killing the devil. but then they vanished. and things have gone bad. so our adventurers attempt to figure out what happened. and how they can fix it. (100 episodes, dm’d by murph) (x)

trinyvale: sci-fi. three roommates work for a corporation on mini retrieval missions that eventually all come together to point toward one large mystery: what happened to the gods and how does it impact the world? (22 episodes, plus a few one-shots or mini arcs, dm’d by caldwell) (x)

the mavrus chronicles: five lads who are each other’s boys go on a beach vacation and one gets lost. they have to find out what happened, and find their friend, even if it means trekking across the water into the mysterious fog (7 episodes, dm’d by emily, ft. zac oyama’s guest pc from bahumia) [also has a sequel campaign, blazing babe, where they go to a burning man-esque festival and try to figure out who’s trying to ruin it. you can’t listen to that on its own. it has 4 episodes](x)

eldermourne (campaign 2): a dark fairy tale setting where those devoted to the gods continue to hold their alleged promises over people’s heads without quite explaining what it really means. and a secret order has left behind our heroes, who have no choice but to try to track them and what they’re working toward down. (41 episodes, dm’d by murph) (x) (also has a session 0)

ba2mia (campaign 3): we return to the world of campaign one, 200 years later. things have changed in the world a lot in the time in between, and it’s a much more cyber-punky place now. our heroes work for a megacorp attempting to dig itself into every major city in the world. they do their best to outrun that. and its ripples. (72 episodes, dm’d by murph) (x) (session 0ish)

twilight sanctorum: the family business is as detectives. and the business is slow. in a noir setting, a father/grandfather, son/father, and grandson/son work together to solve one single mystery: who is threatening the featured performer at the town’s most famous theater. (4 episodes. dm’d by emily) (x)

the episodes i shared will give a better early description than i did, certainly. bc they thought about them more.

anyway. long answer over. hope this helps. maybe. idk it ran away from me a little bit.

thanks for the ask!!

[zeroseuniverse]

Please do a part 3 to Never Asked, this is so wholesome 😭😭

More member interactions or something angsty with fluff please 🥹

Thankfully I thought ahead this time!! It's already written!!!

You Never Asked III

Word Count: 585 Summary: You all know the story by now right? Pairing: Jongho X Fem Reader

Part I Part II

Navigation

Jongho should have known.

The moment his members met her, he should have known that they would take it too far.

It started off small. She’d get random texts from Wooyoung asking, “Are you feeding him properly? He gets cranky if he doesn’t eat.”

Then San started sending her videos of Jongho singing with captions like “Your man is talented, you’re welcome”.

But things escalated when Seonghwa personally invited her over for dinner.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jongho muttered as she stood outside their dorm.

“I want to,” she reassured him, grinning. “They’re fun.”

Jongho just sighed, mentally preparing himself for whatever nonsense was about to unfold.

The moment she stepped inside, chaos erupted.

“You’re finally here!!”

Wooyoung practically tackled her in a hug. “We missed you!”

“You saw me last week,” she laughed.

“Too long,” Yunho declared dramatically, pulling you into a side hug.

Jongho crossed his arms. “She’s my girlfriend, not yours.”

“Are you sure?” Yeosang deadpanned. “We might like her more.”

Jongho scowled. She just patted his arm.

Dinner was surprisingly peaceful—at first. Seonghwa had cooked, and everyone was on their best behavior… until Mingi leaned forward, setting down his chopsticks.

“So,” he began. “When are you two getting married?”

She nearly choked.

Jongho did choke. “WHAT?!”

San nodded thoughtfully. “Good question. Do you want a spring wedding? Fall is also nice.”

“Guys—”

“You should have a destination wedding,” Wooyoung suggested, already invested. “Hawaii? Greece?”

“STOP,” Jongho begged, face burning.

 However, she was thoroughly entertained. “Hmm, I do like Greece.”

The room exploded.

“OH MY GOD, IT’S HAPPENING.”

“LOOK AT RINGS WITH US.”

“I’M GONNA CRY.”

Jongho groaned, dropping his head onto the table as his members fully planned their wedding.

She just smiled at him, squeezing his hand under the table.

If he was stuck with these chaotic men forever, at least he had her to suffer with him.

—-

Jongho was convinced.

His members weren’t just close to her now—they were trying to steal her.

It had been a few weeks since the Great Wedding Debate (which, to his horror, had resulted in a shared Pinterest board Wooyoung had made for their “future venue aesthetic”), and things had only gotten worse.

At first, it was just them texting her for “updates” on Jongho, which was already ridiculous.

Wooyoung: Has he been drinking enough water? He’s stubborn.San: Tell him to stop pretending he doesn’t like hugs.Yunho: Does he smile more with you than with us? Be honest.

But then? Then they started inviting her places—without him.

Jongho scowled as he stood in the dorm, arms crossed, watching her slip on her jacket. “Why are you going out with them?”

She gave him an amused look. “Because they invited me?”

“To lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Without me?”

“Yep.”

Jongho turned toward his members, who were suspiciously avoiding his gaze. “Really?”

“What?” San blinked innocently. “Can’t we just hang out with our friend?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung smirked. “We love her.”

Jongho glared. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“She’s our family,” Yunho corrected.

Seonghwa patted Jongho’s shoulder. “Get used to it, kid. You’re dating one of us now.”

Jongho groaned as she tried (and failed) to hide her laughter.

“I’ll be back soon,” she reassured, pecking his cheek before heading for the door.

The second she was gone, Jongho turned to his members, voice dangerously low.

“I hope you all choke on your food.”

They just cackled.

Because Jongho might have been her boyfriend…

But at this point? You were a part of their chaotic family.

[no1damianwayneglazer]

damian wayne best friend / lover headcanons

* pays for your school lunch that he calls “slop.” (he just wants you to eat something even if it is disgusting cafeteria food

* will wear matching friendship bracelets with you (absolutely detests it and thinks it’s childish even though you both are children)

* he doesn’t admit it and would never show you but he paints portraits of you constantly. sometimes they’re not even full portraits, he just finds himself sketching you. you’re always on his mind. (jason has found these portraits and made fun of him for days)

* begs his father to let him use his card so he can take you to art museums or tour an art gallery

* when you’re sitting together in class, even if you’re talking about the dumbest shit ever he’ll listen like he’s gonna be graded on it.

* remembers every little thing you tell him about yourself. your favorite color, favorite food, any info about your family, all of it.

* on the other hand, you know him, but you also don’t. he tells you little to no information about his private life. not his mom, not his dad or brothers, and CERTAINLY not his vigilante life. he has never told you any information about his secret life as robin and plans to keep it that way. he doesn’t let ANYTHING slip. unless you somehow get attacked in an alleyway or something and robin in all his glory comes to save you (and you notice he looks and sounds exactly like your best friend 👀)

* he definitely tells you about all of his animals, though. when asked about the name “bat-cow” he just says he used to be a bit batman fan.

* if you wind up injured or even just verbally bullied in any way by some random student, the student in question will get their shit absolutely ROCKED and will suddenly be expelled from the school with no warning.

* if you say your favorite vigilante is robin he will be such a smug little bitch about it. he’ll give you this punchable looking face and say “he’s also my favorite. in terms of hero work he is the most proficient and skilled…heh.. 🤓”

i couldn’t think of anymore but that was actually fun to write >_>

[carrots-bear]

Thanks for the tag Asher! I love tag games, never hesitate to tag me😁

All of these are from fire and rain, but they will all likely change in some way bc I messed up with the lair and stuff, so that is gonna change a lot of things🫠

C: “Casey Junio— oohh! Hey, hey it’s okay. You’re alright, and I’m alright, and now we’re seeing each other again, something that I thought was impossible! It’s fine, Casey. We’re both fine,” Donnie said, hugging the poor boy back, doing his best to ‘inflict comfort’ as Donnie liked to call it.

A: “Alright, how about ‘Nine-thousand’?”, Senior suggested, setting his plate down.

S: Splinter looked up at him— as in waaaaayyy up at him.

U: “Uuuuuuhhh,” Mikey said awkwardly.

A: Aaaaahhh, the years I’ve gone without coffee.

L: “Leo, I thought you were gone! Forever! What did you expect me to do? ‘Oh, well, there goes one brother, good thing I have two more,’ and walk away?”

T: They looked back up at the sky, which had cleared of the dark clouds. It was a deep blue, with red, orange, and yellow cresting the horizon, and clouds lined with gold as the sun dawned and rose. Casey gasped at the sight of his first real sunrise; Donnie let another tear fall. “I’ve missed this,” he whispered wistfully, staring at the salmon colored sky. 

Y: “…You can still chew by yourself, I hope? Or do you need someone to regurgitate for you?”

Alright, tag time…. You know what, moots! And anyone! Come join the fun with the word--

pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis

Enjoy! Also, @bagels-and-cream-cheese333. Asher tried to tag you (but there was an extra "3" :P)

I'm kidding, that would be torture. Feel free to do that word though! My actual word is WHIPPERSNAPPERS because why not :)

Word Ask Game

Rules: You are given a word - share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of that word!

Thank you @mistresslrigtar for tagging me 😊 (I love tag games! They're an outlet my tendency to ramble endlessly about things I really love). My word is SWORD! All sentences from the current WIP chapter of On My Honor.

S - Sliding silently inside, he quickly locked the door behind him.

W - "Where are you going so fast?" A hand grabbed Link's shoulder, jerking him to a halt.

O - "Only one way to know for sure," Link said.

R - "Right." They never would, though, Link already knew.

D - Distantly, the clock in the center of town chimed the late hour, and a surge of panic told him he needed to leave, and he needed to leave now, but his feet were fixed to the floor.

As for tagging others, I'm not sure who has already played, but I would love to hear from @poposusz, @silvrash-797, @amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet, or @fan-girls-r-us with the word LOVE (in honor of my love ❤️ for you all!)

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

“Something cute” won the poll for what I should do for my 100 followers special, so I tried to come up with something pretty dang cute~

Various jjba characters x reader in: Artsy Date

Drawing each other sounded like a great date idea at the time.

Content: nothing really beyond a bit suggestive

Characters: Joseph Joestar (Part 2), Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli, DIO, Rohan Kishibe, Jotaro Kujo (part 4), Yoshikage Kira, Guido Mista, Bruno Bucciarati, Leone Abbacchio, Diavolo, Jolyne Cujoh, Johnny Joestar, Gyro Zeppeli, Diego Brando

Joseph Joestar: Oh he was QUITE confident in his ability to capture your essence on paper. And no matter how you insisted this was only for fun, not a competition, he was determined to be better at this than you. And he even tries to sabotage you, just a bit, by doing a hard pose to draw when it’s your turn to sketch him.

He IS fun to model for though, flirting with you while he directed you on how to pose for him. For a moment you almost feel like an actual professional model with the way he plays it up. He even makes a camera click noise with his mouth when he’s finally happy with your pose.

He works pretty quickly, talking out loud to himself as he goes, occasionally holding up his handiwork so he can compare it to you.

“Tell me how much you love it.”

He says it SO confidently given how…unimpressive his art skills are…

I mean…you can definitely tell it’s you. Because the character he drew has your outfit. But it’s a bit exaggerated proportion wise and he REALLY cannot draw faces to save his life wow-

“Is that my…nose?”

He’s a bit offended. “NO, that’s your mouth. This is your nose.”

You squint when he points to a spot on the drawing but you don’t really know what he’s pointing to.

But you’ll treasure it forever, you had so much fun being his model and doodling each other. And he quite enjoyed modeling for you, too, very happy to have a sketch of himself drawn by you. You drew him winking with a smug smirk on his face while in that stupidly complicated pose he decided to do despite your protests.

It’s unmistakably Joseph Joestar.

Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli: He loves this idea, but takes it SUPER seriously. He has you very carefully posed, and really takes his time illustrating you to the best of his ability. He even uses watercolors to add to your “inherent elegance” as he calls it.

When you finally get to see it…

It’s a bit amateurish, but still quite impressive, though he totally exaggerated your grace and poise. Your clothes flow in the wind as you pose delicately by a fountain…he definitely took some artistic liberties because there wasn’t any wind when you posed for him, and your outfit wasn’t THAT pristine, but it’s a lovely portrait, and you can’t help but smile learning Caesar really sees you as such a graceful and lovely person.

You feel yours isn’t nearly as grand in comparison, as you drew him much more casually, resting with his chin on his hand, looking quiet and contemplative. He adores every gift you give him, but something this personal is especially wonderful to him.

But you’re a bit embarrassed to see he went through the trouble of framing your drawing of him…sheesh Caesar…he’s so extra sometimes…

DIO: He could maybe make some free time for you in his evenings to indulge in the fine arts. You’re not sure if you’re surprised or unsurprised he actually takes a bit of interest in such things. You want to draw him? He’s happy to indulge you.

You’re off to a strong start because you have to hastily tell him he doesn’t have to take off all his clothes, you’re not making THAT kind of drawing-this was supposed to be cute!! Just pose nicely!

He can’t help himself and goes with something pretty provocative, but whatever. At least your drawing is gonna reflect his personality well.

He’s not opposed to drawing you in turn but he’s bossy just for the sake of it. He wants you to pose a certain way and if you move at all he swore he was going to stop immediately. And he was a man of empty promises, but not empty threats, so you held as still as you could manage, a bit embarrassed at the pose he demanded of you. He chides you a bit for acting surprised that his sketch of you actually looks really good.

You, posed with your arm on your own shoulder, and your head tilted so your neck is very exposed and you are surrounded by darkness. It’s a beautiful sketch, done quickly, and he has signed his name in big letters right on the drawing of you. Such a Dio thing to do. You understand even clearer how he feels about you.

He thinks you should consider it a generous gift that he deigned to waste his time illustrating you, so you’d better treasure that half-hearted sketch he’s made for you.

He has no interest in taking great care of your sketch of him though. It will be tucked away in a book somewhere and promptly forgotten about, but if you were to suggest another drawing session while he was in a pleasant mood he might not refuse.

Rohan Kishibe: Only AFTER suggesting it did you realize perhaps it was not such a good idea.

Rohan was a Very Fast artist. As soon as you suggested it he had an amazing illustration of you done in five seconds flat. You tried to explain it completely defeated the point to go so fast, and that you were supposed to pose for him at least while he drew you!

Well…he doesn’t really see the point in that. But it’s not like he’s swamped with work so…he will try to indulge you if it would make you happy.

You ask him what pose you should do and he says you can do whatever you want because he could replicate it accurately.

Once again defeating the point but whatever.

You try to do a cute pose in the hopes you can convey your romantic intent with this activity. All he does is quirk an eyebrow at you and mutter that your pose looks a bit uncomfortable to hold, but that he’ll be quick so it’ll be fine.

You sigh. He was so unromantic. You were posing SO cutely and he STILL wasn’t getting it.

His illustration of you is professional, even inked and colored with markers, and it only took him a few seconds. You’re posed draped across the couch, with your arms spread and your legs bent to give the appearance of stretching charmingly.

He narrows his eyes in confusion when you proclaim it is his turn now. Apparently he wasn’t listening very closely to how this was supposed to work.

He doesn’t want to pose so you can draw him! That’s boring. He could be doing something else. This really isn’t supposed to be an argument, so you suggest he reads a book or something so he’s not entirely “wasting his time” while you draw him.

He’s grumpy about it, but relents. As long as you promise to be quick.

He just quietly reads in his chair while you doodle him. It’s awkward and not nearly as romantic as you were hoping for, but you’re pretty happy with how your sketch of him turned out.

He doesn’t have much to say on your drawing, quick to excuse himself so he can finally go back to doing whatever he was doing before you interrupted him with this date idea of yours.

But he loves it very much, and keeps it safe in his studio, but he’ll be a bit of a brat about it if you ask because he’s embarrassed to admit it makes him feel good.

Jotaro Kujo: He’s decent at drawing, but only animals, not so much people. But if you’re both not busy one evening then fine, might as well.

He tells you to keep your expectations low, but you’re just glad to finally be spending some quality time with him. He’s not the easiest man to schedule time with, always busy with something.

His drawing of you is simplistic but recognizable, since he knew he’d struggle with detail and it’d just end up bad if he tried.

You love it! It’s rare for him to do anything like this for you, so the drawing is very dear for you, regardless of how he insists it’s not anything to be so excited about. He doesn’t really say anything, but he’s glad it makes you happy, even though he doesn’t feel like he did much.

You accidentally draw his hat too big when it’s your turn to draw him, but otherwise you think it looks pretty cool. You tried to capture the coolness of his white jacket blowing in the wind. You can’t really tell if he likes it, but he ends up folding your sketch nicely and keeping it safe somewhere, so you like to think he enjoyed this little bonding activity.

Yoshikage Kira: UGH, you’re not sure what you were expecting. The drawing he makes of you is…interesting. You’re recognizable, slightly above stick figure status…but he put a Very noticeable emphasis on your hands, putting much more effort into them than anything else in the drawing. The more you look at it the more you realize it’s just a really low-quality imitation of the Mona Lisa. Now you understand the purpose of the pose he suggested. But he seemed to moderately enjoy himself, so…Success, you suppose.

He’ll cooperate and pose for you as long as it doesn’t take too long.

You go for something casual, his pointer finger against his cheek, his other fingers against his chin. Relaxed, but stylish.

He thanks you for the drawing and tucks it away somewhere. It’s safe, but out of mind.

He doesn’t really care if you keep ahold of his drawing of you though. You’re free to do whatever you want with it, he’s not an artist so he understands if you don’t want to keep it, it didn’t take that much effort to draw anyways.

You keep it for a bit but eventually lose track of it. It’s pretty funny when you accidentally stumble across it after it disappeared for a long time. Oh yeah. That weird drawing Yoshikage did of you where he only tried when he was sketching your hands. You had forgotten about that. For good reason.

Guido Mista: He’s definitely not an artist but if you don’t care about how it turns out and just wanna spend time with him through this activity then he’s totally down.

The bullets end up wanting to draw you too so…you end up with a lot of poorly drawn portraits of yourself. Honestly you couldn’t pick out Mista’s drawing from the bullets’. How do they all draw the same way…

All the drawings of you are pretty much just stick figures with very large heads. He said he wanted to capture your facial features accurately so he had to make your head bigger. More room for the eyes. Yeah he’s definitely not taking this too seriously but you expected as much from him. So to counter him, you draw him poorly as well, and then all of the bullets large and in as much detail as you can manage.

He pretends to be offended by it. “Why’d you draw my eyes so big?!” he asks. Because beyond his sense of fashion his deep dark eyes are his most notable feature! Duh.

He ends up losing the drawing on accident within a week but! The important part was how fun it was! The finished products weren’t that important-

Please don’t be mad at him-

Bruno Bucciarati: He thinks it’s a lovely way to spend some time together, so he does what he can to clear his afternoon so he can spend it with you. He starts by saying he’s not an artist so don’t expect too much from him, but his brow furrows in concentration once you’ve assumed a pose you thought he’d like. You go for something cute but

stylish, sitting with one leg up and your other outstretched along the couch elegantly.

His drawing of you is cute. Soft lines and very simple, mostly just capturing your pose than any other details, with dots for eyes because he claims he cannot draw eyes for the life of him. It’s sweet, surprisingly adorable for the serious capo. He tells you not to show his gang though, or he’ll never hear the end of it.

You embarrass yourself a bit when it’s your turn, because you spent a very long time concentrated on his chest trying to get his tattoo accurate. And he’s not helping with his flirty little remark where he suggests you could probably see a little better if you sat closer to him. And then pat his own lap.

It totally breaks your concentration, so you decide your drawing of him is now finished, handing it over to him before he can fluster you any further.

He thinks it’s lovely, and he promises to take care of it, and make even more of an effort to carve out some free time to spend with you, even if it’s just half an hour or so.

He’s already planning a date he can surprise you with next time.

Leone Abbacchio: He’s not one for sweet romantic gestures, so he pushes back a bit, but if you nag him he’ll give in pretty quickly. It’s not like you’re asking him to do something he really hates doing, and he has a particular weakness for you…so fine. But just this once.

He’ll hold still so you can sketch him, but only for ten minutes, and he gets to choose the pose.

At least the pose he chooses looks nice. Despite his jaded personality, he’s a pretty and elegant looking man. You draw a side profile of him, his expression that usual impassive frown, but his features have a sort of rugged grace.

When you slide your masterpiece over to him, he exhales through his nose so he can maintain that grouchy persona, but he’s gentle when he actually takes the drawing from you.

When it’s his turn to draw you, he works quickly and silently, not even looking at you, which leads you to think he’s still unhappy about being asked to do this.

He won’t admit it but he didn’t look at you because he didn’t have to. He’s replayed memories of you through Moody Blues enough times to have your face memorized.

You weren’t expecting much when he casually slid the piece of paper over to you.

But when you look, you can’t help the way your jaw drops. A side profile of you that mirrors the one you drew of him. Drawn amazingly well. It’s accurate, elegant, surprisingly soft…he’s even sketched a few flowers alongside you to make the piece more aesthetically pleasing.

The way you stare makes him embarrassed, and he ends up biting out that if you didn’t like it you should just throw it away.

You respond by clutching it protectively against your chest. It just makes him more embarrassed to know you’re going to be clinging to that thing for a while. There’s really no winning with him-

WHATEVER.

You can do whatever you want with it, but do NOT show that off to Mista, Narancia and ESPECIALLY NOT Giorno (not that Giorno would tease him, but the mortifying idea of that blond knowing ANYTHING about him makes Leone feel ill).

Once enough time has passed, you can start convincing him to make a few quick sketches for you, since they make you happy for whatever reason, and unfortunately for him he loves making you happy even if that means dropping the apathetic gangster disposition for a moment.

Ghiaccio: You thought that you had finally found something that was relaxing for both of you and wouldn’t completely frustrate him and result in him losing his temper. Again.

Turns out you were incorrect. Again.

Firstly he’s not a fan of sitting still. He’ll sit in one spot for you, but he’s tapping his foot the whole time and fiddling with his phone. So you try to go as fast as you can before he gets too impatient with just sitting there waiting for his turn to draw you.

It turns out a little bit rushed, but you feel like you captured his look pretty well, even adding some red to his glasses and shoes for a splash of color.

But when it’s his turn to draw you…he starts getting frustrated fast. He keeps erasing and starting over, the poor paper getting smudged and wrinkled into oblivion, and eventually he gets mad enough to stop when he accidentally rips through the paper with his pencil.

He shouts a slew of Italian curse words before saying he’s done with this stupid date, slamming the sketchbook onto the table in front of you and storming off in a huff of embarrassment at how poorly the drawing turned out.

Well that went great.

His drawing is honestly pretty cute, the condition of the paper and the eraser smudges and rips tell quite a story…

Because of how crumpled the paper turned out it kinda looks like the hastily drawn version of you got hit by a frying pan or electrocuted by a lightning bolt, but you still like it. It was nice of him to at least entertain your idea, even though it ended up frustrating him.

Diavolo: Draw him? NO.

Not a CHANCE in HELL.

Remove that idea from your mind immediately and never bring it up again. He will not allow even one vague sketch of him to be made, and if you do it anyways he will not forgive you.

Really you should’ve expected that reaction. What were you thinking with that one…?

But if you irritate him enough about it, he’ll Eventually get fed up and tell you to sit down and hold still. If all he has to do to get you to stop whining was sketch you, then FINE. He’ll sketch you.

Stop squirming in your seat and squealing with excitement…you’re giving him a headache.

You try to hold still for him.

He radiates irritation at having to do this, his gaze intense and the strokes of his pencil harsh and deliberate.

“There.”

He tosses the sketchbook over to you and promptly gets up and leaves before he has to hear your feedback.

It’s pretty good actually. A little rough since he drew it while in a particularly foul mood, but if he actually tried he could really make something nice.

If you tell him you love what he drew for you he’ll dismiss your compliment immediately. He doesn’t care about his art skills, he has much bigger things to concern himself with than sitting around sketching his partner whenever they begged him for that kind of attention.

Jolyne Cujoh: At first she thinks it’s a super cute and romantic date idea, so she’s eager to try it with you.

She does a cool pose for you, elegant but powerful, and she tries to hold it for you but it ended up not being the easiest pose to hold so you have to work fast. She ends up having to stretch after that painful pose, and even though you feel a bit bad listening to her complain about how she pulled a muscle doing that, it’s hard not to enjoy how she rolls her shoulders to loosen them.

She says it was totally worth it because she loves your sketch of her. You better believe she’s going to take good care of it, even if you say it’s not good because you had to rush it. Too late. She’s not giving it back. You’ll have to fight her for it, and you know from experience you’re not winning if you try playfully roughhousing with her.

When it’s her turn to draw you, she pretends to be highly concentrated and serious, but she ends up feeling a bit embarrassed when she actually finishes her sketch of you.

It’s not bad at all, very cute, and she gave you sparkly anime eyes since they’re the only type of eye she knows how to draw. The proportions aren’t perfect, your head looks kinda big compared to your body, and it’s pretty simple, but in a way where you could claim it was a stylistic choice and not on accident.

If you really insist you love it she’ll be slightly less embarrassed, but don’t go showing that around to everyone! It’s for your eyes only!

She signs it for you with a playful green lipstick stain.

But seriously. Don’t show it around.

Johnny Joestar: Usually you’re both too tired by the time you’re setting up camp when it starts getting dark during the SBR to think about doing anything cute with each other.

But one evening you have an extra burst of energy, and there’s juuust enough light by the fire to do a sketch of Johnny.

Well, if you want to. He’s not ready to fall asleep yet so you might as well.

You really wanna capture his intense eyes. So you don’t make him do anything in particular except look at you on occasion so you can make sure you’re getting his face right.

It turns out okay. At least you got the eyes right. He doesn’t really know how to react beyond just thanking you and tucking the drawing away. The two of you can only hope nothing happens to it, but it can’t be helped with all the action during this race if your drawing ended up destroyed.

When it’s his turn to draw you, he’s quiet and concentrated, occasionally glancing up at you for accuracy’s sake but otherwise he seems to know what he’s doing, to your surprise.

“I think it turned out alright,” he comments, handing it over to you after signing it with a little star with two J’s in it.

It’s a bit of an understatement, even in the darkness with only the light of the fire to see, he captured an amazing amount of detail. You, sitting contemplatively by the fire, shadows dancing across your face with the flickering of the flames…and he got the scenery really accurate.

“Do you like drawing landscapes, Johnny?”

His sketch of your surroundings was done remarkably skillfully.

He shrugs, but then thinks about it for a moment before saying yeah, landscapes were more enjoyable to draw for him. You have to slow down a bit to capture the details of your surroundings accurately in a drawing so…perhaps he likes the change of pace every once in a while.

Gyro Zeppeli: He acts sooo confident despite knowing full well that he cannot draw people. And he’s a bit of a menace to you, since you said this was only for fun and nothing to take too seriously, then surely you don’t mind him constantly moving around and striking different poses and making weird jokes. If he was going to be ridiculous then FINE, you would draw him ridiculous.

You confidently declare your drawing is quite flattering and then spin your paper around to show him a half-hearted attempt at a sketch of him lying on his side with a rose between his teeth, surrounded by hearts. You’ve purposefully given him a tiny head so it looks silly.

He takes it as a personal challenge, declaring it was his turn so you’d better be ready. While he’s drawing you, you pretend to fall asleep like he was boring you.

You were expecting his drawing to be unprofessional but at least recognizable. When he confidently hands you back what he’s drawn you genuinely aren’t sure what you’re looking at.

“This is me?”

“YES, see this is your hair, and these are your arms…” he explains the drawing to you but can’t help the occasional laugh that escapes. So he WAS messing with you with this incomprehensible scribble he presented you with.

“You really captured my essence,” you say, holding the picture up next to your face to compare them.

“Like you have a twin,” he declares, accompanied by his signature laugh.

He’s such a TEASE sometimes-

Diego Brando: He’s really struggling to grasp the idea that this is just for fun and isn’t supposed to be super serious, because as soon as he’s done posing for you he’s hovering over your shoulder while you draw and backseat sketching for you. He’s like ‘oh my hair should be a little longer, you got my nose shape wrong, that’s not how my eyes look, etc.’

Ok Diego why don’t you draw yourself if you know so much about art, sheesh-

Even if you say that as a joke he might actually end up plucking the sketchbook and pencil from you and finishing it himself so it’s to his likeness. You find it a bit irritating that he’s actually pretty good at art and his additions to your drawing of him really make the piece come together. So annoying. How dare he be innately talented at drawing?

AND just to show off he makes you do a complex pose when it’s his turn to draw you. He ends up capturing it and your appearance on paper wonderfully.

You look great sketched by him, due to the pose he chose it almost looks like you’re in the middle of a dance, a sense of movement that made you look graceful and powerful. Just the type of thing Diego liked in his partners.

You’ve been a bit idealized in his drawing, not to your surprise, but you’re quite fond of it anyways. You make a point of not laying on the praise too thick though. Otherwise it would go to his head, and the last thing he needs is an even bigger ego.

-

Which Jojo character would you want to draw you? Personally I’d love a Rohan original but. I actually think DIO’s art style would be aesthetically pleasing to me-

[stuckinmymind22]

playlists | stay/is it over now? + better man

Chapter 1

pair: portgas d. ace x afab reader (she/her)

modern au | multimedia | musician ace | more info on story

tags: fluff fluff and more fluff, cursing, group chat alert, luffy cameo, goofy ace, also they’re both fucking stupid lowkey (she said like she didn’t write them that way) lowkey imply ace and reader are sluts (good for you!!)

mdni: please - look i can't tell you how to live your life but this isn't for you pls avoid thx

wc: 7.7k (i said it would be shorter and it's the same fucking length 😭)

excerpt:

“You wanna go back to my place?” Ace asks. After the words leave his mouth he seems to have realized the potential implications of them. His face reddens and he trips over his words, “N-Not like that - I -” You cut him off with a laugh, unknowingly bestowing mercy on the poor man, who knows he would’ve dug himself deeper trying to escape. This is by far the most embarrassed you have ever seen him, and it is kind of endearing. It’s clear that he has started to let you past his confident persona, and you appreciate the vulnerability.  Your interruption gives him time to recover, at least a little bit. “I meant to like play video games,” he clarifies, scratching the back of his neck. To his relief, you readily agree to his offer, rather eagerly too. He probably shouldn’t read into that, right?

a/n: AHHHHHHH sorry it took so long i want to say it wont happen again but i am not predictable. also it turns out i really like the word mischief (thank you thesaurus)

we're working really hard on not second guessing every single thing i write, but i am in the trenches lol somethings might be cringe but that's part of the process idfk

important: theres a lot of text messages (well i feels like a lot) and i did my best to add in alt text so i hope that works if anyone needs it. lowkey starts off a bit choppy bc there's a lot of texts but it'll get longer i promise (this'll also happen again though)

song(s): there's a lot of songs in this chapter, so i made a list but they'll still be linked when used.

just a note that the songs don't necessarily reflect what happens in the chapter

stay - post malone is it over now? - taylor swift better man - 5 seconds of summer

here's the playlist for everything

He remembered, that’s the first thing you think when you hear the line. It’s a question about last night’s show. Because you told him how you were dreading it. Not only did he remember, he cared enough to ask. 

Holy shit.

A confusing feeling blossoms in your chest when you figure it out. You don’t want to not read into it too much, but there’s a portion of your mind that is running wild. You're unsure of the exact intention behind it but it’s got you hook line and sinker – not that you are going to admit that to anyone, not even yourself. 

Truth be told it is something you never would’ve thought of doing, talking with lyrics like this. Ace found a love language that you didn't know existed, much less one that you’re already fluent in. The platonic kind, you hastily tact on to the thought.

Knowing he’s already near his phone (judging by his quick response time) you’re calling him before you even notice you’re doing it. To your surprise, Ace picks up before the second ring, leaving you no time to second guess your actions. “You know you could’ve just asked me to call you, or call me yourself,” you tease, forgoing a greeting. Once he answered, talking to him came naturally, despite your initial nerves.

“Well hello to you too,” Ace laughs. His voice sounds even better than you remember, somehow. “And I know, but this is more fun,” the mischievous twinge in his voice has you wishing you could see his face in more than your mind’s eye. “So are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess,” he teases.

“I don't know, maybe you should ask,” you push back. Ace sighs exaggeratedly but relents. “I’m so glad you asked,” you giggle. You go on to tell him about the night before, which, luckily, went better than you expected.

Unaware, or uncaring, of the passage of time the two of you talk for nearly an hour before the call comes to an end. Your heart’s racing, you need to tell someone about this.

note: i completely forgot about kaya until i was adding the alt text to this and i dont wanna redo it, so please forgive me

Despite Ace making an effort to show up early, when he arrives at the cafe you agreed to meet at he finds you waiting there for him. You spot him quickly and wave him over wearing a big smile. He tries to ignore the way his heart picks up pace. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say playfully, bumping his shoulder as he stands next to you entering the line.

“It’s a small world,” Ace shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets, “Whatcha gonna get?” 

“Why? You wanna copy me, Cowboy?” you tease, eyes flickering to his hat. 

“Cowboy?” he questions, amused. “It suits you,” you shrug. Ace can’t help but recognize how this mirrors one of your first interactions when he called you doll for the first time. 

The banter between the two of you flows freely, until you sit down at a table in the back corner of the cafe and your demeanor starts to shift.  Ace watches you as you stare at the table and play with your hands. He can’t help but wonder what’s on your mind, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen you nervous like this before. Whatever inner turmoil you were experiencing seems to disappear and you look back at him with a disarming smile.

“I don’t think I asked this, but how long have you been performing? I mean seeing you play - it’s clear you’re a seasoned vet when it comes to crowd work cause that kind of skill doesn’t appear overnight,” your singing of his praises has Ace becoming flustered. He’s never been good with compliments.

It isn’t hard to see that he isn’t as confident in his abilities as he pretends to be. Logically, he knows that what you’re saying is true, but something in his brain refuses to believe it. Either way his cheeks flare up and he avoids your eyes until the red in his face has died down. 

“I started playing shows a few years ago, in my late teens. Playing really wherever I could and I did that for a couple of years,” it’s at this point he looks at you again, “I had to quit for a few months but other than that it’s been nonstop since I started.”

“Was that when you joined the navy?” you ask. Ace is a little taken aback by your question, he didn’t expect you to remember something he told you in passing the first time you met. This time, Ace is able to hide the blush he felt creeping up his neck. He can’t help but feel ridiculous, he isn’t like this with other people. Besides, you’re friends, just friends.

“Yeah, I got pretty big over there,” he admits. “I even had a few labels approach me, but I wasn’t interested in working with them. One of them’s super persistent though. Like annoyingly persistent. I said I wasn’t interested and they didn’t let go. They’re a big one too, so not even me moving across the country stopped them from knocking at my door.” 

“They’re still bothering you?” you raise an eyebrow. Shit, he was not supposed to tell you that. “If they’re that interested in you, you probably could get a good deal.”

“I’m working on it,” the words slip out of his mouth before he can think about them. Shit. He really wasn’t supposed to say that. Why did he tell you that? You barely know each other. 

But then again, he’s always been a pretty good judge of character and for some reason he trusts you. Now that the cat’s out of the bag there’s no point in trying to hide it, plus he’s been dying to talk to someone about it.

Ace leans in, scanning your surroundings before whispering, “I’m not supposed to be telling you this, so you gotta swear yourself to secrecy.” Wearing an endearing, goofy grin he extends his finger. A pinky promise.

Donning a faux seriousness you nod in agreement.  You’re barely able to contain your amusement as you swear yourself to secrecy. Something in Ace’s stomach flutters at you playing along with the bit, but he simply chalks it up to sharing information he’s not supposed to.

After the promise is made Ace tells you that “for some reason” this big label is dead set on signing him. You know the reason they would do that, you think it’s blatantly obvious too. You aren’t sure if he’s being coy saying that or if he doesn’t see how talented he actually is (it’s both). Because of their interest he has been given the upper hand in negotiations, which for an unsigned, relatively unknown artist, is practically unheard of.

He knows he probably shouldn’t go into the details but you look so cute intently listening to him like this. Plus you did pinky promise. “It is still in talks, so nothing is set in stone yet, but I’m not supposed to be discussing it,” he clarifies, you nod in understanding and he continues, “To be honest, I’m not even sure I’ll take the deal, even if they give me everything I want. I really like to be independent and not having to answer to anyone.

“However,” Ace’s tone turns mischievous and his eyes light up, “it is fun to see how far they’ll go.”

“So you’re trolling them,” you question, clearly amused by his antics. “Basically,” he confirms with sparkling eyes and a shit-eating grin. “But who knows? I might take them up on the offer” he feigns sincerity, pausing for a moment. You raise an eyebrow, knowing more is coming. “...Eventually, probably not though.” There it is, the roguish smile slips back onto his face. You shake your head but fail to hold back your laugh.

“‘s kinda annoying that they don’t leave me alone. And I’m doing fine without ‘em. I’m nearly halfway through my first album, just gotta get back in the studio – it’s been a while,” Ace chuckles.

“I don’t think I’ve been in a studio in years,” you confess. 

“You make music?” he questions, a little surprised you didn’t bring that up earlier, although you haven’t known each other too long he supposes.

“You make music?” Ace asks. He’s a little surprised you’ve never brought it up.

“I mean kinda?” you say more as a question. “I really enjoy production, I actually went to school for it.” 

“For real?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm, “that’s where I met Luffy and Usopp actually. We took a class together and Usopp’s the one who got me my job.”

“You should come into the studio with me sometime. Maybe you can show me the ropes or something,” Ace says so casually with a charming smile that it nearly takes your breath away.

“I don’t know, I’m definitely out of practice,” you confide.

“So?” he questioned, “I’m sure it’ll be easy to pick back up.”

“We’ll see,” you smile, leaving it open ended.

Your conversation wanders and by the time it dies down your drinks are long gone and so is your reason to stay, but neither of you truly want to leave each other’s company. A rare semi-awkward silence envelopes the table as the two of you independently rack your brain for some way to prolong your time together, neither of you aware that the other is doing the same.

“You wanna go back to my place?” Ace asks. After the words leave his mouth he seems to have realized the potential implications of them. His face reddens and he trips over his words, “N-Not like that - I -”

You cut him off with a laugh, unknowingly bestowing mercy on the poor man, who knows he would’ve dug himself deeper trying to escape. This is by far the most embarrassed you have ever seen him, and it is kind of endearing. It’s clear that he has started to let you past his confident persona, and you appreciate the vulnerability. 

Your interruption gives him time to recover, at least a little bit. “I meant to like play video games,” he clarifies, scratching the back of his neck. To his relief, you readily agree to his offer, rather eagerly too. He probably shouldn’t read into that, right?

~~~~~~

It isn’t until you are both standing in front of his door that the nerves really hit Ace. He doesn’t usually bring girls home, especially not just to hang out. Now that he’s thinking about it he has never brought a girl here since he moved in a few months ago. You’re kind of uncharted waters to him, he admits to himself. But there’s no going back now, besides, he wanted this– he wants this.

You can see the tension build in his shoulders as thoughts race through his mind. Ace opens the door, moving to the side to let you in first. You’re curious what’s got him stressed but you decide not to question it, instead you direct your attention to the interior.

The apartment is pretty standard for a single man in his twenties. It has all the necessities, a couch, a lamp, a TV (with its own dedicated stand, so that’s impressive), and a small coffee table. If anything it was above average out of the many similar places you’ve been to. The only things out of place were the guitar precariously perched against the couch and a litany of notebooks. Evidence of his songwriting. He moves the notebooks and guitars out of the way with great care.

“Um, what game do you want to play?” Ace questions, consciously trying not to be awkward. 

You rack your brain for a game, it doesn't take you long to settle on one. It's a popular one that you're quite good at - there's the added bonus that it's competitive and you and Ace have a score to settle (not that this compares to drinking but it is a competition so it still counts in your mind). 

“You’re in luck,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Little do you know that you picked the one he wants to play; it’s one of his favorites too. As he is pulling up the game he tosses you a controller. “I should warn you that I am pretty good at this one,” he teases, “But don’t worry, I’ll let you warm up. Give you a fighting chance and all.”

You scrunch your nose in mock offence. “I’m not worried,” you assert, holding your head high, “I don’t even need a warm up, I’m ready to kick your ass right now.”

“I like the confidence,” Ace responds, “but I haven’t played for a while so please.” He isn’t exactly lying, he hasn’t played the game in a while, but he isn’t exactly telling the truth either – he does genuinely want you to have a fighting chance and he knows that this way your pride won’t get in the way. Your eyes soften and you relent to his request.

After choosing characters and picking one of the easier maps you start playing. Despite being the one who claimed he needed a refresher, Ace is very talkative. The things he’s bringing up aren’t even related to the game, still you entertain him and answer his questions, finding it amusing that he’s unable to keep his mouth shut.

Somehow, you don’t notice how Ace keeps stealing looks at you – he can’t help it though. You’re sitting cross legged next to him, your knee just barely brushing against him, drawing his attention with every slight move you make. It doesn’t help that you look so pretty focused like this, your tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. Once again, you’re confusing him. 

He tries talking to take his mind off of it but not only did that not work, it also made him awful at the game. In the first practice round you absolutely annihilate him. There is no other way around it. You tease him for it too, asking if he needs more time to warm up. Ace has no shame in taking you up on that offer, this time stepping up his game. He’s doing pretty well, your skill levels start to seem pretty evenly matched. Feeling more confident he risks a glance at you, and yet again his performance falters. This time he snaps out of it quicker, making a comeback and even winning the round.

“You ready to play for real, Dollface?” Ace challenges.

“You ready for your ego to get bruised,” you retort with a playful glimmer in your eyes. “I don’t see that happening, Doll,” he teases back. “You never know,” you say. Ace laughs, shaking his head.

“Best two out of three?” he questions. “Sure,” you agree, “but it won’t matter either way, I’m gonna crush you.” You know you’re not that good at the game but it’s fun to talk shit idk.

 It doesn’t take long for the competition to heat up, both of your competitive natures coming to light. Playful smack talk becomes the backdrop of the rounds with both of you occasionally bumping the other to psych them out. Round three things start to get really tense, you’re tied and so the winner takes all.

Ace manages to take the lead by a rather significant margin, “Looks like I’m winning this one,” Ace beams, his victory seeming imminent. 

“Not so fast, hot stuff,” you push back. The comment takes him by surprise, throwing him off of his game. His brain pauses, did you just admit that you also find him attractive? 

“Oh so I’m hot stuff now?” he teases. He watches you freeze as embarrassment takes over. “I kinda liked Cowboy,” he continues, with a fake pout.

“It’s not like it’s a lie though,” you say, making momentary eye contact, “might even be more fitting.” Okay now you doubled down on it. Ace is definitely reading into it now. Even after he recovers from the initial shock he doesn’t refocus on the game, his attention now centered on you. You (unknowingly) take advantage of his distraction and manage to pull ahead and win the round. 

Going to rub your victory in his face you notice that he is out of it.  You realize that he was playing half heartedly and demand a rematch. You want to win fair and square. Ace complies and he wins the next one. You try to walk back the rematch claiming the victory was valid, but (predictably) he fights back. Best two out of three turns into best three out of five to best five out of seven. Eventually, you stop keeping score at all.

Laughter echoes throughout the room, both of your antics and tactics for winning getting more and more ridiculous. You can’t recall the last time you laughed this hard. You really like being around Ace, and that might become a real problem, but for now you push that to the back of your mind. It’s an issue for later, for now you want to concentrate on the present and enjoy his company.

Although you’d started at a respectable distance, that gap’s been closing slowly without your awareness. Following another win you turn to gloat and you realize exactly how close you are. Ace’s freckles are much more visible from here. Automatically, your brain starts painting constellations on his cheeks finding patterns in the dots speckling his face.

Your eyes fall down to his lips and stop their journey. It is clear that something has shifted. There is an unknown gravity that is pulling you in. You’re so close now, you can feel his breath fanning across your face. If you lean in just a little bit more –

The sound of the front door slamming open brings you back to reality. Eyes grow wide in joint surprise. Luffy’s greeting rings out through the room. Before he can suspect anything you move away from Ace, trying to bury your disappointment.

Ace, whose back is towards the door, shakes his head, muttering a curse at his brother before turning around. “Luffy, what did I tell you about slamming the door,” Ace shouts, chastising his brother. “Sorry,” Luffy laughs, kicking his shoes off.

You take the moment of refuge to process what just happened, well what almost just happened. It’s good that this happened actually, you reason with yourself. It would only complicate things in the long run. Imagine if things go south and you were forced to see him at work, no thank you. 

Ace gives up on scolding Luffy for his repeated unannounced visits as the younger boy walks away into the kitchen. Hold on, why is Luffy here? “Sorry about him, he has keys to the place, which I regret giving him, and likes to show up and raid the fridge,” Ace makes a point to say the last parts louder, clearly intending for his brother to hear. Luffy’s boisterous laugh echoes from the kitchen.

Luffy must’ve caught onto the fact that Ace had company over because he exits the kitchen with curious eyes. Actively eating out of an open tupperware of leftovers, he scans the room catching sight of you on the couch. In classic Luffy fashion, he greets you excitedly – mouth full of food. Then he looks puzzled. “Why are you here?” he asks point blank. His abrasive questions are nothing new to you so you don’t take it personally.

“She’s –” Ace starts off, not getting far before Luffy cuts him off. “Oooo, video games! I wanna play!” Luffy exclaims. He quickly annihilates whatever it is he’s eating before returning the dishes to the kitchen.

Ace knows that Luffy isn’t the best at recognizing social cues and it isn’t even his fault. However, that doesn’t stop Ace from being annoyed. He is ready to throw him out by the scruff of his neck when Luffy reemerges. Luffy, still full of excitement, stands nearby seemingly waiting for permission to join.

Realizing Luffy would be a good buffer and help prevent whatever the hell nearly happened, you readily accept his involvement, but ultimately leave the decision up to Ace. Ace wants to say no, he really wants to say no, but you expressing your willingness for him to join and Luffy’s fucking puppydog eyes (Ace always has been a sucker for them, especially knowing that they are earnest everytime) has him caving really quick.

“Yay!” Luffy exclaims, running over to grab a controller. Luffy, for his part, is pumped to be hanging out with both of you guys. You’re two of his favorite people in the whole wide world, why wouldn’t he want to hang out with you together. He plops down between the two of you eager to play. You can’t help but chuckle at his extreme joy.

At first Luffy doesn’t play the game seriously, choosing to goof off. At one point he gets up in the middle of a match to go get (steal) more food, walking right past Ace who yells at him prompting Luffy to laugh. During his absence you and Ace focused on fighting each other, ignoring Luffy’s character – turns out that was a mistake. Luffy comes back, mouthful of food and manages to beat you both. And not by a little bit he destroys you both, claiming victory for the first time that night. In hindsight it was slightly suspicious that he was losing so badly when you remember him being somewhat decent at the game (as in he doesn’t die in 30 seconds, not that he wins).

After that the gloves are off, it turns out that Luffy is now good at the game, like really good. He goes on a winning streak. You’re rotating who is picking the map for the rounds and no matter what is chosen it’s like Luffy has the home game advantage. You and Ace grow increasingly more exacerbated, accusing him of cheating despite none of you knowing how one could even cheat at this game. He keeps laughing at the incredulous looks on your faces. 

Luffy bags nearly half a dozen rounds before you start to do something about it. When it is Luffy’s turn to pick the map, Ace catches your eyes. Somehow you two have become masters at silent communications. Immediately you know that he wants to form an alliance to take his brother down. With your joint effort you manage to take him out. Both of you cheer in victory, seemingly forgetting that the match wasn’t over until Luffy brings it up. And the game is back on.

Luffy doesn't win a single round after your joint effort to take him out, but he laughs at how competitive you and Ace are. You end up going back down to a two player game while Luffy watches, periodically leaving for more food (you’ve stopped questioning how he does it at this point). Luffy eventually announces his departure – citing his hunger as the reason, which Ace knows means that he cleaned them out again.

And just like that, you and Ace are back to being alone.

Some of the tension from earlier bubbles its way back up to the surface, and it’s clear that the both of you feel it too. Even after forcing the energy to go away it still lingers; it’s background radiation now. Despite your feelings, both of you are pretending that you’re “just friends.”

Ace is the first to break the silence, offering you something to drink (scolding himself for forgetting to do so earlier). Luffy might eat all their food but he knows better than to drink all their alcohol/but at least he leaves the booze alone. You gratefully accept his offer.

However, you were not prepared for what watching him use a bottle opener would do for you/would awaken in you. Why the fuck is that sexy when he does it? You feel insane. It is not normal to have that reaction and it is definitely not normal to feel that way about a friend. The problem is worse than you thought, you have to nip it in the bud. Have you seen his arms? Dear lord. Even your thoughts betray you. Annoyingly, you can’t stop imagining the feeling of his lips.

The worst part is he’s none the wiser for it, but you intend to keep it that way. You beat the horny demon back with a stick (insert bonk meme). With some effort you are finally able to force the thoughts away at least for the time being. Once you return to normal, you realize he’s talking to you.

“-- I don’t know how he did it. He used to suck at that game and whine every time he lost, I can’t believe he wiped the floor with us.” You’re quick to catch onto the fact that he’s talking about Luffy’s insane winning streak

“I wasn’t expecting it either. Last time we played this at game night he was pretty bad at it. It’s crazy how fast he turned that around,” you say, slipping into the conversation as if you were attentive the whole time.

~~~~~~

“You’ve never seen it?” Ace questions, eyes wide. After getting some food delivered, the two of you had gotten onto the topic of your favorite movies and you have never seen his favorite. You confirm again that you don’t know the movie. He shakes his head, “That ain’t right, we gotta fix this.” A chuckle leaves your lips, but you don’t protest. Ace is already pulling the film up when he pauses and checks the time, “Ah shit, it’s getting late. D’ya think you have time for a movie?” he questions with a hopeful gaze.

Checking your phone, you determine you have at least a couple more hours before you’d get uncomfortable walking home. “I got the time,” you say and watch as a faint smile blossoms on his lips – the very lips you were staring at earlier, dying to kiss. 

Calm down, you scold yourself.

“Okay, wait right there,” he says before dashing away sporting a childish grin. God, he is not helping your cause. He runs into the kitchen and moments later you hear the hum of a microwave. First you were horny and now you’re acting like you’re in high school. You need to pull yourself together. His footsteps pad off to somewhere else but you are no longer paying attention to him, at least you’re trying really hard not to. 

The description of the movie starts to look real interesting, you read and reread it until you can think straight. By the time that happens, Ace is already on his way back with a big bowl of popcorn and a comforter, shutting off lights as he goes.

After setting down the popcorn on the table, Ace plops onto the couch. “Come closer, I don’t bite,” he teases, lifting up the edge of the thick blanket. “Unless you want me to,” he winks, it could just be the lighting but his eyes seem darker than before. Your breath catches momentarily at the insinuation before a chuckle runs through you and you scoot over to join him underneath the blanket. 

Now satisfied that you’re all settled he presses play and promises you a cinematic masterpiece. It's hard for you to focus on it at first (or anything really), especially when you realize how close you are to him. In reality, you’re not much closer than you were playing video games, but under a blanket it somehow felt different.

It doesn’t take long before the story draws you in, pulling you away from your confusing thought processes. Ace, however, did not account for how distracting you would be. Oftentimes he found himself watching your reactions to what was happening more than the movie itself. He wants to think that it’s because he knows it so well he doesn’t need to look to know what’s happening, but that’s not true. 

Not too long after the film started you catch Ace looking at you. “What?” you question with a laugh. He silently dismisses your question with a smile, turning his attention back to the screen. Shrugging it off you do the same. 

Forcing himself to look at the TV instead of you turns out to be a good idea. This way you can no longer distract him. Ace falls back into the familiar storyline, getting absorbed by it. 

A little bit past the halfway mark of the film you start to grow sleepy. At some point you got even closer together, now you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. Your eyelids are getting heavy. His smell is oddly comforting, between his blanket and the source the scent envelopes you. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open so much that you don’t even notice when you give in to the exhaustion.

A weight falls on Ace’s shoulder out of nowhere. It doesn’t take him long to realize what it is or rather who it is. He’s ready to tease you about it too but his heart melts hearing your soft rhythmic breaths and seeing the peaceful look on your face. He isn’t sure what to do, but he is pretty sure that it follows the cat rule; he is now stuck there until you wake up.

Ace tries to go back to the movie, but he is hyper aware of your head on his shoulder. With nowhere to go and no way to escape you he is forced to face how he feels about you.

In all honesty, you confuse him (to put it bluntly). 

You’re friends, he knows that. Yet he wants more - at least he thinks he does. This doesn’t feel like it’s strictly platonic, there’s too much chemistry for that. Shit, he nearly kissed you not even three full hours ago. Troubling enough, he still wants to, and he has for a while now.

 Ace tries to figure out what you are to him - what he wants you to be to him – but he can’t quite make sense of it. He’s never really wanted someone like this before and that scares him. Your dynamic is something right outside of his familiarity, he understands most of it but there’s some parts that are confusing.

He knows that he thinks you’re hot, and if earlier meant anything he’s pretty sure you find him attractive too. That part he understands. He also gets the whole friendship thing. What he doesn’t understand is why you using him as a pillow makes him so happy. Why did his heart race when you sent him back songs asking him to coffee? And most of all what the hell possessed him to tell you about his family?

Back at the cafe you had gotten to talking about your childhoods, which prompted you to ask him about his family. The question was innocent enough, it was clear that you just wanted to get to know him, but it came with baggage you couldn't have possibly known about. He normally doesn’t like talking about it but he felt comfortable with you for some reason. Some information about it he felt comfortable enough to share with you freely. He told you about his mother, the neighbor who had offered him refuge when he needed it. Hell, he even touched on Dadan and his life before his brothers. Then you asked about his dad. Once again you had no idea of how the topic of the man leaves a bitter taste in Ace’s mouth. As soon as you noticed how uncomfortable he was, you completely switched the subject. You did it naturally too, like you were trying to cover up the fact that you were giving him an out. You were so quick to bail him out of a conversation he wasn’t comfortable with. It made him like you more, trust you more too, enough that he was willing to circle back to the topic.  He has been pushing the boundaries of what he’s comfortable with sharing already, so what’s a little bit more he reasoned to himself. Also, with how well the two of you get along, you were probably going to find out about it eventually. “I don’t talk to my father,” Ace stated emotionlessly, jumping head first into it during a lull in your conversation. You were clearly surprised by him bringing it back up, but you let him talk. “I’ve actually never met the man and never want to. I could if I did, I know where he is and how to reach him, but I have no desire to have anything to do with him,” a hint of bitterness seeps into his tone, contradicting the indifference he exhibited earlier. “Why?” your voice was small, the question seemed to have slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it, when you registered you had said it you clamped your hand over your mouth. “Ummm,” Ace hesitated, “he’s in prison, like famously so,” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, no longer keeping eye contact. You could tell that he was debating whether he wanted to continue or not and you reminded him that he doesn’t have to tell you anything. That only strengthened his resolve. “I took my mom’s last name to not be associated with him. It’s funny that I’ve never had any contact with him and he still managed to fuck up my life,” he said with a half hearted laugh. He wasn’t entirely sure if he had the courage to tell you his name, but he ripped that bandaid off regardless, “His name’s Gol D. Roger.”  Your eyes widened in surprise. Of course you knew the name, he braced himself for impact, or questions at least, but it never came. Instead, he got a look of confusion from you, “You didn’t do any of it so I don’t really care who he is.” Your reaction reminded him a lot of Luffy’s when they were kids, maybe that’s why he felt safe telling you. “Sorry about not having a dad though,” you said, catching him off guard. He snorted, but in the way that coffee ended up going down the wrong pipe and in his nose. “Oh my god, are you okay,” you laughed. Ace responded with a weak thumbs up and you pat him on the back until he got his breathing back under control. 

Ace tries to think back on the day as a whole, but he keeps coming back to that moment. He couldn’t figure out what that moment alone means, let alone all of the other things too.

He has virtually no experience with romantic relationships, in fact they are so foreign to him that the thought of one doesn’t even cross his mind. He’s racking his brain to try and come up with an answer. The closest thing he can come up with is a friends with benefits situation. He’s done it before and it has worked (granted it has also failed miserably), but is it even worth the risk?

While he knows he’d be down for it, Ace has no clue if that is something you’d even consider. For all he knows you could be in a relationship. Fuck, what if you’re already seeing someone. He’s never asked, he’s never even thought to. This idea could be dead in the water already. Plus you’re probably not interested in him anyways.

Even if there is something between you two, Ace knows better than to make a move on you (despite how much he kinda wants to). You’re too entwined in his life at the moment for that to be a good idea. For starters you work at the place he now will have regular gigs at. And not simply work there but you are on the production team meaning you’d have regular contact. Not only that, but you’re one of Luffy’s good friends. He heard all about you before he even knew he was gonna meet you (Luffy called Ace a LOT while he was away, keeping him updated on his life in almost excruciating detail). If things were to get messy his brother would be stuck in the middle of it all, and Ace doesn’t want to do that to him. On the other hand, because you are so entwined in his life, will he even be able to hold himself back?

You just got into his life and he already likes having you around so he wouldn’t want to spoil that either. Friends is probably all it could be – friends who find each other hot, sure, but friends nonetheless. But why doesn’t that sit right with him?

~~~~~~

Not long after you leave, while he’s picking up (mostly after Luffy), Ace hears keys in the door. Sabo’s home. Honestly he didn’t even realize he was gone. 

“Where were you?” Ace asks his brother as he enters their shared apartment. In all honesty his brother’s unusual absence slipped his mind.

“How was your day?” Sabo questions, ignoring him entirely. Ace does not like the way he said that, like he knows something. Nevermind that he rarely asks that in the first place.

“You first,” Ace stands his ground. 

Sabo sighs but gives in, “I got dinner with Luffy then we went to his place.” Knowing he was with Luffy, Ace suddenly understands his tone earlier. There is no way that Luffy didn’t tell him about your presence, the kid isn’t exactly known for keeping his mouth shut. He now knows exactly where this conversation is headed and that there is no escaping it. Ace sighs in defeat, bracing himself for the interrogation. 

“You like her, don’t you?” Sabo smiles, no longer under the pretense of asking about his day. Ace, annoyingly, has to hold back a blush, he just hopes the tips of his ears aren’t betraying him by turning red. 

“I mean, kinda. She’s a friend, y’know,” Ace tries, really just wanting to get out of this. Sabo levels Ace a look, clearly not buying it. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he caves.

“You know you can’t lie to me, why are you trying,” Sabo says. 

“I’m not, she’s just a friend,” Ace insists, he knows full well that he is, he just wishes that it was the truth and that these weird feelings he’s having would go away. At least that would make things a hell of a lot easier. Going for you is a bad idea and he knows it. He just wishes he wasn’t looking for/craving trouble.

Sensing that Sabo didn’t believe him, he gives in, “Fine, I think I like her, I don’t know. It’s weird plus it’s a bad idea. Also no way she goes for me, but still.” Unspeaking, Sabo prompts Ace to continue. Annoyingly, he realizes that talking this through is probably going to help. Ace makes his way to the small dining table they have in the living room with a heavy sigh. When he looks back at his brother, he looks more vulnerable. 

“I fucking told her about my dad, Sabo” Ace confesses, hands running through his hair. Sabo’s eyes widen in surprise, it looks like it’s even more than he (and Koala, his long term girlfriend, who knows all about this) thought. The blond takes the seat next to him waiting for him to continue. Ace is fiddling with his hands. 

“I’m not even sure why I told her,” Ace starts, fiddling with his hands. “She didn’t even care, no comments, no questions, no nothing,” Ace looks Sabo in the eyes, conveying things that he doesn’t even understand yet. Sabo is well aware of how Ace has been treated due to his biological father, he has witnessed it first hand, right away he knows how big of a deal this is to him.

Ace’s tone and body language shift away from the earlier vulnerability, “But nothing’s gonna happen. It’s all platonic. She’s just really easy to talk to.” He isn’t sure who he is trying to convince, Sabo or himself.

Understanding that he wants to drop the dad topic (even if they’re brothers it isn’t something he loves to talk about) Sabo grows mischievous. “And hot too, right?” he teases.

Ace’s head snaps to him, freaked out that he can tell that. How does he know that? The question is implied. Sabo laughs, accomplishing his goal with Ace’s deer in the headlights look, he’d love to leave it there but he chooses to explain further, “After the party, when you got home, you would not shut up about her. Your ass was hovering over the toilet talking about the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. I should’ve recorded it, it was embarrassing.”

“Bastard,” Ace scoffs, but his face is inflamed.

“It got pretty graphic too,” Sabo goes on, completely ignoring Ace’s comment in favor of imitating some of the things that he said until Ace’s face was bright red. 

“Shut up!” Ace protests, he is so glad you’re not here to see this, but Sabo continues mocking him.

“I almost left you alone to choke and die,” Sabo laughs, right now Ace is kinda wishing he did.

A notification from Ace’s phone pulls him from the conversation (thankfully). It’s a text from you. Sabo also knows it’s a text from you, he can tell by the way Ace is looking at his phone. This is just proving his point, the one he danced around because, knowing his brother, leading him to a conclusion works so much better than telling him point blank.

There’s not anything more he can do so Sabo leaves for his room. Oh wait, he learned something. “Hey Ace,” Sabo calls out from behind the cover of his door (just in case), successfully getting his attention. “She’s single by the way,” he continues wiggling his brows. 

“Shut up,” the protest from Ace is weak, his attention clearly back on whatever you were saying. 

this one got messed up, pretend those heart hands are at the bottom

BONUS:

they both wingmaning ace independently tbh

we were so close to escaping the y/n curse but then the texts came and i couldn’t figure a way out of it

a/n: so about the bottle opener thing…. i can explain… arms 🤤 ngl i forgot i put that in there until i was "proofreading"

in my headcanon the video game was super smash bros (v silly of me to have a hc about something i wrote)

btw someone needs to stop me there is a slim (large) chance that im gonna make reader have a drunk tattoo (nothing bad probably like doodlebob or a random shape) jus for a joke that isn't really funny

i literally i too much to say i'm making a whole debrief for this 😭

thank you for reading ily 💕

pls like & comment! let me know your thoughts | © stuckinmymind22 | dividers by @enchanthings

[waynes-multiverse]

You have no idea how excited I was for this series and it did not disappoint in the slightest! It hit all the right spots, love!! I'm so thrilled to see where it goes from here 😍🫶

Details below 😉👇

First of all, it's one thing to wake up to yelling, but the freaking air horn?! Wow, our poor boy 😂😂

You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

I feel like that would've been on her, though 😆 If I had a boy roommate and surprised him in the morning, I wouldn't be shocked to my core to encounter morning wood lmao

The angst and constant (adorably idiotic) overthinking of Dean's during their whole shopping trip was delicious! I devoured that shit, girl. And when the crotchless panties showed up – dead 💀

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something. But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Ooof, and that is always the downfall 🙈 They're not gonna communicate properly throughout this whole fic, are they? Am I gonna be yelling at you a lot? Probably. But all out of love 😂😘

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Benny cracked me up with this line. I could so imagine him saying that with that little smirk of his 😆

I loved the guys' night out and how all of them, without a fail, made fun of Dean and knew from the start what he was talking about 😂😂

And that childhood meeting story about killed me with cuteness! Stawp 😭💕🍭

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out as soon as he stepped into the apartment. The words left him out of habit, that same old teasing lilt in his voice. It was an inside joke that had stuck over time—born the day you’d both moved in together after college, a decision fuelled by practicality more than anything else.

Uh-huh. I'm not believing a word he's telling me right now 😂 Gabe was right. Denial is a powerful drug lol

Gary from marketing.

Ugh, not Gary from marketing 🙄 (Honestly, who still names their child Gary these days? Not exactly a name I wanna scream in bed. No offense to any Garys reading this 😂)

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

I'm a sucker for a wasted reader/wasted Dean. (Happy) drunk people are the freaking best gift 😂🥂

I swear, if Dean doesn't communicate his feelings properly, I will throw a shoe at the screen of my laptop, hoping it will goddamn hit him 😅

But that kiss?! HOLY HELL 🔥🔥🔥 (Please ma'am, may I have some more of this hotness?)

And I love that Dean realized she was too drunk for this, but now I'm genuinely worried how the next morning will go? 👀 Are they going to be awkward about it, avoid one another, or actually talk? (Yeah, I know. The last one is a stretch lol). I'm aware of the fic title and love the friends with benefits trope, so I'm so stoked for all the angst to come and flourish in the next chapters! 😁👏

The Arrangement - Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean has a conflicting dream about you, his best friend, that has him questioning feelings he'd never allowed to see the light of day before. However, he might not be the only one…

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings/Tags: Swearing, feelings, some spicy times, nothing too heavy...

AN: Happy Release day!!🎉 Honestly, i can’t thank you all enough for the excitement around this series since announcing it! I've fell in love writing this story 🥹 and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it ❤️

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Dean smiled lazily as he felt a warm palm slide up his chest, the body behind him pressing closer. Soft lips trailed kisses along his neck and shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine. He hummed in contentment and shifted onto his back, his tired eyes opening to the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Her eyes sparkled with warmth and mischief, her lips curving into a playful smirk before she leaned down, peppering gentle kisses along his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut again as she sucked lightly at his pulse point, his breath coming quicker. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he gripped her waist, pulling her up into a heated kiss.

Her tongue caressed his, her touch sending fire through his veins. Her hand slid down his abdomen, fingertips grazing lower and lower beneath the sheets, his pulse pounding—

"WAKE UP, LOSER!"

Dean's eyes shot open, his body jolting as the blaring shriek of an airhorn filled his room. He yanked the covers tighter around himself, his heart racing from both the rude awakening and the remnants of his dream.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he growled, glaring at the culprit as he covered his ears. You grinned triumphantly and finally put the airhorn to rest.

Dean huffed, flopping back down on the bed and throwing an arm over his face, trying to will away the heat rising to his cheeks.

What the fuck? Was all he could think, his sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of why he’d just had a sex dream about you.

You, meanwhile, were way too chipper for his liking. 

"C’mon, Dean-o, up and at ’em." You patted his leg, and he flinched like you’d just burned him. You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

"What’s with the drill sergeant wake-up? Can a guy not sleep in on a Saturday?" He grumbled, voice still rough from sleep, and other things.

You pouted. Actually pouted. And Dean had to force himself to look away from your lips—lips that had just been doing unspeakable things to him in his dream.

"You promised you'd go Christmas shopping with me.” You reminded him, completely unfazed by his mood.

Dean frowned. "That doesn’t sound like something I’d promise."

You hit him with your classic 'don’t bullshit me' look. And, yeah, okay, he remembered now. He'd offered last week, wanting to help you survive the chaos of last-minute shoppers—and use the trip to grab gifts for his own family.

"Fine, yeah. Just give me ten minutes to wake up, alright?" He relented, desperate for you to leave so he could deal with his little… Issue.

“Thanks, Buddy." Your voice was smug, like you knew he’d never actually say no to you. Because, let’s be honest, he never did.

Dean sighed as you closed the door behind you. He let his head fall back against the pillow, running a hand down his face.

What the hell?

Why was he dreaming about you like that? You were his best friend. You’d been inseparable since fourth grade. Sure, you were beautiful, but that had never been an issue before.

…Had it?

Dean groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Nope. Too early for a deep dive into that mess. He rationalised it away—one, you were attractive. Two, you were close. And, statistically speaking, didn’t most guy-girl friendships eventually veer into weird territory at some point?

Yeah. Totally normal. No big deal.

Except… Two hours later, standing in the middle of a lingerie store, Dean realised he was totally screwed.

Before that, he’d spent the last two hours hauling around a bunch of your shopping bags like a damn pack mule. Only one of them happened to be his, with his completed gift purchases for everyone he needed to buy for. Though to be fair to you, your arms were just as full. He was bewildered at your ability to buy so much for so little.

Your immediate family only consisted of three people—Bobby, Ellen, and Jo—but you had argued that you had your friends, his family, and him to buy for. The latter of which, he’d told you not to do.

However, it fell on deaf ears as always. Every Christmas and birthday, it was the same. But Dean couldn’t fault you for it—you always got people gifts that were meaningful to them, and you got so much joy from giving that he could never say anything other than thank you.

What he wasn’t thankful for was your complete inability to stay focused. Every shop you entered, you’d get distracted by little knickknacks, convincing yourself someone needed them, rather than the original item you came for. It made the day so much longer, but despite the fatigue in his arms and the chaos of holiday shoppers, he was enjoying himself.

Though, that was a given with you.

You were naturally a people pleaser, but knowing how much Dean hated shopping, you’d made it your mission to keep him entertained. You’d made him laugh—laugh to the point his belly ached and tears were shed. The day had surprisingly become enjoyable. But then you'd dragged him into this store, and his brain short-circuited.

The window displays alone had him spiralling, lace and silk-covered mannequins taunting him with thoughts he really didn’t need to have. About you. And then you, completely oblivious, pulled a matching red lace bra and thong off a rack, holding them up for inspection.

Dean swallowed hard.

He’d done your laundry before. You two split chores in the apartment, and he’d handled your underwear plenty of times; never thinking twice about it. So why the hell was he suddenly imagining you in them now?

Was this really because of the dream? It had to be.

And then, like you hadn’t already sent him into cardiac arrest, you giggled, holding up another pair. "Hey, check this out—crotchless panties."

Dean barely choked back a groan as you stuck your fingers through the open section like it was the funniest thing in the world. His brain, on the other hand, provided a detailed mental slideshow of all the things he could do to you in them.

Jesus Christ.

He needed air.

"I—uh—I gotta step outside. Promised Sammy I’d call about a gift for Mom," he lied, voice tight.

You barely glanced up. "Okay."

Dean bolted like his life depended on it, shoving through the doors and inhaling the crisp winter air. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" He muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

A passing woman gave him a scandalised look as she walked by with her kid. He shot her an apologetic smile before leaning back against the brick wall, blowing out a heavy breath.

He tried to clear his mind, but every time he pushed the R-rated thoughts away, softer images replaced them. The way you smiled. The way you laughed, head thrown back, eyes crinkling. That stupid fluttery feeling hit his stomach again.

Dean frowned.

Was he sick? Hallucinating?

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something.

But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Another half hour crawled by before you finally emerged from the store, a small bag swinging from your wrist. Dean’s eyes locked onto it like it held the answers to the universe, his mind immediately spiralling.

What the hell did you buy?

He told himself he didn’t care. He really didn’t. But his brain clearly had other plans because now he was picturing you in every single thing you could’ve possibly picked out.

Lingerie? Pyjama's? Something sheer, lace- nope!

He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on literally anything else, but it was a lost cause. By the time you both made it back to the apartment, he felt like his brain had been put through a damn blender.

You, however, were completely unbothered, tossing your bags onto the floor with a content sigh before flopping onto the couch. "Pizza should be here soon. You wanna pick the movie?"

Dean blinked, barely processing the words. Right. Normal best friend things. Hanging out. Eating pizza. Watching a movie. That’s what you two did. That’s what you’d always done.

Maybe that’s all today was—a momentary lapse. A weird, fleeting thing brought on by lack of sleep, the stress of shopping, and, most probably, the objectifying dream he’d had of you. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Yeah. He could shake this off. No big deal.

Letting out a slow breath, he dropped onto the couch beside you, snagging the remote. "Fine. But if I pick, you’re not allowed to bitch about it."

You hummed, already scrolling through your phone. "I make no promises."

A small smirk tugged at Dean’s lips. This was normal. Easy. Just like always.

And for the first time since this morning, he let himself believe it.

The following Friday, Dean found himself at the Roadhouse with Benny, Cas, and Gabe. It was the kind of place that felt like a second home.

The Roadhouse wasn’t fancy—hell, half the decor was older than they were—but it had its own charm. The regulars, the outdated rodeo-style décor, the worn wooden bar top that had seen more spilled whiskey and thrown punches than anyone cared to count.

The walls were lined with old beer signs, neon lights buzzing softly under the hum of conversation. The jukebox in the corner cycled through rock classics, always a little too loud, but that was part of the place’s charm.

Dean and the guys had been coming here for years—long before they were even old enough to drink. You had, too. Being Ellen’s stepdaughter meant you practically grew up in this place, and while Ellen had a strict no-bullshit policy, she wasn’t blind to the fact that teenagers would be teenagers.

As long as you and the guys stayed under her watchful eye, she let you each have a beer or two when you were younger, making damn sure no one got carried away. And if anyone so much as thought about sneaking more? Well, Ellen had a way of shutting that down real quick. She was tough, sharp as a whip, and had a stare that could make a grown man fold—but she cared, more than she’d ever admit.

Jo helped out too, working the bar some nights in between her law enforcement studies. She’d been slinging beers and rolling her eyes at the group’s antics since she was old enough to work behind the counter, always quick with a sarcastic remark when any of them got out of line. 

You and Dean had spent countless nights here, watching as the Roadhouse shaped who you all became.

Benny leaned against the pool table, lining up his shot with an easy, practiced confidence. Dean had seen him do it a hundred times—his friend had a natural ease about him, a steadiness that made him damn good at their job. 

They spent most of their days working maintenance for RHP Properties, fixing busted pipes and dealing with tenants who thought every flickering light meant the world was ending. Benny made the long hours bearable.

Cas sat nearby, nursing a whiskey, his sharp blue eyes scanning the table like he was analysing some historical battle strategy. He always had that serious, thoughtful air about him. It made sense—he was a history teacher, working his way toward becoming a professor. His brain just worked differently.

And then there was Gabriel, though he liked to go by Gabe, Cas’ cousin. Though you’d never guess it just by looking at them. 

Where Cas was serious, methodical, and downright broody at times, Gabe was his exact opposite—carefree, unpredictable, and always ready with a joke. The contrast between them was almost comical, like night and day, order and chaos.

Currently half-draped over the bar like he owned the place, Gabe was laughing at something Rachel, the new bartender, had said. She was easy on the eyes—exactly the kind of woman Gabe set his sights on. And judging by the way she giggled and blushed under his usual blend of wit and charm, he’d hit his mark.

Gabe had always been that guy—the one who could talk his way into or out of anything, a natural-born trickster with a grin that could disarm just about anyone. No one was entirely sure what he did for a living, some mix of marketing gigs and side hustles that somehow kept him afloat. According to him, it was all about “the art of persuasion.”

Dean just called it bullshit.

The night had settled into an easy rhythm—drinks flowing, pool games stretching long enough to become more about talking shit than actual competition. Gabe, as always, had the floor, spinning some ridiculous story about a one-night stand gone wrong.

“I’m telling you; she had three snakes. Just slithering around the damn apartment like it was normal,” Gabe insisted, gesturing wildly with his beer. “One of ‘em was watching me, man. I swear it knew.”

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Gabe shrugged. “What can I say? I have a hard time walking away from an adventure.”

Cas, who had been nursing his whiskey with a bemused expression, finally spoke up. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Give it time,” Benny muttered, sinking his shot.

The conversation shifted, everyone throwing in their own weird hookup stories—bad timing, embarrassing moments, things they wished they could forget. Dean had been mostly listening, chuckling at their dumb-assery, when the thought that had been nagging him for days finally slipped out.

“Is it, uh… normal to have a sex dream about a friend?”

Benny didn’t react at first, too focused on sinking his shot, but Gabe, ever the opportunist, caught onto it immediately. “If it’s about Y/N? Yeah, totally.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What? No—it’s not—”

Gabe grinned, tilting his head like he was enjoying watching Dean squirm. “Not what? Not about her? Or not just a dream?”

Dean scowled, scrambling to recover. “Jesus, Gabe, I didn’t say it was about her. It was hypothetical.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabe leaned against the pool table, twirling the chalk in his fingers. “Sure, man. Hypothetical.”

Dean exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the weird, twisting feeling in his gut. “Just saying, dreams don’t mean anything, right? Just… brain static.”

Benny chuckled, finally looking up from the table. “Depends on the dream, brother.”

Dean glanced between them, suddenly feeling like he was the only one missing something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gabe smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’ve been making googly eyes at her since we were, what—fifteen?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “The hell I have.”

Gabe ignored him, tapping his chin. “Honestly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

Benny sighed, shaking his head as he sank another shot. “Sorry, brother. Gotta agree with the gremlin on this one.”

Cas, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice calm and matter of fact. “It’s always been very obvious.”

Dean stared at them, mouth opening and closing. “You guys are insane.”

Gabe shrugged, completely unfazed. “Denial’s a hell of a drug. You’ll catch up eventually.”

Dean gripped his pool cue a little tighter, his next shot suddenly feeling a lot more difficult than it should have.

Benny, ever the voice of reason, leaned on his cue. “Ain’t anything bad, Dean. You two have known each other since you were what? Nine. Been joint at the hip since. You know all her family, she knows yours. Hell, she’s practically—”

“If that were true, something would’ve happened by now,” Dean cut in, shaking his head.

Gabe snorted, swiping Dean’s beer before he could stop him. “Not if you’re in denial, my friend.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, frustration curling in his chest. Their words were ringing too damn true, and it was freaking him out. “You’re all outta your damn minds.”

Gabe just smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Winchester.”

The conversation haunted him. All the way back to the apartment.

He’d walked the couple of blocks from the bar to your shared place, his friends’ words swirling around his mind, needling into places he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Dean knew he cared about you—he always had. But wasn’t that normal after knowing someone for so long? You were practically family.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he met you. Fourth grade. The old, rusted swing set at the park near his house.

He’d been shoving loose gravel around with the toe of his sneaker when he heard a loud laugh—sharp and unbothered. Looking up, he saw a girl launch herself off the swing at its peak, landing in a heap on the ground with a thud.

He winced. That had to hurt.

But instead of crying, you rolled onto your back, a grin splitting your dirt-smudged face as you stared up at the sky. "Holy crap, that was awesome."

Dean frowned, more confused than anything. "You just busted your knee."

You sat up, inspecting the scrape with a shrug. "Eh, I’ve had worse."

Then you looked at him—really looked at him—and grinned. "Think you can jump higher?"

Dean, never one to back down from a challenge, snorted. "Duh."

And that was that. A competition was born.

For the next hour, you and Dean had taken turns swinging as high as possible before flinging yourselves off, measuring who could get the most distance. By the time the sun dipped low, both of you were covered in dirt and scrapes, laughing like idiots.

When his mom finally called him home for dinner, he’d hesitated before brushing off his hands and looking at you. "Same time tomorrow?"

You grinned, teeth flashing. "You’re on, Winchester."

And just like that, Dean had found his best friend.

Now, years later, that same friend was tangled up in his head in a way he couldn’t ignore.

And it scared the hell out of him.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out as soon as he stepped into the apartment. The words left him out of habit, that same old teasing lilt in his voice. It was an inside joke that had stuck over time—born the day you’d both moved in together after college, a decision fuelled by practicality more than anything else. 

Splitting rent was cheaper, and as best friends, it had made perfect sense. Somehow, though, the whole thing had felt oddly domestic from the start, and Dean had cracked the joke that first night—throwing open the door with a smirk, announcing himself like some sitcom husband. You’d groaned, thrown a pillow at him, and it had just stuck. Something easy, something comfortable.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, your voice called back, warm and casual. “Hey!” You greeted him as he shrugged off his worn leather jacket and toed off his boots with a sigh, rolling his neck to ease the tension there. 

“How were the guys?” You called out again.

"Yeah, they're all good," he answered absentmindedly, trying not to think about that last conversation he’d had with them as he headed straight for the fridge, already contemplating his options.

His hand gripped the cool metal of the handle as he swung it open, his face falling at the sad excuse for groceries staring back at him—half a six-pack, expired milk, some takeout containers he didn’t even remember ordering.

Right. Grocery shopping. Definitely overdue.

"Hey, you feel like ordering in tonight?" He called out over his shoulder. "Pizza? Chinese? Maybe both, live a little?"

But before he could get an answer, movement in the corner of his eye pulled his focus, and his breath caught in his throat.

You stepped out of your room, and just like that, Dean forgot how to breathe.

His hand slipped from the fridge handle as his entire focus tunnelled in on you. You weren’t just dressed up—you were knockout gorgeous. 

A sleek, black dress hugged your figure in a way that should’ve been illegal, the fabric clinging in all the right places before tapering off mid-thigh. Your legs—long, smooth, and so much more on display than he was prepared for—were accentuated by the sharp cut of your stilettos, heels so high they had no damn business being on your feet, yet somehow, you walked like you owned the world in them.

Dean swallowed hard.

His gaze flickered to the subtle details—the delicate chain resting just below the hollow of your throat, the way the dim lighting in the apartment caught the shimmer of your earrings, how your makeup was just enough to highlight what was already perfect. 

You smelled different too—a new perfume perhaps? Something subtle but undeniably you.

The air in the apartment felt thick, like it was pushing down on his chest.

You didn’t even notice his staring. Instead, you were focused on the couch, leaning over slightly as you grabbed your purse, your fingers quickly checking through its contents. "I can't," you said lightly, barely looking up. "Got a hot date, remember?"

Dean blinked, your words cutting through his haze like a blade.

“Date?"

His stomach twisted.

You straightened up, finally glancing at him with a smirk. "Yeah, with Gary from marketing?" You prompted, slinging your purse over your shoulder. "He asked me out last week—I told you about it?”

Gary from marketing.

Dean’s brows furrowed as the memory came rushing back—how you’d offhandedly mentioned it while he was distracted with something else, how he’d muttered some half-assed response at the time, maybe even made a joke—

"The guy with the tragic haircut?" he muttered, the words coming out before he could stop them.

You laughed. "That’s the one."

And just like that, it hit him.

He’d been so caught up in his own damn thoughts about you lately—trying to reason with himself, trying to make sense of the way things had shifted between you lately—that he hadn’t even thought the world would still be turning for you.

He’d been sitting in the passenger seat, clueless, while you’d been steering your own damn life without him.

And now?

Now, you were standing there, looking like that, all dressed up for some other guy—some idiot named Gary, who got to pick you up and take you out, who got to be the reason you put on that dress, who got to see that smile meant for him tonight.

Dean’s chest felt tight, a slow, bitter realisation creeping in.

This wasn’t like all the other times.

You’d gone on dates before. He knew that. He’d teased you about them, had even tossed out protective big-brother-ish warnings to guys who had no clue the words felt foreign in his mouth. But he’d never felt anything about it before.

Not like this.

Not like his chest was caving in.

Not like a bitter, ugly heat was curling around his ribs, settling deep into his bones.

Not like he wanted to throw his jacket back on and hunt down ‘Gary from marketing’ and make damn sure he knew he wasn’t good enough for you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Right." His voice was quieter than he meant it to be, rough around the edges as he forced the word past the lump in his throat.

He watched as you did one last check in the mirror by the door, smoothing your hands down your dress, adjusting your lipstick in a way that made his stomach tighten even more. You looked excited.

Dean clenched his jaw.

And just like that, the jealousy settled deep in his bones, hot and unyielding.

He didn’t want to picture it—you laughing at some stupid joke Gary made over dinner, Gary sliding his hand over yours, maybe leaning in close at the end of the night, lips hovering over yours.

But the thoughts came anyway.

And it wrecked him.

You shot him one last glance, oblivious to the storm raging inside of him. "Don’t wait up, Winchester."

And with that, you were gone.

Dean stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

His chest felt tight. And then the bitter realisation hit him. 

His friends had been right.

Dean couldn’t sleep.

For the past two hours, he had been tossing and turning, alternating between staring at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. It never did.

How the hell could he sleep when his mind was torturing him with images of you—with Gary?

His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of it, bile rising in his throat. His mind painted vivid, unwanted pictures: Gary’s hands on you, his lips on your skin, your soft laughter, the way you might be looking at him right now—the way you should be looking at Dean.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if it would shake the thoughts loose. It didn’t.

With a frustrated exhale, Dean sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. This was pointless.

There was no way in hell he was going to get any rest like this, not with his heart pounding and his mind running laps. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his sore muscles before making his way into the living room.

His feet carried him straight to the kitchen, to the cabinet under the sink where he kept a bottle of whiskey for special occasions.

This qualified.

He poured himself a shot and downed it in one go, barely wincing at the burn as it slid down his throat. The second one went down just as easily, a bitter warmth settling in his chest, but it didn’t quiet the storm in his head the way he hoped it would.

His eyes flicked toward the clock on the microwave.

1:37 AM.

You were still out.

Another shot. Another slow burn in his chest.

Dean knew he had no right to be this worked up about it. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t anything to you except your best friend—your roommate. That was the problem.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

When the hell did everything get so complicated?

It wasn’t just the dream. Sure, it cracked something open in him, but if he was honest with himself, there had always been something simmering underneath. He could see it now—in the way his past relationships never worked out, how no one else ever seemed enough because in the back of his mind, he was always comparing them to you. The way he told you things he didn’t tell anyone, not even his own mother.

Seventeen years.

You had been in his life for seventeen years. That was longer than most marriages. 

Damn, he really was an idiot. How could he have been so blind to it, so ignorant to what was staring him right in the face the whole time? 

Then, he heard it.

The distinct jingle of keys outside the door, followed by a clumsy, muffled “shit" breaking him out of his reverie.

Dean sighed, setting his glass down before pushing off from the counter. He made his way to the door just as he heard another "fuck", then a quiet thud—like something hitting the floor.

Through the peephole, he spotted you crouched down, fumbling for your keys, struggling to fit them into the lock.

You were clearly drunk.

Dean shook his head with a smirk, unlocking the door from his side just as you managed to steady yourself, one hand braced against the door handle. The moment he pulled it open, you stumbled forward, nearly toppling over—until his arms caught you.

You crashed into his chest with a soft “Hmph.”

Dean's arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you up as you melted against him, giggling into his shirt. The scent of alcohol clung to you, a mix of whiskey and whatever fruity drink you had been sipping on all night.

“Jesus." You huffed, pushing off him, though you wobbled as you tried to find your footing. Dean kept his hands out, ready to catch you again if needed.

"You good, sweetheart?" He asked, raising a brow as he took in your dazed smile and glassy eyes.

You grinned up at him, your expression pure blissed-out drunkenness. "I'm just perfect, Dean’o."

Dean smirked at the nickname, but before he could say anything, you reached up and grasped his jaw between your thumb and fingers, squishing his cheeks slightly.

“Okay, alright—enough of that.” He groaned, peeling your hand away. You didn’t seem to realise your own strength at the moment, and if you squeezed any harder, you were gonna leave a dent in his damn face.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, before your attention drifted over his shoulder. Then your expression dropped into something heartbreakingly close to a pout.

“Awww,” you whined. “You’re drinking without me?”

You sounded genuinely upset, your lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated fashion. Before Dean could respond, you made a clumsy grab for the bottle on the counter.

But Dean was quicker.

Before your fingers could wrap around the neck of the whiskey bottle, his hand closed over yours, pulling it away with ease. “Yeah, no. You’ve had enough,” he said firmly, setting the bottle behind him and out of reach.

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

Dean smirked, amused at how downright grumpy you looked, like a kid being denied dessert. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You need some water, sweetheart. Not more booze.”

You huffed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want water, I want whiskey.”

“Tough,” Dean said, already turning to grab a glass from the cabinet. “You’re getting water.”

Your pout deepened as he filled the glass from the tap, sliding it toward you. You eyed it like it personally offended you before reluctantly picking it up and taking a sip—your way of conceding to his demand, albeit with an exaggerated sigh.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. You were something else.

Once you were distracted with your water, he leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms over his chest. He could still feel the tension coiling in his gut, the jealousy he’d been drowning in all night, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“So,” he started, keeping his tone casual, but his fingers clenched against his biceps. “How was it?”

You blinked up at him, confused. “How was what?”

Dean gave you a look. “Your date.”

At that, you scoffed, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Oh, that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “It was awful.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised by how quickly you admitted it. He’d expected you to defend the guy, maybe try to convince yourself it had been a good time. But no—just flat-out awful.

“Yeah?” He prompted, keeping his voice even, but he could already feel his chest loosening just a little.

You leaned against the counter, your drunken state making you extra expressive as you talked with your hands. “First of all, the guy is so uptight. Like, I swear, he’s never laughed in his life. I tried joking around, and he just blinked at me like I was speaking another language.”

Dean snorted, already picturing it.

“And then,” you continued, eyes wide with disbelief, “all he did was talk about himself. Nonstop. Like, dude, I asked him one question—one—about his job, and suddenly I was stuck in a TED Talk about marketing strategies. Like I don’t work for the same company.” You threw your arms out in a ‘are you kidding me’ gesture.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like a real winner.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” you said, holding up a finger. “So, we order food, right? And I get a cheeseburger, because, you know, I wanted a damn cheeseburger.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “Good choice.”

“Right?” You gestured wildly, as if proving your point. “But Gary—freaking Gary—looks at me and goes, ‘Are you sure you wanna eat that? You should really watch your figure.’”

Dean froze. His smirk disappeared.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of your mouth.

Then his expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wish.”

Dean’s grip on his bicep tightened, his teeth grinding together. That prick. He had known from the start that Gary was a tool, but this? This was another level.

“So,” you continued, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I did what any rational, level-headed woman would do in that situation.”

Dean arched a brow. “And that was?”

You grinned, leaning in like you were about to tell him a secret. “I threw my drink in his face and left.”

Dean stared at you for a beat, then—He laughed.

A deep, genuine laugh that rumbled in his chest as pride swelled in him. “No shit?”

“No shit.” You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “Right in his smug, stupid, judgy face.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. That’s my girl, he thought, though he would never say it out loud.

“But instead of coming straight home,” you continued, twirling your glass of water between your fingers, “I didn’t wanna deal with your I told you so—”

Dean smirked. “I would’ve said it.”

You shot him a look. “—so, I went to the Roadhouse instead. Had a few drinks, bitched about my failed date to Jo and Ellen. Ellen cut me off and called me a cab.” Dean huffed. That sounded about right.

For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the way you had perked up again, the lingering frustration in your eyes slowly melting into something softer.

You were here.

Not out with Gary. Not waking up next to some guy who didn’t deserve you. Not letting some self-important idiot tell you who you should be.

You were home. With him.

And as much as he wanted to tell you that he had been losing his damn mind all night, picturing you with someone else—he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, and smirked.

"Well," Dean said, tilting his head with a smirk. "At least you got a good story out of it."

"Yeah, I guess." You hummed, swirling the water in your glass. The initial amusement faded as your shoulders dropped slightly. Dean caught the shift immediately, his brows pulling together.

"C’mon, you can’t really be cut up about a guy with an Edward Scissor-hands haircut and zero game." He teased, hoping to pull you out of whatever downward spiral you were heading into.

It worked—your laughter bubbled out, a full, belly-deep laugh that made the tension in his chest ease. But then you sighed, the sound quieter this time, more pensive. "It’s not him I’m cut up about."

Dean watched you carefully as you traced the rim of your glass with your finger. "I just feel like I can never meet a good guy."

Something inside him twisted.

What about me?

The thought came unbidden, sharp and intrusive, and he shoved it down before it could take root. Instead, he nudged you with his elbow.

"That’s not true." His voice was lighter now, teasing again. "What about Mikey? The guy with the lisp?"

His grin widened as he mimicked a lisp, knowing damn well you’d dated the guy for barely two months in your sophomore year before his clinginess drove you up the wall. The look of horror that crossed your face had him biting back a laugh.

"Oh my God, Dean!" You gawked at him before landing a solid punch to his arm. "That is so mean!"

"Ow," he complained through his laughter, rubbing the spot you hit. "I’m serious, though! He was a real sweetheart.” He exaggerated the lisp again, barely dodging your next swing.

"I swear to God—" You huffed, turning to stomp off, but before you could escape, he caught your arm gently.

"Okay, okay, I’m done. Scouts honour." He held up three fingers in a mock solemn gesture.

You gave him a look—like you absolutely did not believe him—but still, with a huff, you reclaimed your spot opposite him and took another sip of water.

Then, almost absentmindedly, you sighed. "I mean, it has been a long time."

Dean’s brow furrowed. "A long time since what?"

You hesitated for a brief second before shrugging your shoulders, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. "Since I’ve had sex."

Dean choked on his own damn saliva.

You frowned in concern, but he quickly waved you off, reaching for his whiskey to cover up the way his throat had suddenly gone dry.

You leaned back against the counter, lost in thought, completely oblivious to the war you’d just started in his head.

"I just—I don’t even need romance, you know?" You shrugged. "At this point, I’d settle for a little fun. I even bought new lingerie for tonight, just in case, and now"— you gestured vaguely to yourself, "totally wasted."

Dean swallowed—hard.

His mind was already in dangerous territory, but now it plummeted straight into the gutter.

You’d bought lingerie? For tonight?

His gaze instinctively flicked down for half a second before he caught himself, before he could let himself really think about what you were implying. Because if you had planned for tonight—if you were wearing it right now—

God help him.

The image hit him like a freight train. You, laid out in something lacey and delicate, something sheer enough to tease but not reveal, maybe even those crotchless panties you’d pointed out the other day in that damn store—his stomach twisted, his fingers curling around his glass with a little too much force.

And the worst part? Some other guy was supposed to see you like that tonight.

That thought sent something hot and possessive burning through his veins.

Dean exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck as he forced his gaze anywhere but at you.

"Gary didn’t deserve to see you like that." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his voice lower than before.

You scoffed. "Yeah, well, no one else is seeing it either, so it really doesn’t matter."

It matters to me.

Dean forced himself to take another sip of whiskey, as if that would drown out the thoughts swimming in his head.

With a stretch and a yawn, you set your empty glass down and pushed off the counter. "Alright, I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for making me drink water, Mom." You teased, because Dean was always more like a mother hen than a strict father.

Dean smirked, watching as you stepped closer. He expected you to give him a casual pat on the arm or maybe ruffle his hair like you sometimes did when you were feeling particularly annoying.

Instead, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Or, at least, that’s where it was meant to land.

At the last second, whether it was the whiskey in your system or just bad aim, your lips caught the corner of his mouth.

You gasped softly, your breath fanning over his lips, and then you giggled. "Shit—sorry."

Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because you were still right there, inches away, your body just barely brushing his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

Something in the air shifted.

The easy playfulness between you dissolved into something else—something warm and electric, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Your smile faded, lips parting slightly as you lingered, hesitating just a second longer than necessary.

Then, before he could say a damn thing, before he could even think—

You leaned in again.

And this time, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant, your lips pressing against his in a way that felt like a question. Like you were giving him the chance to pull away, to stop this before it could turn into something neither of you could take back.

Dean’s entire body locked up. His mind screamed at him to push you away, to remind you that you’d been drinking, that this was just a moment of drunken impulse, that tomorrow you might regret this.

But then you pressed in closer, deepening the kiss, your fingers skimming up his arm, and his resolve shattered.

A low, quiet sound rumbled in his throat as he gave in. Completely.

His hands found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you against him as he kissed you back. And not just kissed you—devoured you. All the tension from the past few days, all the frustration, the longing, the confusion—it poured out of him like a damn breaking.

Your lips were warm, soft, intoxicating in a way no drink could ever compare to. He let himself get lost in it, let himself feel it—how perfect you felt against him, how natural this was, like it had been inevitable all along.

You sighed against his mouth, your fingers sliding up into his hair, and Dean groaned, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further.

He didn’t know when his hands had moved, but now one was tangled in your hair, the other splayed against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. And fuck, you felt good. Too good.

This was dangerous.

And when you finally pulled away, lips kiss-swollen and breaths unsteady, Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. His heart pounded like a war drum; each beat a sharp, insistent reminder of the storm raging inside him.

He should say something. Do something. But every word he might’ve spoken tangled in his throat, choked by the weight of what had just happened.

“Woah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than breath. Your eyes flickered between his and his mouth, never quite settling, like you were just as caught in the moment as he was. Your cheeks were flushed, heat radiating from your skin, and the ghost of your breath still lingered against his lips, dizzying and sweet.

Dean didn’t move. Didn’t dare move. The air between you crackled, fragile and electric, holding him captive in a moment he wasn’t ready to break.

He was waiting for you. Like always.

Your breath ghosted against his lips, and that was all it took.

You kissed him again, this time with more heat, more purpose, fingers tangling into the front of his shirt as you pulled him in. Dean let out a rough sound—somewhere between a groan and a sigh—before his hands found your waist, gripping tight as he backed you up against the counter. The edge dug into your lower back, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way he was pressing into you, solid and warm and overwhelming in the best way.

His hands slid down, grasping the backs of your thighs, and before you could fully process it, he lifted you effortlessly onto the countertop.

A surprised gasp left your lips, but Dean was already there, swallowing the sound as he kissed you again, deeper, slower, his fingers digging into your hips. You pulled him in, locking your legs around his waist, desperate to feel more of him, and his hands wandered—exploring the soft, bare skin of your thighs, gliding higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he went.

He trailed kisses down your jaw, moving to your neck, and when his lips found that one spot—the spot—you let out a soft moan, your head tipping back instinctively.

Only to smack it straight into the cabinet behind you.

The entire moment shattered.

You winced, immediately bringing a hand to the back of your head. Dean jerked back, eyes wide with concern.

“Shit—are you okay?” He cupped your jaw, scanning your face for any sign of real pain.

For a second, you just blinked at him—then, out of nowhere, you started giggling.

Dean frowned, still searching your eyes, but when you kept laughing, it broke him. He snorted, shaking his head, then let out a deep, full-bodied chuckle, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He pulled back, still grinning, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s gotta be a sign, right?”

You sighed dramatically. “That the universe hates me?”

Dean smirked, his hands settling on your hips. “That you’re not sober enough for this.” His answer was loaded, a heavy realisation for himself that you were in no state of mind to be making any rational decisions right now, and that he should've known better than to take advantage of that. 

You pouted slightly, but you both knew he was right. Still, there was something soft in his expression as he helped you down, steadying you with warm hands on your waist. The moment your feet hit the ground, you swayed a little, still a bit disoriented.

Dean caught you instantly. “Okay, yeah. You need to lie down, sweetheart.”

You groaned but didn’t fight him as he led you to your room, making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet. Once you were settled, he disappeared briefly before returning with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, setting them on your nightstand.

“You’re a saint,” you mumbled, already sinking into the mattress.

Dean huffed a laugh. “Not quite. Just don’t want you becoming a pain in my ass in the morning when your head’s pounding.” He said as he helped pull off your shoes and settled you under the covers.

You cracked one eye open, looking at him with something unreadable, something soft. “Could never hate you, Dean.” You mumbled half asleep. 

He looked at you, lingering for a second too long. Then stood, with a small exhale.

“Call me if you need anything.” He told you as he walked to the door. You hummed your acknowledgment, and with that, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Dean barely made it to his own room before he collapsed onto the bed, dragging both hands down his face.

What the fuck just happened?

The feel of you, the taste of your lips—it was burned into him now, like some kind of cruel brand.

It was just a kiss. Just a few incredible, amazing kisses. But now he knew for sure, no one would ever compare now.

And that thought terrified him.

Because tomorrow, you might not even remember. And if you did, would you be embarrassed? Regret it? Or worse, hate him?

Dean stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, mind racing.

Yeah. He was so fucked.

AN: There we have it folks, the first chapter! It was a long one 😅 I know, but I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback etc ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom

Next Time...

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth. Shit. Because now you could feel it again. The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life. Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back. "I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual. It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay." He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.” Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass." Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone." Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence that followed was deafening. Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer. Yeah. You were so screwed.

[robo-milky]

hiii milkyyyy! u’ve been popping out so many manga pages and i’m just so amazed?? i’ve been wanting to get back to manga drawing so can i ask for some tips? like what’s your process and how do you decide the screen tones/sfx/effects/speechbubbles to use? the latter is something i’m struggling with 😭

tyyy 💕

Hi Yudi, thanks for dropping by!

General note: One thing I’ve learned about trying to go for a more manga-esque style is that there’s really no particular way to do it, and EVERY artist does it differently. Everything I do here is a blend of my own style and things from JP artists I admire! However, the most important thing is that panels aren’t meant to be masterpieces but to convey information and get the dialogue going.

This process will be CSP oriented. I’ve made a mini screen tone tutorial (and how to turn on Layer Property) but I did not talk about my own settings ^^ You’re free to do any resolution you want, though I stick to drawing on a B4 template for fun (and imagine that one day my stuff can get published /j). I hope this helps, as I’m still trying to figure my own style and set limits on the details too.

[Process]

Script + Thumbnail

I used to wing stuff for one-pagers, but now I’ve found that scripting and thumbnailing has made my process so much faster. (Omg it’s almost like people make drafts for a reason- @ me cause I hate planning)

There’s no standards of a comic script, and each publisher has their own format. My usual scripts don’t separate pages, since I leave that to the thumbnailing once I do dialogue placement. If trying to imagine panels without seeing them overwhelming, at least get the dialogue down.

The B4 thumbnail template I use is pretty darn big, so it also doubles as the sketching stage. Once the thumbnails are done, I transfer them (screenshot) to a comic file on CSP. Once the set up is done, I do speech bubbles + dialogue first, insert the frames, then get to the line art. Since I don’t think anyone is actually gonna print their works, you’re free to trim your canvas however you want to post online 🫡

Speech Bubbles

Any speech bubble can work and will eventually blend in as the viewer is reading, but I have a vendetta against super flat/digital-looking ones. I made a custom brush for a textured speech bubble pen with line width by adjusting its taper and changing the brush shape. Published manga are a different story, but I like the more organic polygonal bubble shapes from indie artists-

For different shapes and situation��� Squares - Narration, Flash/Urchin - Character thoughts/internal monologue, Hexagon - Phone call/text (not a concrete rule but a common pattern)

You can also add emanata (sparkles/symbols) on the bubbles for flairs as you see fit.

Screen tone (Please read the linked mini-tutorial above)

I split my tones into two folders. One specifically for black, and greys.

I first fill in all black areas, the duplicate them. The top layer will be the shadows (remains pure black), and the bottom layer is set to [Opacity 75%] and turned into a screen tone layer with a [frequency of 45-50] (It must always be at a lower frequency than the greys). To add texture, I use a grainy brush to erase bits of pure black on a mask. To show light on the screen tone layer, I use gradient erase on a mask.

For the greys, I split them into three tones (dark grey, medium grey, light grey) all in the same folder so they don’t overlap and it’s easier to fix. I use a [frequency of 75] or any number higher than the screen tone in the black layer. Overall, tones can be as simple and complex as you want, but it’s best to save more detailed tones for important panels. (Planning to change this as I’ve realized how big the B4 canvas actually is, and the frequency doesn’t need to be so high- The size of screen tone is a preference. This example was done on a smaller canvas, so higher frequencies still look less pixelated/small.)

Emanata/SFX

Special effects is whatever the situation calls for! It can to make a blank canvas feel more dynamic, to evoke certain emotions, hint/foreshadow. It’s best used sparingly on important panels you think would be the most important… but how do you get those effects?

THE CLIP STUDIO ASSETS STORE- Or draw/download your own depending on the program (You have no idea- ever since I downloaded too, I can’t unsee them in other works of artists I like 😭) Not used in the example but these are my essentials- You can also find a lot of gems if you straight up search “manga” and see the most popular assets.

Another good place to find comic fonts in general is blambot.com (?). They have quite a bit of free, personal use fonts if you ever need flavour text when italics or bold isn’t enough. (Current font used is Anime Ace 3 Regular BB).

Happy creating and feel free to ask if anything was unclear ^^