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wardenparker · 10 months

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The King's Queen - chapter 2

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 16.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Illness/cancer, not the world's best father/son relationship, absolutely pure fucking fluff 🧡 Summary: Your first encounters with the king are somewhat less successful than you hope, but every moment spent with Javi seems to be more and more wonderful. Notes: I have nothing to say for myself...I just really, really love these two 🥰💖👑

Ch 1

“Welcome home, Princess.” He uses the title that will be yours for only a few days between the wedding and the coronation.

Princess. It’s that fairy tale that so many little girls all over the world harbor in their hearts and imaginations. For you it’s been a mixture of dreaming and anticipation over the years. Now that it’s so close, and he is the one calling you by the title, it feels more surreal than ever. “Thank you, your Highness.”

“Come.” Javi decides that he will show you to the throne room to greet the king before showing you the suite he had picked out for you. “My father will be waiting in the throne room.”

“That sounds very official.” The two of you walk side by side, and the way people pause in their step to bow or curtsy to him as you pass by is like something out of a movie. Keeping your head high, you do your best to keep in step with his long strides as he moves confidently through the halls. Turn after turn and hallway after hallway until he stops in front of a broad set of ornate double doors and a pair of footmen in elaborate uniforms open them to admit him – and you by proxy. It’s smaller than you expect, this grand throne room with its dais on the other end that has one great chair in the center with an older man sitting there at attention. The uniform and crown are as imposing as they are obvious, and you’re suddenly shaking with nerves as you stop in the middle of the hall to curtsy as deeply as you can manage.

“Just breathe.” Javi can sense the change in you, knowing you are nervous to meet the man who had arranged your marriage to Javi along with your parents and his mother. “At the end of the day, he’s just a man.” He murmurs quietly.

"He's my father-in-law." You whisper back, shooting the man who will soon be your husband a pointed glance even with your head bowed. In your general experience, fathers-in-law can be more troublesome than any other person in a relationship.

"You may stand." The king's formality is front and center as he sits up rail straight on his throne. When you obey him, you hold your head up tall and square your shoulders: the picture of a daughter who is used to being inspected. He will have to commend your father for that. "Come here," he instructs, motioning to the space in front of him. It takes everything in you to just breathe as you walk, stepping forward maybe six feet to stop at the foot of the dais. You've met multiple presidents, had dinners at the White House and outings with First Children. Photo ops with First Ladies and other Congressional children. You can do this. It's only terrifying because these people – this place – are the rest of your life.

Javi wants to huff and roll his eyes, because formality should be dispensed with, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he comes to stand beside you as the king stares at you. Wanting to ask if you pass inspection.

“How did you find the flight?” A little small talk never hurts anyone, and the king indicates with one finger that he wishes for you to turn in a circle.

“It was very comfortable, your Majesty.” When you turn you glance up at the prince and try to give him even a momentary glance of reassurance. “The staff was wonderful and kind.”

“And how do you find the prince?” He is pleased with your looks, although he doesn’t care for the dress you’re wearing. He’ll have to have a word with your maid about wardrobe choices.

“I look forward to getting to know him better.” This time you don’t have to make the smile small or glance short, and you look to your side with a glowing smile. “He has been a wonderful guide. And, again, very kind.”

“Yes, Javier was quite insistent on meeting the plane to show you in himself rather than our formal introduction.” Miguel’s tone is disapproving, and he doesn’t spare his son a look as he stares at you. Wanting to gauge if you whither under pressure or if the calm look of confidence is genuine.

“With respect, sire, I can appreciate the prince’s preference.” Maybe more people would grovel – maybe you should grovel and cave to a king – but that’s not your style. Your father taught you to obey, of course, but also to be confident in the face of new situations. “Formality and tradition are admirable, but the relationship between a couple, any couple, must have room for some kind of comfort. Especially in the beginning.”

Miguel’s brow raises minutely, fully aware that his willful son is practically beaming beside you. Years of bearing are the only things keeping the riot of pain that flashes through him to run across his face. “Very well.” He grunts a long moment after the pain passes. “We shall dispense with formality tonight at dinner.” He nods and then motions to Javier. “Show your queen to be her rooms, Javier.”

Unsure of what would be correct to say, you simply curtsy and murmur a polite, “Gracias.” Before standing and following the prince out of the throne room. It’s stifling in there, appropriate since it is a room constructed for the sole purpose of being imposing, and once you’re out in the hall again you breathe slowly. “How much does he hate me?” You ask quietly, looking up at the man beside you for some kind of gauge of how you did. It was only a few sentences and the king’s expression inscrutable.

“He is impressed with you.” Javi chuckles. “Less with your dress, but with you? Very impressed.”

“My dress?” With all the thought you put into it, you still managed to make the wrong decision and you close your eyes momentarily against your disappointment in yourself. “I don’t know how you figured that out from just him looking at me, but I’ll change before dinner.”

“Do not change.” Javi implores you. “It will be perfect for a non-formal family dinner. The king is just…proper at all times.”

“I can’t imagine anything in a palace being informal.” With a shake of your head and another deep breath, you nod. “Alright. I won’t change. Since you don’t want me to.”

Guiding you through the palace, Javi starts pointing out different wings and areas. Mentioning where the kitchens and the dining rooms are, alongside the ball room as he makes his way to the family quarters. “Here is where we live, keeping away from the working side of the house. We have another set of kitchens and a movie room over here.”

It’s unbelievable to hear him call this building as big and busy as two city blocks a house, but of course that’s what it is to him. He lives here – his whole family does and probably always has. “Are we ever allowed to cook, or is that considered rude?” The question seems simple, but nothing about your new life is simple. “I mean…you have a screening room. Would it be improper for us to make our own popcorn?” You know he loves movies, so you lean into that to try to give him some common ground to tread on.

“There is a kitchen in our section of the house.” Javi nods. “If you like to cook, no one is going to tell the queen she cannot.”

“It may take me a little time to adjust to all of this, but I assure you I won’t do anything to embarrass you. That’s partly why I’m asking now…so that I don’t misstep.” The titles throw you off kilter more than you expected, but you nod in reciprocation and try to be confident in your smile. He is leading you toward an elaborately gilded set of white double doors that seems to be guarded - or at least watched - by yet another of the endless amounts of footmen in the palace.

“I have chosen your suite myself.” He admits, biting his lip and hoping that he had chosen well. “I made sure that you are close to me, a view of the ocean outside your balcony.” You would stay separate until your marriage of course, but if you wanted to continue to keep your own rooms, he would not object. It would be wrong of him to force intimacy.

“Which way are you?” There is another set of doors at the end of the hallway and a set almost directly across the hall from you, but after passing so many similar closed doors on the way here, you wouldn’t presume to guess which set is his. “I mean…” you stammer, realizing that might sound too eager. “In case you…send for me…or something.”

Javi decides that he will show you his room first, slowing down to the door that leads to his room. “Here I am.” He offers, opening the double doors and motioning for you to enter if you want.

You hadn’t meant to ask for a tour, but when it’s offered you step inside carefully to take in the surroundings. It is elaborately decorated, of course, with a colour scheme of blue and white and dark woods that makes the already high ceilings feel like they reach clear into the sky. Plush upholstered sofas around a low table and a large desk occupy the front room, and the open door to the bedroom allows you just a peak of the four-posted bed in the same dark wood with blue bedsheets and fresh white flowers on the bedside table. “I think I would never leave, if I were you.” You offer him a smile, seeing the books left strewn on his desk while everything else is immaculate. The staff must be instructed not to tidy that particular piece of furniture.

“There are days I would love not to leave my room.” Javi promises, biting his lip when he realizes how it sounds. Your room is mirrored to his, although the color scheme is green. He hopes you like the color. There is also a connecting door to the suites, although it is currently locked. “Shall we see your room now?”

“Please.” You don’t call out the comment because there’s no chance in the world that he would flirt with you after just meeting, but that doesn’t stop your smile from growing when you follow him – back out of the front room of his suite and to the set of gilded double doors right next door.

“This is your home now.” He assures you with an excited grin, looking over his shoulder at you before throwing the doors open and stepping back so you can see the space he had arranged for you.

“Oh…” A small gasp escapes you when he steps back, letting you see the entirety of the beautifully decorated space for yourself. The dominant colour is a beautiful spring green, with white and gold accents to keep it from being overwhelming. The effect, along with the dark, walnut coloured furniture and beautiful paintings on the walls is to be both welcoming and luxurious in a way that steals your breath. “It’s…it’s beautiful.”

“Besides my room, this is a favorite.” Javi admits, striding into the room so he can open the double doors that lead out onto the large balcony. “Coffee out here in the mornings is wonderful.”

The view is of the cliffside that you approached on your way from the docks, but since you’re currently on the second floor you feel like you’re floating in the air as you look out over the scene. “If you ever lose me, I’ll be right here,” you joke quietly, coming up next to him to admire the view. There are no swimmers this evening but a few boats on the horizon, and the trailed purples and pinks of the setting sun to tell you that you are in the east wing of the palace. “Sunrises here must be stunning.”

“They are.” Javi nods, looking out over the beautiful scene for just a moment before he looks back at you again. You’ve gone dreamy eyed and soft as you lean against the railing of the balcony and look out over the water. “I used to jump off the cliffs right over there.” Javi points past your left where the island sticks out at a point. “Normally trying to do it right as the sun broke over the horizon. Thinking I could become a merman and swim away.”

“If any place in the world has the magic to make it happen, I think it might be here.” Yet you can just imagine the heart attack it must have given his mother to discover that her little boy was cliff jumping of all things. The tenacity of it almost makes you laugh when you look back at him. “Thank you.” The words are soft but you mean them. “For not disliking me on principle. I know neither of us asked for this, but I will try my hardest to be good to you.”

“I did not react very well at first.” Javi admits, frowning as he looks out over the water again, ashamed for the first time. “Nothing against you, I was born with my future set. Nothing mattered but the crown. Becoming king. I could not write movies or become an actor. Fly planes or go to the moon.” He sighs. “But I could choose my queen. Or so I thought.”

“I’m sorry.” You are no more to blame for the circumstance than he is, but you hate to see hurt in his eyes. Or any kind of regret. It hurts your heart in the most unexpected way. “I have had my future set for me, as well. But at least I knew who you were. You should have been told, and I am very sorry that you weren’t.”

“My father knows I would have tried to contact you.” He hums. “To find out what you are like. My parents were arranged.” He explains. “They knew each other for one year before they married and he thinks that it is best to not know about the other until we are able to live together.” It didn’t make sense to him, but he doesn’t know if his opinion would have been different if his mother would have lived.

“We don’t have the luxury of a year anymore.” A fact which benefits no one and probably hurts him much more than it seems at first glance. All you can do is what you’ve been told is now your job for the rest of your life - support him. “Well…I’m here now. We’ll make the very best of everything that we can.”

“Do you want to marry me?” He asks suddenly, feeling that is the most important question. Beyond being told to, if you aren’t willing, he will defy his father’s wishes. “I am not— I do not force my will on others.” Ironic since his will becomes law when he is crowned king.

When you pause, it’s not because you dislike him. Or because you necessarily dislike the situation you have found yourself in. “No one has ever asked me that before,” you admit, seeing fear flit behind his eyes when you don’t answer him immediately. “It’s not an easy or simple question. Just like this life is not easy or simple.” Taking a deep breath, you imagine every day of your childhood where you had false friends and assigned playmates. College with its challenges and misunderstandings. The last few years of a career you knew was doing good work but felt empty at the end of every day. All the short relationships that seemed never to mean anything. Here, with him, there might be a chance for meaning. There is hope, at least, and that is surprisingly more than you’ve felt in a long time. “But I’ve spent my whole life preparing myself to do this. To support you, or help you, or even to stand back and be a silent shoulder to lean on if that is all you wanted from me. I—I want you to succeed. And I think that I can help you with that. So…yes. I want to marry you.” But you won’t ask him to love you. That would either come or it wouldn’t, and to force it would be even worse.

“Do you want…love?” Javi asks softly, not expecting your thought-out answer. You had been trained for him. Handpicked by his parents and educated to be his partner, probably even encouraged to adopt passions he enjoys. “Between us? Or do you not think that possible?” He pauses. “Do you resent me?”

“I did. For a time, when I was younger.” You simply can’t see lying to him as having any benefit at all, even if the truth isn’t pretty. Lies are what you’ve seen your father spin time after time, campaign after campaign. They never last and they certainly don’t make a good foundation for a relationship of any kind. “I…” Your eyes drop nervously. “I wish for love. Everyone does. Or at least I would hope that they do. And I don’t think it’s impossible that we could have it, just because we were arranged. I just…I would never ask you to pretend or to force yourself. If we spend our lives as friends, that’s still more than a lot of other people get.”

“I wish for love too.” Javi admits quietly, leaning both arms against the railing. “I did love.” He knows you need to understand the sometimes ugly dynamic of his family. Especially if you are going to be queen. “Gabriela, I asked my father for permission to marry her.” He looks over at you apologetically even if he had not known about you at the time. “He refused for reasons I now understand, but I was heartbroken. My cousin Lucas married her. For spite, to taunt me, who knows? He had never been interested in her until I asked.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t think I like your cousin very much.” If that’s the sort of way he behaves, you can’t see liking either this cousin or Gabriela very much. The two of you have inched closer to each other at the balcony railing without realizing it, but when you look up at him again he is closer than you last remember. “Do you…” Breath sticks in your throat nervously. “Do you want to marry me? I know you said it would be dishonorable according your father to step away from this, but I won’t force you.”

“My mother chose you.” He looks down at his hands for a moment before he looks back into your eyes. “I don’t know much about you, but I don’t believe that she would choose someone who she didn’t believe would fit me.”

“I was barely out of diapers when our parents agreed to this,” you remind him quietly. “But…my father says I’m like her. And our mothers were good friends.” It doesn’t necessarily signify anything, but it seems to comfort him, and there’s value in that. “Before she died…your mother used to send me a birthday gift every year. Your father continued the tradition after she passed. I don’t…I assume you don’t know that.”

“No, nothing.” Javi frowns, turning towards you and tilting his head curiously. “What kinds of gifts would he send you? Please tell me it wasn’t the political books he would gift me.”

“No.” It actually makes you laugh a little, knowing you would have devoured whatever was sent no matter what. “Sometimes it was books or films. Other times it was art. Twice it was jewelry. I think…I think they may have been things that you like, but there was never an explanation or letter than came with them. Just the gift and a card each year.”

“I love movies.” His eyes flash with excitement and he leans towards you. “What is your favorite movie?” He asks eagerly.

He lights up with the question, giddy and excited, and it’s possible that he’s never looked more handsome to you than right now. “Moonstruck.” You tell him honestly, wondering if he might find the choice of a love story to be a little silly.

“Nic Cage.” His smile widens and he leans in. “He is my favorite actor. I love all of his works.”

That does explain the heap of Nicolas Cage movies you were sent for your sixteenth birthday. But instead of pointing it out, you nod and return his smile to encourage him. Maybe if you can open up to each other, you can find that common ground that you need. “What is yours?”

Javi bites his lip and shakes his head. “You will think it is silly.” He admits, but your eyes are begging him to tell you and it’s only fair that he return the sentiment since you had told him your favorite movie. “Okay.” He leans into you even more. “My favorite movie is Paddington 2.”

Surprised to not hear a Nic Cage title, you tilt your head in consideration before admitting, “I’ve never seen it. Would you…want to watch it together? Maybe?”

“You’ve never seen it?” Javi shakes his head and looks completely flabbergasted. “Of course we can watch it. As soon as possible. You have to see it.”

“As soon as you want.” Anything that could make him smile like that will be worth it. The magnetism of his happiness is rather remarkable.

“Tonight will be too soon.” He frowns, as if he is reminding himself. “You will be jet lagged, so we will do it another day, sí?”

“I slept on the flight.” You promise him, hating to see the light leave his eyes. “We can watch it after dinner if you want to?”

“I will not blame you if you fall asleep.” He promises, nodding. There is a discreet knock on the door and it is pushed open, the butler for the family quarters bringing in your luggage.

A woman around your own age comes in with your things and glances out at the balcony before directing herself into the suite’s bedroom with your belongings. “Who are they?” It might be ignorant to ask, given that both people seem to be wearing a uniform, but this is your very first day of palace life.

“That is Frederica.” He murmurs softly. “She is your lady’s maid. She is here to assist you. Her mother served mine and now she will serve you, if you approve.”

"I can't see any reason why I wouldn't." Short of having the woman actively sabotage you, which would seem like a terrible choice for everyone involved, all you can think is to be grateful to even have the help. "Is it alright if I go and introduce myself? Or would that be...odd?"

“It would not be odd.” Javi chuckles quietly and thinks that it’s cute that you are so worried about mistepping. “It will be very good. Frederica knows that you are important, but she does not know yet that you are here to be my queen.”

"If I say so, then word will get around." There's a seriousness in your eyes when you look at him again, and you try not to give in to the nervous habit of biting your lip. "I don't really know what I would say of myself, but I won't mention it if you don't want me too." If you're not sure, says the anxiety in the way your shoulders tense.

“No one knows about the king yet.” Javi cautions. “I am sure there are rumors, but I see no problem letting her know that you are my intended. Since we are to be married so soon.”

"I'll be back in just a moment." It's funny to you how you actually don't want to leave his side. You've become attached to him so quickly that you have to acknowledge that it's actually lucky, in a way. But you offer him a smile before slipping away, looking both ways in the suite before you see through the giant double doors that open into your bedroom. Frederica is carefully unpacking your clothes into an armoire when you cross the doorframe and you clear your throat gently to get her attention. "Perdóname." Don't be timid says your father's voice in your head. "Hablas ingles?"

Turning, the young woman sends you a polite smile, standing and the curtseying formally. “Sí, yes, I speak English, madam.” She offers quietly.

“I wanted to introduce myself.” Your name seems so simple and almost small considering there is a prince on the balcony, but you offer it anyway and with a smile. “It must have taken you a lot of hard work to be able to work in the palace. I—I’m grateful to have someone knowledgeable to help me.”

It takes a moment for her to make the translation in her mind and when she does, her smile grows wider, friendlier. “Thank you, madam.” She nods again. “I will help you whatever you need. You just tell me what you what and I will help.”

“Gracias, Frederica.” If you were at home you would shake her hand, but here that isn’t really the same sort of option. You take another step forward out of nerves and bite your lip, knowing that this woman will be the one who lays out your clothes and cares for your things and keeps your life in order as you get busier and busier with things to come. “I will need lots of help very soon. There will be plenty to do before the wedding.”

"Si, madam." She ducks her head and there is slightly straightening to her shoulders in pride. "You will have to meet the potential ladies in waiting. They will assist you with the majority of the planning. I will do whatever you need of me." Her eyes slide towards the wardrobe. "Including assisting you in choosing clothes that are appropriate for events."

“I am more than sure that the king will have opinions on what is most appropriate.” If he is anything like your own father, he will likely try dictating things outright. At least at first. “But the prince’s opinions will weigh more heavily on my heart.” A small smile comes to your lips that you simply can’t stop. “Any gifts from my husband-to-be or things that he indicates he likes best will likely be worn more often.”

Frederica nods quickly, making a mental note of that for you and smiles and whimsy of it. "Yes madam." She agrees. "The prince does have exquisite taste." She offers, glancing back at Javi before looking back at you. It's hard not to admire the prince, or develop a crush on him since he is so kind, but she also knows her place and that it would never be by the prince's side.

“I’m very grateful for your help.” Following her eyes out to where the prince is still standing on your balcony, your smile widens just a little. There is already a kind of pull in you that wants to be at his side. “Muchas gracias, Frederica. Perhaps tomorrow we come have a more lengthy discussion?” For all the things you do know to be prepared for, there will certainly be ones that are a surprise, and for this young woman to be your ally is so, so important.

She is surprised that you would like to talk to her, to perhaps sit down but she nods again. "Yes madam. I will finish unpacking your luggage and getting you organized." She offers before she turns back to her tasks.

“Gracias,” you nod once more and decide to let her get back to work, slipping out of the room to return to the balcony. “She seemed to take that positively in stride,” you sigh with a little bit of relief.

"Our staff is used to dealing with me." Javi explains with a small, sheepish grin. He knows that he has broken them in with his antics and his nonconformity. "I admit that I have been a handful."

“I can’t imagine you ever being unpleasant.” That’s the furthest from what you know of him so far, but you shrug your shoulders a little and glance at your watch nervously. It’s been hours already since you landed and it feels like only minutes. “How long does it take to walk to the dining room?” It’s such an odd question but you feel certain that you’ll be walking miles upon miles every day just navigating the palace. “I get the feeling that your father would not like to be kept waiting for dinner.”

"Only three minutes." He chuckles. "When the elevator is being slow." He had brought you up the stairs, but there is a small elevator that is tucked away in the front of the wing to make it easier to get from floor to floor. He knows that it will take you some time to get used to the palace but he. is not anticipating hiding away from you. Instead, he finds himself drawn to you and he offers you a shrug. "I can leave you to freshen up if you wish? Or we can start to walk towards the dining room?"

“I would rather walk with you.” Being left alone sounds oddly terrifying and you’re glad - not for the first time - that he is the one who came to pick you up today and was so willing to talk with you. It has made things infinitely easier.

“Yeah?” He grins and offers you his arm so you can walk together. “If we get there fast enough, we can manage a drink before my father arrives.” He teases. “I am feeling a good stiff cocktail is in order?”

“What is your favorite?” Taking his arm makes butterflies flood your stomach in the most unexpected way.

"A good gin and tonic is underrated." He admits as he feels you curl your hand around his arm and he knows that it feels...right. There will be thousands of times where you take his arm just like this. This is the beginning. "However, I have fallen in love with an 'old fashioned."

“Have you ever tried a gin and tonic with pink gin?” It had become a favourite cocktail after an event you attended a few years ago and the idea of being able to share something like that with him makes you feel a little giddy.

"Pink gin?" Javi shakes his head and looks over at you curiously. "I do not know if I even know that pink gin existed. What does it taste like?"

“It’s fruitier. Like…strawberries and raspberries along with the juniper flavour.” God that smile. When it’s aimed at you it’s brighter than the sun. No photograph ever could have captured that. “I had it at a White House garden party a few years ago and went out to buy myself a bottle the next day.”

"We will have to keep some on hand then." Javi makes a note of it and tilts his head. "Is there a brand you like? So we can order it if needed?"

“I think I probably buy the low end,” you admit with a laugh. “I’ll write it down for you, or…for whomever does the ordering, I suppose. I hope you like it, too.”

“Hopefully they will have a bottle somewhere in the palace.” Javi muses. “We normally keep all kinds of different liquors on hand for visiting dignitaries.”

“Do you have any favorite visitors?” Turning the conversation away from yourself and back to him, you want to focus on getting all of those little details that can’t be conveyed in a press release or a birthday gift from one of his parents.

“The Americans.” Javi admits with a grin. “There is something about it. I would have loved to visit your Hollywood.”

“Can you not?” That he wishes for it makes you want to find a way for it to happen instantly. “I would think a prince could do whatever he wanted.”

“It would not- I have not left Mallorca.” He admits. “Not since I graduated university.” He shakes his head. “It is tradition that you do not start traveling as a Royal if you are in line for the crown until you are king.” It’s backwards to his own way of thinking, but his father had insisted that he needed to learn how to run the country here. His suspicion was that his father was afraid he would never come back, if he were honest with himself.

“Not even if your brand new American bride-to-be suggested a honeymoon in Los Angeles?” It’s a slightly unconventional choice considering you could go literally anywhere, but it sounds like it’s his dream. He looks soft and starry-eyed at the mere mention of Hollywood, and you know that your job from now on is to make sure he’s as happy as he possibly can be.

“Our honeymoon is supposed to be spend on a yacht along the coast and make informal visits to our islands.” He explains. “Not quite a royal tour but a royal tour.”

“Then we’ll find another time to make your dream come true.” Gently squeezing his arm with your hand, you offer him a soft smile and try not to make too much notice of how muscles the bicep under your touch actually is. “I promise.”

He sighs softly and nods, not quite sure if he would ever be able to make that particular dream come true, but it's a nice thought. "For now, we should focus on pulling off a wedding in just two months." He chuckles.

“I’m sure your father will have a grasp of how to get things done.” The two of you make it to the hall where the main dining room is and he leads you into a drawing room nearby with a footman inside the door and a bar cart at the ready. You seem to have arrived before the king, but the man standing near the cart wastes no time in springing into action, apparently anticipating being asked to make the prince’s preferred before-dinner cocktail.

"What would you like to drink?" Javi asks, curious to know what you prefer drinking over pink gin. "And—" He swivels his head towards Geralt. "Do we have pink gin in the palace?"

The man’s even and professional face hides any hint of emotion, but he nods deeply and politely to the prince. “If not, your Highness, it will be acquired,” he assures Javi. “Should it be found immediately?”

“That isn’t necessary.” The last thing you want is to be seen as demanding or high maintenance. That almost gives you anxiety just to think about. “Whatever the prince is enjoying tonight will be wonderful, I’m sure.”

"Perhaps if it could be available tomorrow?" Javi asks, looking to you for confirmation. He wants to make sure that you are okay with that, although you just said that it wasn't necessary for it to be immediately available. "I was just informed that it makes the best gin and tonic and we must all try it."

“Sí, príncipe.” The man – Geralt – nods accordingly. “I will inform the steward.” He is about to ask if the younger royal would enjoy his usual old fashioned tonight when the king strolls into the room looking like the stroll might have been a heavy effort. “Cava, Geralt.” He instructs without even sparing the servant a glance. “We are celebrating tonight.”

Javi's brows lift in surprise but he nods towards Geralt and pats your arm as he leans in. "We shall have another drink after dinner then." He murmurs conspiratorially. "We might need it."

Stifling a giggle behind a bitten smile, you just nod to him and make a mental note of the name and face of the staff member in the room to lock away for later.

Drinks are poured and served quickly, and the king raises his glass from the plush upholstered loveseat he chose at the center of the room. “We will discuss your future tonight,” he informs you unilaterally, clearly not willing to hear any conversation otherwise. “There is much to do.”

"Of course." Javi nods, aware that his father would want to commandeer the conversation and steer it towards the upcoming wedding. "Although perhaps before we start planning a wedding, I might have a date with the woman I am supposed to marry?" He asks before he takes a sip of his cava. "Or at least present her with her choice of wedding sets from the royal collection?"

“Appropriate choices are being brought to your suite for you to select from in the morning.” The king tells him smoothly, as though it were obvious. “Although I do not know why you want to date a woman who has been chosen and bred for you, I did expect it.” He very nearly rolls his eyes, but manages not to. “You have two weeks to acquaint yourselves with each other and to present her with a ring. I assume that will be more than enough time.” It has to be, but he doesn’t say so. Servants talk and his illness isn’t public knowledge yet.

Javi frowns, shaking his head. If his father is pressing for two weeks, he would rather it be one. Less, if he thought Javi would go along with it. "While I appreciate your very generous terms, I would just like one date." He looks to you. "Unless you would like the two weeks?"

If you were being honest, you might admit that the swift pace of this whole thing has you on edge, but you understand that there isn’t really any luxury for comfort. “I wonder what the people will think,” you say instead, taking a small sip of your drink. “To hear their prince is going to marry a woman they have never even heard of before. The two weeks seems prudent not for our comfort, but for theirs.” Image is everything, that is the lesson you learned being the daughter of an American politician.

“The people have come to expect an arraigned marriage from the crown.” Javi’s father dismissed your concerns with another sip of his sparkling wine. “A press release has already been drafted, highlighting the family connection between your mother and the late queen.”

“Then I see no reason to hesitate.” The feeling of disappointment that your idea was useless is not one you relish at all but you paint on a placid smile and try to get at least one point back with the man you’re supposed to marry. “I am sure the prince will plan a wonderful date for us.”

“I will.” Javi nods, unhappy that his father is so casually dismissing your concerns about introducing you to the people. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Seeing as you’ve both agreed to go through with the arrangement, you’ll happily have whatever time with him you can get. “The sooner the better.” The king dismisses, rising when a middle-aged man in a crisp uniform steps into the room to announce the meal.

Javi winces in apology at the abrupt way the king is handling this ‘informal’ dinner. Hating that he is not being honest about why he is insisting this happens so fast to you.

The smile you offer him in return is sympathetic, and you take his arm again when he offers it to you to go into dinner. The grand table is anything but informal, and the three chairs clustered at one end don’t afford you the comfort of sitting next to the prince, but you’ll manage just fine. Nothing can be as tedious as a constituent fundraising dinner…right?

Once you are sat down, your pre dinner drinks are whisked away and a fresh glass of wine is placed in front of each plate. “Thank you.” Javi murmurs to the silent staff as they move seamlessly. Setting the first course in front of him.

“There is little time for you to get settled.” The king turns his eyes to you, watching you carefully as you begin to eat. He has already had his first bite so at least you knew to wait for that. “Appropriate candidates for lady in waiting will need to be interviewed tomorrow. You will choose two at most.”

“I understand.” Well, you sort of understand. Interviewing ladies in waiting sounds like taking applications for best friend – an idea that sounds completely off the wall to most people.

“Good. Once my son has presented you with the royal engagement set, we will announce the wedding day. The coordinator will be in to expedite the guest list, have your list ready.”

“I will.” If this is the king’s version of informal, you can only imagine what a formal meal will be like. Even your house growing up had allowed for a little laughter here and there. The prince looks beside himself across the table from you, and you decide to take a chance. Stretching out as far as you can under the table without having to change how you’re sitting in your seat, you just barely manage to tap the toe of his loafer with the point of your heel. It makes him look up at you and you flash him a smile while his father’s focus is on his meal. It’s little more than a friendly gesture, but at least it’s friendly. So he doesn’t have to feel like the two of you have been separated across an ocean at the elaborate dinner table.

Javi nearly jumps when you touch his foot, his eyes darting up to meet yours. Finding the playful light in your eyes refreshing and he nods slightly. Thankful that you are not already screaming that it is too much, or insisting for more detail. “Perhaps we can have a less traditional honeymoon?” Javi asks. “Since we are not well acquainted with one another?”

“How much less traditional?” His father clearly isn’t pleased with the question, but wants to know how much leeway his son is attempting to bargain for.

“Perhaps my bride can show me her favorite places in America?” He offers, looking over at you and nodding. “I think that would be a good experience for us to bond as a couple.”

“Is one of her favourite places California?” The way the king asks is exasperated, fully expecting to know the answer. “Only one of, your Majesty.” The whole idea of going to the States together was yours, and you really don’t want him to get in trouble for it. “But the United States has many beautiful places and cultural sites to visit.” You swallow your nerves, willing yourself to sound demure and hopeful instead of like you’re on defense. “The prince explained that a traditional honeymoon would be a tour of the islands to make appearances and greet the people. It could be an educational and unique experience to tour America as well.”

“It would be good.” Javi insists. “I wish to get to know her, without the press, without the speculation. You had a year with my mother before you married, and you took that from us.”

“Not intentionally.” The king sighs, knowing that it’s true but not liking the accusation. “I will consider it.” Is the concession he makes after a pause, and you’re sure you see him wince. “As long as each location can be made secure. Safety cannot be ignored.”

“Really?” Javi’s brows shoot up and his voice pitches up slightly in hope. “Yes, sí, we can have it secure. It can be planned out.” Hope flares in his chest that perhaps his father might give him something that he had wanted forever.

“I will consider it,” he repeats, stressing that he could still say no if he chose to.

Javi swallows and the light dims in his eyes. “Yes, papá.” He murmurs quietly and looks back down at the plate in front of him. He hates how he is 35 years old and still feels like a small boy being taken to task for misbehaving.

Something like fury ignites in the pit of your stomach, taking away your appetite and making you ache for this man you only just met. A grown adult with a world of responsibilities and being treated like a small child by his father. Right there and then you swallow all your own fear and apprehension. “I will ask the First Lady’s secretary for a list of places that the Secret Service has vetted,” you offer, knowing that making that phone call will be interesting. You’re known to the First Lady but only marginally, and this constitutes a favour. “If that will please your Majesty, of course,” you add, thoroughly sucking up, but with a backbone.

Javi shakes his head, knowing that the more that the idea is pushed, the more the king is most likely to say no. Even after doing everything he wants, Javi still falls short of his expectations. He looks down at his plate and pushes a bite around. “There is no need for that.”

The rest of the meal passes in virtual silence. The king gives instructions occasionally or criticisms, but mainly focuses on his meal. He dismisses the offer of dessert and it is whisked away as he stands.

Javi stands, regardless of if he wanted the dinner to be done. You stand when the king does. Pleased when you do the same as he waits for his father to say something.

“Buenas noches.” He looks down at his hands when he says good night, barely acknowledging the two of you until he finally looks to his son. “Javier, come and see me before breakfast.” He instructs, as though his son would ever be up and functional at such an early hour. “And you, señorita,” he turns his gaze to you appraisingly. “I expect to hear your choice of ladies before noon.”

"Buenas noches." Javi watches as his father turns and stalks out of the room, proud even though he can tell that the older man is struggling to keep his gait steady. He wonders how bad the pain is and wishes that he would have just relaxed some. It might help to not expend so much energy trying to maintain a strong facade.

“Buenas noches.” It’s too little too late, murmured as the king walks away, but you look to the prince across from you with concern written on your face. “If I said something wrong, I apologize.” You must have, otherwise what could have made the monarch so ill-tempered seemingly out of nowhere?

"You did nothing wrong." Javi sighs and looks at the servants as they come to clear the table. "Would you please serve dessert for us on my balcony?" He asks, turning towards you after getting the affirmation. "I figured we could talk some more unless you are too tired?"

“Not at all.” Ending the night now would leave an awful taste in your mouth, and the prospect of spending more time with him actually sounds relaxing, even if things are still so new. “Dessert and then our movie?”

He loves that you are still anticipating the movie and he nods. "That sounds like a perfect ending to a very...different day for both of us." He acknowledges.

"What is different now will become familiar in time." Hoping that his father's irritability won't be included in that, you know that at least your time together will become easier as the days go by.

"Yes it will." Javi sends you a grateful smile and motions towards the door. "Shall we go have dessert then? Perhaps the conversation can be a bit more...relaxed." He knows his father didn't set a very nice tone for the meal and you hadn't eaten much.

"That sounds nice." Relaxation, if it will be possible tonight, sounds heavenly.

"Almost as relaxing as a bubble bath with a very large glass of scotch." Javi chuckles. "Or a lot of champagne in the pool."

No. No. No. Don't imagine him in a bath or the pool... You bite the inside of your lip as you follow him out of the dining room, taking the extra moment to compose yourself. "Have you always liked the water?" It's a natural and innocent enough question, considering he is from a nation of islands.

"Since I could remember." Javi grins. "My mother used to say I could swim before I could walk. I used to sneak out so often to swim that there was a guard at the pool all hours of the night for safety."

"At home we would have called you a 'water baby'." It's a charming image, one that makes you smile when you look up at him. "I promise you won't have to worry on my part. I've been swimming since I was a little girl and I can keep up."

"Then we will have to swim sometime." He suggests, watching as you continue to smile at him. Feeling his stomach drop pleasantly and he wonders for first time what it would be like to kiss you.

"Perhaps an unofficial, very relaxed second date?" You raise an eyebrow at him and smile again, feeling butterflies again. "Just because we don't go out and do something fancy doesn't mean it can't be a date."

"Would you—" Javi stops for a moment, slightly flustered and starts again. "Would you like to be with me tomorrow morning?" He asks. "When I pick out the rings?" He feels like you should have some kind of say in the what you wear for the rest of your life. "Help me chose something you like?"

"If you want me to be, I absolutely will." Some men feel it's their duty to make the choice themselves, but you have to admit that you like that he is asking. That he isn't making decisions for you like your fathers have done for the two of you since you were young. "I might...ask you about some things that you like? For wedding planning? I have a feeling that I will be expected to make decisions about things quickly and I want you to be happy with the day as well."

"I am fairly easy to please." Javi shrugs slightly. "It will be a royal wedding so there will be limited options but I do love anything with honey in it. For the menu."

"Honey." You nod, committing it to memory. "Is there anything that you maybe don't like? Or that I should avoid?" Looking down at the parquet flooring as you walk, you decide to open up a little bit about something personal to show him that you're really trying to connect with him. "For instance...when my parents were married, my mother carried a huge bouquet of flowers and always laughed about how heavy it was and how, when she did the bouquet toss, it went about two feet and dropped right to the floor." Thinking of your mother makes your smile go a little wider and your express a little dreamier. "So whenever I imagined my wedding, I always imagined a smaller bouquet."

"I will have to wear my royal uniform, but I've always imagined that my bride would have two gowns." It's silly to think about, but he had imagined it. Oftentimes with Gabriela, but now he could imagine it with you. "One for the ceremony, beautiful and regal. And another for the reception afterward. Something, uh, sexy." He admits before he realizes how that sounds. "Not that I— I don't expect, uh, sex. Not— I—" he fizzles out and just stops talking.

"Javi." It's the first time you've actually called him by his name, and you reach out instinctively to put your hand on his arm. "Please don't--" You clamp your mouth shut momentarily as two women pause in their journey down the hallway to curtsy to the prince before continuing on. "Please don't be embarrassed." Lowering your voice seems prudent, so you step closer to him. "We're going into a marriage, and we were both very clear about wanting a life with love. To me, sex comes with those things naturally."

"I just don't— uh—" Javi sighs, looking into your eyes sincerely. "I don't want you to feel that just because you are married to me, that I expect you to-" He lowers his voice even more. "Consummate our marriage until you are ready." He finally finished, his skin slightly ruddier with nerves. "I'm not— it's not like I'm inexperienced but it's never been expected of anyone."

"Why don't we talk about this in private?" You suggest, nodding toward the small hallway behind you where you now know that a small elevator is artfully hidden. "It's important to talk about, but it's...it should just be for us."

"Of course." Javi shakes his head at himself and guides you to the elevator. He knows the staff put up with him and are used to his antics, but he doesn't want to make things embarrassing for you.

Up in the elevator and down the hall, the two of you are completely alone once you step inside his suite and let the door shut behind you. "I think it's really important to talk about," you clarify quietly, feeling a little self-conscious about how silent you've both been on the way upstairs. "I just...we met only a few hours ago. So talking about having sex with you with you, with a lot of other people around seemed...less personal."

"I agree." Javi can see how it would be unnerving to talk when others were around to you but he's grown up used to those people. "I guess the entire conversation about sex right now is a little ridiculous but the circumstances we find ourselves in means we need to discuss it."

"We do." Even as you nod, the two of you sort of move automatically toward the balcony off to the side of his bedroom at the back of his suite. It mirrors your own rooms in a comfortable way. "But if you want to talk about dates, or the engagement, or the wedding, or anything else instead I fully understand." Who knows? He may be the sort of man who feels much more comfortable diving in to the deep end of things. You're just trying to give him the choice.

"We are going to be discussing nothing but that for the next two months." Javi jokes, rolling his eyes. "I did not mean to sound so abrupt. I just wanted you to know that I don't expect you to sleep with me now, on our wedding night, or - well, ever if you decided you did not want to."

"I really don't think that that will be the case." You might answer a little too quickly to be proper, but the idea of you never wanting to have sex with him is ridiculous. He's drop dead gorgeous and in just a few months he's going to be your husband - those things alone add up to sex. "That is..." A deep breath hopefully hides the way you fluster at the quick response. "As far as physical attraction goes...it won't be an issue."

Javi frowns for a moment, surprised by your answer. He's never been overly self-assured, but he knows he's reasonably attractive. At least his crown got him laid in the very least. "Me?"

"Yes, you." A flurry of emotions cross his face that you can't read but you tilt your head in confusion. "That surprises you?"

"Is it— is it because of the—" he gestures helplessly for a moment. "The crown? The fact that you are 'supposed' to want your spouse?"

"I—" He holds out your chair for you at the little table that has been set up on his balcony, and it seems the staff took it upon themselves to pour out more sparkling wine for the two of you to enjoy privately. "I don't expect you to jump into my bed right away, either." After all, you had expected it to take much longer to warm up to each other. "I would like to think that it might happen...organically? Since we're actually attracted to each other?"

“Organically.” He nods in agreement after he comes around to sit down in front of you again. “I like that. No pressure. Sí.”

"Some things shouldn't have a schedule." Of course, if that smile stays on his face as bright and beaming as it is right now, you'll be shocked if it takes the whole two months before the wedding.

“So you know,” he picks up his wine glass. “There is a door between our rooms. It is locked on your side, so I cannot open it.”

"How very scandalous." Yet it warms you through that he had enough optimism to want to give you an adjoining suite. It means that he wasn't against the idea of you getting along - otherwise he would have chosen rooms for you clear across the east wing. "You mean I could just unlock it and come say hello?"

“If you wished.” Javi nods and sends you a sheepish smile. “I promise I do not sleep in the nude, so I will not surprise you.”

You grin at the way he blushes and pick up your fork, ready to follow him into digging into the elaborate little tarts that were prepared for you tonight. "I hope it won't take us long before we can feel comfortable leaving that door unlocked," you admit, knowing that the hope is for emotional intimacy as well as physical.

It's almost unnerving, the way that things seem to be organically progressing between you. As if his parents had inadvertently found a person who was perfect for him personally rather than to be his political ally on the throne. He wonders what an American thinks about a monarchy and if you have been taught to believe in the ceremony of it all or if your Senator father had just agreed for his own political ambitions.

Eating in relative quiet isn’t unnerving with him the way it had been with his father present, and you’re not ashamed to be grateful for that. You had thought you would be nervous around him. Anxious or afraid to trip over your own two feet. But the truth is that he is a sweet and endearing man, and that spending time with him in these early stages is no hardship at all. Lost in your own little world of thought, you almost snap back to reality in one very particular thought. “Forgive me,” you put your glass down and shake your head at yourself. “I haven’t said ‘happy birthday’ and it was just two days ago. I hope you had a wonderful day.”

Javi freezes, surprised by the unexpected well wishes and he sends you a small, genuine smile. "Thank you. We had a party, and it was very entertaining." He muses. "I am sure my next birthday will be quite different." He frowns, knowing he will be king by then.

“I’m sure there will be protocols to follow, but we’ll still make sure you enjoy it.” You will make sure of that, knowing that he will have plenty of difficulties adjusting to his new title and that he shouldn’t have to lose out on everything he enjoys because of it.

"I never wanted to be king." Javi admits quietly, furtively looking up at you and then back down at his dessert. "I still don't want to be king."

“People who want to hold power rarely make good leaders.” You offer, thinking of the way your father so keenly wants to be president. “Craving power makes you greedy and ruthless once you have it.”

His brow pulls together as he contemplates your words, knowing that it is a fresh perspective and an honest one. You will be crowned queen no matter what you say, so you have no reason to lie. "You are right. I have no interest in greed or ruthlessness." It's easy to not be greedy when you've lived a life of luxury that most could never even dream of, but the things that he has always wanted were relatively simple.

“And you’ll be a better king than many others could be because of it.” The soft smile that brings out in you is honest, and you shrug your shoulders a little when you realize you’re just looking at him. “And I—I’m here to help you as best I can.”

"What are you passionate about?" Javi asks, leaning in. "I want to know more about you. I am sure that you have been told all about me, but please, tell me something no one else knows?"

“Oh—I—” There’s a sort of horror in realizing that your life has been an open book except for him. Your arranged marriage has been your biggest secret, since they’re not commonly accepted in America, and moreover he might be the first person to ask you about you in years. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “I…I miss being called by a nickname. I know that doesn’t seem…intimate or anything. But my mother used to call me Daisy. They were her favourite flower and she…she said I was the only thing she loved more than daisies.”

“Daisy.” Javi smiles softly at the idea and he knows that he will have to come up with a nickname for you. Something that wouldn’t tread on the toes of your mother’s nickname for you. “You should include that flower in our wedding.” He suggests. “Include her in the day.”

“You don’t think it’s a little…informal? For a royal wedding?” His father will likely think so, which is a disappointment. Your own father’s dislike for the flower is because it reminds him of his first wife. “Maybe it could be included in the flowers in my suite sometimes?”

“Hmmm.” You are right, the flower would be considered ‘too quaint’ He will have to come up with something for you, instinctively knowing you would appreciate it. “You can have daisies in your room every day if you wish.” He promises. “It is your private space to do with what you wish.”

“She would have liked you.” Memories of your mother are precious, but since both of you lost your mothers as teenagers you hope he can understand. “She’s the reason I value kindness.”

“I hope so.” Javi chuckles nervously, unused to compliments of that nature. Most of them are obviously surface level and meant to flatter, yours touches emotions he’s been told to ignore for doing what is best. “Considering she agreed to send her daughter to marry me.”

“When I asked about you once, she said that if you were anything like your mother then we were sure to get along well.” That thought had stayed in your mind for years as you wondered what the man would be like when you finally met him.

“I hope you don’t regret it.” He murmurs softly. “I know I am not…what people expect of a prince.”

“With all due respect to your title?” Hoping not to offend him with the way you have been looking at this situation for years, you fold your hands in your lap and twist your fingers around each other instead of shrugging. “I’m marrying you as a man, not a prince. We’re still people. Not only our jobs.”

Javi frowns, never thinking of things that way. He had never had any kind of disconnect between him as a person and his title. It was always an inextricable part of him. “I- I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“A good man can be a poor leader, and a good leader can be a bad man.” Of course someone could be successful at both, but that is infinitely more rare. “My first impression of you as a man has made me think that we could actually be very happy one day. I—I hope that’s not to forward.”

Javi stares at you for a moment, speechless. Nearly not even breathing in shock of your nearly immediate faith in him and what could be between you. “I want to be both. A good man and a thoughtful, good leader.” He admits quietly. “Maybe that is possible, but I wish to be happy.”

"I'll do everything I can to help you." Right now it's the biggest promise you can honestly make to him. You can't know for sure that you'll be happy together. Or that you'll find love. Or that he'll be a brilliant and caring king. None of those things are certain. But you can promise him that you will try - and give it all of your best effort to help him succeed.

“Now that we’ve discussed the non-important issues….” Javi jokes as he forks up the last bite of his food. “What shall we talk about?”

"Whatever you'd like." He had said he wanted to know about you but there isn't really much to tell. Since you are here to support him, your focus is on him entirely.

“What would you want to do?” He asks curiously. “If you could do anything in the world?”

"I've always thought that I would do this." Looking around you, the world that you envisioned is slightly different than what your reality is quickly becoming, but only slightly. The inside of the palace looks slightly different, the people are not exactly the way you imagined, and it is much more beautiful in person than in photographs. But largely...since you always knew that this is the life you would lead, this is what you had always dreamed of. Any childhood fantasies have gone by the wayside. "Come here and be a partner to you. Be a wife and a mother. Whatever you need me to be."

“So you’ve never been able to dream about what you want?” He is the same, his dreams squashed, but he hates that for you. “Do you like animals? Children? Charities?”

"For a lot of girls, my reality is their dream." You point out quietly. "Hallmark movies, like we said before. But...yes. I like animals and children. I used to babysit when I was younger to earn pocket money and I would walk dogs or check on cats for our neighbors when they went away. And I—I worked for a charity. Until yesterday." The visit to your office had been quietly devastating, but your boss hadn't fussed or given you grief. She had just been sad to see you go.

“As a Royal, as queen, you will be able to determine your own focus for your time and effort.” Javi explains quietly. “Often the queen will involve herself in charitable works for the country.”

"I helped organize fundraisers and events for a charity that bought instruments for public schools in New York City." It was good for your father's image, that was the original reason for the choice, but you had quickly started to meet some of the children and teachers who benefited from the program's work and their happiness made you work much harder for them than any Washington press release could. "I admit that I don't know as much as I could about the educational system here, but I enjoyed every moment of helping those students and teachers."

“Then if you would like, you could focus your effort on education.” Javi suggests. “Our education ministry would love the attention of the crown. Especially if it is a subject near and dear to the new queen.”

"If there is something you would rather have me put my efforts to, you only need to say so." He might know something that was close to his mother's heart, or something that needs more attention than the education ministry does. Or he may have a plain and simple preference. If that is the case, you would rather do what will make him happiest.

“I want you to be happy.” Javi says simply. “I want you to enjoy the work that you can and makes the heavy weight of the crowns we wear tolerable.”

"Then I'll educate myself on the Balearican education system before I speak to someone in the ministry." The placid expression on your face cracks to a smile, and you pick up your glass again to have another sip. "It would be good to know about the schools that our children will attend anyway."

Children. The way you say it so causally makes Javi nearly choke in surprise. That it was just a foregone conclusion that you would have his children. In a way, it was, but he had never thought of it quite like that. “Yes. The children all attend public school until they are ten.”

"I'm sorry." His face morphs through a riot of expressions and you panic slightly, thinking you've overstepped when you were only trying to think practically. "I didn't mean to—to startle you."

“No— immediately he is shaking his head, understanding that you think he is upset. “I had just- it’s - I had never thought I would be - it’s just that you’ve accepted that you will have my children so easily. I did not expect that when I learned of the arranged marriage.” He explains. “Some people take years to come to that way of thinking.”

"Except..." you tilt your head slightly, knowing that your experiences coming into this arrangement have been so different. "I have had years already. So if you feel that I am pushing you, or rushing things, please tell me. Because I don't mean to. Everything can be at your pace."

“I had hoped that I would be allowed to chose my queen.” Javi admits. “Just like I assume you have wished you could choose your husband. But I knew, deep down, I knew that I would have an arranged marriage.” It’s probably the first time he’s admitted that to himself. “I know what is expected of me, and I will not shirk my duties, but it is my hope that we will fit well together. Not just for political reasons, but privately.

"I loved fairy stories when I was a little girl." Your mother had read them to you as bedtime stories and you always begged for as many as she would consent to read. "I...I guess maybe it's a peculiarity of American girls. Because we have no royalty, we romanticize it. But when I was little I dreamed of having a Prince Charming." Since he had known Hallmark, he no doubt had seen some of the Americanized romanticism of royalty - and how over the top it can be portrayed. "So when I was told, at seven years old, that my parents had found me a prince for when I was grown up? It...it was actually something wonderful."

“When did you start to hate it?” He asks, knowing there must have been some point where you wanted to rebel against it. His was one day ago. When he learned about it, so he understands.

"When I was a young woman." It feels shameful to admit to him, but you want to be honest. "High school. College. I did date other people for a while. To have those experiences, and...and partially because I was afraid to come into this completely inexperienced and disappoint you." That is the first time you've ever admitted that out loud and you look away so you don't have to see him judge you for it. "When I found dating to be bitterly disappointing, I actually started to think of this arrangement with relief."

“Dating is horrible, isn’t it?” Javi can laugh about it now, but there has always been a sense of wondering when the other shoe would drop. When they would start to make demands. “I- I don’t blame you for wanting experience.” He promises. “I don’t judge you for that or expect- you know. That you are a virgin.”

"I am. Technically." Something about the truth of it - perhaps because it is the truth - makes you want to bury your head in all that beautiful sand on the beach below you. "I wanted experience, but it never felt right to have that experience with someone else." Realizing how that might sound, your head shoots up in distress. "Not—not that I expect the same of you. At all. Especially when you didn't know about me."

You’re gorgeous when you are flummoxed and Javi grins. Reaching out and touching your hand where it is resting on the flute of your sparkling wine. “It is okay, Margarita.” He assures you softly. “I will not judge or embarrass you. I may not please you, but I would like to try.”

"Margarita?" With your heart jumping up into your throat, you find yourself trying to both stare at his hand touching yours and bask in his smile simultaneously. It makes you seem even more flustered, and you can feel your cheeks burn over it. Over maybe because he's touching you. You can't tell.

Javi bites his lip. “Is that okay?” He asks softly.” La margarita…Daisy.” He explains, while you have show you are fluent in Spanish, that might not be something used in the slight Colombian accent you carry. “If not, I will not use it.”

"Oh." Allowing yourself to feel silly for not translating the word immediately, you find yourself smiling broadly and letting your fingers stretch out slightly to touch his. "No, it--it's beautiful. I just...it's silly. A Margarita is also a cocktail, and it's very popular in America. So I was confused at first. But please...please don't change it?" His own version of what your mother called you makes you want to laugh and cry with joy simultaneously. "I love it."

“Okay.” Javi nearly giggles in relief and nods. “Then with your permission, I will call you that privately.” He agrees, rubbing his thumb over the back over your hand as you touch him. “Just between us so it is special?”

"I agree enthusiastically." The soft, tentative way that your fingers tangle together with his is nothing like when you wring your own hands in anxiety. It's gentle and explorative and sparkling with excitement and attraction.

The moment seems to linger in gorgeous silence. Not uncomfortable but seeming building into something memorable between you. Both of you hesitant to stop smoking softly at each other.

"Thank you for suggesting this." The table between you is empty of its treats now, but the candles burn bright in the moonlight and lend an appreciated air of romance to the evening. "And for...for being open with me. And to me."

Javi’s smile turns shy and he squeezes your hand just a little tighter. “It helps that you are nothing like I imagined.” He confesses softly. “I was afraid that you would be cold, rigid and unwilling to look at life as an adventure. As much as royalty can, that is.”

"To be royal is an enormous adventure." At least, that's how you've always looked at it, but your smile quirks into a smirk. "Cliff diving to become a merman is not the only way to have an adventure, you know."

“Huh.” He frowns and then takes on a thoughtful expression. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

"Not growing up with royalty may have given me a different view of it than you have." With your fingers still intertwined, the candlelight flickers on your skin and casts shadows that sparkle off your nail polish whenever it hits just right. "But that might not be such a bad thing."

“No, I don’t think it will be a bad thing.” Javi agrees and the thought of what it would be like to kiss you filters through his mind. “Would you like to watch the movie now, or are you tired?”

"I think it's just the right thing to end our night, if you're still up for it." For you, although it might not technically be a date, this night has had all the hallmarks of a wonderful one. Drinks and dessert with good conversation, a little flirting, a lot of honesty, and a shared experience. Not all dates have to be fancy, after all.

Javi smiles and nods, giving your hand another squeeze as he stands and moves to help you out if your chair. “I love the movie room.” He admits, excited to share his favorite movie with you. “I know it is a movie for children, but it is just so…heartwarming.” He offers, not wanting to cloud your judgement on the movie too much before you experience it for yourself.

"The best children's movies have something for everyone." When he doesn't let go of your hand to lead you back inside, it's a thrill in a way that you didn't quite expect. "National Treasure is technically a family movie, but it's wonderful."

“It is so fun. And some of the facts from your Declaration were real.” Javi adds knowledgeably.

"It's my comfort movie," you admit, walking with him back through his suite to the eat wing's main hallway. "Both of them. When we one day make it to America, I'll take you to see the Declaration in person."

“That would be interesting.” Javi’s eyes light up happily and he motions towards another set of gilded doors. “This is the theatre room.” He explains. “There are not a lot of televisions in the palace, but this is my favorite one.”

The title theater room doesn't quite do the large auditorium justice. There are plush recliners and sofas to seat more than a dozen people inside, with a full-sized movie theater screen and all the accruements of snacks and drinks in clean-looking modern refrigerators and cabinets that extends even into a bar on one end. The other end is spectacular: a large, vintage style popcorn machine with all the necessary supplies in a cabinet underneath. "Oh my god," you gasp, eyes as big as saucers when you walk in. The plush red velvet and gold trim all around you reminds you of an old-fashioned movie theater in the very best way. "Of course it's your favourite. It's mine now too!"

“You like it?” Javi is delighted and points out the speakers. “Perfect Dolby surround sound and it sounds like you are in the movie!” He tells you excitedly. “The recliners have the massagers build in, and heated so it is cozy to curl up.”

He lights up from the inside when he gets excited, and for the first time since meeting him you wonder if a kiss would light him up like that as well. "You didn't tell me when I asked about popcorn that we could make our own right in here."

“Surprise.” He chuckles and moves over to the machine. “There is nothing like theatre butter popcorn.” He grins as he opens a cabinet below the machine and pulls out a jar of kernels. “And the butter? It isn’t really butter. But it’s liquid gold.”

"There's always room for popcorn, isn't there?" If you could always keep him smiling like this, you would do it forever. He positively shines. "With gold, of course."

“Always.” Javi appreciates how you are game for his silly treat. “It’s magic, like you have another stomach for popcorn.”

"I think I actually might. Maybe you do, too. We're medical marvels." Moving over to the refrigerators, you find bottles of soda brands both classic and local, water, and then a plethora of half bottles of all sorts of wine to go along with the liquors in the bar. "What would you like to drink?"

"I think—" He pauses for a moment and then nods. "I think water will be good. I have had a lot of alcohol and I would not want to misstep when tonight is going so well."

"Of course." Two bottles of San Pellegrino come out of the fridge when you decide to follow suit. Although you wouldn't blame him if the bubbly made him a little enthusiastic, you certainly don't want to make him think that you were pushing for something to happen faster than he was comfortable with.

“I don’t want to kiss you if you wouldn’t be open to it.” Javi blurts out, hissing when he realizes he hadn’t just been thinking but had spoken the words aloud.

Pressing your lips together to keep from giving yourself away with a grin, you put the two bottles of water down to look at him. "Would you prefer I pretended not to have heard that?" Never wanting to push, you're actually ecstatic that he's warming up to you as quickly as you are to him.

“Only if you are offended.” Javi huffs to himself mostly but he turns to gauge your reaction. He had told himself that he wouldn’t try to pressure you and here he is doing just that.

"Not at all." The worry on his face doesn't belong there, and you let the grin you were hiding unfurl across your face. "I would be very open to it as soon as you're ready, to be completely honest with you."

“Then you kiss me whenever you want.” Javi offers, the worry giving way to a small smirk.

It tightens in your chest, the way you want to spring forward and take him at his word right now, but hesitate. Your own fear of seeming too eager gnawing on your self-consciousness. "Perhaps it will happen organically," you tease instead.

Javi chuckles and the two of you continue to get ready for the movie. Before you know it, you are seated beside him in a recliner with a bucket of buttery popcorn between you as the movie starts. "If you cry, it's okay." He promises. "I cry too."

"I do cry at movies sometimes." He assurance seems almost conspiratorial, and you naturally lean in to him a little in the massive seat. "If we do, we'll cry together."

“Why do you think I have tissues ready?” Javi asks, motioning to the box on the other side of his chair. “It is coming.”

He is, of course, completely right. By the time Paddington is arrested you are sniffling beside him, smiling sheepishly as he hands you a tissue with a knowing nod.

"See?" Javi loves that you are emotional, wishing that he could hold your hand while you are wiping away your tears. "I love this movie."

"It's so sweet." Little by little, the more you have sat beside him, you have ended up leaning in to him until you are shoulder to shoulder. "I never disbelieved you." It's after you dab your eyes that your head leans against his shoulder, and the intimacy of the moment is that much sweeter.

It’s almost natural to lean his head against yours and he sighs softly. “It makes me want to be a better man.”

If that is the case, you might want all men forever to see this film and be inspired the same way, and you decide instantly that stuffed Paddington bears will be appropriate gifts for any children the two of you have together. You shiver slightly and Javi grabs the blanket that is on the other side of him. Wanting you to feel comfortable as the two of you continue to watch.

The longer you sit together the closer you get, until your heads are leaning neatly on each other with your hands tangled together again by the time the credits roll. Everything that was between you is forgotten or pushed aside and it's just two people together, feeling that rush of quiet excitement that comes from something new.

"I think that we can probably count this as a movie to watch together again?" Javi asks quietly, turning slightly to look at you despite your heads still touching.

"Absolutely." He's so close like this that you could kiss him with almost no effort, but you reach your free hand up to dab away the dampness on his cheek. "It's wonderful."

"Are you tired?" He whispers, still not ready to really give up time with you. He's just met you less than twelve hours ago but with as fast as everything is moving, he wants to spend every moment he can getting to know you. Really know you.

"Not if you aren't." You will happily swallow an occasional yawn to spend more time with him. Also, if he is a night owl then you want to make sure that you adjust to a schedule that he is comfortable with.

"There is a place I would like to show you." He whispers again. "You can see every star in the sky, hear the ocean waves crash against the cliffs."

"Okay." Almost before you can say it, you're nodding. "Show me. Anything. Everything." There's something magical building here that you can feel tingling all the way through your body. Something you want to see through to wherever it will go.

Flashing you a grin, Javi jumps up, reaching for your hands to drag you up out of your seat. "Come, we will take the Jeep." He tells you conspiratorially.

"We're driving?" It's unexpected, but your aching feet still in their heels will thank you for it.

"Yes." Javi's head bobbles quickly. "Up to my special spot. It would kill your feet if we hiked there."

"Well, alright." His energy and excitement are contagious, and you give him your other hand so easily. "Lead the way."

Javi sneaks you out of the palace, even though the two of you could walk out the door and no one would question either one of you. It just adds to the air of adventure as the two of you hustle out of the doors and down to the garage where his topless jeep is waiting.

"How far is it?" He says there is no adventure in his life and yet here he is whisking you away from the palace under the midnight moon to some secret location where you know in your heart you're going to have the world's most perfect first kiss with your literal Prince Charming in a Hallmark-style fantasy that is beyond even your wildest dreams. This is such a beautiful adventure to have together that you wonder if he has any idea how exciting it really is for you.

"Just a few miles away." He plans on taking you to that cliff. The one that he had shown you earlier. The one that he had jumped off of when he was younger. It was the best spot to stargaze around the palace and you can see every star in the sky. He wants to show it to you. Share it with you.

The drive is a chance to see more of the island, even at night and even as he drives quickly through the landscape, it's all breathtaking. Everywhere you look are beautiful plants and bright flowers, at one point there is even a grove of olive trees to the left of the road. The unbelievable trees thin out as you get closer to the coast, giving way to bushes and dustings of wild botanicals as opposed to the manicured gardens close to the palace. "Javi..." you breathe his name in awe when he stops the Jeep. "It's gorgeous..."

"We aren't even there yet." Javi jumps out of the doorless Jeep and grabs the blanket he had tossed in the back. "It's better up ahead." He holds his hand out for you as you climb out of the vehicle.

"How could it possibly be better?" Even through asking the question, you trust his judgement. It's just so much more beautiful than you had expected already. And to see him with so much happiness and that blanket in his hand while he holds his other out to you. "Lead the way," you tell him again, feeling another riot of butterflies erupt in your belly.

He grins, sending you a small wink before he turns to rush up the small hill with you. The adrenaline of the excitement thrumming through his system and making his heart pound in his chest. Hoping that you love the nighttime view as much as he does. The trees block the cliff face and he turns to watch your face the moment you break through the brush.

"Oh my..." It's literally breathtaking, this view that looks out into the Mediterranean Sea with the vastness of starry night surrounding you entirely. It's as if no one could reach you here and yet you can see everything and you cling to his hand as a soft breeze wafts over you from the south. "It's--" You're on the verge of tears, sniffling quietly when you finally tear your eyes away from the view to look at him. "It's magical."

Smiling, Javi stares into your eyes, feeling connected to you in ways that he will never understand but realizes this will be the moment where he knows that everything will be alright. He will be strong and resilient as long as you are by his side.

"Do you want to lay the blanket down?" You're both clinging to each other a little tighter than before, holding that gaze and swallowing with what you realize are honest to goodness nerves. After expecting this moment for twenty years, to finally be here is both terrifying and elating, but your heart has gotten involved. Like it or not – intended or not – you're much more scared to fuck this up than you want to admit.

"Right." Javi jolts, grinning sheepishly as he spreads the blanket out along the rocks. It won't do much to cushion the ground, but it would keep your pretty dress from getting dirty.

The moment makes you both giggle, not breaking the spell of the moment but maybe making it a little less serious. When he gets the blanket set he helps you settle down comfortably, and all at once you're leaning against each other again just like you were in the theater room in the palace – watching the sea this time instead of the film.

"There is so much to see out here." He whispers. "It's like...the world is all right here and endless at the same time."

"I can see why you thought mermen were within reach if you came out here as a boy." There is no reason to whisper. You're completely alone out here and no one could interrupt you if they wanted to. But it's as though the wind could hear you if you raise your voices too loudly, so you both instinctively whisper.

"They are out there." Javi hums. "In the whitecaps of the waves." He grins into the darkness. "Do you see them, Margarita?"

He's so playful. Whimsical and dreamy in a way you never could have expected, and it may be because of that that you look out over the waves and point to one cresting way away from the rocks near the edge of the island. "Right there," you hum, watching the foam dissolve as the wave washes out again. "He came to say good night to us."

"Or he came to say hello to his future queen." Javi offers, turning to watch you as you look out over the water as the waves relentlessly beats against the shore.

“Maybe he’s gone home again after having a look at us.” Your hand finds his on the blanket easily, fingers naturally threading together now like they belong always intertwined. “To tell his family that—” When You turn to look at him, his eyes are already on you, with adoration painted in their depths. It mirrors your own expression so strikingly. “That the prince has a bride-to-be who already adores him.”

"I do?" Javi barely whispers the question, almost fearful of the answer. Also eager to have you tell him again. To feel the burst of pleasure in his chest that seems to completely encompass him.

“Oh, yes. And it happened so very organically.” It takes everything you have to nod solemnly as you lean in a little, wanting him to meet you halfway. To take this step together. “I never…” The breath you take is shaky, wondering if being honest with him right now is too much too soon. But if you can’t be honest with him, who can you be? “I never thought it would be so easy to let myself begin falling in love with you.”

There’s a chance that you are flattering him. That you are telling him what you think he wants to hear. However, he doesn’t believe you can look at him like that and not mean it. The stars are literally shining in your eyes and Javi’s breath catches. Reaching out and stroking your cheek with the back of his knuckles before he cups your head as he leans in. “Then it makes our first kiss under the moon and stars very organic, mi Margarita.”

He doesn’t shrink from it, or startle, or accuse you of embellishing like so many others would. He meets you softly, finding that your lips mold to each other as easily and naturally as your fingers twine together. You hum softly when he presses into your space and moves his hand to the back of your neck, encouraging you to come closer. Right now he could encourage you right over the edge of that cliff like a siren and you would go with him willingly – all for the taste of his kiss.

Javi sighs, pouring himself into the rather innocent, yet completely consuming kiss. Unable to believe that he is very willingly kissing a woman he had been furious was coming even a day ago. Yet now he doesn’t want to stop kissing you. He doesn’t need to breathe, he just needs to kiss you.

Your own hand finds the curls at the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss but not pushing past any boundaries yet. It’s the most remarkable feeling – attraction seeing your body alight like stardust but the moment staying fairly innocent regardless. It’s not until you both find you need to breathe that you part, but it doesn’t seem destined to last for long.

It lingers, until Javi pulls back so slowly that it takes forever for his lips to separate from yours and his eyes open with a flutter to watch you. “That was…perfect”

“Better than a movie.” The breath that finally catches in your lungs is heavy, keeping you anchored to him securely.

Even though you are still looking up at him with stars in your eyes, you can’t quite smother a yawn. Making Javi smile. “Do you want to lay down?” He asks softly. “Stargaze for a minute before I tuck you in?”

“I am afraid of falling asleep on you,” you admit, though you don’t stop him from leading you down to laying on the blanket.

“I’ll make sure you get to bed.” He promises, knowing he should take you back, but there are always shooting stars and he wants you to see one.

“Lay with me.” The space beside you is empty but for wanting him to fill it, and you pat it with one hand.

With the invitation, Javi lays beside you and nudges closer, looking up at the sky. “Majestic, isn’t it?” He asks softly.

“It’s stunning.” You stand by your description of the place as magical, as the stars seem to dance above you.

Javi hums, watching the sky while he tries to look at you from the corner of his eye. Finding you even more stunning.

“What are you thinking?” It’s an intimate question, but the moment is intimate, and you find yourself curious as to what he could be thinking of so calmly when your mind and heart are rioting for you to kiss him again.

"This is a perfect moment." Javi whispers quietly, turning so he looks at you fully. "There are so few of them in this life, but this one, with you, is one of them." He swallows and licks his lips. "You are even more beautiful than the view above us."

“Tonight has been amazing.” Turning to face him, you’re nearly curled into his side. “I know that…that it’s not big or flashy or anything like that. But dessert on your balcony, the movie, and this?” When you smile it splits your face in half. “It’s the perfect first date.”

"Hmmmm, our first date happened before I could plan it." Javi's arm wraps around you easily, his hand spread across your back. "Does that mean our next one should be flashy?" He asks teasingly.

"It should be whatever you would like." With your head on his shoulder and his arm around your waist, you're more comfortable than you have been in ages. "Public or private. Flashy or humble. I don't care as long as you're there."

Javi thinks about it for a long minute. Holding you as his head turns back towards the sky. Wanting to make it something good for you, something special.

The quiet lingers between you, comfortable and warm, until he hears your breathing even out on the blanket beside him. Sleep has always come easily to you when you felt safe, and somehow you just know – instinctively – that Javi would never let anything happen to you.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanficition #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javi Gutierrez #Javi Gutierrez x reader #Javi Gutierrez x you #Javi Gutierrez x female reader #Javi Gutierrez x f!reader #royalty au #arranged marriage

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ericsprincess · 1 year

Text

awake I love this

Your hot roommate is a bed dweller.

~~~

“Oh shit- Jesus, you scared me,” you stop in the kitchen doorway, caught off guard by the unexpected presence in the kitchen. It’s 6 a.m. and you just woke up, blearily wandering out of your bedroom to make breakfast and get ready for your shift at work. You’re barely awake and what you didn’t expect was your roommate being already there, making some toast.

Younghoon, your roommate, standing in the kitchen, was a very unusual sight. Not only the “in the kitchen” part, but also the “standing” one. When you first moved in, you knew your roommate would be a man, and you were quite concerned about what the future cohabitation would look like. You didn’t know him, it was just a friend of a friend who gave you a tip about Younghoon looking for someone to rent his spare bedroom to. Therefore you were afraid about the endless possibilities of how everything could go wrong - he could be too messy, too loud, bring too many people home, or worse, perving on you. But you didn’t really have a choice, so you took the offer and moved in. Thankfully, none of your worries proved to be true - not only Younghoon appeared to be a completely chill guy, but it would be really easy to even forget you live with someone.

The thing is, your roommate spends way too much time in his bed. First you thought he might be sick, but he didn’t look that way. But save for going to school and occasionally out for either necessary errands or rare outings with friends, he spends all his leisure time in bed. Everytime you feel bored and you go to his room just to chat about anything, he’s under the blankets, either scrolling on his phone or reading, or watching a movie. He plays computer games out of bed too, and you’ve seen him even study while laying down. Thankfully, he seems to be a clean person, so at least you don’t have to worry about him dwelling in some gross nest. It seems to be just an odd quirk of his otherwise normal and nice - as you were pleased to discover - personality.

He also seems to be quite aware of this and doesn’t seem to care much. When you asked him once, why is he alway in bed, after a few weeks of living together, he just lazily turned his head to you and replied “Because I’m always ready, Y/N” and winked at you.

So considering all that, you take a little bit of time to admire the rare sight of vertical Younghoon.

He’s very tall and while he’s kinda skinny, his frame is broad. He’s dressed in black sweatpants and black t-shirt and you think no one should look this good, while spreading some butter on a toast, having just rolled out of bed.

He looks over his shoulder at you, amused by your outcry. “Good morning Y/N. I’m making breakfast, do you want some? Coffee is over there,” he smiles at you, pointing at the full coffee pot.

“Yes, please,” you reply, pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit down at the kitchen table, sipping at it and just observing Younghoon going about making more toast. You could really get used to the sight of a hot man making you breakfast every day, you dream a little.

Speaking of men, you remember something. “By the way,” you say, “I’m going out with friends tonight so, you know..” you’re not sure how to finish the sentence and tell him that you might end up bringing someone home to fuck. But he gets it anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I’ll have my headphones on, don’t worry,” he teases you and you can feel your face getting red. It’s not that you’re that loud, because you know you’re not. But he might have caught on to it anyways, and you’re not sure how you feel about your nice roommate overhearing you having sex. It feels both embarrassing, but also kind of hot, seeing that he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. Does he perhaps like it? You wonder, but your train of thought gets interrupted by a plate full of toasts set in front of you. Younghoon sits across the table and you spend the morning just chatting about news, until you both realize you have to run to work and school respectively, and the whole topic of overhearing is forgotten.

~~~

You come home from work and rush straight to your bedroom. You had to stay late at work to finish up something so now your time to get ready for going out is diminished and it’s barely enough to take a shower, throw on the skimpiest dress you own, fix your makeup and be out of the door.

So you do exactly that. You take a shower and pick a tiny black dress with straps across the back. You know you look good and you want to wear something that gives a clear signal you don’t want to go home alone tonight, but at the same time, you’re not that used to being dressed this provocative and suddenly you feel insecure. You don't have time to take a photo and bother your friends and wait until they reply with their opinions so you take the only other option you have and march straight to Younghoon’s room.

Thankfully - and as expected - he’s in his bed, just scrolling on his phone.

“Hey, Hoonie, do you have a minute?” you ask, peeking through the opened door.

“Yeah, sure, what do you need?” he replies, so you enter the room.

“Do you think this dress is too much?” you ask. He looks at you, but doesn’t reply. Instead of that he just stares and you can see his eyes following down every part of your body. He’s blatantly checking you out, you realize.

The awkward silence is getting more awkward by the second, until he just throws off-handedly “Yeah, you can go out like that. You look good,” and turns back to his phone. It feels like a dismissal a little, but you can see his ears are red.

“Uh…okay thank you, I’ll get going then,” you beep and not waiting for his answer you rush out of his room. What the fuck was that?? Your brain screams, having just experienced this awkward moment, way too charged for how your interactions with your roommate usually went. You put on your heels and off you go.

~~~

Well, this was a bust, you sigh while tapping code to your apartment door. Not only did you not see a single decently looking guy, but it felt like tonight was the night that every sleazebag in the city decided to crawl out. So you just stuck to your girlfriends, had a few shots and only went dancing together with them. It was fun enough, but the main point of the outing - to find someone to sleep with - completely fell through, so you came back home tipsy, frustrated and kinda horny.

You don’t feel like sleeping yet so you head over to Younghoon’s room to see if he’s still up and maybe goad him into watching a movie together or something. You knock twice and don’t wait for a reply, just silently open the door in case he’s asleep already.

But he isn’t. The room is dark and the only light there is coming from his laptop screen on the nightstand. There is some movie playing silently, but it doesn’t seem that he’s watching it.

You can’t really see it well, but Younghoon’s eyes are closed and he’s squirming and sighing and his hand is moving under the blanket. Is he..masturbating? Is the first thought that comes up in your brain, but it’s just a split second until he notices your presence and sits up a little. “Hey, Y/N, you’re back already? How did it go? You came back alone?” he breathes out, trying to sound normal.

“Uh yeah…it was tragic,” you reply but you’re not sure what to say next, your brain completely stuck on what you saw earlier and while you’re not drunk, the few shots you drank are suddenly giving you liquid courage to jump the gun. “Actually…Hoonie, remember when I asked you once….” you start.

“Yeah?” he prompts you.

“Are you still…always ready?” you finish your question and you can see the moment he puts it all together and realizes what you are really asking.

“Yeah..” he breathes out and you don’t waste a second and come to his bed, throw away his blanket, swing one leg over him and sit down. You can feel his hard cock under you and his hands immediately come up to rest on your hips. You’re looking at each other, both aroused but neither is sure what to do next.

“S-sit on my face?” he suggests and you smile at him, because this is truly a fantastic idea.

You raise yourself just enough to take off your panties and then you turn and maneuver so that your pussy is hovering over his handsome face. Your dress is so short you don't even have to take it off. He grabs you by your hips and pulls down, so that you’re sitting with almost full weight on his face. But he doesn’t seem to mind, rather the opposite - he moans and gets to work. He eats you out like it’s the best meal he’s ever had, and his tongue seems heavenly and oddly huge, licking over your clit in broad strokes then moving to your dripping hole and pushing inside. His tongue is so big he can kinda fuck you with it and it feels so good you’re not sure how long you will last. You don’t want it to be over so soon, especially since you can see his hard cock tenting his pyjama pants and the size of it is also intriguing.

“Younghoon, I’m getting close,” you moan and he just responds by flicking over your clit harder, but you’re already stopping him and easing off his face. He whines and tries to pull you back on his face, as if he hadn’t had enough of eating your pussy yet, but you laugh and drop off on the bed next to him. You look at him and he’s so aroused he looks almost feral, with his eyes glossy and the whole bottom part of his face glistening with your pussy juices.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask and he nods and reaches back to open his nightstand drawer to take out a silver packet. You look at each other. “Always ready,” you say in unison, and start laughing, you lean forwards to take off his shirt and he fumbles with the straps on your dress until you together manage to take it off. He kicks off his sweatpants and now you’re both naked. You look at his cock and you’re pleased to see how pretty and long and thick it is and he’s already so wet, so you open the packet and roll the condom on him.

“How do you want to…” he starts but you’re already pushing his chest down so he’s lying flat on his back.

“Let me ride you,” you say and you’re already climbing over him. You’re not wasting any time, you take hold of his cock and put it inside you, sitting on his lap fully. You take a few seconds to get used to it, even though you’re so wet and relaxed it’s not an issue anymore, and then you start moving.

It gets frantic all too quickly, you’re both too horny and close to try for any kind of finesse, you’re riding him like it’s the last thing you do in your life and he’s just holding you, his hands roaming over your body, squeezing your ass and tits, until he plants his feet over your bed and start thrusting against you. It’s so wild and both of you are moaning and getting out of breath, accompanied just by the slapping and squelching sound.

“Y/N, I’m coming,” he moans and you just nod quickly, because you’re coming too and you can’t even speak anymore. You lean forward to hug him tightly while you’re shaking and spasming and you can see his cock throb and pump inside you. Your ears are ringing and it almost feels like the whole room is spinning with how strong your orgasm was.

You finally start coming to your senses so you just slump against him. You're both sweaty and sticky but it also feels kinda nice. He reaches for the blanket and pulls it over both of you so that you won't get cold and it somewhat warms your heart a little. You were already almost starting to get worried about things becoming awkward between you, but when you look up on his face, he’s smiling kindly at you and you know everything will be okay. Maybe even…

“You know Y/N,” he chuckles. “I must say, I like living with you a lot more than I expected I would, but now that I have had you in my bed…It kinda feels like you belong here,” he says and snuggles you tighter to his chest.

Yeah, you think. Maybe, indeed.

303 notes · View notes

readyplayerhobi · 11 months

Text

Because, I Love You | 12

; Genre: Fluff, angst

; Word Count: 5.1k

; Warnings: Fatphobia, ageism, mentions of miscarriage

; Synopsis: According to society, Jeon Jungkook should not be with you. He should be with a younger, hotter and thinner girl instead of wasting his time on you. It’s a good thing Jungkook doesn’t care what society thinks then.

; A/N: Soo...you’ve been waiting for this one for like...a week now. And it’s here...the reason why Jungkook disowns his own mum! If you enjoyed this, please reblog so it can get on other people’s screens and I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment or an ask - either one is great for me and let’s me know you like this fic still! Your feedback keeps encouraging me to write after all this time.

; Masterlist

"You're totally gonna cry." Jimin teases, though he sounds happy and not malicious. His words are lightened even more by the broad grin he's wearing as he smoothes out Jungkook's lapel once more.

"Fuck yeah, I am. I cry at anything, seeing the love of my life in her wedding dress walking down the aisle towards me? If I'm not blubbing like a two-year-old who's had candy taken from them then punch me till I am." Jungkook is rambling, and he can tell. But he's so damn nervous and excited. Nervited. Excous. Whole new words.

Junghyun, his older brother, laughs loudly and pats Jungkook on the shoulder. Well, it feels more like he's punching him but Jungkook will just consider it a pat as it's done in good faith. Jimin was his best man, but Junghyun had agreed to be a groomsman.

The two of you had decided on a smaller wedding, to save money and make it more intimate. So you only had two bridesmaids and two groomsmen. Momo, your best friend who'd moved back in the last year, was your maid of honour while Hana, another close friend, was a bridesmaid. Thankfully, your friends had been understanding as to why they weren't all invited to be in the bridal party - because Jungkook wanted his brother and best friend, so logically you needed two to match - and were now sitting comfortably in the chairs that had been placed out for the day.

You'd also decided that you didn't want your bridesmaids to walk down the aisle, do they were already waiting for you. The whole day was planned to be simple, fun and intimate. You'd both chosen a beautiful hotel as your venue and were marrying in the gardens, with the dinner and reception later to be half in the other part of the gardens and the hall that had been rented.

Chewing on his lip ring, he looks towards the door that'll you'll be coming through for perhaps the millionth time and he jumps on the spot for a moment. He's got too many feelings, too much energy. He just wants you to turn up so he can marry you.

"Calm down, you're gonna be napping like a toddler if you keep moving around." Jimin chuckles, pressing down on Jungkook's shoulders to get the younger man to stop moving. It works to stop him from hopping, but his fingers are tapping on his thigh instead now.

"He doesn't need to move to nap, you know that." Junghyun snorts in amusement, but it's cut short by the sudden start of the music.

For a second, it doesn't register in Jungkook's head but then he realises - it's your music, the music for you to walk down the aisle.

"She's coming!" He squeaks, and if he didn't have a million thoughts in his head then he'd be embarrassed at how pitched his voice had gone. But he couldn't care now, not when you were coming!

The music soars, and he recognises it as from your favourite video game. You hadn't let him hear it beforehand, had just let him know that he'll recognise it and…he did. It makes him laugh it registers.

You really picked An End Once And For All from the Mass Effect 3 soundtrack. It was your favourite game, and he knew that some would be a little confused at the unusual choice but he loved it. You'd opted for it to be played solely on piano, and he eyes the piano player for a second.

Great, now he was going to forever cry when he heard this song.

The door opens and it's like time stands still for a moment. You're standing there on your own for a moment, having decided that you were a modern woman and didn't want anyone to walk you down the aisle. The bouquet in your hands is held tightly, a deep purple ribbon that matches the colour scheme of the wedding trailing down.

Slowly, you start to walk towards him, passing row after row of your friends and family. Your dress is beautiful - folds of soft ivory silk with delicate lace patterns overlaying it, the lace trailing up over your bodice and shoulders before twirling down your arms. Each movement has the dress kicking out slightly, and he notes the tiny glimmers of crystals that have been carefully woven into the material.

If an angel got married, Jungkook is pretty sure she'd look like you.

Finally, you're standing next to him as you hand off your bouquet to Momo and smile brightly at him. He tries to smile back, but he's been crying so damn hard that all he manages is for his lips to quiver pathetically. Sniffling, he wipes at his eyes frantically.

"Sorry," He mumbles, "You're so beautiful, I love you."

That sets him off again, and you laugh softly before reaching up to wipe away his tears. You're looking at him so fondly, he can't even bring himself to care that he's currently bawling his eyes out. At least Jimin doesn't need to hit him.

"I love you, too." Gently, you clean his face while quiet snickers rumble through the guests at his crying. Nothing malicious, just amused and cooing over how soft he is for you.

"Are you both ready?" The officiant asks, raising a brow at you both as he tries to hide his smile. Jungkook guesses he must see this all the time, and surely it's a good sign for a wedding if the guy cries, right?

Both of you nod at him, and Jungkook takes your hand and squeezes. He's actually getting married, he's going to have a wife in a few minutes. You're going to be his wife.

"Good afternoon, everyone. I hope everyone's excited for today, which sees us witnessing the union of Mr Jeon and Miss Y/L/N for love." Jungkook zones out as the officiant gets through the legal talk and starts to say something about the love between the two in front of him. Ironic, given Jungkook only met the guy yesterday.

But he's too busy staring at you in simultaneous amazement and love. You're here, you're marrying him. You'll be Mrs Jeon, his wife. You're so damn beautiful.

"If there is any person here present who knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage, then they should declare it now."

He's busy smiling at you, so busy that he doesn't even register the words spoken out loud. Not until he notices the way the space has become quiet, the silence deafening suddenly.

Frowning, he looks at the officiant who looks both shocked and confused. Then he looks at you, who mirrors the emotions, though there's also some horror in there too.

Finally, his brain catches up and he twists to stare at his mom. His mom, who had never liked you and who had pitched a fit when he'd announced his wedding. His mom, who had sworn she wouldn't come, only to turn up here anyway.

"What?" Jungkook asks, the confusion in his voice making him sound more like a child. This is what he feels because he can't understand why his mom is objecting.

"I said, I object. I don't approve of my son marrying some old, fat woman. I've never approved of her, and I've tried repeatedly to bring him back but she's got her claws so deep into him. I don't want my son to marry a woman six years older than him, who's probably too old and fat to have children now. Not when my Jungkook deserves so much better. You should be marrying a doctor or a lawyer, not her. So I object, I don't want her in my family and I will never accept her as a daughter-in-law." His mom finishes her tirade, her cheeks red with anger and her face twisted with bitterness. He doesn't recognise her.

Jungkook was frozen in place, his eyes wide and jaw dropped as his mind blanked out. What had just happened? He didn't understand, he couldn't understand - this kind of stuff didn't happen in real life, right?

Yet here he stood, holding your hand tighter than he meant to as he stared in disbelief at his mom. The woman who'd raised him with so much love and affection, who was now unrecognisable to him. He wasn't the only one, his dad was also staring at her in horror whilst his grandparents looked shocked. And that was nothing compared to everyone else.

Jungkook was pretty sure that your parents were going to punch his mom, and frankly, he would let them. But that wasn't the important bit right now.

Turning to you, the love of his life wearing the most beautiful ivory dress and ready to legally tie yourself to him, he felt his heart break. Tears were banked in your eyes, and he saw the slightest quiver to your lips, the movement replicated by your fingers clasped in his own.

No, no.

"Is there somewhere we can go for a few minutes? This won't affect anything, right? I just…I need to sort this out and I don't want Y/N to hear." He whispered to the officiant, who looked like he'd never seen this happen at a wedding before. Just what Jungkook wanted, for his wedding to be a fucking Reddit worthy story.

Still, the officiant nodded and reached out for you, carefully taking your hands from Jungkook. There's a brief moment where you fight, but Jungkook begs you quietly to go, that he'll be there as soon as he can and that he loves you, and most importantly…that he's so sorry.

Once you've disappeared through a door back into the hotel, he rounds with fury in his eyes. And god, he wishes he didn't cry when he was angry.

"What. The. Fuck." He spits, storming to the front row of his seats where his mom looks victorious and his dad looks sorrowful. It's only when she takes in the anger that practically vibrates in his body that she pauses. She loops her arm through his dad's for support, but his dad lets go and steps away with contempt in his eyes.

"I don't know why you're so surprised. You've known I don't approve of her for years now, and I've always let you know. You deserve so much better, someone who will give you beautiful babies and be on your level." There's a shout from your side that gets muffled quickly, and Jungkook notes that your mom is currently being dragged to the door you'd exited by your family. He wants to apologise, but he has to sort this out.

"Shut up, just SHUT UP. Why are you so fucking bitter? Y/N is perfect for me, I love her so much and you have no right to have any opinion here. None. It's my life, not yours. Fuck, I didn't even want you here. You're only here because Y/N wanted to give you another chance and you…you fucking…" He cracks then, swallowing hard as he finally starts to cry from embarrassment and hurt for you.

Turning away for a moment, he presses his hand to his mouth hard as tears fall and he looks up at the beautiful sky. She'd made you cry, at your wedding ceremony. She'd insulted you on things that he knew you'd worked hard to overcome, yet deep inside you were still insecure about. In front of all your friends and family, along with his.

Letting out a shaky breath, he turns back around and lets his mom see his absolute devastation. She had no idea what you'd had to work through to learn to love yourself, or the way you'd made yourself vulnerable to him when letting him love you. She had no idea about the pain of the struggles you'd had to get pregnant or the fact that you'd now had two miscarriages. There was so much she didn't know because he'd known that she'd use it to hurt you. Yet she'd managed to use it anyway.

"Get out. I want you out." He says, his voice shaking and quiet but the words are like gunshots. His mom's eyes widen in shock, and he realises that she's genuinely surprised he's taken a stand. In her fantasy world, she'd speak her peace and he'd realise he was wrong and come back to the fold.

It makes him angry and he grits his teeth.

"Get. Out. Leave, go. I don't want you here, I don't fucking want you anywhere. This is it, I'm done. You want me to pick? Fine, I pick her. Get out of my wedding." He spits, pointing to the door that'll take her out of the wedding, and in a just world out of his life.

"Jungkook, you can't mean tha-"

"GET OUT. Dad, please. I can't…please." He begs his dad, knowing that his dad has always been kind to you and has tried to be the barrier between his mom and her horrible views. There's a second of hesitation before his dad nods, grasping his wife's arms firmly. She's started to rant at them both, jerking to get herself free.

Before he manages to push her into the aisle, his dad stops and gives him a tight smile.

"I'm so sorry, I really am. Please let Y/N know I'm so sorry about this, I think she'll be a great daughter-in-law to me." His compassionate words make Jungkook smile weakly as he nods, before moving to stand in front of everyone.

There's still shock and uncertainty on everyone's faces and he feels so embarrassed, so humiliated that they've all witnessed this. He can't even imagine how you feel.

"I'm sorry you've all had to see that. I, erm, I'm gonna go see Y/N…I don't know if the wedding will carry on. I don't know…it's up to Y/N. I'm sorry." He doesn't know what to say, and he hates how lost he feels.

"Tell her we're sorry too, and that we'd still love to see you both get married if she wants." Jimin says, his best man resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. There are murmurs of agreement from the crowd, and Jungkook wants to cry from the reassurance everyone gives.

Instead, he nods his head and hurries after you. He'd have been confused as to where you'd been taken if it wasn't for your dad standing outside another door. Jungkook feels about 10cm tall as he walks up to him, his shoulders hunching up to his ears as shame flushes through him. It wouldn't surprise him if your dad hit him, even if it had been his mom who'd said everything.

Stopping in front of him, Jungkook opens his mouth to apologise but he's cut off by strong arms pulling him into a hug. It's a little awkward, with Jungkook's hands dangling uselessly.

"I'm sorry." Your dad says, his tone full of compassion and it confuses him.

"Why are you apologising? I should be, I'm so sorry you had to hear that…I-I don't know what," Looking down, he frowns in frustration. "I've kicked her out…of my life too, hopefully."

"It's not your fault, a child isn't responsible for what their parents say, okay? You love my daughter, I know that. She's in with her mum," He states, nodding his head to the door. "I'm sorry this happened, you don't deserve it."

Jungkook's throat tightens, and all he can do is nod before going through the door. It's a small receiving room inside, with a fancy-looking couch taking up most of the space. He doesn't even understand the purpose of this room, but he doesn't care. Not when you're sat on the couch, your dress splayed out around you with your mom sitting beside you, her arm around your shoulders.

His heart breaks again when he sees the tears on your face, and he feels like shouting in anger at his mom once more. But he doesn't, because this isn't about her.

Glancing at your mom, he notes the upset and pain in her eyes and gives her a tiny smile. She stands, moving over and hugging him as well.

"I'm sorry about all this." He can tell there's more she wants to say, but she restrains herself with a glance back at you. Once she's left the room, Jungkook moves over to you and frowns, pressing his lips together before crouching next to you.

You stare blankly at your hands, tear after tear following well-laid tracks down your face. He knew that you'd opted for waterproof makeup, but even that wasn't able to keep up with the amount you were crying. Not to mention whenever you wiped them away.

"Y/N…" He whispered, feeling useless. It was his mom, and he hadn't seen you cry like this before. You'd cried in pain at the loss of your babies twice now, you'd cried at the fact that a year of passively trying had yielded only one miscarriage and nothing else, you'd occasionally cried when you'd got so overwhelmed from stress but never like this.

Never the quiet and defeated way you were crying now, the slump to your shoulders and the pained look in your eyes breaking his heart. He hated that he couldn't fix this immediately.

Kneeling on the floor - he didn't care if he got his rented tuxedo dirty - he reaches out and takes your hand. Your engagement ring is on your right hand for today, waiting for the wedding band that would be placed onto your left ring finger before joining it once more.

"I'm so sorry." He goes to say something else but surprises himself by breaking down. It annoys him that he's crying when you're the one who suffered such horrible insults, but his heart is aching for you and he's so confused and upset.

Pressing his face into the soft fabric of your dress, he lets out a quiet sob.

"Don't cry, please don't cry." You whisper, running your fingers through his hair in that soothing way he loves. He should be comforting you, and he feels annoyed at himself like he's letting his mom win by letting you baby him and comfort him.

"I should've known, I should've pushed back on inviting her. She's never gonna change, she's just so bitter and cruel. She's not the mom I knew." Jungkook says, sniffling as he looks up at you. At the woman he loves so much, he didn't even know it was possible to love like this.

"Maybe she's right," You whisper, your voice so thin and broken, and he doesn't get a chance to refute before you continue speaking. "I love you, and I've never loved someone so much but…I've never really felt worthy of you. I try to push those thoughts aside, but…you know what it's like. When those negative thoughts get in your head and it wiggles in. Sometimes I just look at you and wonder why you're here…why me? You're younger and ridiculously good-looking and in shape, with plenty of money and you're so damn kind and fun. Why me? I never really understood and you always showered me with love so I just ignored it but…everything she said is something I've already hurt myself with by saying before."

He stares at you in horror, and hatred for his mom swirls in his gut. All the shit she'd spouted had been stuff he'd heard before, and he knew that you'd asked yourself it sometimes. You'd even asked him outright on occasion, but hearing the defeated way you agree with his mom leaves him heartbroken.

"No, no don't listen to her. She's just a bitter and hateful woman because she can't control her son anymore and that I won't follow the life she thought I'd have. I don't care about what she said, she's wrong. You're the best thing to happen to me." He pleads, and he genuinely doesn't know how to resolve this. Fighting negative thoughts is a battle that many lose, and he's terrified that you're being forced to confront such awful ones on what should've been such a happy day.

"What if she is right? I mean…I'm already struggling to give you a baby and the problem is more likely to be me than you. You're young and in great shape, whereas I'm older and overweight. What if we can never have kids and it's all because of me? And she's right that you could be with someone younger and prettier, you get hit on all the time and like…what if one of those girls is who you're meant to be with? What if they could give you a baby immediately? You're so…perfect, and I'm not. I know that. People don't think I'm pretty, I'm fat, I don't like wearing makeup, I'm opinionated, I'm older than you, I don't shave all the time-"

"Stop, stop, please stop," Jungkook begs, his voice breaking as tears fall so fast. "I don't care what my mom thinks, I don't. And I know that's a luxury you can't have, but please…stop telling me what I should think. I don't care what other people think, and I don't want you to put their opinions onto me. I love you, I love everything about you and I love all the bits you don't love. I think you're beautiful, and I genuinely don't care about your weight. If I did, I would've said something or just never approached you. I love that you have opinions and you're willing to say them, it's hot as fuck to me. I love that you're confident enough in yourself to not wear makeup and shave all the time, it doesn't bother me. I've always said that I love the confidence that you have that comes from being older, that you have your life put together and don't have to rely on me,"

"I love your smile, I love your hands, I love your face, I love your laugh, I love your jokes, I love you. And what if I'm the problem? What if I have slow swimmers, or not enough? What if they're weak? Maybe a younger girl would get pregnant instantly, but I don't want that. I want you. If I'm gonna have a baby, then I want it with you. If we never have babies, then as long I'm with you, then it's fine. I love you, and it's killing me that you have these thoughts and you're having to have them on today of all days. Today should be happy, and I'm so sorry that it's not. Please…believe me. I love you." He begs, kissing your fingers as if he's trying to press his feelings into you by force.

Silence falls, and he gets the sense that it's not a negative kind of quiet, but more a contemplative one as you think through what he's said. Being on his knees and begging you to believe his love wasn't what he expected on his wedding day, but then he also hadn't ever expected his mom to show how ugly she is.

Finally, you shift your hands in his until you can cup his cheek. Immediately, he presses into your touch like a sun-starved flower meeting the morning rays of light. He doesn't notice the small smile you give him, doesn't even realise he's closed his eyes at your touch until he hears the sharp exhale of your laugh.

Looking up at you - your dress looks even more beautiful on you this close - he takes in the way your tears have slowed. Taking in a deep breath, a little shakier than it would've been at any other time, you lean forward and lightly kiss him on the forehead.

Before he can even say anything, you're already rubbing away the lipstick mark that had been left and he feels hope spark in his chest once more. You've both been through a lot, and you've done it together. This was just another obstacle, right?

"You're such a good man, Jungkook." You murmur, opening your arms slightly in invitation. He takes it immediately, rising to sit on the couch next to you. A yelp of surprise leaves you as he carefully lifts you onto his lap, a grunt leaving him with the effort and he feels fear flash through him. What if you thought he thought you were too heavy with that noise?

But you giggle, and the noise soothes his worries.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, Jungkook hugs you as tightly as he can without ruining your dress and presses his head into the space between your neck and shoulder. Breathing in deeply, he takes in the soft scent of your favourite perfume and the lingering smell of your peach body wash, all with the unique smell underneath it all that was just you.

"I'm not that good. You do complain at me for leaving the empty milk cartons in the fridge, and for not cleaning the sink after I brush my teeth, and for always eating the chips that you wanted, and-" You cut him off with a laugh, kissing him as he smiles at you happily.

"Shut up, you know what I meant." Jungkook grins before nodding, kissing your cheek and making a face at the gross taste of the makeup on it. He doesn't say anything, though, but he notes the way you smile and wipe his lips clean.

"I know, and I don't want you to like…idolise me. But I also don't want you to listen to my asshole of a mom. I kicked her out, by the way. My dad said sorry, I can imagine there's gonna be a big ass fight when they get home and I'm glad. She needs some reality." Pursing his lips, he half wishes he could see his mom get put in her place. At least, he hopes his dad does that.

"He doesn't need to apologise, it's not his fault. Same as it's not your fault." You muse, your gaze lifting before you begin to clean up his hair. He can only assume it's looking a bit rough right now, what with how much he was pulling it outside.

"Will you believe that, too?"

"Why wouldn't I? I invited her to try and build bridges between us both, but she's made her feelings clear. It annoys me that she's made me cry and humiliated us both, but that was what she wanted. So…I'm not over it, I'm definitely not over it. I still want to run away and curl up and cry. I've no doubt that I'm gonna have some depressive relapses now, which I'm totally looking forward to, but her need to be cruel is not my fault, or your fault, or your dad's." Jungkook wonders if it would be too much to fall to his knees and worship you right now.

He's always known that you were level-headed and confident, it was one of the reasons he fell for you. The age difference that sometimes worries you has let you wrangle your inner demons and learn to understand and love yourself, so it doesn't surprise him that you're bouncing back so quickly. It also isn't a shock that you're so pragmatic about your mental health, though he's fully prepared for the tears that will come.

But this level of reasoning, after such a shocking event, is surprising even to him. Your wedding was interrupted by his mom, who proceeded to personally insult you in front of those you love and here you are…less than half an hour later and already laughing with him.

God, if he hadn't loved you before…

"You're amazing, you know that?" Jungkook laughs, leaning back slightly and just marvelling at you. Your makeup is a little ruined, and your dress isn't nearly as neat and pristine as it had been, yet you've never been more beautiful to him.

"Is everyone still out there?" You ask, and he hears the soft tremor you try to keep out. As resilient as you are, you're still a person with feelings at the end of the day, and even he feels uncertain at the thought of going back out to friends and family who will be concerned and shocked.

"Yeah, they are. Or should be. I mean, it's up to you but…they've said they'd love to still see us get married. It's why they're all here, and they're not assholes like my mom. But if you don't feel up to it then…we could do the vows in here, or something? Or…well, we could postpone it, if you wanted." He really, really doesn't want to postpone it. Jungkook had woken up this morning excited to marry you, and the thought of going to bed without your ring on his finger made him feel sad.

Pushing up from his lap, you move over to the door and cross your arms whilst an outraged look paints your face.

"Are you kidding? I'm not postponing our wedding, not unless you want to. Your mom is a bitch, but not even she can make me willing to lose the thousands we've spent on this day. Plus, I really wanna marry you. We're not letting her win, okay? Fuck her." Lifting your chin, you get a distinctly obstinate look on your face and he can't help but laugh.

"Yeah, fuck her. I'll tell everyone and sort it out with the officiant. Do you want me to send Momo in, there's no mirror if you're wanting to touch up or anything." He asks, referring to your best friend and maid of honour who had recently moved closer. While your mascara and eyeliner have done a valiant job of holding up, it's still pretty obvious you've been crying and Jungkook doesn't know enough about makeup to help you fix it up.

Taking a deep breath for stability, you nod and smile at him.

"Yes, please. Give us five minutes or so, and say sorry to the officiant for me, too?"

Moving over to you, Jungkook grins and lightly cups your face in his hands. You smile back at him, and he knows that you'll probably both need to go through some therapy after today but taking control again feels good. Plus, as you said - he wasn't going to let his mom win.

"I love you." He states, before giving you a quick kiss.

"Love you, too. Let everyone know that if someone else does something to ruin today, then I will punch them. And I don't care if I don't know how to hit properly, I've reached the limit of shit I'll take today."

"It's okay, I do know how to hit properly so I'll do it for you."

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more-cardigan-than-woman · 2 years

Text

Same man, different guy

Summary: You moved from Gotham, to start a new job, a new life in Bludhaven. You'd gotten entangled with the Red Hood and you just need a fresh start. But sometimes, your problems follow you.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Jason Tood (The Red Hood)

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Only, handcuffs, blindfold, guns, swearing, spanking, face slapping, teasing, pet names, jealousy, this is probs not healthy, confessions, tiny bit of hurt but mostly comfort.

“Hey Dick,” you call across the bull pit, “how's it going?”

“What's up Deputy Inspector? Didn't think I'd see you around here after your promotion.”

“Just came down to grab a cup of coffee figured I'd swing by and say hi,”

“So, how's the new job going?”

“Really, good. It's nice to be back from Gotham. Love the place and Batman's great, but it's just not home, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Maybe we could catch up? Grab a-” you’re dumbstruck as a man walks out from the Sargent's office. He's tall and like your nanna used to say 'built like a brick shithouse', a tight brown leather jacket wrapped tightly over his broad shoulders, hair is almost as dark as Dicks except for the streak of white that runs through the front. Fuck, he has to be the hottest guy you've ever seen. He saunters his way over to Dick, while you stand there staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Jay, this is the officer I was telling you about. She just moved back from Gotham,” Dick claps his hand on Jay's shoulder, “this is my little brother, Jason,”

“I thought your brother was 11?” You ask, shifting your head to the side. The man, Jason, hasn't said a word and he seems to be avoiding eye contact. He looks… you want to say guilty, but you've no idea why. Was he in trouble with the Sergeant?

“Dami is 11. Jay is one of the middle ones and he's only in town for a few days so I'll have to get a raincheck on drinks. That cool?”

“Yeah, no problem. Have a good night.” You’re disappointed that Dick’s busy and consider asking to hang out with the both of them. Dicks brother was.. Well he was fucking hot. And Dick is the nicest person in this fucking precinct, hopefully you'll get a chance to catch up with him another time. Luckily for you the new records clerk was on her way to the bar and offered you to join her.

Xxx

It's around 2am when you finally leave the drive bar on Oracle St. You’ve had a nice night with Riza, she’s had at least one to many and after you put her in a taxi home, you decide it’ll be faster to walk home.

It's only 2 blocks to your apartment, you know crime rates are unusually high for this time of year. But you’ve heard rumors of Nightwing being spotted after only being in this city for a few days. You'd moved here to get away from all those fucking vigilantes. At Least it’s just Nightwing you think and not- HIM. Him. He who had turned your world upside down and almost ruined you. You have to admit having Nightwing around does make you feel a tiny bit safer. Along with the 6 shooter in your purse, you're sure you can make it home without incident.

You're almost at the end of the first block when you hear a noise down a nearby alley. Carefully you pull out your gun, stepping slowly in the direction of the noise. The street lamp flickers overhead and you can see two figures in the dark. It looks like one is beating the other.

“Freeze Police,” you shout, pointing your gun at them. The one standing drops the other and they fall to a heap on the ground.

“Well, if it isn't my favourite officer,” a deep husky voice calls from the darkness.

“Hands above your head,”

“Now if I remember correctly,” he steps onto the light, his bright red helmet glistening under it and a crowbar swinging in his hand as he approaches you, “you're the one who likes to be tied up. Not me.”

“You,” you glare at him. Why is he here? Did he follow you? Fucking hell. It was him who didn’t want to open up, who didn’t want- whatever was going on between you. So you left, because having him so close and him keeping you so far away was slowly killing you.

“Did you miss me, officer?”

“You.. you followed me.” Why has he done that? What was the point? So he could keep stringing you along?

“Just happened to be in town. Thought I'd say hi,” what an asshole. It’s definitely so he can keep stringing you along. He's getting closer. And all you can think is that you moved here to get away from him. He clouds your judgment, makes you stupid and pliable and you're so fucking happy to see him.

“Right, so it's just a coincidence that you're here then?” You try to sound like you don't believe it, but he just keeps getting closer.

“Why are you here? I thought this was Nightwings turf?” you step back, needing distance to keep your head on straight.

“That why you ran away?” He's almost on top of you now, with every step you take back he takes two forward, “think you could hide behind him?”

“No, I.. I didn't.” fuck, he’s so close now. You can smell the sweat of his long night and that faint hint of leather that always seems to follow him around.

“Didn't what officer? Want to hide or run away?” He steps right into your space, taking your wrist in his hand, pulling the gun away.

“That's-”

“What? Yours? We both know you aren't going to shoot me, don't we?”

Fuck, this should be easy you should be able to say no. To fight him, but you just- you really don't want to. “I won't shoot you,”

“There's my girl,” he coos, holstering the gun in his pants, “now, tell me. Did you really think you could hide from me?” His fingers slide under your jaw forcing you to look up at him.

“No,” you admit. You hadn't, not really. It was childish, but well- “I didn't think you'd care.”

“Care?” if you could see his face, he’d probably look confused. Instead the shiny red helmet stares down at you.

“I didn't think you'd notice I was gone,”

“I notice everything.” his thumb grazes along your jaw, “Even when my girl is flirting with her underlings.” his fingers tighten on your face, the lights in the helmet seem to stare you down.

Huh? What is he talking about? You barely get a chance to think about it. His massive strong hands wrap around you, lifting you up into him and pressing you into the wall. “Red!” You squeal, “what are you-?”

“I'm faster,” he says, taking off towards your apartment. You can only hold on for your life as he sprints down the street, then running up the fire escape. How does he know where you live? Probably the same way he knew where to find you when you moved. Why couldn’t he just let you be? Probably for the same reason you struggle to say no to him.

“Did you come all this way just to bring me home safely?” you joke, trying to ease the growing tension in your tiny apartment. He doesn't answer, instead he turns and walks back towards the window. Your brain is telling you to let him leave, that this is for the best. But your pussy aches more and more every second that you’re close to him. There is only one thing to do, you need him to stay and you know there is a sure way to bait him without spilling out your guts and feelings all over the floor in front of him. “I'm sure Nightwing could have done that."

He comes to an abrupt stop and if you could see his eyes through the helmet you're sure he'd be glaring at you. “Well, officer. I was just going to leave you alone,” he exaggerates extending his arms out, “seeing as you're so keen to be rid of me,” he kicks off his boots, “but after a comment like that,” his jacket goes, landing on the back of your couch, “maybe you DO need the reminder,” he rips off his belt, his body looming over you and his shiny red helmet staring you down.

You reach up, eager to take the helmet off, to kiss him. But he's faster, grabbing your hands in his one and holding them above your head.

“Ah, ah, ah. You know the rules.”

“Do I?” You tease, stepping back towards your bedroom, you hop kicking off your heels which make him much taller.

“Do you need a reminder?” His fingers toy with the line of your tie.

“Yes”

“I can do that.” His free hand grabs your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder, by your arms throwing you over his wide shoulder, your feet dangle in the air as a loud crack rings in your tiny apartment where he slaps you on the ass. “That's for what you did today,”

“What did I?”- he does it again.

“No back talk,” Smack. “I saw you,”

“Saw me what?” Red slaps you on the underside of your ass.

“Hitting on that idiot coworker of yours.”

“Grayson? Wait- how did you-”

“So you do know what I'm talking about,” two slaps land and you can feel yourself start to soak through your pants.

“he's just a friend, we were in the aca-” he kicks your bedroom door open.

“I don't care, just be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

Your room is pitch black as you step into it. Red almost trips over some of the boxes you still haven't unpacked as he enters, nearly dropping you. “There is nothing going on. We're just friends,”

“Listen to me,” he commands in the tone that makes your body quake, his fingers pulling at your tie forcing you to look up into the dim lights of his helmet, “the only words I want to hear from you are yes Red, please Red, thank you Red or our safe word. Ok?”

“Yes, Red, But-” his hand slaps your face and you get a shiver down your spine. Fuck, it's only been a few weeks since you moved but you realise how much you missed this, missed him.

“Stand there. Close your eyes. Do not look.” You give him a nod, disoriented about where you were in your room and without a light you can barely even see with your eyes open. Still, you clamp your eyes shut. You hear the clicking of your side lamp, the shuffling of something, but no matter how much your curiosity is peaked you keep your eyes squeezed shut.

“Ok, little officer. Open your eyes.” You peek one eye open, and the soft light nearly blinds you. He's thrown something over it, a scarf you think and it's done what he wanted. You're illuminated while he is swallowed in the shadows. A glimmer of red catches the light in the corner and you see his helmet sat on your side table. He's taken it off.

“Strip.”

“Yes, Red.” You start pulling at your buttons, your tie, trying your hardest to get everything off, until you hear a cough and your gaze is drawn up.

“Slower.”

“Yes, Red.” You take your time with each button, giving him a show while you slide off your blouse. Your fingers glide along each item on your belt, placing them carefully down before bending over from the front as you slip from your pants.

“These will come in handy,” Red reaches out, taking your handcuffs and twirling them around his finger, “come here,” his finger pokes out of the darkness summoning you towards him.

You crawl across the bed, hoping that maybe this will be the time you get a glimpse at his face. The darkness swallows you the closer you get to him, his hands wrap around your wrists, flipping you onto your back and clicking the cuffs on and around your steel bed frame. “Red? What are you-?”

“Can't have those little hands of yours wandering.”

“I wouldn't”

“No. One more thing little officer,” his hands slip over your hair, lifting your head up as you feel the soft silk of your tie wrap around your face. His sweat dripping down onto you as he presses his forehead onto yours. “You know you can’t see my face,”

“Yes, Red,” fuck you want to see him, to touch him. But it was always the main rule, you couldn’t touch him, couldn’t see his face. The only thing you really knew about how he looks is what you can feel. That his hands are rough when he takes those gloves off and his lips are softer than anything you’ve ever felt before.

“There's my good girl,” his breath fans your face and you feel his lips press into yours, his teeth latch onto your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. His calloused hands travel up your bare body, tugging and pulling at your skin.

“Please Red,” you arch yourself, pressing up into him. To feel more, to feel as much of him as you possibly can. His cold armor grazes your inner thigh as he climbs nearer and the chill makes you twitch.

“Did you miss me after you when you left, Sweetheart?” his fingers graze up your leg, “Did you take care of her while I was gone?”

“Yes Red, please” you wiggle your ass closer to his fingers, hoping to get him to touch you. It’s been so long. Too long. You couldn’t exactly find a suitable replacement or any replacement for the way Red made you feel or how hard he made you cum.

“I don’t think you have.” His fingers part you, scooping up your juice into his mouth. You moan at the sensation, letting out a huff at how quick the touch was, “tastes like she’s been neglected.”

“Red, I-”

“What is it? Couldn’t do it yourself Sweetheart? Those little hands not enough for you?” he says, closer than you expected. You feel his breath on your cheek, his fingers gently gliding through your pussy. “Need big bad Red to take care of you, don’t you little officer?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Red.”

“Good girl,” you feel his smile on your neck, soft kisses pressing into your skin, his thick fingers inside you. “Shit, you’re clenching so hard already. You need this, don’t you?”

“Please Red, Please,”

“That’s what I thought.” you turn your head, trying to find his lips. “What are you lookin for there?” he asks, pulling away. His hand holds your neck, tilting your head in what you assume is the direction of his face. “Do you want to kiss me? Is that what you want?”

“Ah huh,” you try to nod, but he’s got you firmly in his grasp.

“Tell me who you belong to”

“Red,”

“Again,”

“Red, please.” you plead, for a second before his lips meet yours. It’s gentle and fierce, a reclaiming. His fingers speed up pounding into you, while his tongue explores your mouth. You feel something nudging at your legs and the bed begins to shake. You don't give it too much thought, to be caught up in how sweet his kisses are and how good his fingers are fucking you. Faster, harder he goes until your almost crumbling in his hands.

You're so close, just a little more. But as your pussy starts to spasm, he takes his fingers from you. Swallowing your protests with his tongue and capturing your face with both hands so he can kiss you deeper. You press what you can of your body into him, needing more and more of him.

“You’re desperate for me aren’t you?”

“Yes, Red. Please. Yes,” you pull at your hands, the handcuffs clang and rattle on your bedframe, “Let me touch you,”

“You know the rules,” he tuts, drawing himself back away from you.

“Red? Where did you?”

“Still here, sweetheart,” his bare hand floats up your tummy, fingers pinching at your nipple. You hear something bang onto the floor and you can only assume it’s his armor. You squirm and writhe on the bed, the metal of the handcuffs biting into your wrists.

“Red, please.” you beg, kicking your legs up until you hear a soft chuckle to your left.

“You poor thing. You need more, more of me. Don’t you?” the low rumble of his voice whispers into your ear.

“Yes,”

“Then stop pulling on these,” his fingers loop through the inside of the handcuffs, “You're hurting yourself.”

“Sorry,”

“Don’t be, just be careful.”

“Yes, Red.” your hands drop and you wince at just how sore your wrists have become. Your head drops back onto the pillow and you try to relax, to ignore it.

Instead you’re surprised. The latch on the cuffs comes undone and calloused thumbs rub over the sore spots before soft kisses are pressed into your skin and places them above your head, “Promise me, you’ll keep your hands here,”

“Thank you, I promise,”

“Good girl. Hold onto the pillows if it helps just-”

“No touchie, I know.”

“Good. Now spread your legs for me Sweetheart.”

His thickness, parts you. Swiping and collecting all your juices on his cock, “Please, stop teasing.”

“You teased first. Now it’s my turn,” he continues to toy with you, pressing in just a bit before he pulls back. His forefinger rubs slow torturous circles over your clit. His other hand presses your leg back until it’s at your chest. “You’re making such a mess, dripping onto your nice clean sheets Sweetheart,”

“Sorry Red,”

“Don’t be sorry. I love it. Are you ready for me?”

“Yes,”

“Beg for it.”

“Please, please Red. I need it, need you,”

“Tell me it’s mine,”

“Yes. Yours, all yours. All of me, whatever you want,” your head starts to spin with pleasure and anticipation, “Please fuck me,”

“No, need to be dramatic,” he thrusts fully inside you, grinding his cock into your pussy. His hand tightens on your thigh, digging in so fucking delightfully as he releases a deep breath, “I fucking missed you,” he leans over pressing your leg down further and pushing himself deeper. His mouth finally reaches yours and you just can’t help the way you react.

Your hands fly into his hair, holding him close. His hair is so soft, longish and curly as it twines through your fingers. You snag his lip between your teeth sucking on them so he can’t tell you to stop. You moan into his mouth, delighted that even if you get nothing else tonight, you got this. Got to touch him even if it's his hair, just for a second.

“Now, now, little officer,” he pulls back, taking your hands in his, “Keep those up here. I won’t tell you twice.” he thrusts into you, holding your hands in his. You wish you could see his face, touch it, touch his skin with your hands.

“Sorry, I just-”

“I know you want to touch me. I just- You won’t like it,”

“Please, I can’t see. Just- just this one time.”

“And if I tell you to stop?”

“Then I will stop,”

“You may touch my hair,”

“Thank you Red,” your hands move slowly, reaching up to where you assume his head is. You twirl a stray curl around your finger, pushing it from his face. “Thank you,”

“Since you’ve got a hand in my hair,” his fingers twine through the front of your hair, tugging your face up to meet him so he can kiss down the column of your neck, your collar bone, your shoulder. His teeth sink in every few seconds, before his tongue lathes over the marks.

The sting zings through your body and down into your pulsing clit. You pussy pulses and Red's cock throbs in response. “I can feel you getting close,” he picks up his rhythm on your clit, his hands tightening on your thigh and in your head. The pain of his harsh grip increases your pleasure, “harder, please harder,” you moan, finding your mouth meeting the hard lines of his shoulder. You press your lips into it gently, sucking down on his soft skin. Fuck, you've never gotten to feel this much of him before.

“I need you to cum for me. Please. Sweetheart.” he pants in your ear, his hot breath fanning down your neck. “I’m so fucking close,” you arch up, rising to meet his deep and hard thrusts. He hits that spot right inside you and fireworks start behind your eyes. Your body shakes and quivers and he’d see your eyes roll back into your head if it wasn’t for the dark and the blindfold. You release a series of moans, cries and plea’s for more and more. His name desperately falling from your lips like it’s the only word you know.

“Yes, that’s it. Give it- Give it all to- Me Ahh, Fuck. Yes. Like that,” he moans when you tug on his hair, “Just like that.” his thrusts start to stutter, his breathing ragged. “I’m- I’m - Fucckkk” he presses in deep, his cum filling your pussy up with every gyration of his hips.

“I missed you,” you sigh, as he lays down atop you. His face pressing into the crook of your neck. You rake your hands through his hair gently, noticing that a bit at the front feels coarser from the rest. Probably from the helmet you guess.

“Could you-” he whispers, his breath ragged and hoarse. His fingers find yours in his hair. Slowly he guides them down to his cheek, “Here,”

“Like this,” you ask, brushing your hand from his strong jawline, up his sharp cheekbones and to the small scar on his eyebrow. Your hand moves slowly as your nails graze his face, “is this ok?”

“Perfect,” a silence fills the room. You keep quiet, not willing to jeopardize whatever has come over him, that's allowing you to touch him.

“Why did you leave me?” His voice is soft and almost scared. You wish you could see him, to reassure him somehow, in another way.

“I-”

“You.” you feel him move, rolling to your side, he reaches behind you and you peek your eyes open. The light from the room floods through your tie. You can’t see, but you know he's got the light on you.

“It wasn’t enough.”

“I wasn’t enough,” the sound of defeat echoes in his voice. You feel the bed bounce, like he's moving. You throw your arms out into the air, hoping that your able to grab him. Thankfully, dude is massive.

“Stop. That’s not what I meant.” you sit up, latching onto what you think is his hand. “Are you there?”

“I’m still here.”

“What I mean is. I know your job is scary. I know you're not exactly one of those guy's that worships the Bat either. But, I just-” You sigh, your hand creeps up his arm, making a beeline for his face, “It’s always like this. We have a good time and you leave and I need more.”

“More what? Money? Sex? I can do that.”

“No. I don’t- You’re not getting it.” you shake your head, “I just want you. That’s all I ever wanted and I knew it wouldn’t happen.”

“So you left me,”

“No. I left for me. Because this- we could never be more than this. You don’t want that and it’s not fair for me to push it on you. So I left.”

“What if I did want more? What if these last few weeks without you nearly killed me and I-”

“You won’t even let me look at you Red. I don’t even know your name. Look it’s- It is what it is. This has to be the last time though. Because leaving the first time nearly broke me. So just go, so I don’t have to watch.” You feel those tiny pieces of your heart start to fall again, you had left without saying goodbye because you knew it would be awful and somehow this was a million times worse.

You nearly jump out of your skin when a calloused finger wipes the tears from your cheek. “Oh my little officer,” his fingers drift up and you freeze. Your heart all but stopping as his fingers graze the bottom of your blindfold.

“This isn’t-” you clamp your eyes shut as your feel the fabric start to shift upwards, “You don’t have to,”

“I want to.” his lips brush across your eyelids, “Just- don’t freak out?”

“Why are you some kind of ogre?” you giggle but it sounds strained, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure about you. Open your eyes for me sweetheart.”

You blink, then again. Your eyes blurry for a moment before he comes into view. His eyes are the first thing you notice, fuck. They're so blue, worry written in them like it's all he's ever know and there's something else, something deeper, like a fear that has been burned into his eyes.

You register the scar next, it almost slices through his left eyebrow and makes him look super badass. It looks old and new, like something brutal must have happened. Bringing your hands up, you brush your fingers over the hard lines of his face. Your eyes dart up, when a stray white curl falls into his face, “You’re beautiful,” your voice so soft, you're not even sure he hears you. But he leans into your touch, his soft stubble grazing your palm. “Are you ok with this, Red?”

“Hmm.” his eyes flash open, “Jason,”

“Right, Jason. So what now?”

“For right now. Can’t we just, I dunno. Be? And worry about the semantics in the morning?”

“If that's what you need. Come here.” you lay back, twirling his curls through your fingers when he lays down on your chest, “Just don’t be gone when I wake up ok.”

“You’re stuck with me, Sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

#reader x red hood #reader x jason todd #x reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd fanfic #red hood fanfic #red hood x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction

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d4niellez · 4 months

Text

think of me once in a while. | t. fushiguro

❦ warnings: minors and blank blogs do not interact, not canon, dark content, character death (reader), reader has unnamed illness, cuddling with a dead body, implication of unprotected sex, barely any dialogue

❦ a/n: i don’t usually write angsty things for personal reasons but it’s due time to try so i’m putting this man in a situation. if anything isn’t tagged right pls let me know <3

Toji thinks of two things as sits and watches the color from your face drain and your chest begin to still.

What he could’ve possibly done to lose another woman he loved, and how to move on with it again.

He wanders into the abyss of his mind. At first, it feels like trudging through a thick fog that slows him down as if his own brain is warning him to go back. Thoughts hazy and slow, not in a concise stream. He pushes on and eventually the haze clears. He remembers his first wife and how his heart turned to ice after she died. Then he remembers how you warmed it again, but now you’re gone too.

Toji shakes his head and swallows until the lump in his throat dissipates. He tries to think of normal things. What he’ll have for dinner, what to watch on tv tonight, if laundry needs to be done. He quickly finds that you’re still invading his mind. You should be there to help him cook, You should make him watch one of those stupid romcoms he abhors, and you would always know when laundry was needed.

He looks down at your face again and notices how even the dull colors around you are beginning to look brighter in comparison. Toji still watches you intensely, as if by some miracle he’ll see your chest begin to rise and fall and the color return to your skin again. After a minute when you’re still frozen, he covers your face with the sheet on the bed and steps outside. Not before squeezing your cold hand one last time.

The walk to the front door feels like an eternity and he doesn’t know if his mind is moving slowly or if it’s physically him. The walls of the hallway feel like they’re getting tighter, closing in on his broad shoulders. He closes his eyes and walks faster until he reaches the door, hastily pulling it open and letting go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

It sickens him to see the wilting red spider lilies creeping up from the garden. Almost like they were making a mockery of you by dying off too. He knows spider lily season ends when the summer does, but it still feels too personal in the moment. Toji has half a mind to walk to the garden and rip them out straight from the root, but he knows you’ll scold him, or you would have.

“Do you know why I keep those spider lilies out there?” He was never the kind to enjoy pillow talk, but he could listen to your voice for hours. Especially when your warm body clings to him and he can feel his cum running down the insides of your thighs.

“Those red things?”

“Yeah, those ones.” He nods and smiles down at you, lifting his arm up for you to shift your body from half way on top of him to all the way.

“Do you remember the day we met in June?”

How could he not? He remembered bumping into you on that excruciatingly hot day. He remembered the cream colored sundress you wore and how it seemed like your mouth ran a mile a minute talking about god knows what. Toji was honestly too busy taking in the features of your face and the curves of your body that were only illuminated by the blazing sun.

He doesn’t say any of that to you, though, he just nods again.

“I was looking for those spider lilies when we met. Even though they have a horrible connotation, I’ve always loved them.” You lay your head on his chest and he sees the corner of your lip turn up in a smile, he mirrors it.

“Anywho, after we went our separate ways, I started to see them. Not immediately, but randomly. In sidewalk corners, flower boxes, just unusual places. Do you know what that usually means?”

“Beats me.” You laugh and it’s music to his ears.

“It usually means we’ll never cross paths again, but I didn’t want that. I wanted to see you again. You were cold, but intriguing. The muscles helped too.” It’s his turn to laugh and he subconsciously flexes the peck your head rests on.

“So what’d you do?”

“I’m so very glad you asked. I started collecting them whenever I saw them, and soon enough I had a beautiful bunch of seven, a lucky number. Do you remember when we saw each other again?”

He nods and smiles, catching on. “July 7.”

“That’s right! So in some way I believe that those lilies wanted to bring us back together instead of keeping us apart. That’s why I collect and grow them annually in summer, as a reminder.” The enthusiasm in your voice begins to waiver and your body begins to relax into him more. He runs a hand up and down your spine and watches the goosebumps rise on your skin.

“What do you think about that, Toji?” There’s a million different complex words he could use to describe the bliss your sleepy form brings to him, even more to describe the story you just told, but he settles on simplicity instead.

“I think it’s beautiful, just like you.”

He feels you smile against his skin before you finally drift off.

Toji feels a warmth sensation begin to fall down his cheek. He’s crying. For the first time in a long time, he’s crying. His hands are shaking and he feels the awful ache crawl back into his throat before he finally lets himself succumb to his emotions. He rests his head in his hands and lets the tears slide down his face and form small droplets in the soil beneath him.

He doesn’t know how long he sits like that. He does know that his head is starting to feel to heavy for his hands and it makes him feel like a child again. He also knows that he’s starting to shiver from the breeze.

Toji picks his tear-stained face up to look at the sky. The sun is shining, but the warmth doesn’t reach him. Like he’s been punished to just look instead of touching. He begins to wonder if he even deserves to feel the warmth of anything. Maybe he’s the common denominator as to why he lost two women to death. Maybe he’s cursed and anyone who gets close pays the price.

He soon realizes that his eyes have moved from the sky and were staring at the red lilies again. Focusing on the wilting tendrils on the flower for so long that he can no longer see the shape and just see red. The same shade as the lipstick you used to wear.

Toji’s mind bounces around again. Traversing deeper into the void that is his inner thoughts and he soon notices that he’s not staring at the lilies anymore, but past them into the similar void of the garden. He could just up and leave. Abandon the house with you in it and start over again like he’d done before. It was the easy way out, and Toji was used to taking the easy way out.

It makes him wonder even more if he really is a bad guy. If everything was just a facade that even he had tricked himself into believing. He’d fallen back into old ways with his first wife, he’s bound to do it again with you. Bound to once again become the cold man he tried to change now that no one is here to hold him down to earth. Maybe he doesn’t have a curse, perhaps it was just him all along.

The chill in the air still feels like it’s deep in his bones. Penetrating his skin to keep him in a perpetually shivering state. He knew the summer was ending and the cold was starting to push its way in like an invasion, but he swears it was still warm yesterday. Even though his finger tips were beginning to ache and turn red, he still refused to put on more layers. Instead he opted to sit in the cold until his extremities began to feel all the way numb. A punishment to himself.

He does eventually push his body to head back inside, but he finds that the house is still just as cold without you. His feet pull him in the direction of the kitchen for some water and it’s there he notices that the dishes have piled up and there’s no cups for him to use. It was usually you that washed the dishes, but your illness slowly stripped that away from you. Toji suddenly felt the urge to vomit and cry again at the same time before he pulled himself out of the kitchen again and decided to do the dreaded task of calling in the death.

He’s been through these steps before. Holding the phone do his ear and he taps the knuckles of his free hand on the table below. Answering there mundane questions as quickly as possible before hanging up and feeling the sense of dread begin to creep up his spine again. For the first time in his life, he feels genuinely lost. Unsure of his next steps even though he has a million different ideas cycling in his mind like a carousel stuck to turn eternally. The thoughts continue to spin in his head as he walks back into your shared bedroom and stares at the sheet that your body lies under.

He circles the bed and slowly climbs into his side, careful to not disturb your body. Just like how he’d do when he came home late and you were sleeping. Though you’d always wake up no matter how meticulously he climbed in, now it pains him to see you not even stir.

Your back is facing him and he can still see the curve of your waist under the thin sheet. His hand reaches out the gently feel, fingers just ghosting the fabric, but he can still feel you. Even though your body is now freezing and beginning to stiffen. His face softens for the first time since you’ve officially passed, and he finally gets an idea of how to continue on without you.

He’ll take it slow, one day at a time. Living his life for you to not let his heart freeze over again. Though for now, he rests his head beside yours and finally closes his eyes. For even though the summer is over and your body’s cold, it still feels like home.

#divider by hitobaby #tw dark content #tw death #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Note

For the touch prompts - 45

I feel like I’m still riding the Steve with glasses bandwagon. Poor dude would have to get migraines from that many head knocks, so checking temp when he’s had a terrible migraine? Or literally anything you know. I love your Steve so any Steve-related prompt is amazing 💛

You’re too cute, thank you babe! I hope this is okay! 🧡

Finding Steve lazing on the couch during a day off of work wasn’t unusual, especially if a basketball game was on, or he’d managed to take one of his favourite movies home.

Finding Steve in bed during the day was something entirely rare and there wasn’t a sound when you entered the Harrington household around lunchtime. The driveway was empty apart from his car, no sign of his parents and the television was switched off, the downstairs eerily silent.

So you padded upstairs, shoes left at the front door and you were surprised to find your boyfriend in bed, the curtains closed and his face pressed into his pillow. His shirt was off, broad shoulders bare and flexed as he pushed his arms underneath, eyes squeezed closed and brow furrowed.

“Steve?”

He blinked at your voice, eyes a little glassy and bleary looking and you immediately felt a wave of concern wash over you. You walked softly into the room, noting the few of painkillers and the now almost dry flannel sitting on his nightstand.

“Hey baby,” his voice was hoarse, like he’d been asleep for a while. “I didn’t hear you come in, m’sorry.”

You shook your head, sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress, a hand soothing over the length of his back. He pushed his head closer to you, cheek resting against your knee as he closed his eyes again, like it hurt too much to focus.

“Don’t need to say sorry,” you murmured. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Migraine” your boyfriend answered, nose scrunching, “I think at least.”

You hummed sympathetically, your palm smoothing up his spine to brush over his hair, coming to rest on his forehead. Steve grumbled and pouted but you ignored him, coaxed him onto his back against the pillow instead.

He was all flushed skin and rosy cheeks, a little too warm and clammy. You spoke even more quietly, noticing how he winced when he moved against the sheets, the shuffle of them against his skin overwhelming.

“Oh, my poor baby. You seem pretty warm.” Your thumb rubbed a gentle circle at his temple and Steve sighed, melting for you. “Have you taken some painkillers recently?”

The boy nodded, shuffling back down into his nest of pillows and sheets, his hands grabbing at your waist in order to coax you in beside him. You smiled even though he couldn’t see it, his eyes still closed, lashes fanning pretty over the highs of his cheeks.

“You want a hug?” You asked despite knowing the answer.

“Please.”

You crawled in next to him, head tilted up so Steve could push his face into your neck like you knew he wanted to, nose pressed to your throat and he sighed like he’d been waiting for it all day.

“You know,” you whispered into his hair. “Maybe your headaches wouldn’t be as bad if you wore your glasses more, hmm?”

Steve grumbled into your skin, lips moving against your collarbone and he wound his arms around you a little tighter, like he could get out of the conversation by loving on you a little more than he already was.

You couldn’t really make out his entire response, but some of it sounded like “look stupid.”

You chose to ignore it, acting like you had heard the way he insulted himself and hummed thoughtfully instead, running your fingers through the ends of the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I like your glasses,” you told him conversationally, voice still impossibly soft. You dropped a kiss to his forehead, another to the corner of his eye, just brushing over his lashes. “You look real handsome in them.”

You could feel Steve still, like he was taking a second to listen to your words, your voice and his hand brushed underneath your shirt, palm warm and rough against your ribs like a ‘really?’

“They make your eyes look even prettier,” you kept talking, a hand tapping at his chin as you spoke, waiting to see if he’d pull away enough to look at you. He did.

His eyes were all caramel and brown sugar when he met your gaze, still a little sleepy but open nonetheless. You smiled, nudged your nose against the boy’s and kissed his cheek.

“They do?”

You nodded, pleased that he seemed willing to listen. You knew Steve hated his glasses, he never wore them outside of the house and you finding them in his room one day had even been a mistake. He’d seemed embarrassed, hesistent to admit that he suffered from headaches and bad migraines, that sometimes too much noise and light made him ache.

You weren’t surprised. Not with the injuries you’d patched up, cuts on foreheads, bruises that spanned from his cheek to his scalp, black eyes that stayed for weeks.

“Oh yeah,” you told him, voice a conspiratol whisper, all faux drama. “Don’t tell anyone, but I totally dig them.“

Steve snorted, wincing a little at the noise and you soothed a head over the nape of his neck in apology, happy you made him laugh but sorry that it cause him pain.

“You’re an idiot,” he said but it was full of affection, sounding like a declaration of something sweet rather than an insult. “I dig you too, babe.”

The next day, you walked into Family Video during your break and you smiled brighter than the sun when you spotted your boyfriend behind the counter, hands full of old tapes and his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

#steve harrington #steve baby blurb #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things #stranger things fic #ask

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precious-little-scoundrel · 1 month

Note

Tell us more about the “ Those who can” couples.

Who is the big spoon?

What is their favourite sleeping position?

What are their pet peeves?

What do they do to make their spouse feel better while they have a cold?

What is their favourite thing to do as a couple ?

Do they prank each other?

Their favourite thing to eat that their spouse finds disgusting

Who proposed and how?

I can’t think of anything else to ask 😆 If you have more things to add , please do! I really want to know more about them. Love you 🥰

Oh, oh this sparks such joy, I love asks like these. Even when I’m floundering over some aspects as I’ve not fully thought them out as yet. So these always delight me with giving these parts a bit more thought.

Who is the big spoon?

Gale and Maureen: oh I’d say Gale, 90% of the time. He loves holding her, winding his arms around her with hands folded and secure over her ribs, it’s just a very unified feeling for him and she fits right under his chin and she adores the feel of him pressed fully against her head to heel.

Rosie and Ida: these soft babes spoon facing each other, legs thrown over hips, arms slung around each other, forehead to forehead. Sometimes Ida ends up spooning him as she wiggles closers at night, hugging his broad back as she grew used to doing the same with Bucky in the stalag and it makes her feel more at ease than a man pressed at her back. Eventually that too, when it’s Rosie, becomes alright. But these two tend to face each other.

John Brady and Tilly Macon: no, you’ve not met them yet but they’re utterly adorable, longterm serendipitous penpals, and she’s the girl he asked to marry him one whole week stateside. Johnny’s the big spoon although this must be tempered with the admittance of his many nights per week he falls asleep with his head in her lap as she reads to him.

Bucky x Josephine: Jo 100% is the big spoon, there’s nothing more to say.

What is their favorite sleeping position

Gale & Maureen: he sleeps, like an angel, on his side, with his hands, folded beneath his head, pillow perfectly supporting his cervical spine, an orthopedist dream, meanwhile Maureen is tucked or clinging to any part of him she can get to, not unusual for her feet to be hanging off the bed so that she can burrow up into his chest, under his folded elbows

Rosie & Ida: terrible insomniacs the both of them, usually fall asleep mid task, reading, Case files, stamp collecting, whatever it might be. I think this usually means Rosie falls asleep on his back, portfolio sliding off his chest, with Isa tucked under his arm.

John and Tilly: facing each other, clinging like twins, his chin atop her head or face in her boobs is legit their go to

Bucky and Josephine: he conks out wherever, usually sprawled out like a spider, all over the bed, often face down on his stomach, like a madman, and Josephine, just sort of pillows her head on top of his shoulder blades, holding onto an arm

Pet peeves:

Gale and Maureen: hmm ok so if this is like a shared couple pet peeves, they get pretty annoyed at people who jump to assumptions when they know 7% of the facts. Both of them can be withering in such a scenario

Rosie and Ida: Waste. Waste of time, of energy, of sentiment, waste drives them both a little nuts and they’re not the funnest on vacation as a result

John and Tilly: the sort of people that can make the Rosenthal’s enjoy vacation, not because they themselves are such grand partiers or entertainers, they just bring a level headed peace to what could otherwise develop into a hysterics over beach chairs and hot dog condiment requirements. The Brady’s keep the small things small, and don’t sweat the little stuff. Which means they to get annoyed by people who sweat the little stuff, and being unabashed homebodies, will remove themselves from recreational hysterics

Bucky and Jo: selfishness in any form. Legit don’t have any room for that in the Egan house

What do they do to make their spouse feel better with a cold?

Gale & Maureen: hilariously, both of these babies get to an all time low level of pitiful when they’re sick. Gale will never admit it, but he will appear like he is dying -if stoically- from a small nose congestion unless he is pampered with all the stops pulled out. Which Maureen is more than happy to do for him. And the exact same goes for her.

Rosie x Ida: he’s a decent cook, particularly at nourishing soups, and he will compulsively change the sheets – moving her gently to the couch in between – in order to keep the room fresh and tidy so it’s a little less disgusting for her. She will make him take warm baths, bring him tea made to perfection and gives the best neck massagers that make him forget about anything unpleasant

Brady & Tilly: oh, they are so doting, this man would likely take off work, just tend to her, but if she insists that’s absurd then he will at the very least get up early to prepare the kettle, to bring her tissues, to have medicine and water by the bed, insists she use honey from the local farm nearby in her tea, and leaves her love notes scattered around and beneath her pillows. She makes his favorite recipes that his mama passed to her, watches his favorite shows with him, and often reads to him while running her fingers through his hair. Forces him to walk around a few times a day.

Bucky & Jo: he may not be the best caretaker, but he is an excellent listener, and he will give all his time. He is at her disposal, she just has to give the direction for what it is she needs. She, on the other hand forces him to actually take his medicines, warms up a pot of steaming water with mint in it, to make him hang his face over and breathe it in, and insists he actually lay down and actually rest -novel idea- since he feels like such trash. Only she could ever persuade him.

Do they prank each other?:

Gale x Maureen: she pranks him constantly, he does it every two years or more and yet is far more devastating at it

Rosie x Ida: oh yes, of the competitive variety, not practical jokes so much is intellectual ones

Brady x Tilly: eh, no.

Bucky and Jo: yes, and only they find it funny

Their favorite thing to eat that the other finds disgusting:

Gale and Maureen: she eats fish eyeballs just to make him look at her like she’s lost officially lost it

Rosie and Ida: let’s just say she doesn’t assimilate to much of the Jewish tradition of cooking, ok? She tried desperately to be polite about it but at home? It’s rough. Meanwhile she grew an affinity for crawdads while living in Florida, and it makes Rosie shudder

Brady and Tilly: his wife’s one flaw is her love of ketchup and how she tried to kiss him after imbibing it

Bucky x Jo: his wife enjoys vegetables and actually expects him to eat them, he swear cabbage gives him flashbacks

Who proposes and how:

Gale x Maureen: not fully decided on this myself, but they have a talk in camp before his escape about being “it” for each other, that they love each other. I’m pretty sure Gale is the one to propose but it’s not a surprise sorta moment, it quite thought out and the wedding is very soon after coming home.

Rosie x Ida:: this man had to wage a field campaign to wear her down, to win her over and all the while she wanted it while also protesting that it would make them both miserable in the end yet he was having none of it. Shortly before going to Nuremberg he 100% pops the question in a well thought out but not overly produced manner, maybe a quiet dinner or over a drink while they’re working over hours in his cozy study. If she refused initially, he pops it again a few weeks later while flashing boat tickets for the both of them to go overseas and kick ass. By this point both their families are so invested in this happening, a quiet but inclusive ceremony isn’t hard to pull together in short order.

Brady and Tilly: sweet baby boy blurted it out at at the train station tey second his feet hit home soil and she gasped and said “yes yes one hundred times yes” and they got married two weeks later.

Bucky and Jo: she asked “so what are we Egan?” a month into dating and courting and after going home and talking with his mother, he bought a ring and caught Jo on her afternoon off and took her on a picnic and asked her to marry him.

Seeing as how I was SUPER long winded for all of this as is, I think I’ll chill out and not add more at this time but if you think of more, send them my way! I love these! ❤️

#those who can #I LOVED THESE #Rosie x Ida #Gale x Maureen #Brady x Tilly #Bucky x Jo

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thedevilshardy · 1 year

Text

What turns them on - Tom Hardy Character Study

Part I: Alfie, Bane, Eames. Smut.

Alternative titel: how to get them hard.

Or: just my horny nonsense.

Alfie Solomons

This man is the definition of a lady killer. He scares you in a way, but in a good one - that's why you're not afraid of coming too close to him. You let your hands wander over his shoulders, grip the joints, and love the deep grunt that escapes his chest.

Once you have his attention, he will not stop. He pushes you into the corner of the room, grabs a handfull of your hair - pulls your head back, and sucks in the scent of your throat. You can feel his body very close to you, can feel his groin, the heat that spreads from there. You can feel he's already half hard, but that's not enough for you. You need more of this.

He pushes your hands away when you try to touch his dick - "lil' cocky, ain't we, luv" he growls into your ear, and then he pushes you against the wall for real, back smashed against the wall, and his hip just dives between your legs.

He has a kink for dresses, so if you wear one - his hands are already there, pushing up the fabric, just enough that his fingers can sneak between your folds - and this makes him hard now, fully hard, and he has no shame in pushing this thick dick right in between your legs, and it's hot and more than anything you ever wanted...

Bane

Thick, broad, strong - Bane is a fucking huge monster, and he for sure knows how to use his apperiance to spread fear. But also something else, and it's you who gets to experience it. First, you swallow when you feel his heated hand in your hair, on your throat, exploring your skin for good. It's a surprise, knocking out the air in your lungs when you land with your back on a bed - with his thick legs spreading yours, his knees between your thighs so he can see what he desires.

Bane is fast in undressing you - but then, once your clothes are gone and he sees you naked, bloomed open for him like a wild flower - he takes his sweet time. His fingers are nearly soft in exploring your folds, your wet middle, your goddamn heat. He growls, and he pushes his heavy body closer to you, and you can feel what it does to him. It's not easy to oversee this huge bulge in his pants, and all you want is to be spread open with this dick.

He doesn't let you feel it, this thick huge cock, not now. He still takes his time touching you, making you so fucking wet is almost not bearable - and you can feel that your screams for more are making him harder every second he's not inside you.

He's a sucker for visual things. Watches you like something he's possessed by.

Eames

Cheeky as he is, he never fails to impress with the way he gets hot. It's not only your shared flat where he wants to get it on with you - you can't even travel without him being all around you. He loves to touch, to grope, to just feel something of you on his skin. It's not unusual that you feel his hands on your ass when you both check in for a flight.

He adores adventures, that's why he tends to stroke you hidden - first, on visible spots that just make you giggle, then he goes further. He's a master in touching you without anyone noticing - that's why he ends up fucking grinding his fingers between your legs, despite your jeans. It's nearly enough to make him fully hard - but only nearly, cause he knows what you are about to do.

Eames adores blowjobs. Once you pull him in the very tight cabine of the toilet of the flight and drop down to your knees, you can be sure that his dick is already grown to full hardness when you pull it out. He loves watching you licking your lips before you suck his dick in, between those pillow soft lips of yours. It gets him hot and horny in seconds, and he keeps your head down just to make sure you won't slip off. He tastes salty and sweet, showing you exactly how fucking weak he gets when you do this.

#tom hardy #character sheet #fanfic #alfie solomons #bane #eames #eames inception #bane x reader #alfie x reader #eames x reader

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rqgnarok · 10 months

Text

orange juice - tommy miller (ii)

fandom: the last of us (tv show & video game)

wc: 7,664

warnings: mentions of alcoholism, ptsd, death and gore as seen on the show and games. no pronouns for reader.

summary: a surprising turn of events brings tommy back to your life and he won't let sleeping dogs lie.

sequel to dial drunk and loosely inspired in noah kahan's orange juice

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

“He’s looking at you again.”

“Let him,” you tell Maria, picking at your pancakes with your fork. It’s almost 10 PM and she took you out to eat breakfast for dinner, but it was enough incentive to get you out of the house after two weeks of no human interaction. That, and the fact that she’s paying. “He can stare all he wants, it’s not a crime.”

“Feels like one,” she shrugs, eyesight momentarily stuck to the corner of her eye where you know she’s scouting her target, her lips a tight, displeased line. “And your shoulders say otherwise, all up against your ears. You look like you’re waiting for the electric chair.”

You roll your eyes so hard it brings back to life the headache you’ve been nursing for the last couple of days. It had gently placed itself as a quiet dull in the back of your head and returns full force now.

The diner is half-empty– not an unusual occasion at this time of night, but the voices and laughter from fellow Jackson citizens only worsen the ache of the giant bruise that is your body right now.

“It would be a kinder fate, I think.”

Maria stands her ground, grimacing. “God, who even is this guy? When you said there was some bad history I thought you meant, like, a nasty ex. That man is looking like a cloud belongs permanently above his head.”

Who even is Tommy Miller? It’s a good enough question, one you never thought you’d have to answer in your life after the world ended.

You’d been in New York when the infected spread like wildfire across the country. There was barely enough time while running for your life to think about what might’ve happened to the Miller boys.

You hoped. By God, you hoped like you rarely dared these days that Joel, Tommy, and Sarah made it out safely. Guilt swallowed you whole the second you thought about it for too long.

You relinquished any rights you had on them when you abandoned them. You ran out of Austin with your tail between your legs and cut off all contact with them, one last futile attempt to put Tommy’s life back together.

Why are you being so fucking difficult?

I’m done watching you wreck your life, Tommy. I’m not picking up again tonight, or ever. Call Joel.

The first time you saw Tommy Miller again after two decades you were too in the throes of a panic attack to believe he was real.

It wouldn’t be the first time you confused the sight of a stranger for your long-lost friend. Freckles on fair skin, cow eyes so brown they could be black and broad shoulders under jean jackets; they’re more common than you’d think.

But they always turn around and the illusion always breaks. It’s your designed personal penitence, to chase after the man that knew how to hurt you better than anyone in your life, and that you let because you loved him. Love, still. Time and distance and the fucking apocalypse weren’t enough to diminish what you’ve always felt for Tommy Miller.

You loved him even when you left him. It’s why you left him, even if it killed you in the process.

But this time it was him. Along with a group of newcomers, he stumbled across Jackson and you found yourself trying to blink away the sight of a ghost in the town square to no avail. His expression was tight and distrustful, so Joel it created a vacuum of longing in your belly even through the panic.

And fuck, man, Joel. The last time you talked to Tommy was the last time you talked to his brother, too. A call right after you hung up on the youngest Miller that had him using all the curses available in his vocabulary on his brother’s name.

How many times has he done this to you?

Too many.

Fucking dumbass. Hope you keep ‘im in the doghouse a little longer this time.

I’m serious, Joel, I’m not picking after him again.

Joel had tried to convince you otherwise, but you both knew his heart wasn’t in it. You’d both witnessed Tommy’s mishaps once too many times and he knew dropping Tommy wasn’t a decision you’d make lightly.

Because it meant dropping him as well, and Sarah. It meant giving up on the realest family you had, most likely for good.

He’s gonna hate this. I think that boy would rather lose an arm than lose you.

He can live without me, Joel.

No, he’d said, oddly solemn, like he knew something you didn’t. No, he can’t.

But he’d been wrong. Here Tommy was, stumbling into your life as if he hadn’t left it at all. He'd locked eyes with you across town like the sea of curious citizens peering at the dirty strangers from outside town didn’t exist.

Even if it hadn’t been him those thousand times you thought you saw him, in your mind Tommy was everywhere: dead in some shallow common grave in Austin, turned and without any control over his body with a bite scar on his arm, running for his life with a gun in his hand and Joel by his side, hiding behind the alcohol like he’d been doing the last time you saw him.

The possibilities were endless and terrible, but they hadn’t killed you yet.

The way Tommy’s face fell in realization almost did. You’d rubbed at your eyes and strained your eyesight as best you could, but the hallucination refused to fade. He was still there, standing tall, weary and tired and hopeful.

He’d opened his mouth, the shape of your name already on his lips when you turned around and ran for your life back into your house. Your lungs didn’t fill with a full breath until you turned all the locks and leaned against the door, heart hammering against your ribs and nausea crawling up your throat.

As if Tommy would chase after you, knocking on your door and demanding something from you, or maybe just to be mean about the same things he’s always held against you.

But he hadn’t. Hiding worked. You didn’t hear anything from him or about him from Maria, so you stood your ground. You didn’t even throw a fit when she came to force you into the shower so you could have dinner together, only to avoid more questions you couldn’t answer.

Who is he? You looked like the Grim Reaper was walking into town, do you know him? Did he hurt you? I swear to God, if he did he’s not staying, hon, I promise–

An old friend, was the explanation you’d settled on, the biggest understatement of your life. We grew up together and went our separate ways way before the outbreak. Wasn’t really a clean break.

Maria took it, albeit hesitantly, and the worried glances she’d been sending your way in the diner grew tenfold when Tommy walked in. He sat at the bar and ordered a drink with a piece of pecan pie. Something in your heart clenched when the waiter put a colorful drink in front of him and Tommy poured it down without even blinking.

So what if he’s drinking, still? It’s why you walked away from him, isn’t it? If your ultimatum meant nothing to him then that’s not your problem, even if it makes something sorrowful and ugly bloom in your belly.

You look away just as he turns his head towards your booth so he doesn’t catch you looking. Instead, you catch him more than a handful of times, his gaze hot and piercing.

It’s always been unnerving, being under his careful eye.

“I don’t think he’s gonna stop.”

Fuck, you think. “Then I will,” you sigh in mourning for your nice evening and hit the table lightly with your fist as you stand. Maria hisses your name and goes to grab your arm but you’re already walking towards Tommy. The next time he sneaks a look he finds you closer than expected.

You would laugh at the look on his face if this were funny at all.

It’s not funny. Whatever bravado you might’ve put on in front of Maria is fake and gone by the time you reach Tommy’s side. He annoyingly smells of cologne, somehow a charming like hell scent even in a post-apocalyptic world.

“You’re staring,” is your opener, less annoyed than you intended and a little bit too breathless, but a truth all the same.

The asshole has the decency to look amused, eyes glinting, and that terrible mustache he’s acquired since he got here moves in a way that indicates he’s smiling and trying to hide it.

“Hello to you, too,” he says, and the roughness of his voice sends thrills of warmth down your belly. He both did and didn’t speak like this twenty years ago, a harsher edge to his tone that you credit to the terrible decades spent between then and now. But underneath it all there’s something so indescribably Tommy that leaves you incredibly out of your depth for this moment.

“Hey, Miller,” you say with a roll of your eyes at his sarcasm, but the greeting comes out too soft, too honest. You feel like the knots of anxiety inside of you are about to snap from how tightly they are woven. “You’re staring. It’s freaking Maria out.”

“Sorry to Maria,” he says without sounding even merely apologetic, and your heckles rise so quickly you’re practically blindsided. It starts with a few cute quips and ends with him calling you to pick him up from the bar fight he’s lost this time, breath reeking of tequila. “You look good.”

He checks you out slowly, brown eyes full of intent and lacking subtlety. It feels like you’re facing a shooting battalion, waiting for them to deem you guilty.

There’s nothing suggestive or mean about it. It’s almost kind– wistful in a way you don’t remember him being. You're just having a casual conversation, even if there’s nothing casual about this encounter.

“So do you,” you say for lack of anything else, his honesty catching you off guard. His eyes fly to your face and scrutinize you like he’s trying to make sure you mean it. Whatever conclusion he reaches makes his smile widen, even if just by a little. “Can’t say I’m not surprised, though. Thought you would’ve moved on from Jackson by now.”

He shrugs, turning back to stare at his empty glass, still angling his body toward you where he’s sitting on a worn-out stool. “You don’t find this a lot these days.”

“Civilization?”

“Community,” his eyes twinkle, and, really, Jesus Christ, what’s up with the lights in this place? The man looks like a live-action Disney prince, all combed hair and bright eyes. “Reminds me of home, almost. And, well.”

He doesn’t say it, and you’ve long stopped trying to figure out what he keeps to himself, but you know what you want it to be. You’re too familiar with the way he stops himself from saying stuff he means– especially if it's kind. He’s saving himself the bashful blush that comes after but you desperately wish to hear it anyway.

And, well. You’re here, too.

He clears his throat when you only nod in response, silence stretching between you painfully. “Can I buy you a drink?”

It’s your turn to bite back your words. A firm, offended fuck no rests on your tongue, and swallowing it back down feels like gravel against your throat.

He’s trying, you guess.

You wordlessly sit on the stool next to him, careful not to touch him even on accident. Nodding at the waiter, you say, “I’ll have whatever he’s having,” intertwining your hands nervously and feeling somewhat victorious for getting anything out.

The waiter nods, tilting his head in question. “Non-alcoholic alright?”

You blink, once again losing the slight footing you’d found just now. You don’t turn towards Tommy, but you feel him shift in his seat, silent.

“I- yeah, sure.”

He nods and walks away, and you and Tommy sit in silence until he comes back to place a glass in front of you. You reach for it only to busy your hands but don’t drink from it. Anything you might take is only gonna come back up eventually out of sheer nervousness.

Tommy speaks after a beat. The anxiety in your belly keeps pushing further. “You could’ve ordered something else if you wanted. Maybe with a little more kick?”

“I don’t mind,” you promise dryly. “I, uh. I don’t drink, really. Like, at all.”

“Me either, if you can believe it,” it surprises you enough that your head turns to him in disbelief. Tommy’s already looking at you with an expression you can’t name but unsettles you all the same. He smiles at whatever he sees in your expression, gently amused. “I know. Joel made the same face when I told him I wanted to quit.”

The mention of the eldest Miller would bring you to your knees had you been standing up. “Joel. Is he…?”

You trail off but Tommy catches your meaning and his amusement dissolves.

“Alright,” Tommy confirms with a nod, taking a sip of his drink and running his tongue over his lips after, chasing the flavor. He looks suddenly stricken, but like he’s had enough of that emotion that his features have grown accustomed to it. “As much as he can be, I guess. We... lost Sarah the day all hell broke loose.”

Whatever relief had filled you is immediately displaced by nausea. Closing your eyes tightly doesn’t stop the tears from burning or the wave of grief from washing over you.

“Fuck,” you say through feelings that are now stopping you from breathing freely. “Fuck, Tommy, I’m so sorry.”

“I am, too,” he says, quiet and thoughtful and familiar. Fuck, so fucking familiar that it both soothes and shakes you even further. You feel him move again, and open your eyes to find his hand closer to yours on the counter than it was a second ago, not touching you but offering some weird sort of comfort nevertheless. “I know you loved her. She loved you, too. So much.”

Love is an understatement. You’d been the fourth person to ever hold her after her parents and her uncle, and she had you wrapped around your finger the second she held it tightly in her tiny, baby fist. You watched her first steps and her first words, went to her first soccer game and gossiped about her first crush. Nursed her first heartbreak when the men in her life were too out of depth to really help.

She’d been your family as much as Joel and Tommy had been. Any issue you had with Tommy had nothing to do with his niece or his brother. You’d hoped; stupidly, blindly, selfishly, that she’d made it even if this was never the world you wanted her to grow up in.

“God, all this time…” you cut yourself off and fight the urge to reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers. You’ve never missed him from this close. “I mean– it was always a long shot, but I thought. I hoped… If anyone…”

“I know,” he acknowledges, fingers twitching. He lets a moment pass before he says, tentatively– “I hoped for you, too.”

It would’ve hurt you less if he had insulted you. At least it would’ve been expected.

“Tommy–”

He calls your name as he finally puts his hand on top of yours, pleading. It’s too warm, sweaty, and firm on your skin, and you pull it off the counter swiftly before he can do anything stupid like squeeze it. You stand, distraught, and Tommy follows suit.

“Sweets, please–”

“Don’t,” you snap, harsher and louder than you mean to, earning yourself unwanted attention from a few curious eyes in the diner. Maria, on the other side of the room, is standing and eyeing you worriedly.

Her eyes say blink twice and I’ll kick his balls but even her support is too much. The world blurs around you and Tommy’s words from forever ago echo along with the blood pumping in your ears.

Don’t be like that, sweets. You can act all high and mighty next time, alright?

God, you can’t do this. You left a small town once to avoid this exact confrontation. Maybe it’s finally time to leave Jackson and this is God laughing in your face, screaming at you to go.

“This isn’t what I came for,” you say to the universe, to Maria, to Tommy, to whoever’s listening and is kind enough to get you out of your misery. “Just– stop it with the staring, alright? You can have my drink if you want.”

Tommy looks desperate and more unkept than he had a minute ago. His hair’s a mess even if he hasn’t even reached out to touch it, and the twinkle in his eye is made out of urgency rather than charm.

“Sweets–”

“Fuck off,” you bite, eyesight blurry with unshed tears of frustration. Tommy reels back a little. He wasn’t expecting any aggression from you. “I don’t want you to call me that.”

“I’ve always called you that,” Tommy’s brow furrows in honest confusion.

“Yes,” you say, because to you it’s as clear as glass cutting into your skin. “Yeah, that’s the fucking problem, Tommy.”

You can’t bear to look at him. How dare he be hurt about this after what he did? After breaking your heart, using your feelings against you, and then holding a grudge for two decades when you decided you weren’t gonna let him do that shit to you?

You leave the diner with those words, ignoring both Tommy and Maria calling after you. Only one of them tries to follow but you’re not in the mood to entertain either of them, even if Maria has nothing but good intentions.

God, those free pancakes weren’t even worth it.

You hide at home again.

You hate that this is what its come to. Even if Jackson has become your home you’re the one who has to hide away because Tommy decided to parade in without a fucking care in the world.

It’s weird, you spent years trying to live with your guilt over ending your friendship the way you did, even if it was for the better, but now that he’s back you feel nothing but anger.

Anger over him putting you in a position like that. Anger about his own anger and inability to see how badly you were trying to put his safety over your friendship. Anger about ending up here anyway: breaking yourself in two for his sake.

Some things never change, apparently.

The weekend comes and goes after your valiant escape from the diner and this time there’s nothing Maria can say or do to get you to go out again. She leaves some groceries at your doorstep because she’s a fantastic friend, but after blatantly refusing to answer her questions about Tommy she leaves you alone, wearing a disappointed mother-like frown.

You’re trying and failing to read a book one of your neighbors lent you when there’s a knock at the door. Believing it to be Maria you stay rooted in your spot on the couch, knowing she’ll give up eventually.

Except the knocking doesn’t stop.

It doesn’t grow more insistent or lose its intensity, but rather keeps its steady rhythm; three knocks, a moment or two of silence, and then repeat. It gets on your nerves sooner than later and you’re jumping off the couch to make it stop, clad in your pajamas and fuzzy socks that almost got you shot when you were bargaining for them half a decade ago.

By the time you reach the door, you’re about to pull your hair out. Maria’s name is on your lips when you come face to face with Tommy, his fist still raised mid-knock.

“Don’t close the door,” he rushes to say, hand settling on the frame just in case you decide to do it anyway. “I just want to talk, please.”

“What the fuck,” you answer out of mere surprise, body coiled tight as you try to keep your body language to a minimum. Any sudden movements and he’ll invite himself in, and then you really won’t be able to keep the line drawn between your past and your life here. “There’s nothing to talk about, Tommy.”

“Like hell, there isn’t,” he says with enough annoyance that you blink, reeling back a little. Finally, a taste of the Tommy you were expecting, short and mean and careless with your heart.

It’s almost a relief– the sweet facade was too good to be true and you didn’t believe it for a second. “We were friends once, or did you forget? And now you can’t even be in the same room as me for more than twenty minutes. I’m sure we’ve both got more than enough to get off our chests, sweets.”

“Don’t–”

“Don’t call you that, yeah, sorry,” he mimics your outcry from the other night, but he shrinks a little at the reminder, shoulders to his ears. It’s an honest enough apology that you refrain another biting comment from leaving your mouth. “See, I’d get a chance to understand why you hate it so much if you just talked to me–”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Tommy,” you say, more honestly than you mean to. He keeps pulling the truth out of you despite your best tries to give him as little insight into yourself as possible.

It comes out tired– reminiscent of the resignation you used to pick up the phone with whenever Tommy called late at night.

“And I’m not here for that,” the way he’s meeting your gaze leaves you unable to look away. You automatically preen under the warm, molten brown of his eyes. “But I– you owe me some kind of explanation–”

“Jesus,” you laugh, the sound loaded with incredulity. Just when you think you know what to expect from him… “That’s really fucking rich, Tom, really, so much for not fighting–”

“You’re the one who insists on making everything a godforsaken argument–”

“Listen to what you’re saying to me!” you exclaim a little too loudly, catching the attention of some of your neighbors and shit.

Motherfucking shit, you have no other choice but to grab Tommy’s stupid flannel in your fist and pull him inside your home away from prying eyes. You close the door behind you and turn back to him, fire at your tongue. “Fucking listen to yourself, Tommy! What the fuck would I owe you after everything–”

“Listen, just because you don’t like me anymore–”

“I don’t like you?” you say incredulously, stopping mid-path to the kitchen and trying to come to terms with Tommy standing in your home looking like he’s meant to be here. “Tommy, I mean this with the most respect I am capable of mustering for you right now, but are you high?”

It’s the sort of thing you would’ve told him when you were younger, unapologetically calling him out on his shit in the most picturesque way possible. Tommy’s eyes brighten with something– not quite glee, not quite fury– and he leans closer to you almost automatically, muscle memory pulling at strained, rusted pieces of him that are now awakening in your presence.

“Fuck off,” he snaps, but there’s something resigned about it. He presses at his temples with his thumb and index finger, hand calloused and steady and too familiar for you not to ache for his touch.

“You’re the one who dropped me like it was nothing,” he accuses. All the fight leaks out of him, leaving him curved inwards and small. “Like you weren’t my best fucking friend, like I– like I was always just– pulling you down, or some shit. Like you were just waiting for the right excuse to get rid of me.”

The words are a gut punch on their own but the way he says them– like he’s been thinking them to be true ever since you left– almost floors you completely.

You say, “Tommy,” and you can’t help it. Some instinctive part inside of you has come back to life and doesn’t know anything other than his name. “Tommy, are you being serious right now?”

“Do you know why I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in over a decade?” he demands, looking straight into your fucking soul as he waves his hands around, trying to make a point. “Because after the world went to shit all I could think about was you. I thought of you, dead and mad at me, and I wanted to be wrong about that more than I wanted to drink.”

Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.

“You left me behind,” he says, an accusation, but it comes out too quiet for it to really be angry. “And you just… moved on. Moved away. It felt like everything we went through meant nothing to you.”

You gape. The silence echoes in your ears along with the rapid beat of your heart and your blood rushing to your brain as you make sense of what he's saying.

“It meant everything to me,” you admit eventually, the weight of your decision still making your shoulders ache after all these years. “Jesus, Tommy, don’t you get it? That’s why I had to leave. It killed me to watch you fade away like that. And to think I was… aiding and abetting, somehow–”

Tommy shakes his head, stubborn. “The drinking wasn’t your fault–”

“You called me every fucking time,” you interrupt, voice hard.

There’s little softness about the whole thing. He was your friend and you failed him by cutting him off and not being there when he needed you, but he wasn’t exactly pulling his weight. It was you on your own trying to maintain a friendship he wasn’t interested in saving.

“At one point I only heard from you when you needed me to bail you out. I got to know more about the sheriff on guard than about your own life. It wasn’t fucking fair, Tom. To either of us.”

Tommy doesn’t have an answer for that, arms crossed and glaring at your kitchen floor. His jaw quivers with emotion but his fluttering brows tell you it’s not anger. You know what he looks like when he’s trying not to cry.

“I was a reminder of everything wrong with your life,” you continue, quieter, softened by his lack of retort and the absence of any fight. “I was stopping you from moving on by coming every time you called. As long as I came to get you you’d keep getting shitfaced. Driving drunk, getting into fights, hurting the people you loved. I couldn’t keep doing that to you.”

“Hurting you,” Tommy says, meeting your eye. There’s only a table between you now, but you’ve never felt further apart from him, and that’s saying something. “All that time, I was hurting you.”

You look away in embarrassment, even though there’s nothing about the statement that warrants it. “And Joel and Sarah. Your mom. But yeah. Yeah, you were hurting me.”

Tommy sighs. He’s looking every one of his years and reaching for one of your chairs, sitting like his body can’t hold him up anymore, his vices calling to charge their fees.

You ask, curious, grief-stricken: “What happened to you, Tommy?”

“I don’t know,” he says, lost, the sound of his voice bordering on a break. He’s crying now, you realize, not shedding tears but trying to keep himself together and failing. “I don’t know, I was just so… angry. About everything. After I was discharged everywhere I saw, it was all red.”

You close your eyes at the mention of 22-year-old Tommy, some baby fat still clinging to his changing face that was hardened by his experience overseas. You’d gone with his family to pick him up from the airport, and he’d clung just as tightly to you as you did him when you ran to meet him on the tarmac. Your lungs had finally, finally filled with a full breath now that he was back home with you, but something was off and you knew it the second you saw him.

His shoulders remained tense all throughout your embrace and the ride home. He was quiet during the welcome party in his mom’s house, and later you spent hours on his porch until the sun came back up again. Whatever it was, he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

You don’t want to hear about all that, he’d promised, arms around his legs and cheek laying on his knee, gaze on you and far away at the same time. Trust me, sweets, I’d take this fucking heat and some Willie Nelson over army shit every time.

“I don’t know when I realized drinking made it easier,” he goes on, and you wonder if he’s stuck in the same memory as you. “I could be as angry as I wanted to and still not feel a damn thing. And I didn’t care who paid the price of it. I didn’t care about anything.”

“That night, though,” he says, expression turning wary as if expecting you to make a run for it. You’ve tried to the last two times you came face to face with him, but you’re too tired now. You’ve picked too much at this scar to do anything other than let it bleed. “When you hung up on me, it all came rushing back. Everything I’d been tryin’ to avoid just crashed into me. Hurt a hell of a lot worse than the broken nose did.”

Your surprise bypasses your quiet grief. “You broke your nose?”

“It got broken,” he pulls a sour face that almost makes you smile. He rubs the crooked slope with his index finger, thoughtful. “Not that I didn’t deserve it, but I’m pretty sure Collins had had it against me since high school.”

You snort. You remember who he’s talking about– one of the officers you had to befriend in the hope he’d let Tommy go with a warning a few dozen times. He’d been a skinny kid with braces and a hero-like worship for the younger Miller before he graduated and signed up for the Academy.

“I’m not angry anymore,” he admits, and you don’t realize how much that statement means to you until your next breath comes a little too easy, fills your chest the way air hasn’t for twenty whole years. “After the world ended, being mad about something like this felt…”

You try to help when he trails off. “Insignificant?”

Tommy’s smile is small but real, fond. “I was gonna say ‘stupid’, but yeah.” He nods at you, wistful. “Yeah, you’ve always been better at words than me. Better in every sense, really.”

You soften again against your will. “Tommy.”

“Sorry,” he shakes his head, wiping some stray tears neither of you realized had fallen. He’s not gentle about it, and you itch to reach for his hands and do it yourself, remind him that the world has punished you both for long enough to have him be so rough on himself.

“It’s different now. Being sober,” he continues, nervous. He’s tapping the table, bouncing his knee, biting his cheek– a checklist for anxious tics. “Trying to get through the end of the world without booze was shitty as hell.”

He continues, ashamed– “I, uh, I fell off the wagon more times than I’d like. Definitely more than I can excuse, even with everything that’s happened.”

Guilt swells inside you and you’re unable to dial it back. You left him. He was in trouble without a way out and your response to that was to leave him.

Even if you’d been right to do it, even if you indirectly saved his life, you’ve always been honest with yourself about how much it haunted you. It’s a small, worthless comfort, how the right choices usually don't feel so.

“You kept calling me,” it escapes your mind without your consent, but now that you’ve put it out there you can’t stop thinking about it. “I didn’t pick up, but you kept calling at first. Always after midnight, always drunk. Always in trouble.”

You meant what you said when he first came in, you don’t want to fight, but you’ve spared his feelings at your expense for too long now, and you need to know. You never thought you’d get the chance to ask, so you have to. Even if Tommy hangs his head like he’s preparing for the guillotine, you need to lay this to rest now. For your sake.

“I know,” he says, soft and regretful.

“And then you stopped,” you recall, the hurt so vivid it’s still present, still clutching at your heart after all this time. “When you realized I was of no use to you, that I wouldn’t come to bail you out–”

He says your name painfully.

“I never stopped liking you, Tommy,” you tell him, a secret to apparently no one but him. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. It wasn’t me who stopped caring.”

“Me either,” he says, suddenly firm, looking up at you with a gaze made of steel that doesn’t leave any room for argument. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself as you lean against the counter, its edge jamming almost painfully against your back. “Please tell me you know that. I was a dick and I’m owning up to that but God, please tell me you know how much you mean to me.”

Mean, he says, your mind stuck like a broken record on the present tense as if you hadn’t told him you still loved him just a moment ago. Still, still, still.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, literally having been rendered speechless. Tommy’s expression shatters.

“Sweets,” it’s a small, tender thing, but he corrects himself immediately even if you don’t complain this time. You’re too stricken by the turns of this conversation to do anything about it. He says your name and you pretend it doesn’t kill you, laughing to himself with every loaded emotion except humor. “God, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I fucked everything up, didn’t I?”

Your answer gets stuck in your throat. You don’t like any of the possibilities, saying either yes or no would be a lie. There are no absolutes in this, nothing crystal clear about this thing between you.

He reads your hesitation and watches you sit opposite to him like he’s exchanging words with a haunting, distrusting and hopeful all the same.

“We were– we were good, though,” he says, like a question, voice dry. He sounds so different from the last time he asked something of you, and the dichotomy is a little too much for you to handle. “Weren’t we? For a while there, before we– I… we were good, right?”

You do the unimaginable and reach out your arm, palm up. Tommy looks at it and you back and forth, like he expects you to laugh in his face, but eventually he meets you halfway and intertwines your fingers together.

Your tears clog your throat. There are so many things you wish had happened differently. “Yeah, Tom,” you say, benevolent. “We were really good.”

His smile is sad and fleeting but his hand is tight around yours. You sit in silence on your kitchen table as the light drains from the sky, but neither of you make a move to leave or turn on the light.

Your life goes on. Surprisingly, with Tommy in it.

It’s an adjustment, for sure. After your heart-to-heart, he promises he’ll stick around in Jackson indefinitely, but it’s still a shock every time he comes by to pick you up for lunch. With his hands behind his back and bouncing nervously on his tippy toes, he looks like he’s about to ask your mom if you can come out to play after you finish your homework.

It freaks you out. The first time he walks you home after an awkward, stilted late morning at the diner your mind bombards you with worse-case scenarios:

Tommy leaving town without telling you, Tommy relapsing after two consecutive hours in your company, Tommy avoiding you around town for the rest of your days as if you hadn’t talked things out at all.

But he comes back. Two days later and then the week after that and so on. Both your social skills slowly but surely begin to defrost and before you know it, you’re seeing each other almost daily for periods of time too long for mere acquaintances.

You’re friends again. Still, he insists as he puts his jacket around your shoulders because a fifteen-minute walk before dinner became a three-hour talk about your years apart. We’re friends, still. I missed you every second I wasn’t with you whether I realized it or not. You were what was missing, sweets.

Today, Tommy stares at you from the other side of the room, gaze clever and unashamed, and something inside you is filled to the brim, satisfied and content.

“He’s looking at you again.”

“Let him,” you say to Maria through the rim of your glass.

She rolls her eyes in good nature and locks her arm around yours. Thus begins the slow walk around the room that inevitably ends, as everything in your life seems to, at Tommy’s side.

She’d been the one who told you to invite him. It was her party, her choice, a private but grander-than-usual affair under the excuse that not many folks get to turn 40 these days. You knew Tommy knew about it because everyone in town did, but he didn’t talk about it until you brought it up yourself after a night together.

Sunlight had been streaming gently through the curtains that swayed with the spring air coming through the window. You’d blindly picked up the closest garment of clothing you found on the floor before you went down to make breakfast.

Tommy had taken one look at you in his shirt and intercepted your path before you could leave the bedroom, hand pulling you back into bed and, consequentially, into his lap.

He’d smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck and it was like the years vanished between you. You were young again and at the receiving end of Tommy Miller’s honest, boyish charm. Mornin', sweets.

Except you never had this before. Getting Tommy back as a best friend had been one thing, but venturing into this new chapter meant jumping in blind with only his hand in yours to guide you.

He kissed you for the first time– since last time, of course– one early morning after patrol. He settled into the routine of it quite nicely, and he became your partner for it without complaints from, anyone, really.

Stop me if you don’t want to, he’d said, close enough that his eyes were turning from side to side to stare into yours, half-lidded. It was such a callback to the last time that you had to blink several times just to check it wasn’t a dream. But when he finally cut the distance between you you realized it couldn’t be– your dreams never ended like this.

Your dreams ended, but this didn’t. Tommy cupped your head tenderly yet with an intensity that hadn’t been there three decades ago. He licked into your mouth the second you shuddered and clung to the back of his jean jacket, heart hammering inside your chest.

He’d kept his eyes tightly closed after you pulled away, out of breath and high on giddiness, his hands protecting your face from the biting, winter wind.

You good in there, handsome?

Don’t wanna find out you aren’t real. I’ve dreamt about this, I’ll have you know.

You started the kiss then just for that, the thought of Tommy yearning after you like you did him during your time apart driving you a little too crazy.

So it’d been so easy, in the end, to let things progress the way you hadn’t had a chance to after high school. Within the year he was waking up at your place most mornings, coming over for dinner, and sinking into you when you wrapped your arms around him from behind, your temple against his back.

What does a guy gotta do to get you to come home early tonight?

You know you’re invited, right? You can come with me instead of moping around. Maria said so and everything.

I don’t know. I don’t think she likes me that much still–

Bullshit–

–and I wouldn’t wanna embarrass myself askin’ for water all night. He’d rubbed your back tenderly, slowly, up and down strokes while you tangled a strand of his hair around your finger, meaningless touches full of meanings. You go have fun, baby, alright? I’ll stick around for the night and see you after.

You understood and trusted him fully about it, of course. But you still couldn’t help yourself and dialed your home number during the party, hoping to catch him before he fell asleep waiting for you.

You can swing by if you want, you said into the phone, smiling at the sound of Tommy’s voice through the receiver and feeling a little too hot under the collar. Party’s practically over.

Am I gonna be peer pressure’d into party activities? Or do they know about my… situation?

It was a joke, but you could recognize the undertones of tension from miles away.

Yeah, honey, they know you’re sober, you soothed. I mean it, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, alright? But if you change your mind I’ve got some orange juice with your name on it. And Jamie’s kids’, but still. We’d be glad to see your face.

And so here you are. Maria giving you off to Tommy like one would deliver a bride at a wedding, stepping into his open arms and feeling something settle inside of you that’s been restless for over half your life. This love, this domesticity, you never thought you’d get to experience it, let alone with Tommy.

You never thought you’d ever be this happy.

“I’m watching you, Miller,” Maria says fake menacingly as she points two fingers to her eyes and then at Tommy as a warning. “Both of you, hands above the waist, please. Keep it PG for the kiddos, would you?”

You wave her away with a loud, “Thanks, Maria. Bye, Maria,” that has her cackling with laughter all the way to her next conversation.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Tommy jokes, and any undernotes of nervousness left are washed away when you glue yourself to him, your sides touching. “You enjoyin’ yourself, sweetheart?”

You hum an affirmative, leaning your head on his shoulder. “More now that you’re here.”

Tommy grins down at you. “Aren’t you a charmer?”

You smile back slyly. “I learned from the best. You alright?”

The sigh he lets out is big but honest, looking around the room with curiosity rather than like a caged animal looking for ways out. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Everyone’s actually really nice.”

“Told you,” you quip.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always right,” he rolls his eyes in good nature, shifting so he’s got his arm wrapped around you. “Last time we were at a party together I had to be the jealous boyfriend.”

“I remember,” you do, Tommy twenty-five years younger with his arm around you just like this, a tad more possessive. It's been getting progressively easier to talk about the past and not be overwhelmed by it, and you're glad. It wasn't all bad. “Gotta be honest, honey, I like the real thing a whole lot better.”

You’d never seen him smile so much when you were younger. These days it’s weird to find him without his lips turned upward, like right now when he presses his smiling mouth to your temple. “That makes two of us.”

You fall into a lull of silence, the party going on around you, disturbed only by your content hum. Tommy nudges his nose against your temple, asking quietly. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you murmur shyly, daring yourself to meet Tommy’s eyes even if there’s no judgment in his gaze, only warmth. You reach for the hand on your shoulder and he intertwines your fingers immediately, his hand warm and a little sweaty. “Just… it feels like I’ve been waiting for this forever.”

“This?”

“For you,” you shrug, squeezing his hand. “To come home. I didn’t think there was even a home to come back to, let alone a chance that we would. And now we’re here.”

He has to kiss you for that, rearranging your positions so he can cup your face in his hands and ignore Maria’s advice from earlier. He sneaks in a little tongue and kisses you with such force you have to hold onto him when you feel your knees go weak.

You break apart when breathing becomes imminent, and he exhales against your mouth, freckled face flushed and pleased. “Now we’re here.”

He draws you back into his embrace and talks nonsense as he draws mindless shapes against your back. About what he did today and what he plans on cooking for dinner tomorrow after patrol as long as he finds the right ingredients.

It’s so incredibly mundane that you can hardly believe it, but time ticks by and Tommy stays by your side, solid and real. He sips on his orange juice and life keeps on happening, your best friend lodged back into place after years and years of flying adrift.

it's here and it's yours!!!!

thank you all for your patience! i've been so busy with college lately but i was adamant to get this one out before august ended and here we are! i hope y'all like it, i love writing for tlou and tommy!

idk when i'll be able to post next, BUT! commissions are open right now for anyone who's interested, info about it here!

thank you so much for reading and any kind words you might have for me <3

tags: @spideysimpossiblegirl

#tlou fic #the last of us #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #gabriel luna #joel miller #sarah miller #maria tlou

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