Summary: For five grueling years, Taskforce X was both your lifeline and your torment. Mission after mission, you faced impossible odds with the dangling promise of a reduced sentence. Now, at last, you’re free—no more Belle Reve, no more danger. You’ve put that chapter behind you, determined to leave it locked away in the recesses of your mind.
But Amanda Waller has other plans. When she appears back in your life, she brings a new mission—and a new team. This time, you’re working alongside Rick Flag Sr., the father of your former team leader, and the members of Taskforce M. As the stakes rise, so do unexpected emotions. Tensions give way to an undeniable connection between you and Rick, a bond that deepens with every mission and threatens to pull you back into a world you thought you’d left behind forever.
Warning: Slow-Burn, Age Gap, Violence, Swearing, Smut.
Pairings: Rick Flag Sr/Reader
Chapters:
Chapter 1: Smells Like Teen Spirit.
Chapter 2: I've Got A War In My Mind.
Chapter 3: You're Ripped At Every Edge But You're A Masterpiece.
Chapter 4: Throw On Your Dress And Put On Your Doll Faces.
Chapter 5: Camouflage So You Can Feed The Lie That You're Composed.
Chapter 6: And If I Bleed, You'll Be The Last To Know.
Chapter 7: And You'll Add My Name To Your Long List Of Traitors.
Chapter 8: She Would Have Been Such A Lovely Bride What A Shame She's Fucked In The Head.
HII!! Ily your writing sm and after reading your “dog days are over” and “stray mutts” fic, I have a silly lil idea:
Dallas, as hinted at in the fic, has both licked and/or bitten reader, so I feel like a quick lil fic about such a situation would be rlly cute! Like reader is just tryna help Darry cook dinner or something and dally just comes up behind her and bites her and she just stares at him like he’s crazy (but we all know she likes it;))
────۶ৎ he bites!
or the reason why you are constantly calling dallas a mutt
warnings : dallas being a (loving) menace.
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: dallas is so silly i love him.
The house smelled like garlic bread and trouble.
You were in Darry’s kitchen wearing one of his late mother's aprons —pastel yellow with tiny embroidered cherries, a sharp contrast to the chaos of the Curtis house— and trying very hard to help him prep dinner without getting sauce on your skirt. Darry was chopping onions with the intensity of a man who had something to prove.
You, meanwhile, were stirring spaghetti sauce and humming something soft. The scene was almost normal. Almost.
Until you felt it.
You were stirring like a good little helper, soft curls pinned back and your perfume all sugary and warm, humming something Elvis-y under your breath, when—
CHOMP.
Right on your shoulder. Through your shirt. Teeth. Actual teeth.
You froze. Spoon mid-air. Jaw slack.
“What the hell—”
You turned your head very slowly and saw Dallas Winston standing behind you like he hadn’t just bitten into your shoulder like it was a steak. His arms were loose around your waist, chin still resting where his mouth just mauled you, eyes all smug and puppy-bright.
“...Did you just bite me?”
He grinned.
“Couldn’t help it, man.”
“You’re not a dog, Dally.”
“Could be,” he said, now mouthing at your neck like he was about to start chewing again. “You smell good.”
You looked at Darry, who was at the sink and pointedly ignoring what was clearly some kind of feral foreplay happening behind him.
You sighed, dragging the spoon through the sauce like this was just another Thursday. It was.
“Dallas, for god's sake, I am trying to make dinner.”
“I know.” He kissed your ear this time, less bite, more sugar. “You’re doin’ such a good job, I had to give you a reward.”
“By biting me?”
He pulled back enough to look at you, smirking with that lazy, crooked grin that made you forget how to stand sometimes.
“You like it.”
You definitely did. But that wasn’t the point.
You turned around in his arms, letting your spoon clatter into the pot. Your arms wrapped around his neck, apron crinkling as your chest pressed into his.
“You bite me again and I’m gonna put you in a kennel,” you warned sweetly.
He leaned in like he was about to do it again—eyes glittering, lips brushing your jaw.
“You promise?”
From the sink, Darry groaned. “Jesus Christ, can't you wait until after dinner to start gnawin’ on the only person who's actually helpin’ me?”
Dallas looked unbothered. You pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose and whispered, “Sit, boy.”
(a/n): missing Wonwoo hours is officially on. I just wanted to post something for him before he leaves. Also thankyou cel ( @mylovesstuffs ) and ro ( @shinysobi ) for beta reading ^^
summary: Before leaving for military service, Wonwoo hands you a disposable camera, saying, "Take a picture whenever you think of me." At first, you laugh it off, but as the days pass, you find yourself reaching for the camera more often than you expected
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The Departure
The night before he leaves, the air feels different—heavier, like the weight of unsaid words is pressing down on both of you.
You sat together on the couch, a blanket draped over both your legs, the TV playing a movie neither of you were really watching. Wonwoo’s arm was resting along the back of the couch, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his skin, but he hasn’t touched you in a while. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he knows the moment he does, it’ll make leaving that much harder.
You stole a glance at him. His face is calm, unreadable, but you know him too well to be fooled. His fingers drummed softly against the fabric of his sweatpants—restless. He’s been like this all evening, like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable.
“…You should go to bed soon,” he finally says, his voice quieter than usual. “You have to wake up early.”
Your throat tightens. So do you, you want to say, but instead, you shake your head. “Not sleepy.”
He exhales a soft laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Liar.”
You don’t argue. Instead, you pull your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself. He watches you for a moment before reaching behind him.
“Here.” He handed you something small, something rectangular. You took it hesitantly, fingers brushing his, and when you looked down, you saw a disposable camera resting in your palm.
You blink up at him. “Wonwoo, what is this?”
He shrugs, looking almost shy. “Just thought… whenever you think of me, you could take a picture. So you won’t forget me.”
Your heart aches at the way he says it—lightly, like it’s a joke, but the meaning behind it is anything but.
“Idiot,” you murmur, gripping the camera tighter. “Like I could forget you.”
He smiles at that, but there’s something in his expression that makes your chest tighten. You don’t want this moment to end, because when it does, it means morning will come, and with it, the goodbye you’re not ready for.
But time is cruel, and before you know it, the night slips away.
—
The train station is busy, filled with people coming and going, but to you, it feels like you and Wonwoo are standing in your own little world.
You’ve never been good at goodbyes. You hate how they always feel too short, no matter how long they actually last.
Wonwoo shifts his bag on his shoulder, looking down at you. “You’ll be okay, right?”
You nod, but you don’t think you really mean it. He sees right through you, sighing as he reaches out to ruffle your hair—something he always does when he doesn’t know how else to comfort you.
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
You bite your lip, willing yourself not to cry. “Liar.”
That makes him laugh, and for a moment, it’s just like any other day. Like he isn’t about to step onto that train, like he isn’t about to leave for months.
The announcement echoes overhead. Wonwoo glanced at the clock, then back at you. His eyes soften.
“Guess this is it.”
You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”
He hesitates, then reaches for your hand, squeezing it once before letting go. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. You feel the words lingering between you, the ones he’s never been good at saying out loud.
You watched as he took a step back, then another. And then, with one last lingering glance, he turns and walks away.
Your fingers tighten around the camera in your pocket.
The first picture you take is of the train as it disappears into the horizon.
The First Few Weeks
The first thing you notice is the silence.
Wonwoo never filled a room with noise—he wasn’t the type. But the absence of him is loud in a way that makes your chest feel hollow. You woke up the morning after he left, instinctively reaching for the other side of the bed, only to find cool, untouched sheets. You tell yourself it’s fine. You’ll get used to it.
Except you don’t.
The first week is the hardest. Every little thing reminds you of him. The empty coffee mug sitting on the kitchen counter because you keep forgetting that you only need one now. The folded-up blanket on the couch, still carrying the faintest trace of his cologne. The Spotify playlist he made for you playing on shuffle while you try to focus on anything that isn’t the aching space he left behind.
You held out for a call, a text—something. But the military isn’t generous with communication, and you know you won’t hear from him often. You try to be rational about it. You tried to focus on other things. But every time your phone lit up, your heart stumbled, hoping it was him.
It never is.
You don’t want to admit how much you miss him. It’s embarrassing, really. He’s only been gone for a few days, and you’re acting like you’ve been separated for years. But the quiet moments are the worst—the ones where you have no distractions, nowhere to direct your thoughts.
And that’s when you remembered the camera.
It had been sitting on your nightstand since he gave it to you, untouched. You pick it up hesitantly, rolling it over in your hands.
"Whenever you think of me, take a picture."
You scoffed under your breath. He’s going to regret saying that.
Because the first picture you take is of his empty side of the bed—a silent complaint, a little jab at how much you miss him already. You didn't let yourself linger on it for too long, tossing the camera back onto the nightstand and climbing out of bed.
___
Days passed, and the camera became an extension of your routine.
You take pictures without thinking too hard about it, little pieces of your life that he’s no longer here to witness. The second picture is your morning coffee, still made in two mugs before you remember there’s no one to drink the other. The third is the bookshop you both love, his favorite aisle tucked into a quiet corner.
You find yourself narrating moments to him in your head, like he’s still beside you. Wonwoo, you wouldn’t believe the way our neighbor’s cat tried to steal my lunch today. Wonwoo, I went to that ramen place you like, and they gave me extra toppings because they felt bad I was eating alone.
You don’t say them out loud, but somehow, taking the pictures feels like sending a message. Like you’re keeping a record of your days, waiting to share them with him when he comes back.
___
One evening, you caught yourself reaching for your phone before realizing, again, that you couldn't call him. Frustrated, you grab the camera and snap a picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror—tired eyes, a messy ponytail, an expression that practically screams, "I miss you, idiot."
You roll your eyes at yourself. Pathetic.
Still, you didn't delete it.
Somewhere in the quiet, you started to realize—this wasn't just about missing him. This was proof. Proof that life is still moving, that you’re still finding ways to smile, to laugh, to exist, even in his absence.
And maybe, just maybe, when he finally came back, you’d hand him this little stack of memories and say—
"See? I never stopped thinking of you."
The Changing Seasons
The world keeps turning, even when part of you feels frozen in time.
Autumn faded into winter, and with it, the sharpness of your grief softened. Missing Wonwoo doesn’t feel like an open wound anymore—it becomes a quiet, familiar ache, something that sits in your chest like a second heartbeat. You still woke up reaching for him, still caught yourself glancing at your phone too often, but the loneliness no longer consumed you.
Winter was harsh this year. The first snowfall blankets the city in white, and for a moment, it’s almost beautiful. You remember the way Wonwoo used to stick his hands into his coat pockets, his nose red from the cold, mumbling about how he’d rather be inside reading. The memory makes you smile, and without thinking, you grab the camera.
Click. A picture of the snow-covered street. The kind of scene he’d roll his eyes at but secretly find pretty.
The days were slow, but they passed. You kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other. Work keeps you busy, friends pull you into plans you’d rather avoid, but you go anyway—because that’s what Wonwoo would want.
You started writing him letters.
Not the kind you send—just scribbled thoughts on paper, folded neatly and tucked away. Some are short: I saw someone today who looked like you, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. Others are longer, rambling about your day, the books you’ve been reading, the songs you’ve been listening to. It’s comforting, in a way, to pretend he’ll read them someday.
Then spring came, and with it, a shift.
The world thawed. Trees blossom, the air turns warm, and the weight on your shoulders lifts—just a little. It’s strange how time does that. How grief doesn’t disappear, but it changes shape, fitting itself into the life you’re still trying to live.
You took more pictures now. Not just for him, but for yourself.
The cherry blossoms are in full bloom—soft pink petals against the sky.
The first ice cream of the season, melting too fast in the sun.
A selfie, just to prove to yourself that you’re still here, still living.
There was a moment—just a fleeting one—where you thought, Maybe I’m okay.
Then summer arrived.
And so did his letter.
You recognized his handwriting instantly, your breath catching as you tore open the envelope. It was short, because Wonwoo had never been one for long-winded words.
"I miss you. Are you still taking pictures?"
Your hands shook as you held the paper.
And for the first time in months, you cried.
Not because of sadness. Not because of longing.
But because you finally understood.
This distance—it was temporary. Seasons change. Time moves. And eventually, he’ll come home.
And when he does, you’ll have a whole life’s worth of memories waiting for him.
The Hardest Days
Some days pass in a blur—wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat. You go through the motions, keeping busy enough that the ache in your chest doesn’t have time to settle. But the hardest days?
The hardest days drag.
They stretch endlessly, pressing down on you until you feel like you might sink under the weight of them. They aren’t loud or dramatic; they don’t come with warning signs. Instead, they creep in quietly, disguised as ordinary moments that turn into reminders of how much you miss him.
__
The first bad day comes two weeks after Wonwoo leaves.
You were doing okay, keeping yourself distracted, until you stepped into your favorite bookstore—the one you used to visit together. At first, it felt fine. You even reached for a book you thought he’d like, flipping through the pages with a small smile.
Then, you glanced to your right.
His usual spot—third shelf from the entrance, where he’d always linger, eyes scanning the titles like he was searching for something he’d lost—was empty.
The realization hit you like a punch to the stomach. You could almost see him there, adjusting his glasses, tilting his head slightly in thought. You could hear his voice in your head, muttering about how he “wasn’t going to buy anything this time” only to walk out with three new books.
But he wasn’t there.
And for the first time since he left, you truly felt his absence.
You left without buying anything.
__
The days bleed into each other after that. Some are manageable. Others make you feel like time is moving too slowly, stretching the distance between you even further.
Then the second bad day comes.
It starts with an innocent notification—a new game update.
Wonwoo had been so excited about this one. He’d rambled about it for weeks, explaining all the new features in way too much detail, his eyes lighting up in that rare, boyish way. You’d teased him for it, but truthfully, you’d loved seeing him that excited.
Your fingers hover over your phone, debating whether to open the game.
But what’s the point? He’s not here to play with you. There won’t be any late-night matches, no playful competition, no quiet chuckles when you mess up and pretend it was lag.
Still, you tap the icon. The screen loads, and suddenly, your vision blurs.
Because there—at the top of your friend list—is his username, followed by the dreaded words:
"Last online: 14 days ago."
The tears come faster than you expect.
You stare at the screen for a long time, hands clenched tightly around your phone, chest aching in ways you don’t know how to fix. The world keeps moving, but for you, time feels frozen in the moment he left.
___
And then, the hardest day of them all.
It’s late—past midnight. You should have been sleeping, but instead, you were lying in bed, curled up under the blanket Wonwoo used to steal half of.
Your body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and loneliness.
You roll over, reaching for your phone, because on nights like this, instinct takes over. You want to call him. Just to hear his voice, just to know he’s still there, even from miles away.
But you can’t.
So instead, you do something even more reckless.
You scroll up in your messages. Past the "good luck" text you sent before he left. Past the "I landed safely" reply he sent hours later. Past the little check-ins, the random inside jokes, the "I miss you too" he sent on a particularly bad night.
You scroll all the way back—weeks, months—until you find the voice messages.
Your fingers tremble as you press play.
"You always stay up too late, you know that?" Wonwoo’s voice filters through the speaker, quiet and familiar.
"I swear, if you don’t start sleeping earlier, I’m gonna—ugh, never mind. Just take care of yourself, okay?"
There’s a slight pause, then a soft chuckle.
"You’re probably rolling your eyes right now."
A shaky breath leaves your lips.
"Alright, go to sleep. Goodnight, dummy."
The recording ends. The silence that follows is deafening.
And that’s when it really hits.
It’s not just that you miss him. It’s not just loneliness. It’s the fact that you can’t reach for him whenever you want. You can’t call him and expect an immediate answer. You can’t see him, can’t hear his real-time reactions, can’t fall asleep to the sound of him breathing beside you.
He’s gone.
And no amount of scrolling through old messages will change that.
So you do the only thing you can do.
You clutch the phone to your chest, squeeze your eyes shut, and let the tears fall.
Somewhere, across the distance, Wonwoo is probably doing the same.
The Small Joys & Healing
Time has a funny way of moving. Some days stretch endlessly, the hours dragging with a weight that makes everything feel slower, heavier. And then, without warning, weeks slip past in a blur of routine and half-hearted distractions. You don’t know which is worse—feeling like you’re stuck in time or feeling like you’re moving too fast without him.
But eventually, somewhere in between the long nights and the quiet mornings, you start to find something like peace.
It’s not the kind of peace that makes the missing go away. No, that lingers, settling in your bones like a familiar ache. But it’s a softer kind of longing now—one that doesn’t consume you, one that reminds you that love doesn’t disappear with distance.
___
The first few weeks were the hardest, but the world didn’t stop turning just because he was gone.
You still wake up every morning, even when the bed feels emptier than usual. You still go about your day, even when every little thing reminds you of him. The bookstore you both used to visit, the ramen place he always craved at the most random times, the late-night walks that feel lonelier without his quiet presence beside you.
At first, you avoid these things. It feels wrong to do them without him, like you’re leaving him behind somehow.
But then, slowly, you do return.
You find yourself stepping into the bookstore one afternoon, the familiar scent of paper and ink wrapping around you. It’s instinct to glance toward the third shelf—the one where he always stood, hands tucked into his pockets as he scanned the titles. He’s not there, of course. But you let yourself linger anyway.
Your fingers brush against the spines of books you know he would’ve picked. A classic novel with poetic prose. A sci-fi story with a plot twist he’d figure out before the halfway mark. A historical book he’d read just to debate the accuracy of it later.
Before you know it, you’re picking one up.
Not just for him. For you.
Maybe, when he comes back, you can tell him about it. Maybe you’ll finally have something to recommend to him instead of the other way around.
The thought makes your chest feel lighter.
__
Then, there’s the laughter.
It sneaks up on you one evening while you’re on a call with friends. They’re arguing over something ridiculous—whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza, or maybe which video game has the worst NPC dialogue. You’re half-listening, offering the occasional hum of agreement, until someone casually brings up Wonwoo.
“He’s probably trying to act all serious in training,” one of them says. “But I bet he still zones out mid-conversation like usual.”
The memory of Wonwoo’s blank, unreadable expressions comes rushing back, and before you can stop it, a laugh bubbles up. A real one.
And just like that, you remember:
Wonwoo might be far away, but he’s not gone.
He’s still him, still existing, still part of the world you share.
It’s a simple realization, but it lifts something inside you.
You laugh again that night, and for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel like you’re betraying the ache in your chest.
___
And then come the letters.
They don’t arrive often, but when they do, they feel like tiny lifelines. A piece of him, sent across the miles, just for you.
The first one is short, the paper slightly crinkled at the edges. His handwriting is neat but rushed, like he was scribbling between moments of exhaustion.
"I’m fine. Tired, but fine. It’s weird not having my phone. I keep reaching for it before remembering I can’t just text you. I hope you’re eating well."
You trace your fingers over the ink, swallowing the lump in your throat. Even in the middle of everything, he’s still thinking of you.
"Oh, and don’t let them trick you into watching horror movies without me. You know you’ll regret it."
A small, breathy laugh escapes you. He knows you too well.
That night, you sit at your desk with a pen in hand, writing your own letter back. You tell him about your days, the little things he might miss—the bookstore visit, the ramen place, how your friends still argue over the same things. You try not to sound too sad, even though the words feel heavier than they should.
At the end, you add, “I miss you. But I’ll wait. Just don’t forget about me, okay?”
You don’t expect an immediate reply, but when his next letter arrives weeks later, your heart pounds as you unfold the paper.
"I could never forget you. Don’t even joke about that."
And just like that, the waiting feels a little easier.
___
Healing doesn’t come all at once. Some days are lighter, some days are heavy. There are moments when the longing feels unbearable, when all you want is to hear his voice, to see him sitting beside you, to feel the warmth of his hand in yours. But there are also moments of quiet contentment—when the missing turns into something gentler, something that reminds you that he’s still yours, even from a distance.
And maybe that’s enough.
For now.
Because love like this—steady, unshaken, unwavering—is worth waiting for.
And when he comes back?
You’ll be right there, waiting.
The Return
The moment you spot him, the air in your lungs disappears.
You’ve been preparing for this day for months—counting down, dreaming about how it would feel to finally see him again. But none of those daydreams could’ve prepared you for this.
For him.
He steps past the arrival gate, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his uniform crisp and perfectly fitted. His posture is straighter, his movements sharper, his presence heavier. It’s him, but at the same time, it isn’t.
Wonwoo has always been broad, but now he’s different—stronger. His shoulders are wider, his arms more defined, muscles straining slightly under the fabric of his uniform. Even his stance is different, more solid, more certain.
And his face.
Your heart stutters at the sight of him.
The softness of youth has faded from his features, replaced by sharper angles, a sculpted jawline, a quiet confidence that wasn’t there before. His skin is tanned, kissed by the sun after months of training outdoors. His lips are slightly chapped, a little more serious than you remember. And his eyes—
They meet yours across the crowded terminal, and everything else ceases to exist.
Your chest tightens.
His gaze is the same.
Still warm, still familiar, still your Wonwoo.
For a second, he doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching you, taking you in. And then—
The corner of his lips twitches. A breath of a smile.
And just like that, you’re running.
You push past strangers, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out the noise around you. He sees you coming, and before you even reach him, his bag is slipping from his shoulder, arms already opening—
Then you crash into him.
He’s solid. So, so solid. Your arms wrap around him, and for a second, he stumbles back from the force of your embrace. But then his hands find your waist, gripping you tightly, pressing you closer.
And oh.
He feels different.
The Wonwoo you remember was warm and comforting, but this Wonwoo is unshakable. His back is firm under your touch, his arms secure around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. He smells like fabric softener and something distinctively him, something you missed more than you can ever put into words.
“Wonwoo,” you breathe, voice muffled against his shoulder.
He exhales shakily. “Yeah,” he murmurs, like he can’t believe this is real either.
You squeeze your eyes shut, hands fisting the back of his uniform. He doesn’t let go. Neither do you.
When you finally pull back, your hands instinctively find his face, palms pressing against his cheeks. He lets you look at him, watching as you take in every detail—every sun-kissed inch of his skin, every small change time has left behind.
“You got buff,” you whisper, half teasing, half awed.
His lips quirk slightly. “That’s the first thing you say?”
You laugh, a little breathless, shaking your head. “You just—” You pause, eyes sweeping over him again. “You look different.”
Wonwoo tilts his head. “Yeah?”
You nod, fingers brushing over his jaw, feeling the rougher skin there. “But you’re still you.”
His expression softens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten just slightly. “Still me,” he echoes.
You smile. “Still mine.”
Something shifts in his gaze. His thumb brushes against your hip, and for a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s memorizing this moment, memorizing you.
Then, voice quieter than before, he murmurs, “Always.”
And with that, he takes your hand, laces his fingers with yours—strong, sure, steady.
“Let’s go home.”
Epilogue: Home
The apartment feels the same, yet entirely different.
It smells like the candles you kept burning, like fresh linen and the faint scent of coffee. The same bookshelf stands against the wall, still overflowing with your shared collection of novels and mangas. The couch still has the blanket you always curled up in, the one that used to smell like him before it faded away.
But now—he’s here.
Wonwoo stands in the center of the living room, eyes scanning the space like he’s reacquainting himself with it, like he’s trying to remember what it felt like to belong here. His duffel bag rests by the door, abandoned the moment he stepped inside. His jacket is slung over the back of a chair, and he’s wearing the plain black tee and gray sweatpants you had set out for him, finally out of that uniform that made him feel distant—unreachable.
His hair is shorter, his shoulders broader. His stance is different, like the months away have reshaped him in ways that are still settling. But his eyes—they are the same. Warm. Familiar. Home.
And then his gaze landeds on what you’re holding.
The disposable camera.
A slow smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You still have that?”
You nod, turning it over in your hands, fingers brushing over the familiar ridges of the plastic body. “Of course. You gave it to me before you left.”
He had slipped it into your hands that day at the departure gate, voice teasing but eyes serious. "Take pictures. So I don’t miss too much."
So you did.
Of your morning coffee, of the stray cat that lingered by the bookstore, of the first snowfall that settled on the windowsill. Silly things. Little things. Things you wished he could’ve seen.
Wonwoo stepped closer, his fingers ghosting over the camera. “How many are left?”
You glanced at the film counter. “One.”
His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering in his gaze before he reached out, fingers wrapping around the camera.
Click.
The shutter snaps before you can react.
Your eyes widen. “Wait, what—”
Wonwoo lowered the camera, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Wanted the last one to be of you.”
Your heart stutters.
You should’ve expected it. He has always been like this—quietly sentimental in ways that take you by surprise. But something about this moment, about the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to memorize every detail—it makes warmth bloom in your chest.
You reach for the camera, setting it gently on the table before stepping closer, wrapping your arms around him.
Wonwoo exhales, his hold firm, grounding. His chin rests against the top of your head, and for the first time in months, you feel complete.
“You’re back,” you whisper.
His lips brush against your temple. “I’m back.”
A pause.
Then, softer—“I missed you.”
Your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, your throat tightening with emotion. “I missed you too.”
Outside, the city hums with life, the world moving as it always has. But here, in this small apartment, time stills.
And as you stand there in his arms, the disposable camera sitting beside you, its final photo safely tucked away inside—you know you’ll never need it to remember this moment.
╰┈ Wonwoo can fight anyone! Even his own miniteen plush.
₍ 𝑓𝘵. ₎ 𓈒 원우 ˶ fluff, est. relationship * skinship, reader being moody, cutie wonu ⎯⎯ 1.1k ꒱ ✦ bf!wonu x f!reader
♪ A/N : I don't think my words are enough to express how adorable this man is !? | FOXDUNGEE UGH MY CUTIE PIE.
Dragging your feet along the wooden carpeted floor, you made noises of distress.
You throw yourself on the couch with a loud thud─causing your boyfriend to call out in concern.
“Baby? Are you okay?” Hearing this, you immediately turn your head, expecting him to finally walk out of his room into the broad daylight—only to be disappointed.
Wonwoo had been in his personal office, gaming and gaming the whole day. To be fair, you shouldn't be bothered right now because he has spent the entire last two days with you, without any distractions. But that doesn't mean he has to be sitting in that same chair and game for literally six hours.
“I'm not okay.” Your tone feigned nonchalance, followed by a scoff that Wonwoo didn't fail to pick up. You could hear some shuffling, but also knew it wasn't him standing up from that damn seat.
“Just five more minutes, okay?” your boyfriend shouted from his office, and you didn't bother to reply because he had been saying that for God knows how many times now. Instead, you get up and head towards your shared bedroom—hoping to pass the time by scrolling through your phone.
As you enter, you're immediately hit by the familiar scent of Wonwoo. It wasn't a surprise. He stays in the bedroom for the whole day, and sometimes even replaces your side of the bed with his.
Sighing with disappointment, you lay down on your bed and reach out for your phone. But as you look at the screen, it flashed with a picture of Foxdungee—wonwoo’s miniteen plushie. You notice it wasn't yours, but Wonwoo’s phone. He left it here when he went to his office.
Foxdungee.
You get up and immediately start searching for it. If not Wonwoo, at least his miniteen plush can keep you company.
Just as you take it out of your closet, you hug it tightly and jump back to the bed. You grab Wonwoo’s phone and take a few selfies with it, before playing a short movie to watch while you pass the time.
An hour passed, then two, and then three—
The clock hit 12 at noon, you were under the bed sheets, completely snuggled in, when you heard the door slowly open and close—indicating that Wonwoo finally decided to get up from his gaming seat, looking for you.
“Baby?” He softly called out, approaching the bed and taking a seat beside you as your back faced him. He caught the bright flash from the screen of your (his) phone, and smiled; thinking you were waiting for him this whole time instead of taking a nap.
Wonwoo sneaked an arm around your waist, his hand hit a soft thing that you held close to yourself. He frowned, snuggling closer to your back as he raised his head to get a look at what you were holding—
Foxdungee.
Bursting into a giggle, he buried his face in your neck and pressed a peck there, dramatically letting out a ‘mmwah!'
“You're holding Foxdungee thinking it's me? You love me that much, baby?” His tone carried a hint of amusement along with teasing, gently trying to move the plush out of your grip so you can hold him instead.
But your grip was tight. His lips unconsciously formed a little pout at his failed attempt to move Foxdungee.
“Baby—”
“Get off me,” you muttered, loud enough for him to catch it, as you removed his hand from your waist and sat up on the bed.
Wonwoo, dumbfounded, looked up at you with a genuinely confused expression, but he didn't wait another second before sitting up as well—his hands reaching up to rest on your thigh by instinct.
“What happened?” He could simply stare at you with big, confused eyes.
“Who do you think you are?” You eyed him.
“Huh?” Wonwoo muttered, tilting his head in confusion. “Is this a punishment for your lovely boyfriend?”
“You’re not my boyfriend,” you looked at him with a confident look, and he swears he heard you wrong, because, what?
You loosen your grip around Foxdungee, lifting it up with your hands as you waved it. “This is.”
The way Wonwoo’s face immediately shifted to a one that spoke volumes, made it difficult for you to hold in your laugh.
“What the fuck,” in disbelief, Wonwoo stared down at the plush in your hands—now finding himself frowning at the way you held it so gently and close to you, but not your actual boyfriend.
“Haha, so funny, I actually laughed. Now give me that,” he faked his laugh, reaching out to grab Foxdungee with a tight grip, trying to pull it away from you.
“Hey! Stop that—” you argued back, pulling it towards you with full force as well.
It felt like two kindergarten kids fighting over a plushie, except that one of them wanted to throw it away because he didn't like the way you held it so close to yourself.
The atmosphere shifted like the weather in early spring. A little pushing and pulling caused a whole pillow fight, trapping you both in a light-hearted and sweet moment with laughs and smiles.
And you both definitely didn't just ignore the way Foxdungee had been completely ripped apart…
“Wait,” you interrupted, suddenly quieting down. “Where's Foxdungee?”
Just as you start to look around, Wonwoo gently grabs your shoulder and pushes you down on the bed, hovering above you, with a playful dissatisfied frown.
“Who cares?” He leaned down to peck your lips, pulling away with a smile. “I'm your boyfriend, not my miniteen plush. And I'm better.”
You laughed, playfully hitting his shoulder. “I don't think so. Your miniteen plush doesn't sit in its office for hours and hours, neglecting its girlfriend.”
A bit of teasing won't hurt—you thought.
Wonwoo chuckled and let himself fall on top of you, burying his face in your neck with a whine. “Don't say that, I'm sorry. I love you..”
Just that, made you fold immediately. You grab his face, guiding him to pull away so you could look at him. As he did so, you flash the brightest grin Wonwoo might have ever seen and press a long kiss on his lips, making him grin as well.
“I think I forgive you, my lovely boyfriend.”
In moments like these, you realise that your significant other taking a few hours for themselves doesn't cause their love to lessen for you.
“Thank you,” closing his eyes, Wonwoo laid his head on your chest, his face lit up with a smile that you could feel when you gently touched his lips.
“Your lovely boyfie promises to never leave you out ever again.” He pecked your hand and snuggled in closer.
Description : One of Hollywood's hottest movie stars and is the center Of every social event. She has the attention of all the celebrity magazines. Her biggest fear is that the press will uncover the shady things she did to claw her way to the top.
Eleanor Peacock;
Description: Coming from a wealthy family of politicians, She's known to raise money for any cause as long as she is in the spotlight. She appears calm, cool and collected at all - ordering her assistants to do her dirty work. She is Very concerned with proper behavior....Forgetting to put your napkin on your lap at one of her dinner parties could be a deadly mistake.
Diane White;
Description: Living in the shadow of her childhood acting fame she is constantly reminding others of her past success, White found It difficult to move on. She tries not to take others lack of appreciation personally and she'll be the first to tell you "My day will come, one way or another"
Synopsis: James attempts to ask out his crush and doesn't go as planned
Wordcount: 3k
As James approached Y/n, he couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation. She noticed him and smiled, her eyes meeting his with a sparkle.
" Hey, James," she greeted him, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Escorting me to class today?"
James grinned, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "Can't a friendly guy help a lady carry her books?" he retorted, feigning offence.
"Besides, it's on my way... kind of.".
Y/n raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. "Oh, so it's a mere coincidence that your path conveniently aligns with mine? Truly convenient." she teased
James feigned innocence, his chuckle filled with playful defiance.
"Purely coincidental, love," he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he gestured forward.
"Now, shall we? Wouldn't want you to be late."
As they made their way through the halls, passing by bustling students, James seized the opportunity to fill the air with banter.
"So," he began, breaking the silence, "I saw you acing that Charms essay the other day... Very impressive." His tone held a mix of admiration and teasing.
Y/n shot him a glance, her lips curving into a smile. "Ah, so you were spying on me, were you?" she retorted, her voice laced with playful accusation.
James feigned innocence once more, his grin widening. "Spying? Me? Never." he denied, a hint of laughter in his tone.
"I was merely observing... for academic purposes, of course."
She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her amusement.
"Of course, for academic purposes," she echoed, her voice laced with skepticism.
"Remind me, which class involves observing Charms essays, James? Is it Potions... or Herbology?"
James pretended to ponder for a moment, rubbing his chin dramatically.
"Ah, I believe it's Advanced Flying," he declared with a confident nod.
"A bit unconventional, I admit, but a necessary skill nonetheless." he replied with a chuckle.
Y/n let out a hearty laugh at his response, shaking her head.
"You're incorrigible, you know that?" she said between fits of laughter, her words tinged with fondness.
James grinned, feeling a warmth spread through him as he saw her laughter. His thoughts flickered with uncertainty, wondering if this moment was the right time to confess his feelings. But the fear of rejection held him back, and he opted for a cheeky response instead.
"I prefer the term 'charmingly entertaining.'
As their laughter subsided, they arrived at Potion's classroom just on time. James handed her the books, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment. The touch sent a jolt through him, but he tried to maintain his composure.
"Well, here we are," James chuckled, his voice a bit strained. "Books delivered safely to their destination."
Y/n nodded, taking the books with a grateful smile. "Thanks for the company, James," she said softly, her eyes lingering on his for a moment.
"See you around."
In that moment, his heart thumped loudly in his chest, urging him to say something to express how he felt. But the fear of ruining their friendship held him back, and he forced a smile instead.
As James walked into the library, he found Remus, Peter, and Sirius seated at a large table, books and parchments spread around them. Remus glanced up when he entered, raising an eyebrow.
"Late again, Prongs?" Remus teased.
James chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, mates. Got sidetracked with... some stuff," he said, deliberately vague. Sirius, however, wasn't as easily dismissed.
"Ah, the old 'sidetracked with some stuff' excuse," Sirius joked, a mischievous grin on his face.
"Care to elaborate?"
James waved it off with a nonchalant gesture. "Nothing important, really. Just got caught up with some, uh, prefect duties. You know how it is."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "Prefect duties? Or should I say 'Y/n duties', hmm?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
James flushed, his poker face faltering for a moment. "What? No! I just had some things to take care of before we started." he protested, trying to sound nonchalant, but the slight crack in his voice gave him away.
Remus, perceptive as always, noticed the subtle shift in James's demeanor. "Sounds like these prefect duties are pretty demanding," he commented, his tone laced with a smile.
James shot Remus a warning glance, silently pleading for him to drop the subject. But before Remus could respond, Sirius snorted loudly, amused by the whole exchange.
"Prefect duties, my foot. You've been mooning over her since third year, Prongs," Sirius quipped, rolling his eyes.
"You can't fool us."
James groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Alright, fine, you caught me," he admitted with a mix of exasperation and amusement.
"But we've got more important things to deal with right now, don't we? Like helping these two pass their next test."
Remus suppressed a chuckle, shaking his head. "Right you are, Prongs," he agreed, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.
"Let's get started, shall we?"
And with that, the Marauders resumed their study session, though Sirius couldn't help but occasionally shoot James a knowing look.
James's annoyance began to show on his face. "Come on, Sirius! Can you focus for one minute?" he grumbled, trying to keep his temper in check.
Sirius smirked, feigning innocence.
"I am focused," he replied, his voice dripping with false sincerity.
"I'm just trying to keep things interesting. Wouldn't want you getting bored, would we?
James swatted his hand away, but couldn't help but laugh.
"You're bloody insufferable, you know that?" he said, shaking his head.
"Insufferably charming," Sirius corrected with a wink.
"You'd be lost without my witty banter, mate."
James chuckled, shaking his head. "More like lost in a sea of exasperation," he retorted, a fond smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"Alright, fine," he said. "What's the incantation for transfiguring an owl into a dove?"
Sirius, unable to resist, smirked. "A dove? Hmm, sounds like something that might be useful for sending love notes to a certain someone, hmmm?" he taunted playfully.
James gritted his teeth, biting back a response. "Focus, Sirius!" he growled, his irritation growing.
"We're supposed to be studying, remember?"
Sirius couldn't help but needle James further. "So," he began casually,
"why haven't you asked Y/n out yet?" His tone was innocent, but his eyes gleamed with mischief.
James let out a frustrated sigh, his patience wearing thin.
"This again?" he groaned.
"We're here to study, Sirius, not discuss my love life or lack thereof."
But Sirius wasn't one to back down easily. "Come on, Prongs," he teased, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.
"You've been practically courting her for months—walking her to classes, carrying her books, giving her gifts. It's painfully obvious you like her."
James gritted his teeth, his cheeks flushing slightly at the accuracy of Sirius's words.
"I just—it's not that easy, alright?" he stammered, running a hand through his hair.
"I don't want to ruin our friendship, and what if she doesn't feel the same?"
Sirius rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "You're overthinking it, mate. From what I've seen, she definitely likes you back. Just grow a pair and ASK HER OUT!"
Remus, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally intervened.
“Padfoot, maybe just lay off, yeah?” he said gently, his voice tinged with concern.
Sirius reluctantly nodded, conceding to Remus’s calming influence.
“Fine,” he grumbled, though a hint of a smirk still tugged at the corners of his lips.
“But seriously, Prongs, take your shot before we all go bald from stressing over it.”
James mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Remus, grateful for the momentary respite from Sirius’ relentless teasing. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.
“I’ll think about it,” he muttered, knowing damn well that he planned to do more than just that.
James spent the following weeks obsessing over the perfect way to ask her out. He constantly bombarded Remus, Sirius, and Peter with different ideas, seeking their input and advice.
The guys were amused by James' relentless brainstorming but couldn't help but roll their eyes at his dramatic over-analysis.
“You can't do the ‘asking her out with a bouquet of flowers’ cliché, Moony,” he insisted. "It's been done a thousand times over!”
Remus smirked. "Alright, then how about this? You write her a love poem and recite it to her under the moonlight?"
James wrinkled his nose, shaking his head. "Too cheesy." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
"I want something unique, something that will really impress her and show how much I care."
Sirius, ever the instigator, couldn’t help but chime in. "You know, you could always try the grand romantic gesture - like declaring your love for her in front of the entire student body during dinner."
Remus, ever the voice of reason, cut in with a sigh.
"Alright, enough with the outlandish ideas," he said firmly.
"Maybe just keep it simple and genuine, James. She’ll appreciate it more than some grand gesture, I promise."
As Remus’s words began to sink in, James couldn't help but feel a ripple of anxiety. Was a simple, heartfelt declaration really enough? He wanted to impress her, to make certain she knew the depth of his feelings.
His gaze darted back and forth between his friends, his mind desperately seeking a solution. But before he could speak, Sirius's impish smile widened.
“I do have a new idea…”
James's eyes widened, both intrigued and wary. He knew Sirius's ideas often leaned toward the extreme.
"Let’s hear it," he said cautiously, gesturing for Sirius to continue.
Sirius leaned in, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"What if you arrange a surprise date for her? You know, plan everything - the venue, the atmosphere, the food. Make it something truly unforgettable."
James's eyes began to sparkle as he considered Sirius's proposal. It had the makings of an impressive gesture, but without the risk of humiliation that some other ideas had. A sense of determination filled him.
“That… that could work,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Thanks, Pads. You may have just given me an idea that just might impress her.”
The weeks that followed brought not only James's relentless planning for his surprise date, but also a significant event on the horizon: a highly anticipated Quidditch match. Excitement buzzed through the corridors of Hogwarts as players and fans alike prepared for the clash between Gryffindor and Slytherin
Practice sessions became more intense, consuming much of James's time and focus. Yet, between drills and strategy discussions, he found moments to steal time with Y/n . In between classes, he'd walk her to her next class and chat for a few minutes, unable to resist the chance to be near her.
As James and Y/n sat together on a bench in the sunny courtyard, a soft breeze tugged playfully at the hem of her robes. Their voices, filled with warmth and fondness, shared snippets of their lives.
“I can’t wait for the match,” James said wistfully, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“We’ll give Slytherin a run for their money, for sure.”
Y/n smiled, her gaze lingering on him.
“I have no doubt you'll do great,” she said, her voice earnest.
“You've been practicing nonstop, haven't you?”
“Like a madman,” James confirmed with a hearty chuckle.
“But it’ll all be worth it when we win.” His tone was tinged with a touch of eagerness, and his eyes held a hint of vulnerability as he added,
“You'll be cheering me on, right?”
Y/n's expression softened, her lips curving into a warm smile. She reached out and gently brushed her fingers against his, eliciting a shiver that went straight to James’ core.
“You don’t even need to ask,” she assured him softly. “I’ll be your loudest cheerleader.”
"You always know just what to say,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere."
Despite his intentions to ask her out, each day somehow ended with the match dominating his thoughts. It was not until the day before the game, as he lie awake staring at the night sky from his window, he groaned and facepalmed, cursing himself for forgetting.
On the day of the match, James was brimming with anticipation.
As he made his final preparations in the locker room, the door suddenly swung open, revealing Y/n. James's heart leapt at the sight of her, and he couldn't help but smile.
"Hey," he greeted her, taking in her presence. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Y/n walked over to him, her expression filled with support and concern.
"I wanted to wish you luck before the match," she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that washed over him. "You're going to do great out there, James. I just know it."
James felt a surge of confidence at her words, the fire within him burning brighter.
"Thanks, Love ," he grinned, his heart swelling with affection for her. "That means a lot. And hey, maybe you could cheer extra loud for me out there. It'll give me the extra push I need to win."
"As if I wasn't going to that," she laughed, her voice bubbling with amusement as she shook her head in mock disbelief
As James's name echoed through the stadium, he turned to Y/n, giving her a final grin. Before he could say anything, however, she stepped closer and planted a quick, tender kiss on his cheek.
"For luck," she whispered, her voice tinged with affection.
James's cheek burned where her lips had touched, and his heart thumped in his chest. He could feel the strength and determination surging through his veins, fueled by her unexpected gesture.
He smiled at her, filled with a newfound resilience and determination to win. "Thanks," he said, his voice a bit shaky with emotion. "I'll win for you."
As the players took their positions, the tension in the air was palpable. Ravenclaw, known for their strategy and finesse, were the favorites to win. However, James and his teammates had a fire in their eyes that screamed "not today."
As the game kicked off, James showed his skills from the start. Deflecting a Quaffle from the opposing team's Chaser, he passed it off to his teammate who scored, giving Gryffindor an early lead.
The game intensified as the players dodged bludgers, narrowly escaping being knocked off their brooms.
With each goal Gryffindor scored, the crowd roared, and James could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He played with a focus and fervor, and it seemed like nothing could stop him.
The game continued to be close, with both teams displaying their skills. Slytherin managed to catch up with some impressive plays, but James and his team remained determined.
As the game entered the final quarter, the score was neck and neck.
The tension was at an all-time high, with every point making a difference in the outcome.
Finally, the final minutes of the game arrived. The score still tied. If Gryffindor scored just once more, they would win the match. And James knew he had to make it count.
With precision and skill, he navigated the arena, dodging players and bludgers as he flew toward the goals. Just as he was about to release the Quaffle, he spotted Y/n in the stands cheering for him.
In that moment, James felt a rush of determination.He had to win this for her, for his team, and for himself. And with a final surge of strength, he shoots the Quaffle scoring the winning goal. The crowd erupted in cheers, and his teammates mobbed him, celebrating their victory.
As James was swarmed by his celebrating housemates, he couldn't help but look around for Y/n, his eyes finally finding her standing a few feet away. He beamed at her, feeling his nerves kick in as she approached him.
"Hey," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
Y/n smiled, her eyes shining with what looked like admiration.
"Congratulations on the win," she said, her voice soft yet vibrant. "You were brilliant out there."
James's heart skipped a beat at her words, and he couldn't help feeling a rush of pride as she complimented his performance.
"Thanks, I had a lot of motivation," he grinned, his eyes fixating on her. "Just a certain someone in the crowd."
Y/n's cheeks flushed at his words, and she let out a soft, nervous chuckle. She took a deep breath, clearly steeling herself for what she was about to do.
"Actually, James," she began, her voice a bit shaky, "I wanted to ask something."
"Go out with me," she blurted out suddenly. James stared at her for a moment, stunned by her sudden request.
"I mean, um," she stumbled over her words, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. "Would you like to go out with me sometime? Like, on a date or something?"
James couldn't believe what he was hearing. His heart was racing, and his mind was spinning. He could feel the eyes of his teammates and fellow Gryffindor students on him, but at that moment. all he could focus on was on her.
A smile spread across his face, and he couldn't help but laugh with sheer joy
"Yes!" he finally managed to say. "Of course, I'd love to go out with you."
She let out a yelp of surprise as James picked her up and spun her around, her laughter ringing out in the air. As he set her back down, his arms wrapped around her waist, and he looked at her with a mixture of excitement and disbelief.
"Is this real?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you really asking me out?"
Y/n couldn't help but chuckle, her nervousness slowly fading as James held her close. She nodded, a shy smile playing at the corners of her lips.
"Yes, silly." she said, her voice gentle and tinged with a hint of amusement. "Yes, I'm really asking you out."
James's momentary happiness vanished like a puff of smoke as his own words sank in. His excitement and anticipation turned to disappointment and regret. He had waited for so long to ask her out himself, but she had beaten him to it.
His shoulders slumped, and a frustrated frown creased his brow. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "I was supposed to ask you out, not the other way around."
His teammate, Sirius, who had been watching nearby with an amused expression, overheard him.
"Aw, come on, Prongs," Sirius teased, slapping him on the back. "Don't let that get to you. You're still the one who's got the date, after all."
James sighed, the disappointment slowly fading. Sirius was right; he had been given the date he had longed for so much.
"Yeah, you're right," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "But next time you better let me do the asking, or-"
"Or what?" She challenged.
James's eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat at her challenge. He couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for her boldness.
"Or I might just have to charm you into agreeing," he teased, his voice carrying a confident edge.
His eyes sparkled with a mix of playfulness and sincerity, making it clear that his initial surprise had quickly given way to a sense of warmth and anticipation.
Y/n arched an eyebrow, a bemused smile playing on her lips. "You think you can charm me? Careful, James, your ego is showing"
Y/N stood nervously outside Jayce's childhood home, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. She had been dating Jayce for a few months now, but this was the first time she was going to meet his mother. She had heard stories about her from Jayce, how loving and welcoming she was, but the thought of making a good impression still made her uneasy.
Jayce, noticing her nervousness, squeezed her hand reassuringly. "You'll be great," he said, flashing her a smile. "My mom adores you already, she's been asking about you non-stop."
Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her, but she still couldn't help but feel anxious as they made their way inside. His mother greeted them with a warm hug and ushered them into the living room, where they sat down and chatted for a while.
As they talked, Y/N noticed that Jayce's mom kept stealing glances at her, and it made her feel even more self-conscious. Just as she was starting to relax, Jayce's mom turned to her and said, "You don't know you the way I know you."
Y/N looked at her, surprised. "What do you mean?"
I mean that Jayce talks about you all the time," his mother said, a twinkle in her eye. "He's so in love with you, and I can see why. You're smart, beautiful, and kind."
Y/N felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but couldn't help but feel touched by the compliment. "Thank you," she said softly, feeling a warm feeling in her chest.
They continued chatting for a while longer, and eventually, Jayce's mother brought out a photo album, filled with pictures of Jayce as a child. They laughed and reminisced over old memories, and Celine couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to get to know Jayce's family.
As they were leaving, Y/N turned to Jayce, a smile on her face. "I can't believe you talked me into this," she said, still feeling a bit overwhelmed
Jayce just grinned at her, pulling her close. "I knew you'd be great," he said, kissing her forehead. "And besides, I wanted you to meet the most important woman in my life."
