#and now!! my dad is texting us you all might want to come home this weekend I hate this I hate this
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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 earlierâvision 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 hadnât said anything smart or mean, just driven him home without a word. No fight with her that night, he hadnât screamed at her, hadnât said something heâd regretâhe kept his shit together for once. He said thank you, but his sister didnât need it when sheâd grown up watching him break down and build back up a thousand times, never quite whole.
Therapy hadnât miracled him into some new person or whatever. He wasnât 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 wasnât gonna happen overnightâhe 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 heâd drown.
Thatâs 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 youâd follow up your text with a quick ânvmâ or âthat was a mistake.â But nothing came, just that green bubble, staring back at him, fucking terryfing.
This had to be some kind of trap, you hadnât 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 againâerraticâand he wondered if he was about to pass out on your front steps.
Thatâd 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, couldnât believe youâd let him in. By the time he reached your front door, his hands were damp again, chest aching with everything he wasnât saying.
Thenâdoor swings open.
You didnât make him knock, there you were barefoot, dressed in some enormous hoodie he hadnât seen in months. Hair twisted up, eyes dark from either crying or just not sleeping. You werenât supposed to look like that.
âHi.â
âHi?â he echoed, like a fucking idiot. It came out raspy, his throat wasnât working right, still scratched up from earlier. His lungs hadnât fully clocked back in from that panic attack and now this. ââŚYou let me in.â
âYou rang the gate.â
You seemed tired, not just physically, and he did that thing again, almost stopped breathing because air wasnât a thing he deserved around you.
You stepped aside, sighing. âCome in. Before I change my mind.â
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 wasnât 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 hadnât 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 realâas if he could still fix it. He wanted to admit heâd 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 youâd bolt if he breathed wrong.
Rafe blinked, looking away. "I donât 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 didnât know if that map still existed for him anymore.
âStart somewhere.â
Where the fuck was âsomewhereâ? Before the fight? Before he said all that shit he didnât mean because it was easier to make you hate him than admit he couldnât live without you?
âI didnât think Iâd be let in.â
âI didnât think youâd show up.â
Everything felt surreal, as if heâd 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 conversationâcivilized, if you could even call it that. He didnât 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 couldnât stop loving but always hurt.
âI donât know how to talk to you anymore,â 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 beâeven after a screaming match, youâd curl into him like nothing ever broke. you'd text him "come over" at 2 a.m. and heâd 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 lifeâyou were the one place he didnât have to explain himself. This didnât feel like the two of you, more like strangers in borrowed skin.
Rafe hated that he kept looking for youâthe 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 didnât need him to find the right words. You didnât look like her anymore, that was a good thing.
What the fuck happened to us.
He was what happened, if he hadnât shut down, pushed back, said the worst thing at the worst timeâhe 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 heâd already done.
You still werenât uttering a single word, and he was starting to feel like he couldnât sit here another second without doing somethingâsaying something, but then, as if you'd taken a peek inside his excuse of a brainâ
âI think we should get our excuses out of the way.â
He looked up.
Your hands were fidgetingâthumb 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 hadnât touched him at all in months.
âI mean it. No more bullshit.â
âWhat are you talking about?â
You met his eyes.
âI mean, Iâve got my own shit to say,â you said. âSo if youâve got something to say, I want to hear it now.â
He suddenly felt sick, his ears were ringing again, the way they had earlier when Sarah pulled the car over and told him to âbreathe, Rafe, itâs anxiety, not a heart attackâ.
ââŚI donât know how to say it right,â he muttered almost swallowed by the quiet. âEvery time I try, it comes out fucked.â
âGive it a try.â
You didnât say anything else, the you go first was visible in your eyes.
That was the least he could give you, right? Heâd 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.
âI regretted it the second you left.â It it hurt to say it, âI didnât say it then. I was tooââ He laughed once, humorless. ââtoo proud. Too fucked up, drunk.â
He rubbed his palms against his jeans, focusing on everything he hadnât said properly for months. It haunted him, how your face had crumpled but you still didnât cry in front of himâtoo 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.
âThe shit you said that night��� messed me up. I know I messed you up too, butââ He stopped, jaw flexing. âI didnât think it would come from you.â
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 assholeâhe could take all of that. But you? Heâd spent so long thinking you saw him, even when he didnât 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 daddyâfuck, heâd felt something in him break in half.
âI thought youâd get it,â he admitted, swallowing hard. âThatâs the part I couldnât stop thinking about. Youâof all people. You lost your whole family. You know what thatâs like. You were there when my mom died. We were kids, but you were the only one who talked to me about it. I thoughtââ He shook his head. âI thought it would be like that again. That when my dadâwhen he was gone⌠I thought if anyone would understand what that felt like, itâd be you.â His mouth twisted. âBut you didnât.â
He blinked, and his vision went fuzzy againânot from panic this time, just pain, remembering too vividly.
âI deserved it, I really did. But that night?â he said, âI couldnât forgive you. You werenât wrongâ" He bit his cheek, hard, until the taste of blood hit his tongue. ââbut it was you. And I didnât want to stop loving you. Thatâs why I didnât chase you, just drank, a lot, figured Iâd black out enough nights and eventually stop thinkin' about it.â
Another dry laugh.
âDidnât work, if that wasnât obvious.â He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, âI kept waiting for you to come back, thinking any day now, youâd text me. Say you were sorry too. But you didnât and I didnât know how to fix somethin' you were the one who broke last.â
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 itâyou were gonna walk out, leave him sitting there like some pathetic, washed-up version of the guy you used to love.
âIs that why you started seeing Sofia?â
"I didnâtâŚ" He paused, shaking his head, dragging a hand down his face. âI didnât see her like that.â
You didnât say anything, just nodded, slow and silent: go on.
âShe was the bartender at the club. Iâd see her when I went inâmost of the time I was drunk off my ass anyway. Half the time I didnât even remember what I said to her. I didnât know her name for a while.â He hated himself for saying it out loud. âShe was just there.â
His leg started bouncing again, and he didnât even notice.
âShe asked if I was okay once. Thatâs 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.â
His hands came up, gesturing vaguely between you.
âI kept thinkingâyou left me. You left. When I needed you the most, and I knew Iâd done so much wrong, pushed you so far that you didnât have anything left to give me, but⌠I still thought you'd understand. I thought if anyone was gonna sit with me in grief, itâd be you. But you didnât, you treated me like I was a fucking monster, it didnât matter that Iâd just buried my dad. All I was, was Wardâs son, and not just some kid trying to make sense of losing the only parent he had left.â
You looked like you wanted to interrupt. You didnât.
âAnd I know he was a bad man. I know that, âm not fucking delusional,â Rafe snapped, voice rising for a second, frustrated with himself, before softening again. âBut 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 teethâhe still said it.â
He dropped his eyes to floor again, voice going nearly hoarse.
âAnd 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.â When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper. âThatâs when it clicked. You were gone, you werenât coming back. And I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me. I didnât even realize you were already hurting, mourning me while I was still sittin' right fuckin' next to you.â
His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours again.
âThatâs why I didnât stop her,â he said, quietly, defeated. âWhen she kissed me the first time⌠I didnât stop her. Because I wanted you to know what it felt like, to feel what Iâd been feeling every second since the door slammed behind you. I wanted it to hurt when you found out.â
Rafe saw your jaw twitch, you were trying not to cry or scream or both while he admitted what youâd 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 hadnât known how to say until now.
He hated that heâd ever wanted to hurt you.
âYou didnât have to make it worse.â
His head dropped, ashamed, nodding. He knew, fuck, did he know.
âYou couldâve called. Texted. Showed up like thisâmonths ago.â
âI didnât know how.â
âYou did. You just didnât want to.â
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 didnât have to see your eyes look at him like that.
That nightâshit, that nightâheâd said things he didnât even remember, the kind of bullshit you donât come back from. It scared him sometimes, what heâd become. Heâd 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.
âI didnât even like her,â he admitted, a little more broken. âNot like that. She was just⌠there, a good friend. She wasnât you, didnât ask questions, didnât 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 couldnât admit was my fault too. I didnât think there was anything left to fight for.â
His voice cracked for real this time.
âThatâs the difference between us,â You muttered. âYou give up when itâs hard. You made it look easy.â
âI needed you to hate me enough to stop trying.â
You let out the breath youâd been carefully holding.
âCongrats. It worked.â
âI didnât want it to. I was a mess. Still am. I never stoppedââ
âI thought I was going to die when I saw you together, Rafe.â
Your eyes werenât angry or accusing, justâŚ.sad.
âIâI saw you in the bathroom,â you continued, âThought I was going to throw up right there in the hallway.â
Rafeâs heart stopped.
âThe door was open just a crack, enough to see her.â You swallowed hard, and he could see how your hands were shaking now. âShe had her arms around your neck. You were smiling, laughing even. You kissed her neck, she was touching. You fucking let her.â
His soul caved in.
âI stood there for maybe ten seconds. Long enough to see you tie the strings of her bikini behind her back like youâd done it a hundred times already.â You let out a little laugh, but it sounded so wrong. âIt used to take you five tries to tie mine without getting flustered.â
He felt sick to his stomach.
You shook your head slowly, eyes closing.
âIt felt like someone had just reached into my chest and ripped my heart out. I couldnât breathe, my face went cold, and all I kept thinking was you didnât even flinch.â
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. âI slept on the bathroom floor that night, in your hoodie, because it smelled like you. Didnât eat for two days.â
A pause.
âAnd I still wouldâve taken you back if youâd just shown up. Said you were sorry.â
Rafe couldnât take it anymore. âI was sorry,â he said, hoarse. âEvery second. I swear to God, I just didnât think Iââ
ââdeserved it?â you finished for him, not unkindly. âYou didnât.â
He flinched.
âBut I wouldâve still tried,â you whispered. âBecause I loved you that much.â
No vindication or closure. Rafe pressed his fingers to his temples, exhaling hard, his whole body burning with guilt.
âI didnât like her,â he repeated, knowing it couldnât erase what heâd done.
"You liked her enough to keep her around."
âShe was there. Thatâs all it was, she wasnât you. I couldnât even look at her without thinkin' about you.â
You shook your head, eyes gleaming. âThen why didnât you leave?â
He looked at you, words choking in his throat. âBecause I was scared youâd already moved on. You were gone for two months, I felt like a stranger."
You let out a bitter breath, âYou were a stranger. The moment you let her touch you like that⌠you stopped being mine.â
The silence that followed was suffocating, a punishment, he deserved worse.
âI didnât know how to come back from it,â he said, barely above a whisper.
âYou donât come back from something like that."
He nodded, devastated. âI never stopped loving you, that never changed.â
You looked at him for a long time, it almost hurt worse than all the yelling in the world â because you werenât angry anymore. You nodded once, slowly. âI know. But that doesnât make it hurt less.â
Your eyes were still fixed on him, lips parted like you wanted to say something else but werenât sure where to start.
âI shouldnât have said what I said that night.â
That pulled his eyes back to yours.
You nodded to yourself, needing to work up to it.
âI was angry. I wasâI was tired.â You sat back, and pulled your knees tighter into your chest. âFrom watching you ruin yourself over and over again for someone who didnât give a single fuck. You were breaking your own heart every day, and I couldnât do anything but watch.â
He didnât say anything, just watched you like he was trying to breathe you in all over again.
âI knew he was your dad, what that meant. But watching you keep chasing something you were never gonna get from himâhis love, his pride, a real apologyâit made me so fucking angry, it was killing you and I couldnât 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.
âSo yeah, I said shit I shouldnât have said. I threw your grief back in your face, it wasnât right. It was fucked up. And I hate that I did it, because I do get itâI do know what that kind of loss feels like and I still made it about me in the moment. Thatâs not fair, you didnât deserve that, especially not from me. I'm sorry."
You werenât done.
âBut youâre not the only one hurtingâ you continued, âYou werenât 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 didnât want to be loved anymore and I broke, too.â
Rafe blinked fast, chest rising with shallow breaths while you were still picking at your sleeve, eyes down.
âAnd you were right, back then. When we were younger, you were always the one to fix it. Every time weâd 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.â Your voice wobbled, but you didnât stop. âYou were always the one who showed up.â
His head dropped for a second, eyes squeezed shut.
âI told myself that made me better than you somehow,â you murmured. âI had the upper hand because I could make you come back, but that was just me being a bitch, you werenât the only one who needed to grow up. You werenât coming back and I didnât want you to.â
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 werenât mourning louder. None of them got it, you didnât stop loving Rafe, youâd 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. âI had to be better on my own and I have been.â
You didnât say it with pride, but you had learned how to exist without him, even when it broke you. Rafeâs eyes flicked to your stomach.
You rubbed your hand over it, âI didnât tell you before because I wasnât keeping it.â
You werenât keeping it.
He couldnât blame you, not when heâd made it feel that way. His gaze dropped to your hand resting gently over the swell that wasnât there yet, still small, but he saw it now. He wasnât supposed to know. thatâs what killed him most still, you hadnât even told him because heâd already proven he wasnât worth telling.
âYou werenât gonna keep it,â he repeated, like saying it might help it sink in.
You gazed up at him again, eyes wet, but no tears spilling. âNo.â
âBecause of me?â
You didnât need to answer. He already knew.
His heart was splitting open, right there on the floor between you both, and he still couldnât move or close the gap. Couldnât hold you the way he wanted to because youâd already had to learn how to live without him.
âIt wasnât fair,â you tried not to twist the knife even as you twisted it. âTo bring a baby into that⌠into what we were.â
Rafe nodded once, a jagged little motion because it hurt to agree, so fucking bad. You werenât wrong, but that didnât make it easier.
âI wouldâve been better,â he sounded completely desperate now, his voice breaking. âIf Iâd known, if Iâdâfuck, if youâd just told me, I swear to God, I wouldâve beenââ
âYou donât get to promise that now,â you said, but there was no venom in it, only resignation. âThatâs why I was so upset when Topper found out, called the clinic.â
âHave you talked to Topper?â Rafe asked, he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you.
You shook your head. âNot yet. I will.â
He nodded once, âHe meant well.â
âI know,â you said quietly. âHeâs not a bad person. Just⌠socially dumb.â
That almost made Rafe huff out a laugh, but it didnât quite land.
âI think he was trying to protect you.â
âAnd I didnât need protecting,â you snapped, âI needed someone who wasnât gonna treat me like a bomb about to go off.â
That shut him up, because it was true. Youâd 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.
âYou didnât go through with the abortion."
âI was past the legal limit in North Carolina. The place he called was in New Mexico.â
âNew Mexico?â
âI had to fly there.â
âBut you didnât.â
âThere were⌠complications.â You didnât elaborate, your voice was already trembling, âThey said it might mean I canât⌠that I might not be able toâŚIt wasnât my choice anymore.â
Your voice died, you didnât say it, but Rafe heard it.
He felt like heâd been shot.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â His voice pitched up, breath hitching, "Why didnât you tell me you were hurting?â
âBecause you werenât mine anymore, Rafe.â
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.
âI didnât know I was sick then. I thought I was just tired, it wasnât 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.â
Rafeâs breath left his lungs like heâd been punched. âJesus.â
Your lip trembled even though you were trying so hard to stay composed. âThey 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.â
Rafe wanted to crawl away.
âAnd youâve been going through this alone?â
âIâve had Sarah. Sheâs the only one that knows.â
His eyes flicked to the side like maybe if he didnât look at you, it would hurt less to absorb all of it, the guilt drowning him.
âShe shouldâve told me,â he muttered, but even that felt weak, it wasnât Sarahâs burden to carry.
âI told her not to,â you said softly. âI begged her.â
That part gutted him all over again, you were in painâbut you didnât trust him with it, youâd believed so deeply that he wouldnât show up, that you chose to suffer in silence.
âI donât know how I let it get this bad,â he whispered.
âI do,â you said, without accusation. âYou stopped seeing me. I was standing in front of you, hurting, and you were too busy trying to be someone elseâs son.â
Rafe pressed a hand to his face, red-rimmed eyes that happened when he was trying not to cry. âI see you now.â
A weak apology wrapped in a confession he shouldâve made months ago. It was a small thing, such a simple sentence, but it cracked something in you, too.
You swallowed hard, âIt doesnât change everything.â
âI know.â
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 didnât know where to go from here.
âWere you scared?â
âTerrified.â You didnât let him look away. âI 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.â
He winced but you didnât stop.
âIf I told you, and you didnât show up, itâd break me in a way I wouldnât 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 youââ You shook your head, blinking hard. âI couldnât survive that version of you.â
âI wouldnât haveââ he started, then stopped. âI donât know what I wouldâve done.â
He rubbed both hands over his face, then through his hair like he was trying to physically pull the memory of who heâd been out of his skin.
âIâm not letting anything happen to you.â
It was the first time in a long time you felt like you werenât bleeding out alone.
You watched him, and for the first time in months, he didnât look like the boy who broke your heart. He was a man trying to find a way to put it back togetherâpiece by piece, even if it was too late.
You took a shaky breath, âI donât want to get back together.â
Rafe didnât 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. Heâd been a ghost of himself, lost in Wardâs shadow, drowning in every toxic version of what he thought strength was supposed to be. Heâd made you feel alone when you were most vulnerable, hadnât seen you when you were falling apart.
âI didnât say all this so youâd take me back. I justâŚâ He exhaled shakily, head in his hands. âI need you to know Iâm sorry. And that IâIâm still here. I canât change how bad I fucked up, but I can show up now. However, youâll let me.â
He observed you again, eyes rimmed with guilt and love that had aged in the dark, misshapen but still there.
âIâll drive you to the appointments. Sit in the parking lot if you donât want me in the room, do the night runs for ginger ale or whatever the fuck else you need. You donât owe me anything back.â
He wasnât offering to fix it so he could be your boyfriend again, he was offering because he could finally see past himself.
âI donât want you to go through any more of this alone.â
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 couldnât anymore.
âYou say that now, but you have no idea how bad this could get. I might not make it,â you reminded him. âThereâs a real chance this ends with me gone, and if it doesnât, it could still mean Iâm sick."
You werenât trying to be cruel, he understood that, you were being honest.
âI know itâs serious, butââ
âNo,â you cut in, âYou donât know. This doesnât end with you waiting outside the delivery room and me holding the baby with a tear-streaked smile.â Your voice failed you. âThis could end with a funeral, mine, the babyâs, or both. And if that doesnât happen, if I survive, it still might not feel like a win. I might never stop resenting that I didnât get to choose.â
He hadnât just failed you, heâd failed everything he ever said heâd 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.
Rafeâs fingers twitched in his lap, itching to reach out. To touch your knee, your hand, your shoulder, anything, but he didnât dare.
âThey took that from me, my body did,â you admitted, âI donât know who Iâll be when this is over. I donât know what will be left of me, if Iâll still be someone who can look at you without seeing every moment I didnât get to make for myself.â
He didnât know who heâd be either. What if you died? He couldnât unsee it nowâyour body going limp, blood-soaking sheets, hospital lights, helpless. What if you lived and he lost you anyway? Could he watch you walk awayâalive, wholeâbut still broken in all the places he helped crack? He loved you so fucking much it made him hate himself.
And that loveâit didnât 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.
âWe can be friends, maybe.â
Friends.
It wasnât a bad word, but for him, it wasnât neutral when it came to you. Heâd tasted your breath and held your dreams and mapped the small places only lovers know, heâd once believed you were it for him.
But thatâs what you needed and thatâs what you could give, this timeâthis fucking timeâhe wasnât going to take what wasnât his.
âIâll be your friend.â
The words nearly choked him. It was how it started, wasnât it? All those years agoâmud-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 heâd 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.
âIâll be whatever you need.â
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 heâd been holding it since he was seventeen.
He could do that, he would do that. It wasnât closure, it was a better version of grace from two people whoâd seen the worst of each other.
âSarah told me youâre in therapy.â
Rafe blinked, like youâd spoken in a language he hadnât heard in years, the conversation rerouted so quickly it gave him whiplash.
ââŚHow does she know Iâm in therapy?â
You gave a half-hearted shrug, âWheezie.â
A dry chuckle escaped himâone of those stunned, of course kind of laughs. He shook his head slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
âShouldâve known,â he muttered, more to himself than to you. âGirl has ears like a bat. Probably listened through the vents.â
That tugged a smile out of you.
âItâs notâŚa big deal,â he added, âI mean, I guess it is, but it doesnât feel like it yet. Itâs just me sittin' there trying not to lie to someone whoâs already read through all my bullshit before Iâve even said it.â
âIt is a big deal, Rafe.â
He peered down at his hands, they were shaking. He tucked them under his legs. âI only started recently. Didnât think Iâd make it past the first session, almost didnât go in.â
âBut you did.â
âI kept hearing your voiceâold stuff. Before I started proving you wrong.â
It stung because you remembered those days too, when you believed in Rafe so fiercely it made you blind.
âI wanted to be that guy again,â He confessed, and the guilt in his voice was so sharp it couldâve cut glass. âNot for you. Wellâyeah, okay, maybe a little for you. But mostly for me. I didnât like what I saw in the mirror anymore.â
You reached over thenâhesitating for only a secondâand 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 didnât deserve.
Jesus Christ, he thought, I forgot what this felt like. It was pathetic, really. Heâd gone so long without this kind of softness form you, he didnât 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 didnât move away. He missed all of it.
He turned his hand slowly, almost scared youâd pull away. When you didnât, he slid his fingers through yours like muscle memory.
âIâm glad you went.â
He sniffed hard, wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, âYeah, turns out I really am fucked in the head.â
âDonât say that. Iâm serious,â you said, squeezing his hand once more, then pulling away before it became too much. âYouâre not fucked in the head. Youâre hurting, thatâs not the same thing.â
Rafe almost whimpered. He swallowed it down fastâthe 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 hadnât gotten the message you were gone.
He wanted to grab your wrist and put your hand back.
He didnât. 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 itâhow much it had cost him not to lean in when you pulled away.
His throat burned. âFeels the same. Still got a million things wrong with me, still get mad too fast, still got shit I havenât unpacked.â
âI know. But itâs not the same, is it?â
Rafe gave a small nod, that wry little smile faltering as fast as it had come, it didnât reach his eyes. âNah, itâs not.â
He knew you two were broken people, bruised by what theyâd done and what theyâd lost, sitting in the ashes of something that mightâve 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 wasnât 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 heâd spent years trying to ignore beneath anger and loyalty and all the wrong kinds of pride.
âWhy tonight?â He gripped his own thigh like if he let go, heâd lose the nerve. His voice scratchy, âWhyâd you answer my text tonight of all nights?â
You spine straightened like it was a question you hadnât wanted to ask yourself, either.
âWas it âcause you felt bad for me? A-after the gala?â
âRafeââ
He exhaled, eyes wet again. âW-Was it pity?â
âI missed you.â
You missed him.
It was enough for the part of him that still woke up reaching for a body that hadnât shared his bed in months, that still kept your contact saved with a heart next to it, even after youâd 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.
Rafeâs shoulders hunched, chewing on the inside of his cheek, âI missed you more.â
âIâm scared. That even thisâwhatever this isâ"
âIâm scared too,â he cut you off, with that same wreckage in his voice.
It nearly destroyed him, the way you were looking at himâmemorizing him. You used to kiss like that. It felt almost wrong, like opening a box youâd locked for good.
It wasnât 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 otherâs sentences and now could hardly finish a conversation without bleeding all over it.
Then, almost like it wasnât real, you asked, âDo you ever wish weâd never met?â
Rafe looked at you like youâd just shot him with a rifle, his breath hitched, his lips partedâ âNo. Fuck, no.â
You nodded slowly, maybe you did, he wouldnât blame you if you had wished that, no matter how good it started, it left bruises when it ended.
âI think about that sometimes. Not because I didnât love you. But because I did and lost myself in you. And then I lost my body and the baby. And now⌠I donât know who I am without all that loss.â
He was shaking his head. âYou didnât lose the baby.â
âNot yet.â
Rafe had no words that wouldnât sound like hope, and that felt cruel now. Youâll be okay, or the babyâs strong, or weâll get through this, those were promises made in ignorance. And his therapist had told him just three days ago, âignorance isnât innocence. Itâs just fear in nicer clothesâ, and while he hadnât understood it at the time, he understood it now.
âDo you h-hate me?â
âNo.â It hurt more than a yes wouldâve. âI donât hate you, Rafe. I just⌠donât trust you.â
âDo you thinkââ he started, stopped, tried again. âDo you think I could ever be the kind of person youâd let in again?â
You looked at him, long and sad.
âI think you could be, I just donât know if Iâll be around to see it.â
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron au#rafe fic#rafe x reader#rafe cameron angst#toxic!rafe#toxic!reader#angst#itneverendshere worksâ¨#rafe cameron series#rafe cameron outer banks#eventual smut#eventual fluff#just angst now#rafe cameron x kook!reader#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron obx#obx 4#obx rafe cameron
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¤ đ đă WITH EASE, in which hyung line helps you with your kid.



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¤ 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 đ she gave me a lot of ideas for this ty
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` FEEDBACK.

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¤ 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.
âyeah, he actually went to bed pretty early today,â he stands, âdo you want something to eat? i saved some food for you, i just need to heat it up.â
you nod, watching him walk away before closing your eyes. the exhaustion of your job has finally caught up to you and you mightâve fallen asleep if not for heeseungâs updates about him and your sonâs 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. heâs at your apartment more than he is his own (thatâs mainly your fault) and youâve 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 itâs so gorgeous, he might as well break your heart now before you fall for him any deeper.
âitâs okay if you sleep for a bit, youâre tired,â he says oh-so matter-of-factly, because he knows you now, âiâll wake you up in an hour.â
itâs more than an hour later, when you feel heeseungâs hand on your cheek, rubbing under your eye. he notices you beginning to wake up and pulls his hand away, âyou should go eat now, âkay? the food is on the counter. iâm gonna go ahead and go home."
you sit up, frowning, âsorry, but can you stay? just until i finish eating, iâm sorry.â
he stares at you, silent for what feels like hours, and it makes you regret opening your mouth. you blame it on your drowsinessâyou know that if you were in your right mind you wouldnât have asked him even if you really did want him to stay. to your surprise, however, he grins.
âyeah, i can stay.â
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¤ PARK JONGSEONG.
you send jay a text, apologizing for the fifth time this month for backing out on your date. heâs probably becoming more annoyed with you each time you cancel, but itâs really not your fault.
for the past few days you havenât 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 youâre 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.
âhelloâoh. jay?â your eyes widen when you process the fact that itâs your boyfriend at the door. he was probably the last person you expected.
âhey,â he gives you that smile that never ceases to make your heart almost stop.
âwhyâre you here? wait, nevermind. iâm really sorry about canceling last minute, the babysitter couldnât come,â while youâre talking, you gesture for jay to come inside, shutting the door once he slips off his shoes.
âiâm not mad, these things happen,â he places a kiss on your forehead, lifting up a bag of groceries, âi figured we could still have dinner together, just with an extra person.â
âjay, you didnât have to. i feel bad.â
and he really didnât, but he did.
âi was going to buy dinner anyway. a home cooked meal is better, no?â he walks further into your apartment, setting down the bag on the small counter. âwhereâs gen at?â
âoh, sheâs inââ
genevieve cuts you off, all but squealing as she runs out of her room with a toothy grin, âmommy, jjâs here?â
you donât have time to scold her for running in the house because she immediately throws herself into jayâs arms, the man picking her up with ease, âwoah. hey, sweet girl. what are up to, huh?â
you smile as they have a conversation, acting like best friends who havenât seen each other in months. it melts your heartâgenevieve liked jay from the day that she met him all those months ago and you know that jay loves genevieve like sheâs his own. heâs definitely someone you want to keep around for as long as possible, if not for you but for your daughter as well.
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¤ SIM JAEYUN.
your two kids run up to your best friend, fighting each other for a spot in his arms. they donât 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.
âthey like me more than you,â he says instead of a normal greeting.
âthatâs because you spoil them every time they see you.â
âthey like me because iâm me,â he sticks his tongue out at you, âhuh, guys, you love me, donât you? your mommyâs just jealous.â
âyouâre actually annoying,â 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 youâre 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. youâre 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.
âoh my fuâjake, what the heck?â you scold him, hitting his shoulder.
he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, âsorry! i had to get you back. i think you gave me a concussion.â
he assumes you notice the popping slowing down and you turn away from him, taking the bag out of the microwave. he canât see your face but he knows youâre rolling your eyes when you speak, âplease, i barely touched you.â
âthatâs what you think.â
you donât give him the pleasure of the response, ignoring him to instead pour the bag of popcorn into a bowl.
âthank you,â you say suddenly, turning around once more, âi was thinking and, you know, i donât really say it enough.â
âyou donâtââ he starts to say, but you interrupt him by grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together.
âi do. youâve been really helpful lately. so, thank you.â
âumâ, he hesitates, âi love them and i love you. âcourse iâm gonna help.â
you smile, dropping jakeâs 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.
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¤ PARK SUNGHOON.
he canât 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 sonâs new best friend. maybe whatever divine being thatâs 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 youâre 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. heâs too dazed from being in your presence to process anything other than the fact that youâre sitting in his house.
â...live with you.â
he comes back to reality, only catching the end of your sentence and blinks, âwhat? sorry, i spaced out."
obviously, heâs going to need more context because logically he knows you arenât saying what he thinks you areâyouâve only known each other for a monthâbut he canât think of anything else that would make sense.
âtheo said he wanted to come live with you and yejun,â you say, amusement dancing across your face.
âoh,â he takes in your words, âreally?â
âyeah, he was begging me earlier. so..â you pause to take a drink and he has to look away, âif youâre okay with it, can he spend the night?â
he agrees to it with a little too much enthusiasm. of course, this is mainly for yejun and theoâstrengthening their friendship, helping them gain a lasting relationship or whateverâbut 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.
âi have a spare toothbrush and he can wear some of yejunâs pajamas, so donât worry about coming back.â
âokay, perfect. um, iâll see you tomorrow?â
âyeah, tomorrow,â he watches you walk to your car, waving as you drive off.
sunghoon knows for a fact that heâs fuckedâhe already wants to hear you say that all of the time; that youâll see him tomorrow and the next day and the next. he feels like a teenager all over again, already thinking about what heâs going to wear and say tomorrow morning.

#ă
¤â ŕŤŽę° ËáË ęąá ⥠ă
¤â #enhypen x reader#enhypen x you#enhypen x y/n#enhypen fluff#enha x reader#enha x you#enha fluff#heeseung x reader#jay x reader#jake x reader#sunghoon x reader#enhypen scenarios#enha x y/n#heeseung fluff#jay fluff#jongseong x reader#jaeyun x reader#sunghoon fluff#jake fluff#enhypen imagines#enhypen headcanons#lee heesung x reader#park jongseong x reader#sim jaeyun x reader#park sunghoon x reader#enhypen smau
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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 chestđ (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 himselfđ 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 SHAYLAAAđ (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 Renđ 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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


#14dwy#14 days with you#14dwy fanart#14 days with you fanart#14 days with you ren#14 days with you redacted#14dwy redacted#14dwy ren#14 days with you oc#14dwy oc#visual novel#yandere game#fanart#art#digital art#my oc#MY SHAYLAAA đ#â this is gonna be Shayla's personal tag on my blog now lol#Ren deserves to be happy and I couldn't refuse to give him that at least in my drawings...#I'M GOING TO GIVE MY LOVE A HAPPY FAMILY#but not without a little angst beforehandđ heheh#the relationship between Ren and my Angelsona will have its struggles#but it will also be full of love#the only thing I have to do is finally decide on a palette for her
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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 Harryâyour exâand his fiancĂŠe pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankieâs reaction makes it clear heâs 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: Iâve 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 arenât portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: Iâd love to hear your thoughtsâyour 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 Santiagoâs message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.
[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. Iâm really sorry but I wonât be able to come get you. Iâll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, donât worry:)
The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan youâd constructed in your head.
Frankie. He wasnât your first choiceâor your second, or third. If you were honest, he didnât 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 Emmaâs room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at onceâit all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. Youâd zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.
The plan was simple: youâd 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.
âWe can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,â heâd said, his tone warm, almost playful.
Youâd been leaning against Emmaâs 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.
âEverything okay with Yovanna?â you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasnât entirely one. âOr is this an excuse to run away for the day?â
âFuck you,â he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. âI just want to spend time with you. Itâs been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.â
That stopped you. He wasnât wrongâmonths had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.
âOkay,â youâd said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. âI miss you too. Iâll wait for you then.â
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. Sheâd done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parentsâ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.
âWhat happened?â 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.
âSantiâs not coming,â you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. âHe sent Frankie.â
You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. Youâd learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austinâthis 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 couldnât quite shake off.
âThat Frankie?âÂ
âI doubt he knows any others.â
âHow convenient,â she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. âWell, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.â
Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. âAnd donât take too long to come back and visit me, okay?âÂ
âYou could always visit Austin, you know."
âItâs more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,â she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. âI already know Austin. Thatâs not so exciting.â
You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasnât 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 didnât 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 didnât say anything, didnât need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminderâyou were understood here, even when you didnât 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 didnât 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.
âI think heâs here,â 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 pinsâa blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaurâwere an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way.Â
âCome on, Iâll walk you out,â 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 Emmaâs house, and something in you tensed. It wasnât Santiâs car, of course, and it wasnât Santi standing there waiting.
Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though heâd been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didnât seem to noticeâor care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadnât been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, tooâplain, worn, the same style youâd 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 didnât particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.
âWhereâs Santi?â you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than youâd intended.
Frankie didnât 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 guardânot because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didnât look at you, didnât 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.
âHe couldnât make it,â 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 shouldâve 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 driverâs seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.
âHe didnât tell me anything about it,â 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.
âIt was a last-minute thing.âÂ
Before you could respondâbefore you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherentâhe opened the door, slid into the driverâs 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 didnât have answers for.
âIâll call you when I get there,â you said, though you werenât sure what the call would entailâwhether youâd 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.
âI love you so much,â you added, your voice quieter now. âTake care of yourself, okay?â
âI 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 hadnât said a word since youâd left Emmaâs house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.
Youâd considered speakingâseveral times, in factâbut 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. Â
The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the carâs speakersâclassic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankieâs phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didnât bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since youâd left. Â
You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.
âDo you like this song?âÂ
âI think so.â
âItâs played three times already.â
âItâs a good song,â he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought.Â
You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadnât said it to be defensiveâjust matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side. Â
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 youâd 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. Theyâd all been there, witnessed it firsthandâthe arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water. Â
The possibility that Santi mightâve chosen Frankie on purposeâmaybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each otherâbothered 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 elseâs shadow might beânot yours, but unavoidable. Being your brotherâs best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didnât like him, and he didnât 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.Â
The last time youâd spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santiâs kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasnât dramatic, not reallyâno yelling, no slammed doorsâbut it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didnât 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.Â
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. Frankieâs 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.
âWe'll stop for lunch,â 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. âI havenât eaten anything all day. Do you mind?â
You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didnât let that soften your response. You couldnât.Â
âNo,â 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 hadnât spoken at all. His calmness was maddening.Â
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 somethingâanythingâbut 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.Â
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 didnât look back, didnât pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you werenât in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didnât want you there, and you didnât want to be near him either. This trip wasnât 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 wasnât 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 Jimmyâs 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 didnât 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 didnât want to engage.Â
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.
âGo find a table,â he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.
You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didnât follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movementsârelaxed, yet sharpâthat made you feel like you werenât 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.
âIâm goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,â 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 hadnât Santi given you a heads-up? You couldâve taken the bus or the train, something that didnât involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasnât even an option, apparently.Â
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 â70s and â80s. 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.Â
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 didnât 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 couldnât quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.
âHarry,â you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your faceâperfectly 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 didnât have to wear. âWhat... what are you doing here?â
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 agoâa goodbye steeped in heartbreak. Youâd clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: âItâs okay. Youâll be okay. I care about you.â But the words he didnât say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her. Â
It had been a casual fling, no strings attachedâor so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend youâd 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 werenât. Â
You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldnât bear the thought of him with her. Â
And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyesâoblivious to the wreckage heâd left behind. Â
In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. Youâd 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 didnât 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 wasnât the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didnât know how to respond. Harry was talkingâhis 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.
âWhat are you doing around here?â 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.
âWeâre... Iâm just passing through, heading back to Austin,â 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. âI went to visit Emma.â
âAh, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?â
âYep,â you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more.Â
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.
âWhat about you guys? What are you doing around here?â
You didnât really want to know, not at all.
âLisaâs grandparents live in Waco,â 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. âWe went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.â
You didnât smile. You couldnât. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasnât sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.
âRight, right.â You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. âHow cool. You must be so excitedâa summer wedding, then?â
Youâd known for weeksâSeptember 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 couldnât say that, could you? You couldnât 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 placeâfamiliarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldnât ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harryâs eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didnât say it, but it was clear. His look said: Donât 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 Lisaâs smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunningâperfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like sheâd 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 confirmationâyouâre going, aren't you?"
How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasnât cruelâjust unaware. Youâd never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought youâd be fine.
âI... umââÂ
âDonât worry about going alone,â 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 wholeâor anything to escape. Instead, you laughedâa thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.
"Ah, no, thatâs not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."
âOh, is it?â 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 didnât feel. "Iâll... Iâll go with my boyfriend."
Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared againâthis one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.
âYou donât say?â he said, his voice rising in pitch. âAnd whoâs the lucky guy?â
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 wasnât supposed to be here, yet there he wasâa lifeline in the chaos. Â
For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. Youâd never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shiftedâconfusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face. Â
Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your faceâtoo wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadnât been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldnât help it. You couldnât 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.â
You werenât sure what you were doing, but it didnât matterâyou 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. "Iâm Frankie."
Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harryâs hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situationâor his role in it. Â
You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harryâs hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfortâone only you noticed.
âFrankie,â Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. âItâs a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.â Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. âAnd this is Lisa."
Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.
âNice to meet ya, Frankie,â 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 wasnât 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.
âSame here,â he said, his tone unfamiliar to youâsomething smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.Â
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 goâotherwise, she goes bad."
You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it.Â
Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.
âYeah, I believe you,â 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. âThatâs the main reason we stopped. Though Iâll admit,â he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, âI was the one really starving.â
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 eyesâthe way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral.Â
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.
âYeah, Iâm sure you can relate,â he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. âKeeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?âÂ
You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak.Â
Harryâs 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 hadnât 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 himâThank God.
âOkay, thanks for the chat, but we bettââÂ
"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."
Frankieâs 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. "Iâve got her covered. Donât worry. Sheâs in good hands."
âBye, Harry,â 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 hadnât said. âAnd you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!â
Lisa smiled warmly. âThank you,â she replied, her voice smooth. âLet us know if you're coming."
âYeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,â 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 Harryâs view.Â
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 youâfurrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasnât clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.
âIâm so hungry,â you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. âI really want a burger, and some fries.â
He didnât reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:
âWhat the fuck was that?â
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 youâd said something wrong.
You shrugged. âMy ex.â
âOkay? And?â
âAnd thatâs it. Nothing else.â
Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.
âSince when am I your boyfriend?â he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. âLast time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.â
âDonât worry about it,â you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. âThanks for playing along, anyway.â
He sighedâloud, 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.
âYouâre not going to tell me what the fuck that was?â
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.
âHey,â he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.
You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.
âOh, are you talking to me?â
Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasnât joking.
âWho else would I be talking to? You think Iâm out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?â
âHey!â 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. âDonât talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think youâre talking to? Weâre not friends.â
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 didnât quite settle, in the way his eyes didnât blink as he studied you.
âI know, weâre not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?â
Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. âNo, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?â
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 easierâsafer. Honestly, youâd 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 wouldnât 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 heâd decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.
You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.
âItâs my ex,â you said, barely above a murmur.
âYes,â he said immediately. âYour ex. I got that part. And?â
âAnd his fiancĂŠe.â
âAha,â he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didnât leave yours. âWhy did you lie to them?â
You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.
âBecause...â Your voice wavered, and you hated it. âBecause... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.â
Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.
âWhat?â
âGod,â 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. âWe 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 Iâd go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because Iâd probably meet someone there.â
Frankieâs mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.
âSo, I panicked,â you admitted, your voice sharpening. âI told him not to worry, that Iâd bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it justâit made sense in the moment, okay? Thatâs it.â
âIt made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?â he asked, his tone incredulous. âYou couldnât have said I was someone else? Made up something better?â
âNo, it didnât occur to me!â you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. âI panicked, okay? Iâm sorry! What was I supposed to do?â
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 wasnât 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.
âOkay,â he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. âSo, you dated this guy for three monthsââ
âFour months,â you corrected, your tone clipped.
âRight. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?â
âYeah.â
Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.
âYouâre telling me he cheated on you, and youâre still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?â
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 twistâa combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadnât said the word outright.
âNo, he didnât cheat on me,â you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. âWe werenât in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldnât figure things out. I knew that. He told me.â
Frankieâs eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.
âHe told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?â
âNo,â you shot back, frowning. âHe told me after a whileâaround the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.â
âBut you were in love with him, werenât you?â
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.
âI had feelings for him,â 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.
âOkay, let me make sure Iâve 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 wouldnât have to show up alone. That about right?â
âIâm not in love with him,â you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.
âI donât believe you."
âI donât care what you believe."
âYou want to know what I think?â
âAre you deaf?â you said, your lips pressing into a pout. âI just told you I donât care.â
âI think youâre crazy for going to that wedding,â he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. âDo you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?â
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.
âWeâre friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldnât I go to his wedding?â
âSo he broke your heart, and youâre still going to his wedding. Got it.â 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.
âWhy 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.â
Frankieâs 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.
âYou got me involved in this, remember?â he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.
âIt was just a little lie, thatâs all.â
He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.
âWell, you didnât think it through,â he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu youâd 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 didnât.
âI wonder what heâll think,â Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, âwhen he sees you show up to the wedding alone.â His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. âYou shouldâve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I donât know, just donât go to the wedding. That works too.â
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. Youâd have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldnât make it. Or maybe you wouldnât say anything at all. Harry didnât deserve an explanation. He wasnât entitled to one.
The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didnât 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 wouldâve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If heâd warned you he couldnât make it, you wouldâve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldnât have had to deal with Frankieâs 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 couldnât things just go smoothly for once?
Frankie didnât seem to noticeâor careâthat you hadnât responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if heâd 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 hadnât seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.
When he finishedâbarely ten minutes inâhe 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 didnât 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 didnât rush you.
When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If youâd had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure youâd lose every bite of food youâd 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? Youâd roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldnât be here.
The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasnât loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didnât ask for but didnât 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 backgroundâRebel 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 didnât need to say itâhe 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 wasnât an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upsetâor worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasnât an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?
Harry knew all your friends, and you didnât have many male ones left who werenât married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brotherâs friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiagoâs 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 didnât have exes. They didnât 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.
âWeâll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?â His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.
âSure,â you mumbled, barely lifting your head.
The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadnât realized youâd 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 didnât seem to notice. Â
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 insideâmaybe 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 Frankieâs company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place. Â
So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency youâd expect from someone used to things like thisâmundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didnât rush, but he didnât 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. Â
You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click. Â
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 youâd tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation. Â
Eventually, your mind settled on one solutionâa 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. Â
Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak. Â
âFrankie,â you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. Â
He didnât take his eyes off the road. âWhat?â Â
âYou know,â you began, cautiously, âSanti loves you a lot. Youâre one of his best friends.â Â
âI know.âÂ
âAnd you must love Santi too, right? I mean, youâd do anything for him.â Â
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. Â
âOf course I love him,â he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. âWhat do you want?â Â
You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. âWhy do you think I want something?â Â
âBecause youâre smiling at me like that,â he shot back, returning his focus to the road. âAnd itâs creepy. Stop it. Youâre scaring me.â Â
âI just think,â you said carefully, âthat it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didnât have to, you know. I couldâve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I justââ Â
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.
âIf you want to call it that,â he muttered. Â
âI mean it,â you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. âYou didnât have to do this. You couldâve said no, and I wouldnât have blamed you. But you didnât. Why?â Â
His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasnât sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.
âI dunno,â he said finally, his tone clipped. âBecause Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?â Â
You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasnât fearâdefinitely 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 didnât matter if he was intimidating. It didnât matter what he thought of you.
âI think you should come to the wedding with me,â 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.
âWhat?â Frankieâs tone wasnât as surprised as youâd expectedâit was more amused, like he thought youâd just said something profoundly ridiculous.
âYou should come to the wedding with me,â 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 youâd completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.
âNo,â he said flatly.
âFrankie.â
âNo.â
âPlease.â
âWhatâs the matter with you?â he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. âDid you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?â
âNo, just hear me out,â you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didnât interrupt. âItâll just be a favorâa small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, Iâll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, wellânot whatever you want,â you corrected quickly. âSomething reasonable. Something human. Please.â
Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
âYouâre asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And youâre the sister of one of my best friends?â He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldnât quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.
You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.
âSanti will understand,â you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. âHe will. And itâs not like Iâm asking for muchâjust come with me for a little while. We donât even have to stay all night. Just long enough toâŚâ You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. âJust long enough to make it believable.â
âSorry, no,â Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. âIâm not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think itâs 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.â
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.
âI canât invite someone else,â you snapped. âYouâre my boyfriend, remember? Thatâs what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me todayâcanât you do it one more time? Just this once?â
âNoââ
âIâll do anything you want,â you interrupted, your voice insistent. âI mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.â
Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.
âIâm not interested in any favors from you,â he said bluntly. âI donât need anything.â
âThen do it for Santi,â you said, desperate now.
Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.
âWhat does your brother have to do with any of this?â
âHeâs your best friend,â you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. âAnd you love him. And Iâm his sister.â
âUh-huh,â Frankie said, still smirking. âSo?â
âSo, doesnât that mean you should help me?â
Frankieâs laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.
âYouâre really reaching now, arenât you?â
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 knowâthere was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didnât sway him.
âIâve never asked you for help before,â you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. âIn fact, Iâve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe Iâm being childish. But now Iâm asking. Just this once.â
He shook his head slowly.
âItâs not the same thing,â he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. âAnd you are being childish. Like I told youâno. The answerâs fucking no.â
You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.
âOkay, fine,â 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 faceâhumiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. âThank you.â
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 heâd had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when heâd 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.
âThatâll be all,â he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.
âThank you,â you murmured, barely audible. âIâll let Santi know Iâm home.â
âGood.â
You didnât look up as he turned back toward the car. You didnât 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 showerâcold 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 wouldnât go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?
Still, Frankieâs words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? heâd 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 somethingâto Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didnât touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her exâs 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 wasnât normalânone of it was. But you couldnât shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?
And Frankie. Youâd hated the way heâd looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldnât believe how foolish you were. If you hadnât wanted to see him before, you definitely didnât want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had beenâwithout blaming Frankie, exactlyâand 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 Harryâs wedding invitation glowing on the screen. Youâd read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, youâd decided. You werenât going.
Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the âRSVP not attendingâ 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 couldnât be right. Surely, you were imagining things.
You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.
âFrancisco,â you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. âWhat are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?â
He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.
âCan we talk?â
âAbout what?â Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like heâd 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 heâd been forced into something he didnât want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. Heâd shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.
âIâm going to help you,â he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.
âWith what?â
âWith your ex.â
âWhat?â The confusion on your face deepened. âHarry?â
Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.
âAre there other exes you need help with?â
His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response. Â
âWell, I donât need your help anymore. But thanks,â you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch. Â
Then his hand was on it, stopping you. Â
âWait,â he said, and this time his voice was differentâtinged with something almost like desperation. âIâm serious.â Â
You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.
âWhy would you help me? You were very clear the other day,â you said, your tone sharp. âThereâs no point in me going to the wedding.â Â
âTrue, thereâs no point,â he said, his gaze steady on yours. âBut I know you well enough to know youâd love to go anyway. To show Harry how great youâre doing. Am I wrong?â Â
âYouâre wrong,â you shot back instantly, too quickly. Â
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. Â
âIâll do whatever you want,â he said. Â
You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.
Then, with a raised brow, you asked, âAre you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?â You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him. Â
âWhat are you up to?â you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone. Â
Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard. Â
âMay I come in?â he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish. Â
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. Â
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. Â
Your living room was warm, cozy but clutteredâbooks 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. Â
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 toâlet him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didnât care.
He didnât belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world youâd built for yourselfâhis presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didnât fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like heâd 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.
âHave a seat.â
Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like heâd 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 Harryâs wedding invitation.
âI see youâre taking the wedding well,â he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.
âWhat do you want?â
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.Â
âIâve been thinkingââ
âCongratulations,â you cut in, deadpan.
Frankieâs eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didnât 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.
âIâve decided Iâm going to the wedding with you,â he said finally.
You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.
âYou decided? I thought you didnât want to go with me.â
âI donât,â he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.
âBut youâre still here,â you said, your voice laced with suspicion.
Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.
âIâll help you⌠if you help me.â
âIf I help you? With what? Donât tell me youâre finally going to therapy,â you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.
Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like youâd just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leaveâwalk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.
âI had dinner with my family tonight,â he began, his voice measured but tense. âWith my mom and two of my sistersââ
âIs that why you look like that?â you interrupted, tilting your head.
âWhat?â
âLike you finally took a bath,â you said, your smirk widening.
Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. âCan you shut up and listen to me for a second? Iâll be brief.â
You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.
âTheyâre nice, my family, but they wonât leave me alone,â he said, his tone growing more frustrated. âAll through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates theyâve been setting up with their friendsâ daughters or coworkers or whoever.â
Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. âWhy? Why donât you just go? Come to think of itââ
âNo,â he cut you off, his voice sharp. âI already agreed once, and it was a disaster. Iâm not doing it again. And Iâm not about to get into that with you.â
âGood,â you said, leaning back slightly. âBecause Iâm not interested.â
Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.
âEvery time I see themâfor over a year nowâitâs the same thing. They wonât leave me alone. And look, I get it. Theyâre trying to be helpful. But Iâve had enough.â
Your curiosity piqued at that. âWhat happened a year ago? Why?â
Frankieâs 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, âThat doesnât matter.â
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.
âThe point is,â he continued, âI got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didnât need them setting me up on dates because⌠because I already have a girlfriend.â
His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.
Oh.
âOh,â 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. Â
âFunny,â you said, your voice light with mockery. âAnd your mother believed you?â Â
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. Â
âHardly,â he admitted, his tone sharp. âI donât even think I convinced her. Thatâs why I need your help.â Â
You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.
âYou want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?â Â
Frankie nodded once, curtly. âMy momâs birthday is in a few days. Sheâs turning sixty. Sheâs having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.â Â
You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.
âWhenâs the party?â Â
âNext Saturday.â Â
Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.
âFrancisco,â you grumbled, the word low and heavy. âThatâs in three days.â Â
âI know,â he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation. Â
âAnd what did you tell her?â you demanded. âWhat did you say when she asked?â Â
Frankieâs hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.
He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, âI told her yes. That Iâd bring my girlfriend to her birthday.â He paused, meeting your gaze. âSo sheâd finally leave me alone.â Â
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. Â
âOh, so you just assumed Iâd help you, didnât you?â you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. âWhat if I said no?â Â
âI knew you wouldnât say no,â Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty. Â
You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.
âMy God, whatâs wrong with you? You donât know what Iâm thinking.â Â
He didnât flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.
âI know you well enough to know youâll say yes,â he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious. Â
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. Â
âI know you want to go to the wedding,â he said, his voice firm. âI know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.â Â
You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.
âI owe you?â Â
Frankieâs eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.
âDonât forget that the only reason you didnât make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If Iâd wanted to, I couldâve exposed you in front of him and his fiancĂŠe. I couldâve made it worse.â Â
âThank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,â you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. âWhat do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?â Â
Frankieâs expression didnât waver; he was dead serious. âNo. Come with me to my momâs birthday and weâre even.â Â
You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous. Â
"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "Itâs not even close. Harryâs my ex something, nothing more. And youâre 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?â Â
Frankieâs eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes. Â
âItâs not like weâre getting married,â he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. âYouâre exaggerating. Itâs not the first time Iâve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?â Â
You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. âI donât know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.â Â
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. Â
âIâll take care of that,â he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasnât 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. Â
âAre you really going to accompany me to the wedding?â you asked, your voice quieter than youâd intended, the question slipping out like something you hadnât meant to say aloud. Â
Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.
âIâll help you catch the bouquet and everything,â he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him. Â
âYouâre ridiculous,â you muttered, your voice edged with irritation. Â
âAnd yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.â Â
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. Â
âFine,â you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. âIâll help you. But youâd better make my time count, Francisco.â Â
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 elseâsomething cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldnât. Â
Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.
âGive me your number.â Â
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 didnât 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 couldnât catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.
He didnât 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. Â
âIâll text you,â he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought. Â
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 đ
#the boyfriend act#capuccinodoll#frankie morales x you#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales smut#frankie morales x reader#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales smut#francisco morales fanfiction#francisco catfish morales#francisco morales#francisco morales x you#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfiction#smut#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal
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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.Â
Iâm waiting in the lobby for you. Donât take too long. xoxo
âDid you guys see the hot girl in the lobby?â Coyote asked as he walked into the locker room. Bob smirked to himself as he started to take off his flight suit.Â
âWho do you think she is?â Fanboy pondered.Â
âI was gonna find out after we got changed,â Rooster said.Â
âDonât bother. Bet sheâs a recruitâs girlfriend,â Payback suggested.Â
âWho do you think?â Asked Hangman.Â
âI donât know,â Payback responded. âBut I know what a woman in love looks like.â
âI donât believe that,â Hangman teased Payback.Â
âIâm married,â Payback pointed out.Â
âSo you tell us, but weâve never seen your wife,â Rooster taunted.Â
âHer picture is on my dash,â Payback said.Â
âCould be anyone,â Fanboy joined in.Â
âYouâve met her, Fanboy,â Payback said.Â
âYou canât prove anything,â 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.Â
âSee yâall tomorrow,â 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 Bobâs, but it had been years since that was true. It was yours now, just like he was.Â
âYou changed out of the flight suit,â you said forlornly when Bob walked up.Â
âIt was all sweaty, angel,â Bob told you.
âI wanted to take it off you though,â you whined. Bob gave you a cheeky grin.Â
âYou want me to put on the white uniform when I get home?â Bob offered. He leaned down and kissed you tenderly before you could answer.Â
âThe hot girl is your girlfriend?â Hangman practically shouted from behind Bob. He turned over his shoulder to see the whole squad watching the two of you.Â
âWife, actually,â Bob said. âBeen meaning to introduce ya.âÂ
âYou didnât say you have a wife!â Phoenix exclaimed.Â
âDidnât come up,â Bob said. âWeâve only known each other for a month.â Everyone gawked at Bob, thinking a month was plenty of time to let your friends know you have a wife.Â
âHe likes to keep me protected from his work,â 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.Â
âWhatâs your name?â Phoenix asked.Â
âY/N,â you told her.Â
âI canât believe you didnât tell me,â Phoenix murmured. You could hear in her voice that she felt betrayed by Bob. You knew he wouldnât notice though. You wanted to stop him from hurting her more.
âI keep my ring on my dog tags,â Bob said, pulling them up from his shirt to prove it.Â
âI thought it was your dadâs,â Phoenix told him. âYou always talk about him.âÂ
âBobbyâs told me a lot about you,â you interjected. âI was hoping you would have dinner with us. Iâd like to make the pilot who saved my Bobby a good meal.â Phoenix met your eye and you gave her a warm smile. She gave a tiny nod and smiled back.Â
âIâd love to, maâam,â Phoenix said.Â
âIâm her wingman,â Rooster called. âCould say that I kept Bobby safe too.â Bob blushed brightly.Â
âPayback and I were on the mission,â Fanboy said.
âI saved Bobâs wingman,â Hangman added. You looked up at Bob in question.Â
âThey know youâre the one who makes my lunches now,â Bob said. You giggled. You always made Bob his lunches. When he was deployed he didnât get good home cooked meals, so you made sure he had them three times a day when he was home with you.Â
âWell, some of you might have to sit on the couch, but Iâd be happy to cook for my husbandâs friends,â you said. Â
âI canât believe that baby on board has a wife and you donât even have a girlfriend,â Hangman teased Rooster.Â
âYou donât either,â Rooster spit back.Â
âNo woman can hold me down,â Hangman joked.Â
âHeâs the one your sister would like, right?â You asked, trying to keep your voice quiet.Â
âYouâve got a sister?â Hangman called out.Â
âYeah,â Bob said. âAnd Iâm quite sure she could hold you down if she wanted.â Hangmanâs eyes widened. You chuckled.Â
âYouâre going to set him up with your sister?â Rooster complained.Â
âThatâs y/nâs scheme. She wants my sister to live near us,â Bob explained.Â
âSheâs funnier than you, Bobby,â you said.Â
âYou do spend a lot of time laughing at me together,â Bob teased. He didnât 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 heâd chosen the right person to marry.Â
âWell, when do I get to meet her?â Hangman asked, a wide smirk on his face.Â
âIâll have her come over for dinner with all of you,â you said. âNext Sunday at 6:00. Donât be late,â you told them. Then you tugged on Bobâs hand, signaling you wanted to go home.Â
âBye, guys,â Bob said. âSee ya in the morning.â With that he slung his arm around your shoulders and led you out of the base.Â
âI canât believe Bob didnât tell us he has a wife,â Payback muttered.Â
âI canât believe Hangmanâs the first choice for his sister,â Fanboy said.Â
âWhy not? You think Bob wants to be related to any of you?â Hangman asked proudly. Rooster snorted.Â
âYes. I would have thought heâd want any of us before you.â Â
A/N: There is a part two of the dinner now available
#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd fluff#top gun x reader#dagger squad x reader#bob floyd x reader fluff#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd fanfic#bob floyd fanfiction#top gun maverick x reader
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dating him | yang jeongin
â whyâd you come into my life so late? â
chan | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | han | felix | seungmin | JEONGIN
guys this oneâs 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 howâd u find this place
and he goes idk my gf recommended it
and then thereâs silence
before all hell breaks loose
bc wdym ⌠wdym u have a gf and u didnât tell us ????????????
dramatic faces of betrayal from hyunjin and han i can imagine bc their baby didnât tell him
i think seungmin would know just bc theyâre 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 heâs the sweetest
i think heâd treat love so gently âšď¸âšď¸
heâs always wanted to explore romance, always wanted to find it
he couldnât ever admit it out loud bc he knows heâd get teased
he was the boysâ baby after all
and since he was the boysâ baby, by association, you were now their baby too
u two are the couple they adore
they act like theyâre ur parents
chan dad mode activated
anyways heâs kind of emotional and sensitive
so i think the both of u navigate through love for the first time together
itâs a lot of ups and downs
BUT âŚ. itâs led to him realizing just how much he loves you
i totally believe youâd go on either the most goofy dates or very expensive dates
no in between
heâd be the type to treat you and have staycations at 5-star hotels
youâd 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 itâs with u
but itâs also something heâs had to learn
heâs 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 uâd record it and everything
u canât post it bc he kisses u like 928373 times in that video
thereâs 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, heâd cheat and say heâd go to the bathroom but heâs actually paying for it
so keep ur eyes on that boy
i think heâd also be the type to really enjoy clothes shopping with you
youâd just put on a fashion show for each other
heâd end up buying a few things he rly liked on you
heâs got good fashion sense
might sneak in a matching item or two
maybe some shoes so itâs 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
itâs 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
đđđđ
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 uâd bought for his cats
when the boys come home, u two are usually just cooped up in jeonginâs 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
iâm sorry
the boys are also emotional
theyâd wake u up so u guys can have dinner together
heâd 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 otherâs foot under the table while eating
he loves annoying u
but u love annoying him equally
when u arenât over at the dorms
heâd 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 âsends u thingsâ vibe
uâd suddenly receive flowers without warning
or get those âdid you eat?â texts and if u say no, yeah, best believe heâs already delivering food to u
hmmmmm uâd 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 âŚ. out in a fast food restaurant
u guys get weird looks but
jeongin doesnât mind đ
as long as heâs happy with u
AWWWWWWWW
u guys also attend or volunteer for charity events together
i think heâs 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 iâm crazy
#edited after anon added smthn credits to u!#k-labels#stray kids x reader#jeongin x reader#i.n x reader#i.n. x reader#skz x reader#stray kids drabbles#in x reader#kpop imagines#stray kids imagines#stray kids blurbs#stray kids scenarios#yang jeongin x reader#stray kids drabble#stray kids oneshot#stray kids headcanons#stray kids fluff#jeongin fluff#i.n imagines#i.n fluff#i.n scenarios#yang jeongin imagines#yang jeongin scenarios#yang jeongin fluff
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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 havenât been hanging out latelyâŚ
Barbara: so?
Bruce, fiddling with the game: um, do you want to-
Selina, barging in: whereâs my favorite girl?!
Barbara, with a wide smile: selina!
Bruce, visibly unhappy: âŚselina
Selina: hey, bruce. funny how we keep running into each other huh
Bruce, inching towards Barbara, glaring suspiciously: uh huhâŚanyway, barbara AND I are busy, soâ
Barbara, already out the door: sorry b, selina and i already have plans
Bruce: but-
Barbara: yâknow she always comes first, sheâs 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, letâsâ
Nightwing, hanging off of Supermanâs arm:
Batman:
Superman, sweating: i-i didnât 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 Supermanâs eye, kryptonite in hand, miming a slit throat:
Talia: beloved, i am here to bond with our child
Bruce: perfect timing, damianâs just right overâ
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: *doesnât even look back*
Cass: im going out with new friend. his is name is minkhoa
Bruce: okay princess, text me if youâ
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 canât go
Cass: too late, heâs 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 Minkhoaâs 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 doesnât get to me first
Raâs: detective, i am here to bond with our child
Bruce: who the fu-
Tim: im ready
Bruce:
Raâs, holding out his arms: come to my embrace, timothy
Tim:
Tim, walking away: i canât do this. i canât. itâs not worth it.
Raâs, 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: thatâs very irresâ
Harley: tell her your favorite adult asked you to buy it for them!
Bruce:
Steph: good idea
Bruce: stephanie, your mother wouldnât believe that i asked you to buy beer for me. i donât drink.
Steph: literally what are you talking about
Steph, dialing her mom: mom, bruce asked meâ
Bruce, shaking his head with a smile:
Steph: âto tell you that harley asked me to go buy beer for her and pam
Bruce: đ
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 youâ
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: youâre 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, damianâs signature already signed at the bottom of both*
Batman:
Batman, pulling out a katana: you have three seconds
#batkids: youre the most jealous parent we know!!#bruce: you know other parents?#*crashes out*#bruce wayne#batman#batdad#batfamily#dick grayson#jason todd#batfam#cassandra cain#damian wayne#tim drake#stephanie brown#duke thomas#barbara gordon#âď¸
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Joel Miller x f!reader
NO BOUNDARIES
Summary: Your dadâs 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 senseâEnglish isnât my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story, I personally absolutely LOVE it! Enjoy! <3
Masterlist
Itâs another Friday night, which means another one of Joelâs sleepovers at your house. You canât even remember when his visits became a tradition. It was so long ago that even your dad doesnât really know how the two of them met. He always tells the story differently, but one thing remains the same, theyâre inseparable.
Honestly, youâd 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 itâs nice. Nice to see your dad this happy. And nice to see Joel so often, right here, in your home.
Just like you canât remember when Joel first became a part of your life, you canât 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.
Youâre 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.
Itâs 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.
Itâs truly remarkable, how ever since your thoughts began to wander to Joel, whenever your hands found their way between your thighs, youâve 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 itâs 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 youâve never felt before. Itâs 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 donât know exactly what it is. The only thing youâre absolutely certain of is that your panties dampen every single time your eyes land on him. Itâs as if heâs 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 âactivityâ 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 didnât 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, youâd 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 didnât 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, âHey.â You didnât 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.
âCanât sleep?â 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.
âHmmâŚâ 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.
âIâm hungry,â 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.
âEating this late ainât healthy,â he teased, lifting his glass to his lips. His eyes stayed on yours, unwavering, intense, like he could see right through you.
âMaybe not,â you shot back, finding a fragment of confidence amidst the storm raging inside you.
âBut this rumbling stomach isnât gonna quiet down on its own.â 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.
âYouâre right,â 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 Joelâs mouth, control over your own actions was slipping away, bit by bit. Maybe thatâs 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 Joelâs 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.
âYou okay?â 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. âYou sure youâre okay?â 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 youâd 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.
âJust⌠swallowed wrong,â 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.
âAnd you couldn't sleep âcause you were thirsty?â 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 didnât quite reach his eyes.
âSomething like thatâŚâ he mumbled, shifting his weight. You nodded again, the tension still hanging heavy between you, pulsing in your chest and lower, so much lower.
âHad a nightmare,â he added quietly, the way his shoulders sagged, the frustration lining his face, it struck something inside you. You knew about his nightmares. Youâd 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.
âIâm sorryâŚâ you whispered gently, and Joel shook his head, offering a faint, tired smile.
âItâs alright. Iâm used to it,â he replied softly, pointing towards the empty glass. âWater helped a little.â
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 couldnât 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.
âDonât you want some sleeping pills?â 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.
âNah, but thanks,â 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.
âOkay,â 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 couldnât 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 youâd 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.
âWanna try some?â 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.
âOh, come on,â you set the pie on the counter, your eyes glimmering with mischief. âJust a small bite.â You tried to coax him, but Joel remained firm. Still, you werenât 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.
âItâs delicious! Câmon,â 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.
âDonât you want a spoon?â he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly.
âMy finger works just fine,â 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.
Joelâs 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 wouldnât 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.
âItâs really good,â he muttered through a mouthful, his voice gruff and warm. âDid you make this?â he raised an eyebrow, dipping his finger for another taste. You nodded silently, watching his lips wrap around his finger again.
âItâs really good. Youâre talented,â he praised, and those words etched themselves into your mind like a mark on stone.
Youâre 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 wouldnât betray you, wouldnât 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 Joelâs 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.
âOh, so thatâs how itâs gonna be?â 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. Joelâs gaze locked onto yours. A mix of surprise, uncertainty, and something deeper that you couldnât ignore.
His expression was torn, a fragile balance between the stone-cold restraint he always carried and the sudden, forbidden realization of what heâd just done. It was as if, in that brief moment, he saw the boundary he was crossing.
The fact that you were his best friendâs 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.
Joelâs hand began to retreat slowly, hesitantly, as if he was battling himself over what was right and what he truly wanted. But he didnât 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 couldnât 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.
Joelâs 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.
âItâs late⌠Iâm going to bed,â 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.
âWait!â 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 couldnât 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 youâd 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.
âPlease donât goâŚâ Your voice was shaky, quiet, almost pleading. It might have sounded desperate, but you didnât 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
âYou should go to bed too,â 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.
âI donât want toâŚâ you whispered carefully, testing the waters as you stepped closer, slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving Joelâs 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 didnât 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 couldnât 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 couldnât 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.
âThis is inappropriate,â Joelâs voice was suddenly different. So were his eyes. They were hungry and dark, you could barely read what was hidden behind them.
âBut is it what you want?â Your soft voice made Joelâs hand twitch, his jaw clenching, already preparing for what was coming.
âYour dad is going to kill me,â his voice wasnât as harsh, as rejecting anymore. You could tell he was backing down, that he no longer wanted to resist.
âI know,â you immediately spoke those words without thinking, your mind already elsewhere, ready to jump at him.
âWeâre going to be in trouble-â
âI know,â 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 couldnât wait another second. The kiss wasnât slow, wasnât tender, it was messy. His teeth grazed your lower lip, almost bruising, but you didnât 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 couldnât 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.
âYou have no fucking idea how long Iâve been waiting for this,â 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 couldnât decide where he wanted to touch, leaving no part of you untouched. He wasnât 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.
âYou like that, donât you?â You could feel his cocky smile brushing against the other side of your neck, making you gasp. Your fingers found the fabric of Joelâs 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. Heâd 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.
âAlready that wet, huh?â 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 Joelâs 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.
âWe donât want to wake your daddy up now, do we?â 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 Joelâs palm, your breath shaky as your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open.
âLook at you? Such a good girl,â 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.
âYeah, that's itâ 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 Joelâs 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 couldnât 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.
âThat's my good girl,â 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 heâs fully aware of what heâs 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 Joelâs 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 Joelâs graying curls, finally reaching your orgasm. Even though you had reached your peak, he didnât 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 didnât grant you that mercy.
âYou look so beautiful,â 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. Joelâs 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 werenât 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 wasnât 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.
âLike what you see?â 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 wasnât 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.
âThere you are,â 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.
âWhere have you been hiding all this time?â he exhaled, as if heâd finally found the meaning of life. You chuckled, cheeks red, but were cut off quickly as you felt Joelâs tongue glide over your labia, making you gasp and arch your back.
âF-fuckâ you whine, squeezing your your thighs together, locking Joelâs 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 couldnât 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 didnât 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 didnât realize you had. You even pulled some strands from his scalp, but he didnât 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.
Joelâs 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.
âItâs okay, babygirl. Relax, take your time,â 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 GodâŚthat 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.
âWhat?â 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.
âAre you ready to continue?â
Continue?!
Your eyes widened, your pupils dilated, your body instinctively tensing. You werenât sure if it was from anticipation or the sheer disbelief that he wasnât done with you yet. That this wasnât everything.
Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You didnât 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.
âIâŚâ 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.
âSuddenly speechless, huh?â His hands remained on your thighs, keeping you in place, not forcefully, but enough to remind you that you werenât 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.
âShit,â he muttered against your lips, his hands tightening on your thighs as if trying to ground himself. But you werenât 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 didnât 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. âBigger than you expected, huh?â 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 couldnât 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 youâŚor 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.
âYeah, just like that,â 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.
âHave you even been fucked before? You're so fucking thight,â 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.
âLook at ya, taking my cock so well,â 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 Joelâs skin, ones that would linger long after. Your lips were raw from biting them, trying your best to stay as quiet as possible.
âThat's it sweetheart, that's it,â 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.
âAre you close?â Joelâs 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 couldnât 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 couldnât 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.
âThat wasâŚâ Joelâs voice faltered, but the words didnât 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 didnât get shaken easily.
Your breath caught. âWhat?â 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, âDo you have⌠contraception?â
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. âYeah,â you murmured, voice still soft from exhaustion. âI do.â
Joel let out a breath heâd clearly been holding. His shoulders dropped, and he shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face before letting out a low, relieved chuckle.
âJesus⌠Alright. Good. Thatâs⌠yeah. Good.â He blew out another breath, muttering under his breath, âScared the hell out of me for a second.â
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.
Joelâs 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 wasnât ready to let go just yet.
But eventually, he exhaled deeply and shifted slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring, âAlright, sweetheart⌠I gotta move.â
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.
âEasy,â 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.
âYou okay?â His voice was quieter now, laced with something that sounded like concern. You managed a small nod, offering him a sleepy, satisfied smile. âMhm,â you hummed.
Joel didnât seem entirely convinced, but he didnât push. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before he muttered, âStay here. I got you.â
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.
âAlright, darlinâ, letâs get you cleaned up.â
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 werenât too sore.
Then, without another word, he reached for you, effortlessly lifting you into his arms.
âJoel,â you murmured, surprised by the sudden movement.
âRelax, sweetheart,â he said simply. âJust takinâ you to the bathroom. Wanna make sure youâre okay.â
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 couldnât 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.
âThere we go,â he murmured, rubbing small circles into your back. âBetter?â
You looked up at him, meeting those deep brown eyes, and smiled. âYeah,â you whispered.
Joel smirked slightly, brushing a thumb over your cheek before muttering, âGood. Now, letâs get you to bed.â
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.
âGoodnight,â he murmured, stepping back.
He was trying to slip back into his usual nonchalant self, acting like this was nothing, like he wasnât affected. But the faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.
âJoel?â you whispered softly as Joel stood with his hand on the door handle. He turned to face you, staying silent for a moment. âThank you⌠for everything.â Joelâs 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 couldnât 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-
âHey, what are you doing here?â Joel froze as your dadâs 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. âUh, I was just checking on her, making sure sheâs okay,â Joel said, trying to sound calm. He hoped his voice didnât betray him.
âUh huh, and isnât that my job?â your dad replied with a smirk, raising an eyebrow and pointing to himself. Joelâs heart skipped a beat, and his pulse quickened. He was barely holding it together but had to stay cool.
âYeah, I was just on my way to the bathroom, and I figured Iâd check on her while I was passing byâŚâ 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.
âHmm⌠and is she okay?â 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. âYeah, sheâs more than okay.â
With that, Joel turned and walked past your dad, offering a casual âGood night.â Your dad watched him, but didnât say another word, just stared after him.
What had Joel meant by that??
Thank you so much for reading! Iâd 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!đ¤
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TOP GUN #2
âŚis 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. Â
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 donât 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 youâve 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 Seresinâs 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 doesnât.
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 youâd never think of him again. But then two pink lines change your life forever. Now heâs 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 doesnât 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:Â 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 fiancĂŠ 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, youâd 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 fiancĂŠ spirals out of control.
Get Your Girl
Tom Is Finer
#top gun#top gun maverick#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster x reader#beau simpson x reader#cyclone x reader#bob floyd x reader#robert floyd x reader#nick bradshaw x reader#goose x reader#tom kazansky x reader#iceman x maverick
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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 pictureâ doesnât have your face in it, but youâre wearing like the one piece of family jewelry you ever got from her side of the family. Itâs got your baby bump, and his hand holding yoursâ 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 reasonâ 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. Itâs why itâs so painfully easy for her to fall into things with Nik. After a life that kind of treatment, Nikâs 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. Itâs what sheâs used toâ and itâs strange for her to depend on him so much when heâs just her former stepfather, no? Sheâs constantly second guessing herself about leaning on him even a littleâ that sheâs probably bothering him, and heâs 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 sheâd have a piece of him with her. She could remember the moments they shared that way, even when he left her.
Sheâs 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)
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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.
âY/n no! You're not going to the movies with himâ 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 allâ 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.
âIs it true?â 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.
âY/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 bitâ 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 knowâ you got angry.
"I know, I know but..-"
"No, no but. Just let me go to him. I need to knowâ 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..
âLewis?â your little six year old self whispered and patted little Lewis.
âYeahâ 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..
âLewis?â 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.
âSo you don't know?â 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 meâ 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?
âSo this was the easiest solution?â 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...
âWhat if we never see each other again?â 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".
#formula 1#mercedes#las vegas#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#george russell#childhood#best friends
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Lean your weight on me [LH]
7. Weâre 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.
Authorâs note: this one hits home and itâs the most personal chapter for me. It made me cry, and I genuinely hope yall enjoy this. đЎ
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 canât 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 donât 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 donât 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. Itâs hard for him to deal with your absence, even if youâre just in the room next door. You donât want to spend time with him anymore and thereâs nothing he can do - you are a grown up, he canât take your phone from you, thereâs no point in trying to do it, since youâll 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. Youâre being held now, but itâs not by him. Itâs not his arms, his words comforting you - and it hurts him to feel that you donât 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 momâs house, feeling like a small kid again, in need of his momâs 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 momâs 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 itâs nothing. Lewis sits on the sofa, getting comfortable, as he notices the attentive look on his motherâs face.
âY/N has left already?â - 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. âYeah, she left a while ago. Her dad came to pick her upâ - he informs, his voice now croaking a bit while his brain is drowning in his immersive thoughts.
âWhatâs going through that mind of yours, son?â - he canât 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.
âAll my life, Iâve been surrounded by challenges. But I never thought that I would go through something like this, momâ - 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 donât even go near him, you donât touch him anymore.
âThese 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 wasnât enoughâ - some tears fall from his eyes now, and he doesnât even bother stopping them.
âWhat are you talking about, Lewis?â - his mother asks, quite not understanding how badly things have changed between you two.
âI lost her, mom. I completely lost her. I have this screaming feeling in my chest, I canât even explain what it is, but it hurts so fucking muchâ - his cries grow a little louder now, as his body contorts as he tries to explain his emotions, like he is physically hurting.
âSheâs 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 doesnât even wear her wedding ring anymore, sheâs not the same girl I fell in love with. She definitely doesnât love me back anymore, no matter how hard I tryâ - he takes a second to breathe. âI lost the most important person of my life, and as much as she is still alive, itâs like sheâs not here anymore. Sheâs not the same personâ - Lewis tries his best to put his feelings into words, but the words he is using are hurting him too.
He doesnât mean to make it seem like itâs your fault. No one can be considered guilty here. What happened to you is definitely not your fault, but it also isnât Lewisâ. 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 werenât 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 motherâs 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 heâs nothing - he still doesnât 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.
âYou know, mom, Iâm actually so dumb. Iâm 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 doesnât. 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 marriageâ - 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.
âLove makes us do questionable things, sonâ - she tries to say, before Lewis interrupts her.
âLove, yeah, what a stupid thing. Making me do everything for someone who doesnât even care about me anymoreâ - he says, feeling all the accumulated anger boiling in his veins now.
Itâs 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. âI 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 couldnât focus on anything else that wasnât her. And when I spent those nights in the hospital, next to her, I couldnât 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 terrifiedâ - the man is fully sobbing now, holding on to his motherâs embrace, the only source of comfort that he has felt in a long time.
âI had to put all my feelings to the side, like I meant nothing. I was feeling like a robot - I couldnât 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 didnât wanted her to worry about me.
And for the past month or so, she has been hinting how we shouldnât 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, huhâ - he says, the last part sounding more to himself actually, as his hands try to dry the tears that donât 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, itâs like you canât see past your own thoughts, you donât 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. Youâre 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.
âWhen 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 sandâ - his own memory is killing him now, itâs 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. âAnd itâs 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 accidentâ - Lewis sighs, each thought in his head being worse than the other.
âShe just went there once, when I showed her the keys. She was thrilled when we walked insideâ - 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.
Itâs 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.
âHer face falls whenever she sees me, mom. Itâs heartbreaking, devastatingâ - he tries to find the right words to describe how he feels. âI even try to hide from her when we are home. I try not to be in the kitchen when I know that sheâs there, I try to stay far from the place where she is, because she makes me feel like my presence isnât welcome near her. She makes me feel unwantedâ - these last months have been a roller coaster of emotions for Lewis.
But he canât 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 canât 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 youâre doing him a favour. Itâs 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 heâs tired of feeling like this. Heâs tired of feeling torn. He just wanted you, he wanted you to want him back just as much as he wants you. But you donât 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.
âI find myself silently praying at night, begging God for all this to be just a nightmare that I will, at some point, wake up fromâ - he confesses, his words breaking his motherâs heart more and more.
âI beg that she wonât 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 donât know what I will do if she leaves my little lifeâ - he knows itâs inevitable at this point, but the thought of losing you still wrecks him.
He needs you, he doesnât know how to do it without you anymore. He is not the same man that he was before meeting you, and he doesnât want to be. Lewis needs you to come closer to him again, he needs to see the fire in your eyes so he doesnât draw in the void, so he doesnât 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 canât. Itâs not the same.
âYou chose her for a reason, Lewisâ - his mom reminds him. âItâs killing me to see you like this, and I know this hurts so much right now. But we canât even begin to imagine whatâs been on her mind latelyâ - she tries to reason with her son.
âI have tried so hard for the last months to understand her, mom! I have heard the most heart wrenching words coming from my wifeâs mouth, I have seen her do things that would never cross my mind. I guess itâs time to accept that sheâs not the same person that we used to know anymoreâ - he sniffles quietly, letting his words sink in, feeling them lingering heavily in the air.
His mother just nods her head, totally understanding her sonâs side. But her gut is still telling her to keep you in her thoughts.
âDonât give up on her, son. Not until she recovers from all this, at leastâ - she appeals to his soft heart.
Lewisâ mind is a mess. A mixture of sadness with anger, pain with regret, love and disappointment. He doesnât 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 canât 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 doesnât 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, youâre 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 isnât a home.
He stops at the door of the guests room where youâve been sleeping now. He still knocks on the door, even if he knows that youâre 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 canât 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 wouldnât see how much he had bottled up his emotions. He couldnât 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 canât help but feel sorry for himself. He slips onto the bed as he lets out a loud sigh - itâs 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 didnât 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 donât pick up his call, so he leaves a message after the beep. âHey, Y/N, itâs Lewis. Iâm sorry for calling, I donât mean to disturb you, but I just wanted to know if you are at your parentsâ house already and if everything is okay. So, please give me a call or text me when you can, or if you want toâ - 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 didnât 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. âPizza is my favorite dish!!â - you wrote in the description. âNo, itâs notâ - Lewis immediately thinks to himself. You used to despise pineapple on pizza and now youâre 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 isnât just a memory thing, maybe your whole self has changed. You donât like the same things, you donât have the same habits. And Lewis just has to realize that he doesnât know you anymore. And the way you keep posting while ignoring his calls and messages, lets him know that you donât 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 heâs just going through the wrong path. Everytime he tries to reach you, itâs like heâs 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 itâs time for him to try and save himself and his heart a little, hoping that itâs 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 wonât 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.
âââ
taglist: @illalwayswaitforyourlove @literallegendicon @goldenroutledge @scenesofobx @irishmanwhore @forza-charles @felicityforyou
#lean your weight on me series#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton one shot#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton fanfiction#lewis hamilton oneshot#lewis hamilton fic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader
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Chris Sturniolo Firsts


â 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'
â 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?'
â 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'
â 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'
âHis 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)
â 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
â Even though he will act like he doesn't like the romantic shit that other people do he LOVES it
â 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.
â 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'
â 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'
â First child: The sweetest Dad ever
â 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!!!'
â 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'
â 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
â 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)
#matt sturniolo x reader#matt x reader#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#chris x reader#chris sturniolo x reader
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Breaking the rules 2 ŕŻâ Ë ŕŁŞ Ë



part 1 here! gong yoo/salesman x f!reader
ęŁŕ§ â đŹđŽđŚđŚđđŤđ˛ | 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 didnât know Is that your dad was inviting him.
đŽ 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 ainât a lot, smut isnât my best thing and I donât like writing it a lot. Sorry if you donât like it!, lmk if I missed anything.
You hadnât answered his texts all day. The guilt sitting heavy in your chest, twisting with the anger you still hadnât 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 werenât sure if you regretted it.
Your fingers hovered over his latest message: âCan we just talk? Please.â 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 elseâs 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 wouldnât 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.
âCan we talk?â 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 werenât sure you could look him in the eye without everything falling apart. You didnât dare looking out the window. Maybe he would think you werenât 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.
âopen the door.â
Itâs your boyfriend.
You stare at the window where heâd been just a minute ago, your pulse still racing. He mustâve gone around the house, determined not to let you ignore him. The guilt in your chest tightens but so does the frustration. Youâre still mad. You should be mad. But the shame of what you did wonât let you breathe.
He knocks again, harder this time. âCome on, baby. Please.â 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 couldnât 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 heâll leave, but you shouldâve known better.
âIâm not going anywhere,â he says, softer now. âNot until we talk.â
You close your eyes, taking a shaky breath. You know you canât avoid this forever. But facing him? Knowing what youâve done? Thatâs 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 donât have to face what youâve done. But you know you canât avoid him forever.
When you finally pull the door open, heâs standing there, his eyes immediately searching yours. He looks⌠tired. Hurt. And the sight of it makes your heart ache in a way you werenât ready for.
âHey,â he says softly, his voice careful, like heâs 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 havenât said, and you know one of you has to break first.
âIâm sorry,â he says, turning to face you. His voice is quiet, but thereâs no mistaking the sincerity in it. âFor everything. I was an ass, and I shouldnât haveââ He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. âI shouldnât have made you feel like you had to walk away just to get my attention.â
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 havenât confessed.
âI⌠I was mad,â you say quietly, your arms crossing over your chest. âBut you werenât the only one who messed up.â
He takes a step closer, his eyes softening. âThen letâs fix it. Please. I donât want to keep fighting with you.â
You feel your resolve cracking, the warmth in his voice breaking through the wall youâve 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.
âI miss you,â he whispers. âAnd I love you. Please?â
Your heart aches at the words, at how easy it would be to say yes and pretend like nothing happened. And maybe youâre selfish for wanting that. But right now, with his hand in yours and that soft, pleading look in his eyes⌠you canât help but nod.
âOkay,â you whisper. âLetâs start over.â
He pulls you into his arms without hesitation, holding you like heâs 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 momâs familiar voice first, calling out as bags rustle and footsteps shuffle into the house.
âWeâre home!â
You take a deep breath, smoothing your shirt as if thatâll 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 hadnât eased one bit.
You had been too distracted in your thoughts you didnât even hear your mom call your name. Until you heard her call your name again. âCan you come help with the bags?â
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 thereâs a calmness here that you wish you could hold onto.
âHey, sweetheart,â your dad greets you with a tired smile. âYou doing okay?â
You nod quickly, hoping your face doesnât give you away. âYeah, Iâm fine. Need help?â
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.
âDonât forget, we need to be ready by seven,â your mom reminds you, glancing at the clock. âThis partyâs important, and I donât want to be late.â
âRight,â you mumble, carefully stacking cans in the pantry. âWhoâs coming again?â
Your dad hums thoughtfully. âA lot of people from work. Investors, a few partners⌠oh, and I invited-â you froze. Heart stopping as you stood there. âI thought itâd be good to finally introduce him to everyone.â
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.
âWait â what?â Your voice comes out too sharp, and when you turn, your dadâs 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. âYour boyfriendâs dad. I ran into him last week and figured itâd be a good chance to network.â He pauses, raising an eyebrow. âWhy? Something wrong?â
âNo,â you say quickly, but your palms are already sweating. âNo, I just⌠didnât know he was coming.â
Your mom gives you a curious look but doesnât push it. âWell, he seemed excited. Itâs nice when business and family overlap like this, isnât it?â
You had asked if your boyfriend was going aswell, but maybe you shouldâve just waited to text him when you went back up to your room. âOh.. no. His father said he was busy with catching up on work for school since heâs fallen behindâ you mother said, putting up grocery bags in the cabinets. âBut itâs nice heâs getting his work done. Sweet kid.â 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 canât hear much over the blood rushing in your ears. All you can think about is how youâre going to get through this party without falling apart.
-
The hours slip by faster than youâd like. Before you know it, the sunâs 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, itâs just you. And the weight of whatâs coming.
You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. Itâs 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 thereâs 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 youâre overreacting. Maybe he wonât even show up. Or if he does, maybe heâll 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 canât think about that, not tonight
A knock at your door startles you. âYou almost ready?â your momâs voice calls.
âYeah!â you call back, forcing your voice to sound steady. âJust a minute!â
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 wonât 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 hasnât even started yet, and already, you know itâs going to be a long one.
-
The drive to the venue feels too short. Youâre still wound up, still trying to settle the nerves swirling in your stomach, but before youâre ready, your dadâs pulling up to the valet and your momâs 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 dadâs coworkers, distant family friends. you keep your smile polite, your small talk brief. You tell yourself youâre fine. That this is just another business party and you have no reason to be this tense.
But the minutes crawl by slowly. Youâre 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. Itâs ridiculous, you know, you donât even know if heâll show up.
But the thought of him does nothing to calm you.
âWhy donât you grab a drink?â your mom suggests at one point, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. âYouâre so quiet tonight.â
You shake your head quickly, your throat too tight at the thought of walking anywhere near the bar. âIâm okay,â you manage. âI think Iâll just sit down for a bit.â
Your mom gives you a curious look but doesnât 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 youâre overreacting. Maybe youâll get through this night without anyâ
Your heart drops when you hear your dadâs voice from across the room.
âAh, there he is! Mr. Gong yoo! glad you could make it!â
Your back goes stiff.
You donât turn around. You canât turn around. You can already feel your pulse racing, your skin prickling with the awareness that heâs 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 wonât 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 theyâve 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 doesnât matter. You know heâs here now. You can feel it. That same magnetic pull that had gotten you into trouble in the first place.
âSweetheart?â
Your head jerks up at your dadâs voice, panic flaring for a split second. âCome say hello,â he urges. âItâs rude to sit off by yourself.â
Your throat tightens. âIâIâm okay,â you say quickly, forcing a smile. âI just needed a minute.â
But itâs 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.
âAh, no need for introductions,â your dad says cheerfully.
You finally force yourself to look up, and there he is.
Heâs perfectly composed, dressed in a sleek black suit that fits him so well itâs 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.
âGood to see you again,â he says smoothly, his voice warm and collected. Like nothing happened. Like his hands hadnât been all over you just last night.
Your skin prickles, face heating as you struggle to find your voice. âY-You too,â you manage, but it comes out too soft. Too shaky.
You think you see the corner of his mouth twitch. like he knows exactly whatâs going through your mind. And that only makes it worse.
Your dad doesnât notice a thing, already launching into some conversation about business. But you canât focus. Not when you still feel his eyes on you.
And when you risk a glance up, your breath catches.
Because he isnât watching your dad.
Heâs watching you.
You try to steady your breathing, but itâs 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 heâs amused by your discomfort. Like heâs waiting for you to slip up.
âAnd howâs your son?â your dad asks, and your stomach twists painfully.
You donât dare look at him. But you can still hear the ease in his voice when he answers. âHeâs doing well,â he says smoothly. âHe mentioned there was a little⌠disagreement yesterday, but Iâm sure thatâs been worked out?â
Your breath catches. You do look up then, your eyes snapping to his face. but thereâs 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, thereâs something else there. A glint of knowing.
Your throat goes dry. âY-Yeah,â you say quickly. âWe⌠talked. Everythingâs fine.â
âGlad to hear it,â he says, his voice soft and warm. But thereâs 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. âGood, good. Why donât I introduce you to a few people? You two can talk later.â
You donât miss the flicker of disappointment that crosses his face. so quick you mightâve 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 heâs here.
And thereâs no telling when heâll 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 thereâs 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. Itâs late, and youâre starting to wonder how much longer youâll have to sit here alone â then the chair beside you slightly shifts.
You blink, startled, and when you glance up. your heart jumps.
Itâs him.
He settles into the seat like he belongs there, his movements slow and relaxed. His black bow tie standing out, and thereâs an ease to him that makes your stomach flutter.
âNot having fun?â 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. âIâum⌠Iâm fine,â you mumble, suddenly very aware of how quiet and small your voice sounds.
He watches you, his head tilting slightly. âYou donât seem fine,â he says, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. âYou look⌠tired.â
You swallow, your face heating under his attention. âItâs just⌠getting late,â you say softly. âThatâs all.â
He hums thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. âYour parents seem to be enjoying themselves,â he observes, glancing toward them across the room. âThey might be here a while.â
You follow his gaze, your dadâs laughing loudly with a group of his friends, and your momâs deep in conversation, wine glass in hand. Heâs right. Youâre not leaving anytime soon.
âWould you like some company while you wait?â His voice draws your attention back to him, and the way heâs watching you makes your breath catch. Calm, polite⌠but thereâs something else beneath the surface. Something that makes your skin tingle.
You hesitate, your fingers tightening around your glass. âYou donât have toââ
âBut I want to,â he cuts in gently. âYou look like you could use someone to keep you awake.â
The teasing edge in his voice makes your cheeks burn. You drop your eyes to your lap, suddenly too shy to meet his gaze. âOkay,â you whisper.
For a few moments, thereâs 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 youâre 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
âYou always this quiet?â 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. âNot always,â you say softly.
He hums, amused. âJust around me, then?â That teasing edge to his voice. You werenât quiet, not at all. He knew that all from the other night.
Your face flushes instantly. âN-No, Iââ
âDonât be all shy again..â he interrupts, his tone gentle but teasing. âYou were doing perfectly fine with talking the other day.â
Your heart skips a beat. He says it so casually, like the weight of last night isnât still sitting heavily between you, making it hard to breathe.
âIââ You start, but the words catch in your throat. You look down, biting your lip. âI guess.â
He chuckles, the sound warm and soft. âRelax,â he says, his voice dipping lower. âI donât bite⌠unless you ask me to.â
Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and when you see the slight curve of his lips, your stomach flips.
Heâs teasing you. He knows exactly what heâs doing, and the worst part is itâs working.
You glance away quickly, your face burning. âYouâYou shouldnât say stuff like that,â you mumble.
âWhy not?â he asks, feigning innocence. âYou seem a little tense⌠Iâm just trying to help you loosen up.â
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.
âYouâre thinking about it, arenât you?â he asks softly, and the way his voice drops sends a shiver down your spine.
You freeze. âIâNo, Iâm notââ
He leans in just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. âLiar.â
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⌠heâs 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 youâre sure your face is giving you away.
He doesnât 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 heâs waiting for you to squirm.
But when you donât answer, his voice comes again, soft, teasing. âYou know⌠youâre not very good at hiding things.â
You swallow hard. âIâIâm not hiding anything,â you mumble, even though you know itâs useless.
âMm.â He makes a thoughtful noise, but thereâs still that glint of amusement in his eyes. âIf you say so.â
He leans in just a little closer, his voice dropping lower. âYouâve been avoiding my eyes all night. Getting all quiet and shy⌠Makes me wonder what youâre thinking about.â
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 heâs taking in every tiny reaction.
But you canât answer him. Youâre 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. âRelax,â he murmurs. âIâm only teasing you.â
You finally risk a glance up at him, your face still warm. âYouâre not making it very easy,â you mumble.
That earns you a quiet chuckle. but this time, itâs softer. âMaybe not,â he admits. âBut youâre cute when youâre nervous.â
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. Heâs 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. âIâll stop,â 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 canât quite shake. You try not to fidget under his gaze, but you can feel it every so often, his eyes flicking toward you like heâs waiting for you to speak.
But you donât. Youâre not sure you even can.
After a moment, he breaks the quiet. âYou look like you could use a drink,â he says, his voice light and easy.
You blink, turning toward him. âIâI canât,â you say quickly. âIâm only eighteen.â
He raises a brow, clearly amused by your sudden nervousness. âAnd?â
You shift in your seat, glancing around the room. âAnd⌠my parents are here,â you say in a low voice. âIf they sawâ
âThey wonât,â he interrupts gently, his voice smooth and calm. âNo one will. Itâll be our little secret.â
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 itâs the most natural thing in the world.
âRelax,â he says again, his voice soft. âJust a little. You seem⌠tense.â
âIâI donât knowâŚâ 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 whateverâs 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, thereâs something almost gentle in his expression. âItâll be fine,â he murmurs, his voice quiet enough that only you can hear. âNo oneâs paying attention. You wonât get in trouble.â
You hesitate, your fingers brushing the cool glass. âAre you sureâŚ?â
âI promise.â The words are soft, almost soothing. âBut if you donât want to, I wonât push you.â
That makes it worse somehow, the way heâs so patient, so calm about it. Like he knows youâll say yes eventually.
And maybe thatâs why you finally pick up the glass, your heart thudding in your chest.
âItâs just one sip,â you whisper, half to convince yourself.
His eyes stay on you, dark and steady. âJust one.â
You bring the glass to your lips, heart pounding so hard youâre 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.
âEw,â you whisper, setting the glass down quickly. âThatâs⌠awful.â
He laughs. low and warm, clearly finding your reaction way too amusing. âItâs an acquired taste,â he says, still smiling. âBut I think you handled that pretty well.â
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still wincing. âI donât think I want to âacquireâ it,â you mumble, making him chuckle again.
But you notice the way his eyes soften just a bit when he looks at you. like heâs enjoying this more than he should.
And then, a few minutes later, he nudges your glass toward you again. âOne more sip,â he says, his voice smooth and gentle. âIt gets better. I promise.â
You hesitate, but heâs 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 doesnât seem as bad this time.
âSee?â he murmurs, smiling. âTold you.â
~
Throughout the night, it keeps happening. Every time you think youâre done, he coaxes you into one more sip. Just one more. until the bitterness doesnât seem as sharp, and the warmth spreading through you feels kind of nice.
Youâre not even sure when you started relaxing. but the room feels softer somehow, and your nerves arenât 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 hadnât even realized how many times youâd listened to him. Just one more sip, heâd say, and youâd 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. âIâm sleepyâŚâ you mumble, your words slurring just a little.
Heâs still there, sitting close . his eyes never really leaving you. The slight curve of his mouth hasnât faded, but thereâs something softer about his expression now. Amused, maybe. Or patient.
âYou okay?â he asks, his voice low and gentle.
You nod, though the movement makes your head feel even heavier. âJusâ⌠tiredâŚâ
He watches you for a moment, his eyes flicking over your face. Then, his voice dips lower. âI told you itâd get better,â he teases lightly.
You pout, your lips pressing into a soft little frown. âSânot better⌠itâs jus⌠weirdâŚâ
That makes him chuckle. a warm, quiet sound that sends a shiver down your spine. âYouâre not used to it,â he says. âIt takes time.â
But youâre 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.
âWanna go homeâŚâ you whisper, your voice soft and almost pleading. âI Wanna go to bedâŚâ
His eyes stay on you, quiet and unreadable. âYour parents donât seem ready to leave,â he murmurs, his gaze flicking toward them across the room. âTheyâre still having fun.â
You let out a soft, frustrated whine, sinking deeper into your chair. âI Donât care⌠wanna go homeâŚâ
For a moment, he just watches you. and then you feel the lightest brush of his fingers against your wrist. âWhy donât we get you some air?â he suggests softly. âMight help you feel a little better.â
But you just shake your head, your body feeling too heavy and warm to move. âJusâ wanna sleepâŚâ 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, âAlright⌠just rest for a bit. Iâve got you.â
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.
âI Wanna go homeâŚâ you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. âI Wanna sleep⌠not hereâŚâ
He watches you for a moment, his eyes steady and calm, but thereâs a flicker of something else there. something thoughtful. Then he leans in a little closer, his voice soft and soothing.
âAlright,â he says quietly. âIâll take you home.â
You blink up at him, your vision a little blurry. âBut⌠my parentsâŚâ
âIâll talk to them,â he reassures you, his voice gentle but firm. âYou donât have to worry about a thing.â
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.
âJust stay right here,â he murmurs. âIâll be right back.â
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 theyâd notice is their daughter sitting off to the side, barely keeping her eyes open.
He approaches them smoothly, his voice warm and polite. âHey, I just wanted to let you know, your daughterâs feeling a little tired. She asked if I could take her home so she could rest.â
Your mom frowns slightly. âOh, is she okay?â
âJust worn out, I think,â he says easily, his tone reassuring. âItâs been a long day for her.â
Your dad glances toward where youâre sitting but canât quite see you through the crowd. âAre you sure itâs not too much trouble?â
âNot at all,â he says, his smile calm and convincing. âIâll make sure she gets home safe.â
Your mom hesitates, but the easy charm in his voice seems to put her at ease. âAlright⌠just tell her weâll be home soon.â
âOf course,â he nods, already turning back toward you.
And as he walks through the room, thereâs 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. âCome on,â he murmurs softly. âLetâs 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.
âEasy,â he says, his voice low and gentle. âJust lean on me.â
You do. because you donât 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.
âTry to act normal, okay?â he whispers, his mouth close to your ear. âWe donât want anyone asking questions.â
You nod again, your head bobbing against his shoulder, but you canât stop the soft whine that escapes your lips as you cling to his arm. âIâm tiredâŚâ you mumble, your words slurring together.
âI know,â he soothes, guiding you through the room. âWeâre almost there.â
You try to keep your head down, but itâs hard when everything feels so heavy and warm. You donât even know how you make it outside without stumbling, or how no one notices the way youâre 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 heâs sliding into the driverâs side. But before he even starts the engine, your voice breaks the quiet.
âI Wanna go homeâŚâ you whisper again, your eyes barely open.
âI know,â he says softly, but thereâs 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 donât see the way his jaw tightens, or the way his fingers flex against the steering wheel
Because that feeling from last night?
Itâs back.
But this time heâs 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 itâs 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, youâre already half-asleep. He steps out first, walking around to your side and opening the door.
âCome on,â he murmurs, his hand warm on your arm as he helps you out. âWeâre home.â
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.
âSorryâŚâ you mumble, your voice muffled against him.
âItâs okay,â he says quietly, his arm slipping around your waist again. âGonna pick you up, okay?.â You huff shakily. âmkay..â 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, youâre barely standing. He eases you down onto the edge of your bed, crouching in front of you to slip off your shoes.
âYouâre okay,â he murmurs again, his voice softer now. âYou just need some rest.â
You nod, your eyelids fluttering shut. âThank youâŚâ 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 isnât the time.
Not yet.
âGet some sleep,â he says gently, standing up. âIâll let your parents know youâre home safe.â
But as he turns to leave, your hand catches his wrist, your fingers soft and warm against his skin.
âStayâŚ?â you whisper, your voice barely audible.
And for a long moment, he just stands there. watching you, his face unreadable. He didnât want to stay, because he knew if he did he wouldnât 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 heâs unsure whether he should give in.
âAlright,â he says quietly, his voice low, barely above a whisper. âJust for a little while.â
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, thereâs something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel both safe and vulnerable.
âYou should rest,â he murmurs, but his voice doesnât 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 didnât 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. âpretty.â 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 werenât 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 didnât 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. âY-You keep looking at me like that,â you murmured, your voice soft and slow, âbut I donât know what you want.â
His smile didnât 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.
âI donât want anything,â 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. âYouâre tired,â he finally murmured, his tone softer now, almost coaxing. âYou should rest.â
It wasnât a dismissal. But it also wasnât 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 itâd 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, wasnât 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. âYouâre so⌠f-frustrating,â 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. âAm I?â 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 werenât thinking, werenât weighing the consequences, werenât 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 heâd finally react.
Your lips brushed against his, quick, unsteady, and impulsive.
For a second, everything stilled.
His body didnât move, didnât 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. âWas that supposed to prove something?â
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.
âYou donât even know what youâre asking for,â 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 wasnât testing you. He wasnât 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 werenât 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 wasnât teasing. He wasnât 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. "Whaâwho'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, smirkingâyou 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 didnât do anything. "What is it?" "R-thatâ" 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. "Mmâ" 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.â 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 tiredâbut he couldnât help himself. He needed more. After giving you so much, it was his turn to take.
Now, you were at your most vulnerable.
âCan you do something for me, honey?â 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.
âHm⌠yeah,â you mumbled, your speech slightly slurred.
He smirked. âYeah?â 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 closingâ
âNuh-uh,â he murmured, his hands finding your waist to pull you upright again.
You groaned, rubbing your eyes. âC-Can we just do it tomorrow?â you mumbled, oblivious to what he wanted.
His gaze was dark, hungry, far from sweet and patient. He wasnât going to wait anymore.
âNo. Sit up,â 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.
âCome on, just for a little,â 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. âWhat- i-is it?â you murmured, rubbing at your eyes.
His fingers trailed up your arm, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver through your already tired body. âJust stay awake for me,â he said. âI need you for a little longer.â
You swallowed, sensing the shift in his tone. It wasnât 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. âYou can do that for me, canât you?â
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 eyesâthat soft, uncertain look. But he knew sheâd give in anyway.
Tilting his head slightly, he studied her, waiting. And then, slowly, she nodded.
âGood,â 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 eagerâcraving 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.
âOpen,â 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.
âGood girl,â 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. âHmâ 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.
âHm,â 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 bigâhis 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 himâthe 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.
âSo good.â
This feels so rushed HELLO IM SORRY
IT WILL NOT LET ME TAG ANYBODY HELLO IM SO SORRU OMGđ
#gong yoo squid game#gong yoo#salesman squid game#squid game salesman#squid game#the salesman#squid game season 2
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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 donât 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, doesnât mean it should affect your relationship with her. Sometimes you wonder if youâre too quick to forgive and forget but you know that this is an exception.Â
âItâs just weird, yâknow?â Liana mutters, laying her head on the dirty bar table. Sheâs on her third drink and youâre close to cutting her off. âIâm going to be an aunt again, but I have this odd feeling about Calista. Like sheâs not telling the entire truth.âÂ
You startle when she suddenly bolts upright and looks at you with wide eyes.Â
âWhat if Matâs not the father? That would make so much sense!âÂ
âHow so?â you ask carefully. So far, you have successfully kept the fact that Calista is not pregnant a secret. Itâs a secret you will have to take to your grave because you canât let Marlee get in trouble when all she was doing was trying to help you. The truth might come out some day, but itâs something you will deal with then.Â
âMat is just being weird about the whole thing, like heâs hiding something,â she says. âWell, besides the fact that he hasnât told mom or dad⌠but thereâs something else.â She picks up her glass and drinks the last of her martini before signinally the bartender for a refill.Â
âI think itâs time we switch you to Shirley Temples,â you say gently, asking the bartender for a couple glasses of water.Â
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.Â
âFine, but if Iâm getting cut off, soââ 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 thereâs no way sheâs that stupid and youâre about to say something but Liana hops off her barstool and before you can stop her, sheâs marching across the room to where Calista is sitting. Sheâs surrounded by a few other people, one of them being a guy you canât quite place but definitely isnât Mat, but the real kicker is the drink in her hand.Â
Youâre not in the business of accusing people but the way sheâs laughing loudly and swaying a little in her seat makes you think that itâs not a non-alcoholic drink. You stare a little too long because when you snap out of your stupor, itâs 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 canât help but stare at Calista in shock. You know sheâs not pregnant but you didnât 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. Â
âI knew something was off about you,â 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.
âYou are pregnant!â Liana shrieks and when you hear people gasping and the whispers start, you know you need to get Liana out of here now.Â
With strength you didnât realize you have, you drag her outside. She shakes you off as soon as youâre out the doors and promptly throws up all over your shoes. You donât give yourself time to be grossed out, pulling your phone out of your pocket and calling the first person you think of.
âHello?â Jax mumbles and youâre panicking enough that you canât feel sorry that you woke him up.Â
âI need you to pick us up,â you gasp and suddenly youâre sixteen again, calling him to pick you up from a party that you snuck out to.Â
Jax doesnât hesitate before agreeing and asking where you are. You rattle off the name of the bar and he says heâll be there in ten minutes even though you know his apartment is at least twenty minutes away. Youâve never been so grateful to have him as a friend.Â
âYou didnât call Mat, right?â 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 whatâs going on in her head.Â
âNo,â you tell her, sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her. âI called Jax.â
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.Â
âShe was never pregnant, was she?â
Maybe itâs the natural motherly instinct in you, but you realize you canât lie to her when sheâs so upset.
âNo,â you tell her and then sheâs crying. You know that sheâs drunk which makes her more emotionally vulnerable but you also know how sensitive sheâs always been and itâs not a weakness. She wears her emotions on her sleeve and itâs only ever made her kinder and wiser than she should be for her age.Â
âIâm sorry,â she sobs. âI shouldnât 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.âÂ
Then sheâs crying even harder. âOh god, what are we going to tell Mat?â
Truthfully, in the chaos of all this, you havenât had the chance to think about what youâll do about Mat. You know Liana wonât keep the truth from him and even if she did, word travels fast and he would eventually find out. Youâre not certain he can mentally handle this, not with everything thatâs 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 itâs been a lie? Youâve no idea what he will do.Â
âI donât know,â you tell her honestly and sigh in relief when you see Jaxâs car come into view. You stand up, helping her back to her feet just as Jax parks and gets out to help you.Â
He looks worried but doesnât say anything about yours or Lianaâs appearance. Once youâre both settled in his car, he tells you heâs going to bring you both to his apartment for the night, obviously not feeling comfortable dropping you home when youâre upset and intoxicated. You know heâs right but all you want to do is curl up in your own bed.Â
âAlright,â 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.Â
âI canât carry you both in,â he jokes and you look back to see Liana completely knocked out. She grumbles when you wake her but sheâs coherent enough to walk.
Jaxâs 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 werenât so worried about Liana, you would tell him not to worry but youâre 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 donât know how to tell Mat about it and Liana probably wonât 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 youâre surprised to find him awake when you make your way out to the kitchen. Itâs just past 8 oâclock but heâs cooking breakfast, singing off tune to Taylor Swift.
âHey,â you say softly, sitting at the breakfast bar. You know heâs going to want an explanation because even though he let you off the hook last night, heâs going to want to know why Liana was crying and you had vomit on your shoes when he picked you up.Â
âMorning,â 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 youâre done, he looks at you expectantly.Â
âWe saw Calista at the bar last night,â you explain. âDrunk and with some random guy.â
âHuh,â he says, so you look at him. His face is neutral, not showing if heâs surprised.Â
âWhat does huh mean?â
âI mean, you did say something was off about her.âÂ
That was putting it lightly because although you couldnât 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 wasnât pregnant.Â
âYeah,â you sigh.Â
You hear shuffling from the guest room and look to see Liana walking into the kitchen. She plops down next to you and groans.
âIâm never drinking again,â she says and you canât help but chuckle despite the circumstances.Â
âSaid every hungover person ever,â you say and a small smile crosses her face before she frowns, clearly remembering last night's events.
âI have to tell Mat,â she says. âItâs not fair to him that she lied.â
You sigh but nod in agreement.Â
âI have to pick Nora up from my moms,â you tell her. âAre you okay to tell him yourself?âÂ
You really donât want to be there when Mat finds out, not when youâre dealing with your own feelings towards him.Â
âYeah,â she says, eating the toast Jax offers her.Â
You both finish your coffee and then Jax drives you to your apartment and you drop Liana home before picking Nora up.Â
Sheâs ecstatic to see you, telling you everything she did with grandma from the moment you dropped her off until now picking her up.Â
âAnd then, Millie hissed at me but Gizmo barked and scared her away,â she takes a deep breath before continuing her ramblings. âCan we get a kitten?âÂ
âYouâre allergic, remember?â You remind her, and then a thought pops into your mind. Where did she see your motherâs neighbor's cat? âWhere did you see Millie?âÂ
âMrs. Turner invited us over for tea,â she tells you and then offhandedly adds: âshe asked about you and Mat.âÂ
This doesnât surprise you because Mrs. Edna Turner is quite the gossiper. You have trust in your mother that she didnât tell Edna anything private but youâre still curious what exactly they talked about and you know that your child can be sneaky when she wants to be.Â
âWhat did Mrs.Turner ask?â you ask, rolling your eyes when she sighs dramatically and puts her tablet away.Â
âWell, first she asked if Mat was really my daddy and when Grandma said yes, she said âthat poor childâ,â she says, face scrunching up in confusion. âWhat does that mean?â
You make a mental note to talk to your mom about bringing Nora to any future tea parties at Mrs. Turnerâs.Â
âNothing,â you assure her. âWhat else did she say?â
âShe told grandma that if she were you, she wouldnât move me to New York.â Her eyes narrow and she frowns. âI thought you said we werenât moving to New York.â
âWeâre not.â
âThen how come Mrs.Turner said that?â she demands.
ââCause Mrs. Turner doesnât know how to mind her own business,â you mumble and then sigh, looking at Nora so sheâs listening. âWeâre not moving to New York, okay?âÂ
She nods and then smiles. âCan we go get ice cream?âÂ
âYeah, we can go get ice cream,â you tell her even though itâs nearly dinner.Â
Every once in awhile, ice cream for dinner is in order.
. . .
Itâs past midnight when thereâs a quiet knock on your door, and the only reason youâre 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 hadnât 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 donât 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.Â
Heâs resting his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands and it takes you a minute to realize heâs crying silently.Â
âMatâŚâÂ
âI just - fuck, I thought that this was my second chance, you know? It wasnât ideal but I would get to do all the things I missed with Nora,â he says, scrubbing his hands over his face. âI was such an idiot.â
Itâs not a dig towards you but you still canât shake the guilt you always feel when he talks about everything he didnât get to see. Her first steps, first words, first day of kindergarten. All the things you can never get back.Â
âItâs not your fault,â you say gently. âYou couldnât have known.â
âI shouldâve,â 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.Â
When he realizes sheâs there, he wipes his eyes hastily but itâs not fast enough because Nora walks over to him and deepens her frown.
âAre you okay?â she asks quietly, reaching out and touching his cheek thatâs still damp.Â
Mat looks like heâs going to say that heâs fine but seems to change his mind last minute. He smiles sadly and shakes his head.
âNot really, peanut,â he tells her and the frown on her face deepens even more than you thought possible.Â
âMama says hugs make things better when youâre sad,â 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 itâs like all the tension drains from his body.Â
You call it the âNora Effectâ, because her little hugs always seem to make you feel better.
âIâm so sorry, Nora,â you hear Mat whisper and you know heâs going to beat himself up over everything thatâs 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, heâll have a place in her life and you canât wait to see what the future holds for them.Â
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
tag list: @literatureluster @dasiysthings @diary-of-jj @heatherawoowoo @fallinallincurls @lovinbarzal @whatthepuckisgoingon @teapartydreams @alilstressyandlotdepressy @keiva1000 @hischiershoe @bellstwd
@alwaysclassyeagle @brrbrina @nonsensical-nonsence @love-like-woaah @swift-sos @barzygirl13 @ilyrafe
if you want to be added or taken off the list, please let me know :)
#allies writing#hockey imagines#nhl fanfiction#hockey fanfiction#nhl imagines#mat barzal x reader#mat barzal fic#mat barzal x you#mathew barzal x reader#hockey fanficiton#hockey imagine
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⣠Domestic Living With Jason đŠł
âŁđŠł A/N â I'm physically incapable of writing anything under 500 words. But, this was inspired by my love of compression shirts (especially the Under Armor ones and how I would do exactly this if my boyfriend tried to walk out wearing one). May start a series off this, we'll see. Warnings: Domestic Vibes. Married Energy. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Petty Jason.
âŁđŠł Summary â Domestic life is something. Domestic life with Jason Todd is another thing. One moment, you're ready to fight this man. Next moment, you're ready to fight this man. *wink wink* Wait, hold up. Jason, what the hell are you wearing?!
âŁđŠł Words â 1.5K
REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! đ
⣠ENJOY đŠł

âJason, hurry up! I need to get back so I can finish this essay.â Y/N yelled from the living room of his and his boyfriendâs shared apartment.
If you asked him a year ago what he figured living with his boyfriend would be like, heâd more than likely answer with a lot of freaking sex. Of course, other things came with it, but that was the first thing that always came to mind.
It also came with a lot of stay-at-home dates. Jason was unsurprisingly a natural homebody and loved to spend his evenings when he could with his lovely boyfriend cuddled against his body while watching a movie or playing a game and munching down on some takeout.
Truthfully, it was nice seeing how Jason was in a domestic situation. It served as a reminder to Y/N that under all those scars, grumpiness, and tough exterior was just a boy who wanted to be loved.
On the other end, living with Jason made Y/N take a long, hard look in the mirror and reflect on all the bad habits he had when living at home with his parents and starting college. For example, time managementâŚ
Before he started dating Jason, Y/N was the kind of person who waited till twenty minutes before he had to leave to start getting dressed. Whenever someone would text him and ask for his location, heâd respond telling them he was leaving the house now.
Then, when he was actually leaving the house and theyâd text him again, heâd respond saying he was on the freeway. Truly, the best example of what not to do when he wanted to be on time somewhere.
After he started dating Jason though, and especially when they moved in together, Y/N sent a long apology to his parents who had tried for years to teach him better time management. The crazy thing about that was when they asked him why he was apologizing and he explained that Jasonâs time management made him look like an angel, they didnât believe him!
In their eyes, Jason was a saint who could do no wrong. Which was ironic considering Y/Nâs dad promised to castrate any man who dared even look his sonâs way. And his mom, well, not sure thatâs really appropriate to mention.
Yet, when it came to Mr. Jason Peter Todd, he might as well have been hand-delivered from God himself. Maybe it was because his boyfriend could and would be late to anything else in the world (Lord knows Bruce went through hell and back just to get him to be on time for family dinner), but if it was anything involving Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, he was twenty minutes early with a gift he picked up from the local Target.
It also could be that Jason was the worldâs biggest kiss-ass (when he needed to be) and used that to wrap Y/Nâs parents around his finger. Either orâŚ
But now, since they were only going to the gym, Jason was of course taking his sweet time to get ready, which, every passing second was another snap of one of Y/Nâs nerves. Truthfully, he wouldâve just grabbed his keys and left without him, but the last time he did that, Jason went and bought a steering-wheel clutch to put on his car and hid the keys from him for two weeks.
Another thing Y/Nâs parents would never believe about their sonâs beloved boyfriend; the fucker was petty as hell.
âIâm coming, babe! Be out in a sec,â Jason yelled from behind their bedroom door.
âYou said that five minutes ago!â
âSorry, I donât recall. Maybe you imagined it.â
This gaslighting motherfuâ
Y/N had to take a deep breath to calm his growing impulsive need to bust down that door and slap the fuck out of his boyfriendâs neck. It didnât helpâŚ
âYou canât hit your boyfriend. You canât hit your boyfriend. You canât hit your boyfriend,â Y/N mumbled to himself while tapping his foot against the floor repeatedly to distract himself from the ticking seconds passing by in his mind.
Two minutes later, the door opened and revealed his tall and bulky man looking ever so fresh and handsome. Though Y/N was still irritated beyond belief, the sight of his boyfriendâs handsome face who grew a smile and twinkle in his eyes when he looked at him always managed to dissipate his temper.
Not by much though. Jasonâs neck still looked like a very bright and large target just waiting for a good sting from the palm of his hands.
Maybe Tim was right, they were a match made in heaven just off violent tendencies alone.
âThat was not a sec,â Y/N reprimanded in a grumble.
Jasonâs smile turned into a self-satisfied grin while he walked past his boyfriend to their coat closet, grabbing his abnormally large gym shoes. Seriously, what size is this manâs foot?
âHey, itâs not my fault you waited till the last day to finish your homework.â He replied while tying his shoe.
âUm, actually it is. Every time I tried to sit down and work on it, youâd either start complaining about how I wasnât paying any attention to you or youâd get randomly horny and start touching me in ways that shall not be named and Iâd end up with your dick inside me.â
Y/N immediately regretted his words when he saw how Jason looked up from finishing his last shoe, a lustful blown look on his face as he eyed his body up and down. Thankfully, he didnât seem like he was about to act on his impulses as he kept tying his shoe without looking before standing back up.
Why was that hot?
âSounds like you need to practice self-control, sir.â
Oh, no he didnât.
âSir, I was already tempted to smack the back of your neck before. I beg you to not increase that urge.â
âDo it. I dare you,â Jason challenged, standing right in front of him with his towering frame. The tone in his voice and the look on his face were signaling something that Y/N was very tempted to answer, but he had to keep rationality in the forefront of his mind.
âYou not worth it,â He responded, side-stepping him while going to grab his jacket.
âYeah, thatâs what I thought.â

âSir, donât get fuââ
It was at that moment Y/N took a full look at his boyfriend, specifically what he was wearing. And while the sight was something he wouldnât mind staring at, he definitely didnât want other people staring at him.
âExcuse me, but what in the hell are you wearing?â Y/N asked, still looking him up and down.
Jason looked confused for a moment, also looking at his outfit, not seeing what the problem was.
âUm, a shirt and sweats? Is this a trick question or,â
âWhy is it so tight? Who are you trying to show off for?â
This man was wearing a black compression shirt and gray joggers like it was just a regular Sunday. The Lord is watching, how dare he?!
Jasonâs smirk immediately came back when he realized what he was really about, âOh, what? I canât wear tight clothes now to the gym?â
âNot unless you want me to fight bitches. Because, just in case you forgot, I do fight bitches.â
âLanguage, or Iâm telling mom. And I like it when you fight over me,â He said while grabbing at Y/Nâs waist.
He immediately popped the vigilanteâs hands off him, âDonât involve my mother in and hands off mister.â
âOur mother, thank you,â Jason corrected.
âItâs giving incestuous, and last time I checked, there is no ring on this finger and my last name is not Todd.â
âDonât tempt me.â
Y/N was sat.
âI-, that was really hot and weâre gonna move on from that,â Y/N responded, and Jason once again had a cocky smirk on his face. Lord knows this man was more than likely dead serious. Heâd drop everything and drive to a ring shop right now.
âAnyway, you need to go change sir. I donât need them dirty, mud-bathing rats staring at what is for my eyes only.â Y/N responded, pointing back to their bedroom waiting for Jason to move.
âOh, so I need to go change, but when you were wearing those tiny shorts, showing off whatâs supposed to be for my eyes only, I got told to mind the business that pays me,â Jason asked with a laugh.
âAre you on my payroll?â Y/N questioned.
âNo.â
âMy point still stands.â
âYou think youâre funny,â
âI think Iâm hilarious, actually. In fact, Iâm so funny, Iâm going to get the extra small shorts I just got in the mail since you want to play with me.â Y/N turned around and sprinted for their bedroom.
âOh, Iâll play all day,â Jason mumbled under his breath before throwing their gym bags down to the ground and kicking off his shoes before following his boyfriend into the room.
They did not make it to the gym, but they definitely got their workout in.

âď¸ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | âď¸
âď¸ | Masterlists | âď¸
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