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oonajaeadira · 1 year

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Nadie Espera un Milagro (No One Expects a Miracle)

Fandom: Narcos / Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Reader: Sassy, confident, American ex-pat female who finds her parents a little tedious and enjoys both her independence and her job as a high-level admin at the DEA. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: era-”appropriate” behavior of men towards women in the workplace (but a lot better than it was, Steve and Javi are actually pretty respectful). Overbearing and slightly infantilizing parents. Author doesn’t know anything about politics or law enforcement.

Summary: When your parents come to visit you at your job in Bogotá, you figure it’s just easier to paint a picture that will put them at ease. The idea is simple. The plan is flawed. The execution is just fluff.

A/N: Written for my Year of Tropes (part of @yearofcreation2023) Fake dating seemed like an easy trope for a busy month, which is why I chose it for February. (Whoops. Happy April!) With all of these tropes I like to challenge myself a little and I feel like the character choice alone for this one was challenge enough for me. Not only do I not know anything about politics and law enforcement, I haven’t written Javier much. And, of all the boys I do write, I feel like he’d be the least likely candidate to participate in and fall for fake dating, so I had to figure out how to make it believable for myself. Which is why there’s more plot than I intended and reader ended up with some backstory. This is season 2 Javi, obviously not canon, and maybe a bit too soft, so sue me for yearning. Yes, reader’s parents are cartoon versions of my own parents, why do you ask?

“Well hey there, sunshine,” a wisp of smoke accompanies Steve’s greeting as he leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle to the side of his desk, leaning over momentarily to stub the cigarette out into a shared ashtray. “We don’t often get the pleasure of a visit–looks like you remember we exist.”

“Ha ha. I could say the same about you. Did you boys finally get your morals whipped into shape, or are you just over the thrill of making me break the law for you every other week?”

There’s a halt in the clack clack clack of Javier’s typewriter as he turns at the sound of your voice. Standing to reach across the desk, he scrubs out his own cigarette, makes a futile attempt to wave away the smoke, and watches you descend the stairs into their working arena. “Hey, Sully,” he smiles like a man not accustomed to it and rests his hands on the waistband of his ridiculously out-of-fashion jeans. “That’s a new dress.”

You flash him a grin and shake your head. “Stop. Don’t waste your flirting on me, Peña. You know I don’t need greasing.”

He only shifts his weight to one hip. There’s no response but a compliant tick of his jaw.

It’s second nature with Javier. He knows he’s good looking. Knows all he has to do is flash those puppy dogs and throw some attention, and ladies will give him anything he wants. You love it and hate it. Hate it because it’s insulting to be targeted for manipulation just because you’re a woman. But you love it because the man is Javier Peña and you’d be lying if you said those big brown eyes weren’t beautiful and you’re happy to have an excuse to have them pointed your way with warmth rather than the chill he reserves for the more bureaucratic workers. It’s a safe kind of crush, the kind you can play with as long as you never expect too much.

Javier’s been stopping by your office since before there was a Steve Murphy, buttering you up and asking for favors–access to a file here, a release stamp there–hell. You’ve expedited more requests on his behalf than all of the upper cabinet combined. And how many times have you distracted the clerk in tapes archives just so Javi could walk by and flash a request form without having it scrutinized for certification?

Every request starts the same, with his awkward little smile and an actual compliment. And every mission accomplished gains you a “Thanks, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Like Anne Sullivan?” you’d asked after the tenth or twentieth time.

“Huh?”

“Anne Sullivan. Hellen Keller’s teacher. The Miracle Worker.”

That caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah. Anne–?”

“Sullivan.”

“Right. I guess you’re an Anne Sullivan. I’d be lost in the dark without you.”

You’d allowed yourself to be charmed. “Careful there, Agent Peña, or you’re gonna make me rather fond of you.”

Nothing makes a grown man blush faster than to out-flirt the flirter. Not that it was hard with Javier. He was adorably miserable at it.

But it was always fun to watch him try…and to periodically beat him at his own game.

Once Steve landed in Colombia, you got two for the price of one. But Murphy knew you could see through his games and didn’t even try. It endeared you to him that he approached you sincerely. And you knew you could always do the same with him.

“As a matter of fact, it IS a new dress,” you chirp, twisting your shoulders one way and then the other, fluttering your lashes and fanning yourself with a hand in a mock display of coy preening. “My parents are flying in tonight and I’m taking them out to dinner.”

“I thought the trade conferences weren’t for a few days,” Steve frowns and shoots a concerned glance at his desk calendar.

“They’re not. But they’re coming through to spend some time with me and tour the city. Mixing business with pleasure. That’s…um…actually why I’m here. I need to cash in a favor.”

Javi chuckles as he settles back into his chair, throwing one heel and then the other onto the desktop. “Time to pay the piper. Name it.”

“Actually,” you cringe, turning to Steve, “I thought I’d ask Murphy here.”

Throwing a surprised but self-satisfied grin over at his partner, Steve puffs out his chest. “Well I guess I can be the hero for the day. Anything you need, sunshine.”

Thankfully Javi seems to feel the need to show he’s not offended and returns to his typewriter to peck out his report. Good. This is an embarrassing enough ask. You don’t really need witnesses to this.

“So, this is going to sound like a big deal but it’s really not. My relationship with my folks is just…complicated,” you assure him, priming the agent for the stupidest thing you’re ever going to ask for in your life. “It would make my and everyone’s life easier if I was seeing someone? Because then my mother wouldn’t bring it up and pressure me and irritate my father, and he wouldn’t worry about me here so much thinking I’m a woman all alone…it’s just…it’s…,” you sigh, irritated. “This is so dumb.”

Clackety clack clack ding whirr. You look up to see Steve gaping at you.

“Are you asking me to pose as your boyfriend?”

Silence. You’re sure if you turned to look over your shoulder, you’d see a frozen Javier, two fingers of each hand hanging above his typewriter like a little T-Rex.

Oh for a trapdoor or hand of god…. Suck it up. They owe you.

“Yup.”

“Uh….”

You expected this. “I’m not asking you to make a show or….they’re coming in tomorrow and I thought if you were here you could just meet them for a second. And if you’re not, I could just point to your desk–”

“Doll,” Steve releases a confused laugh, “I’m married, you know.”

“Yeah, but Connie’s not here. Like I said, they won’t delve. If I just point at a man, they’ll accept it and leave it alone.”

“So you’re going to lie to your parents.”

A confident nod is your first response. “Absolutely. And if you’d met them–when you meet them–you’ll understand why that’s best. Or you won’t. You really won’t get to talk to them long enough to find out. Just give a couple of handshakes, be nice and I’ll move them along. It’s that easy.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve gives a disbelieving shake of the head. “I dunno. I mean, the ruse won’t stand if they mention my name to anyone. Why me? Why not that new guy in the mail room who’s been watching you walk away?”

“Jimmy?” you scoff. “Yeah, no, not my type.”

“Really. Dark hair and pretty blue eyes and a six-pack he doesn’t mind showing off isn’t your type?”

“Wellllll, when you put it that way…sure he’s not your type?” Now it’s Javi’s turn to huff a silent laugh and you give him a conspiratorial smile before rounding back on Steve. “He’s dull, Murphy. My parents know me well enough that I’m not going to go for dull. So take that as a compliment. And he’s a bedpost-notcher. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. I may be lacking in male companionship but I’m not that lonely. Yet.”

Your no-nonsense, shut-em-down tone quiets both of them and for a moment you think you’ve won. But his response makes it obvious you’re going to have to cash in all your chips.

“Still. There are enough single guys around here–”

“Because,” with one hand on the corner of his desk you lean in to conspire even though his partner is three feet away and can obviously hear you, “most of them are a bunch of lazy sit-abouts and you’re always out and busy. It not only paints a good picture, it’s the perfect excuse not to join us for dinner because my mother will do her best to insist. And,” you wheedle, lowering your voice further, “because you owe me.”

“I would counter that I owe you a lot more than he does.” Javi keeps his voice at a stage whisper in mockery of your own and shrugs as you and Steve swivel your gaze to him. “What.”

“Lying to the Assistant Trade Rep of the Western Hemisphere about intimate relations with his daughter sounds like a good time to you? You can have it.” Steve taps your shoulder before pointing at his partner. “He’s not hitched. Why not Javi?”

Rolling your eyes, you stall for time as you try to find a better answer than the truth, but when one doesn’t come, a sigh paves the way. “Because you dress more respectable than he does–”

“Hey.”

“--and my mother is judgy!,” your heartfelt insisting pushes through, doing your best to placate Javi–handsome Javi–who really does know how to keep the last decade’s fashion in fashion. “Javi, you’re lovely and you look good and I don’t want you to change. But my mother is going to take you for a ladies man, which you are, you know you are, and she’s going to pick apart your choices with wanton disapproval which is almost more unbearable for me than not being attached to anyone at all because then I’ll spend hours defending you for nothing–”

Steve and Javi finally break and their sudden laughter shuts you down. It’s all you can do not to give both of them the finger and a good ol’ fuck off.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve says through his trailing amusement, taking his turn now to placate. “Fine. We’ll make ourselves scarce and you can use the imprint of my ass in this chair as proof of warm-blooded human male. But maybe a false name, yeah? Like…Peter or…Harvey or something.”

“Harvey?” Javi scoffs. “How about Dick. Dick Bob Jones.”

“That sounds like a hillbilly name.”

“Yep.” ________

According to your mother, your apartment is “charming,” the streets of Bogotá are “interesting,” and the department headquarters are “surprisingly up to date.” In the car on the way to the office, you managed to dodge most of her questions about your personal life, dropping one-word answers before pointing out the window and explaining certain buildings or neighborhoods.

As promised, Agents Murphy and Peña are out in the field when you walk your parents past their desks on your way through to your own department. “Well,” you wave with half commitment at it and move on, “looks like he’s out doing his job and catching those bad guys. Too bad. Maybe next time.”

The crisis is momentarily averted, but while your father ducks into a nearby restroom, your mother can’t seem to let the matter pass.

“So what does he do then? He’s a cop?”

“I told you. He’s a DEA agent. He’s on the team trying to stop the drug trade from reaching the States. Have you heard of Pablo Escobar?”

She scoffs and looks past you. “Everybody has heard of Pablo Escobar, dear. That naughty man. Oh. Oh! Is that him?”

“Hmm? Escobar?” Following her gaze and turning to look back into the atrium, you’re gifted the sight of tight jeans stretching over a familiar backside and tanned arms yanking open drawers on Steve’s desk, obviously looking for something. “No, Mom, that’s just–”

But before you can correct her, she’s striding over in her Prada heels, ruffled blouse bouncing and pearls clicking, reaching forward into an eager handshake as she interrupts the very visibly hurried agent. “It’s so nice to meet you!” she chirps. “You must be Harvey!”

“Mother–!”

Javi stops digging, having found the warrant he was looking for, looking up in surprise at this forward, fussy, American woman, his lower lip hanging in a soft V, before taking her hand courteously and introducing himself, “Javi.”

“Oh, I knew I was right! The minute I saw you I knew you had to be her Harvey, you’re certainly her type.” Her hospitable countenance flickers only for a second as she takes in his tight shirt. “She says you’re quite the cop.”

“Mom, Javi’s a government agent and–” As you catch up to her, the momentary confusion on Javi’s face melts into understanding spiced with just a hint of amusement. “--and, as you can see, he’s in a hurry so–”

“It’s okay,” he beams, continuing to shake your mother’s hand. “I can take a minute to meet the woman who raised mi milagra.”

What.

Something in your brain hits the panic button and your mother chatters on to him as your backup generators whir into gear. He gives her his full attention, smiling as she babbles about how proud she and your father are of you and how nice it is that you’ve found someone to spend time with and…did he just say–

“We’ve got a lead on a collaborator and I was just ducking in to grab some paperwork,” he explains, waving the warrant in one hand. But his other hand– “What a lucky coincidence” –dips behind you– “that you happened to stop by,” –slides across your back– “because my girl here has told me so much about you,” –settles on your hip– “ma’am,” –and pulls you flush to his side.

It’s a smirk. A smirk that he has the brazen balls to grace you with then, and it’s hard to tell if he’s fucking with you or if he’s just really enjoying being your hero and sharing a joke that only the two of you know about.

And it’s equally hard to tell if you’re about to laugh or swear or….melt… he’s holding you so tightly and he smells like cigarettes and his surprisingly light cologne… his shirt is damp, your blouse is damp, it’s a humid day and you’re sticking together a bit and he wears such fitted clothes and one of his few buttons is strained enough to give you a peek at his smooth chest beneath…

“Well, if you have to go, Harvey, I don’t want to distract you from your work, but my husband is using the facilities and he’ll be sorry to have missed you. Will you be working all evening? Why don’t you come join us for dinner! You know how well my daughter cooks and she’s making her carbonara for us–”

“Mom–”

“Your carbonara?” Javi questions you before turning back to your mother and squeezing you tighter against himself, causing you to stumble closer. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Her delight is evident. “Oh wonderful!”

“If you’ll excuse me though, my partner’s waiting. I’ll see you tonight, honeybunny.”

The world tingles a moment as a mustache and warm lips bush your temple and then you’re watching broad shoulders and slim hips swagger away from you and up the stairs.

Honey…bunny? Honeybun–

Fuck.

“Javi! Wait!” You hold up a hand as you pass your mother. “Stay here for a second, I have to…I forgot to tell him… uh…”

He stops at the top of the stairs, leaning in, anticipating your quiet brand of ire. “Your mom’s sweet.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“What. Seems to be going well, I mean, apparently, I am your type, so it all works out. I think that performance down there earned me a dinner. I fucking love a good carbonarra.” The glare you serve him loses its bite under his soft smile lacking in any sarcasm or hazing. This is the Javi you know, the conspirator that finds you working late at night and is grateful for your help in the file room or in the microfiche lab, the one that noticed yesterday that your dress was new. Doing you a favor. What else would you expect? “If you want, I’ll wear baggier pants.”

“No, just…” you sigh. “I should give you my address–”

There’s a thing he does with his smile, something that gets you every time, a little jaw tick that comes with a quick downward bounce of the eyes and a single shake of the head. “Don’t need it. I know.”

“Okay, but…. Wait. What?” You call after him as he trots toward the door.

“I’ll come hungry!” _____

“Sir,” Javi bobs his head in reverence as he meets your father’s handshake. It’s above and beyond your requests, as is the cleanup of the five-o-clock shadow, the change to his black button up shirt, and his showing up on time. And in true commitment to the bit, he didn’t even knock, just came in and found his way to the dining area like he spends most of his time in your apartment.

“Good to meet you, Javi.”

“Dear,” your mother chirps from her watchful eye at your shoulder by the stove, “it’s Harvey.” She doubts herself. “It is Harvey, isn’t it?”

Completely disregarding your mother’s interjection, your dad gestures to a spot across from him at your modest dining table set for four and offers him a packet. “Sit down, sit down, agent. Smoke?”

“Ah,” Javi falters, and when you turn your head to your shoulder, you catch him checking in with you out of the corner of your eye. “She…doesn’t let me light up in here.”

“No? Heh. Well. I don’t know how she does it but it’s always been her way or no way. I see she’s worked her magic on you.”

“That’s for sure.”

You can’t help but smile as you give the noodles another good swirl in the pot and set the spoon on the counter. That little display just earned him a treat. Pulling out two glasses from the cabinet, you give a generous pour of the whiskey you picked up on the way home especially for him and bring them over to the table without a word for the two men.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” hums your father.

Javi glances at the glass, then up at you and your cocked eyebrow that queries him don’t I get a ‘thank you sweetheart’ from you too?

But oh, he came to play.

Ignoring the glass and taking your hand, his thumb skips across your knuckles. “You need any help, hon?”

There’s a microsecond between you where laughter is very very possible. The game is on. So you up the stakes by pushing a little curl of black hair behind his ear before trailing your fingers down to pinch his chin. “No, baby. You just relax and enjoy yourself.”

The smallest flush of pink and flash of panic that you catch on him as you turn away (only because you’re looking for it) tells you that you’ve won this round.

Back at the stove, your mother’s taken over, having drained the noodles and now attempting to pour the sauce into the noodle pot rather than your tried-and-true method of bringing the pasta to the sauce pan.

“Mom! Could you not–”

You see it coming a second too late, the sauce hasn’t thickened properly and a good portion of it misses the pot and splashes onto her blouse.

There’s commotion, a shriek and an overreaction, and you reach for a towel to catch the sauce before it stains, but the towel is dirty with spills and bacon grease and you’re both trying to keep the sauce pot from toppling off the stove. “Just…hold still, Mom, here…let me get a clean towel–”

“I’m on it,” Javi jumps up, heading down the hallway.

Great. Here’s another thing splitting your attention from timing the sauce. “Javi??” you call, “The towels are–”

“I know! The cabinet behind the door!”

How did he….doesn’t matter. The woman who raised you is in need of someone to mother her at the moment and you’re doing your best to calm her down before she causes even more of a mess. In a matter of moments, your stand-in man is back with a hand towel and you join her at the sink to help her dab it off.

“Oh, well this is just dandy,” she whines. “Now I have to sit here in a wet blouse in nice company…”

“It’s fine, Mom. You can wear one of mine.”

“The pink one or the blue? She can change in the bedroom,” Javi gestures, offering to show the way. “Ma’am?”

“Uh…the…blue….” This time you don’t have time to veil your shocked and confused expression. If Javi truly notices it as your mom swans by him, he doesn’t let on.

The rest of the evening is uneventful and pleasant, your father and Javi carrying most of the conversation as the older man drills the agent on the particulars of the cartels and Escobar’s influence with his communities, how it’s affecting customs and trade, and what that means for the conference your father is here to attend in his duty to the Trade Rep.

After a couple of hours, he makes it known that it’s time to get back to the hotel, that he has an early morning as his boss is flying in.

“Already? Dear! You boys spent all this time talking shop and I have all kinds of questions for Haaavi.”

“Well, my bride, you’re just going to have to wait to satisfy your curiosity. I’m sure it will keep.”

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Javi asks just as you take a sip of water and try your best not to choke on it. “If you’d like to try some of the local specialties, I know a place not far from here. Sancocho to die for, made fresh every day.”

The fire in your eyes is shielded, soft, but directed straight at the side of his face, hot enough that he can surely see it from his periphery if not feel the flames. The corner of his mustache rises the smallest fraction of an inch.

“That sounds a real treat, son,” your father says, rising and crushing Javi’s shoulder in a squeeze. “Tomorrow night then.”

Javi joins you at the front window when they leave so you can wave them off, having the balls to wrap his arm around your shoulder as you do. Once their car pulls away into the night though, he retracts it and ambles back to the table, gathering up a few stray plates and taking them to the sink. “Well, that went well.”

When you don’t answer, he turns to find you with a level expression and your arms folded across your chest. “What was that?”

He has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“We are going to address tomorrow night in a minute, but I’d love for you to explain to me why you know the location and the layout of my apartment, Agent Peña.”

Now he catches up, nodding slowly and returning to you at the window. With one hand on a hip and the other pointing to the nearest streetcorner, he explains, “Did you see that car that pulled out of there after your parents? Security. I sat in a car in that exact spot for three weeks after you were appointed to the agency. Couple days while you were at work,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the apartment as a whole, “I spent quite a few hours in here on a deep scan for taps.”

Now it’s your turn to carry the surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Standard procedure for government employees to be shadowed for a probationary period, eliminates the suspicion of inside involvement. You got a deluxe security detail treatment on top of it because…well. Your…family’s connection to Washington.”

He’s kind enough to wait for you to process this. “Wait. You mean,” peering outside at the location he indicated, noting the straight-line view into your living room, “you watched me? For three weeks???”

He turns back in search of his glass. “You dance when you’re happy. You could stand to be happy more often.” Giving you the time it takes for him to pour another finger of whiskey to stew over this, to grind through the gears of your mind and work out if you might have done anything embarrassing under the gaze of the DEA, he finally assures you, “Don’t sweat it. You’re usually a stickler for keeping your curtains closed. It was about as uneventful as a watch is possible to be.”

“So this is what they pay their agents to do? Babysit a government employee’s daughter? That seems below your pay grade.”

He downs the drink and shrugs. “I was lower on the pole back then.”

“Not that low.” But then…. The jaw tick presents itself again. His lack of eye contact confirms a sudden suspicion. “My…father paid for it.”

His nod hangs silent and sorry between you.

Independence. That’s why you took this job. Something you thought you could do on your own without your father’s help, run away from America, go live abroad and work somewhere new, somewhere exotic. How naive to think–for three years now–that you’ve done all this on your own.

The embarrassment burns.

Javi slowly runs a finger over a plate, raising a dollop of sauce to his tongue. “This is good. You’re a hell of a cook, Sully.”

It’s meant to lift your spirits, make you feel accomplished at something in your life. It’s appreciated.

“Thanks. It’s not that complicated.” Moving past him into the kitchen, you pick up your tongs from the counter and quietly start heaping half of the leftover meal into a bowl. “What’s this place you’re taking us to tomorrow? You’ve seen what a holy terror my mom is about food.”

He comes to lean against the refrigerator. “Dos Rosas Cocina.”

“I know it. Good choice. Atmosphere’s… rustic, but the food’s amazing.” Tying the bowl up in a clean towel and placing it in his hands, you sigh, all the stupid, terrible tension you didn’t know you were holding this evening seeping its way out. “I can’t believe you’re electing to spend more time on this little act.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t remember thanking you, but thank you.”

“What’s this?”

“Leftovers. Lunch. Enjoy.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You’d better.”

Later, after the dishes are done and the leftovers stowed, you curl up on the couch with the novel you’re battling your way through. But not a single page is turned. An hour goes by as you think through the interviews and steps you took to get this job, to land your working visa, to find this apartment in a nice part of town, how easy it had all seemed at the time, how accomplished you’d felt. And then there was that little look of realization and regret in Javi’s eye. That he knew. That he was the one that slipped and let you figure it out, that he never told you before. That nobody told you before. Had you come off as stupid in that moment? Innocent? Naive?

You need to confront your father about it. Probably not tomorrow, not in front of Javi. But soon.

Dammit.

You’re not getting any reading done so you turn off the light and head to bed.

Your pajamas are folded and the bed’s been meticulously remade.

Of course.

No wonder it took longer than it should have for your mother to change her blouse.

How is it you get to be a grown ass adult and your parents will never see you as anything but their little girl, even at this age?

________

“Soooooo, how’d you two meeeeet?”

Having arrived early at Dos Rosas Cocina, Javi already has a drink in him, so your mother’s question earns a contented smile. “Well–”

“At work, Mom. Obviously at work.”

It’s not a lie. It was at your desk. He needed something notarized and your new stamp hadn’t arrived yet so he wrote his direct extension on your desk pad, asked you to ring him when it did. You remember thinking that his eyes wandered too much but couldn’t be mad when you realized yours must have too if your first impression was that his pants were a good fit.

Later that night you’d come here, to the Cocina, charmed by its walls lined with picture frames full of the owner’s ancestors and descendants, how it seemed to be the center of time itself reaching backward in it’s colorful mountain-style decor and forward in its state of the art cashier’s computer and cd jukebox.

The owner had served your meal himself and sat down to chat with you, to practice his English, he said. It was a slow night and you had nowhere to be and he put you at ease right away.

“Dos Rosas,” he explained, “it means two roses. You see the sign? One red, one white. You know what it means?”

You shook your head and smiled, mouth full of some heavenly empanada.

“The red rose is for love. The white rose for friendship. Dos Rosas is a place my father made where he wanted guests to come with love and friendship.” And then he produced a single white rose, slipping it into the vase on the table. “For your luck. You are welcome here, friend. Someday you will bring someone who will share a red one with you, si?”

It had been a favorite place ever since.

Javier had been there that night too, now that you remember it. Sitting in the dim corner away from the basket lamps, nursing a beer and a plate of arepas, the curtain of his cigarette smoke nearly hiding him from view. Back then he was just the agent who needed some papers stamped and who just happened to be at the same restaurant that night.

Hindsight and new information reframes the nearly-forgotten memory now. Of course. He must have been tailing you then.

“I think,” Javi says as he drapes an arm across the back of your cane chair and leans in, “she understands where, milagra. But what she wants to know is that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Your response comes with a sweet smile that hides a challenge. “I know. You watched me for three weeks straight.”

“And then some.” He doesn’t let your jab throw him off the act. “And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her.” On the contrary, he hooks a foot around the leg of your chair and yanks it closer to his own, effectively throwing you against his chest. “She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

The clench of your stomach, the cold wave of your blood pressure dropping, every method your body has to signal and react to danger begins to take over as Javi keeps you locked from pulling away with one arm, hazy smile inches from your face, his heavy-lidded gaze dropping to your mouth.

A warm hand folds gently over one of your own, floating it upward, his fingertips guiding your palm until he ducks his head half an inch to meet your knuckles to his lips. Big brown eyes beg at you and that cold wave rebounds now as a hot tsunami.

And all you can do is stare, stare at this display of tenderness that seems so very unlike the Javier Peña you know. Gone is the indifferent agent, the shielded ego, the preference for solitary. As his kiss lingers on your hand just a second longer than necessary, you get a glimpse behind the curtain to the man beyond. For one moment you witness a vulnerability and care, a fleeting tease of what it must be like to have his perfect attention, his devotion. It’s literally breathtaking.

And then something in him stalls, shifts, as if he notices the same in you.

Is he going to kiss you? Should you kiss him? Right here in front of your mother? Why is he so warm? What is that amazing cologne? Is his shirt unbuttoned further than usual? Is that a cymbal roll in the music coming from the jukebox or is that your blood rushing in your ears? Does he always breathe this forcibly? How have you never noticed that little crease in his bottom lip or realized just how dark his eyes were?

Just as his tongue flicks forth to wet his lips, your father returns from the phone booth in the back.

“Well, false alarm. Seems the ambassador just had some bad fish, but it’s passing. Conference is still on.”

Oblivious to your predicament and drawing your mother’s attention, he’s happy to answer her questions regarding the type of fish and how long it was prepared, and she offers her wisdom to nobody in particular as to preventing such a thing as food poisoning. Neither of them notice as you slowly twist yourself out of Javi’s loosening clutches and both of them obviously assume your hasty retreat has more to do with wanting to powder your nose than calm your racing heart.

The restroom is one small room, looking like a much older sibling to the restaurant itself as if it had been built first and the rest of the building added later. You count fifteen cracks in the wall over the solitary, rust-stained toilet before a knock falls on the door, momentarily spiking your softening anxiety. It’s an old man’s voice enquiring in Spanish if you’d fallen in.

You’re far from convinced that you’re ready to face or deny whatever’s going on in your heart. But you wash your hands–one of them still stubbornly holding the tingle of Javi’s lips and mustache against it–surrender the room, and find your way back to the table where the man who is not your boyfriend leans forward on his elbows, spinning stories for your parents.

“But we’re zeroing in on him now. He’s made more than a few mistakes and we’ve just barely caught them by turning around at the right second. It’s only a matter of time.”

A smile pulls wide over your father’s face as he leans back in his chair. “That’s what I like to hear. Damn, son. I admire your tenacity. We’re lucky we have talented young men like you down here catching the bad guys.”

“And we’re also lucky to have you here looking after our daughter,” your mother helps.

“Thanks, Mom, I can take care of myself. I mean, that is,” To one side, you feel Javi’s focus tilt your way, “as long as Dad’s willing to pay for it, I guess.”

Silence blankets the table as the waiter sets down four bowls of sancocho, a plate of flatbread, a candle, and a red rose in a vase in front of you all before hastily retreating.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Staring at the rose and trying to sort out your thoughts, you’re not sure why you chose this moment to bring up the subject. Maybe your body is just in fight or flight mode and perhaps you’re diverting your fluster to this deep-seated frustration. Something is shaking the cage of your heart and wants out, wants to cause some damage–

–but Javi’s hand comes to a gentle rest on your knee, soothing whatever savage beast had awakened, somehow turning frustration and fear into calm strength instead.

“I know about the money, Dad. I appreciate the help, I really do. But it’s okay. You don’t have to pay anyone to babysit me and pull strings just to make my life easier here. I came to Colombia to challenge myself. I can’t do that if you’re sneaking in and slapping training wheels on me all the time.”

For a split second it looks as if he’s going to deny it, play dumb. Instead, he softens.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ll have to forgive me. Your mother and I can’t help but look out for you. It’s what we’ve done all your life. It’s a hard habit to break.”

The confirmation stings, but you can’t deny that you set yourself up for it. “Did you do the same for Kennie?”

“Your sister has a husband and a family. She doesn’t need us to look after her anymore.”

A frustration wells up inside, burning, humiliating, full of futility. It doesn’t matter what you accomplish, how many times you have to prove yourself, they’re just not going to change. They’re never going to overcome what their generation has held as truth all their lives, even past the recent wave of feminism and push for equality. They’ll never ever see you as complete unless there’s a man involved. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.

And perhaps that’s the conclusion that makes Javi’s actions feel like the only heroic course as he rubs a side hand over your back and explains, “Sir, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s capable. Thriving. She’s in no danger here. If there were any threat at all, she could hold her own. And even so, I’d do my best to make sure trouble never came near her.”

“Oh, Haaavi. You’re so good to her. She’s so lucky to have you.”

With a defensive flick of a hand, he continues. “It’s not luck, ma’am. And it’s not goodness. It’s simply part of my job. Even if she was nothing to me but another clerk that’s too smart and too bold for her position, I’m an agent first. As a U.S. citizen and employee of the DEA, I’m going to put her life before my own. With all due respect–and I’m sorry to be so blunt–but to doubt that she or any American isn’t safe here is an insult to Colombia, to me, and all government agents on a professional level.”

The hard drag of conviction in his tone. The realization on your parents’ faces. The understanding sinking in. The steadying warmth of his arm around you.

“But she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need anyone. Most self-sufficient and confident woman I’ve ever known. I’m the lucky one; lucky she’s bored enough to keep me around. Must be for entertainment.”

Wow.

And all at once, you regret that you hadn’t taken the chance to kiss Agent Javier Peña. ________

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride back to her apartment, son? It’ll be faster.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’d like to walk her home.”

Javi takes your hand in his, waving at your parents with the other, and quietly pulls you away from the car window down the dark street toward your place.

Half a minute later he’s still silent. And still holding your hand.

It feels awkward not to let go. And yet rude to do so. So you find a middle ground and squeeze instead, “Thank you. For that. Back there. I hate that I have no power to convince them of my autonomy on my own, but I think they just needed to hear it from…”

Who? A man? A government employee? A “cop”? A workaholic who is cranky most of the time because he disregards his own health and safety and refuses to sleep in his never-ending quest to quash every last cokeslinger within a thousand-mile area?

His nod and squeeze in return says he knows. “You know it’s love, right?”

Your heart trips over his words. “What?”

“Your parents love you. Doesn’t matter how old you get. Doesn’t matter how far you run. Doesn’t matter how long the flight is and how repulsive they find the local guaro, they’re gonna love you.”

In the shared laughter that follows, your hands naturally part and you double over, remembering the look on your mother’s face after tasting the aniseed liquor Javi ordered for her.

“It was so beautiful!” you crow. “She tried so hard to smile and be polite…and the tears! You could almost see the fumes pushing out of her tear ducts!!!”

“It broke my heart to do it to her, but she insisted I order for her–!”

It’s not often you see Javi laugh and smile–really smile–with unrestrained joy. Playful smirks, weary grins, the occasional shy blush perhaps, yes. But it’s not until this moment that you see him genuinely happy. It takes years off him, as if he’s shed responsibility like a coat and gone skinny-dipping into life for a minute. His eyes crinkle deeply when he truly smiles, they shine and sparkle. Like stars on this dim street.

The giggles and chuckles continue as you near your block and it’s in a resurgence of his that he casually just reaches out and takes your hand again, as if dropping it had been a little mistake that needed correcting.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so awkward. It should be, but it’s not. It’s like you both decided it doesn’t have to be and yet, it doesn’t have to mean anything either. If anything, a shared happiness. A familiarity.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Hmm?” His attention is slowly returning to the street, constantly scanning, every second a chance to gather information, find the next piece of the druglord puzzle.

“This. Being the perfect boyfriend. Having someone’s parents just think the god’s ass of you for once. Playacting chivalry.”

That last bit sobers him. “Yeah, well, at least I can put on a good show.”

There’s something in the response that rings…tired. You’ve hit on some old hurt, some buried regret. Knowing Javi, addressing it would only cause him to close off and dig it in deeper.

“Well, I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m getting good value for all of the favors I’ve done for you and prettyboy Murphy. You’re good at this. A girl could get used to it. That story you told my mother about how we met? Let nobody tell you that you don’t go above and beyond in every way, Agent Peña.”

You can’t see the little grin that pulls at the far corner of his mouth, but you know it’s there. An eyebrow cocks. “So you’re saying my tab’s clear? I can put in a new order to the miracle worker?”

“Order up,” you laugh. “After all, now that I know Dad’s pulling strings, who’s gonna fire me? Bring your worst shenanigans!”

It doesn’t have quite the reaction you expect from him and he stops just short of the steps to your apartment building, deep grooves forming between his brows. “You know, it’s not unusual; landing any job has a lot to do with who you know. Keeping it is the part that’s all you. Even if you didn’t get it on your own, you still made it your own.” When you can’t seem to meet his eyes, his tone softens. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of here. Why did you feel like you had to perfect some image of your life by toting me around?”

Flustered, you scoff and jump at the chance to dodge the question. “I’ll have you remember that I asked Steve, not you. You’re the one that jumped at a free meal.” It doesn’t work. His stance demands an honest answer, his face says it’s required more for your sake than his. “It’s… a long story. There are checkboxes in my family… my sister got married and had kids and I never did. I never really felt it was important… or that anyone would put up with my attitude. i’m not exactly the picture of perfect wife material. I mean, of course I’d like to find someone someday, but it’s never been the main goal… but my parents–”

“I couldn’t do it,” he says. Not an agreement; an admission. Simple. “I walked away from the altar. Left her standing. It just felt like there was a responsibility there to be ‘the husband’, and–like you said, same thing–check off the boxes. I didn’t know if I could check off the same ones everyone else thought were necessary.”

It takes a moment to say anything. To move past the fact that he’s just confided a piece of his past and his personal life to you. That he’s let you in. It explains a little about why he doesn’t get close to anyone, why he prefers feminine relations without hangups. Which makes this admission very weighted and precious. You see that he trusts you not to judge. And perhaps it’s his way of letting you know that you’re not alone in dodging the tried-and-true life path.

“Everyone had expectations. You thought you couldn’t be a good husband. So you ran away to join the DEA because you knew you could do that spectacularly.”

Now it’s him that can’t look at you. “I wouldn’t say that I’m doing that well–”

“Javi.” That catches his eye. “You’re a damn good agent. I know you’re going to get the job done. Why the hell do you think I’ll jump at the chance to break every rule in the goddamn department to help you do it? Like I said. Who’s gonna fire me now if I do?” Something shifts in him, like he’s been slapped or sharply woken. As if it’s something he’s been needing to hear and didn’t have the right person to tell him. You’re suddenly honored to be that for him. He needs it. And so you gift him a little more. “Obviously you don’t have to do everything by the book to be good at something. Look at the past couple of days. Thank you for being nice to my folks. And for the encouragement. That’s all it takes sometimes, you know? You’ve been a damn good stand-in boyfriend. Your little stunts included, you asshole. That’s what made it fun. I’m sure you would have been a great husband.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it with a tick of his jaw. Regrouping, he gives you a pained look to say, “I’m sorry that you feel you were lied to…with the surveillance and all. And that’s how you found out. I meant what I said back there, Sully.” He swallows. “All of it.”

It’s so serious and vulnerable, an obvious effort for him to say. He’s a good man, Javi. You’ve read the reports. You’ve heard the rumors. He may keep others from getting too close, may come off as flippant and impatient or pour his focus into his work. But his moral center is pointed in the right direction and he’s the first person to discard his own needs in favor of someone else.

It’s probably what overwhelms him–caring about others but not allowing anyone to care for him–bubbles up so far that he has to visit his girls to vent it. He says they’re his informants, everyone’s heard that, but nobody buys that’s all it is. He needs to be cared for, but the money keeps him safe, keeps the lines drawn. It’s an exchange he can allow himself to make.

Something about that suddenly twists your heart. You could ask him in. You could take care of him. It’s tempting. It’s what he needs.

But you’re not sure if the inevitable fallout and distancing is what you need right now. It would be too easy to want him to stay.

It’s fine to fall in love just a little with Javier Peña, as long as you don’t expect too much.

Instead, you squeeze his hand. Big and warm and gun-callused. “I know you did. Good night, hero. Thank you.”

He lets you go, this transaction settled. Doesn’t ask anything more. As you expected. The perfect gentleman. When he puts his mind to it.

________

You’ve lost count of your yawns.

Even though you brought leftover carbonara for lunch the following day, you need to escape. There’s twice as much work with the ambassador’s conferences, more calls coming through and the agents and policia all have their regular requests. And you didn’t sleep soundly the night before; something whining at the back of your mind, like something forgotten or missed… Every form and file feels like an effort and you’re just so out of it. If your mother were to stop by and take you out to lunch–a real possibility–that would just be too much.

Half an hour in the outdoor cafeteria should help, even if it’s another hot day. Air and sunshine are usually good revitalizers. And you can hide in the crowd.

Or so you thought. Just as you’re settling in with a bowl of rice and veggies, a long shadow falls across your bench and you look up to see broad shoulders and dark hair.

But the eyes you meet are blue.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Well hey there. Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for an answer he perches on the bench next to you with his sandwich and starts talking. About nothing. About the heat. How it’s hot here, how it was hot back home in Arizona but nothing like the hot here. Humidity. Dry heat. Sweat. How he once baked a cookie on the dash of a car parked in the sun. How he never understood the calculations between fahrenheit and celsius, just that one is higher and one lower. Something about mercury in thermometers.

You stop listening after a minute and just chew and smile and nod. You’re not that lonely. Yet.

There’s a little old man who sells flowers from a bucket, sets up a little stall on the sidewalk across the other end of the courtyard. He’s out here most days. He’s out here today. Carnations, chrysanthemums, birds of paradise, roses…

You should get some flowers for your desk. Something nice. Might wake you up a little. You watch absently as the flower man speaks to someone in a tan shirt. A man with dark hair like so many others here. He looks like Javi from the back.

You’d rather not think about Javi’s back. Or front. Or deep brown eyes.

So you listen to Jimmy ramble for a while before he finally asks you a question.

“Don’t you think it’s hot?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s hot.” _______

“I’ll take one red and one white, por favor.”

The little old flower man’s smile is even warmer up close.

On your way back into the office you muse that you’ll put the roses in a vase and let them decide for you, depending on which one lasts longer. Do you really feel the need to entertain the possibility of infatuation? Or can you be content with the easy friendship you have?

But upon arriving at your desk, you find that your little bouquet will be unbalanced and one of the two choices will have twice the advantage.

There’s already a red rose laying on the credenza.

Next to a bowl that held carbonara leftovers when last you saw it.

And a note. Fast scratches on a torn piece of yellow steno paper. Probably from the ripped piece on your desk. Next to your pen.

“I meant all of it, Sully.”

Suddenly the clack of keyboards and whine of printers and ring of phones fades away. You lift the little note to read it again. “All of it.” As if the words aren’t enough, as if you need more empirical evidence–or maybe because it was with the flower–for some odd reason you bring it close to your nose only to confirm what you knew you’d smell there.

Rose. And cigarettes.

All of it? That’s the last thing he said last night. I meant what I said back there, Sully. All of it.

It had been a heartening thing to hear, reinforcing how he would protect and serve, how he thought you were competent and confident, but why remind you now–

Oh.

Oh. Not just that part.

All of it.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her. She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

Suddenly you understand what was keeping you awake last night.

The look on his face as he stood by your steps. The way he rethought the words before he spoke. It wasn’t easy for him. He tried to tell you and you just…

All of it.

You just thanked him and walked away.

He’s been…this whole time…he’s…

“Darling?”

Yanked from one confusion to another, you turn to find your mother rounding your desk–even though you told her not to, that only government officials are supposed to be around your files–coming to take your hand.

“Your father and I are going on a tour of the city with the Representative. I dropped by to see if you’d like to join us.”

“Hi Mom. No… no, thanks. I’m…swamped today. I’m sorry.”

She coos, worriedly. “Are you alright? You seem tired. Those are pretty…”

Blinking down at the roses in your hand and stepping slightly to the side to shield her view of the third on your credenza, you agree, “Yeah, just tired today. It’s the heat. Here,” handing her the flowers, you smile. “The red one is for you. Please give the white one to the Representative’s wife. I hope you have a nice tour.”

“Oh. Thank you, dear…but…how did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t. There’s a nice old man who sells them. Sometimes I buy some to cheer up my desk.”

“You’re buying your own flowers? We should stop by Haavi’s desk and tell him he needs to do that for you.”

“Oh. No need. He does.”

Once she’s on her way, you swing out to the atrium, but find Steve and Javi’s desks unoccupied. There was talk of a situation on the east side of the old town, no doubt the whole department will be out most of the afternoon.

Good. Maybe you can get some work done.

Still carrying the note, you flip it over on Javi’s desk and scribble five words with the same pen–

You know where I live.

–tuck it under his typewriter with just the tiniest corner sticking out, and head for the coffee room. One cup and three more work hours should shrink that stack of paperwork on your desk.

If you can just shut it all out and concentrate.

And try not to expect too much. ________

The door to your apartment is unlocked when you get home. Well, he certainly jumped at your note.

It shouldn’t surprise you. There’s got to be department keys in some file somewhere. After all, how could he have done all that snooping around when you first got the job?

Dropping your bag and keys on the table in the hall, you head for the main room. “Javi? You here?”

Heart ramming against your ribcage, you emerge into the apartment…

…and find your parents seated at your dining table. Waiting.

“Mom. Dad. How…how did you get in?”

“Your father talked to the landlord. It wasn’t difficult, dear. We wanted a word.” Even though there’s an endearment, your mother’s tone is anything but.

“Okay. That’s kind of excessive. You could have just swung by my desk, you know where I–”

“This is a more delicate matter and we thought you might appreciate the privacy,” your father grumbles. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

There are two things on the table. Your mother’s purse, and a box of tissues. Not the brand you own. Provided for.

“I don’t think I will. What’s going on?”

They share a glance, a starting gesture as if to choose who will begin, even though it was always going to be your mom.

“We had a very nice tour of the city today. We saw the opera house and the capital. It’s a beautiful city. You must really like it here–”

“Representative wanted to go into some of the deeper parts of the city,” your father interrupts, already going off book it seems, “to see the neighborhoods that really reflect the majority economy, get a feel for the true people of Colombia.”

What’s this all about. There’s a silence. Of course there is. They’re waiting for you to prod them. “The old town. I know it. It can get rough, but mainly only if you’re already involved in something shady.”

“Well, there’s plenty that’s shady there, I’ll tell you.” Your mother’s nose lifts more than slightly. “Did you know that it’s crawling with brothels?”

“I do, actually. There are a lot of women who don’t have any other way–”

“Well, Haavi certainly knows about those brothels. We saw him coming out of one today.”

Oh. Shit.

Wait. What?

Fuck.

Your mother continues, something about being sorry to be the one to tell you, something about your heart and how it must be breaking, how it’s hard to be lied to….

The tissues sit on the table, a pretty pink box with daisies on it. They expect you to break down. Cry. How good of an actor are you?

“...and if you want to come home for a while, you know you are always welcome–”

Not good enough.

“Javi’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

The silence that follows is thick, it mingles with the humidity, curdles it like cream in the air. You let it sit until it sours.

“He posed for me so you wouldn’t worry about me here. Like you always do. As if I could never make it on my own without someone.” Their shock sustains. The quieter they become, the easier it gets. “And Javi went along with it because he works with me. Day in and day out. If anyone ever thought I was in danger here, or couldn’t hack the agency, he’d be the first to say so. And I trust him.” Your mother opens her mouth to run her tongue, but you cut her off at the pass. “I trust that man. Yes, you saw him coming out of a brothel, but I’m not his girlfriend and he’s there for his job. Those women sleep with the people Javi’s trying to catch. It’s a brilliant tactic, actually. And they trust him too. Because he is good to them. He’s a good man; one of the best I know and deserves respect. He takes care of them and protects them as much as he would anyone else. You should have seen what he did for this girl Helena–”

It’s here that you notice something out of the corner of your eye and turn to find Javi standing silent in the hallway, still close enough to the door that your parents can’t see him around the corner into the room. But you can. Wide eyes. That tight fitting tan shirt. Slightly off balance as if he came to a stop immediately at the knowledge of walking in on something.

Why do you feel….caught?

“Anyway,” turning back to your parents with a sigh, “I appreciate your concern. But you don’t have to be. Not about him, not about me, not about anything. I’m sorry I lied. It just seemed…easier. Because you have never just believed I was fine. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Like Javi said the other night, I’m thriving here. Even if he was posing, everything he said was true…”

But if everything he said was true…

A glance to the hallway finds it empty again. Even if the door is slightly ajar.

“Well. You can’t blame us for wanting the best for you, sweetheart. You’re never going to stop being our daughter.”

“I know, Dad. You keep saying that. It’s right there on my birth certificate.”

“There’s no shame in accepting help if it’s given freely and if it helps you achieve a goal.”

“I understand that, but I really wish you’d told me about it rather than let me think I did it all on my own. Do you understand how that feels? To be lied to?”

Your mother huffs. “I do now.”

Thank god for office coffee. Without the edge taken off of your exhaustion, you might have had more bite. But for now, you’ve said what was necessary and you’re not up for a fight or managing their feelings; you have enough of your own to sort out. If they care about you as much as they say they do, they’ll let what you’ve said sink in and not push the matter.

“Are you flying out tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”

You nod and move into the kitchen. Seems they do care. You have to give them credit. “Okay. Do you want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers.”

“We have a dinner scheduled with the ambassador.”

“Well good. I’ve had a long day and I’m really tired. I probably wouldn’t be good company anyway. You’re coming back in for the trade agreements in January?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good. I’ll get to see you for a whole week then.” The sad smiles you exchange with them signal that everything’s going to be okay. For now.

There are hugs and kisses, a wish for safe travels and a promise to call in the coming days. Your mother apologizes loudly for cleaning your bathroom mirror. Your father apologizes softly for your mother’s volume. This time, you walk them all the way out to the street.

Your mother’s halfway to the car when your father doubles back, digging in his pocket, just barely remembering to give you the key he got from the landlord.

Or maybe he didn’t really forget.

“Your mother and I are proud of you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if we gave the impression that we weren’t.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear.”

“I should have said it sooner.” He hovers as your mother gets into the car. “You tell Javi that it was nice to meet him. And that we’re proud of the work he’s doing here too.”

There’s something in the way he tells you this. Another apology. Or a knowing. You’ve never been sure with Dad.

“I will.”

As they pull away, waving, your plan is to go collapse on your couch and just be alone for a minute.

As you come back into your apartment, you have to amend that plan to collapsing on your couch next to Javier Peña.

“Hey.”

“You heard all of that?”

He doesn’t answer the question. You sink in, lean back, let your eyes close. He sighs.

“You mind if I smoke?”

“I do, actually. You know I do. And I don’t have an ashtray. There’s still some whiskey if you want though. Knock yourself out.”

The couch shifts a bit as he gets up. The pop of cabinet doors. The clink of ice against glass. After a few seconds, the couch shifts again and a cool tumbler slides gently against your hand.

You open your eyes to ice water.

“Thanks.” You take a long drink, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I never do. Bed’s too big. Sleep better when I’m not alone.” When you look him in the eye, he knows enough not to turn away. “One of the girls was called into one of Escobar’s regular haunts. Didn’t see him, but got a good look at some clients he’s courting. It was info worth delivering a retainer. And a final thanks.”

You do your best to keep your hope from shining through your cracks. “Final thanks?”

“Yeah. For all the…help in the past couple of years. Told them there’s a woman I’d like to spend some time with. Get to know better.”

The sly smile spreading across your face will not be contained. “Really. You told your informants that you were shoving off to the boring world of dating.”

“No. But I did let them know that if there’s a next time I darken their door, I won’t be in a very good mood. I don’t have a Jimmy to turn to if this doesn’t work.”

“Oh. So that was you today in the courtyard. That’s what inspired this? You jealous of Jimmy?”

“Nothing to be jealous of. He’s not your type. But. It might have sped up the process.” When you don’t laugh at that, he sighs. “Listen. I’m not good at this.”

“Yes, you are, I told you that you arrrre,” you yawn and go after another sip. “But I’m the one who’s going to be cranky and crap at it unless I take a nap. I’m sorry. It’s been a day.”

“Can I join you?” His dark eyes search yours as you empty the tumbler.

There’s something like a hope there. And something else, not quite an apology, not quite yearning, a worry that he’s going to do this right or die trying and he waited far too long to start.

Like he’s fighting the urge to expect too much.

“I said a nap, Peña.”

“Good. We were called in early. I could use it.”

It comes naturally. A smile. A matching smile. A whispered okay. He leans forward and slowly, softly, presses his lips to yours. Lingers a moment. Traces your nose–one side then the other–with his own.

“And what happens when we wake up?” you ask quietly in the space between you, in the space before the next slow, lingering kiss.

Javi stands, wraps three fingers around your glass and lifts it gracefully out of your grasp. Setting it on the end table, he reaches for your hand to help you up. “This is technically the third date, isn’t it? We could just…check off the usual boxes.”

“I think we established that I don’t especially love to do everything by somebody else’s rulebook.” Using the inertia of you coming off the couch to pull you straight into his arms and into a deeper kiss--one full of holding breath and clutching fingers--he chases it with a nip to your lip, which coaxes a chuckle. “But I’m open to actually following some rules for once. Especially the good ones.”

“Good. I think it’s time I worked you a miracle or two.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you. Well, lead the way. You obviously know where the bedroom is…”

He smirks, guiding you by the hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#narcos fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #year of tropes #javier peña x fake dating

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jflemings · 3 months

Text

— patiently

pairing: jessie fleming x reader

synopsis: jessie’s very patient / prompt 8 from this post

warnings: none

a/n: this blurb is blurbing like it’s actually short whoops

jessie scuffed her feet against the linoleum floor outside of your lecture hall checking her watch once again. she’d watched the other students file out from the room almost fifteen minutes ago, scanning each face looking for yours. when she didn’t spot you she had gripped one of her teammate’s biceps and asked where you were only to be met with a smirk and a shrug before being shaken off.

the midfielder just assumed that you’d taken the opportunity to ask some extra questions about the midterm coming up, so she stood patiently waiting for you.

when you finally emerged from the hall you had walked straight past her. you had been hastily stuffing your laptop back in your bag whilst trying not to drop your waterbottle, clearly in a rush to meet jessie where you said you would after your class.

she puts a hand on your shoulder lightly before you can get too far ahead of her and grabs your waterbottle that’s slipping from your grasp. you turn around utterly confused before you see her smiling freckled face.

“hey! i thought we were meeting near your dorm”

jessie shrugs “got out early and thought i’d meet you here” she says, handing over your battered ucla bottle “you hungry?”

“oh my god yes! i haven’t eaten all day” you exclaim, finally putting your laptop in your backpack before taking a quick sip of your water

jessie grabs your hand as the two of you begin to walk “my treat then”

your hands swing idly between the two of you as you lean your head on her shoulder tiredly, unable to stop a yawn from escaping your mouth “and then a nap?”

she laughs lightly and kisses your head “and then a nap”

#pegs writes #pegs woso #jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming blurb #jessie fleming fic #jessie fleming imagine #jessie fleming x reader #woso #woso blurb #woso fic #woso x reader

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Note

okay okay Thursday thot:

I need to know who of the 141 would go absolutely feral over seeing their pregnant partner. Like they’ve been gone on an extended mission and haven’t seen their bump yet and so when they see their partner and their pregnant belly their minds just go brrrrrr

Okay so this is less of a drabble and more of musings I suppose?

Gaz:

Gaz comes home and cries. Like he knew you were pregnant of course, only found out after he had deployed and you got a secure connection to him. He cries over the phone, too happy for words, can barely handle himself. Like fuck, he's going to be a dad. He cries and Price has to apologize for his blubbering and assure you it's a good thing, that the sergeant is too happy for words.

Then Gaz comes home and actually sees you and it hits home for him all over again. He tugs you into his arms, props you on the kitchen counter and stares at you like a man seeing the moon for the first time in his solitary life. Thanks whatever higher being exists for the miracle created between you and him. He's emotional, doting, and it isn't until those feelings settle later that he gets touchy

Rubbing at your shoulders and back until the knots come loose with a moan, props your feet in his lap and rubs at your swollen ankles, keeps you in his lap and feeds you while you both watch a movie, spoon you and drag you into his chest when you fall asleep. He's in love with you, with your body, with the weight and shape of the three of you combined.

This man worships you. Kisses you from your ankles up your thighs to your round stomach to your swelling breasts to your neck and mouth, whispers affirmations and praises until you want to hide in your hands and he only pulls them away, tell you "Let me see you, let me see how gorgeous you are."

Soap:

Soap hauls you into his arms the second he hears "I'm pregnant, Johnny." Whoops and hollers and cackles between kisses like someone has just told him he's won the lottery. He's always wanted a soccer team, and now you have your first player on the way. You don't get any rest that afternoon, not when he's made you shudder with your fifth and final orgasm on his fingers and tongue. It hurts when he has to leave after, before you even show, but he makes up for it when he comes back.

Man drops to his knees when he sees you next, talking to your child and bringing you to tears with how sweet and tender he is. Yet then he turns his attentions to you.

He won't stop touching you. Literally has to have his hands on you at all times. It's like his brain is hardwired to do so, literally only gets dopamine when he's crowded behind you in the kitchen, has you splayed across his lap, holds your hand wherever you two go. It's almost like a clingy cat, he'd shower with you if you'd let him, and instead he sits outside and grumbles when you push him out and tell him you need "Privacy."

"I already seen every part o' you." You gripes. "It's how I got the little one into you in the first place."

He's literally horny 24/7. Would live between your thighs f he had the choice. It's like he doesn't realize you can't get pregnant while you're already carrying a kid. You think there's a part of his brain that's fried just by the sight of you, can't help himself. This is the man that turns the phrase 'Irish twins' into 'Scottish twins'

Unpopular opinion:

Ghost and Price don't have this reaction. Price claims he's too old and grizzled and loves his job too much for kids, and it's true, but I also think there's a bitterness of the things that he's seen that drains him of any hope and yearning that his partner's pregnancy can summon in him.

Ghost, if he finds out you're pregnant, bolts. He's scared, even though he'll never say it. Thinks too much about his mom, about Tommy, about his dad's cackling sinister laughter and refuses to acknowledge it, shuts you out no matter how you try to coax him. Maybe someday, maybe somehow, but not now. Not soon.

#johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #thursday night thots #pregnancy tw

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word-wytch · 1 year

Text

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 5

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 5/? 3.2k. Series Masterlist

✏�� A lesson in rock history and the things you can say with a thumb.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, smut (18+ mdni), true love, internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: drinking mention

“Happy Monday!” chimed Ms. Click, fixing her coffee on the counter in the teacher’s lounge. “How was your weekend, sweetie?”

You turned to her as you nestled the glass coffee pot back onto the warmer. “Oh, you know. Just catching up on errands and chores. Same old, same old.” Oh, and wrestling with thoughts I really shouldn’t be having about my student. You figured it was best to leave that part out. Though if you were being totally honest you had done more of that than anything else this weekend. You couldn’t believe yourself.

“Oh I hear ya, it’s real easy for things like that to just take over. Pretty soon you feel like you’re just living the same week over and over again and then whoops! 20 years go by!” she said with a loud and slightly pained laugh.

You smiled weakly. “Yeah, time really does fly.”

“It does if you’re not careful! You’ve got to treasure every precious moment while you can,” she said, giving a gentle pat on your forearm before turning to leave.

“I try to,” you said, turning to open a new carton of milk for your coffee. You watched it swirl as you poured it in and thought about Eddie Munson again. You wondered what a what a weekend was like for him, what sort of trouble he might get into. You thought about him cruising down the road in his van at night, blasting his music and driving way over the speed limit — not a care in the world. You thought about being a passenger, about laughing with him as he took his hands off the wheel to play air guitar to a song you didn’t recognize.

“Hey!” she said Diane in a little whisper, waving her hand between you and your coffee.

You jolted upward and turned to her. “Oh hey! Sorry, I’m a total space cadet today apparently.”

“It’s Monday, you’re allowed,” she said with a warm chuckle. She leaned back against the coffee station. “Sooo, your birthday is on Friday. It’s the big 3-0 right? Have any plans?”

Yes, that. You hadn’t forgotten, though you secretly wished you had. “I’m shocked you remembered!”

“Well, birthdays are circled on the office calendar,” she said, folding her arms with a little smirk, “I can’t give myself that much credit, but we should really do something. It’s a big one.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Honestly I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“There’s always Pal Joey’s. At the very least I can bake you a cake and we can just get drunk together, right?” she said with a playful chuckle.

You laughed, “Yeah, I don’t need anything extravagant. Just something low key would be nice. Actually, I have a friend I haven’t seen since I moved back over the summer. She’s been busy with her small kids, I bet she’d appreciate getting out for a night.”

“That’s the spirit! Ok, got any preference for cake flavors?”

You thought for a moment, a smile playing on your lips as you brought a curved finger to them, “Surprise me.”

______

You set off down the main hallway like you did every morning, careful not to slosh the remainder of your coffee too hard as you walked. You dodged the usual obstacles — kids with headphones on not paying attention, couples leaning against their lockers, jocks giving a football a few passes before another teacher reprimanded them.

You were about halfway there when you smelled it — cigarette smoke. Not the sort of smoke left over on clothing, but actual active smoke coming from someone nearby. You glanced around to see if you could catch a plume and that was when you saw him.

You didn’t know his name but he must have been a junior at least. He was more than six feet tall, an athlete, as you could tell from varsity jacket he had on.

“Hey! No smoking in the hallway,” you said firmly as you approached him at the lockers.

He looked at you like you were a small child threatening to tattle on him. “Or what?”

“Or I’m giving you detention. Put it out, now.”

He rolled his eyes at you, “Ooh, so scary.” His friends around him chuckled.

You swallowed, feeling small all of a sudden. “I’m serious, put it out right now.”

“Jeez, calm down, bitch.” His friends erupted in laughter, practically tripping over themselves now.

Your eyes narrowed, heart beating into your throat.

“The fuck did you just call her?” a voice cut through from behind you.

You recognized it before you whipped your head around to see him. “Eddie —”

He marched up to the athlete in front of you. “Here, let me make it easier for you.” He snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and threw it on the ground to stomp it out. There were daggers in his eyes. “Say it again.”

He looked at Eddie with a mixture of shock and confusion. “Jeez since when are you a goody two-shoes, Munson?”

“Principal’s office, now,” you said, pointing at the athlete.

He rolled his eyes again. “You gonna have your pet escort me?”

You glanced over at Eddie, you could practically feel the heat coming off of him as he glowered behind you like a shadow. “No, I can do that myself, unless you’d rather have security escort you. Your choice.”

He sighed. “Fine, Jesus.”

“I can take it from here, Eddie. Thank you.”

He glanced back and forth between the two of you, looking hesitant. “If you say so,” he conceded softly.

You smiled at him with gracious eyes, then turned to the athlete. “Come on.”

Eddie bent down to grab the cigarette off the floor, his eyes did not leave you.

“I can take that,” you said, extending your hand.

He placed the flattened cigarette into your palm, slow enough for you to feel the calluses on his fingers as they lingered for a short moment. Yours curled around them just enough to brush the back of his knuckles as his hand left yours, as if they had a mind of their own. Your heart skipped a beat and you found the courage to meet his gaze again.

“Thank you.”

He bowed his head slightly, “Sure thing.” His eyes were dark and intense, like there was something more he wanted to say.

You swallowed and broke his gaze. “Alright, let’s get going before I’m late for my own class.”

You walked swiftly toward the principal’s office, the two of you silent in the noisy din of the hallway as the athlete kept pace reluctantly beside you. You were halfway down the hall when you felt the urge to glance over your shoulder.

Eddie was still standing where you left him, still as a statue amidst the chaos of the hallway, watching you with careful eyes.

______

Eddie watched you from the back of your fourth period English class, as he did every day.

He watched as you as you paced about, the way you leaned against the desk as you sifted through your notes. He noticed how thoughtfully you chose your words, how eloquently you spoke.

He wondered what you were like outside of school — what you would be like at a concert, a bar, a restaurant, a movie. He wondered what sort of observations you would make about the world around you. What sort of things you would want to talk about outside the strict confines of this building, outside your role in it. You were always so good at keeping the face you’d put on that morning. He wanted to see you without it.

Wanted to see you first thing in the morning, the sleep still in your eyes. Wanted to see you in pajamas making coffee. Wanted to feel the warmth of your skin still heated from your bed, to peer over your shoulder as you cooked your eggs, to tickle you until you turned around to kiss him.

“In chapters 13 though 15 we can see that he’s both too scared to call Jane and too scared to sleep with Sunny, even though deep down it seems he wants to. Holden alienates himself as a form of self-protection, which is a motif in the novel,” you explained. “A motif,” you scratched the word onto the board, “— is a recurring structure, contrast, or literary device that can help to inform the reader of the text’s major themes.”

You turned toward the board to finish writing the definition. It was then that Eddie saw Patrick’s arm extend behind him with a folded piece of paper that Jason promptly snatched.

You paused, glancing toward the back of the classroom at the movement.

Jason and Patrick froze like statues.

Your gaze lingered a moment, then you continued, turning toward the board again.

Eddie watched out of the corner of his eye as Jason opened the note slowly, trying to minimize the crinkle of the paper. He stifled a snicker and took his pen to it, scribbling in haste.

“Now, what are some other motifs that you may have noticed so far?” you asked, turning toward the class.

Jason froze again, sliding his notebook over the paper slowly, leaving some space to continue writing discreetly at the bottom.

Eddie felt his pulse rise and shot Jason a threatening glare.

Since when are you a goody two-shoes, Munson? The words rolled around in his head. As much as he hated to admit it, there was some truth to them.

The truth was that he had smoked in school before. More than once. The difference was he never got caught. He had been disrespectful on more than one occasion toward the faculty. He’d never called anyone names, but he’d certainly rolled his eyes, certainly given them a hard time. He’d sneak out, skip class, pass notes, run down the hallway — he even shot a spit ball at Gareth once, but only because he deserved it after flaking out on Hellfire because some girl invited him over to work on a project.

Jason caught Eddie’s glare and made a face at him, passing the note forward to Patrick who snickered when he opened it.

You whipped your head toward the back corner of the room and locked eyes with Patrick. “Excuse me, is something funny?”

Eddie’s eyes bored into his desk. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

“No ma’am, sorry,” said Patrick, straightening up.

Your eyes lingered a moment suspiciously but you let it go, sighing in annoyance as you turned back toward the board.

The note passing ceased after that.

It wasn’t until after the bell rang that both Jason and Patrick made eye contact with Eddie again. This time it was in the midst of laughter as they were leaving.

______

By the time Eddie Munson had plunked himself down in his usual spot on the other side of your desk, you were admittedly exhausted. You hated to be one of those pedestrian I hate Mondays people, but today really took it out of you for some reason.

Maybe it had something to do with the war you were waging in your mind over the man sitting across from you, but when you saw his sweet oval face again you felt the energy suddenly return to you, like a second wind. Like a breath of fresh air.

“Thank you for… intervening earlier today,” you said graciously as you filed away the papers on your desk, clearing the space.

Eddie gave a single nod. “I wanted to put it out on his face, but uh, pretty sure that’s also against the rules, so…” he said with a little chuckle.

Even behind his joking you could tell that he meant it. It stirred something in you, like a growling in the pit of your stomach. Something dormant and primal. You looked at his strong hands as he fidgeted with the pen in front of him, then your eyes traveled up to his forearms. He was wearing that flannel again with the sleeves rolled up and you wished you could ignore it, but instead you imagined what they would feel like wrapped protectively around your waist.

You cleared your throat and tucked your hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’m afraid so,” you said with a little smile. “You know, you would think that after eight years of teaching I would be used to that sort of treatment but it still catches me off guard sometimes.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows curiously, “Eight years?” he asked. You could almost see him doing the math in his head.

Your stomach dropped. “Yeah, um, I actually turn 30 on Friday,” you said with a nervous chuckle.

Eddie balked, “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He smirked, his eyes narrowing, “No way. I mean — sorry, it’s not a bad thing! It’s just hard to believe is all.”

“You want to see my drivers license?”

Eddie laughed, “No, no. It’s just that… you don’t seem like it to me. Not looks wise anyway. Maturity wise you’re probably closer to uh, 500 — you know, like an elf.”

You snorted. “Thanks. That’s so much better.”

“No, I mean like Arwen old, not Galadriel old,” he said, stumbling over himself. “Sorry I’ll stop, I’m a dumbass. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a number anyway.”

There was a strange relief that came over you when he said that, more than you wanted to admit to yourself.

You had to laugh. “Arwen old, now that’s something you don’t hear every day.”

“Well, take it as a compliment. I mean you’re —” he gestured to you, up and down with his hand, his eyes widening.

You knew what he was going to say. No, you wanted to think you knew, but did you really know? You knew you shouldn’t press but you wanted to hear it. Your mouth betrayed you. “I’m what?” you asked softly.

Eddie swallowed. “You’re…” he blinked, his dark eyes darting back and forth between yours. You could see the gears turning in his head, weighing the options of what to say next. “You’re timeless.”

Timeless. Now that was a word you were not expecting. Not too bold like beautiful, or cheap like pretty. You were tempted to commend him on his vocabulary choice.

“Timeless,” you said in quiet awe as a smile crept across your face. “I’ll take that.”

Eddie relaxed into his chair, seeming pleased with himself.

“Alright, what’s on the agenda for today?” There was a guilt that nagged at you for prompting such an intimate moment with your student, but then again, was he not the one who prompted it with his gesture? Still, it was your responsibility to be the bigger person, you knew that. And yet…

Eddie was doing well enough in your class. He was turning in his homework and did well on the last quiz. Today you decided to focus on History again since that seemed to be his biggest challenge, which meant that Eddie was now seated beside you — and that was another challenge.

Eddie Munson had a way of being around you that was hard to ignore. It was the way he looked at you from beneath his lashes, the way he almost put his shoulder behind yours as you both crowded over the textbook. You swore you weren’t imagining it.

It was when you pointed at a line in the text, the way he inched closer to it, turned his head toward you ever so slightly, his face inches from yours.

You could smell him again. The sweet musk of his skin, the soft scent of whatever he put in his hair. He was so close you could feel the gentle puff of his breath against your face. Your curious eyes dropped to his lips — so incredibly plush with a perfect cupid’s bow. Your animal brain betrayed you and you imagined, for just a split second, what they would feel like against yours. What he would taste like.

You cleared your throat, face flushing as you broke the tension. “So, did you do anything fun this weekend?”

There was a gleam in Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah, actually. Mercyful Fate was playing in Indianapolis on Saturday. Really good show.”

You nodded curiously, “Hmm, I’ve never heard of them.”

Eddie smirked, “Yeah, I figured not. I mean — most people haven’t unless they’re into metal. Which, I don’t want to make any assumptions, but…” he chuckled.

“You’re correct,” you said with a little laugh.

His eyes were tender, “What kind of music are you into?”

You hummed and glanced down at the textbook again thoughtfully, “Let’s see… I like all sorts of stuff. Older stuff like Van Morrison and Simon and Garfunkel, newer stuff like The Police and Tears for Fears. Oh and I love Joni Mitchell, especially Joni Mitchell. Her music is poetry, truly.”

Eddie hummed thoughtfully, “All good artists.”

“I mean I’m not opposed to metal. I just haven’t heard enough of it I guess. I do really like rock music, actually I love Led Zeppelin. I mean that’s not metal but,” you said in jest making the rock horn symbol with your hand.

Eddie laughed, eyes crinkling, looking at you like you were an adorable child who just said something funny. His hands came around yours impulsively, tucking your extended thumb in across your two middle fingers. “Like this,” he said sweetly.

You swallowed, face flushing. His hands were so warm, the softness of his palms surprised you. They lingered for a moment, clutching your hand before letting go to demonstrate.

“This,” he formed the symbol with his hand, “Means rock. This?” extended his thumb, “Means ‘I love you’ in sign language.”

You chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Rookie mistake I guess.”

“It’s ok, it’s a common one. It’s not exactly been around for that long. Dio was actually the one who started doing it like five or so years ago. See, he’s super Italian and his grandma would do it like this as a sort of… spell, I guess, to keep the evil eye away.” He demonstrated, pointing his horns at you. “But then Dio kept doing it on stage, sort of adapted it into a symbol for rock.”

You nodded curiously, “See, you’re teaching me something now.”

He smiled, “I do know a few things, might not exactly be useful things, but…”

“All knowledge is useful. In fact I think it’s a shame that we place so much value on grades. I mean honestly, most of this stuff you’re not even going to need to know to get through life. I can tell you that for a fact. I mean I know I’m not supposed to be saying that, but…”

Eddie nodded, his eyes were soft and distant. “I wish more people thought like you.”

You could feel the heat rushing to your face again. You met his eyes and smiled softly.

You turned your attention back to the history textbook. After another twenty minutes, when it was clear that your attention spans were starting to wane, you called it for the evening.

You and Eddie left together again, out to the parking lot through the shortcut by the gym. Not a soul in sight in the hallway. He held the door open for you as you left.

Eddie was parked next to you this time.

“See you tomorrow,” you said, waving at him over the top of your little car as you unlocked it. The autumn wind kicked up, tousling your hair and scattering leaves across the parking lot.

“See ya,” he said, throwing open the door to his van.

He flashed you the rock horns again — thumb extended.

______

A/N: I just wanted to take this moment to thank every single one of my incredible readers — you guys. Every person who comments and shares each week, even the people who don't. I see your little hearts and it fills me with such joy. I am so lucky to have such a thoughtful audience that I can engage with and gush about my story with in real time. You make me feel like Charles Dickens.

My hope for this story is that it can reach as large an audience as possible, so if you can help me do that by sharing it, I would be endlessly grateful. I love you guys. 💚

Quick side note — if you don't see your name listed here but asked to be tagged it's because it would not let me tag you and I wanted to make room for the tags that are working!! tumblr only lets me tag a certain number of people so the list will be continued in the comments!

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @inknopewetrust @msgexymunson @bebe0701 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @bibieddiesgf @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @shotgunhallelujah @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @luna-munson83 @eddiemunsonsbitcch @tlclick73 @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @maximizedrhythms @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @ruby-dragon @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddiemunson011 @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @quinnsfineline @chaoticgood-munson @edsforehead @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @chainsawmunson @beep-beep-sherlock @emily-roberts @averagemisfit03 @slay-and-gay @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @newlips @munsins @sllooney @lunaladybug734

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x teacher!reader #don't stand so close to me #my writing

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charincharge · 1 month

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I Don't Want To Wait, sixty-seven

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: WHOOPS, I disappeared for two years. (Legit the last chapter was posted in May 2022!). But I’m back and have written… a lot of the rest of this fic, so we’re just going to post weekly (or even twice weekly!) until we’re finished. And I hope you’re still out there, anyone, to enjoy it. Quick recap for a previously on IDWTW. Aelin and Rowan had sex! It was great. Then they walked in on Rhoe and her dance teacher Petrah having sex, which was NOT great. Aelin never wants to go back to dance again. We returned to school. Senior second semester is going great. Busy for Aelin, who is still trying to work her butt off re: APs and grades. Less busy for Rowan, who is already recruited to college for lacrosse. Aelin and Lys had a huge falling out, but have slowly rekindled their friendship now that Lys is sober and working on her shit. Elide and Manon came out! They’re running as homecoming queens! Dorian and Chaol haven’t DTRed and are taking a break. Last we left off, Aelin texted someone to help retrieve her lacrosse hoodie from the dance studio after hours. But who? Keep reading to find out. Also, I have been gone for so long that I have NO idea who is still in the fandom or reading Rowaelin fic. Please reblog to spread the word! Taglist doesn't seem to possible anymore, so please share! Love you all and missed you all. Comment, message, meme, gif, whatever. Let’s go, team.

Aelin watched with wide eyes as Lys lowered into a crouch and removed a bobby pin from her hair. When she’d texted her friend to help with her mission, she hadn’t realized that Lysandra was a bona-fide expert at breaking and entering.

“It got boring in rehab,” Lys said with a small shrug, as if that explained her masterful lock-picking.

“Good to know,” Aelin said, chewing her thumb nervous and glancing over her shoulder at Rowan, who waited patiently in the jeep — aka, their getaway car. She didn’t think they’d actually need one, but this whole thing was such a thing, she figured it was probably safest to have a getaway car. What if the cops were called about the break-in, and they had to run?

Aelin almost chuckled at the thought of Orynth’s elderly Police Chief trying to run after them, but it hadn’t stopped her from telling Lys to dress all in black and meet them at the dance studio at eight. Luckily, Rhoe was at the station overnight, so he couldn’t see their ridiculous antics. But, after all, this mission was serious. She tried to refocus on Lys, who was finagling with a pin in the lock, taking her sweet time. A rush of panic ran through Aelin. What if they got caught? What if this got put on her permanent record? What if they got arrested?

BZZZZ. Aelin’s phone vibrated in her hand, making her jump with surprise.

“Gods,” she muttered under her breath, causing Lys to chuckle under her breath.

“Tell your buzzard not to worry, we’re almost there,” she said, twisting the pin again in a different direction. Aelin sighed at the reassurance. She knew that Rowan had to be feeling her nerves as well. Although maybe not quite as much. She wasn’t usually concerned about being a rule follower, but every step of the way had made her feel more and more stressed out. Which might have to do more with her overbearing boyfriend watching their every move than anything else. Couldn’t he just sit there and look cute and not worry? She looked at his text and shook her head. She should have known it’d be impossible. He was the biggest worry wart of them all.

Are you sure no one’s in the studio? It looks like the lights are on upstairs. Rowan texted from the front seat, his view of the studio probably better than theirs. But Aelin had spent too many years of her life at this studio. Despite her churning stomach, she knew they were fine.

Last class ended an hour ago. They always leave the lights on for the cleaning staff, but they get Fridays off, so they’re on until Saturday morning. It was part of my class schedule to turn the lights off. We’re good.

She looked over her shoulder after sending the text, and watched as Rowan threw a thumbs up in her direction. She couldn’t help but laugh at how silly he looked in his oversized black hoodie with the hood up. Despite completely disapproving of her decision, he showed up ready for the assignment at hand.

“Tadaaa,” Lys sang out quietly as the lock clicked open, the door popping ajar.

“Honestly, when I asked you to help me break into the dance studio, I figured we’d be throwing a rock into a window or something,” Aelin whispered, even though there was absolutely no reason to whisper at all. Aelin had timed it purposefully, so she wouldn’t have to run into … anyone. Okay, she really didn’t want to have to talk to Petrah. She’d avoided the studio (and Petrah) for so many weeks following the revelation that she’d been involved with her dad, and she had no intention of breaking that now. So, they’d had no choice but to break into the studio under the cover of darkness.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Lys said. “The door upstairs has a lock, too, right?”

Aelin nodded. Annoyingly, there were three doors they had to break open — the building door, the door to the second floor, and then the dance studio entrance. Thank god Aelin had her locker key, so that wasn’t a worry.

“So, why are we doing this again?” Lys asked as they trudged up the long stairwell to the second floor. She tried not to flinch as the rubber-covered stairs squeaked beneath her shoes. “Not that I’m not happy to help,” she continued. “I just thought that you started dancing again and loved it?”

“Ugh,” Aelin groaned. “I did.” Aelin paused for a beat too long, causing Lys to flip her dark curls over her shoulder to get a better look at Aelin.

“But?”

“It’s…complicated,” Aelin sighed as Lys crouched down in front of the second floor door.

“Well, this is going to take a minute,” Lys laughed. “Tell me.” Aelin was going to refute again when Lys’s voice changed, softer. “Unless you don’t want to…”

Aelin nearly smacked herself. She’d thought this would be a ridiculous, fun (and pretty low-stakes) way to hang out with Lys again, and here she was totally ruining it by keeping things to herself again.

“No, it’s not like that,” Aelin reassured her as she continued to work on the lock. “It’s just… horrifying.”

“Well now you can’t not tell me,” Lys snickered, but Aelin recognized the slight trepidation in her friend’s green eyes. Still nervous to push things. Aelin bit the bullet and let it out in a whoosh.

“Oh my GOD.” Lys’s nose crinkled, and she fell to her knees completely as her shoulders shook with laughter as Aelin told her story. “I mean, we all knew Rhoe fucked,” Lys cackled, causing Aelin to smack her friend’s knee.

“EW! That is my dad,” she said, fake heaving.

“He’s a hot, hot firefighter daddy, though,” Lys said, her eyebrows wiggling.

“I swear to god I will vomit straight on you.”

Aelin tried to be serious, but Lysandra’s smile pushed them both over the edge into a fit of giggles. They laughed and laughed, releasing the tension that had been hovering around them like a thick blanket all night, officially removing all traces of formality. Unable to help herself, Aelin reached out for her friend’s hand, squeezing her fingers gently and was relieved as Lys squeezed back. They weren’t healed, per se, but they were healing, and that was the most that Aelin could really ask for right now.

Taking a breath and wiping the remnant tracks of tears from her cheeks, Lys pushed herself back up to her knees. “Second lock?”

“Speaking of my family…” Aelin started nervously, but forged on, curious. “How’s Aedion doing?”

To her credit, Lys didn’t even lose pace as she unlocked the next door with ease.

“I know you want me to reply with something equally scandalous, but there’s nothing going on between me and Aedion,” Lys replied succinctly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay,” Aelin said, not completely convinced, but chose to respect her boundaries and believe her words.

The pair fell into an awkward silence as they headed down the hall toward the studio door. Just one last lock to get through — and then she’d never have to return to this place. A part of her heart panged at that thought, that she’d be leaving Orynth and this studio behind and not really getting to say goodbye to it. But running into Petrah was NOT an option.

“Hey, isn’t this the studio?” Lys asked of a propped open door, a gentle music wafting from inside. Aelin’s stomach sank. Had someone stayed late tonight practicing? It was a plus that they wouldn’t have to break into yet another door, but she really didn’t want to risk running into anyone. “I thought you said it was closed.”

At the same time, the pair noticed the schedule on the door, showing the company’s new rehearsal schedule. Their rehearsals now went until nine on Friday night, meaning that Aelin had shown up in the middle of a packed studio, instead of an empty one. And one where Petrah would surely be. She contemplated turning right around, but Lys had already opened the door too far, leading them into the studio lobby where the company was on break, milling around and refilling their water bottles.

And at the front desk, Petrah’s eyes widened with surprise upon seeing her. “Aelin!”

She should have guessed breaking in had been too easy. Had the doors even been locked? She knew Lysandra had gotten through them too quickly! Grumbling, she stepped out of the shadow and into the lobby toward Petrah. She couldn’t run away anymore, so she had no choice but to say hello to the woman who she’d been studiously avoiding for weeks. And by the look on Petrah’s face, she knew it, too.

“I’ll go grab your jersey,” Lys whispered, leaving her to fend for herself. “See you downstairs!”

“Traitor,” Aelin mumbled under her breath as Lysandra all but ran into the locker room, excusing herself from the awkward conversation that surely lay ahead. She wanted to run, but her feet were stuck, watching Petrah approach nervously.

“Aelin,” she said again, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you….” But Aelin cut her off.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” she said, ready to slap her hands over her ears, lest Petrah talk about her dad in any less than completely formal way.

Petrah’s deep pink lips curled up on one side in amusement, but Aelin watched as she took another deep breath and shook off whatever she’d been about to say. Instead, she watched as her smile fell into a wistful expression. “We’ve missed seeing you around here,” Petrah said.

Aelin’s eyes shot to the open doorway of the studio where the company practiced, all jetes and pirouettes and well-supported port de bras. She had missed dancing. She really had just gotten back into it when she let it fall away. Petrah must have seen her expression because she smiled faintly and let her delicate hand fall to Aelin’s shoulder.

“You could join the class. Dance it out,” Petrah suggested.

Aelin couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dancers. She watched the emotion pour from them. That is what she needed. But as Lysandra held up her jersey and trailed down the stairs in the periphery of her vision, Aelin shook her head.

“I can’t tonight.”

“I understand that it might be strange to spend time with me after what you overheard…” Petrah trailed off as blood pooled in her cheeks, filling her usual pale complexion with a deep blush. “It was completely casual. It’s only happened a handful of times, and we both know it’s not serious. I’m not trying to replace your mother, or anything like that, it’s just… an occasional stress release, and oh my god, I am sorry I didn’t mean to say any of that.” Aelin cringed at the words. She wanted to stop Petrah, but the woman couldn’t be stopped even if she wanted to. “Please don’t give up dance because of this,” Petrah pleaded. “You have such a gift, Aelin, and I would be filled with regret for the rest of my life if I knew I was the cause of you walking away from it.”

Aelin took a breath, the comforting scent of chalk and worn leather infiltrating her senses and calming her down as she figured out what to reply to Petrah. Of course she wanted to dance still. It was undeniable, the way her body pulled her toward the studio, the way a sense of calm settled through her despite her initial discomfort upon seeing Petrah. She thought about her lack of free time and her constantly building stress as the semester went on and how badly she wished she could just dance it out. That release of emotion centered her, and she knew that she was feeling off kilter without it. Making time for dance had improved her life drastically — it'd kept her sane as the rest of her semester spiraled out of control — and she wanted it back. So, so badly.

She was on the verge of agreeing to join the practice when there was a crash and loud shriek from the studio. When the shriek morphed into a choked sob, a churning nausea overwhelmed Aelin. She watched as Petrah’s face morphed into one of horror as she sprinted into the studio. Sure enough, one of the dancers was on the floor, cradling her ankle, cheeks red and involuntary tears dripping down her skin, while another dancer attempted to help her stand. The girl hissed, crying out in pain and sat down again.

“Call an ambulance,” someone ordered, and suddenly there was a frenzy, a rush of dancers looking on in terror at the injury in front of them. Aelin stood with her back against the wall, not wanting to be in the way, slinking out of sight while so much was going on. It felt like a sign from the universe that Aelin shouldn’t even think about wasting her time with dancing. Like the gods warned her that she had way too much going on to even consider it.

With Petrah distracted, Aelin slipped out, trying to gain control of her waging feelings. She slid into the backseat next to Lys, her mind reeling and unable to get the image of the crying dancer out of her head. So caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t even hear Rowan call out to her, until red and blue flashed behind them. He swung his head over her shoulder, his mouth agape in horror as he stared at his unusually quiet girlfriend.

“Ace, what did you do? Are those the cops?!”

Aelin shook her head, the horrible feeling of nausea persisting in her gut as Rowan drove away from the studio.

. . .

It had been days since Aelin had received a text from an unknown number, and she still hadn’t decided what she was going to do.

I thought you should know we’re holding an emergency dance company audition this Tuesday at 5pm. Please come, Aelin.

Aelin chewed her sandwich thoughtfully as she pulled up the text again. The audition was merely hours away, but she was still on the fence.

“You still haven’t made up your mind?” Lysandra asked, glancing at Aelin’s phone screen. Her former — maybe current — friend had started joining them at the lunch table in the last few days since their late night break in, continuing to heal and thaw what had broken between them.

“I keep telling her to pro con list,” Rowan said, letting his fingers trail across the back of her neck and kneading the tight muscles there with his strong grasp.

“Mmmm,” Aelin mumbled, leaning further into his touch. “Con. Time spent without you.”

“Pro, something to do while I’m at lacrosse practice,” he countered as his fingers massaged a particularly tender part of her neck. She angled her head so he could have better access, but he took it as an invitation to let his head drop to her bare skin and press his lips against it, causing her body to light up. As she leaned toward him with another light moan, Dorian slammed his tray down on the table with a loud thwack.

“Get a room or get outta here,” he complained, tossing a fry at the still-intertwined pair.

“Someone’s got their panties in a bunch,” Aelin laughed as she tossed the fry back at the offender.

“My panties are perfectly smooth, thank you very much,” Dorian quipped. “Some of us would just prefer not to bear witness to your foreplay.”

“Pro,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear, his lips ghosting against the tickling skin there. “I really love watching you dance.”

“Pro,” Aelin whispered back. “Increased stamina, muscle strength, and flexibility.”

Aelin glanced up at Rowan, who was already staring back at her with a fiery intensity. Her eyes glanced down at his mouth, which was curled into a satisfied smirk. His throat bobbed with a slow swallow, surely thinking of all the way those fitness benefits could be put to good use. She leaned in slightly, her lips a hairs breadth away from his when another fry hit her cheek. Aelin whipped her head around, rubbing at the salty spot where the food had made contact with her face.

Dorian was the picture of innocence, eyes wide as he chewed his own fry.

“Con,” Lys interjected. “Increased horniness.”

“Literally didn’t think that was possible,” Dorian said with a snort. “So, what are we pro-conning?” he asked, popping another fry into his mouth.

“Orynth Dance Company is having an emergency audition after an injury, and Aelin was personally invited to try out,” Lysandra explained.

“But I don’t really have the time,” Aelin started. “It would require actual rehearsal time. Like, a lot of nights. Not just an hour long class. Plus, I’d have to see Petrah every day. And I have to knock this last semester’s grades out of the park if I want to even think about getting a scholarship anywhere, plus I have a million AP exams to study for coming up, and that’s not even considering keeping up with hospital volunteering and going to your games and having any kind of semblance of a social life and…” she trailed off, her stomach finally settling as she came to the conclusion she knew she was going to come to all along. “I can’t join the dance company.”

Rowan frowned and reached for her hand. “Are you sure, Ace?” His hand wrapped around hers in a comforting squeeze, and she knew he was asking seriously. “We could make it work. I could help you study, we could bring out your color-coded schedule again to make sure we could fit everything in.”

“I know,” Aelin sighed, squeezing back. “But, I’m sure.”

But as the afternoon ticked by, Aelin couldn’t ignore the swirling feeling of guilt trying to pull her under. She was so distracted by the approaching time that she completely zoned out through all of AP Lit, startling when the period ended and Dorian poked her side.

And as five PM approached closer and closer, she found herself growing more agitated and even snapping at Rowan at one point. It wasn’t his fault; he had to head off to lacrosse practice, but Aelin had found herself so worked up that she had thought maybe he’d want to help release some tension.

“I’ll come right over after practice,” Rowan promised as he twined his hands around her waist.

“But you’ll be all sweaty and gross,” Aelin replied with a frown.

“I thought you liked when I get sweaty,” he laughed, nuzzling his nose into her hair. Aelin sighed, knowing she was being petulant, but she couldn’t get out of her own head.

“Only when I’m the one doing it!”

She tried to push him away, but Rowan’s grasp on her was iron-clad, too tight for her to even think about prying him off her. “Ace,” he lowered his voice. “I would love nothing more than to skip practice and be with you, but you know this is the only thing I need to do this semester to keep my place at Wendlyn.”

“Because Wendlyn’s more important than me?”

“I think you need a snack,” Rowan laughed, but Aelin didn’t find that funny at all.

“Sorry my blood sugar problems are amusing to you,” she said, stiffening within his grasp. She felt Rowan sigh deeply and watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his brows up the way she loved so much.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You know that’s not—”

“I know,” Aelin replied quickly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Rowan raised a single brow as if to tell her he knew exactly what had gotten into her, and so did she.

“It’s not even four yet,” Rowan said. “You could still go.”

But Aelin was nothing if not resolute. She’d made up her mind, and it was completely logical. And she was sticking to it. No, she’d head home and, yes, get a snack, and dig into her lit homework. Maybe Dorian would be willing to give her his notes from the class, seeing as she couldn’t remember a single thing that was discussed earlier.

She forced a smile and shrugged her shoulders back. “Nope, you were right. I need a snack. I’ll head to Maeve’s and see what she’s got for me.”

Rowan grimaced. “She closed for the afternoon, actually, while they put in a new stove, but she should be reopened by the time I’m out of practice.” Aelin shivered as Rowan let his fingers trail in small circles up and down her back. “Why don’t I stop there on my way to your place after practice? Cheeseburger and brownies?”

“And then orgasms?” Aelin asked, causing a loud snort to erupt from Rowan.

“You want to have sex after cheeseburger and brownies? That feels dangerous.”

“Well, we could have sex first, but reheated cheeseburgers are pretty garbage,” Aelin replied, loving the soft smile that appeared on Rowan’s face. It was the one solely reserved for her. When she was being particularly ridiculous or annoying, it was like he couldn’t help but love her more, and the small curve of his lips let her know that.

“You’re right. Cheeseburgers first,” he paused. “Then sex, then brownies?”

“Deal,” Aelin said as she reached her hand out to shake his. But he instead grasped it in his and brought it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles lightly.

“I love you,” he said.

And though Aelin wanted to roll her eyes, she took a moment to relish the fact that her best friend in the whole world loved her. And would do anything to make her smile. In fact, he’d succeeded in getting her too distracted to think about the auditions and…

As soon as she thought about them, her smile faded again.

“Just go,” he whispered, but Aelin shook her head.

“Have a good practice. See you in a few hours.”

She kissed him and sent him off, hoping to pour herself into her studies. But even with her book open, Aelin digested none of what she was reading. She kept looking at the clock, distracted. Even as it passed five pm, knowing that she was missing the auditions, she still couldn’t focus. And her mood started to plummet.

It plummeted even further as she received a text from Rowan saying that their coach needed him to stay behind for a bit after practice and that he’d be later than anticipated.

She tried to read more, and when that didn’t work, she attempted to do some math equations, but she couldn’t get her brain to work. She knew what she needed. And it was to dance it out. Despite everything, that was still her best coping mechanism. When a second text from Rowan came in, apologizing for being even later, Aelin had had enough. She couldn’t just sit here and wallow. Instead, she wrote a note for whoever would get home first – her dad, Lorcan, or Rowan — and began walking.

She didn’t even know where she was walking until she ended up at the dance studio. It was unlocked, but empty. She couldn’t remember if there had been an end time to the auditions, but it seemed completely deserted. No one was sitting at the front desk, and the lights were eerily dim. This is what she’d expected to walk into last week when she’d stolen back her lacrosse hoodie, and she was even more annoyed about it somehow.

Instead of focusing on that, though, she went straight for the first open studio and turned the lights on. The fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered on, illuminating the wooden floors beneath with a warm yellow glow. She toed her sneakers off and padded barefoot to the corner of the studio where the massive (and ancient) stereo system was stored. She pulled her phone out and connected it, pulling up one of the old playlists Rowan had made for her and closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. Her feet took off, working in sync with the rhythm reverberating through the bare floor. Next, her arms spread, stretching out and shaking off the stress of the last few weeks.

For the first time, she really let herself feel it. The worrying and wondering what the future would hold. She knew Rowan was destined for Wendlyn, but she had no idea what she would do if she didn’t get in, too. He’d assured her that they’d stay together and figure it out, but who really stays with their high school boyfriend? She knew they weren’t like everyone else – they were special – but it didn’t stop her from thinking about it and wondering. When it came down to it, that’s why she really couldn’t bring herself to audition today. She couldn’t risk spending less time with Rowan, not if this was the last few weeks of their relationship.

Whoa. Where did that thought come from?

She ignored the small tear that pooled in the corner of her eye, letting it drip down her cheek as she spun in time with the music. How could she doubt her and Rowan’s relationship after all this time? She knew in her soul that they were destined to be together. She couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t wake up and see him every day. But there had been a small slice of fear since they first kissed, and it had ebbed and flowed with each passing day until it was now a gaping chasm in the pit of her stomach. The idea that she could end up elsewhere without Rowan was a real, actual problem. And the timeframe was closing in on them. What if this was the end of them? How would she ever recover?

Her hands reached overhead and then she let her body collapse to the floor in a graceful fall, letting go over the overwhelming sensations of fear that had been swirling and threatening to paralyze her. She arched her back and her neck released, the tension that Rowan had tried to knead attempting to relax and letting gravity pull her down, down, down.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Rowan. She did. More than anything. She just didn’t trust this world. She didn’t trust that everything would work out the way it was supposed to. I mean, just look at her dad. He’d thought he’d found the love of his life, and she walked away like it was nothing. Walked away from Aelin.

She didn’t want to cling to Rowan, to be the girl who changed her whole life just to be with a guy. She wasn’t that person. No. She was Aelin fucking Galathynius, and she could live life fully on her own. But she wanted to be with Rowan. Wanted the whole package. Saw their life together. And wanted more than anything for it to become a reality. But what if that future disappeared? What if it was cut short? What if they drifted apart. What if they tried to do long distance? Last summer while he was at camp was only two months and it was pure torture. It caused a rift so big between them that she wasn’t sure they’d overcome it. And yes, of course they did. But… to do it again? And for four years?

Her emotions threatened to choke her as she continued to dance out her frustrations, stomping and spinning and leaping, hoping against all hopes that the answers to her anxieties would appear if she could only dance long enough. She left every feeling, every worry, every gnawing anxiety on the dance floor, letting it tumble out through her moving limbs.

She didn’t know how long she’d been dancing when she opened her eyes again and refocused at herself in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the girl she saw there. She may not have come up with any answers, but she felt better. Raw, red eyed, red cheeked, and breathing hard, Aelin felt totally exposed. Which is why she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice cut through the silence, over her harsh exhale.

“Practice starts next week.”

The director of the company stood in the darkened doorway of the studio, arms crossed and lips pursed in thoughtful approval.

“Oh, I wasn’t—”

“I know you weren’t,” she said with a formal smile. “But we’d still love to have you. If you want.”

It wasn’t necessarily the answer she had hoped to reach, but something about this moment felt like the universe trying to reassure her. That things do work out the way they’re supposed to.

“Yeah?” she asked, feeling somewhat hopeful.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” she said.

A wide smile crossed the director’s face. “Welcome to the Orynth Dance Company,” she congratulated her.

Aelin didn’t know what had overcome her, but she couldn’t help but run over to her and throw her sweaty arms around her neck in a giant hug.

“Thank you.”

Right on cue, Aelin’s phone buzzed with another incoming text.

Cheeseburgers en route. See you soon. Xx

. . .

As anticipated, the cheeseburgers were exactly what Aelin needed to rejuvenate herself, but Rowan was totally right that there was no way to be sexy after housing a half pound of meat and cheese.

“I’m so stuffed,” she said, patting her extremely full stomach.

Rowan snorted. “Why don’t we take a post-dinner break and watch something?”

“Only if it’s Housewives!” Lorcan shouted from the kitchen where he was cooking dinner for him and Rhoe, who were properly affronted that Rowan hadn’t brought them cheeseburgers, as well.

Aelin sighed and chuckled softly as she let herself slump over onto Rowan, who was already pulling up Housewives onto the television.

“You are such an enabler,” Aelin laughed.

“It’s easier than dealing with him being pouty,” Rowan smartly replied.

Aelin was about to agree when they were interrupted by an unusual ring tone.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan said, sitting up suddenly. “Is that your… home phone?”

Aelin genuinely couldn’t remember the last time that had rung. Usually she and her dad were both contacted on their cells. They really just had a home line because it was part of their internet package. She couldn’t even remember who had that number.

“Uh, phone’s for you Aelin?” Lorcan shouted from the kitchen.

Even weirder?

“Who the hell would be calling this late on a Tuesday?” Aelin whispered. Rowan’s brow lifted.

“Why don’t you go see?”

Curious, Aelin pried herself off the couch and headed to the kitchen where Lorcan was standing with a spatula in one hand and the phone in the other.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

Lorcan shrugged, simply shoving the phone forward. Helpful.

Aelin cradled the phone against her ear and took a deep breath. “Hello?”

“Hello!” A deep voice rang out over the phone. “Is this Miss Aelin Galathynius?”

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“Excellent!” the voice boomed, causing her to pull the phone away from her ear slightly. “My name is Xavier Forul, and I’m a local alum of Wendlyn University. I’d love to have you in for an interview some time in the near future. Whenever you’re available! I know you’re a busy senior with a lot on her plate.”

Aelin’s heart took off, beating faster as his words unfolded.

“Interview?”

“Yes,” he continued. “It’s my favorite part of the process. As a former Wendlyn man myself, I get to sit down and speak with young promising applicants to see what their goals and ambitions might be and how they might become part of the Wendlyn world.”

Aelin glanced at the silver-headed mop peeking out above the couch and exhaled slowly. This was it. The universe reassuring her. She felt it with every fiber of her being. She could dance, she could nail her classes this semester, and she’d get into Wendlyn and be with Rowan.

“Wow, thank you so much for reaching out,” Aelin began, her autopilot pilot voice taking over. “I’d love to meet with you.”

As Xavier explained the details of the interview, Aelin’s hope buoyed. She’d been waiting for a sign from the universe, something to tell her that she and Rowan were going to work out and be fine. If a personalized phone call on a landline that hadn’t rung in more months than she could count, inviting her into the home of a University alum wasn’t a sign, she didn’t know what was. And Aelin began to hope for the first time that everything was going to actually work out.

~*~

#idwtw #idwtw au #rowaelin #rowaelin fan fic #rowaelin fic #tog fanfic #throne of glass #rowan x aelin #she's backkkk #i stg i'm finishing this fic #no fic left unfinished

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romione-trope-fest · 2 months

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Hufflepuff Tea (Search)Party

Fic Title: Hufflepuff Tea (Search)Party

Author Name: CowahBull

Selected Trope: OotP Missing Moment

Brief Summary: Hufflepuffs are great advice-givers. They’re the best argument mediators. Find a Hufflepuff if you need to be told the brutally honest truth. A Hufflepuff will never purposely steer you wrong. Hufflepuffs are also excellent gossip-finders. It’s a well-known fact around Hogwarts that if you ever need to know what’s going on in the school, you find a Hufflepuff. This particular group of Hufflepuffs has their eyes set on the story around a certain pair of Gryffindor Prefects.

Word Count: 2859 Rating: G Trigger Warnings: None

_____________

Attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible, Hannah and Susan exited the Room of Requirements to make their way back to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Hannah ensured that her prefect badge was securely attached as they passed a small group of third-year Slytherins in the second-floor corridor. She watched them turn onto the staircase leading to the Great Hall.

“Did you see me hit Zacharias with that Stunner?” Susan was chatting happily as they passed the portrait of the bowl of fruit, which hid the entrance to the kitchen. “He didn’t even have a chance to Shield.” Susan gave a triumphant whoop, and Hannah hushed her while giggling herself.

“Ernie got me a couple times tonight,” Hannah admitted as they approached the entrance to the Common Room. “I’m going to need to practice my Shield Charm before the next meeting. Do you want to practice with me after we finish Snape’s Potions essay?”

“I have Flitwik’s essay after I’m finished with Potions,” said Susan, giving the second barrel to the right a hard knock, revealing the entrance to the nearly empty Hufflepuff Common Room. “We’ll have work on it later in the week.”

“Damn,” Hannah said, disappointed. “Yeah, we can do that.”

They found seats around the table in the corner and prepared to begin working on Snape’s Shrinking Solutions assignment; they were joined shortly after by Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan.

“Guess who I just caught snogging behind that tapestry of the unicorn hunt,” whispered Ernie, relishing in the chance to share the latest gossip.

“Peeves and Sir Cadogen?” Susan teased, trying and failing to keep her focus on the schoolwork in front of her.

“Ginny Weasley and Michael Corner.” Ernie took his seat to Susan’s left and began pulling Snape’s essay from his bag. “Third couple I’ve caught back there this month.”

“People need to find another place to snog,” Hannah said, rolling her eyes. “I found Ancrum and Hurst back there yesterday.”

“Amatures,” scoffed Justin, “everyone knows about that spot. You’re guaranteed to be caught back there. Surprised Filch hasn’t permanently posted himself there overnight.”

Susan shared a mischievous look with Ernie before returning her attention to her parchment; she still needed to add another four inches on the importance of the full moon on ingredient harvesting.

Scratching quills and the rustle of papers filled the room, interrupted only by questions asked of neighbors and the occasional curses on Snape’s name.

“So, when did Weasley and Granger start dating?” mused Ernie as he flicked through the pages of his textbook.

"Wait!” Susan exclaimed, throwing down her quill, suddenly extremely invested in Ernie’s latest news. “I didn’t know they’re actually dating. Have you been withholding information from us?”

“Haven’t you seen them in the last few DA meetings?” continued Ernie. “They never stopped flirting that entire time.”

“I don’t think they even know they’re flirting,” Hannah argued.

“They were joking around a lot between their Stunning Spells,” Justin said disinterestedly. “I don’t think that means they’re dating, though.”

“I think Neville would have mentioned it if Ron and Hermione were together,” Hannah said, not looking up as she opened her copy of The Standard Book of Spells: Volume Five. “He shares a dorm with Ron, after all.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know,” argued Ernie.

“I really don’t think that’s enough evidence to prove that they’re together,” sighed Susan, returning her attention to the book in front of her.

“We can ask Longbottom tomorrow,” suggested Justin. “We have Herbology with Gryffindor in the afternoon. Hannah partners up with him whenever possible.” He gave Hannah a playful wink that she responded to with a rude gesture, her cheeks turning pink. Susan rolled her eyes and picked up her quill and a fresh piece of parchment. She had far too much homework tonight to debate the rumored love life between the two Gryffindor Prefects.

—

Greenhouse Six housed the tropical plants, making it the hottest classroom in the school. Susan and Hannah had already shed their outer robes and had pulled their hair into high buns on top of their heads when Professor Sprout charged the class to break into groups of three to take on the task of repotting Solanum melongena. Hannah was quick to claim Neville Longbottom as her and Susan’s partner.

Tucking into a station, Susan began prepping the new pot while Neville and Hannah set off on the task of calming the plant so it would allow them to uproot it without stinging them in the process. Susan eyed Weasley and Granger across the greenhouse as they began complimenting and stroking the plant sitting in front of them on the other end of the long work bench, with Potter to the left of them prepping a transfer pot.

"Wow, you have such beautiful leaves,” cooed Neville as he stroked the plumage. “Come on, dear, let’s have a look at those roots.” He gently lifted the leaves of their plant and extracted a small handful of dirt. The melongena twitched menacingly at his touch.

“Wonderful job,” Hannah said, reaching in to take a handful of dirt for herself. “So, Neville, we’ve been meaning to ask you about something.” She began to back away as a branch jerked at her.

“Now, now there’s no reason to be like that,” Neville scolded. “Hannah is just trying to help.” He didn’t take his eyes off the flower to which he was tending while addressing the girls, “What do you need to ask me?”

Susan leaned in close to him. “So what’s going on with them?” she gestured her head towards Weasley and Granger across the greenhouse, who were chatting happily with Potter.

Neville furrowed his brow. “Dean and Seamus?” he asked, barely lifting his eyes from the plant. “I’ve been wondering about them too…”

Susan stifled a laugh. “We all have.”

“Come on,” sighed Hannah, pulling a root from the pot. “You know exactly who we’re talking about.”

“Granger and Weasley,” Susan whispered. “When did they start dating?”

“I don’t think Hermione likes him like that,” Neville said, looking at them with mischief in his eyes. “Besides, isn’t Charlie a little old for her anyway?”

“Stop taking the piss, Longbottom,” added Susan, crossing her arms and glaring at Neville.

“Sorry, Susan.” Neville shrugged and returned his attention to the Solanum melongena, dodging to avoid being hit by one of its swinging vines. “I have no intelligence for you.”

–

That evening, Ernie was patrolling the west side of the castle, being sure to check behind every alcove and tapestry he passed. When he turned the corner to the third-floor staircase, he spotted a pair of Ravenclaws. Just who he was hoping to see.

“Michael, wait up,” he called, going up the stairs toward Michael Corner and Terry Boot.

The boys stopped as soon as Ernie reached them. “What’s up?” Michael asked.

“You’re still dating Ginny Weasley, right?”

Michael’s eyebrow cocked. “What’s it matter to you?“

“What’s the deal with her brother and Hermione Granger?”

“It’s not like we spend our time together talking about her brother’s love life.”

“So,” Ernie prodded further, “Ginny hasn’t said anything about their flirting during…” he looked over his shoulder. “–Er practice?”

“I’m not there to watch everyone else’s business,” Michael snapped. “I’m there to learn,” he added in a lowered voice.

“It did seem like Granger did hold his hand for a little longer than necessary when helping him up,” interjected Terry. “That’s hardly worth a fuss.”

“You could ask Lavender or Parvati,” shrugged Michael. “Do you think Hermione would have said anything to them?”

“I doubt it,” moaned Terry, appearing to be almost as interested in the rumors as Ernie. “Hermione doesn’t exactly seem like the ‘braiding each other’s hair and chatting’ type.”

Ernie considered their suggestions. “Hannah asked them before. No luck.” He turned to Michael. “His sister-”

“Yeah, I’ll ask Ginny what she knows.” He looked over Ernie’s shoulder suddenly and hitched his bag up his shoulder as Draco Malfoy and his usual posse came around the corner. “Better get out of here before he starts making trouble,” he added in a low tone.

They turned and walked away from each other before Malfoy could reach them. “No unauthorized meetings are allowed, Macmillan,” he sneered. “Ten points from Hufflepuff.”

Ernie scowled at the Slytherin gang and continued down the stairs. Making rude hand gestures when he was out of sight.

At the entrance to the Great Hall, Ernie found Hannah and Susan skipping toward him from the direction of the library, mischief in their eyes.

“Do you have any idea why Amanda Comstock would be in an empty classroom with Dexter Woodworth after curfew?”

“No way!”

“Yes way!”

–

Justin jogged past a group of third-year Ravenclaw students waiting outside the Arithmancy classroom.

“Sally-Anne, wait up!” Just who he wanted to see. As he caught up to her, he leaned to whisper, “What’s this I’m hearing about Comstock and Woodworth?” He matched pace with her as they made their way to double transfiguration.

“What is it that you’re hearing?”

“Something about the Prefects’ bathroom…”

”No, that was Cedric and Cho last year.”

“Oh right,” Justin waved for her to go on. “A classroom?”

“Yes, a classroom.” Sally-Anne nodded. “I heard that Miss Maisy Blackmon was out on patrol when she heard rustling in Binn’s classroom.”

“NO!” Justin’s shout startled a pair of first-year Gryffindors walking past. “Old Binnsey’s room? I wouldn’t consider that the most romantic place.”

“He’s got a thing for troll riots, I guess,” Sally-Anne shrugged. “Anyway,” she continued, ”Maisy goes into the room expecting to find Peeves-”

“Were they making that much of a ruckus?”

Sally-Anne only looked at him before continuing. “She goes in and sees the two of them all tangled up against the professor’s desk.”

“Here, I thought she liked girls.”

“She likes hot people,” Sally-Anne shrugged. “Hey, what’s the news on Ron and Hermione?”

“The rumor mill is all over the place.”

“You think Granger is still seeing Victor Krum?”

“She’d be crazy not to.” Justin jumped to tap his hands against a discolored brick above his head. “He is internationally famous, after all.”

“But we have no solid evidence?”

“I’m convinced they’re dating.”

“Granger and Weasley?” He had her full attention now. Justin had to pull her robe sleeve to help her avoid walking right through a passing ghost. “You have evidence to back up that claim?”

“Ron and Hermione have been seen in each other’s company more than Potter’s for the last few weeks.”

“They were doing an awful lot of laughing during dinner yesterday,” Sally-Anne added.

“The flirting really is getting out of hand.”

“That’s couple behavior, if I’ve ever seen it,” said Sally-Anne, shaking her head and smiling. “I wonder when it happened.“

“I’ll let you know when I find out,” sighed Justin as they reached McGonagall’s classroom door. “Troll riots, you say?”

–

Professor Binns droned on in front of them as Ernie spent his time scribbling on a scrap piece of parchment.

Don’t look now. What’s Weasley doing?

Hannah stretched in her seat, stealing a peek behind her. The Gryffindors were seated at the bench a few yards away. Hermione sat scribbling furiously in her notes, giving Binns her undivided attention. Harry was asleep with his face in his hands and his glasses propped on top of his head. Ron had his eyes closed and his head resting–

Oh Merlin! How long has he been resting on her shoulder?

A WHILE!

Does she even notice?

She was looking at him with total heart-eyes earlier.

Ernie drew a stick person with giant hearts for eyes and big curls coming from her head.

Hannah nudged her elbow into Susan’s side, jolting her out of the sleepy trance into which she was slipping. At her confused look, she passed the parchment in front of her and signaled for Justin’s attention as well. They both sat and read the note intently before they both found themselves with sudden cricks in their necks that simply needed to be stretched out immediately.

Susan gasped but covered it up with a cough. Justin stole the paper and his quill.

So they are dating!! We need to figure out when

A head on her shoulder does not equal dating. I do that to Hannah all the time.

Ernie craned his head to read the note sitting between Hannah and Susan. He shot them a look that meant one thing: ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’. Taking the paper, he scrawled.

You didn’t see the heart-eyes. If they’re not dating now, they will by the end of term. I guarantee it!!

He tossed the paper back to the group with a look of pride. The bell rang, rousing everyone in class from their stupor. Ernie watched as Ron jolted up from Hermione’s arm, both blushing and refusing to look at each other.

–

Prefect patrol duties were really cutting into their study schedule. Hannah complained to Ernie about their course load as they aimlessly roamed the halls for the last hour before curfew.

“She’s a sadist,” she cried. “Who assigns a four-foot assignment on Shield Charms without including class practice time?”

“Maybe Harry will be able to go over it with us again on Monday.” Ernie pulled his magic coin from his pocket to confirm the date. “I need to get Justin back for that Stunner he sent to my face.”

“I’m going to ask Hermione if I can look at her notes for Arithmancy. Mine just don’t feel complete enough. And you know how strict Professor Vector can be about thoroughness. I don’t know how I’m going to finish those problems for her by class tomorrow.”

Hannah talked non-stop for three floors while Ernie halfheartedly looked inside every classroom they passed.

“Shh,” he said to Hannah before calling into the long, unused classroom. “It’s almost curfew; you better get back to your Common Room.”

A mop of red hair appeared from behind the teacher’s desk, pulling up a very embarrassed-looking girl.

“Weasley, please,” Ernie started. “I’m much too tired to deal with this tonight.”

“Not a problem at all,, my friend,” laughed Fred (or was it George?) as he reached into his pocket and pulled out two small packages. “How about we part ways here and pretend it never happened?”

He put the bags of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products into Ernie and Hannah’s hands before pulling an apologizing Angelina Johnson down the hall toward the Gryffindor Common Room.

“No detours!” Hannah called after them, but they were already gone.

“That has got to stop happening,” said Hannah as she pocketed her bribe. “I’m going to be able to start my own joke shop with everything hiding in my trunk.”

“We could just report them.” Ernie shrugged. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Continuing their patrol, they peered into classrooms and behind statues periodically but found nothing but cobwebs and dust.

“We should head back to the Common Room,” Hannah yawned. “Double Potions with Slytherin first thing tomorrow.”

Ernie yawned his agreement and opened the door for the second-floor corridor. Before she could get through the door behind him, he froze. At the bottom of the stairs were Ron and Hermione, on their own patrol. Hermione was laughing animatedly at the impression Ron was making of Umbridge, their fingers interlocked.

Hannah shut the door, and the two leaped an arm’s length apart, realizing they were not alone. “Good evening, Ernie. Evening Hannah,“ Hermione said nervously, her cheeks pink. Ron nodded but refused to make eye contact with either of them.

"Hello, Hermione,” Hannah said, her voice a little too polite. “Good evening, Ron.”

“Evening,” Ron said as he and Hermione began ascending the stairs.

Ernie seemed to have found his legs again and continued to descend, passing them in the middle. Hannah followed close behind, her mind buzzing but her face remaining as neutral as possible.

As both parties met on the staircase, Ron cleared his throat and spoke in a low tone. “Er Harry hasn’t sent the notice yet, but -er- it moved to Thursday after dinner.”

“Right,” Ernie said, nodding. “Thanks.” He gave a weak thumbs up before he and Hannah passed through the space the Gryffindor students had created between each other.

The moment they were around the corner and out of earshot, Hannah turned to Ernie, her eyes alight. ‘Oh my god’ they mouthed to each other before hurrying toward the ground floor.

Ernie scratched his knuckle from pounding on the barrel blocking the Hufflepuff Common Room, but he gave it no notice as he and Hannah went running up to the table where Susan and Justin sat, absorbed in their homework.

“Oh my gods, you will never guess who we just saw!”

#submission

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eddiemunson-fanfic · 2 years

Text

(R)ea(D)ting you out

Eddie Munson x Plus Size!FM Reader

Warnings; oral (m/f receiving), fingering, p in v, squirting.

Summary: You're home alone, reading a book you got recommended by your best friend, and smoking some weed you bought off him. He always had the best recommendations when it came to books, and it was almost a weekly thing where you bought some weed of him and read a book in your room. But only thing different this time, was that you were home alone, and you get a surprise visit.

It was friday night. You laid out across your bed, reading some Lord of the Rings, smoking a blunt. You started reading the books after a recommendation from your best friend Eddie, who said you should read them. He always had great book recommendations. You bought some weed off of him, because he had the best weed in town, even tho he said you never had to pay for the weed he gave you, but how else would he get his business flowing if you got free handouts all the time?. You were about to have a good time just chilling by yourself, getting lost in a world outside of Hawkins.

God, you wished to leave here once you graduated. You were home alone for the weekend, because your dad got himself a new job, and your mom was with him to celebrate with some old friends of theirs. Your dad was a real big baller. Always up for making money. But oh, the relationship they had made you needy for your own. But being in Hawkins would never get you that far.

You were so deep into your book that you got startled when you heard knocks at your window. You looked at the window, and saw a figure you knew quite well. You went to open, and he popped his head in.

“Hey princess” he said, before you could say anything.

“Munson, you know my parents aren’t home, right?” you laughed at him. He looked at you and smiled an awkward smile.

“So, I climbed up your window for nothing?” he chuckled, climbing the rest of the way, almost dragging you down with him as he fell to the floor. He held onto your legs to steady him, and looked up at you.

“Whoops” he said, and it made you giggle.

You steadied yourself on his shoulders to not fall on top of him.

You could see something in his eyes shift, before you realized what was happening. He had a clear view of your pussy in your new lingerie you bought yesterday. You tapped yourself mentally on your shoulder for wearing the skirt he gave you for your birthday one year as a joke. It was very tiny, and barely covered your ass. You used it sometimes when you were home alone and wanted to have some alone time with your toys. Easy access.

He coughed and tried to sit up, leaning on your window. You helped him up and smiled when he was hovering over you, the lust clear in his eyes and voice.

“So, I see you’re wearing the skirt I gave you” he said, scratching the back of his neck, in a nervous manner. You twirled for him, making him groan watching you. He got a better view of your pussy and ass while you twirled for him.

“You like?” you said, facing him and smiling, like nothing had happened. You loved to play this little cat and mouse game you had going on.

He knew what made you horny, and you knew what made him horny. You’ve seen his stares over several occasions where he looks either at your ass or boobs. He’s never seen your pussy like this tho, so that’s new.

You were really close, and shared everything with each other. Even the stuff that was a turn on and turn off for both. Whenever you actually got lucky and a guy wanted to get down and dirty with you, he always got the heads up in advance, and always asked you if he did what you liked, or how he was in bed. Most of the time they couldn’t keep up with what you wanted, because they haven’t had a chubby girl before, and you guess they only wanted to fuck you just to have it on their resume or some bullshit.

“If I like it?” he said, dragging you out of your thoughts, the smirk he had on him was enough to make your pussy throb. You’ve always been attracted to Eddie, but you didn’t wanna ruin anything with saying that you wanted him to bend you over and fuck you anytime you guys hung out.

You knew Eddie was a perv, but even if he was a perv, he was so innocent too. He never acted on his pervy thoughts, no matter how pervy they were, and he never did stuff with anyone without their consent. You knew, because girls had told you how sweet he was when they fucked. How reassuring he was to them because he wanted to make them feel safe. He was always a sweetheart despite his pervy thoughts. You loved him to death for him being his sweet self, no matter how many times he tried to gross you out for his pervy thoughts. Little did he know that you got wet anytime he talked about choking someone out with either his hands or cock, how he would love to just bend a girl over his desk in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class. Tie up a girl to his bed, and just have his way with her. If he only knew how many times you’ve masturbated to the thought of his pervy thoughts. You’re glad he couldn’t read your mind.

You scoffed at him, and just laid down in your bed again. You picked up the book, and continued reading as if nothing had happened. And by “accident” you spread your legs so he could see right up your skirt, and see the wet spot on your lace panties. You knew he loved watching girls with lace panties, and after he told you that, the only thing you bought and wore was lace panties. You could hear him gulp, knowing you had his attention. You knew he was looking, but when you looked down at him, he looked away, acting like nothing.

“Are you just gonna ignore me?” he said, and you could feel your bed shift by his weight. You looked over at him, slowly laying your book down on your stomach.

“Well, I didn’t invite you, stupid” you said, scoffing at him again, and he just chuckled.

“That’s true, but I thought we could have fun anyways!” he exclaimed.

“What do you mean by fun?” you said, looking at him with a question spread across your face. You could see that his eyes had shifted with lust, and it made you proud of yourself.

He chuckled and laid between your thighs. This was not the first time he laid down like this, but it was weird and kinda hot. You bit down on your lip, and smiled. He looked up at you between your legs, propping himself up on his elbows. You could feel his breath on your pussy, and it made you shiver.

You were so turned on by looking at him between your legs, especially since he could probably smell how wet you were. You suddenly became anxious that he would think you were nasty or something, and not the good kind of nasty. He just smiled at you, and climbed further up your legs, propping himself so his face was laying on top of your stomach, while he snaked his arms around your thighs, holding onto them. You could feel the warmth of his hands, but the rings he was wearing made goosebumps appear all over your body. Your breath hitched in your throat, and he looked up at you between his lashes.

Damn those beautiful lashes of his. They were so full, and the way his brown eyes looked up at you? It made you wet all over.

He inhaled, and very subtly grinned into the bed. You thought he was just laying more comfortably, but he was trying to get some friction off because of how hard he was getting, laying there, smelling how horny and wet you were. He wanted nothing but to dive into your pussy and devour you. He'd heard a long time ago that chubby girls taste sweeter, and he wanted nothing but to try for himself. The smell you gave off, was even sweeter than he had expected. He was hooked just by the smell.

“I don’t know, maybe, weed?” he said, sheepishly, pointing his head towards the weed you had laying on your bedside table. You chuckled and leaned over to the finished blunt you rolled earlier before you was gonna read the book he had recommended. You lighted it, and took some puffs before handing it to him. He smiled, and took the blunt, inhaling hard, before he closed his mouth and let the smoke fill his lungs completely before he exhaled.

“That’s some good shit, who’s your dealer?” he laughed, looking up at you, taking another drag before handing it over to you. “He must be handsome if he got this good weed” he smirked, winking at you. You scoffed and pushed his shoulder lightly, making him chuckle.

“You’re such a dork” you said, laughing at him, taking a drag of the blunt before handing it over to him again. You laid there, sharing the blunt, talking about stuff that had happened this week while you guys were not together. Which was little to nothing tbh. But you had some classes separate from eachother, and you had some curriculares outside of your classes that you took apart from eachother. He told you about his new idea for D&D, and you told him that you wanted to try to work for the local animal shelter in town.

You ended up reading out loud for him, and he settled in between your legs, laying on his stomach, while his head rested on top of your stomach. He laughed once in a while because he was high as shit, and your stomach made funny noises. You swatted his head when he laughed, making him hardly focus on what you were reading.

After a while you could feel his hands slowly twist round, so they were beside your ass. One hand of his was resting beside your ass, while the other, he pulled to hold under his chest. But because he was laying so close, he grazed your pussy, while retreating his arm to the position he wanted it. It made you moan slightly by the touch of him, which awakened his interest. He probably felt more bold because of the weed he’d been smoking, because he would never do this if it wasn’t for the weed.

He grazed your pussy slightly again, making you moan some more. “Oh, so princess likes to be touched?” he smirked, softly stroking your pussy outside of your panties. He sat up to get a better view of you, and smirked. He could see your eyes was filled with lust, and he shifted slightly, trying to redirect his erection in his pants without you noticing.

“You’re so damn wet already” he cooed, stroking your pussy, making you a whimpering mess just by the touch. “You’ve been this wet the entire time?” he asked, wanting to get you to confirm his unasked question from earlier. You only nodded and moan a bit more, making him chuckle and smirk at you.

“Such a dirty girl, huh, getting wet for her best friend” he cooed, pushing slightly at your dripping core from outside of your panties. This made you whimper and almost close your legs on him, but he stopped you. He positioned himself between your legs, and smiled up at you. Your hand instinctively went up to his hair, pulling lightly, making him bite down on his lip.

“Fuck princess, can you continue reading?” he asked you, taking you by surprise. You didn’t know what else to do, but you picked up your book, and started to read.

He grinned against the mattress, slowly sliding your panties to the side, just looking at how wet he had made you. He took a mental picture of how good you looked, glistening for him, and he could see your pussy tightening around nothing, waiting to be filled in some way.

He slowly caressed your slit, and it made you whimper. It made him stop immediately, because you stopped reading. “If you stop reading, I’ll stop touching you” he spoke, looking up at you, and you bit down on your lip. “Capiche?” he asked, and you nodded, starting to read again.

He slowly inserted one finger, moaning by how tight you were just around his finger. He had dreamt about this so often, and so had you. Without any of you knowing how bad you wanted eachother. He snaked his way up to your little bundle of nerves, while pumping in and out of you softly, inserting another finger, making you moan, while he attached his mouth to your clit, sucking and licking, making you moan even more.

“Mmm, taste so damn good” he cooed against your clit. Making you shiver. No one had ever made you feel so good, by doing so little. But it might also be because of the weed making you more sensitive, or your best friend who you’d been craving for several years being in between your legs, making you feel good. It wasn’t a fantasy anymore.

Your hand was still in his hair, pulling lightly, making him moan more against your clit. It sent goosebumps through your entire body. You could feel his calloused fingers pumping inside you, while he suddenly stopped, pushed them out of you, and dove his tongue right in between your folds, licking up the juices, while his finger went to your clit and softly circled it. It made you forget how to breathe for a second, and you tossed the book aside, forgetting all about it while both your hands went into his hair.

“Oh Eddie!” you moaned, pulling his hair. “That’s right baby, scream my name” he cooed you on, while pumping into your pussy again with his fingers while he licked your clit. “You taste so good on my tongue baby” he cooed, making you moan his name even more.

“Fuck Eddie, ‘m a cum” you moaned, humping his fingers, chasing your release. “That’s right baby, cum for me” he cooed you on, pumping a bit faster, chasing your release with you.

Your legs were shaking, squishing his face between your legs, while you felt the warmth build up in your lower stomach. “Fuck” you moaned, feeling your release getting close. You continued to ride his face, while he pumped his fingers in and out of you faster. Your legs shaking more, the closer you were.

“Fuuuck!” you screamed, pulling his hair, making him moan too, cumming around his fingers and face. You laid there for god knows how long after your release, smiling for yourself.

“That was fucking amazing!” you breathed, making him chuckle. “I think you squirted baby” he said, looking up at you between your legs, making you look down at him. You could see his entire face dripping with some liquid, and you grimaced to say that you were sorry. You didn’t even know you could do that. He smiled at you, laughing.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t even know I could do that! If I knew I could I would’ve warned you! I’m so sorry for..” you were rambling, and he shut you up by crashing his lips to yours. You could taste the smell of yourself, and it was intoxicating to say the least. Especially on the lips of the person you loved the most. Shit, you really did love him.

You were kissing for a while. Passionate and hot. Tongues wrestling with each other. But you could never get enough of this. The taste of his mouth on yours, whether he had eaten you out or not. It made you horny all over again. And suddenly you felt it. His erection rubbing against your thigh, making you moan into his mouth.

“I wanna taste you” you said, breaking off the kiss, making him look at you. “What do you mean?” he asked, looking at you, and you reached down and grabbed him through his pants, making his eyes go back in his head with pleasure.

“Fuck” he breathed, crashing his lips with yours again while you rubbed him through his pants. You palmed him, and could feel how hard he was. A wet spot of precum where his head had been sitting this entire time. “Mmm” he moaned into your mouth, while you still rubbed him.

“Can I take these off?” you questioned, and before you could react, he was already dragging his pants down with his boxers, and his erection sprung free. You looked down, and your mouth watered just by the sight of him. Damn, he was bigger than you thought.

“Lay down” you demanded, before he looked at you, brows furrowing. “Lay down!” you exclaimed, laughing at him, pushing his chest lightly for him to lay down in your bed.

You positioned yourself between his thighs and pumped him a few times. He took one of your pillows and prompted it behind his head so he could get a better view of you. He cupped your cheek, and you smiled, before your lips softly took his leaking tip, licking up the precum, before you opened your mouth entirely, inviting him into your mouth, taking as much of him as you could handle. He moaned, and it was like music to your ears. His hands snaking into your hair. You could feel he wanted to push you down, but he didn’t wanna push you further if you didn’t want to. You stopped, with his dick in your mouth, looked up at him, and smiled, before you took all of him, down to his balls.

You could feel your eyes getting teary, but you didn’t care. This is something you learned made guys crazy when you went down on your previous sexual partners. And you wished for the life of you that it ticked Eddie just the same. The way he writhed underneath you, and moaned made you smile. He reacted just the same as everyone else. Not that you’ve sucked that many dicks, but the few you have, you wanted to make sure they remembered you.

“Holy shit, princess” he moaned, pulling your hair. “I now understand the rumours” he said, making you question what he meant. Rumours? What rumours? You stopped sucking him with a pop, while you played with his balls.

“What do you mean?” you asked him, still playing with his balls with one hand, while you pumped his shaft with your other. Looking at him made you wet, because his eyes were rolling back in his head, and his legs were shaking.

“A few guys had been talking about how you were a god at sucking dick” he said, faint pink running across his cheeks. “And I didn’t believe them” he chuckled, laying his head back, while you laid down in between his legs again, taking his shaft between your lips, licking down the left side of it, before you switched and licked up the right side, making him moan even more.

“I’m not gonna last long if you continue” he breathed. This made you motivated. You gulped down his dick again, and you could feel him hit the back of your throat. You stilled, looking at him, nodding at him. Taking his hand into your head and helping him press down.

You took a deep breath before he went to town. He pushed your head down his shaft, choking you, making your eyes water.

“Fuck, can I cum down your throat?” he moaned, asking you. You just nodded, and that was it for him.

You could feel the hot liquid shoot down your throat, and his hips stilled. He pumped into your throat a couple of times, before you pulled your mouth halfway off him, making sure you got every last drop of cum that was around his shaft too.

“That..” he breathed, while you laid down beside him, he lifted his arm so you could cuddle up to him. “That was the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten” he laughed, and you looked up at him, smiling. “I’m glad you liked it” you smiled, feeling the weed starting to wear off.

“Liked it?!” he exclaimed, looking at you. “I fucking loved it, I can never go back to a normal after that blowjob” he said, making you wonder what he meant. You didn’t wanna know the answer to that just yet, so you just cuddled up to him, and he kissed the top of your head.

You laid there in silence, just listening to him breathing, peeking at his soft dick, smiling for yourself. Victory. You almost wanted to just lay down between his thighs again and just feel him grow in your mouth.

You felt brave, so you sat up, and he stopped you. “Where are you going?” he asked, holding onto your wrist.

“Calm down, you’re gonna like it” you smirked, and laid down between his thighs. “Holy fuck” he breathed, looking down at you. “This view is something else” he said, while you shut him up with taking his dick in your hands, licking the sides of him before you took him in your mouth, earning another moan from him. He grew almost instantly, and you started to slowly pump your head up and down his growing shaft. You reached down between your thighs, because you could feel yourself getting wet again.

You moaned, causing his dick to pulse. “Fuck baby” he moaned, pulling your hair a little, making your head go lower on his dick. You could feel him press at the end of your throat, and you pumped your head faster, making him moan even more.

Your free hand went between you, massaging his balls, making him a moaning mess beneath you. You circled your clit, while you pumped up and down his shaft.

“I wanna be inside you” he moaned, and it made you stop. You sat up to look at him, still pumping him in your hand.

“You sure?” you asked, looking at him, and he just nodded, biting his lip. “On top” he moaned, and you did as he wished. You climbed on top of him, afraid your weight would be a trouble, but he didn’t seem to mind at all while you straddled his waist, feeling his dick press against your clit. You leaned down between you, inserting his dick in between your wet folds, making him whimper.

“Fuck, I can already feel how wet you are” he said, looking down at you. You inserted his dick slowly, and sat down, pushing him all the way. You both moaned in unison.

You adjusted to his size, while he grabbed your waist. “Fuck, you’re so tight” he exclaimed, pulling you down for a kiss. You kissed, and he could feel you tighten around him, making him moan into your mouth.

You started to ride him slowly, just adjusting to his size, before you picked up the speed. You leaned forward, holding onto the wall for support, fucking yourself on his shaft. His hands went up to your tits, groping them on top of your shirt.

“Can you take this off?” he asked, pulling at your shirt. You helped him take it off you, and the sight of his eyes when your tits sprung free made you moan. He licked his lips, before he motorboated you. He sucked on your nipples, giving them both attention. The one that wasn’t getting his mouth, got his hand, twisting and pulling lightly. You moaned even more, feeling the warmth in your lower belly trying to push through again.

“‘M gonna cum” you moaned, whimpering by the touch of his rings barely touching your nipples.

“Cum for me baby” he cooed you on, lifting his hips to meet yours, helping you chase your orgasm once again. Your legs gave in, and he made you roll over on the bed, whimpering because of the missing contact while he climbed between your legs, inserting himself slowly before he started to quicken his pace.

He pulled your legs up to his shoulders, giving him better access. This way he felt deeper, and you knew he felt it too. The moan that escaped his lips was enough for you to cum. He could feel you pulsing around his cock, and he continued his pace, chasing his own high.

“I’m cumming, where you want me?” he asked, and you looked up at him, moaning.

“Inside!” You exclaimed, and he didn’t waste any time. His hips came to a halt, and you could feel the hot liquid shooting its way inside you. You could feel him pulsing inside you. The feeling alone was enough for you to cum again. You moaned with him, before he crashed his lips onto yours. You kissed for a while, but it was no rush behind it at all. He caressed your cheek, and he let go of your legs. Breaking off the kiss, he plopped beside you, snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. You settled in his arms, and kissed his chest.

“We need to do that again” he laughed, kissing the top of your head.

~~~~~~~~~~

~Taglist: @eddiemunsonfuxks, @sammararaven

#eddie munson #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #my fic #eddie munson fanfic #smut #eddie munson x fm reader #eddie munson fanfiction #fluff #stranger things season 4 #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie munson #Eddie munson x plus size reader #plus size reader #female reader

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youcouldmakealife · 10 months

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SOTM: Georgie, Holden; good talk

For the prompt: Georgie clocking Holden’s queer

Writing Georgie’s been slow going of late and I just realised that might be because I wrote 1700 words of him right here, whoops.

Massive spoilers for the latest part of cards on the table.

Georgie tends to pick up on it pretty quick, the teammates he has that aren’t straight. It’s not really a gaydar — he dislikes the term, and anyway, it’s a misnomer, but he can’t think of a term to replace it. Nothing quite fits, explains what it is he picks up on, and he doesn’t think it’s any one trait he’s noticing, that there’s one thing in particular that makes the difference.

Some of it’s probably body language, some of it’s noticing where people’s gazes rest, some of it’s what someone says or doesn’t say, some of it he can’t describe in any other way than ‘gut feeling’, doesn’t know how he knows.

He told David, back in the day, that he noticed when people were attracted to him, and that’s true, but it’s not a necessity — he’s pegged guys who’ve been entirely disinterested in him. Not Chaps, or, hell, Lourdey either, but there have been a couple, and even then he’s picking up something.

Some of it feels like it’s coming from him, almost, like subconsciously, his brain figuring out who’s safe, safe to know, safe to tell, though of course he’s had straight teammates who were safe, queer teammates he didn’t say a thing to, for some reason or another. He’s pretty sure James is something, but they haven’t exchanged a word about it, meanwhile Finn knows all about Georgie, at least the greatest hits and the lowest lows.

He doesn’t listen to his gut like it’s gospel or anything. Gut feelings are more a sign on when to pay attention than anything else, and they’ve been right so far, but that doesn’t mean they’ll always be. It’s easy to make assumptions, especially now that Georgie’s more than a decade older than the rookies, practically came up in a different league.

The younger guys grew up with Riley and Lapointe already out, gay relationships on the TV shows they were watching, listened to openly gay musicians, had classmates who were out and proud and unafraid that being out and proud would lead to getting the shit kicked out of them by the jocks, who may have even been the jocks —

It wasn’t the world Georgie grew up in. Holden either, he’s pretty sure — he’s a few years younger than Georgie, and those years are big ones, mean Holden was barely in high school when Riley got outed, but Georgie thinks Holden’s got a bit more in common with him than he does with the kids.

And again, he could be wrong. Some guys are just open, friendly, touchy, and it comes off different than they mean it to. And Georgie’s pretty sure a few people he fucked around with back in high school would describe themselves as straight, nowadays, and they wouldn’t be lying either, not even to themselves.

Holden reminds him of those guys, at first, but not for long. There’s a certain hesitation before he answers a question with, ‘My girlfriend says…’ that makes Georgie think that he doesn’t actually have one, and if he does, she deserves better. The way he holds himself. Not quite careful, Georgie doesn’t think he’d use that word, but very aware of how he is holding himself. If he sprawls, he meant to. If he’s annoying you, he’s trying to.

The only thing Georgie doesn’t think is on purpose is the way his knee bounces during the pregame speeches, lineup readings, any point he has to sit still for a minute, staccato impatience. It’s something Robbie would do when he was particularly wound up. If it’s the same with Holden, he’s wound up all the time.

Bits and pieces make it past, though, enough to form a picture.

He doesn’t engage at all with a homophobic joke, not before Georgie shuts that shit down. He gets a pass, boring married guy with kid, doesn’t get the ‘what, ring a little close?’ that James might if he does it, Finn, so Georgie never waits, lets the job fall to him so neither of them have to deal with the bullshit.

He tenses when Bryce Marcus’ name comes up, the same way Georgie felt himself tensing every time he heard Riley or Lapointe’s at the beginning, hoping it wasn’t going to be followed up on, that he wasn’t about to be asked something, end up betraying himself.

And tonight, at the bar after a shootout win against the Red Wings, Georgie’s been half on his phone, half idly watching the Caps in San Jose, the sliver that remains aware of Holden chatting with a guy at the bar, body language just off from friendly, landing on something else.

The guy leaves, and Georgie pays a bit more attention, enough to see Holden cut out five minutes later, after looking around like he’s trying to make sure no one’s paying attention, furtive look on his face, in a way Georgie recognizes. Dipping out for a hook up is something you loudly brag about doing unless there’s a reason you don’t want the others to know, and Holden says he’s got a girlfriend, sure, but that’s not the cheater’s slink. Georgie knows what it looks like. Holden looks furtive, maybe, but he doesn’t look ashamed, or even like someone who should be.

Who knows, maybe he’s left for other reasons, left because the guy has a hook up, off scoring something else, but Georgie doesn’t think so. He’s not usually wrong, not about this kind of thing. Maybe that’s what all this is. Just a simple matter of ‘takes one to know one’. That all these times he’s just been seeing reflections of his own face.

There was a lot of that shit in Cleveland, but Georgie didn’t touch it. That might be the only thing he’s proud of about his time there. Possibly the only reason his career didn’t end there. Georgie’s known plenty of guys who’ve washed out early, and some of them it’s because they couldn’t find that last gear, make the final jump, but more than a few of them got the money, the freedom, the brush with fame, and they let it get to their heads. In their heads. Some of them figured shit out. Most didn’t.

The only reason Georgie’s still in the show is that he was talented enough that even at rock bottom, it wasn’t a question of whether he was in the roster, just where. He was a disappointment, ‘waste of a first round pick’, but even then, he was an NHL player. If he hadn’t been, he doesn’t know what would have happened. Better not to think about it, probably.

Georgie’s heading to the bathroom when he runs into Ryan coming out.

“You seen Chaser?” Ryan asks. “Can’t find him anywhere.”

“Saw him by the bar about twenty minutes ago,” Georgie says, which is technically true, and sometimes a technical truth is all you need.

“If you see him let me know?” Ryan asks. “Guy bet me I couldn’t pull that move off in a real shootout, so now he owes me a drink or three.”

“Will do,” Georgie says, “But he may have slunk out to avoid paying up.”

Ryan snorts. “Wouldn’t put it past him,” he says.

He keeps asking after Holden all night, even though Georgie buys him a drink for the spin-o-rama move, and he’s pretty sure James does too — if it hadn’t worked James probably would be giving him the silent treatment for trying that shit in a real game, but he gives credit where credit’s due — and Georgie hopes he doesn’t keep on it after tonight.

Georgie’s grabbing a last call snack at the hotel bar — he has a love-hate relationship with the fries at this particular hotel, the hate part being that he can’t leave Detroit without eating them at least twice — when Holden walks into the hotel lobby.

“Chaser, c’mere,” Georgie says, and the way Holden’s feet get rooted, face going through a whole journey, before he visibly steels himself — that would have done it right there, even if Georgie hadn’t already known. The forced casualness in his gait as he walks over? Georgie recognizes that too.

“Up late, old man,” Chaser says, sitting down in the stool beside him.

“Fries?” Georgie asks, and Holden sits down, taking a couple, orders a beer just under the wire of the actual last call.

“Beanie says you owe him a drink or three,” Georgie says. “Was looking all over for you, wouldn’t let it go.”

“Shit, I forgot about that,” Holden says. “Who knew he had the balls, huh?”

“I told him you’d probably slunk out early to avoid paying,” Georgie says, and Holden looks hilariously offended for a moment, before Georgie keeps talking. “Guy was cute.”

Holden’s so still he’s practically vibrating. Which should be an oxymoron, but it isn’t, at least not right now.

“I didn’t mention it,” Georgie says. “I wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Holden says.

“I had a boyfriend in college,” Georgie says, looking down at his fries, cold now, picked over. “It was pretty serious.”

“Then you hit the show,” Holden says, assumes, like it’s simple, and it isn’t, but maybe it isn’t that complicated either, or at least not as complicated as it’s always felt. Well, since Georgie made it complicated. Before that, he doesn’t think there’d ever been anything easier.

“Like I said, I’m not saying anything to anyone,” Georgie says, “but if you want to say anything to me, I’m here.”

“Okay,” Holden says, but he’s quiet. This is the quietest Georgie’s ever seen him, actually. He sips his beer, quick, like he lay a trap for himself by ordering it and now he’s trying to get himself out of it, and he doesn’t say a thing.

Georgie’s already paid his bill, and he figures he can put the poor guy out of his misery. “I’m going to head to bed,” he says. “Be safe, hey?”

Holden snorts. “Sure.”

“Better for you than pulling Cap’s pigtails anyway,” Georgie says, and by Holden’s splutter as he walks away, he worries he landed a little too close to the mark for anyone’s good.

Another thing he’ll have to keep an eye out for, then. Nobody tells you this shit when they offer you the A, but thinking back to Washington, he’s pretty sure team leadership knew more about what was going on than Georgie’s comfortable with to this day. So maybe he should have figured.

Georgie says a silent apology to the last of his fries, abandoned at the bottom of his basket. They’re good fucking fries — he hopes Holden doesn’t let them go to waste, but somehow he doubts he has much of an appetite right now.

#fic snippet #SOTM #georgie dineen #Holden Chase

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detectivecarisi-1 · 1 year

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The Senator’s Daughter Chapter 3 (Bodyguard! Dave York x AFAB Reader.

AN: Y’all... no one look at me lol. This is filthier than I expected (especially considering they haven’t even fucked yet) but uh... I have 0 friends and too much freetime so... yolo. Anyways please, enjoy! If you wanna be added to the taglist feel free to DM me :) also I’m a fool so... still working on a Masterlist whoops.

Rating: EXPLICIT. So, minors, no. 18+ only!

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Oh where to start 🫣.. graphic descriptions of a wet dream, male and female masturbation, language, legal age gap, dave york has a filthy mouth, self-destructive behavior, talks of drugs and alcohol, Sudoku lol, sex toys, Dave York being a cocky bastard, degrading (a few uses of slut), praise kink, size kink… dom/sub undertones, dumbification kink…

Tags: @fatimaisabelpascal

@hayley1623

Prolouge Chapter 1 Chapter 2

You’ve barely hit the bed before Dave is on top of you, wedging his knee between your legs, spreading you open for him. You look up at him, eyes wide, you open your mouth, ready to ask him what he’s doing, but all your words turn to a loud moan as his mouth descends on you.

He’s kissing your neck, sucking bruises under your ear, and you bite your lip to keep quiet. Even though he’s barely touched you, you know if you open your mouth, you’ll beg for his cock.

It’s hard for you to compute how this man has you so aroused so quickly. He’s been nothing but cruel to you. on top of it all, he’s virtually taken away all privacy you’ll have for the next 5 months… and yet … you don’t care about that right now. All you care about is how incredibly attracted you are to this man. and seeing him, lose the control he holds on to so tightly, and focusing on your pleasure… it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced.

“Tell me to stop, baby, and I will. I’ll get up and we can pretend this never happened” he whispers in your ear, taking a second to bite your earlobe. His voice is rough, clipped with barely restrained lust, and you can feel how wet you are. You feel yourself dripping down your thighs … it’s embarrassing honestly. How he’s barely done anything, just hovering over you, his lips on your neck, his voice in your ear… has you melting beneath him. You forget about his cold eyes, and all you can think of is how badly you need him inside of you. How you are beyond desperate for him to touch you.

“Please… please don’t stop, Mr. York… want this so bad”, it comes out much higher pitched and whiny than you had meant for it to. You had hoped you could have a low, sultry voice, but you’re so fucking turned on by this man, your body, even your voice… can’t seem to wait any longer for him.

You’ve never felt this pathetically desperate for someone. Never felt empty, for a man before. You can actually feel your cunt clenching around nothing needing him to fill you, with his fingers, his tongue, his cock… anything, and all he’s done is kiss your neck…

… until he pulls your pajama shirt off, revealing your bare chest to him. He kisses his way down your neck, biting as he goes, before he looks up at you, as covers your nipple with his mouth.

It’s a sin, really. how beautiful he looks right now. those cold, dark eyes, now have a mischievous, cocky glint, as he swirls his tongue around your nipple. His hand reaches up to roughly grab your other breast, as he gently bites down on your sensitive bud. Your back arches off the bed as you moan for him, and he gives you a confident smile as he moves to do the same to the nipple he neglected.

Fuck … it feels so fucking good. you’ve never had someone spend this much time savoring you, the other people you’ve picked up from the club have been too quick to lay you down and shove a finger inside you until your wet enough, driven by their own selfish need to hurry and fuck you. But .. Dave York … you can tell he’s the type of man to tease you until you’re begging for him. The type that wants to watch you slowly come undone over and over again … until you’re crying under him. Then, and only then, is he going to fill you, and fuck you like you deserve.

It’s the type of patience and understanding that only comes from an older man with plenty of experience in how to please a woman.

And it’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever experienced.

You’re convinced you could cum, just like this. Only from this incredibly sexy man with his mouth and hands on your tits. You feel yourself get embarrassingly close to your high, as you begin to lift your hips, desperate for something between your thighs. But you know better than to touch yourself… you can tell Dave wouldn’t like that. No, you know Mr. York wants to be in control of your pleasure, you know he’d be upset if you took a second of this from him… part of you is curious to see what would happen if you were to piss him off, but you mostly just want him to fuck you.. so, you put that thought on the back burner for now.

You’re grinding your hips into him… and… oh god he’s so fucking big. you can feel his cock, achingly hard, through his dress pants. It’s long, but you’re really amazed by how thick he is. The most beautiful fucking cock you’ve ever seen, and he hasn’t even taken off his pants yet… if you weren’t so distracted by your own need, you’d question how you’re going to fit him inside you.

Dave bites your nipple again, much harder than before, the feeling borders on too painful, but your cry of pain turn into a low moan as a rush of pleasure overtakes you when he kisses it better. He groans as you continue to dry hump him. you should be embarrassed by your brazenness … but it feels too good for you to care.

“If you want something, princess, all you have to do is ask. I’ll give it to you. you just gotta use your words, pretty girl…” God you wanna ask for it. you wanna beg for him to flip you over and fuck you until he fills you with his cum, and then fuck you again. you want him to keep going until you’re both completely spent and there is nothing left for him to give you, you want to drain him until he’s filled you with every single ounce of his cum… but it seems all your thoughts are currently preoccupied with how he’s began grinding his impressive length on your clothed pussy ,meeting your desperate movements. That leaves all mental capacity for forming words completely blank and all you can do is moan his name…

He smiles, proud of himself, before he shifts his voice into something crueler, mocking, almost, as he starts grinding into you harder.

“Awe… poor baby. are you cockdumb already? look at you… desperate, dirty, pretty girl … barely even touched her and she’s thoughtless for me. my poor, pathetic little slut. you want me to fix it for you, baby? I can make it all better for you. all you gotta do is say ‘I’m yours, sir’ that’s all you gotta do, pretty girl. and I’ll make you feel so fucking good, baby. I’ll fuck you so good all you’ll be able to think about, every day, is how good I treat you. you just gotta tell me you’re mine, princess, that’s all I need.”

oh. oh fuck.

Is it possible to cum from someone’s words alone? Cause even if he weren’t grinding into you right now, you’re sure his words would be enough to send you over the edge. No one has ever spoken to you like that, and honestly, if it were anyone other than Dave York calling you a pathetic little slut, you’d slap them and send them on your way… but something about how he said it to you, how he’s still swirling his tongue around your sensitive nipple …

Wait … how the fuck is he whispering absolute filth into your ear, while still swirling his tongue around your nipple?

You start to question if this man is some sort of God or some fucking shapeshifter, which honestly, that’s dope too, when “Man After Midnight” by ABBA starts loudly playing… ruining the moment cause … c’mon, it’s a terrible song to fuck to.

And you wake up.

You wake up… fuck you wake up. You’re remembering now, laying down after Dave took your flask, and deciding to sleep it off … you must’ve set an alarm, so you don’t sleep the entire day away. You made that mistake once; it ruined your sleep schedule for a month.

You’re realizing that it was just a beautiful, incredibly hot dream. You … just had a fucking wet dream about your bodyguard. But, you don’t even have it in you to be ashamed because you’re currently just as desperate for Da- Mr. York, as dream you was.

You’re uncomfortably wet. You know your panties are ruined, and you can already tell that the second you get up, there’s going to be a wet spot on your sheets below you… fuck… you need to cum. Dream Mr. York knew exactly what to do to make you needy, and you woke up so turned on you can’t think of anything other than how badly you need to orgasm.

“Will you turn that shit off.”

You yelp as you look over to find Mr. York sitting in the chair by your makeup desk. He’s not even looking at you, too distracted by some book in his hands. you read the cover “100 Extremely Hard Sudoku Puzzles!” and you hold back a laugh as you look at the man you just had an incredibly hot wet dream about… having a book dedicated to sudoku puzzles. What a “middle aged man” thing to own.

His distraction from the, presumably difficult, round of sudoku he’s playing allows you to shamelessly check him out. His suit jacket from earlier is draped behind the chair he’s sitting in, along with his tie that he’s no longer wearing. His light blue shirt is unbuttoned a little, and his sleeves rolled up. You bite your lip as you process how relaxed and undone he looks. his legs are loosely crossed, and he leans forward to rest the book on his lap as he sighs and looks up at you expectantly, annoyed, like he’s waiting for something.

ABBA is still blasting behind you.

“Shit! Sorry.” You’ve really gotta change your alarm sometime soon.

Quickly, you turn it off, it’s 4:31. you’ve been out for most of the day. you feel … much better. aside from a minor headache … thankful that you’ve slept for at least 6 hours.

“Wait… Mr. York have you been in here this whole time?” He’s back to his sudoku… he doesn’t even look up “yup.” He says it like it’s … not really fucking weird to just be in a girls room, playing sudoku of all things, while she sleeps.

“… you gonna tell me why?” He still doesn’t look at you. “You were still drunk. had to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit or anything.”

The realization hits you … you just had a fucking wet dream about this man. and he was in the room with you the whole time. “And did I choke on my vomit or anything?”

If you weren’t watching him so closely, you may have missed how the corners of his lips quirk up in a small smile, before falling back to his usual, stony expression. “Nope. just … mumbling to yourself.”

Holy shit… you swear you feel your heart stop.

He puts the book down and looks at you, feigning concern for you, “why? you feeling okay?”

This bastard. You can see the devious look in his eyes. You see right fucking through him. If you weren’t so frustrated by how he definitely knows you were having a less than wholesome dream, you’d be mortified. But his usual smugness makes your blood boil with enough rage to forget about the embarrassment you should be feeling.

“I’d be better if you weren’t just watching me sleep. Mr. York, is this really necessary? What am I gonna do in my sleep, start sleep walking and do a line?”

Of course, now he’s back playing sudoku. “Is your name Till Leland?” Your brows furrow “obviously not?” “Are you my boss?” This fucking asshole. “No. But,… don’t you think-” He puts the book down and glares at you, and the asshole has the audacity to cut you off, “then don’t question how I do my job.”

This guy sucks. He is the most infuriating person you’ve ever met. He makes your blood boil in ways you didn’t even know were possible.

… but you’re still ridiculously turned on. Not only is he absolutely gorgeous, you just know that he’s not just all talk. No, the type of confident, bordering on cocky, aura Dave York has, only comes from a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. All you can think of is how close dream you was to cumming and the intense, ache resting at the bottom of your stomach.

“Okay … fine whatever…” you realize there’s no arguing with him about this, but you’re awake, clearly not choking on vomit, so, “can you leave now?” “No.” you freeze for a moment, looking at him in confusion, this can’t be normal to him, right? “Do you not see how you’re being a total creep?”

He shrugs, filling in a few blocks of his stupid sudoku puzzle. “My job is to watch you, princess,” you remember how dream Dave called you that, real Dave obviously said it as a bit of an insult, but still, you feel your pussy get even wetter, you didn’t even think that could happen. He pretends to not see the shock on your face as he continues, “gonna have to be a little ‘creepy’ to keep you from drinking yourself to death.”

Okay, fair. He is just doing his job, but watching you while you sleep? “Mr. York what do you think I’m gonna do while I’m sleeping?”

Still, he is completely enraptured by this stupid fucking sudoku game, he looks up at you for a moment, smirks, and looks back down at the book. “While you’re sleeping? nothing.’ But you could’ve been faking it, and waiting for the right moment to use the sheets you got tied together in the fourth drawer of your dresser to climb over that balcony and sneak out.” After he says that he looks up, just in time to see your jaw drop.

He searched your room. He fucking searched your room. While you’re sleeping, he went through your room.

You try to run through everything he could’ve found. your eyes instinctively drift to your bedside table, feeling your face warm with embarrassment as you know he probably found what you keep in there.

He sets the book down, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, smirking at you. “Already found that, princess. you got quite the collection, huh?” For once, he’s holding eye contact while speaking to you.

This. Fucking. Bastard.

He’s brazenly smirking at you, clearly proud of himself for rendering you speechless. Your eyes are wide, mouth open, trying to figure out where to start with him. You’re struggling to wrap your head around what is happening. The way he switches from ignoring you, to now? He’s… toying with you. He shrugs and smiles, picking up the sudoku book again, looking away, “you keep having dreams like the one you had earlier, I see why you need so much.”

You watch him, smiling to himself. like he just knows you’re on your bed, wanting to dissolve into it and fade from existence. You’re so fucking embarrassed right now you could die. you honestly wish you would.

He knows. He knows.

You can’t look away from him, your jaw is on the fucking floor, and for a moment, you swear you feel your fight or flight kick in.

But then… you notice him shift a little. You let your eyes follow the movement. Then, embarrassment is numbed a little when you notice his raging hard-on pressing against the front of his pants, before he attempts to cover it with tightly crossing his legs and resting the godforsaken sudoku book on his lap.

But you see it. It fills you with a twisted sense of pride as you see the evidence that not only did he hear you dreaming of him, but he liked hearing you.

Your eyes narrow a little, as you zero on his failed attempts to hide how turned on he is. You can’t get a great view, but you see the tent in his dress pants, and you watch the muscles in his thighs twitch, his left leg bouncing up and down on the floor. You almost feel bad for him. You know exactly what he must be feeling, you feel that same, ache between your legs.

You consider your options, ignore it, crawl over and suck his soul out of his dick, or… you could tease him like he’s been teasing you.

You decide you like the third option the best.

You take a deep breath, trying to brace yourself for what you’re about to do, as you finally respond to him. You don’t even take a second to consider the repercussions of this plan, especially since it’s flimsy. It requires him to look at you, to watch you. But you’re too turned on and frustrated, both caused by Mr. York, you don’t even care.

“I have a feeling ‘those dreams’ are gonna be a bit more common from now on.”

Instead of looking up at you, he keeps his eyes on the book. “Oh yeah? why’s that?” You watch his jaw flexing as he tries to maintain a neutral, unbothered expression.

Your heart sinks for a moment, but you're not one to accept defeat yet, adapt, improvise, overcome.

You lean over and open your bedside table, swallowing your nerves as you pull out your vibrator. You make sure to shut the drawer loudly, and a harsh slam echoes through your room.

Dave raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move.

Looks like you’re taking things even further.

You get out of bed, taking a moment to notice the prominent wet spot on your sheets, exactly how you knew there would be. Slowly, you walk to your dresser pulling out a spare pair of underwear, and a clean towel. You saunter over to Dave, “I’m gonna hop in the shower, again. kind of broke a sweat while I was sleeping.” He nods, you see that funny little muscle in his jaw twitch again “Sounds good. I’ll be here.” His voice is tight with restraint.

But he’s still not looking at you.

“How’s that game of sudoku?”

He chuckles, dryly, “struggling more than I’d like to admit.” He flexes his jaw again, and you catch the double meaning behind his words.

You lower your voice, trying to sound as sultry as you can, and you purr, “let me help you, Mr. York.” You make your way over to him at your makeup desk, standing behind him. Crouching down till your head is almost resting on his shoulder as you look at the puzzle. You take your vibrator, and place it down right next to him on the desk. His eyes follow the movement, and you watch, as his jaw goes slack, and he turns to look up at you.

Initially, his eyes are soft, his face relaxed with shock, until they process the self-satisfied smile on your face, and they harden with lust.

You pretend to not notice as you study the puzzle. You’re so close you can smell his shampoo, and it’s filling your senses and all you can think of is how bad you want him to bend you over the desk and make you look at your own reflection in the mirror as he ruins you.

But … you wanna get back at him. so, you slowly reach down, grabbing the pencil from his hand, allowing your fingers to touch as you do. You process how big his fingers are, and your cunt clenches as you imagine how incredible they would feel inside you.

Leaning down a little, you whisper in his ear “4 next to the 9, Mr. York.” As you move the book to rest more sturdily on his lap, letting your fingers lightly graze his (very poorly) hidden erection.

Oh … oh fuck.

His cock must be achingly hard, begging for release, and you have to focus all your strength on holding back a moan as he quietly sucks in a breath when your fingers brush across the top of his clothed erection.

To your surprise, it’s just as perfect as you (literally) dreamt it was. As much as the thought makes your knees go week, you want to toy with him like he did with you, so you do as you said you would, and write the 4 in the box next to the 9.

“Something got you distracted, Mr. York? You seem to have gotten the rest of the puzzle just fine, what happened?” You whisper in his ear again, you’re right next to him, if he leans you’d be touching. You wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer if that happens.

He never once looked away from you since he noticed the vibrator on the desk. His face tight with frustration and overwhelming desire. You want to look away, but you can’t. He’s so fucking beautiful, you’re having to remind yourself to breathe. He looks down at your lips for a moment, before moving back to your eyes, “I’m never distracted princess, I always win these types of games.” His voice is a low, rumbling whisper by now. you hear in his voice how he’s barely restraining himself, but he holds your gaze. He refuses to look away.

The tension between you two is so thick. It would be … so easy for you to walk around him, climb on top of him, and bring you both the relief you’re obviously needing.

He holds eye contact with you, as you hand him the pencil back, and grab the vibrator. before stepping away from him, breathing heavily.

Neither of you say anything as you slip into the bathroom. You don’t notice the way he shamelessly watches your ass, reaching down to grab his throbbing dick through his clothes, trying to focus on breathing, the second you turn your back.

The second the bathroom door closes behind you, you’re tearing your pajamas off. Rushing to turn on the shower, not even caring to check the temperature, before you step in and lay on the floor of your shower, turning on your vibrator to the highest setting, pressing it to your swollen clit.

You know Mr. York can hear the loud buzzing, barely covered up by the sound of the shower, but crazy enough, the thought of him hearing you like this, turns you on even more. You imagine his hands, his big fucking hands, roughly grabbing your breasts, just like he did in your dream. Based off the outline of his cock that you saw, you can tell that he’s just as turned on as you are, you watched his eyes, you saw his restraint cracking, and you whimper as you imagine how he would not be gentle with you.

Imagining Mr. York choking you to keep you quiet, you reach up and wrap your free hand around your throat, groaning as you tighten your grip. You’re already so close, you feel the pressure building in your core, you feel that coil tightening, so you let go of your neck, and slide two fingers into your cunt. The mixture of the vibrations on your clit, and your fingers curling inside you have you seeing stars. you wish it were Dave… God you wish his fingers were filling you, you know it would be so fucking tight for him, but you’d take it. You’re so fucking wet right now, he’d slide right in, but you can already tell there’d still be a slight burn as you struggle to take him.

Your cunt starts to desperately squeeze your fingers, and you imagine him, naked, fingering you, calling you princess, calling you a dirty, desperate little slut, as he brings you to your high, and then… you cum. You finally fucking cum.

You don’t even realize that you moan out his name as you do.

When you come down from your high, you struggle to stand up in the shower on your shaking legs, breathing heavily. Leaning on your shower wall for support, you wonder if he heard you. ———————————————— He did.

He hears every little noise and gasp that comes out of your mouth. He tries to distract himself with another round of sudoku, but he hears you call out his name in a strained moan… and he swears he almost came in his pants like a teenager. He reaches down, and roughly grips his cock, breathing deeply through his nose.

He’s trying to focus on anything but your moans, but instead all his brain can do is replay your cries, your fingers grazing his cock, how he was so close to you he watched your pupils dilate with need, he could smell your vanilla lotion, he could see your fingers shaking ever so slightly as you put the 4 next to the goddamn 9…

He’s never been this hard. not that he can ever remember. Never for carol. Never for any other girl he’s fucked. But you… you and your annoying, spoiled little attitude, your wide eyes, your soft fingers… something about you makes him want to possess you. He wants you in such a primal way, it even scares him. He was so close to breaking down the door of the bathroom, pulling his cock out, and getting in the shower with you until he actually makes you scream for him, it actually scares him a little. He had to remind himself, this is his clients daughter that’s he’s thinking of.

But your moans in your sleep, your soft fingers grazing him, your mouth next to his ears, you are screaming for him…

Dave has never been a good man. So, he chooses to accept this revelation as another one of his dark secrets.

When you emerge from the shower, he sees your face relaxed in a post-orgasm glow. He makes eye contact with you, closing the book and giving you his full attention. You freeze in the doorway and look to the ground nervously. He watches as you enter the bedroom, that confident, bold attitude you had when you grazed his cock, gone. You’re suddenly unsure of yourself, trying to hide the vibrator you all but waved in his face 30 minutes earlier, as you slip it back into your bedside table.

Dave never stops watching you.

You turn, looking up at him with wide eyes, you open your mouth to say something, but instead, you frown, throw on a clean hoodie over your t-shirt, before turning to go downstairs to eat dinner with your father. —————————————— The moment you leave the room, Dave is rushing to his bedroom. He pulls his cock out and closes his eyes as he imagines it’s your smaller, softer hands wrapped around him, jerking him off instead of his own. He imagines you, sinking to your knees, opening your mouth to let him fuck your face, only pulling away from his throbbing length long enough to beg him to cum in your mouth. His hand moves faster as he imagines you gagging on his cock, slipping a hand into your panties to rub your clit, because you just can’t wait for him. He uses his thumb to run over the slit of his cock, feeling the pre-cum beading at the tip. He tightens his grip when he imagines how good you’d suck his dick. How you’d hollow your cheeks to make it tighter for him, how you let him use your face while you gag and take it like a good fucking girl, with tears running down your face. With a loud groan, he cums when he pictures the same wide eyes you gave him when you got out of the shower, after fucking yourself with your fingers and a vibrator, crying out his name… he pictures your big, beautiful eyes, innocently looking up at him, as he uses your mouth.

He cums all over his hands and it leaks onto the floor. He prefers to imagine it was your pretty face.

After cleaning himself up, he meets you and your father downstairs for dinner.

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