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waitimcomingtoo · 4 months

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Sugar And Spice

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x reader

Synopsis: Peeta gets jealous when a guy keeps coming into the bakery to flirt with you

Masterlist

“Can you watch the bakery for a second while I frost a cake?”

“I can do it but I have to warn you. I’m super charming so we’re probably gonna get a bunch of customers and sell out immediately.” You said and held up your hands in defense. Peeta couldn’t help but smile as he watched you tie an apron around your waist. Something about you wearing something that had his last name on it made you even more endearing. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about his best friend like that, but he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t doubt your charm but we haven’t had any customers all day.” He reminded you.

“That’s because you’ve been keeping me in the back. Go frost your cake. This place will be packed when you return. Just watch”. You said and shooed him okay.

“Okay.” He replied sarcastically.

You were only alone in the bakery for a few minutes before someone came in. It was a guy around your age wearing a hard helmet so you could only assume he was a coal miner.

“Hello.” He smiled at you as he walked up the counter.

“Hello.” You replied. “Welcome to Mellark Bakery.”

“Do you guys sell bread?” He asked you.

“Here? At the bakery?” You asked and stepped to the side to give him a full view of all the baskets of bread behind you.

“Okay, it was a dumb question.” He admitted.

“It’s okay. It’s probably the only question you can ask that I could actually answer. I just learned what yeast was a little while ago.”

“Oh, so you don’t usually work here?”

“I don’t. My best friends family owns the place. But his brother gave his mom a cold and then the whole family caught it. I’m just filling in until they’re better.” You explained.

“That’s a shame. I thought I’d have two reasons to come in here now.” The boy said with a coy smile.

“Two reasons?”

“For delicious bread and a chance to see the pretty girl working the counter.” He replied. You raised your eyebrows in surprise at his flirting before smiling. You’d never had a boy flirt with you so boldly so it made you feel good.

“Well, thanks. How can I help you?” You asked him.

“My mother sent me to get that brown bread but I keep forgetting the name of it.”

“Isn’t all bread brown?”

“Well, yes.” He realized. “But she said this one is browner than the others.”

“I actually think I know what you’re talking about. Is it pumpernickel?” You asked and pulled out a loaf of pumpernickel bread.

“Yes! That’s the one. Look at you being smart. I’ll take a loaf of that.” The boy said. You didn’t really like the way he acted like it was shocking you’d say something smart but you didn’t say anything.

“Surely. Anything else I get you?” You asked as you handed him the wrapped up loaf.

“How about your name?” He smiled as he handed you the money.

“It’s Y/n. You?” You said through a nervous laugh. You weren’t entirely sure you liked the attention anymore.

“Hi. I’m Lycan.” He said and extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Lycan.” You smiled politely and shook his hand.

“It is nice, isn’t it? Will you be filling in all week?”

“Most likely.” You told him.

“Then I’ll be back. Thanks for the help.” He winked at you just as Peeta came out from the back. He saw the much taller and stronger looking Lycan leaving the bakery and stopped in his tracks.

“No problem.” You called after him. Peeta caught the way Lycan’s eyes lingered on you after he left the shop and he didn’t like it. He got a weird feeling in his stomach when he noticed that you were flustered.

“Who was that?” Peeta asked.

“That was Lycan. And he bought the last loaf of pumpernickel so we knead to make more. And that was a baking pun, by the way. But it would’ve worked better on paper.”

“Oh. Do you always learn the customers names?” Peeta asked as the weird feeling in his stomach grew. He was feeling jealous already and now that he knew you learned that guys name, it was even worse.

“Not always.” You shrugged. “But he asked my name so I asked his.”

“He asked your name? That was nice of him.” Peeta said through a forced smile. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that you had caught the attention of the attractive stranger. Maybe because you’d caught Peeta’s attention years ago but still hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah. I guess he was nice. He called me pretty.” You said and looked at Peeta as if you were expecting him to disagree with that statement. Peeta clenched his jaw but kept a straight face.

“You are pretty.” He insisted. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know. I guess because no one’s ever just called me pretty before. Except maybe my mother. But I’ve never heard it from a boy. It was kinda, I don’t know, nice.” You said as you stared out the window. Peeta was kicking himself for never vocalizing how beautiful he found you because now you had to cling to the compliment of a stranger.

“I think you’re pretty.” Peeta said quietly. Your head turned to Peeta and you had a surprised smile on your face. Peeta turned a deep red as he waited for your answer.

“You’re pretty pretty yourself, blondie.” You replied as you passed by him. You started to rearrange some of the baked goods but Peeta was still hung up on this stranger who called you pretty.

“Did you like that guy?” Peeta asked you and feared for the answer.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “It was nice to be noticed. But I don’t him enough to know if I like him.”

“Right.” He nodded and desperately tried to take his mind off it. You noticed the far off look in Peeta’s eye but didn’t understand what was bothering him.

“So how’s your cake?” You asked.

“Not good. I made the frosting a weird color. Can you go look at it and tell me if I should scrap it or not?”

“Sure. But if you go check on it later and there’s a piece missing, it wasn’t me.” You teased.

“Very funny.” He said sarcastically.

“I know, right?” You laughed and went to the back. Peeta laughed as well but his smile quickly dropped when the door to the bakery opened. Lycan walked back in and Peeta gulped. He’d only seen him through the window before so now he got to see just how tall and handsome this guy was. Peeta nervously fumbled with the tie on his apron and felt a little insecure to be wearing it when this guy was covering in soot and dirt from being down in the mines.

“Hi. How can I help you?” Peeta asked him. Lycan was visibly disappointed to see Peeta there and was ignoring him as he looked around the bakery for you.

“What happened to the girl that was working here just a few minutes ago?” Lycan asked.

“Who’s asking?” Peeta asked without dropping his cheery smile. Lycan looked Peeta up and down and scoffed a little.

“I am.” He replied. “I wanted to ask her where she lives.”

“Why would you want to know that?” Peeta frowned.

“So I could see her again. I was planning on stopping by sometime. I figured she’d like that.” Lycan answered with a smug expression.

“Well I know her well enough to know she wouldn’t want me telling a stranger where she lives so…” Peeta trailed off and let Lycan fill in the blank.

“Hm. You must be the friend she mentioned. I guess I’ll just have to ask her myself. But why don’t you do me a favor and tell her I stopped by?”

“Surely.” Peeta replied. Lycan recognized the same word you had used and narrowed his eyes at Peeta.

“Thanks, baker boy. Bye.” Lycan smirked and left the bakery. Peeta blinked in surprise at the unexpected rude tone. If he was feeling insecure before, he was feeling even worse now that Lycan made it obvious that he looked down on him.

“Who was that?” You asked when you came out from the back.

“No one.” Peeta lied. “How’s the cake?”

“I actually like the grey color. You should leave it as it is.” You told him.

“But it was supposed to be a wedding cake. Won’t the customer be mad?”

“If I was getting married and my cake was baked by you, I wouldn’t care what it looked like because I would already know it was delicious. But you don’t have to worry about that because the cake looked great. Your cakes always look great. You’re the best cake decorator I know. So stop worrying about it.” You said and playfully smacked his chest.

“I’m the only cake decorator you know.” He said with a shy smile.

“That may be true.” You agreed. “But even if I knew more, you’d still be the best. You’re an artist. All your cakes are lovely. I promise.”

“Thanks for saying that.” He blushed. “We can have a grey cake at our wedding then.”

“Oh? Our wedding?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Your wedding.” He quickly corrected. “I meant your wedding. I will make you a grey cake for your wedding.”

“What if my groom wants a white cake?”

“He’ll want whatever you want.” Peeta said confidently.

“What makes you so sure?” You asked skeptically.

“Just a guess.” He said quickly. He wasn’t about to tell you that if he was the groom, you’d get whatever and however many cakes you wanted.

“Well he better. My mother is already on me about finding someone and settling down. That’s all she thinks I’m gonna be apparently. A wife.” You said with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, yeah? Is there anyone in particular you’re thinking of?” Peeta asked without looking at you.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be against running off and eloping with you to get her off my back.” You joked. Peeta blushed at the joke and hoped there was some truth to it.

“Or maybe I’ll just marry this Lycan guy to shut her up.” You added, making Peeta’s smile drop. He was definitely jealous now and it was only gonna get worse.

The next day, you went to the bakery again and helped Peeta run the shop. He had you handling the customers while he stayed in the back to bake. Even though you had said it as a joke, you actually were bringing in a lot of customers and selling through baked goods fast. Unfortunately, you brought in Peeta’s least favorite customer.

“Oh no.” Peeta said when he saw Lycan through the windows.

“What?” You asked just as the door opened.

“Hello again.” Lycan greeted you and didn’t acknowledge Peeta in any way.

“Oh, hi, Lycan. What can I get for you today?” You asked him.

“How about you get me your favorite thing in the shop?” He asked with that smug look Peeta hated. Peeta rolled his eyes at the lack of manners but held his tongue.

“Well, that’s hard to pick. Peeta bakes everything and it’s all delicious. He’s an amazing baker.” You said and patted Peeta’s back. Peeta and Lycan made eye contact and gave each other tight smiles.

“Oh, so this is your friend who runs the bakery? Did he tell you I stopped by yesterday to see you?” Lycan asked knowing full well Peeta didn’t mention it. You looked at Peeta in surprise and Peeta gave you a sheepish smile.

“Must’ve forgotten to mention that.” He said quietly.

“Right.” You laughed awkwardly. “Well, I love the cinnamon buns Peeta makes. And we just frosted some so I’ll go grab one from the back.”

You went to the back to grab a cinnamon bun, leaving Peeta and Lycan alone together. Peeta kept his eyes down as Lycan stared at him with a smug expression.

“So how come you had her running the shop all alone yesterday?” Lycan asked with judgement in his voice.

“She was fine. She was only alone for a few minutes but she would’ve been perfectly capable of running the shop all day. She’s great at this stuff. She’s better than me and I grew up in this bakery.” Peeta defended you.

“I could tell.” Lycan snorted. “But running a business is no place for a lady. She should’ve been doing the baking while you handled the customers. A girl like that should be able to sit still and look pretty while you man the place, you know what I mean?”

“Um, no, I don’t know what you mean.” Peeta smiled tightly. “She’s not the type to sit still but you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know her. And we “manned”the shop together all day. I just happened to be in the back decorating the cakes when you came in.”

“Oh, so you make all these? Where did you learn how to do that?” Lycan asked with a condescending smile as he looked at the cakes on display.

“My mother taught me.” Peeta said quietly.

“Oh, I see. My mother taught me that a man’s job involves getting your hands dirty but hey, what does she know?” Lycan shrugged.

“Clearly not how to teach her son manners.” Peeta mumbled. You came out from the back and Peeta relaxed.

“Here. One hot cinnamon bun.” You smiled kindly and handed the treat to Lycan.

“Thank you. It looks almost as good as you do.” He said with a much kinder tone than he had given Peeta.

“Oh. Thank you.” You laughed in surprise and looked over at Peeta. Peeta was too busy staring daggers at Lycan to notice.

“See you tomorrow?” Lycan asked you.

“See you then.” You waved as he left the shop. Once he was gone again, Peeta could finally breathe.

“I don’t like that guy.” Peeta shook his head.

“What? Why not? He’s so nice.” You said. As much as Peeta disliked that guy, he wasn’t about to burst your bubble and tell you Lycan had implied you could not and should not run the bakery by yourself.

“He’s too nice.” Peeta insisted. “And I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“How was he looking at me?” You frowned.

“The same way every guy looks at you. Only he looks dumb enough to try something.” Peeta mumbled. You let out a laugh and Peeta was confused.

“What?” He wondered.

“Nothing. I’ve just never heard you call someone dumb before. Here I was thinking you were all sunshine and flowers.” You shrugged with an amused smile.

“I can be tough. You don’t think I can be tough?”

“Well, I’m sure you can be. I’ve just never seen it. I’ve only ever seen your good side.”

“I can be tough. I can be a real tough guy.” Peeta insisted but it sounded unnatural coming out of his mouth.

“Okay, tough guy.” You chuckled. “Show me what you got.”

“What do you mean?”

“Say something mean about me.” You said and gestured towards yourself.

“What? I would never do that.” He laughed but meant it.

“I knew it. You’re too sweet. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. You’re all sugar.” You said and squeezed his arm. Peeta blushed at the contact and felt a little better about himself.

“Here’s something mean. That guy just tracked mud all over the floors. Why are coal miners so messy?” He scoffed and grabbed the mop.

“Maybe because they’re in dirty mines all day? Just a thought.” You teased as Peeta cleaned the floor.

“This is just gross.” Peeta huffed. “And did you see his hands? They were filthy.”

“I didn’t notice them.” You shrugged.

“Yeah, cause you were too busy flirting.” Peeta grumbled.

“Flirting?” You laughed. “I was not flirting with that guy.”

“Yes you were. I’ve never seen you bat your eyelashes like that before. And when’s the last time you warmed something up for a customer? You did that to flirt.” He half joked, half meant entirely.

“That wasn’t me flirting. I was just blinking because of all the dust he brought in.” You said simply. Peeta stopped mopping and looked up to see if you were serious.

“You really weren’t flirting with him?” Peeta asked hopefully.

“With a stranger? Who do you think I am?” You scoffed and grabbed the mop from him. You cleaned up the rest of the mud tracks before handing the mop back.

“Okay.” Peeta smiled. “Good.”

“Why’s that good? You didn’t want me to be flirting with him?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Psh. No. I don’t care who you flirt with.” Peeta quickly explained but even he didn’t believe it.

“Don’t you?” You asked and took a step towards him.

“I don’t.” He gulped.

“All right then.” You smiled sadly and went back behind the counter. Peeta looked over at you and wondered if you had wanted him to say that he didn’t want you flirting with anyone else.

The next day, Peeta was hesitant to leave you alone in the bakery in case Lycan came back to ask you out. If he actually made a move on you, Peeta knew he didn’t stand a chance. There weren’t a whole lot of options for dating in your district so if he asked you out, you’d probably say yes. But Peeta couldn’t stay in the front forever and eventually had to go to the back to frost cakes. And as soon as he was gone, the wolves descended.

“Good morning.” Lycan greeted as he came into the bakery. Your heart started to beat faster when he came in but it wasn’t from excitement. His presence was starting to make you anxious and you didn’t know if you liked the attention anymore.

“Good morning. What will it be today?” You asked politely.

“Some more pumpernickel please. But only half a loaf. I had some of my worker friends over last night and we went through it. We just get so hungry being down in the mines all day. You know how real men’s work is. It’s brutal but hey, someone’s gotta do it.” Lycan shrugged and leaned on the counters that you had just cleaned.

“Right.” You said sarcastically. “Anything else?”

“A smile. From you.” Lycan added. You gave him a tight smile back and realized you really didn’t like the attention. At least, not from him.

“Have a great day.” He said as you handed him the loaf and he handed you the money.

“Thanks. You too.”

“I already did. Because I got to see you.” Lycan said and pointed to you. You forced a smile back and watched as he tracked mud on the floor as he left. Peeta came out from the back a little while later and saw the mud.

“I see Lycan returned.” He said stiffly.

“He sure did.” You replied. Peeta rolled his eyes and grabbed the mop before looking at you.

“Don’t give me that look.” You laughed. “It’s not my fault Mr. Muddy Boots keeps coming in here.”

“Yes it is. I heard him telling you to smile. He likes you.” Peeta mumbled and mopped the floor. His jealousy was back and in full force so he kept his head down.

“Maybe he was just being friendly.”

“But he wasn’t being friendly to me. Only you.” Peeta pointed out.

“Okay, true. But that still doesn’t mean anything. He might just want to be friends.”

“No way. No guy wants to be just friends with a girl as interesting and funny as you.”

“What about you? You just want to be friends, don’t you?” You asked and smiled at his words but he didn’t see it. He was too busy keeping his head down so you couldn’t see how much he was blushing over what you asked.

“There. Finally clean. But if he comes in here and gets the floors muddy one more time, I’m gonna ban him from the bakery.” Peeta said to change the subject.

“Maybe he’s had enough of your baked goods and won’t come in anymore.” You shrugged.

“He’ll be back. Although he might stop buying things and just start coming in to stare at you.” Peeta grumbled, making you laugh. When your laughter died down, you thought about what it would mean if this guy actually wanted to be more than friends.

“Do you actually think he likes me?” You asked quietly.

“Of course he does. And I can’t blame him. But I can be annoyed about how often he comes in here.” Peeta said and continued to avoid eye contact with you.

“But him coming in here means you get more customers.” You reminded him. “And what do you mean you can’t blame him?”

“Him coming in here means I have to look at his dumb face while he bumbles around and tries to flirt with you. All while making the bakery muddy. I wouldn’t mind losing him as a customer.” Peeta replied and conveniently ignored the second half of what you said.

“Well we should probably bake another loaf of pumpernickel in case he comes in tomorrow.” You shrugged and started to gather the ingredients. Peeta froze and watched you tie on an apron as jealousy burned a hole inside him.

“What?” You asked when you saw Peeta’s face.

“You want him to come back?” Peeta asked in a soft voice.

“I didn’t say that. But if he does, which I’m assuming he will, we should have bread for him.”

Peeta was quiet again for a minute as he looked at you. He didn’t think you liked this guy back until he watched you gathering ingredients to make something specifically for him.

“Do you, um, do you like him back or something?” Peeta asked you. He didn’t sound angry or anything, just sad.

“What I like is earning money. Which customers bring in. Customers like Lycan.” You said and headed to the back where the oven was.

“Fine. But just don’t bake that with love, okay?” Peeta called after you. He heard you laugh and felt a little better because it reminded him that no one made you laugh quite like he did.

“I’ll try.” You called back.

The next day, Peeta was ready for anything. He asked you to bake some muffins in the back while he dealt with the customers during the evening rush. He had made it through almost the entire day before he saw Lycan coming in to the bakery. He looked around for you as soon as he walked in before walking up the counter.

“How can I help you?” Peeta asked with a forced smile.

“Actually, I was hoping Y/n could help me. She here?” Lycan asked and peered behind the counter.

“She’s busy with the baking in the back.”

“Really? I thought frosting cakes was your job? Tell me, how do you make them look so pretty?” Lycan asked in a mocking tone.

“It takes a steady hand. And a clean one.” Peeta said as his eyes dropped to Lycans dirt covered hands.

“These are workers hands. But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you, baker boy?” Lycan said in a low voice as he leaned on the counter. Peeta gulped but was determined to stand his ground.

“I know about hard work. Just because my work is different from yours doesn’t mean it’s any less important.” He replied.

“Are you serious?” Lycan laughed. “I risk my life everyday to get the coal that you use to bake your pretty little cakes. You’re not important. I mean, your work isn’t important. I know that, and she knows that.” Lycan whispered so only Peeta could hear. His words were getting to Peeta and he wasn’t feeling as confident as before.

“She’d never go for you.” Peeta said quietly.

“What other choice does she have? You?” Lycan scoffed. “I asked around about the two of you, you know. Everyone had the same thing to say. That the bakers boy absolutely adores her but isn’t man enough to do anything about it.”

“I could do something about it.” Peeta insisted.

“Oh really? Then why haven’t you?” Lycan asked him. Peeta opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He had no answer to give.

“That’s what I thought.” Lycan snickered. “She’d never go for you either.”

Peeta looked down at the ground and believed what Lycan was saying. You came out from the back and immediately sensed the awkward tension. You first noticed Peeta’s sad expression and then Lycan’s smug smirk.

“Oh, hi Lycan. Back so soon?” You asked as you looked between the boys and tried to figure out what had just happened between them.

“I just needed to get some bread. And seeing your pretty face never hurts.” Lycan said and switched to a nice smile.

“Aw, thanks.” You said with a fake smile.

“You know, being a coal miner is really dangerous. Nothing like the easy job this guy has.” Lycan said and nodded towards Peeta. “When the boys and I go down into the mines, we never know if we’re gonna get to come back out. So I try to take a minute and appreciate the beautiful things in life as much as I can. And that includes you.”

“Aw, thanks.” You repeated in the same uncomfortable tone. Peeta looked up and saw that Lycan was staring at him with a puffed up smile. In other words, he thought he ate that.

“See you around, doll.” Lycan winked at you before leaving the shop.

“That was painful.” You said once he was gone.

“For us both.” Peeta mumbled.

“I think you were right. I think he may be more than just friendly.” You laughed nervously.

“What gave it away?” Peeta smiled sarcastically.

“I just don’t understand what he wants from me. I don’t even know what to say when he talks like that.” You said and grimaced at the memory of his little speech.

“He probably wants a wife. And he wants you to say it can be you.”

“A wife?” You laughed in shock. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“But he wants to. That’s why he keeps coming in here. He probably wanted to ask you out today but wouldn’t with me in here.”

“Well I wouldn’t say yes even if he did. So there’s nothing to worry about.” You shrugged.

“Don’t tell me there’s nothing to worry about.” Peeta snapped. You were both surprised by his tone and stood in awkward silence following his exclamation. Peeta was too embarrassed to look at you so he kept his head down and played with the ties in his apron. He heard your footsteps coming over to him and suddenly, you were lifting his chin to get him to look at you.

“What’s this about?” You asked quietly. Peeta sighed and looked to the side.

“He works in the mines and risks his life. I work in a bakery and decorate cakes. He’s covered in soot and dirt and I end the day covered in flour and sugar.”

“So?” You laughed.

“So, he’s a real man.” Peeta insisted. “And that’s what you deserve.”

“Do you think I don’t see you as a real man?” You asked and wrapped your arms around Peeta’s neck. He turned bright red and finally looked at you.

“Look at me. And look at him. We’re not the same.” Peeta said softly.

“Just because he works down there and you work up here doesn’t make you any less of a man.” You assured him.

“It feels like it does. Especially when…”

“When what?” You asked when Peeta trailed off.

“When I thought you liked him. I assumed he caught your attention because he’s all big and tough and I’m just…soft.” He shrugged and gave you an embarrassed smile.

“He caught my attention because he’s annoying and dirty. And I happen to like that you’re soft.” You told him.

“You do?” Peeta asked skeptically.

“Of course I do. I like that you never have a mean thing to say about anybody. I like that you decorate cakes and smell like cinnamon all the time. And I like that you stop to pick flowers that you like. But you know what I don’t like?”

“What?”

“That guy. I don’t like how he thinks I shouldn’t run the shop by myself. I don’t like how he can’t compliment me on anything but my looks. I don’t like how he thinks his job makes him superior to us. And I don’t like that he made you feel bad about yourself.” You said. Peeta looked into your eyes and saw how serious you were. A smile tugged at his lips as he believed that he didn’t have anything to worry about.

“He made fun of my cake decorating.” Peeta added with a coy smile.

“What? Now that’s too far. Let’s ban him.” You played along. Peeta laughed and pulled you into a hug.

“I never want you to think you’re not good enough ever again, okay?” You said as you rubbed his back.

“Okay.” Peeta reluctantly replied. You pulled out of the hug and rubbed his shoulders.

“If he comes in here again, I’ll tell him to back off. Of both of us.” You assured Peeta.

“Good. Because I’m not much of a fighter.” He said through a relieved laugh.

“I know. You’re a lover. Thats what I love about you.” You told him and went to go clean the counter. Peeta watched you for a minute with a content smile on his face.

“It is?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Amongst other things, but yes.” You replied.

“There are a lot of things I love about you too.” Peeta said without looking at you.

“Are there?” You asked with piqued interest.

“Of course. Dozens of things.”

“Dozens?” You pretended to gasp and looked over at him.

“Uh huh. A bakers dozen.” He replied with a coy smile.

“Hey.” You laughed. “Baking humor is my thing.”

“I know, I know. But I think that’s another reason Lycan bothered me so much. I thought he was gonna take you away before I got a chance to tell you any of them.” Peeta said simply. Your expression changed but he didn’t catch it as he went to change the sign on the door from “open” to “closed”.

“Well. It’s quitting time.” Peeta sighed and looked the front door.

“Right. We should go.”

The next day, Lycan came in bright and early in the morning. He was the first customer and walked in before you had even arrived yet. Peeta gulped when he saw him and hoped you’d get to the bakery as soon as possible. Then he remembered what you had said about what you loved about him and felt a little braver.

“Hey, Peeta. Just you today?” Lycan asked in a condescending voice.

“For now.” Peeta answered calmly.

“These are nice. You pick them yourself?” Lycan asked as he flicked one of the flowers Peeta had in a vase on the counter.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I did.”

“I thought so. Just when I thought you couldn’t get anymore pathetic. It’s no wonder Y/n doesn’t want you.” Lucan snorted. He hadn’t heard you entering the bakery from the back so when you appeared behind the counter where Peeta was, he gulped.

“Oh, hi, Y/n. Good morning.” He said nervously and hoped you hadn’t heard what he just said. You gave Lycan a big smile before turning to Peeta.

“Good morning.” You greeted Peeta before pulling him into a long kiss. Peeta was stiff with shock at first but then kissed you back as his hands found their place on your waist. Lycan watched this with a dropped jaw and angrily cleared his throat when he felt like it was going on too long. You pulled out of the kiss with a big smile and patted Peeta’s red cheek.

“Sorry about that.” You chuckled as you wrapped an arm around Peeta’s shoulders. Peeta and Lycan were both silent as they processed what had happened. You made your choice loud and clear to the both of them and they were both too stunned to speak. Peeta finally smiled and took one of the flowers out of the vase to place behind your ear as a little thank you. You smiled in appreciation before looking at Lycan.

“So.” You shrugged. “What can we get you?”

Tag List 🥖

@ilovetoomanymen @kittimbo @sipsthecoffee @ohmyhuenings @

@ilykitwalker @mayemperess @scenesofobx

#peeta mellark whump #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark fluff #peeta mellark angst #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark x you #peeta x reader #Peeta mellark jealous #peeta mellark fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

jongseongsnudes · 6 months

Text

full attention

bff!jake. 1.8k words. suggestive content with a petty, bratty you and a horny jake.

“jake.”

silence.

“jake.”

more silence.

“sim jaeyun!”

“what? what’s with the government naming and shaming?”

“you’ve been on your phone for two hours,” you sigh and turn to him, “if you didn’t want to do movie night, you should’ve just stayed home.”

instead of putting his phone down like you had expected him to do, the man tilts his screen towards you, showing you a picture of a girl in her undergarments. you recognised that face almost immediately, a cheerleader, famous not for her cheers but her track record with the football team.

and the only player she hasn’t been with, being your very own best friend, jake sim. as someone so easily tempted like jake, you’re actually surprised that she left him til last.

“look how hot she is, like come onnnnn. and she wants me,” he shoves his phone closer towards you with a smug grin, making you roll your eyes yet again.

“and the rest of the boys on campus,” you don’t mean to sound so bitter but you are, irritated at your best friend literally drooling at his phone. again. she had been all he could talk about for the past two days, constantly showing you the pictures she supposedly sent only to him and their wild sexting.

you’ve really had enough of hearing about her.

“i know but who cares when she’s this hot. oh shit- she’s actually inviting me over toni-”

you don’t bother waiting for the rest of his sentence and get up for the kitchen, wanting to just get away. why you got up so abruptly or why you’re suddenly feeling so annoyed, you have no idea, but you definitely don’t want to listen to him obsess over her anymore.

to call it jealousy would’ve been pretty much correct, but you’re not going to admit that him, hell no. never.

you met jake on the first day of college, and you two have been inseparable since. whether it was going to classes, getting drunk at parties, or just lounging about on off days, you guys were always together. and it was all fun and platonic until you realised something.

that you actually enjoyed jake’s attention. full attention.

but of course being that attractive and a jock, came with a sea of followers who literally threw themselves at him at every given chance. you can only do so much to keep him to yourself but he seemed much more persistent this time with the cheer chick.

“are you actually mad?” jake’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, his footsteps telling you that he had just entered the kitchen, “i’ll make it up to you, we’ll have movie night every night next week.”

“i’m not mad.”

“doll,” his voice is suddenly low as he closes the gap between your bodies, his hand nonchalantly slipping around your waist to hold you from behind, “you know you’re the prettiest in my eyes right?”

and this is why you’re so delusional, so strung up on this man, so in need of his attention. because he acts this way with you like it’s the most normal thing between friends.

“come on,” his lips are suddenly right up against your ear as he says so, his chest pressing into your back more when you don’t respond. you could feel your breath faltering with how close he is, so close that the smell of his cologne is literally attacking you from every direction possible.

and god was it doing something to you.

you’ve lost count how many times you and jake were this close, often enough getting looks from others because of it. but that never bothered you. the only thing that did bother you about all this was sexually but that was something you dealt with on your own. in your bedroom. in secret.

*ding ding*

and the moment is interrupted by the message notification on his phone, something he was way too eager to fetch from his pocket. it immediately irks you the wrong way, literally egging you on to be petty.

“it’s fine, go,” you say nonchalantly, “i just texted taehyun anyway and we’re gonna hang out tonight instead of tomorrow. all works out.”

“as in, kang taehyun?” the way he immediately looks up from his phone tells you that you’ve just successfully gained his attention. “that smug fucker? why the hell are you talking to him?

this was plain evil. jake despised taehyun, the two having been rivals for the longest of time, and you knew this better than anyone. so for you to supposedly be hanging out with him was definitely more than a shock to jake.

“yeah. i met him at that party last week.”

it was becoming harder to hide your own growing grin, especially with the way jake was now following behind you back to the living room. like a lost puppy, wanting your attention.

“how? you were with me the whole time at that party.”

“well it happened and he seems reaaaally nice. so i’m going over to his tonight.”

the instant change on his face is one you don’t miss, knowing for a fact that your pettiness was reeling him in. low of you but hey, it was working.

so you go even lower to seal the deal.

“i need your help with something actually,” you turn to face him, fluttering your eyes a little like you weren’t currently fucking with his head, “i bought a few things i haven’t tried on yet, will you help me pick one for taehyun?”

without waiting for a response, you pull him towards your room and set him on the bed as you rummage through the cupboard for sexiest thing you could possible find.

and thank the heavens you bought two new lingerie sets last week. lacy ones too.

exactly what jake sim likes.

“so. i have a red set and a black set. should i try it on for you to see?”

“uh- i- i mean if you want to- yeah-”

you take that as the cue to slip your shirt over your head, putting your cute bra on full display, knowing damn well it was affecting him in more places than just his eyes.

hint hint, the forming bulge in his sweatpants.

without hesitation, you take a seat on his lap, your back facing him. jake’s hands are quick to grasp onto your waist, holding you securely on his lap, making you more comfortable like the true friend he was.

“can you help me with my bra?” you make sure to wriggle yourself a little, head slightly turned back to the man who had just visibly gulped. it was so, so evil of you, to play him like this when you knew how horny he was.

he makes a little hum of acknowledgment before his hands get moving but he doesn’t do what he’s asked. instead, the man begins rubbing along your shoulders, sending shivers through your entire body with how cold his fingers were. you could feel him lean forward, his face now slightly buried in your hair, smelling you.

and damn was he making it harder for you to stay sane.

“you’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

“i...”

for a moment there, you forget what you were actually trying to do. that you’re in the midst of trying to tempt your own best friend into skipping his pussy appointment. weird? slightly. do you care? no.

“i... i mean i hope taehyun will think so. i wanna impress him tonight.”

“doll,” his voice is even lower than before, his arms now making its way across your bare stomach, hugging you back to him, “you’re too good for him.”

it takes everything in you to not fall apart when jake’s lips meets the sensitivity of your neck out of the blue, leaving behind just one kiss. one single kiss but enough to have you clutching onto the material of your shorts, your breath now heavy in your throat.

it was something you felt whenever jake was around lately. no matter what he did, your mind would go haywire at the simplest things. whether it was bumping your shoulders, rubbing your head or even brushing his fingers through your hair, it all drove you insane.

and that’s not to mention all the random hugging, waist grabbing, cuddling that he already did on the daily.

“anyone would be lucky to have you like this, no need for anything extra.”

“you think so?”

“yeah pretty, i do,” the way that word rolls off his tongue so naturally causes your insides to literally tumble, your entire body now heating up and on overdrive. everything is becoming too much for you. his whispers, his lips, his hands on your bare skin, his erection rubbing against your ass. everything.

you turn your head a little more, your eyes finally meeting his. he was so close that one more movement and you’d be kissing him. there’s a look in his eyes, like his inner thoughts are fighting with each other. to be fair, the man looked miserable and you’re almost certain it’s all because of you.

you notice the way his gaze drops to your lips for a moment before going back up to your eyes. perhaps you were crazy but you swore he leaned in even closer, his breath now on your lips... seemingly about to close the gap. to kiss you.

but he doesn’t.

“i... um. i gotta go,” he says it more so for himself than for you, the man now pushing you to stand up by the waist, “don’t go to kang’s house. i don’t like the idea of you being there with him by yourself.”

jake gets up almost immediately as you do, literally disappearing out of your room before you could even grasp onto the situation. the words “call me” was all he said before you hear the front door slam shut, leaving you alone in your apartment.

humiliation is the only thing that could describe you right now, after being left high and dry like this by jake for another chick.

you sit down for a minute and decide that going out tonight would likely be better than being left alone with your wild thoughts. maybe you’ll even be lucky enough to have someone distract you for the long night ahead.

distract you from your thoughts about your best friend and the obvious fact that you wanted more than just his full attention.

you wanted jake sim.

end. to be continued maybe?

2023 © jongseongsnudes on TUMBLR. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST.

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tobesolonely · 6 months

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A/N: this is the first thing I've written in like 8 months and it's basically just smut...I was inspired...18+ please lol (this isn't proofread and maybe it should be hahahah)

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“It’s like ripping off a bandaid, love. Just go for it.”

Harry and Y/N were situated in the bathroom, Harry sitting on a small stool facing the mirror with Y/N behind him. She had a pair of hair-cutting scissors in one hand and clippers in the other. He was really doing this.

“You know if you’re bald, you can’t steal my hair clips anymore, right?”

He gives her a faint smirk. “That crossed my mind.”

“No more running your hands through it.”

“Are you upset about that, or am I?”

“This is drastic!”

Harry meets Y/N’s gaze in the mirror before turning around to face her. “Darling, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back. Please help me cut it before I lose my nerve.”

So Y/N ends up with scissors to her boyfriend’s luscious, signature curly locks. Each strand of hair that falls on the ground nearly causes her to flinch, and out of her peripherals, she can see Harry watching her every move.

“Just trying to be careful to make sure it looks good…the whole point of me cutting it is to avoid you going to the shop, yeah?”

Harry reaches behind him at this, slightly squeezing her thigh in confirmation. “I know, love. I didn’t say anything. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

Y/N asks him at least two more times if he is sure before taking the clippers to his head, but when Harry gives her a firm nod telling her to proceed, she tries to remind herself to breathe as she shaves the first section. Harry shivers at the sensation of his hair hitting his bare back and shoulders.

“‘S a good thing I got the head shape for going bald, huh?”

“Well…”

”Y/N! You’re gonna make me second guess-”

“I’m kidding, H! I think you’ve got a lovely head shape for going bald,” Y/N positions herself in front of him so she can better see what she’s doing at the front of his head, near his hairline. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair shorter than when you cut it for Dunkirk.”

“Remember when I picked you up one day without mentioning it because I thought it would be a fun surprise?”

Y/N pauses her movements, playfully glaring at him. “I think I’d mistake you for an intruder or something if you came through the door completely bald with no warning.”

“Isn’t it nice that I asked you to do it for me this time instead of just shocking you?”

Y/N hums at this, and the couple falls into a comfortable silence as she continues to cut his hair. Harry fiddles with his hands in his lap and reaches behind him occasionally to stroke Y/N’s thigh, but nothing is said between the two.

Harry’s the first to break their cozy silence. “Woah…my hair.”

“I know.”

He turns around on the stool, looking up slightly to make direct eye contact with her. “You like it, though?”

“It’ll grow on me.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m kidding, H.”

He turns back to the mirror, inspecting his reflection. “Tell me you like it, babe. Even if you don’t.”

Y/N lets out a small giggle at her boyfriend’s fishing for a compliment. “You look handsome. It’ll take some getting used to, but…I do like it.”

Harry makes a slight, triumphant noise before letting Y/N resume the task at hand. She splashes lukewarm water on the top of his head and gently pats it dry with a hand towel before finishing off with his favorite aftershave.

“Good?”

Harry leans in close to the mirror and turns his head from side to side, carefully inspecting his new look. After a few moments, he nods, turning back to Y/N and leaning in to kiss her.

“It’ll take some getting used to on my end, too, but I think I like it.”

“They say that after you shave your head, your hair comes back healthier and stronger than ever.”

“So we’re shaving yours next, then?”

Y/N playfully swats her boyfriend, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, no.”

Harry shrugs. “Let me know if you change your mind, darling.”

He exits the bathroom, searching for the broom and dustpan to get up his hair while Y/N goes downstairs to begin dinner. He joins her soon after, wordlessly telling her to sit down and relax when he picks up the knife she just set down to stir the pot of sauce she had bubbling on the stove. In front of her sits a cutting board with an onion, garlic, and different colored bell peppers. Y/N hated cutting those vegetables because she didn’t like how hard the smell was to get off her hands, so he knew she was leaving that task for last in hopes that he would do it (he did, of course).

“I hate chopping vegetables.”

“I know, love.”

Harry reaches up to run his hands through his curls out of force of habit and abruptly stops when he realizes there is no longer anything to actually run his hands through. He turns to take a quick peek at Y/N to see if she saw him. She did.

“I knew that would happen!” She exclaims with a laugh. “I just didn’t think it would happen less than an hour after cutting your hair.”

“It’s an adjustment period!” Harry responds with mock defensiveness, joining Y/N in her glee. Even if she was laughing at him instead of with him, he still felt all warm inside because at least he was the reason for her laughter.

“I can’t wait for our friends to see–what do you think Mitch is gonna say?”

Harry spins around, and yanks opens the cabinet in search of one of the many boxes of pasta they always had on hand. “Penne or bowtie?”

“Bowtie,” Y/N gets up from her seat at the kitchen island to fill their big pot with water to boil the noodles. “I bet he’ll be shocked, especially because his hair is so long. Do you think he would ever cut his hair?”

Harry smiles at his girlfriend’s chattiness. “I think he’ll make fun of me a bit - maybe call me an egghead or something to that degree. He’ll like it, though.”

“What do you think the fans will say?”

Harry lets out a huff of air. “Oh, they’ll have the most to say. It’ll grow on them, I’m sure.”

“I can’t wait to see all the discourse on Twitter.”

“Only send me funny Tweets.”

Y/N hums in confirmation and goes back to her seat at the table after putting the water on to boil. “You know what I’ll miss the most about your hair?”

“What’s that?” Harry asks his question absentmindedly as he putters around the kitchen, retrieving plates and two wine glasses. “Wine?”

“Yes, please,” Y/N pauses. “Gonna miss having something to tug on during sex.”

Harry pauses his movements at this, his full attention now on his girlfriend. “Oh, yeah?”

She nods.

“You can still grab on me.”

“Not your hair, though.”

“You can leave me scratches. Will that suffice until my hair grows back?”

Y/N pretends to be deep in thought at this, which causes Harry to laugh loudly. She answers after a few moments. “I suppose that’ll work…”

“Y’know how much I love when you mark up my back,” Harry uncorks a bottle of wine and pours them each a small glass. “Now, there will be no excuses not to.” He walks over to Y/N, carefully handing her her own glass of wine before taking a sip of his. She then takes a sip, puckering her face at the slightly bitter taste.

The conversation is forgotten until the couple is in their room after dinner, bellies full of pasta and tongues stained slightly purple from their red wine.

“Is that really what you’ll miss most about my hair?”

“Hmm?” Y/N hums in response for Harry to continue, distracted at her vanity with her (overly) extensive skincare routine.

“Pullin’ on it during sex.”

Y/N looks at him through her reflection in the mirror. “I mean, maybe not literally the most, but it’s up there. Gonna take some getting used to, that’s all.”

“Maybe we should have sex now so you can start gettin’ used to it.” Harry has a sly look, eyelids slightly drooping from his arousal and the wine he consumed at dinner. Y/N throws her head back in laughter.

“You know you can just straight up ask for it, yeah?” She caps the last of her serums and turns around to face her boyfriend, stalking toward the bed as she continues talking. “I’m never not gonna want you to give it to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry now has a shit-eating grin on his face. “Gonna mark my back all up? Remind me who I belong to whenever I get in the shower?” There was nothing he reveled in more than the burning sensation of hot water hitting his freshly scratched back after a particularly rough session with his girlfriend.

Y/N nods in response as she drops a knee onto the bed, plopping down in front of her boyfriend. Harry smirks at how she’s already been rendered wordless, situating himself on his knees as she pushes her onto her back. “But first…”

He places his hands on either side and immediately dives in, licking a broad stripe up her pussy. Harry quietly moans in pleasure when Y/N lets out a choked gasp, hands immediately reaching out to grab his head.

“Oh, fuck…,” she groans, throwing her head back in pleasure. “Just like that, H.”

He moves his attention to her swollen clit, flicking it quickly in between his tongue. “Like this?”

Y/N sucks in a particularly sharp breath when Harry speeds up his movements, eyes smug at the fact he already had Y/N’s thighs quivering when he hadn’t even been between them for a full minute yet.

“Harry, please…”

He lifts his head momentarily to answer her, lips glistening with a combination of his saliva and her arousal. “Please what, darling?”

Y/N balls-up the fist resting on Harry’s head out of force of habit, letting out a frustrated whine when she’s met with nothing. He chuckles at this and simply reaches up, moving her hand in the direction of his back. Her nails reflexively dig into his back when he resumes his menstruation on her pussy.

His tongue begins moving impossibly faster, wanting to get her there now. He knew she needed this orgasm just as badly as he needed to give it to her. Harry lets out a sharp hiss when he feels her nails drag down the expanse of his back, her moans increasing in frequency and volume. She was close. He removes his tongue from her clit, replacing his mouth with his fingers.

“There you go, angel,” he reaches up to grab her chin with his free hand to force her to look down at him, not up at the ceiling. “Open your eyes and look at me when I’m making you feel this good.”

Y/N forces her eyes open to look at her boyfriend’s. She watches as he thumbs impossibly fast over her swollen bud, murmuring praises and sweet words about how she’s so beautiful and always gets so wet so fast for him. It doesn’t take much longer before Y/N is throwing her head back with a cry, nails digging into Harry’s back and dragging down as she cums. All she sees is flashes of white, hears ringing in her ears and she thinks it might be the best orgasm she’s had all week. Harry sucks her clit through the entirety of her orgasm, wanting to milk her pleasure for as long as humanly possible. He can feel his back beginning to sting and he wonders if Y/N scratched hard enough to draw blood. He hoped so.

“No more…,” she mumbles quietly, pushing her boyfriend’s mouth away from her most sensitive area. “Shit.”

“All good?” He messily wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning down to give her a chaste kiss. “Still missing the hair?”

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thanks for reading! lmk what you thought!

#harry styles #harry #harry smut #harry fic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut

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celestie0 · 19 days

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choso x reader | punk rock au [18+]

in another life ch.1 cupid's arrow

ᰔ pairing. punk rock au - bass player! choso x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. you and choso were lovers in college when him and his rock band were just nobodies with nothing but a dream, but when his band strikes a deal with an up-and-coming record label in tokyo, you make the tough decision to break up with him since you couldn’t go with him to the city. flash forward seven years, his band is the biggest rock band in the world, n you move from the countryside to tokyo with your fiancé nanami to start your new life together. but in the heart of the city, home to many, there’s one person there that still has the power to turn your whole life upside down. and when you run into him again after all those years, feelings you didn’t know were still haunting you come crashing back all at once, and you’re not sure what it is you want from your life anymore.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, punk rock au, partying, drinking/alcohol, weed usage, cigarette usage, romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, second chance romance, time skips, love triangle, bad boy choso, slight age gap (five yrs), longterm pining, jealousy, messy decisions, you know the drill

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 6)

ᰔ words. 10.2k

a/n. hellooooo aaa welcome to my new choso fic :'') i'm so excited for this one! i'm just laughing at how i cannot just stick to a oneshot idea and somehow end up planning out a fullblown series instead hahah. but anyways, i hope you enjoy! thank you to everyone that wanted to be on the taglist, i'm really looking forward to diving into this story. see you at the bottom!!

alsooo my m00tie @sykosugu and i decided to post for our fics at the same time hehe she has a really spicy suguru x reader fic called 'on the run' that i highly recommend so go check that out as well if you're interestedd <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 (pending)

“and there was something about you that now, i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.”

present day. summer.

“We’re gonna miss you so, so, so much, love,” Mai groans, pulling you in towards her for a hug and you reciprocate with fondness.

Another pair of arms wraps around you, grip much tighter and you protest through a difficult breath. “Do you really have to go?” Nobara asks.

You tap on the skin of her arm, urging her to ease her hold in this group hug, and she finally relents and the three of you pull apart from one another. There’s a slight gasp from your lips as you breathe in fresh summer air. “I do, Nobie, I’m sorry. Nanami said it’s the final decision.”

You’re standing on hot concrete in front of a little countryside cottage that you’ve called home for years, but will soon just be a memory. You know which light switches illuminate corners of the rooms, and which creaking wood panels on the floor to avoid when looking for a midnight snack. It’s where you spent years studying for finals, arguing with your mom, learning how to care for Ms. Roxie, and it’s where you fell in love. More than once.

Your parents gave the house to you and Nanami once the two of you became engaged, but that blessing was soon to be given away, as Nanami received news six months ago that he was being promoted and relocated to Tokyo. Now, you have two bags in your hands, your purse slung around your shoulder, and a suitcase filled to the brim with the life you’ve tried to stuff in it. Your taxi driver has the other suitcase, because there were some things you couldn’t leave behind after all, and he’s putting it in the trunk right now.

“Nanami is so rude to take you from us,” Mai sighs, “but at least you’ll be one of those cool city girls now. So scary. I heard trends change faster there than the leaves on Rowan tree during spring.”

Nobara lets out a gasp that’s only half exaggerated. “No way! It can’t be!”

The taxi driver calls after you with a quick question, to which you answer back with a shout from where you stood. A quick glance at your watch tells you it’s time to get moving, as you’ll be taking a connecting train once you reach Tokyo that you need to be on time for. And then he’ll be there. Nanami will be waiting for you there, to lead you into the life that he’s started to make for the two of you.

“I’ll call so very often,” you promise the two of them, “and I will miss you two so very often as well.” Tears prickle in your eyes, and it seems to be contagious as they shimmer in Nobara and Mai’s eyes as well. Another group hug takes place between the three of you, harsh sun beating down with birds chirping in the distance as you try to take in the last few moments you’ve been granted of this place. “Take care of Roxie for us,” you say through a sniffle, “to you, it may seem like you’re only the bearer of food for her, but I promise that little kitty will love you two like no other.”

They both nod at you as you pull away, and you swipe at a tear that rolls down your cheek as you roll your suitcase down the pebbled walkway of your now past home.

The taxi driver helps hoist your suitcase into the trunk and places your other two bags into the back seat. You take a seat at the front with him, clicking the passenger seatbelt, and you roll down the window to wave bye with blown kisses as the taxi driver pulls away from the rocky mud road with crunching under the wheels. You watch Mai and Nobara and your home in the side view mirror until they’re no longer visible, but their voices of farewell linger in the air for a moment more.

“Alright, ma’am, bound for Tokyo!” your taxi driver chirps, his rough-looking hands opening and closing a few times to stretch out the joints of his fingers before tightly gripping onto the steering wheel again.

“Yes, Tokyo,” you murmur softly, gaze set out the window of the familiar street shops and stretches of patchy trees you know you’ll miss once you’re in the city.

“What’s your name?” the man asks, a thick country accent rolling off his tongue, with a sweetness like honey.

You turn your head to look at him more closely. The hair of his eyebrows is bushy, somewhat unkempt, and he has thick lines across his cheeks and forehead that can only mean that he’s lived a lot of life.

You tell him your name and he nods slowly as the two of you stop at a through road, a few school children hurrying past before he turns right onto the main road. “That’s a nice name. Which one of your parents gave it to ya?”

“Um. Both of them?”

He lets out a noise of acknowledgement, and doesn’t ask a further question. You smooth out the fabric of your long skirt with a hand, then toy with the band of your simple watch. Just when you think a comfortable silence has fallen between the two of you, and you think you have the luxury of losing yourself in your thoughts with sights beyond the polished glass window, the man speaks up again.

“Alright then, miss, tell me a story.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Pardon?”

“We’re gonna be spendin’ three hours in this car together, darlin’. It’s either I talk your ear off or you talk mine off,” he says, broad shoulders rolling backwards once as he gets comfortable in his driving position.

“Uh…do we need to talk at all?”

He glances over at you for a moment. The car wheels grind over rocks on gravel road near an agricultural field, and his fingers flex once again on the wheel. “You younger generations are so stuck in your own worlds. Entertain some conversation with the poor old taxi driver, will ya?”

You sigh, folding your hands in your nap neatly. “Alright. I don’t really have many stories to tell, though.”

“A young lady like you, packin’ up her whole life to move to a big city? I beg to differ,” he counters.

His words have you tucking your bottom lip under your teeth, a few blinks of your eyelids to process his observation of you. Your mind searches for stories to tell. Maybe that moment last week when you watched a momma duck waddle across a bridge with all seven of her baby ducklings. Or maybe you could tell him about that time you drove your car into a ditch the night of the comet festival and you swear you saw a UFO in the sky. The story you’ve been telling a lot lately, though, was the one of how Nanami proposed.

But then there’s a different story that comes to mind. With hazy images of blinding stage lights in dim venues, cigarette smoke wafting through the air, sounds of bass and drums and cheers. Smell of dry grass, the feeling of your back against a blanket, heart beating fast underneath the stars in front of a twinkling lake. And forever in your memory, the patterns of his inked skin.

“You got a boyfriend?” the man asks, suddenly.

“Are…are you hitting on me?” you ask awkwardly.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he shakes his head, lifting his left hand up from the steering wheel and turning the back of it to face you. A silver ring adorning his fourth finger shimmers from the reflected sunlight through the window. “Happily married. Been with my missus for 22 years.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face as you relax into your seat a little, feeling calmer. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry for assuming. And I have a fiancé, actually.”

“Oh?” he chirps, stealing a quick glance at your left hand that was still folded neatly underneath your right one in your lap. “How come I’m not seein’ a ring?”

You tug at the small chain around your neck, a chill felt as diamond stone and cold metal drags against the skin of your sternum before you pull out your own promise of marriage, dangling it in front of your chest for him to steal another glance at. “I wear it around my neck. I’m a pottery teacher, so I usually take it off when showing my students any demos. I figured if I kept taking it off like that, I might lose it, so I just wear it around my neck now.”

“That’s interesting,” he comments, “It’s a real nice ring, that’s for sure! Tell me about this man you’re marryin.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Nanami. It’s been six months since you’ve seen him, since he relocated to Tokyo first, and you’ve missed him every day since. You were in the middle of the academic year at the elementary school you taught at, so they asked you to stay back, but Nanami had already accepted the promotion, thus the two of you made the decision that he would move to Tokyo first to get situated and you’d soon follow in the summer. It was a lot of stress to handle as just one person; searching for apartments on top of managing the heightened expectations from his boss from his new role, but he did it all without a complaint. Because he loves you, and that’s who Nanami was. Someone who would move mountains for you. He’s worked hard to make a place for you in Tokyo, one to call home.

“He really loves me,” you say to the man, softly.

“And you love him?”

“So much.”

“Was he your first love?”

Your breath catches in your throat from his question, a small chill running down your spine. The silence that settles could’ve lasted two seconds or two centuries, and you never would’ve known.

You lick your lips before answering. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Hmm…” the man hums. Bumpy roads are now smooth as he turns onto properly laid roads, the exit from your town onto intercity roads. “I can tell.”

“You can tell?” you ask, skeptic in your tone as you tilt your head at him.

“I can tell from your voice that there was someone else before. Someone who meant a whole lot to you, but he went away for some reason,” he says.

You’re not sure why there’s a lump in your throat from his words, a heavy thing with so much substance that it threatens to weigh your heart as well. Your eyes study the side of his face. “You’re getting all of that from my voice?”

The man’s expression is blank as if it were tabula rasa, something so different from the way you’ve felt for so long now, like your heart has been torn in two. There was something so tempting about it; the luxury of a clean slate. Of a new beginning. A fresh start. And it’s hard not to imagine how you would’ve painted things differently.

“Tell me about him,” the man says, the story he was looking for having been found. “Your first love.”

“He…” you start, shocked that you’re actually answering, but it’s like an invitation you can’t resist, “he was my first boyfriend…my first serious boyfriend. I met him the summer after high school. During a summer like this one.”

seven years ago. summer.

chapter 1. cupid’s arrow.

“C’mon, faster!” Mai exclaims, her hand wrapped around your wrist to tug you across the dim streets of downtown.

“Just— wait— Mai, please, slow down,” you’re stumbling after her, feet failing to keep up, and you almost crash right into her when she comes to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

“This is it,” she says, staring up at the sporadically blinking neon lights of what appears to be a small venue, black marquee letters that spell out Backseat Serenade Tonight @ 10pm stand out to you in a way that feels haunting. “We’re so late, let’s head inside.”

Mai drags you inside, and the security guy is less than thrilled by the commotion as he stands in front of closed double doors. You can feel the bass of music vibrating the walls, accompanied by loud shrill screams and chants coming from inside, and the red velvet flooring underneath your feet fuel you with static as you two approach the man dressed in full black.

Mai fumbles with her purse to pull out her phone, and the man scans the barcoded tickets on her screen before giving the two of you wristbands to wear and then he opens the door for the two of you.

The inside of the venue is small but packed, minimal lighting save for moving lights that illuminate the band on stage, but it’s even harder to see anything over the heads of people with their hands up in the air. Mai’s grip on your forearm is tight as she roughly weaves the two of you through the crowd, determined in her gait but you feel the need to apologize to the people she’s shoving in the process. You’re surprised at how fast the two of you make it to the front barricades, thanks to Mai’s nimbleness alone, and your eyes raise to the scene onstage through wafting smoke through the air.

“Alright, alright, alright,” one of the band members chimes right as the final instrumentals of the song begin to fade. His hair is a pale silver under dusty lighting, pushed up from out of his face by a black headband snapped to his forehead, and his eyes are distinctly blue. He has an electric guitar hanging from his neck by a thick black strap. He raises both of his hands up into the air, waving them down a few times to calm down the crowd, and there are scattered hushes surrounding you and Mai. “This is our last song, and we just want to thank you all so much for coming out tonight! This crowd’s the best we’ve ever had!”

The people cheer in response as a light and relaxed melody begins to tune together from the instrumentals on stage. You hear Mai groan beside you. “What the fuck?! We missed the entire set?!”

Your hands curl around the cold metal of the barricade dividers and your eyes sweep across the stage. There’s a man in the far back with short black hair, bouncing his leg up and down as he’s seated behind a drum set, fidgeting with wooden sticks in his hands, and you’re puzzled by the fact that he’s wearing a very poorly fitted suit onstage. Off to the right, a man with pink hair is messing with the headphones snapped to his ears in front of an electric keyboard, spread fingers pressing down on chords, and you can vaguely see the black nail polish at the tips of his fingers. A woman with mid length blonde hair and pink highlights stands at the front, her hand wrapped around the mic resting on top of the stand. She’s laughing, tipping her head back at something else the electric guitar player says over the mic, but you’ve drowned out the words because your eyes finally land on what’s directly in front of you.

With an almost bored expression on his face, a man stands with a matte black bass guitar hung from his neck as he has one foot up on the top of a subwoofer located flush to the edge of the stage. His hair is raven black, longer at the nape of his neck with shorter layers scattered, and tendrils fall over his face. There’s a glint to his polished black shoes off of where you’re standing, and he’s wearing tight black jeans that cling to the thick and lean muscles of his calves and thighs, with a leather belt fastened around the circumference of his hips. The shirt that’s tucked into his jeans is just as tight to his skin, and a small gasp leaves your lips when you take in the sight of his arms covered in intricate patterns of ink. His right arm is practically covered from the wrist all the way up to the cut of his short sleeve, likely beyond, and his left arm has ink traveling up to his forearm only, like he’s still working on mapping it all out. You watch the way his biceps flex as he bends his arms, bringing his hands up to his face to push his hair back, and your heart is keeping fast rhythm with the music.

“Cho!” the woman at the front speaks into the mic, turning her head to look at this man who you’re sure is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “You’ve hardly said a single word tonight, baby. Not that that’s unusual though. Why don’t you say a few words before we kick off the last song?”

A bunch of whoos!! and ahhhs!!! and yesss!!! scatter throughout the crowd in the form of cheers and you watch the man furrow his brows together, a scowl forming on his face. There’s a band of black underneath his eyes that runs across the bridge of his nose, with perpendicular lines resembling arrows running down his cheeks. Dark purple eyes that match the dark shadows around them glint under flickering stage lighting as he takes his foot off the speaker and walks a few steps backwards to position himself at his stationed mic.

“Fine,” he says, and you’re watching the way his lips barely brush against the mic as he speaks, “This is our last song. It’s called Lost Cause. Enjoy. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Who the fuck am I to tell you what to do.”

There’s only a slight beat of silence from the crowd before they’re cheering again, while his band members just stare at him stunned. The white-haired electric guitarist yells into his mic something like “THAT’S IT?!” before the drum player cuts him off with three taps of his sticks in the air, and then the song commences from them on practiced reflex.

The energy from the crowd is loud in the last few minutes of the show, smoke rising in the air from the machines spread across the raised stage, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the bass player. You rest your forearms on the cold metal in front of you, the sight of Mai jumping up and down in your periphery as she headbangs and shakes her hair.

The bass player’s eyes start to scan the venue within what seems to be the final chorus of the song, chin tipping up and fingers continuing to strum as he assesses the back of the crowd first, then gaze darting throughout the center, before he begins to study the front barricade. You watch his every movement, mapping the trail of his sight, and your heart skips a beat when those dark eyes finally fall on yours.

His eyes briefly flicker to your left, to continue his study of the crowd, but it’s as if his brain just registered something with a delay, and he quickly moves his gaze back to you in a double take. His eyes widen, bored expression quickly turned into one of surprise with a glint to his pupils, and you swear you’ve been struck by an arrow to your heart.

“Yaaaay! Thank you everyone!” the woman at the front exclaims, pulling her mic from the stand to walk around to make work of the crowd. The white-haired man approaches the edge of the stage with a pleased grin on his face, high-fiving all of the outstretched arms, and the man at the keyboard simply waves a few times before incessantly tuning buttons on his headphones. Drum boy hasn’t stopped playing some sort of loud rhythm as an encore. Your sight is set back onto the bass player, and he’s looking off somewhere else now. Somewhere backstage.

“Hey!” the white-haired man exclaims once he’s made it in front of the two of you. “Mai! You made it!”

She reaches out to grab his forearm, tugging down harshly so he’s stumbling and dropping one knee to the stage floor, kneeling. “Of course I was gonna make it! Thanks for the tickets,” she’s yelling over loud ambient cheers and music, “this is my friend y/n, by the way. Oh, and this is Gojo, he’s the guy I was telling you about.”

You nod at him, and try to accept his outstretched hand when someone bumps you from behind and your hand is in favor of stabilizing yourself over the divider instead.

You can barely hear the laugh from Gojo’s position on the raised stage. “Just meet us backstage! We can chat for a bit with proper introductions and all.”

As the crowd begins to dissipate with people moving through the sets of double doors out back, Gojo hops off stage to take you and Mai through a side door that leads into a hallway that lines the back of the stage. You look up into the high ceilings with metal structural poles banding between the walls, and the dim yellow lighting in small bulbs bolted to the walls like a runway remind you of movie theater exit routes.

“So, what’d you guys think of the show?” Gojo asks, his arms raised up and hands interlocked behind his neck in a casual-not-so-casual way as he sends the two of you a lazy look over his shoulder.

“Well, we only made it for one song since miss barista over here was running late from her shift,” she sighs, whacking your arm once with the back of her hand. You glance down and realize you didn’t even have the time to take your frilled and wrinkled apron off. “But, from what we did get to hear, AMAZING! AWESOME! SPECTACULAR!”

Gojo is grinning wide as he turns around to face the two of you, continuing to walk but backwards as he slaps the raised hand that Mai had in the air for him. “I’m so glad, I felt the pressure to please was high since I’ve been hyping up our shows to you for so long.”

“We’ve only known each other for like two weeks.”

“I know. But PSYCH 210 lecture at the ass crack of dawn really brings two people together, y’know.”

Mai and Gojo continue to laugh and talk about random things college-related, and there’s a stirring feeling in your chest that you’re surrounded by people older and much more well-lived than you. You’ve just graduated high school, barely a few months ago, but Mai was a few years older than you, so any time she tries to introduce you to her college friends, you feel the need to perform or be someone that you’re not so they’ll like you, despite the fact that you’re aware of the fallacy in that. And tonight, that responsibility feels much more daunting for some reason.

There are voices heard further down the hall, and as you approach, you notice the drum guy, keyboard guy, and devilishly handsome bass guy are all loitering around in that area, along with a few other people they seemed to have invited backstage.

Gojo walks up to them, grabbing onto the bass man’s hand firmly before patting him on the back, then slings his arms around the other two. “This is Higurama,” he says, rubbing the top of the black-haired guy’s head with the knuckles of his fist, “he does drums for us. And this is Sukuna,” he says, about to repeat the same gesture to the top of his head but his wrist is grabbed and twisted, “ow, fuck, fuck, fuck– sorry.” Sukuna lets go of his wrist, scowl dissipating into sadistic amusement, and Gojo’s holding his wrist, now slightly red from the burn, with a pout on his face. “He does the keyboard. And all the techno sounds. And some other stuff I’ve frankly no fucking clue about.”

The two of them acknowledge you and Mai, along with the few other people who Gojo seems to know as well, and then Gojo’s approaching the bass player again before resting his elbow up on his shoulder, leaning his weight onto him and the man just crosses his arms across his chest, sending Gojo a side-eye. “Mai, I think you two have met before, but this is Choso. Choso Kamo, our bass player. Best bass player I’ve ever known to be honest. Be careful though, he might bite you.”

Choso scowls, rolling his shoulder back once to get rid of Gojo’s resting elbow. His eyes are on yours, boring into you deep, and when he darts his tongue out briefly to wet his bottom lip, you finally notice the silver lip ring near the corner of his mouth. “Hi. Nice to meet you,” he says, hand outstretched and you shake it with a mention of your name to him. The skin on his fingers feel rough from play, a small sacrifice to pay for the talent he’s harnessed over the years from plucking at strings. His eyes sweep down you once. “Why are you dressed like Strawberry Shortcake?”

“I–” you start, glancing down at your attire and feeling the heat pool in your cheeks, “I just got off a work shift. I work at a cafe.”

“Oh,” he responds, and you notice his hand is still holding onto yours, Your eyes trail the patterns on his skin, visible in more detail up close, and you find yourself lost in every line and swirl and scale and skull and cross, the only thing breaking you out of your trance being Mai’s jab of her elbow to your ribcage.

You gasp, snatching your hand away from Choso, and when you look up at his face, there’s a hint of amusement on it.

“Babes, he was asking you a question,” Mai says, looking between you and the man in front of you.

“Huh?” you ask, suddenly flustered and you swipe your palm down your work apron to wipe the sweat that begins to perspire at your palm from the lingering heat of his hand.

“I was asking if you liked the show,” Choso says, tilting his head to the side and now he’s allowing his eyes to travel all across you in any way he wants.

“I loved it,” you respond, almost breathlessly, “it was great. I mean– we only saw, like, one song. But still, really amazing.”

“Only one song?” Choso asks, his eyebrow raising, “that’s a shame. You’ve gotta come to more shows then.”

Before you can respond, there’s a feminine voice heard down the hallway, sounding an awful lot like the one echoing off the speakers inside the concert venue, and then the blond woman who was the lead singer of the band skips right up to the group formulating in this hallway before wrapping her arms around Choso’s neck and pulling him down towards her in a kiss.

You’re standing there stunned, eyes immediately averting from the scene of the two of them in front of you, but in the corner of your eye you can see his arm wrap around her waist briefly before he pulls her away from him, and the release of her lips from his makes a sound that for some reason creates a pit in your stomach.

“Cho, baby, I just had an insane conversation,” she says, still practically hanging from his neck as she stands on tiptoes, “with this record label guy. He’s apparently hot shit in Tokyo, and he wants to offer us this city gig ‘cause he thinks we’re a potential sign-on, and–”

Choso’s hand reaches to the back of his neck, gripping around her wrist to pull it apart from her other one, and then her arms fall to her sides and her heels flatten to the ground as she blinks up at him. “That’s cool, Sana, but can we talk about that later?”

Gojo’s arms cross his chest as he leans forward, glaring at the woman. “Yeah. And as a band, not just with your lover.”

Sana rolls her eyes and scoffs, placing curled hands low on her hips. “He’s not my lover, bitch. Unless he’s my lover like you’re lovers with a blunt on a sunday– sucked off in a car ‘cause you’ve got nothing better to do.”

“That’s offensive to both of us,” Gojo grumbles but Choso just sighs, unbothered, as he rubs at the back of his neck. He makes eye contact with you again, and his expression sobers as though he forgot for a second that you were still standing there.

Sana turns to you and Mai. “Hi, I’m Sana, nice to meet you guys. Sorry, I thought you two were some of our other friends, otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed Cho in front of you. I hate PDA, trust me.”

Mai lets out an awkward laugh as she shakes her hand, and you almost don’t want to shake her hand, but you do just to be polite.

“You didn’t hate PDA that one time I was about to bag the girl I’d been talking to for weeks and you decided to grind your sorry excuse of an ass right up against me in front of her,” Gojo grumbles.

She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Whatever, she thought you were gay anyways. Would’ve done yourself a favor if you actually grabbed my ass.”

She ignores the insulted gesture Gojo makes, cutting off whatever words he was about to spew with words of her own. “What are you girls doing after this? We’re having a post-show party, you two should come.” She glances at you. “Uh, love, I’d ditch the apron though. Unless it’s, like, some sort of fetish for you.”

You’re defeated as your arms cross your torso to grip the hem of your apron and pull it up over your head, shaking your head a bit to allow your hair to fall back into place, and then you fold the frilly article of clothing neatly before hanging it over your arm. “It’s not,” you sigh, too exhausted to be subject to the title of your occupation anymore. A small flicker of your eyes to Choso tells you he’s staring at you.

Sana shrugs. “So you pretty ladies wanna come?”

Mai shakes her head. “No, sorry, my baby here,” she says, wrapping her arm around yours tightly, “just graduated high school recently, so she’s too young for a party. I’ve got a responsibility to look after her. And throwing her into a room full of sleazy drunk punk college dudes is the opposite of looking after her.”

Sukuna comes around, leaning his arm against the wall, smirk on his face, as he eyes you like you’re something to steal. “Just graduated high school? So you just turned eighteen, sweetheart?”

Mai glares daggers at him. “Get the fuck away from her, Super Senior. You’re icky. Also, case in point proven.”

Sana whacks the back of Sukuna’s head, and he all but growls at her. “Stop being creepy,” she reprimands him before turning to Mai again. “No, I swear, it’s not like that. It’s chill, minimal alcohol. No drugs. Just a small get-together with a few of our fellow friends, and friends of fellow friends, from the music scene.” She leans against Choso’s arm, wide eyes looking up at him, but he doesn’t lean into her. “Right, Cho? No scary guys for her to worry about?”

His eyes narrow at you, raking down your figure again, and his chest moves a little faster with his breath. “I’m against it. It’s no place for an eighteen-year-old. You’re a fucking idiot for trying to invite a girl who just recently graduated from highschool to a house party. She’s practically a kid.”

Your heart sinks from his words, and you feel juvenile standing in front of him, in a way that makes you angry and embarrassed at the same time, and you can’t bite back the words in time, “Whatever, at least I haven’t been on crack since the day I was born like you probably were.”

Almost all heads in this small hallway snap to you, if they weren’t already there before, wide eyes blinking before Gojo bursts out into a laugh, which dominoes into Mai’s laughter, and you barely register the way Sana looks you up and down once before forcing a smile. Choso’s surprised expression turns into a disgruntled one as he crosses his arms across his chest, and you can’t help but watch the stretch of his inked skin over his muscles as they flex.

“I’ve never done crack, shortcake, and your lame insult only proves my point on your immaturity,” he scowls, leaning his upper body forward towards you, and his gaze briefly drops to your lips.

Sana comes in between the two of you, pressing herself up against him to get him away, and he takes an involuntary step back and now he’s scowling at her too. She turns around to face you, and there’s that forced smile again. “Uh, y’know what, sweets? Cho is sooo totally right, no place at all for a—I’m sorry, how old did you say you were?”

“Eighteen,” you say with a slight grit to your teeth.

“Oh! Yeah, no place for you, sorry,” she says, with a small jut of her bottom lip to signal a pout.

You roll your eyes at her, then glance past her at Choso who’s looking at you like he’s still got a few retaliating words for you on his tongue, but then he’s dropping his gaze to the neckline of your shirt, eyeing the shape of your breasts, even dipping further down your legs and you let out a scoff.

“You sure enjoy checking me out for someone you think is practically a kid,” you spit back.

He’s not angry this time, the corner of his mouth simply tipping up slightly into a smirk. “I meant you’re too young to drink, but you’re old enough to fuck, so spare me the attitude.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment, nonetheless made in front of a group of people who were practically strangers to you, and you’re about to give him a piece of your mind when Mai grabs your forearm and Gojo places himself between you and jerkface.

“Woah! Look at the time,” Gojo chirps, glancing at his wrist that was absent of any time-telling device but he rolls with it anyway, “should probably head out now, since the venue’s closing soon. Y’know, grab our stuff.”

Mai nods her head at you in response to his words, sending a single glare Choso’s way before exchanging some pleasantries with Gojo and then dragging you down the hallway with her towards the exit.

“Hey–” you begin to complain, her grip on you starting to hurt, and you eventually yank your arm away from her before she opens the backdoor exit. “Let’s go to that party.”

Mai sighs, leaning her back against the door and crosses her arms. “No way. Your mom wanted me to get you home before midnight,” she says as she glances at the time on her phone, “and it’s close to midnight.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m an adult now, I don’t have to adhere to a midnight curfew, like I’m fucking Cindarella.”

Mai raises an eyebrow at you from the profanity, recognizing the fact that it’s something you just forced into your vocabulary in a way that doesn’t suit you. “I already said no.”

“Take me or else I’m going to tell your mom about the nipple piercings you got last week.”

Mai hisses a sharp breath through her teeth. “You’re a bitch.”

“Take me,” you deadpan.

She tilts her head back so that it hits the metal of the door, and then she’s pushing her back against it to open it, the rush of cold wind from outside brushing past the two of you as she steps into the night and you follow her. “Oh my god, fine. But only for a little bit, and let’s get the lie straight right now–you had explosive diarrhea at the concert so I couldn’t take you home right away since you were incapacitated in the restrooms.”

“What? Why do I have to be the one with explosive diarrhea?” you ask, frown on your face but there’s a skip to your step as you follow her down the street to where she very poorly parallel parked and you open the passenger side door. She doesn’t bother answering you as she settles into the driver’s seat and her car roars to life with a few struggling turns of the key in ignition.

“No drinking,” Mai says, voice strict with eyes locked on yours, and it’s the last thing she says before she starts driving.

The house is just a few miles from the venue location, and Mai seems to have been there before since she turns the navigation off once she turns onto a street that has her driving switch to from perusal to more casual.

Gojo is the one to greet you two at the door with wide eyes and a drink in his hand. You notice he’s changed out of his stage attire into something more casual, and likely in a rush too since his hair is disheveled, and you figured that you and Mai barely got here after they did. The surprised look on his face is quick to turn into a pleased one at the sight of the two of you. “Oh sweet you two actually came,” he comments, waving a hand for you two to come inside, “figured Kamo would’ve scared you off.”

You roll your eyes, “where is that jerk? I still have a few choice words for him.”

“Babes, let it go,” Mai sighs, “Not worth your time.”

“I concur,” Gojo says, “but, if you really want, he’s upstairs putting some of my stuff he borrowed for tonight’s show back into my room. You can…” he glances down at you once, “uh. Cuss him to death? Or whatever you can manage, I guess. But just don’t fuck on my bed, please. That’s my only rule.”

“Why do you sound like that’s a rule you’ve had to make often?” Mai scoffs, amused, while your cheeks feel hot.

Gojo slumps his shoulders in some type of comical defeat. “I don’t wanna talk about it…” he mumbles, voice trailing off and turning on his heel to walk away while Mai follows him off with more follow-up questions he doesn’t seem receptive to answering.

Your eyes glance over to the staircase, studying for a moment as loud party music fills your ears before making your way over and up the steps. As you head down the hallway leading into bedrooms, the floorboards creak until your sneakers even over soft carpet, and you hear soft sounds of clattering off to the left. There’s a door that’s half ajar leading into a warmly lit room, and you deftly peek your head through the opening.

Choso stands near the foot of the bed inside a messy room, black boxes and cases and wires surrounding him as he fumbles with unplugging some sort of audio station pad from another piece of hardware. His hand grips tightly around the thick black rubber coating of the wire, and you watch the flex of his knuckles that tense the veins running up his arm, sleeve of the shirt he’s worn all night stretching to accommodate the roll of muscle at his upper arm. With a solid yank, the chord releases itself before the wire whacks him straight in the face and he grumbles a fuck under his breath and he rubs the skin of his cheek, to which you can’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight of.

His furrowed and frustrated expression turns into surprise as his eyes flicker to the entrance of the room. He stands up straight, and then there’s that bored expression again. “Oh. Shortcake. I thought I said you’ve got no business being here.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m waiting for you to apologize to me,” you say, leaning sideways against the doorframe as you cross your arms over your chest.

He sighs, eyes moving away from yours to busy himself with the jungle of equipment he’s practically drowning in, as if he couldn’t be bothered by your presence right now. “Apologize for what?”

You make your way inside the room, foot pushing aside anything sprawled on the floor that’s in your way so you can continue to approach him, and you stop just when you’re just a step away. His gaze is still set to the ground as he’s crouched over slightly, but it shifts from the speaker he was toying with to the shape of your shoes instead.

“Apologize to me for being so crass,” you say, “after we had just met.”

He slowly straightens his spine, and you’re a little shocked to find the height that he has on you. His expression is curious, eyes narrowing slightly like he has you all figured out already, and it pisses you off. “Crass is such a prissy word to use, princess. Try ‘apologize to me for being a massive dick’ or something, and I’ll start to take you more seriously.”

“Why are you so rude?” you ask, anger building up inside of you all of a sudden. “I’ve barely met you, I don’t see how I could’ve upset you in any way. Yet you’ve already insulted me in multiple ways tonight, and it’s not a cool look for you. Trust me.”

“You’re the one that basically called me a crackhead,” he counters, but there’s no real offense behind it.

“Yeah, because you called me a kid,” you say, face tightening even further with anger, “even though I’m an adult.”

He sighs, closing his eyes in irritation, and tilts his head up to look at the ceiling briefly as his mouth hangs slightly open, all as if he’s running thin of the capacity to deal with this conversation, and then he looks back down at you again. “Shortcake, I didn’t call you a kid ‘cause of your age. I called you a kid ‘cause you’re just so–” he starts, eyes traveling down your body paired with a vague gesture of his hand towards all of you, and you find yourself shifting on your feet to stand a little more poised, “you just seem so innocent and clueless and, uh, forgive me, naive.”

“You’re the clueless one here if you still think negging a girl will get you anywhere with her,” you say, hands clenched in fists at your side now.

There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he tilts his head at you, some of his dark hair falling over his forehead from the motion and a few strands weave with his eyelashes. “I’m not trying to get anywhere with you here, sweetheart, unless you’re wanting that,” he says, voice almost purred at the end as he steps over a guitar case on the floor to get closer to you.

You’re unable to make eye contact with him when he’s close and you can smell the earthy notes of his cologne, mixed with another scent that seems more distinctly him that makes your head spin. Your gaze takes in the sight of his forearm, the one with scattered tattoos trailing up his arm but not yet fully inked in. You wonder what he’s saving the space for, and what he’s willing to let in.

When your gaze flickers up to his face again, you’re a little surprised to see his expression is softer. He suddenly holds his forearm up in front of you. Your eyes signal confusion to him, but he just keeps his arm up the same.

“You’ve been ogling my tattoos since we met,” he says, voice low, “if you’re curious, then just have a closer look.”

Your breath picks up in speed, and you hesitate for a moment but it’s true. You were curious. Your hands shakily hold onto his forearm to keep it still as you study the ink on his skin. You twist his arm as much as his joint allows, and he lets you handle him in any way you want, and you swear the snake tattooed on his skin moves as if it were alive. A dark blossoming rose with highlights of burgundy red catches your eye near his elbow, and you brush the back of your hand against it. Your fingers accidentally find his pulse at his wrist, and you find his heart is beating fast.

You run a flat palm up his arm, the skin to skin contact feeling intimate, and your fingers stop when they tuck under the fabric of his sleeve. You feel the warmth and curve of his bicep, lightly wrapping your hand around it, and you blush at the sight of how small your hand looks on him.

“What does this one mean?” you ask, not meaning for it to come out as a whisper, but you feel like his answer is meant to be kept a secret. Your thumb swipes over small roman numerals permanently etched into him over muscle.

“It’s my dad’s military tag,” he responds, voice quiet like yours.

You tear your gaze away from his skin to look up at him, and you realize he’s closed enough distance between the two of you to where his face is just inches away. From the moment you looked up, his eyes have been on your lips, and his brow furrows as if he’s fighting some voice in his head that’s testing this harmony between the two of you in this moment.

You swear he’s about to kiss you, since there could be no other explanation for the way he was looking at you, but instead he clears his throat and his face is first to distance from you before he pulls his arm back as well, and then a small step backwards. “Sorry,” he says, and he almost sounds awkward. It startles you, because it’s the first time he doesn’t sound cool or calm or collected.

“That-” you start, “...wait, what are you sorry for?”

His eyes widen, and you see the heaviness under them for a moment, “uhh…I’m actually not too sure.”

Your head feels clear now that he’s not close enough to breathe in, and you blink a few times as your annoyance from earlier resurfaces amidst the lingering energy he just broke between you two. “Start with ‘I’m sorry for calling you a kid, and then also just now calling you naive and clueless,’” you say, foot tapping impatiently, “and then, in front of all your bandmates, mocking the fact I’m not old enough to drink, and shamelessly traveling your eyes over me, and then–” your breath catches slightly as the words fail to leave your tongue, cheeks feeling hot, “and then saying–” you try again, but the thought only falls flat, and he’s taking a step closer to you again.

“And then saying that you’re old enough to fuck?” he asks, finishing your sentence for you, but there’s no remorse in his tone at all.

His hand suddenly finds the small of your back and he pushes gently so you take a stumbled step towards him, like he needed to have you close to him again. His lips brush against the top of your head, and the sensation sends a hot feeling through your chest. “Choso,” you reprimand him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, like in cynical disbelief, “my name sounds so sweet coming from you.”

It makes no sense, but you grip his shirt at his chest just to make contact with him, and you brave yourself to look up at him, wondering if he can see the hint of worry in your eyes, because he already feels like something you can’t resist.

His eyes are dark now, different from the tenderness in them before, and he’s freely studying the features of your face. “I don’t want to fuck you, Shortcake, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re a little too good for me to do something like that.”

His words say one thing while his eyes say another, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close, and you’re astonished at how little he cares about the clear contradiction in his words from the way he holds you. His gaze slowly travels down from your eyes to your lips.

“What about–” you start, heart beating fast in your chest as you see the glimmer of the silver ring pierced through his lip. You bite back the words.

But he reads your mind, because his head dips down towards yours and he captures your lips in his, slow and sweet at first before pressing more firmly, more decisively with both hands flying to hold your waist. A moan muffles in your throat at the sensation of his bare fingers coyly traveling under the hem of your shirt, and you can’t help but slide your arms up over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck to pull him down closer to you, and he sighs in response as he presses your hips flush against him. The chill metal of his lip ring has the plush of your bottom lip tingling cold, and when his tongue swipes across to warm it for you, your mouth opens with ease. You taste spearmint on his tongue, and his lips curve against yours in what feels like an amused smile, large hands now slid so far up your shirt that his fingers reach the band of your bra.

“Hey, Cho, do you know where–”

The trill of a feminine voice in the air cuts through harshly, and he pulls his lips from yours but not without a moment of reluctance. You two turn your head to the door, and you see Sana standing there, eyes wide and blinking as she takes in the sight of the two of you standing in what feels like a guilty proximity from how her eyes silently curse you.

You can only manage an awkward laugh, fist shoving against Choso’s shoulder but his hands are still placed firmly on the curve over your lower back, dangerously close to the plush of your ass, and your hips are practically pinned to him while you do all you can to lean your upper body away. “Oh–sorry, this…is not what it looks like–”

“I…” Sana starts, and you can see the hurt in her expression, but she quickly corrects it, “Oh! Ah, was just lookin’ for Cho here,” she says, making her way into the room, and a harsh shove of your fist against Choso’s chest finally has him relenting to let you go. Your posture immediately stiffens when she approaches Choso’s side, and she playfully pushes his arm but the effort is weak. “Kissing girls in Satoru’s room is seriously not a good idea, Cho. That freak probably has cameras in here to make sure people don’t bump uglies in his room again after that New Year’s party.”

Choso gives her a pointed look, like he wasn’t caught up on that drama, but you’re just standing there with your eyes flicking between the familiarity of the two people standing in front of you. Why wasn’t Sana jealous? She was looking at you ten seconds ago like she was a whole lot of jealous.

“What are you looking for?” Choso asks her, and she holds her red plastic solo cup with her drink in it out for him to hold as she crouches down to the floor to sift through the equipment now surrounding the three of you.

“My lucky mic,” she says, “Gojo said it’d be here.” There’s a hint of something in her voice, something that mirrors betrayal if you’re perceptive enough.

You watch Choso lick his lips once, eyes darting to you, before he’s crouching down too to help her look. “For something that allegedly means a lot to you, you sure do a shit job at looking out for it,” he comments with a sigh before pulling out a black case from under three other ones and handing it to her. “It’s here.”

“I’m–” you say, taking a step back and almost tripping over a guitar case, “I’m, um, going to head downstairs. Mai is probably looking for me.”

Choso raises an eyebrow at you from where he’s still crouched down next to Sana, and he’s about to speak when Sana cuts him off.

“Okay. Bye,” she says, still rummaging through things mindlessly even though she had already been given what she was looking for.

Choso makes a move to stand up, like he wants to see you out the door, but Sana’s hand grabs him by his forearm, eyes still not meeting his, and there’s a beat of confusion in his eyes as he studies the side of her face. But you know what sort of look she probably has in her eyes right now, and you know only because you’re also a girl, and all girls know what it’s like when a guy you love doesn’t want you in the way that you want him. All you can do at this moment is feel sorry for her.

The atmosphere in the room begins to suffocate, and you head out of the door in a rush.

present day. summer.

“He kissed ya the day he met ya? Hmph! That wouldn’t fly with me,” the man seated beside you says, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifts slightly in his seat to puff his chest out.

“Hmm,” you hum as you look out the window wistfully, memories that you had locked up for so many years opened like a pandora box that fills your chest with warmth but has your fingers trembling with anxiety because you know how it all ends. “You wouldn’t…let a man kiss you on the first day he met you?”

The driver humors you with a hearty laugh from his chest, at least. “Not talkin’ about it that way, darlin’. I’m talkin’ about my daughters. I’ve got two girls of my own. A man should keep his hands to himself the first time he meets a lady. At least that’s what I’ve taught ‘em.”

There’s a small smile that tugs at your lips at his words, the love he has for his daughters heard clearly through his strict tone. You left out a lot of the details that probably would’ve angered him on your behalf even more, so the fact he still ended up getting worked up about it has you a little amused and reflective at the same time. “How old are your daughters?” you ask, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear, watching the wind-rustled plains of grass that you two have been driving by for a while now.

“They’re a little younger than you,” he comments, his expression now a bit more serious, “one just graduated from college, she’s startin’ more school in the city soon, and the other’s still in highschool. She’s turning sixteen next week.”

“Ah, sixteen,” you muse, “that’s a confusing age.”

“You got that right,” he gruffs, “the other day, she called me on my way home from work to bring some drink called a boba. Fifty-two years of life and I never even knew there was a damn thing called a boba! Why would anyone want swirlin’ stuff in their drink?! Anyways, the shop got her order wrong, and when I brought it home, she refused to drink it, called me the worst dad ever, then stormed upstairs to slam the door on her room. I turn to my wife, and she’s shakin’ her head at me like I’m the one that did something wrong!”

You laugh, then press your lips into a smile. “I’d have to agree with her on that,” you joke, and he lets out another disgruntled noise that has you laughing again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve lived with my wife and those two girls for over two decades,” he sighs. “I’m used to it by now. All three are equally pains in my ass, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your smile drops a little as you look at him more contemplatively. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he speaks, and you realize it’s familiar, but the answer of where you’ve seen it before fails to arrive.

“My youngest,” he starts again, “she’s been listenin’ to really loud music lately.” He presses one of the buttons underneath the AC vents, static noises coming to life before he changes the output to bluetooth. “My wife says it’s some sort of phase, but I’m not likin’ the music. Always sounding tempered and inappropriate.” He plays a song from his phone paired to the car, speakers flowing with music, and a chill runs down your spine the moment the first few notes fill your ears. A song so painfully familiar, so connected to your soul it’s as if your heart still keeps time with it to this day.

“See what I’m talkin’ about?” the man says, “Lots of words about skin and cigarettes.” With a shake of his head, he lowers the volume. “She’s obsessed with this band, it’s probably a band similar to your old lover’s from the sound of it. She’s got posters of ‘em up on the wall, and she took the picture of us on our first fishing trip together out of the picture frame on her desk and replaced it with this man. This silly-lookin’ white-haired man that always looks like he’s just pretending he knows how to play a guitar. Hmph! She keeps saying ‘dad, I wanna go to their concert!’ There’s no way in hell I’m allowing that.”

You stare down at your lap, brow furrowed from the realization flashing through your head, and your thumb nervously passes over the skin of your other hand. In your periphery, you see him glance over at you once, and he sighs before stopping the music and speaking up again.

“It’s fine,” he says, “my youngest got her sister into the same band, and she likes one of the other ones. Plays bass. He’s too rough-lookin’ for my daughter. Arms covered in tattoos, he’s even got some on his face! She keeps dreamin’ about havin’ him for a boyfriend, but if she brought that home, there’s no way I’d approve. I’d scare him off with my rifle.”

Your heart is beating fast in your chest, and you realize what a small world it is. Or, you realize just how big Choso’s world must be now. So much bigger than he or any of the other members of his band could’ve ever imagined. For once in a lifetime, so rare and pure, are dreams that are fully realized.

“Gosh,” you respond when you realize you’ve been lost in your own revelations for too long, “that’s an…extreme response. You sound like my father, though.”

“Hm,” he responds, “I’m sure. Did your father approve of this lover of yours? The one that’s makin’ moves on you so fast and too soon?”

You lean back in your seat with your head hitting the headrest. It’s been years since you’ve felt like you’re being lectured or reprimanded for anything, but the feeling comes back to you at this moment as if no time had passed at all. No matter how old you get, you’ll never forget how humbling the feeling was when you thought you knew everything at eighteen, just to look back and realize you didn’t have a single clue.

You sigh. “No. He didn’t approve. Far from it.”

seven years ago. autumn.

chapter 2. the juvenile & the delinquent.

[to be continued]

a/n. eeeeeppp thank you very much for reading n supporting my new fic!! i hope you enjoyed :') still a lot more to uncover n unpack hahah i'm so nervous to start a new fic but i'm also very excited!!! i love choso sm but i also love nanami so this is gonna be interesting to write. also TYSM to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this omg your support means the world to meeee. love you all sm.

taglist: @joemama-2 @sweetpo1son @lilluna12 @polarbvnny @4y3sh4 @sedona-the-l0bster @horisdope @ilovenana88 @thexmistress @atsushirolll @flvrrg0d @strawnanamilk @nighttwingg @indieotterxoxo @pirana10 @bakuhoethotski @tvdumarvelhpsimp @lavender-hvze @whereflowerswenttodie @alwaysfreakingout @kaitoluver @3xv5s @wrenabbadon @erwinslut @winsga18 @ynishalee @yungbloode

love u all so much!!

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gangplanksorenji · 4 months

Text

Kinknuary Day 9: Cunnilingus

Pairing: LE SSERAFIM Chaewon x Male Reader

Word Count: 5,156

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

--------------------------------------

She made herself clear, albeit it’s almost inaudible—she wants you.

You can’t blame her and you would do the same if you’re on her shoes—being physically deprived with her embrace and affection, even though you’re still in touch with her online, is a hard thing to endure since you missed each other so bad that once you’ve saw each other’s faces, you can’t help but run onto each other and envelop her with a warm embrace and to kiss her lips lovingly, as the cherry on top.

You can’t help but get lost, drowned into the sea of love because of her her endearing stare that makes you feel butterflies, let alone her honey-filled, sweet-toned voice that makes you melt every time she talks—you just love her so much that there’s no other person that can top off your adoration as much as you towards her.

“I meant it—I want you, now. I miss you so much that it’s driving me crazy everyday.”

You caressed her hair and cupped her cheek, as you responded, “I genuinely missed you too, Chaewon and now that you’re here, there’s nothing I could ask for.”

It’s genuine and she can feel it laced in every word you let go, and that alone makes her feel so much love that her emotions are starting to make her cry a little, shedding a tear as you wipe it swiftly with your finger.

“You don’t need to cry anymore, Chaewon-ah—I’m here now, okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m just—” Chaewon sniffs as her throat gets progressively dry due to the weightful emotions she’s into, but nonetheless, she’s feeling all positive and in pure ecstasy. “—overwhelmed right now, so, I can’t help b-but cry…”

She broke down again but this time, she buried her face onto your chest as you reassure and comfort her with your slow strokes onto her hair as she’s giving it all. “Chaewon-ah, it’s alright now, okay? I’m here and we’re not leaving each other anymore.”

She looks up at you with her orbs glistening with delight as she gleefully paints a smile, her cuteness making you smile contagiously in response as you kiss her forehead for further assurance. You know that she agrees with you with that, and will never leave your side but now, such unstoppable forces can’t be stopped as the wholesome moment was later turned into a heated kiss. It wasn’t aggressive nor slow but the passion behind every second you spent on the kiss was felt as you found yourself indulging into it deeper, unable to even pull out to gain some leverage or even fix yourself. With her initiation, you immediately reciprocate as you utterly missed the taste of her lips as you were deprived of it for months and months and no one can blame you for that.

“Wah—y-you’re skills never faded, hah…”

“Thanks to the girl that taught me how to do it properly.” You gave her an endearing look, signaling that you’re talking about her only and nobody else (jealousy would be the last thing you would want to see) and you stand by it, she made you this way and you’re thanking her always for that. It’s truly life-changing and such a grateful thing meeting a girl like Kim Chaewon—so down-to-earth, caring, loving, clingy and most of all, really thoughtful about who she loves, not to mention her utter respect for others as always.

Epitome of perfection, that’s what she is.

The both of you can’t contain your emotions against each other, so, this time, instead of her initiating another kiss, you did it yourself yet this time, it’s way different—her kisses are full of hunger and aggression, unlike from the earlier slow and passionate ones but hey, you’re not complaining but rather liking her insatiable side even more. Constant thuds resonate around the walls as the both of you fight for your hunger against each other and not so long after, you pressed your tongue onto her lips, wanting to increase the intensity of your kisses as Chaewon happily obliges, now her tongue battling yours in a dominant fashion.

Each second that passes are wild, sloppy sounds of exchanging dances of your tongues as your voiced out your satisfaction and faint struggle with little murmurs and small whines as so does is Chaewon, but hers in a much higher tone and god, the atmosphere quickly heated out as such assertive kisses inevitably emanates such steam (figuratively speaking, of course). You can’t fathom how great this feels, as always, not to mention such absence of hers are the constant fuels of delight and those soft, luscious lips alone are enough of an evidence. Maybe you’re biased coming up to such a positive conclusion but you didn’t care—you want her, no, you need her.

With further retaliation and eager combat against each others’ tongues, you pulled out of her mouth’s tight embrace as the both of you exchanged exasperated breaths and of course, such satisfied smiles knowing that such an incredibly hot act ends up on a great note.

“You’re hungry for me, Chaewon, hm?”

“Maybe, my stomach’s rumbling but I want you better than anything else, honestly.” Chaewon paints a mischievous smirk up her lips as you read her mind, instantly enlightened about her wants and of course, how insatiable you are for her that she’s craving for more, of you.

“You know how I can’t help it whenever I’m with you.”

“So am I, Chaewon.”

Insatiability was inevitable the first time you’ve felt such hunger within each others’ lips and now, you’re craving for more and yearning for your own desires and wishing Chaewon’s on the same boat as yours, too. You could never know what could be in her mind right now but you can sense the need in her eyes—those glistening, round orbs pleading for you only and god, it’s only within a single reach before you can achieve everything you've been abstaining from for months.

Of course, you know Chaewon can get easily embarrassed even with the tiniest, silliest acts so you didn’t really want to make a scene onto the airport’s restrooms even though the tiny room is considered somewhat private—you’d rather want to take this somewhere only just the two of you are capable of witnessing.

“Let’s go home, Chaewon, at your place, okay?”

Chaewon didn’t really formulate any reasoning behind your current halt of her needs and yours because she wants it rather in a more private way too, just like how you concluded to opt for that earlier.

“Yeah—I missed going home to my place too. Want to feel that atmosphere again and—” Chaewon teases her fingers onto your chest as she faintly buried her nail onto the clothed skin, “—you.”

You didn’t really think of much more as time is now considered a gem, more valuable than anything from now on…

---

Such preceding events grow in a substantial rate when it comes to affection and showing such signs of love and honestly, it’s growing exponentially off the charts, to the point that it should be elevated and further shown in actions and words. Well, those were the pinnacle of anticipation and you can’t handle what you’re feeling anymore as you wanted to confess everything you want with her.

Not just staying with just pure verbal words, but what you’d rather do with Chaewon.

“I’ve missed this, baby.” Chaewon parts your lips with affectionate kisses and then, painting a smile right after as her stern yet seductive countenance comes right after, turning you on.

“You don’t know how much I missed this too, Chaewon—like I can’t start off a morning without seeing your beautiful face and your…” You cup her waist as you progressively run your palm up to her plump backside, squeezing it gently as it earns a faint moan escaping Chaewon’s lips. “Body—your body, Kim Chaewon-ah—I missed it as much as I missed you.”

Of course, that earns a flustered expression from Chaewon, as her cheeks shades a rosy hue and so are her ears that turn faintly red. The feelings are mutual as you’re not even trying to hide it from her—you’re vocal on why you want her and how you want her. Her hands weren’t idle, though, as it coursed its way onto your toned abdomen and onto your chest, caressing it as she mutters, “Bet you’re utilizing my naked pics for your own pleasure, no?”

Inadvertently, you spanked her buttcheeks as she yelped and looked at you with her puppy-eyes, involuntarily pleading and whimpering for you, “Isn’t it obvious, Chaewon? I do that every week, thinking about you—being crazy and horny about you.”

She’s enlightened about the fact that you’re frequently driving yourself crazy with this epitome of beauty—the pinnacle of perfection, her, Kim Chaewon. Again, no one can blame you for this and it’s going to the point that it’s becoming unhealthy—obsession is a vice, you know it, but you just can’t help it.

“You naughty, horny boy—you must’ve been so needy before this, aren’t you?”

The techniques she uses everytime she wants to collapse your iron walls is just brilliant and amusing, almost like she knows everything to make you weak—the way her tone instantly changed from a cheerful then a seductive one, her uses of such pet names and most of all, that damn stare that could melt within seconds because on how attractive and seductive it can get.

She’s a lethal weapon and you’re risky enough to handle her, of course—you know her too well.

“Of course I needed you before, Chaewon but all I know is that—” You swivel deftly as you turn her, herself pinned against the wall with a loud thud as you regain the dominant side and continued, “—your holes needs some good filling or shall I say, some teasing, no?”

Again, the feelings that can be felt are obviously mutual as she’s getting turned on with your lustful choice of words, her biting her lip and letting out small whimpers are enough of an evidence to your conclusion. You always find each other hot but you got to say how much you’ve been craving for her since you met her in a warm embrace on the airport: black-colored nylon jacket that compliments her simple style of fashion of her black-colored one-piece dress of a long sleeve and those stockings that serves up an incredibly pristine, simple yet elegant look—of course she’s phenomenally hot with that outfit as it’s passively included there, as always.

Even with how elegant-esque and classy her outfit is, it’s better off on the floor as no image can top off Chaewon’s scrumptiously tight, little body.

“You know m-me, baby—now show me how it’s done.”

You take that as a green light as you immediately pull her for another intimate kiss, the two of you rumbling from the aggression initiated by the both of you but suddenly, she pulls out as she tells you something that’ll arouse you even further.

“I’ve missed you—and this cock, so please—I wanna taste it so bad.” Further needs should be assessed immediately, and you’re not the man who will take advantage of depriving her for something that she’s been longing for and you didn’t even get the time to command her to kneel down as she did it herself. With those eyes—those goddamn pleading eyes, you’re not even going to try and tease her and abstain her as you immediately undressed your bottom-half like you’re in a hurry, not minding such foreplay as if Chaewon wants it now, then she’ll get what she wants now too.

“Then come and get what’s yours then—it misses you too, and your incredible mouth.”

Of course your length does, not to mention how it’s already so rock-hard that when you pulled down your boxers, it almost sprung and hit her on the face. Chaewon eyes your cock like a meal she’s been longing for, examining every inch of it as her hands cupped the throbbing muscle, and then giving it such sluggish strokes and inevitably, you moaned, voicing out such faint pleasure.

“It’s still as big as I remembered it, baby—hope you'll give me a healthy load deep down my throat.”

“Well, I r-really haven’t released one for the past t-two weeks so, this should be great.”

She licks your leaking slit, collecting the precum eagerly as she gave you another mischievous look, almost feeling like she has a deviant plan up her sleeve, “I’ll make you cum like no fucking other, baby—you deserve it for waiting for such a long time.”

That you do, and it’s not even ego-centralized anymore—the both of you deserve such rewards from such hardships and deprivations, of course you’ll fucking deserve it—

And then, Chaewon just indulges into it, on the point of no-return.

She parts her lips onto your swollen cockhead and starts kissing every inch, letting you know how much she adores it as every kiss shows affection and lust over you. She also lathers your whole length with her saliva as she licks it like it’s her favorite ice popsicle that she can’t really resist. Every movement she does with her skillful tongue and tight lips releases serotonin all throughout your body to the point that there’s too much that you need to release such beautiful moans that Chaewon always wanted to hear—your moans also serve as fuel to further make you feel great and she’s really at her own league with this.

You never doubted her skills, even without your presence for months (you probably doubt this considering that she might be even practicing giving some blowjobs with her toys, thinking that it was you) and that’s one of her plethora of wonderful displays of her lustful prowess. Right from the start, whenever she hollows her cheeks for such an incredible suction up to the electrifying sensation of her tongue licks your sensitive head, it’s just a gift to experience her masterclass, no matter where she’s servicing you or what’s your mood—you’re just incredibly thankful on how gifted of a woman Chaewon is.

She never fails to amaze you, right away. Her beguiling eye contact with you in thrust she does with her mouth on your length makes you feel butterflies—you don’t even know if you’ll feel endeared with her orbs staring at you lovingly or just get totally aroused with the mess she’ve done and her eagerness in everything she’s doing to you—and of course, her feverish strokes and fondling of your balls would be the most treasured prize you could possibly earn and it’s just magnificent that you’re feeling it right now—you just love the fact that her strokes are constant whenever it’s giving you pleasure as she knows how to hit your sweet spots with alternating between sluggish and fast strokes, from base to tip that could certainly make any man cherish the moment and the way she fondles your balls with care is just adding gasoline to the flames as it stimulates you further and unleashes the hint of your masochistic side.

“Chaewon, your skills are still—fuck—god—s-so good…”

You compliment her from time to time knowing that it’ll further add up the ante of her pace and the quality with an already impressive service. Even when you avert your eyes to wander around the things that could possibly distract you from the peak pleasure she’s been giving you or even just to fight it alone, her marvelous work between your legs is more omnipotent to be ignored nor fought with. With that power, your hands immediately find her hazelnut locks as an outlet to try and fight the intense pleasure that has been coursing down your veins. With a newly profound action form you, Chaewon took this as an opportunity to further lower down your iron walls, wanting to collapse it on her feet as she quickens the pace, blowing you with just withdrawing with only the tip inside and then slamming back in, balls-deep inside her mouth as your toes curl from the pleasure—of course, she didn’t forget to even fondle your balls and swirl her tongue all over your swollen tip, maximizing what she can bestow to you as such pool of saliva is evident on how much she’s utilizing everything.

Her pace is now unstoppable, and you’re not in authority to stop her because you know how feisty she can get when she doesn’t get what she wants and you don’t want that to happen. Everytime you voice out your satisfaction, a visible smile can be seen from your perspective even when she’s not looking at you and solely focusing into giving you the maximum effort she can muster and that alone makes her feel butterflies, let alone your encouraging words that always makes her feel valued and it’s even better when anything is not sugar coated—everything is genuine, maybe it’s the fact that there too much pleasure coursing down your body that you’re biased but that’s the essence of giving such a spectacular service.

“C-Chaewon—fuck—I’m getting close—shit, I’m not g-gonna last that long.”

After, for like, six-and-a-half minutes (that’s your intellectual estimate but you didn’t care anymore) of an earth-stopping blowjob session, she pulls out and smirks at you, mocking you with her dirty talk and anticipating your long-awaited release. “Wow—I’m surprised you’re not cumming any sooner—now give that creamy, thick load deep down my throat, baby, please—I want it here—I w-want it deep down, please, baby—fuck—mmph!”

“Don’t worry—I’ll give t-to you ‘cause—fuck—I’m going to fucking cum deep down your throat!”

There weren’t articulate words escaping your mouths as the state of bliss is coming soon and to further assess each others’ needs (mostly yours), you buried your cock deep down her tight cavern of a throat as she gagged with your forceful actions, deepthroating you with one thing in mind—to paint her slutty throat white. It wasn’t long before you achieve your desired prize and with an unholy sound that Chaewon’s doing on your cock and the continuous release of such vulgar profanities, you erupt as her gags sends magnitudes of vibrations onto your throbbing length that it further sends you into oblivion. Thick, warm shots fill her throat as she tries to take all of it, tears streaming down her cheeks as the visible struggle was too much that she forcefully pulled out of your length and catches her breath yet with all of that, you knew she took you well as now all of your semen is now swallowed down to her stomach. Shs hums in delight with what you gave her and that’s a beautiful sight to see, and her saccharine tone is a pleasant sound to hear. Even with the disheveled mess she has gotten herself into, she’s still as beautiful as ever as every inch of her impeccable features are sheathed with either sweat, tears, makeup or her saliva.

Yet with all of these, you’re not the only one that’s going to win and get its needs attended—Chaewon has her own necessities, too, that needs utmost attention.

“It’s not just f-fair that you’re the only one who’s going to get off…”

You help her stood up, and then faced her, voicing that you know how this is going to end and you know how she’s as needy as you, “I know, Chaewon—you know that I won’t let my girl sleep without fulfilling her needs but, what exactly do you want me to do, though?”

Good thing you asked because she has a lot of things on her sleeve that she wants you to do but one must prevail, and she’s not going to suspend and make you wait any further. “Since I gave you some world-rocking blowjob, then, you must answer with an oral expertise, too.”

You, a clever guy, exactly knows what she wants you to do as you answer ahead of her further explanation, making her eyes lit in awe and excitement. “So, you want me to eat you out, hm?”

It was pretty obvious to formulate such dirty thoughts whenever she hinted at those words, and you’ll oblige to her wants now. Without any time to waste, Chaewon eagerly nodded as you read her mind pretty fast and sat down onto the side of the bed and spread out her legs a little, teasing you onto your desired needs.

“Such a little tease, hm, Chaewon?”

“You know you like this, baby—” She’s now stripping herself in front of you, putting on a show as she raises up her arms and undressed that one-piece long sleeve that complimented the hourglass figure of her body—that alone shows how tight her body could be as it never ceased to make you drool. Now, with that piece of clothing off her body, you noticed the set of her black-laced bra, supporting those scrumptious, perky tits and a black thong, that further compliments her already hot look, emanating even such a hotter one. “—but I’ll always know how much you like to eye my tight, little body, don’t you, hm?”

And she’s not wrong, your eyes eyeing her body like it’s a five-star meal is enough of an evidence.

The wink. Her voice. The kiss. Her thighs. The thong. Her—she’s just insatiable and you’re now voraciously down bad now with all the teasing she’s doing to you. As much as you admire the thong that’s making the atmosphere excruciatingly hot, you’d want it down because of such actions you need to attend. Chaewon seduces you with her sultry tone, encouraging you to indulge onto her as she spreads her legs and removed the thong down her ankles and god, you froze for a second within the sight of her delicious, wet cunt all over your eyes to feast on and it’s just utter perfection.

“Don’t keep your girl waiting, baby—eat my pussy—gah, oh fuck!”

You part your lips immediately with the green light that spilled out of Chaewon’s mouth and your tongue lets her know how insatiable she is. You swipe your tongue onto the heat of her slit as you make her squirm within just few licks and it is effective—the way that her body’s almost writhing with your tongue work on her juicy cunt marks that she’s enjoying this as much as you do (on a side note: of course, who wouldn’t want to relish off of such a perfect girl’s pussy?). With the constant swipe of your tongue to collect her nectar and to taste such a delectable pussy, Chaewon eagerly moans for more encouragement and as time goes by, she voices out the pleasure she’s feeling through a series of desperate mewls and needy cries. It was later all dissolved into intense pleasure, as she fights it by grabbing the back of your head with a tight grip on your hair, similarly identical to the leverage you made while she’s blowing you earlier.

“Moan for me, Chae—tell me how much you love my mouth eating your needy pussy out.”

She’s totally perplexed with the expression of skill you’re doing to her cunt as more juice leaks out and you eagerly collect it with one single swipe as your mouth treasures every single drop. With how much she’s leaking, you’re really unable to collect all of her dripping nectar yet you truly devour her cunt like it’s your last meal, not caring for the mess she’s making in your mouth.

Within such a calm and collective atmosphere are the needy moans and small whimpers that break the silent essence of the room, and gladly, it’s being blessed with Chaewon’s songs of satisfaction. You could tell how sensitive she is considering how her thighs are quivering in every truculent swipe you do on her folds with your tongue and that alone ignites the flame inside you to further make this worth her while. You increase the pace of your tongue and your mouth, as you add in series of kisses between your tongue actions and as well as humming, a vibration that can make any girl weak, down on her knees as Chaewon does so as her ragged breaths, tight grip on the bed sheets like her life means it, and her relentless squirming—each of these elements serves as a compelling evidence of being succumbed onto the ocean of pleasure.

“Come on baby, let it all out—tell me how much you love this—”

“F-Fuck, you don’t know how–gahh—much I missed this! Fuck, y-you’re—fuck—ahh, s-so good at it.”

You lap the juices at her leaking folds as your fingers now take a turn to rub her clit to further stimulate her, “Of course, Chaewon—nobody is doing this better than I do and I’ll make sure that—” Your tongue find its way to collect more of her sweet nectar as she moans in response, satisfied with such sinful acts you’re doing onto her clit as you’re not done with your so-called narrative, “—you’re going to have one hell of an orgasm and that’s thanks to my doing.”

And, you make that promise come to life as you quickly swipe your tongue and finger her clit until she squirms out of oblivion and yes, it’s working effectively. You alternate between sealing your lips tightly onto her folds, licking her labia and collecting those treasure prizes, which is her nectar and the fingering of her clit which makes her brain go haywire. Wanting to gain a better leverage on eating her out, you commanded to lay down on the bed and relax herself and unhesitantly, she does what she’s been told as you further bury down your face onto her heat and god, this new, profound position is way better than earlier. Such sultry, erotic moans and needy mewls that escapes Chaewon’s heavenly mouth fuels the lust inside you, further diving into your animalistic urges as every second that passes is just treasured and cherished, more so on Chaewon’s side.

“Oh fuck—that’s so good, baby—don’t fucking s-stop—fuck!” Chaewon exclaims her blissful trance that sets herself onto submission, further fighting the gradual increase of pleasure coursing down her veins as she tightens her grip onto your hair, nearing those nails down your scalp as a leverage. Your constant pace and momentum is now an unstoppable force as you find yourself even indulging onto the sea of her nectar and her succulent folds even more—you’re now hypnotized with her pussy, can’t be stopped as your only aim is to make her satisfied enough to make her approach her own orgasmic state, in which, with the constant clenching of the walls of her pussy whenever you insert your tongue, you can tell how near is she and you’re helping her for that since she deserves it, right from the start.

Well, this is another thing to note for. Why? Well, she’s not usually like this whenever a steamy session gets initiated by whoever party it is because she’s more likely a switch that alternates onto being dominant and submissive but this is the wonder behind it. Maybe, it’s also the fact that she became overwhelmed with lust and joy that she didn’t care what roleplay she must put in but just succumbed herself to her needs, and it’s just evident.

She’s peak submissive now, and you’re loving it. Maybe, all it takes is your hungry mouth to get a taste of her succulent juices and to be in contact with her needy folds.

And, she’s about to get her hopes up and her high oh-so-near—

“I c-can’t take it anymore, baby! I’m g-going to explode all over your face—all o-over your fucking face, baby—fuck—ahh!!”

She flicks the switch as the devil comes out to play, and she utterly succumbs to her carnal needs as a sinful moan signals the start of her orgasmic trance. She tightens her grip onto your hair as you bury your face onto her wet cunt, her pussy starting to spray such the paramount of her release, the treasured prize that the both of you deserve—such saccharine nectar filling every inch of your face. Every spurt she blesses your face with comes with a moan that adds to the symphony of sinful sounds that filled the entire room earlier, and it’s such a tremendous display of afterwork that you’ve exerted such effort into. You insert a finger while she’s still on her orgasmic trance as the wet squelching of your fingers spurts her nectar out like a fountain and soon, the inevitable has come into an end and Chaewon catches her breath, exasperated with what you’ve done and what she indulged into.

“God—hah—b-baby, that was—hah—so, so fucking good I can’t—hah—wow, you did it s-so well…”

“And you tasted good, baby.” You wiped the plethora of nectar that she blessed you with as you tried to catch everything but in the end, you were deemed unsuccessful.

“I c-came so hard—fuck… I never t-thought it will b-be—hah, this good…” Chaewon further articulates what she felt as the euphoric essence of her orgasm earlier was making her extremely exhausted, her chest heaving for air shows that she’s slowly recovering from her high. Of course, a mild remark of concern paints your face and your tone, scared that she came a little too hard that it may cause some problems but gladly, there weren’t any signs of that.

“I told you, Chaewon—I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard.” Chaewon’s ears weren’t deaf, as your words provoked her in the minimal bit, her lightly punching you from your mocks but as much as she’s going to be a hypocrite (and she won’t be), she’s not going to lie about the fact that you made her reach her high way up above, over the limits.

“I f-feel… exhausted, baby—I just wanna sleep now…” You then joined onto the bed as you can see her drowsy eyes, half-lidded as she felt a little too exhausted and overwhelmed—you can’t blame her for that if she felt everything was too fast and euphoric that it just hit her like a truck, and you’d want her to recover further because you value her the most than anything or anybody in this world.

“Then let’s go and sleep, baby—” You then got up to the bed and fixed yourself, ready to go to the bathroom until a snap of a thought enlightens you, wanting to ask Chaewon something before you do anything else for yourself, “I’ll be cleaning myself first, though, how about you?”

She didn’t respond as you can see her already sleeping soundly. You didn’t bother to break that and wake her up, so, you just coursed your way into the bathroom, wanting to clean off the filth that was bestowed to you earlier.

You pay each other with your own coins, and it ended up favorable for the both of you, but this just can’t end like this, on an anti-climactic matter—

Well, maybe, when she wakes up tomorrow or whenever she’s down to do it… And you’re there, to pay another price.

#kinknuary 2024 #le sserafim smut #chaewon smut #kim chaewon smut #le sserafim x male reader #chaewon x male reader #kim chaewon x male reader

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 3 months

Text

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating.

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business.

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it.

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table.

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed. “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything.

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window.

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them.

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food.

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed.

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock.

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements.

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city.

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now.

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows.

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows.

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask.

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?”

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you.

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off.

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day.

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy.

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.”

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead.

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried.

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?”

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile.

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

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lokigodofmyheart · 2 months

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Nightmares

Zuko x Reader (SMUT)

Summary: Y/N and Zuko had been friends since they were kids, back at the Fire Nation. Her father was a great General and friend with Fire Lord Ozai. Y/N had been there for Zuko when he got the scar, but couldn’t accompany him in his exile. After almost two years, they found each other again and this time, she joins him in his hunt for the Avatar. There is just a small problem: Y/N had a crush on Zuko since they were 7 (2224 words).

A/N: Zuko and Reader are both 18.

Y/N was looking out for Zuko when she found him sitting next to a fireplace in his room, as he stares at the fire with an angry and tired expression. She entered his room, walking close to him “Are you okay?”

Zuko’s eyes widen slightly as he turns his head to look at her, before he got back to his angry expression “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Y/N sighs and sits by his side “Because I know you. Do you want to talk about it?”

A muscle tenses in his jaw, hinting at the struggle he’s having to keep his anger in check “No, I don’t want to talk about it!” His voices booms, causing the flames to flare up in response “Leave me alone!”

“Okay...” Y/N says softly, but didn’t make any move to go away.

Zuko turns his head away, staring fixedly at the fire again. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down before speaking in a slightly more controlled tone “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. It’s just...”

She looks at his scar and sighs “That nightmare again?”

He nods, his jaw clenching as he relives the memory “Yes. It seems to be getting worse instead of better. I thought I had put behind me...”

“It’s okay, Zuko.” Her hand tries to reach his face and his scar, but he flinches slight before she could touch him, his eyes darting towards her hand before looking away “Don’t...please.”

She drops her hand back to her lap “I’m sorry.”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax “It’s not...I just...don’t like being touched, especially there.”

Y/N nods at him “I know...But you used to let me hug you all the time when we were kids.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Zuko’s lips as he remembers those times. He turns to face her, his eyes softening slightly “Yes, I did. Things were different then.”

“Yeah, it was.” She smiles before looking at the fire. Zuko did the same.

His thoughts drifting back to his past “We were so carefree back then, weren’t we?”

She chuckles “Yes.” They were silent for a few minutes, before she spoke again “I had nightmares about that day too.”

Zuko’s eyes widen slightly at that “...what?”

“It wasn’t easy for me to see that happen to you and not being able to help you.” She replied. His expression softening slightly. She looks at him with a small smile “Do you remember when we were kids and you had nightmares and you went to my room to sleep with me?”

He nods with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips “Yes, I do.”

“Would it help you? If we sleep together like back then?” Y/N asked him.

Zuko hesitates for a moment “We’re not kids anymore.”

“I know, I just thought it could help you...” Y/N looked at the fire again.

He takes a deep breath “The crew will talk about it...”

“I know.” she sighs “Just forget I suggest it.”

Zuko looks back at her again before he sighs. She didn’t know this, but he had a crush on her when they were kids and sleeping by her side, was risky. “Fine. But just for tonight.”

She looks at him confused “But you just said...”

“It’s just for tonight.” He cut her.

“Okay.” She stands up, and so does he.

Zuko made sure his door was closed and locked, before moving over to his bed. He sits down on the edge of it, patting the spot next to him “Come on, get comfortable.” Y/N just smiles, before she untied her hair. He can’t help but stare at her for a moment. He always sees her with her hair tied, and she was even more beautiful now. “It looks good untied.”

“Thanks.” She smiled again and lay by his side on the bed.

He leans back against the headboard, his eyes locked on her face. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just take in the sight of her lying next to him “It’s strange...having you here like this.”

“Why? We slept on the same bed all the time when we were kids.” She replied.

Zuko chuckles softly “Yeah, I know. It’s just different now.” he says as his eyes roams down her body.

Y/N chuckles too “I know, but we’re still the same us, right?”

He smiled at her, then slowly reaches out to brush a lock of her hair behind her ear “I don’t know...I don’t think I’m the same person anymore...”

“Well, I guess I’m not either.” She looks down and she sighs.

Zuko watches her for a moment, wondering what’s wrong. He hesitates for a moment before gently brushing his fingers against her cheek, tilting her head up so she was looking at him “What’s wrong, Y/N/N?”

“I just realized how much we both changed theses two years apart.”

He nods, understanding the sentiment. He leans closer to her “We both had our reasons...but look at us now. We found each other again.

She smiles “We did.”

He smiled back before leaning in just a little “I missed you.”

Y/N/Nre leaned in too “I missed you too.”

Zuko just leans in a little more, without touching her lips. She just smiles, but doesn’t move, wondering who would do the first move. Finally, Zuko couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips softly against hers. His hand moved up to the back of her head, holding her close as he deepened the kiss. Y/N kiss him back with all the passion she hides all those years. Zuko’s hand moved down her back, pulling her closer to him. He groaned against her lips as their tongues danced together, their desire for one another growing with each moment. Her hand went to his face, as she breaks the kiss for air.

“What are we doing, Zuko?” She asked breathless.

He looked deeply into her eyes, his heart racing with passion. He knows what they’re doing, but he’s not sure if he wants do admit it “I don’t know, Y/N. What are we doing?”

“We’re friends...” She answered.

Zuko smirks sligtly, his voice low and husky “Friends who share a bed, friends who kiss passionately...are you sure that’s all we are?”

Y/N looks at him for a few seconds thinking, before she kisses him again. He groans, lost in the feeling of her lips against his. He deepens the kiss, his hand moves from her back to her thigh, squeezing gently as he explores her mouth with his tongue. She turns them so she can lay on top of him.

Feeling her weight, his heart races with anticipation, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as their hips grind together. “God, Y/N...I want you so much.” She moans in the kiss, feeling how hard he is in his pants.

Zuko groans, unable to control himself. He lifts his hips off the bed, grinding his erection agains her “Y/N...”

She starts kissing his jaw and his neck, as her hands lifts his shirt. Shivering at her touch on his skin. Soon the get rid of the piece of clothing and removes her’s too. Zuko watches as she does that, revealing her breast to him. His mouth goes dry, and he can’t tear his eyes away from her.

“You can touch me, Zuko” Y/N whisper in his ears.

He hesitates for a moment, his hands shaking as she reaches to touch her. His fingers graze over her nipples, causing them to harden “I’m afraid I might hurt you...”

“Hurt me...? Zuko, you’ve done this before, right?” She asks him with a small smile. He looks away from her, feeling embarrassed. “Hey.” She says softly, as she turns his face back to her. “Did you?”

Zuko takes a deep breath “Yes...I’ve done this before. It’s not my first time. But with you...”

Y/N silences him with a kiss while her hands open his pants. He gasps softly, his hands finding the way to her hair, tangling themselves in the soft strands, while he presses his hard length against her hand. Y/N quickly gets rid of his pants and underwear, making Zuko letting out a soft moan as he is completely naked underneath her. She also takes off the rest of her clothes, before she sits on top of him, her wetness brushing agains his throbbing member.

His eyes widen when he feel it, groaning deeply, unable to control his desire for her any longer. His hands find their way to her back, pulling her closer while his hips buck up towards her. “God...”

Y/N smiles seeing how desperate he’s becoming. She kisses his neck again, trailing down to his chest and going down, stopping when she’s closes to his groin, making Zuko’s breath hitches. When she stops, he begs for more “Please, Y/N...”

“Tell me what you want.” She whispers as her hands was dangerous close to his cock.

Zuko’s voice is ragged as he answers her, his hips jerk up towards her hand, seeking release “I want you to touch me...”

Y/N smiles and her hand found him, stroking his member slowly. His back arches off the bed, a moan escaping his lips as she does that. His cock twitches in her hand, leaking pre-cum “Oh gods...Y/N... you’re killing me.”

“Am I?” She chuckles as she kept her pace slow.

His hips bucking up towards her hand, his cock throbbing, aching for release “Yes...you are...´please...”

Y/N chuckles again, she then licks his member, from base to tip, making Zuko’s eyes rolls back in his head. “Oh fuck...” She then decided to stop torture him, as she put all of him in her mouth. Zuko’s hand tangles in her hair as he thrust his hips forward, meeting the rhythm of her head. When she notices he’s getting closer, she stops and go back on top of him.

Zuko pants heavily, his eyes locked on her as his cock twitches “Y/N...I need to be inside of you.” She only nods and Zuko takes advantage to flip them, so now he was on top of her. He positions himself at her entrance, their eyes locked as he slowly pushes inside of her, making both moan as he feels her tight heat around his cock. He starts to trust slowly, feeling every inch of her “Oh fuck...you’re so tight.” With each thrust, Zuko drives deeper, her nails dig into his shoulders, leaving marks. “Y/N, I...”

“I know.” She says between her moans “I’m close too.”

Feeling her body tensing beneath him, Zuko picks up the pace. His hips slam against her in a primal rhythm as he drives himself deeper inside of her. Their combined moans fill the air “Come for me...I want to feel you cum around my cock.”

A few seconds later, Y/N couldn’t hold back anymore. She came around his cock, her walls clenching as she moans his name. The pleasure of this is almost too much to bear “Y/N...I’m gonna cum.”

She feels Zuko trying to pull away, but she wraps her legs around him, holding him in place. Fighting against the urge to let go, Zuko grits his teeth as he feels his release building. “Y/N...I can’t hold back.”

“Then don’t.” She whispers, keeping her hold on him. With one last trust, Zuko cum inside of her. Their bodies shudder as he releases his seed deep inside her. His face is contorted in pleasure and exhaustion as he leans down to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. When they break apart, he gazes into her eyes “You’re unbelievable”

Y/N chuckles as she looks at him “You’re amazing.

Zuko also chuckles, running his fingers through her hair. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you...”

“You have no idea how long I wanted you.” She smiles.

He pulls her closer, kissing her neck softly “I think I have an idea...”

“Oh really?” she smirks “Then tell me, since when?”

“Since I’ve been banished?” Y/N chuckles and shakes her head ‘no’. Zuko raises an eyebrow “Then when, exactly?”

“Since the time we fall on the fountain.” She laughs, remembering that. They were 7 at the time.

“What?” Zuko was confused “But that was more then 10 years ago.”

“I know.”

He kissed her lips softly “So, I’ve been wanted by you for 10 years?”

“Yeah.” She smiles “I just thought that you didn’t saw me like that.”

Zuko groans “I was such an idiot...”

“Why?” Y/N asked him.

“Because...from the first moment I saw you, I wanted you. And then when we fell in the fountain, I knew. My heart has always been yours, Y/N, but I was too scared to admit.”

“It would have saved us a lot of time.” She laughs softly.

Zuko decides to pull out of her, making her hiss. “I’m sorry.” He kisses her forehead.

“It’s okay, I’m just too sensitive after that.” She smiles reassuring him.

The night goes on, until they finally decide to sleep. The next morning, they decide to have breakfast with everyone. His uncle looked tired. “You’re okay, Iroh?” She asked him.

Iroh nods “Just couldn’t sleep. Too much noise in this ship.”

Y/N looked at Zuko, they both blushing. “Oh god.”

“We’re sorry, uncle.” Zuko says, his face red.

#zuko x reader #zuko #prince zuko #atla zuko #zuko smut #zuko x y/n #zuko x you

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specialagentlokitty · 10 months

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Buck x reader - my shield

A Buck (911) shy reader please? His friends thinks Buck is making things up that he has a girlfriend or shy reader picked her best friend to be they godfather of their newborn son who’s a mama boi. Then Buck thought it’s a good idea bringing his friend to the hospital to see his family - Anon💜

Buck smiled down at his phone as he saw the message notification from you, and he opened the text.

“What’s got you so happy?” Eddie asked.

Everyone looked up from where they were sat over to the young firefighter.

“My girlfriend messaged me.” Buck beamed.

“We’re still going on about that? Really?” Chim laughed.

Buck furrowed his brows a little bit.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we know you, you’ve probably slept with more women then everyone here combined. No offence.” Hen said.

Buck put his phone into his pocket.

“I’m capable of having a girlfriend!”

“We’re not saying that! We’re just saying it’s not likely.” Chin snickered.

Buck stormed away, and when his shift ended he immediately went to your apartment and knocked on the door.

It didn’t take long for you to answer, and one looked at him and you had your arms around him.

Buck hugged you tightly, burying his face into your shoulder as he let out a deep sigh.

You placed your hand on the back of his head and just held him for a few minutes in silence, standing out in the hallway of the apartment complex.

“What’s wrong…?” You whispered.

You pulled away and slowly dragged him into your apartment and closed the door, leading him over to the couch.

Sitting him down, you sat cross legged next to him, taking his hands in yours as you gazed at him.

“I’m.. im so fed up of everyone saying I don’t have a girlfriend!” He exclaimed.

You furrowed your brows a little bit.

“They think because I was a dick when I first joined I still am. But I’ve been trying to tell them for months I’m not like that anymore…” he mumbled.

You gave Bucks hands a small squeeze and smiled softly at him.

“I know you’re not Evan.”

He sighed softly.

“It’s just frustrating you know… I want them to believe me…”

You nodded your head in understanding.

“Well, they’re doing that BBQ tomorrow… right?”

Buck nodded his head and looked up at you.

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t like things like that.”

“No. But you do, and then they can see you’re telling the truth.”

You smiled sweetly up at him, and Buck smiled back, leaning down to capture you in a soft kiss before he pulled away.

“You’re amazing…”

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him, cuddling you while you guys just watched some crappy films.

When the next day rolled around, you both got ready to go to the station for the BBQ.

It was his day off, but he said he’d go anyways, and since he was going you wanted to go with him to show everyone he wasn’t lying and you were real.

But as you guys drove there, you were nervous. You couldn’t stop fidgeting and when Buck pulled his car into a spot, he stopped and reached over, taking your hand in his.

“You don’t have to do this you know that right?”

He looked at you in concern and you smiled at him, nodding your head.

“I know. But I.. I want to.”

Buck smiled and nodded his head and you both got out of the car, and he took your hand in his, letting you hide yourself behind him slightly.

He smiled down at you.

“When you’re ready to go we’ll go.” He said softly.

“Thank you…”

He led you around the front of the building and you saw a group of people all laughing and talking.

“And he finally shows up!”

“Shut it Chim.” Buck snapped.

You squeeze his hand and he sighed, giving you an apologetic look.

“And he’s brought company, who’s this?” Bobby smiled.

“Guys, this is (Y/N). My girlfriend.”

You gave them a shy wave and all they could do was stare in shock as they looked at you.

You were so different from Buck, shy, quiet, but they could only smile warmly at the sight of you using him as your shield

#911 fox x you #911 fanfic #911 x reader #911 fic #911 fox x reader #911 fox imagine #911 fandom #evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckely #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley #evan buckley x you #buck #buck x reader #buck x you #Buck imagine

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unlimitedlust · 22 days

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Blue Jeans (Javier Peña x Reader)

“I’m leaving, Javi”

It was all you said when he picked up the phone. You didn’t give him the chance to say anything, you hung up and felt two warm tears roll down your cheeks as you admired the city view for the last time from the bedroom’s balcony.

Drying your tears, you finished packing your suitcase, not bothering with how crumpled your clothes would look like when you unpacked, just wanting to get everything over with before you lost your strength to leave him once and for all.

You still remember the night you met him, how your whole body shivered when your eyes connected to his while he smoked one of his cigarettes, checking you out shamelessly as you looked terribly hot for a night out with your friends.

And from that day on, you just couldn’t keep your hands off each other. You just got terribly addicted to how his lips kissed yours, how he pulled your hair making you look at your sexed faces in his bathroom’s mirror while he drove you to oblivion, how his hips moved to meet yours when you were riding him, how he filled you completely giving you the best orgasms you could ever dream of, how his big, rough fingers sank on the sensitive flesh on your hips.

But that’s the only aspect of your relationship that actually worked.

When you were together, if you were not devouring each other, you were fighting each other. Heated fights and arguments, insulting each other with words that couldn’t be taken back, breaking your heart and his.

It was no mystery to you, Javier, and the people around you, that you were a disaster as a couple, the definition of toxic, and yet, you just couldn’t give an end to it. You couldn’t leave him and he couldn’t leave you. Despite everything, you loved each other deeply, intensely, and it wasn't just because of the amazing sex.

For some reason you didn’t work. Maybe in another life you could meet each other again and make it work in a healthy way, but you were just so deep in all the shit you’ve been through you just couldn’t fix it anymore, it was eating you alive.

And after another night of heated fights you decided to finally grab your stuff from his house and leave him, leave the city, leave Colombia. Everything there reminded you of him, and you knew you couldn’t bear to live without him having to be reminded 24/7 by everything around you how happy (and miserable) you were with him.

The beautiful sunsets you watched together, the bars and clubs you used to go on wild nights out with him, the dark alleys he used to take you to after one of those nights because he wanted you so bad he couldn’t wait a few blocks walk to his place.

You felt a lump forming on your throat as you zipped your suitcase with trembling fingers, tears falling heavily now with the realization that it was really the end of the road for the two of you.

“Don’t do this to me, nena”

Your whole body froze as you heard his low voice behind you. You turned to look at him, only to meet a pair of defeated and tired brown eyes, hands on his hips, eyes darting from you to your suitcase and back.

He couldn’t let you go. Not when you were the only moments of happiness among all the traumatizing events he had to live everyday on his job. You were his love, his favorite, his warm safe place, his motivation to survive and go home at one piece everyday. Yes, he was well aware about the train wreck you two were, but he would rather live a daily train wreck than live with no train at all in his life.

“Bonita, please” He closed the space between you, cupping your cheeks with his big hands, his fingers drying the tears away as his desperate eyes connected with yours.

“We can’t do this anymore, Javi” You tried in vain to swallow the lump in your throat “We’re too intense and too toxic to work”

The mixture of longing, hurt and despair in his brown eyes felt like you’d been stabbed on the stomach. It hurt you to see how much you were hurting him.

“Do you love me?” His question came out softly in a whisper.

“I love you so much it hurts… The moment I laid my eyes on you I knew you were the love of my life, Javier”

“You’re the love of my life too, mi amor” He brought your lips to meet his in a soft kiss “Don’t do this to us, don’t leave me, please” He pleaded softly, whispering against your lips “We’ll fix this, I promise”

“Javi…” You tried to protest, but you knew you couldn’t leave him, you couldn’t live anywhere else if you left your heart in Colombia with the most charming and handsome agent who had stolen your heart and rocked your world from day one.

“Listen to me, you’ll unpack your things, we’re gonna talk about how we’re working on fixing our issues, we’ll probably argue at some point but I don’t care and we’ll finish up our night with the most amazing make up sex we’ve ever dreamed of, you hear me?” The demanding tone on his voice sparkled something you knew all too well in your core. You loved when he was bossy and suddenly you forgot you were just having a moment.

“Yes”

“Good” He took a step back to give you some space to unpack. But you stopped him, keeping him in place by the dark tie he was wearing, making him look incredibly hotter than usual. Fucking irresistable.

“How about we skip to the last part first?” Your fingers strummed up the tie, pulling it a little harder when you reached close to his neck, like you were holding him on a leash, Javier hissing with the unexpected move.

“Thirsty already?” He teased, his index finger traced your jaw until it reached under your chin, where he pushed up slightly, shortening the distance between your lips, but never connecting them.

“For you? Siempre”

Without breaking eye contact with him, you started to unbutton his shirt in a slowly tantalizing way, your fingers brushing ever so lightly on his chest and abdomen, watching the hunger and the urgency grow in his brown orbs.

Once you were done with the buttons, you kept the tie on his neck as you slid the white shirt off his broad shoulders and down his arms, reveling in the sight in front of you, his muscles well defined under that perfectly soft and sun kissed skin.

Javier kept perfectly still, watching you as he let you explore and cherish his body at your own will, shivering under your fingertips as they traced their way down his belt, while your tongue now licked its way up his neck from his collarbone, sucking the skin right under his earlobe.

Your hands slipped past his leather belt and palmed the thick, hard erection strained by his dark blue pants, making him jerk in your hands searching for more stimulation.

“Shhh… I’ll decide when to touch it, okay?” You whispered against his neck, but he chuckled devilishly in response.

“You know that in just a few I’ll make you regret the teasing, don’t you?”

“So the more I tease the more you’ll punish me?” You asked, looking him in the eye as you squeezed his length in defiance.

“You’re walking on thin ice here, bonita…” He snarled as you unbuckled his belt and trailed wet kisses down his chest and abs, your teeth scraping on the sensitive skin below his navel, your fingers hooking on the hemline of his pants and underwear as you got on your knees and looked him deeply in the eye.

You pulled down his underwear along with his pants, his dick springing free in its full glory in front you, your mouth watering at the sight.

You held his manhood with your dominant hand lifting it slightly upwards as you licked a straight line, tong flattened, from the base of his shaft to the tip, swirling lazily your tongue around it, the tip of your tongue playing in the sensitive spot right below the tip, making him hiss and thrust his hips, the tantalizing stimulation driving him insane.

Taking him in your mouth, you bobbed your head still agonizingly slowly, taking him deeper at each bob, sucking him, the friction caused by the suction of your cheeks causing him to grit his teeth and throw his head back in a failed attempt to keep the beautiful sound of a moan to come out of his mouth, only to turn it into a grunt that encouraged you to keep on doing your own teasing.

Straining against your gag reflex you took him deeper into your throat, your nose now touching his pubic area as he now watched you again, eyes dark with lust as you managed to fit all his length.

“You look so pretty with your lips around my dick” He ran his fingers between your hair, until he came to a stop in your nape, where he tangled his fingers in the hair in the back of your head and kept you in place, making you choke on his manhood, the sound of your choking throat sending strong electric waves through his body.

Javier pulled your head back slowly, watching his dick slide out of your mouth, all slick and wet, two thin strings of saliva still connecting your lips to his head as he was now completely out of you.

“So. Fucking. Beautiful” He admired your face as his thumb traced your swollen lips also slick with saliva. You were still kneeled before him, like a slave before their master, your eyes glimmering at the sight of him, his hard manhood, his perfectly chiseled body, damp strands sticking on the sweat on his forehead.

“Now get up and take your clothes off” He commanded, his voice leaving no room for sassiness.

He stepped out of his underwear and pants and loosened his tie as you turned your back to him and let the straps of your dress slide down your arms, then proceeded to bend forwards as you shimmied in a seductive way to take off the rest of the dress along with your underwear.

You looked back at him over your shoulders, taking a last step closer to the bed while he walked towards you slowly, a devilish grin on his lips as he toyed with the tie in his hands.

You turned back and kept your head straight ahead as you positioned your hands behind your back thinking he was about to tie you.

However, Javier had other plans.

Ignoring the hands you’d offered him with a low chuckle, Javier passed his arms over your head and put the tie over your lips.

“Open your mouth”

You did as he instructed and he proceeded to gag you with the tie, tying it in the back of your head. The saliva that came through your inner cheeks and tongue instantly wetting the fabric between your teeth.

“Turn” He commanded once again, you obeyed immediately, meeting the smirk on his face, satisfied with the work he’d done gagging you “Good girl… Now get on the bed”

You heard the clinking sound of his belt’s buckle as you climbed and layed on the bed, your back resting on the pile of white pillows by the wooden headboard, your eyes trained on him, curious to see what he would do with the belt on his hands.

Javier took both your wrists and brought them towards the headboard, fastening them together with one of the wooden poles on the headboard with the belt, its leather lightly biting on the thin skin of your wrists.

Gagged and tied up. The realization got you even more aroused than you were before, making you squeeze your thighs against each other in a vain attempt to feel the slightest relief on your needy core.

“No no” He held you by one of your calves, stopping your useless movements “You’ll be given pleasure only when I decide to, you understand?”

Since you couldn’t speak, all you did was nod in agreement as he got on the bed hovering over you. Javier caressed your cheeks lovingly as your eyes connected once again, making you feel hypnotized by the intensity in his dark orbs.

His lips met the sensitive skin of your neck with love bites and tickles from his mustache, leaving light bruises from under your earlobe to your clavicles, while his hands ran up and down your body, splitting your legs open but never touching where you wanted him the most, now fully positioning his body over yours.

He grind his hips against yours, creating a delicious friction on your core while he coated his cock in your arousal, making sure he’d tease you with each grind, the head of his shaft smearing your clit and our entrance, but never giving you what you craved for, which was his dick deep inside of you.

You thrust your hip, trying to angle it in a position in which he’d finally penetrate you, but well aware of your intent Javier bit your collarbone and held your hips down with just one of his hands.

“What did I just say, bonita?”

Your complaint sounded like a muffled whine with the tie between your teeth. You wanted him so badly.

He soothed the angry bite mark on your collarbone with his tongue, then trailed his kisses down the valley of your breasts. He scraped his teeth on one of your nipples earning a yelp of pleasure out of your gagged mouth, the sound encouraging him to revel in your breasts, nipping, licking, sucking, squeezing them in his hands.

You writhed under his work on your boobs, trying in vain to get free from his makeshift shackles, the sound of the buckle against the wooden pole shrieking loud, the skin of your wrists getting angrier due to the friction against the leather, and yet you didn’t care, every detail got you even more riled up as you arched your back, offering more of your already very exposed and explored chest.

Javier loved to see you like that, whining in pleasure, writhing under him, eyes closed shut as he watched you try uselessly to get more of him, to get the release you wanted so desperately.

His right hand traveled down your body, feeling every inch of soft skin from your waist to your calves, making sure to sink his digits into your thighs and ass in the process as he now nipped his way down your torso towards your heated center, his hands spreading your legs further apart, exposing the wet mess you’ve become, the slick already dripping on the white blanket underneath you.

“So wet you’re gonna make me drown, babe”

He spoke, his lips just inches away from your pussy, his hot breath against your core causing you to stir once again.

“I have one last thing to say before I start…” Javier brushed his index and middle fingers on your slit, collecting your juices around them “You won’t cum until I say so, si?”

He drew circles on your clit with his fingers, white hot pleasure running through your veins at the stimulation, your eyes rolled back as the knot on your lower stomach threatened to snap already.

“Won’t answer me?” He added pressure on his movements, forcing a reaction from you.

All you could do was let out a strangled moan since you couldn’t speak, but you both knew very well how hard it would be for you to follow that specific order. Javier loved to put you on edge, he was a master at doing so, and was already doing that.

“Good”

He withdrew his fingers and blew against your pussy, the hot air sending goosebumps through your body, and before you could recover from that, he ran his flat tongue over your intimacy, from your opening to your clit, swirling it with the tip of his tongue and then sucking it between his lips.

You struggled with the belt around your wrists, desperate to get free and to hold onto something, especially his soft hair as he reveled in your pussy, eating you out as a starved animal.

Javier put both your legs over his shoulders, pressing your hips down on the mattress to hold you in place and keep you from struggling.

“Tranquila, tranquila” He purred, his left hand now resting on your lower belly as his right one held your thigh.

He intensified his work on your pussy, his mustache tickling your clit as he tongue-fucked you, making the knot on your stomach barely impossible to keep from bursting.

Your toes curled and a loud whine left your lips as you bit the tie, trying to hold back your orgasm from snapping for as long as you could, but the final flick of his tongue on your clit made you melt on his mouth, your legs quivering over his shoulder as you felt those white hot electric waves of pleasure blind you.

And despite the order not to cum before he allowed you to, he kept drinking and eating out your high.

“Fuck baby, what did I tell you?” His voice was husky with lust as he licked your cum from his mustache.

Javier put his middle finger inside you, his digit immediately finding the squishy spot of pleasure that almost got you seeing stars again.

He added a second finger and started to thrust them in a “come here” motion, never neglecting the spongy spot, all while his thumb drew small circles on your clit.

You were still sensitive from your high and now, with the extra and new stimulation in such a short time, you were sure you’d die.

You were so numb and drunk on his work on you, you didn’t realize that he’d hovered over you again, one of his hands working on untying and taking the gag from your mouth while the other still worked on your pussy, and you could feel the knot on your stomach growing fast again.

“Javi!”

Was the first thing you screamed when he took the tie from your lips, the sound earning a low grunt from him as he now kissed your lips passionately.

You tasted yourself as your tongues swirled in an erotic dance, one of your hands tangled in his hair as the other slid down his body to palm his rock hard cock, spreading the precum leaking on his head over his length, making him moan against your lips and thrust into your hand.

The hand that was on your pussy held your wrist, keeping you from pumping him and put it over your head on the pillow as he positioned his body between your legs, the tip of his manhood now lining with your opening.

“Te amo tanto, no me dejes jamás…” He caressed your cheeks looking deep into your eyes, his lips brushing lightly over yours.

“También te amo…” Your confession was cut by the deep moan that came from your lips as he sunk his cock in you slowly, but deeply, filling you and stretching your walls completely as you rolled your eyes and sank your painted nails on his broad shoulders “Javi!”

Javier’s thrusts were hard and deep and rough, your nails clawed their way down his back as you became a moaning mess underneath him and one of his hands held you by the side of your neck to keep the eye contact between the two of you.

The knot on your lower stomach threatened to explode again and he didn’t miss the signs of your body, your back arching, the way you held onto him like your life depended on it, and mainly: the way your walls were squeezing around him, making it hard for himself to hold back. But he didn’t want it to be over just yet, he wanted more, more of you.

So he pulled himself out of you and manhandled you putting you on fours, giving you no time to adjust to the new position as he penetrated you again, sinking his fingers on your ass cheeks holding you in place as he pounded in and out of you, the position allowing him to go impossibly deeper at each thrust.

He slowed the rhythm of his thrusts as he leaned over you, trailing kisses from your back to your shoulders, his right hand sliding from your ass, then across your back towards your nape, to then tangle and lock his fingers in your hair, pulling you back harshly, getting you on your knees just like him, your back pressed against his chest and abs.

Javier increased the intensity of is thrusts again, holding you in place with one hand on your breasts and the other on your neck, forcing you to turn your face to the side so he could kiss you while he fucked you.

“Javi-” You called him, your voice coming out sluttier than you intended as you were terribly close to cumming once again, earning you a bite on your shoulder “Javi I’m…”

“No, not yet!” He pulled out of you again, leaving you on the edge of the abyss of your climax, torturing you, making you whine in frustration “I wanna see it”

He sat on the bed and brought you to his lap, kissing your lips lovingly as you straddled him and rocked your hips back and forth over his shaft teasing both of you like you weren’t to the point of collapsing already.

You snaked your arms around his neck as he held you by your hips and sank you on his cock, strangled moans coming from both of you as you rolled your hips against his, his dick rubbing against all the perfect spots inside you, making you clench around him as you sped up your pace since you were about to explode for a long while now and also that he was holding himself back for long enough.

Feeling your thighs start to tremble, Javier snaked an arm around your back and helped you keep your rhythm, also thrusting his hips upwards to meet yours, gathering all of his self control to wait for you to cum first, he wanted to watch you melt in his arms again and revel in every millisecond of it.

“Come on baby, cum for me…” His plea was more than enough to make the knot on your stomach snap, blinding you in one of the strongest climaxes you’d ever had, your body instantly feeling like jelly under his firm grip, keeping you from collapsing on the bed.

Watching you unravel like that on his dick, the way his name came out of your mouth over and over as your pussy clenched hard around him made him cum hard inside you as you still rode your high, the feeling of his on orgasm just seconds after making yours last longer as you felt him twitching and spilling inside you.

Javier took care of laying your weary body on the bed softly as he pulled himself out of you and laid by your side, cuddling you in his arms as both of you tried to catch your breaths.

“Fuck, Javi…”

“What?” He asked curiously at your amused face, grabbing a cigarette and a lighter from the nightstand next to him. You stared at him, drinking in his beautiful features and all the details you loved about him as he lit up his cigar.

“Nothing, just love you”

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