#he's too in love to protest and she's too in love to avoid messing up with him

[ndostairlyrium]

-Are you sure it’ll wash off before the meeting? -Trust me, vhenas, I know what I’m doing.

Forgive me for the siren screaming you’re hearing in the distance, it’s not an ambulance, it’s me fangirling like mad over THIS 💛😭

I think everybody and their grandma would recognize such gorgeous lines, and yes, I can confirm they’re indeed @demandthedoodles’ who was extremely lovely for accepting to collab with me ;; thank you again stea 💛 We drew each other bab-- blorbos and their beloved fereldans (what’s with fereldans tho, what do they eat to be like *gestures eloquently*?? if I knew cabbage would do *that* to a person I would have eaten kilos of it per meal o-o) 💛 and seriously, you have to take a look at his part because the coloring is breathtaking ;; 

but first let’s take a moment to enjoy Bonbon in all his glory (them pawssss aaaaaa) 

[dadsbongos]

my wife is cool, understanding, and goes with the flow

5.7 k words / warnings - fem reader (+referred to as mother/wife), chilchuck's emotional turmoil (he's so in love and so incapable of verbalizing it)

summary - general strings of yours and chilchuck's marriage. good to bad to making up.

~~~

“You know,” you whisper, “If you ignore how nightmarish they were to raise, then they’re kinda perfect kids.”

Chilchuck snorts, letting you hang off his arm as you stand in the doorway to your living room.

Meijack and Flertom are strewn across the couch in opposite directions, Flertom’s feet dangling off an armrest and Meijack’s in her sister’s face. Thankfully, Flertom is not awake to notice the violation of personal space. Puckpatti is curled on the floor before the couch, long auburn hair flayed out and draped over her arms, which she uses as a makeshift pillow.

The front door is wide open, gentle pittering rain having lulled the girls to sleep. Puckpatti had been the one to suggest a ‘slumber party’ in the common space as it rained, even likening the cool air and atmospheric petrichor to camping to incite Meijack. As far as you know, however, none of the girls have been camping, so you’re mystified how that reasoning actually worked.

“Mei and Fler are so big now,” he muses, “Mei thinks she’s ready for the adult world now.”

“As if,” you lay your cheek on his shoulder, silently wishing he’d take the opportunity to kiss your temple. He does not, “We were barely ready when we had them. How’s a nine-year-old prepared for that?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

Meijack, as if sensing her parents’ lighthearted jabs, rolls over with a grumble and hum, flinging a foot into Flertom’s nose. The younger twin’s face wrinkles in protest, head jerking in the opposite direction -- you and Chilchuck freeze, anticipating a shrill cry, until Flertom relaxes again. The sigh of relief is short, though.

Abruptly, Chilchuck goes rigid, jolting you off him, “Why is Patti on the floor? Like a dog?”

“How am I supposed to know what goes on in that kid’s brain?”

Chilchuck shakes his head and steps over the young girl to shut your front door. Squeaky hinges pull a whine from Patti herself, drowsily rubbing her eyes and calling, “Papa, don’t shut it!”

“What? You want a troll to get in?” he asks sarcastically.

“No,” Puckpatti answers in earnest.

“That’s why Papa wants the door shut,” you kneel by your youngest daughter, brushing back her bangs just to watch her eyebrows scrunch cutely, “So no nasty trolls can get inside…” then you remember your husband’s complaint, “Patti, baby, do you wanna sleep in a chair? Or a bed? The ground doesn’t look very nice to rest on.”

“Yeah, Mama’s right. The ground’s gonna mess up your back,” Chilchuck joins you, ready to scoop up your daughter when she shakes her head.

“Wanna stay by Mei and Fler…” she pouts.

“Okay, but let me set out some more blankets, alright?” you kiss her on the forehead once, then twice when she beams and nods.

Chilchuck is already standing to retrieve spare blankets from your closet, he’s back before you can impede the hallway. He stops you from venturing further by propping a leg in front of you, “Don’t worry about it, I got everything.”

“She’ll need a real pillow, too, honey.”

“Yeah,” he taps at your ankles with his foot until you’re relenting, turning back towards the living room, “I said I got it.”

“Thank goodness for my big, strong man, huh?”

“I am the breadwinner,” he teases, granting you a kiss on the cheek before dropping to lay the blankets out as a makeshift mattress for Puckpatti.

“Self-imposed!” you rasp, stage-swatting at his back, “I could get a job, too!”

“Do you want to?” you want to smack the smug grin off his lips, specifically with your own. In a kiss. For a long while.

“...no.”

He laughs at your sudden shyness. Tempered down only to avoid waking your daughters, “There you go.”

“Boo,” you pull Chilchuck to a stand by the back of his shirt. You pull, and pull, and pull, and you don’t stop until he’s tumbling on top of you into your shared bed, with your door haphazardly kicked shut, “You’re mean to me.”

“I’m mean?!” he whisper-shouts, instantly more affectionate in how he wraps his arms around you and buries his face into your neck, “You choked me, yanking on my shirt like that.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” he abruptly goes limp, “I’m half dead.”

“Half dead isn’t a thing, Chil,” you giggle, trying halfheartedly to shove him off.

“It is, I’m half dead,” he insists, “There’s only one way to revive me.”

“Uh-huh… and that is?”

“A kiss,” Chilchuck lifts his head to look you in the eyes, suggestively bumping his eyebrows, “A sloppy one.”

“No!” you gasp, dramatically.

“Loud and wet,” he nods in even measures, clicking his tongue, “Only way, I guess. Really tough for you.”

“I don’t know about that,” you wiggle out an arm from beneath his body to poke his cheek, “You seem fine now. Very lively and talkative!”

“Means I’m dying faster. It’s the final burst of energy before I shit my pants and die.”

“Ew!” your shout is smothered beneath Chilchuck’s hand, his laughter rumbling your body, forehead digging into your collarbones.

Between choked chuckles Chilchuck manages out a meek, “sorry, sorry!” he gasps for breath and releases your mouth, “That was gross.”

“Yeah, now get off me. You’re nasty.”

“See? You’re mean to me, one mention of shit and I’m just an expendable stud.”

As soon as Chilchuck rolls off you and onto his back, you’re crowding onto him, pawing at his chest and kissing his cheek, “You are a stud.”

“Can I get a kiss for that, at least?”

“I just kissed you, greedy.”

His deadpan stare inspires a bizarre longing in your thumping chest, you stretch to grant his wish. Chilchuck’s hands cup your cheek, holding you close to prolong the kiss as long as you’ll allow. Such restless and selfish want is reserved for behind closed doors, which you wish you could understand, but you don’t.

You’re preoccupied with the dread of death. Half-foots are blessed to live past fifty. Sure, you and Chilchuck are merely scratching at twenty, but life is too short for him to be shy about these things.

“I wish you’d be more open and lovey.”

“Hm?” he hums against your lips, pulling away to stare at you strangely, “Why?”

“‘Why?’” you mock, “I’m your wife! That’s why.”

Instinctually, Chilchuck goes to wave off the answer as a joke and roll his eyes, but then something barks. Both of you pause, heads turning slowly towards the now gaping door to find a shaggy white puppy standing in the dim space. Swiftly, its tail wags, and it barks again before charging towards your bed.

Your screech at the dash rouses Chilchuck from his shock. Clumsily shuffling so he’s in front of you, taking the brunt of the dog’s pounce.

“Since when do we have a dog?!” Chilchuck looks over his shoulder at you, as if you’d know.

“As if I know!” you parrot your thoughts, breath slowing to a calm when the small dog cuddles your husband’s arms, “Kinda cute though, right?”

“He broke in!” Chilchuck accuses, lifting a shoulder to prevent you petting it -- his plan fails miserably and you’re easily scratching behind the dog’s ears, “He could have ticks! He could’ve bit the girls on his way back here!”

“No,” you whine, resting your chin on Chilchuck’s shoulder, “He has a friendly face, he’d never do that!”

“And you know that how…?”

“Aw, Chil, honey, have a heart! He was probably scared of the rain and snuck inside to get away from it!” you reach under the dog’s head to now scritch his chin, “Which is our fault for leaving the door open, isn’t it?” you’re already a lost cause to logic, repeating back to the puppy, “Isn’t it? Yes, it is! Yes, it is! He understands me! He’s so smart, Chil, we have to keep him.”

His silent glowering makes you wilt over his back.

You retreat from the dog to hug your husband from behind, “C’mon, have a heart!”

Irritation pulses through Chilchuck at the turn of tonight’s events. Everything before this dumb dog felt natural, smooth, and familiar. Until you said that.

One thing that makes his heart rate spike. Even though, at twenty, it means very little to him.

‘I wish you’d be more open and lovey.’

He knows this means more.

“Okay, okay,” he eases, snatching a chaste smooch from you before combing a hand down the dog’s soft fur, “I’ll work on it.”

You two never had a dog, though.

Puckpatti is allergic -- you never would’ve gotten a dog since it’d cause your daughter so much distress.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog, but it isn’t a mimic.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog because this isn’t real.

.

.

.

Chilchuck’s eyes drift open, a dusty ceiling stares down at him. Slowly, a crushing weight is relieved from his stomach.

Blonde and black hair mingle in his peripherals, then Laios is leaning over him obnoxiously, speaking to the other two while looking at the half-foot, “Does Chil sleep with his eyes open?”

“No,” Chilchuck takes initiative, shoving Laios away by the chin and sitting up with a yawn. His back cracks unpleasantly, and eye crust pokes into his fluttering lids. Rubbing the gross clots away, Chilchuck settles his elbows onto his knees before resting that way -- leaning into his hands even after his eyes have been cleared out.

For a moment, he silently mourns the fading images of his dream; already having forgotten the beginning. No matter how desperately he clings to the story, it escapes, leaking out his ears until all there is left to mourn is the fact he’s awake.

All he knows is that dream ended differently than it should have. Hopefully the ending this time was better than real life, not that it matters. He wouldn’t remember, nor would it change the fact that in reality you two are not together.

“Chilchuck? Are you okay?” Marcille sounds hesitant. Worried.

The last thing he needs is her fretting and prying into what his Nightmare could’ve been about, so instead he lamely says, “Tired.”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds entirely unconvinced. He’s surprised when she doesn’t push.

He’s further surprised when Laios does, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

…

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Chil’,” you croon, hands curling around the man’s waist as he silently uncorks a bottle of cheap wine. He makes sure not to jostle you off as he moves the dark glass to his lips, even cupping your overlapping hands with one of his own to steady you, “You should talk to me about these things!”

“It was fine, we went in -- got what we needed -- got out. I’m back and alive.”

‘Alive’ strikes you, it sticks in the back of your head as soon as he says it. Your arms tighten around his slim waist, the slots of his ribs dig into your forearms and it makes your chest tighten. Swirling thoughts colliding and dragging each other deeper and deeper into your darker concerns: Chilchuck starving himself to maintain an unhealthy weight, Chilchuck burning calories in a revival, Chilchuck having to drink himself under just to fall asleep.

“Would you tell me if you died?”

“Why would you want to know that?” he laughs, yet you’re frowning into his back.

You bite your lip until raw iron spills onto your tongue, gnawing it with the anxiety of how to soften this question. How marshmallowy can you make your tone to avoid lecturing while also not patronizing him? Eventually, you settle on just spitting it out,

“Would you even remember it?” he hums, confused, “You drink a lot, Chil’.”

He squeezes your hands, setting down his wine to turn in your hold, now cupping your cheeks -- flush with upset and ready to dampen with tears, “I don’t get blackout on jobs, you know?”

“But,” you don’t want to pester him, to drive him away from home even during his off time, “Chil’, honey, you’re… with your weight, alcohol could- well- !”

“I know,” he interrupts your stammering, drawing a thumb across the apples of your face tenderly. Though his posture is rigid, and his next statement confirms your suspicion that he just wants to stop talking about this, “I appreciate you looking out for me, but really, don’t think so much about it. Work’s not worth talking about at home. And my drinking is totally recreational, I want to enjoy myself and unwind, is that so bad?”

“No,” you heave with defeat, now planting your forehead against his shoulder. Clenching his shirt in a bunch, you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze hoping it’ll squash out any thoughts of continuing to nag his drinking. It’ll end the same way it always does.

Chilchuck is fine because work is fine and his drinking is fine and his diet is fine because Chilchuck is perfectly perpetually fine.

You’re just a worrywart wife. Your kids are grown, having flown the coop, and you’re going mad in loneliness. You should think less. You should learn to be fine like your husband.

…

“Woah, no way! They want to meet me?”

“Uh-huh,” Chilchuck’s eyes trail after you as you rush from one end of the room to the other, clicking jewelry clasps and snapping buttons into place as you go, “It’s nothing to dress up over,” when you seem to ignore him, he only gets louder, “We’re gonna be late, you know?”

Let me dress up! is what you want to snap at him, but you don’t. Instead, you let those comments join the many others from him that rattle around in the back of your mind like rocks.

“I want to make a good impression,” you finally utter, “It isn’t like you tell me anything about work, I’m excited to meet your friends! Besides, if you wanted me to be more prepared then you should’ve said something earlier.”

“I get it,” and in a bid to be polite, but just coming out tumbling into the rock pile is, “If you had work friends, I’d wanna meet them, too.”

The obvious dig is that you don’t get out. Now that the girls are older and independently caring for themselves, you could more easily find work… the problem lies in how you don’t really want to. You’d be too scared of Chilchuck returning home to an empty house, whenever it is that he does come home.

The hidden dig is that he’s fibbing, he would never want to meet your friends like you want to meet his.

Nevertheless, you tuck a white hyacinth cob into your hair and head for the spot Chilchuck claims his group frequents for after-work drinks. Before tonight, it never really occurred to you that Chilchuck might be grabbing drinks with other people. Not that such an idea alone is what bothers you, rather that he’s out so often and for so long potentially enjoying himself while you’re stuck at home sick over whether he’s alive.

Upon arrival, a pair of tallmen greet you both. Smiles light up their faces, cheeks balling with glee, when their eyes spot you. It should probably be embarrassing how quickly such an insignificant act can get you excited. You wave and they wave back.

“Gonna introduce the lovely lady?” the slightly taller one, black haired with stubble stretching down his neck, prompts.

“We should get to the table first,” Chilchuck reaches for the door, holding it open for you.

(if you were presenting Chilchuck to your friends then you’d repeat yourself introducing him ad infinitum with shining pride, but you add that thought to your rock collection)

“This is my wife,” Chilchuck pulls out your chair for you, waiting until you’re sat before adding your name and sitting beside you, “Hope she’s everything you all hoped for.”

You choose to ignore that. Preferring to strike conversation with his friends until,

“You know,” the blonde woman at the head of the table leans forward, you’ve been rudely trying to avoid looking at her. But how can you blame yourself when she stares at your husband with such a sultry, lidded gaze, “I think you were exaggerating how spacey she is, Chilchuck. Adorable thing’s been keyed into our conversation the whole time.”

Chilchuck grumbles into his rapidly emptying mug of ale, then locking eyes with the blonde woman, “You don’t live with her.”

“Hey!” you sound bratty and grating with the whine, but your spirit feels worse, “Is that what you tell them about me?”

“And clumsy,” the gnome directly across from you chirps.

“But!” the black-haired one from earlier interrupts, apparently sensing your drowning mood, “You’re a good mom! Great, even!”

“Oh,” the compliment does very little to satiate you, given what’s been said against you (you don’t stop to consider that Chilchuck mentions those things because he finds them charming). You look over to your husband, “I’m a good mom?”

Chilchuck is drunkenly chortling over something you hadn’t heard the blonde woman say.

But at least you’re a good mom.

Something plops against the hand buried in your lap. A scattered white hyacinth. Embarrassed suddenly by how much effort you put into your outfit, you sweep the flower off your leg and stare at the table -- praying to avoid more glimpses of the blonde at the head of the table.

Nobody seems to notice your veil of silence, not even Chilchuck to tease you proving his point about spacing out.

On the trek home, you trail behind Chilchuck to test if he’ll notice. At some point, you’re three full paces behind him, and you theorize that the weight of all your freshly added brain-rocks is slowing you down. Again, he holds the door to your shared home open, but does not ask the cause for your sour mood.

Assuming he’s even noticed, anyway.

Given the way he leaves the next morning for another job with little more than a kiss to your forehead, you assume he didn’t. Venomously, you wonder if he would notice the blonde in a bad mood.

That same morning, not knowing how long he’ll be away this time, you pack up and head for Flertom’s house with Puckpatti.

(a flickering hope tries to toss the rocks through your ears, assuring that Chilchuck will come for you as soon as he’s seen you missing)

…

Four years later, Chilchuck does finally come for you.

“Hey, Mama?” Flertom creeps around the corner to the kitchen, hands wrinkled in the skirt of her dress nervously, “You have a visitor…”

Looking up from your book, you roll the handle of your coffee mug in your palm, making the bottom scrape against your daughter’s tablecloth, “Who’d visit me?”

“Dad.”

That makes you hesitate before slipping your book closed around your thumb, “Your father’s here?”

“He’s at the door,” she nods, voice lowering as if he’d hear her across the house, “There’s an elf lady with him!”

“Oh, you’re- !” you purse your lips, sighing through your nose, and nod. Rising to a stand, you replace your thumb with a proper bookmark before skirting around Flertom and through the hall. Curses coagulate in your throat, and you suffer them silently, holding them until they melt back into your chest, not wanting to swear out your ex in front of his daughter.

With more force than perhaps necessary, you pull the door open and annoyedly flick your eyes from Chilchuck to the blonde elf woman behind him.

“What? Came to show off?”

Chilchuck flushes red, shaking his head and tilting a preciously wrapped bouquet towards you, “No! No, we’re not together.”

Elf Lady lets out a quiet gasp before refusing sharply, “Not together at all! He’s here for you!”

“I figure he’s here for me,” you’re much more bitter than you thought you’d be, although to be fair whenever you imagined Chilchuck coming to see you he was never with another woman, “If you’re not together, why are you here?”

She frowns at your tone, Chilchuck sticking an arm out in front of her, “She’s my coworker. And friend. She pushed me to come see you,” he steps forward, waving the flowers under your nose, “Can we talk?”

“About what, Chilchuck?”

His eyes widen at the use of his formal name, plastic wrap crinkling loudly as he squeezes the flowers. Then his gaze drops to his feet, “I didn’t realize we were so unfamiliar.”

“I haven’t heard from you in four years.”

“You haven’t heard from me?” he grins sideways, an agitated twitch in his left eye, “Do you hear yourself?”

You open your mouth to retort, only to then catch the sight of Chilchuck’s ‘friend’ lingering -- staring -- not even three feet back. Glaring at her, you begin to slide the door shut, “I think we’re done here. You show up at our daughter’s house, unannounced, with some pretty, blonde filly and expect us to chat like old friends? You’re just as insensitive as always, Chilchuck!”

As you go to slam the door, Chilchuck shoves his foot in the way, hissing at the resounding ache all through his instep and ankle. Breathless from the sudden pain, he worms the bouquet through the slim gap -- a few stray powder blue hyacinth petals fluttering to the floor at the pressure. Just above the plush flowers is the sorrowful sight of Chilchuck’s wet lashes and batting eyes.

“Come on,” he huffs, not even taking a huff of relief when you let the door open wider. Tensely, Chilchuck wraps his other hand around the bouquet as well, “It’s not like that, you know me better, don’t you? I just need to talk to you,” the wrap squeals again as he squeezes tighter, “I just want you to tell me where I went wrong.”

He’s playing to your big headedness, vying that he’s alone in the wrong. You know him better, most definitely, you know that as soon as you two sit down he’ll bring up the way in which you left. You deserve that much, don’t you? If you could change anything (given that what you can pick from is what was actually your fault), it would be the manner in how you left. You would’ve waited until he was home to tell him to his face.

(except that’s a lie, if you had waited then you would’ve let him sucker you with soft apologies and unfulfilling promises to change)

This is the most vulnerable you’ve seen him in years.

“She’s not coming into my home.”

Chilchuck nods, lips stretching fondly, “You’re so jealous.”

“She’s tall, and blonde! And pretty. And- !”

He cuts you off, tone just as soft as it was seconds ago, “And I’m not giving her flowers, am I?”

“Apology flowers,” you mutter, though sweeping the bouquet from his arms into yours. Skimming one of the soft petals under your thumb before gliding from one bob to the other and touching there, too. Turning toward the burning feeling of eyes on your back, you find Flertom’s blown out stare meeting yours.

Flertom holds both hands out silently, brows raised. Pushing in neither way, only offering to hold -- whether she holds you or the flowers is your decision. You choose the flowers. She giggles and waves you off, whispering to the flowers about what a lovely, empty vase she has just for them!

“We shouldn’t talk here,” you step out from Flertom’s home, “I don’t want to include our daughter in our troubles.”

“What a good mom,” he teases, waving off the elf as he steps down from Flertom’s porch, holding out a hand to assist you down as well. The remark has a new defiance bubbling beneath your skin.

“I can walk myself,” you bypass his offer.

“I know you can, but let me be nice.”

“You had lots of opportunities to be nice.”

A retort is trapped on the back of his tongue. Ultimately, he swallows it, and says nothing except to suggest a bar nearby, “That could be a good spot,” at your judgmental stare, he sputters, “For talking!”

“Right.”

Chilchuck has a favored tavern in Kahka Brud, the one where you told him you were pregnant with Puckpatti. He, very selflessly and pumped full of blind joy, bought a round for the patrons. It's not a particularly popular or nice place, there’s a lingering smell of mildew and the usual customers are lonely old men (basically: Chilchuck). And the door still creaks when he holds it open for you.

And the tables are just as wobbly when you sit there. Chilchuck tries in vain to mask the tipping by forcing it to one side by pressing his elbows down.

“So, what was she doing there?”

“She kept bugging me about my personal life, so,” he sighs, unsure how to explain himself without sounding out of his mind, “In short, I promised she could meet my family.”

“Pretty against your usual tough front.”

“Not tough,” he folds his arms now, hands on either bicep, still trying to keep the uneven table steady, “I just don’t think they have to know my business.”

“You realize how stupid you sound, right?”

“Oi,” a deep voice approaches from the other side of the bar, a man unfamiliar to both you and Chilchuck stands behind the counter, “We don’t serve kids here.”

Chilchuck groans, pointing at his ears without looking back at the man, then his eyes catch the way you’re prepared to hop down from your seat. He shakes his head, “Don’t move for this dumbass. If he can’t tell a tall-man kid from adult half-foots, he’s a fucking idiot.”

“I guess, but what if he just kicks you out for being a dick?” you glance at the bartender warily, trying to sense if he’s gearing up to throw you and Chilchuck out by force.

“I’m not worried about him,” Chilchuck leans forward, almost as if he can assert control over the situation by a meager height difference, “I’m here to talk to you.”

You’re unsure how to respond to that. It’s something you’ve always wanted to hear from him, but now that you have it feels unsatisfying. After four years of your sudden disappearance from his life, he’s finally given chase.

“Do you have any idea why I left?”

“Roughly,” he admits, voice quiet, eyes redirected to the table in shame, “I wasn’t there for you, right?”

“That’s a bit simplified. When you were on crawls, it felt like you being away for work felt the same as when you were home.”

“I wasn’t there for you,” he restates, nodding slowly, “So, that was it?”

His lack of tension hurts you more than you’re willing to admit. Enough that you temporarily forget that you wanted to make him feel the distance between you both.

“Chil…”

You revert to his first name.

“It’s okay, you can say it. That was it. You had enough.”

It goes unacknowledged, and that hurts all over again. It hurts so bad, you start to get angry that he even maintains such an effect on your heart.

“I didn’t want- it wasn’t- I’m…” you groan loudly, eyes clenching shut to avoid him, “That’s the problem, Chil,” his silence prods you on, “You think of me leaving as… as a ‘that’s it’ moment. Do you know how hard that was on me?”

“Leaving was hard on you? I came home to nothing that day! I thought you were just upset, maybe a little depressed, I didn’t think you were planning to leave me! I never thought you’d leave.”

“I told you. I told you why I was upset.”

“When?”

“I told you all the time!” before he can open his stupid mouth, you’re yelling again, “And if you knew I was so sad, then why didn’t you ask?! Did it never occur to you that I might need support? That I wanted my husband to talk to me about how I felt? That he should talk to me about how he feels?”

“I’m no good with emotional shit, you know that. When I’m upset I just feel uncomfortable spilling that onto others, I didn’t want to intrude.”

“We were married! Spouses are supposed to intrude!”

His shoulders droop, face falling like you said something genuinely devastating (but that can’t be, right? why would he be so upset about something he gave such little thought to?), “Were?”

“I was gone for four years before you came to see me, Chil,” you lay your head in your hands, “Four years before you looked for me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” he whispers, “I asked Fler about you.”

“She never told me that.”

“I told her not to.”

Redundantly, you say, “I didn’t know that.”

“I thought you hated me,” Chilchuck draws a slow breath, it fills his whole chest before he lets it all out, “And for the first couple of months after Fler told me you were safe, I hated you, too. I was so mad that you didn’t even leave a note. I couldn’t eat or sleep, I was just… confused, and angry. I couldn’t work,” he swallows hesitation, “And the worst part was… I couldn’t talk about it because nobody knew you. Re-explaining it to people would just piss me off all over again.”

“Your old coworkers met me. And we grew up with Dandan.”

“I didn’t want to talk to Dandan,” he huffs petulantly, “I wanted to talk to my wife.”

So many feelings are bottled between you both; shaken up to a fizzy, bubbling mess about to explode from one of you. You fear it may be you. You almost crave for it to be him, though. You hate him. You miss him. You love him.

And you’re lying through your teeth, still, because you don’t hate him at all.

“Being with you, I felt so lonely.”

“I never took it seriously when you said I should open up more. I thought that because we were married that was enough and you’d be content to just be there,” he purses his lips, “I was wrong. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you reach across the table and pull one of his hands off his arm, lacing his fingers with yours, “I should’ve left a note. I’m sorry. You must’ve been worried sick.”

“I thought some bastards took you. Ran up and down the coast accusing everyone I could see of kidnapping,” he chuckles, although the ragged beat in his voice clues to you that the incident was not as lighthearted as he’s making it seem, “But when I found out the truth, I just thought you didn’t want to be found.”

“Because you wouldn’t want to be found, right?”

“Right.”

“But- !”

“You’re not me,” he squeezes your hand tight, you can feel the full warm softness of his palm without those gloves he pulls on for work, “You’re way different. You run away to prove points,” a bratty hey! follows, “You know yourself really well, and you’re good at being open. I’ve never been like that. I never knew how, it makes me uncomfortable. But you’re my,” he swallows, “You were my wife, I should’ve been comfortable being emotional with you. You shouldn’t have been in a position where me being home was the same as me being gone for days on end.”

“Thanks, Chil,” you smooth a thumb from his knuckle and along his index finger. You glance back up to his face. A sick nostalgia, or perhaps revived affections, rage up from your gut and overdriving your heartbeat. He’s more handsome than you remember.

He shrugs, studying your conjoined hands. As if it’s the last time he’ll see them like this.

It might be.

“What now?” you ask.

“Dunno,” he replies.

Is it pathetic if you ask to get back together? (YES)

“Want to meet my new coworkers?” he blurts, a vicious red overtaking his face.

This is a step. Where exactly, you’re completely in the dark, but it certainly is a step somewhere new.

“You’re seriously not with that elf, right?”

“Of course, not! What kind of person tries reuniting with their wife while bringing a new girlfriend along?”

“You really want that answer?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he snides, getting down from his chair and holding out a hand to help you down. This time, you take it, and leave his palm in yours as you both exit the bar, “By the way, my old boss is a king now.”

“What?” you gasp, spare hand flying down to smooth out your outfit, “Tell me we’re not going yet! I can look nicer than this!”

“You look pretty like this,” his eyes scrawl over your frame, “Not that it matters, right?”

“Why not?” you frown, “I should at least try to look my best in front of a king.”

“He’s just some guy,” he double-backs suddenly, shaking his head sternly, “I don’t even think he’s attracted to people, I think he’s into monsters. You shouldn’t waste your time.”

Oh!

You smile at your husband widely, “You’re jealous!”

“Not even a little. Why would I be?”

“Exactly,” you pull him into your side by your hand in his, “Why would you be?”

Is it pathetic for him to beg to renew your vows?

Yes.

Does he still plan to?

Yes.

…

“You have a wife?”

“Is that so surprising?” Chilchuck can’t help but preen at the shock, carding a hand through his hair like some pompous dork trying to act too cool for the attention, “Yeah, I’m a taken man.”

Clara, a blonde tallman he usually laughs at rather than with, pesters for more information, “What’s she like?”

Her curiosity makes his skin itch, so he shrugs and tries throwing out answers as fast as they come, “Kind of a space case, and clumsy. But it’s cute…” he scoffs when his party coos and ‘aww’s like he’s some kid talking about a crush rather than a grown man his wife, “She’s really caring, too, it made her a good mom,” Chilchuck clears his throat, if only to smother the sight of his broad grin with his hand, “She’s great.”

“We should meet her,” his black-haired cleric suggests suddenly, “She probably wants to know what group has her husband away from home so often. Hopefully she doesn’t hate us, huh?”

“No,” Chilchuck lowers his hand, still feeling a gentle giddy lap over him like sunlight at the thought of you, “She’s pretty understanding.”

~~~

+ and btw and fyi: i think it’d be cool if the dream was actually terrible and only appeared pleasant cuz laios saved chil, like how marcille remembered having a nice dream after being saves. like if the real dream was coming home from a long job to discover his family horribly murdered <3

[ashwhowrites]

Could you write something about older!neighbor!eddie and reader being fwb and she get pregnant and doesn’t want to tell Eddie bc he always said he didn’t want kids so she starts avoiding him and looking for a new place to live. Eddie ends up finding out about the baby bc he comes over to readers place because she’s been kinda sick lately and wants to check up on her and ends up seeing the ultrasound pictures. He tells reader that even though he never wanted kids he’s going to be there for her and their child (up to you if they end up together or not)?? I love your fics so much 🧡🧡🧡

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting! <3

Baby on board

Y/N has been sleeping with her neighbor for the last four months. Yeah, as in fucking each other until they were panting messes. She tried just to be his neighbor, he was older and rough around the edges. She was young and lived alone. It was hard to act like Eddie was not dropping to her knees attractive. She had to act like she didn't burn at the thought of him. But when he showed interest? Of course, she went for it.

But fuck

What a bad fucking idea

~~~

"Congratulations, you are pregnant. The tests at home were correct." The doctor said, a bright fake white tooth smile. Y/N felt sick to her stomach, reaching for the trash as she emptied her insides.

Y/N left the hospital, her head spinning. She knew the baby was Eddie's. She wasn't sleeping with anyone else, and Eddie loved cumming inside of her. It was dumb on her part, but she can blame it on being young. Him? He has no excuse.

But she knew Eddie didn't want kids. He's in his forties, divorced, and spends his time drinking beer. He was at the stage in his life where kids left his head. Oh, and the fact he got into a divorce over kids in the first place.

She was an idiot.

~~~

Over the few weeks, Y/N tried her best to stay hidden from Eddie. She stopped answering his calls, refused to leave the house unless it was an emergency, and avoided him and his house at all times.

She had a few more appointments, now leaving the doctor with ultrasound pictures. She couldn't help but grow excited about being a mom. Sure, she'd be on her own, alone, and terrified. But she tried to not focus on that, and focus on the fact she was going to have a baby.

She thought about telling Eddie, but running away was easier. She couldn't face his disappointment or anger. It was easier to leave him before he could. She sat online and searched for a new place to live. With a kid on the way, she thought an apartment would be best for her to afford.

She didn't hide from Eddie as well as she thought. He paid too close attention for her to hide everything from him. He could see her exhausted body getting out of the car, carrying bags of medicine, ice cream, and who knows what else.

He was worried about her. She stopped talking to him out of the blue, and she didn't look well. She'd look in the direction of his house in fear, racing to her front door. His calls went unanswered, his knocks never allowed the door to open, and he couldn't get out of his house fast enough to catch her.

But today he was going to talk to her.

He walked out of his house, cursing at the cold and the snow beneath his shoes. He cuddled into his sweatshirt a little more as he walked a few feet over. He blew hot air on his hands then knocked.....and knocked.

"I KNOW YOU'RE HOME!" he yelled, but no answer.

"I'M NOT LEAVING UNTIL WE TALK SO I'LL FREEZE OUT HERE ALL NIGHT. IF YOU CARE ABOUT ME, I THINK YOU WOULDN'T WANT THAT!" he was too old for this shit. He felt like a child locked him out of his house and was laughing at him on the other side.

But when she opened the door, she wasn't laughing. She had a blanket over her body, her eyes bloodshot, and her skin pale.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" He rushed out, he pushed himself inside before she could protest. His shoes kicked off as he began to rub her arms.

"Just sick." She shrugged, it wasn't a whole lie. She technically was throwing up.

"Oh, baby." He said, wrapping his arms around her. She cursed at herself for melting in his arms. For sneaking an inhale of his scent and shuddering against his hard body. His facial hair scratched across her forehead as he planted a kiss.

"Let's get you back in bed and I'll make you some soup." He said. She almost wanted to laugh at the irony. Here he was, acting like a perfect caring partner. But he didn't want that with her.

She didn't say a word, trying her best to push her feelings aside. She was moving away from him.

After Eddie tucked her in, he walked down to her kitchen. He tried to remember the few times he was over and watched her cook. As the soup heated on the stove, he looked around. His eyes caught black and white photos. Curiosity took over as he grabbed the photos.

His stomach twisted in uncomfortable ways, all tied in knots as he took in the ultrasound. She was pregnant.

He knew it wasn't right to be mad at her, but he was clenching every part of his body. He knew getting involved with a younger girl was a dumb idea, and it was even dumber to fall for her.

He grabbed the pictures, turned off the stove, and marched upstairs. He knew he should be calm down and not make her feel worse, but he couldn't.

"Where's the soup?" She asked, her teasing smile fell when she saw him holding the pictures.

"What the fuck is this?" He snapped, she felt her body tense at the anger in his voice. She knew he wouldn't be happy about this, but she didn't think he'd look so pissed.

"Ultrasound pictures." She said quietly, she feared for what would come next.

"That's why you've been avoiding me? Because you've been pregnant with some other bastard's baby?" He growled, angrily throwing the pictures at the bottom of her bed. He wasn't sure what the feeling was in his stomach, but the thought of some other boy being with her, inside of her, and connecting himself to her made him sick.

But that's not what she expected.

"What!" She was shocked. She didn't think for a second Eddie would think she was off sleeping around. She didn't think he was, but now she felt sick thinking about that too.

"You could have been honest and told me to fuck off. Instead, you have me chasing you, and now I look like an idiot." He argued.

"I've been avoiding you because the baby is yours." She said, simple and straight to it. She watched as his angry act dropped. His eyes are wide and his jaw is open.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Eddie sighed, he felt guilty for getting so mad at her.

"I didn't say anything because I know you never wanted kids and I couldn't handle you hating me." Her sad voice broke his heart.

"Oh baby," he sighed, he walked over to the side of the bed. He dropped to his knees and held her hand.

"I need to be honest with you." He said, she swallowed nervously.

"My ex and I weren't exactly in love. We were two people living together. I didn't want kids and we got divorced. I figured I wouldn't want kids with anyone, but you changed that." He explained, Y/N was confused, and he could see that.

"I've been too nervous to ask you out because I figured you wouldn't want a future with someone who's kinda ahead of you. You're so young, and I figured you wouldn't want to settle down with a guy who couldn't give you a family. But I did." She felt her heart race as his voice got stuck in his throat. His brown eyes filled with water.

She squeezed his hand and he kissed her skin.

"I fell in love with you. And I've spent so many nights dreaming of having little versions of us running around. I adore you and I want even more of you. To have one more of you or as many as three. Be connected to you for the rest of my life." His words caused her eyes to water as well. She feared he wouldn't want the baby or her. But hearing he dreamed of both filled her with so much hope.

"I love you too." She smiled, sniffling as he smiled back.

"Let's have a baby!" He cheered, his tears falling as he cupped her cheeks.

"A baby!" She repeated, laughing as Eddie smothered her face in kisses.

Eddie pressed his lips against hers, his hands covering her cheeks. She kissed back, her hands on her lap as she melted into him.

"Gonna be the best dad ever, promise." He whispered against her lips.

"I know you will be, Munson."

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

[fhrlclln]

ii. dorky!qimir x acolyte!fem!reader

a continuation to this small imagine

oopsie, maybe your teasing has gone too far on him, and he snaps finally. 🙂‍↕️😋😝

also thank u so much to all you 2.8k beautiful ppl for following me <3

nsfw/smut under the cut

｡･:*˚:✧｡

fuck.

he grits his teeth, seeing mae leaves him hanging- literally hanging. he should have foreseen this sooner, she was weak as his pupil. no loyalty whatsoever, his teachings all thrown to waste. and now he has to clean this whole mess up before she could head to osha and the others. the betrayal angers him, how dare she do this to him. when he had graciously accepted and taught her his ways.

he sighs, looking around, trying to find his satchel. knowing he left it somewhere near the body of water in the forest. he closes his eyes, hand reaching out to get his saber through the force. he’s about to pull through but a scrunch in the bushes stops him. his eyes widened, thinking a fucking animal has added to his current misery.

“oh, look what we have here.” nope, it was not an ordinary animal- it’s a predator. it seems his day has gotten worse as you appear by the flora, with an amused grin on your face. you’re dressed in your signature black robes, he guessed you might have followed through, remembering he had given you an order the other night before they left olega. that you were to follow mae’s every step from now on, and he’s actually proud you did.

“i need a little assistance here, please?” he speaks up, the ache on his arms and legs getting worse from hanging upside down.

“i’m guessing this is mae’s doing.” you hum, circling around him slowly. he closes his eyes, holding himself back from snapping. “well, it was bound to happen when her sister appeared. the master’s going to kill her.”

oh, he will.

“help me!” he whines, ashamed he fucking whined. of course, you don’t know yet that he’s your master, of course you’ll be torturing him until now.

“you’re so cute when you whine, qimyyyy.” you grinned devilishly, that nickname making his head hurt. “alright, what do i get in return, though?”

oh, his brain is literally going to explode any second now. “what do you want?” he groans, flaying his arms around as you stop in-front of him. resting your weight on one foot, and your hand resting on the curve of your hip. he momentarily glances at that, liking the way the leather leggings hug your curves- he stops himself from raking his eyes further, focusing on your thinking face, he’s a little bit dizzy now seeing you upside down.

“hmmm…” you think, finger tapping your chin. “how about another kiss?” you say with a sultry tone. he stutters for a moment, acting like he’s not wishing for it again. but he has no other choice but to be pathetic and agree, otherwise, what other things do you want in-return than a kiss? his blood rushes to his cheeks as he sighs, rubbing his face.

“alright!” the other rush of blood goes to his crotch when he stares at your lips, remembering that cheeky kiss you gave him that had him milking himself that night. “just get me down!”

“okay!” you laugh. “stay still.”

he expects you to use your lightsaber but what you do first is tiptoe up to examine the rope holding his feet, making you press your chest on his face. his eyes widened and his protests are muffled by your breasts. he can feel himself getting hard, loving each second of torture to be suffocated by your clothed breasts.

“this is not necessary!” he shouts, turning his head to the side as you still press your chest against his face. he moves his face around, trying to avoid your soft chest, but it made it seem like he’s… you know…

“if you want me to slice your feet off, stay still and quiet.” you tut, chuckling as you finally detach yourself from him, done assessing where you would cut. even though you could’ve cut anywhere higher from his feet. fuck, you still had to tease him when he’s almost gonna puke from being suspended in the air for too long.

you wink at him and he glares at you. you take your saber out of your belt, turning it on as the red light blinds him for a moment. you swiftly threw it to where the rope is, and he falls to the ground with a loud thud. your saber comes back to your hand in an instant. you giggled, crouching down beside him as you switch off your saber. he groans, face planted against the dirt. he slowly lifts himself up, that fall hurting his chest and forehead.

“you need a bath, qimir.” you suddenly said, brushing the leaves and twigs out on his hair. he rolled his eyes, and you still had to smile at him. that fucking smile he wishes he’ll turn into tears if he fucks you rough enough to get you to drop your torturous acts of teasing him.

“no shit.” he mumbles, letting his act drop for a moment. he looks up to you and you just smiled, not asking for the kiss he agreed to give you. “g-get it on with it.” he winces as he sits on the ground, ready for your lips to land on his. he’s looking like he doesn’t want to, but he so does want to.

“no.” you shrug, and he swears he might strangle you. “i’m reserving it for later when i get to mae. he’ll be pleased if i get to her first. and my reward will be you.” you stand up, looking at him like he’s your prey.

“just find mae.” he begs, more relieved that you’re now prioritizing to capture the ex-pupil for him. maybe he’ll reward you if you behaved like this more often.

“you stay right there, qimir!” you wave him a goodbye. he lets out a groan, still dizzy but a weight has been drop from his shoulders. he rolls his arms, now feeling through the force as his satchel comes flying to his hand. you’re so eager to please him, not knowing you’re literally torturing him. he grins to himself, thinking of a way to get back to you.

he’ll get to mae first.

・゜゜・．

in unfortunate circumstances, he had let his former pupil go. he was close to killing her, but alas, that jedi master had to intervene, along with her twin sister. they all had escaped from his clutches, now he has to formulate another plan if they ever come for him again. he tosses his hair back, the dirt and his sweat sticking onto his skin. he looks around for a moment in the quiet forest filled with the jedis he killed, the sun is almost up, he has to flee the planet now.

and you?

you are laid in-front of him, still unconscious after osha fired her stun blaster onto you when you were distracted in fighting her twin. he looks down to your peaceful figure, but you did well in defending him. you had no time to say anything when his helmet broke, only choosing to focus on eliminating the opponents. he thinks for a moment if he should wake you up, what would you react knowing the two of you are alone now?

your face suddenly stirred, consciousness finally coming back to you. you groaned awake, eyes fluttering open, your head and back hurts. you are momentarily confused where you are, but as you regained your vision, you feel his piercing gaze towards you as you now look up.

“shit.” you merely say, quickly sitting up. qimir’s lips tug to a smirk as he crouches down to your level. you try to think of something to say, but you avoid his eyes, feeling a little ashamed now.

“surprised?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, curious.

“uhm…” you don’t know what to say. his chest heaves, all his patience is snapping how you’re not saying anything. he grips your jaw roughly, forcing you to look at him. your eyes widened, a look of fear crosses your face. “m-master!”

“you know, i don’t appreciate getting teased like that.” he stares down at your lips and your glossy eyes. “you’re a brat, you know?”

you fluttered your lashes. “i try. you gonna kiss me?” you had the audacity to be a tease now. his eyes darkened, all logic in his brain snaps. he pulls you forward, you’re about to protest but his lips captures yours harshly. you make a sound, but it’s muffled by his lips. he expects you to kiss back, but you stay frozen but evident you want to kiss him the way your arms grip his broad shoulders. he doesn’t fucking care if this all wrong, that he’s your master and you are his pupil, you started all of this.

“open your mouth.” he says between his kisses. you wanted your reward a kiss right? you let out a whine as you hesitantly obeyed him. “come on, open your fucking mouth.”

you obey him, you’re now pulling him towards you as his tongue delves in to clash with yours. you let out a moan, teeth are clashing, tongues are circling around each other, how messy and hot your kisses are. as if you both were trying to quench the thirst for each other. he circles his arms to wrap around your waist, he sits back, pulling you to sit on his lap. you followed, sitting directly on his crotch as that made him groan.

your hands went up to his hair, tangling your fingers in his messy black locks as his hands groped your ass. your thoughts are everywhere, still ashamed you had teased the fuck out of your master. you were not blame really, with how cute he acted, he’s the cause of all of your sweet torture on him. you start to grind against him, your core rubbing against his hard-on. you smirk, how affected he is with you.

you break the kiss, lips wet and swelling, a string of saliva connects to his own glossy lips as he stared at you. you’re desperate now, gliding your hands down from his hair to his chest, rubbing his muscles.

“how many times did you said you wanna ride me, huh?” he asks now, gripping your ass. you let out a whine, giggling as you shrug.

“many times.” you answered, not even ashamed now. a loud smack suddenly makes you yelp, he slapped your ass hard as he chuckled, massaging your stinging asscheek.

“then that’s how many times you’re gonna do it now, sweetheart.” he darkly says, voice husky. you smiled, nodding as things escalated quickly. your top is thrown somewhere, his upper part of his black robe is removed, and he’s fiddling with your leather bottoms to get it off you while he sucks your nipple. you cradle the nape of his neck, arching your back for him to easily play with your breasts. you lift your hips up for him to remove it easily, you quickly detach yourself from him for a moment removing your leggings as he pushed his bottoms downwards to spring his cock out.

he lets out a shameful groan, gripping himself as his tip was flushed red, precum oozing out. you bit your lip, mesmerized by the sight of his cock. you crawled back to him, wanting to suck him off.

“another time.” he stops you before you could suck his tip. you frown but obeyed him. he guides you to hover above him, kissing your neck, littering it with love bites. he has been thinking about this a lot, jerking himself in those lonely nights in the shop from your crude words that you wanted to do many things with him. he glances to your cunt, his cock twitching at the sight of how wet you are.

“you’re so big.” you whined, gripping him as you guide it to your entrance. he lets out a groan, his tip rubbing against your soft entrance. everything feels warm, the coldness of the morning is shielded by both of your body heats. he stares down, seeing as you finally let him in, slowly taking him inside of you.

“t-that feels so good.” he can’t help but say, rolling his eyes back at the wave of pleasure when your walls wrap around him snugly. you let out a cry, feeling full as you slowly pushed your hips down to really let him in. he’s so big that you wonder if you’ll be split in half when you start bouncing him.

“qimir…master.” you moan his name out. he swears he almost busted himself when you called him master. finally taking him all in as you sit on his abdomen. fuck, he feels like he’s about to cum how deep he’s in your cunt. you shuddered, feeling every inch of his cock fill inside you. there’s a relaxing silence as only both of your labored breaths are heard. his chest rises, hands settling on your hips, ready to guide you to start moving.

“that’s it, good girl. grind for me.” he praises as you started to grind back and forth. the friction of pleasure hitting you both hard. you place your hands on his muscled chest, rubbing back and forth to his abs. you close your eyes, back arching as he sucks your nipples again. you finally start to bounce on him, his hands guiding you. “come on, fuck me.”

“i am!” you groan out, bouncing more harshly now. he moans your name out, hands caressing down to your ass. he slaps the soft flesh again, making you whine. your breasts are jiggling in-front of his from your erratic movements. he watches in awe, how beautiful you are bouncing on his cock. you suddenly kiss him, hot and messy, he kisses back the same.

he loves this, he loves the feel of warm cunt wrapped around him, and your sweaty skin sticking to his. both of you are so lost in the pleasure of one another, not caring if anyone would see the two of you in the forest. he feels your walls clench tight around him. he feels himself near his high, the familiar knot in his stomach forming.

“i’m close.” you whisper dumbly against his lips. he nods, pressing his forehead against yours as your eyes fluttered open to stare at his orbs. the look of your face as him moaning, how dumb you look when you’re finally bouncing on his cock just like you had teased at him days ago. he sees your brows furrow, bouncing more wildly now, signaling you’re about to come. he helps you near your high as his other hand goes down to rub your swollen clit.

“m-maker-!” you let out a gurgled sound as he roughly kisses you again. your whole body stuttered, clenching his cock tight as he roughly thrusts his hips up as your orgasm hits you hard. the sound of harsh skin slapping fills your ears as you let him fuck him you, and he was nearing his end. he lets out a sound of pleasure, gripping your hips down as the tip of his cock hits your cervix as he fills you up with his cum.

“f-fuck.” he stutters, holding you down as you hug his neck, feeling dizzy at the intensity of your orgasm. you nuzzle your face in his neck, kissing his soft skin, inhaling his earthy scent as you let out a sigh. he drops his tight grip on your ass, caressing your marked skin. both of your hearts are beating loudly, chests are heaving.

“good girl.” he kisses the side of your face, hands caressing your back now. you hum in response, too fucked-out to say something as you just had the best orgasm you had in your life. his cock is still snug inside you, both of your spends mixing as it oozes out of you and coats his prick. you slowly sit up now, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you peck his lips. he blinks softly, a smile tugging his lips. he taps your thigh suddenly, motioning you to ready yourself. you two were not done yet. he’s gonna fuck the shit out of you from all the torture you had done to him until you beg him to stop. you know this as you rolled your eyes at him as he suddenly starts to thrusts his hips up, the overstimulation making you yelp.

“come on. we’re not done yet, brat.”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

this (i think) is the hottest and freakiest shit i have ever written. 🥵

[tinkerbelle05]

How about a 1016 miles x fem reader where his mom catches them kissing in his room 😭😭 I feel Rio would not play

Caught Red Handed

Characters: 1610!Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff & slight Angst

Summary: (Requested) Thanks beautiful ♥️

Warnings: awkwardness, snooping parents, Rio’s rage

A/N: Omg Rio would never play like that. I think it took a lot of convincing for you and Miles to be in the same room. Welp that's gone now. Also for my own peace of mind, Miles and Reader is 16+

You loved kissing Miles. You loved leaving a trail of kisses on his jaw, traveling down to his neck, and traveling further down into the depths of his collarbone.

You were doing it right now. Both of you laying on his bed with you draped over his body and his hands on your thighs for stability. You heard a chuckle under his breath and you paused to look at him.

“That made you tickle,” it was more of a statement, an observation really, than a question. He didn’t answer, just avoided your eyes. You took your finger and lightly trailed leaving goosebumps in it’a wakes, leaving him a laughing mess.

“You're such a tease,” he grumbles and kisses your lips.

The both of you were so entrapped in your own world that you didn’t hear Miles’ door opening, and you most definitely didn’t notice Rio standing at the doorway with lunch in her hands.

“What are you two doing?!” You hear a yell. It sounded too much like Ms. Morales for your liking.

Both of you froze with fear and slowly turned around to see a fuming Ms. Morales. She was gripping the tray for dear life and fierce glare on her face.

You practically jump off Miles, white hot embarrassment fills every part of your body. You avoid her line of sight as you brace yourself for the inevitable verbal lashing. You don’t even dare to look at Miles, not even a secret glance in his general direction.

“So this is why y’all wanna keep the door closed all the time huh?” She questions and laughs in a mocking tone.

“Mom-“

“Don’t,” she cuts him off harshly. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. She opens them and they land in the space between you and Miles. “Have you two..?”

“No, we haven't,” Miles answers quickly, and somehow your embarrassment grew deeper.

She gives out a sigh and pinches her nose, “Okay, okay that's good because I will not become a grandmother right now, do you both understand?”

Both of you nod in unison. There was something more terrifying about her calm rage. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in anxiety.

She clears her throat, “Since neither of you clearly paid enough attention during sex-ed in school, I will re-teach you.”

“Huh? Mami please no. You really don’t have to,” Miles protested while you sink further into despair.

She ignores Miles and grabs a chair to sit in, “Okay so when..”

This was going to be a long night but it could definitely have been worse.

“Oh and you both are severely grounded for at least a month,” she adds before she continues on.

It was one of the worst 30 minutes of your life. Ms. Morales went really in depth on every subject related to sex education. The diseases you could catch, different methods of practicing safe sex, and the consequences of failing to do so. She painted horrifyingly graphic demonstrations too.

By the end of it, all you wanted to do was go home and erase this idea from your memory forever.

And at the end, she said, “Now maybe a month from now, after some reflection I can trust you two to be in the same room with the door open. But not right now. Do you need a ride home?” She turned to you, her gaze and voice softer than it was a moment ago

You quickly shake your head no and grab your things. As much as a car ride home would beat the 2 trains and a bus commute you had, your already cringing at the thought of how awkward and tense the car ride would be.

“No, no it’s fine Ms. Morales, I can get home on my own,” you tell her and with a quick goodbye to both of them, you were out the door.

Halfway through your train ride home and the Renaissance album you get a text from Miles. You were surprised he still has his phone.

“I’m sooo sorry for that. Shoulda locked the door next time. I'll make it up to you, promise 🙏🏿”

“I'll hold it to you Morales”

Tags: @butterfi, @justbeethings, @jam-skullz, @zomb1te, @dreamxcollide, @shibble, @sciamachy-after-dusk @sleepdeprivationis4coolkids, @somber-starz, @maypersonne, @peter-parkers-gf, @hoeboat101, @rosebunny, @liural, @midnight-the-shadow-wolf, @mur-docs, @eight-cats-in-a-box@emgavi, @sawi-06, @707xn, @niktwazny303, @nagi3seastorm, @ghostsimp000, @cloudstrifefantatic, @vixqn, @mewxzx, @yourtsahik, @targaryenstormborn, @spider-bren, @star-light18464, @im-jisoo-im-okay, @wraithlueintheirlittleworld, @andhdi68a, @itstooearly-its3am, @universallypeanutpizzapersona, @gricelovesu, @pavitrsgf, @avatarl0v3r, @ca1ist0, @randomhoex, @nerdyparker616, @1uvvmi, @keawio, @centipider, @ellatienesuscosas, @m4rihrts, @jell0buss-37, @baddiebehaviourxx, @laylasbunbunny, @minimari415

Taglist & Anonlist & Reqs Info & Masterlist

[munson-blurbs]

Hi darling sister wife! I have a request for a bookworm!reader who always has her nose in a book and has a huge crush on Eddie, but thinks he doesn’t even know she’s alive. And maybe they run into each other somewhere in town and he’s like “oh hey y/n!” and she’s dumbfounded lol

Love youuuuu - @corroded-hellfire

Anything for you, bb 💚

Warnings: none, all fluff <3

WC: 3.8 k

--

There’s a lump in your throat as you approach the wooden door marked “DETENTION” in scolding letters. You’ve never been in trouble before, always keeping your head down and doing the right thing. 

But that was before you’d started reading The Handmaid’s Tale. You’d picked up the novel in the school library that morning, curious to see what all of the fuss was about. It was so gripping, so eerie, so chilling, that you didn’t want to put it down. And so you didn’t—you read it in the halls when walking between classes, during lunch as your friends talked about their prom dresses, even faking cramps during PE so you could sit on the bleachers and continue devouring Margaret Atwood’s words. None of that posed any issues. 

You were nearly finished with the entire book by the time last period rolled around. Mrs. Click was droning on and on about the Enlightenment and its influence on European culture. It wasn’t anything the textbook didn’t already explain. How bad would it be to quickly read the final chapter in an incredible book while she yammered about a continent you didn’t even live on?

As you soon discovered, it would be pretty bad. Mrs. Click marched over to you as you tried to hunch down inconspicuously. She plucked the book from your hands and frowned. “Tell me, Ms. Y/L/N,” she’d snapped, never breaking eye contact with you, “what makes you so special that you can select your own reading material during my class?”

You could only shake your head, heat rising in your cheeks. “‘M sorry, Mrs. Click,” you mumble. Other students snicker around you, and you hear someone whisper, “what a nerd.”

“Well,” your teacher starts, placing The Handmaid’s Tale on her already-cluttered desk, “maybe you can come up with a better answer after detention this afternoon.” You nodded dumbly, too humiliated to protest the punishment. 

The worst part? She never even gave you back the book. 

Fingers trembling, you push the door open and take a seat all the way in the back. You’re the only one there; maybe you can avoid any further embarrassment if it stays that way. You take out your math textbook and start on the first problem, barely able to concentrate. Detention. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, but you hate getting in trouble. Hate having people mad at you, even if that person is your uppity history teacher. It’s why you’re such a goody two-shoes, a people pleaser; you just want everything to be peaceful. 

“Honey, I’m home!” a familiar voice calls out. Your head snaps up to see Eddie Munson burst through the doorway. There’s a loose cigarette tucked behind his ear, almost completely covered by his mess of curly hair. His grin widens as he spots you. “Hey, Y/N! What brings you to my home away from home?”

Your mouth goes dry. Eddie Munson knows who you are? The handsome, charismatic, sometimes scary-seeming metalhead knows your name? You clear your throat when you realize he’s staring at you expectantly, waiting for a response. “Oh, um, nothing. Jus’ something stupid,” you manage, picking at your fingernails anxiously. 

“Yeah, well, I’m the king of doing stupid things, so, lay it on me.” He sits on top of the desk in front of you, leaning his forearms on his thighs. 

The blush creeps back up through your body. “I got busted in Click’s class for reading.”

Eddie furrows his brows in confusion. “Reading what?” he questions. “Like, a nudie magazine or somethin’? That happened to me once, and Click was pissed. Never did get that magazine back either. What a shame.” He tuts gently at the memory. 

“God, no!” You shake your head. “It was a book I was reading for fun. And not that kind of fun,” you add pointedly. “It was, um, The Handmaid’s Tale? The novel by Margaret Atwood?” It comes out as a question, and you could smack yourself for your timid disposition. “It’s about a group of women—the handmaids—who are essentially forced to be these birthing machines for their owners. Their entire worth is based on making healthy babies. And if they try to escape, the men of Gilead will hurt them.” Shut up, you scold yourself silently. He didn’t ask you for a damn book report. 

But Eddie looks intrigued. “Well, that’s no Playboy, but it sounds really good. I’ll have to read it when you’re done.”

“That might not be for awhile,” you reply somberly. “Much like your Playboy, my book has been confiscated, unlikely to ever be returned.”

Eddie smacks his palms on his knees, startling you, but he pays this no mind. “I’ll be right back,” he says. “If Higgins comes in, tell him I had to take a leak.” And with that, he’s out the door. 

What is going on? You thrum your fingers against the desk, considering your circumstances. You’re in detention with Eddie Munson, having a conversation about The Handmaid’s Tale. Never in your wildest dreams did you think this would happen. 

Eddie returns triumphantly. “Ta-da!” he exclaims, holding up the novel in his left hand. He places it on your desk and smiles. “Now you can finish it.”

“My hero,” you put your hand over your heart and grin back at him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach. “Like the Robin Hood of books.”

“Robin Hood, huh?” he smirks, sliding into the chair next to yours, “I’ll take it. Better nickname than ‘The Freak,’ anyway.”

You frown, averting your gaze as you say softly, “I never called you that. And I never thought you were a freak, either.”

“‘Course not,” Eddie chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder. “‘Cause you’re a freak, too.” He laughs harder when you scoff. “C’mon, Y/N. Who else gets detention for reading?”

“Fair enough,” you concede. “Why are you here?”

“Besides this basically being my permanent residency? Um, I got caught cutting class? Or smoking in the bathroom? Or maybe it was because I flipped off Jason Carver in the cafeteria? I can’t remember what this one was, honestly. They all just kinda…blur together.” He waves his hand nonchalantly. 

“One more question,” you start. “How do you, um, how do you know my name?” You took all honors and Advanced Placement classes, and Eddie…well, he certainly did not. 

He gives you an astonished look. “You really don’t remember?” He continues when you shake your head bashfully. “You interviewed Corroded Coffin for the school newspaper last year! I invited you to come to the Hideout and see us in action, but you never showed.”

“Oh, yeah.” It comes back to you now. You’d been all dressed and ready to go, but your mom went ballistic at the thought of you in a dive bar. “I tried, but my parents are really strict.”

“So then don’t tell them!” Eddie says simply. “Just say you’re going to the library or something.”

“At 10 pm?” you raise your eyebrows. “If this is your idea of being clever, it’s no wonder you keep failing senior year!”

His jaw drops at your teasing. “And here I thought you were nice. Y’know what?” He scrunches up his face and eyes your desk. “I’m takin’ my book back!” And with that, he swipes it and clutches it to his chest. 

“Eddie!” you shriek, giggling as you grab at the paperback, only to have him jerk away in response. “Stop!”

“Hmm…nope!” Eddie shakes his head, unruly curls brushing his cheeks. “This is a lot more fun for me.” He stands up and holds the book above his head. 

You jump up a few times to try and snatch it back, to no avail. As a last resort, you jut out your lower lip in a pout. “Please?”

He uses his free hand to tap his finger on his chin. “What’s the magic phrase?” 

“What?”

“Fine, I’ll help you out,” he sighs, feigning exasperation. “It’s ‘Eddie Munson is the smartest, most handsome man in the world.’”

You begrudgingly repeat the sentence, grumbling it under your breath. But Eddie still doesn’t hand over the book. “I said it!” you groan. “You gotta give it back!”

“Oh, did I forget to mention part two?” There’s a mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes. “Now you have to say, ‘And because I heartlessly ditched his concert last year, I will make it up to him by letting him take me out tonight.”

“Me?” You can’t hide the shock in your voice. “Are you joking?” Why would Eddie Munson want to take a shy little bookworm out? He probably had outgoing, boisterous girls fawning all over him at his shows. Girls who didn’t care whether or not they got mommy and daddy’s permission to go to a bar. 

“‘M dead serious, sweetheart.” Eddie gives you a soft smile. “Don’t say anything, because it’ll totally ruin my reputation as Hawkins’ evil cult leader, but I also love to read.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a tattered copy of The Hobbit. “This one is my absolute favorite. I re-read it, like, once a month.”

“I should’ve known you were a nerd,” you muse, looking up at him through your lashes innocently. “Honestly, the whole Dungeons & Dragons thing should’ve given it away.”

Eddie gently bops you on the head with his book. “So, whaddya say to that date?” He’s trying to sound confident, but you catch him nervously playing with the rings that adorn his fingers. 

“I’d love to,” you answer honestly, heart fluttering as he takes your hand in his. 

“Great! Let’s go!” He tugs you out of your seat, but you shift your weight so you sink back down. He looks at you, puzzled. 

“We can’t just leave!” you gesture to the detention room. “I don’t wanna get in more trouble.” The last thing you need is another round of Click-induced humiliation. 

“Why not?” Eddie asks. “No one comes in here. I usually just use this time to work on my lyrics, even though I’m supposed to think about what I’ve done.” He lowers his voice an octave and wiggles his fingers at the last part, making you giggle. 

“You’re a bad influence, Eddie Munson,” you say, but you oblige. You tip-toe behind him, keeping a watchful eye out for straggling teachers or—God forbid—Principal Higgins. Eddie doesn’t let go of your hand until you reach his van, opening the passenger side door with a quick bow. 

“Ladies first,” he grins, shuffling to the driver’s side and starting the car. It backfires at first, startling you, but he gets the engine to turn over on the second try. “Sorry, my Jaguar is in the shop.”

“Of course,” you reply in a posh accent. “They just don’t make cars the way they used to.” You lean over to turn the radio dial, spinning past Eddie’s favorite station and straight for your own. Stevie Nicks’s voice wafts from the speakers as a Fleetwood Mac song plays. 

“You’re really lucky you’re cute,” he tells you, flashing his signature smirk, “or I’d be totally pissed that you changed Ozzy for this.” If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t think that you could do anything to anger him. You watch as his strong hand grips the gearshift, throwing the van in reverse. He reaches behind your seat as he backs up, tongue poking out in concentration. 

You can’t stop the smile that blossoms on your face at the compliment. Eddie Munson thinks I’m cute. The thought buzzes through your body like a hyperactive bumblebee. You try to push it away, mumbling, “Where are we going?”

“D’you trust me?” He threads his fingers through yours, and you feel yourself heat up despite the coolness of his metal rings. 

“Not in the slightest,” you tease him again, offering your sweetest smile. “After all, the last time you did something nice for me, it ended with you holding my book hostage. Which you still have, by the way.” 

Eddie squeezes your hand affectionately. “Fair enough.” But he doesn’t give you any further information, just sings along with the radio despite his initial protests. It’s melodic and relaxing, and you find yourself staring at the way his soft lips move as he recites the lyrics and uses his forefinger to keep the tempo against the steering wheel. “Okay, y’caught me.” He breathes out a small laugh. “I kinda like their stuff. I mean, I wouldn’t spend money for their concerts, but I don’t mind it if there’s nothing else on. Or if a pretty girl wants to listen to them.” This time, he notices the way you hide behind your hair at his words. “C’mon now; don’t get all shy just because someone called you ‘pretty.’”

But he’s not someone; he’s Eddie. He’s the guy you’ve had a crush on for far too long, and he stole your book back from Mrs. Click, asked you on a date, snuck you out of detention, held your hand, and complimented you repeatedly—all within the span of thirty minutes. 

“I was really upset earlier about getting detention,” you confess, steering the conversation away from your timidness and relentless crush on Eddie. “But you cheered me up and, um, that meant a lot to me.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he says, tipping an invisible hat. “But take it from me—detention isn’t the end of the world. Especially since you rarely ever get it.”

“Never,” you correct him. 

“Huh?”

“I’ve never gotten detention. Until today.” You feel childish admitting it. Senior year of high school and this is the only time you broke the rules—and in such a geeky way, too. 

“Well, it was an honor to witness you pop your detention cherry.” The phrasing makes you burst out with laughter, and you clap your free hand over your mouth. “Don’t do that,” he says softly, letting go of the hand he’s holding to nudge the one that’s pressed to your lips. “You have a nice laugh.” He pulls into a parking lot, finding the nearest spot before killing the engine. 

“No way,” you whisper, gazing at the building. You’d figured he would take you out for pizza or s movie, but this is even better. “Eddie, did you bring me to a bookstore?” 

He nods proudly. “This one has a little café inside, if you want a coffee or something.” He takes your hand again as you both stride towards the shop. “Pick out a book—it’s on me. Paperback, hardcover—whatever you want.”

“Hardcover? You really know how to spoil a girl, Munson.” Your tone is joking, but there’s truth to it. You normally only splurge for hardcover books when you have a gift card. You peruse the aisles, trying to quickly scan the spines for something that catches your eye. It wouldn’t be out of character for you to spend hours searching for the perfect book, but you didn’t want to drag Eddie along on a boring date. 

“Let me grab us something to drink,” Eddie says as you start towards the ‘thrillers’ section. “How do you take your coffee?” You give him your order and promise to meet him by the café in a few minutes. “No rush,” he assures you, and he kisses your cheek quickly before ducking away and heading for the barista. 

There’s a whole display dedicated to Stephen King, and you check out the offerings before settling on Firestarter. You’ve been meaning to read it, and now is the perfect chance to snatch it up. Before you go to the café, you wander over to the fantasy section. If Eddie likes Lord of the Rings, you’re sure to find another book he’ll enjoy here. Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire stands out; it’s dark and gothic and seems perfect for him. Pulling off the shelf, you make a stop at the cash register before joining him at the café. At a quick glance, you can see he’s chatting with the barista, so you sneakily pay for your gift to him, promising the cashier that you’ll be back to pay for Firestarter. He doesn’t seem too worried, and you flounce over to your date with a wide smile. 

Eddie’s sitting at a table for two. There’s a steaming cup of coffee in front of each place setting, with a slice of chocolate cake and two plastic forks in the center. “Figured we could use something sweet,” he says nonchalantly, as though he didn’t just have a small panic attack trying to decide between flavors. His brows furrow when he notices the bag in your hand. “Hey, I said I was treating you to a book!” he whines. 

“Don’t worry, I have my choice right here,” you tell him, flashing the paperback. “This is from me to you.” 

He takes the bag curiously, sticking his hand in without looking. The tip of his tongue brushes against his upper lip, much like it did in the van, as he dramatically rifles through, conveniently ignoring the fact that there’s only one item in there. After a solid ten seconds of that, he fishes out the book. 

“Have you read it? Like, do you already own it? Because I can return it right there,” you blabber, motioning to where the bored cashier is twiddling his thumbs, “if you don’t want it. And you can pick out something else.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says softly, cupping your chin with his left hand. “I love it, okay? I haven’t read it yet, but I want to.” He plops down on the chair as you slide into yours, relieved. “In fact, maybe I’ll read it right now.” He opens to the first page, and you giggle as his eyes scan the words. “Oh, I’m being rude, aren’t I?” He fakes innocence, making you laugh harder. “My apologies. I’ll read aloud so you can listen.” He starts speaking in his deep, dramatic Dungeon Master voice. Although he’s trying to be silly, there’s something comforting about having him read to you. You almost don’t want him to stop, sipping from your mug and drinking in the sound of him. 

He slams the book shut and gently places it back in the bag. “So, besides read and piss off Click, what do you like to do for fun?” he asks, digging his fork into the cake slice and taking a bite. “Holy shit, this is delicious.”

You take another swallow of coffee. There’s still a hint of bitterness to it, just the way you like it. “I write for the school newspaper. Mostly just reporting on school events, student council budget reports…” 

“And entertainment?” Eddie finishes. 

“Huh?”

“Writing the entertainment section? Isn’t that why you interviewed us last year?” he adds, pushing the cake towards you as an invitation. You oblige, answering his question before eating. 

“Oh,” you mumble, keeping your gaze trained on the confection. “I don’t normally do that, but I asked Nancy if I could cover it that week.”

“Oh?” He’s intrigued, and you’re grateful for the mouthful of cake when he follows up with, “And why is that?”

You chew carefully, probably more times than necessary while you consider your response. Fuck it; we’re already on a date. “Kinda had a crush on their lead guitarist-slash-vocalist,” you say shyly, “and I always wanted to talk to him but couldn’t work up the courage to do it, like, normally.”

Eddie crosses his arms and leans back, smiling proudly. “So you hid behind the guise of your work to flirt with me?” He lets out a soft whistle. “And here I thought you had journalistic integrity.” He puts his hand over yours once again, rubbing his thumb over it rhythmically. “S’okay, because I totally have a crush on this reporter.”

“Fred Benson?” you joke. 

Pouting, Eddie pulls the slice of cake directly in front of him. “Y’know what? You’ve lost your dessert privileges for being such a mean date.” To emphasize his point, he takes a giant bite while glaring at you. Chocolate frosting smears on his lips. “Do I have something on my face?” he asks when he catches you staring at his mouth. 

“Actually, yes.” You start to lean over with a paper napkin in hand, but decide against it, bringing your lips to his. He tastes like sugar from the cake, burnt caramel from the coffee, and clove from his cigarettes, and your stomach flip-flops when he brings his hand to your cheek and deepens the kiss. “Mmm, my favorite,” you manage when you break away. 

“What? Me or the chocolate?” Eddie asks, eyes blown wide just from a simple kiss. 

You smile, biting your lower lip. “Right now? The cake, because you still haven’t given me back the book you stole in detention.”

He throws his head back and sighs. “But if I don’t hold your book hostage, how can I secure that second date?”

You brush a lock of hair out of his face. “What if I told you that you already have?” He looks genuinely astonished, so you elaborate. “Eddie, this is the best date I’ve ever had. I can’t think of the last time I was this happy.”

The handsome metalhead reaches into his worn backpack and takes out the book. “You probably already figured this out, but flattery works with me, so…” 

You grab it victoriously. “Thank you,” you chirp, stowing it away before he can take it back. Eddie grins at you, just enjoying being in your company. 

“I kinda have a little confession of my own,” he says quietly. You pinch your eyebrows together in confusion. “I, um, I didn’t have detention today.” 

“Then why—” 

“Saw you sitting there alone, and I wanted to talk to you. I keep lookin’ for you in the cafeteria so I can ask you to eat with us, but I never see you.” 

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I-I like to eat in the library. It’s quieter there.” And you don’t have to deal with Jason Carver and his posse picking on you, but you withhold that information. 

Eddie looks at you inquisitively. “I thought you couldn’t eat in the library.” He raises his brows. “You little rebel. Sneaking food in the library, reading for fun during class…” He trails off and chuckles. “You’re always welcome at our table. I’d really like it if you sat with us, actually.” 

“Okay,” you agree easily. “I’d really like that, too.” You kiss him again and again, stopping only to indulge in coffee or cake. 

Maybe getting detention isn’t so bad, after all. 

--

[wardenparker]

Night of the Living Wish

Javier Peña x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: The one that got away. Cursing, alcohol and alcohol consumption, self-doubt, Steve Murphy is Big Brother Energy, wish fulfillment, magic, hair pulling, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex in someone else's bed. Summary: Determined to put years of pining to an end, Steve and Connie invite you and Javier to their blow out Halloween costume party the year after returning from Colombia. With the help of some very special costumes, this party is set to be a night to remember. Notes: The first of two Spooky themed one-shots for our now-annual Spooktober celebration!

It took a while to get here, and you're not sure if you're slightly embarrassed about that or not. You've sent letters back and forth with Steve and racked up long distance bills calling Connie from California, but any kind of communication with your other partner in Texas has seemed like too big of a bridge to gap. That is, until you had gotten the card in the mail from the Murphys a month ago, inviting you out to Miami for Halloween weekend.

A big costume party with their friends is their excuse to invite you out to the east coast, and since you've just wrapped up a case pretty neatly, you don't feel bad about taking a few days off. You managed to find a costume shop on a side street while you were walking around the city earlier and deftly avoided having to settle for a murderous clown or anything involving a mask by finding a nymph costume in your size. Maybe a sexy costume wouldn't have been your first choice but it isn't bad, and now you're sitting in the back of a cab wrapped in your coat to avoid lewd comments from the driver on your way from the hotel down to the Murphy's house. It will be good to see Steve and Connie again. It will. Even if you're dreading not knowing if Javi will be there or not.

******

“A fucking Halloween party?” The drink in Javi’s hand doesn’t seem nearly stiff enough as he watches Connie bustle around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the trays of food to serve.

“You know you could help.” Steve huffs, work gloves on as he load a faux cauldron with dry ice in the center of the table in the living room.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Javi asks, smirking slightly as he holds out his arms. “In costume.”

“Hardly.” Connie rolls her eyes, albeit playfully. “You’re wearing your own clothes. Like that is an outfit you would just wear regularly. I had to ask if you even knew it was a costume party.”

“Hey….” Javi pouts and then pulls the glasses out of his pocket to open them up after setting down his drink. Making a show of putting them on. “Now.” He huffs. “Recognize me?”

“Manwhore Clark Kent.” Steve jokes as he swings through the living room making sure that all the decorations are in place. He even goes so far as to adjust the plastic spider in the white webbing over the kitchen door so it’s at the most optimum angle to creep someone out.

“Ah, no.” Javi points a finger at his old partner and then flips him the bird. “Life, uh, finds a way.” He quotes, having watched the movie more than a few times because he enjoyed it. Not because of this party.

Connie snorts, mostly at the impression, and takes a bite out of a carrot stick from the veggie platter before shaking her head at Javi fondly. “Jeff Goldblum is far sexier,” she teases. “And I still say that wearing your own clothes is cheating.”

He frowns, even though he loves Connie, it stings his pride that Jeff Goldblum is sexier. “Not everything is mine.” He protests. “The glasses and the fucking pimp necklace came from that costume shop.”

“Then I stand correction.” She was teasing just to make him pout, and now that she’s accomplished that goal she offers him a beaming grin instead. Messing with Javi is one of the delights missing from her life these days and she’s glad to see him. Steve is too, although he grumbles about it more. “You did very well, Jav. Excellent costume.”

“Thank you, Connie.” He scoops her up into his arms and kisses her cheek. “And you are a very sexy Queen Cleopatra.” He smirks. “Black hair looks good on you.”

“We thought it was a fun change of pace.” Steve - dressed as Marc Antony - throws his wife a wink. They had talked about doing a little Halloween-inspired role play and Connie wanted to change up her look a little just for fun. “No snakes though, baby. Those bad boys stay outside.”

“Really?” Javi grins. “You’d look really sexy with a big snake.” He teases, winking at her.

Undeterred, Connie just smiles. “That’s why I married Steve,” she tells Javi with a wink. “Biggest one I could possibly find.”

“That’s because you hadn’t met me yet.” Javi enjoys poking at Steve, watching the man huff and grumble under his breath. Not like he would admit to his wife that his partner had him beat in the dick measuring department.

“Whatever makes you feel better, Jav.” Connie laughs, only leaving the living room when the front door rings to go and open it. “Here we go!” She announces with glee. Whether it’s trick or treaters or party guests doesn’t matter. She’s just glad to have an active night tonight.

Javi picks up his drink again and takes a sip. It’s good to see the Murphy’s again. Especially since he wasn’t sure they would stay together the last time he had seen them. Swirling his ice around, he wonders if you are coming. Steve had told him that you were in California, but he hadn’t mentioned if you had been invited.

The door was a mix, and the sound of trick or treaters is quickly replaced with the first flood of party guests. Plenty of people that Javi doesn’t recognize all come into the house in a great wave of introductions, but there is one single recognizable voice right at the end. The high-pitched squealing isn’t enough on its own, but it’s very distinctly your voice that exclaims: “Oh my god, you look gorgeous!”

Javi swallows slightly, lifting his glass to his lips to down the rest of his whiskey. The sound of your voice bringing back the next to last time he saw you. An image he had thought about more than a few times over the past year. How close he had come to crossing that line with you. Looking towards the door, he sees your arms flung around Connie and your head covered in some kind of twisty crown thing made of plastic that looks like sticks and flowers.

“It’s so good to see you again.” You’re practically in tears over it, honestly, having missed your best friend dearly since she left Colombia ahead of her husband. That was a rough time and everyone was glad to see the hard portion of the Murphy’s road smooth out in time.

“I keep telling you to trade California beaches for Miami beaches.” Connie squeezes you once more before she pulls back to look at you. “Okay…what are you with the coat?”

“I didn’t want to give the cab driver an eye full,” you admit, and easily take off the long rain jacket that you had been covering yourself with. The ‘nymph’ costume is skimpy but not overly so, just very obvious about highlighting your tits and the skirt is hiked up to halfway up one thigh…because they can? You don’t quite understand it. It’s definitely not historically correct Greek clothing.

“Hot damn, mama.” Connie whistles. “Don’t you look sexy? Steve, doesn’t she look sexy?” Turning her head towards her husband, she grins when she sees Javi nearly choke on his own spit.

“I know you said costumes from your own clothing are cheating so I—” Already halfway out a justification for the choice, you freeze in the doorway to the living room when you see “Javi?”

“Hey, muñequita.” Javi shoots you a small grin. “Been a long time.” He shuffles forward and wraps his arm around you, still holding his empty glass. “How have you been?”

“Good.” Even a measly hug shouldn’t feel this good, but you tell yourself that it’s reasonable to miss your friends after not seeing them for so long. That it has nothing to do with what almost happened. “Busy. I’ve been busy. Just wrapped another case. How’s Texas?”

“Slow.” He rolls his eyes but he can’t deny that he’s a hell of a lot less stressed on the ranch. “Meant to call you, but by the time you’re off work, Pop is snoring in his chair and I’m wiped out.” It’s a lame excuse for why he could never pick up the phone to hear your voice, but it’s the one he will use.

“It’s fine.” You had assumed that his interest in you had waned, not being in the same place anymore, and tried not to take it too hard. Or too personally. “I was just undercover for six months anyway…”

“Really?” Immediately Javi frowns, not liking the sound of that. Undercover work is dangerous and he doesn’t know your partners now.

“Traffickers.” You shrug like it doesn’t matter because honestly? You had a hell of a lot worse in Colombia. “No big deal, it took a while to get in where I needed to be.”

“You got out clean.” His brows raise seriously. Despite the fact he hasn’t seen you in a year, he hates the way that his stomach rolls at the idea of you being undercover without him watching out for you.

“I’m fine, Jav. No knight in shining armour shit this time.” Not like last time. When he’d had to rescue you from an undercover stint under the guise of a sting. That was…ugly.

He doesn’t like it, but he trusts you. Knowing you wouldn’t lie to him about that. “Good.” He grunts and bites his lip. “Drink?”

"Fuck yes." You can't help but laugh at the offer. "I spent the entire cab ride fending off the driver. I deserve it."

“Wearing that, I’m not surprised.” He’s never seen so much skin on you, unless you count the night he was pulling off your- no. He can’t think about that. He wouldn’t survive tonight if he started thinking about that.

“I had a coat on,” you defend, knowing that you had worn one for exactly that reason. Some men just can’t help themselves. They have to comment — or worse. “But now you owe me a fancy drink,” you insist, falling back on your old habit of teasing Javi. “You can’t bust me about my costume when you showed up in your own clothes.”

“I didn’t show up on my own clothes.” He pouts as you obviously don’t recognize the genius behind his costume.

“You totally did.” The shake of your head is amused, though, and you nudge him toward the counter beside the kitchen where the Murphy’s have set up a bar. “I saw Jurassic Park, Jav. Just because you own the same clothes as Ian Malcolm doesn’t mean it’s a costume.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “I don’t wear these stupid glasses.” He reminds you. “Or wear a chain. Or a bracelet.” He holds up his wrist as proof.

“You bought accessories.” The grin you flash at his pouty annoyance is genuine and you grab a bottle of rum to shake in his direction. “Please, Jav?” You give him your best innocent eyes when she crosses his arms at you and motion to the whole bar of ingredients and mixers. “You make way better mojitos than I do.”

He rolls his eyes and huffs, but he snatches the bottle from you. “You can never make a decent drink, muñequita.” He teases you.

“Maybe not.” It’s so easy to fall back into old patterns with him. The teasing and natural flirting that you never even realized you were doing until Murphy had called you on it one night in a stake out. “But I open a mean beer.”

“Oh yeah, that’s a necessary skill to have.” He smirks. Almost about to say something sexist but he knows you will punch him. “Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen. See if Connie has some mint leaves.”

“I guarantee she does, because you’re here.” The only person who loves Javi’s mojitos more than you is Connie, so you are more than certain that she is prepared. “So what have you been up to?” Even a small lull in conversation is too much for you to consider, and you aim for small talk instead.

“Nothing but fixing fences and trying to keep my pop from killing himself.” Javi snorts, guiding you into the kitchen and over to the bar so he can make your mojitos.

“It must be nice to see him again.” At least you hope it is. You’d hate to think Javi’s been unhappy. Regardless of whatever did or did not end up happening between you, he was still your partner.

“Of course it is.” Javi moves with sure hands. Eyeballing the measurements and looking up at you. “Have you been liking California?”

“Sun, surf, and beautiful people. What’s not to like?” That’s what you keep telling yourself when you miss your friends — and Javi — during your day-to-day life. That there’s no reason not to enjoy California. But the truth is that you’re lonely despite being surrounded by people constantly.

“It’s too bright, the salt is shit and people are assholes.” Javi grunts, even though he wouldn’t mind going to see you on a beach.

“Well I guess I won’t invite you to visit, then.” You would have been too nervous to offer anyway, but at least this way it’s about teasing and you can hide that you’re a little disappointed about it.

Javi frowns, hearing the hurt in your voice and he doesn’t know what to say. “I wouldn’t mind it.” He confesses. “Women in thong bikinis are never a bad thing.” He wonders if you have one and if you wear it to the beach. Reminding him of when he was pulling- no. He can’t think about that.

“Then Miami will be perfect for you.” If all he cares about is ogling women in bikinis? He can stay right here in Florida for that. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your skirt chasing by actually wanting to see you.”

He frowns even more, obviously having put his foot in his mouth again. “Muñequita….” He sighs and shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“It’s fine.” You promise him, trying to act breezy when he hands you your drink and your fingers brush by accident. Sparks are not breezy, but you’re certain they’re one sided. “I shouldn’t have presumed. Anyway, um…thanks. For the drink.”

“No--" Javi is tired of the missed communication between the two of you. “I’d want to see your bikini.” He admits. Feeling bolder than normal around you. It’s easy with women he doesn’t care about. Respect, sure. He respects all women, but he cares about you. “Been trying to not think about those panties I had in my hand when the phone rang a year ago.”

“Oh.” That hadn’t been what you expected to hear in response, so when you pause it’s with your mouth half open and the glass at your chin. “I…” You’ve thought about that night every single day since, and it hasn’t gotten any easier to stomach the memory. “I wish I hadn’t picked up,” you confess quietly, setting the glass down again.

“Just would have fucking called again.” Javi snorts. “I was going home, one way or another.” He pours himself another whiskey. “Just glad I didn’t drag you two down with me.”

It was supposed to be a game. Javi had told you to pick up the phone with fire in his eyes, intent on making you cum while you carried on a conversation with whoever was on the other end. Thankfully in the end you had been able to convince the ambassador that you were only at Javi’s place for a post-work drink and you hadn’t been kicked off the case. “No…no, we finished it…” you sigh, knowing it should have been Javi to take the bastard down.

“Proud of you for that.” Javi tells you. “Watched every day news report when it came out. Even kept the paper that had your pictures in it.”

“It should’ve been you.” That has always been the private consensus between you and Steve. It should have been Javi on that roof with you.

“I fucked up.” That will never be something that he tries to shift blame on. He knew he was playing with fire. When he got burned, he accepted it. “I would have been there if I could. But it doesn’t take away from what you did.”

“We finished what you started.” For you it’s as simple as that, and you finally take a drink after shrugging your shoulders. “Fuuuck that’s good. I missed having my own personal bartender.”

He snorts and takes another sip of his own drink. Preferring to keep his own simple, he did enjoy making cocktails for you and Connie. Ignoring the way that Steve had teased him about a secret desire to be a bartender. “Glad you enjoy it. You’ll be hammered in no time.” He teases.

“Maybe I won’t mind the cabbie hitting on me all the way back to the hotel,” you snort, taking another long sip of the drink. Though you might wish that night a year ago had gone differently, it didn’t. You and Javi never got to take that next step, and now you probably never will.

Javi glowers, mumbling under his breath about that being bullshit as he takes another drink. Ten minutes with you and he’s already feeling possessive.

“Is it?” That’s news to you, but at least it’s not you and you alone who’s still sore about what happened between you.

His dark eyes slide over to you and he stares at you for a moment. “You want to be hit on by some cabbie?”

“No.” The way he’s looking at you makes you feel positively fucking naked, and not in a sexy way. Like Javi’s once again figured out how to look into your soul. “But if I was drunk I might not mind as much. Sometimes empty compliments are nice.”

“Empty compliments are just that, empty.” Javi steps closer to you, the ice in his glass clinking together. “You deserve real compliments.”

“Those have been pretty hard to come by over the last year.” Which is probably for the best, if you're honest. You’ve focused on work and enjoyed the photos of your sister’s family up in Oregon when she sends them every few weeks. In return, you send your niece and nephew goodies from California in a monthly care package. It was tough being undercover now that you have that relationship back. But it’s been tougher missing Javi. “One guy I knew used to give them out like candy. I never knew he meant them until it was almost too late.”

“Sounds like an asshole.” Javi snorts, shrugging slightly. “Most guys are when they realize they aren’t good enough for what they want.”

“Oh, bullshit.” You roll your eyes at him. “You were the single most sought after bachelor in the whole damn country. Nobody was out of reach.”

“There’s a difference between wanting to fuck someone and be with someone.” He murmurs quietly. “A big difference. Finding out you aren’t worthy of a woman is a humbling thing.”

Having been sipping steadily at your drink this whole time, you stop when you realize what he’s saying and put the empty glass down on the counter. “So it wouldn’t have just been a fling?” That question has itched at you for ages, and having an answer for it is both relieving and disappointing. Knowing you were moments away from having him - all of him - makes you wish all over again that you could have not picked up that phone.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Javi doesn’t give you an answer, aware that despite everything, you never reached out to him either. You had been the one to immediately promise to be there and start putting your clothes back on. Obviously regretting what was about to happen. “Guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Sure. Right. Why would it?” Instantly you wish the glass was full again, and you groan internally. This is the guy you’re still hung up on? Really? The least emotionally available man in all of the Americas and he is the one your heart is set on. What a joke — and it’s entirely on you.

He’s still a little bitter that every time a call was for him, it wasn’t you. It was Steve. “Yeah.” He drains his glass and sighs. “Gonna go back out there.”

“Awesome.” You’re gonna go pour more rum in your glass and hope there’s still flavour left in the sugar-muddled mint, then see if any of Connie’s friends are hot. After the left turn your conversation with Javi just took, you could use a couple of empty compliments just to feel human again.

The fact that the conversation went right where he wanted it to and then took a hard left turn pisses him off. His jaw clenched as he walks back into the room, he considers leaving. He doesn’t want to watch you get plastered and giggly. Especially wearing that little costume you’ve got on.

“There you are.” Steve Murphy’s large, pale hand claps down on Javi’s shoulder just as he’s considering running, and he smiles as jovially as always. “Thought you’d gone extinct on us,” he jokes, immediately laughing at his own bad reference.

“I’m gonna head out.” Javi tells his old partner. He doesn’t want to get in the way of your good time and he doesn’t want to remember what almost happened a year ago.

“Noooo. No, you’re not.” Fixing him with a stern look, Steve crosses his arms and leans against the wall beside Javi. “What happened? You guys were hitting it off again. There were practically sparklers going off.”

“Same shit.” Javi shrugs. “She’s not gonna have a good time while I’m here. I’ll just- swing by tomorrow.”

“She asks about you every time we talk,” Steve offers, his expression softening measurably. “She mentioned you at least twice a day every single day we were still in that shit hole. That woman is deeply in love with you and Connie set this whole thing up to get you two in the same room again.”

“Except I pay her compliments and she thinks I’m blowing smoke up her ass.” Javi grumbles. “Takes every fucking thing I say out of context.”

“Maybe be a little more forthcoming this time?” Like a cosmic big brother, Steve is ready and willing to give advice even when unsolicited. “I know you gave her the bullshit about not being good enough for her.”

“It’s fucking true.” Javi snorts. “I fucking got kicked out of Colombia, remember?”

“You’re missing the point, Peña.” Steve shakes his head in exasperation. “You don’t get to decide if you’re good enough for her or not. Only she does. So stop throwing yourself a goddamn pity party and actually let her have a say in her life.” When he shrugs again, he’s smirking. “If you still love her, I mean.”

“Pendejo.” Javi hisses, hating how raw that single comment makes him feel. “Fuck you for that.” He shakes his head and turns around to stomp back into the kitchen.

When Javi reappears you're standing by the fridge, forced into polite chitchat with a couple that Connie works with at the hospital because they came into the room while you were staring at the photo of you, Steve, Javi, and Connie from a rare night off in Colombia. They have it pinned to the fridge with a magnet and you were standing there mooning over Javi's arm being around your waist when you got ambushed by extroverts.

Javi doesn’t comment on the way that the couple are set on either side of you. Walking over to the bar and pouring himself a drink. Hating that things have gotten so complicated. He had meant to apologize, to explain why he hadn’t called, but he had managed to piss you off.

The best you can do is hope to catch his eye across the kitchen while one of Connie's fellow nurses talks at you about whatever soap opera she's been watching lately that you mistakenly admitted to recognizing the name of. You desperately need a rescue but can't even get a word in edgewise to excuse yourself from the deluge.

He isn’t going to look over at you. He had promised himself that he would leave you alone. Despite what Steve said, you had made your feelings clear. So he’s berating himself when he glances over to find you giving every ‘get me out of here’ signal you can give. “Hey baby, there you are.” Javi hums, walking towards you to save the day.

It doesn’t even matter that he’s playing the fake boyfriend card, although that does make your heart ache a little. You’re just grateful to be able to use the moment as an excuse to break away from the droning soap opera fan for a minute. “I was just getting to know some of Connie’s coworkers,” you explain, gladly and easily welcoming him into your side with an arm around his waist when he strides over.

“Don’t mind if I steal her, do you?” Even though he’s giving an apologetic look, he’s already turning you away. Never one to really be all that nice unless he wants something with strangers and they don’t look like people he would want anything from.

"Awe, of course not." Even thought the woman who has been talking at you looks disappointed, she smiles sweetly. "She'd been looking at that picture of you guys and now I see why. Missin' her fella."

“Yeah.” He doesn’t comment further, just pulling you close as he guides you away. “Were they as bad as I think they were?” He asks quietly as you both walk out of the kitchen.

“Honestly? I think I blacked out for a second there.” Your laugh is relieved, though, and you have to swallow the sigh that wants to bubble out of you at having him close again. “Thanks for the rescue. I guess I do still need the occasional knight in shining armor moment.”

“It looked painful when I saw you.” Javi admits. His fingers dig into your hip slightly. “And I’ll come to your rescue whenever you want.”

Face to face with him again, you feel that knot of guilt twist in your stomach again and swallow a sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” you murmur, when the two of you come to a stop against one wall of the crowded living room. “I should have.”

“It was better that you didn’t.” Javi tells you. “For your career. You don’t want to be associated with me. My name is dirt.”

“I don’t actually give a shit,” you tell him with a shrug, leaning against the wall and a little against his side. “If nothing else…even if nothing had happened? I still care about you. And I should have called.”

“I picked up the phone a dozen times.” He admits quietly.

“We’re such a fuckin’ mess.” Laughing at yourself makes it slightly better, even if the whole situation still makes you ache.

“Cautious.” Javi prefers that. “We know how hard it is to be in a relationship with our - your - job.” He reminds you, nodding towards the living room. “Almost broke up the best damn couple I know.”

His hand is still at your waist, his shoulder firm beside your head, and lean into him that much more without even meaning to. “Does that mean it’s not worth trying?” You ask, actually voicing the question that’s been in your mind for longer than you came to admit.

“I never said that.” He mumbles, turning and staring at you somberly. While he might think that you deserve better and shouldn’t get involved with him, he respects you enough to let you chose your own path.

“I…kinda hate California,” you admit quietly, although a smirk has reached your lips. “I know that’s sacrilegious and everybody’s supposed to love LA, but I…asked to be transferred out of Graceland.”

“Where are you planning on going, muñequita?” He asks, his thumb rubbing your side as he continues to hold you close.

“I’m not sure yet.” Between his warmth and more than a little bit of rum, you feel soft and as best to relaxed as a government agent ever gets. “Gonna stay on the border to stay most helpful, I know that for sure.” You bite the corner of your mouth and look up at him. “I was thinking…maybe Texas.”

“Yeah?” Javi’s brow shoots up and he looks over at you. “Any reason why?” He asks, even though he knows the answer.

"Depends." You could swear there is hope in his eyes, and it twists your stomach like a knot. "If I tell you the truth are you gonna deflect or are you gonna accept it?"

“All things are plausible with Chaos Theory.” Javi changes his voice to sound like Ian Malcom and shoots you a grin.

"Jav--" Despite snorting a laugh at the dead-on impression, you shake your head. "I'm serious."

“You’ve already done it.” Javi rationalizes. “So tell me why you did.”

Suddenly the reasoning seems so small. It isn't the grand romantic gesture that you imagined when you had signed your transfer request, it's awkward and presumptuous and full proof that you got in over your head with him. Like that first kiss you shared broke the seal on your reasonable thinking or something. "Because..." A slight shiver shakes through you and you know it's just nerves but it's fucking embarrassing, so your voice drops to even lower and quieter than before. "--I still love you."

The confession hits Javi square in the chest, warming him inside and out. Especially sweet because you know of his past, you were there while he was living it out. “That’s good.” He murmurs, his lips curling up. “At least we will both get the ‘I told you so’ from Steve and Connie.”

"How so?" Javi has dozens of quirks to his smiles, and this one is equal parts pleased and full to the brim with mischief. This is the Javi who dragged you out to a club in the middle of Medellín to dance the stress out. The Javi who picked your apartment door's lock to be waiting there with a bottle of whiskey and a container of soup the one and only day you were too knock-down drag-out sick to function at work.

“You don’t think that this isn’t a grand scheme to get us together?” Javi asks, smirking as he looks around the party. “I bet that they have a bet going on how long it will take for us to disappear.”

"They didn't even tell me you were coming," you point out, amused at the idea of your friends plotting for you, but not entirely convinced. "For the record, I would have found a much skimpier costume if I had known you were coming."

“How much fucking skimpier could you go?” He asks, sliding his hand down about five inches to the edge of your hem.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The smirk on your lips is borderline evil, but his hand on you makes you feel daring.

“Shit.” He hisses between his teeth. “Good fucking thing I’m not carrying a gun right now. I’d kill the fucker that tried touching you.”

"That's awfully territorial of you, Peña." Especially since you've spilled your guts to him and he hasn't said how he feels one way or the other, but you're not trying to get a marriage proposal or anything crazy.

“I’ve always been protective.” He reminds you. Leaning in and pressing his forehead to yours. “Especially those I love.”

"Yeah?" It would only take about a half a tilt of your head to kiss him like this, but you know once you cross that line again - at least tonight - you're not going to be able to stop yourself. And the Murphy's living room floor in the middle of a party of people isn't exactly where or how you dreamed of finally being able to be with Javi for the first time.

“Yeah.” He breathes out, sighing softly. “Muñequita.” He begins, stopping and smiling. “Do you know why I called you that all this time?”

"Because I'm adorable like a little doll?" Honestly, you had never bothered to ask, just accepting the term of endearment at face value and reveling in any small bit of intimacy you could grasp between the two of you.

“My pop used to call my mom that.” He admits quietly. “His ‘poppet’.”

“Javi…” He so rarely talks about his mother that you never could have known, and you all but melt against him right there and then. “That’s—its so sweet, I almost can’t stand it.”

“They were sweet.” Javi chuckles. “Pop is a hardass. Gruff, stoic, but ma? She was his poppet, his muñequita, and he loved her until the day she died.” He shrugs. “Loves her now. And she’s been gone for fifteen years.”

“Sounds like a love story worth aspiring to.” Somehow your hand has ended up in his at your side, and you tangle your fingers together experimentally only to feel them slide into place with ease as he lets you in.

“When you arrived and I got to know you,” he sighs. “It just seemed natural.” He knows that he holds a lot back, that he doesn’t talk but it’s hard to articulate.

“I was so sure you hated me for like the first few months I was in Colombia.” Javi’s standoffish behaviour and gruff comments hadn’t exactly read as friendly, but slowly you realized that that was just him. And once you understood that it was a hell of a lot easier to let things roll off your back.

“Never hated you. Wanted to fuck you.” He admits easily. He’s a man who enjoys sex and engaged in it as often as he could. Of course the pretty new agent coming in would catch his attention.

“Yeah that wasn’t how it came off at all,” you snort, able to laugh about it now that years have passed and so much has changed.

“It wasn’t supposed to come off that way.” Javi admits. “Didn’t want those assholes in the office to think that you were less than a top tier agent.” He knows the reputation he had crafted down in Colombia, and he knows what it could have done to your own reputation if he had shown interest. So he had kept his distance.

“More knight in shining armor behavior?” You tease, knowing that it isn’t quite the same.

“Self preservation.” He snorts. “They’d make a crack about what position they wanted to put you in, I’d be in the ambassador’s office for shoving a gun up their ass.”

“You probably shouldn’t be around the guys in the LA office, then.” It’s part of being a working woman in a field that’s considered for men, and you knew that going in. You ignore the comments and do your work, making sure to keep your nose clean and your paperwork immaculate. But the comments get made all the same.

“Assholes.” Javi rolls his eyes. “I fucked a lot, but how often did I talk about it?”

“You didn’t need to.” The smirk on your face says it all. “We all saw the secretary’s faces the next day.”

“Still didn’t brag.”

“No, you didn’t.” You have to agree to that. Javi may be an absolute rake, but he’s a respectful one.

“So what do we do now?” Javi asks, feeling like he is in uncharted territory. He doesn’t know how you really want to do this, or what exactly you want from him.

“Hell if I know.” There is a nervousness through both of you that would be a lot more nerve wracking if you weren’t both scared. At least that puts you in equal footing. “I feel like we’re a hell of a lot better at cracking jokes and deflecting than we are at talking through shit.”

“Why would we talk about feelings?” Javi scoffs playfully. “Right now, I think you need another mojito.”

“Trying to get me drunk, Peña?” Even teasing him, you still lean into his side and let him lead you back toward the kitchen. The door to that conversation is open for later, and maybe you actually won’t be too afraid to have it now. But for right now? It’s a party. And he’s right — you need another mojito.

“So I got this amulet at the cutest little costume shop.” The wife out of the couple has picked out another victim as she holds up her necklace. “The shop owner was kidding, but he told me that I could have my greatest desire if I just wished it!”

“Oh my god!” Gasps the woman she is now talking to, who clearly is completely on board with the story. “What would you even wish for?”

“Right now?” She laughs and shrugs. “I don’t know? A pizza? Yeah. I wish for a pizza.”

You roll your eyes discreetly at Javi and happily let him lead you over to the bar, but it does strike you as a fantastic coincidence when the door bell rings mere seconds later and you hear “Pizza delivery!” Called out from the front porch of Steve and Connie’s house.

“Who ordered pizza?” Steve calls out as he rushes towards the door. He hadn’t ordered it, but even if it was kids playing a prank, pizza sounds amazing right now.

The two women wander out of the kitchen looking bewildered and you throw Javi a smirk. “Weird ass coincidence.”

“That is a weird ass coincidence.” Javi muses. “Unless she ordered the pizza.”

“Already that drunk so early in the night?” You snicker softly. “That’s how you know it’s a good party.”

“Or to make whatever gullible sap she got her hooks in believe that wish thing.” He huffs.

"You don't believe in wishes?" The pout you throw him is adorable as he rolls his eyes at you and takes your glass to make you a new drink.

“I’ll believe it when shit like that actually works.” He grumbles as he starts to mix another mojito.

"Maybe if you wish out loud like she did, it will work." His generally disgruntled self makes you sunny, and that contrast has always been one of the thing that amused you about how you and Javi work together.

“Yeah?” Javi snorts in amusement as he looks up at you with an arched eyebrow. “I wish you’d show me your tits.” He teases.

There's no one in the kitchen with you, and that's the key. You quickly look around to make sure that no one is even by the door, and when you can see that everyone is at least six feet away with their back to the kitchen you slide the wide straps of your dress down your shoulders to expose your breasts -- all the while keeping one watchful eye on the other partygoers and the other on Javi.

He damn near drops the glass, he’s so shocked that you’ve flashed your tits at him. Mouth hanging open even after you’re pulling your dress back up. “You—”

"What?" You giggle evilly, tucking yourself back into your dress before anybody else can see. "I made your wish come true."

“Muñequita.” He breathes, shaking his head. “That’s cheating. The real wish would have been true if somehow your dress had ripped outside of your control.”

The crackling in the air is unexpected, but definitely not more expected than the tearing of fabric that happens immediately after. The seams rip haphazardly but they give way all at once, splitting your dress in half and exposing the skimpy lingerie you managed to wiggle into underneath. It happens too fast to react right away, but a second later you gasp and are too stunned to even think of covering yourself.

“Santa mierda.” Not particularly religious, Javi’s eyes are immediately looking up and then around to see if there is something that could have caused that. “I—”

"What the hell?!" When your hands finally catch up to your mind, you pull the shredded edges of your dress together with wide eyes. The effort to cover yourself is slightly in vain, though. It was a very skimpy dress.

“I didn’t- what the fuck just happened?” Javi demands, even as he’s moving towards you and reaching for the edges of your dress.

"Beats the fuck out of me, but I definitely need something else to wear now." If you weren't so confused you would probably be laughing your ass off. Standing in the Murphy's kitchen is not how you imagined your dress getting torn open with Javi pressed against you.

“What do you want to wear?” Javi moves so he is blocking your body from view if anyone comes in. “We can go get something out of Connie and Steve’s room.”

"I'll go grab one of Connie's old dresses if you just go and tell her what happened." How he'll possibly manage to explain it is beyond you, but right now you're more focused on remembering the layout of the Murphy's little ranch house so you don't stumble into Olivia's room instead of finding your way to Connie's closet.

Javi shakes his head, thankful that there is another door leading out into the hallway for you to try to keep from being seen. He heads out towards the living room and over towards the costumed Cleopatra. “Hey, Con, uh….so muñequita’s dress ripped and she’s gonna borrow something out of your closet. That’s okay, right?”

“What?” Connie turns around to find Javi’s face full of confusion and maybe even concern. “Yeah, of course it is! What happened?”

“I- I don’t know.” He admits. “It just…ripped apart.” She’s giving him a look that doubts what he’s saying, but how does he explain this without sounding completely crazy. “I told her that my wish would be for her dress to rip open and it just…did.”

The dubious expression on Connie’s face is obvious, and she raises one eyebrow. “Like…magic?”

“Like fucking magic.” Javi huffs, knowing it sounds crazy.

Dubiousness goes to skepticism and Connie snorts. “You got hands in the kitchen and ripped her costume? It’s fine, Javi. But now Steve owes me a fancy dinner out.”

“I swear to God, I didn’t fucking touch her.” He knows she won’t believe him, but he’s still trying to sort out exactly what had happened.

“Jav, it’s fine.” The shit eating grin on her face is just because she’s glad for her friends, it really is. “I would offer you the guest room but my sister has already called dibs on it for the whole week.”

He groans, rolling his eyes since it’s not even worth trying to tell her again. “Just- be careful about wishing for shit tonight.” He warns her before walking back to the back of the house where the bedrooms are.

“Connie?” Expecting to see her head pop around the corner, you quickly realize that the footfalls are too heavy to be hers. “No. That’s not Connie, that’s Javi.”

"Hey." Javi knocks on that almost closed door. "It's me." He murmurs. "Can I come in?" He doesn't know what the fuck is going on but he wants to make sure that you are okay.

“Of course.” Now wearing an old pair of Connie’s scrubs with your gold flats, you just look like a nurse who makes poor shoes choices. “You okay? Or are you still…shaky?”

"Shaky?" Javi pushes the door open and slips inside. "Who the fuck was shaky?" HIs scoff isn't nearly as derisive as it should have been, but he glowers at you in concern.

“Or was that just being too excited to see what panties I had on?” He isn’t going to give up his nerves, apparently, so you switch to teasing instead.

"I can find better ways to see what kind of panties you have on." That makes him smirk and his eyes slide down to admire the way you fill out those scrubs. He relaxes because it seems like you aren't hurt so his shoulders roll back slightly.

“Maybe I’ll wish for you to show me,” you hum, moving across the room to sink into his arms.

The urge to have you washes over him. Burning hotter than any other impulse he's ever had. Completely overriding every thought that might have been present and making his arms wrap around you tight as his mouth descends on yours with a hunger that has him groaning.

It hits you like a freight train, the way Javi’s need seems to be all-encompassing, and you can’t help but moan into the kiss when he wraps you up against him. It’s exactly the way you remember it from a year ago, but maybe a little more abrupt. You seem to remember Javi being a little bit smoother last time. But since when do you mind enthusiasm?

Determined to touch you as quickly as possible, Javi starts to push you back towards the large, king-sized bed that dominates the room. Not even thinking about how it would piss Steve off if he fucked you on his bed. If he had been thinking about it, he would have done it on purpose, but right now he just wants to touch you.

“Javi!” Even as he’s pushing you back on the bed, every thought has left your mind. He’s the reason you came here and the reason you’ve been planning on changing your life and this is finally happening so you’ll send Connie some apology flowers later and move on with your life. His hands squeeze and grope your body as he doesn’t even let go to get you on the bed. It’s like he can’t let go of you. “Cariño?” Something in his mannerisms change, and even though his kiss is every bit as insistent as you remember, his touch is different. It’s…like his hands are glued to you. When you pull back he sounds pained more than anything else. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He grunts, rocking his hips forward and it’s insane, crazy, but the words come out of his mouth. “Tell me to show you what I’ve imagined.” He begs softly, his teeth scraping over your jaw. “Wish it.”

Does it really work? And does it work like that specifically? Or is it just tonight’s token sex game? Either way, your body is far too deeply on fire for you to argue. “I wish you would show me what you’ve imagined.”

It’s a fucking relief to be able to touch more of you. To be able to move to start to immediately strip off the clothes you had just put on.

“Fuck—” As strong and sure as he usually is, Javi is even more determined tonight. Like every movement is being commanded. “Don’t rip anything,” you warn him with a grin.

“I’ll pay Connie for the outfit.” He groans, not caring what he rips as long as he gets to touch you. Fingers curling under the band of the scrub bottoms and peeling them off of you along with your panties.

You scramble backward on the bed as soon as your pants are gone, forcing Javi to climb on with you and sprawl across your body like he’s trying to block out the light. “We’ll be buying them a new comforter, too.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Javi groans, hands sliding under the shirt so he can push it up over your head and see your tits again.

“Goddamn, Javi.” His mouth is on your skin in an instant, hot and wet and searching, making sure you have to clamp one hand down over your mouth to keep from moaning too loudly and alerting the rest of the party.

Now he’s playing out every fantasy he’s ever had of you. Rocking his hard cock against your core while he bites and licks at your tits through the thin material of your bra.

“I swear to god if a phone rings anywhere I will break it in half,” you groan, one hand threaded through Javi’s curls to tug at his hair while he devours your tits and the other trying desperately to maneuver enough to unbutton his shirt in the meantime.

He doesn’t even try to move. Too focused on you so he can hear you moan his name like you had when he was about to fuck you the last time. He’s jerked off thinking about that moan for the last year.

You’re practically tearing his own clothes away. Whatever you can get your hands in while you’re flat on your back is getting pulled open and shoved aside so you can get him as stripped down as you are, and when that doesn’t get you very far you shiver your hands behind your back and strip away your bra to let him at every inch of your skin.

Groaning, Javi attacks your tits with renewed enthusiasm. Mouth recovering every inch of skin he had just mapped. Enjoying the warmth of your skin even more.

He's like a man starved, and you genuinely have to wonder if he's gone as crazy over the last year as you have. It's been torture being apart from him, and maybe it really is the same for him because it feels like Javi is trying to burrow under your skin right now. "Baby." The only coherent thought in your head is that you want more, and you hope you can manage a full sentence. "I need you, Javi. Please."

Huffing against your skin, Javi releases your nipple and starts to kiss down your stomach. Not willing to just rush into sex even though the house is full of people. He’s going to show you what he imagined.

He's disarmingly methodical. Taking you apart piece by piece and making sure that you're not only aching but actively begging for him by the time he settles himself between your legs. It's where he belongs, dammit, and right now you need him more than breathing.

Your scent is heavy in his nostrils. Getting richer as he shuffles to spread your legs wide enough to fit his shoulders through. “Fuck.”

"Not yet," you giggle but the sound is breathy and deep in your chest. "You do whatever you want with that mouth of yours, first."

“Always thought about this.” He admits, nuzzling your thigh and then biting it. “I like licking a cunt, and thought about what you would taste like.”

A shiver rolls through you with each nip to your skin and your hips tilt down, dripping pussy begging for attention. "Time to find out."

Javi licks his lips and groans. Ducking his head down and opening his mouth to devour your pussy with the first long lick. Eyes rolling back in pleasure at the wet heat of your tangy essence.

"Oh my fucking god." Even as hard as you're trying to be quiet, there are some things in life worth being vocal about. Javier Peña eating your pussy is definitely one of them. His arms wrap themselves around your thighs and once more your fingers twine into his curls to keep him close.

His own eyes flutter in pleasure as he carves a path through your folds with his tongue. Indulging in giving pleasure rather than taking it. While he had made sure partners enjoyed themselves, this was honestly for him.

His grip keeps you from squirming, only making sure that your hips stay on the bed while Javi begins to methodically take you apart one lick at a time. If this is what he has wished for, for who knows how long? You're absolutely going to enjoy being on the receiving end of all of those pent-up fantasies.

His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as your legs threaten to close every time he swipes his tongue up and down your pussy. Feeling your ass clench under you and his eyes slide down to watch your tits shake as you quiver.

Every swipe of his tongue hits something exquisite inside you, twisting and pulling at that coil at the base of your spine that is always tingling with the impending need for release. Gasping and moaning his name as quietly as you can with so much pleasure hearing your blood, your nails scrape the base of his skull as you get closer and closer to cumming.

Javi’s eyes close when you scratch his head, shuddering in response to the pleasure. Groaning into your folds and worshiping at the alter of your cunt as he feasts and sips your juices.

Fingers tangling more determinedly with every second, you know how close you are. How loud you’re going to end up being if you don’t keep your mouth shut. So you slap you hand over your mouth and bite your lip, tugging on Javi’s hair that much harder to spur him on.

Javi hisses, twisting his tongue around your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. His nose buried into the thick folds protecting your sensitive flesh as he wills you to cum for him.

So close you're about to rocket off the edge of pleasure, a thought rolls through your mind that you let out instantly, wondering what will happen. "Wish it," you moan, so close you're nearly sobbing. "Wish for me to drench your tongue, Jav."

Right now he couldn’t even speak, so his wish is in his mind. Begging for you to come apart for him, needing to see it.

From that moment it’s as if you are being moved — guided — by the hands of Fate. Or, possibly more accurately, thrown off the precipice of pleasure like a chess piece being forcibly ejected from its game. There is no one to catch you but Javi, as you pant out his name in muffled ecstasy, but that is all you need. Just him, ready to drown himself in every drop of cum he can wring from your body.

He drags you hips closer, groaning as he feels the force of your reaction to him, to this. Curling his tongue up inside you as your thighs press against his head and squeeze.

Barely shy of screaming his name as you fall apart, the giggling puddle of a person you become when you finally stop shaking is downright comical. “Goddamn,” you manage to huff out, panting to catch your breath.

A few more licks before he’s satisfied, Javi smirks as he pulls his mouth away from your soaked cunt. “What’s wrong, muñequita? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re the one with your tongue in my pussy,” you quip with your wit since your body is now basically useless.

He snorts and indulges himself with biting your thigh like he’s imagined hundreds of times. “Sure fuckin’ did.”

“I didn’t pull too hard, did I?” The fingers that you still have in his hair smooth of his scalp to soothe any burn that might be left behind.

“No.” Javi still needs to touch you, show you what else he’s thought of and starts to lick and kiss up your body. “Not hard enough.”

“Should’ve known you would like it h—” When his teeth more than graze one of your nipples, you moan unrestrainedly. “Hard.”

Javi grunts, the sound more like a growl than anything as he starts to suckle on your nipple again.

“Fucking hell, Javi.” Your back bows, chest pushing itself up with the curve of that arch to soak up as much of his attention as possible.

Even as he’s paying attention to your tits, his hips are slotted between yours. Pressing the length of him against your clit as he starts to rock his hips.

It splits your body’s attention and casts a fuzzy cloud over your mind where instinct takes over again above everything else. All you want is more of him and the movement of your own hips is a mimic of the way Javi rocks against you. If you could do it blind, you’d be tipping your hips to take him inside you as fast as humanly fucking possible, but he has you at his mercy.

“Impatient.” Javi chuckles, smirking as he pops your nipple out of his mouth.

“Only cause we’re in somebody else’s bed,” you admit. “Otherwise? It should take hours.”

He snorts and is willing to say that the Murphy’s can just fuck off, but he doesn’t. Instead he slides his hand between your bodies and positions himself at your welcoming entrance. “Are you sure, baby?”

“So fucking sure.” It’s been a year of dreaming about the night you almost had and far more than that of daydreaming about him before you knew exactly what his kisses tasted like. “No hesitation.”

“Thank God.” He groans, pulling his hand away so he can slide it under your body. Slowly rocking his hips forward to break you open as his lips descend on yours.

You would have laughed if there was time. A pleased little giggle of understanding after having waited so long to be with him. But waiting has made you both eager, and the moment he slips inside you and you wrap your legs around his waist? There is nothing to laugh about.

It’s painful, holding back and not just slamming his hips home to bury his cock. But it’s worth it to see your face change as he fills you inch by inch. Slow and steady is a very specific kind of torture. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as he pushes forward, and you swear you’re seeing stars by the time he’s fully seated inside you. Only slightly longer than average, Javi’s cock is girthy with prominent veins that scrub along your walls as he starts to rock his hips back and forth. Every sensation is a desperate, delicious, perfect overload of your senses and you whimper in a pitiful bid for more.

A long, colorful stream of Spanish and English intertwined together falls out of his mouth. A filthy prayer to whatever Gods were listening as he feels like his entire body is going to pull in on himself like a black hole of pleasure. Those words breathed into you and moaned in praise.

Even if you know exactly how he feels, you don’t have the words to tell him anymore. You’ve lost the ability to express yourself with any kind of eloquence, or in any way at all, and instead are pouring everything you have into kissing him back and pushing back against every thrust to give both of you your maximum pleasure.

The pace is slow, steady to start with. Needing to feel everything as he rocks his hips and fills you completely every time he bottoms out. “Baby, you- fuck.” He hisses.

This time you do giggle, it it’s broken by a moan. “Yeah I do,” you tease with a grin.

“Tease.” He grunts, shaking his head and kissing you again. His next thrust is more jarring as he snaps his hips forward for emphasis.

"Worth it," you contend, when a few quick thrusts leave you completely breathless.

He rolls his eyes and slides the arm that isn’t around you down to your thigh to pull it up on his hip so he can thrust just a bit deeper into you. “Fuck.” He hisses.

The give and take, push and pull, is intoxicating. Everything about this night has been unexpected and you’re not about to start questioning it now. There’s nowhere else you would rather be, now or for the rest of your life. Slowly, the need gets the best of him. Starting to move faster, putting a bit more force into his thrusts as he fucks you.

It’s impossible not to get wrapped up in him. Even if he didn’t have one arm literally wrapped around you, you would still be lost in being close to him. The world is nothing but Javi now and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Wanted you every damn day we were in that fucking office.” He pants quietly. “Wondering what you would look like spread out, sound like.” He bites your chin. “Never could imagine that you were better than my dreams.”

“So much fucking better.” The number of times you had fantasized about him is completely beyond counting but this is far beyond anything you thought it could be. You fit together like you were always meant to find each other this way.

Instead of ramping up to a frantic pace, Javi keeps it steady and just on the sensual side of things. Nearly lovemaking.

You’ve definitely been gone too long. Someone will have noticed, and it will be Steve, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not with that coil of tension pulling tight in your belly and making your legs shake. “So—” Panting in his ear, you turn your head and bite Javi’s jawline the way he loves doing to you. “Fuck baby. So close.”

“Good.” He groans, teeth becoming a part of the kisses he is scattering over your skin. Fingers digging in just a bit harder as his pace falters for the first time.

Just because you didn’t mean it as permission doesn’t mean it can’t be taken that way, and your nails dig their way into Javi’s back as his thrusts get deeper and more erratic.

“Cum for me, muñequita.” He begs, feeling his own control starting to slip. It’s the climax of his dreams and wishes for the past year, quickly making it difficult to maintain stamina for long. He’s too pent up, too eager to have you.

As if he wished it again, you can feel the tension in your body snap like a rubber band. All of a sudden your body hurtles over the edge of pleasure, pulling Javi into you as tightly and deeply as your needy cunt possibly can while you groan into his kiss and press little half-moons into his back with your fingernails.

It's like the floodgates opening, soaking him as you convulse underneath him. "Oh fuck, baby." He moans quietly, steadily rocking into you to make sure you don't miss a second of the pleasure.

“Come on, Javi.” As unbelievably fucking good as it feels, it won’t be complete unless he comes with you. “Cum for me, baby.”

His hands tighten on your body, gripping you as if he's afraid to let you go. As if you might slip away even if you are encouraging him to cum. Gritting his teeth as his pace becomes frantic. Needing only another moment, another thrust before he's cumming. Pushing deep and groaning your name as he fills you. Pouring wave after wave of hot cum into you as he presses his lips to yours.

“Fucking hell.” When both of your bodies are finally still and you feel like you can gasp for air again, you leave lingering kisses on his lips and jaw, indulging in every second of contact.

Javi pants, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to yours when you stop kissing him. "Fuck is right."

You giggle softly, eyes closed against the feeling of him weighing you down. Afraid somewhere in your mind that if you open them you might find out this was all a dream. “You’re coming back to my hotel tonight…right?”

"Or you can come back to mine." He nuzzles into your neck, kissing your jaw and scraping it with his teeth. "Whatever you want, muñequita."

“Mine has a huge hot tub.” If he hadn’t just completely devastated you, you’d be ready to jump him again at the first nip of teeth. “I plan on riding you in it.”

"Oh?" His brow arches and he pulls away to smirk down at you. "You had those plans when you booked the room?"

“I had those dreams when I booked the room.” You suck a mark into the hollow of his throat and grin. “It’s only a plan now that this happened.”

"I don't mind that dream." He hums. "We can make it a reality."

“All my dirty dreams have a very Javi-esque leading man,” You promise him. “You should feel very flattered.”

"I am." He drolls playfully, leaning in and kissing you again.

“The chain is sexy, by the way.” He still has the necklace and bracelet on that he bought at the costume store and your fingers tangle in it, locked between your chests. “Just so you know.”

"Yeah?" He smirks and winks at you. "It's a little flashy for my tastes, but if you like it..."

"Definitely keep it." As if to prove your point, you use it to tug him a little closer and press another kiss to his lips. "Who knows? It might be magic like the woman downstairs who wished for pizza."

“Yeah?” He snorts. “Maybe the fairy costume you were wearing is magic. That’s why it ripped.”

"It was a nymph costume," you correct him with a pout. "And you should have seen the way your eyes bugged out of your head when you saw me in it. I'm gonna miss that dress."

“You think that shop has another?” Javi asks seriously. “We could go get it.”

“Ohhh, you really liked that dress.” The way you can’t help snickering is almost evil, but he’s still laying on top of you with his softening cock about to slip out of your pussy and you swear you felt it twitch.

"Bend over in it and I get to see your cunt." His hand slides down and he slaps your thigh after one last kiss.

“I’ll let you do more than look if you want to.” The wink you shoot him is devilish, and accompanied by a wide grin. “We have a whole lot of missed time to make up for.”

Javi grunts as he feels himself fall out of you and he shifts onto his back. Looking up at the ceiling for a second and reminding himself that he's on Murphy's bed and not his own. "Yes we do." He groans as he sits up and looks over at you. "Wanna get out of here?" He asks. "Start making it up?"

“Absolutely.” You’ll pull on the scrubs you were borrowing from Connie and you’ll get the hell out of here with Javi for the rest of this first glorious night. But first? You will absolutely be opening the window to let the room air out.

"Leave it." Javi tells you when you move over to the window, guessing what you are going to do. He grins wickedly and tilts his head towards the door. "Steve deserves it for all the shit he's given me."

It takes a couple of minutes to get yourselves straightened out, but once you do, you’re prepared to just say good night and offer to but the Murphy’s dinner tomorrow as both thanks and an apology for slipping out early. What you find when you leave the bedroom, however, is nothing short of chaos. A woman dressed as a cowgirl stands amazed with a pony in the middle of the living room. One guy is standing in the middle of a pile of money cradling the keys to a new car. Another has two beautiful women vying for his attention. The woman who wanted pizza now has an entire stack — it seems like you and Javi weren’t the only ones throwing your wishes around for fun.

"Fuck, there you are." Steve looks positively relieved to see the two of you as he drags Connie over to you. "What the fuck is going on?"

“Do you believe in magic, Murph?” You ask, raising one eyebrow even as Javi’s fingers kink through your own.

He rolls his eyes and then they fall on your joined hands. "Holy shit, maybe miracles do happen if you holding hands means what I think it means."

“You don’t want to know what it means.” It’s your assurance, but you crack a grin anyway. “Just…be careful what you wish for tonight. Okay, Stevie?”

"Huh?" He frowns, but Connie bites her lip, rushing forward to give you a hug. She knows how long you have pined for Javi.

“We’re gonna get out of here,” you murmur, squeezing her back in a tight hug. “Dinner tomorrow. On us. I wanna hear how the rest of this party goes.”

“It’s getting crazy.” Connie admits, hugging you fiercely and stepping back to shoot Javi a grin. “Go have fun you two.”

“Don’t worry,” you shout back over your shoulder as Javi immediately starts to move you toward the door. “We will!”

Javi wraps his arm around you as you exit the house, guiding you towards the rental car he had driven over. “They are in for a wild night.” He predicts. “Steve’s been wishing for threesome for years.”

______

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[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Urban Life

Being London born and bred, she knew the city’s sounds by heart. Cars honking or backfiring. Large groups of tourists chatting and laughing in the famous sites of the city. Shouts and arguments from the pubs. Swans and ducks cackling in St. James’s Park. They were all a part of her, which became apparent every time she visited her grandparents in the countryside. 

As a little girl, she slept through everything, sound or no sound, but as she grew older, she had trouble falling asleep without all the bustle from the streets of her beloved city. It used to pass after a day or two, though.

When she was nine, her teacher gave the class an assignment about sounds, smells, or tastes and what one or more of them, reminded the children of.

She asked her father for advice on what she should choose, or whether she should go with all the subjects.

“It’s really up to you, love,” John said. “Perhaps avoid the smells. You know far too many disgusting ones that might be difficult to explain. And your teacher might think you’re exaggerating and making things up.”

He looked over at his husband who were currently measuring something green with…well, something foul smelling.

Rosie’s papa didn’t notice any of this, because his sole focus was on the delicate experiment that could solve the case he was investigating.

“Yeah, I think I will go for the sounds,” Rosie said after a few moments.

“Good decision,” John praised just as steam rose from Sherlock’s concoction, and a terrible stench made John and Rosie run to the sitting room and open both windows while coughing loudly.

***

Rosie’s teacher was not entirely satisfied with her assignment. She made her stay in the classroom after she had excused the other children.

“This task was supposed to be truthful and not fictional,” she said.

“I know that. And it is,” Rosie protested. 

“You can’t seriously mean that police sirens and lights remind you of your parents and your uncle.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“I refuse to have a lying pupil in my class! I’ve called your father and he will be here any minute, so we can solve this,” the stubborn teacher said.

Rosie rolled her eyes and wanted to tell her teacher, who was new, that calling John or Sherlock would do nothing to help the woman’s cause.

As it where, both her parents came to their precious girl’s rescue, and left a befuddled and slightly dazed teacher in their wake.

“How was I supposed to know that her parents are the famous detective and that doctor, and that the uncle is a DI at the Met?” she complained to one of her colleagues later.

She didn’t get much support.

“If you hadn’t been so reluctant to learn the kids’ surnames, you wouldn’t have found yourself in this mess. Watson-Holmes is a dead giveaway in my book,” the colleague grinned. 

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[knmaskitten]

Hate to love you !!

pairing— Ren Amamiya x afab!reader

summary— you hate Ren amamiya so much you avoid him everyday, until your classmate decides to play you a little prank.

warnings— Slight bullying.

notes— I feel like I can't write enemies to lovers, enjoy.

It was a rainy day today—the kind of day you cherish and love. The rain reminded you of many things, among them your boyfriend. You met him in your high school days when you were just a teenager, full of dreams and vehemence. The thing is, you and him had a weird start, a very weird one, which even today makes you laugh hard.

Ren Amamiya was always able to infuriate you. Regardless of the situation, something always came up when it came to him. God, you couldn't even stand to see him in the school corridors. You always wondered what the hell it was that kept you on edge when it came to him. God cursed the days you had to see him more than once at school, all because of bad luck. He wasn't even in the same class as you were, and even so, you saw him at least three times a week.

Today was one of those days. Between classes, you were standing in the center of the hallway when you noticed his jet-black hair. Along with him were Ryuuji Sakamoto and Ann Takamaki, who looked very busy discussing something you weren’t able to hear. He hadn't noticed you, and you weren't going to allow him to see you. Quickly, you ran towards the nearest door, which was a few meters away. On the way there, Mariko Yoshimoto intercepted you with a big, bright, toothy smile.

“Hey there! Where are you going in such a hurry, dear?” She asked naively. You were aware that she was faking it. Mariko liked to mess with people just to see their reactions, and while you never even allowed a pinch of her foolishness to deceive you, she still dared to use you as one of her little toys. You were strong-minded and hated when other people played dumb tricks on you; you could not stand injustice. 

Perhaps this could not stop her from doing what she was about to do, because somewhere inside you, you knew. You knew what she wanted to do because it was no secret how much you loathed Ren Amamiya and how much you loved to evade him. And she knew this piece of information very well.

She peeked behind your shoulder, and her smile grew even wider.

“Wow, running away now, are we?” A devilish chuckle erupted from her mouth, and as her lips mouthed her next sentence, a cold sweat ran through your body. Your instincts were telling you to tackle her and escape to the roof, the library, or somewhere else that would let you be at freaking peace. But you didn’t do any of those things; instead, you stood, frozen in place.

“Ren-kun!, hey! How are you?” One of her little devil hands flew to your shoulder to keep you in place. You could feel how her nails were digging little moons into your skin, while also wrinkling your school uniform, which you worked hard to keep pristine. You pursed your lips at this.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You warned. Placing your hand on her wrist to free yourself, she countered by staying still and strong, unfazed by her mission of making your life miserable.

Regarding your threats and silent protest, she kept her schemes up, and her next sentence was the last nail in the coffin. It was the last thing you wanted to hear in the world. 

“My little friend and I would love to spend some time with you and your friends if that's okay with you. Uh, and them too, of course.” Her eyes looked like those of a deer, glazed and doe-like and her teeth were showing again. She was smiling courtly and kindly, trying to hide the deception behind her words.

Say no.

Say no.

Please say no.

Mentally, you pleaded. Turning around, he was standing there a little bit taken aback, even more so seeing that it was you who was included in that sentence. He looked at you, piercing through your figure, analyzing every movement and every gesture. Anything that might tell him otherwise.

“You sure? Your friend sure looks like she could be buried at any moment.” He said it sternly. His eyes were scanning between you and Mariko, noticing something odd about the situation. 

Ann thought otherwise, because she smiled brightly and shrugged Amamiya off.  “They just want to hang out with us; I don’t think there’s something wrong with anybody.”.

But there was!

You mentally screamed and rolled your eyes. It was out of comprehension how this was even happening and why you were allowing it. You sighed, defeated. You smoothed the pleats on your dark skirt and proceeded to walk towards him, and with fake pleading eyes and a pout, you confronted him.

“Today is not your lucky day, Amamiya, and neither is mine.  If we ever have to spend some quality time together, it would be in fucking hell.” You spat. And then you turned around to finish your blow. “And Mariko, find someone else to be your bitch because I am not available to fill that damned position.”

And you walked off. There was nothing else to do but walk away from there. And you walked—not run, not sprint—walked. You walked to the beat of the confused conversation you were leaving behind, and when there was a turn, you ran. Ran so fast you could feel a stream of tears forming in your eyes.

You ended up in the girls’ bathroom, feeling a little bit safe. You hid on one of the stools. Letting yourself go, the flood of tears came like a current, strolling down your cheeks like a river. Thank goodness you were wearing waterproof mascara that day. Feeling a little bit pathetic, you let yourself go and cried like a baby. You hated when everything went to your head; you hated when such trifles were able to get a grip on you. 

Life was just this shitty, you guessed.

Later in the day, you were on cleaning duty, trying to dust off a corner filled with spiderwebs.

“Do you need help with that?” He was softly spoken, almost like a faint mumble. Just like he didn’t want to be either heard or perceived.

“Maybe never,” you spat. Was it that hard to have a single peaceful day? He meddled in every single one of your businesses as if he were your mom or something. You turned around to face that fair skin and sharp features, those deep eyes and ruffled hair, to face him.

He frowned; he looked a tad bit pissed. Like if somebody just stuck gum in his pristine, perfect hair. He took two steps towards you, perfectly measured and dance-like. The light shone in his iris, making it difficult to pinpoint what was making you feel so drunk-like.

“You are one hell of a nice person, aren’t you?” he hissed in a poisonous manner.

Was it his tone that made you feel a tingling sensation at the nape of your neck? Or maybe it was how his eyes lit up with fire when you spoke. Or maybe, just maybe, was it that you hated him so much that you wanted to shut him up in just about any way you could? The room was empty but it felt full to the brim with anger. It was an antithesis of how the light danced on the floor and the little specks of dust floating in such serenity and then you two, full of tension and loathing.

“You’re one to talk, mister perfect behavior.” You gave him a very fake, crooked smile. He looked like he expected it as such but still managed to lose composure whenever you were around. He ran his hand through his air and adjusted his glasses; he almost looked disheveled.

“You play with my nerves.”

“Can’t believe you even have nerves.”

“Ugh.”Another step closer—too close, maybe. Everything felt as if it were slowing in time; the little dust specks were suspended, and the light ceased to dance. A light breeze flew past you, messing up some hair strands.

“What are you even doing here?… You don’t even go to this class.” You almost whisper, lowering your tone.

"Why, just why do you hate me?” He said bluntly.

“Cornering someone is not very friendly, you know.”

“I’ve never said I wanted to be friendly with you.”

“I hate you.” 

Another step closer to you, he leaned in, millimeters from your face. You were able to see his porcelain skin and dark eyes, as well as how he scrunched his face when he was near you.

“You don’t understand how much I do too.”

He looked as if he were going to kiss you; he looked at your lips and then at your eyes, analyzing you. He smiled, a mischievous grin, and exhaled. You felt his breath hit your nostrils, your warm skin. Instinctively, you took a step backwards, putting as much distance between you two as you could.

He then approached you and kissed you very swiftly but passionately. You returned the kiss, hatefully kissing him, with spite and loathing.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

And the rest was history. After that, you two started sneaking out of class to kiss, progressively started having lunch together, and then, after keeping all of this a secret, you asked him out, but not before discussing what the hell was the feeling you both had. At the end, you both came to the conclusion that you hated each other’s guts because you couldn’t have them. Ren said, “I hate to love you.” and you agreed with him.

You definitely hated to love Ren so much, but still, at the end of the day and even right now, you couldn't imagine a life without him.

Thank you for reading <3 masterlist and more.

[orions-choker]

+:★:+* Chapter 10: The Small Hours +:★:+*

A/N: Slightly more Jason centric chapter, there is light smut in this chapter incase you're not interested in reading that my apologies <3

Loving Jason was like a breath of fresh air. A much needed respite in Y/N’s chaotic life. Truthfully she hadn’t realized the mess she had been dealing with for the last four years, until him. It was the simple things, the way they didn’t need to drink to spend time together, or the way he was more than content to sit in the same space as her without speaking a single word.

She had been on the road for the last four years, bouncing between buses, hotels, houses filled to the brim with her drunken idiot friends. She was still just a kid when it all happened. It had become her normal, so used to it that she didn’t realize the building anxiety until it broke and flowed over like a dam. Sprawled across his couch, rays of sunlight streaming in through his apartment windows and warming her skin as she stretched out like a content cat. Being with him was calm, comforting, a reminder of the things she didn’t get to experience growing up.

His apartment had become home. The house she shared with her brother had become too big, too empty. Only full when it served its purpose as their party house. If James had noticed she wasn’t home much anymore he didn’t bring it up. The only one who had noticed had been Kirk, he didn’t blame her, he spent more time at Jason’s then his own as of late too.

Right now it was just her and Jason, the two of them . The scent of warm spices filled the air, a simmering pot of stew waited for them in the kitchen. She hadn’t even realized how long it had been since she had home cooked food until they started dating. “It’s probably ready now baby,” Jason murmured above her, his fingers gently combing through her hair as her head lay in his lap.

“It can wait.” She hummed. Her eyes fluttered close as she was bathed in the warm light. If it was the sun or Jason’s presence she didn't know, they were practically the same. “I’m comfy.” Her head lolled to the side, briefly registering the show playing on T.V.

Jason’s chuckle reverberated through her own body and she smiled. “I’ll go get it, sit up love.” He was gentle as he pulled her up. Despite her grumbled protests she sat, crossing her legs underneath her as she watched her boyfriend move to the kitchen. It was sickeningly domestic.

There was a sharp pain in her heart as she watched him move, and for a brief fleeting moment she wished they had met in another life. A simpler life, where this was all there was, no impending tour every few weeks. Just them, and a certain curly haired boy with crooked teeth and sweet dimples.

The only regret that ached in her bones was not telling Kirk. They hadn’t told anyone though she was sure they had their theories. Keeping their relationship secret had been a mutual choice. It was easier this way, not willing to risk rising tensions between all of them when they were due to be stuck on a bus together in just a week.

“Careful It’s hot.” There was a warm bowl placed into her hands as the couch dipped beside her with Jason’s weight. “Thanks for helping me with it.” He said with a sweet kiss to her cheek. She preened under the attention, leaning into the affectionate touch.

Loving Jason was easy like this. She hadn’t known anything easier. “You did most of it.” She shied away from the praise with a shake of her head. “I’m going to miss this, I know I’m coming but it’s not…” She trailed off with a small frown. To avoid the overwhelming urge to cry, she shoved a spoonful into her mouth.

A heavy hand came to rest on the small of her back, rubbing soothing circles against her skin. “I know, I’ll miss it too.” His words comforted her. “I’ll miss holding you at night most of all.” His sigh was heavy with the weight of their decisions. “And sleepovers with Kirk.”

The lighthearted comment had her giggling. Kirk had been sticking around a lot lately. His habitual absences had seemed to lessen, the three of them back to spending most moments together. Truthfully she hadn’t even heard of any of his late night escapades in a long time, usually he was curled up right beside her and Jase’. It was almost perfect, almost.

“Where is he now that you mention it?” She asked, staring down at the veggie stew, they had made it with him in mind. He hadn’t said he would be around but he never really did, he was just always there. As much as she missed his presence she was grateful for the moments alone with Jase’... where she could kiss him freely.

There was a pause as Jason finished his bite. “I think he said he and your brother were working on a solo tonight.” He explained. There was a hesitation in his voice at the mention of James. Rightfully so as he watched the scowl spread across Y/N’s face.

James was a sore spot to say the least. The most she saw her brother was on tour now, never sober. It hurt to know the guys saw more of him than she did. She understood the priority of the band over anything else, but it seemed booze took priority over her as well. She missed her brother.

Y/N sighed, leaning forward and placing the now empty bowl down on Jason’s coffee table. “Good to know he’s alive.” She grunted. “I think I’m going to kick his ass next week.” There wasn't a hint of humor in her tone. Jason fully believed the threat. “Any idea if Kirk’s coming back tonight?”

If there was an eagerness in her question Jason didn’t bring it up. There was a mutual understanding between the two of them. Being together did nothing to lessen the other half of their desires but it had served as a bonding point for them. “No idea baby,” Jason shook his head gently. His hand came to rest on her upper thigh and she shivered at the touch. “It’ll be awhile anyways if he does.”

There was an underlying suggestion to his words that had Y/N’s stomach doing nervous flips. Her and Jason hadn’t gone much further than the occasional heavy makeout session, not that they typically had the privacy to do so. But there was a guilt that ate at her when she thought about it. Like she would still be betraying the part of herself that always thought Kirk would be her first. But god did she want Jason.

“Yeah?” She asked with a nervous smile, turning her body towards him. He looked otherworldly. Legs spread wide across the couch in nothing but his jeans, too hot to be bothered with a shirt, his toned body shining beneath the afternoon sun. His head tossed against the back of the couch, his curly hair encircling his head like a halo.

Without another thought she was climbing him. Throwing her legs across his lap as she came to straddle him, Their lips meeting in a messy desperate attempt to devour one another. Her nails digging into the smooth skin of his shoulders, his coming to grab handfuls of the flesh of her ass.

Jason pulled away first, leaning down to leave a trail of soft kisses against her neck. “How far do you want to go baby?” He asked sweetly against her skin. The gentle concern in his voice had her cheeks flushing. A wave of heat rushed over her body as she rolled her hips down into his.

She could feel his body shudder beneath her, there was a growing pressure beneath her as his jeans constricted around him. His breath was hot against her skin as he let out a low groan. “C-can I just touch you?” Y/N gasped out. “M’not…not yet but I wanna make you feel good.” She did her best to explain despite the way her head was spinning.

“Fuck, please.” Jason tossed his head back. “Would love it if you touched me, pretty girl.” His words of encouragement had her sliding off his lap. She landed with a soft thud onto the carpeted floor between his open legs. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the button of his jeans.

The way his jeans strained across his bulge seemed almost painful. He groaned in relief as Y/N carefully slipped the zipper across it. “I…don’t know what I’m doing.” She admitted breathily, looking up at him with wide eyes as she tugged the waistband of his underwear down just enough to set his girth free.

Jason’s cock slapped against his skin, heavy and leaking already. It was pretty just like the rest of him, thick and larger than she expected, not like she was well versed in what was average. His breath was heavy, chest heaving softly as he looked down on her. “Let me show you.” His hand wrapped around her own, moving it to the base of his length.

She let out a small gasp at the touch. The way it twitched beneath her fingers. Jason’s hand squeezed her own, tightening her grip around it. His body shivered as he moved her hand across it, hot and heavy in her hand. The glide seemed rough so she leaned forward hesitantly, spitting on the head.

“Holy fuck.” Jason moaned, his stomach rippled, his hand falling away from hers. Y/N took the lead, spreading her spit across his length as she moved her hand across it slowly. A pleasant tingle rested on her skin as she listened to the moans her actions incited from him. “F-faster.” He gasped out.

Obediently she quickened her pace. He tensed beneath her, knuckles going white as he gripped the edge of the couch. Each vocalization of his pleasure had Y/N’s grip tightening on him. She looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth parted slightly as she drank in the sight of him. “Is it good?” She asked softly.

His cock twitched in her hand again, her thumb swiped at the leaking slit of his head. Pre-cum spreading across her fingers and back down his length. “So good, you;re doing so good baby.” He assured her, his voice strained. His hips bucked up lightly in her hand. “So close.”

Prompted by his praise she tilted her head down, her tongue peaking past her lips as she gave an experimental lick. “O-oh fuck.” Jason gasped above her. The sound sending a jolt of electricity through her. She wrapped her lips around the tip, the salty taste of his skin against her tongue was addicting. “Fuck, hold on Y/N I’m-” His attempt at a warning fell on deaf ears as she hollowed out her cheeks, giving a gentle suck. A broken moan sounded out through the room as her mouth was filled with his release. Her eyes widened, swallowing the warmth without another thought. She pulled back with a cough, wiping at her lips.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry.” Jason winced, leaning forward to cradle her head in his hands, brushing the stray hairs from her face. The worry in his eyes had Y/N laughing loudly. His shoulders slumped forward in relief. “It's just…been awhile.”

Y/N shook her head dismissing his apology. She was gentle as she tucked his softening member back into his pants. “It’s fine Jase’, I was just surprised.” She leaned up, resting her weight on his thighs as she pressed a kiss to lips. “I hope it was okay?”

She was tugged forward into a tight hug, soft kisses peppered across her cheeks. “Perfect, you’re so perfect.” He held her against his bare chest. “Thank you baby.” His voice was tender, enveloping her in a sweet love.

The two of them settled comfortably against each other, hours passing by as the afternoon sun began to set, casting a hazy pink glow across the room. The noise from the T.V nothing more than a muffled static in the background. “I love you.” The words left Y/N’s lips before she could comprehend them.

The words hadn’t been spoken between the two of them in the month they had been dating. She knew, it clicked for her that she had loved him for a while. The consistent shining presence in her life for the last year. It made sense. Still to say it out loud frightened her.

Jason's body relaxed underneath her. “Yeah?” He asked sweetly, holding her a little closer. “I love you too.” There was no reservation in the way he said it. Maybe he knew just as long as she did. As they heard the unmistakable sound of heavy feet stopping outside the apartment door, they pried themselves away from each other.

Shuffling over they left the middle cushion open for the tired body that joined them. Kirk's head rested against her shoulder as he lay his legs across Jason’s lap. Y/N realized she had more than enough space in her heart for both of them.

[doc-pickles]

sent to save me | sidney crosby (ch. 5)

series masterlist

summary: sid and vivie get to know each other

warnings: none :)

author’s note: hi friends! so sorry this took FOREVER to write. i had a huge case of writers block but I'm back at it. hope y'all enjoy!

xoxo

nina

“Uncle Sid, Uncle Sid! Vivie is coming over today,” Sidney has barely stepped through the door of the Malkin household before Nikita is excitedly bouncing in front of him. “And her mommy is coming too!”

Geno appears behind Nikita, looking not the least bit ashamed that his son had accosted his best friend, “Niki, too loud. Eva is sleeping and mama won’t be happy if she wake up again.”

Nikita mumbles out an apology as he drags Sid into the kitchen. His coloring book and markers are set up on the island and Anna is puttering around getting things ready for lunch. She stops to press a kiss to Sid’s cheek and say hello before she goes back to cooking. 

“How you feeling,” Geno asks as Sid takes the seat next to Nikita. “About Annie?”

“Good, fine,” Sid swallows thickly and keeps his eyes locked on his hands. “We, uh, talked last week. And we’ve texted a bit. She sends me pictures of Vivie. So it’s going… It’s going good.”

We also had sex four times in one night and I think I died, Sid adds silently.

“Look Sid, I know it hard after what Annie did, but you have new chance with Vivie,” Geno squeezes Sid’s shoulder just as the doorbell rings. “Your girls are here.”

Your girls. 

Sidney scoffs at the idea that Annie could be his again but Vivie… Vivie was kind of his wasn’t she? 

“Niki!”

“Vivie!”

Vivie and Nikita appear in the living room, a mess of giggles and stomping feet. Sid can feel his heart skip a beat as he takes in his godson and daughter, both enamored with each other. 

When he tears his eyes away from the duo Sidney locks eyes with Annie who’s chatting with Anna. She stutters her words for a moment before waving at him and turning back to her conversation. 

“Still got it even though you’re old man,” Geno chuckles and nudges Sid in the side. “Niki, Vivie! Come help Sid and me with grill. I give you candy before dinner.”

Vivie and Nikita’s excitement drowned out both Annie and Anna’s protests, leaving Geno to flash his wife a smirk as he leads the kids out to the backyard. 

Sid has just gone to grab the burgers on the counter when Annie approaches him. Anna is nowhere to be found as Annie stares up at Sid with those wide green eyes he fell in love with. 

“Hi,” Annie breathes out, Sid returning the greeting. “Listen… I want you to get to know Vivie but what happened between us last week was…”

“A mistake?” Sidney provides. 

“No,” Annie smiles up at Sid, pausing before she’s reaching up and cupping his cheek tenderly. “Nothing with you could ever be a mistake. Maybe just… A lapse in judgment? Anyways, I think for right now we both just need to keep our focus on Vivie and take things slowly with her.” 

Sid nods, but Annie’s hand pressed to his cheek is fogging his brain as he stares at her, “Yeah I… Yes you’re right. Vivie comes first.”

Annie nods and takes a step back and suddenly Sid’s cheek feels cold, like Annie’s hand had sparked something beneath his skin. He shakes the feeling off quickly and gestures towards the slider to the backyard. 

“Gotta go help G,” Sid nods towards his friend who’s trying to start up the grill. “I, uh, yeah… Yeah…”

Sidney quickly escapes out the door, avoiding what had turned into an awkward conversation with Annie. He almost runs straight into Geno, who’s grinning broadly at him. 

“You talking up Annie? Convince her you Prince Charming?” Geno teases, causing Sid to roll his eyes. “Gimme burgers, you useless. Go entertain kids.”

With a quick burger handoff Sidney is headed towards the play structure where Nikita and Vivie are chattering excitedly about everything and nothing. When they spot Sid both kids grin excitedly, as if they were waiting for him. 

“Uncle Sid can you tell us the story about when you broke a window,” Nikita smiles at Sidney with a look he’s clearly learned from his father. “It’s my favorite.”

Sid rolls his eyes as he approaches the play structure where the kids are perched at the top, legs swinging as they sit side by side. 

“I should’ve never told you that story, your dad is gonna have my head when you break one of his windows one day,” Sid ruffles Nikita’s hair before continuing. “I was probably about 10 and I was trying to teach my sister Taylor the best way to hit a puck.” 

Vivie gasps and turns to Sidney, “Taylor is my middle name! I have an Auntie Taylor but I never met her before.”

The air around Sidney feels thin as he stares at Vivienne, his daughter, who shares his big eyes and his chin and looks so much like Taylor he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the moment. Instead he steels himself and takes a deep breath before nodding and continuing on with his story. 

“So I showed her how I hit the puck and mine landed right in the goal. And then she swung it so wildly that it flew over the goal and smashed a window,” Vivie and Nikita burst into fits of giggles as Sidney retells the story. “My mom was not happy with me.”

“But you weren’t the one that hit the puck,” Vivie’s brows furrow as she looks at Sid. “Why’d you get in trouble?”

“Because I knew I wasn’t supposed to practice slap shots facing the house,” Sid grins. “But I did it anyway.”

Vivie laughs and rolls her eyes, “You’re so silly Sid.”

His name rolling off Vivie’s lips has Sidney holding back the urge to rush forward and pull her into his chest. But Annie had asked that they take things slow and he wasn’t about to get on her bad side. 

“Annie what do you like to do for fun,” Sid asks as he watches the kids color the wooden play structure with colorful chalk. “Nikita told me you went to science camp with him.”

Vivie thinks for a moment, tongue sticking out slightly in a way that reminded him of Annie, “I like to color and read lots of books and play with my Barbies and sometimes my mommy takes me ice skating. I asked if I could do the dancing skating class like Mia in my class at school but mommy said it was too expensive. So we just go to the rink and watch the skaters in the pretty outfits instead.”

Sid nods but his mind is already working, his gut twisting with a mix of guilt and sadness. Was Annie struggling financially? Didn’t she know she could come to him? 

She would’ve had to tell you about Vivie first. 

The thought leaves his mind as quickly as it had appeared. While he doesn’t understand it fully Sid’s already decided that being angry with Annie about keeping Vivie from him would do more harm than good in the long run. 

“That sounds like a lot of fun, maybe I’ll take you and Nikita to the rink sometime,” Vivie’s eyes light up at Sidney’s words, a beaming smile on her face. “Sound good?”

“Yes yes yes! That would be so cool,” Vivie nearly shrieks and Sid has to hold back his laughter. “Nikita you have the coolest uncle ever!”

The praise warms Sidney’s heart and he thinks he’ll never forget this moment. 

+

“Hey.”

Annie is washing off plates in the kitchen when Sid gets her alone. They’ve been surrounded by the kids and Geno and Anna all afternoon, but now he has the chance to speak with her openly. 

“Hi,” Annie gives him a small smile as she places the last plate in the dishwasher. “What’s wrong?”

“Why would something be wrong?”

Annie brings her fingers up to Sid’s forehead, softly brushing against his eyebrows, “You’ve had your eyebrows scrunched for the past 30 minutes, that’s your giveaway when something is worrying you.” 

Sid sighs at the way Annie still knows him so well even after all their time apart, “Vivie was saying she wanted to take figure skating lessons.”

Annie’s face immediately falls, her hand leaving Sid’s face as she turns back to the sink, “Sidney-“

“You could’ve come to me at any time,” his voice has taken on an exasperated tone. “Annie, I would’ve helped you if you told me.”

There’s a pause as Annie braces her hands on the counter and takes a slow breath, “I can take care of Vivie just fine.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Sid insists. “You’ve done an amazing job on your own. But I’m here now and I want to help you anyway that I can.”

“You want to help Vivie.”

“And you too Annie,” Sid’s voice is soft as he cups Annie’s chin to get her to look at him. “I want to help both of you. I’m not leaving or backing out of this, I’m all in.”

Annie blinks a few times before she nods and lets out a shaky breath, “I trust you Sid.”

“Thank you,” without thinking Sidney leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Annie’s forehead. “I need to get Vivie on the ice so I can send pictures to my mom.”

[netherfeildren]

I am a lantern

A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Birdie realizes she’s pregnant. This takes place some time within the events of chapter 2 and 3 of Fear of God. 

Content Warnings: Established relationship; Fluff; Unprotected sex; Domestic kink; Oral sex; Discussions of menstruation; Mention of rough sex; Pregnancy; Internal angst

A/N: Surprise, surprise!! In honor of FoG reaching 15k hits on AO3 here’s the first of my planned extras for the FoG universe :) Thank you so much for all of your love and support 💗

Art is Psyche Weeping by Kink Y. Craft (2009)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7.3K

Read on AO3

“Here ya go, sweetheart.” He hands you the bowl of dinner he’d whipped up for the two of you. 

You’d taken to avoiding the mess hall recently, too attached to the cocoon you’d wrapped yourselves in together – always wanting to be alone, basking in each other’s presence, preparing meals for one another, and then going to bed together to feel each other’s skin and fuck until either of you was too exhausted to move. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, turning your face up to him for a kiss with your eyes still on the notes you’re reading. There was too much to do lately. The clinic was so busy and Connie had veritably checked out, only popping in once in a while, leaving the heavy lifting to you with Nancy’s assistance. You’re exhausted, a little overwhelmed, entirely terrified with a perpetual black cloud of self doubt and anxiety hovering over your head at all hours of the day. You aren’t prepared for this… you aren’t even a real doctor, for fuck’s sake. Not really — not in any terms that would’ve counted before. Just whatever semblance of one the apocalypse had chewed up and spit out – an entire community was way too much responsibility for you alone. You feel the backs of your eyes pinch. Your back aches and your head throbs and your stomach has been simmering on a low grade of nausea all day long, but you still have so much to go over.

-

When he walks out again, his own bowl in hand, you’re buried face down in your notes, aggressively loud sobs wracking your body. He stares at you for a second, brow pulled down low, and all you can do is look up at him and practically wail. 

Jesus, Birdie. He sighs, long and drawn out, he’s been waiting for this – had felt the storm brewing all evening. Something’s been bugging you or setting you off the past few days, and try as he might, he can’t figure out what the real problem is. He doesn’t want to ask outright just yet – he knows you’re stressed. Connie’s been pushing harder and harder to get you to agree to let him call it quits, and Joel knows you’re scared and stressed and feeling unnecessarily unsure of yourself. If you’d asked him, he thinks you’re ready for the responsibility – more than ready. No one would be able to take care of the community better than your kind and gentle hands and magnificent mind would. 

He sets his bowl down, you’ve not even touched yours, and if it weren’t for the tears, the two of you’d be having words right now about your irresponsible eating habits. He hates when you get so distracted you forget meals, fills him with an inordinate amount of stress. He just needs to know that you’re well fed and taken care of at all times, it’s as simple as that. “Alright, sweetheart. That’s enough.” He pulls your mess of papers and journals and books and your ugly, orange throw from your lap and sets it all gently on the table beside you – ignores your protests as he wraps one arm behind your back and another one under your knees. “You’re done for the night.” He pulls the book you’re trying to reach for out of your hands and scoops you up into his arms with a grunt. Damn knees. “You’re goin’ to bed. No more working tonight.” You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder to continue your sobbing. 

“I– I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you hitch and hiccup. “I’m not finished,” you protest, “I have more to go over,” but your arms tighten around him, and he feels you mouth at the skin of his neck. Emotional and needy, recently. Hungry for his cock and his hands and his tongue at all hours of the day. Not that he was complaining, at all. But he did wonder what’d gotten into you. 

“You are for tonight,” he says softly, “You’re exhausted. Don’t tell me you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you grouch, stubborn and too adorable for your own good. His heart pinches a little. Your weight is so slight in his arms, carrying you up the stairs, just a little bird. He wonders, more often than not, how something so small can be so powerful, can terrify him so much, hold so much sway over his life, his very existence. It scares him enough to keep him away from you, as much as he can force himself, at least, even if he sees it for the lie within himself that it truly is. The two of you are practically living together at this point. As much as he feels like he needs to force himself to lie or pretend that this is still just sex, still just something to ease your individual loneliness, if he gives himself a moment to be really, really honest with himself, he knows what this truly is. 

But for now, for a little while longer at least, as long as he can stretch it out, he’ll swallow the truth of the two of you, swallow it down and pretend it’s less than what it is. That it isn’t absolutely everything.

He sets you down gently on his bed, the sheets still rumpled from when he’d fucked you this morning before he’d sent you off to work, shaky legs, leaking cunt and all. His favorite way to start the day. He helps you settle in, pulls off your leggings and his own thick socks he’d pulled over your cold feet earlier and tucks the covers in around you. He eyes the stack of books on the bedside table, a mix of his own historical fiction and westerns and the cracked and well loved spines of some of your medical texts and scientific journals  – wherever he turned his eye in his house, there were signs of you, signs of the way you’d settled into his life, become an intrinsic part of his existence. He wonders for a moment if he should go as far as taking them downstairs with him, but when he looks down at your sleepy, tear swollen eyes gazing up at him, he decides you’re probably too tired to disobey. 

“Sleep,” he says down at you with false severity. He’s sure he’s entirely transparent, and as you turn your face into his pillow he catches the quick quirk of your smile… yeah, definitely transparent. He hears your muffled yes, sir, as he turns to go back downstairs and tidy up the kitchen before he comes back to join you in bed.

When he makes it back upstairs, his abandoned dinner, scarfed down quickly, and the kitchen cleaned, of course, of course, the bedside lamp is on and your face is buried in one of your textbooks. You’re holding it so close to your face, the tip of your nose almost brushes it, and he scoffs, typical, at the sight of you, but when he looks down he takes in the entire lithe length of you stretched out across his bed. The t-shirt of his you’re wearing has ridden up over your ass so that your little, pink, polka dot panties are peeking up at him. The soft cotton has ridden up into the cleft of your ass so that the elastic digs into the lush swell of your bottom, and he feels his cock stir at the sight. 

Yeah… too adorable, too damn beautiful for your own good. Definitely… He’s going to lick and kiss and bite all of that gorgeous skin in a second.

“What’d I tell you, Birdie?”

“Just one second–” you mumble into the page, not even turning to look at him. He goes into the restroom to brush his teeth, listens to the sound of you turning the pages, one second his ass. If he didn’t forcibly take the book out of your hand and fuck you to sleep you’d never put the damn thing down. Joel supposes he can make the sacrifice.

He comes back out into the bedroom, pulling his shirt over the back of his head and shucking his jeans and boxers down his legs before kneeling behind you on the bed. He reaches for your panties, fuck– he really likes the polka dots, and you’ve still not put the damn book away as he pulls them down the smooth slopes of your legs, and buries his face in your cunt from behind. And finally, finally, he hears the thump of the book against the wooden boards of the floor and then your moan as he licks into your pussy, pulling you apart by the softness of your ass. You groan for him, throaty and drawn out as you arch your back to give him better access. 

“Yeah… that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he says into your skin, licking a long, wet stripe from your clit all the way to the tight furl of your asshole. He’d taken you hard this morning, fucking your pussy almost brutally until he’d pulled out and pushed his way into your back hole to come in your ass. The two of you had been filthy lately. You’d been particularly insatiable, but you incited something in him that turned him into a fucking animal sometimes. You had the uncanny ability to crawl under his skin and make his blood boil and rage until the only thing that seemed to settle him was your come and your spit and your sweat in his mouth, covering every inch of his skin.

If he really thought about it, he knew he was obsessed with you. Obsession verging on something much more serious – verging on… No, not yet… He wouldn’t think of that yet. 

He pulls back to survey the blushing, flutter of your little hole. Fucking needy thing, he rumbles, but as he goes to push a single finger into your opening, he feels you wince and pull back slightly. Shit, he knew he’d been too rough this morning. He licks another wet swipe along the cleft of your ass. “You sore, baby?” All he gets is your muffled moan and a slight nod of your head, your face buried in the pillows as you hitch your hips higher, trying to tempt him, swaying your ass gently from side to side… like he’d said, needy. He anchors himself up on one arm, the other keeping you spread open while he lets a long string of spit trickle slowly from his pursed mouth, the thick glob covering your tight hole so that he can smear it into your skin. Joel, Joel – he hears you begging into the sheets. “Yeah… I got you, little bird. Don’t worry–” He bends his head again to bite at the crease where your asscheek meets the back of your thigh and then grips your hips to slowly roll you over.

Your eyes are hazy, glazed and wet when he takes in your flushed face. He crawls up the length of your body to lay beside you, slotting one arm under your head and the other wrapping around your thigh to bring it up over his hip. “N– no, Joel– I– I still want you to fuck me… I still wanna come,” you mewl, scratching at his shoulders and arms. Tiny little fingers digging into his skin to try and pull him into obedience. 

“Uh huh, I gotcha, baby… don’t worry. But I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re sore.” He slots his cock between your thighs, pressed up against your wet cleft and starts to slide through your sensitive folds. You shake and jitter in his arms, little hiccuping moans and whimpers every time the wide head bumps and catches against the swollen nub of your clit. 

Please, please, I can take it.

“My poor Birdie,” he coos, “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” The hand on your thigh sneaks back and around your bottom to slot between your thighs, pressing up on his sliding cock to apply greater pressure to your cunt. “How’s this, huh? Feel good?”

“Ungh, ah, ah ah…” So good, so good, you whisper, hot breath fanning over the underside of his chin. He feels the wet swipe of your tongue, your little teeth sinking into the edge of his jaw. “I don’t– I don’t know what’s wrong with me–” His tip catches at your tender opening and you jerk slightly in his arms, he fists the hand not between your legs in your hair to anchor you in place and presses his mouth to yours, a long, wet swipe behind the edge of your teeth. He can hear how wet you are as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, your moans and whimpers getting louder, more desperate. The sound of you is obscene, his own personal wet fucking dream.

 His dream girl… come to life. 

“That’s right, baby. Just like that – gonna come on my cock just like this. Didn’t I say I’d take care of you? Don’t I always take care of you just how you need?” You start to tremble even harder, your leg wrapped around him tightening at his waist so that your heel is pressed sharply into the base of his spine and he feels you jerk as he grinds the thick base of himself into your clit and you start to come. Mewling and keening his name, his good, beautiful girl. He slides his hand up your bottom and back, long, slow passes of his palm along your sweat damp spine to settle you. “That better?” he whispers into your hair. You shiver, and he feels the nod of your head as you mouth as his throat and chest. 

“Yes… thank you.” He pulls back to wrap his hand around your jaw, your bones feel so fragile beneath his strength – something delicate he’s been afforded the privilege of being able to touch with these violence soaked hands of his. He can’t think about how frightened you make him, not now, not when he has you beneath him like this, soft and sated and pliant – the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever laid eyes on in his life. He smushes your cheeks together and plants a soft kiss to your puckered mouth. “Beautiful girl.” All you do is burrow further into the covers, a soft sigh as you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. And so fine, he can admit it, right here and now. He fucking loves you, and it’ll probably be the thing to kill him in the end, this recalcitrance he’s forcing himself into. 

-

You stir awake in the middle of the night. He’s draped over you in his sleep, his face tucked into the warm crook of your neck, big hand palming the weight of your breast. He’s so big and muscular and heavy and you love the feel of his weight pressing you into the mattress. You wrap your arms around him, drag your fingers through his thick curls, and listen to the sound of his soft snores. 

Your entire body feels like one unending, tender bruise. Every sensation heightened, too sensitive, like a raw, exposed nerve. You don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, what’s gotten into you. You’re on the verge of overwhelmed tears, just from the feel of him, the sound of his soft breathing, overwhelmed by how much you love him, how much you want him. You’ve been on the verge of tears for days, the slightest thing setting you off. 

You lay there for a while holding him, sleep gone out the window in the night, abandoning you to wakefulness, but you realize that the reason you’d stirred awake is that you’re cramping low in your belly, a dull and chronic sort of pulse, deep in your womb. Shit, you need to get up and check if you’re bleeding. 

You shift out from under him slowly, slipping from beneath his heavy paw to slip into the restroom. He turns over in his sleep, arm thrown out over the space you’ve just vacated, as if he’s searching for you, even unconscious. As you move towards the restroom there’s another throbbing pulse low in your belly, like you’re carrying around a bruise in the shape of him inside of you. Everything feels extra tender – coiled tight. He’s been insatiable lately — more than his usual. He’d had you four times yesterday alone. Twice today, plus your fooling around before you’d gone to sleep. Your cunt is sore and puffy and soaking wet, even after he’d cleaned you up with a warm wash cloth before falling asleep. Sometimes it seems like you’re fucking a teenager instead of an old man with the stamina he’s got in him. You laugh quietly. 

But when you pull your underwear down to sit on the cold toilet basin, there’s nothing. Huh… you’d for sure thought the cramping meant you’d started your period. A slow simmering churning starts up in your gut, slowly, slowly starting a low boil. Maybe you’re starting soon, that’s why you’re cramping – it’s fine. You wipe and stand to wash your hands. Maybe dinner isn’t sitting right – but no… you’d barely eaten. So something you’d had before then. That’s probably why you’re so sensitive and on edge lately – you’re probably getting sick. You’d been nauseous the past few days, and there was that bout of vomiting the other day. You pull open one of his lavatory drawers, looking for the antacid tablets you know he hoards, when you’re met with the sight of your menstrual cup, sitting in the little plastic bin you keep it in. 

Shit.

Why is this over here? Since when has it been over here? Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No, no, no.

You can’t remember the last time you’d used it. You try and count back the weeks – fuck, the months. Real panic starts to flutter and fizz in your belly.  When was the last time you’d had a period? Surely more than four weeks ago but … but if it’s been that long, if you’re remembering correctly… then… then, it’s been closer to two months by now. So that would mean… that means… you turn towards the door where Joel sleeps, unaware, on the other side as if you can see him through the thick wood. 

You feel your heart drop into your stomach, the rhythm of its beat ricocheting up to a concerning speed. Oh, God. Oh, God. How could you have been so careless – so distracted? How is this the first time you’re even thinking about this – even realizing it? But no… if you’re being honest, objective – you know you’ve only been waiting for something like this to happen – for months now. How could you not? When the two of you had never even pretended at being careful or responsible for preventing something like this. Oh, God – how are you going to tell him? What is he going to say? He’s going to be so angry. 

But a voice at the back of your mind whispers that you’re only telling yourself that – that you know it isn’t true – that you know he’d be not only happy, but overjoyed at the thought of a baby. But how could you really know for sure? When he’s always been firm in keeping that last sliver of distance between the two of you? Still after all these months – unable to admit the truth of what lived here, between the two of you. That this isn’t just sex – that the two of you are in love with each other. 

You lean against the sink for support, your shaky legs on the verge of collapse, and stare at yourself in the mirror. This puts your behavior of the last few days into better perspective. All the tears, the shaky stomach, feeling so sensitive – like a raw nerve all he needed to do was look at, breathe on, to provoke. If you really think about it, you’d been the instigator at the start of each of your encounters in the last few days. Seeking him out ravenously – hungry and desperate for his cock and his skin and his smell at every hour of the day. Weepy, swollen cunt – even when he wasn’t around to tempt you, and he’d left you satisfied, and yet, still wanting more, every single time. 

You step back out into the dark space of his bedroom. He’s on his back, one bulging arm thrown over his head. His mess of curls strewn across the surface of his pillow. You watch the rise and fall of his belly, his thick, strong waist, with the cadence of his breaths. Your womb twists with lust. 

Fuck, you’re probably pregnant with this man’s baby. How are you going to tell him?

You can make out the thick heft of his cock through the thin material of the sheets covering his waist, he’d not bothered to put anything else on again after he’d made you come, and it makes your mouth water and the place between your legs so achy. Your recent behavior is completely transparent now, you’d been so needy, insatiable, the only thing to settle you the heavy weight of his cock stretching you open and pounding deep into you. Fucking typical. He’d done this to you, and now he got to reap the rewards of you climbing onto his dick at all hours of the day. 

You roll your eyes at him in the dark as you slide back into bed beside him, running your palm over the flat of his belly. He clasps your hand with his in his sleep as he rolls over, pulling you along with him, wrapping your arm around himself and tucking it up by his neck so that you’re spooning him. He drapes his arm back over your hip and clutches your leg, tucking his fingers right at the place where your ass cheek meets your inner thigh and pulling your front further into his back – trying to get you as close as possible to him. You listen to his deep, sleepy rumble, and you bury your face between his warm back and the bed, the sheets smell like the both of you, sweet and musky – like your sex, your love making. You’ve made a baby together. Joel’s baby. The thought makes tears pool in your eyes and start a slow, silent stream down your face. Your insides clenching wantonly at the same time that your stomach flutters and heaves with nerves and panic. There are too many sensations spilling through your body all at the same time, and you think your frame starts to tremble, an uncontainable gasp slipping out because suddenly you feel his muscles snap awake, his rough voice saying your name sharp and worried. You wrap your arm tighter around him, digging your nails into the skin of his neck to stop him from turning over. You don’t want him to see you like this, you don’t want him to know, you don’t want him to be angry or worried or regretful.

 He’d never be any of those things, your heart whispers at your anxious mind. 

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?” he says into the dark room. You feel his muscles tense as he tries to escape your tight hold without being too rough.

“I don’t know–” you splutter into his back, your voice coming out muffled against his warm skin. “I’m– I’m emotional. I think I’m getting my period soon,” you lie. Lie, lie, fucking liar. You don’t think you’ll be getting that for a good, long while. 

He sighs, gripping your wrist firmly to pull your arm away for him so he can turn over to cradle you gently in his arms. The best place in the entire world. You cry harder. 

“C’mere, sweet girl,” he whispers against your hairline, pressing his soft mouth to your forehead, your temple. “It’s alright… no tears.” He pets at the nape of your neck. His voice is so deep, you feel the vibrations of it pass through his chest and rumble into your own, and it makes the tips of your breasts tighten into aching little knots. You wrap your arms around his neck to meld your chest tighter to his. You wish you could live inside of him the way he now lives inside of you. He’s left a piece of himself with you, eventually it’ll grow and the whole world will know how definitively you belong to him. You’ll be round and swollen and only his, only his. The thought makes your pussy clench. 

“Joel–” you tug as his curls, his beard, trying to pull his mouth down to yours. He rumbles deep in his chest, gives you his tongue. He’s being too slow, too gentle, you need him to fuck you hard, desperate – as desperate as you feel for him in this moment, to ground you and tame this panic surging up inside of you with his strong hands. 

“Kiss me – hug me,” you beg. 

“M’right here, Birdie.” He cards his hand through your hair, pulls your head back slightly, “Look at me – I’m right here with you.”

“More, more, please.” You lick at his mouth, drag your teeth down his chin.

He rolls you over to settle his hips between your spread legs. You can feel the searing hot brand of his hard cock against the inside of your thigh. He’s always hard for you. He’s always hard for you, and you’re always soft and wet and ready for him, and the two of you are perfect for each other. You were made for each other, and now you’ve made a baby together. “You need my cock again, little bird?”

You spread your legs wider, “Yes, yes – I always need you,” you whine. He wraps his hand around your throat and pauses to stare down at you for a second, his brow pulled down low. He bends his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he presses his mouth to your own. You keep your eyes wide open also, looking between his dark eyes. His lashes are so long, the thick fringe of them fanning out so wide they cast a shadow across his cheekbones. The two of you are so close you can make out each individual lash, the little lines around his eyes – stress, before … but you hope, now, only from laughing too much, from being too happy. You always want him to be so, so happy he doesn’t know what to do with it all. You want him to be overwhelmed and submerged in so much ridiculous happiness. The two of you hold there for a moment, breathing into each other’s mouths. You love him so much it is a physical ache within you. 

He sits back slightly then, and lifts your thigh to press a soft kiss to the inside of your leg, then another to your belly, right over your womb, your heart swoops at that and you whimper, then another right to the top of your mound. The tip of his tongue peeking out to lap at your clit, just a little. 

Then he stretches over you again, giving you all his weight and reaches his hand down to pet the back of his knuckles along your slit, “Shit, fuckin’ wet and swollen, Birdie.”

“I want you so much,” you breath, eyes fluttering closed as he parts your puffy lips and pets at your clit. He starts up a gentle rhythm around your sensitive bundle of nerves that has you kicking your legs out impatiently around him for more. Why is he being so gentle and mean and soft? You need it hard, you need more. 

“Please, Joel, please, please, fuck me, please.” You can feel hot tears burning down the slopes of your cheeks. He’s going to think you’ve lost the fucking plot, crying and begging for his cock like this. He continues to be mean and horrible and pet softly at your clit, like a whisper over your raging, burning skin. 

“Settle down. Gonna give it to you how I see fit.”

“You’re so mean,” you kick out one leg, pathetically, at his side. The broad expanse of him has you spread so wide there’s no purchase to be found, all you can do is lie here and take it. He’s so horrible — look at him, he’s gone and knocked you up and now he won’t even fuck you how you need him to. You pout up at him, cry and mewl pathetically. “Please, harder, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh, said you were sore. Gotta be gentle with my soft, little cunt.”

“But you’re going to fuck me right?” you cry.

“Yeah, baby. Don’t worry,” he says softly, starts to circle his thumb at your tender entrance, pressing gentle pressure on it. You do your best to stifle your wince, shit, it’s not necessarily sore, just so, so sensitive. This is all his fault. You want to sink your teeth into his neck and bite him as hard as you can. Make him hurt and writhe the way he’s making you. He starts to slowly press a single finger inside. You’re so wet, dripping, the passage is smooth and slick. 

“Harder,” you beg.

“Quit.” You let out a frustrated moan. He starts to fuck you slowly just like that, a single finger, his thumb circling your clit in slow, measured circles. His finger is thick, but not enough, and you clench your inner muscles, trying to bear down on it. “Stop that,” he snaps. “Take it how I give it to you. Need you to relax, Birdie. What’s got you all twisted up in knots?”

“I don’t know,” liar, liar, liar, you whine, trying as hard as you can not to roll your hips, to stay still and settled like he wants you to, but there’s a goddamn forest fire raging inside of you, and having him so close, such a small part of him inside you, is only making it worse. He pulls his single finger out, circles his thumb around your entrance, back up to your clit, swipes up and down like a feather, then pressure to your entrance again, and he’s pushing two of his thick fingers inside of you now. Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you. He starts to slide them in and out, a small crook of his fingers to pet at the soft, spongy spot inside of you. All the while he continues to circle your clit, and he bends his head to kiss at your mouth, your jaw, a soft bite to your clavicle that has you keening wantonly, then a swipe of his tongue to your jugular – you wish he’d bite you there, sink his teeth into your skin and drink. God, your thoughts are unhinged. You cannot, cannot deal with nine months of this, what the fuck. His mouth slides down to your breast, hot and wet, and he sucks hard on the aching tip, flicking his tongue back and forth slowly. His fingers haven’t paused their slow onslaught and at one particularly hard pull at your breast you suddenly feel everything in your pelvis go blindingly, white hot and tight and then loose and wet and you start to come on his fingers. Your hips rolling gently upwards to take more of him. He never goes harder, never faster, he just continues his gentle ministrations of you – playing you like his own personal little doll. You moan long and ragged, yeah, that’s it, just like that, he whispers into your hair. His words sliding through the strands like water. He guides you through the cresting waves of your orgasm, his touch becoming slower and softer as you throb on and on. Once the contractions of your muscles have slowed he pulls his fingers from your cunt, the wet suck, as loud and obscene as the thoughts in your head are, and then the burning hot head of his cock is there, slowly pushing into your still quivering flesh, so thick. 

“Gonna take my cock now, little bird.”

Yes, yes, please. Thank you. All you can do is sigh, hitch your knees higher up his sides, you hook one hand under the bend of one leg, opening yourself up for him as much as you physically can with all of his weight pressing down into you. 

He slides to the very end of you, letting you feel every throbbing inch and ridge as he goes as slow as everything else he’s done to you tonight. 

“Hard, Joel. Harder, please,” you beg again. His only response is a rumble of disapproval as he starts to thrust into you slow, but so fucking deep. You feel split wide open, he’s split you open and peered inside of you and decided to leave a piece of himself within, and he doesn’t even know it. And you decide in that instant that you’re not going to tell him – with the feel of him as deep inside of you as he can physically get, the knowledge that he’s even deeper than even he knows, you decide you’re not going to tell him until you’re absolutely forced to. It’s wrong, perhaps, or definitely, after all, he has a right to know also, it’s his baby too. But you just can’t. You can’t face the reality of this, his potential reaction, whether it be good or bad, right now, not for a while. You need time, time to gather your courage, your thoughts, your very skin around yourself, stitch yourself together and muster your strength and prepare for whatever outcome telling him might incite. 

“Not gonna give it to you harder, Birdie. Quit beggin’.”

“I don’t care– I don’t care, Joel, please.” You claw and scratch at him, but nothing you do prompts him to go harder. There’s a desperation, a wave of anxious fear surging up inside of you – the fear of him leaving you one day, of not wanting you anymore – when you know you’ll love him for the rest of your life. You are terrified of ending up alone, out in that dark forest again. 

“Quit.” He gathers both of your wrists in one of his strong hands, brings them above your head to lie limply above the pillows. Divested of all your strength and fight, you’re left only to lie beneath him and take all he chooses to give you. “Told you,” he grits as he rolls his hips in long, deep thrusts into yours, the bone of his pelvis grinding into your clit. “You’re gonna take it how I decide to give it to you. Only me – you’re mine, you’re mine, I decide.”

And fuck – if that doesn’t do something to you, if hearing those words don’t settle that coiling snake within you. You go soft and pliant and submissive at his words, spreading your legs as wide as you can and tilting your pelvis up so that he can drill into you as deep as possible, right to the place where your little secret is growing now. 

And he’s so gentle with you, so careful – even when he’s fucking you hard and savage the way you both like sometimes, he’s still careful to never hurt you more than you need him to. It makes you wonder at the violence it took him to become this gentle – to become so well acquainted with his own strength, his ability to maim, that he can now be so in control of it, handle you with such care. 

The weight of his thrusts changes suddenly. He slides a palm under your bottom to lift you up into his impaling cock, presses his knees further up under you to anchor you more firmly in his lap and pounds into you, the wide tip of his cock concentrated against the head of your cervix in blinding thrusts, and you’re so sensitive on the inside from what he’s done to you, from the change he’s wrought upon your body, that you start to come again. Toe curling waves of pleasure start at your womb and spiral out of your limbs in searing bolts of heat, your back arched tight as a bow string. Your inner muscles throb and clench around his still battering cock and you hear the guttural moan of your name spit from his mouth, and then the kick of his cock inside of you as he starts to come too. “Fucking Christ, take it all, Birdie – every last drop of my come. Need this pussy stuffed full of me – s’only way you behave, little girl.” 

All you can do is nod dumbly and take it, just like he said. 

He kisses and licks every inch of your body afterwards, eating up your slick and sweat and his own come with broad swipes of his tongue. You’d never imagined this sort of intimacy – it’s something that you hadn’t even thought possible. A sort of physical connectedness that belied the truth of your current situation – the things still hidden between the two of you. 

He lies beside you once he’s done eating his come out of your pussy, one last orgasm pulled gently from you with his mouth. His slick cock, soft now, pressed against your still flat belly as the two of you lay facing each other, hands tucked beneath your cheeks, legs tangled together, just taking each other in. 

You think you’re probably about two months along, give or take. It’ll still be a while before you start showing. You have time yet. 

You’re going to let yourself think about this now, only tonight, and then you’re going to push it from your mind until you can’t ignore the situation any longer. The reality of it is too terrifying to consider at length with everything else going on in your lives at the moment. 

What will he say? What will you do if you tell him your truth and he goes away from you? How will you survive something like that? But even as you ask yourself this, you know it’s unnecessary, for despite his capacity for violence, or his own fear or recalcitrance or hesitancy, despite the lies he tells himself and you about what this is, he is also good and honorable and loyal. Joel Miller is a good man. And he’d never abandon you or a child of his, but still, you’re afraid. 

So, no, you can’t focus on this now – you’ll push it from your mind until it becomes more pressing, unavoidable. There are other more important things to deal with now, other things to consider before you can think of yourself. 

You run a single finger over the thick line of his brow, against the fluttering of his lashes, down the strong slope of his nose. A baby. Joel’s baby. You hope they have his dark curls. 

You love him and you’re going to have his baby.

And you don’t have it in you to tell him either of these truths. 

“Go to sleep, little bird.” 

-

You sneak out the next morning. In the cold light of the new dawn, the truth you’re withholding is all the more terrifying. Fucking life changing. You slip out of his warm bed, the protective embrace of his strong arms, and shuffle around his room as quiet as you can for your clothes. Your shit is everywhere, strewn around his room and restroom. You need to go home, you need distance – space to think. You dig in a pile of clothes on the chair in the corner for your bra and tiptoe as quietly as you can to his bedside table to slip your books you need for today from between his own stack of novels. Once you’ve retrieved the texts you pause to look down at him, still sleeping. The fact that he can now rest so deeply like this, that he isn’t jerking awake at a hair triggers notice with the slightest sound or movement around him speaks so deeply to that part of you that wants nothing more than for him to be as happy as he can possibly be, safe and serene and never worried for anything ever again. 

Your greatest fear is that this news you now carry will disturb that peace, that serenity or happiness you so desperately want for him. So you sneak out of his home without waking him, head towards your own lonely house to change and wash up, you smell like his come, get the rest of your things for the day and then head to the clinic. You’ll shut this truth in a drawer for as long as you can, and once you can no longer hide it, once it becomes unavoidable, you’ll do your best to make sure he knows you never, never want him to feel obligated to you. Yes… you think, you’ll give him an out, it can be his decision. And even though the thought of that sends a searing, twisting pain to the space in your heart where you carry him, you think it’s the right thing anyways. He deserves to have a choice – when so much of his life has been forced upon him you always want to be the one place he can find choice in. 

He comes into the clinic a few hours later. You’ve just gotten done delivering a baby – real great day for that – when he walks through the front door. You’re finishing up your procedure note and you turn to see him stepping through your office door, a baggie from the mess hall clutched in his hand. 

“Hey… what’re you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d check in… brought you a scone.” He lifts up the offering of baked goods, gives you a crooked smile. God, your gut and your heart twist and flip at the same time. You turn back to face your mess of papers and notebooks, trying to take deep breaths to keep your tears at bay. This crying shit is really going to start being a problem soon. 

You feel him come up behind you, he sets down the baggie in front of you and braces one hand on the edge of your desk, the other passing over the crown of your head and down your ponytail to tug your head back gently. You look up at him from your angled position, and he frowns down at you. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “Don’t like it when you sneak off in the mornings without telling me,” he grumbles down at you. 

“Sorry–” you breathe. He huffs at you, leans down to press his mouth to yours. 

“Still feeling funny?” 

You shake your head, still in his hold, but say “Yes,” at the same time. You’re all over the place. He sighs, letting go of your hair and coming down to a crouch beside you. You turn to face him in your seat, knees tucked between his spread thighs. 

He drags a gentle thumb over the soft skin beneath your eye, then up the slope of your cheekbone – that perpetual frown still present. He knows something’s wrong. He knows you. Keeping this from him is going to be so, so difficult. He’s going to tell something is wrong, different, off. Your only recourse is to pretend like you don’t know either. To entirely push this thing that you have no discernible idea how to deal with from your mind. As of this moment, it’s a non-reality. 

“What can I do?” he asks, so gentle, so concerned. 

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. You can’t look at that look in his eyes right now, it’ll make you fall to pieces. You fold forward to press your face into his shoulder, turning your head to sniffle into his neck. “Nothing,” you mumble. “Just kiss me.” He slides his hand into your hair against your scalp and angles your head to press his mouth to yours, giving you exactly what you need. 

You may be unsure about so much, but the one thing you do know, without a doubt, is that this man will make a wonderful father. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[leupagus]

BRB giving all the Lannisters a way more satisfying story arc than the one the show foisted on them

x

The wedding celebrations for Trystane's brother Quentyn and his new bride Desmera Redwyne lasted for nearly a fortnight, with dancing and feasting and even fireworks set off over the bay at the Water Gardens. Every noble in Dorne (and half the nobles of the Reach) had come; even Prince Doran had attended, and it seemed to do him good. His pain-lined face had been wreathed in smiles and he had sat at the head of the table at nearly every meal, coming out from his seclusion for the first time in ages.

Trystane noticed, too. "I don't think I have ever seen Papa so happy," he whispered, leaning toward her during the feast on the last night.

"It's because he has got rid of one troublesome son," she teased him, tapping her finger on his nose. It was true enough: tomorrow, Quentyn and Desmera would travel back to the Arbor where they would take up their duties as heirs to Paxter Redwyne.

Trystane scrunched his nose and moved closer to her on the bench, sliding his arm around her waist. "Soon he will be got rid of another," he murmured in her ear, kissing her gently on the cheek, then the neck.

"Ah, ah, this is not your wedding yet, little brother," warned Arianne as she briskly tapped them on their shoulders, pushing them firmly aside so that she could sit between them. "Room enough for the Mother, if you please."

"You're my sister, not my mother," Trystane grumbled. "And there isn't enough room for your backside!"

"Trystane!" Myrcella protested, but Arianne had it well in hand.

"If I were Mama, I would spank you on yours," she told him, and swatted at him anyway. Trystane yelped and hit her back, and their end of the table erupted into chaos as brothers and sisters, cousins and friends all shrieked and jabbed at each other, tickling and pinching as one can only do to those one truly loves.

Arianne and Myrcella had been thick as thieves when she had first arrived at Sunspear, still dreadfully homesick and afraid. Uncle Tyrion had promised her that the people of Dorne would treat her well; but though everyone had been kind, it was only Arianne who had truly been a friend at first. She had sneaked into Myrcella's room and hid behind drapes or under the bed to jump out at her, shown her the sights of the Water Gardens and Planky Town alike, even encouraged her to speak with Trystane, who at 15 had been terribly spotty and sulky.

Then Arianne had gone to visit her mother and her family, in far-off Norvos. It had been planned for only a few months, but the time had stretched on and on, and only Quentyn's marriage had brought her back at last. Myrcella had missed her even as she had grown closer with Trystane, and part of her dreaded their marriage that would take her away from the drowsy warmth and comfort of Arianne's company, even as it would deliver her back to her family at King's Landing.

Later that night, Myrcella crept into Arianne's chambers and hid inside the great wardrobe, keeping the door half-open as it had been already. (Arianne was shockingly untidy for a princess, and refused to allow any servant in her quarters to deal with the resulting mess. She used to drag Myrcella to her rooms once a month or so and make her sit on the bed, while Arianne picked up the clothes strewn about the floor or flung over the backs of chairs and complained about her own bad habits. Already, Myrcella thought, Arianne could do with a good cleaning.) A short while later the door to the chamber opened and Myrcella readied herself to jump out, just as Arianne had done to her so often.

But Arianne was not alone.

"—Yronwoods aren't pleased by the match," someone was saying. "Lord Anders thought Quentyn would marry Gwyneth, after being fostered with them for so long."

It was Ellaria Sand. She hadn't been seen overmuch at Sunspear since returning from King's Landing two months ago, Lord Oberyn's body in tow. Since then she'd avoided the court, instead spending time with Oberyn's daughters. The few times Myrcella had seen her, Ellaria had been as warm and friendly as before, but with a knife-edge to her smile that Myrcella recognized all too well from the courtiers in the Red Keep. She'd had taken care not to be alone with Ellaria, nor with the Sand Snakes, since then.

"Then Lord Anders is a fool," said Arianne in her sing-song voice, "and should be regarded as such. Gwyneth is a lovely girl, but she is far too little for a Prince of Dorne. The Arbor is a more valuable holding and the Redwynes far more valuable allies."

"And once Trystane is married to his blonde bastard girl, you will have both your brothers safely out of Dorne," said Ellaria. There was the sound of clothing being moved about, and Ellaria sitting down. "Really, dear, you ought to have someone clean in here. There could be mice, for all you know."

Arianne laughed, as though Ellaria had only insulted her housekeeping. Myrcella's hands clenched into fists. Was this what Arianne truly thought of her? And in Dorne, of all places! Where Ellaria herself, and all her lover's daughters, carried the last name of Sand! Ellaria had made much of the Dornish saying that bastard children were born of love and passion, and thus as trueborn as any child conceived by wedded parents. But clearly she held Myrcella in as much contempt as any of the rest of them would back home, if they knew the truth.

They never knew King Robert, the man who'd never once looked at her or her brothers but with resentment and bitterness. None of her mother's children had been loved, not by that oafish lumbering stag who saw them all as shackles that tied him to the Lannisters he hated so much. What shame was there in knowing her true parents, at least, loved each other? And loved their children, even if only one could dare show it? Myrcella wanted to burst out of the wardrobe and declare that she would gladly call herself Myrcella Waters — Myrcella Lannister — and dare anyone to judge her for it. 

But she huddled further into herself and listened, to hear what else Arianne might say.

"I've stayed away too long," is what she said, "if you're this comfortable calling poor Myrcella such names. She's done nothing to you—"

The scrape of a chair signaled that Ellaria had risen once again. "Her family murdered your uncle, who you seemed once to love—"

"—and yet I have been informed of a certain present you sent to Queen Cersei just a few days ago," Arianne overrode her. "A snake, with Myrcella's pendant in its mouth. Hardly subtle, my dear."

Ellaria did not answer, and Myrcella put her hand to her mouth to keep her own silence. Her pendant had gone missing during the wedding celebrations, she had thought a victim of one of the more energetic dances on that first night. But Ellaria had got hold of it somehow? And sent it to Mother as a...threat, it seemed. Or a warning.

"What do you want, Ellaria?" asked Arianne with more gentleness than Myrcella felt capable of. "The Lannisters have already suffered, even if not by our hand: their patriarch dead, their firstborn dead, their brother Tyrion probably dead and certainly dead to them. Even Casterly Rock itself is in dire straits, from what I've heard. You've spoken to my father a great deal of vengeance — but where will it end? Will it be satisfied with Myrcella's death? Or do you need every child of theirs to die, before killing Cersei and Jaime?"

"I—" Ellaria's voice was thick, and there was a long moment of quiet before she spoke again. "I do not know," she said at last, as if confessing.

"Well, I do know," said Arianne briskly, "and I will tell you, if you will listen."

"...I will," said Ellaria slowly. Myrcella hardly dared breathe.

"Good. I did not linger in Norvos for nothing, much as I love Mama. Do you remember Illyrio Mopatis, the magister from Pentos? We met him years ago, when I was a girl and you and Oberyn took me with you to Essos. You were pregnant with Dorea, I think, and Obella and Tyene followed you everywhere with pillows for your chairs. Illyrio then got you a litter and had you carried everywhere."

"Gods, yes," Ellaria said, chuckling. "And he had one to match!"

"Uncle Oberyn kept crowding out the litterbearer in the front so that he could carry you," Arianne said. "At any rate, I saw him — Illyrio. He came for a visit to Mama's estate, and we spoke at great length about certain plans he has been making."

Ellaria's laugh now was sour. "Ah yes, he and the Spider have been making those plans for nearly twenty years, haven't they? Put the Targaryen boy back on the throne with the assurance that this one is sane." She snorted. "They thought Rhaegar was sane, too."

"If by 'this one,' you refer to Viserys Targaryen, his sanity is a moot point," said Arianne. "He's dead. Has been for several years, apparently. But his sister Daenerys has survived. She's been making quite a nuisance of herself in Slaver's Bay. Along with her three dragons, Illyrio tells me."

"Dragons?" Ellaria scoffed. "Illyrio's always said a great number of things. That never made any of them true."

"Which is why I want you to go and find out what is true. Meet with this Daenerys Stormborn yourself. Take her measure. I could only discover so much in Norvos, with Mama's eye always on me. She doesn't approve of Papa's conciliation to the Red Keep, but stories of Targaryen princesses and their dragons aren't to her liking, either."

"Are they to your liking?" Whatever response Arianne made, it seemed to satisfy Ellaria. "Very well. I have two conditions."

"Only two?"

"First, I shall first go to Pentos first and speak directly with Illyrio. He never could lie to me, and if he is so sure Daenerys Targaryen is the true ruler of Westeros then he'll be willing to back that up with coin and supplies. Which we'll need, in abundance."

Arianne sighed. "Very well. Though if you venture so close to Norvos, Mama will insist you visit her."

Ellaria made a prevaricating sound. "Your mother always liked me best."

"She did. And does. What is your second condition?"

"Our daughters come with me. All of them."

"No," Arianne said flatly. "Aside from the fact that it will look strange to have all the Sand Snakes gone, Lorenza is barely seven years old. You would take her across the Narrow Sea to a slave city?"

"Better than leave her here, where Doran can fill her head with his witterings about peace and forgiveness," Ellaria snapped. "If she dies — if any of us die — at least we will not live like your father."

"Take Nymeria and Tyene," Arianne countered. "Obara, if you must. The rest of the Snakes are better off here. What would Sarella do in Meereen, or Astapor, or Yunkai? Those cities do not have a reputation for academic pursuits."

"She can bring her books with her. All of us go, or none. I want nothing of Oberyn left behind for someone else to take from me."

Arianne sighed. "I'll consider it. But I want you to consider, too. If this Daenerys Stormborn is what she is said to be, she will retake the Iron Throne 'with fire and blood.' Take care that it is not your blood, my dear."

They spoke for a bit longer, until the bells chimed the hour and Ellaria departed. How long until Arianne went to bed? Myrcella might stay here the whole night and then what would she do? Who could she tell? Who did she want to tell?

"You are thinking loudly enough to wake the entire palace, little lioness," said Arianne, and opened the wardrobe door all the way. Myrcella shrank back but it was no use; Arianne was looking down at her, shaking her head. "Let's talk, so that you might be a little quieter."

"Are you going to kill my brother?" she asked, not moving.

"No," Arianne said, with a certainty that Myrcella could not help but believe. "Nor will I let anyone else. We do not hurt children in Dorne." She held out her hand, and Myrcella took it.

They sat down on the bench near the window, the one that overlooked the whole of the palace and beyond that, the city of Sunspear itself. The stars here were clear and bright, even with the torches and lights from below burning merrily at this late hour.

"Tommen's in King's Landing, not Dorne," was the first thing Myrcella could think of to say. "And he's not a child anymore." Nor am I, she thought.

Arianne rolled her eyes. "So literal. I forgot this about you. You're right — he's a man grown now, and a husband soon, and already a king. But he is not to blame for the way things are now, anymore than Viserys and Daenerys were to blame for what their father and brother did during the Rebellion."

"My father always said Uncle Stannis should have killed them when he had the chance." She could remember that argument well, as it was one Robert made whenever Uncle Stannis irritated him — which was often. You had only to take them and drown them, and you couldn't even manage that! My brother the great tactician, bested by infants! 

"I very much doubt your father said any such thing," said Arianne tartly, "Though I am sure King Robert said it often enough." She tilted her head as she regarded Myrcella. "When did you first realize? About your parents?"

Myrcella hesitated, but it seemed silly to pretend ignorance now, of all times. "I've always known, I think. When the ravens came from Dragonstone, from Uncle Stannis, saying that we were bastard-born...it wasn't a surprise." Nor had she been surprised at her not-uncle's blunt declaration, cutting himself off from all claims of blood and family. Stannis had always been a hard man to love; she suspected he found it hard to love others in turn. Perhaps it had been as great a relief to him as it had been to her, to know there was nothing that bound them to each other after all.

"I am glad you know," said Arianne, "but that is one reason I wanted you to hear Ellaria's plans, as well as my own. She wants to hurt your mother and father very badly. Her rage has made her blind. My hope is that distance, as well as time, will allow her to see clearly again. But in the meanwhile it is best for everyone if you and she are far away from each other."

"But...those things you said, about Daenerys Targaryen. You want her to come here?"

Arianne sighed and took Myrcella's hands in hers. They were small and soft, dwarfed by Myrcella's long fingers. "Daenerys Stormborn is coming here. Nothing can stop that; sooner or later, she will arrive with her dragons, and she will take the Iron Throne. If your brother and your parents are to survive it, they must have somewhere to go. Someone who will take them in."

Myrcella stared at her. She couldn't mean Dorne; for one thing, Mother would never agree to live out her days here, strolling about the Water Gardens and bathing in the Summer Sea. For another, the Martells and the Targaryens had a complicated enough relationship; even Doran, even Arianne, wouldn't risk the wrath of a new queen by hosting the old king.

"Perhaps Highgarden—" but even as Myrcella said it she could see it for the farcical suggestion it was. She'd never met the Queen of Thorns, but she knew the Tyrells had sided with the Targaryens during the Rebellion; Olenna Tyrell would be only too happy to turn the Lannisters right back over to Daenerys should they put a foot wrong, even if Tommen's marriage to Margaery went through. Which left—

"Casterly Rock," she said, and felt ashamed that it had taken her so long to understand. "You want me to hold the Westerlands." It made sense: Jaime was still in the Kingsguard and likely to remain so, and Uncle Tyrion was long gone (and would be barred from inheriting anyhow, given the accusations that he had murdered Grandfather). Uncle Kevan and Lancel might have claims to it, but Tommen's last letter had mentioned Lancel's latest obsession with some odd religious sect that had gained popularity in the Crownlands. Which left...herself, of all the remaining Lannisters.

Arianne nodded. "Casterly Rock. You were raised to be the wife of a great lord. But I think you are better suited to be a great lord yourself." She lifted her eyebrows. "More importantly, little lioness, what do you think?"

All at once she wanted it more than breath: a home of her own, a castle, a people, a kingdom. A chance to be fair and kind and noble not just amongst the simpering painted faces of court, but in a place where fairness and kindness mattered. She could take Casterly Rock and make something more of it than the just golden bank of Westeros. Myrcella could feel a ravening hunger in her that she'd never imagined, that would take all of the Westerlands to sate.

Myrcella held on tightly. She could feel her fingers turning to claws, her hair a wild mane. "Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper but roaring louder in her head, in her throat, in her chest. "Yes."

[nyxlaufeyson]

I Think I love You

Oneshot Masterlist - Main Masterlist

POV: Second Person

Ship: Loki x Y/n

Type: Fluff

TW: None

Wordcount: ~1,200

Synopsis: You like Loki, your best friend, and have been avoiding him because you are scared of what will happen if you tell him. 

"Stop thinking about him! It's all you ever do." Your friend snaps her fingers to get you out of your daydream. 

You look at her with fake offense. "What? No I most certainly do not! Whose him anyway?" You ask, knowing exactly who she is talking about. 

She gives you her 'stop playing dumb' look. "Don't fuck with me Y/n. You know exactly who I'm talking about. Loki." She says, rolling her eyes.

Your cheeks glow a bright shade of red. "What! That's not true. I mean sure I think about Loki a lot but that's just because we are really good friends!" You try to defend yourself, but your friend is not having it. 

"Just tell him you like him already! It's so obvious he likes you too!" She says, animating her speech with her hands like you notice she always does when she's trying to make a point. 

You turn around to walk backwards so you can face her. "Absolutely not. We are just friends." you say, right before you bump into something and start to fall. 

Just as you were about to hit the ground, a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and pull you up, bringing you face-to-face with... Loki! Your face goes back to being a blushing mess.

You've found it hard to be around Loki lately. You guys have been friends for as long as you can remember, but lately you've began to develop other... feelings for him. Before you knew it, you found yourself deeply in love with the dark prince. 

Every time you tried to talk to him, it came out in a jumbled mess. You also became extra clumsy, even though you were already pretty cloddish in the first place. 

You doubt that he would ever feel the same towards you, so you've been avoiding him in an attempt to not become the clown of the town. 

"Loki!" You squeak, and he smiles at you. "Y/n." He replies, and you attempt to turn back to your friend, but you find that his hands are still on your hips.

 This causes your face to become even redder, if that was possible, and Loki quickly removes his hands from your waist, thinking you had become uncomfortable. 

You turn to your friend, who looks around like she hasn't seen a thing. She pretends to spot Loki and quickly bows. "Well, Y/n, my prince, I forgot I had to meet my cousin for tea. Please excuse me." She says with curtsy, and scatters off. So much for her to get you out of this. 

"I should probably get going..." You start to walk off, when you Loki protests. "Y/n wait!" He grabs your hand and spins you back around to face him. 

You attempt to stop the blush forming on your cheeks, and manage to keep it to a lighter shade of pink. "Yes my prince?" You squeak, looking at the floor. 

"Have I done something wrong?" He asks, and you look up at him, confused. "What? No, of course not! What would make you think that?" You inquire, and now he is the one to look at you confused.

"You've obviously been avoiding me." You scrunch your eyebrows. "What? No I haven't!" You protest, but he gives you a 'I'm-not-stupid' look. 

"Ok look I've just been really busy and-" You start before getting interrupted. "You used to find time no matter what. What's been up with you lately Y/n? If I've done something wrong, please tell me what I can do to fix it." 

You sigh and look back at the ground. "Look... It's true, I've been avoiding you, I'm sorry. I swear you haven't done anything to upset me." You manage to get out, and Loki looks at you, hurt.

It breaks your heart to see that you hurt him. But you just can't tell him the whole truth. 

"Why?" Loki says softly, and tears brim both of your eyes. "I can't tell you Loki..." You say, but it doesn't get him to go away.

"We used to tell each other everything Y/n. We've been friends forever. I promise you can tell me anything. It won't change our relationship." He pleads, but you shake your head. If only he knew...

"Loki, you don't understand. It would ruin our friendship." You try to explain, but he shakes his head. "I promise you Y/n, it won't. I know what you're thinking, it's the same thing that I thought when I told you I was a frost giant. But, you didn't care, did you?" 

You chuckle, remembering the night he told you. He was a jumbled mess, completely scared that you would hate him for it. Of course, you could care less. Honestly, he made the best ice cube for hot, sticky days. 

You contemplate your choices in your head. If you told him, it risked your friendship. If you didn't tell him? Well, it also risked your friendship. 

"I-" You start, trying to sort out your words. Loki nods you on. "Loki... Loki I think I love you." You manage to spit out, surprising yourself that you could speak at all. 

Alarm bells sounded in your head. You start to panic, all the worst scenarios whizzing through your mind faster than your racehorse. What if he doesn't feel the same? What if he hates you for it? What if he tells the Allfather and you get thrown out of-

Your thoughts are interrupted by his lips meeting yours gently for a soft kiss. You look up at him in surprise, and find him smiling down at you. 

"Y/n L/n, do you know how long I've been waiting those words to leave that gorgeous mouth of yours?" He asks, chuckling. "What- What do you mean?" You ask, not processing all of what's happening.

"I thought I made it obvious, but I've always loved you Y/n. I'll always love you." He says, and you become a blushing mess. 

"So, do you just think you love me, or do you love me?" He asks slyly, and you playfully punch his chest. "Ouch!" He pretends you really hurt him and dramatically puts his hand on his forehead and falls to the ground. 

"Someone help! Lady Y/n is a thief and has injured me!" He fake cries, and you kneel to the ground laughing. "And how am I a thief?" You ask. "You stole something from me!" He exclaims, trying not to laugh. You raise your eyebrow at him. 

"What exactly have I stolen my prince?" You ask, trying not to burst out in laughter again. 

He looks you right in the eye and smiles. "My heart." You laugh and roll your eyes, lying down and letting your head rest against Loki's chest. You look up at the ceiling of the palace, studying the golden patterns. 

Loki's hands start to ruffle your hair, and a smile creeps up onto your face. "I love you Loki." You whisper, but Loki hears it. "I love me too." He replies, and you turn around and playfully slap him. "Ow! Okay Okay I love you!" He chuckles.

You gaze into each others eyes before you bring your head down to his for another kiss.

[toasttt11]

oh

December 4, 2022

Livia was sitting on the couch with Kate, both sitting in robes and their hair in braids with a hair mask in, with a clay face mask on their faces and Kate was working on Livia’s nails.

Tyler was sitting next to them leaning his head back on the couch and had his cucumbers still on his eyes.

Livia has been adored by the couple since she met them and at least once a month usually a few times a month they always have a spa night and just gossip.

Livia also loves to babysit their three dogs when the two want to go on a date night and the two will always come home and find her fast asleep on the couch with their dogs cuddled around Livia.

“Soooo!” Tylee singsonged as he leaned up and caught the cucumbers that fell off his face and tossed them into his mouth.

Kate and Livia shared an exasperated look but both turned to Tyler.

“When are you going to put poor johnny out of his misery and tell him you’re in love with him.” Tyler looked extremely curious as he blunty asked Livia.

The whole team very quickly picked up on the fact Wyatt is completely in love with Livia, it was extremely easy to realize and he is always following her around like a puppy in love.

But the team could also tell Livia was also just in love with Wyatt, meaning they have seen her speak more words to him in one day than she had said to all of them in her first month in Dallas.

Also how they both of them are always touching each other and Wyatt and Livia are always found cuddling with each other and always both fast asleep.

Livia choked on her own breath and her eyes widening so much they nearly looked like they were going to pop out.

Kate winced in sympathy and gently rubbed Livia’s back as she tried to catch her breath again.

“What! Me and Wy are just friends.” Livia quickly spluttered out still looking completely shocked.

Tyler let out a booming laugh, “You don’t actually think that.” Tyler slowly stopped laughing when he saw Livia’s face, “You don’t actually think that do you?” Tyler looked extremely incredulous.

“We’re just friends.” Livia protested shrugging back.

“She’s joking.” Tyler shook his head in disbelief and then looked at his girlfriend, “She’s joking right?”

“Do you like him?” Kate gently questioned Livia, turning her full attention to the young girl.

“He’s my best friend.” Livia simply answered and avoiding the question.

“That’s not an anwser.” Tyler piped in and Kate shot him a stern look not wanting to overwhelm Livia too much, especially when it’s obvious she’s pretty confused.

“Liv do you like Wyatt?” Kate gently asked once more giving her an encouraging smile.

Livia blanched looking extremely overwhelmed and confused at the same time, “I uh don’t know.” Livia stuttered out truthfully she never let herself think to much about the idea of liking Wyatt never wanting to mess anything up.

“Alright how about this, i’ll ask you some questions and you see if Wyatt does that to you?” Kate softly suggested and Livia nodded in agreement

“Do you get butterflies around him? like your stomach turns into knots and it makes you nervous but the good nervous?” Kate gently grabbed Livia’s hand and gently rubbed her knuckles comforting

Sixteen year old Livia and Wyatt were each other prom dates and Livia had a dark green dress that had long puffy mesh sleeves and Wyatt had an all black suit with a matching tie and pocket square to her dress

Wyatt gently clipped on the botuiner on her dainty wrist, the flowers matched the two perfect.

Wyatt was having the time of his life being able to go to prom with the girl he’s been in love with for years he looked back up and gently brushed back a baby hair off of her forehead and gave her a fond smile.

Livia didn’t understand why at the time her stomach was turning but she felt extremely excited and her cheeks were burning.

“Does he make you feel safe?” Kate added watching Livia closely.

Livia was tense as she stood with the team by the bar, all she wanted was to go home and get some sleep especially with her ribs hurting from the hit she got that night.

Wyatt looked over trying to find her and saw how tense she was and the pinch between her eyebrows that only shows up when she is uncomfortable.

Wyatt quickly pushed through the crowd quickly and made it right to Livia’s side, he wrapped an arm gently around her shoulder and watch as she tensed before realizing it was him and relaxing into him.

“Wanna go back?” Wyatt’s leaned down and whispered against her ear, and Livia quickly nodded wanting to go home.

She let out a sigh as she relaxed completely against him feeling safe as he led them outside.

“And most importantly does he make you smile?” Kate asked once more.

An eighteen year old Wyatt walked in Livia’s room holding a bag and he frowned at the sight of his best friend looking so sick in bed, she was mostly hidden under the blankets but you could see her bright red nose and glossy eyes.

“Oh Livvy.” Wyatt gently cooed walking over and sitting next to her and gently feeling her forehead that was way too warm.

“Wy.” Livia mumbled her eyes looking up at him pitifully.

“I know i know.” Wyatt mumbled soothingly knowing how much Livia hates being sick.

He set the bag onto her bed, “I got your favorite chicken noodle soup.” Wyatt told her watching as she perked up slightly, “And if you eat most of it i got you chocolate chip cookies.” Wyatt shook the bag of cookies knowing they are her absolute favorite.

“Only if you get under the blanket.” Livia mumbled giving him puppy eyes.

“Like you had to even ask.” Wyatt quipped jack and getting up taking his jacket and shoes off and Livia smiled for the first time since she felt sick and it was all because of her best friend.

“Oh.” Livia breathed out as she realized all these years she has been in love with him.

Kate and Tyler shared a relieved look that they managed to make her figure out her feelings.

[holylulusworld]

Sweet Home Lawrence

Summary: You come back to your hometown.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader

Warnings: angst, past rejection, past unrequited feelings, a/b/o, a/b/o/pack dynamics, best friends brother trope, idiots in love, age gap (4 years), implied claiming/mating

A/N: This story belongs to my pack collection.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

 Weird. Confusing. Scary as hell.

Coming back home after what feels like a whole lifetime is a step back to you. You didn’t make it in the big and busy town. At least not for long.

“Y/N, Y/L/N! Oh my god! You are back?” Damnit, out of all the people Mary Winchester is the one to spot you first the moment you set one foot out of your luxurious car. The one you bought when times were still better for you.

“Mrs. Winchester,” you give her a friendly smile, but wish that she leaves you alone. It’s not that you don’t like her. No. She always was nothing but kind to you. “How have you been?”

“I should ask you the same,” she smiles wildly and wraps you in a hug. “Look at you, you’ve grown even more beautiful.”

You want to protest. In your mind, you’ve never been pretty, not even close. Or else…

“Just look at you, Mrs. Winchester. You haven’t changed at all.”

It’s true. She has some lines on her forehead and fine wrinkles around her eyes, but she’s still the beautiful woman you admired when you were just a teen.

“Now you are flattering me, Y/N,” she tuts. “So, does Sammy already know you are back in town? How about Dean?”

“Sam knows,” you bite your tongue, not wanting Mary to know that you will do anything to avoid seeing Dean Winchester again. “Dean and I didn’t stay in contact, though. I don’t think he’ll even remember his brother’s friend.”

She gasps. “But you were so close back then,” Mary wonders aloud. “I know Dean was elder, but you got along so well. Everyone was rooting for you. The pack was rooting for you.”

“I-what?” you laugh bitterly. “Dean didn’t even give me a second glance. He was all over other omegas all the damn time. He never was interested in me, Mrs. Winchester.”

“Oh-I didn’t know any of this,” she says. “I’m sorry for bringing Dean up. But Sammy will be happy to see you again.”

“I’ll make sure to give him a call,” you weakly reply. The truth is, to avoid meeting Dean, you’ll stay away from Sam too. Even if he didn’t do anything wrong, he’s still Dean’s brother. “I need to get to the house. My uncle said it needs some reparations. I got to check on the list he made.”

“Of course, my dear,” she hugs you again and pats your back. “It was good seeing you again. I hope you didn’t forget that you are always welcome at our home. Come over any time.”

She finally leaves you alone and you can breathe again.

Like hell. You won’t go anywhere near their house. Dean Winchester always had the talent to pop up out of nowhere. You’ll not give him the chance to take you by surprise.

“Electricity is already fixed, heating too,” you sigh. Relived. Your uncle already took care of the most important things. “Wallpapers, floor, new painting. That’s manageable. My furniture will be here soon.”

You look the list up and down. It’s been a while since you moved, and it feels odd being home again.

It doesn’t feel like back then when your parents were still around, and you didn’t care about the future.

Now it is different. Years wasted on a dream you couldn’t reach. Or you did, but not for long.

Like with everything good in your life, your career ended in a mess too.

Engrossed in the to-do list your uncle left on the old kitchen table, you barely hear someone knock at your door.

You get up to open the door, if not, they won’t go away.

“Hello,” you sigh. Someone must’ve told Sam that you are already back. And it certainly wasn’t you. “Sweetheart?”

You open the door, heart dropping to your feet as the wrong brother stands in front of your door. A shudder runs through your body and you instinctively tilt your head in submission as the alpha steps closer.

You can smell it. He’s the new alpha of the pack. The leader.

Why did Sammy not tell you so? You would’ve avoided coming back to Lawrence if only you knew Dean will be the one dictating your life from now on.

“What are you doing here, Dean? I’m barely back in town,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath. It’s bad to mess with the leader.

“Mother said you are back,” he shrugs as you look up at him. “I wanted to come over and say ‘hi. I live over there now.”

He points at the house across the street.

Fuck. No. Dean lives right across the street. He’s the new owner of the large house you always admired. The one with the beautiful backyard and winter garden.

“Uh-hi. As you can see, I’m busy checking on the house,” you wave the list in front of his face. “Can we talk about the rules of the pack later? I’m rather tired.”

“I didn’t want to talk about the rules of the pack.”

“What else do you want to talk about, Dean?” you’re confused about his behavior. He gets a collar out of the pocket of his coat, holding it in front of your face. “I don’t understand.”

“I came here to talk about us, not the rules,” he steps into your personal space and opens the collar. You’re staring at the DW tangling from the collar as he tries to put it around your neck.

“What the fuck!” you push him away, making the alpha growl. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just put a collar around my neck.”

“But we promised each other to mate. I want to make you my omega,” he looks confused and hurt. “Y/N. Sweethart…”

“You want what? Mate me? After you rejected me years ago,” you whimper at the memory. “My family and I had to leave town and the pack. I wanted you to be my alpha and to give me your mark. But you rejected me and paraded around town with Lisa Braeden the other day. I won’t have you anywhere near me.”

“You were only eighteen, Y/N!” he argues, nostrils flaring now. “I was elder. Four years elder. I couldn’t claim you. It would’ve been against our rules. I have always wanted you, but you were so much younger and…Lisa was a distraction, nothing else.”

“My parents mated at the age of sixteen!” you snap at Dean. “This had nothing to do with my age. You only wanted to fuck as many omegas as possible. And look where it got you. A loner without a mate or pups.”

“Y/N, they were both sixteen when they mated,” Dean bites back. He’s hurting as much as you do. “Don’t argue with me, omega. I talked about it with my father and he—”

You whine. “No, you didn’t,” you sniffle now. “How dare you tell John about this…us…I wanted to be yours. But after you had what you wanted, you lost interest…”

“Enough of this,” the alpha cuts you off. “I had to stay away from you. My father said I must wait until we are both more…mature. How should I have known that you and your family will leave town in the middle of the night?”

“I told Sammy where we are going!”

“My father wouldn’t let me leave town,” Dean’s voice grows louder now, making you flinch. He growls and snarl while holding the collar in a tight grip. “The pack decided that I cannot leave until you turn twenty-one. And then…one of the omegas said the kid is my kid. I spent months proving that I didn’t knock her up.”

“You never called, or wrote a letter,” you drop your gaze and shake your head. “You forgot about me as you never wanted me.”

“That’s not true!” he growls loudly. “After the girl admitted the kid isn’t mine, my father got sick…like really sick. I had to help him with the pack. And then, when he got a little better, Sammy said you are about to mate with some other alpha.”

“I never…” you shake your head. “I had a few dates with that guy. He didn’t even get to second base…”

“Sammy lied?” Dean questions.

“Sammy got it wrong,” huffing you look at the collar dangling from his fingers. “Maybe I didn’t correct him.”

“The moment Sammy said you are going to come back, unmated,” Dean purrs low in his throat and steps closer; if that’s even possible,” I looked for the collar and waited…and waited. My heart did somersaults when mom called me this morning.”

“She ratted me out?”

“I would’ve come around earlier, but I bought a new flannel and got you flowers,” he drops his eyes to the collar in his hands. “Fuck. No! I forgot the flowers at home. Wait! I’ll get them for you.”

“Dean…what are we doing here?” you shake your head. “It’s been years. We both changed, and moved on.”

“You’re unclaimed, and I don’t have a mate,” he clears his throat. “Y/N Y/L/N. Omega. I’m here to announce that I’m officially courting you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“I don’t care,” he looks you up and down. “Father is no longer the leader of this pack. I’m the leader and decided you are going to become my omega. Period.”

“You’re a cocky sonofabitch,” you grin as he wraps one arm around your waistline to bring you close to his chest. “I won’t forgive you so easily.”

“I’m gonna make you forgive me really quick,” he dips his head to press a soft kiss on your lips. “I always knew how to make you forgive me for being stupid. Why don’t you invite me in and we can talk about me being stupid.”

“You’re stupid, that’s true.”

“You can be stupid with me,” he murmurs against your lips. “For the rest of your life.”

“I can be with stupid for the rest of your life,” you grin against his lips. “Don’t you remember? You’re so much elder.”

He grunts.

“Let me inside. I wanna have a look around your house again.”

“Again?” you furrow your brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh—uh…your uncle asked me for help. He didn’t have the time to have a look at your house. I made sure the electricity and heating get fixed. I can’t let my omega freeze, right?”

“You could’ve just invited me over,” he hums thoughtfully. “Imagine, a freezing omega, alone in the dark. A strong alpha, who comes to my aid. You missed an opportunity there, Winchester.”

“How about you come to my home tonight? I know you only got a few things with you.”

“Your mother did spy on me, huh?”

“Sweetheart,” he mumbles while brushing his lips over yours again, “come with me. Please. I don’t want to be away from you for another minute. I almost passed out when Sammy said you will come back. I thought that I lost you forever, but here you are.”

“I let him believe that I’m still dating that alpha,” you shrug. “Maybe I didn’t want people to believe that I can’t find an alpha wanting to stick around.”

“I want to stick around,” he nips at your lips. “Please let me stick around.”

“If you order food, I’ll stay at your place for tonight,” you give in, just a little. “But no funny business, Sir. I haven’t seen you for a lifetime…”

Hours later Dean lies wide awake with you in his arms. You’re not wearing the collar, but his mark.

It all happened so fast it appears to be a dream. He can’t believe you ended up mating.

“Warm,” you mumble rubbing your cheek into his chest. “Tired.”

“I know,” he softly kisses your hair. Dean’s heart swells as he knows, you feel safe and comfortable in his arms. Even after all those years, you belong to him. “The pack will get mad.”

“Hmm…” your eyes flutter shut, and you give in to your instinct and the warm feeling spreading through your body. “Dean.”

“It’s alright. They will understand that their leader needed his omega,” Dean whispers as you drift into sleep. “No one will part us ever again…no one…”

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