#was slapping someone on live television the right answer?

[notjustjavierpena]

Peek

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Haven’t written about these two for a while! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Joel finds an excuse to get out of watching the Olympics but only so he can go upstairs and find you getting ready to go out while listening to the summer’s biggest album.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, basically pwp, dad’s best friend, age gap, immorality kink, dirty talk, groping, fingering, possessive behavior. pet names, Daddy kink, unprotected piv sex, rough sex, anal threat, creampie, y2k vibes, brat summer

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58023772

Peek

The TV is loud in your father's living room as the Olympics are on but Joel can concentrate on nothing but the thought of you being upstairs even if he had looked forward to seeing the competition in gymnastics this afternoon. He is here because it is tradition to watch whatever sports are on during the summer with your father, his best friend, but nothing feels the same since he started seeing you behind his mate’s back.

Carefully, he shifts his weight on the leather couch cushion, the heat of Texas making the material stick uncomfortably to the slightly exposed skin of his thighs. It creaks as he changes his position, leaning forward to grab his near-empty beer and sneak a look at your dad out of the corner of his eye. He tries to figure out if he knows that Joel has had his face buried between his daughter’s thighs just yesterday but he doesn’t even flinch, too absorbed in the intricate routine on the screen.

He leans back again and takes a long sip of the bottle in his hand, emptying it in case he has to think of a reply to a sudden question about you. It doesn’t come but instead, he receives a raised brow.

“You sure are thirsty there, Miller,” he says with a gentle grin, playful and normal in everything he does so that Joel may relax a little more. He laughs with embarrassment in return, a blush of guilt that he hopes is taken as shame creeping up from under the neck of his t-shirt.

“Hot day,” he answers simply. He covers up his train of thought with a conversation, “Did you see that landing? That was something else.”

Your father seems satisfied with that answer to the degree where he turns back to the television, “And that dismount. They’re gettin’ better and better each year.”

Joel follows his line of sight, fixated upon the tight suit of a female gymnast, and chuckles under his breath. He puts the bottle back on the coffee table, knowing he is no better than that; he can almost hear your soft laughter from upstairs as you chat with someone on the phone, can almost feel the warmth of your gorgeous body against his. This push and pull between what he should do and what he wants to do is slowly driving him to insanity.

Your father slaps the armrest in excitement as another woman does her routine without faltering, “Did you see that? Gold medal for sure.”

“Yes,” Joel lies like he has gotten so good at lately, for the first time in his entire life not very interested in sports, “Best thing I’ve seen so far, think you’re right.”

He is more busy with thinking about how to act in case you make your way downstairs, wearing a cute sundress and smiling at him like you always do but still in a way that it took him way too long to notice. He hopes you might give him the thrill of making an appearance soon.

During commercial break, your father gets up from the couch to get more beers from the kitchen and Joel has time to glance towards the stairs. He cranes his neck to see if you are standing at the top but he is left disappointed, left to imagine what you are doing upstairs in your childhood bedroom with the Hello Kitty computer mat. He remembers the way your tits were pressed against it the first time he fucked you and shamelessly hopes he’ll get to have you in this house again just once before summer ends. Perhaps today? No, he shouldn’t want to do anything with you in this house.

Time passes. Nothing happens. It’s with relief and disappointment that he concludes that he won’t see you, with a smile as he is handed another cold beer to not quite quench his thirst.

“Five more routines to go,” your father says with his glasses resting on the tip of his nose as he looks through the program on his phone, “Sprints later. Always exciting.”

“No volleyball?” Joel hates himself for joking with a wink.

“Not watching women in tiny shorts, are we?” Joel nearly jumps at the sudden sound of your voice, blushing at his own distasteful joke, “Didn’t know you were a pervert, Mr. Miller.”

“Mind your own business, you,” your father tuts with his eyes on his phone. It takes a moment before he glances over the back of the couch, giving Joel’s own eyes a second to stare at you while he clenches his jaw at the sight of your white sundress, tied in around your waist. You look radiant, pure, and forbidden. He wants to reach out to touch the bit of your thigh that peeks out.

“Another shitty day for women,” you roll your eyes teasingly and nudge him playfully in a way that sends electricity through his entire being. However, Joel tenses up at hearing you use foul language, an inside rule between you that he cannot tell you that you’ve broken.

Your father says your name in disapproval and glances apologetically at him, “Where did you learn to talk like that? Sure as heck ain’t from me. The kids you’re hanging out with tonight?”

Joel’s grip tightens on the couch as you giggle sweetly, the sound enchanting him to the point where he thinks of everything off-putting that he can come up with so his cock might flag again. He hopes it doesn’t strain against the loose fabric of his shorts. You are doing this on purpose, teasing him relentlessly now that he can do nothing about it, and he is so turned on that it makes him feel ill.

“Oh, you old man. You can’t keep me in line anymore. I’m over 21; I can do whatever I want,” you stand behind the couch and wrap your arms around your father, kissing his cheek from behind. Joel looks at the way your ass sticks out, quickly catching himself ogling when your father’s eyes fix on him with embarrassment.

“She’s incorrigible,” he says with resignation, patting the hand that you rest on his shoulder. Joel can only imagine what would happen if your dad knew what he was thinking about.

“I can imagine her being her own boss,” he laughs to make himself feel less like a creep but doesn’t quite succeed when your dad joins in.

“Why are you here?” Joel hears him finally say.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” you begin, pulling back a little to look at your father properly, “Can I borrow the car?”

He frowns for a moment but then nods, “Alright but be careful.”

“Always am, thank you, Dad. Love you,” you peck his cheek again to feel him smile, stretching to your full height. The wind blows in from the door to the garden and Joel catches a sniff of your perfume as you leave the living room, “I’ll go change now. See you, Dad! Joel!”

You disappear upstairs again and the atmosphere shifts significantly. Your absence sends him into small talk with your father, going over the usual topics of work, sports, and family. He tells your dad about a big upcoming project, that Sarah’s doing well at college, and that he actually never really cared much for cycling despite it being a massive hit each time the Olympics are held.

“Actually, I might head up for a sec,” he says when thoughts of you have raged long enough in his mind, making him shift in his seat before pushing himself to stand. He is too curious about seeing you, too desperate to have you alone, “Nature’s calling, and I can’t wait for the commercials.”

Your father chuckles, eyes still glued to the television where they are handing out medals, “Sure thing, Joel. You know where it is. Tell my offspring to get out if she’s barricaded the door.”

Joel nods, giving a relieved smile, and quickly makes his way upstairs. His heart pounds with the anticipation of the moment ahead. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he hesitates briefly, listening for any sound of where you might be, and sure enough, he hears the faint hum of music coming from the bathroom and walks towards it.

Without knocking, he opens the bathroom door and finds you in front of the mirror, applying makeup to a song that he has never heard. The sight of you makes his erection come right back; you have changed into a pleated miniskirt that stops way above your knees, making the skin where your thighs meet your ass peek out. Above the waistline, he can see the waistband of your pink underwear and he has to adjust himself in his shorts.

“Where the hell are you going looking like that?” He demands to know, shutting the door behind him with a click. The music fades to the background as you wiggle your hips automatically.

You look up from your lips, catching his eye in the mirror, and smile sweetly while applying lip gloss. The color makes your lips seem plumper, the shine most likely to accentuate your cupid’s bow if you were to stretch your lips around his cock. You look away again, purposely acting like a brat, “Out with friends. No boys allowed.”

“Seems like you’re dressed to impress someone,” he retorts. If you were to check him out again, you would see the way his eyes are going down your intoxicating figure. He stops at your ankles, knowing how you would be standing on your toes if he touched you between your legs, before going all the way up to your face again.

You snap the lid of the lipgloss closed with a click and place it on the counter. You grab the edge with both hands, still looking at him through the mirror, “Did it ever occur to you that I might be dressed to impress you, Daddy?”

Joel does a sharp intake of air at hearing his nickname. He takes a step closer and you allow him. Without a second thought, he places his hands on your gorgeous hips and squeezes until your giggles make the upbeat song sound like garbage, “You’ll have me thinking about you all night with this skirt, kiddo. I’m not sure I’ll have it.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’ll feel your menacing presence all night?” You grin playfully, making a show of arching your back the way you sometimes do when he hits the right spot inside of you.

“I should run behind you to make sure you don’t expose your pretty pussy to strangers,” Joel lets his dominant hand slide down your thigh until he can clutch the fabric of your miniskirt. He pulls it down roughly to stress his point, covering you up as much as he can.

“You’re pulling it the wrong way, Daddy,” you tell him with a bratty grin, chewing your bottom lip to play innocent, “Don’t you want to have a peek? I’ll let you see up under it.”

“Daddy can’t promise only a peek,” he replies, making a point of his words by letting his bulge graze your ass. You push back into him to allow him whatever he wants without saying it explicitly, earning a moan that’s loud enough for you to reach for the small Bluetooth speaker and increase the volume a little. Your father must question the noise but he hopes that he simply thinks you’ve gone to your bedroom instead, letting the door stay open.

“What the hell is this garbage music?” Joel asks as he steps back to allow you to reach back effortlessly. You reach behind you to grip the hem of your skirt, lifting it with deliberate slowness. It is a teasing gesture, more about the act itself than the reveal of your lacy underwear that clings to your cunt and gives him the perfect outline.

“Stop sounding ancient,” you tease, shifting your weight from one foot to the other to strut your ass. You’re leaning forward a little to be more appealing, so easy to push forward so you have to grip the sink.

“You’re making it sound like a problem, Princess,” he replies with a chuckle. Yes, he could shove you down onto the counter but he chooses to finger the crotch of your barely-covering panties. You don’t seem to have predicted that he would actually dare to touch you in your father’s house, so you fall forward when he pulls your underwear to the side and sinks two fingers into your wet slit. He smiles tauntingly at you in the mirror, “Don’t act like you don’t cream yourself over older men like me or we wouldn’t be in this mess together.”

“What are you doing?” You ask with your glossy mouth hanging open. He turns his wrist to press against your g-spot and sure enough, you’re already on your toes with a filthy moan tumbling out your mouth. He admires the way you always manage to look stupid and cute when he touches you, and he notices that whenever he doesn’t pump his fingers inside of you, you fuck yourself onto them.

“I ain’t doing nothing,” he says casually and slowly drags his two fingers over the spot that belongs to him, the spot he always searches for and likes to stay on. The song is horrible for fucking but it’s loud enough that you can’t be heard downstairs and quiet enough that he can hear the wet squelch when he goes a little faster, “I’m just giving you something to remember me by when you’re showing your pussy to the whole world.”

“That’s not… Joel,” you say his name and he almost believes that you want him to stop but then you arch your back just how he likes and he slips his thumb between your folds to rub your clit. He has your cunt in an iron grip, flicking his wrist repeatedly to see beads of slick threatening to drip onto the tiled floor.

“Nuh-uh,” he sternly says and halts just a few seconds, “You don’t get to call me that when I hear you use your potty mouth around here. Who do you answer to?”

“You, Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whine and earn added pressure to your clit. You keen but then the song ends, and the both of you hold your breath for a moment. Courageously, you whisper, “He’ll hear.”

“Not if you shut your mouth,” Joel barks quietly back, relieved when another annoying pop song comes out of the speaker. He catches the pout on your lips in the mirror, the fake offense on your face that has his dick throbbing in his shorts. He needs to fuck you soon, hasn’t got a long time to do it before your father will get suspicious of what he is up to, but he won’t shove his cock in you before you have begged him to do it.

Then the line comes with a breathless moan, “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Oh, so that’s the card you want to play to get fucked. He pushes his fingers deeper into you until his knuckles brush your ass, avoiding your g-spot altogether, and practically lifts you on his digits. Your whole chest lays down over the sink and counter, your whole weight on your front instead of on your toes. It must hurt but not more than a dull ache when he pays attention to your clit as he does it.

“I sure as fuck shouldn’t but I didn’t think I’d find you dressed like a little cockhungry girl in here,” he tuts and abuses your perfect cunt. God, it sounds like he is splashing with water by now.

“I-I should be with someone my own age,” your voice shakes, your walls start to pulse slowly around him. It becomes hard for you to continue your chastising, ”God, you feel so good, Daddy.”

“Yeah? Ancient Daddy should pull out his fingers and fuck you while you’re on the verge of coming for him?” Joel mocks. He pushes down and drags the pads of his fingers against your front wall on the way out. His fingers are white with your creamy slick. He smears it over your quivering slit, talking softly while you are almost cross-eyed, “I need you, baby. Daddy has to do it even though it’s wrong.”

“No,” you protest but don’t mean it. You look back at the sound of his shorts being pulled down, whimpering feebly as his hard cock comes into your view.

“Yes, sweetheart, I gotta,” he holds the base of his cock in his hand, slowly dragging the tip through your messy folds. He pushes against your ass first, chuckling darkly when you tense up and shake your head. He teases you, “No? That’s not where you want it? Don’t want to get ass-fucked with your old man downstairs? This skirt surely tells me you like taking it up the ass.”

“N-no,” you let your head hang between your shoulders, exhaling shakily, “I want it in my pussy, Daddy. Please. Until you come inside.”

Joel gives in when you ask so nicely. He presses the head against where you need it the most, slowly letting your warm walls engulf his length while you release a relieved breath. He growls from low in his throat as he buries himself deep inside, touching where his fingers have been just moments before.

“You sure change your mind quickly, baby,” he points out after starting a rough rhythm that makes his thighs smack into your ass, the crotch of your panties straining against your cheek that bounces in rhythm with his thrusts. He settles his hands on your hips, dragging you onto his cock as much as he spears you onto it, “First you say no, and now you wanna get bred? What happened to my good girl?”

“I know it’s bad but it feels so good,” you pant softly, nearly sounding animated with how you moan and groan. You’ve reached to grope your tits through your lime green top, caressing yourself greedily as you are drowned out by some lady singing about Von Dutch, “Don’t stop, Daddy, please don’t stop.”

“Fucking hate this song,” Joel grumbles breathlessly while he keeps a steady pace, nudging something just right inside of you because you fly forwards, “Don’t tell me you’ll go out dancing to this.”

“I’ll come to it,” you groan, sucking in a breath as you start to squeeze around his girth, “Gonna come.”

“Give it to me,” he demands with heavy breathing. He lets one of his hands slide up your spine until it sits on your neck. He tilts his hips forward so he can pound you, rewarded with a squeak that he finds adorable.

Suddenly, the room goes completely quiet. The both of you turn your heads towards the speaker, noting at the same moment that its battery has run out and the possibility of getting heard has upped dramatically.

None of you say a word. Joel even tries to stop his heavy breathing, putting pressure on the back of your head when you squeeze him by wriggling slightly. He makes a quiet noise of disapproval, “Stop it.”

“We aren’t done,” you whisper with a wounded whimper. You try to fuck yourself onto him, “Daddy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he bites, listening for potential footsteps that could lead to his doom. Instead, he hears your father cheer in reaction to something on the television. Should he? He can’t go downstairs again with a raging hard-on and there’s no way in hell that he is jerking off in here alone like some perverse madman. He makes a decision.

Leaning down over your very still frame, he catches onto the tears that have welled up in your eyes and whispers, “I’m gonna fuck a load into you and you’re gonna be quiet all the way through, got it?”

You nod frantically. Joel’s hand on your hip tightens and he pushes to stretch to his full height again. He bottoms out inside of you, “If you can do that, I’ll let you come on it, okay?”

You nod again, pushing back eagerly to impossibly swallow more of him. With determination and efficiency, he draws back and slams into you with all the muscles in his neck straining to keep quiet. You feel like you have been molded into a perfect sleeve for his cock, like he couldn’t imagine that anyone could ever live up to what you are giving him right now; cheeks bouncing, spine arching, and walls clenching as you teeter on your high.

You come with a tiny whine that he’ll allow and he comes right along with you, high on the danger and the fact that you belong to him so desperately. He manages to just sound like he is doing a sharp intake of air, hinting at a growl, before he fills you with his warm seed, each pulse of your soft muscles milking him dry.

It is a dangerously addictive sensation. He pumps in and out of you until he is too sensitive, slipping out of your used cunt so he can see the drip of his load. He stumbles backward, tucks himself, sticky and overstimulated, back into his shorts, and watches you pull down your underwear and move to the toilet to not spill all over the floor.

You sport a lazy little smile, satisfaction all over your face. It dawns on him what he has done - the deprivation of it - so he tries to distract the feelings of disgust that he has towards himself, “Why are you going out anyway?”

You are both still panting. He grabs onto the sink to steady himself, feeling old as he leans against it while you pee, your knees falling inwards so you look innocent compared to what you have just done together.

“Getting a tattoo,” you reply with a dirty little smile.

That surely changes Joel’s train of thought. He straightens a little, “Of what?”

“Don’t know yet but I’ll tell you where,” you reach to point to your hip bone, measuring about an inch with your thumb and index finger. You beam girlishly at him and he feels his chest tighten with affection, “Right here. Cute, right?”

“Cute,” he manages to say as his mind automatically imagines it right there on your hip but the word comes out a little rougher than intended. He is let in on a little secret that only a few will be allowed to see. Perhaps, he’ll be the one who gets to be the very first to see it, or maybe the one who gets to be the closest.

You finish, wipe yourself, and wash your hands. Then once again, you are close to him but this time it is chest to chest. You link your arms around him, leaning close, “Perhaps I’ll get something that reminds me of that one time I hooked up with Joel Miller, my dad’s best friend.”

“Dangerous game you are playing,” Joel reaches down to graze the spot on your hip with his thumb. He is so into you that it is ridiculous, smirking as you bat your eyelashes at him and filling him with youthful energy that he remembers from crushes in his teenage days. The idea of you marking yourself for him has his head in a spin and has his cock stirring again.

“What can I say? I’m a brat,” you shrug with a grin and when you both hear your father shout at the TV again, you grin with your tongue in your cheek. Yes, you are.

“Oh, babydoll, you make me wanna kiss you,” he almost growls as he leans into you, eyes focused on your cute glossy lips as he tries to capture them despite knowing that he won’t be allowed to touch them.

“Nope, not the gloss,” you tease and gently push him away on his chest. When he tries again, you hold your hand over his mouth and he groans against your soft fingers like from not getting his way. You grin, eyes shining with affection, “Now get out so I can clean myself up. And don’t tell my dad about the tattoo.”

“Fine,” Joel gives you one last lingering look, squeezing your hip before pulling away. He leaves the bathroom reluctantly, stepping backward as he walks out the door to keep his eyes on. You roll your eyes at him without being able to stop smiling.

When he is out in the hallway again, he heads back down the stairs and into the living room. He pats the back of the sofa to make himself known in the room once more, startling your father slightly.

“There you are,” he says, watching Joel walk around the sofa, “What took you so long?”

“Got talking with your kid,” he answers as casually as he can muster. However, your father seems to be completely disinterested in whatever he has been doing upstairs.

“What? Oh, yeah. At least you got her to turn off that awful noise she calls music. Come on, you’ll miss the final run,” he says obliviously, and so Joel joins him in the chair opposite his couch to make sure he doesn’t smell how he probably reeks of sex.

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[stardustdreams-andcaffeine]

Rain Therapy | Bucky Barnes

bucky barnes x fem!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: The line between friends and lovers is impossibly thin, yet somehow the hardest line to cross. It's a line that you and Bucky just can't seem to break, but it's nothing one of Tony's infamous parties can't fix.

A/N: Another fluffy one for me, which is still something I'm growing used to writing. I'm getting anxious for some angst, so ask me for some and I'll see what I can do!

Warnings: two idiots in love, slight angst, tooth-rotting fluff, language, allusions to smutty content, jealous Bucky

Word Count: 7,206

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The whisper of lightning, the promise of thunder, the answer of rain. The sky darkens and the sun is forgotten, casting a gloomy light on the earth below.

And yet, in the midst of all that chaos, I find it to be a chemical mixture for peace.

“Y/N, Y/N what the hell are you doing out there?”

That illusion of peace shatters, and I let out low groan, keeping my eyes shut as the raindrops fall down on my form outstretched on the pavement.

“I was having a peaceful moment of bliss until someone decided now was an opportune time to bother me,” I call back.

“An opportune time to-” I hear him cut off incredulously, muttering something to himself as heavy, booted feet slosh through the rain to reach me, “Get off the damn driveway, doll. You’re gonna get sick.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a myth,” I respond, staying pleasantly where I lay right in front of the Avengers Compound.

“Myth my ass, now get up and inside before I throw you over my shoulder and do it for you.”

I click my tongue, not having to open my eyes to know my best friend is standing right beside me, “So much violence, so much language. You should join me, some inner peace would do you good.”

Thunder cracks above, rumbling through the earth and into my bones. Even though I don’t hear his steps moving away, Bucky goes silent beside me. I begin to think he’s taking me up on my offer of a little rain therapy.

“See,” I sigh into the cacophony of nature, “Isn’t that peaceful? Maybe-”

I don’t even have time to react when a pair of strong arms, one of them freezing cold due to the metal in the rain, grab my waist and lift me clear off the floor. My eyes snap open with a jolt as I see myself being thrown over Bucky’s shoulder just like he promised.

“What the-” I stop myself as he secures me with his arm dangerously near my ass and slap his broad, muscular back, “You little bitch!”

“A little bitch who’s gonna keep you from getting a cold,” Bucky responds, and I can hear the smugness in his tone from back here, “Is the rain still peaceful?”

“No, there’s a jackass who got in the way.”

I feel his body rumble with laughter, feel the noise pass through my body and make my heart tumble in its cage. With that, his arm edging near a zone that’s clearly more than friends, and the sight of his wet t-shirt stuck to his back, I feel the anger flood from my body. Instead, I find myself thinking about what his abs look like with his rain-soaked shirt pressed against them.

Damn it, I’ve really got it bad.

I try my hardest to shove the image from my mind, but it only sticks harder and makes the spot where Bucky’s hand rests burn. I notice his metal hand on the other side, rain dripping off of it, and I can’t help but let my mind trace to-

I halt my thinking abruptly. He’s your best friend, he’s your best friend, he’s your best friend.

He’s my unfairly hot, broody, and annoyingly heart-fluttering best friend

With his free hand, Bucky shoves open the front doors to the Avenger’s Compound, walking a few steps until we enter one of the large, high-ceiling living areas where a television blasts a movie.

“I told you,” Tony announces after the group of my friends and teammates sees Bucky walking in with me on his shoulder, “Sam, you owe me five bucks.”

“Put me down, terminator,” I grunt, to which Bucky finally sets me on my feet.

Immediately I go to hit him, but the sudden change in my body’s gravity sends me off balance slightly. I stumble back slightly, trying to make the blood rush from my head so I can balance again.

“Woah, careful there, Bambi,” Bucky laughs, gripping onto my waist to help steady me.

Where his hands touch, metal and skin alike, my skin sets on fire. The radiating electricity from his touch only annoys me further and I shove out of his hands, swatting his chest.

“I’m fine,” I grumble, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze and holding a finger in his face like a scolding parent, “Next time you manhandle me, I’m going to remove your arm like Ayo showed me.”

Bucky smirks at me coolly and says something, but I miss it because my eyes drop down to where his t-shirt sticks to his abs from the rain. Just like I imagined it would, it makes my mouth go dry and my heartbeat miss a step.

“See something you like?” Bucky taunts.

Cheeks flushed, I look up at him calmly and smile, “Just thinking about what a shame a body like that is wasted on the grumpiest man alive.”

The group of Avengers lounging around the various chairs and couches in the living room snicker, their attention drawn from the television. He lifts an eyebrow at me and those infuriating steel blue eyes ricochet my pulse.

“Sure you were.”

“Whatever,” I mumble, turning and looking at team, “Who bet against me?”

Tony, Bruce, Wanda, and Nat lifts their hands and I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest in feigned hurt.

“Traitors,” I grumble, not being able to stop the smile that wants to twitch onto my lips as Bucky walks up beside me and rests his arm on my shoulder.

“They bet right, didn’t they?”

I look up at him with the half-smile I wasn’t able to stop, “Screw you,”

I turn around and leave the living room, making my way towards my room so I can shower and change. From behind me, I hear Bucky’s laugh that sears itself into my memory.

“Love you too, doll!” He calls out, and my heart launches into my throat.

He doesn’t mean it like I want him to, not like how I mean it. Not like how I've meant it for months.

As I finally get to the confines of my bedroom, I shut to the door and let out a trembling breath. I keep my back pressed to the door for a moment, leaning my head against it and forcing myself to forget the way his hands felt, to strike from my memory the beauty of his laugh. When I finally peel off my wet clothes and step into a scalding hot shower, I let the water and steam surround me long after I'm already clean.

I'm a coward, a coward and a fool for falling for my best friend and not being able to say a word to him about it.

Long after I'm out of the shower and cuddled up with a book on my bed, a knock sounds on my door. I've barely glanced up at it in confusion when Natasha's voice calls out, "I know you're probably reading a book but put it down and let me in unless you want me to break down the door."

A half-smile tugs onto my lips and I set my book aside, untangling myself from my covers and opening the door for my friend. She gives me a smug smile and waltzes in, plopping down on my bed. I can't help but shake my head at her as she makes herself at home.

"Why are all of my friends so violent?" I taunt, sitting down next to her.

"Most of us are trained assassins." Nat gives me a playful nudge, already lifting my spirits from the gloom and doom they were resting in. Her knowing gaze immediately notifies me that I can't escape the conversation to come, so I don't even bother to skirt around it.

"Why does my life suck?" I groan, dropping down onto my back dramatically. Nat laughs beside me, shaking her head down at me.

"So many questions tonight," She remarks, following the words with a tired sigh and laying down beside me. As we both stare up at my ceiling, my mind is held captive by one person. Both it and my heart have been held hostage and I'm starting to understand the truth in Stockholm Syndrome.

"You know, and brace yourself because this is gonna blow your mind, you could just tell him how you feel," Nat advises.

"And risk ruining everything that we already have?" I reply, my brows creased in an ever-present state of worry, "I could live with being friends with him forever as long as it meant I still had him in my life. But if I tell him how I feel and it changes everything to the point where he can't even be around me?"

I take a charged pause, startled by the sudden rise of emotion. I swallow down the burning pain, but ultimately I decide to go easy on my breaking heart. The poor thing doesn't know any better. All it knows is that it wants Bucky Barnes and I keep locking it and its desires into a cage of bones in my chest.

"A life without him...I couldn't live like that."

Nat sits up beside me, catching my attention in time to see the sympathy flashing across her features, "Y/N, I know it's scary but if you'd just trust me I think the outcome would surprise you."

She can tell that I'm still not convinced, so in a last ditch effort to rally me from my slumber of inaction, she reaches across me and grabs the book I was reading. I sit up, a protest just starting on my tongue as I reach for it. She pulls it out of my reach and holds it in front of her chest, displaying the cover for me to see.

"Do any of the characters in these books ever fare well from denying their passions?" Nat asks, and I find that she has me in a figurative corner, "Do their stories end well when they decide, 'Nah, I'm too scared to tell him I love him'?"

"I don't love him," I protest, but the lie is sour on my tongue and allergic to my soul. It gets rejected so quickly by everything within me that I almost think I'll have a physical reaction to it.

"Bullshit." Nat challenges, setting the book aside and grabbing my hands. I shake my head, trying to escape her arguments that my heart jumps in agreement with.

It's a brutal thing, to have your heart yearn for one thing and your mind so resolutely against it. I've always thought it strange how the dichotomy of desires could root in a person, but it makes sense in a way. The heart is led by our passions, our intuitive cravings. The mind is hardwired by nature and instinct to protect us, to propel our survivals.

Even if that means our passions must be slaughtered.

I'm keeping my mind in charge by sheer will that's hanging precariously over the edge of a cliff. My will only has a few fingers left to hold with, and I can feel it slipping every day Bucky's near me, every time his skin brushes mine, every time he simply is.

“I need to move on,” I almost desperately announce, gripping handfuls of my sweatshirt to keep from crying, “I need a way to move or this is going to kill me. He’s going to kill me.”

Sympathetic to my distress, Natasha lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder, “You know, with Tony’s Semi-Annual Charity Gala coming up this weekend it’s the perfect time to move on.”

I perk up slightly, the thought breaking a sliver of hope in the pit of despair and self-pity I allow to well up. For an Avenger, I sure know how to wallow in pain.

“…or make a move on a certain super soldier.” Nat continues.

“Don’t be silly, I’d never steal Steve away from you,” I jest, my tone wavering but stronger than before. Nat rolls her eyes from beside me before shoving my shoulder. With a sigh, I finally meet my friend’s gaze, “One last chance. One chance and then I’m putting myself out of my misery”

That’s so easily said. The unspoken truth is that my poor heart doesn’t stand a chance. It hasn’t for a long time.

“Great!” Nat smiles, squeezing me into a side hug on the bed, “I’ll start planning your outfit now!”

And with that, she’s off my bed and into my closet. As we spend the better part of the night deciding on what to wear to the upcoming gala, I can’t help but let my mind stray to its usual focus. With a groan of exhaustion, I drop my head into my hands and tell myself that same lie.

“He’s my best friend. That’s all.”

It’s getting harder and harder to believe.

|||

A few days later

It's been a few days since the rain incident, and I've finally managed to garner a moment alone from everyone. It's not that I don't love being around them, but it taxes me more than I care to admit to be around him.

A forlorn sigh brushes past my lips, but as I nestle down on the floor in the library Tony had put into the Compound, I find my worries drifting away. Instead, they're replaced with the story in the pages, rapturing my attention and distracting my mind.

That is, until the door opens and I feel his presence before I see or hear him.

"There you are, doll. I've been looking for you all day," Bucky calls, his deep, smooth voice cascading into my very soul. I shut my eyes for a moment, trying desperately to not let it show on my face how jarring it was to be snapped from the book to the person I've been trying to avoid.

"You've been looking for me?" I ask, managing to make my voice seem calm and pleasant. He approaches where I'm sitting on the floor, a breath-stealing smile tugging at his lips.

"Course I have, I haven't seen you in days," He replies, his face the picture of relaxed calm, drawing a fierce dichotomy to the barely-veiled confliction on my own. Bucky takes a moment, surveying me sitting on the floor amidst all of the chairs and couches available. He lifts an amused brow at me.

"Why are you on the floor?"

I can't stop myself from smiling up at him and all control I had in keeping myself away from him disintegrates, "It's more comfortable to me. Are you judging me Barnes?"

His laugh bursts light into the depths of me, and as I watch his face relax I can't help but look on in awe at how far he's come. When he first joined the team, he was withdrawn and quiet and even grumpier than he is now. He never smiled, never laughed, and barely spoke. Now, of course he's adorably grumpy most of the time, but he smiles and laughs. He enjoys life, and he more than anyone else in this world deserves to enjoy life.

"What're you reading?" Bucky asks, and I try to ignore the way my pulse rockets up when he settles down beside me on the floor.

He stretches out his long legs, keeping the one furthest from me bent and resting his arm on top it. His other leg is stretched out and nearly touching my own. To help balance his weight, he settles the hand closest to me, his metal hand, onto a spot on the floor behind my back. The position makes his chest brush against my shoulder ever so slightly and all I can feel is the burning of his presence and the searing of his gaze.

"Just some fantasy book," I reply, not wanting to bore him.

I look over at him to see his eyes already on my face, his own radiating a serene peace. He furrows his brows at my prolonged examination of his features and the ghost of a smile twitches at the corner of his lips, "What is it?"

"Nothing, it's just," My mouth has gone dry again, and I can't seem to clear the haze on my mind, "You look at peace."

"Well someone pretty incredible suggested rain therapy, which works like a charm for my grumpiness."

A laugh bubbles out of me, only widening the smile on his face. I find myself subconsciously leaning into his presence and bringing our faces closer.

"Seriously," Bucky continues, making me realize our proximity and pull back to a normal distance, "I'm always at peace around you."

My heart doesn't just miss a step, it stumbles and falls and nearly gives out in my chest. His words affect every part of me and it's a feat of pure resilience that I don't reach over and press my lips to his.

"Unless you're doing something stupid and testing my nerves," He adds on, lightening the air and making me giggle. He nods towards the almost forgotten book in my hands.

"You were going to tell me about your new read," Bucky reminds, and I smile.

I spend the next ten minutes detailing what's happening in the book, my excitement about it taking over and making me ramble on without barely taking any breaths. I occasionally look between the book and Bucky, sometimes gesturing with my hands to establish my enthusiasm.

Even when I'm not looking at him, Bucky's gaze never leaves my face.

So much for giving myself space to try and move on from him. That thought is far from my mind, though. The longer I’m near him, the closer he is, the harder it is to remember to forget him. And now, with Tony’s Gala tomorrow night, I don’t know how I’m going to move on.

Maybe I really can give this one last shot. It could break me if it goes wrong, but I have a feeling I’ll break a little regardless.

|||

The next night

Not even the pounding of the music and the chatter and clatter of hundreds of guests can drown out my racing mind.

“Stop tugging at your dress, you look great,” Natasha chides from beside me.

With a huff of anxiety, I heed her words and stop fiddling with the snug material of the one-sleeved dress. It hugs my curves down to my waist before draping elegantly to the floor, broken only by the high slit up the thigh.

“I know,” I reply, downing my second drink of the night and setting down the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter with a brief smile, “I just haven’t seen him yet. He’s coming right? Tony told us all to be here, so he wouldn’t just-”

“Why does there have to be so many people here?”

My words die out at the distant but unmissable rumble of words behind me. I turn around, and my entire world seems to focus on the epicenter that is Bucky Barnes as he walks in beside Sam Wilson.

“It’s a party man, I thought you loved parties back in the day,” Sam replies, smiling at a few people as he walks in.

“Yeah well I don’t like people like I did then,” Bucky grumbles back, messing with the edges of his all-black suit that is tailored so perfectly that it hones every inch of his body.

His broad shoulders, his muscular form, his piercing blue eyes in a fierce dichotomy with the darkness of the getup…I almost trip in my heels.

“You don’t like any people? That breaks my heart, Barnes,” I manage out coolly, walking up to the pair with a half-smile tugging on my lips and my heart dancing with the butterflies within.

Bucky’s gaze turns from the party goers to where I walk up to them, and a part of me melts at the way a light filters into his features. His dashing smile makes my own grow before I can stop it. The way he simply stops for a moment and stares at me, as if the throngs of people around us don’t exist…

It’s more than an effort to shove my poor heart into its shackles.

“I guess you’re an exception, doll,” He amends, and Sam rolls his eyes beside Bucky as they stop before me.

“It’s not like I’m right here,” Sam announces, making me giggle slightly and look to him.

“Hey Sam, good to see you,” I greet, walking over and hugging the man. He hugs me back, smiling brightly.

“Good to see you too,” Sam responds, his eyes catching on something over my shoulder, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe there are some fans who need me.”

I laugh as I watch him walk over and greet a group of women by the bar. When I turn back to Bucky, I shove down my nerves and shake my head as I pull him into a hug.

“You look incredible, Buck,” I announce, trying to ignore the rightness of his body against mine as he pulls me into a hug that lasts a moment more than I should have let it.

“Y/N,” he deadpans, pulling back but leaving his arms on my waist to admire me. His eyes sparkle with something akin to awe that makes hope rise in my chest, “You put me and everyone else in this room to shame.”

“You obviously haven’t looked in a mirror,” I remark, desperately trying to not show all over my face how beautiful he is.

Bucky just smiles. He looks at me and he smiles and I am undone.

My eyes catch on Natasha over Bucky’s shoulder as she mingles in the background of the party. When our gazes meet she gestures to Bucky with a hand, mounting the words ‘Come on’ as she does. Nodding back to her, I remember the conversation we had a few days ago and right before we joined the gala. I have to be bold and make a move, take a chance before I lose the ability to do so.

“So,” I turn back to Bucky, smiling knowingly up at him, “How’re you doing with the whole party thing?”

Bucky takes in a breath, nodding his head slightly as he surveys the party scene around us. Drinks are flowing, laughs rising, and music is permeating through every sector of the Avengers Compound. The floor shakes with the base and the clattering of shoes as he looks back to me, “Oh you know, just fantastic.”

“Is that so?” I taunt, almost laughing at the dripping sarcasm in his voice. He shoots me a grumpy glare that finally unleashes my laugh. At the sound, Bucky’s features soften and a smile touches his lips. I notice this and furrow my brows up at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky whispers, just holding that’s soft smile in his eyes that makes me almost forget the track of the conversation. When I snap myself from my daze, I gasp.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” I exclaim, holding my clutch up and opening it to find what I stashed earlier, “I know how you are with parties like this and all so I thought that this might help make it a better memory.”

“You got me a gift?” Bucky asks, shaking his head at me with furrowed brows, “You should have told me, I would’ve gotten you something too!”

I shake my head, finally finding what I’m looking for and glancing up at Bucky, “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

With a bright smile to cover my pounding, anxious heart, I hold out the small book in my hands. Bucky glances down at the gift I hold out, and I watch his body go still. Anticipation dances in my belly as he ever so gently reaches out and takes the old, fading The Hobbit novel into his hands.

“It’s a first edition, don’t ask me how I found it,” I inform, playing with the fabric of my dress to give my now empty hands something to do, “I know how much you loved it and now when you’re watching me read in the library, you can read too.”

My words ring out between us, and yet Bucky barely moves. Just when I’m beginning to grow nervous, my heart melts into a puddle in my chest when he lifts his steel-eyed gaze to me. I’ve never seen him cry before, but here and now I can see the lining of unshed tears in his gaze.

“Buck-"

He closes the distance between us, pulling me so close to him that there’s no room for separation. I melt into the hug, becoming nothing more than an extension of his body. There’s no him. There’s no me. There’s only us as we’re suspended in time, caught in this moment.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he mumbles, not moving back an inch and letting his voice cascade over my neck and down my spine, “You don’t know what this means to me.”

Reluctantly, I pull back. Every part of me shouts in protest, but I know we have to separate as some point. I give him a soft smile, trying to ignore the noose that’s slowly tightening around my heart. I’m a goner. I have no chance of recovery.

“Don’t mention it,”

Bucky stares at me for another moment, the charged silence soon taking on an anticipated feel. We’re both waiting for the other to make the first move, I can sense it. I see Nat nudge me from afar again and decide to finally muster up my courage and stop waiting. I notice Bucky shakes his head at something, mumbling something to himself, but I press on.

“Hey, do you wanna da-”

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” Bucky bursts out at almost the same instant, making me cut off my sentence quickly.

A drink? He’s going to get a drink right now, as soon as I was about to ask him to dance? I know he didn’t mean it as a rejection, but it still stings like one.

“Oh, uh yeah sure. That’s-”

Before I can even finish speaking, Bucky has darted away desperately towards the bar at the North side of the room near Sam. I stand dumbfounded, my heart slowly sinking. This is going to be much harder than I thought.

|||

It's been nearly an hour and a half and Bucky is still managing to be everywhere that I am not.

I can take a hint. Even if that hint shatters my soul a little.

As I watch the super soldier mingle with some of the guests, a polite and slightly annoyed smile on his face, I feel something snap within my chest. Here I am, lounging pathetically at the bar all alone, and there he is, my best friend who I can't seem to fall out of love with. His strong jaw and steel eyes don't dare to turn in my direction, and I feel my fracturing soul crack even more.

I have to let it go. I have to let it go. I have to let him go.

With a long sigh, I pick up the drink before me and down its contents, letting the burn soothe away the edge of the crawling pain in my chest. Once the glass is slammed back down on the bar counter, I steel my nerves and stand.

It's time I stop feeling sorry for myself and move on.

My eyes scan the thick crowd scattered throughout every inch of Tony's gala. Music radiates through every molecule of air, and just one glance at the dance floor has my feet moving before my brain is. As I walk over to the dance floor, I see a random guy standing with a few others. He's cute enough with a charming smile, so I grab his arm as I walk past, making him glance over at me. I flash him my best smile and tug him towards the dance floor.

"Dance with me?" I ask boldly, and his smile widens.

"I'd be honored," He replies, letting me pull him onto the dance floor.

I should let myself be whisked away into the music and the movements and the feel of his hands on my hips as we dance. I should let the base and the crowd and the charming man before me wipe away every thought, but I just...can't. All I can think about when his hands slide gently on my waist is how different it feels when those hands are Bucky's. My heart is crushing slowly, and so I do everything I can to forget it.

It's actually beginning to work until the music abruptly cuts out.

Groans and boo's arise from the crowd with me on the dance floor as we all look around, trying to figure out why the music's stopped. "That's so weird," The nice guy I'm dancing with mumbles. I mention my agreement, my eyes sweeping the edges of the party before I catch a glint of dark metal. My eyes fly back to the metal only to see Bucky storming away from the sound booth, his metal fist clenched so hard that I'm surprised it doesn't malfunction. In his metal grasp is a hunk of wires, and my stomach drops.

He did not.

"Don't worry folks! I'll have the music back up in no time," Tony announces, flashing his winning smile to the crowd as he jogs to the sound booth, "There was a slight malfunction"

I see him shoot Bucky a glare, but true to his words the music is back up in a matter of minutes. I feel anger begin to make my blood boil and I pull away from the guy I was dancing with. I see a frown pull onto his face as he lets me go but follows me a few steps.

"Are you okay?" He calls after me, and my heart twists in sympathy. I must look absolutely furious and he probably thinks it's pointed at him. So, I do my best to give him a sympathetic smile.

"I'm alright, thanks for the dance. I needed it," I comment, before turning and continuing my beeline for the brooding super soldier in the corner. He's standing with Sam, muttering something that I can't hear as I finally break through the crowd and walk up to them.

"Here we go," Sam mumbles, slowly backing away as I come to a stop in front of Bucky.

"What the hell, James?" I grit out.

"Oh she used the first name," Sam comments, his eyes widening, "I'm going to go check on Steve."

Then he leaves, and it's just Bucky and I. Bucky just shrugs, not meeting my furious gaze.

"I don't know what you're so mad about but-"

"Oh really? So you didn't just rip out the sound system?" I accuse, crossing my arms over my chest. He finally turns and meets my gaze, and damn it all I can't stop the swooning of my heart at the dark, rugged look on his face.

I'm angry, I remind myself. I'm angry with him.

"What does that have to do with you, sweetheart?"

I scoff, shaking my head at him, "You are unbelievable! I was finally starting to have a good night and-"

"Dancing with that handsy prick makes your night a good night then?" He interrupts, and I have to fight to keep the smug look off of my face at catching him.

"What were you saying about this having nothing to do with me?" I fire back, lifting an eyebrow. Bucky clenches his jaw and takes a step closer to me, probably expecting me to back off. I don't. Instead, I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, trying and failing to seem taller than him.

"I don't like you dancing with other men like that," Bucky informs, his voice dark. He's so close to me that his whiskey and pine scent invades my senses, threatening to empty my head of the argument at hand.

"I can dance with whoever the hell I want, Barnes. And since certain people made it very clear they didn't want to dance with me, then certain people should have no say in who I dance with"

"I don't dance, Y/N." His eyes are cool fire and they sear right through me. Even in this heated argument, all I can seem to think about is how badly I want him, body and soul. My thoughts are banished when he spits his next words out, "Not with you, not with anyone."

It shouldn't hurt. It shouldn't. So why do I have to fight to keep the hurt off of my face?

Just like that, the fire in my argument is gone. I nod, taking a few steps back, "Okay, that's all you had to say."

And then I turn around and leave before he can see the tears welling in my gaze.

I force myself into the crowd, making sure I move quickly and weave myself between those around me to get away as fast as possible. Then, with my heart in my throat, I finally make it to the outskirts of the party where a glass sliding door leads out into a training field. Through the glass, I can see rain pouring down into the dark, almost moonless night.

Seeing it unravels a bit of the pain within my chest, and I don't even think as I slip off my heels and walk outside. I shut the door behind me, muting the sounds of the party and leaving the downpour of rain and the distant rumble of thunder to take over my senses. I set my heels down carefully and walk out into the field, barely jumping when the cool, refreshing droplets begin to pound into my skin. It's not long before I'm soaked and my entire outfit is ruined. I don't mind, though. I'm not planning on going back there anyways.

I sit down in the grass, not even minding how it dirties my dress, and hug my knees close. When I slip my eyes shut, I'm reminded why I love the rain so much.

In moments like this, I can't distinguish my tears from the rain

I don't know how long I sit like this, my eyes shut and the rain drenching me. Eventually, my body stops shaking from the sobs that have now subsided and any evidence of my breakdown has been washed away. I'm almost at peace when I hear that voice, that stupid, addicting voice, ring out behind me through the storm.

"I'd say you'll catch a cold, but I don't think you'd care much"

I swallow hard, cursing my heart for the way it jumps. I open my eyes, but keep my gaze firmly forward across the training field.

"Especially since it's coming from you," I add on, grateful for the lack of tremor in my words.

"I guess I deserved that one," Bucky concedes softly, his voice getting closer. My body begins to shiver with the anticipation of him being close, the response purely visceral and out of my control. I just hope he thinks it's from the rain.

"You think?" I scoff lightly, not having the strength to be angry anymore.

It's silent for a long while, and I almost begin to think that he's left and gone back inside. I'm proven otherwise when I see Bucky walk out from behind me, standing right in front of where I sit with my knees drawn to my chest. Against my better judgement, I look up.

And there he is, drenched like I am and an unreadable look upon his stupidly handsome face.

"Bucky-"

He extends out his human hand, and my words die, "Dance with me."

Every part of my heart beams, and it’s an effort to keep the fluttering of my heart out of my body language. I pause for a moment, almost as if to give him time to retract his hand. When he doesn’t, I hesitantly meet his gaze.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” I whisper. His half-smile grows as he looks down at me with what almost looks like…adoration.

“I don’t,” Bucky confirms, his voice like sugar and pine, “But for you I’d do anything”

I can’t even try to hide the visceral effect his words have on me. With a thousand butterflies batting in my stomach and my heart beating viscously out of rhythm, I allow a small smile to grow on my lips. A new excitement in my chest, I reach up and slip my hand into his large, rough one calloused with work and time. It fits mine perfectly, as always, and his touch muddles my senses and wakes me up all at once, as always.

As he helps me stand, the rain still pouring down on us, he tugs me close to him so suddenly that I stumble right into his chest. A small laugh escapes my lips as I catch myself on his broad chest. Bucky’s so close, so warm, so intoxicating to me that every fiber of my being yearns for his proximity. I’m nothing but a firing hum of nerves and sparks being this close to him, with a hand on his chest and his arm secured around my waist.

And we dance.

There’s no music, there’s no reason. We just dance. Bucky’s magnificent at it, every step dripping in ease and cool confidence that only makes me love him more. I’m so caught in the moment that every thought of a reciprocated or unrequited love has been banished from my mind. All that exists is here and now, underneath the downpour of the heavens with the cacophony of nature as our song.

He twirls me around, making water splash up and a giggle bubble out of me when I slip and fall directly into him. His body rumbles with low laughter when he catches me stopping my fall. Bucky doesn’t even have to say a word for me to know he’s making fun of me, so I slap his chest with a huff of laughter.

“What?” Bucky’s amused voice is the harmony to the melody of the rain.

“I can feel your judgement from here,” I point out, but before I can raise my lightened gaze to meet his on my own, a metal hand hooks under my chin and gently turns my face up until our eyes clash.

Suddenly, I’m not so humored anymore.

Neither is he, I can tell. The air is different—still light with joy but now corded with something deep, rich, and intangible. His piercing blue eyes seem to be burdened with a million different thoughts, but I can barely bring myself to breathe let alone ask him what is going through his beautiful mind.

Bucky doesn’t say a single word, though. He doesn’t have to. My eyes glance down to his lips for no more than one half of a second, and by the time I’ve returned my gaze to his, he’s closing to distance between us and connecting his lips to mine.

I’ve never understood what is so special about kissing in the rain. I get it now. There’s something so dichotomously beautiful in this moment, in the cold, relentless rain and the desperate, burning heat of Bucky’s lips moving against my own.

Again, no words are needed for us both to understand. This kiss is everything that has been bottling up over our friendship. It’s every quiet moment in the library and loud moment in our arguments. As his hands tug me closer and ignite my skin as if it were burning clean off, as his lips and tongue move with mine, every thought and worry and tear-filled, longing night washes away. The very thought makes me sigh into the kiss, and finally we break apart only for the need for air.

Bucky doesn’t let me pull away an inch.

His arms keep my locked close, his forehead against mine as we both catch our breath. He nudged my nose with his before pulling away only enough to meet my gaze. One hand of his cradles my jaw, his thumb running lazy circles on my cheek.

“Does this mean you like me?” I whisper, a humored glint already lighting my gaze. Bucky laughs roughly, his voice sending shivers down my spine that don't go unnoticed. Rather, the other hand he keeps on my waist lifts to absently trace the path of the shiver, almost making my knees go weak.

“I more than like you,” Bucky quips, a content smile taking over his features. My heart misses a step and I don’t dare to dream.

“You really like me?” I taunt, and another heart-warming laugh pours from those perfect lips.

“You’re gonna make me say it, doll?”

I swallow thickly, my eyes not leaving his. I don’t dare to say another word, leaving the challenge up to him. Bucky sighs, moving the hand he keeps on my spine to cradle the other side of my face, now cupping it in his full grasp. He presses a long, gentle kiss to my lips before pulling back enough to where his lips still graze mine as he speaks.

“I love you, Y/N. Always have. Always will.”

My knees nearly go weak, and suddenly I'm so very grateful for the rain's ability to hide what is a drop and what is a tear. I'd never hear the end of it from him if he knew that's what his confession brought me to. When one of thumbs catches a stray tear, though, I know he's fully aware.

"I love you too, Buck."

Bucky smirks before me, bringing his mouth close to my ear and sending another shiver racing down my spine, "I figured that much out, sweetheart"

"Oh whatever!" I announce, hitting his shoulder but leaning in closer to his mouth that now trails from my jaw back to my lips. He presses a sweet kiss to my lips before holding me close to his chest and looking up into the sky that downpours upon us.

"Rain therapy, I guess it really does work," Bucky remarks.

"I would say I told you so, but-" I'm cut off by Bucky suddenly grabbing me by the waist and throwing me over his shoulder.

"What was that?" Bucky calls up to me, spinning me slightly and only making me giggle louder.

"Bucky, I'm in a dress!" I protest. He slaps my ass smugly and begins to walk with me still over his shoulder back to the compound.

"I know, let's get you out of that"

As my laugh tumbles out of my mouth, it twirls and dances and gets lost with the pounding of the rain and the rolling of the thunder. Once again, I'm in the debt of the rain, and I can't help but smile at it gratefully as my best friend and the love of my life walks triumphantly with me over his shoulder into the midst of Tony's nice party. Neither of us care about the looks we receive, though. Neither of us even notices.

All we see is the rain and each other.

[drvscarlett]

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader

Summary: Esteban has been pining over his bestfriend for the longest time. How long will it take her to see that what she's looking for is right in front of her?

The Tortured Drivers' Department series

A/N: And the first person that I'll be crossing off the list is Estie bestie. I think he is probably one of the drivers that gives me the wholesome aura. Let me know what you think or if you wanna be added to the taglist.

Taglist. @tea-bobba @boiohboii @c-losur3 @haikyuen @stelena-klayley @stinkyjax @0710khj @jinimon-tr

Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you. Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to.

02-13-2002

Dear Diary,

Today I met my first ami (ami is friend in french) and he is Esteban something long name Okon. He is so nice to me. He said hi and helped me swing on the swing sets. I hope I meet more ami like Esteban but he is my favoriteeeee!!!

-y/n.

6 years old Esteban was actually running away from class when he stumbled upon a girl swinging alone at the park's swing set. He frowns because he noticed that every kid at the park have someone to play with but she has no one. Esteban was in an internal battle to just leave it alone but he can't help but feel bad for her.

He walked to the girl and he sat next to the empty swing next to her.

Y/N looked at the stranger that just joined her. Her interest was piqued because no one wants to be around her. She blamed it in her inability to speak French so she was hesitant to scare off the potential play mate.

"I'm Esteban, you are new?" Esteban started.

Esteban's english was not perfect especially with a strong French accent but he can hold a good conversation. He can see how the excited grin appeared in her face.

"Y/N! You speak good, can we be friends?" she asked.

She extends her hands to the boy and Esteban shakes it.

"Mon ami"Esteban agrees.

There was a visible confusion in her face. Esteban mentally slaps himself as he forgot that she cannot speak french.

"It mean friends"he added.

"Mon ami Esteban" it rolls right in her tongue.

And although there was a great language barrier, they managed to stay there at the swing sets till it was time to go home for dinner. Their antics and their grand hand gestures helped them communicate with each other.

11-28-2002

Dear Diary,

I told Estie that I will be missing thanksgiving a lot because I don't live in US. His mom and dad cooked, we had our own version of thanksgiving. I'm so grateful to my mon ami, Estie.

-y/n

Usually, Esteban's afterschool routine was drop his bags and leave the house to meet up with his bestfriend, Y/N. They would go sit at the swing set for hours or maybe watch the television at Y/N's house. It was a routine that Mrs. Ocon has been familiar with ever since Y/N came into the picture.

"Maman, can I talk to you about something"

Esteban made a beeline to his mother as soon as he gets home this afternoon.

"Did you have any troubles in school?" Mrs. Ocon wondered.

"Not at all Maman" Esteban answers "I just need help with something Maman about Y/N"

Mrs. Ocon tried to hide the smile in her face as he mutters a soft "oh". Meanwhile, Esteban reached out a piece of paper from his bag.

"Maman I drew this at school, this is a tradition that Y/N misses in America"Esteban explains.

The paper was filled with drawings of stick figures sitting in a table. The table was filled with dishes messily drawn in a muddle of green, brown, and orange.

Mrs. Ocon looks at her son with confusion, she still didn't know what he needs help in.

"What are you trying to say Esteban?"she asked

"This 28 is the thanksgiving dinner and Y/N says that her parents will be busy. She told me its just like a normal dinner but you say thank you for everything you are grateful about"Esteban elaborates "Can we do that Maman and can we invite Y/N to join us"

"That's a wonderful gesture to do for your friend Esteban" Mrs Ocon coos.

Esteban breaks out into a grin with the agreement of his mother.

"But you will be helping me prepare the dishes okay?" Mrs. Ocon added

"Of course Maman, I'll do anything"

Esteban gives his Mother a tight hug. He was extremely grateful because he knows how much Y/N has been missing so many american things lately. He was just scared that she'll leave France and then go back to America then he will never see her again.

On the other hand, Mrs. Ocon can call it mother instincts but she called it from this moment that her son is in love with his bestfriend.

05-17-2005

Dear Diary,

I like reading a lot while my bestfriend Estie loves riding the small karts. I like going to school, Estie doesn't like that. It seems like were different with each other. I'm scared of losing my bestfriend, what should i do?

But I'll support him. I want him to be happy. Thats what bestfriends do.

-y/n

"I wanna be a race car driver"Esteban blurts out one time that they were watching those Formula 1 races on the television.

Y/N started laughing because she thought it was a joke but when she looked at him, his eyes were looking at the race cars with so much determination.

"Wait, you are serious?"

"Can't you picture me driving those cars? It's like being wind woosh" Esteban mimicked the movement of the cars.

"But its like dangerous, you could crash" Y/N argues.

They have seen some serious crashes in the times that they watched F1. Y/N couldn't forget that dogpile crash in Monaco just a few weeks ago, her heart nearly stopped when the car hits a marshal cleaning up debris.

"Then I'm going to train to be a good driver so I don't crash" Esteban confidently states.

"But what about school?"Y/N asked "You're not seriously leaving me there"

"Woah, I said I wanna be a race car driver"Esteban clarifies "I didn't say anything about leaving you. You are mon ami"

"But school Estie?"Y/N repeats

Both of them knows that Esteban never found a knack for the academics, his favorite class was physical education. As much as Y/N tries to encourage him to study, he didn't like to do that a lot. Esteban always said that the braincells of Y/N will be enough for them to share and to get through life.

"I really wanna be a race car driver"Esteban insisted.

Y/N knew Esteban very well that if he sets his mind to it then he is bound to do it. There is nothing else she can do but support it.

"Esteban Ocon, a grand prix winner" Y/N shows her encouragement "I could picture it the crowd goes roar and you step onto those podiums holding those big trophies"

Esteban grins at her enthusiasm.

"And then I could take you with me to watch them when you finish school"Esteban added "We could travel the world together when I become a driver"

"Esteban wait so if you do become a race driver then maybe I can meet Kimi"Y/N wondered.

"Wow you only want me to go to F1 for Kimi huh"

"Well its a good opportunity to meet the man, the myth, the legend"

06-16-2006

Dear Diary,

I'm just really really sad today. Estie will be moving far away from here. Maybe I only get to see him on the weekends. I'll miss my bestfriend, mon ami

-y/n

They were at the swing sets when Esteban broke the news that he was accepted to compete for karting competitions. Y/N was immediately ecstatic to hear this but there was a frown gracing Esteban's face.

"You just told me that you are gonna compete for go karting but why do you look so sad" Y/N inquires "Isn't this like the first step in being an F1 driver?"

It is but Esteban hadn't predicted how costly this whole thing will be and how sacrifices have to be made in order to reach his dreams.

"We have to leave the house"Esteban breaks the news.

"Leave?"Y/N was confused "I mean don't you really have to leave the house to go to the go karting place..but you'll come back right?"

He shakes his head and Y/N could feel the reason for the sad looks on his face. Her heart feels like cracking especially when Esteban starts to speak again.

"They sold the house to get me a kart" Esteban's voice was filled with so much sadness "They knew it was my dream and the whole family sees a lot of potential that I can do it. I just feel terrible that they have to make sacrifices to make my dreams come true"

They were merely ten years old but it was a lot of burden to carry and to understand. Y/N is at loss for words but she just grabbed Esteban's hands.

"Then you have to give your all and be the best race driver ever okay?"Y/N reminded him

Esteban looked at Y/N and there were stray tears leaving her eyes but she has a brave face on and an encouraging smile. He was lucky to have a family that believes in him and he was even more luckier because he gets to have another supporter in the form of his bestfriend.

"You make a lot of money so you can buy your home again and you can treat your parents out"Y/N says "You have to do well okay, we all believe in you Estie"

And its these words that kept repeating on Esteban's mind whenever he is on track.

11-23-2012

Dear Diary,

It's my birthday today. Did you believe that Estie waited till it turned midnight here in France just to call me. My bestfriend be setting up the standards for everyone. I got a cake in the morning from my classmates and then we went to have dinner. Sixteen, im getting old now.

-y/n

Esteban and Y/N had a tradition since they were kids that they will wait for each other's birthday because they wanted to be the first person to greet each other.

The minute that the clock strikes 12, Y/N's phone starts vibrating. She had a grin on her face upon seeing the name on the caller ID.

"Well hello there Mr. Lightning McQueen"Y/N greeted.

"Happiest birthday to my sweetest mon ami"Esteban cheered on the other line "You know that I wish you all the best things in life and all of happiness that life has to offer"

"I'm surprised you had time to call, don't you have to wake up early later for your race?" Y/N questioned.

It was true, they don't get to talk as much whenever Esteban was in a competition season. Y/N doesn't mind it that much because Esteban will message whenever he can.

"I wouldn't miss my favorite person's day" Esteban answers.

His remarks made Y/N blush. It was a good thing that this is just a phone call conversation or she had some explaining to do.

"That makes me miss you way way more Estie"Y/N sighs "I hope I can see you again"

"Is that your birthday wish?" Esteban jokes

"My birthday wish is an F1 seat for you" Y/N declares.

"Hey, stop wishing about me. It's your day wish for YOUR day" Esteban argues.

"Then I wish for my bestfriend to get an F1 seat so I can meet Kimi"Y/N rephrases.

They spent a good time talking to each other. Y/N updates Esteban about those girls in her class that she wants to be friends with and how difficult physics assignments are. Esteban mentions about the trainings and the different race drivers that he met on track.

Esteban knows that he might probably regret staying up late but everything always seems worth it when it comes to Y/N.

"Well its really nice catching up to you but school starts at 7 tomorrow"Y/N yawns a bit "You must be pretty tired as well with all the training"

"Don't you worry about me here, I'm doing okay"

"You are the best Estie" Y/N said "Goodnight estie, love you"

Love. That's the word that Esteban has been pondering about a lot lately. It was that stage of life that people are getting girlfriends and boyfriends because they love that person. The only person that Esteban thinks he can love and be in a relationship with is Y/N.

First he thought, maybe its because Y/N's a close friends. Many people get the lines blurred between friendship and relationship. However, Esteban is beginning to realize that he likes Y/N more than a friend.

But, Esteban was scared of scaring her off or losing her so he settles with this.

"Good night Y/N, love you more"

01-01-2017

Dear Diary,

So Esteban and I went to our first party because Esteban finally had a permanent team for the upcoming 2017 season. We had a few drinks to celebrate and I met a boy. His name is Vincent. I think we hit it off pretty well.

-y/n

Esteban has this all night planned with him announcing that he is getting a permanent seat in Formula 1 to inviting her to the races to confessing his feelings and then hopefully get a New Year Eve's kiss.

However, here he is in the bathroom chickening out with his plans.

"C'mon Esteban, you can do this" he preps himself.

In his mind, he had everything written and prepared. He will start talking about the childhood how he was so glad to meet her and to her being the number 1 fan since day 1. Then he will move to his realizations and such when he was moving up to F1.

"Just say what you feel and be true. It's gonna work out"Esteban tells his reflection to the mirror.

With one spray of water to the face, Esteban exits the bathroom to find Y/N in the sea of crowd.

He searches for her and he was glad to see that she was still at the same place where he left her. However, his face scrunches up because there was another guy around her.

"Estieee!"Y/N calls out "I want you to meet Vincent, he is my new friend"

Esteban eyes the man because he didn't even look at him. Vincent's eyes were only looking at Y/N's and Esteban could feel his heart drop. He knows that look all too well because that is how he looks at her.

There goes his chance.

12-25-2017

Dear Diary,

This is my first christmas with Vincent as my boyfriend. Were still getting used with the presents thing and I think I overwhelmed him a bit. But I think that its going well, Mom loves Vincent. Dad and Esteban doesn't seem to think that Vincent is good for me.

-y/n

"Okay, time to open christmas presents!" Y/N excitedly announce.

Everyone gathers at the Christmas tree. It was a yearly tradition in the household that after lunch they go one-by-one in opening the gifts. Y/N always loved presents so she would always go first.

"Merry Christmas darling"Vincent says as he gives his present.

Esteban manages to keep his expression straight but he would have gagged if he could. He was filled with so much jealousy that he could have been in that position right now if he didn't chicken out.

Also, there was something so irritating and wrong about Vincent. He just don't have any proof about it. Mr. Y/L/N has a similar theory which he discussed with Esteban when they were in the garage earlier.

Y/N opens the box and she saw a gold chain with the letter V. It was a very beautiful necklace and it seems expensive as well. She musters up a smile as she thanks her boyfriend.

"This is beautiful Vincent" Y/N admires as she takes it off the box.

"I know."Vincent agrees "When I saw it in the store, I immediately thought of you"

The thoughts were sweet but Esteban couldn't help himself.

"Mate"Esteban calls "Y/N doesn't wear gold"

It was the truth that Y/N never wore any gold jewelry but since it was a gift, she was putting on a smile. Esteban knows that Y/N is just being appreciative to be respectful. Frankly, he was a bit pissed off that Vincent didn't even pay attention to that simple details of Y/N.

"Oh, I didn't know that"Vincent sheepishly grins "I didn't notice that, maybe I should take it b-"

"No, no. I'll wear it, its the thought that counts"Y/N settles.

"Next year, I'll get you a better gift" Vincent assures.

Mr. Y/L/N and Esteban could only share an eye roll, they really hope that they don't get to see Vincent next year around.

06-26-2018

Dear Diary,

Today is emotionally draining and I find it hard to sleep with a lots of thoughts in my head. It feels really different to see Estie in an F1 car. I simply can't believe it that he went to watching race cars to driving one. It sucks about whats about to happen but I am so proud of my bestfriend, mon ami Estie. I will always be proud of him no matter what.

-y/n

One of the worst things that could probably happen is to not finish a race but the feeling intensifies when it happened on your home race. Esteban wanted to kick himself for his misfortune. He didn't even get a lap in when Gasly collided him thus ending their races.

"Stupid" Esteban repeats the video all over again.

The door gently opens and Esteban would have shouted to leave him alone but Y/N peeked out of the door. It was like instant moment of peace for Esteban then its back to feeling like a failure because he suddenly remembered that everyone he loves have watched him DNF live.

"Estie, they told me you were here"Y/N greeted "You wanna talk?"

"I rather not" Esteban quickly answered.

"Hey, its just one bad weekend Estie"Y/N sits next to him.

"This is that one weekend that should have been a good weekend. Everyone is watching me and I didn't even start a lap before getting fucked"

The crack in Esteban's voice signifies that it was extremely heartbreaking for him to have this performance for his home race. Y/N could only tap his shoulder for comfort.

"Estie, you will have a lot of weekends ahead of you and you still have a lot more weekends that we will be watching. Don't be too hard on yourself" Y/N comforts "You can bounce back like you always do"

"You believe in me way too much"

"You already came a long way Estie. From sitting and watching them race every Sunday to actually driving a car. You should be proud of yourself" Y/N reminds.

There was something else painful in Esteban's heart. The recent issues regarding the team doesn't guarantee him for a seat in the coming year. It was another reason why he felt so down with what happened.

"Would you still be proud of me even if I don't have an F1 seat?" Esteban asked.

"What? What happened Estie?" Y/N was shocked.

"I might not have a team to drive for next year. I don't know if anyone is going to pick me with my DNFs and everything, I'm not a good candidate"

Esteban sheds the tears he has been trying to hide. He knew that this was a safe place to talk to Y/N. Everything just felt so heavy.

"Oh my god Estie, I'm sorry"Y/N consoles her bestfriend.

The two bestfriend knew how much this Formula 1 seat meant. It was a lot of struggles and sacrifice to reach this moment. One moment they were just kids going on karting season and now Esteban was getting his F1 seat. Now its being taken away, its like waking up from a good dream.

Y/N brushes away her tears and started to pace as if devising a plan.

"Don't you dare think that just because you are not getting a team next year is that you are a bad driver. You are a great driver okay,remember that." Y/N encourages "Take the year off. Improve your skills, get better then make a comeback"

If Y/N believes that he can make a comeback then Esteban believes that as well.

02-03-2019

Dear Diary,

I had a fight with Vincent. He told me that I am spending too much time with Esteban. He wanted me to stay away from Estie like who is he to tell me what to do.

I told him to be more patient with Estie because he really needs support right now. I hate how stupid and irrational Vincent is.

-y/n

Esteban was just picking up one of his cousin at the club when he saw a familiar figure at the alley. He just wanted to say hi to Vincent but when he noticed that he was holding hands with a girl, who is definitely not Y/N, Esteban started to follow.

He watched as how Vincent pulled the girl into a kiss and all Esteban could see was red.

"OHMYGOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"The girl shouts.

Esteban lands a solid punch. He doesn't care if Vincent is drunk or whatever but he should never cheat especially on a woman as amazing as Y/N.

"I tried to give you a chance, you fucking ruined it"Esteban lands another punch at Vincent.

"What the fuck man, get off!"Vincent screams.

The fact that Esteban was willing to let go and watch Y/N be happy with Vincent. He was willing to do that because Vincent makes Y/N happy but seeing this. Its not gonna happen anymore.

Two bouncers of the club broke them off. The girl immediately tended to the beaten up Vincent, Esteban dust himself off as he sets out a threat.

"You better come clean and tell her the truth or else I fucking will" Esteban warns.

"FUCK YOU MAN" Vincent shouts back "I know you like her! I know you are just waiting for an opportunity to ruin us"

"I'm not the one who ruined the fucking relationship Vincent, it was you who fucking cheated on Y/N"

Esteban was seething as he returned to the car. His mind thumbs to call Y/N but he knows that it will break Y/N's heart terribly if he tells her the truth.

09-28-2019

Dear Diary,

I hate this feeling of being ina fight with Esteban. He said some things that aren't true and I said some things that must have hurt him a lot. I don't think we will be okay any time soon. I just wish I could have turned back time to talk about the whole thing more carefully.

-y/n

There are not many things that Esteban and Y/N disagrees with each other. It was quite rare to see them fight each other because they fit perfectly just like that. Usually, their fights are just simple misunderstandings and harmless that they will make up in a day or so.

This time its different.

Everything started when Y/N explained that she'll be moving to Vincent's apartment, something that triggered Esteban greatly. It was apparent that Y/N had no idea of what happened at the club so Esteban told the whole truth.

Y/N is in complete denial and called Esteban a liar. So here they are with their raised tones.

"If you are my fucking friend then you would have told me the minute you saw it" Y/N explained "Why didn't you fucking call"

"I was protecting you. I know it would hurt you to know the truth and I told Vincent that he has to be the one to come clean" Esteban fights back.

"Protecting me with a grand lie?"

"I thought you don't fucking believe me that Vincent is cheating" Esteban frustrated with the argument.

"I don't know who to fucking believe because you would have told me right away if its real" Y/N cried.

The emotions were all too high, they were a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Esteban could not hide the disappointment in his face that Y/N didn't believe him.

"You don't trust me" Esteban realized.

"No Esteban, its not like-"

"Then what is it like?" Esteban asked "It seems as if you totally forgot that it was me who you could always trust no matter what. You forgot that I was your bestfriend since the beginning that was always there."

Y/N didn't want to get all the blame so she strikes back again even though tears were threatening to fall.

"You know its very fucking ironic that you say that" Y/N's words were like bullets "You didn't fucking trust me to believe you either that's why you didn't call"

Esteban was speechless and then he shakes his head.

"Where are you going?"Y/N chases after.

"I'm going home, away from you"

"Fine. Don't fucking come back" Y/N slams the door.

There were a lot of things said and done. They both don't know how they regretted everything.

03-29-2020

Dear Diary,

This whole lockdown is a little bit fucked. I was cleaning up some files in my computer and I saw a photo of me and Estie. I wonder if he is still mad at me and I wonder how he is doing with lockdowns. I wanted to reach out to him but I can't help but think back how much I must have hurt him before.

Vincent is a bit stressed with the whole lockdown situation. He gets frustrated easily especially with the new work set-up. I'm sure he will get better at handling his emotions, I just have to understand this for the moment.

-y/n

Esteban was scrolling through his instagram feed. He had nothing much to do since the lockdown kept everyone inside their homes. There was this feeling of uncertainty when can they race again but Esteban could only hope that they can race again even by May or June.

His hands stopped when he saw the newest instagram post of Y/N. It was a photo of her cooking a dish and the next set of photos showcases more of her lockdown diaries.

There was a bitter smile gracing on Esteban's face when he saw the photo of Vincent. It seems as if Vincent hasn't told the truth yet or maybe he lied to Y/N that's why they are still together. Esteban feels like he could punch the guy if he ever sees him again.

Not a day goes by that he regrets that fight he had with Y/N. It was just utterly pointless that it happened and he misses her. He hopes that she is okay and maybe after this whole lockdown is over then he'll go and find her again.

With heavy sighs, he scrolls past the post without liking it.

08-01-2021

Dear Diary,

Esteban is a grand prix winner. I'm really so proud of him, I shed some tears when he reach the final lap. I don't know if its the emotions or the adrenaline but I also messaged him and I was surprised that he answered. It seems like this is a start of a good thing.

-y/n

There were no words to describe how amazing the feeling was to be on top of the podium. Esteban could only imagine that feeling before but now he is living it. Everything felt like a wild dream because when he started the race he didn't even know that he will end up being a race winner after.

Collapsing to his bed, he finally opens his phone and it was immediately buzzing with so many messages. There was one message conversation that catches his attention

Y/N: Hi Esteban! I hope this is still your number. I watched the race today and I'm really so proud of you. I want to waive a white flag because this is everything that you have dreamed of all these years. There are no words to describe how proud I am of you. You have come a long way from that kid by the swing set. You will always have my support (even if we have a cold war). Y/N: I'm also sorry. I said some things that was really not good for me to say. I'm sorry I'm doing this over a text and I'm sorry that it took me this long. Y/N: I hope you are okay. You better drink up some champagne, you deserve it Grand Prix Winner.

There was this warmth that seems to envelope him as he reads the messages. It feels nice to know that she stills supports him even though they are not talking.

Esteban catches himself smiling through his phone screen confirming that his feelings for her still exist.

"Oh fuck it, this feeling never goes away doesn't it"

01-02-2022

Dear Diary,

Vincent proposed to me today in front of a crowd today. Mentally I wanted to say no because I don't think that I am ready for it or maybe its just the fact that I'm not sure that Vincent is ready for it. I just said yes because there was a large group of people. I felt like I was put on the spot and I didn't like it.

Maybe, its just the nerves.

-y/n

Mrs. Ocon had been keeping tabs with Mrs. Y/L/N even when the two had stopped talking to each other. They often update with each others lives when they get their nails done. Today, Mrs. Ocon couldn't believe the news shared to her so she hurried downstairs to find Esteban.

"Is it true Esteban?" Mrs. Ocon asked

"What's true maman?"

Esteban has just finished doing simulations so he have not been with his phone for quite some time. His mother immediately shoved her phone to his hand. Esteban squints as she watched the video of someone getting proposed at the Eiffel Tower.

"Maman, I'm not getting married anytime soon"Esteban jokes.

He has been pestered multiple times about getting married or getting a girlfriend but Esteban didn't want any of those. Nothing could compare to Y/N so he would rather not date anyone else.

"Just look more closely"Mrs Ocon insisted.

Scrunching up his nose, Esteban finally noticed the familiar faces of the couple. And it feels like a deja vu from his experience so many years ago when he almost confessed for New Years Eve.

Only this time, the pain has been magnified.

"That's good for Y/N, I'm.."Esteban holds his breath "happy for her"

"Honey...It's okay to not feel happy.."

Mrs Ocon has been one of the witness of everything and she knows how much her son loves Y/N. She extended a hug and soon the tall French man just let all his tears fall.

01-09-2023

Dear Diary,

I called it off, Vincent cheated on me and there was another girl on the side. He got her pregnant. I felt so stupid because I have been ignoring so many red flags all these years, I should have known better. I don't know what to fucking do, I hate him so much.

"What the fuck is wrong with me"

Y/N was a mess and anyone else who have been confronted with the reality that they have been in a fucked up relationship for so long will be a complete mess.

"There is nothing wrong with you Y/N" Esteban repeated "It was not your fault that he cheated"

"I was so stupid Estie, I wasted so many years for him"

This has been an ongoing process for a while now. Its been a good two weeks since they broke up but Y/N was still stuck in a period of asking questions and crying.

"I want my fucking life back and I can't get it back"Y/N laments.

Esteban doesn't know what he could do to help but he just became the shoulder that she can lean on. It was a good thing that there weren't much to do yet, he can still be with Y/N for a while.

"You know on the brighter side of life, you are still lucky that you didn't marry him" Esteban suggested "Like imagine all the divorce and process you have to go through if you did marry him"

"I might have ugly children if I married Vincent" Y/N scoffs.

"He is not your problem anymore Y/N, just ignore him"Esteban encourages.

Y/N lets out a frustrated cry as she messes up her hair again.

"I can't just fucking ignore him. He have been with me for a good period of my life and people just expect me to move on and go on with my life. I lost so many things about myself that I don't even trust myself after him"

Tears started falling from her eyes. She wipes them up as Esteban guided her to a chair.

"I'm sorry Y/N, here lets take a seat and I'll get you water" Esteban said before leaving to go to the kitchen.

There was something so nice to have Esteban around. Even if she shouts or screams like that, Esteban is still patient and kind with her. He was not rushing her to move past what she feels, he allows her to speak.

"You know, I can survive on my own" Y/N mutters.

"I know"Esteban agrees as he handed her the water "But I wanted to be here for you. You have always been there for me when I'm at my lowest of lows, I wanna be there for you now"

It was rare to see Y/N's smiles nowadays but with Esteban saying stuffs like that, she can't help but smile. She was very grateful to have Esteban around. She didn't know how she could survive without Esteban's help.

"Thanks estie

02-18-2023

Dear Diary,

Is it too soon to open up my heart again? I really want to try but I am scared. Maybe this is what happens when you've been in a shitty relationship for so long.

I also know that I dont wanna mess up things. If I do mess up things, I'm not going to just miss someone but I'll miss that boy I met at the swingset.

Maybe this year can do me good.

-y/n

"Esteban for a driver, you are pretty slow driving normal cars"Y/N teased.

"I have to be careful, accidents always happen and I don't wanna injure you before a flight" Esteban argues.

Esteban unloads all their bags. The two of them are going abroad however they are going to different countries. Y/N is going back to her old American home and she might be there for a while. On the other hand, Esteban is going to Bahrain for the pre-testing.

"You sure you have everything?" Esteban asked "Passports? Tickets? chargers?"

"Hey Mr. I forgot my passport, dont lecture me about forgetting things"Y/N smirked.

"Just double check and don't be like me then"

For onlookers they look like a couple about to travel together. How Esteban wishes that was the case but they are just a couple of bestfriends.

"Gonna miss you mon ami"Y/N hugs Esteban "I think I see my gate over there, call me okay"

"Of course I will"Esteban assures.

Y/N was already walking a decent few meters away when Esteban started to debate if he should tell her now. It seems spontaneous but this is a now or never situation.

"Wait up Y/N!"

"Did you forget something?"she teased

She turned her head and found Esteban catching up to her. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and Y/N could tell that Esteban was a bit nervous about something.

"Actually there is something I wanna tell you" Esteban starts.

"Oh what about it?"

She tilts her head in curiosity as Esteban takes in a large deep breath.

"I never forgot my passport. I was just using it as an excuse so I can spend more time with you. I didn't wanna go away from you because I miss you and I love you"Esteban declares.

"Aww Estie, you know I love you too-"

"No, Y/N its not that kind of love"Esteban clarifies "I love you as in I love you in a non-platonic way. I love you in a way that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you in a way that I'll do everything so that I'm always coming home to you"

There was silence between the two of them. Esteban was looking for any signs of disgust or rejection in Y/N's eyes but so far those emotions doesn't seem to appear. He feels brave enough to continue further.

"Look, I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend. I know you need time to heal from whatever happened to you. I won't rush you. I have waited since were little kids, this is nothing compared to that. Allow yourself to heal and be yourself. Explore the world. Then if you want me, I'm just here waiting for you"

Esteban's word was filled with so much love and adoration. It was the respect that Y/N needed for having suffer a bad relationship. How could she be so blind not to see what's in front of her all along.

Y/N leans to hug him.

"I won't answer this for now, wait for me to be healed okay?"she whispers.

"Of course Y/N, always waiting for you."

05-01-2024

Dear Diary,

Almost a year and so since my last entry.

I have visited a lot of places to find myself and to heal myself. It was a beautiful journey going to foreign places and trying new things. Actually gave me a new perspective in life that makes me confidently say that I am healed. Some things take a lot of time before we tend to appreciate it.

I have someone waiting for me for almost 22 years already. I'm finally going home to him.

-y/n

[cagedsubcuck]

Jennifer came to live with me after her parents were killed in a traffic accident. She has always loved attention. She has never had any trouble getting it. She has blonde hair and bluest eyes. She had developed early. Her breasts were huge. She had a tiny waist but her ass is a perfect heart and was huge. She would wear Tight shirts and short skirts and shorts. She had started developing a strong and dominant personality. She would always test her limits. At 16 she was for the most part in charge of the household. By 18 I was completely under her control and influence. I found that I was doing everything she told me to do. She was in charge and I was her servant.

I suspected that she was sexually active. Dildos that where hidden in my room were missing. She had started closing her door and I would hear her moan every now and then. I would turn up the volume on the television and try to think of something else. I find that it’s hard to concentrate when you are trying not to think about your granddaughter using the same dildo that you have used to fuck your own ass.

I had taken my truck to the mechanic for some work and he had his assistant take me home. I was in the garage working on a project. I went in the house to get a drink. I heard Jennifer grunting and moaning. Normally I would go back outside but not today. It sounded like she was not alone and I was curious and horny. That is not a good combination. I heard her voice telling someone named Jerome to fuck her white pussy hard. I had to know what was going on in her room

I eased down the hallway and I noticed Jennifer had not closed her door all the way. I reached her room and pushed the door open just about an inch. She was lying on her bed with her legs spread open and her knees bent against her chest. In her right hand was my black dildo and she was ramming it hard into her pussy.

I was amazed at the sight of what was happening before my eyes. As I stood there watching my granddaughter fuck herself with my dildo. I eased the door open more and I pulled my caged cock out of my shorts and started to masturbate. I guess I should have walked away but I became so intranced by the wonderful sight and sounds in front of me. I didn’t realize Jennifer saw me standing there with my cock in my hand. Before I could place my cock back into my shorts Jenn had flung the door open and she had slapped me across my face with her left hand and then she started to strike me with the dildo in her right hand. My shorts had fallen down around my ankles. I went to move but I fell backwards onto the floor. The whole time Jennifer was screaming at me and calling me a pervert and a piece of shit cuck. I apologized again and again. She started to kick me as I lay in the floor.

I lay in the floor curled up trying to protect myself. She stood over screaming and cursing at me. I began to answer her. Yes ma’am I am a pervert. I’m a dirty cuck. I heard her voice command me to stop whining and scream at me to get on my knees. I did as she commanded. I felt her hand strike the left side of my face. You like that don’t you. Don’t you. You’re such a pathetic excuse for a human being. I would answer yes ma’am I a dirty pathetic human.

Little did I know what I had unleashed by invading my granddaughter’s privacy. Not only was she beautiful and dominant but she also had a very sadistic personality as I would soon learn. I would also learn just how submissive I could be.

[superglitterstranger]

Classic Toons for Our Childhood | Invader Zim

Oh how I miss the era of awesome cartoons! Remember when the artist who created the comic " Johnny the Homicidal Maniac", Johan Vasquez even had a "kid show"

Anyways....

This post isn't about Johnny or his homicidal mania, this is about

For those who don't know, because either you lived under a rock or were born in this stupid era of stupidness...ness...Invader Zim was the Famous (and sometimes infamous) cartoon show by celebrated goth as fuck cartoonist Jhonen Vasquez. It was a show that was so unique and so strange that it was impossible to ignore. It was a cartoon that was so ahead of its time that it's content and humor still holds up today.

Invader Zim aired on Nickelodeon from 2001 to 2002. You followed the misadventures of an alien invader named Zim, who was sent to Earth to conquer it. However, Zim was constantly foiled by not only his own incompetence, but also by the meddling of his human nemesis, Dib.

The show was a cosmic mix of dark humor, surrealism, and satire, it truly was unlike anything else on television at the time. The show was beloved by many (myself included), at a time when things were becoming more uniformed and even "non-conformist" was starting to conform to a "look" a "formula", Invader Zim was a proper slap in the face that shook up the regular cartoon line up.

For a problematic, loner child with severe ADHD, Invader Zim was the kind of weirdness and bizarre story that was necessary for my own sanity at the the time.

I was going into junior high, knowing i was different and aware that I was gay, Invader Zim offered me a sense of belonging that I hadn't found anywhere else. I felt so odd and strange compared to my school mates that talking about an even stranger thing like a kooky cartoon show made things a bit easier for me, it even kinda made being strange and kooky myself sort of cool in a way.

Unfortunately the show was just a bit too kooky and bit too absurd for others and after two seasons of amazing quirky and flat out bonkers animation, Invader Zim was canceled, but it remains to have a loyal and dedicated fan base to this day.

The show had such a great character cast including an insane and dimwitted robot dog, a jaded and deeply troubling public school teacher, a mad scientist who can forsee the solution to the worlds problems with his scientific inventions but is clueless to understanding his own son and the issues he faces (a alien invader from the great Irken Empire being just one of them!).

So what made Invader Zim so special? Well, for starters, it had a unique art style that was unlike anything else on television. It was a mix of bright colors, bold lines, and exaggerated shapes that gave the show a distinct look.

Along with those distinct features was the unforgettable story and dialogue between characters of the show. Their absurd behavior being shocking as it was affirming that being odd can be cool and fun, in the very least will shake up the bore of monotony. The cast of characters were equally unforgettable though many really didn't have time to develop with only two seasons of story among them, yet still their quirks and hilarious antics stick with fans to this day.

Finally the show was not like anything thing else on television at that time, it was daring and bold in not only the story but the humor and animation that has been the calling card of creator Jhonen Vasquez.

[nexttothelamp]

Will Smith drinks respect women juice by the GALLON lads

[onsunnyside]

OMFG SONNY OKAY SO stepdad!ari x naive!inexperienced!stepdaughter and bicep choking😩maybe you’re sat on the couch watching a film and he just comes up behind you putting that arm round your throat while whispering dirty things in your ear🥵🥵

“i see the way you look at me honey, i can smell how wet you are. you gunna let daddy fuck you huh? you want him to play with your little pussy?” fuuUUUUUUUUUCK

it’s summer but for the sake of filth, what does stepdad!ari want for Christmas? 🫠 the answer is you

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | stepdad!Ari Levinson x inexperienced!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | age gap, stepcest, stepdad!ari (he’s a warning), dilf!ari, inexperienced!reader, size difference, smut - minors dni, daddy kink, unprotected sex (p in v), choking (bicep choking), spitting, dirty talk, degradation, dumbification, a pinch of dacryphilia, ruined kink, size kink, overstimulation, mhm balls. implied: pussy spanking, panty stealing. 

𝗪/𝗖 | 1311

P.S.: at the time of writing this, I was only thinking of the image of Ari and combined the prompt with Christmas on the whim, completely randomly. Yes, I know his character is Jewish, and I’m sorry if I offended anyone, it was not my intention. This was just for a fun little party and I wasn’t thinking, please don’t read this if it offends you.

🍆 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲? 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲… 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲? 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The red and green lights are a blur, and the forgotten Christmas movie is still playing on the television, the jolly soundtrack a disgusting contrast to your current sin.

You wetly gasp his name and your nails dig into his skin, but he’s unrelentless. He’s so much bigger than you in both height and mass, a threatening force railing into your body like a hungry beast. Your hand slides between the two of you, pushing him back. 

Ari freezes, heavily breathing against your neck. “If you don’t move your hand, I’m gonna pull out and leave you here.”

Whining, you grasp onto his forearm with both hands. The rocking picks up again, your hips digging into the cushions as pathetic choked whimpers escape your tight throat. Your stepfather flexes, his bicep constricting your airflow and fueling the fire in your tummy. You moan loudly, desperately trying to meet his thrusts, but he’s too much and you’re too fucked out.

“Poor baby, can't even think, huh?” He chuckles lowly, “fuck, can feel you dripping down my balls. Such a filthy whore—letting your stepdad fuck you, soaking my cock like it’s your fuckin job. Who knew you were such a perv?” 

If you could, you’d scoff at the irony of it. After all, he was the one who commented on your dress and sat at the end of the couch in perfect view of your panty-less core. If he sat anywhere else in the living room, he wouldn’t see your bare folds, already wet because he just looked so good in his striped button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

Knowing Ari, he’d say something like “would you rather not have me compliment you?” 

Perhaps any other person, but with Ari, you wanted him and all the attention he could offer. Which right now was inappropriate knowing your relationship and his marriage to your mother. 

You know you should feel ashamed, but there isn’t any room for anything other than hot pleasure with Ari’s thick length splitting you open. 

He’s straddling your ass, his pelvis slapping against your flesh with every thrust, sending your juices down your slit onto the couch and his heavy balls. 

“Bad girl, you like being choked? Like how much bigger I am than you, how I can just throw you around wherever I want?” He leans down, gripping the arm of the couch inches from your flushed face. His beard scratches your jaw as he noses your cheek, “like a dumb little doll.” He grunts when you clench around him, sucking his thick cock deeper. 

“That’s it, make a filthy mess for daddy. You’re gonna clean it up later. Suck my cock, clean your stupid mess—” 

“Never done that, uh! Had someone—in my mouth.” 

If possible, Ari gets harder at that, “Daddy’s gonna teach you, don’t worry.” His big hand lands several spanks on your ass, “look at you, ruining your mother’s couch, imagine how disappointed she’ll be.” 

You try to escape his punishment, but he yanks you back onto his cock by your hips, pinning you down with your arms behind your back as you weep into the cushion. 

“Where do you think you’re going, princess? Daddy isn’t done using this cunt.”

Tears stream down your face, “Y-You’re too deep—ah!” You squeal when he falls over you, 

His face is in the crook of your neck, filthy words jumbling in your foggy mind. 

You’re trapped under him, his weight pinning you down, pressing you into the soft cushions. “That’s it, take daddy’s cock. Dumb little baby, you can handle it, can’t you?” He rasps over the lewd wet squelching of your bodies, “you can. Or else you would’ve worn panties.” 

“Didn’t have—any clean ones.” You shudder. 

“Why? Are you giving them away to boys?” 

“N-No!”

Ari hums, “Don’t know if I believe you, sweetheart.” He sits back up and works into you, pounding into your tight cunt, making you slide up the couch until you brace yourself on the arm. 

He spits down, his salvia lands on your puckered hole and trails down to your stretched pussy, joining the cream coating his length. His rough fingers collect your slick, and you jump at the extra sensation, pulsating around his girth. 

He groans gutturally around his digits—and his collection of your dirty panties is forgotten, now that he’s had the real thing, nothing will give the same sick satisfaction. “Have you ever tasted yourself before?” 

You shake your head, or try to at least. Suddenly wet fingers slide deep into your mouth, touching the back of your throat as you gag.

“God, I love that noise. You’re gonna choke on my cock too.” Ari’s balls slam into your swollen clit, still sore from his ‘experimental slaps’ as he called them. You can’t decide if you want him to spank your button again, or keep fucking your guts. 

“I can only imagine how you’ll fit my balls in your mouth, you gonna gag on them too? Get me even more filthy because you’re so fucking small?” 

His hips stutter when you tighten, “you like that? Like when I talk about how tiny you are compared to me?” His assumptions are confirmed when you subtly move against him, hiccuping his name. “Your little cunt can barely take me, you know that? Daddy’s tearing you open, just because you’re a fucking whore desperate for cock. Never been fucked like this, huh?” 

His bulbous tip slams into your spot, forcing your juices out with every ruthless thrust. He takes great pride in your convulses, and the way your fingers pierce the cushion. “Know you haven’t, haven’t been fucked much at all, poor girl. Don’t worry, we’re gonna make up for it.”

Your toes curl in pleasure, thighs trembling under him. You cry out a mantra of daddy, your unexpected high is too powerful and it yanks away your breath. Ari pulls you by the back of your head, extending your neck as you gasp for air. You feel a rush of wetness and almost scream as he drags out your orgasm, it’s so intense it almost hurts—but you love it. 

“That’s my good girl. Daddy loves when you make a mess, means I’m doing something right.” Ari’s hips pick up the pace again, starting with thorough grinds that bleed into hard pumps. The cushion is soaked and your wetness clings to his skin, forming a white ring at the base of his cock, smearing down to his heavy sack. 

Ari stares down where you meet, your puffy folds struggling to take him. “Poor baby, little cunt is quivering.” He tuts, “c’mon, I know you can give me another.”

Your garbled reply is far too cute for your act of betrayal. 

He catches sight of the twinkling lights, the decorated Christmas tree with the Angel on top, staring down at you. The foul satire makes him even more greedy to tear you apart. “You know what I want for Christmas, baby?”

You can’t even manage any words as he fucks you brainless. All your fantasies were crumbs compared to this, the times you’ve woken up wet and bothered over a dirty dream about your stepfather—you thought those fictitious scenarios were obscene. But, reality has proven you terribly wrong. 

You’ve never been happier to be wrong. 

“Want you to be my little fuck doll, daddy’s cock drunk slut. I’m gonna teach you, train you and your little holes so I could use you whenever I want.” He groans, spreading your cheeks to watch his fat length spear you open. Bare, raw, it takes every ounce of control to not fill you up because there is still a Christmas party in fifteen minutes. 

“And, if you’re on the nice list, I’ll give you my cum. Don’t you want daddy’s seed in your pretty cunt, wanna be pumped full until you can’t take anymore?”

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) - part 8

Note: Shoutout to “Cribabyblu” on Ao3 who gave the idea for this MESSINESS.

Warnings/Tags: I’m not sure the tag for this/if it’s a specific term(?)—but a character dry-heaves in this chapter. Hurt/Comfort/Angst.

Synopsis: In the dark, static night, you answer a surprise call from Carmy and uncover dusty, fragile memories from the chambers of your heart.

Your bakery opens and everything goes great—right up until it doesn’t—and Carmy tries to be a good friend.

(Read on ao3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You rolled your neck and adjusted the lapels of your fitted dark blazer. You had 3 days until your opening and here you were—about to interview on evening television. Your stomach swooped with nervousness while outwardly you held your composure. Your skin prickled with heat, though you couldn’t ascertain if it was due to the blaring white lights above or your growing anxiety. The news anchor smiled benignly at you while adjusting the papers on their desk.

You could do this. You were prepared in advance with the interview questions. It wasn’t unlike interviewing for a magazine or newspaper. The only difference was the cameras in your face and the microphone clipped to your white blouse.

“And we’re on in 3…2…1—”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy hit the button to turn up the volume on the TV, but pressed incorrectly, and the channel leapt forward to the news. It felt as if someone slapped him. He held the remote loosely between his fingers as your face filled the screen. You were finely dressed, your face framed with dark mascara and dramatic red lips.  

“The Mogul of the Midwest.” The news anchor said, “That’s quite the name to bear, isn’t it?”

His gaze dropped to your hands clasped on your lap and caught the shift in pressure as your knuckles whitened. He leaned forward with his arms on his knees, watching you, and the way your throat bobbed before you spoke.

“It was his title.” You smiled thinly. “I have no interest in trying to wear that mantle.” You laughed breezily, but it sounded hollow to Carmy’s ears.

“Really?” The interviewer looked surprised. “According to his final interview with Chicago Business Weekly, he spoke passionately about you continuing the family legacy and opening restaurants all over the country.”

“Even if I do that, I don’t think I could ever reach my grandfather’s level of acclaim.” You said it with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I mean, he was incredible at what he did. I think we can all agree that his level of genius only comes once in a lifetime.”

Carmy watched the entire twenty-minute interview. However, it focused on your grandfather and not you. The only mention of your bakery was toward the end when the news anchor plugged its location and opening date. You were the picture of poise and serenity, answering their questions with practiced grace. He finally understood what you meant when you called yourself ‘a practiced compartmentalizer’.

If he didn’t know you better, he’d say that talking about your grandfather was easy for you. But Carmen noticed the small, inconsequential twitches of your body language. The interview ended and transitioned into a commercial about garbage bags.

He couldn’t imagine being in your position and talking about Mikey to a bunch of strangers on live television. Not for the first time, Carmy considered the differences and similarities of your struggles. He once called you out for being privileged and self-absorbed, but he was reconsidering that hasty judgement.

That night in front of Lake Michigan you said—“My grandad was more of a father to me than my biological dad.” Your tone was earnest, your eyes glassy with tears pooling in your lower lashes while you stubbornly tried to blink them away. His heart ached in sympathy at the raw display of grief. You weren’t spoiled, or egocentric, you were just in the habit of putting up a wall—a barrier—to hide the fact that you lost someone important. He could relate to that. The only time he could talk about Mikey was in passing, and sometimes with Sugar, but that was it. He wondered how it must feel for you to talk about him in such a professional, confined setting.

He licked his lips and lifted his phone from the coffee table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You scrubbed away the heavy, caked makeup from your face and felt human again. You weren’t against makeup and your bathroom counter could attest to that fact. However, the studio’s harsh lighting demanded a layer of heavy foundation, glittery blush, and contour to ensure you’d look as air brushed as possible before going live. You gently pressed a towel to your damp face and blinked water from your eyelashes.

The interview went well. You wished you could’ve talked more about the bakery, but the deal had been for an exclusive interview about your grandfather’s rich history. To them, your blossoming future was a footnote. A quick two-minute advertisement at the very end. You sighed, combing your fingers through your hair, before flipping off the bathroom light and returning to your bedroom.

Your phone vibrated and the sound only was slightly muffled by your comforter. Carmy’s name glowed across the screen with the option to answer or push to voicemail. Your heart warmed, and pulled a soft, shy smile from the depths of your soul.

You slid your thumb across the screen and answered with a confused, yet pleased, “Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice crackled across the electronic waves. You sank into your silk pillows and cradled the phone to your ear like a lover. What was he doing awake? Why was he calling? You tried to stifle the fluttery excitement in your stomach. Ever since that night, a week ago on Lake Michigan, you felt like you were on a collision course to combustion. Once the bakery was open, you decided you would pursue a true, serious friendship with Carmy. And if it manifested into something deeper, or something romantic, then you weren’t going to run away this time.

Because he made you feel brave.

“So,” He began, “I saw your interview.”

“Ah. Hm.” You shook your head a little at a loss for words. You hadn’t expected that. You didn’t tell him about the interview. Sure, it was common public knowledge, but you were accustomed to keeping things close to your chest. You nibbled your lower lip in thought, wondering if you fractured your early friendship by keeping it a secret, and a thread of nervous coiled up your spine.

He asked, “Was it difficult?”

You frowned. “Was what?”

“Talking about your grandpa in front of all those strangers?”

No one ever asked you that before. They were always too hungry for answers, for advice, for a little of his fame to rub off on them. Your eyes misted with tears and your next exhale ran raggedly out of your throat and past your lips. Lately, you’ve felt frozen by grief. As if you were in the same place you were when you got the call that he passed (standing in the airport with your heart bleeding out and dust collecting on your shoulders). His death had been sudden, but not unexpected. He was old with a well-lived and well-loved legacy, but you always hoped you’d have more time. Perhaps that was the nature of losing someone. You always looked back and wished for another hour, another week, another year. You blinked a few times and discovered that you were no longer in the airport, but sitting on your bed, with Carmy on the phone.

He didn’t say anything else, though you could faintly hear his slow breath. Maybe he fell asleep? You considered hanging up under that assumption but stopped yourself.

Your voice crumbled at the edges, “Carm?”

“Yeah?” He said the word so softly, so gently, that fresh tears sprang to your eyes. You picked at a loose fiber on your comforter and rolled it between your thumb and forefinger.

“Oh.” You sniffled. “I wasn’t sure if you were here or – or um - if you fell asleep.”

“No, no, I’m – uh – I’m here.”

The silence unfolded like a butterfly’s wings between you. It was serene, and poignant, and your breathing fell into time with his.

You swallowed, letting clear snot drip from your nostrils and tears spill hotly down your cheeks. It was easier to cry when no one was looking. Your sorrow, often frozen and confined to the box you trapped it in, bled through the cracks of your armor. Your bakery would open in three days. Three days and all the effort, drama, and headaches would pay off. You would flip that sign to ‘Open’ and finally prove to yourself—and to the world—that you weren’t just following your grandfather’s legacy. You were creating your own path.  

“It is hard.” You whispered. You heard a shuffle of movement on the other end of the line, like linen shifting, and you imagined Carmy sitting in bed just like you were.

“To talk about him in one dimension. No one wants to hear about the person he was. They just want the version he portrayed to the public: the philanthropist, the entrepreneur, the Mogul of the Midwest.”

“I’m not going to sleep anytime soon if you want to talk about it- about him, I mean…”

You smiled and wiped your nose with your sleeve. “What do you want to know?” You asked with a small, quiet smile. A fragile bud of fondness bloomed in the center of your chest. You covered it with your hands to keep it safe and secret.

“Anything.”

“Anything…jeez.” You lifted your eyes heavenward to your ceiling as if answers could be found in the textured plaster and soft shadows on the walls. You could pick a thousand things to talk about when it came to your grandfather. His personality, his interests and hobbies, his travels, and tribulations.

“Don’t make it easy for me.” You teased with sincere familiarity.

He huffed a short, shallow laugh. “Okay. Sorry. Umm…” You heard a faint tapping, like someone drumming a pencil onto a wooden surface, and you bit back a smile.

“Did he cook?”

You chuckled quietly, unsurprised. “Sometimes.”

“What did he like to make?”

“God, I don’t know.” You tugged your fingers through your hair, “Gimme a second.”

“Mhm.” It sounded subdued, as if he had something between his lips, then you heard a click of a lighter.

You smiled, curling your knees to your chest, and resting your chin on them. The majority of your childhood, post-divorce, involved easy boxed meals especially if they were meals you could cook on your own while your mom was working late. Easy mac in the blue box, frozen dinners that took 5 minutes in the microwave, or PB&J sandwiches. But Carmy didn’t ask about that. He asked about your grandad.

“I only saw my grandpa during the summers and like, you know, the holidays.” You said unhurriedly, while tenderly approaching the memories of your youth with a gentle, tentative hand outstretched.

“But I remember he really loved grilling stuff. He had um—” You laughed weakly remembering, “He had a stupid fucking Grill Master apron that he’d wear all the time when cooking.”

Carmy chastised, “H-hey - don’t knock the uniform.”

You laughed with him, and your melancholy burned away, completely unable to survive in the warm, golden light of this conversation. It was nice to remember him. Not as the businessman he was, but as the grandparent. His silly grilling apron, his kind smile, the crossword puzzle on the kitchen island that he and his wife would complete together. Even after your grandmother passed away, a year before he did, he would complete half the crossword in her memory and leave the rest empty, unsolved. Even with your cynical heart, you always found that deeply romantic.

“What else?” Carmy prompted after the mirth passed and you lapsed into comfortable, easy quiet.

You laid your cheek against your knee, “He taught me origami.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised. You wished he was here just to see his expression—to see those waterlogged, blue tired eyes widen and his jaw softly drop.

“No, I’m lying.” You snorted. “Yes, really. I can make an entire zoo worth of animals.”

You set your phone onto speaker, throwing the covers off your legs, and leaving the coziness and comfort of your bedroom into your dark apartment to find a piece of paper. You rummaged loudly through your desk, opening and closing drawers, your teeth pressed into your lower lip.

“What are you doing?” Carmy asked, amused.

You replied primly, “I’m looking for a piece of paper with the correct dimensions.”

You hadn’t tried to make anything since he died. The creative process of pressing and folding paper was your unique bond, unrelated to business and legacy, something you shared with him and only him. Tonight, you wanted to share it with Carmy. You found a stack of cardstock beneath some old manilla folders. Your head bowed, focused, the triangles folding and unfolding beneath your out-of-practice hands.

“What about you?” You inquired with a lifted eyebrow, “Got any impressive talents I should know about?”

“I’m an okay cook.”

“Oh? Just okay?” You grinned. “Humility is such a turn-on.”

“Is it?” You heard the smile in his voice. “Good to know.”

“What inspired you to become a chef?” You crumpled your first attempt and started anew. Carmy fell silent and it stretched, dark and tangible, in the hollow spaces of your breath. You considered withdrawing the question and erasing its existence like a sand mandala.

“Mikey and I used to cook together.” He said, his voice brittle. Your heart stuttered then picked up in double-time. “That was our – um - that was our common ground and he taught me a lot.”

You considered the knowledge that it was Mikey who set the trajectory of his life. If the brothers never cooked together then who knows what might’ve happened – who Carmy might’ve been. A hundred thousand possibilities spilled out like loose yarn that led to a million unknowns. If Carmy wasn’t a chef, would you have ever met? How much was fate and how much was pure, dumb luck and coincidence?

His breath, erratic and trembling across wavelengths of sound, encircled you. You wouldn’t let him drown in his grief alone. Your heart ached from his admission, and you wiped the sticky, dried tears off your face. Even though you were curious about Mikey and their relationship, you wouldn’t pressure him to talk about this. You were grateful he told you anything at all. Like the practice of folding origami, you would need patience and a delicate hand to understand Carmy.

“Do you want to talk about Mikey at all tonight? Or should we avoid that topic?”

He cleared his throat, “No – uhm – no. N-not tonight.”

“Okay.” You nodded in sympathy, “In that case, you should know I finished my paper crane.”

You held the crane delicately between your fingers. For a moment, you were lost in the memory of your grandfather’s weathered, wrinkled hands gliding across floral paper. Every summer, your bedroom windowsill filled with paper cranes and flowers, fish and frogs, and vibrant butterflies. You smiled through the thundering, deep song of grief within your ribcage.

“Oh yeah? Cool.” He said, distracted, and you swallowed the sigh in your throat. If only you were in person then you could have nudged his shoulder or held his hand, using the act and art of physical touch to ground him and return him from the darkness. You worried your lower lip between your teeth and decided to keep talking.  

“There’s actually this belief in Japanese culture that if someone has the patience and commitment to fold a thousand paper cranes, then they’ll be granted a wish.” You said while folding another crane, though you were uncertain if Carmy was listening. Since you couldn’t anchor him with touch, you hoped your voice would anchor him instead.

“Actually, now that I’m thinking about it…there was a summer where I tried to fold a thousand paper cranes. I think it was the first year after my dad, you know, bailed. My parents weren’t even officially divorced before he moved to Rockford to be with his other family.”

You didn’t bother to hide the disdain or the hurt from your voice. After moving to Cincinnati, you discovered that Rockford was a 90-minute drive from Chicago, and it broke your heart all over again to know that even when you lived nearby--he still didn’t bother to visit.  

“So, yeah, I think it was either that first summer or the following one and I made so many goodman cranes. I wouldn’t let grandad help either because I thought that would be cheating and then my wish wouldn’t come true.”

“Needless to say, I was unsuccessful in my attempt to fold a thousand paper cranes.” You laughed a little, almost in disbelief, of how foolish and heart-sick you had been.

Soft-spoken, he asked, “What was your wish gonna be?”

You stared, unseeing, at the second paper crane with a lump in your throat. “For him to come home. For us to be a family again.” Your thumbnail flicked against the crane’s tiny beak.

You continued, “My parents always looked and acted so in love. And as a kid, I just – I guess I couldn’t believe that they weren’t together anymore, and I thought I could fix it with a magic wish. Dumb, right?”

“That’s not…” Carmy sighed. You imagined he was running his fingers through his curls. “I don’t think it’s dumb. You wanted your parents to be happy.”

“Mm, yeah. I did.”

“What would you wish for now?” He steered the topic of conversation to safer waters, and you were grateful. If you contemplated about your dad’s absence for too long, you risked developing an ulcer. It was an old wound, but it flared from time to time like a phantom limb. You weren’t intending on revealing such a private, personal aspect of your past. You trusted Carmy, though and it wasn’t like this story from your past could be used against you.

You leaned back into your desk chair, held the phone to your cheek, and smiled, “To have the best bakery in Chicago, obviously! The complete envy of all other bakeries. The crème da le crème of pastry shops. Oh, and it’s world-renowned and people want to film movies inside of it.”

Carmy exhaled shortly through his nostrils, “What were you saying about humility earlier?”

You rolled your eyes, “That doesn’t apply to me.”

“’course it doesn’t.” You hoped he was smiling. This evening would be a success if you made Carmy smile again. You slipped back under the covers, the sheets cooled in your absence, and rolled onto your side. You wished time would freeze and you could stay on the phone with him, talking about nothing, but time wasn’t that kind. You had a dozen things to do in the morning. Only two days remained until you opened.

“I should probably go to sleep now, Carm.”

“Oh – yeah – fuck.” He coughed. “I wasn’t—”

You interrupted before he could dig a hole of regret and self-doubt. “I’m happy you called.” You said earnestly, “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, you will, right across the street,” He said.

“Across the street.” You agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy walked into the Beef through the back, delivery door. Manny, Angel, Sweeps and Marcus were already here. Although, Carmy suspected that Marcus might be staying here considering he was wearing the same shirt from yesterday.

“Morning, Chefs.” He greeted before ducking into his office. Amidst the papers, unopened envelopes, and blinking unanswered voicemails there was something new. Something small and folded laid like an offering on the center of his desk. Carmy’s shoes scuffed against the tile when he stopped short.

He backtracked and craned around the corner to Marcus’ station, “Hey, man, did anyone – um – did anyone come by this morning before I got here?”

“Uh, yeah—” Marcus said your name, “came by to drop something off.”

Carmy nodded, “Okay, okay, yeah, cool. Thanks, Chef.”

Sweeps peered around the corner after Carmy left, leaning on the broom handle with both hands, “Are they together?”

Marcus shook his head and returned his attention to his donuts. “Hell, if I know.”

Sweeps frowned in thought then raised both his eyebrows, “It’d be cute.” He said offhandedly.

He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his eyes on the paper crane, the memory of your gentle voice filling his mind. Being on the phone with you last night was a poor substitute to seeing you in person. But it was better than nothing. He carefully lifted the crane from his desk and placed it on the shelves overhead. It would be safer there. The fingertip of his forefinger nudged the small, sharp beak. Something unfolded in his chest - small and delicate as the origami before him.

He pulled his phone from his coat and texted you a quick; ‘Thanks.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning of your bakery’s opening day—you threw up. All the nerves rattled your stomach and made it impossible to eat.  Your phone buzzed with encouraging text messages from your friends, your mom, and social media notifications of people tagging the bakery in excitement. You paced back and forth within the L train’s cabin. You sipped water and stared up at the dark, starless sky on the platform.

It was finally happening. June arrived, carrying humid air, and buzzing insects, and the potential promise of success.

“You ready?” Dani asked, placing her hand between your shoulder blades with a slight smile.

You flattened your palms against the countertop and took a deep, steadying inhale. “Yup.”

And it went great. It went fucking fantastic, actually. You and your team were a well-oiled, functioning machine. You took custom orders for the future and sold on-hand cupcakes and cookies and scones.

As a ‘thank you’ to Carmy—you ran a surprise, secret promotion—anyone who came to your bakery with a receipt from “The Beef” could get a free cookie of their choice. Word spread fast on that one and you were incredibly pleased each time someone showed up with a grease-stained voucher.

In the buzz of conversation and delight, a voice carried to your ears. A voice you haven’t heard in years. The world came to a grinding halt as you beheld the sight of your father standing in your bakery – looking pleased and proud of you.

“D-dad?” Your stomach churned. He looked exactly the same. Exactly as you remembered—only his hair was greyer and there were lines on his face you didn’t recall. Your nostrils flared and your throat prickled, hot, itchy, and uncomfortable. You were going to throw up again.

He chuckled. “Hey kiddo.” A woman sidled next to him, her arm around his waist, and you could only assume it was his wife. His other wife. The woman he cheated on your mom with. He moved away to be with her. He had another family with her. He abandoned you and your mom because you weren’t perfect enough for him. Your hands gripped the counter for support.

“Marilyn saw your interview.” He said, walking up to the counter with cheer and bravado, “She shared it with me and well—here we are! Surprise! We came to celebrate with you.”

Marilyn smiled, all-white teeth and Midwestern hospitality. “We’re so proud of you!”

“And listen, I know it’s crazy last minute…” He squeezed Marilyn closer, “But we were hoping the five of us could get dinner.”

Your brow furrowed and you noticed—over his shoulder—the two teenage boys who looked a lot like him. They were undoubtedly your half-brothers. The fragments of a family you never met. And now they were here, in your bakery, your gift from the man who raised you, and asking if you could get dinner.

“They just graduated high school.” Marilyn explained, “and we know how college is a such big, expensive step. Maybe you can give them some advice? I’m sure they’d love to hear it, right boys?”

“Oh, come on, honey. We’re not going to talk about school.” Dad admonished, “Let them be kids for the summer and relax.”

He returned his attention to you, frozen at the service counter, with your heart and lungs spiked through with a dozen iron nails.

“To be honest, it hasn’t been easy…” He admitted quietly, out of earshot of his children and the rest of your patrons, “Marilyn got laid off this year and I just think it would be good for the boys to see how well their big sister is doing. What do you think, kiddo?”

You couldn’t stop staring at Marilyn’s hand on your dad’s forearm. You couldn’t stop looking at the wedding ring. What made her a better choice compared to your mom? Why couldn’t he stay and watch you grow up? What imperfection did he see in you that warranted such distance and silence after all these years? Your ears started to ring. At first, low and buzzing, and then it drowned everything else out like a swarm of angry bees.

“Excuse me.” You said hurriedly before walking with urgency into the kitchen, to the back, and into your office. The door slammed shut behind you and you collapsed, knees biting as they hit the ground, and your arms encircled the trash. There was nothing in your stomach to upheave. Yet, your stomach didn’t get that memo. You drooled into the wastebin with your stomach clenching, hot—surprised tears scalding down your cheeks.

You’re angry, and sad, and surprised, and sick – literally sick to your stomach – at your dad’s casual display of manipulation. He doesn’t want you to be a family. Marilyn being laid off, the blatant mention of college, it was just a set-up to ask you for money. You knew it in the same way you knew the sky was fucking blue. You gagged and spit into the empty trash bin.

He came here on your opening day.

He wanted to catch you off guard.

And you’re fucking pissed. You’re so fucking angry at him for the years of silence. He never came to your graduation, or called for your birthdays, it was like you didn’t exist. And now? Now that you’re doing well for yourself, and you’re established, and you created something from nothing—he turned up and had the audacity to try and bring you into the fold. The lost, forgotten daughter finally welcomed into their perfect little unit.

You sobbed haggardly and clutched the metal bin to your chest like a prized, stuffed animal. Your fingers trembled as you dug your phone out of your pocket and made an emergency call to your therapist.

“I’m sorry—” You blubbered as soon as she answered, “My dad just showed up. He’s fucking here and he’s acting like – like nothing happened! It’s my opening day. It’s my day and he’s ruined it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy crossed the street with annoyance burning low in his gut. His restaurant had been swamped. Everyone wouldn’t shut up about the free cookie they’d get if they ordered a sandwich from the Beef. It was a fucking miracle they survived lunch service.

He had precious time before lunch and dinner to come and talk to you. He knew he could call or text you, but there was a chance you wouldn’t answer, and he didn’t want to take that chance.

Leslie bit her lip when he asked for you, “She’s um – she’s in her office…but…” Her dark, thin eyebrows pinched with concern. “Good luck if you can get her to open the door.”

Carmy frowned. Why were you hiding in your office on the first day?

He knocked on the solid, wood door, “Hey – it’s Carm. We gotta talk.”

You replied, “Door’s open.”

Something was wrong. He walked into the office and found you sitting on the floor, your back propped against your desk, with a dozen crumpled tissues around your outstretched legs. Your face was puffy, and your eyes swollen. Shit. How bad had your first day been? He shelved your concern for you to the side and focused on the business.

“What was with the fucking surprise promotion?” He asked, though the heat and anger faded from his voice, “You didn’t have to do that. Why did you do that? Hm?”

“I think the phrase you’re looking for is – thank you for the free business.” You replied flatly with your bloodshot eyes glued to the ceiling.

He wished you would look at him. “We were fucking slammed and totally unprepared for it.”

You shrugged, “You survived.”

“if you want to collaborate, you need – you need to fucking talk to me!” Carmy demanded fiercely.

“I was being nice!” You shouted and finally aligned your gaze on his face. He was momentarily awestruck by the raw, painful sorrow etched across your features. “I was being helpful!”

He sighed, and though time was precious, he lowered himself beside you. “Just – please don’t pull a stunt like that again without clearing it with me first.”

“Fine.” You shrugged, “I didn’t realize it would be such a big deal.”

“Yeah, well, it was.” He said, searching your expression, and feeling like he was missing a vital piece of information. Nothing was on fire. Why did you look so heartbroken and why did it make his own heart ache?

“Sorry.” You said softly, “I won’t do it again.”

“Hey, wait, we can collaborate. I actually think – um – I think it’s a good idea…but I gotta know about it. Right?” He smirked, “You sort of caught us with our pants down.”

You stared straight ahead. “Okay.” You said without infliction or emotion and Carmy’s breath shuddered inside his chest. This wasn’t you. It scared him. But what the hell could he do? He could barely manage his own shit. He should just get up and walk away, go back to the Beef, and get ready for dinner service.

But he couldn’t leave you like this.

“What’s that?” He nodded his chin toward the thin business card you toyed between your fingers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You considered lying then thought better of it. This was Carmy. You already gave him a look into the skeletons of your closet, and he hadn’t run away (yet).

“My dad came by.” Your breath hitched and you thumbed the hotel business card that Leslie slid under your door, pressing the sharp corner into your palm, “And it completely fucking unraveled me.”

You felt him go immobile and quiet beside you as if your announcement stole the breath from his lungs—and hell—maybe it had.

“And it wasn’t even like he cared about the bakery – I mean – not really. He just wanted money.”

You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from crying. You knew the human body was made up of something like 60 or 70 precent water, but you were convinced that you wrung yourself dry. Any further tears might lead to full body dehydration and a visit to the hospital.

You would’ve preferred to be angry. Anger was boiling, reactive, self-righteous, and clean. It had claws and sharp teeth. No one could touch your broken heart if you protected it with barbed anger. But by the time Carmy found you, you had wept, and raged, and dry-heaved until your stomach throbbed with pain, and all that remained was a scraped-out numbness.

The only anchor to reality was the warm, solid press of his shoulder to yours.

“I hate him, you know? I know you’re probably not supposed to say that…but I do. He tried using my half-brothers as bargaining chip – told me they just wanted to know how their big sister was doing – even though I don’t even know their fucking names.”

You scoffed (because the alternative was sobbing) and flicked the card against your knuckles.

You glanced at him, though you avoided his concerned gaze, “Do you have a lighter I could borrow?”

“Y-yeah, sure.”

You appreciated his lack of questioning. If you had any emotional bandwidth to process anything—you might’ve felt a deepening affection for him. Your fingertips brushed as you accepted the lighter and your shattered heart fluttered. You kneeled in front of the trash and let the tiny flame catch on the card’s corner. You held the card until the heat singed the fine, light hairs on your knuckles and instinctively released it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy watched you and the small twin flames danced in your pupils like a dying star, like a grease fire. He couldn’t help but draw parallels of your relationship to your dad with his relationship to Mikey. You were just a kid, and your dad rejected you, made you feel imperfect, and lame, and unworthy—all similar to how Mikey made him feel. He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp. He didn’t know what to say, or what to do, and felt helpless and useless in light of everything you revealed.

This was why he wasn’t good at having friends. He was good in the kitchen, on the floor, communicating through food and creativity. Time, as always, breathed cold down his neck. He needed to return to The Beef for dinner service. Yet, he lingered, and you rested on your haunches and scrubbed both hands over your withdrawn face.

You exhaled slowly through pursed lips, “I gotta help Dani and the others clean up. We’re closing soon.”

Carmy wordlessly got to his feet, accepted the lighter back from you and his fingers curled around yours for a second longer than necessary.

He swallowed and said, “He’s an asshole.”

You didn’t need clarification. You knew who he was talking about. You laughed, without humor, and shook your head. “Remind me to tell him that when he inevitably turns up again.”

Carmy’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, “H-he’ll show up again? You’re fucking kidding.”

“He will.” Your jaw clenched, something small and hurt crossing your features, like an animal with its leg stuck inside a steel trap. Carmy squeezed his fingers into fists at his side and stared at your back when you walked away, your voice false-cheery and light, teasing your team and joking about Ted’s hairnet on his beard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy doesn’t remember the last time he was this angry on behalf of someone else. Dinner service zipped by without a hitch, though he’s restless and on edge, his mind flashing to your face every thirty seconds.  He’s seen you pissed off. He’s seen you happy. But he’s never seen you devastated before. He worked under the assumption that you had an impenetrable, core strength and nothing could rattle you.

The hotel name, with the room number written in sharpie, burned into the back of his eyelids.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying to Richie until the words are halfway out of his mouth; “I gotta talk to someone and I – I uh – dunno how it’s gonna go.”

Richie grinned. “What? You got a pediatric appointment?”

Carmy held the driver-side door open. He didn’t have time for Richie’s bullshit. “You coming or not, cousin?” His tone was brusque. A beat of silence reverberated between them and Carmy realized that it’s only Richie who he could trust on this little trip. Richie was a shithead, but he was also a dad who loved his kid. No one else would get it. No one else would understand Carmy’s vehement anger.

He yanked the passenger door open, “Jesus. Who pissed in your cereal?”

He refused to give Richie the whole story because it wasn’t his business. However, he told him that your dad—after years of being absent—showed up and started harassing you. As your friend, he couldn’t stand idly by and let it happen. He might not have words to comfort you, but he could do something. He could tell your dad to piss off back to whatever city he came from and leave you the hell alone.

“Are you guys fucking or what?” Richie asked while flicking cigarette ash out of the rolled down window. “Is that what this is about?”

“No! Richie.” Carmy rolled his eyes, “We’re friends.”

“What is this? The 1800s?” He snorted. “Come on, cousin. You can be friends who fuck.”

“It’s not like that!” He hollered. “Will you just drop it?”

Richie looked unconvinced. “Alright, fucking Christ, don’t throw a tantrum.”

“I’m just saying—” He bit off his words with a sigh, “I care about her, alright? Is that what you wanna fucking hear? And this is what friends do, right? They do crazy shit for each other.”

He leaned his elbow on the armrest on the door, slouching in his seat, and took a long drag of his cigarette. “Sure, cousin. Friends do that.” Carmy suspected he was lying and didn’t want to call him out on it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy waited outside with Richie after asking the front desk about your dad and claiming to be a friend of yours. Richie stood and smoked another cigarette right below a sign that read, ‘NO SMOKING’. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking and he hid them inside his coat. He had no real expectations about how this conversation would go. Although, he was comforted that Richie was here (not that he’d tell him).

He paced in a small circle until Richie said, “You’re making me fucking dizzy, cousin,” and gave him a cigarette. It was another full minute before the glass doors hissed open.

“Well! You’re not who I was expecting.” A cordial, deep voice said.

Carmy brought the cigarette to his mouth, exhaling smoke as he talked, “Consider us the welcome committee.”

Your dad squinted, “So? What? You’re her boyfriend? Her staff?”

“No. I’m her friend.” He looked over his shoulder to Richie, who glared daggers at your dad with narrowed blue eyes. “We’re both her friends.”

“This is a rather odd way to accept my invitation to dinner, but the more the merrier!” He smiled, “I’ll text Marilyn and the boys. They’re at the hotel pool.”

“Don’t bother.” Richie cut in harshly. His finished cigarette bounced on the concrete sidewalk, and he ground it beneath his sneaker.

Carmy nodded. “Yeah, we’re not here for dinner.”

He returned his phone to his pocket, frowned. “Then why are you here?”

There was no finesse or decorum. Carmy just said what was on his mind. “You can’t come back to her bakery.”

Instantly, your dad’s expression hardened, and his eyes flashed with anger and confusion. “Excuse me? Did she tell you to come here and say that?”

“She didn’t have to.” Carmy replied.

Your dad sneered, “I never would’ve expected her mother to raise a coward.”

That single sentence made Carmy’s blood ignite. Of all the insults he might’ve thrown that was the worst and most inaccurate one.

“She’s not a fucking coward!” He spat. “You don’t fucking know her!”

“Look, pal. I don’t know who you think you are—”

Richie suddenly crowded into your dad’s face, taller than him by a few inches, “Weren’t you listening?! We’re her friends, you fuckwad!” Richie continued, shouting, “And you’ve got a lot of nerve showing up after what? Ten years? Twenty?”

“You don’t know my life, my choices, my sacrifices!” Your dad’s face flushed with anger. “How dare you!”

In retrospect, Carmy should’ve intervened sooner. He should’ve noticed Richie’s tense body language and flaring nostrils and the pain in his eyes. Richie hardly got to see his own kid. How must it feel to have someone standing in front of you who didn’t want to see their child at all? Their bodies collided in a flail of wild limbs and hurled, volatile insults. Richie’s open palm connected with your dad’s cheek. Your dad’s foot kicked out and hit Richie’s shin.

Carmy shoved his body between them, shouting, “Hey! Hey! Hey!”

Richie took a step back with his arms up in the air in surrender. Carmy continued yelling, “Just go home, alright? We didn’t come here to start shit. You’re—she doesn’t want to see you.”

“You can’t keep me away from my daughter.” He announced, lifting his chin with pride, as if he won this argument.  

“Yeah, you do that just fine on your own.” Carmy replied viciously. He could tell the words cut like his sharpest knives because your dad’s face faltered—just a fraction—before he returned to scowling. Richie spotted hotel security through the glass windows and grabbed Carmy’s shoulder.

“We gotta go, man. Let’s go.”

Before they were out of sight, Richie flipped your dad off with both middle fingers.

[huenjin]

and they were roommates.

summary — who would have thought that a very naked sight of your best friend and a torn shower curtain in the rainiest of weathers could start romance? or in which you start falling for your childhood best friend, lee minho, unaware that he’s always been in love with you.

pairing — lee minho x reader, ft. binsung.

genre — fluff, smut, crack | roommates!au, bff2l!au

rating — 18+

word count — 11k words.

note — smut warnings under the cut, ofc! i suck at making summary adagafga!! but but but, i promise this story is adorable, okay, minus all that smut, my lame humor and those bit of rushed parts? this took forever and i'm so sorry for all that had to wait, especially the one who requested this uwuwu. 

smut warnings — a lot of kissing, a lot of swearing, mentions of naked exposure, fingering, cunnilingus, riding/reader on top, penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you snap it), choking. there isn't a loooot of smut either, ah! so enjoy the fluff ride.

"You idiot," you scream, loud enough for your neighbours to hear. You pull out the keys that hang outside in the key hole and pull open the door. "How could you leave the keys outside, Minho?"

"I mean, what if someone stole it?" You throw your keys and Minho's into the small box on a ledge by the door. Removing your shoes, you put on the pair of your house shoes by the side and walk further into the apartment. "Or what if someone broke in? You could get killed, you dumb hoe! Or worse, our new television could get stolen."

You hear no response and just the loud sound of shower running in the bathroom hits the walls of your shared apartment. You walk to your room, passing by the common bathroom, after throwing your bag on the sofa. You talk on the way, yelling in hopes that he would hear.

"Did you walk back in the rain? There's no other reason as to why I did not see you after college. Jisung was searching for you too, Minho."

You change into a pair of shorts and black camisole, pulling your hair up and knotting it, all while your ears pick up the small humming from the bathroom. You shake your head at the fact that since it's Lee Minho in the shower, he is probably going to take his own time to come out. After all, he is the reason why your water bill is so high. 

"Yah, Lee Minho!" You walk outside and hit the door with your fists to bring at least a little of his attention towards you. "Do you want the leftovers or should I get food delivered?"

"Delivery!" he screams back, hearing the shower sounds lower and you yell back in response, "Okay," and walk back to the living room, falling back and plopping down on the comfortable rexine covered sofa. 

Your phone rings in the next minute and you are pulling it from your pocket quickly all because you are bored out of your mind. It is also because your stupid best friend from the god forbidden age of five to till this date, takes forever to get out from the shower.

It's Jisung. Not that you would have a doubt even if you had picked up without looking at the name on the screen — your friend circle is that small. It has just been you, Minho and Jisung majorly for almost three fourth of your life, the other one fourth of it with you having your parents as your best friends. Jisung had always been the annoying kid in the playground that pushed you off the swing because he wanted to play and Minho had always been the knight in shining armour in your local playground, the defender of all things right as he saved you from Jisung's frustrating taunts. 

And then your mother — oh dear, she is the reason why you are still stuck with Minho's rich arse (mostly because she thought too that this is the finest her very antisocial daughter would ever find in a man) — decides that since Lee Minho was so kind to save her poor damsel-like daughter, he might as well do it forever. Fast forward to present day, and you are still cleaning up after him. 

"Did Minho reach home?" Jisung asks as soon as you answer the call. You roll your eyes and shift your position to one that allows you to stretch your leg against the length of the sofa.

"Oh, hi, Y/N," you fake your tone, mocking Jisung's ignorance. "Did you reach home safely? Did you get caught in the rain? Oh no!" And then quickly changing it back to normalcy, "Yes, Jisung. I reached home safely. The rain did get heavy as I walked back home but nothing to worry. Did you reach home safely?"

Jisung is laughing loudly on the other end. "Sorry, Y/N," he makes a weird kissing sound and you pull your phone away from your ear. "I presume Minho's safe at home, else you would be the one to crash my phone with the endless calls in worry of his safety. Ha!"

"He got caught in the rain," you sigh. "I hope he's okay though. I would have mentioned how he was, had he just come out of that goddamn bathroom but no! It almost seems like he is rebuilding the whole bathroom." Jisung laughs so loud that you have to pull the phone away from your ear again. 

"Dude, dude, dude," Jisung calls out for you through the line.

"Yeah?" 

"You and Minho are totally like my parents fighting." 

"Do you want to get punched in your face, Han Jisung?" You sit up straight, folding your leg across each other and bending forward, your elbow digging into your thigh as your hand supports your head. 

"And my boyfriend would punch yours if you punched mine," he huffs and you know he is talking about Seo Changbin. At a good five feet and six inches, the shorter male befriended Jisung and then wooed him over in grade eleven with some weird shining universe experiment for a science project and the Han Jisung you had always known, fell for the gesture immediately. They began dating a week after, making Changbin the only other human being you willingly chose to become closer to.

"Like Minho would let that," you click your tongue and Jisung laughs again, mumbling, "How have you guys not slept with each other yet? You guys are roommates."

"I'll kill you, Han Jisung."

"Like you would." The minute Jisung taunts back, you hear a loud noise of something crashing down and the sound is from the bathroom. You jump upwards, quickly hanging up without even telling Jisung that you were leaving as you drop your phone and rush towards the bathroom, taking huge steps to reach before the door in less than a few seconds.

You slam your fist against the door, over and over again, yelling, "Yah," to draw his attention before asking, "Minho, are you okay? I'm coming in," and you pull open the door to the common bathroom. A decision you wish you had not chosen but one you had to take for his safety.

Before a very surprised you lay a very, very naked Lee Minho, groaning with his back against the cold white tiles of the bathroom, neck lifting his head above to instinctively avoid hitting the floor. His hand holds a huge piece of the shower curtain that he must have tried holding onto before falling and as the colour drains from your face, lips wide apart, staring at your naked best friend in shock who is staring back at you, it dawns upon you quickly.

You immediately slap your hand over your eyes and scream as loud as you could possibly, "Fuck, fuck. I just saw your schlong, oh my god!"

"Are you not going to look at me at all now that you saw my dick?"

Minho rolls his eyes at you as a soft groan leaves his lip while he tries to make himself more comfortable on his bed. This time, he is fully clothed, black shirt over his torso and navy blue shorts. You are sitting on a small chair by his side, Chinese herbal medicinal mix in a white ceramic bowl, a tub filled with warm water and a towel and long white bandages on the table by the bed. The Chinese herbal medicinal mix was something your mother specifically ordered you to prepare for the boy before you.

You hand him a cup of warm water first which he takes and is about to swallow it down when you look at the wooden bedpost behind him and mumble, "But I saw your womb raider." Minho chokes on the water before coughing and you quickly pat his back which leads him to cry softly in pain and you are left apologising over and over again for being reckless.

He places the cup on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he narrows his eyes at you and questions, "Womb raider? What the fuck?"

"You know, your schlong," you look away, heat rising up to your cheek. "I saw your schlong, a womb raider."

"I can't believe you call a dick that," he groans, rolling his eyes as if he has completely given up on you, "After having your womb raided enough by many womb raiders."

You look away, taking the ceramic bowl in your hand and mumbling, "None of them were long and thick enough to be called a womb raider though."

"Did you say anything, Y/N?" 

"Nothing," you yell and glare at him, cheeks still hot with the image still vivid in your head. "You can't look disappointed in me," you frown at him, "I should be disappointed. You tore the shower curtain."

"It was a mistake!" Minho gasps and tries to sit up but quickly ditches the plan when he feels the spin surge through him. You place the bowl back on the table and push yourself forward to help Minho sit up, your arms wrapped around his waist, your chest against his as you slowly pull him up. Minho explains himself, "If I didn't hold onto that, I would have gotten injured worse. I'm almost perfect now. It's just the slight—" You press your palm against his back and he seethes in pain.

"Slight pain, indeed," you scoff and finally let him rest against the bedpost. "This should do the magic though." You lift the ceramic bowl again and wave it before him, shoving the weird smelling green substance right in front of his nose. "My mother totally said it would work. She also said that you would have to be on the bed resting the whole day."

"You'll be my maid the whole day," Minho lights up, face instantly shining and you sigh, "Do I have an option? After this day though, we are going to buy shower curtains and you are going to pay for it because you tore it." You accuse him and he clicks his tongue.

"Fine."

"Remove your shirt now," you order and he looks at you, a teasing glint glistening in his eyes and he smiles, moving slightly closer.

"Why? Are you going to call my abs washboard now? That you could do laundry on them?" He purses his lips and leans forward and you push him back, his aching back hitting the bedpost again and Minho is crying with pain on the soft impact, albeit this time, you worry if it is fake. "Y/N," he cries, clamping down against his lower teeth hard, "Can you go easy on me?"

"Then stop teasing me!"

"Fine!" He huffs and looks away, "Help me out of this shirt now."

"What? Why? You put the shirt on fine. Can't you remove it on your own?" You question him, the ceramic bowl securely on your lap. Minho stares at you for the longest time ever and you stare back.

Has his eyes always been this tender? Has his skin always been this soft? Was Lee Minho always this charming and pretty to look at?

This is all because you saw his stupidly good dick, argh!

Minho finally answers, "It's harder to remove a shirt than to wear it." You shake your head and your eyes narrow to crinkled slits as you watch your best friend for a second more before placing the crucible back on the table and bending yourself forward to hold tightly the ends of his black shirt. You lift the black material up and remove it from his torso, exposing his abdomen and chest to the warm breeze in the air. 

He stares at you and you stare at him back, only till you take the white ceramic bowl again and hopefully the last time and you raise an eyebrow at him, mocking him, "Aren't you going to give me the classic Wattpad naked white male line?"

"What line?" 

He looks confused and you laugh, holding the bowl tightly, "You know, the—" You try to lower the pitch of your voice and to sound as cocky as possible, smirking, "Like what you see, baby girl?"

Minho laughs with you till he calms himself down a little, tilts his head and in the most guttural voice you have ever heard your best friend ever go, he repeats, "Like what you see, my baby girl?"

Your heart should not have sped up. Your fingers should not have tightened against the cold white crucible. You should not have pressed your thighs against each other. You should not have had your throat dried up at his very words. But it did and you are staring at Lee Minho in an angle you had never seen him. 

When did that stupid five year old boy who thought he could save the whole world grow up into this man?

"Uh, Y/N," Minho waves his hand in front of you, trying to bring your attention back. "Are you going to apply the medicine or? I mean, it's cold."

"Oh yeah," you stutter. "Yeah, yeah, I was about to. Can you turn back so that I can apply it on your back?"

"Yeah," he nods and pressing his hands into the mattress, he shifts himself, turning a one hundred and eight degrees away from you so that his back is facing yours. "This okay?"

"Yeah," you agree. You bend your arm forward to take the cloth soaked in warm water and you press it against his back. Minho bites his tongue in pain, eyes watering before he can't take it anymore and he turns back to face you. 

"Minho?"

"Can I do that thing you allowed me to do whenever I was in pain and you had to take care of me?" He asks, unsure, "Am I allowed?"

You nod, softly, smiling warmly at the man before you and you lift the chair up slightly. Minho quickly wraps his arms around your waist, his face buried into your soft chest as he edges closer to you. You place the warm cloth again on his broad back and Minho does what he has always done to combat pain.

He bites into your flesh softly, hard enough to trigger something weird within you at this age but soft enough to not cause any pain. 

Your eyes widen and your thighs tighten a bit but Minho is unaware to all this as he snuggles into your warmth, head fuzzy with the pain that throbs through his entire back. After a few minutes, you place the cloth back on the table and hold the crucible tightly. You dig your forefinger and middle finger into the green mix before applying it on his back, soft circles to calm him down and Minho lets go of your flesh, although he still continues to snuggle into you, his thick arms tightening around your frame.

"You're comfortable to hug," he mumbles as you apply the medicine all over his back, his face occasionally pressing against your breast and you gulp, reminding yourself that this is your best friend, that this is the kid you've seen in all his embarrassments. 

"Of course, I am," you laugh. "It doesn't pain that much, does it?"

"Not anymore."

"Good," and you apply another layer over the existing one. "Because if you say anything else to my mother, I swear to God, Lee Minho, I will—"

You don't complete. Minho laughs — soft, precious laughter that fills the air and engages your ears. He tilts his head to look up at you from his lower angle. You look down only to come in direct vision of his bright, glistening eyes that hold the stars behind them and his oh-so-flawless skin that you are envious of. Your heart beat escalates and you are about one hundred percent sure that Minho is aware. After all, he did have his ear against your chest in this position. 

"Fine, fine," his voice is airy and you could listen to it the whole day. "I'll tell your mother that her daughter took care of me perfectly, alright?"

"Perfect," you smile. "Now sit up straight. I need to bandage you up, just in case." Minho begrudgingly pulls back, a soft whimper leaving his lips before he huffs, folding his arms and sitting straight, looking you in the eyes and you gulp. 

"I'll be fine in a day, Y/N," Minho whines and you shake your head, mumbling, "Just in case." You turn your body to grab hold of the white roll of bandage before you beckon for him to come a little closer as you wrap the bandage over his torso, covering the medicinal herbs sticking to his body now. 

"You, in fact," you chuckle as you tighten the bandage and Minho seethes in pain at having his muscles pressed. You rub his hair affectionately before continuing, "You, Lee Minho, should be ready enough to cash out money for the shower curtain."

"Fine, fine, fine," Minho huffs only to break out into a smile as he looks at you. "We'll go as soon as I don't think I'll die if I stand up and straighten my back, okay?"

"Perfect," you laugh and pull yourself away from your best friend, clipping the bandage in the exact manner. You help him lie back against the soft mattress. You pick up the crucible and the tub of water as you stand up. 

"Y/N," Minho calls out for you and you turn, your head gliding against the joint and your eyebrows rising up in question.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he smiles, eyes closed and face so soft that you do want to hold it.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me, doofus. What would I have done had you not been there? You are my knight in shining armour now."

You laugh but your heart is furiously beating against your chest, thrumming against it so loudly that you can hear the beats. Your cheeks flush with heat and you look away, mumbling, "It's nothing," and walk away. You close the door quickly and fall against the vast wooden door finally, away from his presence and you hold the bowls close to you.

Fuck. When did your heart start beating this hard for the same man that you once knew as the stupid five year old with elephant print trunks? When did your heart start thrumming so loudly against your chest for your only best friend?

Either ways, you are doomed. Inevitably.

Jisung: baby, i think it's about time Changbin: for what? Jisung: you know, how we always said those two should probably fuck Changbin: yeah? Jisung: the sexual tension is too high. can we get it over with already and have them date already? Changbin: you've been trying this forever and you failed. Jisung: don't remind me. you're my boyfriend, support me. Changbin: fine! go, sungie!! i love you either way though.

It is exactly three days after the I-exposed-my-cock incident that Lee Minho agrees to go with you to buy the shower curtains. 

"Can't we just buy it online?" He had whined, arms folding against each other as he scrolled through his phone. You stand by the sofa, head shaking in disappointment as you reason back, frustrated, "The material," and you hit his arm. Minho winces. "The material is important. I won't compromise on that. Plus, you promised that you would come with me to buy something that you tore. Isn't that only fair?"

Minho does so. After bargaining with him for one tub full of mint chocolate ice cream that you will never understand why he loves so much. 

That is exactly how you find yourself here in this shop, shopping cart in your hand and Minho by your side.

"We are only buying the shower curtain," you tell him, staring at the half full shopping cart. "So I don't understand why we need all these."

Minho smiles sheepishly at you. He then points at the two tubs of ice cream and says, "One for you, and one for me. I even chose your favorite flavor!" He continues to point at each article and tell why he needs them very articulately and you stand there in surprise before breaking his speech.

"Fine, fine!" You push the cart ahead. "Now let's just go and get what we came here for." Minho follows you, his one hand on the shopping cart handle to keep pace with you. The two of you stop right in front of the array of curtains in different colours, some on display and some packaged and you smile, whispering under your breath, "Tada." Minho looks at you softly, at the small voice of joy that escapes your lips and he just watches you light up in fascination at something as simple as shower curtains.

Fuck, he loves your domesticity.

"Let's take this," Minho announces as he stretches his arms out to hold onto a pretty blue shower curtain. You hold it in between your fingers feeling the texture before announcing, "No."

"But why?" Minho whines, following your footsteps as you hold onto another shower curtain. 

"Because it's polythene," you frown at your best friend. Minho looks at you, confused, his eyebrows furrowing as they look at you like you have grown another pair of hands and legs.

"And so?"

"You could tear it again!"

"It happened once," he sighs, frustrated. "Once. It's not like I'm waiting to fall in the shower, tear the curtain and have you see my dick all the time, babe."

Your cheeks flush at his announcement and the tag he calls you by, your eyes looking away from his pretty face for a split second. Minho shakes his hand, taking a step forward to check a few other shower curtains out when the two of you hear a very familiar voice from behind, in the most professional manner ever.

"Sir, the one you chose is perfect. It is very durable and doesn't stain on contact with water—"

"Han Jisung?" Minho turns, the words of shock leaving his mouth almost instantly. You turn impulsively, eyes wide.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?"

"Hey," you narrow your eyes at the other male. "I could file a report for bad customer service about now, Sungie."

He folds his arms and looks at the two of you suspiciously, "What are you guys doing here?" He raises an eyebrow at you, scoffing at you, "Like you would."

"What does it look like we're doing here, Sungie?" You bite back jokingly and Jisung laughs, gaze shifting between the two of you.

"I don't know," he runs a hand through his hair before folding his arms again, his fluorescent yellow uniform crumbling with the shift in his arms. "Is this some sort of a new way to date?"

"We aren't—" You quickly start when Minho pulls a curtain forward and breaks your sentence before you can complete as he asks Jisung, "This isn't polythene, is it?"

"Are you stupid?" Jisung frowns before he laughs. "That's clearly polythene. Minho, dude, you're a chemical engineering student. You have got to be kidding me if you can't identify polythene."

Minho doesn't pay heed to Jisung's words. You, on the other hand, stare at your best friend who walks away from you to examine more shower curtains. Did Lee Minho really ask Jisung, a literature student, whether that was polythene — What in the world?

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" Jisung snaps your attention back to the present. "Are you going to buy shower curtains today?"

"Yeah?"

"But your shower curtains were fine the last time I came home." You understand Jisung's surprise because the last time he did come home was five days back and the shower curtain was in a perfect condition. "What happened?"

You stretch your arms and point at Minho. The very culprit rolls his eyes before raising his eyebrows and sighing, voicing in the most dramatic voice you have ever heard Minho take, "Yes, Y/N. Yes, Ji. It's me. I tore the shower curtain because I fell in the shower."

"Ouch," Jisung acknowledges Minho's injury before walking past the two of you and taking a shower curtain. "Here's one. You might like this, Y/N."

"It's not PVC, Sungie."

Jisung wants to hit your head, terribly. Perhaps it's your adamance that is the reason as to why your friendship is this tight and strong but in moments like these, he likes Minho more. Minho stands by the side, arms folded and back resting against the wall as he trusts your judgement.

"Are you not going to tell her anything?"

"She handles all this at home. Give her what she wants, Ji," he laughs, fiddling with a few more shower curtains by his side. Jisung shakes his head in disappointment before mumbling, a soft frustrated groan leaving his lips as he throws his head back, "Definitely a married couple," and takes a few polyvinyl chloride made shower curtains. 

"Here," he presses his lips. "Don't blame me if the designs aren't that great. You don't get that many good designs in PVC. People go for polythene because it's more available."

"PVC doesn't tear and it's easy to clean!"

"Seconding this as a chemical engineering student," Minho chirps in from behind. You and Jisung turn to look at the man who is on his phone currently and shake your head lightly. "What?"

"He remembers his major now!" Jisung clicks his tongue. "All say, praise the Lord."

"I'm agnostic." You frown.

"More reasons for you to say it easily!"

You find a plain one in the ones he showed you and you take it. Jisung smiles finally, mumbling, "You're a frustrating customer."

"Nah," you scoff. Minho pushes himself off the wall as soon as he sees you done with the selection. "I just know what I want exactly. You, on the other hand, sweetheart," you poke his chest and Jisung chuckles. "You're a pathetic salesperson."

"Of course," he laughs the insult away. "I'm a literature student. I should be working in a publishing company as a part timer."

Minho takes the shower curtain from your hand and puts it in the cart by the side. He comes back, throwing his arm over Jisung's shoulder and frowns, "Apparently publishing companies care a lot more about who your parents are than your resume."

"It's just that publishing company," the other male looks down. "I'll try applying for another one soon."

"Do you want to grab a drink at our place tonight?"

"Can I?"

"Sure," Minho agrees. He drops his arm from Jisung's shoulder and holds the cart handle back, pushing it forward slightly. You take big strides to stand by Minho's side, also holding the handle slightly. Jisung raises his eyebrows at the two of you and with a smile that you don't think twice about, Jisung laughs.

"I'm coming over tonight."

"Sure," you throw your thumbs up at him, stretching your arm. Minho smiles softly at you, his eyes lingering a little longer at your happy figure and he feels his heart beat a little quicker at your sight. Your hair strands framing your face so beautifully, eyes shining the minute you find the exact thing you've had in your mind and your lips curving upwards in joy. 

Lee Minho finds the calmness that spring brings him every year in him all over again with you by his side.

"Bring the soju. Beer is on us!"

Jisung: binnie, binnie!! Changbin: yes, baby? Jisung: i think i have a plan. Changbin: let them be, babe. Jisung: we let them be all these years! they pinned after each other without even knowing and we had to see that painfully! Changbin: i guess you make a valid point there Jisung: is it going to rain today? Changbin: it's been raining for the last few days, sungie. it could. just because i study geography as my minor doesn't mean i can forecast weather. hey! Jisung: fine~ i'm going to get them to confess tonight 👀 Changbin: don't mess up. istg Jisung: trust me 🥺 Changbin: i do. more than ever ❤️

Jisung reaches your doorstep at sharp nine. With two bottles of soju in his hands, you see the stains of the droplets of rain falling onto his shoulder. 

It is drizzling for now and you worry if it is to rain heavily in a few minutes as the forecast mentioned. You hate the thunder. You hate how the weather changes drastically and worsens to a point that it frightens you and makes you anxious. It's a phobia you have managed to hide from everyone for fears of being treated weaker.

Jisung makes himself at home. He always has. He places the soju bottles on the kitchen countertop and Minho smiles to himself as he walks towards the point where Jisung has happily seated himself. Minho and you are on the other end of the counter while Jisung sits on the adjustable chair, swirling in it before stopping and facing you, Minho and the bottles of soju before him.

"Did it finally hit him?"

"I think?" You whisper back.

"I'm right here!" Jisung yells and you smile. Minho pulls the chair from under the counter and sits himself opposite the other male, pressing his lips together and trying to not laugh. He opens the bottle of soju after shaking it and hitting it against his elbow for a while. It clinks open, the metal hitting the glass before falling onto the table and you watch the two, as Minho pours a drink for Jisung.

He downs it in one go, letting out a loud sigh before stretching his arms and demanding a second one.

"Go easy, Sungie. You have the whole night."

"I don't," he huffs. "Now, please."

Minho pours it again before looking at you and you shake your head to indicate that you wouldn't mind a few. You grab hold of one of the empty cups on the counter before stretching your arm too. Minho laughs – a soft chuckle, so airy and light that you find yourself holding your breath for a small second there – and he pours you your drink. 

You twirl your drink, watching the liquid glide against the surface of the cup. Your best friend gets up and walks a little into the kitchen to open the fridge and grab a box of leftovers of fried chicken that you bought a few days ago. He pulls open the microwave to heat it and as he waits, he turns to look back at Jisung and asks him finally.

"Do you want me to drop a word to my uncle?"

"About?"

"He heads the Cheongsam Publication," Minho reveelas, pulling out the chicken from the microwave. He places it before the two of you and almost like you and Jisung were zoomed in, in an American sitcom, both of you gasp dramatically.

"Am I really your best friend?" Jisung yells and you narrow your eyes at Minho. Faking tears in his eyes, he persists in questioning,  "Do I not matter to you, Minho?"

"Why are you rooming with me when you could possibly afford a whole room on your own?"

"Yes, Jisung," Minho sighs and sits back on his chair. You bend forward, arms folded against the table as you stare at your best friend in betrayal. "Also, Y/N, don't you love having me around?"

He laughs and rests his head on your shoulder suddenly, causing you to stiffen them in response. Your eyes drift to the left, trying to not make it overtly obvious that Minho's sudden reaction has taken you by surprise. Your eyes land forward on Jisung who looks at you as if he knew this all along, as if he wanted exactly this. The man has a goddamn smirk plastered on his face.

Jisung downs two more shots and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, mumbling, "Slow the fuck down. No one's chasing you."

"Yeah, my goddamn plan," he mumbles before coughing and taking another. Minho sits up straight, finally lifting his head from your shoulder. He stretches his arm to pat Jisung's shoulder in comfort.

"I'll drop a word."

"Now, don't you dare go and say that you want to earn it and all that bullshit," you sigh. "It's the fucking Republic Of Korea. Nepotism is the norm."

"Not planning on saying that," Jisung glares at you. Clearly, Jisung is slightly tipsy, having been the only person to keep drinking. You and Minho opt to just watch over Jisung for the night. Your best friend puckers his lips in Minho's direction and blowing kisses, he says, "I love you, Minho."

"Changbin wouldn't like you saying that to another man though," you scoff and Jisung flips you the middle finger before downing one more and standing up. The thunder rattles the three of you exactly then and you grip the table, face turning pale instantly. Minho's attention darts to you quickly in concern.

"You okay?" You hum in response, unconvincingly though to Minho whose gaze lingers on you in worry for just a while more. That is, till Jisung rips it away by dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead and playing the damsel in distress as he gasps so loudly, staring at the big window.

"It's raining heavily," he sighs and you shudder, afraid of another thunderstorm as you grip tightly on the side of the table.

"So?" Minho asks, both eyebrows raised at the man before him, looking at the two of you with doe eyes.

"I'm staying over, thanks," he rushes and runs to your bedroom, quickly shutting the door and latching it and you and Minho stare at each other. As soon as the realisation of what could happen dawns over you, you rush to your closed bedroom, fists banging against the wooden door.

"Yah, Han Jisung," you turn to look at Minho who watches you in amusement. "Open the fucking door."

"No. I don't want to go back home in the rain. You and Minho can share the bed. I am never opening the door. Good night."

"What the fuck? Yah, Sungie, stop acting like a child. Open the door now." You hear no response. "Sungie? Answer me. Open the door please." Minho walks over to you, and tries knocking too, in vain however because Jisung has no plans to open the door.

You look at Minho, the man slightly towering you as he stands by your side and you gasp. You had to share the bed with the same man you just realised you could, perhaps, have developed feelings for?

"Fuck."

Jisung: it finally seems to be working, binnie! luck's on my side this time. Changbin: oh baby. just please don't be disappointed if it doesn't work out this time either. Jisung: i won't be because it's definitely going to work out. eeeee! i'm so excited! 

Another thunderstorm ripples through the air.

Your heart beats quicker in anxiety, eyes squeezing shut as you grip tightly on the pillow, a light whimper leaving your lips. You feel the mattress shuffling underneath you and in the next minute, your ears are covered by Minho's hands. You stiffen as he edges closer to you, his chin resting on your shoulder as his palm pressed against your pinna, covering your ear completely to protect you from the loud sounds of the thunder.

"Minho, what—"

His hand on your right ear slightly shifts to the side as he bends forward to whisper into your ear, to amplify the sounds enough as a way to distract you.

"You never ever told me you were scared of thunderstorms."

Lee Minho is way too close to you to think straight. You feel his body pressed against your back, heat radiating from him to you through your oversized hoodie. His breath is harsh against your skin as he leans close to whisper into your ear. And all this in an attempt to forget the thunderstorm.

So far, it's working like magic. 

Your voice is almost small when you inform him, "We never happened to be in the same place during one," and Minho swears to God, he could lose it completely. All the self control to not confess and take you there is so ready to be shoved out of the window that all he can do is try and focus on worrying about your fears.

"I'll protect you," he mumbles so softly that you turn around to look at him. His eyes are bright in the soft lights in his room and as he lies by your side, so close that you can hear his heart that beats faster and his breath that is shallow, your lips part and you watch him.

You are fully justified for falling in love with this man. 

A man that tells you he'd protect you from your fears, god alone knows how, but the fact that they don't seem like empty words. A man that you know like the back of your hand and the same man that seems to have protected you all throughout your life, even if you have done the same. It was inevitable. Falling for Lee Minho is inevitable.

And that's why you kiss him. Because you're in love with him so badly that all you can zero in is him, him, him.

Your lips press against his, so softly for a split second. As if you are unsure. As if you know you could be ruining years of friendship over something the two of you could consider a mistake. 

You kiss him and suddenly it's the only thing that matters to you right now. Him, him, him. Your lips are slow and soft against him. It is almost as if you are reminding yourself that there has been nothing more morbidly right than this. To fall in love with your best friend. Minho's hand slowly lifts up to rest below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breath mingles only for a split second — one filled with hesitance and uncertainty — before you pull away, looking at your best friend.

It is just a second of a kiss and with Minho so stiff by your side, you panic, and ramble. "I'm sorry. I should have thought it could be unrequited. I like you and I should have asked—”

Minho crashes his lips on yours, so quickly that it takes your breath away and cuts your sentence in half, but you don't care. He pulls you towards him, hands cupping your face tightly and angling it to kiss you, encasing your lower lips in his as he moves against your pink ones. You let out a small gasp as you deepen the kiss, running your fingers down his spine, holding him as close as possible until there is no space left between the two of you. It is just you and him in this small room. Just you and him in focus. You can feel the beating of his heart against your chest. Loud, clear and unknown to you that it beats for you in this minute. That it has always been beating for you.

Minho presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and, the minute you let him in, he delves inside your mouth, tongue chasing after yours. Minho kisses you like he has finally achieved the greatest thing ever and he never wants to let it go. Minho kisses like he loves you and you feel it. You feel every ounce of it.

Your arms move up his back and tangle around his thick, strong neck. Playing with the ends of his roots, you suck on his lower lips before he pulls away and finally tells you, "I've always been in love with you, Y/N. Always."

Kissing you again, his thumb digs into the skin by your jaw as he delves deeper, as if he never wants to let you go. The air in the room heats up when your hand moves under his shirt, feeling his muscles under your skin and you moan against his lips. Minho lets go of your lips only to kiss the side of it and then your cheeks and then your jugular before he is littering kisses all over your neck. You moan explicitly, gripping on him and slightly grinding on his thigh. You feel your core heating up, arousal sticking to your panties and all you can think is,

“I want you.”

Minho swears to God that he has always loved confident women but when you shattered right before him and built your confidence right back up — that is the hottest thing he swears he has seen. That, and the fact that you had always been hot before his eyes.

“Really?” Minho lifts himself up and hovers on top of you.

“Really,” you decide to respond before you cup his face and pull his face closer to yours. You don't pull him in for a kiss just yet. Your eyes zero on him, trying to cancel out the loud thunderstorms in the background and just focus on the man before you that you love, that you've been in love unknowingly for a while. 

You just hold his face and learn. You try to remember every single detail of his face that you never focussed on before.

You realise over again that his eyes are your favourite thing. They are black as charcoal and yet still shimmer as if stars are trapped and enclosed beneath them. And when he narrows them to look at you with a daze, your heart throbs and you gulp. They make your heart hurt whenever they fix on you.

You know his skin is soft as you touch. As creamy and velvety as they are, you can't stop touching him. 

His mouth is a pretty shade of coral, plump and pouty and honestly so kissable it hurts to look at it for more than a few seconds. You wonder how you haven't driven yourself to kiss him yet. All these years.

Everything about his face is soft and delicate, that is till he turns a little to the side and angles it perfectly, his head backward and you can clearly see the sharpness of his jawline; the distinct manly cut that makes your mouth dry and your heart beat faster. 

“You are perfect,” you gulp, your eyes back on him and Minho smiles widely. His warm breath caresses your face and his forehead is pressed against yours immediately.

“You know what else is perfect, baby?”

“No,” your voice is airy, even though you already know what he is going to say. You know it and yet the thought causes your heart to skip a bit, and flutter a lot in your chest.

“You and everything you have to offer. You are not average. You are one of the most perfect women I've seen in my whole life, Y/N,” he says. As soon as the words spill from his mouth, your lips are on his, claiming his mouth, the same ones that whispered into your ear that there is nothing to be afraid when he's right there by your side.

He gasps loudly as your hands leave his face and move to his hair to pull him down towards you — you need him so close to you. Your fingers get lost in his thick locks as you tug on them, forcing him to bend a lot forward and gladly welcome the intrusion of your tongue.

His lips are as soft as feathers and they feel like what you think heaven feels like. The warmth you experience is so much more than the tingle of first kisses and those innocent butterflies have nothing on the wanting void of a pit in your nether regions and the slick in between your thighs. 

His hands slide down from your hips to reach behind your back and pull you upwards, only to tightly clasp around the curve of your bottom cheeks.

“Minho,” you groan against his lips after he pulls away from you. His lips are red and swollen, slick and shining with your saliva and so incredibly inviting you all over again and you fear that you may never want to stop kissing him for as long as you are breathing. You fear getting too addicted to this human – more than you already are – to a point where you need to be attached to him by the hip, to never let go of him.

Minho's lips move from your swollen lips to the curve of your jaw, down to the curved edges of your neck, sucking and kissing every exposed skin. 

His hand moves from your clothed arse to under your hoodie, hand pressed against your back as he pulls you closer and forwards, until your chests are pressed against one another. His mouth is everywhere and god, you feel infinite and powerful.

His lips hover on yours. He smiles widely and you think it's cute. He inches his chin forward, flicking your nose a little with his own, a shy smile on his lips as he silently asks the permission to claim your lips anew; all over again.

You nod your head to signal yes. You hold your breath and your eyes flutter shut, awaiting him and his warmth.

Minho's kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is drawn out in a way that makes you want more, so much more, that you want to pull him in and suck the life out of him and yet, at the same time, it is precious and laced with not only the passion of the moment but also the tenderness of a first time together.

It makes your insides twitch and your heart lunge and it fogs up all of your thoughts to the point you feel yourself drowning in the sensation of his lips, pressed tightly on your own. 

Your heart is beating quicker than ever in your chest, against your ribs, and you pull him even closer, so tight your chests have no choice but to heave against each other with every single breath you take. You don’t want to let him go, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

Minho is something you desperately want to hold onto in your life. He knows your secrets, your everything. He knows what you like and how you like it. He seems to know everything and the thought of letting him go aches your heart and constraints your throat with a sob you wouldn't dare to let out. You want him to be completely yours.

And these thoughts turn you desperate. They force you to make the kiss deeper, to lick his lips and bite them down, to gulp down every sigh and whimper that comes out of him and make them your own. To make him yours.

Your eyes flutter shut, taking in the way his mouth moves over yours, arching further into him. You groan into his mouth and his grip on your back tightens instantly.

“I want you so much, Minho,” you whimper against him after your lips part from his. You lick your lips and gaze at him with your partially closed eyes. “So fucking much.”

“Then, have me. Take me,” Minho purrs against your exposed skin. In a minute, he pulls the oversized hoodie over you, leaving you in just your undergarments as he discards it to the side. His mouth moves over the skin above your breasts and his hand traces the bra you are wearing. He gazes at it and mumbles before latching his mouth back on your skin, “You are so fucking beautiful. Always have been.”

You gleam in pride and your body arches at the contact of his mouth on your skin. Your hands are on the side of his face as you pull him away.

“Can I?”

“Have me? Yes. Completely,” he smiles. He wonders if you are confident. That's all that he hopes when you look at him so unsure and so doubtingly. 

You wet your lips again quickly, your breath coming out in hot puffs of air. Your hands immediately rush to his top, roughly pushing it above. Minho helps you out and pulls it completely away. You are blinded by the passion burning inside of you, your hands eager to explore and touch every expanse of his glowing skin. You want to touch, feel, have a complete experience. You want Minho to remind you of everything you are missing out on.

Your lips attack his neck in a hurry, all rough and passionate on his tender, soft skin, blooming red roses that turn purple against it. You repeat your actions till he’s softly moaning out your name, almost purring them out that you feel yourself becoming slicker. His hands on your back pull you closer and into him so that you won’t stop tainting his flesh and slowly, his soul, in the best ways possible.

Minho whines and sighs and grunts for you. He doesn't hold himself back as his lips leave appreciation for who you are. He closes his eyes as he parts his lips to whimper out your name with every new thing you find that excites him and it drives you absolutely insane. 

You know you should not but you can’t stop wondering how he would sound like as you fuck him hard, rock on his cock to milk his orgasm, make him beg not to stop. You desperately want to break him and draw all these nice sounds out of him, but you know it would most probably be the other way round. Minho allows you to take control occasionally but you know he wants the lead. He wants to be the one to break you apart and pull you back together. 

He pulls back from you, his hands leaving your back and resting on either of your sides. Minho's dark hair brushes over his crescent lidded eyes and nearly shields the hungry, desperate gaze of them. His hand plays with the strap of your panties as his gaze flickers between affection and lust. He cocks his head to the side before asking, “You do want this, right?”

You nod, hoping it would be enough and that he would resume.

“I need to hear you say it out loud, baby,” he firmly says and you gulp.

“Yes, yes. Minho, fuck, I want this. I need this,” you whine, your eyes glassy, as you grip his forearm to lift yourself up and grate and move against the evident bulge on his jeans. 

Minho merely needs that verbal confirmation. He pulls away your panties, resting on your hips and you groan. Still hovering above you and his hands over your pubic mound, his fingers trail lower and you tug at your lower lip in anticipation. Easily, he finds your clit, and begins to rub in slow, languid, lazy motion, up and down, waiting for the moan he so loves to hear from you to spill from your mouth. He grins when he hears those little whimpers and you feel your legs lose mobility from the pleasure he brings you with just a flick of his finger. 

Your back slightly arches off the soft mattress upon the bed when his finger leaves your clit to draw a line up your wet slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he can before slipping his glistening fingers out to admire them in the light. Your cheeks taint pink in embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Minho moans, taking his coated finger into his mouth to suck your juices from it. His eyes flutter shut as if he’s tasting the sweetest aphrodisiac ever known and your lips part at this sight. Lee Minho looks irresistible and you want him, completely.

“God,” he groans. Minho slides himself down your body until he’s in level with your pussy. His eyes gazed at it in sheer adoration and your hand slapped against your mouth. He takes two fingers to spread your lips apart for a better view. “You’re dripping, baby girl.”

You wail as he drags a finger up and down your slit, playfully teasing your fold, making you whine his name out loud. The way you plead for him, beg for him, grind down on his teasing fingers, all set a fire inside you. This has been what you had been craving for so long. The ability of this man to cloud your thoughts and set your body on fire makes you yearn for him even more.

“Minho,” you cry out, whimpering underneath him. “Fingers. I need you. Please, Minho.”

You gasp, your voice airy, when the tip of his finger tentatively slips into you while your fingers dig at his shoulders between your thighs. “Minho, I want you. I just really want you. I need to feel you. Please.”

He drags his finger out of you before you clutch onto him, feeling the need to be overwhelmed. He presses his thumb on your clit and a whimper leaves your mouth. 

“Minho.” And he slides his digit in again almost as if on cue. He pumps his finger in and out of you as his thumb harshly rubs circles on your clit. Your hand leaves your mouth and grabs your hair as the other digs further into his shoulder. 

His mouth leaves hot air against the skin covering your acetabulum and you shudder. His lips graze from there till your thigh before biting on them, sucking them deliriously and leaving you as a whimpering mess.

“Minho, fuck!” You scream, your fingers grabbing your hair to hold control of your body. 

“That's it, baby,” he says against the skin of your thighs. “How I've wanted those beautiful lips to scream out my name from when I've felt them.”

Minho adds another finger and your eyes are screwed shut as he curls them within you and you gasp at the feeling of being widened. You are elated and you feel your arousal leaking down your thighs. He rubs your inside and your clitoris faster and you push your hips towards him, moving with his pace. Minho is also leaving beautiful purple marks in a trail on your thigh and you gape in awe.

You find it all too much. Your emotions are all over the place and your hormones rise up. The movement of his fingers inside you and around your clit, his lips attacking your erogenous spots, kissing, biting and licking short stripes on them. It finally gets to you and you scream his name out in pleasure. Your first orgasm comes crashing down upon you, blinding you. You release all over his fingers and Minho helps you ride out your high as he drags his finger repeatedly but this time, slower than what had been. 

Your head lifts up and hits the pillow slightly as it tilts away. Minho moves upwards, hovering over your face and smiles. You smile back. You are so happy and you do not know how to put it into words.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks?”

“For what?” He looks at you quizzically. 

“That was my first orgasm in months now that wasn't brought about by my own fingers,” you smile wearily and Minho leans forwards and kisses your forehead.

"Should have come to me," he laughs.

"Didn't know if I'd be ruining our friendship."

"Pfft," he scoffs, before kissing you again, his lips gliding against yours and piecing in as if they were always meant to be against yours. "I've been in love with you forever."

"Took me a while to know my own feelings," you mumbles. “Also,” you continue, hoping he listens to your request. “Can I . . . ride you?”

Minho is stunned. There are so many things about you that stuns him and maybe it's the way you try to take control that make you look so much hotter before his eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you plead. “If that is not a bother to you.”

“Why would it? Your wish is my command, but only for this night. Next time, my love, we do this my way,” he teases and winks and your core throbs at his words.

Minho pulls himself away from your body, pulling his shirt over his head and his denim down and away. As he flings his clothes aside and relaxes against the mattress, his cock springs free against his stomach, leaking with milky precum. You sit up beside the space Minho has taken over and watch him and his cock deliriously and lustfully.

You sit up, crawling over to straddle his lap, nervousness setting into your stomach. You’re really doing this. You gulp and swallow the saliva as you look at Minho, whose gaze gives you comfort and confidence. The muscles in your arm stiffens as you grip his shoulder for stability and Minho notices.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, sensing your reluctance and worry. He pushes back the stray hair falling over your eyes. “You're doing wonderful, babygirl. You are finally all mine. What a pretty girl and all to myself now."

You nod, biting down on your lower lip, and tugging at it harshly, cheeks heating up at his words, arousal gushing out as you look down before aligning with his cock. You want this. You needed this release.

As your folds, dripping with thick, sticky arousal, brush the tip of his hardened cock, you feel a shudder run down your spine. You instinctively allow yourself to lower further, taking the rest of him in you swiftly with the help of your arousal. Sinking down around his dick and feeling him fully wrapped around your clutching walls has you moaning out his name, gasping and panting for air, “Fuck, Minho.”

You rock your hips into him, trying this as you picture it to be, already finding yourself tightening and clenching around his thick length. He fills you up so nicely, stuffing you perfectly full and you salivate. Your lips parts and you find your hips moving on their own accord.

As much as Minho wants to give you complete power over this, it isn't like him and he wishes he could be better. Minho takes your hips in his hands, taking control of your movements to raise you up, leaving you empty and whining. You clench around nothing but air and your own walls, desperate to sink back down. “Minho,” you whine, your lower lip puckers forwards and you feel sad.

As his hand grip around your hips to get a better hold, he slams you back down on his cock, hard, causing you to scream. “Minho, ah!”

He continuously guides you in a rhythmic movement, throwing his head back into his pillows and groaning. You are glad he is helping you out because you know you could not have done it on your own after having just ridden out your high.

The sheen of sweat glistening on his chest catches your eye as he pants. The way his eyes clenched shut and his mouth hangs open with pleasure only makes you move faster around his cock. The sight before you makes you want to see him fucked out further. You want him to crumble under you because of you. 

You ride him, bouncing on his dick and clenching when you feel yourself reaching your climax for the second time that night. Minho’s finger moves down and slips between your sweat soaked bodies to rub your clit, pushing you even further over the edge. Minho knows how to make a woman putty in his hands and you are a living witness of this.

“Are you going to come?” He asks, breathlessly, his voice airy and light, almost floating away. He pulls his head forward to kiss your collarbones, sucking harsh bruises against your skin, continuing further down the existing purple bruises.

“Y-Yes,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging on the dark strands. “Mhm, fuck, you feel so good, Minho.” You lean forward and the motion causes Minho to whine. You quickly catch it as your lips fall on his. His lips enclose yours and he kisses you slowly and passionately as you move on his cock, lazily.

Words, unfiltered and raw, spill out from your mouth after your lips leave his as you feel the high that is creeping up slowly within you. “Minho, fuck. Oh fuck, you feel so good.”

“Then, come.”

Minho moans against your neck as he feels you, his finger rubbing your clit, “Babygirl, oh fuck. Come all over my cock.”

Minho’s other hand that is not occupied leaves your hip and moves upwards to find their place on your neck. His fingers gently wrap themselves around your neck and his eyes flicker a mischief that makes you wetter than you already are. He presses his fingers against your neck with pressure and you choke. Your mouth opens wide and your tongue falls out slightly resting on your lower lip. Your eyes roll back and your walls clench around Minho’s cock tightly.

Minho learns that your dirty liking for choking is incredibly hot. Seeing you like this is what he knows would get him to come when you are not around. Your fucked out expression as you gasp for air makes Minho plunge into you harder and you choke harder.

A final flick of his finger over your sensitive button and a bit more pressure over your neck are all it takes for your body to flood with pleasure and ecstasy. Your legs tighten around Minho's waist, curling in as you ride out your high for as long as possible, still moving your hips against him. His fingers let go of your neck and you breath loudly, taking in huge gulps of air.

Not long after your undoing, he comes inside you, coating your walls with his seed as you feel his length pulsate within you.

Once your body falls limp against his chest, equally fucked out and panting for air, you feel him going soft inside you. He lifts you up, slowly slipping out of you and gently laying you by his side. His fingers rub small circles on your hips after pulling you closer into him. 

“Hey,” you say and smile. 

Minho kisses your forehead and then, the peak of your nose, and finally, kisses your lips, softly. It isn't lustful or anything. Just plain passion seeping from him to you. You feel his admiration and an emotion you fear to mistake for love. He pulls away and smiles, “Hey, beautiful.”

He comes closer and licks the side of your neck, where he had wrapped his fingers out. The one fantasy that you are so in love with. He peppers soft kisses around it and mumbles an apology. 

“No,” you quickly stop him. “That was everything. I— I really like you." Pausing, the thought crashes your head, post your high and you mumble, "Fuck, I fell in love with my best friend." 

You nuzzle into his chest after he pulls back, your arms wrapping around his body as you calm yourself. Minho chuckles into your ear, "Yes, yes. You clearly did. What do we do now?"

"Take responsibility." You mumble as you slowly find yourself feeling sleepy. Your eyes are slowly drooping and your voice lowers in tone, words drifting away almost, “You better take responsibility for my feelings and take care of me.”

“It'd truly be my honour,” Minho mumbles, lifting you slowly to push his one arm beneath your neck. He uses the other hand to push your hair away from your face. Kissing your forehead, lips lingering for a while, he smiles to himself, laughing slightly as he asks you, "Was the schlong good?”

You laugh softly, snuggling into his chest, fist against it as you try to fall asleep, thunderstorms long forgotten. Kissing his chest, you giggle, "Best ever schlong I have ever had, baby. All mine to keep now."

Jisung: can you pick me up? Changbin: this late? Jisung: i just wanted them to confess. not fuck like bunnies. useless fact i learnt today: they are both loud in bed. Changbin: i'm laughing off the bed literally!!! also!!! Jisung: yeah? Changbin: and they were roommates! Jisung: god, they were roommates. 🙄❤️

[sophie-i-guess13]

End of the Line

uhm yeah. its literally just sylvia and tim being friends again after not talking for a while. domestic fluff, little bit of angst, lots of detail and i am so sorry. this was 7 pages on google docs lol

words : 2858

characters: Tim Shepard, Sylvia, Original Characters

genre: angst + fluff, rekindled friendship

Tw : cursing, slight religious imagery, slight mention of domestic violence and murder, canonical character death menttion

tag!  @mjmacchio1991 @pepsi-and-cigarettes @james-fucking-hates-dallas  @ralphmaccchiato @patrickslayze @outsiderslamb @frypansgirl  @unorginalchocolatemilk @jackettslut @johnnycadesjeanjacket (ask to tag or be removed :))

He can’t tell what colour her eyes are. Whose eyes did she end up with, anyway? She doesn’t have her momma’s hair, that’s for sure. Those indescribable eyes follow him as her momma paces the kitchen, muttering as her bare feet slap against the cold tile floor. 

“I woulda thought you’d taken me off your bail-me-out list.”

Tim Shepard scoffs from the brown sofa. The apartment is small and smells of a million different things he can barely name. Cologne, cigarettes, hairspray, and weed, to name a few. As a cloud of smoke blows past the window to his right, he realizes where the weed must be coming from. Toys are cast in every direction on the carpeted floor, dolls and alphabet blocks in front of the television, a few Lego blocks make a trail from the box in the corner, ending beneath his feet. The coffee table sits in front of him, a Lego house paperweight pinning invoices and final warnings to the table, to be ignored just a little while longer. 

“It’s easy to get off the list,” he replies when she bumps the fridge closed with her hip, dark eyes narrowed to daggers. “When I call, don’t answer.”

Something rips, a microwave is flung open. For a moment, and a moment only, he considers standing and taking the baby off her hip. Like an ember, the idea dissipates in an instant when the microwave hums quietly, warm yellow light the only thing illuminating the kitchen. She leans her shoulder against the wall, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You aren’t the only hood with my number, Tim.”

She’s quiet for a moment; the microwave’s steady hum is replaced with a sudden long beep, and the furious stomping from the person upstairs in response. “Thought you were someone else.”

There’s a bottle in her hand when she comes back, lifting her chin and gesturing to the lamp beside the sofa. He turns it on in silent understanding, soaking the room in a soft, warm glow as the girl he’d known his entire childhood coos quietly, guiding the bottle to her daughter’s lips. 

Sylvia, not even in her best of moments, was ever seen as nurturing. It’s at that moment Tim realizes just how long ago those days were. It’s damn hard to be a kid when you have one of your own, ain’t it?

“How’d this happen?” He asks, gesturing vaguely. His question is answered with a condescending tilt of the chin. 

“You’re twenty-one years old, an’ you really don’t know where babies come from?”

“Y’know what I mean.”

She smiles, combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair soothingly. It’s short and brown, curled into tight ringlets around her face. When Sylvia looks back to the man on her sofa, her smile is genuine. “Lori- Loretta. Buck thought it would be nice, an’ I was too doped up on meds to really care. So Loretta it is.”

The bottle is still three-quarters full, but her eyelids are heavy and her head lulls to the side. She settles into his leather-clad arms almost instantly, heartbeats falling into a steady synchronized rhythm.

“Remember when I came by, told you I was leaving?” Sylvia asks, tidying the living room, placing blocks and toys on the table, burying bills and documents spread there. Tim has the bottle in one hand, the other on her back. Loretta’s full head of curls just beneath his stubble. 

“Yeah, ‘course I do,” he scoffs. “Said you were leavin’, didn’t think you’d ever be back.”

He leaves out the part where she asks him to go with her; that he’d done all Tulsa could ever provide and it was time to move on. She never said before he ended up like Winston, but Syl had always been like that. Between the two, some things were better left unsaid. 

“Went down to Charlie’, since you didn't feel like comin’,” she says in a sing-song voice. Tim knows the bar well enough- not because he’d ever been, but because it was the only place in town Curly thought he could get a few drinks without word getting back to his older brother. “He was watchin’ me, I was watchin’ him. Had a few drinks, danced to a few songs…”

She smiles at the memory, her hands finding a home in the back pockets of her blue jeans. Her eyes wander from the table and bills, to her daughter and old friend. Then, to her own bare feet. “One thing led to another, an’ then we were in his backseat. Nine months later, we’re in an apartment on the south side.”

Tim looks up from the body on his chest, sleeping peacefully. “Dad still around?” He asks, voice painfully void of emotion. If it weren't for the windows sealed shut, Sylvia would have blamed her goosebumps on the autumn wind. His eyes are on her, the left a bit bruised, but still narrowed. She swallows once, turning on her heel and raking her eyes across the floor for anything she may have missed. Sure, all those toys were hand-me-downs from Ruberta in 5C, but they were still Lori’s toys. 

“Uh-huh. Y’know how guys are, though… Flakey.”

He’d been gone when she got home, leaving skid marks in the parking lot where the Lincoln was supposed to be, car seat and all. 

When she turns to face him again, Tim is staring down at Lori as her fists clench and release, milk and drool staining her cheek and dribbling down onto the cold hood’s red shirt. “An’ who is he?”

She brushes the question off her aching shoulders with a subtle shrug and scoff. “No one important,” she reasons – more to herself than those bold, blue eyes. “You uh, you remember the Dawson boys, don't you?”

“Sylvia, I swear to all that is fucking holy-”

Tim Shepard has always been a hypocrite. Invoking holy wrath, all so he can throw the word fuck in the mix. Even as she stands there, tasting blood and bile in the back of her throat as she stares at the seven-hundred and fifty square feet that have become her life, she was almost grateful. Some things, no matter how long, or the circumstances that drive you apart, never change. 

“-You coulda gotten out, an’ instead you get knocked up by Billy fuckin’ Dawson? You move in with him?”

If it weren't for the baby pinning him down, Tim would've been on his feet some time ago. Pacing the living room, hands limp at his sides, jostling with every step. Had it not been for the baby, he knows Sylvia would've been long gone by now, too. Like they planned when they were younger, when the responsibility of making sure the siblings had enough to eat and Dad got to work in the morning seemed like it would vanish when they turned eighteen. 

If it weren't for the baby on his chest, Sylvia would've been a million miles away instead of playing house with a wannabe thug. 

“He’s settled down now,” she justifies, “has been ever since Harvey went away.”

Tim throws his head back, running his tongue over his teeth. It was quite the day for the press when Harvey Dawson went down; put away for years over an illegal firearm, personal vendetta, and shitty aim. That waitress was never supposed to get shot, he’d been screaming that when the cops drug him out of his house at four in the morning, but it doesn't change the fact he went to the Dingo to kill someone. He was seventeen then, last year, and it'll be a long damn time until he ever gets out. Sylvia’s right, watching that better be sobering. 

Her arms are crossed over her chest now, eyes narrowed. “Don’t look at me like that- like I’ve never dated a fucking greaser before.” She scoffs again, hands pulling at her dark green shirt before she turns. “Hold on a minute,” she spits, “thought Ma was lying when she said chafing was the worst part, gotta take this bra off.” 

His voice carries down the hall, echoing off the paper-thin walls. Even if it’s only eight o’clock, she knows her neighbours are gonna have something to say about all the ruckus on her way to work tomorrow. “He’s nineteen, Sylvia! He doesn't know the first fuckin’ thing about takin’ care of you or your baby.”

A silence rests heavy in the air then. Lori stirs on his chest, settling when he drops one scarred hand between her frail shoulders. Tim Shepard had never been one to be around babies as much as kids and teenagers. When his siblings were still babies, his mother was still at home and taking care of them to the best of her abilities, even if her children would all come to resent her in a few years time. Tim never had much experience with babies, being as cold and tuff as he was, but that didn't mean he didn't like them. Especially when they were sleeping like this. 

Doors and floorboards creak when Sylvia comes out of her bedroom, down the hallway left of the kitchen. She curses under her breath as she rifles through every cupboard and drawer, face whiter than the linoleum tiles. “Nononono,” she repeats like a mantra, oblivious to the dread curling in Tim’s stomach when he stands, cradling Lori to his chest. “You motherfucker, you wouldn't-”

The telephone, red paint already peeling rests between her shoulder and ear as she dials furiously. Standing in the kitchen now, Tim stares at the refrigerator. Magnets hold parking tickets, schedules, phone numbers on its yellowed surface. 

“Shirley? Yeah, it's Sylvia-”

The counters are cluttered. Dishes air dry in the sink while coffee mugs and empty cereal boxes, a single wilted flower, take up space in the corners and windowsill. 

“No, Lori’s alright, it's Billy. I-I don't know where he is-”

The phone is slammed back down, with enough force for the body in Tim’s hands to jolt awake for a split second. His hands move automatically, tracing small circles on her back; like Angela and Curly always asked when they couldn't fall asleep. Sylvia moves past them wordlessly, eyes set on the brown purse hanging on the back of a chair. Her hands tremble as she pulls at the clasp and zipper, sending wrinkled bills and coins falling to the table. To anyone else, her shaking hands and blank stare wouldn't mean much. Not unless they'd grown up together. She drops into her chair and holds her head in her hands, not moving. Not even when the second chair is pulled out, creaking from the sudden weight. 

“What’s goin’ on, Sylv? You can tell me.”

“He took the money,” she mumbles into her sleeves. “Had the rent an’ everything in an envelope on the bedside table, an’ now it's gone.”

Bloodshot eyes bore into him, blood stains her lip the more she bites at the dead skin. Her hands move to her hair, pushing and pulling until white knuckles poke through the strawberry blonde. “His momma hates me- doesn't even really think Lori’s her granddaughter. She wouldn't tell me where he is, even if she knew.” Four eyes linger on the money on the table, the apartment growing darker as the sun sinks further below the mansions to the west. “Forty-six fifty,” Sylvia answers weakly. “Emptied the bank account for groceries and rent this week, took the rest out tonight to pay your bail.”

“Why did you bail me out?”

They were six and seven when they first met. Lived only four blocks from each other, passed one another in the halls and on the playground every day. It wasn’t until he was ten and she was nine that they finally spoke, the Shepard kids breaking bottles and tossing rocks against the asphalt when she came down the street and asked to join. A silent understanding, alliance, even was made that day. After all, kids only ever came to the lot if it was better than being at home. 

Dallas, Johnny, and even Bob Sheldon's death left an ugly red stain on Tulsa. Eden years after, when it seemed that things were starting to move forward, it lingered. Everyone knew of Bob and Dallas, two polar opposites, killed by their enemies only days and a few blocks apart. It meant no one was safe. No one was as invincible as their childhood had led them to believe. 

“How’d you get my number?”

Billy Dawson was meant to be a fresh start. A God-given sign her life in Tulsa wasn't over. And like the fool that she was, Sylvia dove headfirst, forgetting that even the Devil was an angel at one point. Maybe that's all he was ever meant to be- a lesson. A lesson to avoid temptation and stay on her path, before she cut off all her roots and was left in an apartment with a baby and not even fifty dollars to her name. 

“Asked around,” Tim answers nonchalantly. “Eventually ran into your momma downtown, got it from her. Got your address, too, but figured you were gettin’ sick of me at that point. Y’know, if you were willing to move across town and have a kid without tellin’ me.”

“I know you'd be mad at me once you found out who I was seein’,” she says suddenly. “Billy an’ the rest of his boys have never been your biggest fans, either.” She almost smiles. The idea of being eighteen now, and some silly little rivalry from her youth still dictating her life was enough to make her forget about the money for a moment. “I don't even know why I did it- guess I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Tim chuckles tiredly across the table, raising one hand to rub his eyes. She sounds like Angela, he thinks. She tries too damn hard to solve her own messes, Lord forbid her brothers come along and lighten the load. “I was never mad at you, Syl. Jesus, if you wanted to move out, I woulda helped you find a place! We woulda helped you move! We woulda found you a better guy than Billy Dawson, too, that's for damn sure.”

They stay there longer than they should've. Until it's too dark to read the clock hanging behind Tim’s head, until it's as if nothing had changed at all and they'd never been forced apart by circumstances of their own design. Sylvia holds her daughter now, in the dark, cramped kitchen, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The apartment creaks and groans the longer Tim walks around it, hands pushed deep in his pockets and the collar of his leather jacket almost touching his jaw. He studies everything he can see, from Lori’s finger paintings on the kitchen floor beneath the table, to the fist-sized hole in the living room wall. It's beside the door and makes him wonder how the hell he missed it when he first came inside. 

He wraps one hand around the doorknob, unlocking the deadbolt before he twists it and comes face to face with a cramped beige hallway. “Remember when we were kids, an’ you used to come over all the time?”

She laughs. “Between your place and Buck’s, I didn't need to go home. You woulda thought I was an orphan.”

He nods, smiles a little- the ripped skin on his cheek shifting is proof. “I, uh… I meant what I said, ‘bout the couch being yours if you needed it. Hell, we can do some rearranging if we need to stick a crib in Angela’s room.”

“Don’t make offers I might have to take you up on,” Sylvia groans as she crosses the floor into the living room. She follows his eyes until she finds the hole in the wall, exactly parallel with her face. “Rent’s due on Friday an’ I don't get paid ‘til Monday. Even then, it's not like it'll be enough when all I do is flip switches all day.”

“You should come over tomorrow night,” he answers as he steps over the threshold, “it's Curly’s turn to make dinner an’ we need a neutral party to tell him he fucking sucks at it.”

“I'll see if I can fit you in my schedule. Call me when you get home, yeah? It can get pretty rough around here at night.”

He rolls his eyes and reaches to close the door. “Jesus, Sylvia, you're forgetting who you're talking to, doll.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get outta here, I gotta put the kid to bed.

“It was good to see you, Syl.”

She smiles back at him, using the back of her hand to stifle a yawn and pull Lori just a little bit closer. “It was good to see you, too, Shep. Not that I missed you or nothin’-”

Just as he had always been, Tim pops his collar before making his way down the hall, waving with the back of his hand as the stairs grow nearer. “‘Course not.”

[hardtchill]

Different anon. I reckon send it I wanna hear it full tilt. Idk some people find u aggressive probably but I typically have a good laff whenever u answer bluntly.

My other anon would probably say it's my Scorpio moon and that's okay, i'm going to try and live up to the hype.

Kelley - Her childlike energy was always very funny, she was a joker and hyped people up. Stopped being funny when it became clear she wasn’t childlike, she just never grew up. She is incapable of acknowledging her own privilege, couldn’t sacrifice her comfort for the safety of others and is a massive hypocrite for only standing up for rights that benefit her (equal pay, gay rights). She also has never heard of intersectionality seeing as she still thinks she is a gay rights activist. 

Alex - Overhyped at birth, lived on that fame ever since. Does very little without gaining from it on a personal level. Has definitely done some good things for others but swears by the principle of 1 step forward 3 steps back (e.g. will stand up for teammates and demand better facilities but also post cop propoganda - supports abuse victims but also only kneels when a game is on national television because otherwise it doesn't get her attention). As long as she keeps breathing she will get nominated for all the awards because she is the pretty white girl. Also someone who doesn’t understand or acknowledge privilege.  

Allie - Always was pretty funny but also seems to have very little going on in terms of brain activity. Honestly never really know what to say about her, makes great use of the fame Kelley and Alex have i guess. 

All three of them love fast fashion and love it even more when they can scam (preferably young girls) out of a ridiculous amount of money for a hoodie they designed on a free design website. Will never admit that the clothing they slap logo’s on is the cheapest shit you can find on Wish. 

[nakachuchu]

Chocolate Pocky | Fushiguro Toji

SYNOPSIS: A day in your life with a freeloader.

READER: female

WORDS: 1209

WRITTEN: 04/10/2021

NOTES: Thank you for requesting from my event! "Let's get married." Okay, this was really fun to write and I'm tooting my own horn, but this is so cute and it's my fav. Sorry I couldn't mention chocolate pocky more. I got distracted lol

You came from a rich family that didn't expect you to run the family business because you weren't the male firstborn.

All that was expected of you was to marry someone and have children, but you didn't like the idea of giving in to what your controlling family wanted.

Because of your upbringing, you connected with Toji. The two of you met in school and the first moment he saw you was when you were tilting back on your chair, eating chocolate pocky with a deadpan expression on your face.

After learning of each other's circumstances, you two naturally clicked with each other. And although you enjoyed how free-spirited he was, the fact that he was a freeloader was getting on your nerves.

You straddled his hips, smacking him repeatedly with a cushion from the couch he was laying on.

"Get a job!" you exclaimed.

He reached forward and engulfed your face with his large hand, pushing you away. Your arms flailed around, unable to reach him anymore.

"I do have a job."

"Freeloading is not a job!"

"You're rich," he retorted.

"That doesn't mean I like having you in my apartment all the time!"

You wrapped your hands around his wrist and pulled his hand off his face. You huffed and looked down at him as he picked his ear while watching television.

"You're literally so gross," you muttered.

In the past, Toji would come by from time to time, but he never stayed this long before. At first, you didn't mind but you would have appreciated if he at least did the chores if he was going to stay at your apartment for free, especially with his kids.

You knew about Tsumiki from his first lover and you had met her before, but when Toji suddenly showed up with not only Tsumiki but another child, you nearly strangled him.

"Let's get married," Toji suddenly said.

You stared at him. The man had the audacity to bring up marriage with you and wouldn't even look at you.

"No."

"Why not?"

"You just want to marry me because I'm rich," you retorted.

"Okay, and what's your point?"

You rolled your eyes. "Get on your knees and maybe I'll say yes."

Toji stopped picking his ear and turned to look at you, ignoring the romantic drama on the television.

"I'm not doing that," he said.

"If I give you fifty bucks, would you do it?"

"Hell yeah."

You snorted. "Always the gold digger, Toji."

"Obviously."

You opened your mouth to respond but noticed Megumi peeking at you from behind the doorway. Even Tsumiki was right behind him.

"Are you two hungry?" you questioned. "I'll start dinner in a sec."

"I'll help," Tsumiki chimed.

"Thank you, sweetheart," you said. "Megumi?"

He said nothing, but you could see him shuffling around. You smiled at how cute and shy he was, and you swore he was your favorite 7-year-old you have ever encountered.

You climbed off Toji's lap and ignored the way he ogled your ass. He had done it so many times that you had gotten used to it.

Tsumiki followed you into the kitchen, leaving Megumi to shuffle out and sit on the couch with his father.

While you and Tsumiki prepared dinner, Toji was telling Megumi about the romantic drama he was watching.

"So the mother is cheating on the father with his brother and the daughter is dating her math teacher who also happens to be her older sister's fiancé."

Megumi blinked at the television screen.

"Toji, what the heck are you teaching your son?"

"The complications of family," he answered.

You sighed.

"I finished chopping the carrots," said Tsumiki.

"Thank you."

Once the two of you finished preparing dinner, you forced Toji to get off his ass to set the table. You even stood behind him, refusing to help as he set the table begrudgingly.

When he was finally done, the four of you sat down at the dining table to eat. Megumi was a bit of a messy eater, but he tried his best to create the littlest amount of messes possible.

You would often wipe his mouth with a napkin and tell him it was okay to be messy, then you would turn to Toji and say, "Stop being a slob."

For dessert, you allowed the children to have chocolate pocky since it was a bit late for ice cream and you knew any cold desserts always gave Megumi a brain-freeze.

"Hey, let's play the pocky game," Toji suggested.

"Get your gross face away from me," you retorted.

Once the four of you were full, you cleaned the table and stood next to Toji in front of the sink—you were forcing him to wash the dishes.

"Look, I'm just saying. You already cook for me and provide for me, so we should just get married," he said.

"I don't hear anything."

"Bad hearing must come with the age, huh?"

You glared at him. "You di—" You glanced at the children. "Delightful person."

Toji sent you an amused glance to which you rolled your eyes at. You slapped the towel you were holding against his ass before placing it on the counter.

"Where are you going?" he asked as you turned around.

"I need to poop," you said in an obvious tone. "Don't miss me too much, loser."

While you walked away into the bathroom, he was staring at you the whole time while absentmindedly washing the dishes. Once you were gone, Toji turned toward his children and noticed Tsumiki was looking at him with a grin on her face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're in love with her," she said.

He scoffed. "I'm not."

"Whatever you say, Dad."

He scoffed and finished washing the dishes and when you came back after your business, you tucked Megumi and Tsumiki into bed.

"Good night, Megumi. I love you," you said as you kissed his forehead. You walked over to Tsumiki who was in the next bed over. "Good night, Tsumiki. I love you," you said as you kissed her forehead.

You turned the lights off and left the room, quietly closing the door before walking back into the living room to see Toji watching his romantic drama again.

"Is the episode not finished?" you questioned as you sat next to him.

"Sweetheart, it has fourteen seasons," he retorted.

"And what season are you on?"

"Two."

"I'm going to die before you finish this damn series," you retorted.

You said that yet you still sat next to him, side pressed against his while his arm splayed behind you on the back of the couch.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the middle of the third episode that had just started. Your head was resting on his shoulder. He stared at you and faintly smiled before picking you up to bring you to bed.

While walking to your room, he ran into Megumi who had woken up to use the bathroom. He was simply standing there silently with a stuffed dog in his hand.

He was looking at his father, blinking at the sight of you in his father's arms and all Toji said was, "I know what you're thinking and it's not like that, you brat.

[mandoalorian]

The Nanny [Maxwell Lord x Dave York x F!Reader] SMUT

Summary: Dave York is cold and rough around the edges, but he’s all you’ve ever been used to. And you’ve never been opposed to the amazing sex that comes alongside working for him, as a nanny for his two young daughters. However, things seem to spice up when you’re requested to watch over none other than Maxwell Lord’s son, and the two meet in an unlikely situation.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT; threesome, unprotected piv, fingering, male receiving oral, female receiving oral, orgasm denial, creampie, cunnilingus, choking, slapping, use of handcuffs, use of vibrator (on Maxwell!), face fucking, degradation kink, voyeurism kink, praise kink, food mention, allusions to murder/missing person. The suburban murder daddy and my sexy capitalist boyfriend come with their own warnings ;)

Word Count: 7000>

Masterlist

REBLOGS ARE SO APPRECIATED. 💛

He was your best customer. You’d been a nanny for the York family for two years now, and Alice and Molly were sweetest children you’d ever worked with. They were good as gold, always doing their homework to the best of their ability, they had wonderful manners thanks to their parenting, and they played nicely together. However, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a second motive for babysitting the girls.

Dave York was a single father. Despite being close to the family, you never asked what happened to Carol (his ex-wife/Alice and Molly’s mother), you assumed it was a touchy subject and quite frankly, none of your business. It did pique your curiosity though, how she had just seemed to vanish into thin air. It was unexplained, and you assumed it was hard on the family, especially the kids. Although Dave had been handling it quite well all things considered. It was strange to you, how they never spoke a word of her. She was truly an enigma. You saw her face in the very few family portraits that were peppered around the house, but that was all.

When Carol disappeared two years ago, Dave figured he’d need an extra pair of hands to help around the house while he was at work. You had your own place, sure, but you practically lived with the York family anyway. You had the mornings and early afternoons to yourself because Molly went to school, Alice got sent to daycare and Dave went to the office, but it was at night when he needed you the most.

You didn’t know where Dave went at night. He’d call you, once or twice a week on short notice, telling you he needed you to watch the girls. Whatever he was doing, he called it business, and didn’t explain it further. Dave was super accommodating to you, immediately telling you that you could just make yourself at home in his beautiful, extensive sized suburban house. He was like family to you. In fact, he was more. Dave relished in his own independence, but the truth was, he relied on you more than he’d like to admit.

You had your own room-- a soft, plush queen sized bed all to yourself. He even let you decorate. You smiled fondly at the memory of getting the girls to help paint the walls with you while their father was out on a ‘job’ one night. Your smile grew even wider when you remembered hearing the front door open in the early hours of the morning, and shuffling about downstairs. Every time Dave would come home, he’d slide into your bedroom and climb on top of you, smelling suspiciously like blood and sweat (although you knew better than to question it). His demeanour was ravenous and primal as he’d slide his thick, calloused fingers along your body. He’d push your nightgown up, squeeze your thighs, lift your legs up and wrap them around his waist. You were fucking him, sure. And you had been for the past two years. He was the most attractive man you’d ever met, with dark hair and big brown eyes. He was rough around the edges, intimidating, but it only spurred you on even more. Of course, nothing was ever made official. You were nothing more than his daughters’ nanny, just lucky enough to have your own bedroom in the York family home.

Dave was your only source of income, and he provided you with enough to get by. You never requested a large sum of money for watching the girls-- to be honest, you’d be satisfied enough with just the sex, but the pay was decent. You hadn’t really gotten any other babysitting jobs, and when you had, you’d deny them for the sake of keeping Dave in good spirits. You’d favour him over any client. Except today.

Your phone rang and you dived into your purse to answer it. The girls were playing on the floor and Dave was buttoning up his winter coat. “Hello?” you answered, not recognising the number.

“Yes, hello,” a feminine voice replied. “This is Raquel, I’m an assistant to Mr. Maxwell Lord, the CEO of Black Gold Cooperative.”

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head upon recognising the name. “The oil guy from TV?!” you gasped, slapping your hand over your mouth in disbelief. Dave turned to you, quirking an eyebrow as he tried to gauge your reaction.

“As you may know, Mr. Lord is an esteemed businessman and well, he saw your advertisement in the paper saying you were a nanny-for-hire.” Raquel trailed off before pushing straight to the point. “He has a son, Alistair, six years old. He was wondering if you could watch him tonight? We’ve tried every other nanny in the area but no one else can take him short notice.”

“I- I’m actually on a job right now…” you bit your lip nervously.

“Mr. Lord will pay handsomely.” Raquel hummed, trying to coherese you.

“Just a moment,” you placed your mobile on the coffee table and looked up at Dave, whose dark eyes were already burning into you. They hadn’t left you once. He gave you a questioning look and a shaky exhale left your lips. You didn’t know why you were this nervous -- maybe it was just the intimidating aura Dave gave off. “Uhm… you know that guy on the television with the blonde hair who sells oil?”

“Maxwell Lord.” Dave said, matter-of-factly. You were slightly impressed that Dave already knew who he was.

“Uh… yeah, well. He has a son, apparently. And he can’t get a sitter. And he’s asked for me.” Dave’s expression didn’t change once.

“And?” 

Why was your heart beating this fast? Why were you so fucking afraid of pissing Dave off?

“I-- nothing. You’re right. I’ll just tell him--” you stammered, reaching to grab your cell again.

“--tell him that you’ll take the job, I hope.” Dave’s lips curled into a smirk as he finished your sentence for you.

That was… weird. He didn’t seem jealous or anything like he’d usually be. He fiddled with the rest of his buttons on his coat before flicking his wrist out and checking the time on his watch.

“Are you-- are you sure?” you asked cautiously.

“Of course!” Dave beamed. “How old is the kid?”

“Same age as Alice.” you hummed.

“Perfect,” Dave smiled before kneeling down to kiss the forehead of his two little girls. “Daddy’s heading out now but there’s gonna be a little boy coming over to play with you. So be kind to him, okay?”

“Okay daddy, love you.” Molly smiled, wrapping her small chubby arms around her father’s neck.

“Love you too princess.” Dave chuckled and your heart gushed with warmth upon witnessing the interaction. Dave York might have been a scary man but he was a hell of a good father.

“Hi,” you said, picking the phone back up and putting it to your ear. “I can watch his kid but-- he’ll have to bring him here. Uhm… how long for?”

“One second,” Raquel hummed, holding the phone to her chest and looking over at the blonde haired businessman who was sitting at his expensive oak wood desk, neck deep in paperwork. “Mr. Lord?” Maxwell glanced up at Raquel, his eyes tired and a strand of his hair falling in his face. “She can do it but she requests that you bring Alistair over to the house she’s currently working at. And she wants to know how long she’ll have to watch him for.”

Maxwell sighed, exasperated, before looking back down at the paperwork and trying to gauge how long it would take him. “Three… four hours maybe?”

Raquel nodded her head in understanding. “Four hours max,” she promised you. “What is the address?” You gave her the address of the York homestead, watching Dave as he left the house without even muttering as much as a goodbye. Raquel scribbled down the address and handed it over to Maxwell who stood up and fixed his tie. “Thank you Ms Y/L/N, your service is very much appreciated.”

“Oh please just call me--”

And then the line went dead. That was… weird.

Maxwell grabbed his suit jacket and straightened out his clothes, grimacing at the ache in his back that he had from sitting at his desk all day. He shuffled out of his office, took the elevator downstairs, and found his son Alistair playing with a train set in the lobby of Black Gold Cooperative.

“Daddy!” Alistair cried out excitedly, shooting to his feet and running up to his father.

“Hi buddy!” Maxwell grinned, forcing out some enthusiasm as he knelt down and wrapped his arms around Alistair, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Are you finished work now? Can we go home?” Alistair quizzed, and Maxwell’s heart broke at the hopeful spark in his eyes.

“Ah-- not quite,” Maxwell admitted and Alistair’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “But I’m going to take you over to someone’s house… a uh-- a friend! And she will watch over you until daddy finishes work. I just don’t want you to be bored, okay? Raquel is going home now and I can’t… I can’t watch you. So…”

Alistair frowned sadly. “But I don’t want to go… I want to stay here. With you.” he mumbled.

“I know sweetie, but I won’t be too late, okay? And once I’m done tonight we can spend the whole day tomorrow together. How does that sound?” 

“You said that yesterday…” Alistair whispered.

Maxwell sighed and pulled his son into an even tighter hug. “I-- I’m sorry. You know I’m doing my best, don’t you?”

“I know.” Alistair sniffed.

“And I want to give you the best life. Better than all the other kids. And better than what your old man had when he was your age. So… I have to work hard, okay? And one day you’ll get your pool that you want. And the pony and the race car…”

“I don’t want that daddy, I just want you.” Alistair confessed, his dark eyes glazed with unshed tears.

Maxwell pressed a kiss into Alistair’s forehead and pulled off him. “Okay. Go get your coat and I’ll pack up your trainset.”

“Can I take it to your friend’s house?” he questioned, his lips curling into a smile.

“Of course.” Maxwell replied.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Holy shit. He was even more attractive in real life than what he was on television. You weren’t necessarily nervous when you heard the knock on the door, but when you answered it, your heart slammed against your chest. Maxwell Lord stood before you, holding the hand of his son, but your eyes were just completely fixated on him. He donned a slightly oversized power-suit that broadened his shoulders significantly. It was a pale blue colour and even under the dark evening sky you noticed the lilac and purple tie and matching pocket square. It made you smile. It was endearing, almost.

“Good evening.” Max grinned that same, charming, TV smile that was so familiar. 

“Hi.” you sighed longingly, your eyes wide and doe-shaped as you became lost in his gaze.

He looked like a fairytale prince. His hair was styled perfectly and despite the hour, you’d never expected his designer outfit to be pressed so perfectly.

“I’m Max Lord.” Maxwell greeted.

“I know.” you hummed, biting your lip as your eyes trailed down his body.

Maxwell chuckled, finding you absolutely adorable. He cleared his throat and gently pushed a begrudgent Alistair in front of him. “This is my son, Alistair.”

“Yeah…” you murmured. Molly tugged on your arm and pulled you straight out of your thoughts about Mr. Lord. “Uhm-- shit! Right. Sorry!” you gasped, becoming flustered. “Oh fuck-- I didn’t mean to curse-- I just--”

Maxwell raised his eyebrows and gently placed a hand on your arm. “It’s okay.” he said slowly and you felt your cheeks flush with heat.

“Um…” you took Alistair’s hand and grinned. “Hi love, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello.” Alistair said quietly.

“Now Ali, don’t be shy.” Maxwell chastised.

“It’s okay,” you reassured Maxwell. “Uhm, this is Molly.” you presented Alistair and Maxwell with Dave’s little girl who had been standing by your side the entire time.

Alistair’s eyes lit up excitedly when he saw Molly. “Hi Molly, I’m Alistair Lorenz--Lord. Do you maybe want to be friends?”

“Hi Alistair Lord. I’m Molly York. Do you like popcorn?”

“Yes.” Alistair nodded merrily.

“Okay. We can be friends. Come with me.” Molly said, grabbing Alistair’s hand and pulling him into the house.

“I don’t have many friends…” you overheard Alistair say as the children padded into the living room and your heart shattered. He was clearly such a sweet little boy. 

“Uhm, thanks for the favour. Short-notice and all.” Maxwell said, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s honestly fine.” you assured Max.

“Okay. Good. It was uh-- nice to meet you.” Maxwell smiled, before taking your hand and brushing a soft yet polite kiss over your knuckles. His gaze didn’t break away from you once and the butterflies in the pit of your stomach were overwhelming. His soft lips against your skin felt like an electric and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel capturing your own lips with his.

“You too.” you gasped.

“I’ll… see you later tonight.” Max grinned, dropping your hand and straightening out his suit once more.

“Okay. Yeah. Tonight.” you replied nervously, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Good night.” Max said politely before spinning around on his heel and walking back down the lawn to his Cadillac.

“Night!” you called after him, and he waved his hand.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As it turned out, Alistair was the sweetest little boy you had ever watched over. After Molly insisted you make popcorn, and Alice begged you to put on The Little Mermaid, the four of you were lounging on the floor in a hand-crafted pillow fortress. The conversations between the three children were endearing, to say the least.

Alice: Y/N, what do you want to be when you’re older?

You: Well, when I was little I wanted to be a veterinarian and look after all the sick animals.

Molly: That’s what I want to do!

Alice: I want to be a princess. 

Molly: What do you want to be, Alistair?

Alistair: I want to be like my dad, I s’pose.

Alistair didn’t talk much-- he definitely was shy and you could tell he wasn’t used to being around other kids, which was truly a shame. He didn’t have the communication skills that Alice and Molly had and by the sounds of it, he was living a pretty sheltered life-- private school and all. But if one thing was clear, it was how much Alistair idolised his father.

The kids played well together, all three of them dressing up as different Disney princesses. Before the movie even finished, they passed out and fell asleep on the floor. You didn’t bother carrying them to bed, not wanting to wake them. They looked comfortable enough in their LED lit castle made from blankets. So you just left them there, and changed into your own pajamas. You settled down for the evening with a glass of red wine and changed the movie to something you figured you’d enjoy more.

You found your mind wandering, thinking about the businessman whose son you were babysitting. In fact, you hadn’t even thought about Dave once. It was a welcome change. Maxwell was definitely gone for over four hours but he was so handsome, you absolutely could not stay mad at him for one moment. When the knock came at the door, at around 2a.m., you gasped and raced over to the mirror to fix your appearance the best you could. You grabbed your silk robe and wrapped it over your body before padding to the front door and unlocking it.

Maxwell greeted you with a bouquet of roses, and your jaw dropped. “Oh my--”

“These are for you.” Maxwell beamed. “An apology for being so late.”

“You really didn’t have too…” you smiled but graciously took the bouquet from him nonetheless. “Where did you even get these from? It’s so late. Nowhere’s open.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Maxwell hummed, watching you intently as you turned away from him to place the roses on the side table in the entryway.

His eyes clung to your body and he admired the way the silk robe hung against your perfect shape, emphasising the curve in your ass and even the way your nipples poked through the material. It was cold outside, afterall. When you turned back to face him, you noticed that his eyes were almost black and lust blown. You swallowed and offered him a nervous smile. 

“Alistair is asleep. Would you uhm-- like to come in? For a nightcap?”

“Yeah,” Maxwell’s response came instantly in a breathy sigh. He let himself in, pushing past you and his broad chest grazing against your own, much softer chest. “Nice place you have.”

“Oh… thanks. It’s actually not my home-- I mean, I live here but…”

“I used to live in this neighbourhood,” Maxwell muttered, nosing around the different rooms. “Before my big pay rise, obviously.”

You gulped and looked down, following him around the house. You opened the living room door. “Alistair is sleeping.” you whispered and Max just smiled. “The kitchen is this way. What do you usually drink?”

“Do you have whiskey?”

Yeah. Dave’s whiskey.

“Um yes… I think so…” you mumbled, checking the liquor cabinet.

You gasped when a strong arm wrapped around your waist and gave your hip a little squeeze. Maxwell nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and pressed a soft kiss into your skin. “Is it okay if I do this?” he whispered, licking a stripe across your jaw.

Your eyes snapped shut as you tried to fight back a moan. “Y-yes.”

Maxwell skillfully navigated his hand to the ribbon that binded your robe together and tugged on it so the thin material fell open. His large ring clad fingers rolled over your stomach and grabbed your tits, squeezing them a few times as he nibbled down onto your skin.

“Your wife… I mean-- uhm… Alistair’s mother?” you huffed, leaning into his touch. You had to make sure.

“Divorced.” Maxwell promised, and you smiled longingly before turning around and pressing your palms flat against his chest. He chuckled darkly and pushed the robe off your shoulders, letting it fall to the tiled kitchen floor.

He swallowed upon seeing you in your short lace nightgown, that cut off mid-thigh. He felt his cock began to throb within the confines of his tailored suit pants just from looking at you. 

“So… hard day at the office?” you cooed, helping him out of his suit jacket and tugging on his tie.

“So hard.” Maxwell grumbled, biting his lip before leaning in and capturing your lips into a kiss. You moaned under his touch and pressed your body into his. His hands found your ass you began to rub your knee over his erection.

“I see,” you giggled. “Would you… would you like to see my bedroom, Mr. Lord.”

Maxwell grinned and pecked your lips. “Yeah, but please, call me Max.”

Max. 

God, you were smitten.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You had been so caught up with Maxwell you had honestly forgotten about Dave. The same Dave who came home at around 3 a.m. every single night, who fucked you senseless until you couldn’t walk the next morning. He was a man who didn’t want to be messed with-- but shamelessly, you had completely forgotten about him. And poor Max hadn’t even got a warning. The second Dave got home and saw the discarded bouquet of roses on the side table, he saw red. Someone else trying to seduce you? That was never going to be okay with Dave. You were his and his only.

“Oh fuck Max please,” you gasped, thrusting your hips upwards as he needlily sucked on your clit. You arched your back, burying your face into your soft pillow. “So good.”

“You taste so fucking sweet.” Maxwell gasped, the curve of his nose nudging against your sensitive bud. You cried out with pleasure and grabbed a fistful of the blankets as you felt yourself begin to chase your oncoming high.

“Doesn’t she?” Dave’s deep voice came from the bedroom door, where he’d been watching Maxwell go down on you for the last ten minutes. Your heart dropped when you heard him-- and clearly, it was unexpected for Maxwell too. His chocolate brown eyes looked up at you as he tore his face from your soaking pussy. His lips were wet with the sheen from your arousal and he licked at them, relishing your flavour before turning around to face Dave.

Dave chuckled dryly. “No, please, don’t stop. I can't have you deny my nanny of an orgasm, can I?”

You felt your eyes go comically wide. “Dave I-- I can explain-”

“No need babygirl,” Dave reassured you, but his tone was dripping with malice. “Now… why don’t you show Mr. Lord how good you can be by cumming in his mouth?” 

Maxwell hummed in surprise and proceeded to press a sloppy kiss into the apex of your thigh before giving you a kitten lick between your folds. “Fuck!” you gasped, celebrating in the way his golden tongue felt like magic. He was a salesman, sure, and a persuasive one at that-- but Maxwell Lord knew how to use his tongue efficiently, that much was clear.

“Didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” Maxwell growled, pinching your skin between his teeth.

“I don’t.” you sighed, tossing your head slightly and reaching down to lace your fingers into the CEO’s hair.

“So who is he?” Maxwell interrogated. You held back, knowing that if you replied he might stop lapping you up. It felt too good to risk it. Maxwell plunged a thick finger into your entrance without warning, causing you to squeal at the intrusion.

“Shit!” you cried out. Maxwell steadied his finger inside of you and began to brush the digit against your sweet spot as he began sucking on your clit, his cheek even hollowing. “I can’t-- I can’t hold on. I’m gonna--”

Your orgasm struck you before you could even get the words out. The hot blaze of wildfire rushed through your body and your mind was filled with such haze you hadn’t even heard Dave discard his belt and unzip his own trousers.

Maxwell dug his fingernails into your inner thighs as you came undone in his mouth. Gently, he pulled away from you again and stood up. His eyes followed Dave who was now naked and pumping his cock by the side of the bed.

“Who are you?” Maxwell changed his tactic by asking the darker haired man this time.

“You’ll soon find out,” Dave shot back. He turned to you and raised his hand, slapping your cheek so you focused your attention on him rather than Max. Maxwell was taken aback by his action, but truth be told, sex with Dave was always on the rougher side. “Open your mouth.” Dave commanded, and you happily obliged.

Still laying on your back, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. Dave pressed one knee down onto the bed next to you and pushed his cock in between your lips before fucking your mouth. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you adjusted to his length, and he thrusted into you with no remorse. You were used to it though, gagging around his girth and letting a mixture of your saliva and his precum dip down your face.

Maxwell’s eyes darted between you and Dave. He didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on before.

“Take your clothes off,” Dave said to Max, before groaning as you swiped your tongue along the underside of his cock. “Baby, why don’t you watch him undress.”

Maxwell stood up, even feeling slightly nervous. He shouldn’t be nervous. He’d hosted thousands of high press business meetings before, he’d even spoken at the White House and done broadcasts that had been seen by millions all around the world. He stood up and began to slowly undo the buttons down his shirt, and, just like Dave had requested, you watched him with a primal glint in your eye.

He was so hot. He wore an undershirt too. And when he took that off, it revealed a gorgeous tan chest. You watched him pull down his tailored pants and noticed the small pink blush cross his cheeks. That’s when you decided you actually, really liked Max.

You liked Dave too. Dave knew how to satisfy you in every way possible. He was always there, ready to go. And Dave was your protector. Somehow, you just knew that if anyone ever hurt you, Dave would make sure they never got the liberty of meeting you again. Dave was brutal, and certainly a little rough around the edges, but you didn’t mind it.

This thing with Maxwell though was new. He was handsome and polite. You’d never had a customer bring you red roses as a token of their appreciation before. He was flirtatious but also, so far, sex with him had been a lot sweeter and passionate. It was a new experience and you certainly weren’t opposed to it.

Once Max was completely naked, Dave’s lips curled into a smirk. “Good boy,” he cooed, and Maxwell felt his cock twitch at the appraisal. “You can use her, you know? Do whatever you want. Why don’t you fuck her?”

Of course the thought had crossed Maxwell’s mind, but he’d never got off with a woman in front of another man before. His delay in a response prompted Dave to speak up.

“I see you on TV,” Dave chuckled. “I know you’re not shy.”

That’s when Max remembered he had a reputation to uphold. Dave was right, he wasn’t shy. Maxwell Lord was powerful and he exuded confidence and charisma. He wasn’t going to let Dave intimidate him anymore.

You pulled off Dave with a wet pop and gasped for air. “He’s right Max,” you assured him, wiping your lips. “Anything you want.”

“I want a blowjob,” Maxwell shrugged casually. Dave quirked an eyebrow. 

“From me or her?” He asked incredulously and Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up even more.

“Her obviously!” Maxwell said, his voice heightening an octave and you burst out into a fit of laughter.

“Okay,” you agreed and gave Dave a tug on his dick. “Change positions.”

Still hard, Dave padded over to the end of the bed and Maxwell knelt next to you.

“You’re so big Maxie,” you hummed, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock and starting to jerk him off slowly. Your pace was teasing, but Maxwell didn’t press you to go further. He knew you would in your own time. The nickname ‘Maxie’ had the blonde haired man throb in your hands and you giggled, pressing a sweet kiss to his tip.

Dave turned around from the bed for just a second, and opened the bottom drawer of your dresser. He knew you kept a box of very special toys underneath all your panties, since he was the one who had bought them for you in the first place. Opening the velvet black box, he sighed in delight, reflecting on all the different things he could use.

Dave took out a pair of padded handcuffs and presented them to both you and Maxwell, the metal chain dangling before your eyes. He passed the cuffs to Max and pointed his finger.

“Tie her to the bed. It’ll keep her still while I fuck her.” Dave ordered and you felt your pussy clench around nothing as you anticipated what was to come.

“Are you alright with this?” Max leaned into you and whispered, wanting to be sure. His hot breath fanned over your earlobe and it sent a shiver down to your core. You nodded your head ‘yes’ and Maxwell unclicked the cuffs before carefully attaching them to your wrists, and then the bars of your headboard. You wiggled around, getting comfortable before spreading your legs wide for Dave.

You already felt yourself becoming increasingly sensitive from when you’d just come from Max’s tongue, but countless experiences with Dave meant that you could go at least another two or three times.

“Shit baby,” Dave muttered under his breath, drinking in the sight of you. Your folds were glistening and it was clear that Max’s thick finger had already stretched you open quite a bit. “You’re beautiful.”

“Come on and fuck me,” you moaned before turning to face Max again.

This entire time you’d been stroking his length, and like a good boy, he’d just been taking it. But Max had asked for a blow job and that was exactly what he was going to receive.

You started by giving him small kitten licks along his slit, collecting his salty precum on your tongue. You had to admit, he tasted delicious. He was thick though, thicker than Dave, and you managed to wrap your lips around just his head before feeling the need to take a moment to let your mouth adjust.

As you sucked on his tip, part of you wished that you weren’t cuffed to the bed. You would have brought your free hand down to the base of his cock and begin to cradle his balls, squeezing them and tracing your fingers along the skin there. The guttural whimpers that escaped Max’s throat were enough to soak your cunt again, which was just as well when you started to feel the bulbous head of Dave’s cock teasingly slide between your pussy lips.

The shock when Dave slid his entire length inside of you came without a warning, and somehow, it got you to open your mouth even wider so you could fit more of Max into your mouth. You supposed it all worked out.

The sound of the chain clanking against the metal bed frame filled the room as Dave began to thrust his cock in and out of you, his movements fast and rough just like always. He pulled your legs over his head, giving him complete access to sink himself right into you. You wanted to scream as he filled you up, his cock brushing against that sweet spot he had memorised inside of you every damn time.

Instead, you forced yourself to keep your cool and continued sucking off Max. You made the effort to open your eyes and look up at the boy who you had wrapped around your lips. His once styled hair was now disheveled and falling into his face, and you had to fight the urge to push it back. His chocolate brown eyes were on Dave though as he watched the man fuck you fast and hard. Dave’s pace was bruising and you knew that you wouldn’t last long.

Dave could tell you were close by the way your pussy walls clenched around him, aching to milk him of his seed.

“Want me to cum inside of you, pretty girl?” Dave asked, and you nodded your head desperately. 

“Jesus-- fuck!” Max gasped, his large ring clad hands coming down to hold your head in place. 

“You gonna cum down her throat, Lord?” Dave quizzed, but there was almost a taunting nature to his question that Max didn’t like one bit.

Getting a few more sucks out of you, Max doubled back and pulled himself out of your mouth completely, depriving himself of his own orgasm. You were surprised to say the least.

“You could’ve-- fuck-- you could’ve cum down my throat,” you moaned as Dave leaned over your fully exposed body and thrusted harder. “I would’ve let you.”

But Maxwell’s eyes had caught focused on the velvet black box Dave had left out. Curiously, he wandered over to it and took a look at the contents for himself.

While Max was momentarily absent, Dave made it his mission to get you to cum again. He brought his thumb down to your clit and began to rub tight circles into your sensitive bundle of nerves. You were so wet, the noises that were coming from your cunt were obscene and if you weren’t already so comfortable around Dave, you might have been embarrassed. His thrusts became sloppy and erratic as he started to chase his own high.

He knew that the second you came, the second your perfect pussy tightened around his cock, he’d spill inside of you. So that was his goal.

Maxwell familiarized himself with a small bullet vibrator, silver in colour, and switched it on. The buzzing noise alerted both you and Dave, your heads snapping to face him. Dave halted in his movements and you couldn’t hide the way your lips curled into a grin, seeing Max with the vibrator in his hand.

“Come here and untie me,” you requested of Max. Max gulped and removed the handcuffs from your wrists. You rubbed the skin where they’d been gripping you and took the vibrator from Max. “Have you ever used one of these before?”

“Huh?” Max asked, furrowing his eyebrows together. He’d initially planned on using it with you. Holding it against your clit while Dave fucked you.

You giggled and held the vibrator to the tip of Max’s cock. The vibrations ran through his body and his eyes snapped shut as the pleasure consumed him. How come he’d never thought of trying this before? It felt so good.

Dave resumed fucking you and now, with your free hands, it meant you could stroke Maxwell’s cock. The combination of the vibrator and your hand was enough to send Maxwell over the edge.

He came, all over your face, his milky white seed spurting out. His load was impressively big and you opened your mouth wide for him, hoping to at least taste some of it.

After that, it was like a chain reaction. Once Max had finished, the feeling of his warm cum dripping down your skin sent you into a frenzy and you came around Dave, your walls clenching around his manhood. The feeling of you gripping him tighter than a vice meant that on Dave’s final thrust, he spilled inside of you, just like he wanted. The heat of Max’s cum on your face and the warmth of Dave’s cum fill you up felt amazing. You laid there, panting and breathless, wondering how you had ever gotten so lucky.

You tossed the vibrator to one side and extended your arms, pulling Max down on top of you and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “Was that okay?” you asked him, and he nodded his head, unable to hide the grin across his lips.

“Never done anything like that before,” Max admitted bashfully. “But I’d like to do it again.”

Helping Maxwell explore his sexuality like this could be really fun, you thought. You cupped your hands around his cheeks and he nudged his nose against yours. The intimacy between you both was outstanding and you loved every second of it.

“Good,” you smiled. “By the way, that’s Dave. He’s uhm.. I watch his kids.” 

Maxwell looked back over at Dave who was tidying up the little black toybox. “Hi.” Dave mumbled awkwardly.

You shot your employer a glare. “Really Dave? You just fucked the shit out of me in front of Max, and now you’re gonna be all weird with him?”

Maxwell reluctantly pulled away from you, stifling a laugh before putting his clothes back on. 

“You can uh, stay the night. If you like,” Dave offered. “It’s late and I’m sure you don’t wanna wake your kid up.”

Maxwell scratched the back of his head as he contemplated Dave’s comment. He made a good point. “I can take the couch?” Max asked. “I really don’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t be silly,” you smiled, interlocking your fingers with his and pulling him back over to your bed. “You can sleep with me… if you’d like.” 

And boy did Maxwell like the sound of that. “Do you uh-- do you sleep with her? I mean. Besides her?” Max asked Dave.

“He never sleeps next to me,” you replied for him. “Prefers to sleep alone like the cold man he is.”

“Whatever,” Dave sighed. “I’m going to bed. Night.” 

You rolled your eyes and blew Dave a kiss goodnight before turning back to Maxwell and pulling him back down onto the bed. You worked at the buttons of his shirt and pulled the expensive material off his broad shoulders.

“Is he… married?” Maxwell asked you nervously.

“Why? You interested?” you asked, a joking lilt to your voice, but Max just scowled. “No,” you told him. “His wife uh-- went missing a while ago. Before I worked here. She was presumed dead. Sometimes I think Dave killed her.” you scoffed incredulously and Maxwell’s jaw stood agape.

“Are you serious?” he asked and you laughed.

“No, I don’t think so,” you said, swatting his arm playfully. “Dave can be cold, and rough. But behind that mean face he’s actually a good guy. A good father.”

Maxwell nodded knowingly. “Well that’s good then.” he mumbled. It was so easy to compare himself to other dads out there, knowing he’d never be good enough for Alistair.

“Are you okay?” you asked Max, smoothing out his dark blonde hair and kissing his jaw softly.

“Yeah, of course,” Maxwell reassured you, suddenly flashing one of his famous, charming television grins. He picked the bullet vibrator up and twiddled it between his fingers. “What do you think about going for a round two?” he smirked. “Just us. And maybe this time I can use this on you?”

You smiled, roaming your hands along his soft chest. “I like that idea.” you whispered wantonly before attaching your lips to his and pulling him on top of you.

You liked Dave. He knew his way around your body, he knew how to make you feel good and safe. But Maxwell came with feelings. He was attentive and affectionate, things you’d never had in a sexual relationship before. You were excited to see where things went between you two.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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[thefloorisbalaclava]

hi lovie how r u? I dunno if u r taking requests, but maybe... I was thinking something where Javier starts to get a little bit cold towards y/n cos he saw horrible things that the narcos, pablo sicarios, did to some woman's relative to some other guys, including to Connie's cat and he's scared as hell they do something to y/n but when he realizes she's so sad and down, peña stars to show little acts of love in secrecy, like a note, one flower, a ring, just I don't know some angst and fluffy sorry for this long ass ask. thank you for your good posts ♡

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of violence, flashbacks, trauma, mentions of sex

A/N: My friend and I have been talking about Javi a lot lately so you sent this at the perfect time! Thanks!

[Javier Peña masterlist]

“Are you coming to see me today?” you asked Javier over the phone. He looked around the office then lowered his voice.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He regretted it almost immediately.

“I haven’t seen you in a week, Javi,” you reminded him. It was becoming plainly obvious that he was trying to avoid you or at least distance himself from you. What had you done wrong?

“I’ve been...busy,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie but just a few weeks ago, he had made time to see you almost every day.

“Right,” you sighed. You looked at the bags of groceries you bought to make dinner for you and him tonight. “Whatever.”

Javier sighed loudly. “I’ll call you later. I-” You hung up before he could finish whatever it was he was going to say. He slammed the phone down on the receiver and put his head in his hands. “Fuck,” he whispered.

He knew getting involved with you was a bad idea and not because you weren’t good or anything like that. If anything, you were too good. Fucking perfect. You were his safe haven, his softness, his saving grace. And that was the problem. You saved him but what if he couldn’t save you? He had seen what could happen to you. If anyone wanted to hurt him, you’re the first person they would go after and he couldn’t have that. He experienced firsthand with someone he loved and, God, he couldn’t live through that again. So he had to leave you.

Because he loved you.

You stared at him in awe as he stood in front of you and told you this. Then you scoffed and turned away. It was all you could do to stop yourself from slapping him in his stupid, beautiful face.

“To protect me?” you repeated bitterly. “Just say that you don’t wanna be with me and stop using work as an excuse.”

“I’m not here to argue with you,” he said calmly.

“No, you’re only here to break my heart,” you snapped. “Well...you can go.”

“Okay but-”

“No! Just go...please.” You couldn’t look at him mostly because you were so angry but also because you didn’t want him to see the tears in your eyes. “I’m sure there’s a woman out there who will happily welcome you back into her bed.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said and finally you whipped around to look at him.

“Fuck you, Javier.” You didn’t care if he saw the tears now. “If you’re being cold and indifferent to try and make this easier...fine. It worked. Get out. I never want to see you again.” You stormed away only to grab the pack of cigarettes he left on your table for when he came over. “Don’t forget these.” You threw the pack, hitting him directly in the face.

He scoffed and picked the cigarettes up then turned to the door. He stopped as if he was going to say something but then you heard the door close behind you and he was gone. Only when he was back in his car did he let his emotions show. His eyes filled with tears and he hit the steering wheel over and over again before putting his head against it. He tried lighting a cigarette but his hands shook so badly that it was impossible. Another burst of anger as he threw his lighter somewhere in his car.

He had to do it. Right? He had to. He couldn’t stand having another one of those dreams about finding Helena only for her to change into you when he got close enough.

There were plenty of nights where he would sit outside your place in his car just to make sure you got home okay. He was dreading the day he saw a man following you inside. He also wondered if you got any of the notes and gifts he left for you. This was the safest thing for now. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes when you found another note from Javier slipped under your door, another little gift for you on the table, and a bottle of your favorite wine. The first time it happened you could only laugh to yourself when you remembered that he still had a key to your place.

As always, you threw everything in the garbage.

Except for the notes. For some reason you couldn’t part with them. Maybe because they smelled like him--that faint smell of his soap mixed with the smell of his cigarettes. Maybe because when you read them you did so in his voice. That goddamn voice of his and how it could change so quickly. Sometimes it was sweet and welcoming with just enough rasp to give him that air of that bad boy type. Other times it was low and growly which was usually reserved for when he was inside you, talking dirty to you, calling you a bad girl but how you were so good for taking him so well.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip at the thought.

“Enough,” you said quietly, walking over to grab that unopened bottle of wine from the top of the trash.

Some nights you felt like you were being watched when you walked home from work but not in a threatening way. If Javier was watching you he kept himself hidden well because you could never find his car when you stopped to look for it.

You touched the necklace you wore as you turned the corner to your apartment and Javier watched. It made him sit up a bit when he noticed you were wearing it. He waited until he was sure you were settled down--he knew you had to ear dinner, shower, then watch a little television before you really got ready for bed.

Then he called.

“Hello.” You answered on the third ring like you always did. He didn’t know what to say. Hey, I’m sorry I was an idiot? Hey, I’ve been watching you come home every night like some creep? “Hello?” He could hear the slight annoyance in your tone.

“I-It’s me. It’s Javi,” he finally said.

“Oh...”

“Don’t hang up!” He added quickly.

“I want my key back,” you said.

“So you’ve been getting them?” he asked.

“Getting what?” You looked down at the necklace then touched it.

“The gifts I’ve been leaving you.” He looked up at your window and could see your silhouette through the curtains.

“I throw them all away,” you lied.

“I don’t blame you.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I miss you.”

You were quiet for a long time--afraid to speak because you knew what would happen if you did. “I miss you too,” you cried, sniffling quietly. Javier’s heart ached. He wanted nothing more than to run up those stairs and into your arms. But as soon as he closed his eyes he could only see you lying there, beaten and bloody, all because he couldn’t leave you alone.

“I’m gonna hold you again one day,” he said. “I promise. We’re both gonna get the fuck outta here...so far away. No one will be able to find us.” His throat tightened as his own tears threatened to spill over. “Look out the window...”

“What?”

“Just look out the window.” He looked up at your window just in time to see you carefully pull the curtains back slightly. “Hey hermosa.”

“Hey handsome,” you said tearfully.

“No llores,” he said although there was a tear rolling down his cheek now. “Please, don’t cry.”

“Promise me you’ll hold me again, you’ll kiss me again, you’ll make love to me again,” you cried.

“I promise. I swear to you.” He looked up and saw that you put your hand against the window so he put his against the car window. “I love you.”

“I love you too...you asshole.” You laughed through your tears and it made him smile.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, not wanting to let you go.

“Goodnight, Javi.” You hung up and walked away from the window. It would hurt too much to watch him drive away.

javi taglist: @allthingsnarcos @josepedropascal  @oof-dindjarin @xjustmenobodyelse @rach7 @limenlimon @windfallss @findhimfives @the-bird-suit @oldstuffnewstuff @hoodedbirdie @fakenoods @nathan-bateman @helga1031 @triggerhappyflygirl @master-obi-wan-kenboneme @ladybeediva @heythere80sbaby @16boyfriends-and-me @laymegentlytorest @jeeperky @dee-rosemary @stanfordscrush @panda-angela @dindjstarin @simsiddy @deserttastesbitter @lightan117 @terrormonster55 @darnitdraco @dindjarinneedsahug @queenbbarnes @hells-bells-x @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @dodgerandevans @slugbuggie @allmahfeels @nemo-my-name-forevermore @marvelousmermaid @queridopascal

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[heyaeolus]

Control Freak Tendencies

With: Bokuto Genre: angst to fluff Warnings: bokuto is unconsciously manipulative in this WC: 1.2k

You’ve got a nice ball of energy for a boyfriend and it’s everything that’s been making you sleep nicer at night

He is also someone who is especially adept with emotions so he knows when something is off with you. He sends you hugs and showers you with lots of kisses. But of course, life is not a fairy tale and Bokuto comes with his own imperfections.

Being sensitive with emotions also brings him knowledge on how to use them best

It wasn’t intentional but he unconsciously manipulates you into doing things he wants. When you realized it, there was nothing but a rotten feeling growing in your chest.

The warm sun against your face was the first thing you felt as your senses awakened on a lazy Sunday morning. The second thing was the heavy arm against your stomach restraining your breathing. You looked to your right and found your boyfriend still deep in slumber. It was a nice view to see everyday.

But as much as you wanted to stay, you promised your friends lunch today so you slowly crept out of bed. Knowing your boyfriend, you know waking him up is the least of your concerns since he sleeps like a bear in hibernation. You dashed to the bathroom and got ready to go.

Just when you were about to finish your shower, a gentle series of knocks disturbed the silence in the bathroom. “Baby?” you hear Koutarou’s raspy morning voice seep through the door. You grabbed your robe and hastily wrapped it around you, “Yes, baby?” Your half-awake boyfriend stood before the door, head covered under the blanket he is still clutching. Upon seeing you freshly showered, he rubbed his eyes, “Going somewhere?”

You nodded, walking past him and got to the closet, yanking pieces of clothing out. “Can I go with you?” he asks. You frown, “It’s a lunch with the girls, baby.”

“Can’t I go?” his eyes turn glassy as he pouts behind you, towering your small stature. This is exactly what you were wary of, his clinginess.

“Baby, you know the girls don’t like it when a partner comes in at our lunch dates,” you sigh.

“But it’s lonely here without you,” he reasons, almost breaking your walls. But this lunch is something you’ve promised with your friends that you wouldn’t miss unless you are on the brink of death, that is. And it’s something that keeps you, you.

You face your boyfriend, hands coming up to cradle his face. He instantly slouches to feel your warmth better. “Baby,” you start, “This is one thing I can’t skip so please behave, okay? I’ll just get you a treat once I’m back.”

He sniffs, tears starting to break out, “But you can always attend your next lunch dates! Would you rather me be lonely?”

You huff, now angry. Here he goes again, using emotions to battle everything with you. He somehow always manages to guilt-trip you over small things you wanted to do for yourself and it’s taking a toll on you. He follows you when you go to the bathroom to get dressed but you slammed the door to his face.

“Are you angry now?” he sobs behind the door.

You don’t answer him because you can’t take his possessive antics. You ignored his ramblings, drowning him with the sound of music from your phone. By the time you were done, you dashed to the door out with Koutarou trailing behind you, calling out your name.

“Come on now, baby. Listen to me,” he says and you halt, turning to him with a glare.

“You can’t lock me up in here just because it makes you lonely, ‘Tarou! I’m also a person with a life aside from the one I live with you so I’m going whether you like it or not!” you storm out, making sure the door closes with a loud bang behind you. You didn’t spare him a glance because you know it will also hurt to see him so dejected but that habit of his has to go.

And now here you are, headed home with a heavy feeling in your gut. All throughout the lunch date, you were bugged by the confrontation you had with Bokuto. And it did not help when everyone talked about each other’s relationship. You didn’t open up the fight, you don’t want to dampen the lighthearted atmosphere. You kept it all in until the very moment you had to enter your apartment to be welcomed by an eerily still home.

Not even the television was on, and you have a gut feeling your boyfriend is not home either. Your heart skipped a beat, anxiety creeping up in your veins. You called out his name to make sure but there were no responses. A lot of negative thoughts were running through your mind as you scampered to the bedroom, to the bathroom, to every nook and canny in your house just to make sure Koutarou isn’t hiding there, depressed. But your big buff boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

You pulled out your phone to dial his number when the door opened, revealing none other than Koutarou. He stood there – dumbfounded.

“It’s only two,” he murmurs as if he had been found out. Well, you think he is at least, as you take in the box he before him, roses peeking out of it. You have an inkling of what he plans to do with them.

“Yeah, two,” your voice was shaking when you spoke. Chest heaving up and down as you stop yourself from breaking down. You were so close to weeping your heart out in the thoughts of your boyfriend leaving but now that he is here, you don’t know how to approach him. Are you supposed to be mad again? But your heart says it needs a warm, tight hug from him.

Bokuto deflates before you – emo mode. His eyes were on the ground as he mumbles, “I’m sorry I messed up I didn’t mean to be so clingy, annoying, and possessive, and I don’t want you missing out on events because you don’t ever do that to me. And I know how important your friends are to you – ”

“Tarou,” you attempt to stop him but he completely ignores you, lost in his trance.

“ – and it doesn’t help that I could get so childish sometimes. And I know I can get so annoying and unbearable and I’m lucky to have you and I don’t know – ”

“Koutarou, stop!” you lunge at him, throwing your arms around his neck, clinging ever so tightly.

“Don’t do that again,” you say against his neck. You feel his arms creeping around your waist, the box on the floor long forgotten. “It also pains me to think I’ll have to leave you.”

“I know baby,” he kisses your cheek, “Why were you early though? I was supposed to throw rose petals everywhere! The plan is now wasted.” He groans loudly as he carries you to the living room, settling on the couch with you on his lap.

“I’m here to stop you so I don’t have to clean your mess.” You answer, booping his nose with your index finger.

He gasps dramatically, hand slapping his mouth, “Babe it was a surprise, you know. That hurts.”

You just laugh at him before you were silenced by a sweet kiss from him, “That was actually one of the five boxes. Can you help me pick them up from the car?”

craving for angst to fluff stuff he he he i'm actually planning to make this one into a series so yeah tell me who you want to see next! requests are also always open :>

and yes, i’m trying to be more *active*

[cloversdreams]

mafuyama horrorr movie night PLZ

theyre just cute... let them be soft and happy

-

Mafuyu was half-asleep when he heard a knock at the apartment door. He immediately perked right up at the sound and hurried to answer it. Kedama was right on his heels, happy as could be. Mafuyu neither checked the peephole nor paused. He yanked the door open as soon as he reached it. 

He smiled warmly at the sight of his boyfriend’s cute awestruck expression. As if Ritsuka hadn’t been expecting him to open the door. He was adorable. Mafuyu stepped aside so the other boy could enter then shut the door behind him. Once Ritsuka kicked off his shoes he turned and wrapped his arms around him.

Mafuyu melted into the embrace. It felt like it’d been so long since they’d spent time like this. No homework, no music session, just the two of them enjoying each other’s company. He couldn’t ask for anything better. 

Kedama interrupted his thoughts when he yipped excitedly as he ran circles around the two of them. Mafuyu buried his face in Ritsuka’s shoulder and snickered. He couldn’t help it, he was just so happy right now.

The two of them finally parted and Ritsuka handed him a bag of snacks he’d brought over. Mafuyu thanked him with a little hum. Then the dark-haired boy bent down to greet the needy pup begging for attention. Kedama licked him with as much enthusiasm as his fluffy little body could muster. 

After all that, the two of them wandered through the apartment until they reached the living room while Kedama made a beeline for one of the bedrooms. He was ready for a nap after all that extensive licking. Mafuyu set the snacks onto the coffee table as Ritsuka made himself comfortable on the couch. Then Mafuyu turned on the television and pressed play on the remote. 

He joined Ritsuka on the couch then explained, “I got this movie from Hiiragi. He said it was super scary. Sounds exciting.”

Ritsuka snorted, rolled his eyes, then grumbled, “What does that jerk know?”

[snip...]

Mafuyu hummed softly in agreement. It couldn’t be that bad. Movies were just fiction, after all. He noticed a strange expression on the other boy’s face and asked, “Do you want to watch something else, Uenoyama-kun?”

Ritsuka stiffened then shook his head. “Me? No way. I’d never hear the end of it if that guy found out.”

“Ok.” Mafuyu did think that was a silly reason but he didn’t mind as long as the two of them got to watch together. So they focused on the movie. It didn’t start out too bad. Slowly but surely it got darker, moodier. Then it actually made the little hairs on the back of Mafuyu’s neck stand on end. That was surprising. He glanced at Ritsuka out of the corner of his eye. 

He’d inched closer to him since the movie began, Mafuyu was sure of it. The way he had his hands clenched into fists on his lap was really telling. As tough as he thought he was, it was obvious that he was trying not to look bothered. 

It was then that Mafuyu recalled a conversation they’d had with the band about Ritsuka not handling ghost stories well. Then why agree to watch something like this? He thought back to how Ritsuka’s eyes widened slightly when he’d said the movie sounded exciting. Ah. The other boy decided to power through it for him, then. He really was silly sometimes.

Mafuyu took Ritsuka’s left hand in squeezed gently. When the dark-haired boy turned to look at him he smiled reassuringly. Then he leaned in and kissed the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth. Mafuyu was happy to see Ritsuka visibly relax, though his cheeks were now quite pink. That was cute too.

A sudden, ear-piercing shriek from someone in the movie caught them both by surprise and they yelped at the same time. Ritsuka immediately slapped his free hand over his face in an attempt to hide some of his embarrassment while Mafuyu chuckled softly at the whole thing. He noticed the other boy peek at him through his fingers so Mafuyu shut his eyes and smiled at him.

“Should we watch something else instead?” Mafuyu asked. It was only mid-way or so. Not too much of a loss.

“Nah, it’s all right, just...” Ritsuka scooted closer and put his arm around the other boy. He pulled Mafuyu’s head against his shoulder then finished, “stay close to me.” 

Mafuyu blinked as his cheeks started to burn. This was it. A perfect evening. It was everything he’d wanted and more. Mafuyu nuzzled Ritsuka’s shoulder and hummed contently. He had no plans on going anywhere, the other boy needn’t worry about that!

*

Bonus mini scene:

“Here you go, Hiiragi,” Mafuyu muttered as he offered the blond the DVD he held. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

Hiiragi accepted the movie then handed it to Shizusumi. He had a horribly smug expression on his face as he asked, “Well? How’d you like it?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Mafuyu replied with a shrug. Not what he’d call great, either.

“Did you get nightmares like a little baby?” Hiiragi laughed.

“No, but Uenoyama held my hand almost the entire night afterwards,” Mafuyu replied. There was a fond look upon his face as he hummed, “I really enjoyed that so thanks.”

“Hiiragi cried when we watched it,” Shizusumi said to no one in particular.

“I did not!” Hiiragi shrieked. He turned towards Mafuyu when he heard him snort. “Jerk!”