#and now!! my dad is texting us you all might want to come home this weekend I hate this I hate this

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FIFTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of abortion, grief & health issues;

Rafe was a hundred percent sure the lack of oxygen made him delirious.

His palms were still clammy from the panic attack earlier—vision spotty, heart galloping so hard it scared even him. Sarah had stared at him like he was a mangled dog limping on the freeway and for once, she hadn’t said anything smart or mean, just driven him home without a word. No fight with her that night, he hadn’t screamed at her, hadn’t said something he’d regret—he kept his shit together for once. He said thank you, but his sister didn’t need it when she’d grown up watching him break down and build back up a thousand times, never quite whole.

Therapy hadn’t miracled him into some new person or whatever. He wasn’t going to start quoting mantras and hugging strangers in the street. He was trying, alright? Not to ruin everything he touched, not to say shit that hurt people only because he was hurting. It wasn’t gonna happen overnight—he knew that, it might not even occur in a year. But cleaning the water with you, of all people, that was something, a start and he had to start somewhere, or he’d drown.

That’s why he was parked outside your place, headlights off, keys still in the ignition, trying to talk himself out of going in. His fingers hovered over his screen guessing you’d follow up your text with a quick “nvm” or “that was a mistake.” But nothing came, just that green bubble, staring back at him, fucking terryfing.

This had to be some kind of trap, you hadn’t said two nice things to him in the past four months, except tonight, but his brain was foggy.

Rafe rubbed his face, still buzzing with adrenaline, a headache forming low behind his eyes, he should just go home, stop chasing something that always seemed to blow up in his face. But his hand was already on the door handle, legs half-numb as he stepped out into the night air. His heart started doing that thing again—erratic—and he wondered if he was about to pass out on your front steps.

That’d be poetic.

He was idling outside your gate, the one that used to open the second his Range Rover pulled up, he knew the code, now he had to buzz, like a stranger.

Rafe hated that.

He pressed the button, swallowing hard, already regretting it. He half-expected silence, or your voice telling him to go to hell. Instead, there was a click, then the slow swing of iron, groaning open like it, too, couldn’t believe you’d let him in. By the time he reached your front door, his hands were damp again, chest aching with everything he wasn’t saying.

Then—door swings open.

You didn’t make him knock, there you were barefoot, dressed in some enormous hoodie he hadn’t seen in months. Hair twisted up, eyes dark from either crying or just not sleeping. You weren’t supposed to look like that.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” he echoed, like a fucking idiot. It came out raspy, his throat wasn’t working right, still scratched up from earlier. His lungs hadn’t fully clocked back in from that panic attack and now this. “…You let me in.”

“You rang the gate.”

You seemed tired, not just physically, and he did that thing again, almost stopped breathing because air wasn’t a thing he deserved around you.

You stepped aside, sighing. “Come in. Before I change my mind.”

He did, swallowed hard, and crossed that threshold like he was sixteen again, sneaking in past curfew, scared your dad would catch him, but now it was just the two of you. You sat curled into the corner of the couch across from him, arms wrapped around your knees while Rafe sat stiff on the edge of the opposite one, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped like he was praying.

(He was.)

He dragged a hand down his face, his lungs were feeling funny again, but it wasn’t a panic attack this time, it was you, sitting right there, after all this time. He wanted to say something, but everything in his brain came out wrong before it even hit his mouth.

So he sat and you stared. This is probably where she slaps me, or tells me to get the fuck out. Or worse, says nothing, he thought.

He wanted to tell you that he hadn’t slept right in weeks, sometimes he thought he saw you out of the corner of his eye, and his body would react like you were real—as if he could still fix it. He wanted to admit he’d been spiraling, white-knuckling his days just to get through without texting you, begging or showing up like this.

"You're not gonna say anything?"

You looked like you’d bolt if he breathed wrong.

Rafe blinked, looking away. "I don’t know where to start."

That made your mouth drop, not quite a frown but close, he tracked it, all the little changes in your expression like they were landmarks in a city he used to live in. He didn’t know if that map still existed for him anymore.

“Start somewhere.”

Where the fuck was “somewhere”? Before the fight? Before he said all that shit he didn’t mean because it was easier to make you hate him than admit he couldn’t live without you?

“I didn’t think I’d be let in.”

“I didn’t think you’d show up.”

Everything felt surreal, as if he’d left his body behind in the car and now he was just watching this shit play out on a TV screen. You across from him, this house, this conversation—civilized, if you could even call it that. He didn’t know how to be calm around you, maybe this was hell, he died somewhere between the panic attack and your driveway and this was just the afterlife: stuck in a loop with the one person he couldn’t stop loving but always hurt.

“I don’t know how to talk to you anymore,” He confessed, his leg bouncing, nervous energy bleeding out of him. None of you were yelling, crying, rolling your eyes like usual, that scared him.

He kept seeing it in his head, how things used to be—even after a screaming match, you’d curl into him like nothing ever broke. you'd text him "come over" at 2 a.m. and he’d be there in ten, because it was understood. It was always understood.

Even when the world felt like it was falling apart, when his dad was on his ass, when he was fucking up every other part of his life—you were the one place he didn’t have to explain himself. This didn’t feel like the two of you, more like strangers in borrowed skin.

Rafe hated that he kept looking for you—the old you, who would tilt her head and laugh through her nose and throw a pillow at him when he said something stupid. The girl who could read him in a second and didn’t need him to find the right words. You didn’t look like her anymore, that was a good thing.

What the fuck happened to us.

He was what happened, if he hadn’t shut down, pushed back, said the worst thing at the worst time—he dropped his gaze to the floor, hands flexing again against his thighs. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it would change what he’d already done.

You still weren’t uttering a single word, and he was starting to feel like he couldn’t sit here another second without doing something—saying something, but then, as if you'd taken a peek inside his excuse of a brain—

“I think we should get our excuses out of the way.”

He looked up.

Your hands were fidgeting—thumb picking at your sleeve, eyes not quite on him. God, he remembered those hands, you used to touch his face like he was something soft, you hadn’t touched him at all in months.

“I mean it. No more bullshit.”

“What are you talking about?”

You met his eyes.

“I mean, I’ve got my own shit to say,” you said. “So if you’ve got something to say, I want to hear it now.”

He suddenly felt sick, his ears were ringing again, the way they had earlier when Sarah pulled the car over and told him to “breathe, Rafe, it’s anxiety, not a heart attack”.

“…I don’t know how to say it right,” he muttered almost swallowed by the quiet. “Every time I try, it comes out fucked.”

“Give it a try.”

You didn’t say anything else, the you go first was visible in your eyes.

That was the least he could give you, right? He’d been taking and taking, his soul already hurt from just the thought. But you were offering him honesty, one chance, without the screaming, the throwing things.

Rafe cleared his throat, eyes glassy and wild and stupidly, desperately hopeful. Alright, somewhere. Fuck it.

“I regretted it the second you left.” It it hurt to say it, “I didn’t say it then. I was too—” He laughed once, humorless. “—too proud. Too fucked up, drunk.”

He rubbed his palms against his jeans, focusing on everything he hadn’t said properly for months. It haunted him, how your face had crumpled but you still didn’t cry in front of him—too proud or too hurt or both. The sound of the door slamming after you was louder in his head than the gunshots from his worst nights.

“The shit you said that night… messed me up. I know I messed you up too, but—” He stopped, jaw flexing. “I didn’t think it would come from you.”

That was the part no one ever understood.

He could take the hits, the rumours, Ward yelling in his face, his so-called friends talking behind his back. Even Sarah calling him an asshole—he could take all of that. But you? He’d spent so long thinking you saw him, even when he didn’t deserve it, especially then.

When you threw his pain back at him that night, when you looked at him like he was just another spoiled rich boy crying over his daddy—fuck, he’d felt something in him break in half.

“I thought you’d get it,” he admitted, swallowing hard. “That’s the part I couldn’t stop thinking about. You—of all people. You lost your whole family. You know what that’s like. You were there when my mom died. We were kids, but you were the only one who talked to me about it. I thought—” He shook his head. “I thought it would be like that again. That when my dad—when he was gone… I thought if anyone would understand what that felt like, it’d be you.” His mouth twisted. “But you didn’t.”

He blinked, and his vision went fuzzy again—not from panic this time, just pain, remembering too vividly.

“I deserved it, I really did. But that night?” he said, “I couldn’t forgive you. You weren’t wrong—" He bit his cheek, hard, until the taste of blood hit his tongue. “—but it was you. And I didn’t want to stop loving you. That’s why I didn’t chase you, just drank, a lot, figured I’d black out enough nights and eventually stop thinkin' about it.”

Another dry laugh.

“Didn’t work, if that wasn’t obvious.” He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, “I kept waiting for you to come back, thinking any day now, you’d text me. Say you were sorry too. But you didn’t and I didn’t know how to fix somethin' you were the one who broke last.”

His pride had cost him everything, but it was never stronger than his hurt. And even now, with your hand resting on your stomach and his gut screaming, he was still reaching for the version of you who used to understand him without either of you saying a word.

Rafe swore that was it—you were gonna walk out, leave him sitting there like some pathetic, washed-up version of the guy you used to love.

“Is that why you started seeing Sofia?”

"I didn’t…" He paused, shaking his head, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t see her like that.”

You didn’t say anything, just nodded, slow and silent: go on.

“She was the bartender at the club. I’d see her when I went in—most of the time I was drunk off my ass anyway. Half the time I didn’t even remember what I said to her. I didn’t know her name for a while.” He hated himself for saying it out loud. “She was just there.”

His leg started bouncing again, and he didn’t even notice.

“She asked if I was okay once. That’s all it took, one person acting like they gave a shit. And I was pissed at you, I was pissed at everything, but mostly I was pissed at myself for not being okay and for needing you anyway.”

His hands came up, gesturing vaguely between you.

“I kept thinking—you left me. You left. When I needed you the most, and I knew I’d done so much wrong, pushed you so far that you didn’t have anything left to give me, but… I still thought you'd understand. I thought if anyone was gonna sit with me in grief, it’d be you. But you didn’t, you treated me like I was a fucking monster, it didn’t matter that I’d just buried my dad. All I was, was Ward’s son, and not just some kid trying to make sense of losing the only parent he had left.”

You looked like you wanted to interrupt. You didn’t.

“And I know he was a bad man. I know that, ’m not fucking delusional,” Rafe snapped, voice rising for a second, frustrated with himself, before softening again. “But he was still my dad. The guy who used to drive me out on the boat at sunrise and teach me how to cast without tangling the line. He was still the man who told me I could be something. Even when he lied through his teeth—he still said it.”

He dropped his eyes to floor again, voice going nearly hoarse.

“And I missed him. I still do, even when I hate him, I miss him. You made me feel like that was something to be ashamed of.” When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “That’s when it clicked. You were gone, you weren’t coming back. And I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me. I didn’t even realize you were already hurting, mourning me while I was still sittin' right fuckin' next to you.”

His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours again.

“That’s why I didn’t stop her,” he said, quietly, defeated. “When she kissed me the first time… I didn’t stop her. Because I wanted you to know what it felt like, to feel what I’d been feeling every second since the door slammed behind you. I wanted it to hurt when you found out.”

Rafe saw your jaw twitch, you were trying not to cry or scream or both while he admitted what you’d already known in the deepest part of your chest. He hated that you were sitting so far away, arms wrapped around yourself when all he wanted was to cross the space and warm you up with everything he hadn’t known how to say until now.

He hated that he’d ever wanted to hurt you.

“You didn’t have to make it worse.”

His head dropped, ashamed, nodding. He knew, fuck, did he know.

“You could’ve called. Texted. Showed up like this—months ago.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“You did. You just didn’t want to.”

You were right, he had let pride drag him deeper into the hole, let the silence rot what was left between you because at least in the silence, he didn’t have to see your eyes look at him like that.

That night—shit, that night—he’d said things he didn’t even remember, the kind of bullshit you don’t come back from. It scared him sometimes, what he’d become. He’d wanted to win the fight more than he wanted to keep you, twisting his grief into something cruel the following weeks, just to make you bleed a little too.

Rafe swallowed hard, voice low now, ashamed. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I didn’t even like her,” he admitted, a little more broken. “Not like that. She was just… there, a good friend. She wasn’t you, didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect anything from me. And I hated myself more every time I saw her because I knew what I was doing. I was punishing you, for something I couldn’t admit was my fault too. I didn’t think there was anything left to fight for.”

His voice cracked for real this time.

“That’s the difference between us,” You muttered. “You give up when it’s hard. You made it look easy.”

“I needed you to hate me enough to stop trying.”

You let out the breath you’d been carefully holding.

“Congrats. It worked.”

“I didn’t want it to. I was a mess. Still am. I never stopped—”

“I thought I was going to die when I saw you together, Rafe.”

Your eyes weren’t angry or accusing, just….sad.

“I—I saw you in the bathroom,” you continued, “Thought I was going to throw up right there in the hallway.”

Rafe’s heart stopped.

“The door was open just a crack, enough to see her.” You swallowed hard, and he could see how your hands were shaking now. “She had her arms around your neck. You were smiling, laughing even. You kissed her neck, she was touching. You fucking let her.”

His soul caved in.

“I stood there for maybe ten seconds. Long enough to see you tie the strings of her bikini behind her back like you’d done it a hundred times already.” You let out a little laugh, but it sounded so wrong. “It used to take you five tries to tie mine without getting flustered.”

He felt sick to his stomach.

You shook your head slowly, eyes closing.

“It felt like someone had just reached into my chest and ripped my heart out. I couldn’t breathe, my face went cold, and all I kept thinking was you didn’t even flinch.”

Rafe opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His heart was fucking breaking.

You tilted your head, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to keep it together. “I slept on the bathroom floor that night, in your hoodie, because it smelled like you. Didn’t eat for two days.”

A pause.

“And I still would’ve taken you back if you’d just shown up. Said you were sorry.”

Rafe couldn’t take it anymore. “I was sorry,” he said, hoarse. “Every second. I swear to God, I just didn’t think I—”

“—deserved it?” you finished for him, not unkindly. “You didn’t.”

He flinched.

“But I would’ve still tried,” you whispered. “Because I loved you that much.”

No vindication or closure. Rafe pressed his fingers to his temples, exhaling hard, his whole body burning with guilt.

“I didn’t like her,” he repeated, knowing it couldn’t erase what he’d done.

"You liked her enough to keep her around."

“She was there. That’s all it was, she wasn’t you. I couldn’t even look at her without thinkin' about you.”

You shook your head, eyes gleaming. “Then why didn’t you leave?”

He looked at you, words choking in his throat. “Because I was scared you’d already moved on. You were gone for two months, I felt like a stranger."

You let out a bitter breath, “You were a stranger. The moment you let her touch you like that… you stopped being mine.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, a punishment, he deserved worse.

“I didn’t know how to come back from it,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t come back from something like that."

He nodded, devastated. “I never stopped loving you, that never changed.”

You looked at him for a long time, it almost hurt worse than all the yelling in the world — because you weren’t angry anymore. You nodded once, slowly. “I know. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Your eyes were still fixed on him, lips parted like you wanted to say something else but weren’t sure where to start.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said that night.”

That pulled his eyes back to yours.

You nodded to yourself, needing to work up to it.

“I was angry. I was—I was tired.” You sat back, and pulled your knees tighter into your chest. “From watching you ruin yourself over and over again for someone who didn’t give a single fuck. You were breaking your own heart every day, and I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched you like he was trying to breathe you in all over again.

“I knew he was your dad, what that meant. But watching you keep chasing something you were never gonna get from him—his love, his pride, a real apology—it made me so fucking angry, it was killing you and I couldn’t save you from it. Every time I tried, we fought, when I tried to be patient, you snapped. Even when the good moments were good, they started to feel like pit stops before the next fight."

You bit your lip, eyes glossy.

“So yeah, I said shit I shouldn’t have said. I threw your grief back in your face, it wasn’t right. It was fucked up. And I hate that I did it, because I do get it—I do know what that kind of loss feels like and I still made it about me in the moment. That’s not fair, you didn’t deserve that, especially not from me. I'm sorry."

You weren’t done.

“But you’re not the only one hurting” you continued, “You weren’t the only one grieving. I lost you, little by little, every time you pushed me out and let Ward pull you in. It felt like I was loving someone who didn’t want to be loved anymore and I broke, too.”

Rafe blinked fast, chest rising with shallow breaths while you were still picking at your sleeve, eyes down.

“And you were right, back then. When we were younger, you were always the one to fix it. Every time we’d break up, even if it was just for a week or two, you came crawling back. Even when I was the one who started the fight, even if I flirted with someone else afterward to piss you off.” Your voice wobbled, but you didn’t stop. “You were always the one who showed up.”

His head dropped for a second, eyes squeezed shut.

“I told myself that made me better than you somehow,” you murmured. “I had the upper hand because I could make you come back, but that was just me being a bitch, you weren’t the only one who needed to grow up. You weren’t coming back and I didn’t want you to.”

That was the part no one ever understood.

Not the Cut High Society who asked what kind of psycho gave up a Cameron. Or your old friends from college who wondered why you weren’t mourning louder. None of them got it, you didn’t stop loving Rafe, you’d just spent so long dragging his broken pieces out of the fire that eventually, you forgot you were burning too.

You both looked at each other, older than you used to be, still cracked in all the same places, bleeding a little. “I had to be better on my own and I have been.”

You didn’t say it with pride, but you had learned how to exist without him, even when it broke you. Rafe’s eyes flicked to your stomach.

You rubbed your hand over it, “I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t keeping it.”

You weren’t keeping it.

He couldn’t blame you, not when he’d made it feel that way. His gaze dropped to your hand resting gently over the swell that wasn’t there yet, still small, but he saw it now. He wasn’t supposed to know. that’s what killed him most still, you hadn’t even told him because he’d already proven he wasn’t worth telling.

“You weren’t gonna keep it,” he repeated, like saying it might help it sink in.

You gazed up at him again, eyes wet, but no tears spilling. “No.”

“Because of me?”

You didn’t need to answer. He already knew.

His heart was splitting open, right there on the floor between you both, and he still couldn’t move or close the gap. Couldn’t hold you the way he wanted to because you’d already had to learn how to live without him.

“It wasn’t fair,” you tried not to twist the knife even as you twisted it. “To bring a baby into that… into what we were.”

Rafe nodded once, a jagged little motion because it hurt to agree, so fucking bad. You weren’t wrong, but that didn’t make it easier.

“I would’ve been better,” he sounded completely desperate now, his voice breaking. “If I’d known, if I’d—fuck, if you’d just told me, I swear to God, I would’ve been—”

“You don’t get to promise that now,” you said, but there was no venom in it, only resignation. “That’s why I was so upset when Topper found out, called the clinic.”

“Have you talked to Topper?” Rafe asked, he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you.

You shook your head. “Not yet. I will.”

He nodded once, “He meant well.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “He’s not a bad person. Just… socially dumb.”

That almost made Rafe huff out a laugh, but it didn’t quite land.

“I think he was trying to protect you.”

“And I didn’t need protecting,” you snapped, “I needed someone who wasn’t gonna treat me like a bomb about to go off.”

That shut him up, because it was true. You’d needed stability, and all they ever gave you was a headache. He knew better than to push you when it came to family matters, so he changed the subject again.

“You didn’t go through with the abortion."

“I was past the legal limit in North Carolina. The place he called was in New Mexico.”

“New Mexico?”

“I had to fly there.”

“But you didn’t.”

“There were… complications.” You didn’t elaborate, your voice was already trembling, “They said it might mean I can’t… that I might not be able to…It wasn’t my choice anymore.”

Your voice died, you didn’t say it, but Rafe heard it.

He felt like he’d been shot.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice pitched up, breath hitching, "Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting?”

“Because you weren’t mine anymore, Rafe.”

He blinked, and it hit him all at once. The beach clean-up, you fainted, he manhandled you into the car, yelled at you in the parking lot. Told you to stop being dramatic. Dragged you to the hospital because he thought you were being reckless.

He forced you there when you were already in pain.

“I didn’t know I was sick then. I thought I was just tired, it wasn’t until the bloodwork came back that they realized something was wrong. Dr. Harris said it was severe anemia, that if I had gone through with it… I might not have made it through the bleeding.”

Rafe’s breath left his lungs like he’d been punched. “Jesus.”

Your lip trembled even though you were trying so hard to stay composed. “They said even keeping the baby might… it might not save me either. Giving birth could be just as dangerous. And the baby might not make it.”

Rafe wanted to crawl away.

“And you’ve been going through this alone?”

“I’ve had Sarah. She’s the only one that knows.”

His eyes flicked to the side like maybe if he didn’t look at you, it would hurt less to absorb all of it, the guilt drowning him.

“She should’ve told me,” he muttered, but even that felt weak, it wasn’t Sarah’s burden to carry.

“I told her not to,” you said softly. “I begged her.”

That part gutted him all over again, you were in pain—but you didn’t trust him with it, you’d believed so deeply that he wouldn’t show up, that you chose to suffer in silence.

“I don’t know how I let it get this bad,” he whispered.

“I do,” you said, without accusation. “You stopped seeing me. I was standing in front of you, hurting, and you were too busy trying to be someone else’s son.”

Rafe pressed a hand to his face, red-rimmed eyes that happened when he was trying not to cry. “I see you now.”

A weak apology wrapped in a confession he should’ve made months ago. It was a small thing, such a simple sentence, but it cracked something in you, too.

You swallowed hard, “It doesn’t change everything.”

“I know.”

You both sat there in that painful stillness. So much unsaid even after everything, the past had finally caught up to both of you and didn’t know where to go from here.

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified.” You didn’t let him look away. “I was scared every second. Of what was happening, of what it meant, of what I was gonna do. And I was more scared of telling you than I was of bleeding out.”

He winced but you didn’t stop.

“If I told you, and you didn’t show up, it’d break me in a way I wouldn’t come back from. And if you did show up just to make it about you, to throw it back in my face like you did everything else that scared you—” You shook your head, blinking hard. “I couldn’t survive that version of you.”

“I wouldn’t have—” he started, then stopped. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

He rubbed both hands over his face, then through his hair like he was trying to physically pull the memory of who he’d been out of his skin.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

It was the first time in a long time you felt like you weren’t bleeding out alone.

You watched him, and for the first time in months, he didn’t look like the boy who broke your heart. He was a man trying to find a way to put it back together—piece by piece, even if it was too late.

You took a shaky breath, “I don’t want to get back together.”

Rafe didn’t flinch outwardly, but inside, there was a bomb. It was fair, and he knew that, he expected it. The words ricocheted in his head, over and over. It made sense. Fuck, it made perfect sense. He’d been a ghost of himself, lost in Ward’s shadow, drowning in every toxic version of what he thought strength was supposed to be. He’d made you feel alone when you were most vulnerable, hadn’t seen you when you were falling apart.

“I didn’t say all this so you’d take me back. I just…” He exhaled shakily, head in his hands. “I need you to know I’m sorry. And that I—I’m still here. I can’t change how bad I fucked up, but I can show up now. However, you’ll let me.”

He observed you again, eyes rimmed with guilt and love that had aged in the dark, misshapen but still there.

“I’ll drive you to the appointments. Sit in the parking lot if you don’t want me in the room, do the night runs for ginger ale or whatever the fuck else you need. You don’t owe me anything back.”

He wasn’t offering to fix it so he could be your boyfriend again, he was offering because he could finally see past himself.

“I don’t want you to go through any more of this alone.”

He was a boy you'd loved so hard you forgot how to live without him once. And now here he was, offering to stand beside you, to hold space, to carry what you couldn’t anymore.

“You say that now, but you have no idea how bad this could get. I might not make it,” you reminded him. “There’s a real chance this ends with me gone, and if it doesn’t, it could still mean I’m sick."

You weren’t trying to be cruel, he understood that, you were being honest.

“I know it’s serious, but—”

“No,” you cut in, “You don’t know. This doesn’t end with you waiting outside the delivery room and me holding the baby with a tear-streaked smile.” Your voice failed you. “This could end with a funeral, mine, the baby’s, or both. And if that doesn’t happen, if I survive, it still might not feel like a win. I might never stop resenting that I didn’t get to choose.”

He hadn’t just failed you, he’d failed everything he ever said he’d protect. He could taste the bitterness in his mouth, that acrid sting of regret, it made his bones ache. Of course you had a right to be angry.

Rafe’s fingers twitched in his lap, itching to reach out. To touch your knee, your hand, your shoulder, anything, but he didn’t dare.

“They took that from me, my body did,” you admitted, “I don’t know who I’ll be when this is over. I don’t know what will be left of me, if I’ll still be someone who can look at you without seeing every moment I didn’t get to make for myself.”

He didn’t know who he’d be either. What if you died? He couldn’t unsee it now—your body going limp, blood-soaking sheets, hospital lights, helpless. What if you lived and he lost you anyway? Could he watch you walk away—alive, whole—but still broken in all the places he helped crack? He loved you so fucking much it made him hate himself.

And that love—it didn’t ask for pretty endings or promise healing, it watched you, knowing the most honest thing he could do was not fix it, but feel it with you.

“We can be friends, maybe.”

Friends.

It wasn’t a bad word, but for him, it wasn’t neutral when it came to you. He’d tasted your breath and held your dreams and mapped the small places only lovers know, he’d once believed you were it for him.

But that’s what you needed and that’s what you could give, this time—this fucking time—he wasn’t going to take what wasn’t his.

“I’ll be your friend.”

The words nearly choked him. It was how it started, wasn’t it? All those years ago—mud-streaked knees and popsicles melting down your wrists, sunburns and scraped palms, long summer days, nights spent hiding from the storm under porch roofs, hearts still too young to know what they'd grow into.

He stared at you, the girl he’d known since she wore glitter nail polish and refused to eat the crust on her sandwiches. The woman you were now, trembling and brave and a thousand kinds of soft steel.

“I’ll be whatever you need.”

So what if he only ever got to be the one who drove you to your appointments and waited in parking lots and left ginger ale on your porch when you were too sick to eat? That was love too. Rafe let out a breath like he’d been holding it since he was seventeen.

He could do that, he would do that. It wasn’t closure, it was a better version of grace from two people who’d seen the worst of each other.

“Sarah told me you’re in therapy.”

Rafe blinked, like you’d spoken in a language he hadn’t heard in years, the conversation rerouted so quickly it gave him whiplash.

“…How does she know I’m in therapy?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, “Wheezie.”

A dry chuckle escaped him—one of those stunned, of course kind of laughs. He shook his head slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Should’ve known,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Girl has ears like a bat. Probably listened through the vents.”

That tugged a smile out of you.

“It’s not…a big deal,” he added, “I mean, I guess it is, but it doesn’t feel like it yet. It’s just me sittin' there trying not to lie to someone who’s already read through all my bullshit before I’ve even said it.”

“It is a big deal, Rafe.”

He peered down at his hands, they were shaking. He tucked them under his legs. “I only started recently. Didn’t think I’d make it past the first session, almost didn’t go in.”

“But you did.”

“I kept hearing your voice—old stuff. Before I started proving you wrong.”

It stung because you remembered those days too, when you believed in Rafe so fiercely it made you blind.

“I wanted to be that guy again,” He confessed, and the guilt in his voice was so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “Not for you. Well—yeah, okay, maybe a little for you. But mostly for me. I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror anymore.”

You reached over then—hesitating for only a second—and placed your hand over his.

His breath hitched, the tears coming suddenly, stinging the backs of his eyes before he could shut them down. He stared down at your hand resting on his, a goddamn miracle he didn’t deserve.

Jesus Christ, he thought, I forgot what this felt like. It was pathetic, really. He’d gone so long without this kind of softness form you, he didn’t know how to take it. You were still offering him pieces of something when you had every right to keep it to yourself.

Rafe was so touch-starved for you, from how you used to bump into him in the hallway, or grab his wrist mid-argument to make your point, or how your leg would press up against his under the table and you didn’t move away. He missed all of it.

He turned his hand slowly, almost scared you’d pull away. When you didn’t, he slid his fingers through yours like muscle memory.

“I’m glad you went.”

He sniffed hard, wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, “Yeah, turns out I really am fucked in the head.”

“Don’t say that. I’m serious,” you said, squeezing his hand once more, then pulling away before it became too much. “You’re not fucked in the head. You’re hurting, that’s not the same thing.”

Rafe almost whimpered. He swallowed it down fast—the sound sat heavy in his chest. Your hand left his like it had never been there, and he ached in the space it used to be. His fingers twitched, they hadn’t gotten the message you were gone.

He wanted to grab your wrist and put your hand back.

He didn’t. He sat there, palms burning with the echo of your touch, trying not to look as desperate as he felt. Get a grip, he told himself. He wondered if you felt it—how much it had cost him not to lean in when you pulled away.

His throat burned. “Feels the same. Still got a million things wrong with me, still get mad too fast, still got shit I haven’t unpacked.”

“I know. But it’s not the same, is it?”

Rafe gave a small nod, that wry little smile faltering as fast as it had come, it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nah, it’s not.”

He knew you two were broken people, bruised by what they’d done and what they’d lost, sitting in the ashes of something that might’ve once been beautiful, trying to decide if they could still survive what was left.

Rafe wanted to try, more than anything.

It was the closest thing to forgiveness you could offer and it would have to be enough. Healing wasn’t going to come as an apology or a promise. It was going to be long, ugly, forged in therapy sessions where he had to say things out loud that he’d spent years trying to ignore beneath anger and loyalty and all the wrong kinds of pride.

“Why tonight?” He gripped his own thigh like if he let go, he’d lose the nerve. His voice scratchy, “Why’d you answer my text tonight of all nights?”

You spine straightened like it was a question you hadn’t wanted to ask yourself, either.

“Was it ‘cause you felt bad for me? A-after the gala?”

“Rafe—”

He exhaled, eyes wet again. “W-Was it pity?”

“I missed you.”

You missed him.

It was enough for the part of him that still woke up reaching for a body that hadn’t shared his bed in months, that still kept your contact saved with a heart next to it, even after you’d blocked him.

He recognized that tilt of your chin when you were holding in too much. He used to kiss that jaw. Bite it, even, when you were play-fighting on sun-drenched bedsheets. Now all he could do was watch.

Rafe’s shoulders hunched, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “I missed you more.”

“I’m scared. That even this—whatever this is—"

“I’m scared too,” he cut you off, with that same wreckage in his voice.

It nearly destroyed him, the way you were looking at him—memorizing him. You used to kiss like that. It felt almost wrong, like opening a box you’d locked for good.

It wasn’t reunion or redemption or the kind of love that got wrapped in ribbons and returned in the third act. It was grief, stretched between two people who used to finish each other’s sentences and now could hardly finish a conversation without bleeding all over it.

Then, almost like it wasn’t real, you asked, “Do you ever wish we’d never met?”

Rafe looked at you like you’d just shot him with a rifle, his breath hitched, his lips parted— “No. Fuck, no.”

You nodded slowly, maybe you did, he wouldn’t blame you if you had wished that, no matter how good it started, it left bruises when it ended.

“I think about that sometimes. Not because I didn’t love you. But because I did and lost myself in you. And then I lost my body and the baby. And now… I don’t know who I am without all that loss.”

He was shaking his head. “You didn’t lose the baby.”

“Not yet.”

Rafe had no words that wouldn’t sound like hope, and that felt cruel now. You’ll be okay, or the baby’s strong, or we’ll get through this, those were promises made in ignorance. And his therapist had told him just three days ago, “ignorance isn’t innocence. It’s just fear in nicer clothes”, and while he hadn’t understood it at the time, he understood it now.

“Do you h-hate me?”

“No.” It hurt more than a yes would’ve. “I don’t hate you, Rafe. I just… don’t trust you.”

“Do you think—” he started, stopped, tried again. “Do you think I could ever be the kind of person you’d let in again?”

You looked at him, long and sad.

“I think you could be, I just don’t know if I’ll be around to see it.”

[sainns]

ㅤ 𓈒 𓈒　 WITH EASE, in which hyung line helps you with your kid.

( 형 ) fem ! r ㅤ ◦ ㅤ 1632wc fluff ㅤ──ㅤ w jake's reader has twins, sunghoon is a single dad, set kid names in jay and hoon's.

from anna. for fave @junislqve my biggest fan 💌 she gave me a lot of ideas for this ty

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ REBLOGS ´ ᯅ ` FEEDBACK.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ LEE HEESEUNG.

you walk into your apartment, dropping your keys onto the counter as you slip off your coat. your tired expression is replaced with a bright smile when you see heeseung watching tv on your couch. you sit down next to him, gaining just enough energy to ask if your son is asleep.

“yeah, he actually went to bed pretty early today,” he stands, “do you want something to eat? i saved some food for you, i just need to heat it up.”

you nod, watching him walk away before closing your eyes. the exhaustion of your job has finally caught up to you and you might’ve fallen asleep if not for heeseung’s updates about him and your son’s day.

lee heeseung is your own personal angel, you think. your neighbor turned babysitter turned weird situationship; at least in your perspective. he takes care of you almost as much as he takes care of your three year old son. he’s at your apartment more than he is his own (that’s mainly your fault) and you’ve grown used to coming home to him almost every day.

you hear him say your name and your eyes flutter open to see the sympathetic smile he has on his face and it’s so gorgeous, he might as well break your heart now before you fall for him any deeper.

“it’s okay if you sleep for a bit, you’re tired,” he says oh-so matter-of-factly, because he knows you now, “i’ll wake you up in an hour.”

it’s more than an hour later, when you feel heeseung’s hand on your cheek, rubbing under your eye. he notices you beginning to wake up and pulls his hand away, “you should go eat now, ‘kay? the food is on the counter. i’m gonna go ahead and go home."

you sit up, frowning, “sorry, but can you stay? just until i finish eating, i’m sorry.”

he stares at you, silent for what feels like hours, and it makes you regret opening your mouth. you blame it on your drowsiness—you know that if you were in your right mind you wouldn’t have asked him even if you really did want him to stay. to your surprise, however, he grins.

“yeah, i can stay.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK JONGSEONG.

you send jay a text, apologizing for the fifth time this month for backing out on your date. he’s probably becoming more annoyed with you each time you cancel, but it’s really not your fault.

for the past few days you haven’t been able to find a babysitter for your daughter. her usual one, jaehyun, was out of town, and your back up sitters all had plans or ended up canceling last minute due to personal problems.

you rise from your position on your couch, deciding you should get dinner started for the two of you. before you’re able to, however, you hear a set of soft knocks on your door. you go to open it without bothering to look out the peephole, figuring it was one of your neighbors coming to ask for something.

“hello—oh. jay?” your eyes widen when you process the fact that it’s your boyfriend at the door. he was probably the last person you expected.

“hey,” he gives you that smile that never ceases to make your heart almost stop.

“why’re you here? wait, nevermind. i’m really sorry about canceling last minute, the babysitter couldn’t come,” while you’re talking, you gesture for jay to come inside, shutting the door once he slips off his shoes.

“i’m not mad, these things happen,” he places a kiss on your forehead, lifting up a bag of groceries, “i figured we could still have dinner together, just with an extra person.”

“jay, you didn’t have to. i feel bad.”

and he really didn’t, but he did.

“i was going to buy dinner anyway. a home cooked meal is better, no?” he walks further into your apartment, setting down the bag on the small counter. “where’s gen at?”

“oh, she’s in—”

genevieve cuts you off, all but squealing as she runs out of her room with a toothy grin, “mommy, jj’s here?”

you don’t have time to scold her for running in the house because she immediately throws herself into jay’s arms, the man picking her up with ease, “woah. hey, sweet girl. what are up to, huh?”

you smile as they have a conversation, acting like best friends who haven’t seen each other in months. it melts your heart—genevieve liked jay from the day that she met him all those months ago and you know that jay loves genevieve like she’s his own. he’s definitely someone you want to keep around for as long as possible, if not for you but for your daughter as well.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ SIM JAEYUN.

your two kids run up to your best friend, fighting each other for a spot in his arms. they don’t fight for long because he easily lifts the two children up. he says hi to them and asks them about their day before stepping inside your apartment and kicking the door shut. once his conversation with the kids dies out, he looks at you with a smug smile on his face.

“they like me more than you,” he says instead of a normal greeting.

“that’s because you spoil them every time they see you.”

“they like me because i’m me,” he sticks his tongue out at you, “huh, guys, you love me, don’t you? your mommy’s just jealous.”

“you’re actually annoying,” you reach up, taking advantage of his occupied hands, flicking his forehead and quickly escaping to your kitchen before he can even think to retaliate against you.

he immediately sets the twins down, telling them to go play while he goes to help you with whatever you’re doing. he waits until he hears the faint sound of them pulling out their toys to go towards your makeshift hideout.

he creeps up behind you, being as quiet as possible. you’re popping a bag of popcorn, thankfully too focused on that than him and his whereabouts. he stifles a laugh, poking your side hard enough for you to curl in on yourself.

“oh my fu—jake, what the heck?” you scold him, hitting his shoulder.

he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “sorry! i had to get you back. i think you gave me a concussion.”

he assumes you notice the popping slowing down and you turn away from him, taking the bag out of the microwave. he can’t see your face but he knows you’re rolling your eyes when you speak, “please, i barely touched you.”

“that’s what you think.”

you don’t give him the pleasure of the response, ignoring him to instead pour the bag of popcorn into a bowl.

“thank you,” you say suddenly, turning around once more, “i was thinking and, you know, i don’t really say it enough.”

“you don’t–” he starts to say, but you interrupt him by grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together.

“i do. you’ve been really helpful lately. so, thank you.”

“um”, he hesitates, “i love them and i love you. ‘course i’m gonna help.”

you smile, dropping jake’s hand and going back to preparing for your weekly movie night. he misses the warmth of your hand almost instantly, and he has to resist the urge to pull you back against him in a hug.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK SUNGHOON.

he can’t help but think that this is too crazy to be a coincidence. you, the pretty mom he gained a mini-crush on at the park a couple months ago, now at his house with your son who just so happens to be his son’s new best friend. maybe whatever divine being that’s up there finally took pity on him and decided to give his bleak love life some color.

he slides over a glass of cold water to where you’re sitting and the smile of gratitude you give him could probably cause car crashes from how dazzling it is. sunghoon can see your lips moving, but can make out no sound. he’s too dazed from being in your presence to process anything other than the fact that you’re sitting in his house.

“...live with you.”

he comes back to reality, only catching the end of your sentence and blinks, “what? sorry, i spaced out."

obviously, he’s going to need more context because logically he knows you aren’t saying what he thinks you are—you’ve only known each other for a month—but he can’t think of anything else that would make sense.

“theo said he wanted to come live with you and yejun,” you say, amusement dancing across your face.

“oh,” he takes in your words, “really?”

“yeah, he was begging me earlier. so..” you pause to take a drink and he has to look away, “if you’re okay with it, can he spend the night?”

he agrees to it with a little too much enthusiasm. of course, this is mainly for yejun and theo—strengthening their friendship, helping them gain a lasting relationship or whatever—but it gives him an excuse to see you again tomorrow.

around twenty minutes later, sunghoon walks you out, his hands in his pockets. you told the boys about the sleepover, said bye to the both of them, told theo to be good and that you love him.

“i have a spare toothbrush and he can wear some of yejun’s pajamas, so don’t worry about coming back.”

“okay, perfect. um, i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow,” he watches you walk to your car, waving as you drive off.

sunghoon knows for a fact that he’s fucked—he already wants to hear you say that all of the time; that you’ll see him tomorrow and the next day and the next. he feels like a teenager all over again, already thinking about what he’s going to wear and say tomorrow morning.

[ineveryfandom]

so what if bruce has a new baby now? they have OTHER PARENTS TOO

part 1

-

Barbara:

Bruce:

Barbara: what

Bruce, holding up a video game: i noticed we haven’t been hanging out lately…

Barbara: so?

Bruce, fiddling with the game: um, do you want to-

Selina, barging in: where’s my favorite girl?!

Barbara, with a wide smile: selina!

Bruce, visibly unhappy: …selina

Selina: hey, bruce. funny how we keep running into each other huh

Bruce, inching towards Barbara, glaring suspiciously: uh huh…anyway, barbara AND I are busy, so—

Barbara, already out the door: sorry b, selina and i already have plans

Bruce: but-

Barbara: y’know she always comes first, she’s basically my MOM after all

Bruce, absolutely devastated: *drops game*

Barbara: bye!

*door closes*

Selina:

Barbara:

Selina: how many more times are we gonna do this

Barbara, gleefully: until that stinking baby of his dies of old age

Jim, walking by: why is this my life

Batman: justice league, partner up. this is unfamiliar territory.

Batman, turning to Nightwing: okay chum, let’s—

Nightwing, hanging off of Superman’s arm:

Batman:

Superman, sweating: i-i didn’t consent to this!

Nightwing, climbing on his back, putting on the saddest puppy eyes known to man: what are you talking about papa? you dont wanna hang out with me anymore? did you only like me as robin?

Superman:

Superman: nightwing and i will take left

Batman, staring dead in Superman’s eye, kryptonite in hand, miming a slit throat:

Talia: beloved, i am here to bond with our child

Bruce: perfect timing, damian’s just right over—

Jason: im ready ummi

Bruce:

Talia, hugging him: how do you fare, habibi?

Jason, hugging her back: good, but im hungry

Talia: perfect. i have just the restaurant in mind.

Talia, to a frozen Bruce: i will bring him home by eight. we will see you then.

Jason: *doesn’t even look back*

Cass: im going out with new friend. his is name is minkhoa

Bruce: okay princess, text me if you—

Bruce: what did you just say.

Cass, fixing her hair, not paying attention: khoa helps me with training. and buys me ice cream.

Cass: sometimes he goes to my recitals

Cass: he is like a dad

Bruce, about to have an aneurysm: i change my mind, you can’t go

Cass: too late, he’s here.

Cass, by the door: bye...bruce.

Bruce:

Bruce, muttering, eyes wild: bruce? not dad? my little princess?

Bruce, pacing: bruce? bruce? BRUCE?

Alfred, slowly backing away: im too old for this

Bruce, tearing up his and Minkhoa’s only picture they took back in the league: minkhoa khan...consider yourself my enemy...!

Outside

Minkhoa: did you get it

Cass: *nods*

Cass, holds out the original copy of the photo Bruce just tore up: same time next week?

Minkhoa, pocketing the picture: so long as he doesn’t get to me first

Ra’s: detective, i am here to bond with our child

Bruce: who the fu-

Tim: im ready

Bruce:

Ra’s, holding out his arms: come to my embrace, timothy

Tim:

Tim, walking away: i can’t do this. i can’t. it’s not worth it.

Ra’s, following him: ah yes, this is the most accurate portrayal of a parent-child relationship. well done, timothy.

Tim: kill yourself

Steph, slamming the door open: i need an adult!

Bruce, sighing, but already getting up with a smile on his face: what did you do this-

Harley, breaking in through the window: im here!

Bruce:

Steph: quick, my mom found out i bought beer! i need an excuse!

Bruce, with a frown: that’s very irres—

Harley: tell her your favorite adult asked you to buy it for them!

Bruce:

Steph: good idea

Bruce: stephanie, your mother wouldn’t believe that i asked you to buy beer for me. i don’t drink.

Steph: literally what are you talking about

Steph, dialing her mom: mom, bruce asked me—

Bruce, shaking his head with a smile:

Steph: —to tell you that harley asked me to go buy beer for her and pam

Bruce: 😟

Bruce, helping Duke with his powers: and if you use it like this, you might be able to cut off all the lights. now try.

Duke:

*room darkens*

Bruce:

Bruce, looking out the window:

Bruce: did you just dim the sun

Duke: *turns invisible*

Bruce:

Duke: *creates new colors*

Bruce:

Duke: *makes holographic animals*

Bruce:

Zatanna:

Bruce:

Zatanna: so what do you think of my ward

Bruce, immediately exploding: he is MY ward you—

Wonder Woman: batman, i require a favor

Batman, giving her all his attention because this was this was a first: of course

Wonder Woman: recently, i have gained a child

Batman, befuddled: you’re PREGNANT?

Wonder Woman: no

Batman: oh

Wonder Woman:

Batman:

Wonder Woman: he has come to me of his own volition. and i took him in for he possesses skills unlike any other.

Batman, not knowing where she was going with this: ...hm

Wonder Woman: he also has a sword, you see

Batman, still confused: okay...

Wonder Woman: so you understand?

Bruce, not wanting to admit how clueless he was: yes

Wonder Woman, sighing in relief: wonderful. now, i only need you to sign this

*hands him adoption papers and a transfer of custody, damian’s signature already signed at the bottom of both*

Batman:

Batman, pulling out a katana: you have three seconds

[lianella-artist]

Dad!Ren and his daughter Shayla (My OC fankid!!!)

FINALLY, after some hard work i represent to you.. My OC Shayla! Shayla is based on the official cutiesigh artwork with AU Dad!Ren. This post will have all the basic info about her so far + some headcanons about Ren's family life and his relationship with Shayla. So it's going to be a kinda? long post! I've put a lot of work and love into these arts. Enjoy :3

Redacted holding Shayla!! and their very different reactions

They're just having a bit of a nap on the sofa after Shayla painted Ren's face... and Shayla is drooling on dad's soft chest😭 (kind of inspired?? by this post!)

Her reference:

BASIC INFO

Clarification: in my AU, where there is Shayla, Redacted doesn't pretend to be Ren, but acts naturally! But I use both names in the text

Shayla is a kind, naive, sincere, energetic and cheerful girl who is always looking for adventure. But often, due to her age, her trusting nature and her curiosity, she doesn't always understand the risks and ends up in various messes. The girl is very friendly to everyone she meets! She believes that the world is a kind and beautiful place! Some kids think that Shayla is strange and weird (at least because of her "weird" family), which is why she gets mocked, but she doesn't read social cues (she's kinda autistic coded).

Likes: creative activities (drawing, needlework, sewing (not very wearable yet), making different outfits, daddy's jewelry, laughing, getting up early, climbing trees.

Dislikes: being controlled and restricted, rudeness, social games (she doesn't understand them).

She is the only and most wanted child for Ren and Angel, they had her when they were 30-35 years old. They love her very much!! Thanks to Ren, the family is very wealthy! Redacted spoils her a lot, fulfills all her wishes (well, as much as possible, since it's all after Angel, of course). In Shayla's family, both parents work, but Ren does it from home like he used to. So while Angel is at work, Redacted spends most of his time with their daughter. He picks her up from school, takes her to classes, goes for walks with her + does the housework, cooks, etc (basically he's a stay-at-home dad, because I don't think he needs to spend half a day on hacking; a couple of three hours is enough). With the birth of Shayla, Ren has begun to keep an eye not only on Angel, but also on their daughter, though not as closely. Thanks to this, he manages to get the girl out of trouble in time, but he often arrives at the very last moment.

Shayla is very attached to her father, she thinks he is the coolest dad in the world!!! She loves spending time with him, as well as his dark style and tattoos! She is a daddy's girl :))

While Angel is undoubtedly still Ren's top priority, Redacted genuinely loves his daughter both as an affirmation/continuation of their love with Angel AND for who she is. Her cheerful nature often lifts his spirits. Now, he has another person in his life who helps him see the world through a different, less apathetic and indifferent lens. Ren sees how naive and kind his daughter is and protects her to keep that light in her. And when Shayla comes up with questionable ideas… He supports her! He even suggests something himself😭 BUT even he has limits. He will not do anything that might harm her.

(pretty much everything canon about how Sai describes Dad!Ren)

RANDOM FACTS AND HEADCANONS:

I named her after that meme OOHH MY SHAYLAAA😭 (I didn't have a name for her at first, so I just called her that in my mind for a while. It was actually quite funny to me… but eventually it started to grow on me, ngl, so I kept it)

You know those stories where a kid goes into their mom's makeup bag, purse, or closet and tries on something? In this case, mom is Ren💀 Shayla loves to find all kinds of alt stuff from Redacted, ask what it is, and then try it on herself! Redacted gave her some - a spiked bracelet and a silver chain!

Ren agrees to paint Shayla's nails. She wears all the colors of the rainbow, but she likes to keep all her nails black on one hand, though!

Thanks to the creative atmosphere in the family and Redacted's alternative style, Shayla will be a goth in the future! She's also going to become an alt-clothing designer.

She is wearing three of the five gold hairpins that Ren used to wear! When Redacted and Angel got married, he started wearing only two hairpins - a symbol of their relationship. Years later, when Shayla was born and grew up, the rest of the hairpins were inherited to her, and she wears them with great pride, just like the rest of her dad's jewelry.

Shayla also has her dad's features. She has pale, dry skin and black hair. However, her eyes are a unique combination of Ren's color (blue) + my Angel's (red) = creating a beautiful purple color for her.(I know that's not how gynetics works lmaoo I just think it's cute!!!)

aaaand also, @yzumimenu drew some amazing fanart of Shayla, LOOK AT HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND TY SO MUCH AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 1: "The one with the proposal" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”

You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.

“That Frankie?” 

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?” 

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.

He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.” 

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.

“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.  

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.  

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?” 

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought. 

You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.  

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.  

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong. 

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you. 

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.

“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t. 

“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.

Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening. 

For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off  and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter. 

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage. 

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently. 

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside. 

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.  

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.  

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.  

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.  

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more. 

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.

“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 13th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—” 

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.  

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.  

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.  

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it. 

Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral. 

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?” 

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak. 

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—” 

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.

"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view. 

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.

“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.

“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.  

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.  

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.  

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.  

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.  

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.  

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.  

“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.  

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”  

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”  

“I know.” 

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”  

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.  

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”  

You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”  

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”  

“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”  

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.  

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”  

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.

“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”  

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.  

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.  

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.  

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”  

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”  

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”  

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.  

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.  

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.  

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.  

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.  

Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.  

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.  

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.  

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.  

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.  

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee. 

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.  

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”  

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.  

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”  

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”  

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”  

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”  

“Next Saturday.”  

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”  

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.  

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”  

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”  

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.  

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”  

“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.  

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”  

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.  

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.  

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”  

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”  

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”  

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”  

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”  

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.  

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”  

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”  

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”  

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.  

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.  

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.  

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.  

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”  

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.  

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”  

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.  

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”  

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.  

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.  

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

[writingdumpster]

secret wife

pairing: Bob Floyd x fem!reader

warnings: none, all fluff

summary: When you go to pick up Bob at the base the dagger squad finds out that Bob's been keeping a wife from them.

word count: 1k

A/N: Thanks for 3k followers!

Bob pulled his phone out of his locker as the guys all piled into the locker room behind him. There was a text from you awaiting Bob. 

I’m waiting in the lobby for you. Don’t take too long. xoxo

“Did you guys see the hot girl in the lobby?” Coyote asked as he walked into the locker room. Bob smirked to himself as he started to take off his flight suit. 

“Who do you think she is?” Fanboy pondered. 

“I was gonna find out after we got changed,” Rooster said. 

“Don’t bother. Bet she’s a recruit’s girlfriend,” Payback suggested. 

“Who do you think?” Asked Hangman. 

“I don’t know,” Payback responded. “But I know what a woman in love looks like.”

“I don’t believe that,” Hangman teased Payback. 

“I’m married,” Payback pointed out. 

“So you tell us, but we’ve never seen your wife,” Rooster taunted. 

“Her picture is on my dash,” Payback said. 

“Could be anyone,” Fanboy joined in. 

“You’ve met her, Fanboy,” Payback said. 

“You can’t prove anything,” Fanboy teased. Bob was quietly enjoying the conversation as he grabbed the rest of his things. He slipped his bag over his shoulders and closed his locker. 

“See y’all tomorrow,” Bob said as he headed out to meet you in the lobby. When he rounded the corner his smile widened as you stood to greet him. You were wearing paint stained jeans and an old t-shirt that used to be Bob’s, but it had been years since that was true. It was yours now, just like he was. 

“You changed out of the flight suit,” you said forlornly when Bob walked up. 

“It was all sweaty, angel,” Bob told you.

“I wanted to take it off you though,” you whined. Bob gave you a cheeky grin. 

“You want me to put on the white uniform when I get home?” Bob offered. He leaned down and kissed you tenderly before you could answer. 

“The hot girl is your girlfriend?” Hangman practically shouted from behind Bob. He turned over his shoulder to see the whole squad watching the two of you. 

“Wife, actually,” Bob said. “Been meaning to introduce ya.” 

“You didn’t say you have a wife!” Phoenix exclaimed. 

“Didn’t come up,” Bob said. “We’ve only known each other for a month.” Everyone gawked at Bob, thinking a month was plenty of time to let your friends know you have a wife. 

“He likes to keep me protected from his work,” you piped in when Bob failed to explain himself. Bob wound his fingers between yours. He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. 

“What’s your name?” Phoenix asked. 

“Y/N,” you told her. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Phoenix murmured. You could hear in her voice that she felt betrayed by Bob. You knew he wouldn’t notice though. You wanted to stop him from hurting her more.

“I keep my ring on my dog tags,” Bob said, pulling them up from his shirt to prove it. 

“I thought it was your dad’s,” Phoenix told him. “You always talk about him.” 

“Bobby’s told me a lot about you,” you interjected. “I was hoping you would have dinner with us. I’d like to make the pilot who saved my Bobby a good meal.” Phoenix met your eye and you gave her a warm smile. She gave a tiny nod and smiled back. 

“I’d love to, ma’am,” Phoenix said. 

“I’m her wingman,” Rooster called. “Could say that I kept Bobby safe too.” Bob blushed brightly. 

“Payback and I were on the mission,” Fanboy said.

“I saved Bob’s wingman,” Hangman added. You looked up at Bob in question. 

“They know you’re the one who makes my lunches now,” Bob said. You giggled. You always made Bob his lunches. When he was deployed he didn’t get good home cooked meals, so you made sure he had them three times a day when he was home with you. 

“Well, some of you might have to sit on the couch, but I’d be happy to cook for my husband’s friends,” you said.  

“I can’t believe that baby on board has a wife and you don’t even have a girlfriend,” Hangman teased Rooster. 

“You don’t either,” Rooster spit back. 

“No woman can hold me down,” Hangman joked. 

“He’s the one your sister would like, right?” You asked, trying to keep your voice quiet. 

“You’ve got a sister?” Hangman called out. 

“Yeah,” Bob said. “And I’m quite sure she could hold you down if she wanted.” Hangman’s eyes widened. You chuckled. 

“You’re going to set him up with your sister?” Rooster complained. 

“That’s y/n’s scheme. She wants my sister to live near us,” Bob explained. 

“She’s funnier than you, Bobby,” you said. 

“You do spend a lot of time laughing at me together,” Bob teased. He didn’t really mind though. Everytime he had come home to find you and his sister in tears from laughing so hard it had made him even more sure that he’d chosen the right person to marry. 

“Well, when do I get to meet her?” Hangman asked, a wide smirk on his face. 

“I’ll have her come over for dinner with all of you,” you said. “Next Sunday at 6:00. Don’t be late,” you told them. Then you tugged on Bob’s hand, signaling you wanted to go home. 

“Bye, guys,” Bob said. “See ya in the morning.” With that he slung his arm around your shoulders and led you out of the base. 

“I can’t believe Bob didn’t tell us he has a wife,” Payback muttered. 

“I can’t believe Hangman’s the first choice for his sister,” Fanboy said. 

“Why not? You think Bob wants to be related to any of you?” Hangman asked proudly. Rooster snorted. 

“Yes. I would have thought he’d want any of us before you.”  

A/N: There is a part two of the dinner now available

[soobnny]

dating him | yang jeongin

❝ why’d you come into my life so late? ❞

chan | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | han | felix | seungmin | JEONGIN

guys this one’s a secret romantic

even the boys are shocked when he tells them he has a gf now so casually

like WDYM ?!!??

anon said this but picture the boys eating at a restaurant

and the boys r like the food here is crazy good like how’d u find this place

and he goes idk my gf recommended it

and then there’s silence

before all hell breaks loose

bc wdym … wdym u have a gf and u didn’t tell us ????????????

dramatic faces of betrayal from hyunjin and han i can imagine bc their baby didn’t tell him

i think seungmin would know just bc they’re dorm mates and i think jeongin trusts to ask him advice without BOOKING him to the boys

he seems nonchalant on the outside, just a silly boy

but he’s the sweetest

i think he’d treat love so gently ☹️☹️

he’s always wanted to explore romance, always wanted to find it

he couldn’t ever admit it out loud bc he knows he’d get teased

he was the boys’ baby after all

and since he was the boys’ baby, by association, you were now their baby too

u two are the couple they adore

they act like they’re ur parents

chan dad mode activated

anyways he’s kind of emotional and sensitive

so i think the both of u navigate through love for the first time together

it’s a lot of ups and downs

BUT …. it’s led to him realizing just how much he loves you

i totally believe you’d go on either the most goofy dates or very expensive dates

no in between

he’d be the type to treat you and have staycations at 5-star hotels

you’d just cuddle and watch movies and eat room service

YES I SAID CUDDLE

even the boys were shocked when they saw it for the first time

bc ?!!!???? their baby ?!!!?? physical touch ?!!?

jeongin never minds when it’s with u

but it’s also something he’s had to learn

he’s very appreciative of ur patience

anyways back to ur dates

i can imagine u guys just buying a bunch of strawberry cakes and doing a taste testing

like u’d record it and everything

u can’t post it bc he kisses u like 928373 times in that video

there’s a makeout session like once

oh, and dinner dates

and very competitive rock paper and scissors over who pays for the food

except when he loses, he’d cheat and say he’d go to the bathroom but he’s actually paying for it

so keep ur eyes on that boy

i think he’d also be the type to really enjoy clothes shopping with you

you’d just put on a fashion show for each other

he’d end up buying a few things he rly liked on you

he’s got good fashion sense

might sneak in a matching item or two

maybe some shoes so it’s more subtle

jeongin also loves playing tourist in ur own city

the two of u would just walk around

visit some tourist spots

take pictures even

it’s just rly funny and rly cute

it feels a lot like being a kid again with him

u guys even buy useless toys for kids and bring them back to the dorm

😭😭😭😭

this includes like those little charms for kids

u two end up making craft bracelets and necklaces

and even tho they look ridiculous, u wear them in public

this is ur own version of promise rings

anywahs minho ends up taking some of the toys u’d bought for his cats

when the boys come home, u two are usually just cooped up in jeongin’s room

bc he wants his privacy!!!!!!!!

but when he lets it slip, and u two fall asleep on the couch, expect lots of pictures taken

i’m sorry

the boys are also emotional

they’d wake u up so u guys can have dinner together

he’d get so blushy and embarrassed and threaten his hyungs ofc

han jisung: when will it be my turn ???

they just want love from innie too

UGHHGHG kicking each other’s foot under the table while eating

he loves annoying u

but u love annoying him equally

when u aren’t over at the dorms

he’d be the type to text you random links on youtube at 3am

those charlie bit my finger type beat

gorilla destroys crocodile epic video

jeongin also gives me the “sends u things” vibe

u’d suddenly receive flowers without warning

or get those “did you eat?” texts and if u say no, yeah, best believe he’s already delivering food to u

hmmmmm u’d probably be his plus one in fancy events

but u guys end up ditching those to eat at fast food chains

yes … in ur very fancy dress and his rly sexy suit …. out in a fast food restaurant

u guys get weird looks but

jeongin doesn’t mind 🙁

as long as he’s happy with u

AWWWWWWWW

u guys also attend or volunteer for charity events together

i think he’s rly found his match

treat each other well !!!!!

congrats on finding love

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

[adelliet]

Joel Miller x f!reader

NO BOUNDARIES

Summary: Your dad’s friend, Joel Miller, stayed over at your house every friday. Over time, your affection for him grew into something deeper, something dangerous. One fateful night, and you both break the boundaries.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap, strong language, flirting, mention of masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), contraceptive use, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (p i v), after care (ofc)

A/N: Hey there! So, this is once again ridiculously long, sorry, I always get carried away. But I just want to thank you so much for all the activity and support! I really appreciate it! If you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story, I personally absolutely LOVE it! Enjoy! <3

Masterlist

It’s another Friday night, which means another one of Joel’s sleepovers at your house. You can’t even remember when his visits became a tradition. It was so long ago that even your dad doesn’t really know how the two of them met. He always tells the story differently, but one thing remains the same, they’re inseparable.

Honestly, you’d even call them soulmates. They can talk for hours, without ever getting tired of each other. Sometimes, they even remind you of teenage girls. But it’s nice. Nice to see your dad this happy. And nice to see Joel so often, right here, in your home.

Just like you can’t remember when Joel first became a part of your life, you can’t pinpoint the moment he carved himself into your mind. Every time you saw him, he settled deeper and deeper into your head, until he was right where he is now, completely inescapable.

You’re a mess for him. The mere sight of him makes your legs weak, your nipples hard, and your mouth flood with anticipation. Your heart races, your pulse quickens, and it feels as if everything around you slows down. The only thing your focus clings to is him.

It’s like some sort of spell, as if every time you sense his presence, your core begins to throb with need. And you, pathetically, have to escape him, running away to calm your body, though it feels pitifully hopeless.

Even though you hide upstairs in your room, in your comfort, the heat in your veins, the tingling between your legs, and your quickened breath remain relentless. You always have to take care of it, of yourself.

It’s truly remarkable, how ever since your thoughts began to wander to Joel, whenever your hands found their way between your thighs, you’ve climaxed within seconds. Never before have you come so fast, but then you think about those massive hands of his, wrapped around a coffee mug, his fingers nearly swallowing it whole. The rough hair and bulging veins on his arms, so effortlessly attractive. And it’s not just his hands.

His salt and pepper beard, looking so coarse and scratchy, tempting you to imagine how it might feel against your skin. His soft, silky hair, always swaying so easily in the breeze, as if the wind itself adored him. And those eyes. God, those goddamn eyes. Enchanting, mesmerizing, capable of pulling you in like a deep, endless well.

His neck, thick, strong, the way he rubs it absentmindedly when he scratches the back of his head. The unintentional glimpse of his chest when his shirt shifts, revealing just a hint of those dark curls beneath.

Joel makes you feel things you’ve never felt before. It’s nearly impossible to define, to understand what the hell is even happening to you. Are you in love? Or is it just obsession? A stupid crush? Or is it simply, pure, unfiltered desire?

You don’t know exactly what it is. The only thing you’re absolutely certain of is that your panties dampen every single time your eyes land on him. It’s as if he’s some sort of god of arousal. A living, breathing definition of attraction. And for you, he absolutely is.

Still, here you are in your room, breathless from the “activity” that barely managed to soothe the throbbing ache between your legs. Because today, Joel looks even more devastatingly good than he did last week.

You were utterly exhausted, sweat still clinging to your forehead and soaking into the pillow beneath you. Your fingers trembled, your legs shook, and your chest heaved unevenly. You had to close your eyes because the room felt like it was spinning. It didn’t take long before you fell asleep like a baby.

Eventually, though, an unrelenting hunger stirred you awake. You had no desire to get up, honestly, you’d rather stay buried beneath your blanket, dreaming up filthy, romantic fantasies about Joel. But the hunger grew stronger each second, and your body made it very clear with the impatient grumbling of your stomach.

Annoyed, you let out a groan, rubbing your eyes with your thumb and forefinger before slowly, sluggishly, pushing yourself up. Your body felt heavy, and you stumbled to the door, barely able to find the handle in your drowsy haze. As you made your way down the stairs, you yawned widely, your eyes still adjusting to the dim light, and you nearly tripped a few times.

When you reached the bottom, a faint glow from the kitchen caught your eye. It surprised you, but your half-asleep brain didn’t have the energy to question it deeply. You simply trudged forward, too hungry and too tired to care who or what might be waiting for you in the kitchen.

You rounded the corner and suddenly froze in place. There was Joel, leaning against the table with a glass of water in his hand, facing you. For a moment, you thought it was a dream. It really felt like a dream until he greeted you softly.

In an instant, a rush of adrenaline surged through your veins, and the word exhaustion was wiped from your mind. You swallowed an imaginary lump in your throat, a bit too loudly, and offered Joel a shy, quiet, “Hey.” You didn’t want to keep staring at him like some kind of creep, but damn, he looked so fucking good.

His hair was tousled, a little messy, giving him that irresistible, just-woke-up look. He wore a loose t-shirt that gently hugged his godlike body, and those gray sweatpants that had you fighting desperately not to stare. His salt-and-pepper beard looked both sharp and somehow soft to the touch. The warm kitchen light glowed softly against his stormy gray eyes, like clouds right before a heavy rain.

Oh god, your knees felt weak, and that familiar throbbing between your legs grew more intense. Your thighs clenched instinctively, desperate to ease the pulsing ache. It was humiliating how easily he did this to you, how little it took for your body to react like this. Just one look, one sleepy, half-lidded gaze from him, and you felt like you could melt into the floor.

Your whole body burned from the inside out, a heat so fierce it almost ached. It was like every nerve ending had woken up, set on fire just from seeing him like this, so effortlessly rugged, so devastatingly handsome, standing in your kitchen in the middle of the night. Your chest tightened with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low and rough, rasping with a hint of sleep still clinging to it. His lips curved into a small, lazy smirk.

“Hmm…” you hummed softly, your voice barely audible. Forming a coherent sentence felt impossible when every fiber of your being was focused on not falling apart under his gaze. You fought against yourself, desperate not to make a fool of yourself, not to seem like some desperate, pathetic whore, aching for his attention.

“I’m hungry,” you finally managed, your voice a little steadier as you offered him a shy, almost innocent look. Joel chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“Eating this late ain’t healthy,” he teased, lifting his glass to his lips. His eyes stayed on yours, unwavering, intense, like he could see right through you.

“Maybe not,” you shot back, finding a fragment of confidence amidst the storm raging inside you.

“But this rumbling stomach isn’t gonna quiet down on its own.” You tried to keep it playful, lighthearted, but your body betrayed you.

The throbbing ache between your thighs was relentless, an unyielding pulse that made your breath hitch, your core clench helplessly. You could feel the slickness growing, soaking through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts. A humiliatingly obvious sign of just how badly you wanted him. It took everything in you to keep your face composed, to not let him see how shamelessly desperate you were for him.

“You’re right,” he nodded, his calming smile still gracing his wrinkled face. As your confidence steadily returned, the heat within you grew stronger with each word that left Joel’s mouth, control over your own actions was slipping away, bit by bit. Maybe that’s why this idea even crossed your mind.

Across from Joel, there was a kitchen island. A centerpiece your dad mainly kept for decoration, though it was occasionally used for snacking. A mischievous smirk spread across your face as you gracefully walked past Joel, positioning yourself right in front of him. Then, you bent over, leaning onto the counter as you reached for the bowl of fruit.

You knew exactly what you were doing. The thin, loose fabric of your pajama shorts shifted as you bent over, and with no underwear underneath, there was nothing to shield the view. The cool air brushed against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the burning heat radiating from your core. You knew exactly what you were exposing, and Joel noticed too, almost immediately.

Almost the second you bent down, you heard a sudden spluttering noise, followed by Joel’s deep, raspy voice choking and coughing. You turned around to see him setting his glass down on the counter, his fist pressed against his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, and his face flushed a deep red.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice so innocently sweet it only added to his torment. Joel nodded, but he was still coughing, clearly struggling to regain his composure.

After finally catching his breath, Joel inhaled deeply, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. The redness on his face lingered, a shade too obvious to ignore, and his fingers nervously tapped against the counter, a silent attempt to steady himself.

With a raised eyebrow and a teasing smirk, you watched him. “You sure you’re okay?” you asked softly, a hint of mischief in your voice. Joel nodded, his eyes slowly lifting to meet yours.

You knew exactly what hid behind those eyes of his. He had seen you, bare and exposed, exactly as you’d planned. The way his composure shattered so easily because of you made your core clench desperately around nothing, the ache between your legs intensifying.

For a moment, an awkward silence settled between you, both of you standing there, tangled in the aftermath of what just happened. Joel cleared his throat one last time, his fingers nervously brushing over his beard.

“Just… swallowed wrong,” he muttered, a lame attempt to explain away his reaction. But you both knew the truth. There was no way to hide the way his gaze had lingered, no way to ignore the way his breath had hitched. You gave a slow, hesitant nod, your eyes briefly sweeping over his figure before settling back on his flushed face.

“And you couldn't sleep ’cause you were thirsty?” you teased, nodding to the glass of water on the counter, changing the subject Joel glanced back at the glass and let out a breathy laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Something like that…” he mumbled, shifting his weight. You nodded again, the tension still hanging heavy between you, pulsing in your chest and lower, so much lower.

“Had a nightmare,” he added quietly, the way his shoulders sagged, the frustration lining his face, it struck something inside you. You knew about his nightmares. You’d heard whispers of him and your dad talking about them over beers on the porch and during late-night movies, about the things that haunted him.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered gently, and Joel shook his head, offering a faint, tired smile.

“It’s alright. I’m used to it,” he replied softly, pointing towards the empty glass. “Water helped a little.”

As you stood there with Joel, your heart pounding and your pulse thrumming in your ears, a reckless thought crept into your mind. What if you could help him sleep in a completely different way?

The idea of his strong, calloused hands gripping your hips, his body pressing against yours, tangled sheets and muffled gasps. It all hit you so suddenly and so vividly that a shiver ran down your spine. You couldn’t believe where your mind had wandered, but the thought alone made your knees weak, your body burning with a desire you could barely contain.

You could feel the heat still burning under your skin, every part of you hyper-aware of the man standing just feet away. The way he tried to steady himself, the lingering flush on his face. It thrilled you.

“Don’t you want some sleeping pills?” you asked, finally piecing yourself together enough to speak, your brows furrowing in a guilty, concerned expression. Joel scoffed softly, shaking his head just a bit.

“Nah, but thanks,” he muttered, lifting a hand. His voice was rough and gravelly, that deep, rasping tone that always sounded like it was dragging over rocks. It seeped under your skin, settled low in your belly, igniting that familiar heat that made your thighs press together involuntarily.

“Okay,” you whispered, so quietly that Joel barely heard you. You shifted away from the kitchen island, your heart still thundering as you moved toward the fridge. You could feel his eyes on you, following every step, every sway of your hips, like he needed to keep you in check, or maybe like he couldn’t help himself.

When you opened the fridge, the cool air brushed over your flushed face, but it barely helped to cool the warmth spreading through your body. Your eyes lit up as you spotted the leftover pie you’d baked with your dad yesterday. The light from the fridge illuminated your face, highlighting the curve of your cheekbones, the arch of your brows, the slope of your nose. It was almost unfair how exposed you felt under his gaze.

Joel caught himself staring, eyes dragging slowly from your face to the curve of your neck before snapping away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Wanna try some?” you asked, pulling the pie from the fridge and turning to face him. Your voice was casual, but your pulse was anything but. There was a tightness in your chest, a dizzying need that made your mind wander to dangerous places. Places where that gruff, rumbling voice of his was in your ear, muttering things that had no place in the dim kitchen.

Joel let out a low, disapproving grumble and shook his head.

“Oh, come on,” you set the pie on the counter, your eyes glimmering with mischief. “Just a small bite.” You tried to coax him, but Joel remained firm. Still, you weren’t about to give up that easily.

You slipped a finger into the pie, scooping up a bit of the filling. Keeping your eyes locked on his, you slowly brought your finger to your mouth, your tongue sliding over it as you tasted the sweetness. A pleased hum left your lips, your eyes fluttering closed for a second as you savored the flavor.

“It’s delicious! C’mon,” you teased, voice laced with playfulness.

For a moment, Joel just stared, a muscle in his jaw flexing as his eyes followed the trail of your tongue. You saw the hesitation, the way his eyes flicked from your mouth to the pie and back, the internal battle playing out behind those stormy eyes.

Finally, the resistance broke. He let out a resigned breath, a hint of a smirk on his lips, and stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate.

Pushing off the edge of the counter, leaning in closer. Your pulse quickened, the air between you charged and heavy. You wondered if he could hear your heart beating or if his rough breaths were enough to drown it out.

You arched a brow, the silent challenge daring Joel not to hesitate. With a small, reluctant grunt, he finally reached out and dipped his finger into the pie, his expression skeptical.

“Don’t you want a spoon?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“My finger works just fine,” you replied, voice dripping with mischief. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly licked the remnants of pie from your finger, your tongue curling around it until there was nothing left. As you pulled your finger from your mouth, a playful, almost obscene pop echoed in the quiet kitchen.

Joel’s chest rose as he took a deep breath, his jaw tight, his gaze sharp and unreadable. You could practically see the internal conflict flickering in his eyes, questioning what he was doing, why he was still here, if he should just leave.

God, you hoped he wouldn’t leave.

Eventually, Joel gave in and tasted the cake from his finger, just like you had. It was genuinely delicious, and he let out a pleased murmur that sent a wave of heat crashing through your body. Your stomach twisted, your skin flushed hot, and the throbbing between your legs became almost unbearable, making it hard to stay still.

“It’s really good,” he muttered through a mouthful, his voice gruff and warm. “Did you make this?” he raised an eyebrow, dipping his finger for another taste. You nodded silently, watching his lips wrap around his finger again.

“It’s really good. You’re talented,” he praised, and those words etched themselves into your mind like a mark on stone.

You’re talented. Paired with his voice, his face, his eyes, everything about him was overwhelming. You fought every urge to not throw yourself at him right there, praying your wetness wouldn’t betray you, wouldn’t drip down your thighs.

Your cake was truly delicious. Neither of you could get enough of it, your fingers diving into the treat one after another, savoring each sweet bite. The atmosphere had settled, and the two of you were sharing stories, funny little moments and memories. It was nice, comfortable. Until the conversation faded and the only sounds left were your pleased hums and the soft, sticky licks of fingers.

Then, an idea, a ridiculous, childish idea, popped into your head. Before you could reconsider, you swiped your finger through the pie and, with a swift motion, smeared it right onto the tip of Joel’s nose. You hit dead center.

Joel froze, his eyes widening in surprise as your laughter filled the room. You quickly licked the rest of the cake off your finger, smirking playfully.

He took a breath, disbelief etched into his expression, and without a second thought, dipped his own finger into the pie and swiped it across your small, cute nose.

You gasped dramatically, your eyes wide, while Joel grinned like a mischievous kid.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” you teased, dragging your finger through the pie again, before smearing a sweet line across his scruffy beard.

A war had begun.

You both kept digging your fingers into the mess of what used to be a pie, smearing each other playfully without caring about the sticky disaster in front of you. Laughter mixed with lingering glances filled the kitchen, and your game became a careful balance of teasing touches and unspoken tension.

Despite your playful antics, you both managed to keep the mess mostly contained to your fingers, avoiding a complete disaster in the kitchen. Every swipe of his finger against your skin and every dab of frosting you left on him carried a weight that neither of you fully acknowledged, yet it was undeniably there.

When Joel reached out, swiping his finger through the ruined cake and aiming to smear more of it on you, his touch accidentally brushed against your lips. His finger paused there, resting softly on your mouth, and everything around you seemed to halt.

The air hung thick, the room drenched in a heavy, charged silence. Joel’s gaze locked onto yours. A mix of surprise, uncertainty, and something deeper that you couldn’t ignore.

His expression was torn, a fragile balance between the stone-cold restraint he always carried and the sudden, forbidden realization of what he’d just done. It was as if, in that brief moment, he saw the boundary he was crossing.

The fact that you were his best friend’s daughter, someone he had no right to look at that way. For a moment, you just stared at each other, both holding your breath, eyes full of anticipation.

Your eyes flicked from his gaze to his hand and back, a silent reminder that his finger was still on your lips, though the last thing you wanted was for him to pull away. You wanted him to grab you, to feel his lips on yours, to shatter the thin line of restraint between you.

Joel’s hand began to retreat slowly, hesitantly, as if he was battling himself over what was right and what he truly wanted. But he didn’t manage to pull away in time. Without a second thought, you wrapped your lips around his finger, warm and intentional.

Your eyes locked, your lips wrapping tightly around his finger, the motion slow, teasing, like you were savoring every inch of him.

The warm, wet feeling of your mouth sent a shiver through him, but your gaze remained innocent, wide and soft, a stark contrast to the fire building inside you. Despite the calm exterior, your mind was a whirlwind of forbidden thoughts, each one darker and more daring than the last, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you let yourself act on them

Your tongue swirling around his long thick finger, devouring the last bits of the pie. Joel was like a rock, motionless, his eyes fixed on you. He breathed through his nose, loudly, like a bear. His nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling more rapidly and all of his blood rushed to his cock.

You loved the way Joel looked right now. The thought that it was you, the reason he was struggling so hard, fighting every instinct to resist those seductive, pleading eyes of yours.

Joel’s breath caught sharply as you finally released his finger from your mouth, the slow, deliberate motion sending a jolt of electricity through the air. You lingered for a moment longer, your lips curling into a provocative smile as you slowly licked them, your eyes never leaving his.

Something primal stirred in him, like he was trying to steady himself. He exhaled deeply, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s late… I’m going to bed,” he muttered, his voice rough and laced with barely-contained desire, his gaze dropping to the floor as if it was the only thing keeping him from losing control. Without another word, he turned and walked away, each step heavy with unspoken tension.

“Wait!” you called out, your voice unsteady.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, not from excitement, but from a desperate fear that he might actually leave you like this. Here and now, with your knees weak and trembling, an unrelenting pulse throbbing between your legs, your breath uneven, your nipples hard and your mouth full of saliva. He couldn’t just walk away, not when you were this vulnerable, this exposed.

He stopped, his back still turned to you, shoulders taut and unmoving. It felt like he was waiting.

Waiting for the excuse you’d give him to stay, a reason not to walk away. His head tilted slightly to the side, just enough for you to glimpse the sharp line of his jaw, covered in a rugged, silver-brown beard that caught the light perfectly.

“Please don’t go…” Your voice was shaky, quiet, almost pleading. It might have sounded desperate, but you didn’t care.

Joel inhaled deeply, his eyes closing as he tipped his head back, facing the ceiling as if searching for strength. His jaw clenched tightly as you stood completely still, heart pounding, every nerve in your body screaming with anticipation.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he turned to face you. His brows were furrowed, his eyes dark and wild, like a predator barely holding back. They burned with a hunger that made the air feel thick and heavy, stiflingly hot. When his gaze locked with yours, it felt like a challenge, a dare that made your breath catch

“You should go to bed too,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly growl that seemed to scrape up from the depths of his chest. It was rough yet steady, carrying a weight that could silence a room.

There was a primal quality to it, like the warning growl of a wolf, restrained but undeniably powerful, a sound that demanded attention. It was the kind of voice that sent a shiver down your spine, commanding and untamed, yet tempered by a layer of reluctant restraint.

“I don’t want to…” you whispered carefully, testing the waters as you stepped closer, slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving Joel’s face.

His fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening from the tension coiled beneath his skin. He lifted his chin slightly, his gaze sharp, assessing, dominant and firm, analyzing each measured step you took toward him.

When you were close, impossibly close, you paused, biting your lip as you looked up at him, a silent confession in your eyes. You didn’t need to say what you wanted; it was already written all over your face.

He scoffed, a dry, incredulous sound as he looked away, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what was happening. But when your fingers brushed against his shirt, hesitant yet intentional, his entire body seemed to tense.

Your palm pressed fully against his chest, feeling the steady, heavy beat beneath, strong and unyielding. His gaze snapped back to you, intense, zeroing in on your hand as if it burned.

You expected him to pull away, to reject you, or to yell at you to stop, to tell you that this was wrong, to push you away with force and distance himself as far as possible. But none of that came.

Instead, he stood there, frozen for a moment, his eyes locked on your hand resting on his chest. His breath caught in his throat as you felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

He bit the inside of his mouth, fighting to keep his composure, to control whatever he was feeling. His muscles tensed slightly under your touch, as if he were trying to decide whether to stop you or give in. But he did neither. Time seemed to freeze as the air around you became charged, the silence stretching longer than it should have.

Your eyes dropped down to where your hand rested. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, pounding rapidly, almost erratically. The rhythm was fast, uneven, and at moments, you couldn’t help but worry that it was too fast, almost as if it might be too much for him to handle.

Heat flooded through your lower belly, your body taking control. Slowly, your hand moved downward, grazing the soft fabric of his shirt, your fingers brushing lightly over the outline of his abs, hidden beneath the material that you desperately wanted to pull away.

Your gaze followed the movement of your hand, and in that moment, your breath caught, noticing the shiver that ran through Joel as goosebumps spread across his skin.

The lower your hand moved, the more you felt the heat rising in your body. Your breathing quickened, each shallow inhale matching the rapid beat of your heart as your hand ventured lower.

Joel didn't do anything.

Then, your hand stopped at the waistband of his sweatpants, but before your could do anything else, Joel's hand briskly grapped your wrist, giving you a warning look. Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes innocent as you suck your lips into a thin miserable line.

“This is inappropriate,” Joel’s voice was suddenly different. So were his eyes. They were hungry and dark, you could barely read what was hidden behind them.

“But is it what you want?” Your soft voice made Joel’s hand twitch, his jaw clenching, already preparing for what was coming.

“Your dad is going to kill me,” his voice wasn’t as harsh, as rejecting anymore. You could tell he was backing down, that he no longer wanted to resist.

“I know,” you immediately spoke those words without thinking, your mind already elsewhere, ready to jump at him.

“We’re going to be in trouble-”

“I know,” you stepped closer to him, even though it had seemed impossible. His grip on your wrist was tight, definitely leaving a bruise, but you barely noticed the pain as the air around you thickened with an almost palpable tension.

The space between you two crackled with unspoken desire, like static in the air, the kind that buzzes just before a storm breaks. Everything felt heavier, the silence thick enough to suffocate, yet somehow it was intoxicating, drawing you closer.

Joel glanced around, his gaze sharp, scanning the area, making sure no one would interrupt, see, or stop what was unfolding. His attention to detail made the moment feel even more intense, as though nothing existed outside of this bubble you were trapped in, where the only thing that mattered was the space you shared, the heat, the tension.

And without another word, he cupped your cheeks and crushed his lips into yours. It was like an explosion. There was no softness, no gentleness. Just raw, hungry need.

His grip tightened on you, pulling you closer as his mouth slammed against yours, urgent and demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second. The kiss wasn’t slow, wasn’t tender, it was messy. His teeth grazed your lower lip, almost bruising, but you didn’t care. It only made the fire between your legs burn hotter.

You could feel his breathing coming in sharp, ragged pulls, like he was trying to taste every inch of you. His hands roamed over your body, grabbing, pulling, the pressure hard, relentless, like he wanted to own every inch of your skin.

As his hands slid over your body, exploring every inch of your skin, as if he needed to memorize you, to imprint every curve and line of your body into his mind to never forget, he forced you to back up.

The force was overwhelming, and when your back collided with the cold surface of a fridge, it hit with such intensity that both of you gasped, breath stolen by the shock of the sudden impact. His massive frame pressing you against the fridge, forming an unyielding barrier you couldn’t escape.

There was no hesitation anymore, no doubt. Just an intense hunger, a need so fierce it was almost suffocating. You could taste the urgency in the kiss, the way he kissed you like he was trying to consume you, literally pull you inside him.

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he groaned into your ear, his teeth sinking into your neck, biting and sucking, leaving you breathless.

Your fingers instinctively tangled in his dark curls, tugging when he hit that sweet, sensitive spot. His hands were all over you, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, leaving no part of you untouched. He wasn’t modest, he wanted all of you.

His bear-like groan rumbled against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. One of his hands found your ass, squeezing it firmly, making you squeak and rise up on your tiptoes.

“You like that, don’t you?” You could feel his cocky smile brushing against the other side of your neck, making you gasp. Your fingers found the fabric of Joel’s shirt, tugging it, pulling him closer. That answer was more than enough for Joel.

He grabbed your hips, pulling your body flush against his. You moaned as his lips found yours again, feeling the hardness of him pressing against your thigh.

God, you wanted him.

Every inch of your body was on fire, your dream unfolding before you, and you could barely believe it. Here you were, kissing Joel Miller, the man you had been obsessed with for months.

Your moans, growls, and desperate whimpers melded together, swallowed by the intensity of the kiss. Your tongues collided, moving together in a fevered rhythm, as your bodies instinctively pressed closer, synchronizing with every shift and pull. You craved the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by him. You needed him, in every way, feeling the undeniable pull that made it impossible to stop.

Joel felt it just as strongly, but he was always good at keeping it buried beneath the surface. He’d learned to hide his desire, to mask the intensity, never allowing his emotions to show. But now… now things had changed.

With you so close, with every breath shared between you, his control started slipping away. He could feel the heat of your body against his, the growing tension, and it was all becoming too much for him to contain. His movements, his breaths, everything began to reveal just how far gone he really was. How much he needed you.

His hand subtly slid to your thigh, moving higher until, with a slight shift, he managed to slip under your pajama shorts.

Your breath caught in your throat as the warmth of his fingers pressed against your inner thigh. His grin and the soft scoff that escaped his lips made your core pulse even harder.

Finally, his finger brushed against your wet folds, but he paused, pulling away from the kiss to take a long look at you.

“Already that wet, huh?” His finger rubbed agonizingly slow over the surface of your wet folds, his skin absorbing your moisture. Even though it was just the lightest, almost nonexistent touch, you felt it more than you should.

Your body reacted instinctively, throwing your head back, closing your eyes as your hips moved against Joel’s hand, desperately seeking more friction, more contact.

He savored the way your body trembled, the way your face contorted with need, and how your small hands desperately gripped anything they could find, clinging to something, anything, to hold on. You needed this. You needed him. And he knew it.

His finger finally burried into your folds, making your jaw fall open and gasp really loudly. Joel quickly covered your mouth by his free hand, throwing a warning look.

“We don’t want to wake your daddy up now, do we?” His voice was raspy, dark and deep. His finger working on you, curling inside you and stretching you out. You let out a soft sigh into Joel’s palm, your breath shaky as your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open.

“Look at you? Such a good girl,” His words made you melt into his touch. His finger increasing the pace and strength, dugging in as deeply as he could. Your senses beginning to blur. The pleasure, slow at first, built with an intensity that made your chest rise and fall in shallow breaths.

“Yeah, that's it” he found your swallow clit with his thumb, making slow firm circles, showering you with waves of pleasure. The feeling of ecstasy was creeping in, washing over you like a tide, and you could feel your body betraying you, helplessly surrendering to the overwhelming sensations.

Your knees trembled slightly, barely holding your weight as Joel’s finger stretched you, his fingertip brushing against your walls, making you whine against his sweaty palm. He was relentless, maintaining a steady, determined rhythm while his thumb teased your sensitive clitoris in slow, deliberate circles.

Each calculated motion sent jolts of electricity through your veins, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. The contrast between his unyielding pace and the gentle, teasing caress made your mind foggy, your senses overwhelmed. Every brush, every press felt like it was designed to drive you closer to the edge, your vision blurring as if stars were bursting behind your eyelids.

His gaze never left your face, watching, studying every gasp, every twitch, the way your body responded to him. It was intoxicating, the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed without a word exchanged. Your mind struggled to hold onto a single coherent thought, lost between the need for release and the unbearable, delicious torture of his touch

You completely lost yourself when he added another finger. Your legs shaking as if they couldn’t support you any longer. Every breath was an attempt to regain control, but the control was long gone. Your mind was clouded, thoughts scattered, and all you could do was grasp at his messy, soft hair, needing something to ground you.

“That's my good girl,” he whimpers, His voice was strained, broken into ragged breaths as he struggled through gritted teeth not to cum in his pants.

Something about you made him weak, unleashing the absolute monster inside him. The way beads of sweat slid down your face, the tears welling in your eyes, your fingers tangled in his hair as he still covered your mouth, controlling your every sound. You were close. He knew it.

Your core clenching around his wet fingers, covered by your juice. You gasp his name into his strong hand, finding his nape, gripping it roughly with your hands.

You swear under your breath, feeling the orgasm getting closer, only if Joel keeps going. And he does, harder, faster, relentless. His cocky smile never leaves his face, a silent promise that he’s fully aware of what he’s doing to you.

You let out a muffled groan, your voice breaking through the barrier of his palm, and threw your head back aggressively. You hit the fridge, but that was the last thing on your mind. You were tiptoeing on the spot, desperately trying to lift yourself higher, but it was impossible.

A few more tender curls of Joel’s fingers, and you felt it, an intense wave building deep inside you, ready to crash. That tingling between your thighs rippled through your entire body, making your skin prickle and your breath hitch. Your pulse raced dangerously high, pounding in your chest, echoing in your ears until it was the only sound you could hear.

Your muscles clenched tightly around him, a desperate, involuntary response that made your legs tremble. Every nerve was on fire and for a moment, the world seemed to blur and tilt, leaving only you and him, tangled in that intoxicating tension.

Your ears rang, your breath caught in your throat, and your fingers pulled tightly at Joel’s graying curls, finally reaching your orgasm. Even though you had reached your peak, he didn’t stop. His pace remained relentless, determined to draw out every last tremor from your body. The overstimulation was almost unbearable, your mind a hazy mess of pleasure and sensitivity, yet a part of you craved every second of it.

Your breath was ragged, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to regain control, but Joel didn’t grant you that mercy.

“You look so beautiful,” he groaned, his own breath uneven, strained by the effort of holding back his own arousal, forcing himself to focus solely on you. His voice was thick, rough, betraying just how much restraint it took not to lose himself in the heat of the moment.

Then, carefully, slowly, when he saw that it was getting too much for you to handle, he pulled his fingers out. You let out a small whine as the emptiness and cool fresh air hit your bare, swollen core. The absence of his touch left a lingering ache, a pulsing reminder of how intensely he had pushed you to your limit.

Your legs felt weak, keep trembling slightly, and your breath was still unsteady. Joel’s eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail. The flush on your cheeks, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your body still shivered under his gaze.

His hand finally left your mouth, slick with your saliva. Joel took advantage of the moment when his hands were free, and without warning, he grabbed your ass, giving it a firm, rough squeeze before lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. You squeaked in surprise, a giggle escaping your lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tightly.

The erection in his sweatpants poking you right between your legs, making your wet core pulse even faster. He looked at you with a smile, passion, and desire. He needed you, you had no idea how much he needed you.

Joel turned with you in his arms, pressing your back against the kitchen island. The same place where, just moments ago, you'd been teasing him with poking your ass right into his face. Carefully, he set you down, his hands lingering on your hips for just a second longer than necessary. The cold surface beneath you sent a shiver straight up your spine, a stark contrast to the burning heat in your lower belly.

For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you, taking you in. His chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths, but his eyes were dark, intense, filled with something raw. Then, without any warning, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head in one swift motion.

Your gaze dropped instinctively, taking in the way the dim light cast soft shadows over his broad chest. A dusting of dark, slightly curled hair covered his chest, thickest at the center and tapering as it traveled down the firm ridges of his abdomen.

His muscles weren’t chiseled in a way that came from gym workouts, they were real, earned through years of carrying, lifting, surviving. His shoulders were wide, strong, built to bear weight, and his arms, corded with muscle, held the kind of strength that could be both dangerous and protective.

His stomach wasn’t perfectly sculpted, but it was firm, defined, his obliques leading down to that sharp v-line disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. The faintest sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the light, making every ridge and hollow of his body stand out even more.

Joel was all rough edges and raw power, a man who had lived, fought, and enduredand, and right now, every bit of him was focused on you.

When your eyes finally drank him in, trailing up his body, they landed on his smug, charismatic face. The one that sent a jolt of pure, electric desire coursing through you, your core dripping wet yet again, pulsating and clenching around nothing.

“Like what you see?” he murmured, his voice rough as he stepped closer, slow but deliberate, the heat of him pressing in, forcing your back to meet the cool surface of the counter.

Your breath hitched. You could feel the weight of his stare, dragging over your face, your parted lips, the rise and fall of your chest. He wasn’t just looking at you, he was consuming you, unraveling you, making you feel exposed and wanted all at once.

Before you could even process it, his lips were on your bruised, tender neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. His grip on the other side of your throat was firm but not forceful, just enough to hold you there, to let you feel his presence completely.

His other hand pressed into your hip, grounding you, keeping you from writhing too much beneath his touch. But it was impossible to stay still. The sensation of his mouth against your sensitive skin. The slow, deliberate way he worked his lips and teeth over you, had your body reacting on its own, your muscles tensing, your breath quickening.

You could feel him smirk against your skin, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And of course, he did.

Within moments, his lips left your neck, his breath still lingering on your skin as he pulled away just enough to look up at you from beneath his lashes.

Slowly, almost teasingly, he let his head trail downward, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact until it was impossible to hold it any longer. His hands followed the same path, skimming over your sides, your waist, his fingers barely brushing the fabric of your cute yet dangerously tempting pajamas.

His hands found the waistband of your pajama shorts, fingers slipping beneath the fabric as he tugged them down at an agonizingly slow pace. The soft material glided over your thighs, down your legs, until they finally pooled around your ankles.

“There you are,” he breathed out with joy. You were now bare, exposed, with nothing left to separate you from his burning gaze. His eyes roamed over your sticky, wet folds, drinking in every inch of you like a starving man. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he exhaled sharply, the sight of you testing every last bit of his restraint.

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” he exhaled, as if he’d finally found the meaning of life. You chuckled, cheeks red, but were cut off quickly as you felt Joel’s tongue glide over your labia, making you gasp and arch your back.

“F-fuck” you whine, squeezing your your thighs together, locking Joel’s head between your legs. He laughs against your heated skin, the vibration sending hot waves right into your core, making your breath hitch.

He repeated the teasing licks. Long, slow, and deliberate. Each one dragging against your folds, making your jaw fall open. The tension coiled inside you tighter and tighter, getting dangerously closer to your edge.

Your fingers found his messy hair, tugging at it and entangling your fingers in it while you bit your lower lip, hard, trying to be as quiet as possible. But even with your teeth clenched, a few desperate sounds slipped past the barrier of your swollen, wet lips, betraying your struggle to stay quiet. Every Joel's slight movement caused a new wave of sensation that you couldn’t fully contain.

His tongue entered you, making your legs tense and your heart skip a beat, you could feel the heat rushing to your face as the sensation overwhelmed you. His gaze never wavered. He didn’t stop looking at you, not even once. It was as if he was absorbing every little reaction of yours, and the way he enjoyed it made your pulse race even faster. The intensity of his attention only heightened the pressure in your chest, making you yearn for more.

The image of him, thrusting into you, finally feeling you inside him made Joel go faster, his movements sharp and precise, pressing his nose against your clit intentionaly, his breath warm against your skin.

And you felt it, again. That familiar sensation that had your mind spinning, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. Your body reacted involuntarily, muscles tensing as if they had a life of their own, your whole body vibrating with anticipation. For just a second, you felt as if you were floating.

Your body arched, an instinctive reaction to the pleasure coursing through you, your fingers tugged at his hair with a force you didn’t realize you had. You even pulled some strands from his scalp, but he didn’t flinch.

If anything, it only seemed to fuel him, his grip on your thighs tightening as he continued, oblivious to the way your hands were wrapped tightly in his hair.

His tongue mercilessly stretched you, licking you out and savoring every drop, while his nose teased your clit even more frequently. He could feel how close you were. The way your thighs trembled around his head, your core clenched around his tongue, and finally, you reached your second orgasm of this night, his name tumbling from your lips in a breathless, intense whisper.

He stilled, his movements ceasing, but he remained there, letting you feel every lingering sensation. He gave you a moment to catch your breath, to let the waves of pleasure settle in your body. Your legs felt weak, your senses hazy, and the lingering warmth of his touch sent occasional shivers down your spine.

When you finally started to come down from your high, the overstimulation became almost unbearable. Every little touch felt electric, your body twitching involuntarily, still reacting to the intensity of it all. He finally pulled away, his lips and beard glistening from your juice, as he watched you with a look of pure satisfaction, taking in every detail of your dazed expression.

Your eyes remained shut, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to regain control over your breath. Each time you dared to open them, the world around you spun, a dizzy haze clouding your senses. You had to ground yourself, to force your body back into reality.

Joel’s hands never left your thighs, his grip firm yet reassuring. His thumb traced slow, comforting circles against your skin, anchoring you, silently reminding you that you were safe. His touch was steady, patient, giving you time and letting you come back at your own pace.

„It’s okay, babygirl. Relax, take your time,“ his voice melted into the air, deep and soothing, like warm honey coating every syllable.

His voice was enough to ease the lingering tremors in your body. The pounding in your ears slowed, the dizziness faded, and you found yourself breathing in sync with him.

You finally managed to open your eyes and prop yourself up on your elbows, taking in the sight before you. And God…that sight was unforgettable.

Joel, shirtless, his body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, droplets rolling down his temples. His lips, red and slightly swollen, his beard still damp, from you. And that look in his eyes. Soft, comforting, yet laced with hunger.

“What?” he tilted his head slightly, that signature smirk playing on his lips, clearly amused by your reaction. You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you met his gaze.

“Are you ready to continue?”

Continue?!

Your eyes widened, your pupils dilated, your body instinctively tensing. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or the sheer disbelief that he wasn’t done with you yet. That this wasn’t everything.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You didn’t know if you could handle more. If you could handle him. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry as you tried to find your voice.

“I…” you started, but your own hesitation made you pause. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for your answer, his expression filled with curiosity and just a hint of amusement.

“Suddenly speechless, huh?” His hands remained on your thighs, keeping you in place, not forcefully, but enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere unless he allowed it. Your lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

But everything shifted the moment your eyes dropped lower, down to his sweatpants.

The outline of his erection was impossible to ignore, straining against the soft fabric, so prominent it sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body.

He was big.

Bigger than you expected, bigger than you thought you could handle. How were you supposed to take that?

His tip was already leaking through the material, a darkened spot forming where he was pressing against the fabric, and the sight alone made your breath hitch in your throat. Your fingers twitched at your sides, an unspoken mix of anticipation and uncertainty making your chest rise and fall faster.

In that moment, as your eyes remained fixed on the outline straining against his sweatpants, everything suddenly became crystal clear. Any hesitation, any lingering nerves, dissolved into nothing. You knew exactly what you wanted.

You wanted him. You wanted to feel him, deep, filling, stretching you in ways you had only imagined. Your body burned with need, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable, and as you finally dragged your gaze back up to meet his, there was no doubt left in your mind.

You were more than ready.

A sudden surge of energy shot through your body, making you push yourself up onto your elbows without hesitation.

Before Joel could react, your hands found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him down to you with a desperate need.

Your lips crashed against his, tasting yourself on him. He let out a low, surprised groan against your mouth, but quickly melted into you, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pressed closer.

You were hungry, desperate, and Joel felt it instantly.

Not just from the way your lips moved feverishly against his or how your fingers gripped the back of his neck with such need, but from the way your hips instinctively pushed forward, grinding against him without a second thought.

A low, guttural sound rumbled in his throat as he felt the pressure, your warmth pressing into his hardened length, still trapped beneath the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

“Shit,” he muttered against your lips, his hands tightening on your thighs as if trying to ground himself. But you weren’t about to slow down.

His hands traveled up your sides, fingers ghosting over your skin as he subtly slipped them under your pajama shirt, inching it higher.

You broke the kiss just long enough to lift your arms, making it easier for Joel to pull the fabric over your head and toss it carelessly to the floor.

The moment your bare chest was revealed, his eyes darkened, scanning every inch of you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His lips parted slightly, but no words came, just a sharp inhale, like he was trying to steady himself.

His tongue swiped over his lower lip, and you swore you saw his throat bob as he swallowed. Meanwhile, beneath the soft material of his sweatpants, his already strained arousal twitched in response to the sight before him.

Joel didn’t need to say a word, his expression and the way his body responded spoke volumes. His dark eyes, filled with admiration and raw desire, roamed over you, drinking in the sight.

When he finally snapped out of it, his hands quickly found their way back to your body, one cradling your cheek with surprising tenderness, the other gripping your waist with quiet possession. In one swift yet careful motion, he guided you down onto the cool surface of the kitchen island, his touch a contrast of control and craving.

The air between you was thick with warmth, every small gasp and deep murmur filling the silence. His patience, what little remained, was slipping away. His movements became more purposeful, more urgent. And then, finally, with a slow exhale, he pushed down the waistband of his sweatpants, letting them pool at his feet.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his swollen tip dragged teasingly along your folds, smearing warmth with every slow, torturous pass. The sensation sent a shudder through your entire body, your fingers twitching against his skin.

Joel caught your reaction immediately, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he hovered above you, his lips barely brushing against yours. “Bigger than you expected, huh?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His smirk widened as he watched your breath hitch, his own control hanging by a thread.

He kissed you a few more times, each kiss deep and hungry. His lips moved with an urgency, pressing against yours as if he couldn’t get enough.

Then slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to enter. The feeling was overwhelming at first, his moves careful, as if waiting for you to get used to him. Your back arched involuntarily, a wave of sensation running through you as you felt him deeper.

A loud gasp escaped your lips, your eyes snapped shut, the pressure building as your body responded to him. You could feel the heat coursing through your veins, the intensity of the moment nearly too much to bear.

Your hips moved against him, pushing him deeper into you. Joel groaned loudly with his teeth clenched, you were so increbily tight and wet, thanks to him. You boosted his ego without saying a single word, but your body was enough to prove him he is good. Amazing actually.

When he was fully in, you both exhaled in unison. You focused on trying to adjust, to calm yourself down. Meanwhile, he fought the urge to not cum yet. Though you made it really difficult for him, you had the best pussy he had ever felt.

After a while, he started moving. Slowly, deliberately, he moved without rushing, each moment drawing out the intensity between you. You could feel how badly he wanted to go faster, harder, his restraint palpable, but he was determined to take his time.

His focus was on you, ensuring that each movement was gentle and considerate, not wanting to destroy you…or did he?

He pulled out almost fully, the shift in pressure causing a sharp breath to catch in your throat. Then, with a slow motion, he slammed back in, making you gasp with every deep, steady thrust.

The feeling of him moving inside you was both tender and intense, each shift bringing a mix of pain and pleasure, that seemed to build with every passing second. The world outside seemed to fade as all you could focus on was him, the connection, and the rhythm that only the two of you shared in that moment.

“Yeah, just like that,” he hummed with low, deep, vibrating tone. His warm breath tickled your ear, and you could feel it on your skin as it sent a wave of shivers down your spine. The sensation made you press closer, wanting to feel him more deeply.

With a subtle shift, he increased his pace, moving with a deliberate rhythm. His hands on your hips, his grip firm and reassuring, pulling you in time with his movements. Each movement of his body against yours made the connection between you stronger.

“Have you even been fucked before? You're so fucking thight,” his voice began to falter, each word stumbling over itself as his breaths grew heavier. His tip hitting your cervix, faster and faster. Goosebumps rose on your skin, each tiny shiver spreading across your body as if every nerve was alive, reacting to him. Your body trembling, your skin was more sensitive, every touch amplifying the feeling, each breath becoming a little harder to take.

“Look at ya, taking my cock so well,” his rhythm quickened, as did the force of his movements. The slapping sounds of your bodies grew louder than your sighs.

Your hips moved instinctively, trying to match his pace, but Joel held you firmly, offering support in this moment that consumed you both. Every movement was synchronized, His breath matched the rhythm of his movements, each exhale sharp and heavy, filling the air between you.

It was all too much, but you absolutely loose it, when his thumb found your clit, creating frequent circles. You murmured, your movements becoming unsteady as your nails left marks on Joel’s skin, ones that would linger long after. Your lips were raw from biting them, trying your best to stay as quiet as possible.

“That's it sweetheart, that's it,” his forhead touching yours, his pace now uncontrolled, sloppy, trying to catch up with his orgasm. It was all too much for you. The way his finger moved on your clit, how his dick stretched you out and hitting all the good and deep places you couldn't reach yourself on your own, his hot breath warming your cold nose. This combination was just too much.

You could feel every inch of your body tightening, muscles pulling taut, ready to snap. The pressure inside you built steadily, each rough movement of his sending waves of sensation that coursed through you, igniting every nerve. You gasped, your chest rising and falling with each desperate breath, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of feelings crashing through you.

“Are you close?” Joel’s voice was a low murmur, his words almost lost in the soft sounds of your breathing. He knew damn well that you were about to cum, but he asked you anyway, purely to provoke you, to push you further into that moment.

You could only nod, your own voice failing you as your body responded to him with a hunger that couldn’t be ignored. His hard thrusting was urgent, each one deliberately measured to bring you closer.

Then, it hit. The pressure, the tension, all of it exploded in a sudden, overwhelming rush. Your breath caught in your throat, the release sweeping through you like a tidal wave. Every muscle in your body clenched involuntarily, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. Your core clenching aroud Joel, locking him inside you, making it more difficult to move.

His name escaped in a whispered gasp as you trembled under the intensity of it. His hand found your cheek, cupping it tightly as he followed soon after, his own release coming with a sharp, breathless exhale. You felt the shudder run through him, a final wave of tension washing over you both.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the silence heavy between your breaths. His forehead rested gently against yours, his breathing labored as he tried to catch his breath.

“That was…” Joel’s voice faltered, but the words didn’t need to be finished. You exhaled slowly, a soft laugh escaping your lips. Your breathing heavy, listening to the rhythm of it - his and yours, blending together in the quiet of the kitchen.

Your bodies still connected, neither of you moving, just absorbing everything that had just happened. The heat between you still lingered,the world outside felt distant.

Then suddenly, Joel tensed. His entire body stiffened against yours, and his breath hitched as if something had just struck him like a bolt of lightning. He pulled back slightly, his forehead no longer resting against yours, and when you looked up at him, his expression made your stomach drop.

His usual unreadable, nonchalant demeanor was completely gone. Instead, his eyes were wide, his face frozen in shock. It was the kind of expression that sent panic crawling up your spine, because Joel didn’t get shaken easily.

Your breath caught. “What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked once, then twice, as if his brain was still catching up to his own thoughts. Then, in a rushed breath, he asked, “Do you have… contraception?”

For a moment, you just stared at him, processing the words. And then, relief washed over you so fast you almost laughed. Your body relaxed as you let out a slow, deep sigh, closing your eyes for a second as you exhaled.

A small, amused smile tugged at your lips as you opened them again. “Yeah,” you murmured, voice still soft from exhaustion. “I do.”

Joel let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. His shoulders dropped, and he shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face before letting out a low, relieved chuckle.

“Jesus… Alright. Good. That’s… yeah. Good.” He blew out another breath, muttering under his breath, “Scared the hell out of me for a second.”

The tension that had momentarily gripped the air dissolved just as quickly as it had come, and all that remained was warmth, quiet laughter, and the steady rhythm of your breathing once more.

Joel’s hand traced lazily onto your stomach, his fingers running up and down, grounding you in the quiet aftermath. His touch was absentminded, gentle, as if he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

But eventually, he exhaled deeply and shifted slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring, “Alright, sweetheart… I gotta move.”

You hummed softly, barely responsive, still lost in the blissful daze. But then, you felt it. The slow pull as he carefully withdrew from you, making sure to move gently, mindful of your sensitivity. The sudden loss of warmth made you shiver slightly, and Joel noticed instantly, his hands rubbing over your hips before he pulled you closer for just a second longer.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

It took him another breath before he finally pushed himself out, stretching his back slightly with a small, tired groan. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of you still sprawled out, your chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His expression softened.

“You okay?” His voice was quieter now, laced with something that sounded like concern. You managed a small nod, offering him a sleepy, satisfied smile. “Mhm,” you hummed.

Joel didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before he muttered, “Stay here. I got you.”

And with that, he stood, running a hand through his messy hair as he made his way to the bathroom. You barely had time to process the sound of running water before he was back, a warm, damp cloth in his hand.

“Alright, darlin’, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He was gentle as he moved, wiping you down with slow, deliberate care, making sure not to rush. He took his time, his rough hands smoothing over your skin as if to comfort you as much as to clean you. When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and ran his palms over your thighs, massaging lightly, making sure you weren’t too sore.

Then, without another word, he reached for you, effortlessly lifting you into his arms.

“Joel,” you murmured, surprised by the sudden movement.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said simply. “Just takin’ you to the bathroom. Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You let your head rest against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. He smelled like sweat and warmth and something unmistakably him. It was comforting in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

Joel carried you into the bathroom with ease, setting you down carefully before grabbing another warm cloth, making sure you were comfortable as he helped you clean up properly. He never rushed you, never made you feel like you had to do anything but just be there, letting him take care of you.

Once you were done, he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders before pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

“There we go,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into your back. “Better?”

You looked up at him, meeting those deep brown eyes, and smiled. “Yeah,” you whispered.

Joel smirked slightly, brushing a thumb over your cheek before muttering, “Good. Now, let’s get you to bed.”

And with that, he scooped you up again, carrying you effortlessly back to the warmth and safety of his arms. On the way to your room, Joel bent down to grab your clothes from the floor, all while still holding you securely in his arms. He was strong, effortlessly so. Without breaking a sweat, he climbed the stairs, pushed open your bedroom door, and gently laid you down onto the bed.

You peeled off the towel, exhaustion making even the smallest movements feel heavy. With the last bit of strength you had left, you reached for your pajamas, determined to dress yourself. Joel lingered for a second, clearly wanting to help, but you gave him a look that told him this was something you needed to do on your own.

Once you were settled, he pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in with a care that felt almost out of character for him. Then, he leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, stepping back.

He was trying to slip back into his usual nonchalant self, acting like this was nothing, like he wasn’t affected. But the faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

“Joel?” you whispered softly as Joel stood with his hand on the door handle. He turned to face you, staying silent for a moment. “Thank you… for everything.” Joel’s lips curled slightly, and he gave a quiet chuckle, nodding once before finally stepping out of your room.

As soon as he left, his mind was a whirlwind of confusion. He still couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened. How had things ended up like this? He had sex with daughter of his best friend. How messed up did that sound? It felt wrong, disgusting even. But he couldn't help it. You were just so-

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Joel froze as your dad’s voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. He turned, finding your father walking toward him. The grip on the door handle tightened instinctively, and Joel quickly swallowed, realizing he was still holding it.

He had to think fast. “Uh, I was just checking on her, making sure she’s okay,” Joel said, trying to sound calm. He hoped his voice didn’t betray him.

“Uh huh, and isn’t that my job?” your dad replied with a smirk, raising an eyebrow and pointing to himself. Joel’s heart skipped a beat, and his pulse quickened. He was barely holding it together but had to stay cool.

“Yeah, I was just on my way to the bathroom, and I figured I’d check on her while I was passing by…” Joel added quickly, pretending like the situation was completely normal. He had the perfect excuse, the bathroom was right next door, so it made sense. It was bealivable.

“Hmm… and is she okay?” your dad asked, his tone skeptical, but Joel could tell he was buying it.

Joel exhaled, feeling the tension leave his body as he relaxed. A smile tugged at his lips, and he dropped his gaze to the floor before looking up again. “Yeah, she’s more than okay.”

With that, Joel turned and walked past your dad, offering a casual “Good night.” Your dad watched him, but didn’t say another word, just stared after him.

What had Joel meant by that??

Thank you so much for reading! I’d really appreciate a reblog, comment, or follow! If you want to be tagged in my fanfics, feel free to let me know! Love you, and take care of yourselves!🤍

[ateliersss]

TOP GUN #2

…is part of The Bookshelf.

⇨ This is a collection of my favorite fanfics/oneshots on Tumblr I love to re-read once in a while. None of those works belong to me! Feel free to use it as well.

⇨ My own works are here

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Left at the Altar Summary: When you get left at the altar, a familiar face swoops in to save the day.

Can't Let You Go Summary: When you and Jake broke up, it hurt both of you more than you could handle. Now, after three months of barely seeing or speaking to one another, Jake walks in on the surprise of seeing you in a wedding dress, and it brings past memories and ruined dreams to the surface.

Wanting It All Summary: Hangman ends up in the hospital from a very similar Phoenix/Bob/birds situation, and you suddenly regret keeping a big secret from him.  

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts Summary: You and Jake had a history of flirting and occasionally kissing if too much time was spent at the bar, but it never went any further than that. One night, after showing up at your house and passing out on your couch, Jake wakes up the next morning only to learn he had drunkenly confessed his feelings for you.

Less Misery, More Company Summary: Jake has feelings for you but you don’t believe it, so you play a little trick to get back at him for all of his flirtatious teasing. But that little trick fails miserably, and as the weight of your mistake settles in, you realize you owe him an explanation, one that requires you to admit some things you’ve long denied.

Scrapes and Bruises Summary: Basically, Rooster is not thrilled about your relationship with Hangman, and their issues with one another bring up some fears of your own.

Good in Bed Summary: Jake has made it crystal clear to you that you're only friends with benefits, so why did he go and delete your dating apps?

Cross Summary: The four times you captured Jake Seresin’s attention and the one time he did something about it.

There's a Honey Summary: 3 times your aunt penny sees herself and maverick in your relationship with jake and 1 time she doesn’t.

So Funny Story (I'm Fucking Your Daughter) Summary: You've had a thing with Jake for a while now. The thing is, your dad doesn't know and your brother is desperate for you to tell him.

All You Had To Do Was Stay Summary: Six years ago Jake hit your life like a hurricane. In and out in a matter of weeks. You thought after you get over the disappointment of him leaving without saying a word you’d never think of him again. But then two pink lines change your life forever. Now he’s back and still has no idea that the little girl by your side is his daughter.

Revelation

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Three Generations Summary: Rooster is married. Maverick found out when the paperwork got filed with the Navy, but he doesn’t have a chance to ask Rooster about it until after the mission

Endings and Beginnings Part 1, Part 2 Summary: It's Maverick's retirement party but Rooster's far more concerned about you, his pregnant wife, than anything else.

Wrong Number Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

Robert "Bob" Floyd

Only Love Can Hurt Like This Summary: Bob lost his fiancé in a dog fight and goes through the grieving process. Eventually he learns to move on but then everything he thought he knew was a lie, including the fact that Y/N had died on that mission.

All Fun & Games Summary: Returning to San Diego was just another assignment for you. Another step in the career path, full steam ahead, until you come to an obstacle in the road. Usually, you’d navigate around it, keep on going, but this is no normal obstacle. It might be enough to reroute you completely.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Part of Three Summary: Reader is Maverick's sister, dating Iceman, and finds out she's pregnant.

Scared Summary: A fight between you and your fiancé spirals out of control.

Get Your Girl

Tom Is Finer

[quarterlifekitty]

To add to my earlier ask about how I have more step-dad Nik, your add on was so good because absolutely. Yes. Sweet girl is too fucked out to ask about protection or to think of anything other than Nik fucking load after load into her. She also doesn't think to ask for protection the next day in the shower since Nik gets her so worked up with his mouth first. Makes her cum on his tongue at least twice before fucking a few more out of her and filling her again. Cleans her up too, happy to hold his sweet girl and bathe her. Now I don't know how but she manages to get Nik to let her leave a second time (Nik is getting a new house ready closer to her college so she can attend online schooling, he doesn't want her feeling stir crazy when she's further along after all) and about a month after getting back she finds out she's pregnant. And despite being absolutely terrified of the situation she doesn't want to get rid of it, or at least keeps putting it off out of nerves. She eventually asks Nik if she can come visit and he's like 'oh, I sold that house, too many memories with the ex, new house is much closer to you though, do not worry' and he picks her up. Hand on her thigh the whole way to his (their) new home. She tries to act normal and everything but Nikolai can tell his sweet girl is distressed and presses her for the reason. Eventually she caves and tearfully confesses she's pregnant and she's 'so sorry' that she was so reckless and that she swears she won't bother him with anything and she'll go and he doesn't have to worry about her. And Nik only smiles 'Ah, what makes you think I'm mad? Hmm? And on that note, what makes you think that I'm not going to keep my pretty girl right here where I can take care of her?' and while SD should definitely be nervous and the red flags should be waving she never had a great basis for healthy relationships and she is falling for Nik as ashamed as she was of it at first. She keeps asking him if he's sure and it gets to a point where he just picks her up and takes her to their bed to show her just how sure he is. Funny side note Nik fully shoots her mom a text with something like 'thanks for introducing me to my soon to be wife, you should expect grandchildren within a year. Don't expect to see them though.' (take any dialog I type as an idea of what someone says cause I'm ass at typing in character) Once again thank you for listening to my rambling

Bro please ramble here all the time forever. I love this and I owe you my life.

Nik sending his ex a picture— doesn’t have your face in it, but you’re wearing like the one piece of family jewelry you ever got from her side of the family. It’s got your baby bump, and his hand holding yours— got a pretty ring on it now, too. And then he blocks her <3

Also reader like 100% has daddy issues in this one. Like her mom is piece of work and her dad is completely absent for whatever reason— when was the last time someone took care of her? Probably back when she was physically incapable of caring for herself. From the moment she could dress and feed herself she was on her own. It’s why it’s so painfully easy for her to fall into things with Nik. After a life that kind of treatment, Nik’s brand of doting is like crack.

And I like to imagine, while she might not know this in a full conscious way, she wanted to keep the baby because she fully expected Nikolai to leave her. It’s what she’s used to— and it’s strange for her to depend on him so much when he’s just her former stepfather, no? She’s constantly second guessing herself about leaning on him even a little— that she’s probably bothering him, and he’s just too kind to tell her off. But she does love him. So things would be hard, to raise the baby on her own, but at least she’d have a piece of him with her. She could remember the moments they shared that way, even when he left her.

She’s in for the fucking, no, the lovemaking of a lifetime when she confesses that little tidbit to him.

(This is all just my humble onion as this story is yours lol but this is what goes on in my imagination realm)

[writergirlll]

can you write something about F1 driver (doesn't matter who) x reader, when they were best friends since childhood, but then suddenly they become strangers. no one knows how, why, and not even themselves, until they meet at the Las Vegas GP after a long absence..

Yeah suree. (I know this is pretty bad, but I wrote this late at night, so sorry, I'll just get better!!)

CHILD MEMORIES /LH44

Lewis Hamilton x reader

I don't know why I put Lewis, but somehow he fit me there..

words: 2k+

You were everything. You brightened up anyone, you laughed at everything, you were the sun of Mercedes. Everyone loved you, you were inseparable.

You and Lewis have been best friends since birth. Your families were close, so you practically had no choice but to hang out with each other. But the decision was great!

You spent whole days together, the same kindergarten, elementary school and then high school. You weren't even separated when Lewis started driving F1 because you followed him to EVERY race. Everyone knew how close you were. Journalists, fans, co-workers of Lewis, your families and you.

That's why you just didn't know what happened. Four months have passed since Lewis' last race. And you haven't seen each other in four months. You didn't know why, you didn't know how.

Lewis stopped texting you, stopped answering your calls, and blocked you pretty much everywhere. You couldn't comment on his posts, you couldn't do anything. When you were waiting for him three days ago after the race, you didn't even get to see him because Russell kicked you out saying that Lewis definitely didn't want to see you.

You didn't understand it at all because you were inseparable and the worst part was that everyone asked you about it. Your whole family asked you, your friends, fans of you and Lewis, or even the press. But you just couldn't answer. You couldn't tell them that you had absolutely no idea what was going on and you wanted to know. You couldn't tell them it was Lewis who cut you off because he would be blamed. And okay, maybe he's ignoring you right now and you don't know why, but you're definitely not a bitch who would betray him and take the blame on him. Yes, he was at fault, but not everyone needs to know that..

And that's why you decided to go to the race in Las Vegas, to find out the answers. You knew it might not be a good idea because you might get fired again and it would be even worse for your psyche, but you had to know the answers. Just had to.

“Y/n no! You're not going to the movies with him” Lewis started yelling at you when you were nine.

,,Why? You are not my mom to order me around. He's nice to me and he doesn't yell at me unlike you" you stuck your tongue out at him and started putting on your mom's lipstick.

"He's not nice. He's just using you" he shook his head and stepped closer to you.

"But he's handsome. You don't know him at all” you mumbled as you concentrated on putting red on your lips.

"I know him. He doesn't do homework at all and his dad is said to have been in prison. He's not nice to me at all" he explained and you turned to him.

“Is it true?” you asked and he nodded quickly, his head almost falling off. "But I already have the tickets and I've made an appointment with him" you whined.

"Then you will come with me and we will write him a letter on the way. He only lives a few minutes away anyway" Lew thought up and you finally went along with his solution.

You took off your lipstick and pulled out a piece of paper and started writing - which looked like a scratch that you weren't going anywhere with. Then you put it in the envelope Lew had made in the meantime, sealed it with saliva, and dropped it in his mailbox when you went to the cinema.

At home, you packed some things, bought tickets and booked a hotel. You told your parents and everyone close to you about your plan and got on the plane.

After a few hours of flight, you finally flew to Las Vegas, called a taxi and went to check into the hotel.

When you did this, you decided it was time to go get answers. You didn't know what you would say to him when you saw him in four months, or if you would see him at all, but you wanted to at least try.

You've been pretty sick these past few months and weeks. You were constantly wondering if it was your fault and what you did wrong. The family told you that it might not be your fault but his, but you just didn't want to believe that Lewis would do something like that. Certainly not the Lewis you knew.

You cried for days and nights and it took you a long time to sort of recover from it. You knew that if Lewis ignored you even today, or didn't let you see him, it would be even worse. But why not give it a try?

You left the hotel straight to the track, where the qualification was supposed to start in an hour so you were hoping to catch Lewis before quali started.

You showed your VIP ticket at the entrance to the track, even though the people at the gate already knew you very well and would have taken you without a ticket, and you headed to the Mercedes garage, more nervous than ever.

You slowly shuffled there, already having several journalists on your neck, which you successfully ignored. And you also successfully ignored the feeling that told you to turn around and not go there at all.

It wasn't long before you saw a boy in a blue jumpsuit who revealed himself to be George Russell. As soon as you approached him, he noticed you and frowned at first before smiling slightly when he saw your expression.

“Y/n hi. You haven't been here long" he said as he walked up to you and gave you a quick hug.

"Yeah well, I didn't have much reason to walk there" you smiled firmly and looked around for Lewis. "Don't you know where Lewis is?" you asked and George's smile immediately disappeared from his face.

"I think he doesn't want to talk to you much. Besides we are going quali in a bit” he said quickly and you frowned.

"I absolutely do not see why you are bodyguarding him, but I want to know the reason why he did this to me. I have a right to know” you got angry.

"I know, I know but..-"

"No, no but. Just let me go to him. I need to know” you whispered the last part of your sentence and with that George pulled away from you leaving you to search the area.

You searched for quite a long time before you finally caught sight of his head. He was already dressed in his racing suit and was looking for something on the table, among all the things. You stopped for a moment before taking a deep breath and stepping forward..

Either it will ruin your life or you will find out the reason..

“Lewis?” your little six year old self whispered and patted little Lewis.

“Yeah” he turned sleepily in his bed and looked at you.

"Could I sleep with you? I'm scared on the floor" you whispered and desperately hoped he would say yes. You were supposed to sleep with him, but since his bed was small, you had to sleep on the floor, which you didn't like.

Little Lewis didn't answer, he just shifted on the bed towards the wall and lifted the covers. You quickly took advantage of this and crawled under the covers, where you snuggled up.

"Thank you so much" you smiled a little and felt tiredness wash over you. Lewis barely nodded, himself already in dreamland and put his arm around your small body and hugged you.

"I love you" you kissed his cheek and rested your head on his shoulder.

"Me too" Lewis smiled, pulling you closer and together you slowly returned to the realm of dreams..

“Lewis?” You asked cautiously, stepping a fair distance away from him to give you some space. You could see a light bulb go off in his head that it was you and he tensed slightly before turning to you.

"What are you doing here?" he asked without a greeting and glared at you. Okay, maybe you really should have stayed home..

"I came to watch the race" you replied because you didn't want to argue right now even though you knew it would most likely end up like that.

"And did you buy VIP tickets?" he rolled his eyes at your stupidity and you couldn't take it anymore.

"Why are you ignoring me? Why did you just do all this overnight" you asked him and even though it was only the first question, tears formed in your eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about" Lewis shook his head and went back to looking for things.

"Lewis, you know it very well. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong? Because I really don't know why you just left me without an explanation after more than 30 years of knowing each other" you frowned and you made him turn around.

"I don't know okay" he started waving his hands and sighed.

“So you don't know?” you whispered, a single tear falling down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away, but Lewis seemed to see it. "After all four months, when I cried constantly because I didn't know the fuck reason why you did it, you're going to tell me that you don't know? You don't even know how much I've been worried about this because how could you when you blocked me everywhere and when I followed you George dumped me” now you started crying.

Looking at your tear covered face, Lewis softened slightly and moved a little closer to you. "I couldn't see you" he only said and looked sympathetic. "I really wanted, I wanted to hug you and explain everything to you, but I couldn't".

"But why"? you sniffed and wiped away the stray tears with the back of your hand - and that there were a lot of them.

"I" he started and ran a hand through his hair without continuing. "Maya, my ex-girlfriend. I started dating her shortly before I cut you off, you didn't even get to know her. She was very angry that I was talking to you and on top of that the whole team said that I was fired by you because I wasn't winning so many races, so I thought this would be the easiest solution. I knew it was definitely wrong, but it was the easiest. But when Maya broke up with me a month ago because she found someone else, I didn't have the strength to go to you. I knew you'd be mad. I knew I messed up terribly. Please forgive me. Please" now he started crying too.

His explanation left you completely shocked. You didn't know what to say to that. You may have understood Maya because you yourself have experienced that a person behaves differently under the pressure of a loved one, but that his team said are you distracting him?

“So this was the easiest solution?” you finally asked.

"Yes. No. I don't know. I really don't know, please forgive me. I understand what you had to go through and I don't want to lose all those years when we were kids and teenagers" he begged walking closer to you before wiping your wet cheeks with his big hands.

"And Mercedes thinks I'm distracting you"?

"Well, George doesn't. The other teams didn't either, but we really had a tough season, everyone thought differently, they certainly didn't mean it" he hugged you tightly and didn't want to let go.

You wrapped your arms around his back and he wrapped his around your waist. "Let's not lose all our friendship, please. I'll do anything" he whispered in your ear and you nodded.

He might have done a bad thing that cost you an extreme amount of tears and everything, but he was still Lewis, who you had loved since birth and who would never knowingly do something so horrible.

"Lew i don't want to lose our friendship either. But I will remember what you did. And I also hope that your Maya, who is probably a nice bitch by the way, doesn't show up in my life" you laughed lightly and Lewis too.

So in the end it turned out to be a good decision to go to Las Vegas...

“What if we never see each other again?” you sighed and looked deeply into the eyes of your best friend of 15 years.

"We'll see. I'm only going there for a few days for now, but you'll be able to go to my races. I'll give you a discount" he smiled at you seeing your concern and you shook your head.

Lew got an offer to F1, when they invited him to an audition and if he succeeded, he would go to junior competitions for a few years in Italy.

"You can't leave me here" you shook your head once more and pulled him into a hug.

"I won't let. Never. Best friends forever"?

"Best Friends Forever".

[pullupinarari]

Lean your weight on me [LH]

7. We’re already defeated

Summary: a 9 chapter series where you are a famous singer, living the career of your dreams. But your chaotic schedule makes your body give in, making you lose your memory and forget (almost) everything.

Author’s note: this one hits home and it’s the most personal chapter for me. It made me cry, and I genuinely hope yall enjoy this. 🩷

wc: 3941 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

all chapters here

Ever since your last emotional breakdown, things have changed between you and Lewis. You decided that it was better if you just started sleeping in separate rooms, and you can’t express how much better that makes you feel. You feel more independent in a way, you are learning how to deal with your nightmares by yourself, and you don’t feel the weight of constantly bothering Lewis while he is trying to rest.

And during the day, you barely speak to him anymore. You are obsessed with your phone. You spend hours reading the texts you shared with other people - even if you don’t remember who they are, you over analyze every little detail in every photo that is saved to your camera roll, and you start to trail your path back into social media.

However, Lewis feels empty. It’s hard for him to deal with your absence, even if you’re just in the room next door. You don’t want to spend time with him anymore and there’s nothing he can do - you are a grown up, he can’t take your phone from you, there’s no point in trying to do it, since you’ll search the whole house for it again, like a maniac.

With everything accumulating now, two weeks of being distant is enough to make his light disappear already, while you feel like yours is slightly coming back.

You feel a bit more confident in yourself now, and you decide to go spend a few days at your parents house, in the hopes that you will find people that you are able to recognize. And maybe the town where you grew up, might bring your childhood memories back.

Lewis knows that you are safe, of course your parents know how to take care of you. But he still feels the weight on his shoulders from not being there for you. You’re being held now, but it’s not by him. It’s not his arms, his words comforting you - and it hurts him to feel that you don’t want him by your side through all of this anymore.

He knows he needs to vent, he needs to cry, he needs to let go of all the emotions that he has been suppressing for the past three months now. So he drives to his mom’s house, feeling like a small kid again, in need of his mom’s lap and comfort.

As soon as she opens the door, she knows that he needs to be held - just by the sad, tired and empty look on his face. So Lewis feels his body being immediately engulfed in his mom’s embrace. He hugs her back, with some tears already threatening to spill from his eyes.

He tries to play it cool, like he is just there to spend some time with his mom, like it’s nothing. Lewis sits on the sofa, getting comfortable, as he notices the attentive look on his mother’s face.

“Y/N has left already?” - she asks him quietly, as a way to introduce the subject. Her mom instincts are kicking in, and she wants Lewis to open up, to feel comfortable and supported, to be vulnerable around her.

He sits in silence for a second, nodding his head. “Yeah, she left a while ago. Her dad came to pick her up” - he informs, his voice now croaking a bit while his brain is drowning in his immersive thoughts.

“What’s going through that mind of yours, son?” - he can’t fool his own mother, he would be stupid to actually believe that he could. So he just gives in, getting up from his seat on the sofa to meet his mother, lying his head on her lap, like he used to do when he was little.

“All my life, I’ve been surrounded by challenges. But I never thought that I would go through something like this, mom” - he starts saying, while his mother stays silent, listening to her baby vent, as her hands caress his scalp - a gesture that immediately makes him think of you. He loved when you would play with his hair, when you would ask him if you could braid it and give him a new updo, he loved the feeling of your nails gently running through his scalp as a way to calm him down. And now, you don’t even go near him, you don’t touch him anymore.

“These last few months have been so, so tough. Seeing Y/N so fragile and lost, she was feeling helpless while I tried my fucking hardest to hold her, to help her. I did everything I could, I swear I did. I did the best I knew. But it seems like it wasn’t enough” - some tears fall from his eyes now, and he doesn’t even bother stopping them.

“What are you talking about, Lewis?” - his mother asks, quite not understanding how badly things have changed between you two.

“I lost her, mom. I completely lost her. I have this screaming feeling in my chest, I can’t even explain what it is, but it hurts so fucking much” - his cries grow a little louder now, as his body contorts as he tries to explain his emotions, like he is physically hurting.

“She’s the love of my life. We got married, we dreamed of having babies together, and raising a family. Grow our own little family. But now, she doesn’t even wear her wedding ring anymore, she’s not the same girl I fell in love with. She definitely doesn’t love me back anymore, no matter how hard I try” - he takes a second to breathe. “I lost the most important person of my life, and as much as she is still alive, it’s like she’s not here anymore. She’s not the same person” - Lewis tries his best to put his feelings into words, but the words he is using are hurting him too.

He doesn’t mean to make it seem like it’s your fault. No one can be considered guilty here. What happened to you is definitely not your fault, but it also isn’t Lewis’. He could be selfish and talk about all the sleepless nights, either because of your nightmares or due to the crazy amount of times that he had to drive you to the hospital in the middle of the night because you weren’t feeling good. All the times that your words, your actions have ripped his heart out of his chest. All the terrible words that he had to hear you say, either about yourself or about him. The way you would act in the most unfair manner that he has ever seen, making it seem like Lewis was just a puppet in your hands.

Well, maybe he is. Because here he is now, completely destroyed, crying his eyes out on his mother’s lap, as he remembers every single day that he struggled for the past three months. And still, no matter how badly you are hurting him, how you are taking his heart into your hands and crushing it without any mercy, pretending like he’s nothing - he still doesn’t have the power in himself to turn his back to you. He has been cursing himself for the past couple of weeks, for giving in every time that you would ask him for something.

“You know, mom, I’m actually so dumb. I’m really stupid. I do everything for her, in hope that she would love me back again, waiting for her to come back to our room, you know? But she doesn’t. And still, I act like a fool, doing everything for her. You know what I did last week? I helped her come up with a piano melody for this song she wrote about the end of our marriage” - he says, actually feeling annoyed right now at his own form. He chuckles ironically while remembering the episode - feeling like the dumbest man on the planet.

His mother sighs at the state of his little boy, feeling powerless to help him solve this situation.

“Love makes us do questionable things, son” - she tries to say, before Lewis interrupts her.

“Love, yeah, what a stupid thing. Making me do everything for someone who doesn’t even care about me anymore” - he says, feeling all the accumulated anger boiling in his veins now.

It’s like all the feelings that he has been keeping inside for the last three months, are deciding now to come out, all at the same time. “I was so scared when I saw her on that hospital bed, mom. You have no idea how the thought of her being hurt, with no memory at all, destroyed me. I was shaking, I couldn’t focus on anything else that wasn’t her. And when I spent those nights in the hospital, next to her, I couldn’t even sleep. I kept waking up every five minutes, to look at her, to check on her, to see if everything was okay. And I was so scared, mom. The anxiety building on my chest was never ending, it just kept getting worse. Every time she would cry, every question she would ask. I had to pretend like everything was fine, like I was fine, but I was terrified” - the man is fully sobbing now, holding on to his mother’s embrace, the only source of comfort that he has felt in a long time.

“I had to put all my feelings to the side, like I meant nothing. I was feeling like a robot - I couldn’t feel anything, I was depriving myself from having my own emotions, and I was working at the same time that I was looking after her, and trying to compose myself so I could make it seem like it was okay, like I was doing fine too, I didn’t wanted her to worry about me.

And for the past month or so, she has been hinting how we shouldn’t be together, but I never thought much about it. I thought she was just feeling insecure so I did my best to make her feel loved, desired, and to show her how much she meant to me. I guess this is all going to end like she expected, huh” - he says, the last part sounding more to himself actually, as his hands try to dry the tears that don’t seem to stop themselves from falling.

Lewis thought there was more to your marriage, he really did. And he was hoping that all of this would come out as a proof of his love and devotion to you. But in the end, it’s like you can’t see past your own thoughts, you don’t see him anymore - and it hurts him to see how easily you forget about everything that he has done for you.

He would do it all again in a heartbeat, though. You’re his wife, for fucks sake. His heart is directed to you, as if he has no chance of being happy with someone else, once you leave him behind. You said you want to feel real, but the love you both shared was real, intense, magical. And you treated it like it was nothing.

“When we started dating, she kept talking about us getting a house near the ocean. Next to a calm, nice beach, with a view from our room, so we could see the sunset from our bed. I think it was the thing she dreamed about the most. And when we got married, the dream persisted. And she wanted us to raise our babies in that house, so she could see me surfing while her and our kids would build castles on the sand” - his own memory is killing him now, it’s all too real and too devastating at the same time for Lewis.

He hiccups as his mom shushes him lightly, her hand caressing his cheek, stained with tears. “And it’s so ironic how I went and bought the damn house, the house of our dreams next to the beach, as a surprise for our wedding birthday, just a month before her accident” - Lewis sighs, each thought in his head being worse than the other.

“She just went there once, when I showed her the keys. She was thrilled when we walked inside” - he grins softly to himself as he thinks about your bright smile, the one he loved seeing so much, the one thing that was enough to light up his entire day.

It’s been a while since he has seen your smile aiming at him, making his legs feel weak. Now, you smile at your phone, even to the mirror - growing more familiar with yourself, to everyone but him.

“Her face falls whenever she sees me, mom. It’s heartbreaking, devastating” - he tries to find the right words to describe how he feels. “I even try to hide from her when we are home. I try not to be in the kitchen when I know that she’s there, I try to stay far from the place where she is, because she makes me feel like my presence isn’t welcome near her. She makes me feel unwanted” - these last months have been a roller coaster of emotions for Lewis.

But he can’t forget the way his stomach would erupt full of butterflies when you two kissed for the first time after your accident, how his heart felt warm when you asked him to cuddle you. He can’t forget all the hope and light that he found when you clung to him, seeing him as your safe haven.

And now, you treat him like a stranger, like he means nothing to you. You ignore him, give him the cold shoulder. Everytime that you are forced to talk to him, you make it seem like you’re doing him a favour. It’s like day and night: in the beginning, Lewis was your light, you treated him like the most precious thing that you had in your life, since he was the only person you remembered. And now, you stole all the light from him, lighting yourself up and kicking him to the corner, as if he has nothing more to give you.

And he’s tired of feeling like this. He’s tired of feeling torn. He just wanted you, he wanted you to want him back just as much as he wants you. But you don’t care about him nor about his love, and after everything that he has done for you, you are still capable of stepping on his heart like this.

“I find myself silently praying at night, begging God for all this to be just a nightmare that I will, at some point, wake up from” - he confesses, his words breaking his mother’s heart more and more.

“I beg that she won’t leave me behind, that she will come back and spend the night with me again. So I could hold her the way I used to, I would feel safe in her presence again. I don’t know what I will do if she leaves my little life” - he knows it’s inevitable at this point, but the thought of losing you still wrecks him.

He needs you, he doesn’t know how to do it without you anymore. He is not the same man that he was before meeting you, and he doesn’t want to be. Lewis needs you to come closer to him again, he needs to see the fire in your eyes so he doesn’t draw in the void, so he doesn’t feel cold anymore.

He hugs his mom tighter, trying to find that source of comfort somewhere. Maybe, if he shuts his eyes close, he can pretend that he is in your arms again. But he can’t. It’s not the same.

“You chose her for a reason, Lewis” - his mom reminds him. “It’s killing me to see you like this, and I know this hurts so much right now. But we can’t even begin to imagine what’s been on her mind lately” - she tries to reason with her son.

“I have tried so hard for the last months to understand her, mom! I have heard the most heart wrenching words coming from my wife’s mouth, I have seen her do things that would never cross my mind. I guess it’s time to accept that she’s not the same person that we used to know anymore” - he sniffles quietly, letting his words sink in, feeling them lingering heavily in the air.

His mother just nods her head, totally understanding her son’s side. But her gut is still telling her to keep you in her thoughts.

“Don’t give up on her, son. Not until she recovers from all this, at least” - she appeals to his soft heart.

Lewis’ mind is a mess. A mixture of sadness with anger, pain with regret, love and disappointment. He doesn’t know what to do, and he can barely focus on the road as he drives back to his house on that night.

He feels lighter after letting it all out to his mother, but he still can’t come up with a solution to all this. So he turns on autopilot in his brain. And when he gets home, he wanders around the house, like he doesn’t know what to do, where to go.

His house is big, fancy, with everything he needs inside of it. But it feels cold and lifeless. Lewis had to learn the hard way that home is, in fact, a person, not just a set of four walls. His heart is with you wherever you go, you’re his home. You used to keep him safe and warm. You would paint his life, his days in such bright colors. And nothing grows when a house isn’t a home.

He stops at the door of the guests room where you’ve been sleeping now. He still knocks on the door, even if he knows that you’re not there. He found out how much it hurts to not have anyone, to be trapped in an uncertain and uncomforting silence, drawing in consuming feelings that he can’t escape.

He keeps walking through the corridors, remembering all the moments from the past months. He looks at his bed and immediately remembers all the cuddles, the kisses that you shared. The way you would blush when he would declare his love for you, how your eyes would shine every time he would tell you something about your marriage and your life together.

He keeps all the good memories safe in his heart, like the way you two would dance in a silly way in the kitchen, the radio playing in the background while Lewis would cook for you. Or the way you two would enjoy the sunny afternoons, playing with Roscoe in the backyard.

But when he looks at the bathroom door, he remembers all the times that he had to cry in the shower, so you wouldn’t see how much he had bottled up his emotions. He couldn’t show you how desperate he was, how tired and exhausting all of this was. Instead, he would let it all out while you were asleep or entertained with something, so he could always have a smile ready to show you.

And when he sees the piano - fuck, the damn piano. The memory of him hearing you sing so angelically about the end of your relationship still echoes in his mind. And the tears swell again in his eyes, while he asks to himself: what happened to his life? What was the turning point, when did everything become so chaotic and dark?

He can’t help but feel sorry for himself. He slips onto the bed as he lets out a loud sigh - it’s like his emotions make him feel physically sore. The entire world around him hurts, all the fears that used to live inside of his mind are now coming to life, almost as if they already have a name and a personality of their own. And they are the only thing keeping him company at night, while he tosses and turns on the bed nonstop, his new friends keeping him awake.

He grabs his phone, trying his luck as he dials your number - you didn’t said anything to him, you could have, at least, let him know when you got home.

He hears the beeping, until it reaches your voicemail. At first, he hangs up, but then he decides to try again, thinking about leaving you a voice message.

Once more, you don’t pick up his call, so he leaves a message after the beep. “Hey, Y/N, it’s Lewis. I’m sorry for calling, I don’t mean to disturb you, but I just wanted to know if you are at your parents’ house already and if everything is okay. So, please give me a call or text me when you can, or if you want to” - he hangs up, embarrassed by the way he messed up some of the words while talking, feeling like he is in primary school again, afraid to talk to the pretty girl in his class.

An hour has passed already, and you didn’t reach out to him. Not a call, not even a text. And when Lewis is absently scrolling through social media, until his eyes are burning - a mix of the light coming from his phone, tiredness and all the tears that he has cried for the past hours, he sees that you have been posting stuff on Instagram.

He rubs his eyes with his hand, trying to focus on the pictures on his phone. You posted a selfie with your parents, a picture of a pizza that you ate. “Pizza is my favorite dish!!” - you wrote in the description. “No, it’s not” - Lewis immediately thinks to himself. You used to despise pineapple on pizza and now you’re enjoying it, in the exact same way that you made a scene because you hated the cake that Grace brought you, the one that used to be your favorite.

So maybe this isn’t just a memory thing, maybe your whole self has changed. You don’t like the same things, you don’t have the same habits. And Lewis just has to realize that he doesn’t know you anymore. And the way you keep posting while ignoring his calls and messages, lets him know that you don’t want to get to know him either.

He throws his phone to the bedside table, feeling frustrated now. Why does he keep insisting on something that is clearly done? He is just trying to survive at this point, in search of something that will make him feel his heartbeat beat again.

But maybe he’s just going through the wrong path. Everytime he tries to reach you, it’s like he’s staring at the abyss - looking at himself through it. He knows that if he keeps pushing his feelings this way, there will be nothing after this. He knows this relationship will be the end of him. You abandoned him when he needed your comfort the most now, so maybe it’s time for him to try and save himself and his heart a little, hoping that it’s not too late for him, trying not to lose his faith.

With some tears escaping his eyes, he cuddles Roscoe - his mate, the one that never left his side. Lewis won’t think anymore about what he can do to make you love him again, he will just try and focus on himself, his family and friends - the people who care about him. And he tries to fall asleep, not even knowing a thing about how this trip with your family is already making your memory come back more than ever.

———

taglist: @illalwayswaitforyourlove @literallegendicon @goldenroutledge @scenesofobx @irishmanwhore @forza-charles @felicityforyou

[ambermeh]

Chris Sturniolo Firsts

⋆ His first crush: does not really know how to act around you and will become the most nervous and giggling person ever. This man will just want to talk to you. Especially if you two are friends and he has feelings. 'why don't you come over, i'll get the food' 'chris it's two in the morning'

⋆ He will drop subtle hints and play it off as joke because he doesn't want you to know or him to have to tell you 'outfit looks good ma might have to fight the other guys for you' 'shut up chris, what are you even talking about?'

⋆ As much as he pretends to be a player around you or jokes that all the girls love him, he cannot even look or think at a women in the same way after having a crush on you for a while. To the point you will be at a party somewhere and you will try and set him up with someone as a joke but he is dead serious and will act pissed off if you mention it. 'what's wrong I was just trying to help you find a girlfriend' 'yeah, well maybe I don't need help'

⋆ as you two are spending more an more time together you start having the same feelings and talk to Matt and Nick about it because they know Chris the best 'i think you should just go for it' 'i mean if chris says no he literally has lost his mind'

⋆His first relationship: when he finally builds up the courage to say it I think he would make a whole romantic surprise. For example, you get back from a week long holiday and he realises how much he actually likes you and so makes you find these clues etc and will be waiting for you at the end with a bunch of flowers. (Nick and Matt were also made to help because he would be stressing about doing something wrong)

⋆ The dates would be the funniest thing ever because he will randomly think of things he wants to do and there is page on his notes of all the dates he wants to do with you

⋆ Even though he will act like he doesn't like the romantic shit that other people do he LOVES it

⋆ Want to bake cookies and eat them while watching a romcom, sure. Want to do skincare and put make up on him, 100%. and the TIKTOKS that he would post would be so cute because he is literally just in awe of you. Does anything that you want really.

⋆ Just wants to make sure he is still the funniest person ever in your eyes. I feel like he would randomly show you videos while you two are just cuddling just to make sure you find them funny and will text you at the most random time with a joke he thought of 'well you could always show me when i'm not trying to get to sleep' 'sorry it was too funny not to'

⋆ First pet: it would be a cat because even if he didn't love the idea at first he would slowly start to be persuaded by the tiktoks of cute and funny cats. The cat would have to be a ginger cat or black cat because I think he would want one that matched his energy. Gets it as a kitten and was all I'm not going to get too attached to the cat BUT when it starts cuddling him at night he will act like it's his child 'I'm gonna stay at home because I can't leave him alone thinking I've left' 'thought you said it was my cat'

⋆ First child: The sweetest Dad ever

⋆ Will want to play sports with them all the time and dress them in outfits 'y/n i'm gonna go out and play some basketball with the kids i'll be back soon love you!!!'

⋆ Records everything because he thinks they are too cute not to. (and sends them all to you) 'Say hello to mummy for me, look y/n she's walking'

⋆ is that Dad who no matter what supports their child, you will never hear Chris comparing them to any other child because he loves them for who they are

⋆ AND even if you two are tired with having kids Nick and Matt are more than up for having them over, while you and Chris just eat a meal or watch a movie together. The love that you two have for each other is even more now that you have a family. 'we are parents now, I'm so proud of us' 'I know and at least we are not one of those boring couples' 'how could we be? I'm hilarious and you are so beautiful and funny and smart and' 'Chris shut up' 'you're blushing ma'

(Divider by @enchanthings)

[cupcait777]

under the bleachers ⋆˚࿔

what starts with one stolen glance across the soccer field turns into a secret-laced spiral of late-night drives, under-the-bleachers kisses, and the kind of love that makes you reckless. in a town that doesn’t understand girls like them, they find freedom in each other—and maybe something like forever. 𔘓 a/n : i know that ts is so short but pls bear w ME💜

it’s friday night. the kind that hums with leftover adrenaline—halftime lights fading, the smell of sweat and soft pretzels still hanging in the air. your team lost. not by much, but enough to sting. you still smiled for the pictures, still did your high kicks and pyramids and fake-laughed at locker room jokes.

but now you’re home. in your room. showered and sprawled out across your bed in natalie’s jersey. it’s too big, drowning you in blue and yellow. the number’s faded. it smells like grass and bonfire smoke and her stupid vanilla shampoo. you’re chewing the inside of your cheek, watching the ceiling like it might blink first.

you haven’t heard from her.

you texted her twenty minutes ago:

you: snacks or no snacks? i got chips & that gross blue slushie you like

no reply.

you try again.

you: unless you changed your mind.

still nothing.

you sit up, hug your knees, and curse under your breath. the jersey falls off one shoulder. you don’t fix it.

it’s past eleven when you hear it—the soft clink of a pebble against your window. you freeze. then another. and another.

you slide the window open and look down.

natalie’s there, hoodie half-zipped, cigarette tucked behind her ear. she looks up like she’s been caught red-handed, but doesn’t seem sorry.

“forgot how high up your window is,” she calls up. “my aim sucks.”

you bite back a grin. “you could’ve just used the front door like a normal person.”

“but then i’d have to talk to your dad. no thanks.”

“he’s asleep.”

“even worse.”

you sigh. “get up here.”

she climbs the trellis like she’s done it before—like muscle memory. you step back as she slips into your room, landing with a soft thud. her shoes are muddy. you don’t care.

natalie’s quiet for a second. she takes in your room, your posters, the flicker of a lava lamp in the corner. then her eyes land on you. or maybe the jersey.

“you really wore it,” she says.

you nod. “a deal’s a deal.”

she laughs under her breath, a little breathless. “we lost.”

“still worth it.”

you don’t mean for it to come out so soft. or so honest. but it does.

natalie’s eyes flash like she doesn’t know what to do with that kind of kindness. she walks over, sits on the edge of your bed, and pulls something out of her pocket. a cassette tape, half-labeled in smeared sharpie: van’s mix, vol. 4.

you blink. “you actually brought it.”

she shrugs. “van made me swear on her cat’s life. apparently this one has a song that ‘might make you cry.’”

“great.”

natalie leans forward, pushing it into your old tape deck. the static is immediate—then music. low, fuzzy. acoustic guitar and female vocals. it’s a little off-tune. a little too real. you don’t recognize the song.

you lie back. she does too. your arms brush.

you think of asking her what’s been on her mind. why she didn’t reply. why her eyes look heavier than usual. but then her hand slips into yours, and she squeezes—once, like a question.

you squeeze back. answer.

⸝⸝⸝

you fall asleep like that. not tangled. not kissing. just… next to each other. like maybe that’s enough for now.

outside, the town’s quiet. the cicadas are gone. replaced by the soft whir of a neighbor’s sprinkler. inside, natalie dreams of being someone who doesn’t ruin things. and you? you don’t dream at all.

you already have what you wanted.

at least for tonight.

𔘓 a/n : edi sorry kung natapakan yung pagka love team niyo!!!!! anyway ill post pt4 soon because i love u guys so much💜 part one ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part two ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part three ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part four ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[moonlitsmile]

Breaking the rules 2 ்⋆ ˖ ࣪ ˒

part 1 here! gong yoo/salesman x f!reader

꣑୧ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you felt regretful after everything that happen, even after making up with your boyfriend. Maybe going with your parents to a business party their coworkers were hosting would ease your mind up right? But what you didn’t know Is that your dad was inviting him.

🝮 underage drinking, getting drunk, sweet talk, female reader, SLOWburn, clothed thigh riding, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, teasing, being rough, forcing, also using actors real name since saying mr salesman is weird. Sorry if it ain’t a lot, smut isn’t my best thing and I don’t like writing it a lot. Sorry if you don’t like it!, lmk if I missed anything.

You hadn’t answered his texts all day. The guilt sitting heavy in your chest, twisting with the anger you still hadn’t let go of. Every time his name lit up your phone, you felt that same rush of frustration, and something far worse underneath it. Shame.

But the worst part? You still weren’t sure if you regretted it.

Your fingers hovered over his latest message: “Can we just talk? Please.” You stared at the words until they blurred, your chest tightening. She wanted to talk, she did, but how could you face him when every time you closed her eyes, you remembered the feel of someone else’s hands on your skin? Even worse, his dad.

You turned your phone off and tossed it onto the bed like it had burned you. The room felt too quiet, too still, and your mind wouldn’t shut up. The guilt, the anger, the way your body still reacted when you thought about his father, it was too much. Maybe it was because your parents were currently out right now at the store, buying some stuff for a party later. It felt lonelier then it should be.

But a sudden knock at the window startled you. Your heart leapt as you quickly turned, and there he was. Your boyfriend, standing outside with that same desperate, frustrated look you knew too well.

“Can we talk?” he asked through the glass, his voice muffled but clear.

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to open it, wanted to let him in… but you weren’t sure you could look him in the eye without everything falling apart. You didn’t dare looking out the window. Maybe he would think you weren’t home?

But before you could even decide to open it, another knock sounded, this time at the front door.

And you knew, without even checking, exactly who it was.

Your breath catches, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. For a second, you think it might be him. but then you hear his voice.

“open the door.”

It’s your boyfriend.

You stare at the window where he’d been just a minute ago, your pulse still racing. He must’ve gone around the house, determined not to let you ignore him. The guilt in your chest tightens but so does the frustration. You’re still mad. You should be mad. But the shame of what you did won’t let you breathe.

He knocks again, harder this time. “Come on, baby. Please.” His voice cracks on the last word, and you hate the way it pulls at your heart. Then your heart skips a beat.. hearing that word. Baby, you sighed as you couldn’t help but remember the way he was saying it to you last night. There was no point in staying mad at your boyfriend knowing what you did was worst. But you would never tell him you did that.. never..

You stand there, frozen, unsure whether to open it or let him keep waiting. The silence stretches, and you wonder if he’ll leave, but you should’ve known better.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, softer now. “Not until we talk.”

You close your eyes, taking a shaky breath. You know you can’t avoid this forever. But facing him? Knowing what you’ve done? That’s a whole different kind of impossible. Your hand shakes as you reach for the doorknob. Every part of you wants to keep that barrier between you, to stay hidden in the silence where you don’t have to face what you’ve done. But you know you can’t avoid him forever.

When you finally pull the door open, he’s standing there, his eyes immediately searching yours. He looks… tired. Hurt. And the sight of it makes your heart ache in a way you weren’t ready for.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice careful, like he’s afraid you might slam the door in his face.

You swallow the lump in your throat and step aside, letting him in without a word. He walks past you, hands stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders tense. You close the door and lean against it, trying to steady yourself, but the room already feels too small.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The air is heavy with everything you haven’t said, and you know one of you has to break first.

“I’m sorry,” he says, turning to face you. His voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking the sincerity in it. “For everything. I was an ass, and I shouldn’t have—” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to walk away just to get my attention.”

You blink, his words hitting harder than you expect. You were mad at him, you had every right to be, but hearing him own up to it takes some of the fight out of you. Still, the guilt lingers, a sharp reminder of what you haven’t confessed.

“I… I was mad,” you say quietly, your arms crossing over your chest. “But you weren’t the only one who messed up.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes softening. “Then let’s fix it. Please. I don’t want to keep fighting with you.”

You feel your resolve cracking, the warmth in his voice breaking through the wall you’ve been trying so hard to hold up. And when he reaches for your hand, his fingers lacing through yours, the familiar comfort of his touch makes your throat tighten.

“I miss you,” he whispers. “And I love you. Please?”

Your heart aches at the words, at how easy it would be to say yes and pretend like nothing happened. And maybe you’re selfish for wanting that. But right now, with his hand in yours and that soft, pleading look in his eyes… you can’t help but nod.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s start over.”

He pulls you into his arms without hesitation, holding you like he’s afraid to let go. And for just a moment, you let yourself forget the weight of your guilt, and the secret still hanging between you.

-

The sound of the front door opening pulls you out of your thoughts. Your boyfriend had left not that long ago. You hear your mom’s familiar voice first, calling out as bags rustle and footsteps shuffle into the house.

“We’re home!”

You take a deep breath, smoothing your shirt as if that’ll do anything to calm the nerves still twisting in your stomach. The conversation with your boyfriend had left you all jittery from the nerves, and the weight of what you were keeping from him hadn’t eased one bit.

You had been too distracted in your thoughts you didn’t even hear your mom call your name. Until you heard her call your name again. “Can you come help with the bags?”

You force yourself to move, pushing everything else aside. When you step into the kitchen, your parents are surrounded by a mountain of grocery bags, your dad unloading bottles of wine while your mom sorts through fresh produce. The air smells faintly of the bakery down the street, and there’s a calmness here that you wish you could hold onto.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your dad greets you with a tired smile. “You doing okay?”

You nod quickly, hoping your face doesn’t give you away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Need help?”

Your mom waves you over, and you start pulling things from the bags. fruits, vegetables, fancy cheeses you know are only for one of their big business parties. The quiet routine soothes you for a moment, the normalcy grounding you.

“Don’t forget, we need to be ready by seven,” your mom reminds you, glancing at the clock. “This party’s important, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Right,” you mumble, carefully stacking cans in the pantry. “Who’s coming again?”

Your dad hums thoughtfully. “A lot of people from work. Investors, a few partners… oh, and I invited-“ you froze. Heart stopping as you stood there. “I thought it’d be good to finally introduce him to everyone.”

The can in your hand slips. It hits the shelf with a loud clunk before you manage to catch it, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“Wait — what?” Your voice comes out too sharp, and when you turn, your dad’s watching you with a frown.

He repeated his name again. You stood there blankly, like a deer in a headlights. Your dad thinking you were stupid; he repeated. “Your boyfriend’s dad. I ran into him last week and figured it’d be a good chance to network.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Something wrong?”

“No,” you say quickly, but your palms are already sweating. “No, I just… didn’t know he was coming.”

Your mom gives you a curious look but doesn’t push it. “Well, he seemed excited. It’s nice when business and family overlap like this, isn’t it?”

You had asked if your boyfriend was going aswell, but maybe you should’ve just waited to text him when you went back up to your room. “Oh.. no. His father said he was busy with catching up on work for school since he’s fallen behind” you mother said, putting up grocery bags in the cabinets. “But it’s nice he’s getting his work done. Sweet kid.” Your mother said with a smile. Looking at you.

You force a smile, but it feels tight, uncomfortable. Because the last thing you wanted was to see him again, not here, not after last night. Maybe you should lie and try to make up some excuse to stay home. Pretend to be sick?

Your dad keeps talking, but you can’t hear much over the blood rushing in your ears. All you can think about is how you’re going to get through this party without falling apart.

-

The hours slip by faster than you’d like. Before you know it, the sun’s already going down, casting warm streaks of orange through your bedroom window. The quiet hum of the house is broken by the sound of your parents moving around, getting ready. Your mom walking down the hall as she fusses about last minute details.

But in your room, it’s just you. And the weight of what’s coming.

You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. It’s simple but elegant. black, slightly flowy, falling just above your knees. The open back leaves a stretch of your upper back bare, cool air brushing against your skin as you shift.

You should feel good in it. And you do, mostly. But there’s a tightness in your chest that no amount of makeup or pretty dresses can fix.

You sigh, reaching for your earrings as you try to push it down. Maybe you’re overreacting. Maybe he won’t even show up. Or if he does, maybe he’ll keep his distance. Act like nothing happened.

You hope he acts like nothing happened.

The memory of his hands on you flashes through your mind.. warm and sure. You grip the end of the dresser. Shaking your head trying to will the thoughts away. You can’t think about that, not tonight

A knock at your door startles you. “You almost ready?” your mom’s voice calls.

“Yeah!” you call back, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Just a minute!”

You take one last look in the mirror, adjusting your hair so it falls just right against your shoulders. The dress fits perfectly, elegant but understated. But even as you smooth your hands over it again, your stomach won’t stop twisting. You were about to walk out before forgetting your bow. You quickly went over to clip the black soft bow in the back of your hair, all complete.

The night hasn’t even started yet, and already, you know it’s going to be a long one.

-

The drive to the venue feels too short. You’re still wound up, still trying to settle the nerves swirling in your stomach, but before you’re ready, your dad’s pulling up to the valet and your mom’s already stepping out into the warm evening air.

You smooth your dress one last time. not that it helps, and follow them inside. The venue is beautiful, the kind of place your parents always choose for these events. Marble floors gleam under soft golden lighting, and the room hums with quiet conversations and the occasional clink of glasses. It should feel elegant, maybe even exciting, but all you feel is that familiar tightness in your chest.

You try to focus on anything else. Familiar faces drift past, your dad’s coworkers, distant family friends. you keep your smile polite, your small talk brief. You tell yourself you’re fine. That this is just another business party and you have no reason to be this tense.

But the minutes crawl by slowly. You’re trying to keep track of every person who walks in, your eyes flicking toward the entrance too often, your heart jumping at every familiar figure. It’s ridiculous, you know, you don’t even know if he’ll show up.

But the thought of him does nothing to calm you.

“Why don’t you grab a drink?” your mom suggests at one point, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re so quiet tonight.”

You shake your head quickly, your throat too tight at the thought of walking anywhere near the bar. “I’m okay,” you manage. “I think I’ll just sit down for a bit.”

Your mom gives you a curious look but doesn’t press. You slip away from the crowd, finding the table reserved for you and your parents. But knowing them they probably would be up all night. The chair is cold against your skin when you sit, and you rest your hands in your lap, fingers twisting together as you try to calm the anxious flutter in your stomach.

Maybe you’re overreacting. Maybe you’ll get through this night without any—

Your heart drops when you hear your dad’s voice from across the room.

“Ah, there he is! Mr. Gong yoo! glad you could make it!”

Your back goes stiff.

You don’t turn around. You can’t turn around. You can already feel your pulse racing, your skin prickling with the awareness that he’s here. And when his deep, familiar voice carries across the room in response, your fingers tighten in your lap.

You need to stay out of his sight.

But you also know you won’t be able to avoid him forever.

The sound of his voice rolls through the room , smooth, warm, and far too familiar. You freeze, your breath catching as you hear him greet your dad like they’ve known each other for years. And they have, but after last night, everything feels different. Wrong.

You keep your eyes on the table, heart pounding so hard it drowns out most of the chatter around you. But it doesn’t matter. You know he’s here now. You can feel it. That same magnetic pull that had gotten you into trouble in the first place.

“Sweetheart?”

Your head jerks up at your dad’s voice, panic flaring for a split second. “Come say hello,” he urges. “It’s rude to sit off by yourself.”

Your throat tightens. “I—I’m okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “I just needed a minute.”

But it’s too late. You hear footsteps approaching. slow, measured , and the air around you seems to shift. Even without looking, you know exactly who it is.

“Ah, no need for introductions,” your dad says cheerfully.

You finally force yourself to look up, and there he is.

He’s perfectly composed, dressed in a sleek black suit that fits him so well it’s unfair. His expression is calm, polite, not even the slightest hint of the night before reflected in his face. But his eyes.. dark and steady, meet yours, and you swear you see something flicker there. Amusement, maybe.

“Good to see you again,” he says smoothly, his voice warm and collected. Like nothing happened. Like his hands hadn’t been all over you just last night.

Your skin prickles, face heating as you struggle to find your voice. “Y-You too,” you manage, but it comes out too soft. Too shaky.

You think you see the corner of his mouth twitch. like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. And that only makes it worse.

Your dad doesn’t notice a thing, already launching into some conversation about business. But you can’t focus. Not when you still feel his eyes on you.

And when you risk a glance up, your breath catches.

Because he isn’t watching your dad.

He’s watching you.

You try to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible with the weight of his gaze on you. Your palms feel clammy in your lap, and you force yourself to keep your hands still, not wanting to give away how nervous you are.

But you know he sees it. You can feel it, the way his eyes linger a second too long, like he’s amused by your discomfort. Like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

“And how’s your son?” your dad asks, and your stomach twists painfully.

You don’t dare look at him. But you can still hear the ease in his voice when he answers. “He’s doing well,” he says smoothly. “He mentioned there was a little… disagreement yesterday, but I’m sure that’s been worked out?”

Your breath catches. You do look up then, your eyes snapping to his face. but there’s no sign of the man from last night. Just calm, polite curiosity. The perfect image of a concerned father.

And yet, when his eyes meet yours, there’s something else there. A glint of knowing.

Your throat goes dry. “Y-Yeah,” you say quickly. “We… talked. Everything’s fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says, his voice soft and warm. But there’s something in the way he says it. the slight lift of his brow, the hint of a smile that tugs at his lips, that makes your skin burn. Cause he knows exactly what happen, and what he did.

Your dad gives a satisfied nod, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good, good. Why don’t I introduce you to a few people? You two can talk later.”

You don’t miss the flicker of disappointment that crosses his face. so quick you might’ve imagined it. But when your dad leads him away, his eyes meet yours one last time.

And that look, steady, knowing, amused. makes your stomach flip.

As soon as they disappear into the small crowd of people, you let out a shaky breath, slumping slightly in your chair. But the relief is short-lived. Because now you know he’s here.

And there’s no telling when he’ll come back.

-

The night goes on, and the soft buzz of conversation and laughter starts to blur together. You stay at the table, your fingers tracing the rim of your water glass as your parents drift further into the crowd, chatting, laughing, toasting drinks with old friends.

The room feels warmer now, the golden light softer, and your eyelids grow heavier with every passing minute. You glance around, hoping for a distraction, but there’s nothing. Just groups of adults lost in their conversations and the occasional clink of glasses.

You stifle a yawn, resting your chin on your hand. It’s late, and you’re starting to wonder how much longer you’ll have to sit here alone — then the chair beside you slightly shifts.

You blink, startled, and when you glance up. your heart jumps.

It’s him.

He settles into the seat like he belongs there, his movements slow and relaxed. His black bow tie standing out, and there’s an ease to him that makes your stomach flutter.

“Not having fun?” His voice is low, smooth, the same voice that had whispered far more dangerous things just last night.

You sit up straighter, your pulse picking up. “I—um… I’m fine,” you mumble, suddenly very aware of how quiet and small your voice sounds.

He watches you, his head tilting slightly. “You don’t seem fine,” he says, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You look… tired.”

You swallow, your face heating under his attention. “It’s just… getting late,” you say softly. “That’s all.”

He hums thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. “Your parents seem to be enjoying themselves,” he observes, glancing toward them across the room. “They might be here a while.”

You follow his gaze, your dad’s laughing loudly with a group of his friends, and your mom’s deep in conversation, wine glass in hand. He’s right. You’re not leaving anytime soon.

“Would you like some company while you wait?” His voice draws your attention back to him, and the way he’s watching you makes your breath catch. Calm, polite… but there’s something else beneath the surface. Something that makes your skin tingle.

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around your glass. “You don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” he cuts in gently. “You look like you could use someone to keep you awake.”

The teasing edge in his voice makes your cheeks burn. You drop your eyes to your lap, suddenly too shy to meet his gaze. “Okay,” you whisper.

For a few moments, there’s only silence between you. But you can feel his presence. the warmth of it, the way it makes your skin prickle and your heart race. And when you finally risk a glance up, you find him still watching you. His eyes dark, unreadable. And his mouth, just barely curved into that same knowing smile.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you’re too aware of every little thing, the warmth of him so close, the quiet hum of his breathing, the way his eyes seem to linger on you just a second too long

“You always this quiet?” he asks after a moment, his voice low and smooth.

Your fingers toy with the hem of your dress as you force yourself to meet his gaze. “Not always,” you say softly.

He hums, amused. “Just around me, then?” That teasing edge to his voice. You weren’t quiet, not at all. He knew that all from the other night.

Your face flushes instantly. “N-No, I—”

“Don’t be all shy again..” he interrupts, his tone gentle but teasing. “You were doing perfectly fine with talking the other day.”

Your heart skips a beat. He says it so casually, like the weight of last night isn’t still sitting heavily between you, making it hard to breathe.

“I—” You start, but the words catch in your throat. You look down, biting your lip. “I guess.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and soft. “Relax,” he says, his voice dipping lower. “I don’t bite… unless you ask me to.”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and when you see the slight curve of his lips, your stomach flips.

He’s teasing you. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the worst part is it’s working.

You glance away quickly, your face burning. “You—You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” you mumble.

“Why not?” he asks, feigning innocence. “You seem a little tense… I’m just trying to help you loosen up.”

You stay quiet, too flustered to answer. But when you shift in your seat, his eyes flick downward, and that quiet, knowing look returns. Like he remembers every little detail of how you reacted to him last night.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asks softly, and the way his voice drops sends a shiver down your spine.

You freeze. “I—No, I’m not—”

He leans in just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Liar.”

Your breath catches, and you stare at him, wide-eyed, heart pounding. You know you should say something, push back, deny it again but the word just hangs there between you.

Liar.

And the worst part is… he’s right.

You drop your gaze, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. The heat crawling up your neck makes it impossible to breathe right, and you’re sure your face is giving you away.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you, letting the silence stretch long enough for your nerves to tighten. You can feel the corner of his mouth lifting, like he’s waiting for you to squirm.

But when you don’t answer, his voice comes again, soft, teasing. “You know… you’re not very good at hiding things.”

You swallow hard. “I—I’m not hiding anything,” you mumble, even though you know it’s useless.

“Mm.” He makes a thoughtful noise, but there’s still that glint of amusement in his eyes. “If you say so.”

He leans in just a little closer, his voice dropping lower. “You’ve been avoiding my eyes all night. Getting all quiet and shy… Makes me wonder what you’re thinking about.”

You know he knows. You can see it in the slight curve of his lips, in the way his eyes flicker over your face. Like he’s taking in every tiny reaction.

But you can’t answer him. You’re too flustered, too overwhelmed by the warmth of his attention.

So you stay quiet.

After a moment, his smile softens, just a little. The teasing edge fades, and when he speaks again, his voice is gentler. “Relax,” he murmurs. “I’m only teasing you.”

You finally risk a glance up at him, your face still warm. “You’re not making it very easy,” you mumble.

That earns you a quiet chuckle. but this time, it’s softer. “Maybe not,” he admits. “But you’re cute when you’re nervous.”

Your stomach flips, and you have to look away again before your face burns any hotter. This was so wrong, you made up with your boyfriend. He’s suppose to be here with you, not his father with you. You still felt so guilty and terrible.. but he never put in any effort. Not like his father did. You quickly snapped out of your thoughts from him speaking again.

He watches you for a moment longer before finally sitting back in his chair, giving you a little space. “I’ll stop,” he says, his tone gentler now. The way he says it, light, playful, but with a promise behind its makes your pulse skip.

The two of you sit there in a strange kind of silence, not uncomfortable, but heavy in a way you can’t quite shake. You try not to fidget under his gaze, but you can feel it every so often, his eyes flicking toward you like he’s waiting for you to speak.

But you don’t. You’re not sure you even can.

After a moment, he breaks the quiet. “You look like you could use a drink,” he says, his voice light and easy.

You blink, turning toward him. “I—I can’t,” you say quickly. “I’m only eighteen.”

He raises a brow, clearly amused by your sudden nervousness. “And?”

You shift in your seat, glancing around the room. “And… my parents are here,” you say in a low voice. “If they saw—

“They won’t,” he interrupts gently, his voice smooth and calm. “No one will. It’ll be our little secret.”

Before you can argue, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a sleek silver flask. Your eyes widen as you watch him unscrew the cap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Relax,” he says again, his voice soft. “Just a little. You seem… tense.”

“I—I don’t know…” you trail off, your heart pounding as you watch him.

He glances around the room, his eyes scanning the crowd, then leans in slightly, his movements slow, deliberate, and pours a splash of whatever’s in the flask into your empty water glass. The clear liquid darkens just a bit, the faint scent of alcohol drifting up.

When he looks back at you, there’s something almost gentle in his expression. “It’ll be fine,” he murmurs, his voice quiet enough that only you can hear. “No one’s paying attention. You won’t get in trouble.”

You hesitate, your fingers brushing the cool glass. “Are you sure…?”

“I promise.” The words are soft, almost soothing. “But if you don’t want to, I won’t push you.”

That makes it worse somehow, the way he’s so patient, so calm about it. Like he knows you’ll say yes eventually.

And maybe that’s why you finally pick up the glass, your heart thudding in your chest.

“It’s just one sip,” you whisper, half to convince yourself.

His eyes stay on you, dark and steady. “Just one.”

You bring the glass to your lips, heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. The smell alone makes you hesitate, but his eyes stay on you. calm, patient, and just a little bit amused.

You take a small sip.

The burn hits you immediately, sharp and bitter, and you barely manage to swallow it down without coughing. Your face scrunches up as the warmth spreads down your throat.

“Ew,” you whisper, setting the glass down quickly. “That’s… awful.”

He laughs. low and warm, clearly finding your reaction way too amusing. “It’s an acquired taste,” he says, still smiling. “But I think you handled that pretty well.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still wincing. “I don’t think I want to ‘acquire’ it,” you mumble, making him chuckle again.

But you notice the way his eyes soften just a bit when he looks at you. like he’s enjoying this more than he should.

And then, a few minutes later, he nudges your glass toward you again. “One more sip,” he says, his voice smooth and gentle. “It gets better. I promise.”

You hesitate, but he’s watching you with that same calm patience, and something about the way he says it makes it hard to say no.

So you take another sip. It still burns, but the taste doesn’t seem as bad this time.

“See?” he murmurs, smiling. “Told you.”

~

Throughout the night, it keeps happening. Every time you think you’re done, he coaxes you into one more sip. Just one more. until the bitterness doesn’t seem as sharp, and the warmth spreading through you feels kind of nice.

You’re not even sure when you started relaxing. but the room feels softer somehow, and your nerves aren’t quite so tight anymore.

And every time your eyes meet his, you swear his smile grows just a little more satisfied.

Your head feels heavy, the room warm and hazy as you sink deeper into your chair. You blink slowly, the soft hum of conversation around you blurring together now. and the glass in your hand feels heavier than it should.

You hadn’t even realized how many times you’d listened to him. Just one more sip, he’d say, and you’d take it without thinking. And now everything feels slow and warm, your limbs loose and your thoughts fuzzy.

You let out a soft, tired sigh, your head tilting to the side. “I’m sleepy…” you mumble, your words slurring just a little.

He’s still there, sitting close . his eyes never really leaving you. The slight curve of his mouth hasn’t faded, but there’s something softer about his expression now. Amused, maybe. Or patient.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You nod, though the movement makes your head feel even heavier. “Jus’… tired…”

He watches you for a moment, his eyes flicking over your face. Then, his voice dips lower. “I told you it’d get better,” he teases lightly.

You pout, your lips pressing into a soft little frown. “S’not better… it’s jus… weird…”

That makes him chuckle. a warm, quiet sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re not used to it,” he says. “It takes time.”

But you’re too sleepy to care about that now. You shift in your chair, your eyes fluttering closed for just a second before you force them back open.

“Wanna go home…” you whisper, your voice soft and almost pleading. “I Wanna go to bed…”

His eyes stay on you, quiet and unreadable. “Your parents don’t seem ready to leave,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking toward them across the room. “They’re still having fun.”

You let out a soft, frustrated whine, sinking deeper into your chair. “I Don’t care… wanna go home…”

For a moment, he just watches you. and then you feel the lightest brush of his fingers against your wrist. “Why don’t we get you some air?” he suggests softly. “Might help you feel a little better.”

But you just shake your head, your body feeling too heavy and warm to move. “Jus’ wanna sleep…” you mumble again, your eyes slipping closed despite your best efforts.

And the last thing you hear is his voice, quiet and soft . as he murmurs, “Alright… just rest for a bit. I’ve got you.”

You shift in your seat, your body feeling so heavy and warm you can barely hold yourself up. Your head droops a little, and you let out a soft, sleepy whine.

“I Wanna go home…” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “I Wanna sleep… not here…”

He watches you for a moment, his eyes steady and calm, but there’s a flicker of something else there. something thoughtful. Then he leans in a little closer, his voice soft and soothing.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll take you home.”

You blink up at him, your vision a little blurry. “But… my parents…”

“I’ll talk to them,” he reassures you, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Before you can argue, not that you have the energy to , he stands up. You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he adjusts his jacket, casting one more glance your way.

“Just stay right here,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right back.”

You nod slowly, your body too heavy to do much else, and he walks off toward the crowd.

He finds your parents easily. still laughing and chatting with their friends, glasses of wine in hand. The last thing they’d notice is their daughter sitting off to the side, barely keeping her eyes open.

He approaches them smoothly, his voice warm and polite. “Hey, I just wanted to let you know, your daughter’s feeling a little tired. She asked if I could take her home so she could rest.”

Your mom frowns slightly. “Oh, is she okay?”

“Just worn out, I think,” he says easily, his tone reassuring. “It’s been a long day for her.”

Your dad glances toward where you’re sitting but can’t quite see you through the crowd. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Not at all,” he says, his smile calm and convincing. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

Your mom hesitates, but the easy charm in his voice seems to put her at ease. “Alright… just tell her we’ll be home soon.”

“Of course,” he nods, already turning back toward you.

And as he walks through the room, there’s a quiet, satisfied curve to his lips.

You barely register the sound of his footsteps returning, but then his hand is on your shoulder, warm and steady. “Come on,” he murmurs softly. “Let’s get you home.

You blink up at him, your vision still fuzzy, and nod slowly. But when you try to stand, your legs feel wobbly and weak, and you sway a little. His hand moves to your waist immediately, steadying you.

“Easy,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Just lean on me.”

You do. because you don’t really have a choice. The room tilts slightly around you, and the warmth of his hand fully around your waist is the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Try to act normal, okay?” he whispers, his mouth close to your ear. “We don’t want anyone asking questions.”

You nod again, your head bobbing against his shoulder, but you can’t stop the soft whine that escapes your lips as you cling to his arm. “I’m tired…” you mumble, your words slurring together.

“I know,” he soothes, guiding you through the room. “We’re almost there.”

You try to keep your head down, but it’s hard when everything feels so heavy and warm. You don’t even know how you make it outside without stumbling, or how no one notices the way you’re leaning so heavily against him.

The cool night air hits you, making you shiver a little. He tightens his grip just slightly, his hand firm against your waist as he leads you to his car. When he opens the door, you practically melt into the seat, your head falling back with a soft sigh.

The seatbelt clicks into place, and then he’s sliding into the driver’s side. But before he even starts the engine, your voice breaks the quiet.

“I Wanna go home…” you whisper again, your eyes barely open.

“I know,” he says softly, but there’s something in his voice, something darker, rougher.

And when his eyes flick over to you, watching the way you shift and squirm in the seat, still whining softly, you don’t see the way his jaw tightens, or the way his fingers flex against the steering wheel

Because that feeling from last night?

It’s back.

But this time he’s trying to hide it.

The drive is quiet except for your soft, sleepy murmurs. You shift in the seat, your head leaning to the side, and every so often you let out a little whine, still half-awake, still wanting to go home.

And he listens, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, but his face stays calm. Steady. Even though that strange, familiar feeling is still tugging at him, he pushes it down. He tells himself it’s nothing. Even after saying all these little things to you throughout the night, right now you were drunk and it was wrong. Last night it was completely up to the two of you, but now your vulnerable. Not even knowing what was going on.

When the car finally pulls into your driveway, you’re already half-asleep. He steps out first, walking around to your side and opening the door.

“Come on,” he murmurs, his hand warm on your arm as he helps you out. “We’re home.”

But your legs are just as wobbly as before, maybe worse, and you stumble into him with a soft noise, your forehead brushing against his chest.

“Sorry…” you mumble, your voice muffled against him.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, his arm slipping around your waist again. “Gonna pick you up, okay?.” You huff shakily. “mkay..” you whispered softly out. Feeling as his strong arms suddenly picked you up. Your arms instantly wrapped around his neck as his arm was tucked under your legs. Holding you in a bridal style way. And the way you wrapped your arms straight around his neck, just reminded him even more of last night.

The way your arms were wrapped around his neck, the way your legs wrapped around his torso. His lips on yours.

He shook his head, stop it. He thought to himself. He stepped inside. The house is quiet when he unlocks the door, your parents still at the party. He guides you inside, careful and patient as you shuffle toward the stairs. You cling to him without even thinking, your body too heavy and your thoughts too fuzzy.

By the time you reach your room, you’re barely standing. He eases you down onto the edge of your bed, crouching in front of you to slip off your shoes.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs again, his voice softer now. “You just need some rest.”

You nod, your eyelids fluttering shut. “Thank you…” you whisper, your words slow and drowsy.

He watches you for a moment. the way your face softens as sleep tugs at you, the way your body sways just slightly before you catch yourself. That feeling pulls at him again, but he pushes it back. He tells himself this isn’t the time.

Not yet.

“Get some sleep,” he says gently, standing up. “I’ll let your parents know you’re home safe.”

But as he turns to leave, your hand catches his wrist, your fingers soft and warm against his skin.

“Stay…?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

And for a long moment, he just stands there. watching you, his face unreadable. He didn’t want to stay, because he knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

But he hesitates for a moment, the quiet in the room settling between you. His eyes flicker to yours, soft but unreadable, as if he’s unsure whether he should give in.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “Just for a little while.”

He sits down beside you on the bed, his presence calm but steady. You can feel his warmth next to you, and even though his demeanor is composed, there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel both safe and vulnerable.

“You should rest,” he murmurs, but his voice doesn’t sound like an order, more like a quiet suggestion. He watches you for a moment as you sit up, the softness in your eyes drawing him in.

And for a while, the two of you just sit there in silence, until you find yourself swaying slightly, your head eventually coming to rest against his shoulder. The warmth of the alcohol in your system makes everything feel soft and hazy, and before you can stop yourself, your fingers are curling loosely into the fabric of his sleeve.

"Don't go yet," you mumble, your words slightly slurred but gentle. "Just... stay here for a bit longer." You nestle closer, seeking his warmth, too tipsy to be self-conscious about your need for comfort.

With a surge of boldness, you shift slightly, lifting your head from his shoulder. The world spins just a little as you move, but you manage to steady yourself. Your hand trails up his arm, coming to rest gently against his cheek, turning his face toward yours.

Your lips brush against his other cheek, soft and fleeting like a whisper. The contact sends a small shiver through you, and you linger there for just a moment, breathing in the subtle scent of his cologne. When you pull back, your faces are close enough that you can see the subtle shift in his expression, the way his eyes soften at the edges.

His breath catches slightly at your touch, and you feel the way his jaw tenses beneath your fingertips. There's a moment of hesitation where neither of you moves, the air between you charged with unspoken tension.

His eyes meet yours, dark and questioning. Even through your alcohol-induced haze, you can see the conflict there. the way he's struggling between what he wants and what he thinks he should do. His hand comes up to cover yours, but he doesn't pull it away from his face. Instead, his thumb traces gentle circles against your skin.

"You're drunk," he whispers, but he doesn't move away. If anything, he leans slightly into your touch, betraying his own desires despite his words of caution.

"okay.. but-" you admit softly, "i- I know what I want." Your fingers curl slightly against his cheek, and you feel rather than hear the sharp intake of his breath.

He didn’t say anything. Sitting there, letting you do as you pleased. So soft like he was and used by it. Your eyes looked at him all hazy and sift. But a hint of confusion to why there was a skein plastered on his lips. Your head tilted gently. His hand reaching to gently brush a piece of hair out your face. His fingers lingered on skin for a moment, softly brushing down the side of your neck, causing you to shiver slightly. He chuckled lightly. “pretty.” He said quietly. Almost like he was egging you on. Wanting you to do something.

Your breath hitched slightly at his touch, the warmth of his fingers leaving a faint trail of goosebumps down your neck. You weren’t sure if it was the way he was looking at you, calm, unreadable, but still somehow expectant. or if it was just the way your heart felt heavy in your chest, the alcohol still making your thoughts feel slow and unsteady.

Your lips parted, but you didn’t know what to say. There was something in the way he said pretty. like he was testing you, waiting for a reaction.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your dress, gripping it lightly as you tried to steady yourself. “Y-You keep looking at me like that,” you murmured, your voice soft and slow, “but I don’t know what you want.”

His smile didn’t falter, but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? He tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing along his own fingers as he rested his hand on his knee.

“I don’t want anything,” he said smoothly, but there was a teasing lilt to his voice, like he enjoyed seeing you this way. uncertain, flustered, clinging onto every little thing he did.

You swallowed, shifting slightly where you sat. The air between you was thick, heavy with something unspoken.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze still locked onto you, unreadable yet somehow still drawing you in. “You’re tired,” he finally murmured, his tone softer now, almost coaxing. “You should rest.”

It wasn’t a dismissal. But it also wasn’t an invitation. It was something in between, and it left you unsure of what to do next. He knew he wanted it as badly as you did. But figuring it’d be fun playing around with you, knowing how drunk you were.

A flicker of annoyance sparked in your chest. His tone was so calm, so controlled, while you felt like a mess, warm, restless, and still buzzing from everything that had happened. He was toying with you, wasn’t he? Letting you get worked up, watching as you sat there all dazed and unsteady, hanging onto his every word.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your dress, gripping it tighter. “You’re so… f-frustrating,” you muttered, your voice slightly slurred from exhaustion and the alcohol still clouding your thoughts. Your brows furrowed as you stared at him, eyes hazy but sharp with irritation.

He only smiled, unbothered. “Am I?” His voice was smooth, teasing, like he found amusement in your frustration.

That only made it worse.

Without another thought, you leaned forward, closing the space between you. You weren’t thinking, weren’t weighing the consequences, weren’t questioning whether this was right or wrong. You just wanted to shut him up, to break through that irritating composure of his, to see if he’d finally react.

Your lips brushed against his, quick, unsteady, and impulsive.

For a second, everything stilled.

His body didn’t move, didn’t tense. He just sat there, letting you do as you pleased, just like before. The warmth of his lips lingered against yours for a brief moment before you pulled back, your breath uneven, heart hammering in your chest.

You expected some kind of reaction. shock, amusement, maybe even scolding. But instead, he just looked at you, still unreadable, his expression frustratingly calm.

And then, slowly, he exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Was that supposed to prove something?”

His voice was low, steady, but there was something different in his gaze now. Something unreadable, yet undeniably focused on you.

His eyes flickered over your face, watching the way your breath hitched, the way frustration and something deeper swirled behind your gaze. The bravado you had just seconds ago was already slipping, replaced with something softer, something needy.

For a moment, he just let the silence stretch between you. Then, finally, he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just the slightest bit.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” he murmured, almost to himself. But there was no edge to his voice anymore, no teasing. Just quiet understanding.

Your lips parted as if to protest, but before you could get a single word out, he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, his hand lifted, fingers brushing along your jaw before settling against the side of your face. His touch was warm, steady, and this time, he wasn’t testing you. He wasn’t waiting for you to make the move.

He was giving in.

He leaned in, closing the space between you, his lips pressing against yours. not rushed, not hesitant, but familiar. Like last night. Except now, you weren’t in the haze of anger or reckless defiance. Now, it was just the two of you, in the quiet comfort of your room.

Your breath trembled against his mouth as you melted into him, your body instinctively leaning closer, like it had been waiting for this. His other hand came to rest against your waist, grounding you, holding you steady.

This time, he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t holding back.

And neither were you.

His lips pressed against yours, slightly rougher than before, hands gripping your hips the same way they did last night. You were needier this time, your head buzzed. Though thoughts were cloudy, you knew you wanted this as much as he did. His hands grasped your hips as he tugged you into his lap. At the headboard of your bed, his back pressed against it while he helped your legs straddle him, lips still pressed to yours. His tongue brushed softly against your lip, making you sigh.

You parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slip in with ease, brushing against yours and causing a soft whimper to escape. It was like music to his ears, bringing a slight grin to his lips. His hands ran down your thighs gently. Your dress bunched around your thighs and hips from the position. Your hands rested on his chest.

The room was dim, filled only with the sounds of your kisses, hands brushing against one another, and the slight buzz of your phone. You were too absorbed to notice. His lips broke from yours to press soft, rapid kisses down your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut, mouth parting slightly as soft sighs and subtle whimpers escaped. Eyes opening hazily, you noticed your phone light up in your peripheral vision.

He glanced up, following your gaze, and saw your phone lighting up with texts and calls from his son. "Wha—who's that?" you whispered, not seeing the name. He stopped kissing your neck, reaching over to shut the phone off and flip it face-down on the bed. "No one, baby. Don't worry about it," he whispered tenderly. You listened easily, quickly forgetting as his lips returned to your neck. Growing impatient again, eager just like yesterday, you shifted. He sensed it, smirking—you could feel the curve of his smile against your neck.

"Be patient now..." he whispered teasingly but quiet. You huffed, annoyed, still droopy and hazy from the buzz. Lifting your head to meet his, you pressed your lips back to his, eager and slightly sloppy. He smiled, letting you do as you pleased, kissing back lightly, amused by your attempts to take control and hurry him along. But he wouldn't, not yet. As you kissed him, he positioned you onto his thigh, your sweet spot pressed right against it. You didn't notice until you shifted slightly, trying to sit up, only to move against him.

A light whimper left your mouth as he parted your lips from his. Your lips were slightly swollen and shiny with mixed saliva, eyes big and woozy. He grinned. "Hm?" he hummed, acting as if he didn’t do anything. "What is it?" "R-that—" you mumbled softly, barely able to speak. His hand brushed a fallen strand of hair from your face before he leaned down, nuzzling your neck. You huffed shakily, eyes closing again. Now was his chance. His hands slipped back to your hips, slightly moving them, causing you to rub against his thigh. You whined softly. "Mm—" you hummed. "You like that?" he whispered, his hot breath tickling your neck. "Mhm," you hummed once more. He didn't say anything. He just continued. He lightly moved your dress up, causing it to bunch around your hips. His Hands gripping your hips as he began to gently move them again. Causing you to move against his clothed thigh again.

He slid his hands down your thighs once more, gripping them firmly as he guided your movements. Your breathing grew heavier, mixing with soft whimpers that escaped your lips. His mouth found your neck again, trailing hot kisses down to your collarbone. The friction against his thigh made your head spin even more, clouding your thoughts further.

"Such pretty sounds you make," he murmured against your skin, one hand moving to cup your face. His thumb traced your bottom lip gently, his dark eyes watching you intently. You could barely focus, lost in the sensations as he continued to guide your hips in a steady rhythm.

Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, nails digging in slightly through his shirt. He groaned quietly at the feeling, his free hand squeezing your hip in response. The room felt impossibly hot now, making your dress cling to your skin. You wanted more - needed more - but he kept you there, working you up slowly with deliberate movements.

More frequent whimpers began to leave your lips, making him more and more aroused. God, now he needed something now. Hands loosening slightly on your hips as he let you do as you wanted now. Your hands gripped his shoulders. Feeling yourself lost in the pleasure.

His breath grew ragged as he watched you chase your pleasure, your movements becoming more desperate and erratic. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as waves of pleasure coursed through you. He groaned at the sensation, his hands sliding up your back under your dress.

"That's it.” he whispered softly, his lips brushing against your ear. "Cmon.." His words sent shivers down your spine, making your movements falter slightly. He steadied you with his hands on your waist, guiding you back into rhythm.

Your forehead pressed against his as your breathing became more labored. His eyes watching your closed ones, dark with desire, watching every expression that crossed your face. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building with each movement against his thigh.

He had you gasping, your fingers gripping his shoulders as the wave of pleasure washed over you. It left you breathless, your body still trembling as you sat on his lap, vulnerable and lightheaded.

The dizziness lingered, making your head spin, and you let it rest against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. His hand traced slow, soothing circles on your back through the soft fabric of your black dress. Yet, despite your exhaustion, his dark eyes remained hungry. He knew you were tired—but he couldn’t help himself. He needed more. After giving you so much, it was his turn to take.

Now, you were at your most vulnerable.

“Can you do something for me, honey?” he whispered, his voice low and smooth.

Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy from the lingering buzz. Your mind felt sluggish, barely processing his words.

“Hm… yeah,” you mumbled, your speech slightly slurred.

He smirked. “Yeah?” he echoed, double-checking, not because he needed to, but because he liked hearing you say it.

You lifted your head from his shoulder, nodding slowly as your gaze met his. His hands slid to your hips, guiding you off his lap. You let out a small yawn as you crawled off him, flopping onto the soft comforter of your bed. All you wanted was to curl up and sleep.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you turned onto your side, eyes already closing—

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, his hands finding your waist to pull you upright again.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes. “C-Can we just do it tomorrow?” you mumbled, oblivious to what he wanted.

His gaze was dark, hungry, far from sweet and patient. He wasn’t going to wait anymore.

“No. Sit up,” he commanded firmly. But as he took in your tired, dazed expression, his eyes softened. Just a little.

He exhaled slowly, his grip on your waist loosening just a bit. You blinked up at him, still groggy, barely aware of the way his gaze roamed over you.

“Come on, just for a little,” he coaxed, voice softer now, though the edge of impatience still lingered beneath it.

You sighed, sitting up reluctantly, your body still heavy with exhaustion. “What- i-is it?” you murmured, rubbing at your eyes.

His fingers trailed up your arm, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver through your already tired body. “Just stay awake for me,” he said. “I need you for a little longer.”

You swallowed, sensing the shift in his tone. It wasn’t a request.

His hands found your wrists, thumbs stroking over your pulse as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Your breath hitched. Even through the haze of exhaustion, there was something in his voice that made it impossible to say no.

He saw the hesitation in her eyes—that soft, uncertain look. But he knew she’d give in anyway.

Tilting his head slightly, he studied her, waiting. And then, slowly, she nodded.

“Good,” he murmured, a satisfied hum slipping from his lips.

His fingers curled around her hand, guiding her upright. With a gentle but deliberate tug, he pulled her off the bed. His hands slid to her shoulders, coaxing her down until she was kneeling on the wooden floor in front of him. Exactly where he wanted her.

Your head was swimming, vision slightly blurred as you looked up at him. He reached down, fingers threading through your hair as he observed you with dark, hungry eyes. Despite your exhaustion, something about his gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

"That's my girl," he purred, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. You parted them instinctively, earning a low chuckle from above. "So good, even when you're tired."

His other hand moved to cup your jaw, tilting your face up further. You blinked slowly, trying to focus through the haze. The room seemed to spin slightly, but his firm grip kept you steady, anchored to the moment.

His hands moved to the buttons of his pants, undoing them with calm, deliberate ease. But beneath that controlled exterior, he was eager—craving the warmth of your lips, the touch of your hands. And the way you watched him the entire time, eyes fixed on him with that quiet anticipation. It only made him harder.

He let out a slow breath, his gaze locked onto yours as he pushed his pants down just enough. Black boxers visible, but he tugged those down too. He hard length visible now, your eyes all fuzzy and fixated on it. And god, he loved it. His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up to him.

“Open,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

Your lips parted instinctively, your breath warm against the skin of his rough hand. His thumb traced over your lower lip, watching the way you shivered under his touch.

“Good girl,” he praised, his tone laced with both patience and hunger.

His other hand tangled into your hair, guiding you closer.

Your lips parted as you felt the tip of his cock slip into your mouth. A low sultry groan leaving his lips. Finally, feeling you on him. His eyes looking down at you. Dark and filled with lust. “Hm” he hummed quietly. His larger hands went to tangle in your hair. Your bow that was once in your hair now slipped out and on the floor beside you. Your dress bunched up around your thighs. He was big.

Your lips parted as he tip pressed against them, slipping into the wetness of your mouth. a deep, sultry groan slipping from his throat the moment he finally felt your warmth. His dark, hooded eyes stayed locked onto you, heavy with hunger.

“Hm,” he hummed, low and satisfied.

His fingers threaded through your hair, his grip firm yet teasing. The ribbon that once held your hair neatly in place slipped free, forgotten on the floor beside you. Your dress had ridden up around your thighs, the fabric pooling as you shifted.

He was big—his presence overwhelming, intoxicating. And he knew it.

His hand tightened in your hair as he guided you further, watching with dark satisfaction as more of his length disappeared between your parted lips. Your eyes fluttered, struggling to stay focused as the combination of alcohol and exhaustion made everything hazy. Eyes blurring with tears as you softly gagged. Feeling the tip of his cock hit a he back of your mouth endlessly.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, waiting until your bleary gaze met his. "mmh good."

His hips moved slowly at first, careful, measured thrusts that let you adjust to his size in your mouth. But his patience was wearing thin. Each wet sound, each small groan that vibrated around him, pushed him closer to the edge of his control.

Your hands rested weakly on his thighs, trying to steady yourself as he began to pick up his pace. The room spun slightly, but his firm grip in your hair kept you grounded, focused on the task at hand.

"That's it. " he groaned, watching your lips stretch around him. Teary eyes looking up at him. His sons girlfriend, all pretty like this below him.

His hands gripped your hair as he forced himself down your throat, making your eyes shut tightly. Tears poured down your face between desperate gags. Your hands clutched his thighs. One of his hands held your hair back from your face while the other gently wiped tears from your cheek. With a final thrust of his hips, he let out a deep groan, his head falling back. You felt his member twitch in your mouth before slipping out. A shaky gasp escaped your lips as you tried to catch your breath, eyes blinking rapidly. But he wasn't done, not yet.

Your wide, teary eyes gazed up at him before dropping to his hand. "Open," he instructed firmly. You obeyed immediately, your cheeks stained with tears and hair disheveled from his grip. Your lips parted, tongue extended, and your eyes fluttered as warm liquid spilled onto your tongue and face. You flinched slightly, your body burning and breath ragged. "Swallow," he whispered strictly. You complied, closing your mouth and swallowing everything. He adjusted himself, pulling his boxers and pants back on. A gentle chuckle escaped him—the sight of you like this, eyes teary and face a mess. Mixed with his come and tears, amused him. With a smile playing on his lips, he helped brush away your stray tears and cleaned your face with gentle strokes. His fingers gathered the remnants, then pressed them to your lips. You whimpered softly, understanding his intent, and sucked his fingers clean.

“So good.”

This feels so rushed HELLO IM SORRY

IT WILL NOT LET ME TAG ANYBODY HELLO IM SO SORRU OMG💔

[midnightsnyx]

girl at home | mat barzal | part 10

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of alcohol and vomit & fluff and not edited!! word count: 2.6k

a/n: so obviously this is fiction and we don't actually know what Mat or Liana or his parents personalities are actually like but I took some liberty with Liana's personality. see end for more notes cause I don't want to spoil anything :) also sorry this is so late!! i went back to work and then had trouble with this chapter. i hope you all enjoy! likes, reblogs and comments feed my writing soul so let me know what you think <3

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Liana texts you the day after your meet-up with Mat at the park, apologizing for getting angry with you and asking to go out for drinks. You don’t have it in you to still be upset with her for yelling at you because she was always the little sister you never had and just because you and Mat are having problems, doesn’t mean it should affect your relationship with her. Sometimes you wonder if you’re too quick to forgive and forget but you know that this is an exception. 

“It’s just weird, y’know?” Liana mutters, laying her head on the dirty bar table. She’s on her third drink and you’re close to cutting her off. “I’m going to be an aunt again, but I have this odd feeling about Calista. Like she’s not telling the entire truth.” 

You startle when she suddenly bolts upright and looks at you with wide eyes. 

“What if Mat’s not the father? That would make so much sense!” 

“How so?” you ask carefully. So far, you have successfully kept the fact that Calista is not pregnant a secret. It’s a secret you will have to take to your grave because you can’t let Marlee get in trouble when all she was doing was trying to help you. The truth might come out some day, but it’s something you will deal with then. 

“Mat is just being weird about the whole thing, like he’s hiding something,” she says. “Well, besides the fact that he hasn’t told mom or dad… but there’s something else.” She picks up her glass and drinks the last of her martini before signinally the bartender for a refill. 

“I think it’s time we switch you to Shirley Temples,” you say gently, asking the bartender for a couple glasses of water. 

She tries to wave you off when you push the water towards her but you give her the all too familiar look that you used to give her when you were both younger. 

“Fine, but if I’m getting cut off, so–” she stops talking abruptly, suddenly focused on something across the room. You turn and see a familiar face that makes your heart drop into your stomach because there’s no way she’s that stupid and you’re about to say something but Liana hops off her barstool and before you can stop her, she’s marching across the room to where Calista is sitting. She’s surrounded by a few other people, one of them being a guy you can’t quite place but definitely isn’t Mat, but the real kicker is the drink in her hand. 

You’re not in the business of accusing people but the way she’s laughing loudly and swaying a little in her seat makes you think that it’s not a non-alcoholic drink. You stare a little too long because when you snap out of your stupor, it’s to a loud shriek and shouting. Nearly tripping over your own feet, you rush over to find both Calista and Liana being held back by people and shouting at each other. You manage to drag Liana out of the hands of the person holding her back but you can’t help but stare at Calista in shock. You know she’s not pregnant but you didn’t think she was stupid enough to test her luck by getting drunk at a bar and possibly being seen by people who think she is.  

“I knew something was off about you,” Liana shouts at Calista who only now seems to realize that you are also in the room. Her face, which was red, pales considerably and her eyes widen when she looks at you.

“You are pregnant!” Liana shrieks and when you hear people gasping and the whispers start, you know you need to get Liana out of here now. 

With strength you didn’t realize you have, you drag her outside. She shakes you off as soon as you’re out the doors and promptly throws up all over your shoes. You don’t give yourself time to be grossed out, pulling your phone out of your pocket and calling the first person you think of.

“Hello?” Jax mumbles and you’re panicking enough that you can’t feel sorry that you woke him up. 

“I need you to pick us up,” you gasp and suddenly you’re sixteen again, calling him to pick you up from a party that you snuck out to. 

Jax doesn’t hesitate before agreeing and asking where you are. You rattle off the name of the bar and he says he’ll be there in ten minutes even though you know his apartment is at least twenty minutes away. You’ve never been so grateful to have him as a friend. 

“You didn’t call Mat, right?” Liana asks quietly and you look to see her sitting on the curb, looking absolutely miserable. Her eyes are filled with unspilled tears and you can only imagine what’s going on in her head. 

“No,” you tell her, sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her. “I called Jax.”

She nods and leans her head on your shoulder. You sit in silence for a few minutes before she speaks and her voice is quiet and shaky. 

“She was never pregnant, was she?”

Maybe it’s the natural motherly instinct in you, but you realize you can’t lie to her when she’s so upset.

“No,” you tell her and then she’s crying. You know that she’s drunk which makes her more emotionally vulnerable but you also know how sensitive she’s always been and it’s not a weakness. She wears her emotions on her sleeve and it’s only ever made her kinder and wiser than she should be for her age. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you when Mat told me but I was so confused and upset that he was keeping it from us.” 

Then she’s crying even harder. “Oh god, what are we going to tell Mat?”

Truthfully, in the chaos of all this, you haven’t had the chance to think about what you’ll do about Mat. You know Liana won’t keep the truth from him and even if she did, word travels fast and he would eventually find out. You’re not certain he can mentally handle this, not with everything that’s going on between the two of you and his fragile relationship with Nora. He was just getting used to the fact that he has a daughter when Calista dropped the baby bomb on him and now to find out that it’s been a lie? You’ve no idea what he will do. 

“I don’t know,” you tell her honestly and sigh in relief when you see Jax’s car come into view. You stand up, helping her back to her feet just as Jax parks and gets out to help you. 

He looks worried but doesn’t say anything about yours or Liana’s appearance. Once you’re both settled in his car, he tells you he’s going to bring you both to his apartment for the night, obviously not feeling comfortable dropping you home when you’re upset and intoxicated. You know he’s right but all you want to do is curl up in your own bed. 

“Alright,” you agree eventually and he nods, starting the drive back to his place. You must nod off because the next thing you know, Jax is gently shaking your arm, waking you up. 

“I can’t carry you both in,” he jokes and you look back to see Liana completely knocked out. She grumbles when you wake her but she’s coherent enough to walk.

Jax’s boyfriend, Eli, already has their guestroom set up so you get Liana in the bed and then situate yourself on the air mattress. Jax leaves with a promise to check on you both throughout the night and if you weren’t so worried about Liana, you would tell him not to worry but you’re not taking any chances with her.

You lay awake for a while, not able to get the image of Calista drunk and with another guy out of your head. You don’t know how to tell Mat about it and Liana probably won’t either but eventually you drift off to sleep.

. . .

The next morning, you wake before Liana. Jax came in and checked on you both a few times before deciding that it was okay to leave you so you’re surprised to find him awake when you make your way out to the kitchen. It’s just past 8 o’clock but he’s cooking breakfast, singing off tune to Taylor Swift.

“Hey,” you say softly, sitting at the breakfast bar. You know he’s going to want an explanation because even though he let you off the hook last night, he’s going to want to know why Liana was crying and you had vomit on your shoes when he picked you up. 

“Morning,” he replies, placing a coffee in front of you and a piece of plain toast. You can feel his eyes watching you eat and once you’re done, he looks at you expectantly. 

“We saw Calista at the bar last night,” you explain. “Drunk and with some random guy.”

“Huh,” he says, so you look at him. His face is neutral, not showing if he’s surprised. 

“What does huh mean?”

“I mean, you did say something was off about her.” 

That was putting it lightly because although you couldn’t tell him the full story in fear that Marlee would lose her job, you did express your concerns about her without telling him that you knew she wasn’t pregnant. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. 

You hear shuffling from the guest room and look to see Liana walking into the kitchen. She plops down next to you and groans.

“I’m never drinking again,” she says and you can’t help but chuckle despite the circumstances. 

“Said every hungover person ever,” you say and a small smile crosses her face before she frowns, clearly remembering last night's events.

“I have to tell Mat,” she says. “It’s not fair to him that she lied.”

You sigh but nod in agreement. 

“I have to pick Nora up from my moms,” you tell her. “Are you okay to tell him yourself?” 

You really don’t want to be there when Mat finds out, not when you’re dealing with your own feelings towards him. 

“Yeah,” she says, eating the toast Jax offers her. 

You both finish your coffee and then Jax drives you to your apartment and you drop Liana home before picking Nora up. 

She’s ecstatic to see you, telling you everything she did with grandma from the moment you dropped her off until now picking her up. 

“And then, Millie hissed at me but Gizmo barked and scared her away,” she takes a deep breath before continuing her ramblings. “Can we get a kitten?” 

“You’re allergic, remember?” You remind her, and then a thought pops into your mind. Where did she see your mother’s neighbor's cat? “Where did you see Millie?” 

“Mrs. Turner invited us over for tea,” she tells you and then offhandedly adds: “she asked about you and Mat.” 

This doesn’t surprise you because Mrs. Edna Turner is quite the gossiper. You have trust in your mother that she didn’t tell Edna anything private but you’re still curious what exactly they talked about and you know that your child can be sneaky when she wants to be. 

“What did Mrs.Turner ask?” you ask, rolling your eyes when she sighs dramatically and puts her tablet away. 

“Well, first she asked if Mat was really my daddy and when Grandma said yes, she said ‘that poor child’,” she says, face scrunching up in confusion. “What does that mean?”

You make a mental note to talk to your mom about bringing Nora to any future tea parties at Mrs. Turner’s. 

“Nothing,” you assure her. “What else did she say?”

“She told grandma that if she were you, she wouldn’t move me to New York.” Her eyes narrow and she frowns. “I thought you said we weren’t moving to New York.”

“We’re not.”

“Then how come Mrs.Turner said that?” she demands.

“‘Cause Mrs. Turner doesn’t know how to mind her own business,” you mumble and then sigh, looking at Nora so she’s listening. “We’re not moving to New York, okay?” 

She nods and then smiles. “Can we go get ice cream?” 

“Yeah, we can go get ice cream,” you tell her even though it’s nearly dinner. 

Every once in awhile, ice cream for dinner is in order.

. . .

It’s past midnight when there’s a quiet knock on your door, and the only reason you’re awake to hear it is because Liana let you know she told Mat the truth about Calista. She told you that he had left the house as soon as she told him that morning and hadn’t returned home all day. You were expecting a text from him but your phone was silent and that worried you even more.

So, when you open the door to find Mat standing in front of you, red rimmed eyes and looking about two seconds away from crying, you don’t hesitate to let him inside. He slips past you and toes his shoes off before going straight for the couch and sitting down on it. You hesitate, but eventually settle down next to him. 

He’s resting his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands and it takes you a minute to realize he’s crying silently. 

“Mat…” 

“I just - fuck, I thought that this was my second chance, you know? It wasn’t ideal but I would get to do all the things I missed with Nora,” he says, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I was such an idiot.”

It’s not a dig towards you but you still can’t shake the guilt you always feel when he talks about everything he didn’t get to see. Her first steps, first words, first day of kindergarten. All the things you can never get back. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say gently. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should’ve,” he mumbles and before you can say anything, you hear soft footsteps coming down the hallway. You look to see Nora, rubbing her eyes sleepily and frowning when she sees Mat. 

When he realizes she’s there, he wipes his eyes hastily but it’s not fast enough because Nora walks over to him and deepens her frown.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly, reaching out and touching his cheek that’s still damp. 

Mat looks like he’s going to say that he’s fine but seems to change his mind last minute. He smiles sadly and shakes his head.

“Not really, peanut,” he tells her and the frown on her face deepens even more than you thought possible. 

“Mama says hugs make things better when you’re sad,” she says, sounding much wiser than a six-year-old should sound. Then, without asking, she climbs up onto his lap and wraps her tiny arms around his neck and hugs him. You can see the moment Mat breaks, hugging her back gently and it’s like all the tension drains from his body. 

You call it the “Nora Effect”, because her little hugs always seem to make you feel better.

“I’m so sorry, Nora,” you hear Mat whisper and you know he’s going to beat himself up over everything that’s happened with Calista - and Nora deserves his apologies, but your kid is one of a kind and you know that she will forgive him.

With time, if he proves himself, he’ll have a place in her life and you can’t wait to see what the future holds for them. 

authors notes: so calista is goneeeee FINALLY. she wasn't supposed to be here as long as she was but I got too carried away with that storyline and i'm glad it's over lol also, I had mixed thoughts about having mama be the one who told Mat that Calista was lying but I just couldn't get it right so I figured next best thing would be Liana! ps: millie is named after my own cat who i will put a pic of in the comments below

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