the fair smelled like spun sugar and popcorn grease — thick in the air, sticking to my hair, my clothes, everything. kids screamed from rusted rides. lights blinked in overstimulating patterns. it was all too loud, too bright, too much.
jess looked like he hated every second of it.
“remind me why we’re here?” he muttered, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket.
“you said you wanted to ‘do something normal,’” i reminded him, teasing.
he rolled his eyes. “yeah. i meant like…pizza. or a movie. not a circus of noise and overpriced snacks.”
i bumped his arm. “you’re just mad you lost at the ring toss.”
he narrowed his eyes. “that game’s rigged.”
but even then, even grumbling, even with that practiced jess mariano indifference — he didn’t let go of my hand. he kept glancing over at me when he thought i wouldn’t notice. like he was checking that i was still there. like he couldn’t believe it.
we rounded a corner and suddenly he stopped.
“what?” i asked, following his gaze.
a photobooth. shoved between a lemonade cart and some rickety plywood wall. old, dented, the kind that looked like it hadn’t worked properly since 1999.
“let’s go in,” he said simply, already tugging me forward.
i stared. “that thing probably hasn’t printed a photo since bush was president.”
he gave me a look. “do you trust me?”
i hesitated.
he smirked. “too late. you’re already going in.”
the curtain swished behind us. it was a tight fit — knees touching, shoulders pressed close, my leg half-draped over his because there was no room to sit properly. i could hear his heartbeat in the quiet. i could smell him — something like old books and mint gum and late-night air.
“alright,” he said. “photo one: normal. smile. pretend you like me.”
i scoffed. “who says i’m pretending?”
3… 2… 1…
click. he looked at the camera like he was daring it to call him out. i looked at him.
“photo two: stupid faces,” he announced. “you go first.”
i crossed my eyes. he puffed out his cheeks. we were ridiculous.
3… 2… 1…
click. laughter shook the tiny booth.
“third photo,” he said, turning toward me, voice dropping just a little. “you know what happens now.”
i raised a brow. “do i?”
he leaned in — slow enough to change his mind, fast enough to make my breath catch.
3… 2… 1…
his lips brushed mine like a question. soft. certain. like he already knew the answer. like he was just waiting for me to say it out loud. i kissed him back right before the flash.
“fourth?” i asked, breathless.
he tilted his head. “i don’t know. just…you. me. however it turns out.”
3… 2… 1…
we tangled. arms. laughter. his forehead against my jaw. my hand in his hair. the photo wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. but to us? it was everything.
the machine whirred. jess grabbed the photo strip before i could.
“let me see,” i said, reaching for it.
“nope,” he said, holding it above my head. “this one’s going in the back of my wallet.”
i rolled my eyes. “what, next to your fake id and faded coffee punch cards?”
he leaned in again, softer this time. “next to the only thing that makes me feel like i’m not gonna mess this up.”
my heart stuttered.
i didn’t say anything. just grabbed the curtain, pushed it open, and let the warm night air wash over me.
he followed, a step behind. always just a step behind — not because he was slow, but because he wanted me to lead. because he liked it when i pulled him forward.
the strip of photos peeked out from his back pocket.
i saw the way he looked at it when he thought i wasn’t watching.
and later — months later — when i’d find it folded into a worn paperback he kept by his bed, i’d still remember the way his hands shook when he kissed me.
how he never said “i love you” that night.
but didn’t need to.
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⤷ contains. established relationship, soft!jess, domestic fluff
it's the quiet mornings that make you realise how in love you really are.
there's a mug of coffee on your nightstand that you don't remember making.
it's not unusual – jess has made a habit of waking up before you. he doesn’t do it to be annoying or overly productive. he just does. slips out of bed like a ghost, pads around the apartment with those hushed footsteps you’ve come to associate with early mornings and quiet thought.
you shift under the covers, blinking the sleep from your eyes. the soft glow through the curtains tells you it’s barely 8 in the morning, the kind of hour that feels like a lull between night and life. and jess is exactly where you expect him to be – sitting on the edge of the bed, coffee in one hand, paperback in the other.
the way the light hits him makes everything look golden.
you watch silently for a moment. his hair is a mess – flattened on one side, sticking up in the back. he’s in the same t-shirt he wore to bed, rumpled and soft, the fabric stretching slightly across his shoulders as he leans forward just enough to really fall into whatever he’s reading.
you recognise the book, he’s read it at least three times already. maybe four.
“you’re up early,” you murmur, voice rough with sleep.
jess doesn’t look up. “you say that like it’s new.”
you hum, tugging the comforter higher. “i just like when you’re here when i wake up.”
that gets his attention. he glances over his shoulder at you – eyes warm, amused – and closes the book with one finger holding his page.
“i’m here.”
you smile lazily and gesture to the coffee on your nightstand. “is that for me?”
jess lifts a brow. “what gave it away? the fact that it’s on your side of the bed or the mug that says property of a hot genius?”
you groan, but it turns into a laugh as you reach for it. it’s the perfect temperature. he always times it right – he must know exactly how long you sleep in after he leaves the bed.
“you spoil me,” you say, cradling it close.
“you’re not complaining.”
“i’m making an observation.” you take a long sip, then let your head flop sideways into the pillow again. “you’re good at this. the whole… ‘quiet, domestic boyfriend’ thing.”
he chuckles under his breath. “don’t tell anyone. you’ll ruin my reputation.”
you glance at him again, and really look this time. the way his hand rests against his knee, thumb mindlessly tapping the book cover. the faint crease between his brows like he’s still half-lost in the words. the slight smile playing on his lips.
“you know you could just get back in bed,” you say, nudging the empty space beside you with your foot. “book club will still be there.”
he hesitates. “you sure?”
“jess.”
that’s all it takes. he places the book on the nightstand, takes one last sip of his coffee, and slides beneath the covers with practiced ease. his arm immediately goes around your waist, tugging you in, like you’re puzzle pieces clicking into place.
you bury your face in his chest, breathing in that familiar mix of coffee, old paper, and warmth.
“i like this,” you murmur into his shirt.
“what, me being forced to cuddle you?”
“no,” you say, laughing softly. “you. in general.”
jess tilts his head down, resting his chin on your head. “you’re such a sap in the morning.
you shrug against him. “you bring it out of me.”
there’s a beat of silence. a long one. the kind that makes you feel safe.
“you’re staring again,” he says eventually, voice low and teasing.
“i’m allowed,” you say, pulling back just enough to look at him. “you’re mine.”
jess blinks, like he’s trying not to react too much – but the smile he gives isn’t the usual smirk. it’s something else. something quieter.
“you gonna make that your new catchphrase?”
you stretch, grinning. “thinking about it. feels right.”
jess doesn’t say anything at first. he just leans in and kisses you – slow, sweet, unrushed. the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything. the kind that just says, i’m here.
when he pulls away, his voice is softer than you’ve heard it all morning.
“you’re mine too.”
you rest your forehead against his. close your eyes.
“i know.”
you stay like that for a while, tangled in sheets and limbs and something unspoken that doesn’t really need to be named.
outside, the world is waking up. somewhere, there are bills to pay and errands to run and calls to return.
but in here, it’s just you and jess.
and a coffee mug that says property of a hot genius.
and for once, everything feels exactly where it’s supposed to be.
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this is my original work — please respect that.
a.n: my first request work!! super proud of this one, and surprised i got time to do it
⤷ contains. fluff, singlemom!reader, soft confessions, mentions of single parenthood, mild embarrassment
mornings were always a circus.
between packing lunches, finding tiny shoes, wiping syrup off cheeks and trying not to cry into my coffee, i barely remembered i had a shift until i was halfway through brushing my daughter's hair.
"sweetheart, i need you to be really good today, okay?" i said, crouching down in front of her. her backpack was far too big for her tiny frame, and yet she wore it proudly like armour. "mommy's gotta work, and you'll stay right next to me the whole time. no wandering, no running off. deal?"
she nodded seriously. "deal."
a tight schedule and a cancelled sitter meant today, my four-year-old shadow would be following me through fluorescent aisles and towering pallets of off-brand cereal. i'd expected raised eyebrows, maybe even a warning, but instead, i got jonah simms.
jonah, with his soft flannel rolled at the elbows, coffee in hand and that look — like he'd just seen a puppy for the first time every time he saw me.
"whoa," he said as i clocked in. "new recruit?"
i forced a sheepish laugh. "this is ellie. my sitter flaked, and i couldn't get anyone else. she'll be quiet, promise."
"hey, ellie." he crouched to her level, smiling like it came easy. "i'm jonah. i work with your mom. i'm the funny one."
ellie tilted her head. "you don't look funny."
"ouch," he laughed, mock wounded. "tough crowd."
to my surprise, he stayed close. while i stocked shelves, he distracted ellie with barcode scanners and alphabet games using product labels. while i handled a difficult customer, he knelt beside her in the corner of the break room, helping her draw animals on scrap paper.
by noon, she was holding his hand like she's known him forever. and maybe that was what cracked something in my chest.
at lunch, we all sat together in the breakroom. jonah had found a packet of fruit snacks "for emergencies," which he handed to ellie like it was a contraband. she giggled like it was, too.
"you didn't have to do all this," i said quietly, watching them. "seriously, jonah. you've got your own shift. and your own life."
he shrugged, and then looked at me. not in that way people look when they're trying to be polite, but in that way that makes you feel seen. "you look like you haven't slept in a while. so... i'm helping."
i opened my mouth, then closed it. what could i say to that?
eventually, ellie curled up in one of the armchairs in the breakroom with jonah's jacket draped over her. i was halfway through wiping a sticky cart handle when it happened.
jonah was kneeling beside her again, whispering something. she giggled and then, as clear as anything, i heard her say:
"you're funny, daddy."
silence.
i froze.
jonah blinked.
and ellie, unfazed, yawned and curled further into his coat.
"she— she knows what 'daddy' means," i stammered, cheeks on fire. "she just... says it sometimes when she likes someone. she doesn't have one. i mean, not one who's around."
jonah looked at me then. really looked. "hey," he began softly. "that's okay."
he straightened up, brushing a curl from ellie's face. "i mean.. she could do worse, right?"
i laughed, mostly out of nerves. "jonah—"
"no, really," he said, stepping toward me, lowering his voice. "i like her. and i like you." he hesitated, something flickering behind his eyes. "a lot."
i swallowed. "i've got a kid, jonah."
"i know."
"i've got... a lot of baggage. tight schedules. grocery lists. sleep-deprived breakdowns. it's not a walk in the park."
he smiled gently. "it's okay. i've got comfy shoes."
i couldn't help it — i laughed again, this time for real.
he nudged his shoulder against mine. "let me help. let me be there. not just for the accidental daddy moments... but for all of it. okay?"
i looked at him, this man who never stopped trying, who brought fruit snacks to my daughter and patience to my chaos, and nodded.
ellie mumbled something in her sleep, and shifted and her chair. jonah watched her, then looked back at me like he already loved her — like he already loved us.
and suddenly, everything didn't feel quite so heavy.
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this is my original work — please respect that.
the bookstore was quiet — just us and the hum of a flickering ceiling fan. jess leaned against the back wall like he owned the place, thumbing through a battered copy of on the road, but his eyes kept flicking up to me. that half-smirk. that look like he knew something i didn’t.
“are you gonna read that,” i asked, “or just pretend you’re too cool for punctuation again?”
he tossed the book aside. “who says i can’t do both?”
i laughed, but the sound caught in my throat when he stepped closer. his fingers brushed mine — just barely — and it felt like a spark zipped up my spine. he didn’t say anything. just looked at me like he was reading me cover to cover.
and then he kissed me.
it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t tentative. it was heat and pressure and frustration, like he’d been waiting too long. like he was angry about how much he wanted me. my back hit the bookshelf and his hands tangled in my hair, my waist — everywhere. one book tumbled to the floor. i didn’t care.
his lips were warm and rough and urgent. he kissed like he thought too much, and this was the only way to shut it all off. my fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn’t space between us anymore. just the sound of our breathing, uneven and fast. just the creak of the shelves behind me and the scrape of his stubble against my jaw.
“you always talk too much,” he murmured against my mouth, grinning.
“then maybe you should keep me quiet.”
and oh — he did.
his mouth moved from mine to my jaw, then down to that spot just beneath my ear that made my knees give out. i clung to him, half-dazed, the scent of books and his skin mixing like something dizzying. his breath was warm as he whispered, “still talking?”
i didn’t trust my voice. i just pulled him closer.
he chuckled, low and hoarse, like he wasn’t used to losing control. like this wasn’t what he’d planned. but neither of us stopped. we were tangled, lips crashing, hands exploring like the rest of the world had dropped away. it was the kind of kiss that made time feel like a trick — seconds stretched, burned.
and then he slowed down.
still close. still breathless. but his lips gentled, like he was remembering i was real — not just something he’d imagined too many nights. his hand slid up to cradle the back of my neck, thumb tracing slow circles there. he rested his forehead against mine. our chests moved together, still trying to catch up.
“you ruin me,” he said, voice rough. “you show up, say something smart, look at me like that, and i—”
i kissed him again before he could finish.
it wasn’t heated this time. it was soft. final. like a promise we didn’t have words for yet.
we didn’t move from the bookshelf.
jess’s fingers curled under the hem of my shirt, just brushing bare skin, like he was testing how far he could go before i’d stop him. i didn’t. my breath hitched — he felt it — and that smug, wicked smirk returned.
“you sure you wanna keep going?” he murmured, voice low, dangerous.
“i didn’t ask you to stop.”
that was all he needed.
he kissed me like we had hours. like the whole town could burn down around us and he wouldn’t notice. his hands were everywhere now — sliding up my sides, gripping my hips like he was holding himself back by the thinnest thread. i arched into him, my own hands under his jacket, feeling every line of him.
“god,” he whispered against my throat. “you make me insane.”
i laughed, breathless. “good.”
he groaned — half frustration, half obsession — and pressed his forehead to mine. “you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
but i did.
his lips found mine again, deeper this time. slower. like he was savoring it. he pinned me gently to the shelves, one hand braced beside my head, the other cradling my jaw as he kissed me until i couldn’t think.
and just when it felt like we might finally lose all control—
a sharp ding echoed through the store. the front door. someone had walked in.
we froze.
jess didn’t pull away right away. he just looked at me — wild-eyed, flushed, completely wrecked — and then whispered, “you owe me. later.”
then he stepped back like nothing happened, grabbed the book from the floor, and tossed me that grin — the one that always meant trouble.
⸻
the stars were out, but i barely noticed.
the car door clicked shut behind me and suddenly it was quiet — that kind of quiet that buzzes with tension. jess was already in the back seat, one arm slung over the backrest like he had all the time in the world, but his eyes said otherwise.
“you came,” he said softly, voice dipped in something darker.
“you said i owed you.”
he didn’t smile. not really. just looked at me for a second — like he was trying to memorize this version of me, bathed in moonlight and daring him to make the next move.
i slid in beside him.
the moment i did, everything snapped.
jess surged forward, kissing me with that same desperate fire he’d been holding in all day. his hands were rough and sure, tugging me onto his lap, fingers splayed against my back, grounding me to him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space.
the windows fogged fast. the leather seats creaked beneath us. one of his knees pressed between mine, guiding, insisting. my hands found the hem of his shirt, dragging it up just enough to feel the heat of his skin. he hissed softly when my nails scratched down his back.
“you’re gonna be the end of me,” he muttered against my lips.
i kissed him harder. “then go out in flames.”
that broke something in him.
his grip tightened, and suddenly i was flat against the seat, his body over mine, breath hot and heavy against my neck. he was everywhere — lips at my throat, hands under my shirt, knee keeping me open beneath him. i moaned into his shoulder, biting back every sound i didn’t want the world to hear.
the car rocked slightly with every shift of our bodies. it was messy. clumsy. hungry.
“say my name,” he growled.
“jess.”
louder.
“jess—”
he kissed me like he never wanted to stop. like he wanted me to forget anyone else had ever touched me. and right then, i did.
jess froze — just for a heartbeat — like he wasn’t expecting it to hit him that hard. his eyes met mine in the half-light, wide and dark and vulnerable in a way i’d never seen before.
“you don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice shaking with restraint.
i slid my fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him shiver. “then show me.”
his breath hitched. he leaned into my touch like he needed it — like he was craving it — and then kissed me again, slower now, but deeper. he wasn’t pushing anymore. he was letting go. letting me lead.
“god—please,” he whispered against my jaw, barely audible.
it wasn’t cocky anymore. it wasn’t clever. it was honest. raw. his hands gripped my thighs like he needed something to hold onto while i kissed him slow and deliberate, just to see how far i could take him. and jess — sarcastic, guarded jess — actually whimpered when i bit his lower lip.
“keep doing that,” he breathed. “please.”
i straddled him, hips rolling instinctively as he melted under me, head tipped back, mouth open like a prayer. he looked wrecked. beautifully, completely wrecked.
“you’re so good like this,” i murmured, my lips brushing his ear.
his fingers trembled where they clutched my waist. he tried to speak — choked on it — and then just nodded, eyes fluttering shut.
every time i kissed down his throat, he made this sound — desperate and low, like he was giving me pieces of himself he didn’t give to anyone else. and when i whispered his name again, slow and deliberate, he gasped it back like it hurt.
“don’t stop,” he begged. “don’t—don’t stop talking.”
his breath was ragged, his body taut beneath mine like a wire pulled too tight. every time i moved, he twitched — like he didn’t know what to do with the way i was touching him, the way i was watching him fall apart.
“look at me,” i whispered.
he did.
his eyes were glassy, lips parted, every ounce of that usual sarcasm gone. in its place? need. raw and unfiltered.
“tell me what you want.”
jess swallowed hard. “i want—” he shook his head like he couldn’t get the words out.
so i kissed him, slow and deep and patient. my fingers threaded through his hair again, holding him steady as he started to move with me — instinctive, shaky, like he was handing himself over piece by piece. every little moan that escaped his throat just made me want to ruin him more.
“you’re doing so good,” i murmured against his lips.
he gasped like that praise alone shattered something in him. his hands fumbled at my waist, gripping me like he was scared i’d slip away, like he needed more, needed me, just to keep breathing.
“i can’t—” he choked out, voice cracking. “i can’t hold back much longer.”
“then don’t,” i said, guiding him. “i want to see you lose it.”
jess buried his face in my neck with a strangled sound, one arm wrapped tight around my back as the other clenched in the seat fabric beside us. he was trembling — jess mariano was trembling — as he let go in my arms, all control gone. his breath hitched and hitched again, his body shuddering beneath mine like i’d pulled something holy out of him.
and the way he said my name?
like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.
for a moment, it was quiet.
his forehead rested against my collarbone, breath heavy, chest rising and falling against mine like he was still trying to come back to himself. i ran my fingers through his hair, slow, steady—
then, suddenly, his hands tightened on my hips.
and the mood snapped.
he lifted his head, eyes darker now — all softness gone. that crooked smile was back, but it wasn’t sweet. it was dangerous.
“my turn,” he muttered.
before i could respond, he surged forward and kissed me like he wanted to erase every trace of earlier — like he needed to remind me exactly who he was. his hands were rough now, gripping hard, dragging me flush against him. i gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.
“you think you’re the only one who gets to take control?” he growled, voice low, rasping with that dangerous edge he usually kept behind sarcasm.
he moved fast — shifting me beneath him, pinning me down across the seat like i weighed nothing. his body caged mine in, every line of him tense, coiled like a spring. his mouth was on my throat, teeth grazing skin like a warning.
“i’ve been good,” he muttered. “letting you lead. letting you tease me. but i’m done being patient.”
he kissed me again — brutal, devouring, dizzying. one hand slid under my shirt, nails scraping lightly up my stomach. his other pinned my wrists above my head, holding me still like he needed me to feel it. to know he was the one in control now.
“you’ve been driving me insane all night,” he breathed. “now i’m gonna ruin you for it.”
and the way he said it?
it wasn’t a threat.
it was a promise.
his fingers tugged at the hem of my shirt — no hesitation, no teasing this time.
“off,” jess said, voice low and commanding.
he didn’t wait for me to obey.
his hands were already sliding under the fabric, dragging it up over my ribs with an urgency that made my breath stutter. the way he looked at me — hungry, locked in — like i was something he’d been denied too long, made the air feel too thick to breathe.
i lifted my arms, let him take it — the shirt tossed somewhere behind us, forgotten. his eyes raked over me, jaw clenched tight like he was holding back something violent and beautiful.
“god, you don’t even know what you do to me,” he muttered, rough hands tracing the newly bare skin. “i’ve been thinking about this since the second you walked into that bookstore.”
he leaned down, mouth hot against my collarbone, trailing sharp kisses across my chest, then down to the curve of my stomach — not gentle. not slow. like he wanted to leave a mark. like he wanted me to feel him even after he was gone.
when i arched beneath him, he pressed me back down with one hand at my waist — firm, unrelenting.
“stay still,” he said, voice a gravel scrape against my skin. “you’re mine tonight.”
my pulse pounded. i couldn’t speak — didn’t need to. he was everywhere now, pulling at belt loops, nipping at skin, pinning me in place with nothing but his weight and his will.
and the way he was looking at me?
like he’d burn the whole damn town down just to keep me here — bare, breathless, completely his.
jess’s hands didn’t stop. they moved with purpose, like he was marking territory, claiming ground. his breath was ragged against my skin, hot and sharp, each exhale a promise i could feel deep in my bones.
his eyes locked on mine, dark and wild, daring me to push back — to match him, to lose myself in it. my heart hammered, every nerve on fire, every breath shallow and quick.
he leaned in closer, voice low and rough. “tell me you want this. tell me you need me.”
i didn’t hesitate.
“i want you. i need you.”
that was all it took.
he kissed me again — like the world could shatter and we’d still be right here, tethered together by something fierce and unbreakable.
his hands tightened, his touch deepened, and for a moment, everything blurred. time, space, even sound — nothing mattered but the heat between us, the way his body pressed into mine, the way he whispered my name like a lifeline.
and then—
he pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, breathless and trembling.
“this is just the beginning.”
jess’s voice was low and husky, trembling with raw need as his hands gripped me tighter, the urgency in his touch sending shivers through every nerve. his eyes burned into mine—dark, wild, and completely possessed.
“say it again,” he demanded, voice rough like gravel.
“i want you,” i breathed, my voice shaking with the weight of the words. “i need you.”
his lips crashed against mine, fierce and desperate, his body pressing harder, holding me captive in the fogged-up car. the world outside disappeared—only the heat between us remained, thick and electric.
his hands roamed boldly, exploring and claiming, as he whispered my name like a prayer, each syllable breaking down the walls i didn’t even know i had.
with every gasp and moan, jess grew more untamed—his control slipping as he lost himself in the moment, the tension finally snapping, raw and intense.
he pulled back slightly, eyes wild and breathless. “this is only the start,” he growled, voice rough with promise and hunger.
his breath was ragged, his eyes dark and locked onto mine with an intensity that made my skin flush beneath his gaze. every inch of him was taut, like a coiled spring ready to snap, and i felt it—felt the electric charge between us pull tighter with each second.
he didn’t say a word; he just moved. his hands were sure and rough, sliding over my skin with deliberate force, as if marking me as his own. my pulse pounded in my ears, every nerve alight and desperate for more.
his lips found my neck again, biting just enough to sting, sending a jolt straight through me. he whispered my name like it was the only word that mattered, a plea and a command all at once.
i could feel him—his need, his hunger, raw and unfiltered—and the way he pressed into me left no doubt who was in control now.
“hold on,” he growled, voice thick with desire. “i’m not done with you yet.”
and in that moment, everything else fell away—nothing existed but the heat, the tension, and the fire burning between us.
he didn’t even give me a moment to catch my breath before he was on me again—lips crashing down, hands tangling in my hair so tightly i thought he might pull me forward. the car’s windows were slick with fog, trapping us in our own little world of heat and want.
his body was pressed hard against mine, every move sharp and insistent. he ground into me, not gently, not tenderly—he was demanding, staking his claim with every touch. i gripped the edge of the seat, nails digging in as he trailed a fierce line of kisses from my jaw down to the hollow of my throat, his breath stuttering with need.
“don’t pull away,” he growled into my skin.
i didn’t. instead, i arched into him, matching his urgency. my hands found the back of his neck, holding him as close as i could, as if distance might break the spell. his grip on my waist tightened, and i felt his pulse hammering beneath my palm.
when he looked up at me—eyes dark, his pupils wide—it was like he could see right through me. no sarcasm, no walls. just raw desire, laid bare.
he kissed me again, this time slow at first, almost reverent, before shifting back into that rough rhythm. every press of his body, every pull of his lips, was a question and an answer: “do you want this?” “yes.” “need this?” “yes.”
by the time the car’s headlights flickered through the side window, illuminating his face in stark relief, we were both trembling. jess’s lips curved into a fierce smile—half satisfaction, half promise.
“keep up,” he whispered, voice thick, “or i’ll show you what happens when you can’t.”
and i wouldn’t have it any other way.
do not repost, copy, or translate without permission, or credit.
this is my original work — please respect that.
a/n. hello tumblr nation this is my first post i’m nervous…
au where mc is really close with rory and jess. rory and jess still have a connection which mc thinks is romantic, even if rory has a boyfriend. rory and jess start to get really bitey at each other just like in canon, with mc thinks it is because Romantic Tension but actually it turns out that they're both jealous about the other spending time with mc. rory eventually confesses and mc goes straight to telling off jess and then kissing him.
.... okay that's a really specific request 😅 honestly just a thing where rory isn't demonized and her connection with jess isn't ignored. it's platonic and then mc gets to kiss the boy 😌
＃┆misread pages 〟 jess mariano rory gilmore
⤷ contains. platonic rory & mc friendship, friends to lovers, mentions of kissing, mutual pining
rory and jess had always been… intense.
sharp banter, long looks, all that unresolved history hanging around like a stubborn cloud.
and yeah, you adored them. both of them.
but being the third wheel in their dynamic always felt like you were trespassing on some emotional battlefield.
today was no different. the two of them were sitting across from each other in luke’s, sniping like federal agents interrogating each other with literature quotes.
“you don’t get to just claim a book because you hovered,” rory muttered, arms crossed.
jess sipped his coffee, bored and smug. “hovering? wow. someone’s defensive.”
“it’s signed.”
“it’s smudged.”
you stared at your cup. considered drowning in it.
because of course — they were still tethered, still magnetic, and you were just… orbiting.
“okay!” you said a little too brightly. “this was fun. love the book tension. i’m gonna go.”
neither tried to stop you as you rushed out, heart heavy and stupid.
you barely made it halfway down the street before—
“hey!” rory jogged up beside you. “why are you speed-walking like you just robbed taylor’s store?”
“i’m not,” you lied, absolutely doing that.
rory’s eyebrows rose. she wasn’t buying it, shockingly.
“you think something’s happening between us,” she said gently.
you swallowed. nodded once.
she sighed — not annoyed, just empathetic in that very rory way.
“we’ll always care about each other. we’re close. but it’s not romantic. not anymore.”
you blinked. “then… why do you fight like that?”
she huffed a laugh. “because we’re both idiots.”
“…context appreciated.”
she glanced back toward the diner, then to you, eyes soft.
“he’s jealous. every time i spend time with you.”
“oh.”
“and i’m jealous of him for the same reason.”
“oh.” much smaller this time.
“you look at him the way i always hoped someone would look at me,” she added. “you love him.”
your breath stuttered.
“go,” rory nudged. “before he starts pretending he doesn’t have feelings again.”
you didn’t think — you just turned, marched back into the diner, and beelined for jess.
“you forget something?” he asked, confused but trying to look unbothered.
“yeah,” you breathed. “that you’re a complete idiot.”
jess blinked. “…accurate, but can we circle back?”
“you like me.”
his mouth opened. shut. opened again.
“define ‘like’,” he mumbled.
you grabbed his shirt and kissed him.
he froze — one beat — then kissed you back like he was terrified you’d change your mind. one hand in your hair, the other on your waist, breath shaky, heart right there in his palms.
you pulled back just enough to breathe.
“you could’ve told me.”
he shrugged, cheeks red. “yeah, well. not big on… talking. about feelings.”
you nudged his chest. “then kiss me again instead.”
and he did.
slow, certain, like you were every margin note he ever made in every book he ever loved.
across the diner, rory gave a tiny triumphant fist pump before slipping out the door.
somehow, it didn’t make you feel like a third wheel.
it just felt like history settling in the right order.
and jess, breath warm against your cheek, whispered,
“took you long enough.”
you smiled against his lips.
“worth the wait.”
do not repost, copy, or translate without permission, or credit.
this is my original work — please respect that.
a/n. hiii hello!!! sorry this took me so long to answer, i’ve been all over the place :’( i really hope this is what you wanted, sorry if i got confused with something else!!
⤷ contains. fluff, pre-cyclone accident!mischa, soft!mischa, some sort of sappiness i don't know
you hear him before you see him.
a chaotic mix of muttered rap lines, english tangled with ukrainian, and the unmistakeable sound of someone pacing like they're preparing for a heavyweight fight. which, knowing mischa bachinski, he proably thinks he is.
you turn the corner and yep — there he is. pacing back and forth with the intensity of a man planning to storm a castle. hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair sticking out in every direction, one earbud in, the other dangling wildly as he moves.
he spots you instantly.
"you!" he shouts, pointing at you like you're a plot twist. "perfect. you come here."
you raise an eyebrow but walk over. with mischa, resistance is useless. "what's going on?"
he sucks in a dramatic breath. "i need help. and - not to brag - you are the least annoying person i know."
" ... thank you?"
"you're welcome."
he shoves a crumpled piece of paper into your hands. it's covered in messy lyrics, arrows, scribbles, entire lines rewritten three times, and a very intense doodle of, apparently, himself breathing fire. yeah, that's mischa alright.
"i am learning new verse," he says, pacing again. "very important. very emotional. very-" he waves his hands around, searching for the word. "intense."
"so... a normal mischa verse?"
he shoots you a wounded look. "this one is different. this one i want to be... good."
you scan the page. it is good. rough around the edges, but there's heart in it. mischa-level heart; loud, dramatic, unfiltered... but real.
"mischa," you say softly, "this is amazing."
he freezes.
literally freezes.
like a statue in the hallway. then he slowly turns towards you, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief. "you... you think so?"
"i know so."
and, oh. there it is. the mischa reaction you could bottle and sell - the proud-but-trying-not-to-look-proud expression. the tiny upward twitch in his mouth he fights like it's betraying him.
he steps closer, suddenly quieter. "i trust you," he says, and there's no theatrics in it. "you tell me truth. not like other people who say, 'mischa, please stop rapping in cafeteria, people are trying to eat.'"
"i wonder why."
"is rude, rude? this is art."
you laugh, and that’s when he bumps your shoulder with his — a little too hard, because he hasn’t quite mastered "gentle," but he’s trying. he takes the paper back, folding it carefully this time, like it actually matters.
"i want to practice," he says. "but only with you. you make me… less terrible."
you feel warmth bloom in your chest. "i’d love that."
his whole face lights up, like you just handed him front-row tickets to his own concert. he grabs your wrist—not roughly, just mischa-confident—and starts walking.
"good. we go somewhere private," he declares, pulling you along. "like supply closet. very intimate. romantic. good acoustics."
"mischa—"
"fine, fine. hallway bench. not as romantic. but i make it work."
he plops down next to you, close enough that your knees touch, earbuds now shared between you. he scrolls through his music, mumbling about tempo and flow and how he is going to be "very cool, very impressive, maybe cry a little but in manly way."
then he looks at you, quieter again. "thank you for being here."
and when he starts rapping — half-confident, half-sure he’s messing up — he keeps glancing at you, like your opinion matters more than the verse itself.
and honestly?
it kind of does.
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a/n. i'm back. idk what to do but i still love rtc so have this. also i just applied for college. guh
⤷ contains. tension-heavy fluff, canon-typical danger, cowgirl!reader, western romance
the desert don't sleep.
it hums — low and steady, like a song you only half-remember, carried on the wind through the cracks in the earth and the bones of old cattle. the sun had been beating down since noon, unrelenting, turning the world into a baked hellscape of dust and glare. i could feel it in my jaw, the tightness of it, the kind of heat that makes you mean.
which was maybe why i didn't notice the eyes on me right away.
i had both hands full with a stallion who thought he was god. sixteen hands tall and pure muscle, coat slick with sweat, mouth foaming with spite. he'd already thrown two ranch hands that morning, and by the time i stepped into the pen, every men around was watching like they expected me to fail too.
thing is — i don't like being expected to do anything.
i didn't waste words. just tightened my gloves, spat in the dust, and swung myself up.
the bastard nearly had me. threw his head, bucked so hard i saw sky and dirt in the same second. i held tight, one fist clenched in his mane and the other locked in the saddle horn like a lifeline, jaw tight, thighs burning, dust choking my every breath. but, i didn't let go.
and after about a minute — he stopped fighting. just like that. gave in. understood i wasn't just decoration in a corset or some rancher's daughter playing cowgirl for the afternoon.
i was the real thing.
i eased the reins, heart hammering, and looked up — and that's when i saw him.
leaning back against a hitching post like he belonged there. loose posture, one boot crossed over the other, hat tipped just enough to keep the sun outta his eyes. the coat he wore was dusty, sun-faded, and the holster on his hip looked more lived-in than most of the men in this town.
billy the kid.
i didn't need an introduction. the name carried enough weight it didn't need to be spoken. stories followed that man like smoke follows fire.
still, i held his gaze as i swung off the horse and landed light in the dust, brushing my hands down my thighs like i wasn't winded, like my heart wasn't trying to punch it's way out of my ribs.
he didn't say anything. just watched me, real slow, like he was committing every part of me to memory.
so i spoke first. "you always stare at strangers, or am i just lucky?"
he grinned. it was slow and lazy, and a little wicked. "you ain't a stranger. not anymore."
i scoffed, pulling off one glove with my teeth and slapping it against my thigh. "ain't seen you around here before."
"i just ride through when the wind tells me to."
"wind tell you to stare too?"
his smirk deepened. "the wind told me to come see the girl who just tamed hell on four legs. the starin' part — that's all me."
i felt a flicker of heat low in my belly and i hated it. hated the way he said it like it was nothing, like he didn't even need to try to get under my skin.
"and what?" i asked, tossing the reins over the rail. "you impressed?"
"not often," he said. "but yeah. i am."
i turned to him fully then, crossing my arms. "you ever seen a woman do that before?"
billy shrugged, slow and thoughtful. "seen a lot of men try and break a horse. seen 'em get thrown harder than that one threw you. but i ain't never seen a woman ride like she was born meaner than the beast."
i tilted my head. "that supposed to be flattery?"
"supposed to be the truth."
i took a step forward, boots crunching in the dirt. "you think i'm some saloon girl who picked up a saddle for fun?"
he shook his head "no ma'am. i think you're the first person i've ever seen ride like that and not ask for an applause after."
there was something in the way he said it — soft, but sure. like he knew exactly what kind of woman i was and liked me for it.
i didn't know what to do with that.
so i snorted and grabbed my canteen. "you always talk this much, or am i just special?"
he stepped closer, just a hair, just enough for his voice to drop. "you're somethin'. i ain't sure what yet. but, special's a start."
we stood there, heat between us thicker than the air. i could smell the leather on him, the dust, a faint trace of tobacco. his eyes didn't waver, and neither did mine.
"you're trouble," i muttered.
he smirked. "you too."
i took a drink, and then held the canteen out. he didn't hesitate. just took it, drank deep, and handed it back to me without breaking eye contact.
"you gonna tell me your name?" he asked.
"you gonna earn it?" i shot back.
he laughed — quiet, warm, surprised. "i'd ride through every goddamn town in new mexico if it meant you'd give it to me."
i raised a brow. "that a promise?"
"that's a fact."
and in that moment, i knew two things:
billy the kid was a dangerous man
i wanted him to be dangerous for me
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