#like it’s a whole new romance side to him

[brokenengene]

✩ ‧ ₊˚ share one seat - y.jw

He won the race. But when she takes control in the backseat? That’s when he learns what winning really feels like.

pairing: racecar driver!jungwon x pit crew!fem reader

genre: NASCAR au, smut, sports romance

This content is only for readers 18+

content warning: strong language, explicit sexual content, car sex (obviously), oral sex (f + m receiving), subby!jungwon, angst, emotional tension, power dynamic themes, suggestive dialogue, light dom/sub, dirty talk, car innuendos,

word count: 11k

soundtrack: sports car-tate mcrae/ dear god- tate mcrae/ collide(solo version) - justine skye

The last thing you needed was a last-minute switch-up. 

You bend over the open hood of one of Toyota's fastest race cars. Your arms are already elbow-deep in grease and grime. The familiar smell of oil and grime fills the air of the cold garage.

 There's race tonight, and you were tasked with making sure every detail was perfect. 

This job is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Especially for a woman, even more so for a woman like you. 

It wasn’t easy, it seemed like every day there was another backhanded compliment, another guy staring too hard at your boobs. You didn’t take shit, and soon the whole crew knew exactly the type of woman you were. 

You got word this morning that there’s a new rookie in town. Flown in straight from South Korea last night. 

Bold move.

To say the least, you're not excited to meet him. You’ve seen it enough times. Boys all talk, no real bite. Cocky and reckless.

You were sure this new rookie was the same. 

You’ve seen it time and time again how quick they ruin their image.

He probably won’t last a month before the sponsors pull him out.

You check the racecar's oil before taking a dirty rag to clean your hands from the grease. To be sure, you take one last look under the car hood.

Looks perfect, so you shut the front hood with a loud slam that echoes off the walls.

You step back, admiring the car. You truly do have a love for them. It’s sexy the way it sits low to the ground, ready to take off at max speed across the startling line.

The way the body is welded to curve against the wind. The deep crimson is decorated with vinyls from sponsors. 

And his name is already there, freshly painted in white onto the side of the racecar—

Y.Jungwon

You roll your eyes. 

You open the garage door, letting the sunlight in through the cracks. In the distance, you see the figure of a young man approaching the door. Helmet held loosely at his side, fireproof suit already zipped to his collar. 

Jungwon. 

You cross your arms and lean against the car as he comes into view. He’s prettier than you expected. Too pretty.

His eyes are big and round, dark pools that reflected the harsh rays of the sun. His skin a smooth, glassy porcelain.

Guess he is hot shit. 

None of the other rookies were this pretty, you'll give him that. 

Your eyes linger as he steps closer. His suit hugged his figure perfectly, the leather settling into every curve of his muscles. 

Shit…

He walks into the garage like he’s already won the damn race. A smirk on his lips and confidence in his stride.

You’re already sick of it. 

“That’s all for me?” Jungwon asks with a playful smirk as he steps into the garage, his eyes flicking between you and the car. 

“Wow, not even an introduction, typical,” you say, rolling your eyes again.

The things you would give for this season to be over already.

“Name's Jungwon, figured you already knew since it’s you know painted on the side of the car?” He teases as he lets a gloved hand trace across the edges of his new racecar, right across his painted name.

“By any chance, do you know where I could find my Crew Chief?” Jungwon asks, tearing his gaze away from the car to glance at you. 

Here you are standing in front of him covered in oil. Your mechanic's uniform is tied loosely around your waist to keep you cool.

You’re just left in a grimy white tank, showing off your collarbone and cleavage. Again, you weren’t expecting to meet him so soon.

You let the question hang thick in the air. His eyes drag shamelessly down your figure, gaze lingering on your waist and hips before your voice snaps him back to reality. 

“You’re looking right at her—“

If Jungwon had a drink in his mouth, he would’ve spit it out. His eyes go wide. No way. You? Crew Chief? 

“Y–you? M–my?.” He says a voice frantically stuttering... He wasn’t expecting a woman, let alone one just his type, to be his new track guide. 

“Here to make sure you step off that track in one piece,” you say playfully. Clapping your hands together to remove the rest of the dirt.

Jungwon chuckles before rounding the car to stand right in front of you.

He extends a gloved leather hand. You glance down at it, hesitating.

Of course, you want to win; if you want a good season, you know the two of you need to work together.

So you push down the hard feelings for now. For your sake and Toyota's. 

Your heart skips a beat as you take his hand, feeling how warm it is underneath the leather. It’s just a handshake, but the gesture feels like so much more. 

Hell, this boy's life is in your hands now. 

Guess the stakes are high. 

Later that night, you arrive at the racetrack. The stands are illuminated with bright white lights. The crowd thumping and cheering loudly.

You’ve changed out of your mechanical attire into your uniform. The same crimson red that was also painted across the racecar. 

You immediately snap into work mode, barking orders to your crew. Checking that extra tires are in place, and that there’s plenty of fuel on standby. 

You watch as Jungwon slips into his gear. Cheeks flushing as you glance at how the leather holds his body.

Too bad that cocky smirk ruins his whole build.

“Jungwon, you’ve got 15 minutes before countdown —“ you stay sternly through your headset. 

It cuts into silence as you drag your boots across the scorching asphalt toward the loading dock where Jungwon and the car are stationed.

Jungwon fixes his posture as he sees you approaching. Like he’s trying to cover up jet lag and nerves all at once. 

You chuckle to yourself as you approach him with a confident smile. 

“You ready for this?” You ask breathlessly as you glance at his expression. Jaw tight, shoulders tense, chipping at his confidence. 

You step closer to him, and the smell of leather and cologne makes your head spin. He lets you in his space until there are only a few inches between you. 

“Never been more ready.” He replies with a cocky tone. Lips curving into a smile.

But you heard it, that tremble in his voice. 

Jungwon dips low into the driver's side of the car. Exhaling sharply as he leans back against the seat.

His hands already trembling and he doesn’t exactly know why. 

You bend down, leaning across him to grab the harness straps. His breath hitches as your warm body presses up against the hard planes of his own. He nearly moans at the scent of you. Motor oil mixed with citrus—enough to drive a man crazy. 

“Just breathe for me,” you say, your voice is the softest it’s been all night.

You can tell he’s nervous even if he tries to cover it up. The way his breath catches in his throat, the way his hands are glued to his side.

You pull the harness gently, glancing up to look into his eyes. 

Jungwon nods. His cheeks flushed as he looked down at you. His chest rises and falls, and his heart races in his chest.

You're convinced it’s not entirely because of the adrenaline of the race. 

“I’m not that nervous…” he says even though his tone of voice betrayed his words. 

You bite back laughter as you pull the straps tighter, biting your lip as you hear him gasp sweetly beneath you. 

“Jungwon, you listen to me. You follow my orders, okay? No tricks, no showing off. You come out of that race in one piece. You hear me?” You say, voice dropping low as you let your fingertips shamelessly rest on his sides.  

“Y-yes ma’am…” Jungwon chokes out. His cheeks are red, bright red. His breath is shaky with nerves and heat. He shifts awkwardly in his seat as he feels himself strangely turned on by the gesture.

Your fingertips slide up his sides, brushing across his muscles and chest to adjust the radio cord dangerously close to the pale skin of his neck. 

He flinches at your touch, heart thumping, cheeks burning. Eyes lingering on every place of your body that they shouldn’t. 

His lips parted as he looked down at you, scanning your collarbone and chest. His breath is hot against your skin as he noticed the way that crimson suit hugs the curves of your body.

“My tits make a better view when I ride—trust me.” You say with a playful tone before letting your palm playfully thump against his hard chest. A slick smile on your lips as you see his reaction.

“What?! I wasn’t, you–I didn’t mean–“ Jungwon stutters out. Like he wants to snap back, retaliate—anything. 

But you’ve already completely wrecked him with your words. 

You watch his jaw visibly drop as you pull away with a soft chuckle the corners of your lips tugged up.

You look at him strapped into the driver's seat, obviously, painfully hard. 

“You do good out there, and maybe I’ll help you with some of that tension,” you say, voice dripping with promise as you gesturing playfully to his more than obvious boner.

His breathing is heavy, thighs parted on the leather seat. The fireproof covering his skin all of a sudden, feeling too hot and tight.

You shut the car door before he can respond. Jungwon looks like he’s going to pass out through the window.

He swiftly pulls on his helmet in an attempt to spare him from any more embarrassment before he turns on his radio. Your voice rings in his ear as you stride back towards your pit box.

“Don’t fuck this up rookie..comm check in five.”

✩ ✩ ✩

You get situated back in your communication tower overlooking the racetrack. You glance down at the rainbow of cars lining up at the starting line as you adjust the headset over your hair.

The adrenaline of the race is already starting to affect you. The engines rumble beneath the track, and the crowd roars with cheering fans.

This is it.

“Radio check…” You say into the mic as you spot Jungwon’s crimson Toyota lined up by the starting line.

“Check,” Jungwon gasps, his voice cutting sharply through the static. His hands grip the steering wheel with bruising strength as he fights the ache you left in his pants. 

“You nervous?” You ask, voice low and teasing. You know you shouldn’t toy with him, but you’re enjoying his reactions a little too much.

“A little, mostly excited though,”  Jungwon answers comfortably as he waits at the starting line, the engine roaring beneath him as he stalls for the green light.

“Mhmm, I could tell,” you say playfully. 

Jungwon almost whimpers into the other side of the headset.

The ref starts to count down, and Jungwon locks his focus on the track ahead. His head swims with the purr of the engine, the roar of the crowd, and the sound of your voice in his ear.

And the memory of your promise to relieve the tension, if he’s good. 

“Remember the plan, stay low on the first two laps, stay on the inside then—”

“Strike from the back—got it.” Jungwon finishes confidently as he settles into the driver's seat. He puts all his focus on the race.

He knows Toyota is taking a chance on him. He can’t screw this up.

On the count of three, the red light turns green, and he doesn’t waste a second before slamming on the gas pedal. The engine roars as his car shoots forward across the starting line.

“Good pace…” You mutter into the microphone, hands gripping the edge of your desk, as you try to keep your heart from racing. You watch as he stays centered on the track just like you planned. 

“Brake, don't blow your load on the first round—” You command deeply into the mic. 

Jungwon gasps, gripping the wheel even tighter, his racecar slightly falling out of line.

“Shit—god I'm driving 200 miles an hour, you can’t—“He gasps as he's nearly pushed into the steel barrier lining the racetrack by the other cars.

He grips the wheel tight, pulling it sharply to the left to fall back in line, finding his rhythm in the middle of the race. 

“Come on, left Jungwon, left.” You pant into the microphone as you watch him clear the first lap. 

Two more to go.

Your adrenaline is pumping. Ears ringing, and palms clammy as you watch the race from above.

Even though it’s just a qualifying race, it’s his chance to prove he’s worth the shot.

And a win tonight would prove you’re more than just a mechanic with a pretty face.

Jungwon grips the wheel tighter, pushing back towards the inside. 

You smile down at the track as you watch. He's good, real good. Just watching him drive is already proving your initial assumptions wrong.

You’re starting to like this rookie.

“Fuck Jungwon," you whisper into the headset as you watch him take fifth place, then fourth.

“You enjoying this?” He gasps, his cocky tone returning to his voice now that he's got a shot at the win.

“Hell yeah, I’m enjoying this. Come on, show me what you’ve got on this last lap.” You say calmly. 

“If you win, maybe I'll show you what I can do on yours.” You say into the headset with a dangerous smirk, cheeks flushing as you imagine the moment.

The second your voice hits his ears, Jungwon slams on the gas, riding tight in third place.

It’s risky.

Cold sweat already runs down his neck and chest as he holds his position.

You stutter, there he goes, being reckless.

“Fall back, don’t—” You say firmly into the mic as he pushes up close behind the winning cars.

“There's an opening, I'm fucking taking it,” Jungwon grunts as he aggressively slams on the gas. Gritting his teeth as he keeps his body tight against the seat.

“Jungwon, don’t! There's not enough space!” you yell into the microphone.

God, maybe you spoke too soon. This idiot is going to get himself killed before he even has a shot at the Daytona 500.

Your words are no use, his car engine roars as he takes the opening. His racecar nearly spiraled and clipped another. You wince as you open your eyes to glance at the board.

Y. Jungwon.

Second place.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Your grip on your headset immediately loosens.

He’s almost to the finish line.

Jungwon pushes his car to the limit, holding his place. Adrenaline is racing between both of you.

You grip your headset to the ground yourself, leaning on the desk, watching the white finish line painted below.

He’s tight in second, neck and neck with first. You hold your breath as he rounds the corner and crosses the finish line. 

His car flies across. It’s close. 

So close.

You don’t even want to look, but you force your eyes to look back up at the screen. Your jaw nearly drops. 

Y.Jungwon 

First Place. 

You can hardly believe it.

You rip the headset off your head and run down the pit tower's stairs. Boots hitting the asphalt hard as you finally reach the track. 

Jungwon’s car comes to a halt right in front of the winner's box. The door opens, and he struggles to stumble out hazy and breathless. Adrenaline still pumping through his veins. 

Immediately cameras flash and reporters swarm him. Jungwon flinches as he pulls the helmet off his head. His dark hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat.

He winces at the camera's flashing before he can even process what happened.

“Yang Jungwon has just won his first qualifying race with NASCAR! One of the youngest in history! How do you feel!?”

“Yang Jungwon has blown it out of the water tonight. Could he be NASCAR’s biggest new star?”

The overwhelming chatter surrounds Jungwon as cameras and microphones are shoved into his face.

He holds his helmet at his side, swiftly answering the reporters and posing for the photographers like it’s second nature. 

You push through the reporters and television crew in an attempt to get to him. Bumping shoulders and weaving through the crowd as fast as you can. 

“Excuse me! I need to get through!” You gasp as you weave through the crowd, no one paying any attention to your pleas. 

Everyone besides Jungwon.

His eyes light up as he hears your voice in the crowd. You’re almost there when he reaches out and grabs your wrist and pulling you through the barricade of reporters. 

“Jungwon! I told you no stunts.” You say firmly. Brows furrowing in an attempt to fake anger. 

Jungwon signals for the reporters to turn away. Reluctantly all the camera shutters come to a stop. 

Before you know it, it’s just you and him leaning up against the racecar, engine still burning hot. 

“It wasn’t a stunt. I had a clear opening, you just need to trust me more.” Jungwon says, almost breathless, like he’s still winded by the intensity of the race. 

The rest of the world seems to fade into the background. The cool night air blows around you, and the lights start to dim as more and more people start to exit the stands. 

“Not bad for a rookie…” you say softly. Your tone is no longer mocking or antagonizing. Without the press, it’s sweet and truthful. 

Jungwon holds his helmet in his other free hand, hesitating as he reaches out. Is this too fast? Too soon? 

You step closer, the space between you dissolving by the minute. Jungwon glances into your eyes, his dark eyes scan over the features of your face. 

There it goes again, heat rushing to flush his cheeks and ears.

He’s only just arrived in America, he’s just won his first race—

And his new Crew Chief is making his heart flutter. 

With a sharp breath, he rips off his driving glove with his teeth, tossing it to the ground without care. 

If he’s going to touch you, he wants to feel it.

Skin on skin. 

His hand gently closes the distance without a word, cupping the side of your face, his thumb sliding across your cheek, over your soft lips. 

Jungwon licks his lips, his mind racing with thoughts, you can see it in his eyes.

He leans in, just a few millimeters enough for you to smell the faint scent of his cologne. 

Masculine yet sweet. Just like him.

Even though no words are said, the two of you have confessed enough. 

More of the stadium lights go out around the track as the press packs up to leave. The stands are now empty. The other racers retreated to their trailers for the night.

It gives you a false sense of privacy. In that moment it truly does feel he’s the only man in the world. 

“You’re one hell of a Crew Chief…” Jungwon whispers. His voice was heavy, cracking with want. A tone you’ve yet to hear, but you love it. 

“Well you’re the one risking your life out there, you did good. Better than good.” You say your voice a gentle whisper. Your eyes unintentionally lock on the wide brown of his. 

You notice the shape of them in the dark, how big and round and wide they are like you could be swallowed up in them forever.

Your heart flutters as you notice the upturned angle of his eyes, the slope of his nose, and how his dark hair contrasts against his pale skin. 

Jungwon chuckles deeply as he notices your gaze admiring his features. His breath is soft like he can’t believe that this is real and not a dream.

You can’t look away from him, the sound of his voice making your stomach flip as he steps even closer. The cool summer air blew more of his messy hair out of his face. 

You glance down, cheeks burning as you take in the shape of his lips as he smiles.

Shit. He has dimples. 

Your heart nearly stops completely. You can’t hide your smile and neither can he.

You can’t pull away from him and he can’t pull away from you. It feels like there's a magnet holding the space between you together.

And out here on the empty track, and there's no one to shut down what you're feeling.

“I’m sorry if this is crazy…but…”

“Can I kiss you right now?” Jungwon whispers.

Your heart races in your chest. You can hardly even think. 

The look on his face isn’t cocky or arrogant. It’s hopeful, soft—even wanting.

Maybe it’s just post-win adrenaline but the way he's looking at you, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Yeah…you can.” You whisper, voice just loud enough for Jungwon to hear. 

He hesitates, stalling, only for a moment.

Then his helmet drops to the floor with a loud thump. Both of his hands gently cup the sides of your face, fingertips brushing against your soft skin. 

You’re not entirely sure who leaned in first. But your breath hitches as his lips capture yours. Soft yet hot. Moving like he wants to savor every inch of you. 

His lips are hesitant like they’re still learning as he moves against you. One of his hands cupping your face the other sliding down to your lower back. Pulling your warmth closer into the hardness of his muscled body.

Jungwon gasps against your mouth as his back hits the warm metal of his racecar.

He pulls you into him. Gasping for air between kisses as they only grow more heated. 

Jungwon swallows your weak breaths as he keeps his mouth hot against yours. You smirk against his lips as you feel his confidence growing. Breath hitching at the way he sucks lightly at your bottom lip before barely pulling away.

“You’re…really pretty.” He says his voice a low whisper. Lips ghosting against the heat of your own. Barely holding back like he needs to lean in for more.

He does, swollen lips finding yours again.

He moves slowly, intimately only to break away for another shared breath. 

“I’ve wanted to tell you all day—just didn’t know how…“ Jungwon murmurs as he smiles into another kiss. His heart fluttered at the confession. 

He pulls away only to rest his sweaty forehead on your own. Exhaling, blood pumping fast as he takes in the faint scent of citrus from you.

You don’t move, in fact, you push into him more. Your lips brush against the sharp edge of his jaw as you pin him to the side of his car.

He laughs under his breath with disbelief that this is real. That he’s won his first race, that he’s really kissing you and you're kissing him back.

This is the part of the dream where he usually wakes up—

But he doesn’t.

“I thought you were going to be a cocky, arrogant asshole…” you say softly with a breathy laugh.

The truth. 

Warmth pools in your stomach as you push into him more, nearly moaning as you feel his hard planes against your softness.

Jungwon laughs as he pulls you closer. His fingertips rub small circles into your back. There's not a single millimeter of space between you now.

Your brain is screaming at you to stop this, to pull away.

You can’t.

Instead, you gently drag your lips across the perfect angle of his jawline. You kiss his soft skin, mind flooding back with the sound of his beneath you as you strapped him in before the race. How he bit his lip, the whimper that escaped unintentionally.

“This is usually the part where I prove you right with a—fuck…a smart-ass comment,” Jungwon says, his voice shaking as you kiss his sensitive skin again.

His grip on the outside of your suit tightens as his body rolls against your own with need.

You take control, mouth open, and hot against his skin and neck. Your hands push his suit over his shoulders letting the top pool at his hips. 

Jungwon whimpers, his chest violently rising and falling like he’s two seconds away from hyperventilating. 

“How about this time…you listen to my orders—“ you say seductively as your lips find his neck, dragging down to his collarbone. 

“Y—yes mm—ma’am” Jungwon stutters as he starts to break out into a sweat beneath you. 

Your fingertips push the soft fabric of his undershirt to the side, letting your lips latch onto his sharp collarbone. 

You gently suck on the porcelain skin, leaving a faint mark behind and out of sight.

Jungwon whimpers. His body jerks against your own with need. 

“You still okay?” You ask softly, your mouth leaving his collarbone to place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

He can’t even speak. All he does is lock eyes with you and nod. Letting out another soft whimper as his hips shamelessly press into yours. 

You kiss him again, putting a flat palm to his hard chest, pushing him harder into the side of his racecar. 

Jungwon moans as he feels your thighs pressed up between his, chest on chest. Everything is hot from your fireproof uniforms. 

You let a soft moan slip from your lips as you feel how hard he is beneath you again…your hips grind lightly into his, and fuck you can feel just how large he is already. It’s almost painful against the zipper of his suit.

“Do you fuck like you drive? Fast? A little reckless? Like you need me to talk you through it—Just like I did during the race?” You say, voice dripping with seduction. 

Jungwon whimpers again. Fuck you could get used to having him like this.

You kiss him again, tasting the saltiness of sweat on his skin. 

Jungwon can’t even speak, he just nods, eyes wide like he’s begging, pleading for you to take care of him. 

You grind harder against his cock, feeling the outline of it aching behind the tight leather. You both let out a shameless moan. Your hands grip him harder.

Jungwons eyes roll back at the sensation. He bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he grips at the side of the car for support. 

“Holy shit—“ he says voice cracking, out of breath, like he’s on the verge of tears and you haven’t even undressed him yet. 

You bite your lip as your fingertips slip between the sweaty heat of your bodies still covered by leather.

You find the cold metal zipper of his suit, you pull it down just slightly, glancing at him for consent.

Jungwon nods, and right as you pull away to drop to your knees—

“Hey! Track is closed for the night! You two need to get this car out of here…” A voice calls out from the distance

Jungwon groans, his forehead falling against your shoulder to hide just how flushed he is. Like maybe if he doesn't look it'll go away.

“You're holding up track cleaning protocol.” The man says with obvious annoyance as he steps closer, clipboard gripped tight at his side.

“Shit—” You mumble under your breath, still trying to process the thought of what almost just happened between you two.

With a deep sigh, you reluctantly pull away.

“I apologize! Moving the car now—to the garage…” Jungwon stutters awkwardly as he adjusts his suit to cover up how hard he still is, not sure that he could handle any more embarrassment tonight.

“Hurry up kid! We don’t need a lawsuit filed tonight…” The man says his voice dripping with disgust as he turns away. Muttering more unpleasant things under his breath.

You nervously fix your suit, brushing off tension like you weren't about to blow the new rookie on his first night.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?” Jungwon asks his eyes wide and hopeful.

You pause.

“Well, depends if your car needs any work done before the next race—” 

“Tires! Tires need to be rotated, like soon…like tomorrow soon—” Jungwon interrupts, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

You glance at the car illuminated in the dim safety light of the stadium. Your eyes looking at the front set, then the back…you’ve been here long enough to know…

Racecars don’t even need tire rotations.

You chuckle to yourself as Jungwon sits back in the driver's seat. Looking up at you with those big sharp eyes.

“My shop tomorrow, don't be late…” You say with a soft smile.

Jungwons face lights up, and it makes your heart flutter again. You can’t help but lean down and give him a soft kiss goodbye.

✩ ✩ ✩

The next morning, you hear the rumble of an unfamiliar car pulling up to the open garage door.

You’re elbows deep under the hood of a Chevy Camaro you’ve commissioned to work on for weeks.

You hear the engine cut. Your eyes widening as Jungwon rounds the corner to the garage. 

“Didn’t think you’d actually show…since you know—” You tease.

“Racecars don’t get their tires rotated? I know, I know.” Jungwon chuckles as he runs his hand through his dark hair. 

He’s dressed casually now, jeans and a tight shirt paired with a leather jacket. You can’t deny he looks good. 

“Well, my Stinger just got in yesterday…I was thinking we could maybe work on it together?” Jungwon asks with a weak smile. His voice is desperate but terrified that he’s crossing a line. 

Your eyes light up at his words. A Stinger? Fuck—there’s no way he has good taste in cars too.

“A Stinger? Shit Jungwon let’s bring her in—“

Hours go by as the two of you work on the details. Hands covered in grime, smudges of dirt across your face as you lean over the hood. 

He helps you rotate the tires, hands you a wrench when you need.

But for the most part he just watches you with a stupid grin on his face as you’re arms deep in one of most prized possessions. 

And you look so damn good doing it. 

Jungwon's mind wandered to last night, the race, the kiss, all of it.

He bites his lip as he replays the memory again. Your lips on his, the way your hands felt on him as you spoke. 

“Hey, so, about last night—“ Jungwon blurts out unexpectedly.

You stop. The noise of metal against metal fades in an instant as you come up from beneath the hood. 

“What about it?” You ask casually as you grab a towel from your workbench to wipe your hands clean like it’s second nature. 

“I just…was I crazy or was that definitely more than a heat of the winning moment thing—“ Jungwon confesses. 

There it goes again, your heart rate picking up. You wipe the sweat from your brow as you subconsciously take another step closer to him. The sound of your footsteps echoes off the walls as you close the distance.

“No, I liked it. It felt better than it should.” You say softly, your voice almost rigid like you're holding back. 

“Would you punch me in the face if I asked to do it again?” Jungwon says softly, his eyes glancing at your grease-stained figure like it's the only thing he wants to see.

He steps closer, boots echoing on the concrete as he closes the distance. His fingertips caress your face again, just like he did last night on the empty track.

Your breath catches as he licks his thumb, before gently wiping a streak of black from your cheek. 

“Jungwon…” you gasp, voice shaky at just how soft and intimate his touch is. 

 You don’t even realize you’re glancing at his lips and he’s glancing at yours.

Hungry, craving more of the taste he had last night. 

You close your eyes and lean in, this time the kiss is gentle, his lips caressing your own softly like you’re made of glass.

This time there’s air to breathe. 

He pulls away, trembling. Praying he didn’t cross another uncrossable line. 

“Will you go out with me tonight? Like on a date?” Jungwon winces as he confesses before he has a chance to change his mind. 

You look up at Jungwon in shock. Maybe all the loud engines got to you—because you aren’t hearing things right. You open your mouth to respond but words just can’t fall out. 

Jungwon just stands there, trembling, softly stroking the skin on your face.

You just nod, completely breathless like you can’t believe this is happening. 

“I’d like that…” you whisper enough for the words not to echo off the walls. 

“Yeah?” Jungwon asks his voice breathy as his shoulders drop all the tension with your response. 

“There’s an old diner off Main Street. It’s a little bit of a drive but…maybe we can get you your first real American meal.” You say with a smile.

Jungwon can’t hold back his excitement and relief. Grinning ear to ear as he pulls you closer. His lips ghosting against your own as he speaks. 

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” 

✩ ✩ ✩

Once you're back in your apartment you realize it’s been years since you were last asked on a date.

A real date not just a hook-up or a link.

The thought alone makes you giddy.

You decide to keep it simple tonight. Wear a plain black tank that hugs all your curves and pair it with your favorite pair of jeans. You throw on your brother's old racing jacket to pull the whole look together. 

You glance in the mirror, adjusting your makeup and hair how you like.

And that’s when you hear a knock at the door. 

You run to answer it, knowing exactly who you were expecting.

Jungwon stands in the doorway. His hair is styled out of his face, letting you see his forehead and eyebrows.

He’s wearing nearly the same thing as earlier. A pair of jeans and a tight shirt, tied together with a leather jacket. 

He has a small bouquet in his hand as he nervously rubs the back of his neck with the other. His expression lights up the second you open the door and he sees your face.

God you look perfect, those jeans, that jacket. He almost has to pinch himself to see if this is real, if you’re real.

He nervously shakes his head clearing his throat. 

“These are for you…you look stunning,” Jungwon says his voice almost shaky with disbelief as he hands you the small bouquet. 

“Thank you…” you say softly cheeks heating up from the kind gesture. No one’s ever done anything like this for you. Your heart races as you look over the flowers he picked out in your favorite color. 

You step into your kitchen and place them in a small vase of water. Before you know it, you're grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

The drive to the diner is comfortably quiet. The hum of the engine cuts through the air, and the radio plays softly in the background as the two of you talk.

Conversation comes easy, you talk about racing, music, the town. He drives slowly. For the first time, he’s savoring the moment instead of racing towards a finish line. 

The neon lights and cracked parking lot pavement signal you’ve made it. Jungwon opens the door for you and offers his hand as the two of you walk into the old diner. 

Immediately you’re hit with the smell of grease and coffee. It’s comforting in a way. The bell rings as you step in the door.

One of the waitresses greets you before leading you across the checkered tile to a small booth in the back of the restaurant. 

Jungwon sits across from you, fingertips holding the sticky menu in his hand. Glancing over the top to smile at you. 

You help him pick something off the menu. The air between you isn’t nerves, there’s no pressure to perform with him.

For once you feel like you can just be you.

The waitress brings the two of you your meals. A plate of burgers and fries and two milkshakes, one strawberry and one chocolate.

Jungwon throws a few more fries into his mouth before breaking the silence. He asks the question that’s been lingering on his tongue since he met you. 

“So…how did you get into all of this? Racing and cars I mean.” He asks curiously. 

You exhale, taking another sip of your milkshake and slouching against the sticky leather of the booth. Your throat tightens and you glance out the window. The memories already starting to come back. 

“It was my brother. He used to race..” you say with a soft whisper, voice heavy from holding back.

“He was older…always took care of me you know? He loved cars since we were kids. Would watch reruns of NASCAR every weekend on our shitty TV.” You say with a warm smile as you start to open up. 

You gesture to your racing jacket. Patched with yellow and black and your last name is embroidered on the front pocket. 

“This was his. He only got to race a few times before he passed. I know if he was still here he’d be one of the best.” You say softly as tears swell in your eyes. 

Jungwon just listens. He reaches out across the table, taking your hand in his. Rubbing small circles across your knuckles in an attempt comfort you. 

“The racing and cars? That’s the last piece I have left of him. And I just can’t let it go—even if I have to fight twice as hard for my spot.“ you whisper. 

There’s a beat of comfortable silence before Jungwon softly speaks up. 

“It’s hard, you know...being the foreigner, people never really take me seriously,” Jungwon confesses. 

“They take one look at me and hear my accent and just—I know what it’s like to fight twice as hard for a spot,” Jungwon says, his hand tightening around yours. 

“It’s like no matter how good I drive or how fast my lap times are they just see me as the kid from Korea with bad English,” Jungwon confesses, his voice heavy. 

“You know Jungwon…you don’t have to prove anything for me, you don’t have to change anything. I like you the way you are—like really like you.” You confess voice barely above a whisper. Like saying it softly would soften the impact. 

Jungwon squeezes your hand a little tighter with a soft smile. He lets the tension drop from his shoulders at your words. 

“You have no idea what that means to me…” 

The two of you continue to drink your shakes and munch on the plate of fries between you. The air is charged, like there’s still so much left to say.

“You know I usually don’t do the whole dating thing…” Jungwon confesses, his ears flushing red. 

“You know it’s always been racing, practice, training, that type of thing. He adds softly. 

“No I totally get it…most guys don’t want to date a girl who can change a tire faster than them.” You say with a weak self-deprecating chuckle. 

“Their loss,” Jungwon says with a soft breathily laugh.

 “I like women who know how to lead and take control,” Jungwon confesses, biting his bottom lip at the thought. Trying to hide the massive smirk threatening to form on his face.

“Oh yeah? That’s why you were all whiny last night after the race?” You tease, raising an eyebrow. 

“You have no idea what you did to me after the race…I almost came in my suit—“ Jungwon confesses his breath sharp as he locks eyes with you. 

And you know his words are nothing but the truth. 

Jungwon takes care of the check and walks you back to the car. The drive back to your apartment is quiet and charged. Like there’s so much both of you need to say but can’t. 

Jungwon pulls into the garage, swiftly backing into an empty space in a dark corner. There’s hardly anyone else around. 

“I—uh, really had a good time with you tonight.” He says softly, his eyes still scanning your features in the dark light. Lingering on how the light cast highlights your best features.

There’s still so much tension simmering beneath you two. 

“I don’t want this to be over…” you blurt out before you can even process the words leaving your mouth. But between the kiss last night, and the way he’s looking at you now, you can’t pass this up…

Jungwon swallows hard, throat bobbing at your words. His eyes flicker to yours, then down to your lips again. 

“Y—you don’t?” Jungwon chokes out breathlessly. Tense like he wants to reach out but he doesn’t know if he should. 

You shake your head. Smiling softly as you lean across the center console. He puts the car in park, letting the engine softly rumble beneath your seat. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Jungwon…” you confess, leaning even closer into his space. Eyes half-lidded with desire. 

Jungwon can’t even respond. He just closes the distance, kissing you again. 

It’s heated, hot, fast. He breathes hot against your lips swallowing your breath as you kiss him back. Your fingertips roughly tangling in his dark hair.

You break apart, barely to whisper against his lips.

“I think I should fulfill that promise I made you yesterday…” you whisper voice hoarse with need. 

“Want some help with that tension, rookie?” You ask, but this time it’s not teasing. It’s just as mutually desperate. 

Jungwon just nods, eyes locked on yours just like the night before on the track. He’s begging, pleading for you to take care of him. 

“Backseat?” You ask as you lean in, kissing him once more before pulling away with a dangerous look on your face. 

“F—fuck…fuck yeah, I’m coming…” Jungwon stutters as he removes his seatbelt with a quick click before the two of you climb into the backseat. 

The minute the doors lock your hands are on him. He pushes your racing jacket off your shoulders as you climb onto his lap. 

You gasp against his lips, he’s already hard, trying to bite back another moan as your hands slide up and down his heated body. 

Your lips drag down his throat, messy and hot as you leave wet kisses across his warm skin. The windows are already fogging from the warmth. 

You moan as you grind down on him again. The roughness of your clothes causes friction that drives you both crazy with need.

You gasp, feeling your thighs twitch with the anticipation. 

Jungwon's head hits the window as he gasps back. Soft whimpers fall from his lips as he lets you take control. His cock throbs hard in his pants, hands gently resting on your thighs. 

You glance at how wrecked he is already, still completely dressed just like back on the empty track. You bite your lip as you grab the bottom of your tank to pull it up and over your head. 

Jungwon moans at the sight of you. His eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you straddling him. His fingertips softly trace your sides, feeling the soft warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. 

Your breath hitches as his hand slides across your sides and the underwire of your bra. You flinch at his reverent touch. 

“You okay?” He whispers intimately as his fingertips drag across the curves of your breasts, your stance faltering at the softness of his touch. 

“Yeah I’m just not used to this—this feeling…” you gasp, the confession slipping past all logic in the moment. 

But there’s something about the way he looks at you. The way he looks beneath you and you can’t hide behind a mask anymore. 

“It’s okay, I’m not used to it either…” Jungwon coaxes softly, his hands gently find your bare back, and he pulls you down to lie on top of him chest to chest. 

There’s a quiet pause, the sound of your harsh breathing feels loud in the quiet backseat of the car. The air is already thick and steamy. 

“Do you want this? Want me?” Jungwon asks, his voice cracking with emotion. He looks up at you with those wide round eyes.

You want him, you really do, all parts of him. From the cocky attitude on the race track to the quiet whispered confessions.

You want every single part.

“I want you Jungwon…you don’t even know what you’ve done to me—“ you say a little breathless. 

Jungwon gently grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you down, capturing your lips in a soft reverent kiss like he’s trying to pour every unspoken confession into your mouth. 

You break away panting, thighs trembling as heat builds in between them. 

You gently kiss the side of his face, slowly dragging your lips back down his neck and over the faint mark left from last night. 

Jungwons hands still at his side like he doesn’t know exactly what to do. 

“You can touch me…please Jungwon touch me.” You mumble into his skin, taking in the faint scent of his sweet cologne. 

Jungwon hesitates, freezing underneath you. You can’t help but chuckle deeply. 

You’re going to have to talk him through this. 

You gently slip your hand between the heat of your bodies, popping the button on your jeans and pulling the zipper down. 

Jungwon’s still panting beneath you, hands trembling. Scared he’ll somehow fuck this up. 

“Breathe for me…” you coax sweetly as you grab his wrist, gently guiding it to the heat between your thighs. 

Jungwon catches the hint, his hand slips inside your jeans, pushing your panties aside. He moans as he feels how wet you already are. 

His fingertips are still trembling, a little unsure as he moves his wrist, dragging his fingertips through your folds like he wants to memorize every part of it. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” Jungwon whispers, cheeks flushing hot as he gently slips his index finger into your heat, gently pumping in and out moaning as he feels you clench around him.

“That’s all for you—“ you gasp, completely breathless as the feeling of his finger inside you sends waves of pleasure through your body. 

Jungwon bites his lip when he sees your reaction, he pushes your panties aside even more, gently pushing in another finger. Stretching you out even further.

Your head falls to his shoulder as he fingers you at steady pace. Your hips chase his fingers and he pumps and curls them hitting spots that only make you wetter. 

“Fuck—can I taste you?” You ask the words stumbling out shamelessly as your hips buck against his fingers.

“Hell yes—hell fucking yes…” Jungwon stutters his hands retreating from between your thighs as you awkwardly try to shift positions in the tightness of the backseat of the car. 

Jungwon brings his fingertips to his lips, reluctantly tasting you. He lets out a deep moan as the sweet taste hits his tongue. 

“Holy fuck…you taste so fucking good—“ he murmurs completely breathless as you pull down the zipper of his jeans, pulling them down with his boxers enough to let his cock spring free. 

“Holy shit—let me taste you too…” Jungwon mumbles as he grabs your hips, pushing down your jeans and your soaked panties, before tossing them to the car floor. 

He awkwardly manuevers himself underneath you, hands gripping at your ass, knees cramped on either side of his face. 

You position yourself to be at eye level with his cock. Hard, twitching, and already leaking. 

You kiss his swollen tip, gripping the leather edge car seats to keep yourself up. 

The top of Jungwon’s head hits the side door as he kisses the inside of your thighs, already slick with arousal.

He lets out a shaky moan as your tongue slides across his sensitive tip teasing him before sucking a few more inches into your mouth. 

Jungwon pulls you down, hands gripping your ass as his tongue slides through your folds. He closes his eyes, hips bucking up into your mouth for more.

You close your lips around his cock, hand gripping the base to pump the inches you can’t take inside your mouth. You moan around his hard cock, hips twitching each time Jungwon flicks your clit with his tongue. 

 Your spit pools at the base of his cock, and you tactfully use it to lubricate your movements. He’s already twitching, hips arching off the leather car seat into your mouth. 

Jungwon pulls away to gasp for air…mumbling under his breath. 

“Shit…shit I’m gonna come—“ he whines as he lazily drags his mouth across your pussy with no coordination. 

You immediately slow down your movements, earning a strangled moan from the back of his throat. His cock twitches with need as you slide your lips off of it. Licking the salty pre cum from your lips with a satisfied groan. 

You slide off his chest, flipping back around in the cramped backseat. Jungwons hips buck up into the air as he whines—actually whines. 

“Please...oh God I need to come—I fuck…please just ride me til I come..” Jungwon begs beneath you shamelessly. 

You bite your lip. Feeling more wetness slip down your inner thighs as you watch him squirm and beg for you to take him. 

You line yourself up with his cock, his pants still pushed down to his knees. You reach between your bodies to grab his twitching slick cock, guiding it to your entrance. 

Jungwon cries out painfully as you touch him. Sweat runs down his brow as he feels his swollen tip pushing into your aching walls.

He grips the side of the leather seat hard. Crying out your name you finally sink into him. 

You let out a breathless sigh as you finally take him. His girth stretches you with a pleasurable sting. You gasp for air as everything inside the car feels too small and hot all at once. 

“Fuck you’re so deep Jungwon...” you moan as you finally sink completely down. You rock your hips back and forth, slowly chasing your pleasure as his cock drags deliciously against the front of your walls. 

Jungwon can’t even conjure up real words. There are tears in his eyes as he whimpers and groans beneath you almost like he’s in pain. His hands are shaky as they rest on your waist. Your thighs burning as you do all the work. 

The slick sounds of skin on skin fills the inside of the car. You bite your lip as you look down at Jungwon, riding him with a steady pace. 

His hips buck up into you every time you slam down onto his cock punctuated by a breathless moan. 

Jungwon’s cock twitches inside you and you know he’s close. Barely holding on, but he’s holding out. Waiting for you to permit him. 

You pleasure yourself on top of him, gently letting your hand cup his soft face as it contorts with pained pleasure. His cheeks flushed, hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat.

You let your fingertips slide across his cheek, across his lips as he murmurs and moans beneath you. Tears fall down his soft cheeks as he painfully tries to hold back his release. 

“Please, I can’t—I fucking can’t…let me come...please just let me come…” Jungwon begs beneath you. Sniffling between sharp breaths as his cock twitches painfully inside you.

“You’ve been such a good boy…” you say softly as you push more of his dark hair out of his face. Gently using your thumbs to wipe the tears from his cheeks. 

“Fill me up Jungwon…” you whisper. 

Jungwon breaks—sobbing your name as he shamelessly spills his load into you. Painting you with his cum as he lets out a strangled cry. His hips jerk as he comes hard. 

You help him ride it out. Hips rolling satisfying circles on his dick as you milk every drop he has to give. 

Jungwon falls against the door, panting for breath on the verge of hyperventilating. He can’t even speak as his chest rises and falls as he struggles to regain his breath. 

“You did so good Jungwon…” you whisper against him as you slide off his cock, cum dripping onto the leather seat as you gently cup his face. Kissing him slowly. 

His eyes flutter shut, too weak to really even kiss you back or move his hands. 

“You fucking wrecked me…I need a goddam inhaler—“ Jungwon stutters out against your lips. 

“You did good rookie..” you mumble against his lips as you intimately kiss him one more time. 

He chuckles softly, eyes still shut, mind still dazed.

“Jungwon…” you choke out, heart racing in your chest, fingertips trembling. 

“Yes?” He chokes out between sharp breaths. 

“Stay—please stay the night with me.” You whisper so softly it can barely be heard over the sharpness of his breathing. 

“Of course…I’d love to.” Jungwon says beneath you. A lazy smile spreads across his lips as he looks you up and down. 

“Plus, I think I still have a job to do—” Jungwon smirks as he gently holds your hips again. Noticing the aching heat still building between your thighs. 

“Fuck yeah, you do…” you mumble against his lips. 

And later that night you find out, Jungwon truly is a man of his word. 

He stays. 

And to you that means everything. 

✩ ✩ ✩

The next morning, you wake up completely enveloped in warmth. Jungwon is in bed with you, breath soft against the back of your neck, his arms draped across your naked body.

Jungwon stirs awake as you shuffle through the sheets. The cool fabric brushes against your skin as Jungwon pulls you closer.

“Morning…” Jungwon mumbles into your skin, his lips placing a soft kiss on your shoulder as his legs tangle with yours.

“How’d you sleep?” You ask softly, leaning into his warm, comforting touch.

“The best I have in years, thanks to you…” Jungwon mumbles as he pulls you closer, hands across your chest.

He gently runs his fingertips across the fullness of your breasts, across the curve of your waist. He's not trying to arouse you; he's genuinely worshiping you.

Every curve and inch…

You hum softly as you let his hands slowly roam over you underneath the sheets. Between your legs, over your stomach, and hips. You tilt your head back, letting his lips find yours.

“Breakfast? Or another round of pussy first?” You ask playfully.

Jungwon groans, pulling you closer to him, his lips dragging across your jawline, stopping just underneath your ear.

“Have you learned nothing about me?” Jungwon teases, his hand already slipping lower between your thighs, across your folds.

“Let me taste you again…” Jungwon mumbles into your hair from behind, his fingertips pushing through your folds to find your clit, rubbing small tight circles across it.

“You didn’t have your fill last night?” You ask with a soft groan, feeling that warmth between your thighs again with each circle of your sensitive clit.

“Mhmm, never,” Jungwon groans into your skin. He slowly pulls his body away from the warmth of yours, letting you rest flat on your back.

He doesn’t waste any time; he lazily pushes your thighs apart, licking a slow, wet stripe from hole to clit. You let your head fall back against the pillows as he starts to tease you with soft licks to your folds.

You’re still sensitive from last night, hands tangling loosely in his hair as he makes out with your pussy at a lazy pace.

He's in no rush to make you come—and it's driving you crazy.

His tongue lazily fucks into your hole, and you clench around him, moaning shamelessly as you pull him closer by the hair. Your thighs are already shaking, pulsing with need.

Jungwon closes his eyes, dragging his tongue across you until he finds your clit again. Your back arches off the mattress and he holds your thighs apart. Flicking at your clit before sucking on it.

“Fuck—” You curse as your grip on his hair tightens. Your thighs shake and deep moans escape from your throat signaling that you're close.

Jungwon doubles down on your clit, pressing the tip of his tongue against your fast and firm. It draws you right to the edge.

“Shit—I'm coming” You gasp as Jungwon coaxes you through another orgasm with his tongue. You grip his hair tight, heat pulsing with pleasure as wave after wave of arousal spills onto his lips and chin.

He laps up every drop shamelessly as you lie limp beneath him completely spent.

“Fuck I don’t think I'll ever get tired of eating you out—” Jungwon mumbles as he places another soft kiss on the folds of your pussy before pulling away.

“That's one hell of a way to wake up—” You say, completely spent already, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

“Fuck breakfast…let me just have some more of your pussy for real—” Jungwon mumbles as he puts his hands on either side of your head, leaning down to kiss you, slow and deep.

“God I'm never letting you go—” You mumble against his lips.

✩ ✩ ✩

Over the next few weeks, long training days turn into sleepless nights of pleasure. Jungwon is picking up skills fast, on the track, in the garage, and inside your bed.

Somewhere, as weeks bleed into months, Jungwon becomes something you never expected. He’s become your strength and weakness all wrapped into one. 

He stays. Every night.

And you wake up in his arms every morning. 

After all the qualifying races, Jungwon was selected as a stand-by-driver for the Daytona 500. And Toyota has made it clear time and time again.

This rookie? He’s still a gamble.

No matter how many seconds he cuts off his lap time. No matter how fast he drove in the qualifying races. 

You’ve been tasked with making sure his car is in pristine condition for the race, should he need to step in. You had been sure that wouldn’t happen. 

You’ve watched the Daytona for years. You know it's the biggest, most nerve-racking race of the year. Of course it is, the big prize is on the line.

It's a race even seasoned veterans can only dream about competing in. It is long, tough, and something people train decades for.

But not Jungwon.

He nearly drops his phone out of his hand when he gets the call. One of Toyota's veteran drivers had a collision during practice. He’s got a concussion, and he’s out. 

Which means you're now guiding him through the Daytona 500.

You could say there was a little bit of nerves on the day of the race. 

Trailers line the track, fans fill the stadium, and national television is on every single corner.

Your hands are clammy as you step onto the track, going over the usual checklist, plenty of extra tires, and a large stash of fuel. Extra pit crew and mechanics on standby for the intensity and length of the race.

Your heart stops as Jungwon appears, cameras flashing from every angle as he makes his way onto the track. He was pale, so pale, trembling as he tried to hide his shaking hands behind his back as cameras flashed relentlessly.

You’re breathless as you watch him approach the side of the car, you can’t help but feel your heart overflow with emotion for this man you've come to love.

You meant what you said back at the diner. You don’t just like every part of him.

You’ve fallen in love with every part.

Your eyes are glassy with tears as you climb over the pit wall to the loading station. Jungwon's crimson red Toyota rumbles, hot and ready to conquer the track. The press soon moves to another racer, just in time for you to reach him.

Your boots drag against the asphalt as you walk towards him, slowly savoring every moment of his big day. You’ve watched him push past his limit in training.

And you know from the bottom of your heart, no matter what happens out there on that racetrack. Nothing can change what's grown between the two of you now.

Jungwon’s heart beats in his chest as you approach him, the roar of the crowd and announcers fades into background noise the second he lays eyes on you. His hands tremble as he reaches out, grabbing your waist like it's second nature.

He breathes you in, that same citrus scent from your shampoo that drives him crazy. He pulls your body into him, letting his face bury in your hand, hands shaking as he holds you.

“Breathe, Jungwon…you’ve got this, we’ve got this…” You whisper into his chest as he holds you close.

Your words do help slow the frantic racing of his heart. He swallows a sharp breath, throat bobbing with nerves as he chokes out a whisper.

“I don’t know if I’m ready, I'm definitely not ready for this…” Jungwon confesses.

“Trust me, you are. No matter what happens out on that track, you're making history, baby—” You say with a weak chuckle of disbelief.

Here’s the man you love, about to race in the most important race of his life. The race you grew up in, the race that bonds you to your late brother.

You can't help but let silent tears fall down your face as you remember the times you spent in your living room watching the Daytona on your shitty boxed screen TV. Your older brother right by your side for every lap of the way.

He would be proud of you, so proud.

So proud of the woman you became, so proud of all the things you've overcome.

Jungwon can't help but let silent tears fall down his cheeks, he knows how much this race means to you. He knows how much this means to your very soul. 

He pulls you closer, letting the rest of your tears fall without a single word.

You inhale sharply as you pull away, letting his gloved hands wipe the rest of the tears off your face.

“You come back to me, rookie—promise me you will…” You gasp, your forehead falling against the warmth of his own.

He kisses you, for good luck, before pulling away, panting, completely breathless. 

“I promise you I will…” 

You watch from your pit tower as Jungwon's red car lines up in the starting position. The crowd roars as the countdown begins. 

“You’ve got this Jungwon, just like we practiced” You breathe out into your microphone. Hands trembling as you look down at the racetrack and the rainbow of cars behind that white finish line.

“Copy that—” Jungwon replies, his voice still low and shaky. He shifts in his seat, gripping the wheel tightly as he watches the 

Those three seconds are the longest of his life. Once he gets the green light, he's off into the race.

He keeps a steady speed as he pulls into the race, taking lap after lap. The nerves wear off slightly with each mile he takes. 

Your voice over the headset grounds him as you talk him through the race. The two of you have become a good team, and here is your moment to prove it.

“That’s it, stay outside,” You say professionally as you watch the track below. 

“Copy that,” Jungwon says confidently, sliding his car to the outside of the track as you navigate him through the congestion.

“Watch 53 on your left coming up fast—” You command through the mic. 

Jungwon immediately reacts. Checking his mirrors as he weaves in and out of the sea of rainbow-painted cars.

The crowd roars, and he continues to take lap after lap, mile after mile, holding his center spot in the race.

After about 100 laps, things start to heat up. He pumps the gas harder, fighting to keep up with the rest of the racers.

“100 more to go. Keep it steady,” You say, shoulders relaxing as you watch him take 18th place, then 17th, steadying at 16th on the leaderboard.

Jungwon fights, 25 laps, 25 more on the last 50; he gives it his all.

This is the moment he's trained for. He grips the steering wheel tightly, hands sweating underneath his gloves, hair sticking to his forehead underneath his helmet.

The adrenaline kicks in as he picks up speed, taking 15th place.

The crowd cheers as the race gets closer and closer to the end. Jungwon fights, holding off 15th place as his own.

You bite your fingertips as you watch the leaderboard. Watching his speed below.

On the last five laps, Jungwon pushes his car to the limit, the engine roars as he floors the gas, and the finish line in sight right in front of him.

He pushes and pushes, as fast as his car can go. You can hardly breathe as he crosses the finish line.

Not first but not last.

You're already crying as you throw off your headset and run to the track.

Your boots slam against the track as you run straight to him. Pushing through the usual crowd of reporters and journalists. 

Tears start to fall as Jungwon removes his helmet to see you running through the crowd straight towards him.

You crash into him, wrapping your arms around him like a lifeline. He hugs you back, sobbing as he lifts you off your feet to spin you around in the chaos. 

Just as the winner is announced, he leans in and cups your face, kissing you like there's no tomorrow.

You pull away completely breathless, his slick forehead resting against yours as you struggle for breath.

“I'm so fucking proud of you…” You gasp before crashing your lips into his again. Jungwon chuckles with disbelief as he kisses you back, dipping you without a care in the world.

“I didn’t win…” Jungwon chokes out weakly as he pulls you up, holding your thighs as you settle yourself back on your feet.

“You came back to me…and that's everything,” You say, voice getting caught in your throat as you hold back more tears.

“I always will, every time—” Jungwon mutters, the cheer of the crowd and the crowning of the winner becoming background noise to the charged moment between the two of you.

“I love you…” You say, strained, raw, completely real.

Jungwon wipes another tear from his cheek as he fights off more of your words. 

“I love you too.” He whispers back, voice cracking and deep, tears on the verge of spilling over.

He didn’t cross the finish line first, and it doesn’t even matter.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have to chase the finish lines.

You love him. He’s enough.

And he'll come back to you.

Every lap. Every race. Every time.

And that's the only finish line that matters.

© brokenengene

note: I hope you guys enjoyed this fic! I've been dying to write for Jungwon...the fact that I outlined even more for this fic, but it ended still being 11k with the cuts is insane. Let me know if you are as obsessed with this as I am. It was so much fun to write a little out of my comfort zone!

I'm truly grateful for every reblog, like, and comment. It truly means the world to me. Thank you for reading! I wish you guys all the best!

Written with love,

xoxo kate <3

masterlist!

taglist: @yenienha @meowwons @svquon @won1yoiz @nishimura-mimura @cutehoons02 @nics-fxy @aggarwaldrishti @seokjinthescientist @enhastargirl @kyunlov @yang-garden0906 @won4me @shaysimpss @bestboileeknow @kristynaaah @onlywwon @k1ttyjwon @pr3ttyf4ce

[gothicpaperback]

<<< PART THREE: LIABILITIES | PART FIVE: COMING SOON >>>

wc: 6,1k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Harry Castillo x You | FALSE RELATIONSHIP

summary: you don’t believe in love. neither does he. that’s the only thing you agree on. after swearing off romance, you’ve built a quiet life in art preservation and avoiding anything resembling vulnerability. but when Harry Castillo, arrogant, infuriating, and stupidly rich, proposes you pretend to be his fiancée for the sake of getting his overbearing mother off his back, you’re thrown. but the money is good and with your detached views on romance and love, you make the perfect polished, commitment-free partner. It’s just a deal; cold, clean and temporary. but pretending to be in love with a man you can’t stand has a way of making you feel things you promised yourself you’d never feel again. especially when he starts looking at you like you're more than just a line item in a contract. And worst of all? You start looking back

the MC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely described physically aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: false relationship, mentions of materialists film spoilers, smut, enemies to lovers. i will add more tags as they become relevant.

taglist: @chasingthepoguelife | @tnsmara | @sarahhxx03 | @taehyungxjungkookistaekook | @bluenightmarepost | @kakiki3 | @pascal-mynightlyobsession | @immyowndefender | @dedicatedfangirl2001 | @dotyoureyez | @decadent-hag1 | @madmelz | @sarahhxx03 | @orcasoul | @papapappapapapa | @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 | @greenwitchfromthewoods | @insertclevernamehereplease | @titlee78 | @thedisagreeablegirl | @millersgirll | @brinapedroswife | @15christyxoxo |

THE ART OF THE DEAL | PART FOUR| SIGNS OF INSTABILITY

"We're engaged."

You hear it seconds before you actually comprehend it. By the time your brain catches up with what he's just said the entire family is reacting. Mona has tears in her eyes and Adrian is clapping harder than anyone. 

Mason and Eleanor look pleased, but a little irritated, not that you can blame them after overshadowing their big news. And there at the end of the table is Ada looking stone faced, clapping politely. 

You turn to Harry with your brows raised, shocked when his hands go to either side of your jaw and his lips crash against yours. 

It's a terrible kiss. Hard and dry and you can barely focus because your mind is going a million miles an hour. Everything in you wants to push him off of you and go running from the house. 

Think of the money. 

Everyone is clapping, excitedly whooping and Harry has the gall to give a dimpled grin at everyone. 

And suddenly the family is circling you giving you and Harry hugs, welcoming you to the family, asking about wedding plans. You feel overwhelmed, your eyes huge. Harry holds you through all of it, arm around your waist as if he's scared you'll take off running. Who knows, maybe you will. 

"But you don't have a ring," Eleanor says with a puzzled look as she takes your left hand. "Where is the heirloom ring?"  

"It needs to be resized," Harry explains smoothly. "I just couldn’t wait to ask her." 

You just keep nodding and blinking, forcing yourself to smile at everyone. Inside your stomach is a twister and you want to murder the tall man next to you. 

"Mason proposed on top of the empire State building," Eleanor tells you with a beam up at him. "He rented out the whole 86th floor because my favorite movie is Sleepless in Seattle. He had candles and a string quarter and from the elevator to the table was littered with rose petals. My sister was so jealous." 

You try to hold in a smirk. That proposal sounds ridiculous. But you nod and tell her it sounds wonderful.

Mona keeps hugging you and saying she can't wait to have you as her new daughter. You're surprised how your eyes grow wet at this statement. 

Then she's hugging Eleanor saying that she loves her and thanks her for giving her a grandchild. She goes between the two of you like a ping pong, overwhelmed by her embarrassment of riches. 

"How did Harrison propose?" Mason asks, his arms around Eleanor, rocking her from behind. "He's always been the romantic one."

This guy rents out a floor of the empire State building and Harry is the romantic one?

"Honey, did you want to take this one?" You say to Harry with saccharine sweetness. You covertly pinch his side. "You tell it so much better." 

"Of course,"' Harry says wincing at the pinch. But for the first time in his life, he is at a loss. 

And for the first time in the evening Ada does something that the two of you can appreciate. She stands, making a great show of tapping her cane. 

"I'm afraid all of this enthusiasm has me feeling quite exhausted. Mona, help me to my room." 

Mona nods, squeezing you and Eleanor's hands once more before walking after her mother who can clearly make it to her room alone.  

Harry takes the opportunity to excuse the two of you, saying that you two should be leaving. Eleanor and Mason, clearly overwhelmed by everything that happened tonight, agree, heading for the door after giving their Uncle Adrian a tight hug. 

It's only once you're in the car and being driven home that you let the smile drop from your face. As soon as the large estate is in the rearview mirror you swing to face Harry next to you, bracing himself. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Engaged is not what we agreed to, Castillo!"

"I know," Harry says, dragging his hand down his face as the car tires move over the gravel. "I can't believe I did that."

You're surprised to see Harry looking so out of sorts. He looks minutes away from ripping his hair out. 

"Well, you have to tell them the truth."

"That I'm paying you to pretend to be in a relationship with me?"

"I don't know what you're going to tell them, but this was not the agreement," you snap. "I agreed to girlfriend. That's it." 

"This changes practically nothing. You'll wear an engagement ring around my family and that's it."

"Are you serious?"

"Listen, this actually works in our favor. We go along with all this engaged stuff and then i end the 'engagement' in six months, I'm heartbroken, my mother gets off my back about marrying and you and I can part ways."

"You're demented."

"Can you just be reasonable?" Harry says, equally heated. "We end this a full half a year sooner than projected. And you'll still be paid for an entire year. This is a bargain."

"How are we ending things?"

"Huh?"

"You said that you're ending the relationship in 6 months. How are you going to end it? What's your reasoning going to be?"

His fingers begin tapping against his thighs as he thinks. "You have to move abroad for work."

"And if they run into me in downtown New York? How am I going to explain that?"

Harry pauses, exhaling sharply in frustration. He wants this all finished and tied up neat with a bow. "I'll tell them you cheated on me." 

"What the fuck? No!" You almost shout, surprising him. "So your family can hate me?"

"You don't even know my family! Why do you care if they like you or not?"

"I don't like the thought of people hating me. Your family was nice. Come up with something else."

Harry tilts his head back against the seat, eyes closing as he rubs at his left temple. 

"Fine. You want kids and I don't. You thought I'd change my mind by the time we got married but I didn't. Happy? Good enough?"

He doesn't notice the way your brows twitch together, focused only on your eventual nod. "Yeah. That's a good one."

You feel uneasy for the rest of the car ride home. You check your phone when it vibrates in your pocket. 

Payment cleared. 

You exhale as the car pulls up alongside the sidewalk outside of your building and as you step out of the vehicle you’re not surprised to find Harry there opening the door for you. 

He gives you a weak smile and the sight of it infuriates you. You're irritated that his money means he can treat you like a puppet. But more furious that you're allowing it. 

You shoulder past him, throwing out an ugly: "Just so you know Harrison, you're a terrible kisser." 

----

Harry paces back and forth in front of the mirror that evening, a scowl on his face. Everything feels so fucked up, so out of control. 

Harry has always been in control. He's got everything planned; he knows how to control a room, a business, a social life. And now he's here at midnight, drinking and berating himself for coming up with this stupid plan in the first place. 

He was just so sick of the pressure to perform, to be perfect, to outdo Mason, to be the head of the family. 

Just so you know Harrison, you're a terrible kisser. 

Fuck why does that embarrass him so much? He hadn't been trying to be romantic. He just wanted to sell the story. 

He's not a bad kisser is he? 

He's had too much to drink because the phone is in his hand and he's sending a text before he stops to think. 

Hey. It's Harry

Hi H. How's it going? 

Heard through the grapevine that you're engaged. Congrats! 

Yeah, I'm pretty happy about it. He's a chill guy. 

Harry laughs softly to himself. Lucy's acerbic tone reads even through text. He quickly sobers as he shoots of another text.

Weird question but I need you to be 100000% honest.

K

Was I a good kisser? 

The phone rings suddenly, startling him. Lucy's number flashes up on the screen and he answers hastily.

"Hey Luc-"

"Harry, what the hell are you asking me that for?"

Harry can feel the back of his neck flushing. She doesn't sound upset, more confused with a touch of amusement. 

"It's weirdly important to me and I need you to be brutally honest, Lucy."

He thinks he hears her sigh on the other end of the phone. "Harry, as a woman engaged to another man this feels weird to say, but you were one of the best kissers I've ever had." 

Harry cannot deny the fission of pleasure this brings him. "You promise?"

"I swear to you. Now tell me why you're asking."

Harry thinks about pretending to get another call, but Lucy is kind and a gentle soul to talk to. 

"I was with this woman tonight and we kissed and then we got in an argument and she told me I was a terrible kisser."

It sounds so juvenile when he says it out loud like this. It's enough to have him cringing into his palm even though he's the only one in his bedroom. 

"My sweet unicorn," Lucy giggles. "Harry, she was clearly just saying that to get under your skin."

"You think?"

"I know." 

-----

The following days are busy ones at the gallery. You've been hard at work with the restoration and have been spending long hours behind your workbench. Y

Tonight, the small portrait resting delicately beneath the focused beam of your lamp. Before anything else, you spend time examining it closely. Under raking light and a low-powered microscope, you look for cracks in the paint layer, signs of flaking, and any past repairs that may have been poorly done. Every restoration has a story buried in its layers.

Maybe that's what you like about your job, the stories. 

You begin with a gentle surface cleaning, using soft cotton swabs and a mild conservation-grade solution to lift off years of soot and environmental buildup. It’s slow, careful, methodical work. It makes your back ache and your neck crick some days. 

It can be stressful as well because too much pressure or the wrong solvent could strip the original paint. Once the surface is stable and clean, you turn to the areas of loss. Tiny gaps where the paint has chipped away are filled in with a conservation-grade filler and carefully textured to match the original surface. Then comes the inpainting, using reversible pigments to bring color back where it's missing, always matching the original tones as faithfully as possible.

Throughout the process, you're thinking not just about how the piece looks now, but how it will age. Every decision has to be reversible, ethical, and gentle. Always gentle. Always respectful of the artist's hand and the passage of time. It reminds you how quickly time does rush by, memories soon forgotten.  

But this focus is good because that means that you don't have time to focus on Harry or the fact that he's just thrown a hand grenade into your fake relationship. When you do think about it on your lunch break this afternoon it pisses you off. You feel trapped, both by the situation and by the fact that you need Harry's money now. 

You recently made an expensive decision and you can't back out of it now. It was idiotic to do that perhaps, but it seemed like the right thing to do. 

But now? Now that seems like the stupidest thing you could have ever done. It ties you to Harry for the next year or six months or however long he decides to play up this charade. You're supposed to be engaged to him? A man you can barely stand for more than a few minutes at a time? 

But you don’t have a choice. You know this as you compose the text to him.

I’ll keep going with this ruse. But no more curveballs

Deal. Thank you.

"I love your dress." 

You glance up to see Gemma grinning at you, surveying your new outfit, your recently done hair, the high end makeup you treated yourself to. 

"Thanks, I just got it," you say with a small smile to yourself. After your argument with Harry you indulged in a bit of online retail therapy. Most of it is set to be returned because of guilt however. You don't need the stuff and it doesn't hurt Harry to spend his money. He has so much of it he'll never notice. 

"Have I told you the latest about Bradford?" She says with a giggle, coming to take a seat opposite you. "He wants to take me to Palm Spring for the weekend."

"Why palm springs?" 

"He has a gallery down there he wants me to see. He wants some advice on a new collection." 

You listen with wrapped focus as she tells you the numerous dates she and Bradford have been on. You fade in and out when the details become little saccharine but for the most part you're an attentive listener. 

"I better go, I have someone coming by," she says jumping up from her chair. "They want to see the Rosalba Carriera."  

She's off before you can ask any follow-up questions just as a buzz goes off in your pocket. You have a message from Harry. 

We have an event this Saturday. The Mets play the Giants this week and since my grandmother is in town my family is attending. 

You like baseball? 

Ada does. 

You don't bother confessing that you yourself love baseball. That you have since you were a child sitting beside your dad in the cheap seats. 

For once this is something you actually want to do. 

I'll be there. 

Okay. The car will be to get you at noon.  

I'll just meet you there. I have an errand I need to run. 

No girlfriend of mine is taking a taxi. I'll be to your apartment at noon. 

The conversation is over, you know this much. You toss your phone onto the table in irritation. Fuck this guy telling you that you can't just meet him there. 

Is all of this worth it? 

You pull out your phone and swipe through the photos. There's one from Christmas years ago, your mother dressed in a snowman onesie and your dad laughing in his favorite chair. 

You smile. Yeah, it's worth it. 

The only issue is pretending to be together. Is one thing at a dinner where Harry can do a lot of the conversationally heavy lifting. But this event gives opportunity for side talking, for probing questions. 

You're mulling over how to navigate this whole engagement thing when a clatter of heels rings out. It's Gemma with a tall, handsome man in tow. 

"And this is the woman I was telling you about," she says with a proud look in your direction. "Our head art conservator." 

The man behind her gives a shy smile your way, pushing his glasses up his nose a bit. Nervously. He's a severe kind of handsome with a noble look, almost aristocratic. He's dressed well, tailored and put together. 

You stand, looking politely his way. 

"George Edwin," he says extending his hand to you. You introduce yourself with a quick smile, noticing the expensive watch and shoes he wears. His light eyes move over one of your past words, the years of grime washed away leaving only beautiful paintstrokes.  

"Your work is exemplary," George says in awe. "I've never seen restoration talent like this in all my time purchasing."

You can't help but blush, eyes downcast. "Thank you." 

Gemma smiles widely. "George is here to purchase some items for a private buyer."

"Oh?"

He must see your disappointment because George raises a brow slightly. 

“Yes, but any pieces they purchase will remain in the gallery," he says. "A donation of sorts."

A tax write off. But still, fantastic news that the items will still be able to be seen by the general public. It's a fairly common act for those that wish to retain the value of their art knowing that museums can take better care of items than they would in their own home. It also enhances the item's value. 

"He's here to look at the Carriera specifically."

"Rumor is it arrived not long ago," George adds.

"I'm working on it right now." 

"May I?"

"Of course." 

You guide him over to your work desk, standing back so he can see what you've accomplished so far. 

"I can't believe a museum hasn't scooped you up yet."

"They've tried," Gemma says, pride in her voice. 

"My family always came to this gallery when I was growing up,” you explain. “I like it here." 

"I'll meet you upstairs with the paperwork," Gemma says with a secret sort of smile, clearly seeing the spark between the two of you. You'll have to thank her with drinks later.

"Could I give you my number?" George asks with a playful grin once she's gone. "I'm in town only a few weeks for the acquisition but I would love to take you to dinner while I'm here."

This isn't the first time you've run into this with out of town guests. A few weeks means no attachments, no strings. It promises dinners out and uninhibited sex all over your apartment and maybe his hotel room. 

You hand him your phone. 

"I'd love that." 

________________

Harry is surprised to see you waiting outside your apartment wearing jeans, a Mets team t-shirt and a matching baseball cap. Your fingernails are painted blue and orange and Harry realizes that they match your shoelaces.

When you see him exit the car you offer a wave, not flinching half as much when he kisses your cheek in greeting. You're getting used to it. You’re disappointed to see that he’s dressed like he normally is – curated and neutral. Expensive jeans, tailored shirt, smelling good.

"You need to wear this," he says pulling the heirloom ring from his pocket as the two of you sit in the town car. He had it resized for your finger yesterday. You take it from him but make no move to put it on. 

You just stare at it, body jostling when the car goes over a bump. Harry feels his brows knit together when you hesitate. 

"Just around your family, right?"

"Right."  

You nod and then slip it on, surprised at how tasteful it is. You expected gaudy and over the top, but in reality it's rather beautiful. 

But along with it comes that suffocated feeling that you always got when you looked at your wedding set. It makes you cringe. 

You shuffle your feet and Harry catches the sight of Mets baseball socks peeking out from under the cuff of your jeans. 

"You really went all out," Harry murmurs, amused. "Head to toe."

"You sound surprised."

"I didn't peg you as a baseball fan." 

"I've been going to games since I was a kid sitting in the cheap seats."

"No cheap seats today," Harry offers with levity. It feels weird to joke about money with you. 

"I definitely gonna enjoy myself today,"' you say as you shuffle in your seat. "I always dreamed about watching a games from one the suites. Daryl Strawberry was the reason I joined little league." 

This surprises Harry into staring at you. He can't remember you every talking this long. 

 "You played little league?"

"Yeah, short stop." 

"I can't picture it."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure," Harry says squinting at you. "I imagine libraries and art galleries."

The longer he stares at you he thinks he can imagine the child you. You walking hand in hand with your parents, pointing excitedly at framed pieces on walls. You sitting at a table pouring over a Nancy Drew novel.

"Naw, I like getting dirty."

Harry chuckles to himself, finding it hard to imagine this version of you. Scuffed knees and unkempt hair. You're so put together and have been since he met you. 

"My dad took me to games all the time," you explain with a fond look out the window. "He played on his team at college."

"Was he any good?"

"If you ask my mom, no. If you ask him? Yes." 

Harry grins, watching as your own smile dims."You okay?"

"Sometimes it's hard..."

The stadium is fast approaching and Harry feels his heart pick up. His family awaits and that means an afternoon of scrutiny. He's so agitated he doesn't even notice you still talking. 

 "My dad actually-"

"We're here," Harry interrupts as the car comes to a stop. "C'mon." 

He doesn't understand why you're suddenly cool when he opens the door for you. Can't comprehend why you flinch at the sensation of his hand on the small of your back. 

The two of you move smoothly through the Hodges VIP entrance behind home plate, going through security and being directed to the elevators up to the suites. 

Harry notices you dragging your feet as you follow him to the elevator, arms crossed. He tries to catch your eyes but you're looking away from him the entire ride. 

"Are you nervous?"

"Nope." 

"Remember our st-"

"I remember, Castillo," you say sharply.

Harry has a moment of panic that you're going to blow everything up with your foul mood, but when the elevator opens and his family greets the two of you, he's shocked to see your face contort into a wide smile. 

"Mona!"

You step through the sliding glass doors of the Citi Field Luxury Suite, the hum of the stadium roaring behind you like distant thunder. 

The air inside is cooler, almost too crisp, with the faint scent of catered food with the citrusy sharpness of someone’s cologne. Plush leather seats line the front of the suite, overlooking the diamond below, and floor-to-ceiling windows bathe everything in the warm late-afternoon sun.

Televisions flicker with the live game feed above the marble-topped bar, but it’s not the Mets you’re worried about.

Harry places a gentle hand on your back as you both walk in, like it’s second nature. Like he’s done it a thousand times. You think he's probably doing it now so you don't run away. 

"Finally a woman who knows how to dress for a game!" Mona says with a laugh, pulling you into a tight hug. 

"I like that you went for it too," you gush, meaning it as you embrace her back. She smells like expensive perfume. 

She's wearing a baseball hat and an expensive looking orange and blue diamond brooch on her cream colored sweater. 

"I was so sick of those sticks in the mud you used to bring, Harrison," Mona laughs.

“Mother.”

She looks at you as if she's sharing a secret. "The rest of them were as dull as a bag of rocks. Beautiful of course, but honestly I never understood why he bothered with them. He needs someone with a brain."

"Honestly Mona," comes a miserable voice from the far side of the suite. "Gossiping?"

You watch Mona take a breath, forcing her voice to be light. "Just a little girl talk, mother." 

You glance over to see Ada hobbling towards you and Harry. She's wearing a pantsuit, her hair coiffed beautifully. She wears sapphire earrings and makes your way of dressing feel embarrassing. 

Her eyes track you the moment you step inside, sharp and unblinking. She’s not buying it. Not the engagement ring, not your relationship. None of it. 

"Hello grandmother," Harry says as he steps forward, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her papery cheek. "Wonderful day for a game." 

"That it is," Ada says patting his cheek gently. "If only your brother and his wife were as punctual as you." 

"Mason and Sophie will be here soon," Mona says with a frown. 

"Traffic was really backed up," you offer. "Maybe just car is stuck." 

"I'm sure that's it," Mona nods, thankful for the reason. 

"Mm,” Ada says under her breath, more sound than word. It feels like judgment. You internally curse yourself. 

Adrian waves at the two of you, a plate of food in his hand. "Just having some lunch before the game starts. Please help yourself." 

The food in the suite is the kind that screams *money without trying too hard.* 

There’s a platter of mini lobster rolls on buttery brioche buns, still warm, the tails poking out just enough to feel decadent. Next to them, delicate sliders with wagyu beef and caramelized onions, each one topped with a perfect quail egg like it’s no big deal. 

Truffle fries are heaped in a tall silver cone, their earthy aroma punching through the air like a challenge to the stadium’s hot dogs outside.

There’s a charcuterie spread that could pass for a Renaissance painting with prosciutto roses, hunks of aged gouda, jewel-toned figs, and almonds glazed in something honeyed and expensive. 

For dessert, there’s a tiered tray of macarons in Mets color bright orange and deep blue alongside bite-sized cheesecake squares dusted with edible gold. 

Everything is beautifully curated, just like the lie you're living. 

"I actually just wanted to grab something before I forget," you say bypassing the elevator in favor of the stairs. "I'll be right back." 

You sail by Harry with your eyes averted. He watches the door close behind you, his stomach in knots. 

---

You slip out of the luxury suite quietly, the murmured conversation and clinking glasses behind you fading as the heavy door clicks shut. The hum of the stadium swells as you step into the open-air corridor, the space bristling with light and noise. 

From up here, the field below is a perfect, emerald stage. The Mets haven't even taken the field yet but the crowd is throbbing with energy.

You walk with purpose, one hand grazing the railing as if to steady yourself against memory.You descend the levels quickly. An elevator would be easier, but you want the walk. It’s not far, but enough to feel the shift, the texture of the stadium changing as you leave the opulence of the suite level for the buzz of the concourse. 

 Kids run past you in oversized Alonso jerseys, their faces painted and sticky. Somewhere nearby, someone’s singing the "Meet the Mets" song off-key, but joyously

The walk pulls at something inside you, as if each level down brings you closer not just to the field, but to something older, quieter, heavier.

You know exactly where you’re going: the team store, the one tucked under the third base line, near the old Shea memorabilia wall. It’s not the main shop by the rotunda, the one plastered in LED lights and full of tourists. No, this one is smaller, almost hidden, and somehow still smells faintly of leather and sun-faded cardboard. 

Memories bubble up but you swallow them down. Inside the team store it's cooler. The overhead lighting buzzes softly, casting a sickly sheen over shelves of hats, replica jerseys,l and bobble heads nodding in eerie unison.

You pass the glossy rows of commemorative bats and head straight for the far wall where a display case of vintage-style pennants hangs beside weathered baseball gloves, perusing for something special.

You think of Harry earlier, how he acted like he cares about your history but then ignored it the second you pulled up. What do you expect? He's not a real friend. He's your employer at best. 

Just as you’re winding yourself up into another irritated fever pitch you notice the perfect thing; it is between the baseball cards and framed autographs,; a vintage Mr Met pin, orange and blue and white. 

The clerk, a young guy in his twenties, doesn’t comment as he takes your money. He gives you a nod, polite but distracted, his eyes already turning toward the woman behind you. 

You head back toward the suite feeling a little lighter. The pin is nestled in your jean pocket, snug and waiting. You pause as the familiar aroma of popcorn and memories assault you.

You didn't see any hot dogs back in the suite and the scent from the concession stand is too strong a pull. You're so focused on whether or not you should get fries as well that you don't notice Harry watching you from several feet away. 

----

He came to check up on you, concerned when you seemed to be taking your time. The game is about to start and he's sick of listening to Ada complain. She always has to find fault with everything. The chairs are too stiff, the food is too rich, the heating insufficient. 

It's exhausting to listen to. 

And now he spots the back of your head as you approach the concession stand, reading the menu. He's about to call your name when someone else beats him to it. Your head swivels to the right, surprised. 

A burly man with spiky hair is weaving through the crowd and waving at you. He holds a tall woman's hand, tugging her along. 

Harry hangs back, not wanting to stress you out in front of your friends. He promised that he wouldn't intrude more than necessary into your private life and he meant it.  

Instead he stands nearby in the crowd, leaning against the wall and watching you covertly over his phone. From this angle he sees the way you tap the toe of your shoe against the sidewalk anxiously. 

"Hi Ken," you say weakly when the two figures approach. 

Harry watches the man pull you into a hug that you reluctantly return. You're uncomfortable. 

"Hiya slugger," Ken laughs. "Shoulda known I'd run into you here." 

Slugger? Harry bites back a smirk. 

"How longs it been?" Ken asks. "Five years?"

"About that, yeah." 

The loud sound of concession purchases and laughing attendees makes the next few sentences impossible to decipher. Harry watches Ken motioning to a pretty woman with auburn hair. Obviously his partner, Harry notes as he winds his arm around her waist. 

She gives you a tight smile, clearly not that excited to be talking to her boyfriend's ex. The din from the group dies down and Harry can hear your group again. 

"I'm just going to grab a beer," the woman says motioning to the concession stand. She looks at Ken. "You want anything?"

"Yeah grab me a bud." 

Harry watches in mild horror as Ken smacks the woman's ass as she walks away with a giggle. He sneaks a glance your way, not surprised to see you standing there stone-faced. 

"Best girlfriend in the world," Ken offers.  

You nod. "Mhm."

"You look good," Ken says eyeing you up and down, much to your obvious discomfort. 

"Thanks." 

"You and your dad still coming to games?"

"Not really."

"Still at the same job?"

"Yep."

Harry watches you scratch absently at your elbow, exhaling as you look around. Are you looking for him?  

"You still enjoying your freedom?" Ken asks and now Harry is starting to put the pieces together. 

You don't reply right away, but Harry watches you bite the inside of your cheek. 

"Ruby seems nice," you tell Ken. Harry assumes that's the woman's name. "Where did you two meet?"

"The gym. Just like you and me." 

Ken's expression is playful but his eyes are sharp. He's waiting to see your reaction. He wants you to be jealous but from where Harry's standing you just look bored. 

"We've been together three years," he adds. 

"Cool." 

"I'm planning on proposing this summer."

Harry isn't even pretending to look at his phone anymore; he's just staring at the two of you, shoulder leaning against the cement wall. 

You don't bother replying. Are you upset or just irritated? He sees your head rise, eyes going to Ken's face. 

"I'm happy for you, Ken. Ruby seems really nice and I'm glad she gives you what you need." 

Ken clearly isn't expecting that and he gives a derisive snort. You raise a brow at it, thrown by his attitude. "You're happy for me?"

"Of course." 

Ken is squaring his shoulders, his face going puce now. 

"We were together for six months and you never even gave me a decent reason for splitting," Ken says. "And now you're standing there telling me you're happy for me and Ruby because she gives me what I need?" 

Harry watches the way you shift backwards, your body tilted away. You're uncomfortable as his voice rises over the crowd.  

"You never knew what I needed."

For a minute, Harry thinks that he should go to you, that you look frightened. But he should have known better. 

"Endless attention?" You snap looking irritated, arms crossed. "Someone to make you dinners? Someone to stroke your increasingly bloated ego?" 

Ken's teeth are bared with every attribute you throw his way. 

"Or is it that insatiable need to be the center of attention at all times?"

Ken scans you from head to toe with a disgusted look on his face. "I can only assume you're still single?" 

You don't need Harry to fight your battles for you, but he wants you to return to the suite and this Ken guy is annoying. He sails through the crowd, sidestepping a woman and her son holding a box of popcorn, his eyes on your back. 

Ken notices him first, brows rising when Harry reaches forth, sliding an arm around your waist.

"Hey baby, sorry I'm late." 

You're clearly relieved, not even tensing up when he presses a kiss to your cheek. Your face is warm, you're upset and this close he can see your eyes are slightly glossy. You're upset. Suddenly Harry isn't irritated, he's fucking pissed off. 

He looks at Ken, figuring the cretin to be about five seven at best. He has to look up to glare at Harry. 

Your left hand comes to rest on the crook of Harry's arm, his large heirloom ring sparkling on your finger. You wait until Ken's eyes land on it before giving your best smile.

"This is my fiancé," you say with a saccharine edge to your voice. "Ca-Harry. Harry this is Ken, an old friend." 

"Fiancé?" Ken looks at you in shock. "Since when did you want to get married again?"

Harry feels the anxiety that overtakes your body. He stands taller, chest puffing as he stares Ken down. 

"Since she found someone worth her time." 

Ken's face goes an ugly pink color in the cheeks, his eyes narrowing on Harry.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable, pal," Ken says with a sneer your way. "This one isn't into being tied down." 

Harry feels your arm tighten around his. He slightly tilts you back so that he's more head on with Ken. 

"Really? With me she enjoys being tied down once in a while." He looks your way, putting on a puzzled expression. "Or is it tied up, baby?" 

He grins when you laugh out loud, a surprised bark before you slap a hand over your mouth. He's never heard you laugh like that before and it makes him grin widely in response. 

"Classy," Ken says sarcastically, his eyes frantically searching the crowd for his girlfriend. Without her it's clear that he feels vulnerable. 

"What do you do for work, Ken?"

"Construction. You?"

"Private equity." 

Ken can't say anything shitty about that.  "Cool." 

 Ruby returns with two beers, her eyes trained on Harry. She gives him a flirtatious smile, handing Ken his drink without glancing his way. 

Harry knows he's handsome, well dressed and gives the air of being part of the upper Echelon. This isn't the first time a taken woman has turned her attention to him in the presence of her partner. 

She flips her hair to one side, giving him an alluring look. "Hi, I'm Ruby and you are?"

Harry looks down at you, brows raised. You good to go? You nod. Yeah let's go. 

Harry looks Ruby's way. "Leaving."  

Ken is still red in the face and now Ruby joins him. 

"Have a good evening," Harry says with no sincerity over his shoulder as the two of you turn.

You are trying in vain not to laugh when you hear Ken whining to Ruby about her flirting. When the two of you are safely around the corner Harry gives you a pointed look, his voice a murmur. 

"So who was that charmer?"

You roll your eyes. "A drunken mistake about a year after my marriage ended."

"Go on," Harry urges as the two of you make your way back to the luxury suite.  

"A hookup I thought could be a friend's with benefits situation. He made it seem like that's what he wanted to. But then seven months later he's changed his mind, he wants serious, he wants commitment. I didn't. 

He called me cold and unfeeling a lot of other heinous shit. So I dumped him and haven't seen him since... Until right now." You look at Harry. "Thanks for that by the way." 

"It's only right that you get to play the fiancé card too." 

For the first time since he's known you, he watches as you smile at him, a sincere, warm thing. Not forced or twisted in barely concealed disgust. 

It's nice. 

"Yeah, well, fingers crossed I don't run into anymore exes today." 

Harry can't help but notice your arm remains crooked around his elbow. He also can't help but notice that he doesn't really mind.

authors note: i really appreciate all of the comments that have been left and i hope my taglist works. does this feel like an old rom com to you? it helps me write if i know what parts you like

xx

💋💋💋💋

i got the line dividers from @saradika-graphics

[thattimdrakeguy]

Zoanne Is The Most Underrated Tim Drake Side Character Ever

Most of Tim's side characters are either super simple, and likable, totally forgettable, or hit or miss, or just not built to last.

But with Zoanne, I've always really liked her. She was written to represent something in Tim's story, instead of being simple background dressing. She feels like someone that does her own thing when Tim's not around, instead of despawning like a video game NPC. And adds way more than simply mild amusement.

And her positioning within Tim's life is also great ground for character work. Something a great side character should be able to do.

Like in this instance giving Tim someone to ground himself, while his life is growing more abnormal thanks to being adopted by Bruce. Most writers would've elected to have Tim get a more weird life--

Remember that weird arc where Tim faked an Uncle to avoid being adopted despite seeming excited at the idea Bruce wanted him to be around like that--?

Was a bit hokey, though I know it has it's fans, but for me it felt a little out of character, a little too done purely for fun, and not a good accurate portrayal of the character. I like my stuff character driven and fun, not just--nonsense.

The writing feels natural and real. You get to see more of Tim's personality. He's smart, but he's not someone who thinks he's special. This is a trait that's even been identified in Tim by people in editorial in old 90s DC Comics when Tim was still being developed. So it's a very purposeful character choice.

He has his moments of showing off like anybody, especially a kid. However when not caught up in the moment, he's extremely humble. Though, socially stumbles at the same time. He's still a bit awkward around the edges. Social, but not entirely natural.

Remember also Tim wanted to go to a normal public school close to the beginning of his introduction as a character. If you read his origin and early issues in his newly formed time as a Batman character he was still in boarding school. Tim wanted to go to public school though. Tim is someone who loves to feel grounded despite his privlages.

And he's putting in the effort to maintain that despite his new semi-celebrity status as the newly adopted son of Bruce Wayne. It's his whole purpose of being here. Tim's a proactive character in his story, not reactive. He wanted to be tutored despite not needing it. Which helps him remain interesting, wondering what he'll be up to next.

And he lifts Zoanne's spirits up, because he's such a good hearted person. Like a natural extension of who he tries to be for Batman but applied to someone else in a less major way. Making it an interaction specifically something Tim Drake would do, instead of a measly generic interaction to build up a boring romance.

No, it's character work all the way through. Tim never stops being Tim, because the writer got lazy, like what happens under other writers. He's still showing who he is as a person the entire scene.

Heck, the first panels I showed where Tim has to come up with an excuse for smelling bad, is just fun work to be had with him being a kid crime-fighter. Small, but there, and very fun.

Zoanne's also very likable, so is her family. Feels like it could be your own family or the family of a friend. It deepens her own character as well.

How many Tim Drake side-characters have we actually got to see their family well-enough to know their own personalities? Ariana? There's not a lot. Which makes you want to see Zoanne again too. She's a side-character, yes, but she still feels like her own person. Which makes her more memorable and likable. That's a strong thing to get from a side-character, who are often bottom of the barrel in terms of characterization.

I've read the entire Robin series many times, and I couldn't tell you the name of all the side-characters, or describe their families to you.

I can with Zoanne, though.

She's someone who definitely should've came back by now. I think she's the greatest side-character Tim has ever had, and should be more beloved by the fandom.

If only she lasted longer and wasn't thrown away by one of the next writers--

[cryptic-doe]

𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝘁 ❦

wc: 2,069

summary: sam meets the shy girl who lives with bobby for the first time

warnings: mentions of death and small mention of suicide, shitty dads, minor cursing, pls lmk if i missed anything !

a/n: there is no real romance in this first chapter, only because they're around 15 so this kind of just the beginning of their friendship ! i also tried to follow the show's timeline, meaning this is set around 1998, so hopefully, it's somewhat lore accurate. i hope u guys all love it, and like always, pls take care <33

you were just a baby when your mother's post-partum depression took hold of her, claiming her life. and you were only nine when a werewolf claimed your father. you would've liked to say that you missed them. and a small part of you, more so your mother than your father. you had no memories or reminders of her, other than the silver heart locket you wore around your neck with her wedding ring on it. your dad never talked about her, always changing the subject whenever you asked questions about her. so all of your information came from bobby. he said she was a kind and beautiful woman, with the sweetest soul he'd ever met. "you look just like her. she would've adored you." he told you that when you first asked him about her. you wanted to believe him, but it was hard for you to do so when your dad would tell you the opposite your whole life.

whenever he'd drink too much after a long hunt, which was often, he'd spew the most hateful words at you. "it's all your fault, girl. she'd still be here if it wasn't for you. i didn't even want ya anyways." and then he'd throw the glass bottle in your direction. sometimes it only hit the wall, or sometimes the pieces would bounce off and cut you. you'd end up hurt either way. only for him to wake up in the morning, seemingly forgetting what he'd done the night before, and act like you were still his little girl.so no, you didn't miss your father as much as you did your mother. but when it was late at night, and the only presence was bobby's sleeping body down the hall, you missed the idea of him. you missed the man who would cry over the cuts he'd given you, and whose salty tears would flow into the bloody wounds.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ ʚଓ་༘࿐

you laid on the cold, wooden floor of your bedroom. the vinyl of radiohead's ok computer played softly in the background as you flipped through some old teen titans comics bobby bought for you. you could hear the front door of the house open and close before hearing the faint creaks of the rickety stairs. you didn't pay too much mind to it, though. figuring it was either rufus or that old lady down the street coming to watch you. but the three hard raps sounding on your bedroom door told you that it was actually bobby. you furrowed your eyebrows, looking up from the comic book. "i thought i heard the front door close?" you asked."yeah, it did. but there's some people i want you to meet," he replied. as if sensing your hesitation, he reassures you with a smile. "only for a few minutes, honey. these are some good people." you glance back down at your unfinished comic book, trying to think of some excuse you could make, but when you look up and see the almost hopeful look in bobby's eyes, you know there's no way of winning. you sigh, closing it, and then standing up. "fine, but only for a few a few minutes." he smiles at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and you practically melt into his side. "that's all i ask of you."

as you and bobby walk down the steps, you take notice of the three men standing in the living room. there's two boys, one who looks a few years older than you, and the other looks to be about your age. a man stands behind them, and you assume that he's their father. once making it to the bottom of the stairs, you move yourself to slightly stand behind bobby, as if to hide away. you never took well to meeting new people. especially when they were ones your age. "y/n, this is my good friend john, and his two boys. the oldest is dean, and that's sam. he's your age."

dean looks down at you, and politely smiles, but doesn't say anything. he's handsome, you think to yourself, and has green apple eyes. then john looks at you and smiles, but his isn't as warm or friendly as dean's. "it's nice to meet you, y/n. i knew your dad, he'd talk about you all the time. and i'm... i'm sorry for your loss." it had been nearly six years since he died. you don't react other than a slight widening of your eyes when he says your dad mentioned you. and that leaves sam. the boy your age.

when he looks at you, it's with the softest eyes. you thought dean had beautiful eyes, but sam's beat his by a mile. they were a hazel color, wide and round. they reminded you of the doe that stumbled into the backyard last week. and when he smiles... it erupts something like butterflies to fly around in your belly. you didn't know these feelings really existed. they seemed like something that only happened in the books you read. "hi, y/n," he greets softly, looking at you. his direct gaze doesn't make you nervous like most others do. instead, you shift from bobby's back to stand at his side. "hi," you greet back.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ ʚଓ་༘࿐

it's later now, probably an hour or two after you met the winchesters. what a funny coincidence that they were a family of hunters named after the gun. after you finished meeting them, bobby and john excused themselves to talk about some vampire nest nearby. when dean tried to follow after them, john snapped at him, and it made your spine go rigid. you didn't like their father. he reminded you too much of your dad, maybe that's why they got along so well. dean and sam left to go to a nearby arcade, when dean offered to take you along, you just politely declined with a shake of your head.

it was dark now, the sun had already set and the moon was rising. you sat on the front porch of the house, rocking back and forth in the white rocking chair bobby built for you. he was still inside talking to john, leaving you to stew in your thoughts, something you did often. you thought about a lot of things. like the black cat that passed through the yard last night, or that movie bobby showed you the night before. it was called mars attacks, or something. you liked it a lot, and laughed at the aliens whenever they would talk to each other. but then your thoughts drifted to sam. you didn't have much experience with kids your age, especially not boys.

having a dad as a hunter didn't really allow you the opportunity to go to a regular school. most of the time you would have to learn on your own. and when that got too hard, you'd walk over to the local library of whatever motel you were staying in and ask someone for help. you were thankful you moved in with bobby when you did, because school only got harder from there. he tried to enroll you into the local middle school, but you didn't want to one bit, and he wasn't gonna force you. and when your freshman year of high school rolled around, he knew that it would be the same outcome. so you never really made friends, not like you wanted to. most of the kids in town were assholes, whispering amongst themselves whenever you and bobby would roll into town to get some groceries. ghost girl, is what they called you. mainly because nobody knew anything about you, other than the fact you weren't here one day and then were the next. but partly because you had this weird aura around. off-putting and not very approachable. you rarely spoke unless it was someone you knew, and you would just stare at those who even tried. you didn't mean to, though, you just couldn't help it. when you were ten, you asked bobby if you were scary. if that's why none of the kids ever wanted to talk or play with you.

he sighed and patted your head. "you're not scary, honey, you're just... different. but there's nothing wrong with that. it's a small town, meaning small minded."

however, you quickly realized that you didn't care what they thought about you, or the whispered words shared between them. there was a part of you that hoped sam didn't think you were scary, though. the sound of tires on gravel brought you out of your thoughts. the black, chevy impala of rolled up to the front of the house, and dean and sam later hopped out of the car. dean made his way up the porch steps first, smiling at you as he carried in some pizza boxes. "hey, y/n, we got pizza if you want it." you muttered a quiet 'thanks' as he just nodded in response, before the screen door slammed shut behind him. when you made eye contact with sam, you immediately dropped your gaze. instead, looking at the worn-out black converse you wore.

out of the corner of your eye, you could see him standing there, shifting from side to side. he fiddled with something behind his back, and your curiosity got the best of you. "what do you have?" you suddenly asked, looking up slightly. he looked at you with his lopsided smile, and you noticed the dimples he had. "uh, just a prize i won. you should've come with us, it was pretty cool."

you just shrugged, pulling your knees to your chest. "i've never been to an arcade. i don't think i'd be very good at it," you murmured, tilting your head to look up at him. for only being fifteen, he was pretty tall. almost as tall as dean, who was four years his senior. "you don't have to be good at them to have fun," he replied, moving to lean against the porch rails. "between you and me, dean's not very good at them, either." his voice dropped to a low whisper, and you found yourself letting out a small laugh at his words. and to sam? that was better than any prize he could've won.

the screen door squeaked, as bobby peaked his head out. "alright, you two kids, pizza's on the table. let's eat." you and sam both nodded as he left to go sit down. you stood up from the chair, and brushed off the dirt from the jean shorts you wore. as you moved to open the door, sam's fingers brushed against your arm, sending shivers down your spine. "the prize i won, uh, it's for you." he held out a small plushie of a light purple butterfly, your favorite color. you gratefully took it from him, smiling the biggest smile he's seen from you all day. "thank you, sam." he ducked his head, kicking nonexistent rocks. "it's no problem."

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ ʚଓ་༘࿐

for the rest of the week, sam and dean kept you company while john and bobby hunted the vampires. dean drove you guys to the arcade, and you were surprisingly good at some of the games. that same day you got ice cream and you laughed when sam got got sprinkles stuck around his lips. and when dean would leave you and sam alone, you showed him your comics and all of your favorite vinyls. "this is the teen titans. these ones are my favorites. i like raven, she's cool." his eyes stayed focused onto you as he nodded along to every word you said. he didn't talk, he listened, as if some part of him knew that's what you needed. and when the week came to an end, and you all said your goodbyes, he took you to the corner of the living room, pressing a small piece of paper with a number. "whenever you just need someone to listen to you," was all he said, before brushing his lips against your cheek as dean called for him. he waved goodbye and you did the same, watching as the imapala drove away.

and as you drifted to sleep that night, you clutched the butterfly plushie close to your chest, and dreamed about the boy with the hazel eyes. with his number placed right underneath your pillow.

a/n: this was intended to be a short drabble, but nothing is ever short with me 😭 i feel like it's a kind of a mess, as i was trying to introduce a lot of things, but i hope u guys still like it and lmk if you'd like to me tagged !! i plan for the next one to have a bit of timeskip, and for them to be around 16-17, so we can get into more of the romance ! we'll see how many chapters i plan to write for this series, bc i lowk already love sm <33

taglist: @sacr1ficialang3l @mostlymarvelgirl

[radioactivatedspider]

New Discovery

Main Masterlist Supernatural Masterlist

Pairings; Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Genre; Smut, Humor, Domestic Intimacy, romance, domestic fluff, smutty playfulness, outdoor shenanigans

Warnings; Sam's suffering, mild sexual content, adult themes, public setting but cool sensual play, casual language, slightly crude humor

Summary: after years of marriage…yn never knew about Dean's sensitive nipples. She takes advantage of it. And of course…They're children about it.

1386 words

The morning sun was streaming in through the cracked motel blinds, casting pale golden stripes across the messy sheets. It was quiet, save for the low hum of traffic somewhere off in the distance and the soft rhythm of Dean Winchester’s breathing under you.

You were sprawled across his chest, as always — naked, warm, safe. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, strong and familiar, lulling you into the kind of peace only he could give. Your legs were tangled with his, your fingers absentmindedly tracing lazy shapes across his stomach, over the faint scar near his rib, and finally up toward the chest you were completely obsessed with.

God, you loved this man’s chest. Solid and warm and yours.

You kissed the space just below his collarbone, just because. Then another kiss, lower down. Then you were trailing them, lazily, across his pecs, pausing to breathe him in. You loved how he always smelled like faded leather, faint soap, and sleep. You kissed him again, your lips brushing—

Dean flinched.

You froze.

Your mouth was just shy of his left nipple, and he actually jumped.

You blinked up at him. “Dean?”

He cracked one eye open, mouth twitching like he was trying to play it cool, but there was a little embarrassed flush rising in his cheeks.

“Nothin’,” he said, voice gravelly with sleep. “You just… startled me.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. You weren’t buying it. Not when he shifted like he was trying to subtly pull the covers higher over his chest.

You smirked and leaned in again, pressing a featherlight kiss to the tip of his nipple this time—just to test something.

Dean jerked. “Shit!”

“Dean…” you grinned, now fully intrigued, “are your nipples—”

“Don’t.” He groaned, hiding his face with one big hand.

“No, no, no,” you said, sitting up slightly, straddling his waist with a wicked smile. “Oh my God. You have sensitive nipples?!”

Dean grunted. “I swear, if you tell Sam—”

You cut him off with a laugh, leaning down and kissing the other one now, a little longer this time. Dean hissed, grabbing the sheets in one fist.

“Jesus, Y/N!”

“Oh this is fun.”

“You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

“…Shut up,” he muttered, though the way his hips shifted under you said otherwise.

You chuckled, dragging your fingernails lightly down his sides. “I do all this shit to you—kiss your neck, rake my nails down your back, grab your ass—and you’ve been hiding these cute little nips from me this whole time?”

“Not hiding,” he mumbled. “Just never came up.”

“Well, it’s up now,” you whispered, kissing down his chest again, grinning like a devil when he clenched his jaw and let out a barely-there whimper.

You’d found it. A brand-new button to push on Dean Winchester. And oh, you were gonna abuse this power.

He made the mistake of looking down at you, eyes half-lidded, flushed, and clearly at your mercy. You bit your lip, leaned in, and licked a slow stripe right across that sensitive spot—

Dean made a noise you’d never heard from him before.

“…Oh, we’re never leaving this bed,” you declared, sitting up and laughing with glee.

Dean covered his face again and groaned. “I should’ve kept that secret till I died.”

Too late now.

You leaned over and kissed the creases in his lips, sweet and teasing. “Still love me?”

He peeked at you with a wry smirk. “Yeah. But you’re not gettin’ anywhere near my nipples when I’m driving Baby.”

“No promises.”

“Y/N—”

You were already kissing his chest again.

And Dean? He was already moaning.

It started innocently enough.

Just a chilly morning at the diner off Highway 94, the kind of hole-in-the-wall place Dean swore had the best bacon in five states. Sam was across the booth, hunched over his laptop and sipping black coffee, reading through police reports with his serious face on.

You and Dean were seated next to each other on the cracked red vinyl bench, legs touching, both pretending to listen to Sam while your eyes secretly passed smirks back and forth.

That morning, in a stroke of chaos, you’d opted to forgo a bra.

Maybe it was laundry day. Maybe it was revenge for Dean stealing the last donut. Maybe you were just cold and feeling devious.

Either way, the thin white shirt you were wearing didn’t stand a chance against the brisk air blowing through the diner door every time it opened. And Dean… noticed.

He definitely noticed.

He leaned in mid-conversation, voice low. “You tryna kill me in public, sweetheart?”

You glanced down at yourself with a casual shrug. “What, it’s just a shirt.”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes lingered. “Well, those little guys are waving hello.”

You smirked, sipping your cocoa like an angel. “Your fault. You picked the table under the vent.”

Dean shifted. You knew that shift. It was the one where he crossed his legs to hide something.

You didn’t let up.

But then—out of nowhere—Dean’s hand darted under the table, and with a quick glance to make sure Sam wasn’t looking, he gave your nipple the lightest flick between his thumb and finger.

You gasped—sharp and loud.

Sam’s eyes flicked up. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dean said smoothly. “Y/N just remembered she forgot to pay a parking ticket.”

You elbowed him under the table, eyes wide and murderous. He had the audacity to smirk back.

“Oh it’s on,” you whispered.

You waited exactly thirty seconds. Then, pretending to reach into Dean’s jacket pocket for a napkin, you slipped your hand inside and pinched his nipple through his flannel.

Dean choked on his coffee.

Sam sighed. “Seriously? What’s wrong with you?”

Dean was coughing, trying to play it cool, voice strained. “Hot… hot coffee. Just—burned my tongue.”

“Uh huh,” Sam muttered, going back to his laptop. “You two are freaks.”

You grinned, satisfied, and leaned over like you were kissing Dean’s cheek—only to nip at his earlobe and murmur, “Mine are prettier than yours, anyway.”

Dean looked over at you, eyes flashing, and under the table, he retaliated—gently, but deliberately, slapped your boob.

You yelped.

“Okay!” Sam snapped, slamming his laptop shut. “Seriously. Are you two having a nipple war right now?!”

You both froze.

Dean blinked. “No?”

Sam stared.

You cracked. “Okay—yes. But he started it!”

“Are you five?!”

Dean shrugged, not at all sorry. “It’s cold. She’s braless. I’m only human.”

Sam stood up, disgusted. “I’m leaving. You two can finish third base and your hash browns alone.”

He grabbed his keys and stormed out.

Dean snorted into his coffee. You wiped a tear of laughter from your eye.

“Well,” you said, sliding your hand onto his thigh, “wanna call it a draw?”

Dean smirked. “Only if I get to finish the war later.”

Bonus:

You had him flat on his back again, the sheets rumpled and his legs sprawled. Dean’s hands were fisting the blanket, his chest flushed and rising fast, those freckles dusted across his skin like a map you never got tired of tracing.

You were straddling his thighs, one hand wrapped around his cock — slow, steady, deliberate — and your mouth was doing sinful things to his chest.

“Jesus, Y/N…” he groaned, eyes squeezed shut.

You smiled against his skin, dragging your tongue over his left nipple, then sucking it just enough to make him jolt.

“Sensitive,” you whispered smugly, circling your thumb over the slick tip of his cock.

Dean gasped, head tilting back. “F-fuck…”

You licked again, slower this time, flicking your tongue and grazing him gently with your teeth — just to hear that beautiful little whimper he was trying to bite back.

“God, you’re evil,” he panted, one hand flying to your wrist, like he couldn’t decide whether to slow you down or beg for more.

Your hand pumped faster now, wet and smooth, while your lips closed around his nipple again, sucking, teasing, until—

“Y/N—shit, I’m—”

His hips jerked, his back arched, and he came with a breathless groan, spilling hot into your hand while your mouth stayed on him, never letting up.

You kissed his chest one last time and looked up, pleased.

Dean was boneless. Wrecked. Blinking at the ceiling like he’d just seen God and she had your face.

You grinned. “Told you your nipples were dangerous.”

Taglist: @globetrotter28

[7spawn]

he is so afraid. so, so afraid of everyone but you, who he ought to fear most. if you haven’t romanced astarion as durge yet you’re missing out.

[arolesbianism]

Also there currently isn't any planned main character romance in the story with the toy guys (sort of) but I was thinking abt how I wanted to establish that Raiden is a men liker and I realized. There's no men. None of the relevant cast are men. The closest thing is a character who barely exists in the main plot who's also sort of dating their mom. Misandry is real guys and it's finally won

[starrvsn]

꒰ ⌕ ꒱ recommended lewis pullman fics! ✧ ੭ pls support these writers !

ROLES: bob ‘robert’ floyd (top gun maverick) rhett abbott (outer range) calvin evans (lesson in chemistry) robert reynolds (thunderbolts*)

✷ includes smut! must 18+ to read! 𝜗𝜚 — my personal fav! — indented text is other recommended fics by the same author!

OVER THE INTERCOM ⠆ i recently got back into reading lewis fics again and its made me realize how amazing these writers are so i thought i would make a rec list out of appreciation as someone who’s been reading ab lewis since 2022 :p

˚⋆𐙚｡ list is regularly updated when i find new fics! & if links aren’t working pls lmk! ⋆𖦹.✧˚

── .✦ also! i may be recommending certain fics but please also check out their blogs! so many of these authors have other amazing pieces just waiting to be read!

BOB FLOYD ⤸

✷ the wingman written by @roosterforme / synopsis: Bob never did this sort of thing. Talking to girls and flirting and romance. It's not that he didn't want to, he just didn't really know how. But you were different in all the right ways, and you made him feel confident enough to try.

𝜗𝜚 ✷ do you wanna make somethin’ out of it written by @theharddeck / synopsis: turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

⤿ ✷ it’d be a sweet situation a much needed part two! /synopsis: what's better than finding out the WSO you've had a secret crush is the same audio erotica creator that you've been crushing on for months? getting to watch him record new content...and maybe get involved yourself

rodeo written by @sarahsmi13s / synopsis: when your relationship with bob is reveal to the squad, hangman can’t help but wait for bob to stake his claim on you.

𝜗𝜚 ✷ bob from stats written by @attapullman / synopsis: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

⤿ 𝜗𝜚 ✷ bob from pi kapp / synopsis: First he's late to chapter, and now Bob is late to your Stats final. You saved him a seat. But should you also save one for his hobby horse?

never knew i needed a college!bob au until now and it’s honestly changed my life.

✷ unraveled written by @withahappyrefrain / synopsis: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.

birds of a feather written by @dearsnow / synopsis: phoenix and her girlfriend set you up with a wso they insist will be right up your alley. (robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader, fluff, reader is meant to be similar to bob, ie quiet, sweet, and nerdy, mentions of being drunk/having sex but nothing explicit)

the quiet ones written by @callsigns-haze / synopsis: You surprise the Dagger Squad by revealing your secret to Bob, who shyly but lovingly melts into your kiss as the others watch in shock, as shy guys are your type.

✷ 𝜗𝜚 kiss cam written by @scarletmika / synopsis: The San Diego Padres are saluting the U.S. Navy during their upcoming game, and the Dagger Squad has been invited to attend. Hangman's only goal for the game? Get you and Bob to finally act on your feelings and confess to each other. — newly added!

call sign: heartbreaker written by @violetrainbow412-blog / synopsis: Jake runs his mouth. You do something about it. — newly added!

fics i read during my bob floyd binge!

✷ rich in life written by @bloatedandalone04 / synopsis: Bob is known to be the shy, quiet and kinder one of out the whole dagger squad, and he didn’t mind the ‘soft’ reputation one bit, because he knew the real him. The version of himself that came out whenever he got his wife alone, which, luckily for him, was every single night.

✷ it's that simple written by @tropes-and-tales

pepper spray lovers written by @moon-fics / synopsis: You're a well-known bartender at the Hard Deck and friends with most of the pilots who enter through the doors. However, you've caught the eye of one specific weapon systems operator.

𝜗𝜚 the plan written by @geminiwritten / synopsis: the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

✷ pretend written by @attapullman / synopsis: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

this was a reread but come on how can i not add this??

RHETT ABBOTT ⤸

✷ good at makin’ bad decisions written by @attapullman / synopsis: Even a year after you've broken up, after a night of drinking you still end up in Rhett Abbott's bed.

sugar and spice written by @floydsmuse / synopsis: you and rhett start up the tradition of making a gingerbread house together on christmas eve.

✷ odds are stacked written by @sunlightmurdock / synopsis: In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

✷ whisky sour written by @delopsia

𝜗𝜚 ✷ little lambs and big, bad cowboys written by @lewmagoo / synopsis: in which you find yourself entirely at his mercy

𝜗𝜚 ✷ trouble with books written by @hederasgarden / synopsis: You and Rhett discover a surprising new kink together.  

𝜗𝜚 ✷ tongue written by @em1i2a3 / synopsis: During a night out on the town with your friends, you are pushed into talking to a mysterious cowboy at a bar, who turns out to be one of the only blessings that Wabang has ever given you. — newly added!

CALVIN EVANS ⤸

please please me written by @gaygothiccowboy / synopsis: you persuade Calvin to spend a little less time at the lab and a lot more time with you.

ROBERT REYNOLDS ⤸

dance with me written by @callsign-fox

stay with me written by @scarletmika / synopsis: Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more

the good side written by @cosmictheo / synopsis: bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it.

⤷ heavenly / synopsis: it's the first time you're wearing your new suit as an official (new) avenger and bob is a little too excited about it.

sneaking around written by @callsign-swan / synopsis: Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

𝜗𝜚 honey written by @strkly / synopsis: after being off the grid for a while you return to society and meet up with your old friend bucky barnes. unexpectedly you run into someone you never thought you would see again. your high school boyfriend robert reynolds.

𝜗𝜚 ✷ perv!bob written by @undyingdecay

𝜗𝜚 truth will set your free written by @sergeantbuckybarnes synopsis: You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you

control written by @fireinmoonshot / synopsis: Bob always waits for you to come back from missions, but when you don't come back one day, his powers start to get a little out of hand.

if anything written by @eyelessfaces / synopsis: no one wants to talk about how close you came to dying, everyone walking on eggshells until bob finds out what really happened and asks why no one trusted him enough to tell the truth; you both know the reason involves your mutual feelings.

dreamwalker written by @roanofarcc /synopsis: you use your dreamwalking abilities to try to soothe the storm in bob’s head. 

show some loves to the authors ᡣ𐭩 recommendations by jes!

[dollyichi]

BETTER THAN A BLANKET!

katsuki bakugou x f ! reader ᯓ★ 1.04k words. fluff / established relationship / not proofread / maybe ooc but you know… it’s a sleepy bakugou

katsuki has this habit of moving you on top of him. it’s a very pure, almost natural, but mindless action that just happens when you’re together.

it happens more frequently on a lazy, late afternoon during his off days. when the sun’s about to set and the both of you are enjoying each other’s company. laying down side by side, comfortable in each other’s silence.

the errands for the day were done and instead of going on a date outside, you opted to just get back home quickly—he definitely had no complaints at all, in fact, he was happy to stay at home with you, especially since he was barely even at home because of the several missions and emergencies he was dispatched to. to him, a big flaw of being a hero is being away from their lover for long periods of time—but it’s always more important that the world you helped widen for him is safer for you.

when you got home, you watched a few movies with him. laughing about the cheesy romcoms that’s number one on the streaming site. throwing popcorn when he mocks a cringy line. “well shit, he was really fucking stupid for that. can’t be me.” was your favorite comment from him, making a mental note in your head that he really hates slow-burn romance. definitely hates cheating routes too, thinking the whole film is a waste of time.

sooner or later, the two of you end up getting a little drowsy, wanting to take that power nap that the two of you deserved after the hell you guys went through this week. both of you are just waiting for sleep to hit and drift off in each other’s arms.

this moment you have with him is always special, never failing to tug on your heartstrings, especially since the golden shine of the sun passes through the thin curtains of your lovely home, landing perfectly on his pretty face that’s trying to blink and stay awake all because he always preferred you falling asleep first. half lidded eyes that still shined prettily accompanied by the warm rays.

when katsuki gets extra groggy and sluggish, he pulls you over on top him all too suddenly. tugging at your arm, looking at you like a puppy wanting treats. his mouth’s in a straight line yet his eyes already is saying a lot, it is one of the most expressive parts of him if he chooses not to speak.

and you let him, moving on top of him while he maneuvered you to however he liked, landing on him with a soft thud. you scoot a little bit to be more comfortable. nuzzling your face against his neck when you’re already put in place, “he smells so nice,” you think. he wraps his arms around you in such a tender embrace—you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. also spreading his legs apart so yours could stay on the mattress in case your legs get numb later on, he’s so considerate.

your arms under his while you softly cling to the sleeves of his shirt. you’re both chest to chest, almost feeling each other’s heartbeats. he loved doing this so much because you being his very own personal blanket would always bring him comfort. you’re always just so full of warmth and he always wants to feel it from head to toe—this is just the best position to have it possible.

you’ll talk for a bit, saying how you missed him all week and he grins at you. “yeah? your boyfriend left you all alone huh? what a dumbass.” and then you’ll tell him some stories about what you did at work, chatting about how the coffee machine keeps breaking cause an intern hasn’t learned to use it properly. he’d give you replies in small phrases, happily listening to your voice while fighting the drowsiness that’s kicking in. chuckles whenever your pitch gets higher from your rants. then you’d go back to telling him how you saw him at the news the other day, how you always worried a lot, which always made him a little sad but it couldn’t be helped.

but you’re pouting at him so cutely he ends up smiling. “i’m here now aren’t i?” he asks in a way that reassures you. “mhm, safe and sound.” you say, nudging your cheek against his.

you really wished time could slow down, even for just a bit, just to have katsuki all to yourself for a little while longer.

eventually your chat with him turns to a slower pace, your voice gradually getting softer and softer, and words more disconnected as your mind gets hazy with sleep.

he mumbles a small, “sleepy?” and you snuggle deeper onto him, which immediately translates to his head as a ‘yes.’ he doesn’t ‘bother’ you anymore with any other words or further conversation. instead, he kisses the top of your head while he waits for you to drift off before him. and he repeatedly tells you how much he loved you, at least in his head he did.

you’re closing your eyes while he rubs your back, soothing you into that dreamscape while you hope to see him right there next to you just like you are now.

when you wake up you’re in the same place you were in, except the extra warmth on your back with your puffy comforter that katsuki somehow placed on without waking you.

you figured it’s time to start preparing dinner from how dark the room is. yet, with the way he looked so cute sleeping so soundly under the cool hue of the moonlight you think it’s probably fine to sleep for a few more minutes.

and you kiss him just for a little while before you lay back down. not knowing he was awake a few minutes after you did and hoped you wouldn’t notice the blush that’s creeping up his cheeks. “that was dangerous,” he thought to himself. maybe it was cause he was still high off from his dream but whenever you make his heart skip a beat this much it makes him want to ask you to be his girlfriend again (i think this definitely calls for a ring katsuki!)

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

[cbeargyu]

assigned to you

summary: in a dystopian future where the government enforces arranged marriages to combat plummeting birth rates, you’re assigned a husband—choi yeonjun, a stranger you’ve never met.

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: dystopia, slow burn, romance, angst, smut, fluff.

warnings: explicit sexual content, soft breeding kink, language, forced marriage system, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy, domestic intimacy, power imbalance due to forced pairing, first time sex, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex,

wc: 19,1k

notes: hi everyone! ✨ so recently this idea popped into my head—i’ve been wanting to write something with an arranged marriage trope but the whole cold ceo x neglected wife thing was starting to feel a bit repetitive, especially since i’ve already written something in that genre (which i still LOVE btw, but i just wanted to try something new) 🥲 then i remembered this anime called koi to uso — it’s about this dystopian world where the government assigns you a partner and yeah… i never finished it because it turned super harem-y and that’s not really my vibe AJSJHSKJJH but the concept really caught my attention, so i thought hmm maybe i should give it a try 🫣

hope you guys enjoy it!! 🫶

everything begins the day you turn twenty.

you wake up to the faint noise of birds outside your window, sunlight filtering through the pale curtains, painting quiet shadows across your bedroom floor. your mother is already in the kitchen, humming lowly, but there’s something off in her tone. a tremble, maybe. or maybe it’s just you. maybe you’re imagining it because today’s the day you have to register.

the day you officially surrender your right to choose who you’ll love.

in this country, love is not a decision. it is a number, an equation, a state-mandated obligation for survival. for years now, the country’s birth rate has been plummeting. desperate to avoid demographic collapse, the government instituted the pairing system: when you turn twenty, your data—genetic markers, temperament, emotional intelligence, compatibility rates—is run through the database. the algorithm does the rest. your match is chosen, your future locked in, and within the year, you are expected to marry and attend compulsory family planning. you have one job: produce offspring.

love is banned unless sanctioned by the state.

you walk into the government building with your hands shaking, your mother squeezing your fingers too tightly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. she’s been crying in secret, you know. she didn’t want this for you. no one does.

and yet—there is no other choice.

the registration is swift. a photo, a signature, your blood drawn for one final compatibility cross-check. they tell you the letter will arrive in three to five business days. the envelope will be yellow. unmistakable.

“please return home and prepare for assignment.”

you try to keep your days normal after that. university lectures. cafeteria lunches. walking home with your head down, ignoring the couples holding hands across campus, each one with an official barcode tattooed on their ring fingers—a symbol of government approval. your own hand feels heavy just looking at them. branded love. manufactured desire. they never really chose each other.

sometimes you wonder if any of them are happy.

three days later, the yellow envelope is in your mailbox.

you freeze when you see it. fingers trembling, breath caught, skin going cold. the paper almost burns in your hands. you don’t open it right away. you walk straight to your room, lock the door, sit on your bed with your heart racing so violently you think you might throw up. and then, slowly, carefully, you tear the seal.

your eyes skim the top. the official logo of the bureau of demographic affairs. your name, your assigned number. and then:

assigned partner: choi yeonjun. age: 20.

a small, passport-sized photo is attached to the right side of the letter.

you stare.

he’s... beautiful.

cat-like eyes, tilted just enough to make him look a little wild. dark lashes, long and thick. a soft, upturned nose with a gentle slope that suits the elegant structure of his face. lips—full, plush, the kind that look perpetually kiss-bruised even in monochrome. his jaw is sharp but not too much, softened by a slight pout in his mouth. he’s unnervingly symmetrical. there’s a balance to his features, a harmony, like he was designed—crafted—to be attractive.

your throat feels dry.

beneath the photo, there’s a line of text confirming the date of your preliminary meeting—next friday at 2 p.m., government center, family conference room 2B. both sets of parents are expected to attend. your wedding will be planned based on that meeting’s outcome.

you lie back on the bed, letter pressed to your chest, and stare at the ceiling.

it feels... wrong to think this—but he’s attractive. unfairly so. and that terrifies you even more. because you were always taught not to feel. not to dream of fairytales or meet-cutes or falling for someone in the rain. love at first sight is a myth now. it's forbidden. it would disrupt the system. too much emotion, too much unpredictability. and yet—

yet here you are, cheeks warm, heart skipping, staring at the grayscale face of a boy you’re about to marry.

a boy you’ve never met.

friday. 2:00 p.m.government center, family conference room 2B.

you’re early.

your dress is navy, modest, but it hugs your figure in a way you wish it wouldn’t. you didn’t pick it to be pretty—you picked it because it was formal, appropriate. your mother insisted on curling your hair, and your father didn’t speak the entire ride over. only your little brother tried to smile at you, but even his usual mischief was subdued. he kept playing with the sleeves of his hoodie in the backseat, pretending not to be upset.

the building is tall and silent, cold in a way that doesn't come from the air conditioning. it's the sterility of a place that sees life as a series of documents and laws. a place that doesn’t care about dreams.

you sit on one side of the long glass table, your family beside you. your mother keeps wringing a tissue in her lap. your father’s jaw is clenched, his hands crossed tightly. this is the last time they will sit with you like this—before you are someone else's.

and then the door opens.

you hear his voice before you see him. low, warm, laughing quietly at something one of his parents said. and when he walks in, it’s—

it’s hard to breathe.

he’s wearing a black suit that fits too well. slim, tailored, crisp like a page never touched. his hair is pushed back, soft and styled, a few strands falling delicately onto his forehead. and his face—his photo didn’t do him justice. his features move with his expressions, eyes gleaming like obsidian, mouth curved just slightly at the corners as if he’s always on the edge of a smile.

choi yeonjun.

his mother is elegant, her hair in a low twist, expression unreadable. his father looks composed, dignified, already halfway through a handshake with the government official present. this isn’t their first pairing. you remember reading his file—third son. they’ve done this before.

you feel like you’re being auctioned off.

“this is my assigned partner?” yeonjun asks, voice lilting, curious—not judgmental. he’s looking straight at you. and then he bows.

you stand and bow too, polite. your voice stays caught in your throat.

“you’re pretty,” he says softly, once he straightens. “i’m glad.”

it shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t. and yet your stomach flutters, just for a second, before you kill the feeling dead.

you don’t say anything. not because you’re rude—but because this isn’t real. this is a performance. this is a sentence.

the government mediator begins to speak, outlining the stages of the arrangement: the preliminary meeting. the planning process. the mandatory cohabitation. the one-year marriage trial before reproduction is expected.

you zone out after a while. your mother is crying again. your father’s voice is hoarse when he answers the legal questions. your little brother won’t look at you. and across from you, yeonjun looks like he’s done this in another life. calm. collected. but not cruel.

then, the mediator clears her throat.

“now, if the parents could please give the pair some time to speak privately. it is customary.”

your mother hesitates. she squeezes your hand until her knuckles turn white. she whispers something—"don’t let them take your heart too, okay?"—and then lets go.

and just like that, you are alone with him.

just the two of you, in a silent room that smells like paper and polished wood.

yeonjun exhales once your families are gone. his shoulders relax a little.

“wow,” he says. “that was intense.”

you nod. your hands are in your lap, clutching the fabric of your dress.

“you don’t talk much, huh?”

you glance up at him. he’s watching you with a soft kind of curiosity. not the kind that pries. more like he’s observing the weather—trying to guess if rain is coming.

“i do,” you say finally, voice quiet. “just... not today.”

he smiles. “that’s fair.”

a pause. he sits across from you again, legs crossed, posture easy, like he’s not under the weight of state surveillance. like this is his decision.

“i know this is strange,” he says. “i’m not gonna pretend it’s not. they pick someone for you, give you a name and a photo, and you’re supposed to start building a future. it's... a lot.”

you say nothing. you’re watching the way his fingers tap on the edge of the table. rhythmical. patient.

“i’m not here to make this harder for you,” he says, gentler now. “i know some people get assigned to assholes. i promise i won’t be one.”

your brows knit together, surprised.

he leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.

“if we have to go through this, we might as well not suffer through it.”

and you look at him then, really look.

his gaze is steady. not forceful. not manipulative. he’s not trying to make you like him. he’s just... honest.

"you’re used to this,” you murmur.

his smile falters. “not really. i’ve just watched my brothers go through it. and i learned what not to do.”

there’s something about the way he says it. like he’s seen what happens when the system doesn’t pair people right. like he knows how love can die before it’s even born.

you swallow, throat tight.

“i didn’t want this,” you admit.

he nods. “me neither.”

silence settles between you again. it’s not awkward. just full. like both of you are trying to breathe in a place with no air.

“but...” he says softly, after a while. “i think you’re interesting. and you’re easy to talk to. even if you don’t say much.”

your cheeks flush, and you hate that you can feel it. he notices, of course. but he doesn’t tease you. he just smiles to himself, quiet and pleased.

“so,” he says, tilting his head. “can i know something real about you? not government data. just... you.”

you blink.

he waits.

slow burn. that’s what this is. he’s not rushing. he’s not playing pretend. he’s offering you a chance to make something human out of something cold.

and even though everything in you is screaming don’t trust it— you speak.

you tell him a little. not much. just enough.

and he listens. attentively. sincerely.

maybe that’s how it starts. not with a kiss. not with a confession. but with someone sitting across from you, asking who you are when no one’s watching.

two weeks later.

the wedding is on a thursday.

you don’t get a white dress. there’s no music, no flowers. no ceremony beyond a document and a pen and the sterile voices of government officials making sure everything is binding and accounted for.

you wear beige.

yeonjun wears black again. no tie this time. his hair is messier, like he didn’t bother too much. he looks good anyway, like he always does. like someone who never had to try.

the room is almost identical to the one where you met: glass, steel, a flag in the corner.

your mother sobs quietly during the signing. your father doesn’t let go of her hand. your brother tries not to look, but when you lean down to hug him goodbye, he hides his face in your shoulder and mutters a broken, “please don’t forget us.”

and that’s when you finally cry.

not loud. not messy. just silent tears running down your cheeks as you sign the paper that says you no longer belong to them. your name next to yeonjun’s. your status: married. active participant in national repopulation initiative.

they even stamp it. a red seal. final. absolute.

you don't remember the ride to your new shared apartment. only the sound of the car, the blur of the buildings, your hands gripping the hem of your coat in your lap like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

yeonjun doesn’t speak for a while. and when he does, it’s soft. careful.

“you don’t have to pretend around me,” he says, eyes on the road. “i know this hurts.”

you don’t answer.

he pulls into a residential complex. government-provided. modern, quiet. two bedrooms, a shared kitchen, everything fully equipped. it smells like fresh paint and new plastic. not like home.

your boxes are already inside. so are his.

the apartment is... neutral. beige walls. grey couch. chrome kitchen. there’s a small balcony, but it faces another building.

you walk into your assigned bedroom and close the door without saying a word.

and to his credit, he doesn’t follow you. not right away.

but now, days pass like fog.

there’s a schedule pinned to the fridge now. a printed routine from the bureau: acclimation period, cohabitation adjustment, health preparation. underlined: mandatory hospital check-up before family planning begins.

you go to the hospital together a week later.

the nurse greets you by your couple ID number.

yeonjun jokes to break the tension—something dumb about feeling like a robot in a factory—and you don’t laugh, but you glance at him sideways. just a little. he notices.

you both go through blood work, fertility testing, infectious disease screening. the nurse asks personal questions. too personal. about cycles and hormone levels and sexual history— you flinch.

yeonjun speaks for you when you freeze.

“she’s not comfortable,” he says simply. “ask me first.”

his voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. the nurse adjusts her tone after that.

on the ride home, you stare out the window. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh, nervous energy he never shows in his posture. it’s the little things you’re starting to notice.

“you didn’t have to speak for me,” you say, finally.

“i know,” he answers. “but i wanted to.”

and again—there it is.

that kindness you didn’t ask for. that warmth he keeps offering, even though you haven’t given him much back.

nights are the hardest.

you pretend to sleep early, even when your eyes stay open in the dark for hours. the room feels too still, too foreign. the bed smells like the laundry detergent they gave you in the relocation kit. the ceiling fan turns slowly, quietly. your chest feels tight, like grief has found a home inside your ribs and refuses to move out.

sometimes, you press your ear against the bedroom wall. you can’t hear much. just the occasional soft shuffle, the hum of yeonjun’s voice when he speaks on the phone in hushed tones. he never speaks long. never laughs out loud. not anymore.

you miss your mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen, your brother’s heavy footsteps running down the hallway. the scent of warm rice and grilled mackerel. the sound of your father clearing his throat before calling everyone to eat.

now, there’s only silence.

until one night, a knock.

not loud. not urgent. just... present.

“hey,” comes his voice through the door. “you don’t have to open. i just wanted to say... i know this feels like the end of everything, but it isn’t.”

you sit up slowly. your hand hovers near the handle but doesn’t reach it.

“i know we didn’t choose each other,” he continues, voice low and careful, “but maybe that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to be good to each other.”

you swallow. your throat feels raw.

after a pause, your voice comes out in a whisper, hoarse but steady. “okay.”

you don’t open the door. but you walk to it, lean your back against the cool wood. and then—almost imperceptibly—you hear the sound of him lowering himself on the other side. sitting with you. just like that. no pressure. just presence.

you stay like that for a while. breathing the same air, separated by a few centimeters and a thin barrier. but somehow... it feels closer than anything else has in weeks.

you don’t talk more that night. but when you finally slide back into bed, you sleep without crying.

that’s a first.

the next morning, there’s tea waiting on the counter.

he doesn’t say it’s from him. but he’s the only other person here, so you thank him anyway.

a nod. a tiny smile. you sip it, and it’s sweet.

from that night on, something shifts. neither of you says it aloud, but the air is different now.

you start having breakfast together. simple stuff—toast, boiled eggs, fruit. you sit across from each other at the tiny kitchen table and talk about nothing. weather. uni schedules. news updates.

one afternoon, you both arrive home soaked from the sudden rain.

you were out grocery shopping. he met you on the walk back by chance. no umbrella. you ran together. you laughed—really laughed—for the first time since being assigned. your clothes clung to your skin, your breath short from the sprint.

in the elevator, he looks at you and says, a little breathless, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad at the rain.”

you blink at him. cheeks warm. you don't know what to say.

that night, he passes you a hairdryer through your door.

“so you don’t catch a cold.”

you murmur thanks. he lingers in the hallway a moment, like he wants to say something else. but then he leaves.

the next few nights, he knocks more often. never asks to come in. just talks through the door. sometimes you join him on the floor again, your backs pressed to opposite sides of wood. you start to open up. a little at a time.

one night, just past midnight, you both end up in the kitchen again.

you couldn’t sleep. neither could he. you make tea, he brings a packet of cookies.

the city outside is asleep. your apartment is bathed in soft fridge light.

you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs to the counter.

he asks, voice low, “did you ever fall in love before all this?”

the question feels heavy. you stare into your cup.

“no,” you answer honestly. “i didn’t let myself. what was the point, if it was forbidden? if we were all going to be assigned anyway?”

he nods slowly. you notice the way his eyes flick toward the window, as if remembering something far away.

“i did,” he says finally.

your heart stirs.

“in high school,” he goes on, “i fell for this girl in my class. she had this ridiculous laugh and used to bring snacks for everyone. i liked her for three years. never told her. i thought... i don’t know. part of me really believed she’d be assigned to me.”

you watch the way his lips twist into something halfway between a smile and a wince.

“i used to daydream about it,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “our names printed together on the envelope. hers next to mine. like it was meant to be.”

you don’t say anything. you let him speak.

“and then she got married last year. to someone else. she posted a photo with her husband and... i laughed. like, really laughed. because it was so stupid. how much hope i’d put into something that was never mine to decide.”

you imagine it. the version of him in a classroom, heart racing every time she turned around. young, hopeful. painfully innocent.

you don’t know her name. you’ll probably never meet her.

but you hate her a little.

you hate that she had his love, his dreams, his belief. something you were too scared to even touch.

and you hate that your chest aches when he says her name without saying it.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “that it didn’t work out.”

he looks at you, and there’s something tender in the way his eyes soften. “i’m not,” he says after a beat. “i wouldn’t have met you if it had.”

the silence after that is heavy, electric.

you don’t answer.

but you stay there with him. knees almost touching. the scent of tea between you. eyes a little too full. hearts slightly ajar.

the email arrives quietly, with the mechanical ding of a notification breaking the silence of your morning. it’s nothing dramatic—just a government seal, a cold subject line: YOUTH EMPLOYMENT PROGRAM FOR NEWLYWEDS.

you’re still in your oversized sleep shirt, hair loosely tied up, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of barley tea as you sit at the small kitchen table. the place smells like toasted bread and laundry detergent. yeonjun walks in a few minutes later, yawning, dressed in sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, a slice of toast clenched between his teeth. he glances over your shoulder to see what you're looking at.

you click the email open. it’s from the ministry of social and familial affairs—another mandatory policy. another thing the government arranges for you, like you’re pieces on a board.

“because both parties are currently enrolled in higher education,” you read aloud softly, “the government will provide access to part-time employment opportunities and offer a financial subsidy for essential living expenses during the first year of marriage.”

you don’t say anything for a long while after that. the words hover in the air, bureaucratic and impersonal. but somehow, they make this life feel more real. more permanent. like you’re not just living in a temporary dream—you’re expected to stay here. build something.

“well,” yeonjun finally says, mouth half-full, “that’s... something. we should check it out later.”

you nod, even though your stomach feels hollow.

you still think about that night. the night he told you about his first love. about how he spent three years loving her in silence, convinced she'd be the one fate would give him. the girl with snacks and a bright laugh. the one who got married last year. not to him.

and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, it still gnaws at you sometimes. there’s this faint, irrational heat in your chest whenever she crosses your mind. you don’t even know what she looks like. you don’t know her name. but something about the way he talked about her—with such tender resignation—makes something sour rise in your throat.

you hate that it lingers.

you hate that it hurts.

that night, the rain starts late.

it begins with a steady tapping against the glass, the kind that would normally soothe you—white noise for your thoughts. but then the wind picks up, howling through the narrow alley between your apartment and the building next door, and you know what’s coming.

the first clap of thunder makes you freeze.

your fingers curl around the blanket. your chest tightens. you try to breathe slowly, like your therapist taught you when you were younger. but then comes another one—louder, deeper. it shakes the walls. it shakes you.

you’ve always hated storms. they made you cry as a child, and when you were too old to crawl into your mother’s bed, you forced your little brother to sleep beside you just so you wouldn’t feel alone.

now you’re in a place that doesn’t smell like your mother’s laundry, that doesn’t hold your brother’s sleepy warmth.

you���re alone again. except you’re not. not really.

you don’t think. you just move.

barefoot, your steps light across the cold floor, you open your bedroom door and cross the hall. you knock on yeonjun’s door twice, already feeling embarrassed, but unable to stop.

he opens almost immediately, wearing a gray t-shirt and sleep-tousled hair. his eyes are soft when they meet yours.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, already understanding.

you hesitate. “can i… stay here tonight?”

there’s a beat of silence. he nods, stepping aside without a word, and gestures for you to come in.

his room is dim, smelling faintly of his cologne and clean linen. it’s warmer than yours. there’s a stack of books by his bed, an open laptop with half-written notes still on the screen, a navy blue hoodie slung over the chair.

he grabs an extra blanket and starts to lay it out on the floor, but you shake your head, already trembling from another rumble of thunder.

“i… don’t want to be alone,” you whisper.

yeonjun pauses. and then, slowly, he walks back toward the bed and lifts the corner of the blanket for you.

you crawl in on one side. he lies down on the other. space between you, but not coldness. not indifference.

“i’ve always been scared of storms,” you murmur into the dark. “when i was little, i’d run to my parents’ room. then i made my little brother stay with me. i thought that when i grew up, i wouldn’t be scared anymore. but i guess… i still am.”

you feel the bed shift as he turns onto his side, facing you. his voice is low, almost a hush.

“nothing’s going to break tonight.”

those five words feel like something heavier than comfort. they feel like a promise. and they make something fragile inside you twist.

you’re quiet for a long time after that. the silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that lets your heartbeat slow. the kind that feels full of something new—something you don’t have a name for yet.

you fall asleep to the sound of rain and his breathing, even and steady beside you.

and when you wake up in the early morning light, his hand is resting over yours.

you slept like a baby.

it's the first thought you have when you blink your eyes open, bathed in the pale light of morning seeping through the curtains. the room smells like faint detergent and something unmistakably yeonjun—warm cotton and the slightest trace of his cologne. the air is quiet now, no more thunder shaking the walls, no rain tapping restlessly against the windows. and your chest feels… calm.

it surprises you, how rested you feel. how deep your sleep was. how safe.

you remember all those nights with your younger brother, clinging to him as the storm rattled outside, whispering stories or counting sheep until your mind shut down from exhaustion. sleep was never easy back then. it was something you wrestled for, clawed your way toward, until it finally overtook you like mercy. but last night... last night, it came softly. it held you.

and now you realize why.

yeonjun’s arms are around you.

not tightly, not possessively—just gently draped, like he forgot to move in the night, like his body instinctively curved around yours in sleep. one of his hands rests over your wrist, the other loosely against your waist, warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. and his face is so close, calm and boyish, lips slightly parted, his breath even and soft against your skin.

your heart pounds immediately, panic fluttering low in your stomach—not because you’re scared, but because this is unfamiliar. because you don’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness.

you want to pull away. you should. you really, really should.

but instead you stay.

you stay because there’s something about this moment that feels too fragile to break. something inside you, some cracked place, is being filled just by existing in this quiet closeness. and you realize—though you’ve never wanted to admit it—that you’ve been touch-starved for a long time. that there’s a part of you that’s been aching for connection, for warmth, for someone.

his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep, adjusting against your hip, and your breath catches. the movement is innocent, unconscious—but your skin reacts like it’s been branded. you swallow hard, trying to still the storm inside you, even though the one outside is already gone.

you stay like that for several more minutes, listening to the soft hum of the apartment, watching the way the sunlight plays over his features. you trace the line of his brow with your eyes, the soft curve of his lashes, the shape of his lips. he looks so peaceful like this—unguarded, almost boyish. and for a second, you wonder what he’s dreaming about. if he ever dreamed of something like this.

he stirs eventually, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he blinks slowly awake. his gaze is unfocused at first, but then it lands on you, and something warm flickers in it.

“…morning,” he mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep.

“morning,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of how close you are, of how your bodies are still tucked together like pieces of the same story.

neither of you moves.

there’s a pause where his eyes search your face, slow and unreadable. and then, with a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, he lets out a soft breath.

“you didn’t run away in the middle of the night. that’s a good sign.”

you laugh quietly, your cheeks burning. “i slept too well to even think about moving.”

he hums, pleased. “me too. i usually toss around like crazy, but i guess… you were a good influence.”

you want to joke. to deflect. but instead you find yourself whispering something real.

“i felt safe.”

his eyes soften.

you don’t say anything else. you just lie there a while longer, not moving, not rushing. there’s a peace in the way your bodies still fit together, in how neither of you seems quite ready to let go.

but the world, eventually, pulls you back. responsibilities, the clock ticking louder in your head. breakfast. classes. life.

yeonjun stretches lazily and finally pulls back, giving you space without question, his smile sleepy but kind. “i’ll make us coffee.”

you nod, watching him slip out of bed, hair tousled, shirt riding up slightly at the back. you press your hand to where his body had been, still warm, and you sit there a little longer, your thoughts spiraling in slow, confused circles.

because even though last night was about fear and storms… this morning feels like the beginning of something else entirely.

the waiting room smells like antiseptic and soft lavender, a strange combination that doesn’t manage to calm your nerves. you sit side by side with yeonjun on a sleek government-issued bench, your fingers clasped tightly on your lap, trying not to let your knee bounce with the anxiety pressing into your chest.

he seems more composed than you are—back straight, hands relaxed, legs slightly spread in his usual confident posture—but when you glance sideways, you notice how he keeps licking his lips, how his jaw clenches just a little every few seconds.

the appointment with the planning officer had been scheduled right after your wedding—clinical, efficient, emotionless, like everything else in this system. you hadn’t talked about it. hadn’t even wanted to think about it. but now it’s here, and there’s nowhere to hide.

“choi yeonjun. choi y/n,” a nurse calls softly from the doorway, clipboard in hand. “follow me.”

you walk side by side into a white, spotless office where a woman in a pale beige suit greets you from behind a desk. she looks to be in her forties, composed, direct, her nametag reading ms. kang – reproductive health officer.

you sit across from her. the air feels heavier now.

“so,” she begins, smiling in that polite, unyielding way government workers do, “you’re about a month into your union. how’s the adjustment been?”

you blink, unsure how to answer. yeonjun speaks first.

“we’re getting used to it. slowly.”

“good,” she nods, tapping something on her tablet. “you’ve both passed the health screenings, no genetic flags or fertility concerns. so the next step is to begin trials of compatibility-based conception.”

you shift in your seat. trials.

“have you already begun your sexual relationship?” she asks, her tone calm, like she’s asking about the weather.

your breath catches. your eyes widen slightly, and your face goes hot. “uh—no. not yet,” you manage, your voice too soft, almost guilty.

yeonjun straightens a little, eyebrows twitching, his tone sharper. “we’ve only been married a few weeks. there hasn’t been time.”

ms. kang doesn’t flinch. she only nods and types something on her screen. “i see. while it’s natural for some couples to take time, we recommend initiating intimacy soon. it will help establish the rhythm of your connection and allow us to track progress for planning interventions if necessary.”

your ears are burning now. her words play back in your head like static: initiate intimacy, track progress.

you glance at yeonjun without meaning to, and he’s already looking at you—but his expression is unreadable. his jaw is tight again.

“we’ll… take that into consideration,” he says curtly.

the rest of the appointment passes in a blur. you nod and agree to things you barely hear, accept pamphlets on fertility monitoring and hormonal optimization. by the time you walk out of the clinic, your skin feels too tight for your body.

you don’t speak on the way home.

you sit beside him on the train, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside the window, but your thoughts keep circling the same place. the way she said it. the expectation of it. and worse—the idea of it.

because the thing is… you’ve thought about it. even before this meeting, in the quiet moments, in the space between shared breakfasts and brushing past each other in the kitchen, in that night you slept in his arms like you belonged there.

you’ve wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to your neck.

you’ve wondered how his hands would move if he weren’t just offering comfort.

you’ve wondered how his voice would sound if it wasn’t so composed—if it cracked with want.

but that was all private. safe in your imagination. not something stamped into paperwork. not something tracked by government programs and fertility logs.

and now you can’t not think about it.

when you finally get home, it’s too quiet. you move around each other like magnets unsure if they should attract or repel. you both pretend you’re just tired. that it was just a long day.

but the silence drips between you, thick and unspoken.

you head to your room without a word, tossing the clinic folder on your desk like it burns. you try to sleep. but the image of yeonjun, tense and handsome in the cold clinic light, won’t leave your mind. his voice, defensive. his fingers, twitching on his knee. and most of all, the memory of his arm around your waist from that night—the heat of his skin under your palm.

an hour passes. maybe two.

you shift in bed, restless. you toss the blanket off. put it back on. stare at the ceiling. you hear footsteps in the hall.

a soft knock at your door.

you sit up, heart hammering. “come in.”

yeonjun stands there, messy hair and hoodie half-zipped, eyes unreadable in the dim light. he doesn’t come in right away. just leans against the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” he says after a moment. “about earlier. the clinic.”

you nod. “it’s okay.”

he looks at you then, longer, and something flickers in his expression—something caught between curiosity and hesitation.

“they make it sound like it’s supposed to be… mechanical,” he murmurs, crossing the room slowly. “but it’s not, right? it’s not supposed to be.”

your breath catches.

he stops by your bed. close enough for you to see the flutter of his lashes, the nervous line between his brows. close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s both of you at the same time. but suddenly, the space between you disappears.

his hand brushes your cheek, soft and hesitant, and you lean into it without thinking.

“i don’t want it to be just… a task,” he says quietly, voice barely a breath now. “not with you.”

you don’t answer. you just let your forehead rest against his chest, your heart beating too loudly, your breath catching in your throat. and when he wraps his arms around you again—warm and strong and familiar—you feel the storm rising again.

but this time, it’s not outside.

it’s you. it’s him.

and it’s not fear anymore.

it’s something else entirely.

you don’t kiss that night.

you could’ve. maybe you almost do. there’s a moment where his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and your eyes lift to meet his, and you feel it—that shift, like the world holds its breath. but then he steps back, gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and says goodnight in a voice that’s too soft, too careful.

he leaves your door cracked open behind him. and somehow, that’s worse than closing it.

after that, the tension lingers—thick and quiet like smoke.

in the mornings, you find yourselves together more often than not. your coffee mugs sit side by side now. sometimes you forget whose is whose. he steals sips from yours and you pretend to scowl, but your heart trips every time your fingers brush when you both reach for the sugar at the same time.

you fall into a rhythm. not romantic. not domestic. but something else. something intimate in a quiet way.

when the job placement emails come through, you sit together on the couch, scrolling through them on your shared government-issued tablet. yeonjun lands a spot as an assistant at a community cultural center downtown—flexible hours, reasonable pay. you get placed in a local library, part-time shelving and cataloguing.

it’s not exciting. it’s not your dream. but it’s… stable.

“at least we won’t starve,” yeonjun says one evening, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you. “thanks, government.”

you snort. “maybe next year they’ll assign us a kid and a dog, too.”

he laughs—really laughs, loud and full—and something about the sound makes your chest ache. it makes you want to say something dumb just to hear it again.

but what sticks with you, what haunts you, is that night after the storm. not because of what happened—because of what didn’t.

and what happened at the clinic. what the officer said. what yeonjun said after.

you think about it too much. think about him too much.

and you think about her.

the girl he loved once. the one he talked about in that quiet, midnight voice, when the rain had softened and you were wrapped in his hoodie like armor.

you remember how his gaze turned distant as he spoke of her, how he confessed that he truly believed she’d be the one assigned to him. that he waited. that he hoped.

how the disappointment burned when he found out she wasn’t.

and you shouldn’t feel anything about it. it’s in the past. he told you that.

but sometimes, when you catch him staring into space or fiddling with that little leather bracelet he always wears, your chest twists a little. and you don’t know why.

you’re not in love.

you’re not supposed to fall in love.

yet it keeps slipping in—quiet and slow. like water through cracks.

one evening, it rains again. not a storm, just a steady drizzle that makes the air smell clean. you’re both tired from work and university, but neither of you wants to be alone in your room.

you sit on the windowsill together, knees touching, sharing a bowl of strawberries yeonjun bought on the way home. the fruit is sweet and cold against your tongue.

“i used to love the rain,” he murmurs, watching it trail down the glass. “when i was a kid, i’d sit on the porch for hours just listening. it felt like… everything else stopped for a while.”

you glance at him. his profile is soft in the dim light, his hair falling slightly over his eyes.

“it used to scare me,” you admit quietly. “storms, i mean. as you may know...”

he smiles without turning to you. “you were scared.”

“yeah.”

there’s a pause.

“you weren’t scared the other night,” he says. “not with me.”

you shrug. “you made it easy not to be.”

the silence that follows is gentle. not awkward. just… full.

“do you think it’s still possible?” he asks suddenly. “to fall for someone? even with all of this?” he gestures vaguely, and you know he means the system, the laws, the matching algorithms and fertility checkups and pre-written life paths.

you don’t answer right away. you don’t know how to.

“i think we’re not supposed to,” you say after a long pause. “but maybe… that doesn’t stop it from happening.”

his eyes find yours then, and they don’t look away.

your heart stumbles.

neither of you speaks. the air feels like it’s crackling again—not with lightning, but with something just as dangerous.

the next night, you fall asleep on the couch together. not planned. not anything.

you were watching something. you don’t even remember what. but you woke up with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, heartbeat steady against your ear.

you don’t move. you can’t move.

it feels too good. too right.

his shirt smells like laundry soap and skin. his fingers shift in his sleep, brushing lightly along your back. it makes you shiver. it makes you think about things you shouldn’t.

you stay there until the sun begins to rise.

you pretend to be asleep when he finally stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at your face. you feel the weight of his gaze.

but he doesn’t move either.

and neither do you.

because something’s changing. you both feel it.

you just don’t say it. not yet.

not until it’s too loud to ignore.

and maybe that moment is coming faster than either of you is ready for.

you try not to overthink the moments.

you try.

the accidental sleep on the couch becomes less accidental. the next week, it happens again—this time during a shared late-night study session. you're both exhausted, papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table, half-finished cups of coffee gone cold.

you wake up tucked under the same blanket, the light off, the tablet blinking low battery on the floor. yeonjun is beside you, his legs tangled with yours, his breathing soft against the crown of your head.

he doesn’t say anything when you open your eyes. he’s already awake, watching you, and when he sees you stir, he whispers a faint “morning” like it’s a secret.

you nod, throat dry. “morning.”

neither of you moves.

and maybe it’s the silence. maybe it’s the way his hand is resting lightly on your hip, not possessive, not bold—just there.or maybe it’s because of the way your name sounds in his voice lately—gentler, more familiar, too intimate for two people who were supposed to be strangers made spouses.

whatever it is, it roots itself deep in your chest, wraps vines around your ribs, and refuses to let go.

but things are still complicated.

you remember the appointment at the family planning center far too clearly. how the sterile walls and uncomfortable chairs felt like a sentence being handed down. the woman at the desk, clipboard in hand, speaking in clinical terms while smiling too much. the questions.

“have you two begun sexual relations yet?”

your body stiffened so fast it hurt. you’d shaken your head, cheeks burning.

“no,” you said, barely above a whisper.

and then yeonjun.

his voice didn’t waver. didn’t shrink. but there was a hint of something—offense, maybe, or just discomfort buried beneath practiced calm.

“not yet.”

not yet.

those words echoed for hours after.

the woman nodded, unbothered, flipping her pen in one hand.

“you should consider beginning soon,” she said, checking off a box. “intimacy will help strengthen the emotional bond and allow us to begin identifying which fertility path will suit your needs. the government recommends couples begin within the first ninety days of union.”

you had never wanted to disappear more.

the walk home was silent.

yeonjun didn’t mention it. you didn’t either.

but it sat between you like a stormcloud, buzzing with electricity, waiting to crack open.

you catch him watching you more after that. not in a bad way. not in a way that makes you feel unsafe. no—it makes you feel too safe, and that’s somehow worse.

he’s careful. always. but he’s still a boy. and you’re still you. and your bodies know things your minds are afraid to say.

the small space you share only makes things more dangerous.

his cologne clings to your pillows. your lotion starts appearing on his arms. he hums the songs you listen to in the shower. he buys your favorite snack without asking.

you start wearing his shirts to sleep without realizing. you only notice the third time it happens—when he stops in the hallway and his eyes dip, linger, then flick back up with a quiet clearing of his throat.

“is that mine?”

you glance down at yourself. it’s an old oversized gray tee. soft. worn. familiar. his scent baked into the fabric like sunlight.

“uh… yeah. sorry. it was just on the chair and—”

“keep it,” he says, not letting you finish. “looks better on you.”

you go to bed that night with your skin buzzing.

and things only build from there.

he starts cooking more, pulling you into the kitchen with an easy “help me” that really means just stand here while i talk to you. you lean on the counter while he cuts vegetables, while he stirs sauces, while he tells you about his classes and how boring statistics is, how he almost fell asleep mid-lecture. you laugh and call him dramatic. he grins and tells you it’s your fault for not waking him up when he left.

“you’re supposed to be my wife now. you have responsibilities.”

he says it like a joke. you laugh like it is one.

but your heart stutters anyway.

one night, it rains again. not a storm, just heavy and constant, soft thunder echoing in the distance. you find yourself awake at midnight again, restless, curled on the couch in the living room with your knees tucked to your chest.

yeonjun finds you there.

he doesn’t say anything—just sits beside you, close but not touching, and watches the rain drip down the windows.

“can’t sleep?” he asks.

you shake your head. “not really.”

“you okay?”

you nod, even though you’re not sure.

the air between you hums. it’s familiar now. this closeness. this heavy, unsaid thing growing slowly between shared silences and sidelong glances.

you lean your head on his shoulder, unsure why. maybe it’s because the rain feels lonelier tonight. maybe it’s because it feels like something is shifting again.

his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t move away.

“do you think they’re watching us?” you ask softly. “the government, i mean. checking how fast we fall in love. how fast we sleep together.”

he’s quiet for a moment.

“maybe,” he says finally. “but they can’t measure the parts that matter.”

“like what?”

he tilts his head toward yours. “like this.”

you feel the words like fingertips down your spine.

you close your eyes, and his shoulder under your cheek feels like solid ground.

this is the moment where maybe everything could change.

but you don’t kiss. not yet.

you breathe in together.

and for now, that’s enough.

the power cuts out a little after ten. it happens suddenly—an abrupt flicker, followed by darkness swallowing the apartment whole.

you blink, heart skipping, your body already tightening with reflex from the sound, from the silence that follows too quickly.

then the soft sound of rain begins again.

but unlike the last time, this one is gentle. no thunder, no flashes of light through the windows. just rain, steady and calm like fingers tapping against glass. it’s the kind of rain that makes the night feel softer than usual. quieter.

yeonjun lights a candle he keeps in the drawer near the kitchen, its flame swaying in the center of the living room table, casting shadows on the walls. he brings it over to the couch where you sit curled up under a blanket, your knees pressed to your chest, already waiting.

he joins you without asking.

“guess we’ll have to pretend we’re in the 1800s,” he murmurs, glancing at the candle.

you laugh softly. “at least you’re not reading me poetry.”

“don’t tempt me,” he grins.

the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. it rarely is now. something about the rain, the flicker of light, the way you’re seated side by side with your shoulders barely touching, it all feels… close.

your gaze drifts to the window, where the raindrops race each other down the glass. and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts start circling again. you’ve been doing that more and more—ever since that night. ever since yeonjun told you about her. the girl he loved in high school. the one he thought would be assigned to him.

you swallow. your chest tightens, not with pain exactly—more like an unfamiliar ache. something raw you haven’t named yet.

“can i ask you something?” you say, voice quiet.

yeonjun hums, eyes still on the candlelight. “of course.”

“i haven’t stopped thinking about her.”

he turns to you, brows faintly furrowed. “who?”

“the girl you were in love with.”

his expression doesn’t change much. he just blinks slowly, watching you. “why?”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “i don’t know. maybe because… i’m jealous of her.”

that makes him laugh—soft, surprised. “jealous?”

you nod, heart pounding. “yeah. i guess it’s stupid. but… she got to be your first love. she got all of you when it meant something. and now, i’m just—”

“my wife?” he cuts in, still smiling, trying to lighten the air. “you’re my wife now. kind of a win, don’t you think?”

but you don’t smile back.

you turn to face him, the dim light catching on your lashes, your jaw tight. “it’s not the same,” you say softly. “i know this is supposed to be a marriage, but it doesn’t feel right… hearing about your past like that. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that i have to be the one who came after.”

yeonjun’s smile fades. the playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something heavier. something slower. he looks at you like he’s really seeing you now—like maybe he’s been seeing you all along but didn’t know how close you were to unraveling.

“hey,” he says quietly, voice low and careful. “you’re not after anyone.”

you try to look away, but he catches your chin between two fingers, guiding your eyes back to his.

“she’s the past,” he murmurs. “but you—you’re the present. you’re the one who’s here. who sleeps beside me. who leaves hair ties on the bathroom sink and wears my shirts and steals my side of the bed.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“don’t do that to yourself,” he whispers. “don’t compare. it’s not the same because this is real. and growing. and you—”

he leans closer.

“you make me forget her name.”

you blink, breath catching. the air feels different now. the candlelight flickers between you, but you can barely see it. all you can see is him—his face inches from yours, his voice warm and deep and trembling just enough to make your pulse race.

“yeonjun…”

“can i kiss you?” he breathes.

you nod.

slowly, his hand slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing the soft skin beneath your cheekbone. he closes the space between you inch by inch, giving you time to pull away, but you don’t. you lean in.

when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not fireworks. it’s gravity.

you sink into it, into him, into the warmth and tenderness of it. it’s careful, at first—testing, soft, a question asked in the silence. but then you tilt your head, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, and he answers with a deeper kiss, one that pulls a sound from the back of your throat you didn’t expect.

it’s too much. it’s not enough. it’s everything all at once.

when you finally part, you’re breathless.

he presses his forehead to yours. the candle crackles gently nearby. the rain keeps falling.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

“don’t be,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “i should’ve known. i should’ve said something sooner.”

you shake your head. “no. i needed to feel it. to say it. i think i’ve been holding everything back since this marriage started.”

“me too.”

you both fall quiet again, but this time, it’s different.

you’re not two strangers trying to survive a system anymore.

you’re two people finally reaching across the space that was never meant to last.

and outside, the rain sings soft lullabies to the city, and the candle flickers like a heartbeat, and in his arms, you no longer feel like a second choice.

you feel chosen.

the next morning, something has changed.

it’s subtle. nothing overt. not at first.

you wake up earlier than him and find yourself just… watching him for a moment. the soft rise and fall of his chest. the curve of his lashes against his cheek. how he frowns slightly in his sleep, like he’s still half in a dream. you should look away—you’ve always looked away before—but now your eyes linger.

when he stirs, blinking against the light, he sees you watching. he doesn’t flinch. he just smiles, sleep-warm and real, and your heart does something uncomfortable and sweet in your chest.

“morning,” he murmurs, voice rough.

“morning,” you whisper back, your voice catching a little.

he reaches out lazily, his fingers brushing your arm beneath the blanket, and even though it’s nothing, just that, your breath hitches. you tell yourself it’s the closeness. the aftermath of the kiss. but the warmth in your chest says something else.

and then the day goes on—but not quite the same.

at breakfast, he sits closer than usual. your elbows touch when you both reach for the sugar. he doesn’t apologize like before. doesn’t pull away. just grins and bumps your shoulder on purpose this time.

you roll your eyes. “you’re annoying.”

“you kissed me last night,” he says, way too casually. “you don’t get to call me annoying anymore.”

“you asked first.”

“still counts.”

the banter is light, teasing, familiar. but under it, there’s a new current. an awareness. every glance feels heavier. every touch lingers a second longer than it should. when he hands you a dish, his fingers brush yours, and neither of you lets go right away.

the silence between you becomes something else entirely. no longer filled with obligation or awkwardness. now it feels like a question that neither of you is brave enough to answer out loud.

until it happens again. in the kitchen, late at night, as you’re washing dishes and he comes up behind you. at first it’s innocent—he says something dumb, you laugh—but then his hand finds the small of your back, and you freeze, not because it’s wrong but because it’s not. it feels too good. too natural.

you turn, slowly, water dripping from your hands, and he’s already looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.

he doesn’t. not yet. he just leans in and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, his eyes drop to your lips, and then—he walks away.

you stand there for a moment, heart pounding, wondering how the hell he keeps doing this to you.

a few days later, you’re invited to visit your family.

it’s your first time back since the marriage. your parents had called to check in, of course, had even video called once or twice, but nothing replaces being home. your mother’s cooking. your father’s quiet warmth. your brother’s chaotic energy.

the moment you walk through the door, your mom pulls you into a hug so tight you almost cry again. your dad claps yeonjun’s shoulder, awkward but trying. your brother, now twelve, looks like he’s grown taller.

he eyes yeonjun up and down, squints a little, then smirks at you.

“so, are you pregnant yet?”

you freeze.

your dad chokes on his tea. your mother lets out a gasp so sharp it could cut metal. yeonjun’s eyes go wide—like someone just yanked the floor out from under him.

“yoonho!” your mom yells, already reaching for the nearest dish towel like it’s a weapon. “you can’t ask that!”

“what?” your brother yells as he runs from her, laughing like a maniac. “i just wanted to know if the government system’s working!”

your dad is still coughing. you’re standing there redder than a tomato. burning with mortification.

yeonjun, after a stunned beat, laughs. really laughs. full chest, head-tilted-back laughter that’s so contagious you can��t help but giggle through your hands.

“don’t encourage him,” you say, smacking his arm lightly.

he grins down at you, eyes sparkling. “i’m sorry, that was—really something.”

“he’s an idiot,” you mutter, still mortified.

“he’s your idiot,” he says, voice softer now.

you glance up at him and smile, something warm spreading in your chest. it surprises you, just how much that smile feels like home.

and even after the chaos settles, even after your mom manages to drag your brother back by the collar to apologize properly, even when you sit around the table laughing and eating and telling stories—there’s a small, secret current running beneath it all.

the way yeonjun’s hand grazes your lower back when he leans past you to grab a dish. the way you lean into him just slightly when your mom starts talking about your childhood, and he listens like he wants to know everything.

and when the night ends, and you both return to your apartment, it’s quieter—but it’s a good quiet. that kind of peace you only feel when someone’s truly, finally getting under your skin.

the drive back home is quiet, but not in a bad way. it’s the kind of silence that lingers after too much laughter, after too much emotion crammed into too little time. the windows are fogged slightly from your breaths, and the hum of the road is the only sound between you. outside, the city lights blur in soft halos, the streets wet from the rain earlier in the day, reflecting neon and moonlight.

you’re leaning against the car door, eyes heavy, body full from dinner, from memories, from everything. your family had insisted you stay the night, but you knew it would’ve made leaving harder. too emotional. too permanent. so you thanked them, smiled through the tightness in your throat, and left.

and now, here you are, beside him. yeonjun’s one hand is on the wheel, the other resting between the seats, fingers tapping idly against the console. you glance at it once. then again. his profile is calm, a faint curve to his lips like he’s still smiling at your brother’s chaos.

you break the silence first.

“sorry about today… my family can be a lot.”

he lets out a soft chuckle. “i liked it.”

you turn to him, a little surprised.

“really?”

he nods. “they’re… warm. chaotic, yeah, but it felt real. like they love you so much they don’t even try to hide it.”

you press your lips together, looking down at your lap, suddenly blinking back something stinging in your eyes. you weren’t expecting that answer. or maybe you were, but not the way it made your chest ache so gently.

“thanks,” you whisper.

you don’t realize you’re still staring at him until he speaks again, this time softer.

“and your brother…” he smirks a little. “i can’t believe he said that.”

you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “please don’t remind me.”

“i’m serious,” he laughs, and then looks over at you, his gaze lingering longer this time, “you were so red.”

“because it was embarrassing,” you shoot back, but your voice is lighter, warm with the trace of a smile.

his eyes flick down to your lips.

“you’re cute when you blush,” he murmurs, and it’s so quiet you’re not even sure he meant to say it out loud.

your breath catches. your heart stutters. suddenly the space between you feels smaller. the console is no longer an arm’s length—it’s a breath. the air is thicker. hotter.

you look at him, really look at him—his jaw sharp in the glow of passing streetlamps, the tendons in his neck tense, his grip on the wheel a little tighter now. he looks back, just briefly, but it’s enough. something electric pulses between you.

and then he pulls over.

not far from your building, not quite home yet—but enough to be alone. enough to pause. the engine hums low, a steady heartbeat in the silence. he doesn’t look at you right away, just stares forward, fingers tightening, loosening, tightening again on the wheel.

you feel your pulse in your throat.

“i…” he starts, then stops. he turns to you, eyes darker than before. clearer. “can i ask you something?”

you nod, heart racing.

“why did it bother you?” he asks quietly. “about the girl i told you about.”

you stare at him. that familiar heat returns to your chest, crawling up your neck. you bite the inside of your cheek before answering.

“i don’t know,” you lie at first. but then, you sigh. “maybe because it was real for you. maybe because… you had someone you wanted, once. and i never did. and now i’m supposed to just… live with that. pretend like i’m not wondering if she would’ve made you happier.”

he watches you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then, finally, he leans a little closer, voice low.

“do you think i’m not happy?”

your throat dries.

“are you?” you whisper.

he exhales slowly, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s about to do this. and then he shifts, fully turning toward you. his fingers reach up, brushing lightly against your chin, lifting your face to his.

“you’re not her,” he says. “you’re you.”

and then, without waiting, without asking again—he kisses you.

it’s not urgent. not rough. it’s slow, deliberate, tender with something sharp hidden beneath. like he’s been holding it back for too long and now that it’s happening, he’s pouring everything into it. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. your lips part before you even realize, and his tongue grazes yours, soft, testing, like he’s still asking if this is okay even now.

you melt into it.

your hand slides up his arm, gripping his bicep, grounding yourself as heat spreads through your veins. your bodies don’t move much, still confined by seatbelts and space, but it’s intimate. intense. and when he finally pulls back, breathing harder than before, he rests his forehead against yours.

“you’re not her,” he whispers again. “and thank god for that.”

you sit there, breaths mingling, skin flushed, hearts racing in tandem. your hand is still on his arm. his thumb is still tracing your cheek.

and this time, neither of you says a word. because you both know—something just changed again.

you’re not lovers. not yet.

but your hands brush again on the way to bed. he holds your gaze a little longer. and when you lie down, back to back, you find yourself pressing closer, just enough that your spine feels the heat of his chest.

you fall asleep like that.

and neither of you says a word.

you both had an appointment early in the morning. the ministry of civil labor had sent a formal notice last week, listing the available part-time positions for couples still enrolled in university, and now you were seated across from an administrative worker who barely looked up from her screen as she explained the contracts. yeonjun was placed in a logistics department for a government-run supply chain—something with inventory and system inputs. you were assigned to a small local archival center where they'd digitize old birth and marriage records, which felt ironic in a way that made your stomach twist.

“you’ll receive your first schedule by the end of the week,” the woman said without emotion, and you both nodded, signing at the bottom of the page, pens scratching the paper in tandem.

walking out of the building, yeonjun nudged your shoulder with his and whispered, “look at us. signing contracts like a real married couple.” and you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips.

“you mean we weren’t real before?” you asked, raising a brow.

he smirked, unlocking the car and opening your door. “we were married on paper. now we’re married... and employed.”

you both laughed, climbing into the vehicle, and the warmth lingered even after the engine hummed to life. it was a quiet kind of happiness, soft and simple, like the feeling of your bare thighs against the leather seat, like the sun warming the dashboard. you wore a dress that day—casual, nothing too fancy, but it clung lightly to your frame in the breeze when you walked out earlier, and you caught the way yeonjun had looked at you from the corner of your eye. not blatant. just... noticing.

the road was mostly empty. the hum of tires on pavement filled the silence as the laughter faded, replaced by something thicker. something weightier.

at a red light, he stopped the car smoothly, one hand still on the steering wheel. the other lifted, slowly, casually, and without looking at you, he placed it on your thigh.

he didn’t squeeze. he didn’t slide his fingers higher. just let his palm rest there, warm and firm, like it belonged.

your breath hitched.

you tried not to move, tried not to tense up, but the sensation crawled up your spine like wildfire. it was such a simple touch, so ordinary, but it landed somewhere deep in your belly—hot, twisting, coiling. your skin tingled where his fingers barely pressed into the flesh, and your thighs felt suddenly, achingly aware of how little separated them from him.

he said nothing.

neither did you.

but your body betrayed you—the way your chest rose a little faster, the way your knees shifted slightly, as if trying to find an answer to the question that touch had asked.

the light turned green.

he drove on.

his hand didn’t move.

the silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was charged. heavy with something that neither of you dared name yet.

you exhaled, slow and shaky, and he glanced at you briefly, lips curving—not into a smirk, but something softer. something fond. he rubbed his thumb in a slow arc, barely there, and your fingers curled around the hem of your dress to keep from shaking.

by the time you got home, the tension had woven itself into your skin like a second layer. you both stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment quietly, but the air buzzed with every step.

inside, the routine resumed—shoes off, bags down, water poured into glasses—but your thoughts were nowhere near the surface. every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence more than you saw him. every brush of his hand, every graze of his arm felt like a firestarter.

you stood near the sink, rinsing the cups, when he came up behind you. didn’t touch you. just stood close enough that you felt the heat of his chest on your back, close enough that your breathing stuttered.

“need help?” he murmured, voice low, mouth near your ear.

you shook your head, but your body leaned slightly into him anyway. traitorously.

his hands didn’t move—not yet—but his presence surrounded you, a quiet pressure that built with every second. you turned your head slightly to glance at him, and the proximity was enough to make you both pause. your lips weren’t touching, but they could’ve. your noses almost brushed.

and then he reached for the cup beside you, taking it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing yours. your breath caught again.

“thanks,” he said, voice still low.

you watched him walk away, your hands trembling under the water, and you knew—tonight, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this tension didn’t exist. it was burning its way into your bones.

that night, everything felt like it was humming. the silence between you wasn’t really silence—it was full of what hadn’t been said, of what hadn’t been done but nearly was. the ghost of yeonjun’s hand on your thigh still lingered, burned into your skin. your legs still tingled from the pressure, the weight, the heat. and when he brushed past you in the kitchen again after dinner, it felt deliberate. or maybe you just wanted it to be.

your heart hadn’t settled since the drive home.

later, after you’d both changed into your sleep clothes, you met again in the hallway, the light above you casting a golden hue that made his skin look warm and soft. you paused at the same time, eyes locking. your breath caught in your throat, because he wasn’t just looking at you—he was seeing you. seeing the hem of your shirt, the way it clung slightly to your waist. seeing the bare stretch of your legs, your collarbone, the fine line of your neck.

you thought he’d say something.

he didn’t.

he just stepped past you, heading to the shared living room like usual. the storm from earlier had passed, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. you followed, drawn to him like always. you both sat on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, shoulders close but not quite touching. it was dark. the power had gone out temporarily again, only the soft blue emergency lights casting faint shadows across his face.

“you’re quiet,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“just thinking,” he replied, his tone low, almost distant.

you turned your head toward him. “about what?”

he hesitated. “about earlier... the car. and how it felt.”

you sucked in a soft breath. “me too.”

silence again.

and then, slowly, as if guided by instinct, he reached over and touched your hand. fingers brushing the back of yours. the contact was small. barely anything. but it was enough to pull the air from your lungs. you turned your palm and laced your fingers with his.

it felt dangerous.

he looked at your joined hands like he didn’t recognize his own, and then back at you—his eyes darker than usual, hooded, like he was holding back a tide. you weren’t sure who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you. but one second you were sitting apart, and the next your bodies were angled toward each other, your knees brushing, your breaths tangled. his hand cupped your jaw gently, fingers trembling against your skin, and he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed yours.

your pulse roared in your ears.

his mouth touched yours like a whisper—featherlight, testing.

you responded before you could think, lips parting for him, heat blooming low in your stomach like wildfire. the kiss deepened slowly, wet and slow and dizzying. his tongue brushed yours, cautious at first, then more certain, like he needed to taste you, like he was starved. your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly into your mouth, deep and breathless.

his hand slid down your side, fingers skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, and you gasped when they reached your hip. he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him, bodies pressed together too close to ignore. the heat between you crackled—your hips shifted without thinking, and you felt the hardness of him, solid and hot beneath you.

his lips broke from yours for a second, his breathing rough. “fuck... y/n...”

his hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. you whimpered, pressing closer, grinding down gently. it was heady. dizzying. perfect.

and then—

his phone rang.

the sound shattered the moment like glass.

you both froze.

you were on his lap, panting, trembling, your lips swollen from the kiss, your heart pounding like a war drum. he didn’t move for a second. then he cursed under his breath and gently lifted you off him, muttering a strained apology as he reached for the phone. his voice cracked when he answered, trying to sound normal.

you stood there, stunned, breathing hard, still tasting him on your tongue.

after the call, which only lasted a few seconds, he didn’t look at you.

“i think... i’ll sleep in my room tonight,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “oh.”

he didn’t explain.

he just walked away.

and something cold settled in your chest.

you crawled into your bed alone, wrapping the blanket around yourself tightly, but you couldn’t sleep. not when you still felt the ghost of his hands on your body. not when your lips were still tingling from the kiss. not when he had looked at you like he needed you, and then walked away without a word.

you turned over. again. again. and again. your heart ached with confusion. was it too much? did he regret it? had you done something wrong?

you couldn’t take it anymore.

you got up, padded down the hall to his room, and raised your fist to knock.

but then you froze.

because you heard it.

soft, muffled sounds, irregular breathing. your eyes widened.

a low groan, deep and drawn out.

then a quiet, wet sound—rhythmic, unmistakable.

your breath caught.

you didn’t mean to listen. but you couldn’t move.

then, you heard it.

“y/n...”

your name, moaned out—quiet but desperate. raw. like a confession.

your knees weakened.

another moan, louder this time, almost a whimper.

and then—your name again, breathless, almost broken, followed by the sound of skin slapping softly against skin, faster now.

he was close.

he was touching himself.

thinking of you.

you pressed your palm to your mouth, trying not to make a sound, cheeks burning, body trembling. you shouldn’t be here. you shouldn’t hear this. but your legs wouldn’t move. your breath came in shaky gasps, your heart thundering as heat rushed between your thighs, pooling heavy and hot.

you didn’t know what this meant.

but you knew one thing.

he wanted you.

and now, you didn’t think you could ever look at him the same again.

you didn’t mean to lean closer.

you didn’t mean to press your ear too tightly against the door.

but your balance faltered—just a second too long standing on your toes, your weight shifting, your breath too shallow—and suddenly your foot slipped on the edge of the smooth hallway floor. a soft, startled sound escaped your throat as your body tilted sideways, your hand fumbling for the wall, failing.

and then—thud.

a soft crash, your hip hitting the floor, your palms slapping down just in time to soften the fall. you gasped and quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, praying he hadn’t heard, that you hadn’t been loud enough—but inside, panic bloomed like fire. your chest heaved as you tried to stay perfectly still, your cheeks on fire, the oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt—riding high around your waist from the fall.

then you heard the shuffle. footsteps. hurried. a sudden rush from the other side.

“y/n?” his voice was sharp. worried. confused.

before you could react, the door swung open.

and there he was.

yeonjun.

bare-chested, sweat clinging to his collarbones, his hair disheveled, lips swollen and flushed, his hand still adjusting the waistband of his boxers as if he hadn’t had time to fix himself. and then he saw you.

on the floor.

his shirt up around your waist.

your bare thighs. your panties exposed.

your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

time froze.

he stared at you, blinking once, then again. his mouth parted, but no words came out. his gaze dropped—just for a heartbeat—but you saw it. the flicker. the hunger. the tension that snapped into existence like a spark to gasoline.

you scrambled to tug the shirt down, cheeks burning, breath caught.

“i—i slipped, i wasn’t—i mean—”

“were you listening?” his voice came out low. rough.

you opened your mouth, then shut it. your throat tightened. your heart was pounding so violently you felt it behind your eyes.

“y/n…” he whispered, stepping closer.

your breath hitched.

“i heard you,” he said, his voice strained now. “outside the door. you… you heard me too, didn’t you?”

you nodded slowly, like it was all you could manage.

he knelt beside you without thinking, his hands hovering for a moment before one slid to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, eyes searching yours. “you heard me… say your name.”

you couldn’t speak.

“fuck,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean for you to know. i tried to walk away because i couldn’t control it. i thought... if i gave us space—”

“why?” your voice cracked. “why did you walk away after kissing me like that?”

his jaw clenched. “because i wanted more. i wanted too much.”

your lips trembled. “me too.”

something inside him snapped.

he surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that was no longer restrained. this wasn’t careful. this wasn’t gentle. this was weeks of stolen glances and soft touches and building need exploding all at once. his mouth was hot, possessive, his hand slipping to your thigh, then gripping, pulling you into him as you moaned against his lips.

you tasted everything—desperation, desire, the salt on his skin from sweat, the sound of his breath ragged and wild. you clung to him, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he leaned you back slowly onto the hallway floor, his body covering yours, fitting against you perfectly. your thighs opened for him without thought, welcoming the pressure of his hips between them, the hardness of him pressing directly against the wet heat soaking your panties.

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned against your mouth, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

his hand slid beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—the one you wore to sleep every night, the one that smelled like him. his palm caressed your waist, your ribs, then cupped your breast softly over the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing the sensitive peak until you whimpered, arching up into him.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, but didn’t stop. “i’m trying so hard to do this right. to be careful.”

“then don’t,” you whispered back, your voice broken, needful. “don’t be careful.”

his eyes burned into yours.

his lips kissed down your jaw, your neck, biting softly at the tender skin just below your ear. “you’re gonna make me lose it,” he growled.

“maybe i want you to.”

his hand slipped lower, over your stomach, fingers grazing the band of your panties—when suddenly—

a sharp knock on the front door shattered the moment.

you both froze.

his chest rose and fell against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

another knock. then a voice from outside.

“government delivery. lights restored. system check.”

“fuck,” he hissed.

he helped you sit up, both of you breathing like you’d just run miles.

you looked at each other.

your lips swollen. your skin flushed. your bodies aching.

you wanted to scream.

but instead you swallowed it down, tugged the shirt over your thighs, stood on shaky legs. he followed you in silence, running a hand through his messy hair, still visibly hard, still clearly affected.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered.

you didn’t respond.

because you weren’t sure you wanted him to be.

you weren’t sure what you expected when you whispered, maybe i want you to. maybe you thought he would pull away, maybe he’d laugh and tell you to go to bed, that you were just talking nonsense, caught up in the tension of it all. but he didn’t. instead, the room stayed still, save for the thrum of the rain against the windows and the sound of his breathing, which was slow, deep, heavier now, as he looked down at you with something dark and burning in his eyes.

his voice was low, but not soft. "do you know what you're saying?" he asked, barely above a whisper. you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. you could feel his body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss wasn’t tentative. it was hungry, deeper, drawn out, and you could taste the restraint in him, the way he held himself back even as his hand gripped your waist tighter.

you barely noticed how he guided you back onto the mattress until your head hit the pillow. your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, the same one you'd stolen from him to sleep in, and now it was twisted between your hands as he kissed you again and again, lips trailing down the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, your pulse fluttering under his mouth.

every touch was slow, deliberate. when his hands slid under the hem of the shirt you wore, it wasn’t rushed—it was reverent. he looked at you like you were something sacred, something he’d been aching for, something forbidden and now finally his. his fingers traced the line of your hip, the soft skin just beneath your navel, pausing just above the waistband of your panties. you shivered beneath him, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

"tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. you shook your head immediately, a breathy no escaping your lips before you could second guess it. and something in him broke. or maybe it snapped into place. he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands roaming, learning the shape of you, the softness of your thighs, the arch of your back as you gasped under his touch.

he took his time. he whispered how beautiful you were, how long he had wanted you like this, how the thought of you in his bed had driven him insane since that first night the storm pushed you into his arms. every kiss lower was met with a pause, a glance, asking, confirming, cherishing. his hands didn’t fumble; they explored, gentle and firm, his mouth hot against your skin.

you had never felt like this before. it was more than arousal—it was a kind of unraveling, a melting of all the fear and restraint you had carried for so long. the rules, the systems, the cold logic of the world outside—none of it existed here. here, in his arms, you were just a girl wanting a boy. no laws. no assignments. no duties.

just him. just you.

and when he finally touched you, really touched you, the moan that escaped you was soft, stunned, your fingers digging into his shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck. you were wet, aching, needy in a way you hadn’t even known your body could feel, and yeonjun seemed to know exactly how to handle you—teasing, stroking, whispering your name like it was a prayer.

his own self-control was fraying at the edges. you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his voice broke when he groaned your name against your collarbone, the way his hips rocked against your thigh without even realizing it.

"you make me crazy," he whispered, biting gently at your shoulder. "since that kiss. since that first night. fuck—i think about you all the time. you wearing my shirt, you laughing in the kitchen, you sleeping next to me—"

"yeonjun," you gasped, your back arching as his fingers slid beneath your panties, finally, finally touching you where you needed him most. he cursed under his breath, kissing you again as your legs parted naturally for him.

he kept you on the edge, slow, patient, as if he was memorizing every sound you made, every breath you took. he didn’t rush to have you—not yet. this was still the prelude, the first taste, the careful unraveling. but you were close. too close.

and then.

he leaned over you again, lips brushing your ear, his voice hoarse. "can i make love to you?"

you nodded, heart pounding. "yes. please."

every movement after that was reverent, every sigh swallowed into a kiss, every tremble in your limbs steadied by his hands. he helped you out of your panties, gently, and shed his own clothes with a kind of urgency that was quiet, controlled, but full of need. when he settled between your legs, he paused, eyes meeting yours with a question so full of tenderness it made your chest ache.

his hand wrapped around himself, and your breath caught in your throat. he was thick, long—too much. your eyes widened without meaning to, and he noticed, chuckling softly as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, but your voice came out shaky when you murmured. “it won’t fit…” he hushed you gently, his palm stroking down your thigh.

“we’ll go slow,” he promised, though the way his jaw clenched told you even he was struggling to hold back.

the stretch was new, unfamiliar, but he moved slowly, letting you adjust, kissing you through the discomfort, murmuring praises against your lips. he held you like you were fragile, like the world would stop spinning if he hurt you, and when you finally relaxed around him, he moved with a rhythm that spoke of restraint and reverence, yet underneath it burned a fire he could barely contain.

it was gentle, yes, but not shy. it was soft, but not without heat. the way he groaned when your nails scraped down his back, the way he whispered your name like it anchored him—it was everything. his hands never stopped touching you, his mouth never far from yours, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of the universe.

the pace picked up only slightly, but the angle shifted when he gently maneuvered your body, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before whispering, “turn around for me, baby.” your heart skipped as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach, your cheek resting against his pillow, flushed and dazed, breath hot against the fabric. he settled behind you, large hands caressing the curve of your hips, his voice low and rough against your ear. “you look so good like this… fuck, i could lose my mind.”

you felt him guide himself back in, slower this time, deeper, and the gasp that left you was nothing short of a whimper, your back arching instinctively. the new position had him hitting that spot—the spot—with a precision that made your eyes roll back, your mouth dropping open against the pillow. “yeonjun—oh my god—” you choked, voice muffled, and he groaned above you, one hand gripping your waist as the other gently turned your face just enough so he could kiss your parted lips. “look at you,” he breathed, panting, watching your blissed-out expression with dark, desperate eyes. “you feel so fucking good—so tight around me… you were made for me, weren’t you?”

your voice came out broken, shaking. “it feels s-so good… i can’t—yeonjun, i—” but you didn’t need to finish. he could feel it. your body clenching around him with every slow, deep thrust. he bent over you, chest pressed to your back, skin to skin, and whispered filth in your ear in between kisses down your spine. “such a good girl,” he rasped, “taking me so well… fuck, i’m close. i can’t—i need to pull out…”

you nodded weakly, barely able to breathe, trembling as he gave one more thrust, then another—and with a strangled moan of your name, he pulled out and spilled his release onto the dip of your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, dripping down to your ass. he groaned, his forehead against your shoulder, panting hard as he tried to come down from the high. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice ragged. “so fucking perfect.”

when he collapsed beside you, he didn’t pull away. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, both of you still catching your breath. the rain still tapped gently against the windows, the room now full of the scent of sweat and skin, of something new, something sacred.

"i’ve wanted you for so long," he murmured against your hair.

"i know," you whispered back, curling into him.

and for once, you didn’t feel cold. you didn’t feel alone. you didn’t feel like someone forced into something by a cruel system. you felt wanted. chosen.

his.

yours.

the morning came too quickly, the sun bleeding gently through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the tangled sheets. your body still ached in the most delicious ways, and your skin was marked with soft reminders of his mouth, his hands, the way he held you like you were breakable and wanted all at once. you hadn’t said much when you woke. yeonjun had only kissed your forehead, helped you get dressed, and now you were sitting in the waiting room of the ministry’s planning clinic, the air sterile and overly bright.

the doctor, a warm-looking woman with gentle eyes and an enthusiastic tone, greeted you both like old friends. “ah! newlyweds,” she smiled, scanning her clipboard. “i see you’ve finally started your sexual life together. that’s wonderful news!”

your cheeks flamed immediately, and beside you, yeonjun coughed, suddenly fascinated by a poster about prenatal vitamins on the wall. “uh, yeah,” you mumbled, barely able to meet her gaze.

“good, good,” she said brightly, motioning for you to follow her behind a curtain for a quick checkup. “we need to make sure everything’s healthy and progressing normally. it’s still early, but we want to optimize for fertility, yes?”

you nodded, letting her guide you onto the examination table. her hands were professional, but the whole thing still made your stomach twist. you were sore—still a little tender—and she noticed, humming under her breath.

“you’re fine,” she reassured you, adjusting her gloves. “some sensitivity is natural after a first experience. but you’re healthy, everything looks good.” she smiled. “do you track your cycle, darling?”

you nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “yes… i keep a calendar.”

“perfect. when was your last period?”

you told her, and she did some quick math on her tablet before her smile brightened. “then your most fertile window should be starting in about four days. if you’re trying to conceive—and you should be, of course—it’s best to be active every other day during that period. that increases the chances significantly.”

you wanted to sink into the floor. “o-oh.”

“don’t be shy. this is natural.” she patted your knee, then stood. “you’re young and healthy. your compatibility score is ideal. You just need to be consistent now. and relaxed. it should be something enjoyable.”

you weren’t sure what your face looked like when you stepped out, but yeonjun blinked and stood instantly. the doctor gave him a little wink and whispered something about keeping the environment fun, and you could practically feel the tension coil between your ribs as you exited the building together.

the ride home was quiet for a while. the hum of the engine, the soft buzz of traffic, the way your thighs were pressed together beneath your dress. he tapped the wheel with his fingers, sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

finally, you exhaled. “she said i’m entering my fertile window soon.”

his hands stilled on the steering wheel.

“in four days,” you added, your voice too high, too soft.

“oh.”

another silence.

“and she said we should—uh—every other day. during that window. for higher chances.”

“right.” he adjusted his grip again. “makes sense.”

but neither of you looked at each other. because the thing was, last night hadn’t felt like a scheduled duty. it hadn’t felt like a requirement, or a step in a plan designed by the state. it had felt messy, desperate, slow, sweet, and hungry. it had felt human.

and now the idea of doing it again, like you were just checking off boxes on a clinical list, felt… weird.

“does it feel weird?” you blurted, staring out the window.

yeonjun looked at you, startled. “what?”

“this. talking about it. like it’s a chore or something. when last night—” you trailed off, cheeks heating.

he nodded slowly. “it feels weird because it wasn’t just about the system. it was… about us.” his voice was quiet, unsure, but honest.

you twisted your fingers in your lap, the weight of his words settling between your thighs like the lingering ache from last night. you didn’t know how to act now—how to go from that kind of vulnerability to pretending you were just following instructions.

“i want to do it again,” you admitted, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. “but not because of the calendar. because… i liked how it felt. with you.”

his knuckles tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching as he looked at you again. something in his eyes flickered—warm, molten, restrained. “good,” he said roughly. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about it since i woke up.”

your breath caught.

the red light ahead turned green, but neither of you were breathing normally anymore.

this wasn’t just about reproduction.

not anymore.

and neither of you knew how to navigate that yet—but the thought of exploring it again?

set your blood on fire.

you didn’t even make it past the front door.

as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned to you like something had snapped loose inside him—like the silence in the car, the weight of what had been said at the clinic, the image of you squirming in your seat all flushed and embarrassed, had pushed him past the edge. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a force that made your breath stutter, his lips crashing into yours with none of the hesitation from the night before. it was need—pure, undiluted need—and you melted into it like you’d been waiting all day.

your back hit the wall, your fingers clawing at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his abs while he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. his hands found your thighs, lifted you slightly, pressing your hips together in a rhythm already too hungry for the softness of conversation.

you moaned into his mouth, and that was it—he growled low in his throat, carrying you the few messy steps to the living room, collapsing with you onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. you straddled him instinctively, the dress you wore bunching at your hips, and the way you ground down against him made him curse under his breath, hands tightening on your waist.

"fuck, baby, you're driving me insane," he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging the straps of your dress off your shoulders as his thumbs traced soft, dizzying circles into your skin.

"then do something about it," you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips again just to feel him buck up into you, so hard already it made your mouth go dry.

he didn't need more encouragement.

he kissed down your chest, taking his time, pulling down the top of your dress to reveal more skin, his mouth hot and greedy as he licked and sucked at your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple until you were gasping his name. his fingers pushed the fabric higher, baring your panties and the damp patch growing darker by the second, and he groaned, burying his face between your thighs like he needed to taste you just to stay sane.

you cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue worked slow, devastating circles against your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with the edge of release only to pull away. “so wet for me already,” he whispered, voice thick, lips glistening. “you’ve been thinking about this since the car, haven’t you?”

you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and he rewarded you by sucking harder, his fingers slipping inside to stretch you just right, his other hand holding your hips down while you rode the edge again and again until you whimpered, begging, thighs trembling.

“please, yeonjun… i need you, now.”

he didn’t make you ask twice.

he pulled you onto his lap again, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips. and then he stood, shifting you onto the couch, turning your body gently, hands guiding your knees onto the cushions, your chest pressed to the armrest, your ass up for him—offered, exposed, throbbing.

"you’re so fucking perfect like this," he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your hip as he positioned himself behind you, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, teasing, wet and hot.

you whimpered, pushing back slightly, and when he slid in, inch by inch, you gasped—eyes rolling back, the stretch sharp and addictive all over again.

“fuck, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, sinking in all the way until your ass met his hips. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

he started to move slowly, the position letting him hit deeper, every thrust punching little moans from your lips. the slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, his hands gripping your waist, your thighs, your hair. and still, he kissed your spine, leaned over you, whispered filth against your neck.

“you like this, baby? you like being fucked like this?”

“yes—yes, fuck, yeonjun—it feels so good—”

he reached around, rubbed slow circles against your clit as he fucked into you deeper, faster, making you cry out into the pillow, your body arching under him, thighs shaking again.

"let me see your face," he panted, one hand turning your head slightly so he could kiss you, so he could see your expression—your flushed cheeks, your lips parted, eyes unfocused.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “you’re gonna make me come just looking at you.”

you felt it building again, heat coiling low in your belly, your body tightening, trembling, your moans turning desperate as he kept you right on the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

“yeonjun—i’m gonna—”

“me too—fuck—i need to pull out—”

but you reached back, grabbing his hand, voice shaking. “don’t. please. come inside.”

he choked on a moan, hips stuttering, and then he was spilling into you with a groan so deep it made your toes curl, holding you tight as he filled you completely, shaking from the force of it. your own climax hit just seconds later, white-hot and blinding, and you collapsed onto the couch, boneless, his body draped over yours, both of you gasping for air.

his come dripped slowly down your thighs, warmth spreading between them, and he didn’t move—just pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your back, your spine, whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.

neither of you said anything for a long time.

but you both knew.

there was no going back.

the following days slipped into a blur of aching need and restless nights. you both tried to keep the doctor’s advice in mind, to space out your moments, to give your bodies time to recover, but desire doesn’t listen to calendars or rules. every morning, before you left for university, you found yourselves tangled together, breathless and desperate, fingers tracing familiar curves as if memorizing every inch again and again. afternoons after classes weren’t any different; the moment you closed the door behind you, yeonjun’s hands were already on your waist, pulling you close, his lips claiming yours with the same fierce hunger that never dulled.

the days were a patchwork of stolen touches and whispered promises, of quick, heated moments before rushing to your part-time jobs—him with the university’s cultural center, tutoring students in language and literature, and you at a small café nearby, pouring coffee and smiling through the haze of exhaustion and longing. you came home exhausted but your body still hummed with anticipation, the ache of missing him settling low and deep, urging you back into his arms. your skin grew sensitive, your senses sharper; even the smallest brush of fingers sparked a fire beneath your skin.

and every time he pulled you close, you let him come inside you—every time—forgetting the cautious rhythm the doctor had suggested, letting your bodies rewrite the rules in the heat of the moment. the cool logic of planning was swallowed whole by your hunger, your need to be closer, to feel him deeper, to lose yourselves entirely in the mess and sweetness of this forbidden, stolen intimacy.

sometimes you’d catch yourself wondering if the doctor would be surprised—or scandalized—to know how little control you really had, how much your hearts raced and how your bodies begged for more. but in those moments, all that mattered was yeonjun’s warm breath against your neck, the way his hands shaped you like a secret only he was meant to know, and the way your own voice trembled when you whispered his name.

it was messy, it was frantic, but it was yours. and for the first time since everything began, it felt like freedom.

you were wiping down the counter when one of your coworkers, a woman named hana, leaned over with a gentle smile. she was older than you, maybe 35, and had a quiet confidence about her that made people listen. she lowered her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.

“you know, i was assigned a husband too. i thought it would be awful, honestly. i was scared. but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. at first, i wasn’t sure if i could love him, or if he even cared. but slowly, i saw who he really was. and now, i’m so happy. we have two kids, and we’re thinking about a third. it’s scary, getting older, but i go to family planning a lot, trying to make sure it’s possible. the government even recognized me for wanting to keep repopulating. it’s strange, isn’t it? how these arrangements can lead to something real.”

you nodded, the thought settling deep inside your chest. could yeonjun and you be like that someday? sure, you cared for him. he was your husband, your partner in this harsh world. you pictured mornings waking up next to him, the soft light catching his face, the two of you building a life, maybe even raising children together. but love — real love? you had never felt it before, not like this. the feeling was foreign, like a story you’d read but never lived. still, yeonjun was everything to you, and that was enough for now.

later that day, when your shift ended, yeonjun was waiting by the door like always, leaning casually against his car. you slipped inside and immediately started talking about your day, the small victories, the tiring moments. he listened, eyes bright, then shared his own stories, laughter in his voice. the rhythm of your lives syncing quietly, comfortably.

and then, on a quiet street, just as the light ahead turned red, you suddenly blurted out, “do you love me?”

the car jerked slightly as yeonjun slammed on the brakes, both of you moving forward with the momentum. the question hung between you, heavy and unexpected.

he was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead, and you could almost see the weight of the thought pressing on him. love was a strange word, loaded with promises and fears. but then his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, steady and sure.

“i do,” he said slowly, voice low but certain. “maybe not like the stories you hear — wild and all-consuming — but i love you. from the moment i saw you, from that first kiss in the storm, from every day since. every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment. it’s real. and it will only grow.”

your heart fluttered in a way that was both new and familiar, and when the light turned green, he eased forward, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter.

back at the apartment, the world outside disappeared as yeonjun pulled you close. the night was gentle but full of fire, his hands exploring with a tenderness that spoke of trust and deep desire. lips brushed your skin with reverence, soft whispers mingling with quiet moans. you traced the curve of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. every touch was a promise, every kiss a new discovery.

he took his time, patient and caring, making sure you felt cherished, safe. the moments stretched between you, slow and delicious, as if the world had paused just for this — for the two of you, tangled in sheets and warmth, sharing something sacred.

and as you finally melted into him, the love he had spoken of filled the space between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable.

“congratulations,” the doctor said, her voice warm, glowing even, as if she had just handed you the entire sky. “you’re pregnant.”

the world stilled.

you blinked, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. yeonjun, who had just stepped inside the room after waiting anxiously outside, froze beside you. his eyes darted from your stunned face to the doctor and back again, like he was trying to make sure he’d heard correctly.

“what?” you breathed, voice barely there.

the doctor smiled, gentle and knowing, like this was her favorite kind of moment to deliver. “you’re about six weeks along. everything looks good so far. the symptoms you’ve been experiencing — the nausea, the cravings, the mood swings — they all point to a healthy early pregnancy. we’ll begin prenatal care from today.”

you felt yeonjun’s fingers slip into yours, holding tight, like he needed to anchor himself. like you were both floating. he didn’t say anything right away — his throat worked around words he couldn’t seem to find — but his hand trembled slightly in yours.

the tears came slowly, not from fear or sadness, but from something else entirely. wonder. disbelief. awe.

a baby.

your baby.

with him.

“i…” you started, then shook your head with a small, breathless laugh. “i thought it was just stress. i didn’t want to hope.”

“and yet, here we are,” the doctor said kindly. “your next steps will be regular checkups, nutrition monitoring, and continued intimacy when you feel comfortable. you’re doing great already.”

you could hardly focus after that — her voice faded to a background hum as your eyes lifted to meet yeonjun’s. he was already looking at you, completely undone. his gaze was soft, watery, reverent. like you were something holy.

he squeezed your hand. “we’re going to be parents,” he whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.

and it did.

you nodded, blinking away fresh tears. “we’re going to be a family.”

the drive home was quiet, but not empty. yeonjun kept stealing glances at you at every stoplight, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like he couldn’t believe the little life beginning inside you was real. his hand never left yours on the console between you, thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles.

when you stepped into the apartment, he didn’t let go. he guided you gently to the couch, like you might break if he wasn’t careful. and then he was kneeling in front of you, both hands now on your stomach, even though there was nothing visible yet — just warmth. just possibility.

“thank you,” he whispered. “for this. for you. for everything.”

you touched his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands, heart swelling. “i didn’t do this alone, junnie.”

he leaned forward, lips brushing your still-flat belly, and then rested his forehead there, breathing slow and deep. “i’m gonna do everything i can to be good to you. to them. we didn’t choose this world, but i’ll choose you every day in it.”

you’d never felt more seen. more loved.

later that night, he held you closer than ever in bed, your back to his chest, one hand cradling your stomach, the other tangled with yours. the rain tapped gently against the window again, just like it had the night everything between you shifted.

and now it had shifted again.

you weren’t just husband and wife anymore.

you were parents.

you were a beginning.

and wrapped in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against your spine, you let yourself dream — not of what the government wanted, not of duty or numbers, but of soft mornings and tiny fingers, of lullabies and laughter echoing through the walls.

of a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

but now, it was here.

growing inside you.

growing between you.

and it was love.

the apartment smelled of cake and laughter. pink balloons were tied to every chair, streamers hung slightly lopsided from the ceiling, and tiny frosting handprints decorated the corners of the tablecloth. your baby girl — chaeyeon — had turned one.

she was currently asleep in your arms, a little drool soaking into your blouse, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. you'd never seen her smile so much in one day, or so determined to wobble around on her chubby legs while everyone clapped for her.

your parents had cried. yeonjun’s mother had brought enough food to feed an entire village. your brother had looked absolutely horrified when asked to hold chaeyeon and had instead stood frozen like she was made of glass. yeonjun’s older brothers had been more relaxed — juggling their own kids, swapping parenting tips with you and yeonjun, their wives giggling over how much yeonjun had softened in just a year.

it was a blur of love. of family. of a happiness you never expected from a life that had once felt forced upon you.

now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

when the door closed behind the last guest, you let out a long breath and leaned against it. yeonjun was on his knees collecting bits of wrapping paper and cupcake crumbs, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit messy from carrying hana all afternoon.

“i think i have frosting in places i didn’t know were possible,” he muttered.

you giggled and padded over, gently placing a hand on his head. “she’s finally asleep. like… deep asleep. miracle of miracles.”

he looked up at you and smiled, slow and soft. “we survived our first birthday party.”

“barely.”

you both laughed, exhausted but giddy, and after tidying up the last of the chaos, you shuffled into your shared bedroom — the one that now held a rocking chair, a baby monitor, and the scent of lavender oil and baby lotion.

you sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at yeonjun as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. his skin glowed faintly from the sweat of the day, and his eyes were crinkled with something tender when he looked at you.

“hard to believe we’ve made it here,” you murmured.

“i know.” he crawled onto the bed beside you, resting his head against your shoulder. “long time ago we were just trying to figure out how to be in the same room without losing our minds.”

“or jumping each other.”

he snorted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “that too.”

you fell quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through his hair. “when they told me we were being assigned… i hated it. the system felt so cruel. mechanical. like love didn’t matter.”

“me too,” he admitted, voice low. “i kept wondering who you’d be. if you’d hate me. if i’d hate you.”

“and now… i can’t imagine waking up without you next to me.” you turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. “you’ve become everything.”

he lifted his head, eyes dark with something more than just love. “you gave me a family. you gave me her.”

“we gave her to each other,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

he kissed you then — slow, deep, familiar in a way that made your toes curl. and when he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he murmured, “i need you.”

“then take me,” you breathed.

you barely finished speaking before he was on you, lips claiming yours again, more urgent this time, tongue teasing, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. you gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled a thumb over your nipple.

“fuck, i love how sensitive you still are,” he muttered against your neck, biting softly before soothing the skin with kisses. “you get wet the second i touch you, don’t you?”

you nodded, already trembling as he dragged your panties down your thighs, fingers grazing your slick folds. “you make me like this… only you.”

he groaned, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his thumb circling your clit until your hips were grinding against his hand.

“look at you,” he said, voice rough, “needy little wife. always so eager for me. i could fuck you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough, would it?”

“never enough,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. “please, junnie—”

he flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you were on all fours, head turned into the pillow. “you know what this does to me, seeing you like this,” he growled, running the head of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in. “fuck, still so tight for me.”

you moaned, face burying into the pillow as he filled you to the hilt, rocking his hips with slow, brutal precision. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“tell me how good i make you feel,” he said through gritted teeth, fucking you deeper.

“so good—oh god, junnie—right there,” you whimpered. “you fuck me like you own me.”

“because i do,” he hissed. “you’re mine. every inch. every breath. and this pussy? fuck—this was made for me.”

your cries were muffled into the pillow, tears prickling at your eyes from the pleasure building impossibly fast. he bent over you, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulder, your neck, never stopping his rhythm.

“gonna come, baby?” he whispered in your ear. “cream on my cock like you always do?”

you nodded desperately, clenching around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a strangled moan.

he followed right after, cursing low and dark, emptying himself inside you with a final thrust. “fuck—gonna fill you up again. maybe give chaeyeon a little sibling.”

you both collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around you from behind.

and in that moment, as the warmth of him settled over your back and your heartbeat steadied with his, you smiled.

because this was the life you never asked for — and yet, it was everything.

and now, there was no one else you’d rather be loved by.

[fireinmoonshot]

more than a friend should | robert reynolds x fem!reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Fem!Reader Summary: Bob didn't quite count on himself being starstruck by seeing you in a dress for the first time. You didn't count on yourself forgetting how to breathe when you saw Bob in a suit. But when you both have to get through a black tie event, the only way to do it is by getting through it together. Warnings: Mentions of general mental health struggles, anxiety, being drained from social activities and exhaustion. A very brief mention of alcohol and drugs. Reader wears a dress. Very brief swearing. Word Count: 4.3k A/N: I got a request for this fic last week and I totally fell in love with the idea. It took me a while to write just because I really wanted it to be perfect and I'm so happy with how it turned out. It's my longest fic for Bob so far! I did not proof read it after I finished my final draft. It's 11:30pm and I am so tired, so let's hope there are no mistakes in there 😂 Thank you so much for the response on all my Bob fics up to this point – I'm so happy that so many people are enjoying them. I hope you'll enjoy this one too! 💗

Bob knows that he’s screwed the second he sees you walk out into the penthouse from your room where you’d been getting ready. He doesn’t even notice Mel walking out behind you.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters under his breath, totally unaware that he wasn’t as quiet as he’d thought he was being.

Walker, stood right beside him, glances at him. “You all right, Bobby?”

Bob tears his gaze away from you and looks at Walker, eyes a little glazed over. It doesn’t last long, though – his ability to not look at you. Not two seconds later he finds you again. Walker watches the whole thing, eyebrows furrowed and confusion written all over his face.

Was something going on between you and Bob? He was surely reading the situation wrong. If there was some kind of romance going on between the two of you, he was obviously going to know about it.

“What do we all think?” Mel’s voice breaks both Bob and Walker out of their thoughts. She’s standing beside you, motioning to the dress that you’re wearing. 

You smooth the dress down with your hands and instantly miss the pockets of your suit. As a New Avenger, wearing dresses is not something you’re used to. You spend most of your time in your suit or clothes that are comfortable when you’re not working. This is the entire opposite.

“Mel helped me pick it out,” you explain.

“It’s cute,” Ava says, standing up from where she’d been sitting down to wait for everyone to get ready. You’re glad to see that she’s wearing a dress as well – it makes the stress of it a little better, knowing you don’t have to go through it all alone.

You thank her at the same time that you catch Bob staring at you. Your breath catches in your throat as you notice the suit he’s wearing – a big change from the clothes he usually wears around the Watch Tower. Bob is nearly always wearing some kind of sweatpants. To see him in something like a suit, so perfectly tailored to fit him, is a sight to behold.

He still looks like Bob, though. His hair is a little messy and his tie is crooked, which makes you smile a little. They could put him in a suit, but he was clearly not very happy about it.

“You look different,” you start, beginning to walk over to Bob. “I can’t believe they actually got you out of sweatpants for the night.”

Bob laughs a little, then almost chokes on his own breath as he notices your hands reaching up towards him. They find his tie and straighten it. He lets out a shaky breath as you place your hands on his chest, running them over the lapels of his suit jacket, before dropping them.

Ever since Bob had met you, he’d been fascinated by you. He loved watching you kick ass as an Avenger, but he liked seeing the non-Avenger side of you more. His crush on you had grown rather quickly once he’d caught you reading one of his favourite books. Then, you’d offered to start doing buddy reads with him and he’d fallen even harder.

It often made him smile – the fact that the world knew you as one thing, but to Bob you were something entirely different. That to him, there were parts of you that no one else got to see. That once a month, you and him would sit up late into the night discussing the book you’d read and end up falling asleep on the bean bags on his bedroom floor. That every morning, he’d often see you coming out of your bedroom, opposite his, and think about how cute you looked with your bed hair. Those were the kind of memories he held closer than ever.

“You do, too,” he nods, hoping that you couldn’t feel the way his heart is beating out of his chest when you had your hands on him. “You look really nice. I like this colour.”

The smile that appears on your face only makes Bob’s heart race faster. 

“You look handsome, Bob,” you complimented. You open your mouth, about to say something else, when Valentina enters the room and shatters the moment entirely. She has a habit of that.

“Where’s Yelena?” Val asks, turning around to look at everyone. You can see the way her eyes snag on you and Bob and how close you’re standing together, but her gaze doesn’t linger too long.

“I’m here,” Yelena answers, clearly irritated, as she walks into the penthouse from the hallway. “And before you say anything, Valentina, I am not going to change into a dress.”

Yelena is, unsurprisingly, going against the dress code and wearing a pant suit. You very clearly remember reading instructions on the invitation – women were to wear dresses, men to wear suits. Of course Yelena had taken that as a suggestion rather than a request. 

For a moment, Valentina just looks at Yelena, venom in her eyes, but then she shakes her head and looks away from her, clearly sensing that starting an argument with one of her Avengers right before you all leave for a black tie event is not the best course of action.

“Well, at least the rest of you look appropriate,” she sighs. “When we arrive, instead of you all walking in as a group, I want you to enter as pairs. It’ll look better, make you seem more human. And it’ll drag out the entrance so that we get more attention. One of you will have to go solo since there’s an odd number of you but–”

“I’ll do it,” Yelena raises her hand, cutting Val off. “I’m going to wait in the car.” 

Before anyone else can say anything, Yelena heads straight to the elevator and gets in, heading down to the car, waiting to take you all to the venue. You stifle a laugh, amused at how quickly Yelena had snagged the ‘entering solo’ opportunity. It’s understandable, though. You make eye contact with Ava, who just shrugs. The last thing either of you want is to walk in on the arm of a man, being made to look like a piece of eye candy to every other man in the room, but without Ava fighting Val with you, it’s clearly not going to be worth your time.

Valentina ignores Yelena’s exit. “Okay, Bucky and Alexei, you two are a pair,” she begins, pointing at the two of them and ignoring the way that Bucky groans and Alexei cheers, exclaiming something about the co-leaders. “Ava and Walker, you two… and that leaves you,” she points towards you, “and Bob. You two look cozy. Don’t get too cozy, though.”

You look at Bob and give him your best reassuring smile. Out of all of the other Avengers, you’re grateful that Val paired you with Bob. The two of you are more comfortable with each other than you are with any of the others. At least being on his arm means you have someone that you feel especially safe and relaxed around right by your side. 

Bob feels the same way. He’d much rather walk in with you beside him than alone, and he has to admit that he’d worried Val was going to make him be the one to go solo before Yelena had volunteered. He’s infinitely relieved that he doesn’t have to be. 

With that, Val starts to walk towards the elevator. Mel hurries after her, leaving the rest of you all standing in the room until she beckons you over from the elevator, telling you all to hurry up.

You stay close to Bob’s side as you walk towards the elevator. “You ready for this?” You ask, nudging his arm with your elbow gently.

Bob grimaces. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to things like this.”

“Me neither,” you flash him a grin. “But at least we’ll be together. If you feel nervous, you can just hold on tight to me, all right? And once we’re inside, we can find a corner and start discussing what book we’re going to read next. Sound like a plan?” 

The two of you step inside the elevator and Bucky reaches forward to press the Ground Floor button.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bob nods, smiling. 

––––

Bob takes you up on your offer pretty quickly once you arrive at the event. Your arm is wrapped around his but he’s the one holding you close. Your body is pressed up against his side. He’s putting all of his energy into focusing on the feeling of your touch so that he doesn’t start to spin out with anxiety over the fact that he’s here.

It’s almost like you can hear his thoughts, because only seconds later he hears you ask him if he’s okay. His head snaps towards you, breath hitching in his throat as he sees you already looking at him.

You have the most beautiful eyes, he thinks.

“Bob?” You say his name again.

Just hearing his name from your lips snaps him out of his head. “I don’t think I should be here,” he says, glancing away from you to have a quick look around the room. There are so many people in the room, probably hundreds, and they’re all staring at him. No – not him, all of you. “I can’t even control my powers. I’m not a proper Avenger like all of you. I should’ve just stayed home and given Val some excuse.”

You frown and tighten your grip on his arm just a little. “That’s not true, Bob. You deserve to be here as much as any of us do. We wouldn’t even be here without you,” you explain. “And, for the record, I’m glad you’re here. Who would I have entered with if you weren’t here?”

“I’m sure you would’ve entered with someone.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to enter with anyone but you.”

Bob looks back at you, not quite believing your words. “Really?”

“Really.” 

It’s a little more bearable once you’ve all entered the room and found a spot to stand, crowded around a small but very tall table in the corner of the room. There are still a lot of eyes on all of you, but thankfully the attention has died down a little since your entrance.

“Do you want me to let go?” You mutter, looking up at Bob. You’re still holding onto his arm, even though Ava and Walker had let go of each other the second the entrance was over. It was partially for you and partially for Bob that you hadn’t let go yet. 

You were just as nervous as he was. Events like this were not your idea of a good Saturday evening. If you’d had things your way, you’d be back at the Watch Tower, cooking something easy yet delicious for dinner and preparing to curl up on one of Bob’s bean bags all night to read with him.

“No,” Bob shakes his head. “Not yet. Please.”

You give him a small smile, reassuring him that you won’t let go, and let out a small breath of relief yourself. As long as you get to keep a hold of Bob, your anxiety will be able to be kept at a minimum. 

“So, what are we supposed to do now?” Ava asks, crossing her arms over her chest and looking around the room. “You know what? I’m going to find some alcohol. Anyone else?”

Alexei is quick to agree and Walker offers to go with them, simply not wanting Ava to have to deal with Alexei and alcohol on her own. It leaves you, Bob, Yelena and Bucky standing around the table.

“You’ve been to plenty of things like this, Bucky,” you start. “Have any advice for the rest of us who’ve never done anything like this before?”

Bucky sighs and shoves his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Just hope and pray that the night goes quickly.”

“That’s great advice,” Yelena deadpans.

He’s about to say something in response when Valentina appears out of nowhere, gliding towards the four of you with a grin on her face that none of you like the look of.

“Oh, here we go,” Yelena murmurs under her breath.

“Where are the rest of you? Actually, never mind… okay, Yelena and Bob, come with me. I have some investors I want you to meet,” she says, beckoning the two of them forward.

You share a look with Bob that says everything that words can’t at the moment. Only minutes earlier Bob had been asking you to not let go of him, and here you were being practically forced to. Maybe Valentina deemed this to be too cozy – and she’d told you not to be earlier. Maybe this was her way of punishing you both for going against her word. Or maybe she just wanted to flaunt Bob off to the investors.

That seemed like the most likely option.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You mutter, only loud enough for Bob to hear as you reluctantly let go of his arm and immediately cross your arms over your chest, not wanting to feel the cool air on them after having them wrapped up in Bob’s warmth. 

You watch as he and Yelena walk away, trying to push down the feeling in your stomach that has been growing more and more as you spend more time around Bob. It’s never going to end well for you, you know it. But still, the feeling lingers.

––––

Bob can’t remember the names of any of the people that Valentina have introduced him and Yelena to. He’s been standing here being talked at for ten minutes now and everything they’ve said has gone in one ear and out the other. He hasn’t even properly looked at their faces – all he can see is you over their shoulder, standing across the room with Bucky.

You look so beautiful in that dress. He should tell you later.

“While we’re here,” one of the investors speaks, “I want to introduce you to my daughter and a few of her friends she brought along tonight.” 

Bob is snapped out of his distraction as Yelena gently elbows him in the side. For the first time, he actually looks at the face of one of the men in front of him just as he’s beckoning his daughter forward. She’s followed by three other women, right behind her, all giggling and eyeing Bob up. 

“Ladies, this is Robert Reynolds. He’s also known as The Sentry,” Valentina introduces him to the girl and her friends. “He’s incredibly strong and you should see how fast he can move!”

Yelena barely restrains herself from putting her head into her hands. Instead, she lets out a small groan of “For fuck’s sake, Valentina” and shakes her head.

The girls all introduce themselves to Bob but their names don’t register with him like he knows that they should. He introduces himself in return, just to be kind, but just as Bob. Not The Sentry. He’s not that person and he hates the way that Valentina is using that side of him to gain attention from the investors. His hand  unknowingly clenches into a fist at his side.

“You’re much more handsome in person,” one of the girls says, stepping a little closer towards him. All Bob can think about is the fact that you had called him handsome tonight too.

“I can’t believe we’ve been living in the same city for so long now and we’ve never met before,” another adds. Bob knows why – he’s barely left the Watch Tower since he moved in. Why would he want to when the one thing he needs in New York is already there, right across the hall from him in your own bedroom?

He’s well aware that the girls are trying to flirt with him but he doesn’t even want to try and flirt back with them – not that he’s really any good at flirting. He’s had his fair share of flings over the years. He was pretty confident when he was high, but when he wasn’t, that confidence plummeted. He’s usually never turned down the attention of women before… but now that attention is the last thing he wants. 

Over their shoulders, he catches a glimpse of you again. Just seeing you makes his clenched fist loosen a little, especially when he sees you laughing at something that Bucky had said. He’s always loved the way you look when your laugh, the pure happiness that takes over your face. He stares at you for another few moments and then uses that time to continue to try and calm himself down. 

Despite the fact that you’re half way across the room, you’re helping him more than you know. 

––––

Watching Bob being flirted with all night was not a job for the weak – and you’d greatly over estimated your ability to deal with it.

You’d known what was happening almost instantly when you’d looked over and seen the group of girls giggling and getting a little too close to him. You hated that you felt relieved when you noticed that he wasn’t returning any of their advances.

You weren’t daft enough to think that you were the reason, but it made you feel good all the same. Just the thought that he mightn’t be interested in anyone at the moment was good enough for you – he’d been through so much in these last several months, you wouldn’t blame him if it were true.

Like Bucky had suggested, you spent most of the night hoping for the night to go quickly. There was only so much socialising one person could do, especially when they were out of their comfort zone, and you hit that point pretty quickly once Bucky had started introducing you to people he recognised from his time as a congressman. 

The worst part of the night was the fact that you had barely seen Bob at all. He’d spent most of the night being swept around the room by Val with Yelena, being introduced to everyone and barely even stopping for a break. The only contact you’d had with him since he’d been whisked away were brief moments of eye contact and shared smiled across the room.

It’s on the limo ride back to the Watch Tower that you finally get to talk to him again. Everyone else is either napping or not paying attention to the two of you, too exhausted from the night out, that you have no problem in shuffling over in your seat to get a little closer to him so no one overhears your conversation.

“So, our plan kinda backfired, huh?” You chuckle.

Bob looks over at you and laughs softly. “Yeah, it did.”

There had been no discussing what book you’d read next and absolutely no holding on tight to each other when you felt anxious. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, at least?” 

Bob scrunches up his nose a little and you can’t help but notice how adorable it makes him look. “I don’t remember much of it,” he admits. “I couldn’t think straight for a lot of it. Did you?”

It makes your heart hurt a little, hearing that he’d been so anxious that he couldn’t really remember any of the evening. It makes you even more mad at Valentina for subjecting him to all of that. It was going to result in him being utterly exhausted.

“I just missed you,” you admit – against your better judgement. It’s probably not the right thing to be saying to him, but it’s the truth. Your evening would have been better had he been in it.

“You did?” Bob raises his eyebrows, clearly a little surprised.

A thought enters his mind and he brushes it off instantly. Confess, his brain said. As if this was a good time to do it, in the middle of a limo packed full of all the other members of your team after a draining night out socialising – one that he’d likely be recovering from for at least a few days, judging by the exhaustion he could already feel creeping into his mind.

He shakes his head. This is not the time to tell you.

“I did,” you confirm. “I would’ve had a much better time discussing books in the corner with you rather than being introduced to all of the people Bucky knows in New York.”

Bob chuckles. “Okay, you make a fair point.”

By the time the limo stops at the Watch Tower, everyone in the car is either half asleep or dead on their feet. It’s late – almost 1 in the morning – and when you all reach the penthouse, everyone instantly disappears off to their bedrooms to recharge and sleep.

You and Bob walk side by side down the hallway before stopping outside of your bedroom doors, opposite each other. You rest your hand on the door handle of your room before turning to look at him. He looks exhausted, hair messier than it had been before you’d left, and his tie is crooked again. You smile as you notice it.

“Well, goodnight, Bob,” you murmur. “Sleep well, okay?”

Bob nods, but strangely he can’t find the words to say goodnight to you. It’s only when you turn around, putting your back to him, and start to turn your door handle that the words come – but not the ones he’d been meaning to say. 

“I like you,” Bob blurts out, and then immediately winces.

You turn around, your hand falling off the door handle and your eyes landing on him. Your heart starts to beat faster in your chest, though you refuse to get your hopes up. This isn’t a confession – just a tired man telling you he appreciates your friendship. “I like you too, Bob.” 

He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. Just through your words he can tell that you didn’t understand him. “I don’t mean it that way. I mean that I like you more than a friend should.”

You’re pretty sure your heart stops beating. “You like me as more than a friend?” A best friend, your mind tries to finish it. Like a sister. Not in a romantic sense. Don’t get your hopes up.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you all night. I was introduced to so many people and I can’t even remember their names because I was too focused on looking at you over their shoulders.”

“You were?”

“I was.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. This cannot be happening right now. Bob cannot be confessing to you in the hallway at 1 o’clock on a Sunday morning after you’d had to spend the whole night watching him from afar and wishing he was right beside you. You have to be dreaming. 

“I… I like you more than a friend should, too. Really.” The words aren’t hard for you to say because they’re the truth. Partially because you think you might be imagining everything.

Bob stares at you, dumbfounded. You aren’t just repeating his words back to him for the sake of it. You’re not doing it out of pity or fear of hurting his feelings. All he needs to know that is the look on your face. Your eyes tell him everything.

You’re suddenly hit with the urge to yawn and that simple thing rips you straight out of your dreamlike state and back to the present. You’re not actually dreaming. This is actually happening… but this is not the time to be making grand gestures of love. Not when both you and Bob are exhausted from the night out socialising. You don’t want to risk crossing any lines tonight.

“Listen, it’s late. I don’t think we should make any decisions without resting. We’re both exhausted. And it’ll be good to sleep on it,” you suggest. “We can sleep knowing that we like each other and when we’ve recharged our social batteries, we can look back at it with a fresh head.”

Bob nods. You’re right – of course you’re right. He is exhausted, so much so that he’s not even sure how he’s still conscious right now. Your timing was so off, he thinks, his brain starting to twist his thoughts, taking advantage of his exhaustion. You should’ve waited.

Unknowingly, he starts to twist his hands together in front of him – something he always tends to do when his head gets loud.

You notice, stepping forward and placing your hands on top of his. He stills instantly, looking up and meeting your eyes. The warmth of your skin on his instantly relaxes him and his heart stops racing so fast. You give his hands a gentle squeeze.

“Goodnight, Bob,” you say, voice soft.

He continues looking at you as you turn around and walk back across the hall to your room. You’re almost completely inside, about to shut the door behind you, when he finds his voice again.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he calls out, being careful not to be too loud since the others are still in their rooms close by. 

You pause and meet his eyes. “Thank you, Bob.” 

“Goodnight, he hums, giving you a small smile.

 It takes all of his strength to not collapse back against the door to his own bedroom once you shut your door. His hands are still a little shaky, his breaths a little short, but despite the exhaustion and adrenaline running through his system, he can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face. I like you more than a friend should. The two of you had never really been just friends. Deep down, Bob knew that.

No, he thinks, pushing back agains the parts of his brain that were still telling him that his timing had been off, that he should’ve waited, that maybe he shouldn’t have told you at all. My timing was perfect. 

[flwrstqr]

ℰ. CHASE LOVE HARD ⟡ KISSING THEM IN FRONT OF THEIR MEMBERS

𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗩──── 𝗂'𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾

❛ INTRODUC𝓲NG𓈒 日语 enha & fem!rea 8OO ୨୧ established relationship fluff + skinship petnames ⎯⎯ daily clicks

다니⠀⦂⠀ hi i know new work, danielle in her active era ( only for today ..) i locked in for this fic, hope you enjoyed >//<

LEE HEESEUNG

you catch heeseung off guard when you press a quick kiss to his lips, just as he's smiling mid-conversation with jake — and the way he freezes, lips parting, eyes flicking to you like you're the only thing he sees? “do that again,” he whispers, smirks as his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer until your chest brushes his. his voice drops, “c’mon, baby, don’t be shy now.” you kiss the corner of his mouth this time, and he turns his head just enough to catch it properly and deepens it—until jake groans behind you, covering his eyes. “seriously? i’m right here.” heeseung just chuckles against your lips. “you can leave,” he says without looking back, too busy stealing another kiss.

PARK JAY

you pressing a soft kiss to his cheek just as he finishes tying your coat, hands lingering at your waist. his eyes go wide for a beat before he melts, like he's holding back a smile, then he turns—half smug, half in love—to the boys nearby and says with absolute sincerity, “did you see how perfect she is?” like he’s just won the damn lottery. you roll your eyes, but he pulls you closer, hand curling at the small of your back. “my angel,” he murmurs, kissing your temple, “my girl.” and even with the others laughing, teasing him, he only grins, proud and gentle, like nothing matters more than showing you off. you swear he looks at you like you hung the moon. and honestly? to jay, you did.

SIM JAKE

you leave a quick kiss and then, like flipping a switch, his playful side kicks in and he whirls around to his members with that grin. “bet none of y’all have a girlfriend who kisses you like that,” he teases, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s claiming you in front of the entire world. “my pretty girl,” he adds, nuzzling into your neck. “kiss me again, please? for science.” and even when they groan and throw playful jabs, he’s still all cuddly and clingy, absolutely glowing—because yeah, he’s down bad, and he wants everyone to know it.

PARK SUNGHOON

you lean up and kiss him softly but it’s enough to make sunghoon go completely still, jaw tightening as he clears his throat like nothing happened. “hm,” he mutters coolly like he’s unbothered, but you catch the flush climbing up his neck. “that’s it?” you whisper, teasing, and he shoots you a sideways glance, lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. before he can recover, riki’s already wheezing. “hyung’s blushing, you okay there, romeo?” sunghoon glares but doesn’t deny it, just pulls you closer, resting his chin on your head. “she kissed me, not you. stay mad,” he says smoothly, but the way his thumb rubs gentle circles on your side betrays how soft he’s gone.

KIM SUNOO

you lean in and kiss him gently on the cheek, hands tugging at his sleeves, and sunoo’s whole face lights up like a scene from a romance drama—eyes wide, cheeks blooming pink, lips parting in surprise before curling into the softest, giddiest smile. he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “you’re gonna kill me one day, i swear,” but he’s absolutely beaming, nose scrunching as he tries to hide behind your shoulder. “baby, but not in front of them,” he whines playfully, clinging to your hand. the members snicker, teasing him relentlessly, but he doesn’t let go—he just holds you tighter. “whatever,” he says with a pout. “she loves me. you guys are just jealous.” and honestly, he’s right—because no one glows like sunoo does when it’s you he’s smiling at.

YANG JUNGWON

you press a soft kiss to jungwon’s lips, before the corners of his lips lift into a grin. “oh?” he says, brushing imaginary lint off your jacket like a total show-off. then he starts doing the most—fixing your hair, adjusting your sleeves, pulling you closer by the waist, tossing little “you look so pretty today, baby” comments left and right just to get another kiss. and when you do kiss him again, he beams so hard it’s actually embarrassing. “see that?” he turns to his members, absolutely glowing. “she can’t resist me.” they’re all fake gagging, like “hyung, who is this guy?” but he just laughs, holding your hand tighter, totally unbothered. “get used to it,” he says with a shrug, still looking at you like you hung the stars. yeah, jungwon’s so in love and he wants the world to know.

NISHIMURA RIKI

you lean in and steal a kiss right on his cheek, and riki freezes mid-sentence, blinking like his brain just short-circuited. he tries so hard to play it cool, arms crossed, head tilted with his best unimpressed face, but his ears are burning red and there’s the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “you can’t just do that in front of them,” he mutters, pretending to be mad—but his voice cracks at the end, and sunghoon’s already laughing. “look at him, he’s GONE,” jay teases, and riki groans, burying his face in your shoulder to hide the way he’s grinning like a fool. “stop laughing,” he whines, wrapping his arms around you like a shield. “my angel's obsessed with me, what do you want me to do?” he adds, sneaking a glance at you like he already wants another kiss. he’s so gone for you and everyone knows it.

[yundeob]

A NIGHT IN HOLLYWOOD ☆ | ATEEZ SERIES

— featuring ot8!ateez in iconic HOLLYWOOD romance and rom-com movies

— TICKET BOOTH IS CLOSED! 🎟️ : the movies are about to start! all fics will have MATURE CONTENT! MDNI!

sit back, relax, grab your popcorn and tissues, and enjoy the silver screen . . .

THE PARENT TRAP ☆ | KHJ

TROPE: exes to lovers! divorced!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

AS DIVORCED PARENTS to two twin daughters, you and hongjoong have your fair share of work cut out. Driving to piano lessons, cheering at hockey games, drop offs at each other’s houses, it can all be a little much. But could a relaxing summer retreat as a whole family possibly rekindle past emotions you’ve swept under the rug? . . .

— IN THEATRES

DIRTY DANCING ☆ | PSH

TROPE: bad boy!seonghwa, enemies to lovers!au , 60s!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, angst, crack

THAT WAS THE SUMMER before JFK got shot, before the beatles came, and when you were working part time at your aunts summer resort. That was also the summer you met resident heart breaker and cocky entertainment crew member, Park Seonghwa. Remind yourself why you’re suddenly dance partners with him again? . . .

— IN THEATRES

PRETTY WOMAN ☆ | JYH

TROPE: dilf!yunho x formerstripper!reader, strangers to lovers!au, contract lovers!au,

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

LIVING IN BEVERLY HILLS comes with its perks. But for two different people such as yourself and multimillionaire business tycoon, Jeong Yunho, both of you can’t seem to find what you’re looking for in the so called ‘Land of Dreams’. So the proposal is simple really… let him spoil you with money, jewelry and clothes while in return, you stay by his side. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

MR AND MRS KANG ☆ | KYS

TROPE: marriage!au, established relationship, spy!au, assasin!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST, crack

WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT picture perfect suburban neighbourhood couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kang would be at each others necks trying to kill each other first. You’ve both come this far in your marriage while hiding your secret identities, but it looks like only one person can remain standing. I guess you both did promise “in sickness and in health”. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMAN HOLIDAY ☆ | CS

TROPE: royalty!au, princess!reader x reporter!san, strangers to lovers!

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

AS CROWN PRINCESS, you’re on a tightly scheduled tour of European capital cities. But after an especially rough day in Rome, you sneak out of the embassy to explore the so called Eternal City, running into no other than celebrity news reporter, Choi San, looking out for his next big royal scandal. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU ☆ | SMG

TROPE: college!au, stoner!mingi, enemies to lovers!au, fakedating(?)au, y2k aesthetic

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

YOUR YOUNGER BROTHER Wooyoung is desperate in getting you, his older sister in college, to date so that he can finally date in highschool. The options for potential candidates are scarce, considering men flock away like birds the second you’re near. Good thing campus stoner and weirdo, Song Mingi is the same as well. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS ☆ | JWY

TROPE: fashioncolumnist!reader x advertiser!wooyoung, y2k aesthetic, fake dating(?)au, enemies to lovers!au, mutual pining

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

LISTEN, IF IT MEANS getting a promotion at your editorial company as a news journalist instead of pop culture and lifestyle columnist, you’d do anything. And that includes pretending to be the most annoying and clingiest girlfriend to some guy for 10 whole days. But just so you know, Wooyoung likes clingy. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMEO & JULIET ☆ | CJH

TROPE: unrequited love, star crossed lovers!au, mutual pining, secret romance (shakespeare be rolling in his grave rn)

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST

FOR CENTURIES, a plague of hatred and hostility has been present in the relations between the House of Choi and your own. You know you can’t be together, but yet why do you keep catching that dark haired boy staring at you so longingly? And why do you want him just as bad?. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

a/n: for updates, follow my blog! this will be a work-in-progress so I ask for your support:(🙏

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11/1/25 update: i apologize for how slow this is taking😭 yes, i still am 100% fully committed to finishing this series! I ask for your patience and understanding🫶🏼

[jks1uv]

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝐸𝑥𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ; mark grayson / invincible

summary: in every universe, mark grayson turns into his father and seals his destiny as a true viltrumite. what if things are different this time?

pairing: fem!reader x mark grayson.

trope: childhood best friends to lovers + fated lovers.

genre: fluff + angst + slow-burn romance + hurt / comfort + some comedy.

warnings‼️: crude language + spoilers for s3 (mark’s variants) + amber & eve never get w mark but r goated wingwomen & friends for reader + william, rick & rex r goated wingmen for mark + 2 jealous!mark moments + the tiniest moment of tension + multiverse talk + a mention of the chicago incident feat. scott / powerplex + REX LIVES 🗣️‼️🔥🔥 + a short & sweet kiss scene.

word count: 9,968.

random disclaimerrr: when eve said “you don’t deserve this” 😞 like he always just out here suffering 💔 kate, immortal, cecil & scott pmo so bad like bruh can y’all just pls stfu pls 🙏🏽 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY GOAT REX IS DEAD LIKE BRUH HOW 😭😞💔 but the 2 ppl majority of the fandom hates get their happy ending… mkay… edit: here’s the sequel! happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

Mark Grayson has always liked you.

It was the first day of school, 2nd grade homeroom. The first day of school was always nerve wracking but this time was different.

His desk was next to you per the seating chart and you were the last kid to come in.

You were wearing a black t-shirt with some white bows on it and sky blue jeans with pink flowers embroidered on the pockets. White twinkle toes with pink and purple rhinestones. Your hair was styled in 2 ponytails with cute bows on the bands.

Your eyes bright and a shy smile on your lips.

“Hi.” You bashfully said to him.

“Hi.” He said back in a daze.

His seven year old heart was fluttering and he was as red as a tomato when he realized it was you! You were the girl whose empty desk he was seated next to!

You always shared homeroom, if not, recess with him in elementary school.

Then came middle school, where you had at least 2 classes with him.

High school was a bit easier as you saw him 3-4 times a day, and that’s not including clubs or other extracurricular activities.

He spent 11 years like that. Seeing you in class, in the hallways, at lunch or after school.

Your relationship with him never wavered. Your character was still the same even after new chapters and opportunities for development.

He’s endured some insane shit, but he’s so happy the one constant in his life remained consistent.

“You still have a crush on her?!”

“Shut up, William. Or do you want the whole world to know.” Mark chides.

William snorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world (it is). “The whole world already knows, it’s just your dumbass that’s somehow oblivious.”

“Give the lover boy a break.” Amber lightly teases.

Mark sighs and rubs his face with his hands, trying to hide the redness creeping up on him without his consent.

“Is that her?” Rick points towards Mark’s dream girl.

But what he forgot to mention was the living explosion (literally) walking alongside you.

“What’s he doing here?” Eve’s surprised Rex decided to step foot on college campus willingly.

William subtly side-eyes Mark and makes a desperate attempt to hold in his laughter by squeezing Rick’s hand.

Mark slowly stands, a confused look on his face. “I’ll… go find out.” He says it like a question, like he’s unsure if that’s what he should do.

Amber and Eve share a knowing look.

“You’re funny.” You say as you catch your breath.

Rex shrugs nonchalantly and smirks. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

You’re shaking your head and are about to say something when you see Mark in front of you.

“Mark.” Your eyes crinkle as you smile. You go in for your usual hug and Mark accepts it.

Unbeknownst to you that he’s making wide eyes among other facial expressions in a desperate attempt to make contact with the other male.

The hug lasts for a second longer and you ignore the butterflies that swarm your belly, deducing that he probably just wanted to hug you a bit longer.

No big deal you think as you’re screaming inside the longer you feel Mark’s arms around your waist.

When you meet Mark’s face, he allows himself to give you a tight-lipped smile.

“Mark, this is—”

“Rex! Heyy, how’s it going?” He chuckles nervously and rubs the back of his neck.

Your eyebrows furrow and you tilt your head a bit. “Yeah… wait, you guys know each other?”

Rex is enthusiast with his reply. “Fuck yeah! This is my best bro.”

He slaps Mark’s back with a confident grin and his “bro” laughs awkwardly.

You know, one of those ‘ha ha ha’ type laughs.

“Okay. So, um, Mark?”

“Yeah?” Aaand his voice cracks.

You politely ignore it but Mark wants to die inside.

“I was wondering if you were still down to go to the mall?”

Mark knows you’re attentive and take your friendships seriously. That isn’t old news. But he can’t help feeling special that’s you remembered a thought from a couple days prior.

“Only if you buy me boba.”

Mark never lets you buy him anything if he can help it, and that’s how it’s always been.

You insist, he denies; but that doesn’t mean his sentiment isn’t nice.

You blink and softly smile at his bargain. “Deal.”

Rex hums thoughtfully, a hand at his chin and his gaze on the sky. “Can I join? I don’t have anything going onnn~” He suggests in a sing-song manner.

“No, you can’t!” Mark suddenly yells.

You look at Mark with furrowed brows. “Mark, don’t be rude.”

“Yeah, Mark, don’t be rude.” Rex repeats with a sly expression.

Mark deeply exhales through his nose and puts on a fake smile. “Rex, can I talk to you? Alone.”

“Sure!”

He follows Mark about 15 steps away from you.

You decide to sit down on a bench nearby and watch some TikTok to pass the time.

“Hey, so, um- quick question: what the hell are you doing here?”

Rex scoffs. “What, I can’t come visit my bro?”

Mark quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms, unimpressed.

Rex puts his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll be honest. I was here to talk to you about Cecil,” He looks over at you and sighs dramatically.

“But?” Mark presses when he sees Rex eyeing you.

“I see a hot girl and I can’t help myself, you know?” He smirks knowing he’ll rile Mark up and get the exact reaction he wants.

Mark immediately gets in his line of sight, making Rex back up a bit from the fast and unforgiving wind.

“Woah, man! A little warning next time before you almost blow me away?”

Mark ignores him. “Don’t call her that.”

The truth is, Rex came to campus with a purpose.

Mark never talks about you, but Eve may have let your name slip into conversation a few times.

Rex may be aloof and jerk-ish but he’ll be serious when it’s time.

He’s seen the way Mark’s face changed every time Eve mentioned you; his head would tilt slightly, he’d have a small, unnoticeable smile on his lips.

Rex suspected a crush and he was right! Of course he was, look at the way he’s being defensive of you.

There was just one problem, he didn’t know how you looked. He asked Eve and she was suspicious, but when he revealed his own suspicions, she indulged him.

So, the two of them made a plan with Amber, William and Rick; Operation: Get Mark To Man Up and Admit His Feelings Before You Slip Away.

- FLASHBACK -

“She’s wearing a PINK t-shirt with ripped blue jeans. Oh, and a black backpack.” William directs.

“Pink shirt, black backpack, ripped blue jeans. Got it.”

“PINK as in the brand, not the color.” Amber reminds.

“Wait, what? So what color is the shirt?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s dark green..? And the logo is an even darker shade. ” Eve remembers.

Rex is so unimpressed.

“So, let me get this straight; she’s wearing a shirt from the brand PINK, but it’s just dark green?”

“I’d say you’re on the right track.” Rick chimes.

“This shit is ridiculous. I mean, seriously. Why can’t you girls just wear stuff that warrant normal descriptions?”

“Shut up, Rex.” Amber and Eve say simultaneously.

- FLASH FORWARD -

“Alright, her unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

Mark is about to defend himself against that true baseless allegation when William and Rick find him.

“What’re we gossiping about?” There’s a glint in William’s eyes, the kind you don’t miss if you’re paying attention to the very specific lilt in his tone.

“Oh, I was just telling Marky boy here,”

Mark side-eyes Rex at the ridiculous nickname.

“How he’s Y/n’s unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

William claps his hands together. “That’s actually an accurate assessment.”

Mark’s offended. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Rick clears his throat as a guise to hide the very subtle laugh itching his throat.

“Sassy.” William says impressed in his best friends comeback skills.

Rex gets a phone call and excuses himself, giving William a crisp high-five and Rick a chest bump.

“Go get your Juliet, Romeo!” He cheers.

William shakes his head as he guffaws at the man.

“Dude, he's hilarious. How come you've never introduced him to us before?”

“Do I really have to answer that?”

William rolls his eyes at him. “Anyways. When are you gonna tell Y/n you love her, again?”

“William!” Mark whines.

Rick smiles and expands his thinking. “He meant to say, you should tell her soon. Before she's with someone else and leaves you to collect the pieces of your broken heart.”

“Not gonna lie, that's exactly what he needs to hear right now.”

Mark can't lie either. “Yeah. You kinda ate with that.”

William cringes and Rick winces with embarrassment.

“Hey! So, uhh, never say that again. Hope this helps.” William makes a finger heart.

“Wha- but I used the phrase correctly! Oh, come on guys, seriously?”

- MEANWHILE, WITH AMBER & EVE -

Amber and Eve thought it’d be a good idea to have a quick chat with you while you were waiting on Mark.

They casually brought up relationships and basically implied that ‘men ain’t shit’, but you disagree with that attitude.

“I dunno... Mark’s a good guy.”

“Oh yeah, for sure! Mark’s one of the good ones.”

Eve nods along to Amber’s statement.

She reminisced on her fair share with toxic relationships. She deliberately left out how it was with Rex but that’s okay, you don’t need to know that…

“Are you and Mark..?”

You feel your cheeks warm at the thought but you’d be lying if you deny your feelings for him.

“No.” You state with your head down and hands in your lap, playing with a ripped thread on your jeans.

“Huh. That’s a shame.” Eve comments.

That gets your attention.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that you and Mark seem…”

“Ideal.” Amber completes smoothly.

Your wide eyes and mouth agape give you away.

“You've never thought about him like that?”

You have, but how do you admit this to Mark’s coworker and friend without it getting back to him?

You think Amber and Eve are cool, they’re nice to you; but they're more Mark’s friends.

To you, they're friends of a friend.

Amber senses your hesitation and sat down next to you.

“We won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Eve locks her lips with an imaginary key and throws it away.

That elicits a small laugh out of you, making you feel a bit more confident to share your secret.

You look over and see Mark and Rex still talking, now joined by William and Rick.

You contemplate for a moment before admitting it.

“Yeah.” You breathe out.

Eve hums in thought. “Let me guess, you don’t want to say anything in case it’ll fuck up the friendship?”

You gasp lightly at her spot-on description. “How’d you know?!”

She just shrugs nonchalantly and Amber bites her tongue to point out how obvious the entire situation is.

“I do like him, a lot... but what if he doesn’t feel the same? I would've ruined something special for something selfish and it would stay with me forever.”

You rant to the 2 girls you’re closest with and somehow, it feels right. You dismiss the thought of them turning out like the average mean girls in a teenage rom-com.

“But what if he does like you back?” Eve proposes.

“Then he’ll have to make the first move.” You shrug obviously.

“I know that’s right.”

You feel giddy from Amber’s approval.

She’s always been the type to keep it short and sweet but once you get her talking? She’ll always keep it real.

“We gotta go but we’ll see you later?”

Eve's already planning on the next hangout because she likes you enough to wanna help. She doesn’t like a lot of people so consider yourself special!

“Oh! Uh- yeah! Sure, that works with me.”

“It’s settled then.”

“See ya, Y/n.”

Coincidentally, you see the boys leave, leaving Mark to come to you.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

“Just let me try it.” Mark whines.

You shook your head and stood your ground. “It'll be gone in under ten seconds.”

He gasps dramatically, a hand to the heart like a lady of the opera. “You don't have faith in me?! I am a superhero-”

“I'm sure that's what they say.”

Your sarcasm isn’t foreign but he grows quiet at the remark.

It just slipped out so easily, without care or regard. You immediately try to make it right.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You didn’t mean it like that.”

Ever the sweetheart but you refuse.

“No, it isn’t.” You stop walking. “I was careless with what I said and it’s not right.”

He looks at you with appreciation and gives you a smile. “Thank you, Y/n. It feels nice to be seen as I am.”

That both warms and saddens your heart.

You know how much he’s been through and even though you’ll never truly understand, you know he can still count on you. You’ll be there for him and that’s gotta mean something.

“Of course.”

You and Mark spend the next hour chatting and idly checking out things in the stores.

You wander into the dress and gown section and are completely in awe of the collection. Every color you can think of in every style: silky, thigh cut, halter top, strapless.

Your hands run through the material and you’re reminded of the spring formal coming up soon.

Not everyone gets the chance of going but you have a friend who extended the courtesy of inviting you and a plus one.

You recall the last time you went to a dance: your senior year of high school's prom. It was memorable. You were a part of a small group that went together; consisting of your friends.

You took photos with Mark and danced with him for a bit but not like anything you wished. There's nothing romantic about screaming club anthem lyrics while getting twerked on but since it was Mark's ass, you didn’t complain.

That was the first and last time he accepted drinks from William, by the way.

You chuckle quietly to yourself in memory of that glorious night when Mark comes up behind you.

"You ready to go or do you wanna try some of them on?"

You take another look at the gorgeous dresses and think.

Mark's hoping you say yes.

He won't admit it anytime soon and despite him already thinking you're the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, prom night solidified that for him.

You had him starstruck.

His hear stuttered, adrenaline rushed through his veins and conjured up a swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

SImply put, every feeling and action that describes a man in awe of a pretty lady was an accurate depiction of him.

“Nah, maybe some other time.” You decide.

Mark nods, looking forward to the future dress tryouts. “Okay.”

Later, you have dinner with Mark, Oliver and Debbie.

Mark flew out and brought home some authentic pasta and garlic bread from Italy.

You rolled your eyes playfully and claimed he was being “extra” but reevaluated your statement when you thought about it.

If you could move that fast, you'd go to another country to have their finest food as well.

“It's so good to have you, honey.”

Debbie was always so nice to you, it made you feel happy and proud of yourself knowing someone's mom wholeheartedly accepts your presence in their kids life.

“It's good to be here.”

“Are you gonna stay the night?!” The purple little boy asked full of hope.

You didn't want to let him down but you had no choice.

“I'm sorry, Oliver, but not tonight.” You ruffle his hair and give him an apologetic smile.

You know he's bummed out when he doesn't sound that infectious laugh and tell you you're messing up his hair.

“Oh.”

You feel Mark's gaze on you and when you look up, he offers a sympathetic smile.

“I can stay until it's time for you to sleep.”

You know you've got him, it's an offer he can't refuse.

He's all smiles now and hugs you by the waist, his head laying on your chest.

You smile and hug him back, your head laying on his.

Mark cleans the table and Oliver takes out the trash while you help Debbie with the dishes.

“It doesn't matter how many times I say “no”, does it?”

You hum and shake your head. “Nope.”

You make small talk while you dry after she scrubs and rinses. About college, your plans after college, Mark.

“What about him?” You wonder.

“I mean, how has be been since...”

You see a look of helplessness on her face.

Debbie may be his mother but even she is not immune to the conflict of secrecy in her son's life.

You instantly feel bad.

Mark always tells you everything but to have his own mom ask you things about her son makes the situation complex.

You turn your head over your shoulder and see Mark playing a video game with his baby brother.

When Mark told you about Nolan, what happened to them on Thraxa and the events that unfolded afterwards, you didn't know how to respond.

As if hearing Nolan reveal his plans for Earth and call Debbie a “pet” wasn't heartbreaking enough, you were there with Debbie when Mark was brutally assaulted by his own father.

Then you hear of Nolan's second family he while the first one was still trying to keep it together and deal with the devastating aftermath of the biggest betrayal.

You almost cried when Mark broke down about Angstrom Levy hurting Debbie and Oliver.

You were out of the country on a field trip with your classmates when that happened. Devastated was an understatement for how you felt to hear both Mark and Debbie in the hospital from William.

Mark shamefully admitted to killing Angstrom, thinking that would sever the bond between you two. He expected you to be afraid of him, no matter how awful he’d feel about doing that to you.

It was the total opposite, you embraced him and let him cry on your shoulder. You let him feel everything but you also let him feel your hand in his.

You looked him in the eyes and told him that he did what he had to do and if killing Angstrom was the solution, then so be it.

“Mark told me everything. From seeing Mr. Grayson—”

You see a flash of hurt in Debbie's eyes at the mention of his name and almost forget that before he was known as Omni-Man, he was Mr. Grayson. He was Mark's dad.

“—again and about Oliver. Up until Angstrom and how the last thing he did was hurt you and Oliver.”

Debbie drys her hands and looks out of the window above the sink.

You can tell she’s disassociating. Her eyes seem so far away and crestfallen.

You don’t know if she’s getting much sleep but you also can’t imagine getting any if you were her.

You put a hand on her shoulder and she’s visibly shaken out of her thoughts.

“He’s gonna be okay, and so are you.”

She looks at you like you’ve lit up a candle at the end of a very dark tunnel.

Debbie leans in for a hug, eliciting a small sigh when you strengthen the embrace a little.

You figured she should feel taken care of for once.

“Thank you.”

You hear her sincerity and make a mental note to talk about this with Mark later on.

Oliver is tired out from having a “good playdate” with you and his older brother.

You tuck him in for the night per his request and can't help but feel the warmth from taking care of him touch your heart.

He's a growing boy but despite the many changes one goes through due to that constant stage of life, his feelings for you don't change.

Mark loves how much Oliver loves you. He loves seeing 2 of the most important people in his life get along so well, secretly admiring the way you've grown a soft spot in his mother's heart, too.

“They grow up so fast.” Mark attempts to humor.

You hum and try your best not to cry dwell on the bittersweetness of that phrase.

“Yeah.”

You're sitting on Mark's bed, looking fondly at the one of many drawings the kid made for you.

You softly exhale and bring up the conversation you had earlier with Debbie.

“Mark, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

He looks at you knowingly. “I know.”

Your eyes widen a bit at that revelation. “You do?”

He nods, a pursed smile on his face. “I have super hearing, remember?”

How did you forget that?

You close your eyes and exhale sharply, feeling silly for forgetting that power of his. “Right, duh.”

You don’t want to push the conversation if he’s not feeling it but you want to know if you did the right thing.

“I... didn’t overstep… right?”

“Oh, no. No, you didn’t.”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… haven’t had the best time talking to her about the things I say to you.”

You nod in understanding.

“I felt bad when she asked you how I’m doing. She should be able to ask me that.”

He’s guilt-stricken and it makes you feel dejected.

“Mark.” You put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard talking to your mom about your inner turmoil but you’re all she has.”

Who does Debbie go to when she wants to discuss the matters of her heart? Who’ll listen when she wants someone to talk to?

“You give her the strength to carry on so let her give you some peace of mind, hm?”

Mark’s eyes shine with a strong fondness for you, his mind wiped clean of all things difficult and heart ten times lighter.

You’ve always understood him, whether he explains himself or not. You could always just know.

Your heart and emotional intelligence are perhaps his favorite things about you.

“You okay?” You ask, worried you’ve overstepped again.

“Never been better.” He promises.

A soft smile graces his lips as he leans in to hug you.

You accept it with an equal gentle expression and when you feel his arms wrap around your middle, you feel good.

Mark is invulnerable but not when it comes to the war between his mind and heart, that’s when you step in. And when you do, there’s always a resolution found in great clarity.

You feel his heartbeat above yours and unconsciously, they sync. His breathing evens out with yours.

It feels intimate, this hug.

You’ve hugged him a million times before but none of them have felt quite like this.

A heavy weight on his shoulders has evaporated and you can feel his gratitude.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head back a bit so he can see you. “Then don’t.” You shrug, like it’s the most obvious answer.

He chuckles lightly and blinks at you, a tight-lipped smile on his face.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of his arms loosening around you and replacing the warmth with his hands on your hips.

You subconsciously gulp and watch his eyes flicker towards your eyes, lips then back to your eyes.

You don’t know if it’s your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear he moves his head a little closer to you; just enough to barely touch noses.

Your stomach is in a frenzy and your hands feel clammy.

Is this really happening?

But then, like a switch being flipped off; he gingerly clears his throat and backs away.

You blink, catching yourself in a daze and he gets up to put on a movie.

He acts like he wasn’t just about to kiss you, as if that chemistry was just a figment of your imagination.

You don’t have the guts to say anything, to ask the obvious. So, you also pretend that you two weren’t just about to fulfill your biggest ‘what if?’ scenario.

“Oh, wow… that’s crazy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

It was nice to hear sympathies from the only people who you could afford to talk about this with. They’re also the only people who wouldn’t go and spread the telltale truth of the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I can’t believe he fumbled this badly.” Amber facepalms herself in disbelief.

She sighs in exasperation and plops down on your bed with an arm covering her eyes.

Eve doesn’t move from her position; leaning on your wall with her arms crossed and her face in thought.

“What if he doesn’t like me like that?” You wonder aloud.

Amber peeks an eye out from under her elbow and Eve shakes her head.

“No, no, no. Trust me, that’s not it.”

“Don’t seem so sure.” You grumble as you pick at your nails to distract yourself from the heartache.

Eve sits down beside you and thinks about her words carefully. “Mark… well, I won’t defend him; he is kinda stupid.”

“Kinda?” Amber argues.

That makes you grin a bit.

“But he’s also your best friend, and you’re his. Maybe he doesn’t know how he feels but he does know that you’re not worth the risk of something he’s unsure will ever happen.”

Somehow, she put things into a perspective you’ve never thought about before.

“I never thought about it like that.”

You feel Amber sit up.

“That’s because it’s a confusing situation. Seeing both sides of the story might help you make some sense, give you consolation.”

You nod, already having potential answers to your unanswered questions. If not real answers, you’ll settle for theories. It’s still something.

“Thank you, guys.”

Amber winks at you. “Anytime.”

“Of course. We're rooting for you both.”

You shyly smile when Eve nudges your shoulder.

“So,” She claps her hands together. “What should we do to commence our very first sleepover? Omegle?”

Amber is concerned for the first time at Eve’s expense.

“Umm...” You pout your lips to the side.

“I don't find the idea of accidentally getting flashed the most... thrilling.” Ambers grimaces.

“Yeah.” You nod.

Eve has a sly look on her face, one that says her proposition comes with an entertaining twist.

“Trust me, I have an idea.”

“Okay, that was pretty fun.” Amber concedes.

You laugh softly to yourself, remembering the events from the previous night.

The 3 of you decide to go out for lunch, finding the night an excellent moment for bonding.

“What was fun?”

Mark pulls a seat up at the table you're occupying.

“Mark? How'd you know we were here?” You query.

Mark looks just as confused as you but before he could answer, Eve does it for him.

“I invited him.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You don't have a problem, it's just that you thought this was gonna be “girl time” as you like to call these moments.

It would've been nice to know, at least.

Amber attempts to start up a conversation but little did you know; this conversation was a part of Eve's “idea” she mentioned the night prior.

“We went on Omegle last night.”

Mark's eyebrows raise in surprise. “Did anything happen?”

You understand the underlying message to be, “Were you victims to any unsolicited sexual advance?” and find it kind of sweet that Mark cares enough to have that be his first train of thought.

“Yeah, actually.” Eve notes as she takes a bite of her burger.

“Y/n's got herself a loverboy.”

You choke on your drink. Exploding into a fit of coughs, you hope it kills you.

Mark is quick to pat your back and try to aid in helping.

When you catch your breath, you look over at him awkwardly and thank him.

“Don't mention it.” He humbly said.

You make it a personal mission to never bring it up. Ever.

Amber continues to fuel the fire.

“Yeahhh.” She sighs. “He's Russian and was all, like, ‘Your eyes are like the ocean and I am a merman.’.” She puts on her best Russian accent and giggles when she nails it.

“Mm!” Eve makes a noise of enthusiasm, adding on to the punchline. “And then he said, ‘They are so deep, I can drown in them.’.”

“The fuck?” Mark grunts under his breath. “But mermen can swim.”

Honestly, he thought it was fucking stupid. Even if this guy was a “merman”, he'd be able to swim. Drowning is totally out of the question.

“Yeah, but it was the thought that counts.” Amber spoke before eating a fry.

“It was pretty corny.” Eve seemingly agrees with Mark.

“See?! I knew I wasn't the only one.” Mark nods to himself.

“But...”

His smile drops.

“I gotta admit, it was kind of romantic.”

Mark can't believe this.

Is romance really dead? Aren't punchlines supposed to make sense?

He knows it's only romantic because the guy's Russian. Okay, so he has an accent. So what? That should pardon his inadequacy of flirting?

“You guys only ate it up because he has an accent.”

Mark narrows his eyes as he takes a curly fry from your plate.

Amber and Eve side eye each other with mischief as they see you enter the ring.

“I thought it was kind of sweet, you know? At least he tried.” You counter.

Mark tilts his head, clearly bewildered. “You mean to say that you actually liked that?”

You don’t like his accusatory tone. “It wasn’t that bad, Mark.”

He rolls his eyes and begs to differ. “Wasn’t that bad- it made no sense! He definitely pulled that shit out of Google’s top thirty best flirty lines.” He puts air quotes around best.

“Oh, would you look at that? I actually have to go do that... thing.” Eve slowly rises from her seat.

“Yeah, me too.” Amber flashes a sweet smile.

They’re gone before you can impose.

“They really just left.” You say to no one.

Mark is still somehow going. “I just… I dunno.” He says, defeated.

“Mark, it wasn’t that deep. He liked my eyes and said some line that made me feel nice. That’s all.”

He nods like he understands but he really doesn’t.

“He’s no Mr. Darcy.” You settle as you take a sip of your milkshake.

Mark smiles at that and you’re confused.

“Why’re you smiling?”

“I knew it! I knew you couldn’t possible swoon over that ridiculous, nonsensical one-liner.”

You laugh incredulously. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just knew he couldn’t be your type after that. Sure, you like them romantic but with genuine thought.”

He says that so confidently, with such attention, it makes you feel nicer than the Russian’s compliment. He makes you feel seen with that keen observation.

You nod to yourself, lowkey impressed.

“Mkay.” You simply say.

His gaze flickers towards you at the seemingly confusing, neutral response.

“What.”

“What, what?”

“You said that like you’re not convinced.”

You deeply exhale, not wanting to argue anymore. “Mkay.”

His eyes widen a bit and he snaps at you like he’s just discovered the phrase: ‘eureka!’.

“That, right there. That’s what I mean.”

You rub at your head as if you’ve got a headache but you doubt you won’t get one soon.

“Elaborate.”

You’re sticking with as little words as possible if it means to get to the point.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks with worry coating his tone.

You shake your head, unsure of what’s happening. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into you today. You’re in this strange mood to argue.”

He blinks.

You’re right.

Arguments are a rare occurrence in this relationship.

“We never argue.” He realizes regretfully.

Your eyes trail up his form and you see the uncomfortableness etched onto his outline.

“I’m sorry-”

“Sorry-”

There’s a pause, one that melts the lingering awkwardness into friendliness.

You see the hints of a smile creep up on him and instinctually, there’s one in yours.

“You first.”

Ever the gentleman.

“Sorry for making it awkward.” Your fingers interlock with each other and you give him an apologetic look.

Mark immediately shakes his head. “No, you didn’t make anything awkward… It was me. I got-”

He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, trying to find another way out of this as two thirds of his sentence has already been put out.

“You got..?”

He puts on a tight-lipped smile but it looks pained. “I just wanna say that I’m sorry for getting defensive for no reason.”

He thinks that was a good excuse for his detour but you’re smart.

“Jealous.” You say firmly.

“Huh?” He squeaks and immediately clears his throat.

“You got jealous.” You shrug your shoulders and move the whip cream in your milkshake around with the straw.

He scoffs with the intention of obscurity. “That- I- What? Pfft, jealous. Who, me?! Yeah, right.”

His stuttering erupts a snort from you, an “I told you so” fresh on the tip of your tongue.

He wanted to spout declarations of how incorrect you are but he couldn’t. The cat had his tongue.

“Whatever.” He bites with little heat.

He crosses his arms over his chest and appears to look unaffected by your ability to see through him.

“Mkay.” You hum to tease him.

Your best friend groans and you giggle at him slouching down in his seat, his hands covering his face and in turn; a sheepish grin.

You’re in your home when your TV bears awful news.

“Breaking news: intruders that look like multiple Invincibles are wreaking havoc across the globe.”

As soon as you hear that, a loud boom is heard from across the city and sends shockwaves to where you are.

“We urge you to stay in your homes and hide. Do not make contact, I repeat; don’t engage with them.”

You’re scared.

How the hell are you supposed to stay hidden in your home when there’s the start of destruction visible outside?

How can they tell you to stay inside when there’s a chance you can die in there?

It’s not like the variants aren’t gonna come inside. Who’d stop them from hurling your place of residence like a football?

Despite all of those thoughts, you stay inside.

You hide in your living room. You sigh to yourself as you hide inside a spare closet, leaving a sliver of space open to breathe.

You turn your phone’s ringer off but feel the vibrations in your pocket. You look to see who it could be and feel so much relief flood your stomach when it’s Mark.

“Mark?” You say shakily.

“Y/n? Oh, thank god. Where are you?”

Your eyes water but you keep them at bay. No point in crying over spilled milk.

“I’m in the spare closet of the living room, what’s going on?”

He starts to explain when the call abruptly cuts.

So fucking cliche you think as you the see the dead battery sign.

The sound of a window opening makes you heave out a sigh of relief.

You get out and are about to hug him but the first thing you notice when you open the door is his face. Er, the lack thereof.

“Is… this a new costume?” You ask wearily.

You didn’t know Mark had a black mask installed. It covered his whole head and the lens was turquoise blue instead of white.

He just stares at you, unflinching and scarily still.

You gulp as the realization sets in your stomach.

This isn’t the Mark of your world. This isn’t the Invincible you recognize.

The masked stranger can sense your irregular heartbeat and hear the small panicked breaths that well up in your chest.

He slowly stalks towards you; like a predator to their prey, except there’s nothing dangerous about his stance. He doesn’t radiate harm or anger and he puts his hands up, as if to show you he won’t harm you.

For your own sake, you don’t believe that. You can’t believe that’s what he wants.

You’re frozen, wide eyes filled to the brim with fear and shock.

You grip your phone tight in your hands, ready to turn it into a weapon if you must.

He’s interrupted when another one shows up.

This one has a black and yellow suit with a yellow cape.

Your eyes dart to his figure and you’re sure this one’s gonna do the honors.

“You’re alive.” He says to himself.

His eyes are covered with white lenses but you know he’s looking at you.

His hands ball up into fists and he walks to you with an urgency in his stride.

You instinctually back up and hit a wall when the masked variant gets in between you both.

“She’s scared.”

The tone in his voice almost makes you think he cares. Almost.

“Get out of my way.” The bright-caped intruder basically spat his face.

“And let youuu have all the fun? I don’t think so!”

What the fuck?

You see what looks like Mark… in a mohawk.

His lips spread into a smirk, a cocky tone in his words.

Your nails press into your arm to prevent you from sputtering out a giggle.

How are you supposed to take him seriously when he’s willingly sporting a mohawk? Right.

If you knew there was going to come a time where your home is used as some sort of Invincible convention, you would’ve moved out a long time ago.

“You’re here.”

This one scares you a little.

His demeanor may be softer but his eyes, they’re wild with a fire furling around his pupils.

What makes the fear prick at your heart is the fact that he’s wearing the Viltrumite uniform.

Wherever he came from, he became his father.

That fact chills your bones and you think, how could that happen? Why did that happen?

His wild eyes are wide with surprise and there’s the ghost of a relieved smile on his face.

Very quickly have you gone from 0 to 100.

There are 2 seemingly decent Invincibles and 2 Invincibles that give off evil vibes.

What’s better news is that they all have some sort of fascination with you.

Awesome! Fantastic, even!

Your adrenaline has taken a back seat but you’re still unnerved by the destruction just outside your neighborhood.

You’ve never wished for a quicker death as this cat and mouse game is becoming all too much. The anticipation will kill you if they don’t.

“Alright,” Mohawk Mark yawns. “Enough dickin’ around.”

The 4 variants surround you, encasing you in an otherwise unbreakable square.

“You’re coming with us.” Decides the caped crusader.

He puts his hand out to grab you but is thrown through a wall by an unstoppable force.

It feels a bit blurry after that.

You feel yourself being lifted and moving at an alarming speed, your body lurching forward and side to side by the breeze taking you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He murmurs.

He hugs you close to his chest, a hand cradling the back of your head and the other clutching your back protectively.

“M-Mark?”

You find your voice amongst the dizziness clouding your head.

He holds your head and tilts it towards him, kissing the crown and meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay, you’ll be fine. Just stay here.”

You hold his wrists and blink, looking around you to find yourself with Debbie and her boyfriend, Paul.

“Please.”

Mark’s desperation appeals to you. His voice cracks with an urgency for your life. One that is begging you to listen, and you do.

“Okay.” You agree.

He nods and kisses you once again, a sweet promise pressed against your forehead.

You may have had the wind knocked out of you but that doesn’t mean you’re unaware.

Oh yeah, that kiss sobers you up real quick.

Your eyes are wide and cheeks are warm; you’re flushed and hope he doesn’t detect the jump in your heart rate because of his tenderness for you.

“Be careful.” You blurt out.

Mark looks back at you with a smirk on his face.

“I will.”

He kept his promise for the most part.

“Ow.”

“Maybe don’t move around a lot?”

“…Sorry.”

He winces as you treat his facial wounds.

Mark got pretty banged up; his left eye was swollen and purple from Conquests fists. He has similar shades of bruising on his face and a nasty cut on the bridge of his nose, another on the corner of his lip.

His arms and leg are almost fully healed.

It’s been a grueling 2 weeks.

Oliver helps out as much as he can.

Eve and the rest of the heroes are helping piece the cities back together but no matter how much they help rebuild, the atrocities committed won’t be forgotten.

Conquest was here on a personal mission and almost leveled the state because of it and roughed up Oliver pretty badly.

“I don’t know what to do.”

You hear him, you hear the things he wants to say and the things he doesn’t say out loud.

You feel so bad, so awful for him. He’s still a kid trying his hardest, doing his best.

Why can’t that be enough?

“It isn’t fair.” You respond.

His gaze turns to you.

“You do your best and when you think it’s over, the worst is still yet to come.”

Your fingers lightly touch the one of many bruises on his cheek, his eyes close at the contact.

“I can’t imagine how many times you’ve had pieces of you broken for us but it’s a sacrifice that unfortunately comes with the job.”

It hurt your heart, saying the second part.

Hard truths are a pill you’ll always find difficult to give.

He sharply inhales and the tears he tried so hard holding, come pouring down. Soft sobs and wails plague his throat.

His head falls atop your chest and his hands wrap around your middle, clinging to your shirt.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you do your best to ground him, to be his anchor.

His mental state is unimaginable, the thought of him slipping away has been a reoccurring nightmare for you but you push through. You have to.

“So many people died.”

The death toll worldwide was into the hundreds of thousands. That was the doing of the variants but Mark was inadvertently responsible, too.

It breaks your heart at how unfair this all is.

A Viltrumite’s personal vendetta against Mark resulted in such catastrophe.

Scott -also known as Powerplex- fried his only family left and somehow thinks that is also Mark’s fault.

As if the Chicago Incident wasn’t enough, there was almost a Chicago Incident Part 2 had it not been for Eve.

“You can’t blame yourself for Angstrom’s doing.” You try to reason.

Mark shakes his head and gets up.

“I thought I killed him, but I should’ve been sure. I should’ve finished the job.”

Mark palms at his wet eyes, sniffling lightly as he calms down.

You don’t know what to do, you don’t know what to say.

You don’t want him to wallow in this pain by himself but you also don’t want to say something wrong.

“You should leave.” His cold tone and neutral face really sells it.

You’re confused. “What?”

You’ve never seen him like this and are worried the wretched day you’ve been imagining is finally here.

“I’m sorry, w-was it something I said? Or did?”

“No. I just want you to go.”

You watch his fists bunch up the material of his joggers on his knees and the veins protruding from his hands.

“I…”

You want to say something, you want to stay for him but you can’t. You know it’d only make things worse.

So you just nod and whisper a meek, “Okay.”.

Mark still isn’t looking at you when you make your way to the door. His face still expressionless, calculated, distant.

Your fingers reach for the handle when you hear him.

“Y/n?”

It’s embarrassing how quick hope flashes in your eyes at the sound of him saying your name.

You try to suppress the obvious reaction as much as possible.

“Yeah?”

It still seeps through your voice but you’re human.

Your emotions are a part of you, even if they end up being a helping hand to your disappointment.

You don’t see the pool of guilt swirl around in his almost annoyed eyes but maybe it’s for the better.

He stares at you and feels bad but after everything that’s happened, is it worth keeping you in his life?

He wants to tell you so badly what’s making him push you away.

Sure, William is his best friend but you’re so much more. You’re a part of him, you’re his soulmate.

Mark wants nothing more than to see you happy but he ultimately decides that it’s nothing compared to seeing you alive.

“Can you close my door all the way?” He begrudgingly says.

The average person would blame him for pushing you away, him getting your hopes up only to crush them so inadvertently cruelly.

But you only chastise yourself.

You want him to know that despite people like Scott or Angstrom; who put the blame on wrong people for their circumstantial demise, there's people like you and Debbie.

He has a support system ready to recharge him but maybe you were overcharging him?

You go to sleep in tears, crying silently to yourself over how fucked life is.

Mark doesn't sleep the whole night, knowing he can hear your heart break.

It's been a slow week.

You don't talk to anyone or do things you used to; only getting up to go to class and eat, do some occasional grocery shopping.

You make an excuse for Amber and Eve when they text you to meet up and watch their caller ID's flash across your phone before it rings all the way through.

Mark hasn't spoken to you at all. No call, no text.

Despite him quitting school, you used to see him all the time on campus. Whether it be for you or William or Rick.

Now, you don't meet with anyone.

“She doesn't wanna talk to me or Amber anymore.” Eve voiced one day.

"Nor us." Rick pointed towards him and William.

“Something’s wrong. I'm worried about her.” Amber adds as she comes across the last message you sent in the group chat with her and Eve.

hey guys, just dealing with the flu rn. i’m fine tho! no worries :)

But of course they worried. They're your friends and that's what friends do.

Which is exactly what they said when they arrived at your doorstep, so you can't afford another excuse.

Your duo sits on your bed, trying to come up with a solution to best help you out.

“He’s closed off and maybe that was expected, but it's been a week.” Amber says.

“Yeah, you'd think he'd open up by now.”

You sigh pitifully and look out your window and down the street.

You’re a 10 minute drive and he’s a 1 minute flight away, yet nobody is willing to close that distance.

“It should be him, though.” Eve says.

“Hm?” You hum absentmindedly.

“Mark should be the one to come talk to you, not the other way around.”

Eve gauges for a reaction from you, one that will oppose her idea.

“Maybe you should go.” She switches up.

You look at Eve hesitantly, like it's a flop idea.

“You tried, Y/n. You did your part and he let you know but this isn’t the way things between you should end. Should he want it to end.”

It's like Amber knew what you were thinking and tried to dismiss the thought for you.

You weren't gonna lie and say that you haven't thought about blowing up his phone, driving to his house and banging on his door to open up to you.

But would he even want to? Would he even listen?

“It's not about what he wants, it's about what he needs.”

“And what he needs right now, is you.”

- MEANWHILE, WITH WILLIAM, RICK & REX -

“Come on, man. Don't be like this.” William tries.

Rick can see how much Mark is beating himself up over everything that’s happened.

With the fight against Liu’s dragon and Powerplex. And now recently, Conquest.

Mark never complained, it was the job. But you made getting back out on the field a bit easier.

“It's not worth losing her.” Rick gently reminds.

Mark's trio of lending hands have come to his service but it's unwanted, and Mark lets them know.

“Look, I don't need this. Especially not right now.”

This makes Rex mad.

“Oh you don’t need this? Well, excuseee me! We don’t need you to be so goddamn stupid, especially not right now.”

Mark narrows his eyes, visibly agitated. “Stupid? I’m being stupid?”

Rex widens his eyes, his pitch growing higher. “Yeah! That’s what I said.”

“Okay, I think we’re elevating the situation so let’s all just calm down.” William suggests nervously.

Mark has other thoughts as he rises from the bed. “And how exactly am I being stupid?”

Rex knows he shouldn’t be egging him on, he shouldn’t be encouraging his anger; but if this was the way to make his friend see his foolishness then so be it.

“By distancing yourself from the one woman who’s nice enough to let you, instead of manning up and telling her how you really feel.”

That stung.

“You don’t get to tell me how to handle my love life.”

Rex smirks lazily, a hardball on the tip of his tongue. “You don’t even have the balls to have one.”

“Rex.” William warns.

The cheeky bastard ignores him and continues on, a bit excited to see where this would all lead.

“I think she’d want a man who sees her, who doesn’t hurt her by ignoring her entire existence.”

Rick facepalms himself and wonders where the line between bravery and stupid was drawn.

Mark’s knuckles are white from how hard his fingers are curling in on themselves, his fists ready to pound into the explosive asshole.

Rex steps closer, now toe-to-toe with Mark and ignorantly unafraid. “I wouldn’t make her wait.”

Mark punches him right in the mouth, hard.

“Mark!” The yell of his friends fall on deaf ears.

Rex grunts as he stumbles back a bit, expecting this outcome.

“You don’t know her. You don’t know what’s good for her.” Mark spits bitterly.

Rex spits some blood out, sighing heavily. “You do.”

That makes Mark soften up.

He blinks like he’s snapped out of a trance. His fist wavers and is set down beside his thigh, a deep sigh exiting his nose. He looks at his friend and witnesses the ugly truth; his jealousy won.

“What am I doing?” He whispers.

Rex coughs lightly, the cut on his lip stinging.

“Talk to her, Mark. Don’t let her live with the regret of not knowing.”

Rick puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, hoping this will finally tip him over the edge.

Rex comes off the wall, slapping Mark’s back with a warm pat.

“I’m sorry, Rex. I shouldn’t have-”

He dismisses him with a wave. “Nah, I was being an asshole. An asshole on purpose, but still an asshole.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’re gathering the courage to mull over the most impactful relationship in your life.

Is there even a correct way to do that?

You don’t know, but what you do know is that you have to try.

You look at yourself in the mirror and feel the weight of your younger self.

She’d be devastated. you think. If she were here in the flesh to see this, you don’t think she could withstand it.

A sharp knock to your door pulls you out of your head.

You’re not expecting anyone, and you’re unsure about the one person you did want to hear from.

Regardless, you walk over and open the door and your heart drops out of your ass. Not in fear, but in surprise.

“Mark.” You breathe.

Here he is; in the flesh and without the scowl you picture. In fact, he looks guilty.

His once glee-filled eyes are now empty of it, making you reminisce the time before last week.

“Can I come in?” His voice resounding of forlorn hope.

He expects you to deny him, to make him walk away with his hands held in a helpless prayer.

Instead, you show him mercy and welcome him inside your place of refuge.

Tentatively, he makes his way inside and awkwardly stands beside your desk.

You’re quiet, still trying to process his presence after an entire week of radio silence.

You don’t know how to feel. Should you be happy? Ecstatic? If anything, frustrated and hurt are also a great couple of options.

“Y/n?”

You look up at him and see his concerned face. “Hm?”

“I asked if we can talk.”

“Now you want to talk?” It came out before you could even think about it.

Your annoyance seeps through and he shuffles the weight on his feet a bit uncomfortably.

“I know-”

“No, you don’t.”

He looks at you like you just told him to kill himself.

“Y/n, please. Just hear me out.”

Your arms are crossed over your chest in a defensive position, he clocks that. He also notices the way you make eye contact with him throughout your sentences.

You were really hurt, he gathers.

He takes your silence as a sign to continue talking.

“After I left you at Paul’s, I went back out there and fought off the rest of those… variants. While I was fighting them, they told me about you.”

Your interest is absolutely peaked now.

“What do you mean?”

“They... they said that you existed in their world but-” He cuts himself off with a vexed sigh.

“But what, Mark.”

You want, need to know what was worth hurting you for days on end.

Mark looks at you and it's the most disheartened he's looked since that night he told you to leave.

“You died, Y/n.”

It all makes sense now. You grapple with the stomach-churning epiphany of the century.

The different Invincibles that wanted to take you was simply because you ceased to exist in their worlds.

“I... I died in every single universe.”

He takes some steps in your direction, not wanting to overwhelm you.

“You either died on accident by being murdered among civilians or you killed yourself.”

“Why would I commit suicide?”

He deeply inhales. “Because you'd rather die than join the other me.”

That sounds on brand.

“I couldn't live with myself knowing I'd lose you in this world, too.” He admits raspily.

That touches your heart.

You want to hug him, to comfort him but you're still kind of confused. You needed more answers.

“I was so scared, I had never felt fear like I did when I saw them with you.” He whispers.

“Why'd you tell me to leave?” You ask gently.

“Because I love you.”

His confession is so light, said with such helplessness, that you tear up.

Mark maintains eye contact with you, tired of hiding his true self. He wants you to see him.

“So many people have died because of me, it may not be directly my fault, but it still had to do with me.”

He comes a little closer, just a couple of steps away from touching you.

“What if I was too late that day? What if they managed to take you away?” He mutters in a hushed tone.

Mark shakes his head as if to get rid of those thoughts.

“If anything happens to you, it will be because of me.”

“So, you thought it was best to create such a large gap between us, that there'd be a sinking hole inside of me. Is that it?”

Your eyes well up against your will but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he can finally see just how much you've been suffering.

“You think I wanted to do that?” He asks defensively.

You scoff indignantly. “I think you could've told me from the jump. That's what I think.”

You know it's a little unfair given how vulnerable he's being right now but he was unfair when you were vulnerable, too.

He shakes his head, eyes closing in on themselves as his tears threaten to fall. “I can't risk your life, Y/n! Why don't you understand that?”

You messily wipe your tears, your lashes wet and nose tinged with the lightest of reds.

“All this time, you didn't have a problem with how close we were. Now that you saw how close I was to something dangerous, it got too real for you?!”

He's in your space now, his chin set down and eyes on yours.

Contrary to how mad he looks, he relays his message in an low tone. “Yeah. It did.”

Your eyes widen a bit at the length he's cut between your bodies and you're back in time. You go back to the moment he almost kissed you.

“Don't push me away, Mark.”

You beg him and you don't care if you look pathetic. You love him and don't want to lose him like this.

Mark just presses his forehead against yours and shuts his eyes, he concentrates on you. Your smell, your hushed breaths, your heartbeat.

You feel his hands slide up and down your arms, grounding you.

Even when he's opening up to you, Mark still chooses to comfort you. He still wants to calm you down, to make you feel better. He still chooses to have your best interests at heart.

“I came here to tell you the truth, that you deserve better.”

You wordlessly deny his idea, shaking your head once.

He grabs ahold of your head, making you look at him.

You see it all, you see all of his pain, grief, anger.

“I love you but you're not safe with me.”

“You don't get to make my decision for me.” You stubbornly point out.

He’s stubborn too. “Y/n—”

“I love you.” A shaky whisper snuck into the air between your lips.

His wide eyes stare back at yours in surprise.

“I've loved you for a long time and I don't wanna be in love with another.” You wrap your hands around his, feeling the warmth bloom onto your cold ones.

“Please, please don't ask me to stay away from you.” You cry.

He kisses your head and brings you close, his palm guiding your cheek to his shoulder. He curls his other arm around your waist and rests his chin atop your hair.

“Okay, alright.” He fondly agrees. Stop crying, you crybaby.”

“Fuck you.” You lightly jab.

He airily laughs and brings your face close to his, pressing an equally feathery kiss to your lips.

You timidly kiss him, shying away a little to breathe but Mark wants you to take his breath if you must. He pulls you in, hands gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him, wanting to shape a new mold from your figures.

Your fingers nervously brush his hair and he groans at the contact.

You chuckle at the sound and he pulls away leaving a soft peck.

He's in a daze and has hearts in his eyes but he ultimately decides; he wouldn't want it any other way.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want a Refund || Trey Clover

When the universe dunks you into a dumpster fire of a novel as the villainess, survival is key. Except your husband, Trey Clover, turns out to be such a green flag that it gets a little harder to function.

Series Masterlist

You prided yourself on being a normal, decent person. Maybe even a good person, depending on who you asked. Sure, you weren’t out here saving kittens from trees or solving world hunger, but you did your part.

You recycled when you remembered, held the door open for strangers (if they were close enough, you weren’t that kind of hero), and even tossed bread crumbs to the pigeons outside your apartment every now and then. It wasn’t much, but it was honest work.

So, really, what you didn’t expect was to be completely betrayed by the universe. The betrayal began small, like a mosquito buzzing in your ear: the newest novel you’d been anticipating for months was sold out.

“Are you serious?” you grumbled, glaring at the empty display like it had just insulted your mother. A handwritten sign on the shelf read: ‘SOLD OUT! More in stock soon!’ in cheerful cursive, as if mocking you.

What were you supposed to do now? Go home empty-handed? Waste your perfectly good afternoon plans of curling up with a book? Absolutely not. Refusing to admit defeat, you scanned the bookstore until your gaze fell on the “New and Best-Selling” rack.

One book immediately caught your eye. The cover was... well, something. It looked like someone had raided a middle schooler’s stash of Barbie stickers, splattered glitter over the whole thing, and slapped on an aggressively curly gold font that screamed, I’M A ROMANCE NOVEL!

You sighed. “Fine. How bad could it be?”

It could be very, very bad.

The first red flag was the synopsis. It introduced Trey Clover, the Grand Duke, who loved his spouse, the villainess, with a devotion so pure it made you want to gag. But then came the second male lead, the Prince, who confessed his love to Trey and the villainess, because monogamy was too boring for this book.

And then there was the heroine. The synopsis just called her “the Saintess,” because why bother giving her a name when her only personality trait was being the worst human being imaginable? She appeared out of nowhere, became the Saintess overnight (because logic?), and made it her life’s mission to ruin the villainess’s life while somehow convincing everyone she was an angel.

Oh, and the Prince? The book had him slip on a rock and die halfway through the plot, like the author had a word count limit and didn’t know what else to do with him. The villainess ends up dying too, right aftetr asking Trey for a divorce to "protect him." The ending involved Trey marrying the heroine, despite spending the entire book side-eyeing her like she owed him rent.

You closed the book slowly, your soul drained of all joy. “What in the fresh hell did I just read?”

But no, you couldn’t let this stand. You were a taxpayer, a contributing member of society. You did not deserve this literary slap in the face.

With righteous indignation burning in your chest, you marched back to the bookstore. You slapped the book onto the counter with a dramatic flair that deserved a standing ovation.

“Refund,” you declared, glaring at the cashier.

“Uh... we don’t usually do refunds on books you’ve already read...” they began hesitantly.

“I don’t care,” you snapped, pointing at the glittering monstrosity. “This isn’t a book. It’s a hate crime against literature. A refund, please, before I start sobbing in public.”

After a long pause—and possibly fearing a customer service meltdown—they handed you store credit. Satisfied but still simmering with rage, you stomped out of the store, muttering to yourself about bad authors, worse editors, and the existential crisis of knowing someone got paid to write that garbage.

And that’s when karma struck.

A segway—a SEGWAY—came hurtling toward you at Mach speed, piloted by a man dressed in full medieval knight armor.

“MAKE WAY FOR SIR SCOOTINGTON!” he screamed, his voice muffled by his helmet.

You froze. Your brain could not process this level of absurdity in such a short amount of time. Was this a prank? A hallucination? Had the book actually been cursed and now you were living out its bad writing?

The segway didn’t stop. It hit you with a solid THUNK, sending you flying backward into a suspiciously well-placed pile of garbage bags.

As you lay there, buried under the remains of someone’s takeout and a very old banana peel, as your vision started to blur, you stared at the sky and thought:

Dawg, why me??

You woke up to the faint chirping of birds and the kind of silence that only rich people seem to afford. Something felt... off. The sheets were too soft, like they’d been spun from angel whispers and a mid-tier deity’s hair. Your pillow was the perfect combination of fluffy and firm, a far cry from the lumpy second-hand abomination you’d bought on sale three years ago.

Your eyes cracked open, squinting against the sunlight filtering through an elaborate, gold-encrusted chandelier. A chandelier. In a bedroom. You lived in a shoebox apartment; your idea of luxury was a lamp that wasn’t from a clearance bin.

You turned your head slightly, and your soul froze mid-exit.

There was someone next to you.

Your brain screeched to a halt, flashing every warning signal it had. Stranger. Bed. You. No.

The only living thing that should’ve been in your apartment was the stray cat you’d nicknamed Gremlin, and he sure as hell didn’t have human proportions or a steady breathing rhythm.

Slowly—painstakingly—you tilted your head to look at your unwanted companion.

It was a man. A very attractive man, sleeping peacefully on his side, glasses perched askew on the nightstand. His hair was a soft mess, his breathing even, and his entire aura screamed gentle husband vibes.

Then recognition sucker-punched you in the gut.

No.

No.

It couldn’t be.

You blinked. Looked again. Replayed every horrible memory of that atrocious novel you had read, and then read again because you hated yourself.

It was Trey Clover.

Male lead. Gentleman. Human embodiment of a warm cup of tea. The guy who was in love with his villainess spouse (you remembered her being dramatic but competent) before the world went full dumpster fire.

Your breathing hitched. You stared down at your hands, and they stared back—perfectly manicured, dainty, soft hands that had never touched a single dirty dish or over-scrubbed countertop.

The reality hit you like a segway knight at full speed.

You’d been isekai’d.

You fought the urge to scream into the pillow. Was this some karmic punishment for returning that book? Was your snarky review in the Reddit thread too harsh? Because this? This was an unholy level of irony.

Trey stirred beside you, his brow furrowing slightly as his hand lazily reached for his glasses. He slid them on, blinking sleepily as his gaze landed on you.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was soft, groggy, and just a little raspy—the kind of voice you’d pay extra to have someone read you bedtime stories with. “You’re staring.”

For a moment, your brain blue-screened. Trey Clover—novel character and now your husband, apparently—was looking at you with concern, and all you could think was: At least he’s hot.

“…Nothing,” you croaked, swallowing down the rising tide of panic. “Just… processing.”

“Processing what?” he asked, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eyes, his entire demeanor radiating "adoring husband" energy.

You clenched the sheets in your fists, trying to will yourself to wake up from this insane fever dream. Unfortunately, the chandelier wasn’t disappearing, Trey wasn’t fading into mist, and your perfectly moisturized skin wasn’t breaking into your usual crusty dryness.

This was real.

And somehow, you were the villainess in a novel you’d once described as "a literary abomination designed to kill brain cells."

The sound of a soft knock at the bedroom door made you jump, nearly upsetting the tower of books you’d been flipping through in your attempt to figure out where in the dumpster fire of this timeline you were.

“Come in?” you called hesitantly, trying to shove the incriminating evidence of your non-villainess-like behavior—a half-written list titled HOW TO NOT DIE TRAGICALLY—under a pillow.

Trey stepped in, balancing a tray of food like he was auditioning for Husband of the Year. His hair was slightly mussed, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up just enough to show forearms that could inspire sonnets. The man was a walking Pinterest board, and it was unfair.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said with a small smile, setting the tray on the table. “You’ve been skipping meals, and that’s not like you.”

You laughed nervously, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Oh, um, yeah. Upset stomach. You know how it is.”

Trey raised an eyebrow, his smile unwavering but his eyes far too knowing. “Sure. And I’ll be here while you eat, just to make sure you’re feeling better.”

Oh, no.

You stared at the tray like it had betrayed you. Soup, bread, and some suspiciously perfect desserts that looked like they had been made by the hands of an angel. You couldn’t say no without sounding even sketchier.

“Right,” you muttered, picking up the spoon with the grace of someone about to face a firing squad. As you sipped, Trey watched silently, his chin resting on one hand, his soft gaze pinned on you. The air felt so heavy you could’ve cut it with a butter knife.

“Are you going to go through with it?” he asked suddenly.

You froze mid-bite, the words hitting you like a frying pan to the face. “Go through with… what?”

“The divorce,” he said simply.

You choked on your soup. The spoon clattered back into the bowl as you grabbed a napkin, trying to avoid literally dying of shock. Divorce? Divorce?! That wasn’t in the plan! You knew what happened after the divorce—the villainess died, and you weren’t about to let fate steamroll you into an early grave, again.

“What? No! Of course not!” you sputtered, waving your hands in frantic denial. “Why would I want a divorce? You’re, uh, great! Fantastic! A literal dream husband!”

Trey blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion before his expression softened into something warmer, almost relieved. “You… want to work things out?”

“Yes!” you blurted, nodding with enough enthusiasm to give yourself whiplash. “Absolutely! Let’s work this out. Together. Like a team.”

His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile that nearly melted you on the spot. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead that left your brain doing cartwheels. “Alright. I’ll hold you to that. I’ll be back for dinner, so rest up until then.”

He left the room, and the moment the door clicked shut, you flopped back onto the bed like a deflated balloon. The pillow muffled your scream of embarrassment as you kicked your feet, equal parts flustered and mortified. What was that? Why did he have to be so sweet? How were you supposed to survive this level of tenderness without combusting?

The door creaked open again.

You froze mid-giggle, legs tangled in the sheets like a caught fish. Trey stood in the doorway, eyebrow raised and looking like he was about two seconds away from bursting into laughter. “Forgot my pen,” he said casually, strolling over to grab the item from the bedside table.

You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. “Oh. Uh. Right.”

He paused on his way out, leaning down to kiss your cheek with infuriating gentleness. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you red-faced, flustered, and questioning every life choice that had led to this moment.

It had been such a nice meal. The kind where the food was good, the company better, and the wine just strong enough to make you feel warm and floaty but not stupid. Trey was smiling faintly at you over his plate, his rare but deeply satisfying I’m enjoying myself face in full effect, and you dared to think, Hey, maybe I can survive this isekai nonsense after all.

And then the restaurant door swung open, and your fragile peace shattered like a dropped wine glass.

The prince had arrived.

Trey’s face immediately darkened like a thunderstorm on the horizon, and you felt yourself lose a year of your life just from sheer dread. The prince was a walking disaster in human form, and you’d been hoping to avoid him like the plague. But the universe clearly hated you because here he was, sashaying through the restaurant like he owned the place.

“Oh no,” you whispered, gripping your fork like it could somehow protect you.

Trey’s jaw tightened as the prince spotted you both, his grin wide enough to make you wish the floor would open up and swallow you.

“Darlings!” the prince cried, crossing the room with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever off its leash. “Fancy seeing you here!”

You didn’t even get a chance to object before he grabbed a chair from a nearby table, spun it around dramatically, and wedged himself between you and Trey, plopping down like he’d been invited. Spoiler alert: he hadn’t.

“Your Highness,” Trey said through clenched teeth, managing to sound both polite and like he was ready to stab someone with a salad fork.

“Oh, come now, Trey,” the prince laughed, waving off the formality. “No need to be so stiff. After all, we’re practically family!”

You didn’t get the chance to ask how that made sense before he grabbed your hand—and Trey’s—planting a wet, sloppy kiss on each. The sound it made was unholy, like a boot pulling free from a swamp. You and Trey simultaneously stiffened, the same thought clearly running through your minds: Don’t cringe, don’t cringe, don’t cringe…

“I simply had to come over when I saw you two!” the prince gushed, oblivious to your visible discomfort. “The saintess—bless her kind, radiant heart—has been dying to see you both!”

You glanced at Trey, who was visibly restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

“She’s throwing a ball this weekend,” the prince continued, clasping his hands together like he was sharing the world’s most exciting news. “And you must come. Truly, it’d be… well, treasonous not to, considering we’re both inviting you!”

Ah, there it was. The veiled threat disguised as politeness. You hated that this guy was smart enough to wield his royal status as a weapon, even if he made everything sound like it came with a complimentary gift basket.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “We’d be honored, Your Highness.”

Trey shot you a subtle look, one that very clearly said Traitor, but you knew he agreed. Anything to avoid another round of Wet Hand Kisses.

“Wonderful!” the prince declared, clapping his hands together. “I knew you two would understand. You always were the reasonable ones.”

He finally stood up, ruffling Trey’s hair in a way that made his eye twitch before striding off like he hadn’t just hijacked your peaceful dinner.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, you slumped back in your chair, utterly drained. “I feel like I need to bathe in holy water.”

Trey pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I should’ve poisoned his dessert last time.”

You stared at him. “You what?”

“Nothing,” he said, picking up his fork like nothing had happened. “Let’s finish eating.”

You could still feel the ghost of the prince’s wet kiss on your hand, and you shuddered. “Do you think we can fake our deaths before Saturday?”

Trey actually looked like he was considering it.

The ball was, against all odds, actually enjoyable. The lights glittered like fairy dust, the music was just the right level of lively, and the wine was strong enough to turn your earlier dread into a warm, floaty haze. Trey was by your side, charming in his tailored suit, and for once, the prince and saintess were blissfully absent.

"Maybe they got lost," you whispered to Trey, leaning in conspiratorially. "Or better yet, maybe they found a better party and decided to leave us alone."

Trey smirked, sipping his wine. "If only we were that lucky."

Your hopes were dashed, naturally, when the prince appeared out of nowhere like some unholy summon. One second you were lifting a glass to your lips, and the next, your arm was being yanked so hard you almost spilled your drink.

“Come now, my dear!” the prince declared, grinning in a way that felt more like a threat than an invitation. “Dance with me!”

Before you could even process what was happening, you were being twirled onto the dance floor. Across the room, you caught a glimpse of Trey being snatched by the saintess, who looked like she had all the coordination of a baby deer on ice.

The prince pulled you in too close, his breath an unholy concoction of garlic and what might’ve been sour milk. You tried to politely lean back, but he just leaned closer, grinning obliviously.

“You’re stiff, my dear,” he said, his voice low and entirely too sultry for someone who smelled like a kitchen accident. “Loosen up!”

Meanwhile, Trey was enduring his own nightmare. The saintess stepped on his foot with her stiletto for the fourth time, and you could swear you saw him wince in actual pain. She was chattering nonstop about something—maybe puppies, maybe world peace—you couldn’t hear over the sound of her heels clobbering the floor.

When the ordeal finally ended, you staggered back to Trey, feeling like you’d aged ten years. He looked equally frazzled, rubbing his shoulder like it had been yanked out of its socket.

“I’d say that was horrible,” he said under his breath, “but I think ‘horrible’ is too kind.”

Before you could respond, the saintess suddenly tripped. She wasn’t even near you—she was all the way across the room—but she hit the ground with a dramatic thud, and her dress promptly ripped down the side.

You blinked. “Wait, what just—”

“I knew it!” she screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at you from the floor. “You sabotaged me!”

The prince, for once, looked baffled. He glanced between her and you like he was trying to solve a complicated riddle. “But… she wasn’t even near you?”

“SABOTAGE!” the saintess shrieked again, her voice cracking.

The original villainess would’ve taken the high road, maybe pretended to be insulted or outraged. You, however, were just drunk enough to find the entire thing hilarious.

You laughed. Loudly.

And to your absolute delight, the crowd followed suit. Quiet snickers turned into outright guffaws as everyone around you dissolved into laughter.

The saintess gawked, looking like a wet cat as she scrambled to her feet. “You’re all… MONSTERS!” she shrieked, before fleeing the room with a level of dramatics that would make even a soap opera jealous.

The prince hesitated, torn between chasing after her or staying to glower at you and Trey. Finally, with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like “I hate my life,” he ran after her, disappearing into the night.

“Well,” Trey said, offering his hand with a faint smirk, “that was… something. Care to salvage the evening with a proper dance?”

You took his hand, letting him spin you onto the floor. The music softened, the crowd fading into the background as Trey pulled you close.

“You look stunning tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as you danced.

The compliment hit you like a sucker punch, leaving you so dazed that, in your flustered state, you impulsively dipped him instead of the other way around.

Trey laughed, eyes crinkling with genuine delight. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” you hissed, cheeks burning as you held the pose.

But to your surprise, he didn’t protest. He let you dip him, even laughing as you pulled him back up. And when the dance ended, he kissed your cheek, sending your heart into a full-on meltdown.

“That,” he said, his voice filled with amusement, “was the most fun I’ve had at a ball in years.”

The tea party was a picturesque affair, all pastel tablecloths, delicate porcelain cups, and the kind of floral arrangements that screamed wealth and good taste. You were seated with Riddle, Cater, and Che’nya at a table tucked under a wisteria-laden gazebo, trying your best to survive the endless parade of gossip and sweets.

The conversation drifted naturally, like it always did, until someone—probably Cater—brought up the topic of Trey.

“Y’know,” Cater began, swirling his tea with exaggerated nonchalance, “Trey’s been looking at you like you personally hung the moon and stars lately. It’s kinda adorable.”

Che’nya leaned over, grinning like the Cheshire Cat he was. “So deep in love, it’s practically a romantic trench. What’s your secret, huh? Love potion? A really good pie?”

You chuckled, brushing off the comment, but then you glanced across the garden—and froze.

There he was, Trey Clover, the ridiculously perfect husband material that fate had handed you in this bizarre isekai life. He was standing a little ways off, chatting with a few nobles, but his gaze was unmistakably fixed on you.

When your eyes met, he smiled. Not just any smile—a warm, genuine, I-would-die-for-you-and-bake-you-cookies-afterwards kind of smile. It hit you like a runaway carriage.

Your chest tightened, your stomach flipped, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to pause.

Oh no.

Oh no.

You were in so deep.

Like, Titanic-hitting-the-iceberg-and-sinking-to-the-ocean-floor deep.

“Uh oh,” Cater sang, leaning closer with a smirk that could only mean trouble. “I know that look. Someone just had their Hallmark movie epiphany.”

You snapped out of it, cheeks burning. “What look? I don’t have a look!”

“Oh, you totally do,” Che’nya chimed in, his grin somehow wider. “It’s all dreamy and starry-eyed, like you’re in a fairy tale. Which, I guess you kinda are?”

Riddle, ever the straight man in these situations, regarded you with a mix of pity and exasperation. “Please tell me you’re not about to let these two meddle in your relationship.”

But before you could defend yourself, Cater was already leaning forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Cay-Cay’s got you covered! Wanna confess? I can totally set the mood—candles, roses, soft music…”

“I—what?” you stammered, still too dazed by your revelation to form a coherent response.

“That’s a yes!” Che’nya declared, clapping his hands together. “Alright, let’s brainstorm. Hot air balloon confession? Dramatic rain scene? Ooh, what about—”

“Absolutely not,” Riddle interrupted, his tone sharp as ever. He turned to you, expression weary. “I’ll make sure they don’t do anything absurd, but honestly, why not just tell Trey yourself? He’s your husband.”

You groaned, sinking into your chair as Cater and Che’nya continued to scheme with increasingly outlandish ideas. Meanwhile, Riddle looked at you like you’d just wired your entire fortune to a scammer and promised to fix it for you later.

Across the garden, Trey caught your gaze again, his brows furrowing slightly in concern at your flustered state. He started to make his way over, and your heart leapt into your throat.

Oh no.

Whatever happened next, you were absolutely not ready.

Riddle had been firm, as always. “A pie,” he said with the kind of authority you’d expect from someone sentencing a man to death. “It’s simple, heartfelt, and Trey would appreciate the effort. Not that I have time to indulge in frivolities like this, but… you’re lucky I know the basics.”

Turns out, Riddle did not know the basics. And neither did you.

What followed could only be described as a culinary catastrophe.

The kitchen looked like it had been struck by a flour tornado, with you and Riddle at its chaotic epicenter. Your attempt at pie dough was a war crime in the making—half stuck to the counter, half to your hands, and none of it remotely edible.

“Why is it stretching?” Riddle hissed, his face as red as his hair, holding one end of the dough while you gripped the other. The elastic monstrosity between you refused to snap, stretching longer and longer like some unholy noodle.

“I don’t know!” you shrieked back, your voice an octave higher than usual. “I followed the instructions! Mostly! Kind of!”

“‘Kind of’ isn’t good enough! Put some force into it!”

Riddle tugged one end of the dough like he was in a tug-of-war with a particularly stubborn ghost. You yanked back, and the dough elongated even further, wobbling ominously in the air.

That’s when Trey walked in.

He stopped in the doorway, taking in the absolute chaos: the flour-streaked counter, the rolling pin embedded in what used to be a bag of sugar, and you and Riddle holding opposite ends of the world’s saddest dough.

“What… exactly is happening here?” Trey asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You froze, still clutching the dough. Riddle looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“We’re baking,” you managed to squeak out.

Trey blinked, then burst into laughter, the sound warm and rich like honey. “Is that what you’re calling this?”

His laughter didn’t help your embarrassment, but the way he stepped forward, gently taking the dough from you and Riddle like a benevolent baking god, did. “Alright, let’s see if we can salvage this. Flour, water… and patience. You two watch and learn.”

You stood back, flustered and hopelessly smitten as Trey worked his magic. In minutes, he turned your disaster into a perfectly respectable pie crust. He even smiled at you both as if to say nice try, kids, and it made you feel oddly warm inside.

Still too mortified to admit the pie was meant for him, you let him finish it while Riddle quietly excused himself, muttering about overdue paperwork.

You did feel for Riddle, poor guy was stuck babysitting the Prince after all. Maybe the dough was sad because of his stress.

Later, Cater and Che’nya were far too pleased with themselves when they found you.

“So,” Cater said, grinning, “how’s Operation Swoon going?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you grumbled, remembering the dough debacle.

Che’nya’s grin widened. “Lucky for you, we’ve got Plan B: flowers! Romantic, classic, and impossible to mess up.”

You weren’t sure about that last part, but their enthusiasm was infectious. You ended up at a florist with Cater coaching you through every step, from picking out the blooms to tying a ribbon. By the time you were done, the bouquet looked gorgeous.

When you handed the flowers to Trey later, he looked… stunned. His eyes widened, his cheeks turned faintly pink, and his smile was so soft and genuine that you nearly dropped dead on the spot.

“For me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. Just, uh, wanted to thank you. For everything. You know.”

Trey cradled the bouquet like it was something precious. “Thank you. Really. This means a lot.”

And when he smiled at you again, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Cater and Che’nya’s meddling wasn’t so bad after all.

You were practically vibrating with excitement as you entered the restaurant, rare flower in hand. You’d spent far too much money on it, but it was worth it. Trey deserved nothing less. The merchant had waxed poetic about how the flower symbolized eternal devotion, and you figured it was the perfect way to set the stage for your long-overdue confession.

Trey was already seated at the table, his calm demeanor somehow both comforting and devastatingly attractive. When he saw you approach, his eyes softened, and that sweet smile of his—the one that made your knees weak—spread across his face.

You handed him the flower, and his expression lit up as though you’d just handed him the moon.

“For me?” he asked, his voice full of surprise and warmth.

“Of course,” you said, a little shy but mostly proud of yourself. “I thought it suited you.”

His fingers brushed yours as he took the flower, and before you knew it, you were holding hands across the table. The atmosphere felt perfect—soft candlelight, his warm gaze locked on yours, and your heart pounding like it had just discovered cardio.

This was it. The moment to confess that you loved him.

You opened your mouth, ready to pour your heart out—

And then she appeared.

The saintess, an uninvited hurricane in the form of a woman, swept into the room with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. You barely had time to process her arrival before she snatched the flower from Trey’s hand like a seagull stealing a french fry.

“Oh, Trey, you shouldn’t have!” she gushed, clutching the flower to her chest like a deranged soap opera villain. “How thoughtful of you to get this for me!”

Trey’s face froze in what could only be described as polite murder. His jaw tightened, his grip on the table visibly white-knuckled.

You, however, were already halfway to a breakdown. “Excuse me?” you sputtered.

The saintess ignored you entirely.

Enter the prince, the human equivalent of a golden retriever who’d been hit on the head one too many times. He trailed behind her, clearly regretting his existence. For once, he seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation and awkwardly tried to mediate.

“Ah, maybe I should—uh—just give this back,” he mumbled, reaching for the flower.

The saintess responded by shoving him.

The prince, unprepared for even the gentlest resistance, stumbled directly into Trey’s arms.

Trey, now holding a grown man like a bridal bouquet, froze. His eyes darted to you, silently screaming what do I do with this?

Before he could decide, the prince looked up at him, smiled coyly, and winked.

You might’ve laughed if the saintess hadn’t chosen that exact moment to drape herself across you.

“Oh, my dear friend,” she simpered, batting her lashes, “surely you understand Trey’s affection for me. You’ll support us, won’t you?”

You were too stunned to respond, stuck holding the saintess like an overly affectionate sloth. Across the table, Trey looked like he was begging whatever gods existed for an escape route.

Finally, something in Trey snapped. Gently—yet firmly—he set the prince in his seat like a toddler being put in timeout. Then, without a word, he reached across, grabbed the saintess by the arm, and unceremoniously deposited her in her own chair.

“You’ll have to excuse us,” Trey said, his voice smooth but his expression pure I’m done with this nonsense. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the restaurant, not even sparing a glance back.

Oh, and he definitely took the flower back.

In the carriage, Trey was silent, his expression unreadable. You hesitated before asking, “Are you okay?”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just… tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of not having moments with you for myself,” he said, his voice soft but full of frustration. “Every time I try to enjoy being with you, someone interrupts. I just… I want you. Just you.”

Your heart practically melted on the spot. Overwhelmed by his honesty, you leaned forward and kissed him—a gentle, tentative gesture that said everything you’d been too nervous to put into words.

Trey froze for a moment, then pulled you closer, kissing you again, this time deeper and with so much emotion that you thought your brain might short-circuit. His hands cradled your face, and the world outside the carriage ceased to exist.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his smile so radiant it made your heart skip. “I guess this means you’re mine?”

You nodded, breathless.

“And I’m yours,” he murmured, sealing the confession with another kiss that left you thoroughly, blissfully dazed.

It was supposed to be a simple stroll through the common garden—just you and Trey enjoying a rare moment of peace. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and you were basking in the warmth of Trey's smile when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

The prince.

And worse, the pebble.

You recognized it instantly—the cursed rock from the original novel, the one destined to send the prince spiraling into a tragic, fatal end. It glittered ominously on the path, as if taunting fate.

The prince, blissfully unaware, strutted forward like he owned the place. He stepped right onto the pebble, his foot slipping out from under him with comical precision.

In that split second, you knew what you had to do. Annoying as he was, no one deserved to die because of a glorified piece of gravel.

You lunged forward, grabbing the prince by the arm and yanking him upright just before disaster struck.

He looked at you, wide-eyed, for all of two seconds before breaking into a toothy grin. “Ah, so this is love,” he declared, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “Fear not, my dear! Your feelings for me are obvious, and I, in my infinite generosity, shall grant you the honor of becoming my bride!”

Trey, who had been watching this unfold with his usual calm, suddenly stiffened. His hand slipped into yours, his grip firm but not unkind as he gently pulled you closer.

“Your Highness,” Trey began, his voice polite but laced with steel, “I think you may have misunderstood something.”

“Oh?” The prince arched a brow, clearly oblivious to the warning signs.

“She's already married,” Trey said, his tone so calm and measured it was borderline terrifying. “To me.”

The prince’s eyes lit up with excitement, not deterred in the slightest. “A rivalry for their love, then? Excellent! Let the best man win!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Riddle—ever the voice of reason (or exhaustion)—strode into the fray like a man who had been dealing with this nonsense for far too long.

“Your Highness,” Riddle snapped, looking entirely done with life. “What in the sevens are you doing?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the prince by the collar and dragged him away like a scolding parent hauling a toddler out of the candy aisle.

“You can’t just propose to married people!” Riddle hissed as they disappeared down the path.

Left in their wake, you spotted Cater and Che’nya lounging under a tree, shamelessly munching on popcorn. Cater caught your eye and waved, looking far too entertained by the whole ordeal.

“Did you see Trey’s face?” Che’nya whispered loudly. “I’d give it a solid nine out of ten on the jealousy scale.”

“Totally,” Cater agreed. “Hey, Alfred!” he called to the butler nearby. “Get me a glass of wine; this show’s getting good!”

Before you could decide whether to laugh or cringe, Trey’s hand gently tilted your chin, drawing your attention back to him.

“Focus on me,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours.

And oh, jealous Trey was adorable. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with a possessiveness that made your heart skip several beats.

Caught up in the moment, you leaned forward and kissed him, a quick but sweet gesture that left him blinking in surprise before a soft smile spread across his face.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Cater almost spill his wine in excitement, while Che’nya clapped like a seal.

“Now that’s spicy!” Che’nya crowed.

“I need another glass,” Cater sighed dramatically, as if the sheer romance was too much for his delicate heart.

But you didn’t care. Trey’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and for once, the rest of the world faded away.

The war room was dead silent, the kind of silence so heavy you could hear the shuffle of maps and the scratch of quills on parchment. Every important figure of the empire was present—Trey and you, the Emperor and Empress, military generals whose scowls could crack stone, the Pope looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, and, shockingly, even the Prince, for once not actively trying to ruin someone’s day.

Strategies were discussed in grim tones. Supply lines, terrain advantages, possible reinforcement numbers—you and Trey were fully immersed in weighing the support your duchy could offer. For once, even the Prince managed to look engaged, though he was suspiciously chewing on the end of his quill like a kid stuck in detention.

Then, like an uninvited storm, the doors slammed open.

“Hellooooooo!”

Every head in the room turned as the Saintess waltzed in, an hour late, as if this were a garden party and not a high-stakes war council. She was dressed in what could only be described as a fever dream of bad taste: a dress so garish and bedazzled it could probably be seen from orbit, complete with absurd feathered accessories sticking out at odd angles like a startled peacock.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she sang, twirling unnecessarily as if this was a runway. “I couldn’t decide which dress to wear. Do you think this one looks good?”

The silence was palpable, charged with a collective secondhand embarrassment that could power an entire city.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, wondering if you could claim an "upset stomach" for the fifth time this month. Then, unable to stop yourself, you deadpanned, “Yes. It’d make a great enemy flag.”

Trey choked on a laugh, quickly covering it with a cough. The Pope crossed himself, possibly praying for patience. One of the military generals muttered something under his breath, hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword. The Prince just buried his face in his hands.

The Saintess, predictably, burst into tears. “You’re so mean! I’m just trying to brighten up this dreary meeting!”

The Emperor looked deeply, soul-crushingly confused, glancing at the generals as if to ask, Does this happen often? Meanwhile, the Empress, seated beside him, was gripping the armrest of her chair so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

Trey sighed and leaned closer to you. “I’ll handle it,” he murmured, giving you a quick nod before standing.

He approached her like one might approach a wild animal, hands raised in surrender. “Saintess, perhaps we could discuss this outside—”

But no sooner had he stepped within arm’s reach did she trip. On purpose.

In what could only be described as an Olympian-level act of self-preservation, Trey sidestepped so swiftly she ended up flailing through the air like a failed acrobat.

She landed directly on top of the Emperor.

The entire room froze.

The Emperor looked down at the Saintess sprawled across his lap with the bewilderment of someone who just found a raccoon in their bed. The generals were wide-eyed, clearly waiting for his reaction before deciding if they needed to draw their swords. The Pope had started sweating through his robes, clutching his staff like it was his last lifeline.

And then, like an avenging goddess, the Empress rose from her seat.

Without a single word, she grabbed the Saintess by her feathered hairpiece and hauled her up like a disobedient child. The Saintess shrieked, limbs flailing, but the Empress dragged her toward the door with a grim determination.

“OUT.”

The doors slammed shut behind them, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Trey cleared his throat, brushing off his sleeves as if nothing had happened. “Well,” he said, returning to his seat beside you. “That was… eventful.”

“Eventful?” you hissed, elbowing him. “She just dive-bombed the Emperor!”

Trey shrugged, lips twitching. “And yet here we are, still alive. I’d call that a win.”

Across the table, the Emperor straightened his robes, trying to reclaim what little dignity he had left. “Shall we… continue?” he asked, though his tone suggested he wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and a nap.

You nodded, biting your lip to suppress a laugh as the meeting resumed. Somehow, against all odds, you managed to get back to planning strategy. But you knew this story was one for the history books. Or at least for drunken retellings later.

The negotiation room was a grand affair, with gilded walls, an impossibly long table, and an air of tension so thick you could slice it with a butter knife.

The opposing kingdom’s crown princess sat across from your delegation, radiating intelligence and poise. Her every word was measured, her presence commanding, and she somehow managed to make a simple quill look like a weapon of mass destruction.

Meanwhile, your prince was... spinning in his chair.

“Wheeeee!”

You felt your soul leave your body.

“Your Highness,” Riddle hissed, his voice laced with the kind of fury only a man on the verge of a migraine could muster. “Compose yourself!”

The prince paused mid-spin, blinking like he’d just remembered where he was. “Right, right. Negotiations. Totally got this.” He picked up a quill and twirled it between his fingers like a toddler pretending to be an adult.

You buried your face in your hands, quietly mourning the future of your kingdom.

Across the table, their saint was the picture of grace, clasping their hands as though ready to bestow divine blessings upon the room. They exuded an aura of peace and righteousness that made you think, Ah, yes, this is what a saint should look like.

And then there was your saintess.

She was currently leaning against the wall, dramatically fanning herself with a peacock-feathered fan that you were pretty sure wasn’t hers. She’d arrived late, claiming she’d been “blessed by the spirits of fashion,” and was wearing a gown so covered in rhinestones that it could probably be seen from space.

You caught Trey’s eye from across the table. He looked entirely too amused, like he was moments away from bursting into laughter. You glared at him, silently begging him to take this seriously.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward as if to say, I’m trying.

Thankfully, the Empress had come along for damage control. She sat at the head of the table, calm and unflappable, effortlessly steering the conversation back on track whenever your prince derailed it with comments like, “So, how do you guys feel about dragons?”

When the opposing kingdom’s crown princess suggested an ambassador exchange as part of the peace treaty, the Empress visibly perked up.

“That’s an excellent idea,” she said smoothly. “In fact, we have the perfect candidate.”

You felt a sliver of hope. Maybe she’d suggest Riddle—he was intelligent, responsible, and would undoubtedly represent your kingdom well. Or Trey, whose calm demeanor and charm could win over anyone. Or—dare you dream—maybe even you, since you were clearly the only one in this circus who had a shred of common sense. And the two of you could move away from this hellhole.

“We’ll send the saintess,” the Empress announced, her voice dripping with what could only be described as malicious glee.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The crown princess on the other side of the table looked mildly alarmed. “Um,” she began, clearly searching for a polite way to decline.

“She’ll be an excellent cultural ambassador,” the Empress continued, her smile widening. “She’s... unforgettable.”

Riddle’s eye twitched, but he said nothing. Trey looked down at the table, probably to hide his grin.

The saintess, oblivious to the underlying implications, squealed in delight. “Oh my gosh, finally! I’ve always wanted to travel!”

The opposing kingdom reluctantly agreed—probably under the assumption that taking her would somehow count as reparations.

When you all finally returned home, the atmosphere was noticeably lighter, as though a glittery, rhinestone-encrusted weight had been lifted off your collective shoulders.

Trey leaned over in the carriage, his voice low and amused. “Well, I’d call that a success.”

“Success?” you laughed. “We basically tricked another kingdom into taking her off our hands.”

Trey’s smile was soft as he reached for your hand. “And we averted a war in the process.”

You sighed, but your heart skipped a beat when his thumb brushed against your knuckles. Maybe you could live with this version of “success.”

Without the saintess egging him on, the prince had downgraded from menace to society to mildly annoying NPC. He still popped up every now and then, offering unsolicited advice on topics he clearly didn’t understand, but Riddle—bless his overworked soul—had finally had enough. As royal advisor, he slapped the prince with permanent probation, effectively keeping him confined to paperwork and far, far away from you and Trey.

Life, for once, was peaceful.

So peaceful, in fact, that you and Trey found yourselves back at that restaurant—the same one that had become the backdrop for two very traumatic encounters. It felt like tempting fate, but Trey, ever the optimist, assured you that lightning wouldn’t strike thrice.

And for once, he was right.

The food was good, the atmosphere was cozy, and not a single insufferable royal barged in to ruin the evening. You both laughed, reminisced, and indulged in desserts that Trey—being the baking connoisseur he was—had plenty of opinions about.

By the time you left the restaurant, the streets were quiet, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. The air was crisp but not cold, and everything felt oddly serene, like the universe was apologizing for all the nonsense it had previously thrown your way.

As you walked side by side, Trey suddenly stopped.

You turned to face him, confused. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he knelt down on one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.

Your brain short-circuited.

“Trey—”

“Before you say anything,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with emotion, “I just want you to know that despite how things started between us... I’ve never regretted a single moment with you.” He looked up at you, his green eyes warm and sincere. “You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be, and if you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life making you just as happy.”

He opened the box, revealing a ring—simple, elegant, and undeniably perfect. “So... will you marry me? Again?”

You stared at him, your chest tight with emotions you couldn’t even begin to untangle. And then you laughed—because how else were you supposed to process the sheer ridiculousness of everything that had led to this moment?

“Yes,” you said, your voice trembling with joy. “Of course, yes.”

He stood, sliding the ring onto your finger with a smile that could have melted glaciers.

And then he kissed you—soft, slow, and so full of love that it felt like the world around you ceased to exist.

Somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard a cat knock over a trash can, but nothing could ruin this moment.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[theetherealbloom]

Whole Package, Babe, I Like The Way You Fit

Summary: Holiday beach trip with Pedro and friends.

Or, that one new Pedro shirtless pic…

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Beach Trip, Light Blood, Scratch, Ocean, Swimming, Swimwear, Shirtless Pedro, Light SMUT, Spicy, Sweet, Implied SMUT, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: The mf decided to give us shirtless Pedro and suddenly I have the will to live again LMAO. Weirdly enough, I am also at the beach while writing this so it’s kinda a funny coincidence… Imagine if we were at the same beach, that would be so funny (He can never know my existence I might die.)

No one ask me how I knew what hotel they were staying at. I scare myself too dw.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

| Main Masterlist |

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — DAY

The warm tropical breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean as you stepped onto the soft, powdery sand of the secluded beach Pedro’s friends had chosen for the Christmas getaway. The sun kissed your skin, palm trees swayed lazily overhead, and the gentle rhythm of waves provided the perfect soundtrack for a holiday escape.  

The group—Lauren Alexander, Brandan Campbell, Omar Apollo, and Pedro’s ever-charismatic agent, Franklin Latt—had already claimed a prime spot near the water. Lounge chairs were lined up under brightly colored umbrellas, a massive cooler sat brimming with ice and drinks, and Omar was enthusiastically attempting to set up a speaker while humming the latest tune stuck in his head.  

Pedro lagged a few steps behind you, carrying your beach bag and his, though his attention wasn’t on the task. It was on you.  

When you shrugged off your airy cover-up, revealing a stunning red bikini that hugged your curves just right, Pedro froze mid-step. His sunglasses couldn’t hide the way his jaw tightened or how his eyes darkened as they roamed over you.  

“Everything okay there?” you teased, tilting your head as you caught him staring.  

Pedro blinked, visibly gathering himself. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat, but his gaze didn’t waver. “More than fine.”  

You smirked, adjusting the straps of your bikini for good measure. “You’re staring.”  

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, taking a step closer. His voice dipped, low and husky. “You look... breathtaking.”  

A flush crept up your neck, but you refused to let him win so easily. “Not too bad yourself,” you quipped, lightly poking his chest. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of his tan skin and the gold chain that rested against his collarbone.  

Pedro chuckled, the sound warm and intimate. “If I’d known you’d be wearing this, I’d have hired a bodyguard to keep everyone else from looking.”  

“Oh, please,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the grin tugging at your lips. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”  

He leaned in, his hand brushing against your waist as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. “Stop being so cute, or I might never let you leave my sight,” he murmured.  

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you teased, your voice playful but your heart racing.  

“Both,” he said, his grin widening as he pulled back to admire you once more.  

From nearby, Omar let out a loud whistle. “Pedro, are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna help us with this speaker? Some of us want to vibe to music!”  

Pedro groaned, turning reluctantly toward the group but throwing an arm around your shoulders as he led you over. “Fine, but only because she’s coming with me,” he called out, earning a round of laughter.  

As you settled into the setup, the sun beamed overhead, and the carefree energy of the group was infectious. Pedro stayed close, his arm brushing yours as you helped Lauren unpack snacks, and his eyes never strayed far from you.  

At one point, Franklin handed you a coconut with a straw and a cheeky smile. “Best way to stay hydrated,” he said, winking.  

“Cheers,” Pedro said, clinking his coconut against yours. He took a sip before leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But if you spill even a drop, I’m licking it off you.”  

Your cheeks burned as you nearly choked on your drink. “Pedro!” you hissed, swatting at him.  

He grinned, unapologetic. “What? I’m just being practical.”  

The day unfolded in easy laughter and warmth, with the sun high overhead and the turquoise ocean sparkling like a field of diamonds. Pedro carried you on his back through the shallows, his hands gripping your thighs as you pretended to be his commanding officer.  

“Faster, soldier!” you commanded, leaning forward and tugging gently at his ears as if steering him.  

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” he called back, mock-serious but laughing as he jogged through the water, sending small waves splashing around you both. “Anything else, ma’am? Should I do some push-ups in the sand too?”  

You grinned wickedly. “Push-ups? I’d like to see you try—with me on your back.”  

Pedro stopped abruptly, twisting his head to glance at you with a raised brow. “Oh, you think I can’t?”  

“I know you can’t,” you teased, leaning down to press your cheek against his.  

He smirked, suddenly spinning in place. “You’re asking for it now.”  

Before you could protest, he dropped into the water with a dramatic splash, sending you tumbling off his back and into the cool embrace of the ocean.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, surfacing with a gasp and pushing your wet hair out of your face.  

He was already laughing, standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips, his soaked hair plastered to his forehead. “That’s what you get for doubting my strength!”  

“Oh, you’re so dead!” you shouted, lunging toward him.  

Pedro yelped playfully, backpedaling but not fast enough. You caught his arm, laughing as you pulled him down into the water with you. The two of you wrestled like kids, splashing and laughing so hard your stomach hurt.  

“Truce! Truce!” he called out, holding up his hands in surrender as you pelted him with another wave of water.  

“Do you admit defeat?” you demanded, a triumphant grin on your face.  

“Never!” he declared, darting forward to grab your waist. Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly, spinning you around in the water.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, laughing and trying to wriggle free.  

“You wanted a soldier,” he said, his voice full of mischief, “and now you’ve got one!”  

You finally stopped struggling, letting your arms drape around his shoulders as he held you close. The laughter faded into something softer, the two of you catching your breath as you stood chest-deep in the water.  

His hands slid down to your hips, steadying you as he gazed at you with a look that made your heart flutter. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.  

The way he said it, like it was a simple truth he’d always believed, made your cheeks warm despite the cool water. “You’re just saying that because I’m soaked and ridiculous-looking,” you replied, biting back a smile.  

“No,” he said, leaning in so his forehead pressed against yours. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”  

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant at first, like he was savoring the moment. The kiss deepened quickly, his arms pulling you closer until there was no space between you.  

When you pulled back for air, Pedro’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. “You’ve got this effect on me,” he admitted, his voice husky.  

“Oh yeah?” you teased, though your voice wavered with the same breathless energy.  

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands sliding up your back. “And I never want it to go away.”  

For a while, the rest of the world melted away. You stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the ocean rocking gently around you. He kissed you like he was memorizing every detail, every taste, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, feeling completely and utterly adored.  

At one point, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “If this is what it feels like to surrender, I’m never fighting again.”  

You laughed, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “I think I like you defeated.”  

“And I think I like you here, in my arms,” he replied softly, his lips brushing against your temple.  

The sound of your friends laughing and splashing in the distance barely registered. For now, it was just you and Pedro, lost in a world of sunlit kisses and salty skin, the ocean your only witness.  

The group gathered in a loose circle, each person holding a large green coconut decorated with colorful straws and tiny paper umbrellas. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft glow, making the moment feel like a scene out of a postcard. Omar crouched to capture the perfect angle with his camera while Lauren struck a dramatic pose, tilting her head back and raising her coconut like it was a chalice of the gods.  

“Lauren, you’re doing the most,” Franklin said, shaking his head but smiling as he adjusted his sunglasses.  

“Darling, I am the most,” Lauren shot back with a wink, drawing laughs from everyone.  

Pedro, standing just behind you, pulled you snugly against his side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. “C’mon, let’s show them how it’s done,” he murmured in your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.  

Franklin, standing in front with his phone, held it up. “Okay, lovebirds, your turn. Smile for the camera!”  

You turned your face toward Pedro’s at the exact same moment he turned toward you, and the laughter bubbled up before either of you could stop it. Your foreheads bumped lightly, and you both dissolved into giggles, the kind of uncontainable joy that made your chest feel light.  

“Oh, my god,” Lauren groaned theatrically, pointing at the two of you. “Are they even real? Look at them, they’re in their own damn rom-com!”  

“Y’all are embarrassing,” Omar chimed in, snapping pictures anyway. “But keep doing whatever that is because it’s disgustingly cute.”  

Pedro’s grin widened as he tilted his head toward you, his nose brushing against yours. “You’re ridiculous,” you said through your laughter, feeling your cheeks warm under the attention.  

“And you’re perfect,” Pedro replied, his voice low but playful, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk.  

Franklin groaned loudly, still holding up his phone. “For the love of all things holy, just kiss her already! We’re trying to make memories here, not watch a slow-burn romance unfold in real-time!”  

Pedro raised an eyebrow, glancing at the group before looking back at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “What do you think, Hermosa? Should we give them what they want?”  

You laughed, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… maybe. But only if you make it a good one.”  

“Challenge accepted,” Pedro whispered, and then his lips were on yours, soft but sure. The kiss was sweet and unhurried, the kind that made everything around you fade into the background.  

“Oh my god, they’re actually doing it,” Lauren shrieked, clapping her hands together like a giddy child.  

“Finally!” Omar exclaimed, snapping several pictures in rapid succession. “This is going on the Christmas card.”  

“Make sure you get my good side!” Pedro joked, pulling back just enough to shoot Omar a wink, his arm still secure around your waist.  

“I don’t think you have a bad side,” you teased, your eyes meeting Pedro’s.  

“Ugh, stop!” Franklin groaned, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is too much. I need a drink—and not out of a coconut. I’m going straight for the tequila.”  

Everyone burst into laughter, the lighthearted teasing filling the air as the moment was immortalized with photos, laughter, and a shared sense of joy. Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your temple as the group continued to banter.  

“They’re just jealous,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with affection.  

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the warmth in his eyes. “Maybe. But I’m not sharing, so they can stay jealous.”  

Pedro chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because neither am I.”  

The heat of the day softened into a golden, languid warmth as the two of you found refuge under the shade of a broad umbrella. The beach stretched endlessly before you, the waves lazily licking at the shore. Pedro reclined in a beach chair, his book propped open on his lap. The faint breeze tousled his hair, a few stray strands falling over his forehead, and the way he absentmindedly pushed them back sent a flutter through your chest.  

You leaned against his side, your legs stretched out on the chair beside him, the perfect picture of ease. With one hand, you held your favorite romance novel, its dog-eared pages evidence of how many times you'd read it. With the other, you traced patterns along the inked lines of his tattoos. Your fingertips moved slowly, savoring the ridges of muscle and warmth beneath his skin, as if committing every part of him to memory.  

Pedro’s free hand slid into yours, threading your fingers together with a natural intimacy that still made your heart skip a beat. He didn’t look up from his book as he murmured, “Everything feels right when you’re with me.”  

The sincerity in his tone made you pause, your eyes lifting from the words on the page. A small smile tugged at your lips as you squeezed his hand gently. “I know the feeling,” you replied, your voice soft.  

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes when you’re entirely at ease with someone. The distant laughter of your friends mingled with the rhythmic crashing of waves, creating a serene soundtrack to your stolen moment.  

Pedro finally set his book down, slipping a receipt in as a placeholder. His gaze shifted to you, lingering in a way that made your cheeks heat even before he said a word.  

“You know,” he began, his voice warm and teasing, “you’re kind of amazing.”  

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes with a playful arch of your brow. “Kind of?”  

Pedro chuckled, his smile widening. “Okay, more than kind of. Very. Incredibly. Like, the kind of amazing that makes me wonder what I ever did to deserve you.”  

You closed your book, setting it on the small table between your chairs. Turning slightly, you rested your chin on his shoulder, your fingers still entwined with his. “Pedro, where’s all this coming from?”  

He shrugged, but his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable. “Just thinking. Watching you. It hits me sometimes how lucky I am. How lucky I feel to be the one sitting here with you.”  

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “You’re the one everyone loves. The kind, talented, ridiculously handsome Pedro Pascal. If anything, I’m the lucky one.”  

Pedro leaned closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re wrong about that. Don’t get me wrong—I like myself just fine,” he teased, earning a laugh from you. “But you? You’re everything. Smart, funny, compassionate. And don’t even get me started on how beautiful you are.”  

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to deflect with a teasing grin. “Oh, so it’s just my looks, huh?”  

“Not even close,” Pedro said, his voice dropping to a softer, deeper tone. “It’s the way you talk about your favorite books like they’re old friends. The way you laugh with your whole body. The way you care about everyone—how you make every room brighter just by being in it.”  

“Pedro…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.  

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger,” he added, his grin returning. “Omar can’t go ten minutes without asking if you need something, and Lauren keeps calling you her ‘new favorite person.’”  

You laughed, brushing at your cheeks as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry.”  

Pedro’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if to catch a tear before it could fall. “If I do, they’d better be happy tears. Because, cariño, I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”  

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into his touch. “I love you too. So much.”  

For a moment, the world around you faded into the background. Pedro leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and tender, like a promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Promise me you’ll always stay this close,” he said, his tone carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.  

You smiled, your hands cupping his face. “I promise. Always.”  

Pedro’s heart swelled at your words, and though he didn’t say it out loud, a plan began to take shape in his mind. He pictured the perfect ring, the perfect moment, the perfect way to ask you to spend forever with him.  

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.  

You didn’t need to say anything else. The way you melted into his arms, the way your fingers found his once again, said everything. For now, this was enough. But in his heart, Pedro knew it wouldn’t be long before he made good on the promise his soul had already made: to love you, always.

The late afternoon sun bathed the beach in golden light as you wandered back into the water. The waves lapped gently at your legs, warm and inviting. Lost in the tranquil rhythm of the ocean, you didn’t notice the jagged rock just below the surface until it grazed your shin. You winced, feeling the sharp sting before brushing it off as nothing.  

You emerged from the water, the salty breeze brushing against your skin. Pedro, lounging nearby with a half-finished coconut drink, immediately sat up. His eyes darted to your leg, catching the small but noticeable trail of red trickling down your shin.  

“Are you bleeding?” His voice carried that signature mix of concern and urgency that only Pedro could make sound so endearing.  

You glanced down, surprised to see the cut. “Oh.”  

“Oh?” Pedro’s tone was incredulous as he practically leapt from his chair, already reaching for the towel draped over the back. “That’s all you have to say? Oh?”  

“It’s just a scratch, Pedro,” you said with a small laugh, trying to wave him off. “I’m fine.”  

But Pedro was having none of it. He crouched in front of you, his warm hands circling your calf to keep your leg still. The towel dabbed gently at the cut, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re not allowed to get hurt on my watch,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.  

“It’s barely a paper cut,” you teased, watching the way his features softened even as he fussed over you.  

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was firm, though his touch remained impossibly gentle. “What if it gets infected? What if—”  

You laughed, cutting him off. “Pedro, it’s not like I got bitten by a shark.”  

He looked up at you, his expression a mixture of exasperation and adoration. “Don’t joke about that. I’d fight a shark for you, you know.”  

The sincerity in his voice, paired with the completely ridiculous statement, made you laugh even harder. “Oh, I’m sure you would,” you said, brushing your fingers through his damp curls.  

“Don’t test me,” he quipped, finally satisfied that the cut was clean. He reached for the small first-aid kit Franklin had insisted on bringing, pulling out a bandage. “Hold still.”  

“Seriously?” you asked, your amusement growing.  

“Seriously,” he said, shooting you a look that dared you to challenge him. He peeled the adhesive back and smoothed the bandage over your shin with a precision that would make a surgeon proud.  

“There,” he said, sitting back on his heels and surveying his work with a nod. “Good as new.”  

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head but smiling all the same.  

“And you’re reckless,” he shot back, standing up and pulling you into his arms. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens.”  

You leaned into him, your hands resting against his chest. “I think you’re overreacting. It’s a scratch, Pedro.”  

“It’s your scratch,” he said, his voice softening. His fingers tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “That means it matters to me.”  

Your heart did a little flip at his words, and you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “You know how you’re like—”  

“Absolutely embarrassingly in love with you?” he cut in, a smirk tugging at his lips.  

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Yeah, that.”  

Pedro leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I am, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “Completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you.”  

Your teasing melted away as you cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over the scruff of his jaw. “Good. Because I’m absolutely embarrassingly in love with you too.”  

His smile grew, and he kissed you softly, as if sealing a promise. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now, no more rock fights, okay? You’ve got to take it easy on me.”  

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll do my best. But no promises if a shark shows up.”  

Pedro groaned dramatically, lifting you off your feet as he carried you back to the lounge chairs. “If a shark shows up, I’ll negotiate with it. Tell it I’m already your protector and it can’t have the job.”  

You giggled, nuzzling against his neck. “Sounds like a good plan. My hero.”  

He set you down with exaggerated care, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Always,” he said simply.  

And as the two of you sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before you, you felt it again—that perfect, undeniable feeling of being home.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — SUNSET

The sunset painted the sky in hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo, casting a magical glow over the beach. The group sat in a loose circle, their laughter and conversation mingling with the soft crash of the waves and the mellow strumming of a guitar Omar had picked up. The mood was serene, the kind of calm that felt like it could stretch forever.  

Pedro sat behind you on the sand, his strong arms wrapped securely around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath against your neck. His warmth enveloped you, a perfect contrast to the cool ocean breeze.  

“You cold, cariño?” Pedro murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.  

“Not even a little,” you replied, turning your head to catch his eyes. They sparkled, reflecting the fiery colors of the horizon.  

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against your stomach. “Good. Can’t have you shivering out here, not when I’ve got two perfectly good arms to keep you warm.”  

“You’re too good at this,” you teased, smiling as you reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.  

“Good at what?” he asked, his tone playful, though his eyes held that familiar, unspoken intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.  

“At making me feel like the luckiest person in the world,” you said softly.  

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your temple. “That’s funny,” he murmured, “because that’s exactly how I feel about you.”  

The golden light of the sunset cast a halo around his face, and you couldn’t help but reach up, cupping his cheek as you brought his forehead to yours. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say things like that.”  

“You’d better not,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, though there was an edge of vulnerability beneath it. “Because I’m not planning on stopping.”  

“I’ll love you forever,” Pedro whispered, his lips ghosting against your ear as the first stars began to peek through the darkening sky.  

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze fully, the world around you falling away. “You promise?”  

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “I promise,” he said, his voice steady and filled with so much certainty it made your chest ache in the best way.  

His lips found yours in a kiss that was soft and lingering, filled with a sweetness that felt endless. When he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to your forehead before tucking you closer to him.  

The night deepened, and the group eventually wandered back to the cozy beachfront hotel. Pedro’s hand never left yours as you made your way to your shared room, the two of you moving in quiet, comfortable synchronicity.  

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the glow of a single bedside lamp casting a warm, intimate light over the space. The sound of the waves was faint through the open balcony doors, and the scent of salt air mingled with the faintly floral perfume you’d spritzed on earlier.  

Pedro closed the door behind you and turned to face you, his expression soft but unmistakably intent. “You know,” he said, stepping closer, “I meant it. Every word I said out there.”  

You tilted your head, giving him a playful look. “Even the part where you said you’d never get tired of me stealing the covers?”  

“Especially that part,” he said with a grin, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Though I might need extra cuddles as compensation.”  

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “I think that can be arranged.”  

His grin faded, replaced by something deeper, more serious, as his eyes searched yours. “I love you,” he said, the words simple but carrying the weight of everything he felt. “So much that sometimes it scares me.”  

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. And you don’t have to be scared, Pedro. You’ve got me.”  

His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, his hands splaying across your back as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, his lips parting to taste yours, and you felt the warmth of him everywhere.  

He backed you gently toward the bed, his movements unhurried, as if savoring every moment. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and you sank onto the soft mattress, pulling him down with you.  

Pedro’s hands roamed, his touch reverent as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your neck. “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky.  

“You’re perfect,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly to bring his lips back to yours.  

His breath hitched at your words, and you felt the weight of his love in every kiss, every touch. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other, lost in a moment that felt infinite.  

Pedro pulled back briefly, his forehead resting against yours as his fingers laced with yours. “You’re my everything,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your heart full to bursting.  

And as the night stretched on, the love between you grew even deeper, wrapping around you both like a warm, unbreakable cocoon.