#i told him everything. so many things not one single other person knows about me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

surftrips · 6 months

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Maybe you could do single dad jj maybank he’s in college and has to do a project with the reader and has to bring the baby with them and they bond and start to hang out a lot then they start to date also maybe she’s a single mom I feel like that would be like a unique thing

thank you so much for this request! i hope you don't mind that i switched it up a bit (and got carried away lol) but reader is the single mom here and her and jj have known each other their whole lives :)

when you know, you know

pairing: jj maybank x reader

summary: y/n needs a babysitter and jj is the only person available.

word count: 3.5k

"Okay, I understand. Thanks, anyway," you sighed, running your hands through your hair and hanging up the phone. Your babysitter had just canceled on you, and the timing could not have been worse.

You had been planning this night for months. Between your classes, a part-time job, and taking care of your 2-year-old Margo, it was nearly impossible to schedule anything. But you desperately needed a night out and your friend Emma had so kindly offered to set you up on a blind date.

You scrolled through your contacts list, looking for anyone that was sober on a Friday night, a seemingly impossible task. Glancing at the time, you realized that you only had an hour left to find a babysitter and get ready.

As panic set in, you received a text from the P4L groupchat.

JJ: Wtw tonight?

Not now JJ, you thought.

Y/N: Trying to find a babysitter, mine just canceled :/

Kie: Oh no, Y/N!! I'm so sorry :(

Cleo: Sorry babes, I totally wouldd but I already lost count of how many drnks I've had 2nite xxx

JJ: Wait, you guys went out already?

Sarah: JJ, we told you it's a girls night.

JJ: In that case, Y/N, I'll watch Margo!

Absolutely not, was your first thought. JJ Maybank was probably the last person you wanted to take care of your child, he was practically one himself.

Besides, since you had Margo, he was always acting weird around you. Before, you two would hang out all the time, but now he only saw you if there was another person there as a buffer. He hardly visited or called, but you were so preoccupied with raising a baby on your own that you hadn't had a chance to talk to him about it.

In the beginning, people assumed it was his baby you were pregnant with, but you never crossed that line because your friendship meant the world to each other. He was the first person you told when you found out you were going to be a mother, and you remember how excited he was for you. It was hard to believe how distant he had become, and you wondered why he had volunteered himself tonight.

You assessed the situation: you hadn't gone out in nearly two years, and who knew when the next opportunity would be? You sighed, hardly believing the words you were about to type on your phone.

Y/N: Ok. How soon can you be here?

Y/N: You better be sober, JJ.

You turned your phone off before the others could protest, knowing that half of them were drunk anyway.

"Uncle JJ is going to come over and watch you tonight, okay? Mommy is going to be gone for just a few hours," you said to your daughter, picking her up and placing her in your eye line so you could do your makeup.

"Jay Jay?" she repeated.

"Yes, honey," you smiled, trying to reassure her, or yourself. Out of all the pogues, Kiara and Sarah babysat Margo the most. She had probably only met JJ a handful of times and you worried about how well she would do with him alone.

As if he could read your mind, your phone began ringing and you looked over to see his face on your screen.

"JJ, please don't tell me you're canceling too."

"What? Oh, no, it's not that. I was just wondering if you needed me to bring anything for Margo?"

"Oh," you relaxed. "Hmmm, I think we have everything we need here. But thank you for asking, JJ."

"Of course," you could hear him smiling on the other line. "You know, thanks for letting me watch Margo. I've been meaning to visit her more."

"JJ, you know you're weren't my first choice," you teased. "But yeah, of course. Thanks, I owe you."

You hung up the phone, thoughts from earlier creeping back into your mind. You always assumed that the baby scared JJ away, but sometimes you couldn't help but wonder if there was something more going on.

However, now was not the time for you to be thinking about this, considering that you now had 30 minutes left until your date showed up and you had yet to pick out a dress.

"Hmmmm, let's see. Any suggestions, Margo?" you asked your daughter, combing through your closet for something appropriate. You settled on a short black dress with a boat neck, and black knee high boots to go along with it.

"What do we think, sweetie?" you smiled at Margo.

"Pretty!" she clapped her small hands together.

"Why, thank you, baby. Come on, let's go see if Uncle JJ is here yet," you picked her up and checked your phone for any notifications.

Blind Date: Be there in 5! :)

Crap, you thought. Where is JJ?

You shot back a confirmation for your date and looked out the window for any sign of JJ. You weren't sure if he was biking over or he had borrowed the Twinkie, but there was no sign of anyone outside.

Growing anxious, you gathered Margo's favorite toys and books into the living room and tidied up your apartment to pass the time.

Exactly 5 minutes later, the doorbell rang. You smoothed down your dress and checked your hair in the mirror one last time. Putting on your best smile, you went to open the door.

"Hi–" you started. "Oh, it's you."

"Come on, that's what I get for dropping everything and saving your ass?" JJ responded.

"Sorry, weren't you the one with no plans on a Friday?"

"You know, I can just turn around right now-"

"Stop!" you pleaded. "Okay, sorry, I've been anxious about this all day and I just want to get back to Margo as fast as I can."

"Relax, Y/N. I'm here now," he took in your appearance. "You look great, by the way."

The last time he saw you remotely dressed up like this was prom night.

You couldn't help but blush, looking around for Margo to hide your face. "Margo, look who it is!"

"Jay Jay!" she babbled.

"Oh my god, she knows my name!" JJ replied, looking a little perplexed.

"You know what, I'm surprised too considering she's only met you, like, four times," you said.

"Alright, you're no fun," he looked at you as you traded your daughter over to his arms. "Miss Margo and I here are going to have the time of our lives. Aren't we?"

He tickled her, causing her to giggle. She seemed so comfortable in his arms, you wondered why you were ever worried in the first place.

"Thanks again for doing this, I know we haven't talked in a while-" you started.

"So, where's the lucky guy?" he interrupted you.

"Uhh," you looked over at the clock. "He said he would be here by now."

"Late to the first date? That's a red flag, Y/N."

"As if you're not a walking red flag, JJ. What did you get here on? Your bike?"

"Hey! I refurbished that bike all on my own! It takes a lot of skill to do that."

Just then, the doorbell rang. You rushed to open the door, a smile plastered on your face again.

"Hey! You must be Emma's friend! I'm Tom." he greeted you with a hug and a bouquet of flowers. "I'm sorry for being late, I went to get these flowers for you and was distracted by the girl scouts selling cookies outside. I had to support them, you know?"

"Oh, no worries! Yes, how can you say no to them?" you laughed softly. You took the flowers from him and went to place them on the table closest to you, beckoning him to come in.

"Tom, this is one of my friends, JJ. He's babysitting my daughter, Margo, while we're gone," you said.

"Ah! What a pleasure," Tom went over to shake JJ's hand and politely wave at your daughter. "I promise not to keep your mom out too late tonight."

"That's right, need her back before midnight," JJ remarked.

You playfully pushed him in response, grabbing your keys. "Alright, you have my number so please call me if you need anything. Bye Margo, mommy loves you!"

With that, you and Tom headed outside and into his car.

On the drive over to the restaurant, you learned that Tom was a psychologist, he liked to cook, and reality TV shows were his guilty pleasure. At the restaurant, which was a higher-end place near the water, he pulled out your chair for you.

"I hope this place is okay, I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked so I thought somewhere nicer would be safe," he said.

"Oh, this is perfect. Don't even worry about it," you smiled. "I haven't had a proper night out in so long, I wouldn't have minded if you took me to a burger joint."

He laughed, "Margo is adorable, by the way. How old is she?"

"She's 2," you said. Then, feeling the need to clarify, "I had her when I was 20, at the beginning of my junior year in college."

"I see, how was that? How did you manage classes?" You were surprised at his demeanor, half-expecting him to judge you or run in the opposite direction any second now, but his inquisition was genuine.

"Well, I could still go to classes during the first trimester, but it got more difficult after that so I took a leave of absence. I'm taking night classes now because I work in the mornings."

"Oh nice, what degree are you going for?"

"English, I want to be a teacher," you explained.

"My mom was a teacher," he smiled. "What age do you want to teach?"

"Oh no way! I want to teach elementary school kids. Everyone always tells me how hard it will be, but raising Margo... I don't love anything more than that."

"That's really sweet, are you close with your family?"

You paused, trying to figure out how to answer the question. "Depends on who you consider my family, I guess," you laughed awkwardly. "I'm not close with my parents, but my friends? Those are the most important people in my life."

He smiled, "I understand. I'm glad you have a support system, being a single mother can be hard."

"Yeah, I'm super grateful. Actually, my babysitter for tonight canceled last-minute and JJ came to the rescue. I don't know what I would've done without him."

Tom's smile faltered for an unnoticeable second. "How long have you known him for?"

"JJ? My whole life, probably. I can't imagine a time when he wasn't by my side. He was there for me throughout my entire pregnancy, but after..." you trailed off.

"After...?"

"Afterwards," you hesitated, not wanting to bad-mouth your friend. "I guess he started to distance himself more, I think Margo scared him away honestly."

"You think it was Margo and nothing else?"

"What do you mean?"

"I just mean," he sighed. "Do you think there could be any other reason why he would be so supportive of you before and not after you had Margo?"

"I-I'm not sure. I haven't had much time to think about it, I guess."

"You want my opinion?" Tom asked. You searched his face for any sign of spitefulness, but came up empty.

"I saw the way he looked at you and Margo, earlier. That boy is not scared of either of you. In fact, all I saw was love. Did you ever think he’s grappling with those feelings?”

"His feelings? For me?" It was not the first time you thought about it, but it was the first time you heard it verbalized.

"Yes, I know I sound crazy, but seriously, Y/N, what other reason could there be to explain his behavior?"

You racked your brain for all the possible explanations. Tom had a point, if JJ had feelings for you at some point in your friendship, or still does, he might feel the need to distance himself to protect you.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"I told you, I'm a psychologist. I notice these things," he smiled.

"Is this how all of your first dates go?" you laughed.

"Not all of them, but I’ll admit, a few are like this. But tell me, am I wrong to assume there was something more going on between you two before you got pregnant?"

You sighed, "No, you're not wrong. Our feelings for each other were a truth that neither of us wanted to confront. We were young, we didn't want to be tied down, it was college. But he was always there, by my side, through everything. Of course, I loved him."

"Well, there you go. There's your answer."

Tom dropped you off around midnight. You assured him that there was no need to walk you to your door, you both knew that you needed to have a conversation with JJ.

"Thank you again for tonight, we seriously need to meet up again," you said, before shutting your door.

"Absolutely, I'll give you the address to my office," he joked.

You turned the key into your door as quietly as possible, in case JJ was also asleep with Margo. Inside, the lights were off and you pulled out your phone flashlight to search for him.

You went into Margo's room first, seeing that she was fast asleep in her crib. "Hi baby," you whispered. "Where's Uncle JJ?"

After making sure she was tucked in properly, you turned to go into your bedroom. Sure enough, there was JJ, fast asleep in your bed.

You couldn't help but smile, recalling memories from high school when you two would have sleepovers. Being sure to keep quiet, you changed into your pajamas and got ready for bed.

Trying your best to not wake up JJ, you pulled open the blanket on your side of the bed and slipped in next to him.

"Goodnight, JJ," you whispered.

—

In the morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes in the kitchen. For a second, you weren't sure you were even in your apartment, remembering that you live alone with Margo and surely, you weren't asleep long enough for her to know her way around the kitchen.

But then you remembered that JJ was babysitting last night and had fallen asleep in your bed before you got home.

After a long stretch, you got up and went into the kitchen.

"There she is, good morning pretty," JJ smiled at you.

"Morning... When did you learn how to cook?" you questioned.

"What do you mean? I've always known how to make pancakes."

"Okay, that is just a straight up lie. In high school you would have chips for breakfast."

JJ put his hand to his chest, taking mock offense. "If you must know, I started teaching myself how to cook last year when I moved off-campus."

"Wow, I must say, I am impressed, Mr. Maybank."

"Please, that's my father. You can call me JJ," he said, causing you both to laugh.

Were his eyes always this blue? You thought, as you admired his features in the morning light.

After a moment, you broke the silence. "Uh- I better go check on Margo. How was she last night, by the way?"

"Oh, amazing. Best kid ever."

"Really? She didn't give you a hard time at all?"

"Nope, must have remembered me from when she was in the womb."

You smiled, turning around to your daughter's room.

Sure enough, Margo was sleeping like the baby she was. You checked the clock, she wouldn't be up for at least another hour.

"Margo's still in one piece?" JJ asked when you reentered the kitchen.

"Yes, somehow,” you mused.

"Good, want to try these pancakes now?"

"Yes, please, I'm starving," you sat down across from JJ.

"Starving? Your date didn't feed you last night?"

"Very funny, if you want to know about my date, you can just ask."

"Okay, how was your date?" he relented.

"He's a psychologist."

"Cool, anything else?" JJ looked slightly confused.

"He was very normal and nice," you added.

“I would hope so.”

“Yes, and he likes to cook too.”

“That’s great, how was the date itself?”

“Oh the date itself…” you trailed off.

"Y/N, why are you acting weird?"

"Weird? Me? I'm just telling you about my date."

"You're talking about him like he's your therapist."

"Well, in a way, it was like a therapy session."

"So the date went bad?"

"No, it was really nice."

JJ looked around the kitchen, "Did I accidentally put something in the pancake batter to make you act like this or...?"

"These are great, by the way," you said, pointing to the pancakes with your fork.

"Thanks, but can we get back to the date?"

"Oh, yeah, well, basically," you started.

"Y/N." JJ was rarely ever serious, but he was starting to look concerned with you.

"Okay, fine. It started off really well, we got to know each other. Then, he was asking about Margo and my family, and I told him about my parents, you know. Then he asked about you, and I told him I've known you forever, but after Margo, you started distancing yourself and we haven't seen or talked to each other in a while, and then-" you rambled.

"Then what?"

"And then, he told me, or rather he made me realize, that maybe we need to address the feelings we may or may not have had for each other before I got pregnant," you finished in a rush.

JJ was silent, you weren't sure if the expression on his face was scared or bemused.

"JJ, please say something."

"Was that all?"

"More or less."

He sighed, "Y/N, I think one of the reasons why our friendship worked so well was because we both knew that at any moment, we could pursue something more, but we didn't. We both knew that doing that would ruin our friendship, something we've had for nearly twenty years. I thought college was going to be four years of partying and distractions, but instead, I had to face reality”

“Distractions?”

“Everyone that wasn’t you was a distraction, in case that wasn’t clear.”

“Uh, no. It wasn't, actually. JJ, you kept telling me you were trying to meet ‘the one!’”

“Well, I was lying! Okay? You were always the one for me. I just didn’t feel like I was the one for you. So I was stupid and I decided we would be better off as friends, but when you got pregnant…”

“When I got pregnant…?”

“When you told me about Margo, I panicked. I knew you were strong enough to do this on your own, but you shouldn’t have had to. I told myself that I was going to be there for you every step of the way, and I was, until you gave birth. I saw Margo for the first time, and I-I’m sorry. I just couldn’t do it.”

“Do what, JJ? You know I never needed you to be her father.”

“I know, I know. I saw her and I couldn’t imagine hurting her. I didn’t want her to know me, because to know me is to be disappointed by me,” he sighed.

“JJ,” you stood up now to wrap your arms around him. “Are you kidding me? I was never, never disappointed by you. I was just worried, babe, that’s all. You stopped talking to me after that.”

JJ allowed himself to fall into your arms. “I’m sorry, it just felt like too much at the time. I loved- love you and Margo so much, that I didn’t know what to do with all of it. So I thought it was best to give you some space, until I was better.”

You chuckled, “Is that why you taught yourself how to cook?”

“Stop, I was actually starving and had no choice.”

“And are you better now?”

“When I heard you were going on a date, do you want to know what I thought?”

“What?”

“I thought, I let her go again. I let you go a million times in college, and here I am, letting you go again.”

When you didn’t say anything, he continued, “You’re the one for me, Y/N. I came over here tonight to show you that. I’m ready for whatever this is going to be, whatever this friendship evolves into. I spent too much time denying the truth, and I think you have too.”

There were not enough words to describe how you were feeling, so you leaned in to kiss your best friend. JJ held your face with such gentleness, you wondered if this was all in your imagination.

Eventually, you pulled away. “I’m done lying, to myself and to each other. This is real, yes?” you asked.

“Yes, I love you, really.”

“I love you too, Maybank.”

You leaned in for a second time, but not before you heard the familiar cries of Margo in the other room.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” he smiled with that boyish grin of his that you loved so much. That you have always loved.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #obx #outer banks #obx x reader #obx imagine #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #jj maybank x you

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aureatchi · 3 months

Text

⋆ ☽˚｡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ AND THAT DAY THAT WE’LL WATCH THE DEATH OF THE SUN . . . ft. FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

⟢ PRÉCIS. restless at an hour far too late to be awake, you take a quest to the personal library lit only by warm-toned ambient lamps and candles. however, you are greeted by one who chastises you to rest, and despite his pretty face you remain stubborn. in turn, he takes up a mission on his own; one that he alone will always win: to coax you to sleep.

◞ OR fyodor knows time is limited. if only you realized this was his labyrintian way of saying au revoir for now.

ᡴꪫ a/n. it’s always his lap. been thinking about this scenario for awhile + re-inspired by the friends who played with my hair this week hehe. it makes me feel so sleepy. started to cope with ch113. :’) i hope this is decent ᡣ𐭩

ᡴꪫ info. fem!reader. fluff; sweetly suggestive in one part…and then hit with a train of angst; i warned u. soft fyodor. comfort/hurt ↻. religious imagery. it’s u trying to get him to sleep too. both poetic and shakespeare ramblings. bsd manga chapter 113 + s5 finale spoilers. russian may be incorrect. ﾉ wc. 3.1k+

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?”

Seated on the armchair across from yours, the ravenette took a sip of tea from his mug before setting it down. A bantering parley had taken place in between you two, filled with giggles and smiles, but in a moment without thought, you had brought up a more serious topic.

“Actually, yes,” he responded.

“A woman’s intuition.” You didn’t miss how his gaze slightly lowered. “The woman’s gut feeling is superior. If a man were to try manipulating her, she would know. No matter how naïve she was, the body would give her a single signal that could unravel his entire disposition at the fingertips.”

You discreetly smiled, looking down at the mug. You knew Fyodor was referring to his experience with you. At one point in time, he tried to finesse you in schemes of calamity. But in response, you ruined him—he would dare not admit out loud that you had forcefully taken whatever mess his heart was and sewed it back together with the strings of your own soul. You did so without ever realizing either. After so many years on this earth, even he did not know how to mend himself.

Now, he could only look at you as being the single thing that didn’t go wrong in the wasteland of the world. The ravenette almost considered you not of the world—you were as divine as the angels, after all. Perhaps it was his excuse to add along another duty the Father had commissioned to him—Fyodor would assure your safety and happiness through the rest of time—even once he got his hands on that book.

Because if not plans that surged through his mind, it was his most cherished memories of you.

…

Even though the room wasn’t too hot and the bed wasn’t uncomfortable, you could not go to sleep. You had tried counting sheep in your head for hours, but you still ended up awake well past midnight and had enough sheep for dozens of herds.

You turned over in annoyance before you finally sat up. You didn’t understand why you felt such unease—maybe you drank your coffee too late in the day. A bad decision at that.

You tapped the other side of the bed for a final check. Empty. Fyodor was still up. You would visit him in the office later, but for now, you’d give him the privilege of being unbothered. You decided on another place to visit—somewhere that would calm you down so perhaps you could finally catch slumber.

The personal library.

It was the coziest place, especially during the late hours of the evening, where the lights were warm and dim, not too hard on the eyes. Where the shelves were packed with literature and knowledge permeated the room with its philosophy. Fyodor annotated everything—so most books were scribbled in almost illegible cursive Russian. You always told yourself if you didn’t start to learn his lingo, you would be locked away from the library’s secrets forever.

You tiptoed down the hallway until you reached the door at the end. You were thinking of picking up one of William Shakespeare’s tragedies and reading until either you fell asleep or the sun rose. You prayed it wasn’t the latter—though restless, you were exhausted too. And you didn’t want to suffer the consequences the next day.

However, you were surprised to see the door already narrowly open. The lights were on and the candles were lit, too—was Fyodor not in his office? He seldom worked anywhere else and would always go to you as soon as he finished.

You peeked through the slight crack in the door. He was indeed there—your lover’s back turned towards you, capturing all his charming enigma. How the man carried himself with the poise and elegance of a white dove, despite starting wars among nations. His mouth spoke of divinity while he ravaged the harmony of life with his hands. It was fitting; Fyodor was a juxtaposition in himself—you knew this, and so did he.

“You can come in.” A second of pure silence passed before you opened the door to step inside. Not even a single noise was made, and yet, he recognized your presence.

Almost shyly, you shuffled towards him. You did not plan for Fyodor to catch you—you were still in between deciding whether going inside was worth his lecture.

Because although the handsome workaholic stayed up until absurd hours of the night, he did not want you following his ways.

You circled the lounging area until you were in front of him, who closed the journal he was writing in.

“Lyubov, why are you still awake?” he asked.

Usually, you only stayed up out of anticipation in waiting for his return—whether from a mission or just to the bed. You were so stubborn that Fyodor would actually halt his work for a few days after being gone for awhile to sleep with you so that he was sure you were resting properly.

It was different this time. He had been home for the whole month, and despite being in his office for the majority of this week, you didn’t have any problem with going to bed without him until now.

You shrugged with a quiet, “I’m not sure.” You eyed the unfamiliar journal. “Are you still working?”

“Sort of,” Fyodor replied. “Would you like some chamomile tea? That will help.”

You shook your head. “What do you mean ‘sort of?’ Last time I checked, you were either working or not.”

“It’s not any more important than addressing the current problem at hand,” he calmly dejected the topic, leaving you confused.

“What’s the current problem?”

“You’re awake. You shouldn’t be at this hour.”

“Well, now that I’ve found you here, I don’t think I can return to bed unless you come with me.” You dramatically yawned before stepping closer to him.

“Let’s go sleep, Fedya.” You tried dragging him up by the arm, but he stayed sat on the armchair, much to your disdain.

“I cannot, I’m not done yet,” Fyodor replied. As you froze, he took your hand in his and brought you to his lap.

“However, you must sleep.” He let you shift so that you were comfortable. “You came here to read?”

“Yeah,” you replied as he handed you a book. What a mind reader Fyodor was—you were presented with The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. It would be the perfect reread.

“Why this play?” you tested.

“The pile of books you never put back on the shelves over there shows you’ve been reading a lot of tragedies lately,” he nodded towards the stack of books you read this week. “I thought you’d probably be in the mood for one by none other than the master of catastrophe.

“Plus, it’s fitting for you, too,” he added, voice a bit lower as he fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Hey!” You pouted, moving away from him, pretending you were insulted. Though you knew too that further proved his point.

“Maybe we should act it out,” you joked as you scanned through the pages to find a poem you were familiar with. “Act two, scene two.”

“Hamlet’s letter to Ophelia,” Fyodor recalled.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

“doubt that the sun doth move;

“doubt truth to be a liar;

“but never doubt I love.”

“Dlya neye, v iskrennosti,” you squinted, reading the little note by the quote you did not understand. The Russian laughed at your terrible pronunciation.

“Some scholars say that Hamlet used his words toward Ophelia as a manipulation tactic,” he stated. “He had a larger strategy at hand, and he rarely mentioned her unless she was on stage, with the exception of her death. If he harbored such a profound love for her, would Shakespeare not make it more direct? What do you think?”

You contemplated for a few seconds, eyes drifting amongst the shelves of books as you felt your lover behind you gently run his fingers through your hair.

“I think Shakespeare didn’t give us clarity for a reason. I’d like to believe Hamlet did love Ophelia. The story does not revolve around romance, after all—it revolves around revenge. A man with ambitious plans would not have love at the forefront of his head. Or, he wouldn’t speak aloud about it, at the least. Perhaps he was more reserved about that aspect of his life, too—he could’ve been shy to speak about it in front of all aristocracy—like you, for example.”

You giggled with a shrug, expressing your last phrase as lighthearted, but you still earned a slight frown from him. It was amusing that the nationwide terrorist was timid in everything concerning his love life.

“Obviously, it could be taken as manipulation, too,” you continued. “But again, it’s not stated upfront for a reason. Shakespeare mirrors the complexities of a person in real life. You never quite know the truth of other people, no matter how much you think you know them.”

Fyodor nodded, satisfied with your interpretation. “I wholly agree. It is why Shakespeare is enticing to many—he creates characters that simulate life’s universal themes and relatable human emotions when reacting to those situations. I only disagree with one point you made.”

“Which one? You being shy?” you asked. He shook his head with a smile.

“Perhaps I will reward you with that knowledge if you sleep.” He chuckled when you groaned in disappointment.

“How about you just do your work while I read? Then, when you finish, we can leave together.”

“If it were that easy. You’re a distraction, milaya.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I promise! I originally came here to read anyway—I won’t distract you this time.” You moved to one side of Fyodor’s lap so he would have space to do what he wanted.

He did not answer you, instead making a quiet “tsk” when his fingers caught on a tangle in your hair. Fyodor worked to gently separate the knot. The terrorist was a perfectionist, but the mindset further stemmed past reaching twisted goals to create a world without flaws. Three spoons of jam in his tea, faint scratches on a deck of cards, and ensuring he had the satisfaction of reaching the ends of your hair with his fingertips were a few details he keenly paid mind to.

You took his silence as a comply, and started to play out the tragedy of the Danish prince in your head while your lover brushed through your locks. Eventually, he picked his journal back up and continued to write information you paid no mind to.

…

You did not know how much time passed before you felt your eyes grow heavy. The faint ticks of the clock on the wall combined with the warm candlelight’s glow drew you to slumber. You closed Hamlet and shifted positions until you ended up straddling Fyodor. You buried your face in the crook of his neck until you could see nothing but dark.

“Sonnyy?”

He started stroking his fingers through your hair again, relaxing you even more.

“Lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. S toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy.”

However, the sounds of seconds passing by and intimate lighting adorning the room could not compare to the persuasion of your lover’s voice in his mother tongue. Foreign words spilled from his lips as rich as velvet, as soothing as a lullaby. If his voice, in general could put you in a trance, here he harbored the garden serpent’s master of temptation itself. Even if you did not understand him. Worst of all, he knew this. You had fallen into his trap long ago.

“Ya boudou skucha—what are you doing?”

You were drowsily planting kisses on his neck. You stopped once the room became silent and looked up, catching his half-lidded amethyst gaze. The conjurer’s expression was for once softened—or perhaps it had been the entire time you were with him. It was a gift only you were blessed with.

You smiled, a tad smugness in your look, before sitting up and giving him a shy peck on his lips.

For a few seconds, you were both frosted in that moment of time—his hands wrapped around your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as you straddled his own, your eyes fixated on his almost surprised, slightly flustered violet stare. The candles illuminated the room in such a way that made you think it was really only you two who existed in the world—your two souls someplace faraway where nothing else mattered but the sounds of your heartbeats and what you would do next after his mouth slightly parted. You were the most beautiful thing Fyodor had laid eyes on, throughout eras of people.

You kissed him for the first time that night, and the ravenette kissed you back. It escalated to become sloppy—you were both too exhausted to care whether your lips were on his or if they instead trailed down to trace his jawline as sharp as those of the greek gods. Or when you were back on your lover’s neck—however, this time almost sucking, mesmerized by how easily you could bruise him. You did not need to wear lipstick to create deep red marks on Fyodor’s pale skin.

“I told you that you’d end up being a distraction.”

You shivered at cold fingertips dancing across your lower abdomen, though they were still quite far from anywhere you wished. You winced when Fyodor bounced you up in order to fix your position, but it offered a different effect.

“Careful,” he warned. “That spot is visible to others.”

Being the leader of the Rats in the House of the Dead and member of organization Decay of Angels placed the Russian at a high status in the underground world. He always restricted the places you could leave visible traces of affection on him whenever he had a new operation in front of him—Fyodor was one to uphold modesty.

You sighed softly before disconnecting your mouth from his neck, only to unbutton the top half of his shirt.

Like his hands, the demon’s heart was cold. He bore at least some sense of insensitivity to death—he had to; granting silence was part of his duty. However, something about you ignited a fire in him out of nothing, out of no help amidst ice—you were not given a flame nor torch to aid you.

If he was the one to destroy the world to pay the price of ridding sin, you were the one who rebuilt creation from the ground and up. You were unfazed by the city ruins; you were unfazed by Fyodor Dostoevsky, the man most feared in the world. A duality: to them, his hands soaked in crimson blood, but to you, they clasped around yours in adoration.

And since he’d met you, his heart was filled with the foreign warmth of love. Accompanied were trust, vulnerability, and your sweet, honey-like kisses that you littered all over his broad shoulders and chest, because he deserved love everywhere.

He whispered against your ear, promising he would indulge you more another day, when you weren’t so sleepy. When both he and the moon had a little more time in the sky, was what he didn’t say. At the same time, he took a free hand to slowly guide your eyes to close, hovering barely above your eyelashes.

You complied, with no more complaints, as he kissed you on the forehead.

…

As Fyodor carried you down the hallway to the bedroom bridal-style about half an hour later, you dozed into dazy consciousness once again.

“You have…another mission, hm?” you whispered, recalling the preceding hints he had given you.

“Yes,” he quietly replied, walking into the dark bedroom. He tucked you under the covers before getting in right beside you.

“Truly, why were you in the library?” you asked, getting out your final curiosity before you fell back to dream.

“I did have a ‘sort-of’ job,” Fyodor replied. “Taking care of you. I was aware you’d show up.”

“Please stay safe, Fedya.”

…

You knew something was off with the thunderstorm that came several weeks later. A vampire apocalypse—however fictitious that sounded—was happening back in Japan, but Fyodor kept you overseas at where you two stayed before departing.

You didn’t ever touch his plans, but your mind finally processed how every event leading up until now seemed so wrong. The month-long stay—Fyodor had never done that before. The week you decided to read tragedies—you felt one even worse than those acted out in the theatre was coming. That night you stayed up—your gut was already screaming that he was about to depart again.

And how this time would be different than before. Your intuition had warned you, yet you still fell asleep and let him leave. You stood before the journal the conjurer made sure caught your eye that night. With shaky hands and heavy rain beating down on the windows, you flipped through the pages. Confusion and tears formed in your eyes at the vague implication of what was written.

Do not worry yourself with the death of all things that are seen and unseen by you. It is not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do.

Rodnaya, you asked what I did not agree with concerning your thoughts about Hamlet loving Ophelia. Have you ever considered a man having both love and ideals at the forefront of his mind? Isn’t love a dream itself?

…

Fyodor swore this when he judged how all could go wrong in the next step of his plan. Prior to meeting you, the calculating, confident smirk he always had on his face was authentic, and he simply assumed he would never fall to a mistake.

But now the plans were adjusted to work around you; the schemes all ended to benefit you, too. If he misjudged something, not only would it fail the perfect world God deemed it to be, but it would also affect you through and through.

Perhaps that was why he only almost saw you as an angel no matter how much you resembled one—no, you were far more glorious than one. You were human—so human that instead of looking down at him from above, you came down onto tainted soil and blessed him with a piece of heaven. Real empathy that now made him think of you as he sat with a rod pierced through his torso in the escape helicopter, doomed to death.

You truly did ruin him.

…

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?”

And Sigma wondered how such a man so immoral and cruel actually loved someone else. As he searched through the demon's memories, he realized he must go much further back in time to find any helpful information for the brunette ability-nullifier who assigned him.

Because if it was not anything relating to his plans that showed up through his search, it was every memory of you.

translations: (please pardon me if they’re bad, :’) correct me if you are fluent and would like to!)

dlya neye, v iskrennost : for her, in sincerity

sonnyy : sleepy

lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. : i love you like an angel loves God, like a nightingale loves a dew.

s toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy. : with you, time stops, and i live only for moments next to you.

ya boudou skucha[t po tebe] : i will miss you.

i heard if you rb, fyodor will come back to life. :’) reblogs are cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

someone should’ve warned me about hozier. only started listening to him last month and i…can’t stop.

#₊ ⊹˚✉︎𑁤 with love; reverie #𐙚 𖥔 ˖ fedya must be fancied .ᐟ #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor fluff #bsd fyodor #fyodor angst #bsd fluff #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs #fyodor fanfic #fyodor imagines #fyodor headcanons #bsd x you #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor bsd #aureatchi

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unstable-samural · 1 month

Text

THE NEW GIRL NEXT DOOR WANTS YOU - smut

Miyeon x Male Reader

one-shot

tags: blowjob, teasing, strangers tor lovers, penetration, creampie, girl next door

[Note: English is not my native language, So possible grammar errors and more rigid prose can be found in the text. But I ask that you give it a chance, if I don't give up on this, I will work hard, bringing longer and more effortful stories:)

This is the first version, I will eventually correct whatever is wrong.]

History:

The moving team worked very hard. Fortunately it would be a quick job. One of the many advantages of being a single and minimalist man: little furniture. Y/N helped the moving team by picking up the most delicate boxes that contained electronics and fragile objects. The neighborhood was beautiful on that calm afternoon, the golden sun radiated the green grass and the white fences of the houses on the street.

"Man, I'm going to love living here", thought Y/N, sighing with satisfaction.

He noticed that the neighboring house on the right had a beautiful flowerbed. Maybe it was a kind old lady who lived there. The whole flower and decoration thing indicated that. He still didn't know any of his neighbors. Y/N cut off his thoughts and returned to his task. It didn't take long to get everything inside the house, anyway.

The interior of the residence now had some furniture scattered throughout the rooms and several boxes that needed to be opened. Y/N wasn't in a hurry, he would do everything calmly, after all, it's not like visitors were going to show up anytime soon...

Well, he was wrong about that.

While he was drinking water, the doorbell rang, slightly startling him. Y/N really thought he was going to be completely alone, at least for the first few weeks until he adjusted to the neighborhood. The person at the door was probably one of the neighbors wanting to welcome him or something. Y/N was exhausted as hell, but he couldn't start things in this new city by ignoring people like that.

To his surprise, the one on the other side of the door was a beautiful young blonde. She holding a box of chocolate.

"Hello, new neighbor! I came to welcome you to the neighborhood." She said, quite excited.

The girl was wearing a red flowery dress that highlighted her small body.

"Hello! Are you one of my neighbors?"

"I'm the girl next door. I brought this to you." She handed him the box of chocolates.

"You didn't have to do that. Thank you very much. What's your name?"

"My name is Miyeon." She smiled at him. It was a charming smile.

"Y/N."

He reached out to shake her hand, but Miyeon pulled him into a hug. Y/N couldn't help but enjoy the heat her body emanated, the sweet scent was also delirious.

"I was watching you when you were bringing the furniture into the house." She revealed it to him.

"Serious?" Y/N questioned. "I did not see you."

"You seemed focused on the task."

"It must have been because of that. Are you, by any chance, the owner of that beautiful flower bed?"

"Yes! It's mine! I've been taking care of it for about two years. It's my greatest pride!" She told him, her little eyes sparkled with joy. "It's not very common for men to pay attention to flower beds and things like that. You're quite observant, Y/N."

"I think we both are."

Miyeon laughed, her cheeks flushed.

"I hope you like the chocolates."

"They look great."

"Do you have anything for dinner at your house?" Miyeon asked.

"Actually, I was thinking about ordering a pizza."

"Save the pizza for tomorrow. I can make you dinner at my house and bring it to yours. We both eat together. What do you think?"

Y/N quickly thought that: even if he was delirious with fever he would still be unable to refuse a proposal like that.

"If it's not too much trouble, I would love that."

"Me too! Then I'll see you later."

"I'll be waiting for you."

She said goodbye to him and went to her house.

He wasted no time getting ready. Y/N ran to the bathroom to take a well-deserved hot shower. In the shower he felt silly for being so excited about that dinner, he almost looked like a 15 year boy on first date. But Miyeon was a really beautiful and attractive woman, as well as incredibly friendly. He didn't expect a blessing like that to happen so suddenly on his first day in the new house. "Miracles happen," he thought. And also, after the last relationship, he deserved to breathe new air.

Breathe new women.

Y/N played poker on his laptop sitting on the sofa in the living room. The internet would only be turned on the next day, and he was starting to feel a bit of withdrawal from not being connected. But when deciding to leave the troubled capital, he should also get used to being a little offline. All the social media shit had been fucking with his brain for a while.

"I need to learn gardening or something.", he thought.

The doorbell again. And now Y/N didn't feel fear when he heard it, but rather excitement. Y/N took the notebook off his lap and placed it on the sofa, combed his hair a little more with his fingers and went to open the door.

"I hope you like lasagna!" Miyeon exclaimed, carrying a glass baking dish with both hands.

Y/N barely managed to speak since he opened the door. She was dressed really provocatively, and acted like she didn't give a shit, totally casual. She had placed the lasagna on the kitchen counter. The two were sitting on the sofa. Miyeon was cross-legged, and the short skirt she was wearing wasn't able to hide even half of those juicy thighs.

"You're going to live alone, right?" She asked.

"Yes. Do you live alone too?"

"Correct. I used to live in the capital, but I got tired of the traffic, the people there, all the futility and stuff. My job luckily allows me to live anywhere I want."

"We're not much different then."

"You also lived in the capital?!" She asked, amazed.

"Exactly."

"Now I'm sure we'll get along great." Miyeon commented, and casually placed her hand on Y/N's knee.

It was soft and warm. A thought came over him and he imagined her sliding that hand to his thigh, and from his thigh to his groin. Just by vaguely imagining this scene, Y/N felt his dick harden inside his pants.

"You know, I was actually watching you move in. You caught my attention. In fact, I've seen you since you came here last month to look at the house." Miyeon's voice was no longer animated from before. It was now in a low and sweet tone. Sexy. "I hoped you would become my new neighbor."

"I think if I had seen you too, I would have moved here a lot quicker."

She smiled.

"You're sweet" Miyeon slid the hand that was on Y/N's knee to his thigh. "And naughty."

"Why you say that?"

"Because I can see your hard dick in your pants."

Y/N couldn't contain himself and placed his hand on Miyeon's thigh. The grip was so intense and sudden that she couldn't take it and let out a muffled moan.

"I can't control myself with you dressed like that" he said, looking intensely into her eyes.

"I don't want you to control yourself, darling." when she finished speaking she jumped into Y/N's lap. He grabbed her small waist and started kissing Miyeon on every corner of her face: cheek, mouth, chin and neck. She was totally surrendered, and felt between her legs how hard his dick was.

Y/n slid his fingers along the strap of Miyeon's crop top, feeling the soft texture of her skin under her eager touches. With a slow, deliberate movement, he lowered the strap and, to his surprise and delight, saw that she was not wearing a bra. Miyeon's small but perfectly formed breasts were exposed. Without hesitation, Y/N leaned forward and captured a nipple between his lips, sucking it voraciously as his tongue played with the sensitive tip. Miyeon arched her back in response, moaning loudly with the pleasure that coursed through her body. "Yes, baby!" she said between muffled moans.

"I love having my breasts sucked. They are sensitive. This makes me so excited." She commented, ecstatic.

As Y/N occupied himself with her tits, Miyeon felt more and more aroused, her breathing becoming heavier by the second. With hands shaking with desire, she got off Y/N's lap, her mind fixed on one thing: completely drooling over that hard, thick cock that was waiting for her. In one agile movement, she unbuttoned Y/N's pants, eager to taste what was underneath.

Miyeon played with Y/N, caressing the dick that was inside his underwear with desire. "Make him wet for me, baby," she begged, slyly. Miyeon started kissing Y/N's dick. The warm, soft lips through the cotton of his underwear gave him indescribable pleasure. "Keep going...argh!! This feels so, so good," he sighed. It didn't take long for the underwear to become damp where the glans of the cock was. Y/N let out an anticipatory moan when Miyeon released his dick. He breathed quickly when he felt the skillful caress of her lips wrapping around his cock, which was pulsing with excitement. Y/N's eyes closed instinctively, getting lost in the overwhelming sensations that Miyeon's mouth provided. Every suck, every moan of pleasure she made, every flick of her tongue, pushed him closer to the edge of absolute pleasure.

With a husky moan, Y/N pulled away from Miyeon before she made him cum, her eyes shining with lust as he made her stand. "Sit on the sofa and open your legs for me!", he ordered, and she smiled at the order. With eager hands, he lifted Miyeon's skirt, exposing her wet, pink pussy to him. Without hesitation, he dove between her legs, his tongue finding the right spot of pleasure that made her tremble with desire. Miyeon's moans echoed through the room, her mixing with the sound of wet and obscene movements that filled the air while stroking Y/N's hair.

Finally, momentarily satiated by the intensity of pleasure, Y/N sat down on the couch, her eyes burning with desire as he watched her hungry for more. With a husky, lust-filled voice, he ordered her to ride him, giving in completely to the desire that consumed them. Miyeon didn't need any further encouragement, riding Y/N with a ferocity that only increased the intensity of the pleasure they shared. Her pussy turned out to be very tight and incredibly delicious. The hip movements were incredible, the skirt was lifted to the waist, while the top was pulled down. It was beautiful the way she rode on his lap, so that Y/N didn't want to close his eyes just to see her moving smoothly and steadily on top of him.

"Daddy!" She blurted out of her mouth.

"Do you like riding your Daddy?!"

"I love it! I love it! I love it!" She moaned louder and louder.

"Just like that! Yeah! Such a good girl!"

"Argh! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Miyeon moaned following the rhythm of her hips going back and forth simultaneously. That was art!

"What you said before?" Y/N asked between moans and heavy breathing. "Your boobs are sensitive, right?"

Y/N took his back from the back of the sofa and hugged Miyeon. He could wrap his entire body around her, and that was delicious, because that was what he felt like doing with her: wrapping himself completely around Miyeon until he ejaculated.

Y/N grabbed Miyeon's waist and it was as if she already knew what he was going to do because she automatically arched her back so he could suck her boobs. This made her go crazy immediately. "So good..." she moaned. Miyeon started to ride faster as she became delirious with pleasure.

"Like this! Keep sucking my little tits, Daddy! Oh!How naughty you are! You suck so good!"

Y/N squeezed Miyeon's ass tightly while licking one of her nipples without stopping. She was moaning incredibly loudly.

"Slap my ass, Daddy!"

"Ask again!"

"Spank my ass, Daddy. Slap it until it turns red, please!" She screamed.

He slapped her while she rode frantically. Y/N was going crazy with so much pleasure.

"I'm going to cum!" He groaned in her ear.

"Cum inside me, baby! Let's cum together!"

"I can?"

"Yes! I'm taking the pills.

Y/N thrust her hips making her accelerate at a pace she had no control over.

"I'm going to cum... I'm going to cum!" She said.

"Cum for me!"

"I'm going to cum on your cock, Daddy!" She screamed, then wrapped her arms around Y/N's back, scratching him in the act.

Miyeon flexed her thighs on his lap as her pussy squirted, gyrating her hips and rolling her eyes in pleasure. Those movements involved all the sensitive receptors in Y/N's dick, and that was the end for him, cumming inside her, pressing Miyeon's body against him, while she said:

"How delicious! I feel your hot cum inside me... Uhhh!" Her entire body shook. "Now it was dripping..."

She remained astride him for a few moments longer, while cum slowly dripped down her pale thighs. Y/N kissed her, slowly and tenderly.

"That was amazing!" He said. His body was completely relaxed and the brain had reset itself. Little by little reality returned to his mind.

Miyeon got off his lap and it was a surprise for both of them to see that his dick was still a little hard.

"Can you handle another round later?" She asked, giving him a teasing look. "I haven't felt this hot for someone in a long, long time."

"We can have sex after dinner. Now I'm starving... Damn, the lasagna must have gotten cold!"

"Do you know what the second best thing is to sex?" She asked, trying to hide a laugh.

"Hmm, i don't think so."

"Microwave!"

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

arepas

javier peña x f!reader

summary: when you’re single, it’s complicated. messy. he can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him.

an: dedicated to the wonderful, the amazing @halfmoth-halfman - i told you that i'd write you something, and here it is. I hope it makes you smile as much as you make me smile. word count: 9.3k (sorry, not sorry) warnings: developing feelings, slow burn -> colleagues to friends to lovers. usual jo angst, but with lots of banter. fingering, p in v, angst, sweet ending, spoilers for narcos season two.

friend noun /frɛnd/ a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. "she's a friend of mine."

It starts in Bogotá.

His eyes rake over you—the new pretty secretary who won't meet his eyes as though you’d heard all about him.

It's why he waits. Biding his time before gracing your desk. A file in hand, leaning down—forcing your eyes to meet his. Javi's smirk almost eclipses his face, only doing so when you lift your chin and he finds your lips have slid so far up one side as you stare at his hand.

Agent Pe— I know who you are, Peña. Your reputation precedes you. Good things, I hope? Depends on who you ask.

You call him Peña all the time. Even as days slip into weeks, even if he insists you call him Javier or Javi. The tension building, thickening—just like a dish left on a hob.

He’s used to the whispers, but he’s not used to the ignorance. The way you don’t look at him like the others, instead always trying to find out what he needs from you, rather than what he wants.

It allows him the chance to study, to watch. Noticing the way you work, the way you converse easily with others and how you walk around the office like you barely notice him.

It wasn’t through a lack of trying why he hadn’t worsened his reputation. It wasn’t fear of fucking you, of muddying his place of work further—his focus, mission, objective wasn’t to keep the piece inside crumbling Colombian walls. It was more that the fact his usual tactics weren’t working even when his intention was there, clear as the sky on a sunny morning.

You seemed stressed. Aren’t we all, Peña? I know how to get around that… I’ve heard.

It’s not that your tongue is quick or icy—it’s that you do it all without looking at him. You bite back without lifting your eyes or turning to him when he stands beside you. An indifference he had usually woven under in the time you’ve been here, but finding troublesome with you.

So, he tries smiling when smoke swirls around the ceiling fan, and you drop a file off; he drops his voice when he bumps into you by the water machine, holding your sight—commanding it. Which is why he notices the irritation simmering in yours. Growing, and grating more so by his mere breath, never mind his words.

You don’t like me much. I don’t know you. You could. Know me. What would be the point, Peña? You don’t listen, you interrupt everyone, you fuck everything with a pulse— Tell me how you really feel, hermosa. I’m trying, but once again, you’re only half listening.

Determined—that’s how he was often described.

It was, for this reason, that he has poured so many of his years into catching Escobar. Why he’d looked for whores to get information, not banking on caring and emotions. It’s why he hadn’t looked for anything outside of a quick fuck, a friend, or a sense of belonging—he didn’t have another ounce left in him. It was all spent on the reason he was here: narcos.

There had been others, naturally. Not all bent to his charm, even if the majority did. He should add you to the list, to the small pile that had amassed through the building and beyond.

Javi doesn’t.

And it doesn’t get better, easier. You decline his invites for drinks, even if you do begin to aid him. You refuse grabbing food for lunch with him, even if you have started taking paperwork off him to type up. You’ve even begun making comments, funny ones about his typing abilities, even shooting him a smile as you travel back to your desk. Yet, you don’t even let him drive you home when your car isn’t working.

Purposefully, you’re a bag of mixed messages. Not because you decline him but because he cannot find a rational reason as to why. You’ve begun moving his paperwork up, but you flirt back. Flimsy, thin excuses find your tongue quicker when he invites you to drinks, not even just with him.

You’re confusing. A brand of difficult he hadn’t had the opportunity to circle before, something which bothers the shit out of him.

Which is why he’s coating his throat in whiskey—getting through his pack of Marlboro’s quicker than he usually would be in a bar like this.

Because, while he doesn’t get you, he hates work functions more. Despising with each growing minute that he’s at one.

He prefers to choose his company—paid or unpaid. And the sole reason he’d even gone in the first place was to get you to stop calling him Peña—and to keep the CIA away from you.

He ends up being successful at one of those things. It’s not that he wasn’t sure how to befriend women, just that he usually chooses not to. He ruins any possibility of it by turning on the charm, having their blouse in his fingers and his hand stuffed in their lace. Even for all his charm, it is hard to get them back on his side when he doesn’t call them, or mistakenly calls out the wrong name or avoids them.

It’s why he knows his name is dirt amongst several secretaries. He’s aware of how gossip spreads like wildfire amongst the secretaries, receptionists, file room assistants, watching it happen as their eyes glisten when he walks past, their whispers dropping an octave when he is within ears reach.

You don’t partake in it. Digging your pretty eyes into him rather than fluttering your eyelashes. You can put those puppy-dog eyes away, Peña. I’m immune to putas. You can wait like everyone else. Chin lifting at the last second, smothering him in stifled stress and a please-don't-push-me-look. It’s how he learnt you were going for drinks with the CIA, how he discovered the bar and time.

Why he went in the first place.

It crossed his mind this could be the night. He could keep you company, find a way in when your wall was down because of the liquor on your tongue. The moment fizzled when he chose to be a gentleman—helping you into his car, guiding you into your place. Even holding your hair back as you vomited the contents of your stomach out. Maybe he should have warned you about doing shots with Jacoby in the first place, but then, he wouldn’t be alone with you.

See the way you put your weapons down and looked at him pitifully when you couldn’t get the key in your door.

I’ve got you, Bonita. Bet you say—hiccup—that to all the whores. You’re not a whore. No. No, I’m not.

He’d expected you to push him, fight him once inside your place, but you were silent. Occasionally frowning with glossed-over eyes as he continued to help you. You even allow him to help you to bed—without so much as removing his clothes. He’d been almost out of your bedroom door when he heard it:

Still gonna call you Peña, Peña. I know, bonita. There’s a glass of water on your table.

It played on his mind.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be chivalrous, just that it was rare. Stuffed down into his tight jeans and under layers of Colombian grief. While he cares about the people in his life, even the ones at arms reach—the ones he pays and the ones he takes home from a hard day—he doesn’t show it. Keeping it tightly wrapped and away, not willing to let simple and futile emotions blur the lines of why he was here.

So it surprises him when you leave him a thank you.

A small note on his desk attached to a bottle containing amber and a large packet of Marlboros.

Still think you’re an asshole, Peña.

It was the worst thank you note he’s ever had, yet it made him smile. Unthreads annoyances of his day, sewing in a piece of niceness in a tapestry of shit.

What he did know is that the window of sleeping with you was growing smaller, only fully shutting on him when he uncapped the bottle and poured you a glass when you knocked on his door for his signature. The small office he resided in—all dark, simmering with disappointment and failure after another dead end. Not that you commented on it—even if your eyes narrowed and your lips spread thin.

You were polite like that. Didn’t call into question or hold a mirror up to him. Just let him be. Tapping your glass against his, his eyes watching as you take a sip—not hissing, not flinching as the taste slides down your throat. Not even when it collects somewhere in your stomach. If anything, you smile.

Running his hand along his chin, letting his eyes roam as you take in the walls—the files. Your glass teetering on your bottom lip, painted in a shade he wanted staining on various parts of his body—

“Surprised you’re having a drink with me, Peña,” you say, all airy and light—glancing over your shoulder, shining him in mischievous twinkles. “Especially when you could be… paying for better company.”

He snorts at that, lets a laugh escape—puncture the air. “You know, you bring it up so often, bonita. I’m beginning to think you’re jealous.”

“Not in the slightest—I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Two night stands?” He muses.

And you smirk. Gloriously. Wide and large, the closest he’s gotten you to smile. “If it’s good enough to go back again, why stop at twice?”

He struggles for a retort, the acidic nature of it being swallowed by whiskey as he raises his glass to his lips.

Then it shifts the conversation. Returns to normal, safer topics, finding he snorts a few more times as the drinks flow. Even finding you pull a rich laugh from him—one that erases some of the tension, unknots his shoulders from his ears.

It isn’t until he hears the sweetness of your laugh that he finds that a quarter of the bottle has gone. The paper you’d come in to have signed, still at the top of a forgotten pile.

You weren't looking, having already turned your back to him, eyes fixed on the wall—the little pins and photos. Allowing him to run his eyes along your back, to your clothe-covered hips and the curves that had been front and centre of his thoughts when he fucked his fist. Your name has been simmering on his tongue for weeks, since you’d been introduced.

Something stopping him from acting on his thoughts, from standing up and coming up behind you. That very thing being the foundation of what he’d been after from the start.

“Am I still an asshole, bonita?” He asks when he finally signs the sheet.

You take the paper, offering a softer smile with a head tilt. “We should drink in your office again. You’re less of one in here, Javi.”

“It’s cheaper.” “Cheaper?” You groan, and he slides his hand over his face to hide his smile. “Fine, Peña—“ “Javi. Come on, bonita. We made progress.” Glaring, you straighten your spine. “Javi, I wanna eat greasy food in a baggy t-shirt and watch shit TV that I can only partially keep up with. Do you want to do that with me?” How could he say no? “Do I have to eat greasy food?” “Yes. It’s the law.” Snorting, he picks up the file, tapping the end of your desk. “I’ll be there around nine.”

You’re everywhere.

He begins finding you at his favourite food stand, conversing with the owner, grin so large it hits your eyes. Another time, you’re at the shop on the corner near his place, brown bag in hand, a knowing nod sent his way when you pass.

It throws him off, continuing to do so until it changes, and he comes to expect you. Doesn’t brace or freeze, but welcomes you. Leaning into it that you’re there, everywhere he doesn’t expect you to be. Slowly, bleeding across his life, planting yourself in the soil he hadn’t known surrounded him.

Your name falls from his lips with simplicity, you call him Javi as though it’s all you’ve ever called him.

Things shifting, changing just like the temperature in Bogotá. He chooses to sit beside you when he spots you at the bar, and not close to the table who were giggling and whispering at his arrival. He opts to ask you for help, over the secretary who has been giving him heart-shaped eyes since she heard something or another.

Javi is smart, and isn't an idiot. He knows it has shifted. Changed.

For the better, he isn’t entirely sure.

He finds comfort in you in a way he doesn’t usually pay for. The desire to fuck you because you were attractive lessening, and rather because, on some level, he suspected he actually liked you. Especially when you invited him for drinks at yours, instead of a bar.

It was easier not to question it. To not change. To not ask and ruin it. He went round to yours, or you to his. A gap forming, welcomed and strong. Javi fucked who he wanted to fuck, and sought companionship (fully clothed, a glass of liquor variation in hand) from you. The contents of it shifted depending entirely on the situation. Sometimes, it was accompanied by home-cooked food, and sometimes he brought warm trays in a bag that you groaned in appreciation upon arrival.

Javi told himself you reminded him of Laredo. Of high-school friends and easy laughter. You reminded him of girls who never became more than friends, the ones he’d grown apart from when they settled and married, and he ran as far away as possible.

That and he just liked your company. You made it easy. You were his… Friend.

You were something different than what he had with Carillo. Something other than the partnership he was now bedding in with Murphy.

You had embedded yourself as much in work as you were out of it. As time ticked on, his brain slowly filled with useless information about likes and dislikes in a drawer in his mind, he marked just for you. They weren’t things he usually didn’t care to know about anyone. Not since he’d been in Colombia. Not since he’d been in Laredo, where he’d never been short of a friend to two.

Being your friend became a thing he suddenly wanted to cling to. Not wanting to lose it—lose you, not wanting to fuck it up.

So, he didn’t.

Even if you looked at him with pretty eyes, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip. Even if sometimes the silenced humming with something different, something less friendly.

He cared.

Really cared. He found himself annoyed if you seemed a little off, and found himself wanting to make you smile. The two of you spread past the line into an area out of his usual wheelhouse. Friendship. A relationship that had him around your place so many nights a week, tucking into spirits and beer you’d begun keeping just for him. It was normal. Nice.

Or it was, until you curled into one side of the sofa, him on the other. Your foot isn’t close to his thigh, no leg draped over his—your behaviour not like normal.

He’d put it down to another shit date. One he’d been tortured with hearing about—the only downside to the arrangement, the friendship.

But, as you wrap your fingers around your calf, he realises it isn’t the date, the bad food or the day.

“Being your friend is kinda hard.”

Frowning, he sits up a little more. “Why?”

You shrug. He doesn’t like it when you do. You have answers, usually quick ones. A shrug meaning you don’t or you’re afraid of speaking them—letting them ball and fester in your throat.

“‘Cause you do thoughtful shit, and it makes me think things.”

He bites his smirk, and savours it. Knowing and understanding more than he can acknowledge as he folds his arms. “Not a smart move, thinking about me, hermosa.”

“Don’t I know it.”

"Bonita...."

"Why'd you call me that?"

You don't ask it rudely, more questionably. Brows knitting together in confusion as you watch him.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not in the slightest."

He smirks, letting out a sharp laugh. "Go get another drink, bonita."

“So, the two of you haven’t… you know?” Leaning in the chair, he stares at him. “No. We haven’t.” “I don’t believe you?” Smirking, he shifts his hips. “Go ask her. She’ll say the same.” He snorts. “You’re telling me you go round her place, have fun, laugh, and leave—I don’t believe it.” “Believe it, Murphy.”

It’s hard not to call back to the words spoken that night.

Let them loop around and around, wrap themselves around other phrases—micro-expressions and bothersome avoidance.

Your eyes were dark, chin resting on your knee, looking at him as though you wanted to burn everything to the ground. He’d swallowed, and hesitated—two things he never did.

But with you, he wasn’t exactly himself.

You had found a way to unlock a part of him he kept away from everyone else. He was still an asshole, still selfish and cocky. But he also bit back more around you and found ways to annoy you playfully, rather than to piss you off.

“Here.”

“You bought me a book?”

He smirks, gripping his arms as he watches you turn it over, “You like reading.”

Smirking, you scan the blurb, your brain trying to translate it quickly. “What gave you that impression?”

Shrugging, he trails a finger across his bottom lip. The signature smirk started growing, spreading, eclipsing whatever was there previously.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, hermosa. I see you reading on your lunch.” He looks you up and down. “Thought you could do with some fresh material.”

“So you bought me a romance book.”

Dropping his arms, he rolls his lips. “Everyone needs a little romance in their life, don’t they?”

“Well, you’re the expert. I hear you’ve been getting some “romance” nightly,” you smirk, placing the book down.

He had.

Almost determined to do so. Needing to bury himself to the hilt in others to distract him from you. Secretly thinking of you, trying to imagine the way your skin would feel under his calloused palms.

“Jealous, bonita?”

Smiling, you tilt your head. “Why? I’ve got a romance book.”

He tries to tell himself he’s not affected by you.

That it’s protectiveness why he sits at the bar in the restaurant you’re in. Why he chooses a seat where he can see the reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles, able to see you without watching you.

He tells himself it’s to ensure you’re okay. Nothing else. The convincing goes well until your finger taps him on the shoulder, practically dragging him outside by his elbow.

The cooler temperature bites his skin, but your eyes full of fire keep him warm. Digging into him, inflicting flames that lick at muscle and bone.

“Why are you here, Peña?”

He masks a shudder. “Don’t… don’t call me, Peña—“

“—you fucked all the whores?”

“I was drinking.”

Raising your brow, you fold your arms. “You’re ruining my date.”

He lets his eyes drop. Knowing he is. He knew he would when he scrunched the piece of paper in his hand as he overheard you talking about some black dress and little heels for it.

The same ones you’re standing in front of him in, looking nothing short of radiant—the slightest shiver misting over you.

“You deserve better.”

Folding your arms, you sigh. “What, like you?”

He runs a hand over his chin, leaning against the wall. “No, bonita. Better than me.”

You bite the inside of your lip, the shiver more obvious. So much so, he removes his jacket, considering draping it over you, but instead hands it to you.

“Look, I know I ruined your date, but he’s an asshole.”

Swallowing, you let out a heavy breath. “I’m mad at you, but… he really is awful.”

He smothers his relief. Ensures his tone is normal as he murmurs, “Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your lip. “Can you… could y—“

“Go get your bag, hermosa.”

It’s quiet, the car ride.

Your knee nervously bounces, the fabric of your dress rising up your thigh as you do.

He’s being tested. He’s sure of it. Adamantly so when he pulls up outside yours, and you invite him in. It’s confirmed when you tell him to help himself while you change, stepping into your room.

A version of him wanting to follow. To place his hand on the back of your neck, the other tilting your chin up, kissing the name of your date tonight. Pulling your body close, making it forget it ever shivered from anything less than pleasure.

He thinks about it as he fills his glass, and keeps yours empty. Javi thinks it as his jeans become tight and his pulse quickens, wondering if you sprayed your perfume anywhere other than your neck and wrist—whether you’d taste as sweetly as you say his name. Whether you’d dig your nails in when he stuffed you full of him—

“Not pouring me one?”

Blinking, you’re in his T-shirt and some leggings.

The former is something you’d borrowed when you’d spilt food on your blouse. A band tee, one from a concert when he was younger and happier, and less confused what the fuck all of this meant.

He hadn’t realised how much he had been holding himself back until you sank onto your sofa, looking serious—brows and forehead creasing.

It made him want to nurse it out of you, find a solution to stop you from worrying or overthinking.

“You’ve never tried to sleep with me.”

He scoffs, loud and undignified. The sentence catches and cuts through the air. All the letters of it punctuated by a thin silence, lightly chopped—not allowing interjection or regret.

You're waiting.

Nervously. Plucking your bottom lip between your white teeth like you’re picking guitar strings.

He considers telling you the truth. That fucking you had been the sole and only intention for a long time. Seeing if you could bend in two, what noises you would make—see if he could get you to chant his name.

That had been his goal… until it wasn’t.

Javi drains his glass, knowing you’re astute. That you work with agents of all kinds—you hold your fucking own around all sorts of them. So you know (of course you know) when someone is lying—so he offers something else entirely.

A slither of truth, an offering of it—if that.

“Didn’t wanna fuck this up, bonita.”

You take a sip of your own, not smiling, not smirking. Silence thumps between the two of you as you likely process the information, both in word form and in heavy silence. Then you land your eyes on him, something blossoming in them, spreading and taking over as they seemingly darken like the sky before a storm.

“That because you don’t think you could make me come, Peña?”

He spreads his palm against his jeans, resting the glass against his other as he drags his eyes to the floor. Biting the inside of his cheek. Wondering to himself why he’d stopped trying so quickly, knowing he was usually much more persistent. His perseverance was why he was still here, hunting Escobar. Yet, he’d folded like a piece of fucking paper when it came to you.

“Fine,” you commented, placing your glass down. “If we… don’t want to fuck this up. I think we need a codeword. An unsexy one. One that sorta tells the other to stop doing whatever they’re fucking doing….”

“Because…?”

You give him a look, a sharp one with soft edges. “Because we’re friends, right?”

He nods.

“So, as friends, I need a word to shout at you when you’re… Peñaring.” Frowning, he watches you smirk. “Javi, you’re handsome. And I spend… I spend more time with you than anyone else. The whole time I was on that date, I was thinking of you—and then there you fucking were. Being my friend.”

No. He thinks.

Knowing inside of him he wasn’t there to be your friend, but something he can’t quite acknowledge. A thing which vibrates inside of him, that gallops when you’re around and worsens when you’re not.

A thing he cannot give into. Not with what he does.

Not with what happened to Helena…

The remembrance, the horrid wake-up call that continues to paralyse him. The larger need to keep you safe.

“You like whores and quick-fucks. I like fucking one person who will only fuck me while they’re fucking me. And, I need the word—a word—because we spend a lot of time together, and you look like you do.”

His lip twitches, his moustache moving as he drags his eyes back to you. Unsure how you haven’t thrown it out there that you looking the way you do is also a problem.

As though you’re ignoring how fucking sinful you always look—especially in his fucking clothes.

He doesn’t because, if anything, he doesn’t hate the idea. Not immediately. Somewhat struggling to hide the way you make his cock twitch when you flirt, when you lean on his desk, the top two buttons undone on your blouse. That he sometimes fucks and wishes it was you and not the woman he’s chosen.

The two of you toeing the line of being friends to the point it sometimes makes his head hurt and his cock throb.

“What you got in mind?”

“Apuñalarme?”

He shouldn’t be surprised you’d thought of a word. Always methodical, always thinking ahead.

“Thinkin’ that one could be taken the wrong way.”

Frowning, you reach forward for some of the leftovers. “How?”

He stares, and then he swallows. “Well, I could stab you with my co—“

“OKAY. Fine. Who knew it would be so hard to pick a word to keep our friendship intact? What about… arepa?”

Taking a sip of his drink, his brow slowly arched.

“Well, it’s food—“

“Food can be sexy, bonita.”

“Yes, but if I said arepas, I don’t think: fuck me, Peña—I think fuck I could really eat some stuffed arepas with my friend Peña. Plus, we can then use it around people, ‘cause they’ll just think I’m after food.”

He plays with the glass, staring at your coffee table as he takes it in. Considering it. Finding it plausible—a good enough excuse. A thing to say other than ‘I don’t wanna hear about you going on a date, bonita’—probably around the same as you don’t wanna hear about his conquests.

You’re nervous, teeth picking at your skin.

Something blooming in his chest, smothering warmth across his heart and skin. You want to be his friend—you want him in your life.

“Alright, bonita, let’s give it a go.”

You pout, sighing. “You driving me home?” “Arepas.” “Funny, Peña. So funny.” “You made the rule, bonita.” Rolling your lips, he watches as you fold your arms under your dress. The fabric flows, blowing around your legs. “I can make this hard for you.” “That so?” He should have guessed it from the smirk alone. “I’m not wearing any underwear,” you say, pulling on his door handle and stepping in before slamming it. Leaving him processing, eyes staring at where you’d just been standing.

It became complicated in Medellín.

The routine, the lines—the friendship.

Everyone is forced all under one roof. The closer proximity means he has to listen to how the others talk to you, how you smile, and how you laugh with every single person. He can’t avoid your laugh—especially the ones you force from bad jokes. Javi has to listen to how others talk about you and how they describe the way they look at you.

He also has to deal with how your perfume simmers in the air here, how it lingers and clings, even if he does his best to drown it out with smoke.

In truth, he knows he is just annoyed that you’re even there, to begin with. And, not in Bogotá—where you would have been safer.

And, as annoying as he finds it, Javi supposes you must suffer through your fair share. His eyes catch yours when someone has called for him, his voice low, a smirk halfway up his face until he sees you ducking your head.

At the end of the first few days, he realises he misses his evenings with you back in Bogotá. Now, he has to share you in the open office space or hope you’re both free to go to one of the shitty bare rooms you’d both been given.

Yours at least was more private, Messina having fought for you to have your own as soon as you were relocated to her.

“Jealous, Peña?” “Yes, hermosa. You don’t have to share with Murphy.”

It worsens when he learns you’re single again.

You populate his thoughts all over again, having previously stifled them when he knew you were taken. Now that the few month-long situation-ship with someone from the president's building had ended, he found you half a bottle of wine down in your room with several sad Spanish songs.

When you’re single, it’s complicated. Messy.

He can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him. Before, he could convince himself that flirting is just how the two of you talk. He could comment slyly how he could give you a reason to be silent or him unable to tear his eyes off you when you bend down to get him something from the bottom shelf.

Even if you’re taken, he thinks arepas repeatedly as you look up at him with wide eyes and gloss-covered lips. But, it’s harmless when you’re unavailable—a foundation of who the two of you were. Now it was confusing again.

Especially when you begin wearing tight jeans. And you wait until Murphy leaves to pull his chair across and place a bottle on his desk.

“I need to get drunk.”

Blowing into a spare mug, Javi slams it down next to the bottle. “We can’t leave the base.”

“No, we cannot.”

“Any reason as to why you wanna get drunk?”

You uncap the bottle, glaring at him as you clamp your lips together. The sound of alcohol sloshing into the mug before you begin pouring him one.

“Hermosa…”

You take a mouthful from the mug, flicking your eyes to him as he leans back, whispering your name.

“I’m frustrated.”

“Messina busting your—“

“Not like that, Javi.”

It takes him a second.

A second too long for him, and then he almost chokes on his drink. “Arepas.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in Murphy’s chair. “You asked.”

His thoughts run ahead of him. The idea of pressing you against the desk, hooking a finger in a belt loop as he tugs your tight jeans to your thighs. The way you’d moan his name—not Javier, Javi. Your hands splayed across his desk, taking everything he—

“—so I need to get drunk because otherwise, I’m going to jump someone, because this job is stressful, and I miss my place, my… privacy, and I also miss food truck nights.”

Swallowing, he places his mug down.

“I need to have sex—“

“—Arepas—“

“But by someone who won’t lord it over me.”

You stare at your mug, swirling it—biting the bottom of your lip as you do.

And he’s all set to tell you that you drive him crazy, that he’d make you feel good—you just have to ask. His hand slides across the desk, all set to tug your hand closer as he mumbles it.

Then fucking Murphy arrives.

Him slamming a mug down next to the bottle, muttering about crashing the party as he massages his temple and slides back into his chair.

It consumes him. The thoughts which he has let run free in the brief moment with you. How he’d fill you and make you hiss his name and make you come undone until you had no thoughts left.

If he thinks he’s alone, you show your cards when he’s helping you move your bed.

Your eyes are on him as he leans against the metal frame, staring off as he processes how he will have to move it. He doesn’t notice that the edge of his tan shirt has risen until he feels your eyes on him.

“Arepas!”

He flinches, ripped from his thoughts as he blinks, turning to look at you, watching you shift on the spot, a slow realisation coming to him as to why you shouted it. A smirk so large spreading, not even trying to hide it.

“I haven’t… I haven’t even fuckin’ done anything.”

You fold your arms, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks, the pulse in your ears. “Yes, well… I’ll move the bed myself.”

“Bonita?”

“—I gotta go—“

“This is your room.”

But you’re already heading to the door, flustered. He calls your name, but you’re gone—leaving him with only your scent and the last trailing sound of your voice.

For a second, staring at the empty doorway, not hating it for one minute, all of it evidenced by the growing smirk on his face.

The one not easily rid, even by the end of the day.

“Your room is…. nice?” He sniggers, grabbing his jacket as you stand awkwardly. “Y’alright, bonita?” Swallowing, you narrow your eyes when they land on him. Not cutting, but assessing. “Why have I heard from two separate people that they’ve been warned from me?” Shrugging his shoulders, he slides his arms into his jacket, frowning—painting it on thickly, maybe even by too much. “Javi.” “What?” You look at him, challenging him. Looking every bit like the secretary he met in Bogotá and less like the friend he’s come to know you as. “Did you warn people from asking me out?” Adjusting his jacket, he sighs. “Yeah. I did.”

Javi knows many things about you.

Some he has learnt against his will, others he’s learnt from watching you. One thing he knows, more than anything else, is that you’re never late. Not even if the world was on fire.

It’s why it coils inside him when he’s standing at the stairwell waiting for you. It chills him, prickles something inside. And then, it knots as his watch ticks on ripples out as more seconds become minutes.

He must shift, stress rolling off of him as he finds Steve’s brow raised, flicking his eyes up at him before shaking his head.

“Go on. I’ll let Messina know you’re both on your way.”

He doesn’t thank him, even if he makes a note to do so later. His feet taking the steps two at a time. Palm brushes over people as he moves them so he can get to your door quicker.

It’s his sole thing, a crystallising focus that glimmers like a goal, a light around your door as he makes a beeline for it. For you. Not slowing or stopping until he’s outside of it, his knuckles hammering into it.

He tries not to smirk at the expletives he hears, the mix of English and Spanish coming from the other side. The beautiful blend he’s heard so often when you’ve dropped food, wine or burnt yourself.

“One minute—“

“It’s me, bonita.”

He expects to hear a noise. Javi doesn’t expect a pause. A lengthy one.

“Oh.”

Oh? He thinks.

“Um, Javi, just gimme….”

It bubbles.

It fucking roars. It produces steam and fire—all of it feeling a lot like jealousy. Because: do you have someone in there with you? His jaw tightens at the idea, almost snapping into pieces, hammering against his feet. He hears a loud crash to the floor, shattering. His mind conjures images of two pairs of feet (at best), two awkward souls trying to move around one another littered by a sea of expletives and hisses.

“Bonita… open the f—door.”

He doesn’t mean to use a tone. Unable to cage it, the fury which doubles and triples inside of him. Only just about managed to stifle the word fucking from being in the sentence.

Javi regrets it when you rip open your door, standing with more skin on show than he’s ever seen. Your privacy is covered by the thinnest pieces of black lace possible—lace that would be easy to snap, to rip from you as he drags his eyes up and down.

Unable to think; unable to process—

“I overslept.”

“…Bonita…”

“I am running late.”

“I can see that.”

You jab him, light, making your body twist as you do. Something he can’t tear his eyes from, least of all when you turn, his feet following. It’s autopilot as he shuts your door behind him, not hearing another person—the anger and jealousy simmering at knowing you’re alone.

You’re just… in your underwear.

Around him.

“Arepas.”

“What?” you call out, bending down, grabbing clothes as he averts his eyes.

His brain forces his feet to come to a stop, his hand adjusting himself as he tries to swallow. Because whatever he’d imagined you’d look like, has just been beaten—you’re… fucking gorgeous.

“Nothing,” he manages, staring around your place. Finding a bottle of half-drunk wine on the desk—sat beside one glass. “You had a fun night without me?”

You laugh, turning to face you, finding you with trousers on. “I�� I’m struggling to sleep… here.”

He can relate.

“How was Gabby?”

He pulls a face, wiping a hand over his face. “Yeah—she’s fine.”

You fasten your blouse, moving towards him, closer and closer, until you’re in front of him, and his mind is fucking blank.

“You’re standing over my shoes, Javi.”

It shouldn’t stick to him—your words. But they do. How they’re sickly sweet, how they clag and cling to the edges of his mind as he tries to concentrate. He’s typing, and then he’ll replay it, fingers pausing on the heavy keys of the typewriter.

Fuck.

Not able to tear his fucking eyes off of you. Not that you have noticed. You barely look his way with the mountain of shit Messina’s given you to do in one day. Hammering down on you, reminding them all they can’t make mistakes—more so since the toilet debacle. The heaviness of how close they’d been weighed on them. All of them.

So close.

He watches you stand up, calling after someone as you do a little run in your heels until there’s none of you left to watch. Staring at where you’d been, somehow still flickering between seeing you the way he saw you this morning and the well-put-together version just in here.

“What’s up with you?

“Nothing.”

Steve snorts, leaning against the wall. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.”

“‘cause you look like—“

“She answered the door in her fuckin’ underwear.”

Steve widens his eyes, pulling out his cigarettes. “And that’s something you’ve not seen before?”

He glares. Chewing a retort as he furiously stubs out his cigarette.

“Alright, so, now what?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

“Your word come in use?”

He shoots another glare, watching his partner hold his hands up.

“Not fucking helping, Murphy.”

“The fuck you mean she was sent to take some papers?” Him storming out of the building, hearing Murphy close behind. Not thinking. Thumb brushes over his fingers as something surges through him. Thumping. Building. Pushing past people, moving out of the way from the ones he comes into contact with, stepping out into the warm air as he sees hell. Men bleeding, carried by other men. His heart in his throat, furiously pounding, unsure where to start, where to go— Then he sees you. Time slows, people coming to a halt as he watches you and his feet begin to move. His hands guide him past people, walking and walking until he pulls you close—not caring for the blood on his shirt from your head, or the way you whimper when you crash into him. He meets your eyes, staring into them, finding his throat dry as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Arepas.” “Arepas…” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

When it rains, it pours.

It’s what he thinks as he sinks another glass, elbowing digging into the desk, all set to shout at Messina to leave him alone, suspecting she had returned.

But then, he’d seen you.

Face lit up by the yellowing light, a softness to your features and a shyness to your frame.

Javi isn’t sure what he’s expecting. Whether the guilt would shift at the sight of you, whether the sadness would stop laying on thickly.

For a second, nothing happens.

He doesn’t move. You don’t move.

And then he’s standing, and you’re crossing the room, pulling him close, hands around him as you keep him close. It’s friendly, he thinks—suspects. A simple hug. Something the two of you have done only a handful of times, but twice so recently.

In the fog of regret and alcohol, he can barely convince himself, his grip on it lost when you’re in his lap. His face in your neck, bathed in you—the distinct scent which clings to some of his clothes, the warmth he feels when he knows he shouldn’t.

It’s easy, simple—and also everything.

Shards of himself held in place by your grip on him, his own hand placing the glass down so he can clutch you that much tighter.

It isn’t him. A thing he’s acutely aware of, yet he buries his face into your neck. Breath dancing along your neck, feeling you still, wondering if you’re thinking the word as he is when you pull back, eyes meeting his.

“Oh, Javi…”

He chews his tongue, lessening his hold on you. Allowing you to move—giving you free rein to leave.

“Messina send you?”

You stand, tilting the bottle beside the glass, staring at the label. Your silence fills the gaps, finding the cracks of regret and guilt, layering itself thickly in it.

Answer me, he thinks. Almost wanting to command it.

“Boni—“

“No,” you say, curt, sharp.

Your eyes dig in, taking a step back, running the back of your hand over your forehead.

“Didn’t… I haven’t even seen her.”

He could speak, but it would be useless. No words can conjure that would make any of it okay—heaviness adding in bulk to his shoulders as he stands. Making his legs feel like jelly and his spine wanting to bend.

And then, he’s walking towards you, your back meeting a wall as he presses you against the wall, keeping you close. Just like you were minutes ago.

He traces the tip of his nose against your cheek, catching the scent of your perfume. Your eyes are on him, watching his movements as he places his hand on your hip.

“Arepas…”

He snorts, pressing his forehead softly against yours. “You want me to stop, bonita?”

Your lips twitch, eyes flicking.

A thousand thoughts dashing and darting in the shades he has memorised. Then you’re moving closer, mouth delicately pressing against his—testing, teasing. Saying no wordlessly.

It’s easy to return it, to give in—to kiss you like he has thought about since your name fell from your lips. A thousand missed moments and building will-they-won’t-they slamming into the both of you.

It’s why it shifts, his mouth not being gentle, his grip more desperate. His tongue sliding past your teeth, your hips flush against his as you curl your fingers into his hair.

He’s on fire. Scorched. Changed.

Flashes of you standing in the doorway in your underwear blending with the feel of you right now, how your lips move against his like the two are you well-versed in kissing one another.

“Dreamt about you, bonita.”

You murmur at his words, whimpering at his teeth, latching on the space under your lobe and neck.

“Thought of the sounds I’d make you make….”

“Fuck, Javi...”

Your nails dig into his neck, pulling and twisting him so you can marry your lips back to his. You kiss him like you want to conquer him, and own him. Something you’ve done since the moment you met—something he responds with how he licks into your mouth. Just pausing at your moan, tasting it—capturing it.

Your lips part as you clutch his cheek, breath ghosting as he lets dark brown wash over you. “I’m here. I’m here, Javi.”

He knows what you mean, what you’re implying: I’m here, you need someone, I’m yours.

The sound of him swallowing sounds louder, sharper—even against his ears as he flicks his sight over you. You’re better than it, better than him. You’re too good, too perfect—something he doesn’t want to break, snap or ruin.

Sometimes, you’re the only thing that feels untouched, unblemished. You were the one who saw him after he’d gotten back from the brothel. When Carillo…

He blinks, finding your fingers still on his cheek, eyes still on him—but he’s unsure if he’s misheard you. Misunderstood.

You don’t do quick fucks.

But you’re clever. You’re always fucking clever. Kissing him, hooking a finger in a belt loop, pulling him flush. As you show him that you mean it.

“Need you, Javi. Just you.”

He growls, moving you to push you down on the awkward, creaking bed. He watches dumbfounded as your fingers begin to aid the removal of your clothes. Exposing skin, inch by inch, to him—looking every bit inviting as you have done since the first day he fucking met you.

Throwing your trousers to some distant corner, he parts your knees with his waist, pushing the damp green lace to the side, as he coats his finger in your want.

“Javi…”

“You suit green, bonita.”

He eases a finger in, watching your mouth part as he does.

“But, I can’t stop picturing that black set.”

“Like it, did you?”

It’s breathy, desperate. Your lips ghost over his as he stiffens, pausing his ministrations, needing to look you in the eyes.

“It’s all I’ve thought about since, bonita.”

Leaning over, he captures your moan, sliding in another finger as his name vibrates against his lips. Your eyes are so full of adoration, lust and want—it almost shatters him—but it’s the desperation that coils around him. The neediness which is falling from your lips makes him want more.

He’s thorough, listening to your whines, finding each place inside you that makes you twitch and moan. He’s learning you, studying every inch, so he can please you from the get-go—if he ever gets the chance again.

It’s his knuckle that undoes you the first time, rolling quick circles around the bundle of nerves which has fingers in his hair and your breath against his cheek.

Javi, fuck—you, Javi, you.

His breathing is shallow when you come down, feeling your hands—shaky but determined—tugging him to join you in being naked, his hand grabbing the one thing he needs outside of you.

“Wanna taste you, but need to fuck you, bonita. Can I? Can I fuck your pretty pussy?”

You groan, kissing his jaw and his neck. A chorus of yes and pleases bless his skin as his teeth rip the wrapper, fingers expertly sliding it over his length to not waste time.

And then, your fingers leave bruises as you tug on his chin, pulling his eyes to you. A thought rolls, building; Tell me I’ve not ruined this. That I’ve not fucked up another thing.

“Yours, Javi. I’m yours.”

His hand clutches your cheek, fingers pressing against your ear and hairline as you nod. His mouth smothers yours, stealing a moan, air and whatever thoughts were trying to populate. He does so as he lines himself up with you, when you wrap him in warm bliss.

Your fingers on his shoulders, digging in, please move, Javi. And then, his hips move with yours, something swelling inside of him, a thing which makes it hard to stop kissing you, to ever want to stop being between your thighs—

He doesn’t usually fuck like this.

It starts that way, but never ends that way—and yet here he is. Never with them on their backs, eye to eye, lip to lip. But then, you’ve never been them. You’re nothing like them.

And he won’t move, can’t. He slides his tongue past your teeth and grips your hip that bit tighter as he feels your walls grip him desperately.

“Feel so good, Javi—y’fuck me so good.”

He knows.

Knows because you’re fucking heavenly—perfection sent just for him. Something he whispers into your lips, lets you taste it as he feels you getting closer and closer.

Then he just hears you. And the sound is prettier than his mind could ever conjure.

Just feels you. And it's better than he ever thought it could feel.

Then, there's nothing else, until he feels pleasure—until it’s white light and your name spluttering from his lips. Your hands in his hair, hips slowing with his as his lips sloppily find yours.

“We should talk.” You frown, looking over your desk as he leans both palms down. “Bonita… we had sex.” “A few times, if I recall.” “You… you seem rather calm about this?” You smirk, lifting your mug to your lips. “Should I not be?” He’s silent, uncharacteristically so. Never short of words, not with you. “Javi, I almost fucking died… then Carrillo… I-I needed… I just needed you.” “Bonita…” “I don’t need pity. Do not worry. I’m not expecting anything, I know you, I’m not complicating this, and I’m not asking to change you. I like you as you are, and I know for you, last night for you was just a one-night thing—” He whispers your name, wrapped in confusion and surprise— Your hand pats his chest, “—and I’m off to the funeral. Please try not to drown yourself in whiskey while I’m gone.” “You know I’m not going...” Smiling, you let your fingers linger on his shirt button, twisting it. “You don’t do funerals—it was one of the first things you told me.” Letting your hand drop before you walk away, leaving him with his thoughts.

It unravels.

Looking every bit like the day he’d been running around the ranch, knocking into the table beside his momma’s armchair, watching in horror as spools of cotton spread out. They ran uncontrollably away, undoing in a fit of rainbow shades and mess. It had taken him an age to fix, fingers raw from cotton against his fingers.

That’s what it was like now—except he wasn’t sure he could fix it.

If anything, he knows he can't.

He realises it when he tells you. A wave of disappointment ascended and crashed in your eyes until you looked at him with an expression painted in worry. It makes him want to kiss it from you, but your hand brushes his cheek—keeping him where he was, close but not too close.

Don’t… What? Worry about you? Yeah, I don’t… I don’t deserve it. Tough, Javi. I’ve worried about you since the moment you bought me food truck food and told me I had sauce on my chin. Why's that? You just seemed like someone who I needed to worry about.

He wanted to kiss you differently then. Softly—gently. Almost greedily. Show you the words he wishes he could say easily. Let you feel how much he adores you, how much he cares, that he even wants to…

Javi doesn’t.

His brain too quick to remind him that you deserve solid truths, not hopeful lies. Tells himself that he’s anything with him will end in ruin, evidenced by the way things keep crumbling, the grip on helping having become closer to hurting.

He tries to build walls to keep you out, ones you chip out with more force than he bargained for. Your nails pulling at bricks, eyes burning through gaps: Do not keep me out, Peña.

So he stops. The energy wasted, even if he wants nothing but to protect you. Doing poorly at it—so much so he doesn’t realise you’re even swept up in it. Not in the moments where he comes find you for a moment of reprieve in the swirling hurricane he created.

You look like shit. Tell me how you really feel, bonita. Javi... I'm fine. You're not. No, I'm not.

He could kick himself when he realises it.

Only seeing it when he returns to the base, stopping short of your desk and finds it bare. No mug. No papers. No little notes you write yourself so you never forget a thing.

Bare. Empty.

There's no scent of your perfume and the air is absent of your laugh.

You had always found him, whether in his room, in a cupboard, at his desk. But, he hadn't thought to look for you today. Just put it aside, suspecting he'd find you later.

"Shit."

Sweat pools at the base of his back as he heads to Messina's. Hating himself, wondering if you'd been questioned. He'd never even tried to make sure you were okay with the knowledge of what he had done, what he continued to do in an effort to fix it.

I’m here, Javi. I'm yours, Javi.

He knows you are a part of the fallout when he sees Stechner behind Messina's desk.

It confirming it. Almost wanting to cut him off from saying your name—not wanting to hear it from his lips. Stechner says it anyway, as though knowing. Purposefully adding more poison to it and accompanying it with a cold smirk. One which almost makes him grip the man by the arm and land his fist in his teeth.

You should have stayed in your lane…

Everything tightened inside of him. While everything around him crumbled, slowly crashing down: the walls, the ceiling—the pretence.

It makes his blood run cold, his heart crack right in the centre.

Ambassador wants to see you. Get your passport.

Tightening his jaw, he hammers his feet up the stairs, taking them two by two. Needing his room, needing a moment.

His hand rubbing over his face, mind populated with memories—ones both good and bad. Your voice swirling around them. Your smile, your laugh, all appearing before they burst, showering him in a mess of confetti he’ll never be able to clean. One he doesn’t want to, if they all he has left of you.

He tries to think of his passport. Where it could be. The location of it in the mess of his room—trying not to wonder, worry or think about where you are. What his mess has done to you.

Opening the door, he comes to a halt when he finds both standing in the centre of the room.

Time comes to a stop. His heart pausing mid-slam into his ribs, the pain rippling out, as he takes you in. Watching your fingers and hand slowly rise, holding not one, but two passports, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Hi.”

He lets the door shut behind him, suddenly able to breathe. The weight, the one crushing him for ages, finally stepping up from him, allowing air to fill his lungs, allowing his chest to rise and fall as you softly smile.

“Bonita… what… how?”

“I handed my notice in… Messina, she knew about—she advised me, said it would buy me more time. It did—has. Stechner—”

It takes three strides—three—and even those felt long before his lips crashed into yours, silencing you, not wanting your pretty lips to ever mouth his name. Feeling your hand, the one clutching the passports, against his shoulder and the other on his hip. Pulling him in, wanting him—even still.

He feels like he’s dreaming, until you bite his lip. Smirking against his lips as the two of you part. The feel of it bringing him back to earth, trying not to overthink it and let the moment ruin.

Javi just holds you—like he should have done earlier this morning when he'd seen you, and from the very beginning.

Pulling you close as he humanly can, for as long as he’s able to. Doing so selfishly until both of you are just staring at one another, the gap so thin between you, you’re not all in focus.

“Ask me.”

His knuckles slide along your cheek, knowing what you’re implying. Something coiling at what you’re suggesting—something he’d thought about days ago. Regretted not asking minutes ago…

“Javi.” Your fingers wrapping around his chin. “Ask me or let me go….”

Clearing his throat and licking his lips—sighing.

Wanting to. Nothing compelled him more. But the wounded part, the one which is sore and raw, tells him not to. To put distance, space, time—and fucking everything else—between you both.

To protect you. To love you from afar.

“Be with me.”

Smiling, you whisper, “Please?”

“Please,” he adds, a light smirk threatening to spill.

You let your fingers slide over it, the little crease at the end of the hair on his upper lip. “I’m yours, Javi. All yours.”

“You have to know what that means, bo—”

“I already know,” you cut him off, fingers dancing along his cheek. "I don't care."

an: thank you for reading, feel i should apologise for the length ha!

3K notes · View notes

unoislazy · 6 months

Text

I Am No Coward

(Part 2)

Mizu x Fem! Reader

Summary: You find out that your brothers wife cannot cook for shit.

————————————————————

You and Mikio hadn’t spoken since your last argument. It wasn’t much of an argument as much as it was you just yelling at him, but regardless you both hadn’t talked since. You said nothing to him any time he entered a room, you turned away and continued whatever activity or conversation you held before he entered.

Oh you were mad, beyond that even, but you tried your best not to let it show when around Mizu. Despite your anger towards Mikio you didn’t want it to affect how Mizu viewed him, if she even valued your opinion that much by this point. You helped her out with chores that Mikio had more or less just tossed on her, which were things that you had already been in charge of beforehand. You constantly told her there was no need for her to help, and that if you handled it before, you could handle it now, but she would always insist on helping.

So you let her.

It was coming close to sundown so you gathered up as many ingredients as you thought necessary and set them out to begin cooking. As you had set out your ingredients you had noticed someone enter the room through your peripheral vision. You turned a bit, not wanting to give the person your full attention or acknowledgement in case it had been Mikio, but you quickly realized that the person was actually Mizu. Now knowing this, you greeted the woman with a wide smile and beckoned her to join you.

“Would you like to help me prepare the food?” You asked as she knelt down beside you. She looked at all the ingredients you had set out with a confused look very evident on her face.

“I can try… but I’ve never actually cooked before.” She admitted, looking up from the food and towards you. Your smile never faltered, as you turned back to the now heated pot before you.

“We all have to start somewhere right? Here, why don’t you chop some of these.” You instructed, pushing some vegetables towards her and handing her the knife. You could see her eyes light up almost the instant she looked at the knife, happy to finally see something she knew how to properly use without help. She nodded at you before chopping to her heart's content. You on the other hand began to get the spices and other parts of the meal prepared before the vegetables.

You were nowhere near the level of a chef, you simply had to learn the hard way what worked with cooking and what didn’t. In the very beginning of your stay with Mikio, you fondly remember him taking at least some time out of his day to help teach you some basics to cooking. You wished you could somehow convince him to go back to the way he was, but you couldn’t change him and you knew that, and at this point you didn’t want Mizu to get hurt trying. She was his wife after all but you still felt awful sitting by and watching as he ignored all of her attempts to get on his good side.

On the bright side of everything, you truly enjoyed Mizu’s company and you made sure it was obvious to her. She always seemed so genuinely interested in everything you showed her how to do, from cleaning the stables, to cleaning the house, feeding the horses, and now even cooking. She was making an effort to adjust to this new life and she had not a single complaint about it. It had taken you a moment to get used to two other people being around all the time, but when it came to Mizu you welcomed it with open arms.

She was a lot more clumsy than one might initially believe her to be. The amount of times she had tripped or dropped a bucket while cleaning was enough to count on two hands. It seemed to you as if she wasn’t used to the apparel she now wore everyday which struck you as a bit odd, but you truly didn’t put any more thought into it. If anything, you found her slip ups pretty adorable for someone so tall and quiet.

“What do I do with them?” You heard Mizu ask, snapping you out of your thoughts almost immediately. You looked towards the dark haired women, quickly noticing the now entirely full plate. She had minced every single thing you had given her and it was clear that she was eagerly waiting for more.

“Oh, just set those aside for now. Here take this.” You instructed, handing her a small bowl of spices as you grabbed the stacked plate of vegetables.

“Just add a pinch into the pot while I try and find…” Your voice trailed off as you continued to search the area for your missing utensils. You could’ve sworn you had placed a ladle out along with the rest of your ingredients. You turned every which way, not seeing it anywhere as you placed the plate down and stood up. You looked back at Mizu who was holding a now empty bowl of spices, but this fact had gone completely unnoticed by you.

“You can add a few of those in, I just need to go and find a ladle.” You said, pointing at what Mizu needed to do next before walking off. Once you had quickly found the utensil you had needed you returned to the room to find Mizu now holding three barren spice containers. This time you indeed noticed.

Your eyes widened as you looked towards Mizu, then the pot, then back at Mizu who was just looking at you with a blank stare. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you thought, there's a possibility she might’ve just added the right amount and… the rest just disappeared.

You knelt down near the pot, carefully stirring the soupy concoction with your new found ladle, and very carefully gave it a small sip.

Your face very quickly contorted into a sour grimace as you placed the ladle down. You noticed how Mizu’s blank stare very quickly turned to disappointment and you immediately felt horrible, despite the whole situation truly not being that big of a deal.

“I should’ve been more descriptive.” You reassured Mizu, she had told you she never cooked before so you probably should’ve taken more caution when instructing her.

“Is it fixable?” She asked, looking towards the plate of vegetables with a hopeful gaze.

“As much as I want to approve that idea, those aren’t going to fix this.” You joked, earning a bit of a pout from the woman. You snickered a bit at her reaction, before handing her some water. “This should dilute it a bit.” You offered, handing her the bowl. Just as she was about to pour the water in you stopped her, having thought of a harmless yet still annoying prank. You grabbed a separate bowl and poured some of the non-diluted soup in, then told Mizu to continue pouring the water in. She watched you set the bowl aside with pure confusion before adding more water.

“What’s that bowl for?” She asked, now putting the empty bowl down.

“Don’t worry about it. Now where are the vegetables?” You questioned, it wasn't exactly directed at Mizu, it was more or less just you speaking aloud. You both search around the very small area taken up by your cooking materials before you spotted them. You reached for them with haste but you hadn't realized that Mizu had too. She had managed to put her hand on the side of the plate before you had, so you ended up lightly grazing her hand with your own. You immediately retracted your hand, not wanting the moment to linger, but at the same time there was some part in you that did.

You very quickly just chalked it up to an intrusive thought, afterall you were not going to make moves on your brother's wife, you accidentally touched hands, it was nothing more than that, calm down.

So that's what you did, you retracted your hand and paid no mind to the action as if it had never happened before telling Mizu to throw the vegetables into the broth. She nodded, doing just as she was told, and dumped them in and as if by some miracle, the food began to smell really good, just the way it should.

While you both waited for the food to finish cooking, you thought it a good time to just talk to the woman.

“So… How are you and Mikio getting along?” You asked, turning to Mizu who was now blankly staring at her hands that were placed carefully on her lap. You could sense the inner turmoil on whether or not she should answer truthfully, so you decided to help her out a bit.

“If you wish to speak ill of my brother, trust me I won’t be mad.” You began to reassure her lightheartedly. “I guarantee that your complaints would equal mine.” You continued, earning an acknowledging smile from her.

“I don’t think he likes me all that much.” She admitted quietly as if she was ashamed to have said so. You looked towards her with a bit of pity evident in your gaze, not because you pitied her not being liked by Mikio, but because you pitied her for even valuing his opinion of her in the first place. You had to remind yourself, she is his wife now so it would only be natural for her to want him to at least show some approval of her. That only made his current treatment of her even more upsetting in your eyes.

“I’d say not to pay him any mind, he’s just a grouchy old man who doesn’t see potential in anything that wont get him back his honor.” You explained, sounding as if you were joking but you both knew you werent.

“Has he always been this way?” She asked, turning towards you a bit more to show her interest in your response. You smiled a bit, not looking up at her as you told her,

“No. He used to be very kind and patient, I’m sure you would’ve loved him had you met him before… but now? Ever since he lost his title he’s been so hellbent on regaining his honor that he truly doesn’t care about much else.” You rambled slightly, your hand balling into a fist a bit as you clutched onto the fabric of your clothes, trying not to let yourself get lost in the emotions of what was. As much as you missed the old Mikio, you knew even then he still had his flaws. You remembered vividly how he refused to teach you anything related to fighting, he claimed it was too dangerous but once you had argued it was more dangerous for you to not know how to defend yourself, he dropped the topic entirely and avoided you any time you would try and bring it up again.

That’s why you were so intrigued when you found out that Mizu was able to fight. You had hoped to one day work up the courage and ask her to teach you because you knew, especially by this point, your brother was in no position to change his mind. You figured now was not the best time to ask as you looked up to the woman whose brilliant blue eyes were staring back at you, a sympathetic expression on her face.

“Well, at least you know if you ever get tired of dealing with him, you can always come and find me.” You smiled at her, trying to cover up any negative feelings you might have let slip while thinking about your brother. You wanted her to get to know him for herself and make that decision on her own. The last thing Mizu needed was someone telling her how horrible her husband is, after she had just married him, that was sure to go south fast.

Mizu gave you a small smile before turning back to the boiling pot which definitely smelled like it was ready. Very eager to try her first guided attempt at cooking, Mizu began to pour out the soup mixture into different bowls.

You, however, had kept the bowl with leftover undiluted soup and purposefully placed it down where Mikio always sat.

It hadn't taken long for both Mikio and Mizu’s mother to join you two at the table, both of them just as eager to eat as you and Mizu were. Before you ate however, you made a point to Mikio that,

“Yours is a special recipe, I just wanted to try something different than usual.”

Making sure to keep any of the blame for the tastefully challenged meal off of Mizu. Both Mizu and Mikio looked towards you, the same lack of certainty spread across their faces as they looked towards Mikio’s bowl. It didn’t look too much different from the rest of the dishes, but the moment Mikio placed the bowl to his lips and took not even a full second of a taste, he knew what was wrong. His face scrunched just as yours had done when you originally tasted the extremely strong broth. He immediately placed the bowl down, trying to suppress the urge to cough or spit it out to not look bad in front of Mizu and her mother. You watched on in glee as he proceeded to make himself look like an idiot, all while he sent an unrelenting glare your way.

“I see you must have forgotten a few steps.” Mikio muttered through several coughs. You merely smiled, very cheekily one might add, at the man before commenting,

“I guess you’re just not strong enough to handle that taste.” You shrugged before sipping your own food, which evidently tasted much better than his. He knew you were trying to get under his skin, the worst part in his eyes, was that it was working. He knew you were upset, he knew you didn’t like the way he had been acting, but he also believed he knew what was for the best. He believed if he continued working everything would go back to the way it was and then you would no longer have a reason to be so petty towards him. He wasn’t ready to be swayed on his thinking, so he wouldn’t be.

The three of you ate in peace before Mikio fully placed his bowl down and stood up, claiming that he had more work to finish up before leaving the room in silence. Mizu looked towards the door the man had just walked out of. Her expression wasn’t easy to read but she definitely didn’t exactly seem sad that he had left. She then turned to you, gesturing to Mikio’s now abandoned plate and asked,

“What was that for?”

“Just… some sibling rivalry. Nothing really.” You answered. It wasn’t exactly a lie. In a way you were rivals but you just hadn’t realized how yet.

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salaimoi · 11 days

Text

i wave goodbye to the end of beginning ˚. ✦.˳· ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem reader sypnosis: he wasn’t what you desired anymore, but he couldn’t let you go. months passed since your bitter breakup, and yet, he didn’t stop loving you for a second. cw: slow burn. angst for the sake of angst. falling out of love for no reason fr. unrequited love. alcohol consumption (gojo only) no happy ending me thinks, or maybe somewhat. who knows word count: 3.1k

author's notes: i’m mourning gojo and so should you! so here’s a piece of an angsty fic that’s been rotting, unfinished, in my drafts since march 29. i was only gonna post a sneak peek of this and suddenly the holy spirit took over me and drove me to finally finish it??? IF U EVER READ ANYTHING OF MINE PLEASE LET IT BE THIS😭😭i’m so in love with the reader crying scene u don’t get it. the metaphors?! i outdid myself. i am so terrified of the deep ocean, and the fact that i find myself writing about it during angsty hours says a lot about me. i can’t emphasize how much i adore this fic. i just love angst sm idkidkidk

also, this is my first time attempting angst for the sake of angst as well as slow burn (?) so idk if i’ll ever come back to this. not beta read.

Time and again, this mahogany dining table was the scene of numerous heartwarming interactions – mementos Satoru wouldn’t be able to replicate a second time, even if he spent a thousand lifetimes trying to do so. Sure, it was more than easy to recreate the scene, but not the genuine warmth the two of you felt in that moment. He could go to great lengths, such as hand-crafting every single piece of furniture in the room that bore witness – carving and polishing wood until his palms became more splinters than skin. But even then, he wouldn’t come close to reliving any of those gratifying sentiments from so long ago.

All the shared laughter at his trivial attempts at comedy had caught up to you; your smiles were forced lately, and he could tell. He possessed that diamond-blue, six-eyed gaze which consistently made you feel as if he could undeniably read your thoughts, but that wasn’t the case. Even a blind person could discern the unforeseen shift in your comportment toward him, and due to this, Satoru questioned himself relentlessly.

What if he’d said something to offend you? What if he left the toilet seat up one too many times for your liking? What if he began snoring in bed but you were too considerate to say anything about it? What if he forgot a special date? What if he tried to offer you something you were allergic to?

What if he stopped being the love of your life...?

It seemed as if, in a fraction of a second, all the enjoyment you once felt had deserted you, and with it, your love for him. Had you forgotten how happy you were by his side all in the spawn of a few hours, or was this the universe’s twisted interpretation of a joke?

Even if it was, you weren’t laughing.

You told yourself it was fine, that it was a mere wave of sadness that would soon pass, but instead the harmless tide you paid no mind to had brutally swept your body into a sea of despair. Before you could process your predicament, the shoreline was well out of sight – blurring with the deep blue expanse of the oceanic abyss that enveloped your mind.

The longer you fought to stay afloat, the clearer the path became for the briny water to replace the oxygen in your lungs, giving you no choice but to drown as everything around you became a pitch-black, bottomless pit – devoid of any sense of worry for you.

It was rather often that you were accused of abandoning the ship when things got bad, and yet, here you were – submerging along with it.

How ironic.

Even he couldn’t save you now. The solace his mere presence bestowed upon you when you needed it most wasn’t there anymore. There was no more capability of initiating conversations with him when you were the only other person in the room, causing the once-upbeat and soothing environment to give way to one of silence and uncertainty; it was as thick as syrup.

Syrup. The sugary taste of it from when you consumed it during breakfast was all but replaced by a repugnant, sour one in your mouth. A persistent echo of those homemade fluffy pancakes you had turned down remained, even though he had made them just for you — his precious girl.

You insisted you would eat later – an obvious white lie to mask your despondency and lack of appetite – but he spoon-fed you, because in his own words, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I allow my girlfriend to starve? No, that won’t do. I’ll take care of you even after I've exhaled my last breath.”

“And how would you do that if you’re no longer breathing, genius?” you asked, a wilting smile on your face that you had put on display for him.

“Well, my dear," he retorts with a smug grin. "I've always believed that love has a way of transcending the boundaries of life and death. And as luck would have it, our love transcends the mortal realm. I will always be with you, in spirit if not in flesh.” he smiles, a twinkle of amusement behind his sapphire eyes before continuing.

“Once I've moved on to the afterlife, I'll find a way to send you sweet nothings and a box of chocolates from beyond the grave. Consider it an eternal gift.”

He declares in a complacent tone as he lounges back in his chair, head resting comfortably on the back of his hands.

"But in all seriousness," he then adds, his tone becoming more genuine, "I'll do everything in my power to ensure you're taken care of – even if it means making sure my eternal resting place has a Wi-Fi connection for you to receive my messages.”

Your thoughts were entirely silenced in that moment; white noise overtook the black space within your mind. How had he managed to say such heartfelt words as if they were second nature? This early in the morning, nonetheless.

Would he actually…?

You knew he would.

"But let’s not dwell on my demise just yet,” his words bring you back to the present conversation. “Until the day comes, I promise to make the most of our time together. Besides, knowing me, I’d probably haunt you just to ensure you have someone annoying to keep you company."

He finally remarked, going back to stuffing your face with the soggy pancakes that had been sitting in syrup for too long.

And you were cognizant of the fact that you alone were privy to this side of Satoru Gojo: the mushy, gentle one who tended to his companion as if it were a god-given mandate.

To the public, he was a stoic, impervious character who had no dread of others. To you, he was far more vulnerable than he would ever confess.

But that wasn’t nearly enough to deter you from taking the disheartening decision made later that day.

“I can’t stay here anymore.” austere words you didn’t wish to speak, but needed to, in order to provide some semblance of closure for the both of you. “I can’t love you anymore.”

A hushed supplication could be heard flying across the room at the speed of light once your hand reached out to turn the bitterly cold door knob, hitting against the back of your head – identical to an equally-cold shower.

“Please don’t leave me,” he immediately protested weakly.

He approached you with cautious strides, every step causing fragmentation in his all-too-frail emotional state. Even if it was ephemeral, the mutual love between the two of you had already left a blazing watermark on his soul. His feelings for you transcended the nagging rationality that bound his mind, defying all sensible objections he had on the matter of permitting you to depart from his life. Having failed to quell the ardor her felt, it persisted apodictically until he was an arm’s length from your frame.

And that was exactly it – the same frigid sensation your hand clinged onto emulated the one you felt in your wretched heart the moment he approached you. You’d already turned your back on him and expressed every afflicting anguish that tormented your soul, so why plead now? Now – when you already made the conscious decision to leave him behind.

Tears neither you nor he could hold back began flowing down your features. A familiar hand lifted towards your cheek soon after, wiping the salty residue off your delicate face with his thumb.

He never ceased to remind you how gorgeous you were when you cried, frankly because the manner in which your wispy eyelashes retained the saltine tears in your eyes resembled the delicate surface of a tranquil pond.

Every tear you shed would become the gentle water that tickled his skin as his body wafted about in your iris – an eternal reservoir he’d swim in without tiring if the heavens so permitted it.

However, this occasion differed from the rest; the once gentle waters he yearned to lay in became calamitous waves, which may lure him to the ocean’s most profound recesses in the blink of an eye – your blink of an eye. He would usually stay afloat among that innocent gaze of yours, but tonight it was ruthlessly drowning him with no lifeline in sight.

Even after he implored that your crying would come to a halt, more pungent teardrops bled onto his fingers. An eroding desperation flowed through you, aching to hold onto something, anything, in order to cease the mental decay within your subconscious.

Thus, your own hand extended to hold his against your cheek, a glacial embrace overpowering the warmth of his skin; an identical chill tickled his spine when he absorbed the crispness of your graze, but he paid it no mind.

“Not you too…anyone but you,” he pleaded in a low voice, causing more accursed tears of yours to cascade mercilessly as he embraced you in an endeavor to sway your decision. His voice was gentle and soothing, mimicking a caress you’d never experience a second time.

“I’m sorry.” you muttered.

Being unable to bring yourself to meet the sapphire eyes that imitated a midwinter sky so perfectly, your head lay low; the only thing visible to him was the top of it.

It was unclear what you were sorry about. Perhaps you were sorry that you had to leave him behind. Or perhaps you were apologizing to yourself that he was no longer what you thought you wanted with every fiber in your body.

You desired more in this life, and on your game board, he wasn’t a playing piece who could frolic alongside you. It wasn’t because you didn’t fancy his company, rather it was the fact that his own strategy of playing was one that did not catch your eye anymore; it had become a monotonous rehearsal. Every move came to be a discernible one to you – even before he picked up his pawn, causing you to lose interest in the entire game itself.

That realization alone shattered his entire world.

Satoru’s head lay low all throughout as he sat on a wooden stool amidst the empty bar. It was 2 a.m. and he needed to go home, but why should he?

You wouldn’t be there to greet him – or even scold him for that matter.

Colorless, almost lifeless, marbles stared vacantly at the picture of you on his lock screen; he consistently spoke to your picture as if he were having a conversation with it. At this point in time, it had become routine. Maybe one of these days the frozen-in-time frame would speak back to him for once?

Just once.

Where had that tender smile he’d fallen in love with gone?

Where had you gone?

On a nightly basis, the same detestable conversation from that night redounded from one end of Satoru’s mind to the other incessantly – akin to a religiously recited sermon.

It was impractical to disregard the harsh reality that sooner or later every cherished individual he held dear to his heart willingly departed from his life – Suguru, and now you.

If it entailed becoming a regular person, he’d give his life as a sorcerer to ensure the permanent presence of at least one individual in his life. Where was the value of possessing such prowess when one’s vulnerability in the realm of love was inescapable?

What twisted transaction was that?

He'd even willingly forsake his divinely bestowed talents for the purpose of altering the passage of time, thereby reverting to a period where your presence was far from being nothing more than a diminishing recollection.

Ijichi had been dealing with this side of his boss for months on end. Regardless of his efforts to encourage Gojo to put an end to this melancholic act of his, he never managed to convince him to do so. Ijichi attempted the compassionate approach, but to no avail. His optimism and patience were dwindling, fearing that this would continue on for eternity – and perhaps it would’ve if he hadn’t stepped in.

This had to end sooner or later, and for everyone involved’s sake, it had to be the former. So tonight, he opted for a sterner, and perhaps more unforgiving, path.

Your car was parked out front of the bar Ijichi had sent you the address to – forehead pressed against the steering wheel as an audible, exhausted sigh escaped your mouth. It was late and you knew this was nothing short of inane behavior. You weren’t doing this for you; you had to remind yourself that you were doing it for him, with the hope that he would ultimately find someone who would be there for him in a way that you were unable to.

Weary, almost weak, legs lead you to enter the desolate bar. A knife prods at your chest when your eyes dart over to where Gojo was. He kept his head lowered; the only part of him you could clearly see from this angle was his back.

An overwhelming sea of emotions plagued your mind when you witnessed him in such a state. You could feel the knives twist the longer you stared at the back of his fluffy white locks.

Months had passed since your split, and you realized Satoru’s grief and distress were indeed as dire as his assistant conveyed to you during the phone conversation.

A tap on his shoulder was accompanied by a sweet voice that had vanished into the depths of his consciousness a long time ago. Perhaps because he didn't wish to recall the agonizing memories that came with your voice, or perhaps because he needed to maintain a pristine, untouched image of you in his psyche.

As you occupy a vacant stool one seat away from him, your attention is drawn to the half empty vodka bottle in his grasp.

“You know, I talked to your therapist. He said you were getting sober.”

What you said held true, except you didn’t hear it from his therapist directly; Ijichi was the one who was initially informed about that, and being the caring person he was, he relayed the details to you. Mostly because he felt as if, deep down, you still wanted to know about Gojo’s well-being.

"What are you doing here drowning yourself in alcohol?" you added, seemingly concerned for your ex-boyfriend.

He looked up at you, his eyes red and bleary from the drink. His body froze. Blue pupils dilated in a mixture of shock and happiness. It really was you. Had you come back for him after all this time?

"What does it look like I’m doing?" he muttered, his voice bitter and angry.

Satoru detested alcohol; it always interfered with his abilities, and being the strongest meant being ready whenever – no questions asked. After your departure, though, he grew fond of the bitter, burning feeling the liquid provided. That sweet poison was the sole substance capable of muffling the eternal pessimism plaguing his mind.

You approached him cautiously, taking the bottle from his hands and setting it aside. "Come on," you said firmly, "we need to get you home."

He wasted no time to speak what was really on his mind. Even if it was for a mere second, he had felt the sensation of your touch once more. That was more than he needed to vocalize the thoughts that tormented his sanity. Either that, or it was the alcohol he had consumed speaking.

“Why won’t you love me back?” His words slurred, being far too drunk to care, though.

“…You’re drunk, let’s get you home.”

“What home? The one I bought for us that YOU left me all alone in?” he deadpans, the silence following being as deafening as a scream.

Ouch.

“My room feels so empty if you’re not there. I see your precious face and I don't know what to do.” His expression dampens with anguish before he continues – somewhat unclearly, ”whatever I do, I cam’t fubking get you out of my head amd it’s ruining me.”

“I told you to move on a million times every time you drunk dialed me, Satoru.”

“If that’s what you wanted, why did you continue to pick up the call?” He retaliates, eyes glazed with forbidden tears on the verge of cascading against his pale skin.

You knew perfectly well why. He knew perfectly well why. Everyone Satoru vented to about you knew why, so why continue to deny it?

Attempting to keep your temper in check, you take a deep breath, eyes darting back and forth between the door and him. It was more than easy to run away from your problems, like you always did. But not this time.

You owed it to him to at least finally stick around long enough when things got tough. You wouldn’t put up an invisible wall between the two of you anymore, not today.

You sigh, taking the empty seat right next to him.

“We can’t go back to how things were. We broke up, remember?”

“I know,” he grumbles, taking a sip of his beverage. He shook his head, his drunken state making it almost impossible to focus his thoughts or his vision. “But maybe drinking will make me forget that we ever did. Maybe tonight I can pretend we’re still together,” his voice and face etched with sorrow.

His voice trailed off, followed by another long sip of his drink.

“You need to quit drinking yourself into a stupor, Satoru. This isn’t healthy,” you responded, voice softening out of concern.

His eyes still clouded with alcohol, he looks at you before speaking. “I don’t know how to move on.” He admitted, voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to live without you. I loved you…and I still do.”

He silently weeps once and for all, crumbling before the love of his life. You didn’t know what else to say, so you settled on simply allowing his head to rest on your shoulder; you always were his favorite shoulder to cry on, after all. Wrapping an arm around him, you pet his head as you lull him. Instinctively, he envelops you into a warm embrace, face burying itself deeper into your chest.

As he continued to sob like a baby, the sorcerer allowed his emotions to flow freely – months of bottling them up into liquor bottles had finally caught up to him.

He was beyond ecstatic underneath all the melancholy; not only had you allowed him to get closer to you, but even went as far as hugging him too. He couldn't believe it. Just a few moments ago, you were talking about forcing him to move on, but now – you were actually back in his arms, where you belonged.

He felt relieved for a moment, almost to the point where he wasn't thinking properly anymore. You were finally back in his arms, where you needed to be; he refused to let go.

It felt like a fever dream, but this was all he needed. Even if you’re gone, morning come, he’ll live in this moment for the rest of eternity.

#✰ gojodagoat is online #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru angst #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satorugojo

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tiredfox64 · 17 days

Note

Hi!!!! I loved your bi-han x chubby reader stories and wanted to make a request please!

I was hoping to request a Smoke x chubby reader where the reader is a baker of Madam Bo's and is the sweetheart of the village and Insecure about her body. The rest would be up to you. Please and thank you!

Sweet Honeybuns

Prior notes: Mhm mhm I like this. Good energy. Love when I get to project myself. I love that man I just know he would love to cuddle a woman like me

Pairing: Tomas x Chubby Baker! Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: I'm sorry if you start craving my b

Oh, that face. That beautiful face of yours. Those gorgeous eyes that he could get lost in. Those adorable cheeks that he would love to caress and kiss. That lovely, plump body of yours. The way your hips move hypnotizes him. You move throughout the bakery part of the tea house swiftly, trying to put more cakes in the display window. Your hair was put up nicely to prevent it from blocking your view and getting in your face. Your pretty, well-kept fingers were wrapped around the whisk as you began to beat the egg whites before adding the other ingredients in to make the perfect meringue. Tomas already knew you were making your meringue cookies since you make them every Wednesday. He loves your meringue cookies, they’re as sweet as you. He loves everything you make. Oh heavens, he loves you.

“Tomas!” Kuai Liang yelled right into Tomas’ ear.

“Huh?!”

Tomas was spooked at first before he started to blush hard. He was caught in the act again. He was caught staring at you with that lovesick expression. Elbow resting on the table, chin resting on his hand, the generic lovesick boy pose. We can’t forget about that dopey smile. It’s a shock that he wasn’t swinging his feet. Kuai Liang knew what was going on. Everybody in the Shirai Ryu knew. If they go to the tea house at least once with Tomas they get to see him go into that daze again. Every single time it’s like clockwork.

“You should ask her out soon. It won’t do you good if you continue to keep your feelings in.” Kuai Liang suggested.

Tomas immediately nodded his head no. He really, really, REALLY likes you. But he’s afraid that you will reject him. It’s a normal fear. He thinks you are out of his league. You’re just too sweet. You probably already have a line of men ready to be your boyfriend. You’ve already captured the hearts of many with your baking. With the addition of your kind personality, you’re basically as sweet as the cannoli you make. You’re a sweetheart in everyone’s eyes. To the men and women, young and old. Everybody must want a chance with you. They must all be as desperate as Tomas is.

Though there were few who were interested in you, you had your heart set on one man. Your heart was set on Tomas. He was so kind to you and he brought you so much joy to your week. He took the time to talk to you. It didn’t matter what there was always something to talk about. It would go on for so long that Madame Bo would have to yell at you to get back to work and she would scold Tomas for distracting you. Though she found it cute how you two were so lost in conversation. She encouraged you to establish a relationship with him but you always said you can’t, you just can’t.

Truth be told you so badly wanted to ask Tomas out but you were afraid of many things. You were afraid of rejection, fair enough. You were afraid of making things awkward between you two and that you would see him less after that, that’s also fair. Lastly, you were afraid that he wouldn’t like you because you are…chubby.

Now hold on just a sec, that’s not fair to you.

Yes, you were worried he wouldn’t like a girl like you cause of your body type. You looked at yourself negatively. You treated your stretchmarks as if they were a curse. You believe cellulite is unnatural. You think you need a thigh gap to get his attention. You feel like your belly will scare him away.

Oh poppycock! Excuse my language. But what you think, and I’m saying this because I care about you, is bullshit. Imma prove your sweet ass wrong.

You saw Tomas coming your way. He gave you a quick wave and you gave him a smile. Gosh, his heart might explode after seeing that.

“There’s my favorite man. What can I get you for today?”

Yup, his heart just exploded. He loves that you call him your favorite man. He’s not just another customer to you and that makes him feel special.

“Can’t I come up to talk to my favorite lady without having to buy anything?” He teased. Now your heart was exploding. He is smooth when he isn’t trying.

“I would allow you to do that but you know how Madame Bo gets when I stop working.”

“Fine, I’ll bite. Do you have anything special this week that you can offer to your favorite man?”

“Well we have coconut cream pie, flan, conchas, baklava, peach cobbler, liu shao bao, bublania, tiramisú,” on and on you went.

That’s something else he likes about you. You have desserts from all around the world. But damn does it make it hard to decide what to buy from you. He lowered his head as he struggled to pick something from you. Pick for him, the man is struggling.

“How about I get you some flan? I think you will like it.” You walked over to the display window, pulled out the flan you recently made and cut him a big slice.

You brought him the plate with that delicious, syrupy goodness on it. You scooped him a piece of it and tried to feed it to Tomas. You looked so adorable to him at that moment. Looking up at him with doe eyes while waiting for him to open his mouth. He opened up and ate the bit of flan that was on the spoon. The creamy custard was practically melting in his mouth with the caramel top hitting his tongue soon after. He just found his new favorite dessert.

“I love you.”

“Huh?”

“I mean I love it!”

Tomas stumbled over his words. He meant the first thing he said but also didn’t mean to say it in that moment. The goodness of the flan messed with his mind and made his heart swell with love for you. You know what they say: the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You already captured his heart a long time ago but this instance made his heart become caged by you. You will never release it even though you never knew you had it before.

He asked you how much it was but you told him it’s on the house since he was so handsome. You sly dog, flirting with him effortlessly while he was already spiraling. You left him blushing while walking back to his table. The moment he sat and placed his plate down he rested his head on the table. It’s over for him. He’s so madly in love with you. You got him so bad he forgot to make an effort to ask you out while he was up there. Kuai Liang started patting his back. Brother needs to support his brother.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

It was near closing time. Most customers have left and almost all the waitresses were gone. Finally, some peace. You decided you deserve a treat after baking all day and serving customers. Time to munch on the mistake pile. The pile of slightly burnt cookies, lopsided muffins, and double-glazed bear claws.

You only really eat when most people are gone. If you give yourself a treat, even just a bite of a banana muffin, others think it’s typical of you. It’s tiring to hear people compliment your desserts only to immediately say you should slow down on eating them yourselves. You barely ever eat your own work since you have to save it for the customers. You know it’s unhealthy to make it a habit of eating your mistakes which is why you balance it out with healthy and balanced meals. You eat well actually. Yet some people think you intentionally make mistakes just so you can eat. How could people be so ignorant and rude when all you ever do is give. You give and give and they appreciate it but they still have something to say.

Whatever, you’re alone. You started nibbling on some cookies, enjoying yourself for a bit before turning around and seeing Tomas was near the counter. You immediately hid the cookie behind your back like a guilty child.

“Oh, I thought you would have gone home already.” You said.

“I would have but Kuai Liang said I had to do something or else he wouldn’t let me leave.” Tomas chuckled awkwardly as if it were a joke but it was serious. Kuai Liang would not let Tomas come home until he confessed to you.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you. You can keep eating your cookie if you want.”

You were hesitant to do so. You just nodded your head while putting the cookie away. Tomas got worried that he had upset you. He didn’t mean to be rude even though he did no wrong. He leaped over the counter to get closer to you and apologize.

“I’m sorry if I upset you—”

“No, no, it’s alright. I just…don’t like eating in front of people.” Your voice got quiet near the end.

“Oh, I’m guessing you get anxious?” He asked.

“No, I just…don’t like when people comment on my weight when I eat. I don’t want you thinking I'm a slob or something.”

That hurt Tomas to hear. He didn’t know people were making backhanded comments towards you. Now that he thinks about it even when he has stayed at the tea house for a long while he never saw you eat in front of anyone. He was hoping that you weren’t starving yourself throughout the day just to prevent people from making comments about your weight.

“I hope you don’t think you are one because you’re not. I could never think of you like that. How could I think something so negatively to a girl that I want as,” He paused for a second before finally having the balls to say it, “my girlfriend.”

You looked at him in shock. His girlfriend? You? Did you accidentally take a bite out of your “special” cookie because you can’t believe what you just heard.

“Me? Why me?” You asked.

“Why you? Why not you? You’re incredibly sweet and hardworking. I’ve never seen so many loving eyes on one girl before. Everything you say to me makes me want you even more. I was afraid a lot of people had their eyes on you and I was afraid I would lose you to someone else. That’s why Kuai Liang told me to confess now. I just really want you in my life. You’re the only girl who has made my heart feel like this—this tingly feeling that reappears every time I see you.”

His words were so genuine you found it difficult to disagree or fight back on anything. His eyes were practically twinkling as he looked at you, waiting for a response. He was nervous that you would actually reject him. He was picking at his nails and he was biting his lip slightly.

“You mean, you still want to date me even though I’m,” you pointed to your chubby belly.

“So?”

Yeah, so what?

Don’t break his heart. If you do, you end up breaking your heart as well. It’s as clear as the night sky that Tomas really wanted you to be his girlfriend. It didn’t matter your size. He wants to love you and cherish you. He wants to kiss and caress you all night long. Do us all a favor and accept his lovin. It will do you both good. You know you want it.

“Well, you got me there. I can’t argue with that. I guess you just earned yourself a girlfriend and some double-glazed bear claws.” You smiled widely.

Tomas was beyond happy. He immediately hugged you and started to kiss you all over your face. Gosh, your skin was so soft against his lips. He could do this for hours. But you’re right, he did earn himself some bear claws.

You both sat around, eating your mistake baked goods together. You both were all smiles. There was a warm feeling that resonated with you. This has got to be the best day ever. Well if it wasn’t for Madame Bo slapping the back of Tomas’ head and yelling at him to leave already and stop eating the sweets. He booked it out of there while laughing, promising to return tomorrow.

Ain’t he just the sweetest?

After notes: Halfway through I ate a coconut cream pie to get motivation. I don't even like coconut but it hit! I feel like a jackass for making flan the favorite dessert in this fic. Idk why I'm not sending subliminal messages to make y'all want it. Ah whatever. Adiós!

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barbiewritesstuff · 6 days

Text

Filthy COD squad fucktoy thoughts

@ravensmadreads / @feedthemadness-sweetie

This was written in 10 min. I've never played or seen much COD before but she's dragged me into this and then told me to post this here.

SMUT. MDNI.

----

Imagine being the squad's little fucktoy.

It starts with Ghost. Just a quick fuck when you need to but Gaz walks in and instead of stopping like you expected, Ghost tells him that either he joins or he fucks off and closes the door.

He joins.

After that Gaz takes you whenever sometimes with Ghost, sometimes by himself. Soap's next. Gaz mentions him and Ghost are using you for stress relief and one day he has a real bad day and bends you over the nearest surface and fucks you til you can't talk.

Except you can scream. And Price hears it. He thinks you're hurt, that something bad's happening but then he hears the moans, and the way you chant Soap's name and he gets jealous. He offhandedly mentions something about what he heard to the other guys, trying to fish for information, and they all look at each other weirdly, like they're hiding something. And you do the same when he asks you. Price feels kind of offended, he knows he's being kept out of something but he doesn't know what

Price opens the door with more force than he needs to. He's pissed. He's fuming. He's been pushed to the side on this for much too long.

He's hurt. Actually.

Gaz, Soap, Ghost and you are his squad. His family. And there's something going on that you're not letting him be a part of.

He sees the glances the boys throw at each other when he asks about you and Soap. And then, a week later, when you're holed up somewhere south of Porter Canal in a place where shit absolutely should not have gone south, he catches a glimpse of Gaz fucking you raw, fingers rubbing frantic circles on your clit.

He figures it out then, and it's somehow worse now he knows you're letting everyone have a go but him. It feels more personal. What about him doesn't do it for you?

He knows he's a good looking man. He's older, yes, but it doesn't bother him, and it's never bothered anyone else before. He's a high ranking officer, which proves he's trustworthy, responsible and a born leader, all things he's always been led to believe makes him a good choice for a mate.

And he always thought you liked him. You squirm when he flirts, you blush when he touches you... you masturbate in the shower when you think he can't hear, softly moaning his name. His first name.

It's not fair.

It's so unfair that when you land back at base, he calls you to his office, determined that if you won't give him what he wants, he'll just have to fucking take it.

---

He bottoms out into you, filling you to the brim. It's almost painful, the way he stretches you out and fucks you without letting you adjust.

"Letting everyone else have a go at you?" He grunts, "Singling me out?"

"Why's that?" He asks, pulling your hair back by the pigtail, "C'mon, love."

"I didn't --" you start, sentence cut in half by a loud, pornographic moan.

"Tell me."

"Rank," you spit out between screams. He's too deep and not enough. It hurts but not enough. He's everything and you want more, "Captain," you add, trying to make a coherent sentence with whatever words thoughts bump into your brain like a dvd pause screen.

Price scoffs, "Thought your captain wouldn't want you, pet?"

"Couldn't."

"Let me make something clear," he growls, "I decide what I can and can't do. I can, and I will, fuck you."

He slams into you.

"I will fuck you until I damn well decide I've caught up with the boys," he says, "And then I will keep going."

You don't respond, you're too far gone. There's only Price in the world now, jjst the feel of his cock hitting your g-spot over and over again. You've lost count of how many time you've soaked his cock with your come but you're sure it must be in the double digits now. And there's another one building up, slowly and differently, it feels stronger and there's a brand new pressure that travels down from your pussy until eventually, Price pulls out and you squirt, soaking his trousers in the process.

He chuckles, half in disbelief and half in mockery, "Any of the boys make you do this?"

"Never," you manage to say, "Only you."

"Make sure they know," he groans, turning you around on the desk by your hair so he can look you in the eyes, "Next time they fuck you. You tell them Price made you squirt."

"Yessir," you slur.

"Good girl," he says.

Price slinks down on his office chair, still holding your ponytail with a firm hand, and guides you down to kneel in front of him. You obey, eyes glued to his cock, slick with your juices.

"Clean me up, pet."

You don't react, his voice taking a second to reach whatever's left of your brain.

"I said clean me up," he orders, "You made the mess. You lick it clean."

He pulls your hair, practically forcing your mouth on his dick and finally you kick into gear, sucking, licking and nibling on and around his cock. He turns more vocal, allowing himself to moan every now and then when the back of your throat hits his tip.

There's a knock on the door and you still, Price's hand pushing you up and down his member at the same speed.

"Come in," he orders, making no attempt at hiding you, or disguising what's happening. Like he knows who's behind the door.

Ghost walks in, soft footed as always.

"You wanted to see me Captain?"

"No," Price says, "Wanted you to see her. My pet now. But I'll be nice... I'll let you share her still."

Ghost stays silent for a beat, the sound of you slobbering on Price's cock filling the silence in the room.

And then, quietly and filled with jealousy, Ghost replies, "Thank you, Captain."

"Make sure my property returns to me," Price says

#john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x you #cod x reader #cod x you

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joequiinn · 1 month

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PREVIEW | You Can Have My Hate | B.H. x reader

summary: Unfortunately, you got stuck with Billy fucking Hargrove as your partner for your final assignment in history class. Also unfortunately, Billy discovers you have a killer body underneath all those baggy clothes…

a/n: Billy is a disgusting little man and i love him dearly. as the title says, this is a preview of something i've been working on! the fic is already at 6.5k words and still isn't done, so i decided to put out a little snippet to see if there was any interest, so please let me know if you'd like me to finish the fic!

notes & tropes: fem reader, curvy + large chest reader, foul and suggestive language, canon typical Billy bullshit, awful behavior from both Billy and reader, minor allusions to sex but nothing happens (yet)

music inspo: Closer by Nine Inch Nails

preview wc: 1.9k

You let me violate you | You let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you | You let me complicate you

“Damn, little miss straight-laced,” Billy’s hooded eyes slowly crawled down your body, the corner of his mouthing pulled back in a lecherous smirk, “is that what you’ve been hiding under all those baggy clothes?”

God, you hated Billy Hargrove. Absolutely despised him with every fiber of your being. You knew you should’ve begged your history teacher for a different partner, should’ve gotten on your knees and pleaded for literally anyone other than Billy fucking Hargrove to work on this assignment with you. An idiotic football player or a bitchy cheerleader would’ve been better than this. But no, you didn’t beg and you didn’t plead, so now you were stuck, and god if this wasn’t about to be the worst couple weeks of your life.

Ever since Billy showed up in Hawkins at the beginning of last semester, you detested him. Everything about him screamed disrespectful, hateful asshole, and so having two classes with him meant you had witnessed your fair share of this behavior. Why so many girls wanted to fuck him and why so many boys aspired to be him was a mystery to you, because you could see from the start that he was a no good piece of shit.

But, in a way, you were lucky because you were literally a nobody. And nobodies went unnoticed, which meant not having to deal with bullshit from 90% of your peers. Hell, when your history teacher was pairing everyone off and told Billy who his partner would be, his response was an amused “who?” as if he didn’t believe this person - you - even existed. He had gone the entirety of the school year not having a single clue that you existed, and damn you wish it had just gone on a little longer. You literally had one more month left of senior year, one more month until you never even had to think about Hawkins High again, and the last thing you wanted was to spend half of that month in misery while trying to put up with Billy fucking Hargrove.

This assignment shouldn’t have even been worth shit to you, considering that your grade was nearly perfect and it was your last big project before graduation, but that’s where your history teacher hooked all of you - if this assignment wasn’t completed, then you guys wouldn’t be able to receive your diplomas. Or so he said to deter kids like you from flaking on it - you didn’t know if your boring old history teacher had that kind of authority, but you weren’t about to risk finding out.

And for kids like Billy? Kids who didn’t give a shit, who were already struggling to pass? The grade on this assignment was make or break. Not that it affected you any, of course - Billy could fail his senior year for all you cared. But shockingly enough, he was the one to make a point of its importance to you, the one to emphasize that he had to pass this class and graduate. It was curious to you, since you’d never once seen Billy care about school, but perhaps he was also beginning to feel the fire under his ass to leave Hawkins.

So, for the past week now, you’d been meeting with Billy at the school library, trying your best not to rip out your hair while you did the majority of the work. Hell, you could’ve told Billy just to fuck off and let you work on your own - you’d still let him put his name on the assignment and everything. But for whatever reason, you didn’t and so now you were subjecting yourself to tolerating his bullshit.

And that’s what you were doing right now, sitting across from Billy in the library and using every fiber of your being not to lose it on him. He had been particularly difficult from the moment he sat down, his foot bouncing impatiently and his expression condescending each time you tried to talk to him. He was making it very clear that he’d rather be anywhere other than here. The warm temperature of the library combined with your frustration at Billy was causing you to feel a little toasty, so you caved and tugged your large sweater over your head, leaving you in a tight, black tank top that left little to the imagination.

And said tight, black tank top is exactly what Billy was ogling, making you sneer and immediately regret taking off your sweater.

You never liked showing off your body, never liked the attention it drew you. You wouldn’t say you were self-conscious necessarily, you didn’t hate the way you looked in the mirror or anything like that. But you were very aware of how men looked at women’s bodies, and as someone who hated most forms of attention, you weren’t going to have any of that. So you wore baggy jeans and oversized sweaters, hid your frame under clothes that were always a size or so too big. It kept eyes and hands off of you, and you preferred it that way.

But damn it, it was so hot in the library that afternoon and you weren’t thinking clearly. You couldn’t believe your own stupidity - you just had to take off your sweater in front of Billy fucking Hargrove, a boy who only ever saw women as either sex pots or prudes. His lewd gaze was making you feel even more hot under the collar, but shit did you want to put your sweater back on already despite the heat.

“Will you please focus, Hargrove?” You begged in an exacerbated tone, trying to cross your arms over your chest in a way that wasn’t obvious while looking back down to the textbook open in front of you.

“You expect me to focus now, after you whipped those out?” Billy took such obvious joy in knowing that he was making you uncomfortable. He leaned forward on the table, his eyes once again traveling a salacious path down the curves of your body, “It’s Friday night, I got a pair of double D’s sitting across from me, and you’re asking me to focus on a damn essay?”

“Shut up.” You threatened between your teeth, trying not to raise your voice and draw attention. Your eyes were dark with frustration as you stared at Billy, who simply looked back at you like he didn’t give a damn, like he was just waiting for you to cave to him.

And how the hell could he tell you wore a double D?

You sank in your seat a little while attempting to cross your arms even more aggressively in front of your chest, feeling your cheeks growing red. Billy gave you that smooth, lazy grin that you’ve seen him use before, his eyes hooded as he leaned back in his chair. The feeling of his indecent gaze on your body practically made your skin crawl.

“Fine, Hargrove,” You quickly grab up your belongings and shoot to your feet, fumbling with your bag and sweater to make sure they kept your chest covered, “if you wanna be a prick who won’t focus, we’ll do this next week.”

You started to march out of the library, to retreat to safety. You didn’t like the way Billy was looking at you - it was objectifying and disrespectful and vulgar. Billy never once gave a fuck about - or even noticed - you before, but the second you remove a stupid barrier of clothing, suddenly he’s oh so interested. He was such a pig.

But shit, why was it also… kind of hot?

No, it was not hot.

You couldn’t let yourself even entertain that thought because there sure as shit wasn’t anything hot about it. It wasn’t hot that he objectified you, it wasn’t hot that he drank your body in with impropriety, it wasn’t hot that his tongue ran slowly along his lower lip as his eyes met yours with practiced allure.

No, no, no! You could’ve kicked yourself. Nothing about that should’ve been hot, god damn it.

“Oh, come on, killjoy,” Billy grabbed your wrist, spinning you back around to face him, having followed you through the library. His grip was firm as you looked between his face and hand and back again.

The library wasn’t exactly busy on a Friday afternoon, but you looked around to find that the librarian and another student both looked in your direction. It made you even more nervous to know that eyes were on you; what if you got in trouble, what if the librarian reprimands you both for being disruptive? You looked back to Billy, your brows furrowed in annoyance as you whipped your wrist out of his hold with hostility.

“I’m serious, if all you want is to slack off and look at my tits that’s your business.” You immediately clamped your mouth shut, your eyes widening slightly - that is not what you meant to say at all. Oh god, why the fuck did you say that? Shit, you should’ve just told him that you’d regroup next week, that you weren’t going to put up with him. But no, instead you said arguably the stupidest thing you could, and it was clear on Billy’s face that he was relishing in your stupid words, enjoying them even.

He looked back down at your body, luckily hidden behind your bag and sweater, “My business, huh? Sounds to me like permission to stare.”

“No.” You answered firmly; your cheeks and neck felt so fucking warm. You tried to get back on track, tried to shake off the stupid thing you said just a moment ago, “I just want to finish this project. So, go home and jack off to your Playboys all weekend, and then maybe we can actually get some work done next week.”

Despite your jabs, Billy still grinned wickedly, dipping his head a little as he took a step closer, his voice low, “So, that’s what you’re thinking about, huh? Me jacking off? You enjoying that thought?”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to find some quick response to that, but you couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. A sound of disbelief left your throat as you gaped with loathing at Billy for a moment. God, you felt like a damn fish trying to breathe out of water. With a glare in your eyes, you clamped your mouth shut, which seemed to be a great amusement to Billy, whose smile widened as a laugh escaped him.

“God, you make it so easy.” He said, shaking his head, “You gotta lighten up, you know?”

You sigh loudly, eyes still staring at him harshly, “Whatever, Hargrove.”

You attempt to walk away once more, but yet again Billy snatches your wrist, “Wait, wait, wait…”

“Stop acting interested in me all of a sudden,” You try to shake your arm out of his hold again, but this time Billy’s grip is tighter, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Look,” his tone was firm as he instructed, “let’s go back over to the table, get some more work done, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you studied his face, “I don’t need a ride.”

“You don’t have a car.” He countered immediately.

“I don’t need a ride from you.”

“You don’t, but isn’t it generous that I’m offering?”

“More like devious.”

“I’ll be a total gentleman.”

You laughed right in his face, “You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

#billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x female reader #stranger things

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punkshort · 4 months

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look what we've become - ch.10

Chapter Summary: Tommy and Maria get married.

Chapter Warnings: language, marriage/wedding ceremony, mentions of pregnancy, so much fluff, so many feelings, soft joel, alcohol, talks of pregnancy, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk

WC: 7.1K

A/N: The finale is here, my friends! I want to say a quick thank you to all of you who came back week after week. All of your support means the world to me and encourages me to keep writing. I hope you find the ending is satisfying for these characters, I did my best to stay true to the story I've created here. It is very fluffy and maybe a little cheesy but I think these characters earned it. Enjoy ❤️

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter

"Oh my god, I'm so nervous," Maria said, staring at herself in the mirror as you helped apply her makeup. There was just an hour left before the ceremony, and the butterflies were finally beginning to get to her. "Fuck, I wish I could drink." You laughed as you leaned forward to apply more blush to her cheeks.

"What's there to be nervous about?"

"Oh, I don't know! Declaring your undying love for someone in front of every single person in the entire town while trying not to throw up?" she said sarcastically, her voice taking on a panicky tone.

"You'll be fine. When you see him, I'll bet you anything, all of that shit will just melt away and it'll just be you and him. No one else matters," you told her, holding her gaze and watching your words land. "He loves you so much, Maria. You two are perfect together. There's no reason to be afraid."

She just stared at you, dumbfounded, as she listened to your little speech.

"Not to take away from all that, but that's pretty impressive coming from someone who had a fear of marriage not too long ago," she teased. You rolled your eyes and turned around to pick up the mascara.

"Well, maybe I had a best friend who was nice enough to knock some sense into me," you told her with a smirk. "Now tilt your head back and open your eyes up super wide," you told her, dipping the wand into the tube several times, hoping there was enough product left over to make her look perfect.

"Ugh, when's it gonna be my turn," Carrie said with a pout, waltzing into Maria's living room with a glass of wine in her hand. You glanced up at her and stifled a laugh.

"You better slow down, it's gonna be a long night," you warned her, but she just waved you off as she collapsed into the recliner.

"Seriously, though. What's Jake waiting for? We've been together for ages and I'm not getting any younger," she said, taking a sip from her glass.

"Have you talked about your future together?" Maria asked, still staring up at the ceiling as you applied another coat of mascara.

"Yeah, but he's just taking forever. I wish I was like you and didn't care," Carrie said, nodding in your direction. Maria's eyes locked onto yours and you shrugged.

"Oh, yeah. I told her a long time ago," you said sheepishly, and she shook her head lightly.

"Well, if she knows everything, then I guess it's okay if I tell her you want to get married now?" Maria asked defiantly. Your eyes widened and you pressed your lips into a thin line when you heard Carrie jump up and clap her hands.

"I knew it! I knew you'd come around! Can I be a bridesmaid?" she asked, and you nearly dropped the makeup in your hand.

"Whoa, slow down! Joel doesn't even know how I feel about it, so let's keep this super fucking quiet, okay?" you told her, giving her a stern look. She nodded and pretended to zip her lips, but you pointed menacingly at her. "Promise me, Carrie. Don't say a goddamn thing."

"I promise!" she said, holding her hand up in defeat, the other still clutching her glass. "But why haven't you told him?"

"What am I supposed to say? 'Oh, remember all the hell I put you through? Yeah, that was all for nothing, I changed my mind, let's get hitched?'" you said sarcastically before putting the mascara away and giving Maria a hand mirror.

"I'll bet if you said that, he would totally be on board," Maria said with a laugh before handing you the mirror back.

"Well, why don't you ask him to marry you instead?" Carrie offered, staring at her nails and frowning at the chipped paint. Your jaw dropped at the suggestion.

"Oh my god, I can't do that!"

"Why not? What does it even matter? I bet he'd love it," Carrie said, looking back up at you. You slowly shook your head and then Maria chimed in.

"How do you know he isn't planning on asking you already?"

"Now? I really doubt it," you scoffed.

"You never know," she told you, standing up to fix her hair before glancing at the time. "Enough about you, it's my day so let's get me into my dress."

You laughed and followed her to her bedroom.

"Man, you are really bossy since you've gotten pregnant, you know that?" you said with a grin, and somewhere behind you Carrie giggled.

"Newsflash: I was bossy before. Now wait here so you can zip me into this damn thing because if I don't fit, I'm going to scream."

Maria had always wanted to get married outside, but it was almost November and the weather refused to cooperate any longer. She made sure to jokingly blame you for it as often as she could, claiming if your damn bones would just heal faster she might have been able to pull it off. But once you saw how beautifully the town hall was decorated, you almost wanted to tell her she owed you one because you couldn't possibly envision anything looking better outside. Carrie and Ellie had pitched in to help, and they made a stellar team.

The altar was a repurposed garden arch trellis painted white and adorned with mostly paper flowers, considering the time of year. Apparently, some of the older kids in Ellie's art class helped to make the flowers, and they looked absolutely stunning. They used whatever material they had on hand: some tissue paper, some fabric from torn up clothes, and even some paper bags that they ended up painting and dusting with glitter. It was so impressive, you made a mental note to compliment Ellie on it later.

An old, worn rug had been rolled down the aisle with loose flower petals disbursed on top, leading up to the altar. White candlesticks were being lit behind it on the table where most of the meetings took place, a beautiful white tablecloth covering the length of it.

"It looks really great out there," you whispered to Maria, who was hiding in the bathroom, pacing nervously across the floor.

"Yeah? Are they almost ready?" she asked, eyes wide and anxious.

"They're lighting the candles now, so I'm guessing the guys will be back here any minute," you told her with a reassuring smile. "Calm down, Maria. You look absolutely beautiful. There's nothing to worry about."

"Thanks," she said quickly, but continued to pace. "What if I'm making a huge mistake? Oh my god..."

"You aren't! Stop it!" you scolded her, holding out your hands to try to stop her from moving around so much. "You and Tommy are perfect together. I promise you, once you see him, all of your nerves are going to disappear."

She looked at you, trying to force herself to calm down and listen, but her chest was still rising and falling much quicker than usual.

"Besides, it's a little late. You're having his kid," you joked, glancing down at her belly. She furrowed her brows at you for just a second before dissolving into a fit of laughter, gripping the sink to hold her up while you crouched on the ground, laughing and holding your dress up around your knees, trying to catch your breath.

"I'm sorry!" you said, wiping a tear away. "I had to!"

"I'm gonna get you back for that one day," she said, finally getting ahold of herself, still clutching her stomach. "But I needed that. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I take my job as maid of honor very seriously," you told her, giving her a fake salute.

A sharp rap on the door made both of you swivel your heads towards the sound.

"They're linin' up out here," you heard Joel's low drawl filter through the door. You glanced at Maria and grinned.

"You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she said, a nervous smile spreading across her face. You pulled her in for one quick hug before heading to the door. You cracked the door open and squeezed out, shutting it behind you quickly so nobody would get a sneak peek of the bride.

Joel was standing a couple feet away, fiddling with his cuffs, his back to the door. When he turned around to look at you, you could have sworn time stood still.

He was wearing a black suit and white shirt underneath, no tie per Maria's request, with the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He grinned as his eyes raked up and down your body, trying to express his appreciation over your dress, but you were still transfixed by the sight of him. You weren't sure if it was the paper boutonniere pinned to his lapel that made the difference, because you had seen him in a suit countless times in the past, or how he took the extra effort to trim his beard and style his hair, but something about the moment sent your mind into overdrive. Carrie's words from earlier in the day kept repeating in your head: why don't you ask him to marry you instead? And you were so caught up in the moment that you almost considered it. You wanted him looking like this for you. And you wanted to be nervously pacing the bathroom for him. All of a sudden, you wanted it so badly that you couldn't think about anything else.

"You look beautiful," Joel murmured, giving your cheek a quick kiss, completely oblivious. You managed to give him a shaky smile in return before curling your arm around his as he led you over to the back of the wedding party line. You stared straight ahead, vaguely listening to Jake and Carrie in front of you chatting quietly, your mind still reeling. Where did this come from? Why couldn't you have felt like this a few months ago? Why did you always have to complicate everything?

"She all set in there?" Seth asked you, his hand on the bathroom door. You nodded.

"Yep, she's ready. You can go in and get her once Tommy's gone."

You thought you had gotten yourself back on task but when Joel began to lead you down the aisle and your eyes locked with various friends and neighbors as you slowly made your way to the altar, your heart began thudding so loudly in your chest that you were sure everyone could hear it, even over the sound of Bill playing the piano to a familiar ballad you couldn't quiet name. Your grip on his arm tightened a fraction and you felt him glance over at you.

"You okay?" he whispered.

You didn't trust yourself to look at him, so you just gave a quick nod, staring straight ahead at Frank, the town's officiant. Fortunately, you were almost at the altar, so he let you go, giving you a chance to breathe. He went to stand next to Tommy, and you next to Carrie. As you turned to await Seth and Maria, your eyes found Joel's and you felt your throat tighten at the sight of him next to the beautiful archway. You might have been wrong, but you could have sworn you saw something in his eyes when he looked at you this time. His lips parted like he was suddenly short of breath and the grip he had on his left wrist tightened.

When Bill suddenly changed tunes and all the guests stood from their chairs, you dragged your eyes away from Joel, watching with a smile as Seth led Maria down the aisle. She looked a lot more confident now that she was making her way to Tommy, who was doing his best not to shed the tears that had been threatening to fall ever since he walked into the building.

You tried your best to listen to Frank, but your eyes kept drifting past Tommy and Maria and landing on Joel, who appeared to also be having a difficult time paying attention. He shifted his weight and he took a few deep breaths, but he could feel your eyes on him and he couldn't focus. He just prayed when the time came to hand over the rings, he wouldn't be completely distracted because the last thing he wanted to do was let his brother down on his big day.

Joel risked a glance in your direction when he noticed you lean down to fix Maria's dress. God, you looked so pretty. Standing there at the altar in that beautiful dress and your hair styled perfectly. If he tuned everyone out, he could pretend it was his wedding instead of Tommy's. That all these people were here to listen to the two of you profess your undying love for each other, to celebrate you committing yourselves to the other. He told you he would stop bringing it up, but something about what you said last night and now the way you looked at him today made him decide he was going to break that promise.

Luckily, he snapped out of it when he heard Frank begin to talk about the rings and what they signified, so he reached into his jacket pocket, fingers dipping into the silky material. He felt the smooth metal then paused when he realized there was only one ring in there. Wrong pocket.

He pulled his hand out and tried the other breast pocket. Sure enough, he pulled out both rings and handed them over to Tommy with a smile.

As Tommy and Maria exchanged vows, you did your best to focus on their words, putting Joel out of your mind for just a few minutes so you could be present for your best friend. But as you watched Maria slip the gold band around Tommy's finger, flashes of Joel wearing a similar ring clouded your vision and you had to look away. Fuck, what was wrong with you?

Your eyes snapped back at them when you heard the guests all clapping and cheering as they sealed the deal with their first kiss. You quickly joined in, hoping nobody noticed the delay, then leaned down to move the train of Maria's dress so she and Tommy could make their way down the aisle. You watched as they reached the end of the aisle, giving each other one more kiss and earning another chorus of cheers when suddenly you heard Joel's voice in your ear.

"We're next."

You looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised until you noticed his elbow jutted out towards you.

"Right, sorry," you said, looping your hand through his arm as you let him lead you down the aisle, hoping that you didn't look as red as you felt.

Tommy and Maria greeted guests after the ceremony in the small foyer where you had previously lined up to enter the hall. It was absolutely packed, and you quickly got lost in the shuffle. At one point, you saw Ellie with a couple of friends from school, and you had tried to make your way over to them, wanting to tell her what a great job she did on the decorations, but you had gotten stopped by one of her teachers and you lost sight of her.

"If you had the time next week, I would love to have a chat with you about Ellie's participation in class. It's nothing to be worried about, she's still acclimating, and I understand that, but she just needs to learn that there is a time and place to voice her opinions," Mrs. Baker was telling you.

"Of course, I can stop by Monday if that works?"

"That would be delightful, dear. She's a very bright girl. I just don't think the other children in class need to hear about Napoleon's explicit love letters to Joséphine."

You bit back a laugh as you forced a serious nod and furrowed your brow.

"I'll make sure to talk to her," you assured her. That seemed to finally end the conversation because Mrs. Baker smiled and turned to find her husband, right as you felt someone's familiar touch wrap around your waist from behind.

"Hey, you," you said, twisting around in Joel's arms to look up at him.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look today?" he asked, his eyes dipping down to sneak a peek at your cleavage.

"You may have mentioned it," you said, draping your arms around his neck as you gazed up at him.

His eyes drifted around the packed room before looking back down at you.

"You wanna get outta here?"

You laughed, then stopped when you realized he was serious.

"Joel, we can't-"

"We got time before the reception," he said, dipping his mouth down to plant a kiss against your bare shoulder. "Look at this place. No one'll even notice we're gone."

"What did you have in mind?" you asked him, raising an eyebrow when he straightened back up. He shrugged and tried to hide his smirk.

"Thought maybe we could finish what we started last night in the shower," he said, leaning down to whisper in your ear. You felt a jolt at your center, and even though you knew you shouldn't, you caved.

"We can't be gone long," you warned him, and he nodded before leading you by the hand through the throngs of people towards the exit.

Joel was right. Nobody even noticed you were missing. The entire town was empty, save for a few kind souls who were keeping watch at the gates as you made your way quickly back home. You had barely twisted the lock on the door when Joel's mouth was already on your neck, pressing you up against the wood, his hands greedily roaming down your sides and around the back to squeeze your ass. You giggled against his mouth and managed to break away.

"So I wasn't ready last night, but tonight I am?" you teased, backing up towards the stairs as he stalked after you.

"Yep," was all he offered, and you grinned before grabbing his hand and hauling him as quickly as you could up the steps.

He crowded you into the bedroom, his hands trying and failing to figure out how to work your dress. You waved him off and took a step back.

"Let me take this off and hang it up before you ruin it," you said with a grin. Reluctantly, he nodded, his heated gaze watching you as you made your way backwards into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

You hurriedly removed your dress, leaving you in just a slip over your bra and panties, and hung it on the hanger you had left over the curtain rod earlier that day. You walked over to the mirror, staring at your reflection, trying to collect your thoughts.

Maybe you should do it. Maybe you should just ask him to marry you. Would that be so awful? Maybe Carrie was onto something.

You glanced around the bathroom, looking for something that could take the place of a ring. You saw an elastic hair tie of yours sitting next to the sink and you snatched it up, wrapping it around your wrist before taking a deep breath. You could do this.

Before you lost your nerve, you swung the door open, then gasped.

Joel was waiting for you, already on bended knee with a stunning diamond ring pinched between his fingers.

He was nervous. You could tell he was doing his best to hide it, but you saw how shakily his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed. His eyes were all soft and wide as they looked up at you from the ground, filled with such love and hope and vulnerability that it made you want to melt to the floor next to him.

"I know I said I wasn't gonna bring this up again," he started, his voice trembling, "but I can't help it. You just looked so beautiful standin' up there today and I couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you and me."

Your hands slowly came up to cover your mouth as your brows pinched together, trying your hardest not to cry so you could commit the moment to memory.

"I know you said you were scared. I'm scared, too. But look at what we've been through. There's nothin' we can't do when we're together," he said, taking a moment to swallow nervously as he watched you flick a stray tear away from the corner of your eye.

"My life began when the world ended," he told you after taking a deep breath, finally saying the words he rehearsed in his head a thousand times. "I've never felt like this 'bout anybody. You make me whole. You make me want to be a better man. You make me laugh and you drive me crazy and I wouldn't have it any other way."

You giggled as more tears clouded your vision.

"If you marry me, I promise I'll keep you safe. I promise I'll love you til the end of time. And I promise I'll never ask for anythin' in return because you're all I want. You're all I need."

You couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They steadily streamed down your cheeks as you sunk to the floor in front of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him before pulling back to look at him and nodded.

"Yes, I'll marry you."

A huge grin spread across his face when he leaned forward for another urgent kiss, his hand trembling as it gripped the back of your neck. He let you go just long enough to clumsily put the ring he was holding on your finger, and you had to blink the tears away so you could get a better look at it.

"I love it," you sniffled, looking up at him earnestly as you twisted it around your finger. "How long have you had it?"

"Months. I don't even know," he admitted, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making his voice shake. You grinned and looked down at the ring again, admiring how it sparkled even in the dim light of the bedroom.

"Oh, wait!" you said, suddenly remembering something. You pulled the hair tie off your wrist and wrapped it around his own. He looked down at it, confused, before looking back up at you.

"I was about to ask you to marry me but I didn't have a ring," you said, then giggled when you saw the expression on his face. "You beat me to it."

"It's perfect," he said, looking back down at his wrist before pulling you close again. "You're perfect."

He wrapped his arms around your middle and lifted you up from the floor, grunting when he straightened his knee, and walked you backwards towards the bed while his tongue invaded your mouth hungrily. You let out a surprised squeak when he gave you a slight push, causing you to fall back onto the mattress. You bit your lip and watched as he shrugged off his suitcoat before he began working on the buttons of his shirt.

"Wait! Don't let that get wrinkled, Maria will kill you," you warned him, and he rolled his eyes with a grin before stooping down to pick up the jacket. He draped it over the back of a chair and raised his eyebrows at you for approval.

"Thank you," you told him sweetly, but he just shook his head as he pulled off his shirt, giving it the same treatment as the jacket.

"We ain't even married yet and you're already bossin' me around," he joked, making you laugh.

"I hate to tell you this, but I've always bossed you around."

He chuckled as he shed the rest of his clothes before crawling on top of you, latching his mouth onto your neck while he ground his hips into yours, the sensation taking your breath away momentarily.

"That's alright, sweetheart. You can boss me around all you want, so long as I get to boss you around in here," he murmured against your skin while his hand drifted down your side and pulled your slip up and over your head. He sat back so he could kneel between your legs, his hands dancing over your skin as he took a moment to admire your body.

"Can't believe you're all mine," he said softly, almost like he was talking to himself. "I'm the luckiest man in the world, y'know that?" he asked, glancing back up from your body to meet your eyes.

"C'mere," was all you said, beckoning him towards you with your arms. He didn't need to be told twice. He fell forward, his forearms caging you in as you pulled him into another kiss, but this time it was more deliberate. Slower, yet still forceful as you tried to express all your feelings for him into one moment.

As much as you wanted to take your time, you knew you really shouldn't be gone too long from the festivities, so you reached down between your bodies to pull down your panties while your tongues still danced together. Without even looking, his hand instantly found the aching heat between your legs. You moaned into his mouth as his fingers dragged up and down your folds, your slick audible against his skin, making you blush.

"Fuck," he whispered as he pulled away from your lips. "So wet for me. You want me that bad?" he asked, lifting himself up so he could look down and watch as his fingers slowly disappeared inside your body, making you gasp his name and clutch his shoulders.

"No," you finally managed to croak out, making his movements pause inside you as he looked back up to meet your eyes. "I need you. Not want. Need."

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards and his fingers continued to stretch you open. He could feel you clench around him when he began to move his wrist faster, but then his thumb brushed up against your clit and you let out a filthy moan and he knew it wouldn't be much longer.

"C'mon, come for me. I wanna watch my future wife fall apart on my fingers like a good girl."

"Oh fuck, Joel," you whined, squeezing your eyes shut while your nails dug into his skin. With one more flick of his thumb he sent you hurtling over the edge, the wave of heat traveling up your whole body in a matter of seconds while you fought to catch your breath and stay present.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" he said with a chuckle. He slowly removed his fingers and you felt yourself twitch from the loss. He smeared your release over the tip of his cock while you struggled to come back down to earth underneath him. "You like it when I call you my future wife? Think you came just from hearin' that alone."

"Yes," you whispered, forcing your eyes open to look at him as he lined himself up against your opening.

"Good," he replied, dropping his hand to your hip as he pushed forward, entering you slowly, drawing out another moan from your throat. He had barely given you time to recover, but it didn't matter. "'Cause I like it, too," he groaned, falling forward when his hips met yours, bottoming out inside you.

"Y'feel so good," he whined against your shoulder, his arms squeezing you so tightly that you finally realized why he wanted to wait so long after your injuries. "Christ, missed this so much."

"Me, too," you whimpered into his hair, his clutch around you not letting up. "But Joel?"

"Hm?"

"I really need you to fuck me now."

He grinned against your shoulder and tilted his head up to look at you.

"Bossy," he said while simultaneously rolling his hips, making you sigh with relief.

"You love it," you moaned, eyes sliding shut as he continued to drag his cock in and out slowly, making sure you felt every inch while he yanked down your bra so he could wrap his lips around your nipple, flicking his tongue over it with an appreciative groan.

As your hands got lost in his hair, you felt your ring swivel around your finger, a gentle reminder that this was real. After everything you put him through, he still wanted you. He never gave up. He stood by your side and waited for you to be ready, no matter how badly it may have hurt him. You pulled him close as you blinked back tears, suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion.

"What's wrong?" he asked when he picked up on your sudden mood shift, his hips still rocking into you slowly, cock dragging heavily in and out, in and out. You wrapped your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles behind him, trying to get as close as possible.

"Nothing," you assured him, your hands sliding from his hair to grip the sides of his head, pulling him down for a searing kiss. "Just love you so much," you panted when he lifted his head a fraction to examine your face. Satisfied with your answer, his mouth crashed messily over yours again.

"Love you, too," he whispered into your mouth, your little gasps swallowing his words. "Love you so fuckin' much, can't wait to make you mine. Can't wait til I can call you my wife. Fuck, you make me so happy," he rambled as his hips began moving faster, snapping against you roughly, punching the air out of your lungs.

He felt you pulse around him, drawing him in as your teeth sunk into your lip. He adored how you responded to him, especially to his words. That it turned you on to hear him talk about marrying you instead of the visceral reaction you had a few months ago. Maybe it was time that did it, or maybe it was almost losing one another, but whatever it was, he didn't care.

You whispered his name and when he looked at you, with your eyes dark and your cheeks flushed, he felt like he was falling in love all over again.

"I'm here. I got you," he mumbled, and when your thighs tensed around his middle, squeezing him to the point where he could barely move, he knew. Two tears trickled down your cheeks when you came, his name sounding like a prayer on your lips, your nails breaking the skin on his sweaty back. The little bit of pain sent him tumbling over the edge, his brain almost not catching up in time to pull out as he spilled his release all over your stomach.

He rolled over with a groan, both of you struggling to catch your breath as you stared up at the ceiling.

"Do we really gotta go back?" Joel asked after a moment, and you giggled.

"Yes! It's your brother's wedding, Joel. How would you like it if he snuck off and never came back during our wedding?"

A stupid grin stretched across his face when he heard you say the words our wedding. It felt so surreal.

"I wouldn't care 'cause I'll sneak you away first. Don't know how I'll make it through the whole night, what was I thinkin'?" he joked, and you playfully slapped his shoulder, making him chuckle before standing up with a grunt. He pulled his boxers back on before heading to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth. As his fingers tested the temperature of the water, his eyes fell on the hair tie around his wrist and he smiled.

"Y'know I'm never takin' this off, right?" he asked, holding up his wrist as he walked back into the bedroom. You made a face and shook your head as he began to clean you up.

"Please tell me you're joking. That was such a dumb idea," you said, plucking at the hair tie as you spoke.

"Not dumb. I love it," he said sincerely, giving you a hand so you could stand up and begin to get dressed. "It's like my engagement ring."

"Men don't have engagement rings," you replied, rolling your eyes.

"Well, this man does," he said defiantly. You sighed, knowing it was a losing battle.

"Whatever makes you happy," you said before giving him one more quick kiss, then headed back to the bathroom to pull your dress from the hanger. Even though you teased him for it, you secretly loved that he wanted to wear the hair tie. Like he wanted the constant reminder already that he belonged to you, and you to him.

"Okay, I won't take it off, but I have to at least turn it around so people won't notice the diamond," you told Joel as you walked up the steps of the Tipsy Bison. "I am not going to steal attention on Maria's day. Those pregnancy hormones are insane, she might kill me."

"Fine," Joel replied before opening the door for you. "But startin' tomorrow, I'm tellin' everyone."

The two of you walked into the crowded bar, pushing your way through the throngs of people laughing and drinking and some dancing to the upbeat music being played over the loudspeaker. You spotted Tommy and Maria close to the bar, surrounded by neighbors giving them their well wishes. Tommy had his arm lovingly draped over Maria's shoulders with a whiskey in his other hand, and she had an unconscious hold on her stomach as she smiled and laughed at something Mrs. Potter said.

"Hey, there's Ellie," Joel said in your ear, drawing your eyes from the newlyweds. You smiled when you saw Ellie with another girl across the bar, sitting closely together on top of a table, their legs swinging over the edge as they spoke.

"Let's go see her, I wanted to tell her what a great job she did on the decorations."

You took Joel's hand and led him through the crowd, and just when you were a couple feet away from her, about to call out her name, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against the other girl's lips. You stopped short, stunned, but your presence must have been noticeable because she pulled back immediately, eyes wide and cheeks red as her gaze darted between you and Joel, panic written all over her face. She slid down from the table quickly and you could see the hurt that flickered across the girl's face when Ellie tried to put distance between them.

"Uh, hey," she said nervously. "It's not what-"

"Ellie, relax," you replied, cutting her off. "It's okay." You looked back at Joel. He still looked surprised but he was doing his best to collect himself. "We didn't know you were seeing anybody," you said, turning back to her. Ellie looked over her shoulder at the other girl, who appeared to be incredibly uncomfortable. She held her hand out after a moment, and the girl gave her a shy smile before taking it and jumping down from the table to stand next to her.

"Guys, this is Dina," Ellie said proudly, pulling her closer. Dina smiled and gave a small wave. "Dina, these are..." she trailed off, not really sure what to call you. You were about to rescue her and just tell Dina your names when Ellie spoke first.

"These are my parents."

You whipped your head in her direction, completely taken aback. You felt Joel grip your hand tightly and without even looking at him, you knew he was having the same reaction as you.

"Is that... okay?" she asked after a moment, suddenly feeling vulnerable. You quickly nodded and fought back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks.

"Yeah," you said breathlessly after swallowing the lump in your throat. "Dina, it's so great to meet you," you said, turning to the dark haired girl with a smile.

You heard Joel say something similar, his voice also thick with emotion, but you barely registered what he said. Your head was spinning with the life changing events from the past hour, completely overwhelmed with how everything turned out. Just a few short months ago, you were afraid you were going to lose everything, and now here you were, surrounded by your family, about to start out on a new chapter of your lives together.

"There you are!" you heard Maria's voice ring out over the music. You moved aside, standing closer to Ellie and Dina so you could make room for Tommy and Maria.

"Sorry! I had... a problem with my dress. I had to run home for a minute," you said, the lie rolling off your lips. You could see the look in her eye. She wanted to question you, but considering Ellie was standing right there, she let it go.

"It's fine. All you missed was everyone doing shots while I stood there drinking lemonade, having just as much fun," she said sarcastically, and Tommy chuckled at her side.

"Speaking of - let's get you both somethin' to drink," Tommy said, nodding his head towards the bar.

"Can I have a drink?" Ellie asked. You and Joel turned your heads towards her and at the exact same time, giving her a resounding no!

She rolled her eyes but exchanged a mischievous look with Dina when suddenly, your own teenage years began flooding back to you and you realized there was a pretty good chance she would get that drink, anyway.

"C'mon," Maria said, reaching for your hand as Joel took a step closer to Tommy, the two of them discussing their very strong opinions about the music choice. "I wanna show you-"

She stopped speaking and stared at you like she saw a ghost. The smile melted from your face as your brows furrowed, suddenly concerned.

"Are you okay?" you asked, glancing down at her stomach, but then you felt her hand clench yours tighter, the pad of her finger rubbing up against the diamond you had twisted around towards your palm. Your eyes shot back up to hers and you felt your ears turning red.

"Maria-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Her voice was so loud, you were surprised it didn't draw more attention. You felt the heat spreading to your cheeks and you glanced nervously at Joel, who was still trying to figure out the reason for her outburst.

You shook your head and grabbed her arm with your other hand, trying to shush her and explain quietly.

"It's your day, I'm not saying anything, don't worry!" you began, trying to ease her mind, but a smile just broke out across her face and you finally realized her exclamation was not one of anger, but excitement.

She looked at you, her eyes filling with tears, before looking over at Joel and Tommy. Joel finally seemed to figure it out and he slowly grinned, but Tommy continued to look confused.

Maria yanked your hand up and twisted your ring around so the diamond was showing, and you heard Ellie gasp next to you.

"Holy shit!" Ellie said excitedly, while Maria squealed and jumped in place before pulling you into a tight hug.

"We're gonna be sisters," she said softly in your ear, and you giggled, holding her tightly against you as you swayed back and forth. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tommy pull Joel into a hug and gave him a firm clap on the back, then Ellie bounced over to do the same.

"When?" Maria asked, finally pulling back to look at the ring again.

"Um, like an hour ago?" you guessed, your hand shaking as you held it out for her to inspect.

Suddenly, Ellie's arms were wrapped around you, and Maria dropped your hand so you could return the hug. You buried your face in Ellie's hair as you watched Maria give Joel a kiss on the cheek.

"Congrats," Ellie said when she pulled away.

"Yeah, congrats!" Dina added, and you laughed as you thanked them both.

"I knew it when I saw the way Joel looked at you that very first day in that meeting," Tommy said, and you broke away from Ellie to give him a hug.

"God, that was ages ago," you said with a laugh, but he just shook his head.

"Yeah, but I know my brother. He don't fall too easy, and you knocked him on his ass in a minute," Tommy said, pulling back with a kiss on your cheek.

Tommy insisted the good news called for shots, so he led you and Joel up to the bar and ordered three shots of tequila. While you waited, you felt Joel's hand around your waist and his lips against your ear.

"Is it bad that I already wanna take you back home?"

You grinned and turned around in his arms.

"We just got here," you said, tugging playfully at the lapels on his jacket. He gave you a look that made your knees weak and you felt your resolve crumbling. "Just a few dances and maybe we can sneak away."

He grinned, pleased with the compromise as Tommy held out the shot glasses to you both.

The three of you clinked your glasses together before downing the shots, wincing as the alcohol burned your throat on the way down.

Seth's voice shouted over the crowd that it was time for the first dance. You watched, Joel's arms wrapped around you from behind, as Tommy led Maria to the middle of the dance floor while a Johnny Cash song played over the loudspeakers. After a minute, Tommy and Maria waved their arms out to the crowd, encouraging couples to join them.

"Wanna dance?" Joel asked, his breath tickling your neck. You nodded and his arms dropped from your waist as you led him to the dance floor.

With one hand around the back of his neck and the other firmly in his grip, he led you slowly, his eyes drinking you in as you gazed up at him lovingly.

After everything you had been through, everything you both endured, you were exactly where you were meant to be: right in his arms. His strong, capable arms that would move mountains for you. That have done unspeakable acts to save you. That have cradled you and cared for you and brought you back to life, in more ways than one.

And as he held you close, you wondered how on earth you could ever have doubted what you have. Because Joel was right: there was nothing you couldn't do, as long as you were together.

A/N: I know I will probably get questions about it so I will just leave this here: I purposely left the option for children open ended. You can choose your own adventure ❤️

Tag List @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow @amyispxnk @plz-be-solo @iloveramensm @caitlynsixxx @anoverwhelmingdin @harriedandharassed @jessthebaker @txtattoostark @merz-8 @sarahhxx03 @oscarissac2099 @motherjoel @silas-222 @b3l1nd5 @rocket-raccoon-silvie @missladym1981 @angie2274 @maried01 @ashleyfilm @alltheotps @mybworlds @d1lf-loverrr

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memphisflash · 2 months

Text

𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: It's been a year since you've seen Elvis - he hasn't called or reached out to you once, yet you still can't forget about him. Summer rolls around and you find yourself back in Vegas, picking right up where you left things with the singer that brings the heat to the desert every year, and you can't help but fall harder and deeper...

Word count: 6,7K

Warnings: basically a smut fest. reader losing her virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), kissing after oral, somewhat uncomfortable first time for reader (that shit hurts, hello???), they fuck multiple times- woops.

A/N: I tried to keep it short and sweet, but anyone who knows me that's a damn joke, because I always get carried away HA. I kinda hate the ending but oh well, I had to stop somewhere. Hope y'all like it!

← part one | masterlist →

A whole year had passed since that night you shared such an intimate moment with Elvis.

He had asked for your number before the two of you said goodbye but you didn’t expect to hear from him. You didn’t, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

You didn’t want to become just another foolish girl that was completely head over heels for the singer, but you couldn’t help yourself, no matter how hard you tried.

He’d been on your mind every single day for that whole year.

You listened to his records, read everything the magazines printed about him and would even watch some of his movies to hear his voice. Your boss at the local art gallery you worked at in Tucson, your hometown, even caught you daydreaming a couple of times and snapped you out of it which was highly embarrassing.

The whole thing was embarrassing, to be quite honest.

You were in love with a man who was fawned over by thousands of girls across the globe and he most likely didn’t even remember you. After all, you hadn’t been the first girl he brought up to his suite in Vegas.

You hid those feelings well for your parents though, who thought you were just infatuated by the superstar and dealt with the amount of times you played his music through the house. Your father secretly liked it – you’d heard him sing along plenty of times when he thought no one could hear him.

But your best friend Emma knew better. She was the only one who you had told what happened between you and Elvis and like the supportive, and sometimes tad overly excited, best friend she was, she made it her own personal mission to save up for another trip to Vegas the coming summer.

You picked up a few extra shifts at your job and even babysat the children in the neighborhood and before you realised it, summer was there and you and Emma made the six hour drive to sin city.

Las Vegas was as exciting as ever. With Elvis’ residency being promoted like a summer festival, Elvis fans were everywhere – walking the strip to spot him or any of his entourage members, taking up hotel rooms in the numerous accomodations in town and shopping, dining out or seeing afternoon shows by other artists to kill time.

Vegas was thriving off of the tourists and if you could, you would want to stay here for the rest of your life. Despite your innocent nature, the sinful aspect of it all drew you in.

“What if he does recognize you…” Emma retorts to your worries as you lay side by side on a tanning bed by the pool of the International hotel. You two had booked so many months in advance that you were assured a nice room in the crowded hotel. “and asks you up to the room again. This is Vegas, baby, anything can happen!”

Emma grins widely as she looks at you over the rim of her sunglasses, wiggles her eyebrows and then laughs as she pushes them back up the bridge of her nose, reaching for her margarita. You laugh with her and sigh deeply as you watch some people in the pool splash around, chattering and hollering adding a nice atmosphere to the pool area. “Oh please, Em, I bet he won’t even recognize me. He’s been to other places for the past year and God knows what kind of girls he met.”

“You’re hotter,” Emma says matter-of-factly as she puts her drink down and lays back on the sunbed, soaking up the rays of the harsh Vegas sun.

“You haven’t even seen the other girls,” you snort softly, looking at her even though her eyes were closed behind her glasses.

“I don’t need to. I’m your best friend and I’m obligated to tell you, you’re hotter. And even if I wasn’t, I would still tell you the same thing.”

You couldn’t contain the smile on your face and let it spread across your features, playfully slapping Emma’s arm. She always knew just what to say.

Ofcourse you didn’t think you were ugly, but you would always compare yourself to other girls that seemed just a little more prettier. A little skinnier, their skin a little more flawless, their clothes a little more expensive.

Emma often talked you out of it though, because she was right when she’d tell you that wasn’t the way to live your life.

You did have to admit that your confidence had grown in the past year, even if it was just a smidge. Your boss gave you more responsibilities at work which had you come into contact with customers face to face more often, which included handsome business men and rough around the edges cowboys who came in to buy an art work.

They’d flirt with you more often than not and their blatant but sweet compliments even helped you with your blushing. In a way, you’d grown used to the men in Tucson, so hopefully you’d be the same around that one man from Memphis.

If you’d even meet him again.

“Okay, let’s say he knows who I am and he invites me up to his suite again,” you said, sounding a little more light hearted. “I think I wanna have sex with him.”

“You already did, Miss Foreplay.”

“That wasn’t.. sex!” you whisper loud enough for Emma to hear above her own laughter, gasping as you chuckled. You sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the sunbed, leaning in closer to your friend so nobody else was able to hear you. “I’m serious, Em. I want to.. I want him to.. you know.”

Emma pushed her sunglasses into her hair, turning her head to look at you. She laughed and rolled her eyes playfully. “You can say it, Y/N, it ain’t some kinda disease. You want him to pop your cherry,”

The way the word ‘cherry’ rolled off her tongue so sensually it had your cheeks heating up a little, but you quickly forced the heat back down, slapping your friend’s arm once more.

This time with a little more force, which made her pout and rub her arm.

“Don’t say it like that!”

“Fine. You want him to fuck you then.”

“Emma!”

The girl next to you laughed loudly and quickly avoided you before you could assault her poor arm again. You shook your head but laughed along with her – she was impossible at times, but you loved her like a sister.

You and Emma had tickets to several shows Elvis did at the hotel. You were staying for two whole weeks and would attend a few shows during the week, and every show during the weekend.

While getting ready for the dinner show that started at 7, the phone in your hotel room rang. The sound startled you a little, hoping it wasn’t the front desk with a noise complaint because you and Emma had been playing music while getting ready – and Emma was singing along in the shower, sounding like a dying cat.

You put your curling iron down after switching it off and ran into the room from the bathroom, picking up the phone. It was the desk clerk, telling you you had an incoming call from an individual named Jon Burrows.

You didn’t know anyone by that name, but thinking it could’ve been work related, you accepted the call.

But as soon as you heard that deep voice and that Southern drawl, you realised this wasn’t Jon Burrows.

“Hi Cherry,”

Your heartbeat started picking up, resembling something of a group of wild horses gallopping.

“Elvis?” You questioned, sounding breathless and in somewhat of disbelief.

He didn’t confirm, but you knew it was him. Especially when you heard his deep, rich sounding laugh which felt like a comfortable blanket being wrapped around you.

“Now why didn’t ya tell me you’re in Vegas, honey? I called your house and your Daddy told me you were already here, comin’ to see me..”

You looked at Emma as she wandered out of the bathroom, waving your hand like a maniac to the radio that was playing. She frowned but took the hint and switched it off, walking closer to you to silently ask who you were talking to.

“Well, I’m sorry, Elvis,” Emma immediately widened her eyes and sat down next to you, pressing her ear close to the phone. “I didn’t.. I didn’t know how to reach you..”

You mentally cursed yourself for such a lame answer, but it was the truth. You didn’t have his number, and in that whole year, he never called you.

At least, not to your knowledge.

“You comin’ to see the show? How long are ya staying?”

“Me and my friend will be here for two weeks, and yes, ofcourse we’re coming to the show. We wouldn’t want to miss it.” You made sure your voice sounded extra sweet and Emma nearly toppled over when Elvis said, “That’s my girl.”

“Don’t make any plans for after the late show tonight, honey. I want you and your friend to come to a little party, okay?”

Emma looks at you and immediately nodded yes. You agreed and after talking to Elvis for a few more minutes, he hung up to get ready for the show. You put the phone down and looked at Emma, who was staring at you with wide eyes before you two squealed like two teenagers.

“Oooh, that man wants you, believe me,” Emma smirks as she gets up and turns the radio on again, dancing happily through the room while getting ready.

As always, Elvis was amazing on stage – his moves making you feel things and his vocals were superb. He recognized you in the crowd and during the moment where he wandered through the crowd and kissed girls, he made sure to press an open mouthed kiss onto your mouth, his tongue playfully flicking against your lips.

You were already on cloud nine, fantasizing about what would happen during the rest of the night when you’d have him alone. You were praying that that party wouldn’t last very long.

It turned out the party was held in the dressing room and you nearly fainted at the sight of Cary Grant greeting Elvis when you stood next to him. They talked for a short while and you couldn’t even keep up with the conversation, so many things around you were happening.

Emma was standing across the room, talking to Charlie Hodge and by the way she was squeezing his arm and throwing her head back as she laughed, you could see they were hitting it off.

Good for her – Emma had horrible taste in men, often falling for the bad boys, but Charlie Hodge seemed like a nice man. And a funny one, because you could hear your best friend’s flirtatious laughter all across the dressing room.

Elvis and you didn’t talk much one on one, as there was always someone who came up to strike a conversation with him. But he kept his arm around your waist, because he liked knowing that you were still there, close to him.

To him, it wasn’t strange at all. He acted like you’d always been there, like you belonged to him and only him.

It sent your mind spinning, or maybe that was because of the two Cosmo’s you’d already had.

The party was nice – everyone was having fun, talking to each other, enjoying each other’s company and sipping drinks. But it was like Elvis could read your mind when he looked at you and leaned in closer.

“Let’s get outta here. I want to be alone with my sweet little cherry,”

The way he whispered in your ear nearly had your knees buckling, but instead you flashed him a smile and quickly nodded. Elvis slipped his hand into yours and as he signed to Red and Sonny he wanted to leave, the four of you moving out of the room. You exchanged one more look with Emma, who grinned widely at you and blew you a kiss, mouthing a “have fun!” to you before she disappeared out of your sight.

After walking through a few long hallways and a short ride on the service elevator, you arrived at the top floor of the International and you disappeared into the suite with Elvis.

“You know, I really missed ya, honey,” Elvis smiled at you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close against his chest, making you stand on your tiptoes a little due to the height difference.

Again, you wanted to ask him why he hadn’t called if he missed you so much but you knew better than to ruin the moment.

You hugged him back, telling him you missed him too and in this moment, you felt like he truly cared about you.

Like you weren’t just a fan, or just another girl that would tend to his needs for the evening.

“Why don’t you go take a shower an’ we can relax, hmm?”

It could sound so innocent, but with what you had planned for tonight, you knew it was the beginning of something very sinful.

Elvis led you to the bathroom and handed you one of his silk pyjama button ups, this time in a shade of crimson red. Once again, he didn’t give you the bottom half of the set but you didn’t mind it, nor protest against it. As he left you alone to take a shower in the other bathroom in the suite, you locked the door behind you and turned on the shower. You washed your body, making sure to leave your hair and make-up untouched.

Thank God for Emma who hounded your ass for making sure you were trimmed nicely – your bikini line, legs and pits waxed, only a little bit of pubic hair left on your vulva.

You turned the shower off after a little bit and dried yourself off, making sure to spray some perfume in your neck that you carried in your purse and sneaked into the bathroom. You put on the button up, leaving your panties on top of your folded clothes on the sink. You quickly brushed your teeth with the spare toothbrush in the bathroom and took a deep breath before you walked back into the bedroom, smiling shyly at Elvis who was already sitting in his bed against the headboard.

His hair looked like he’d just dry-blowed it, soft and fluffy. He was wearing his own set of pyjamas in black and the tan skin that was visible due to half of his top being left unbottoned made arousal slowly creep its way to the surface.

Talking turned to cuddling, cuddling turned to kissing, and kissing turned to wandering hands creeping up your top.

You were nervous, God how nervous you were, but this time you didn’t stop him when he cupped your breasts.

A soft gasp left you when he caressed his thumbs across your perked nipples. He looked at your face to see if he was taking things too far, but as he saw the flush on your cheeks and the way you were looking at him with pleading eyes, he figured he could go on.

As long as you did not tell him to stop, he wasn’t going to.

Slowly he got on top of you, wiggling himself in between your legs which you eagerly opened and wrapped around his waist this time. He moved his hands out from underneath your top, fingertips working quick as he flicked the buttons open one by one.

“Cherry,” he spoke softly, his eyes finding yours. “Have you been touched in the past year?”

The question rolled off his tongue so casually as if you were just making conversation, but it caused goosebumps to tingle along your skin. You looked at him and shook your head slowly, unable to control the heat that was crawling up your neck, reddening your skin.

“N-No..” you whispered, feeling exposed as the fabric of your top fell open, your breasts on full display for him. “Only by myself,”

You didn’t know where you’d got the courage from to say such a thing, but it slipped out before you could stop it. Elvis smirked, his hands back to cupping your breasts, squeezing them a little firmer.

“Is that right?” he hummed lowly, keeping his eyes on your face as he leaned in closer to your chest, his soft lips connecting with the supple flesh of your right breast. “Did ya think ‘bout me when touchin’ yourself?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, his tongue poked out to swirl it around your nipple. A gasp and then a moan slipped past your lips and you gripped onto his shoulders, arching your back a little.

“Yes!” you moaned out, perhaps a little more desperate than you intended to. “Y-Yes.. Always.. thinking about.. you..”

Your words came out breathless as he sucked onto your nipple softly and he grinded against you a little. You could feel the outline of his cock pressing against your folds and you were pretty sure you were staining his silk bottoms with your arousal.

Neither he or you cared and you grinded back against him, trying to rub your clit against his length.

Elvis could see the difference between last year and now. With those flushed cheeks, he knew you were still the same girl but there was a flair of eagerness lingering about you now.

You wanted him and he sure as hell was going to enjoy taking you, stripping away your innocence completely.

Just as you were about to reach out to unbutton his shirt completely, he was already moving lower onto the bed. His lips dragged over the curve of your breasts and along your stomach, his hands sliding up the back of your thighs to spread your legs and give him the view he’s been so eager to see all night.

Your perfect exposed pussy… right there in front of his nose. So beautiful, so pink, so untouched.

He looked up at you through his dark lashes as he kissed your inner thighs, grinning against your skin when he felt your legs trembling with anticipation. He could practically smell your arousal and it had him groaning softly as he rubbed himself against the mattress slowly.

You wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth on the most intimate part of his body but he decided to take things slow. He knew you were eager but he wanted you to experience it all, and he wanted to be the one who could make you feel this good.

His fingertips caressed through your folds, spreading your slick all over your lips before he pressed his thumb against your clit, adding a little pressure. You were looking down at him the whole time, not wanting to miss a second of this sight, and he loved hearing you moan softly the way you did.

By the end of the evening, he intended to have you screaming for him.

“My Cherry’s got such a pretty pussy,” he whispered as he grinned at you before looking down at your wetness glistening against your skin. He ran his middlefinger down your folds, slowly pushing it inside of your entrance. “All for me to play with,”

You gasped and gripped onto the sheets, your muscles immediately tensing up around his digit. He let out a soft laugh as he pulled his finger back before sinking it into you completely again. “Relax, baby. It’s jus’ a finger,”

Just a finger that already had you moaning louder, like a damn cat in heat. You moved your hands to your face to cover up your mouth and muffle your moans, and Elvis let you – for now. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, moving his finger in and out of you a little faster.

Then he added another finger and you were clenching around him so viciously, he was thinking you were going to push his fingers out of you at one point by just using your muscles.

The thought of feeling that feeling around his cock had him grinding against the bed a little more.

But Elvis wasn’t a quitter and he pushed the two digits deeper inside of you, fingertips curling inside of you and caressing that special spot. Your hands couldn’t contain your moans anymore and they once more found the sheets as you arched your back, spreading your legs wider.

He repeated the action a few more times, fingering you at a steady pace until he couldn’t take the sight of his fingers coming out so wet anymore. It was too tempting.

“Let’s see how sweet you taste, Cherry,” he smirked as he pulled his fingers out and grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing his fingertips into your skin a little to keep you still.

Without warning, he leaned in closer and dragged his tongue from your entrance to your clit. You gasped as your hips stuttered and he held onto you firmer, looking up at you as his tongue swirled slowly around your clit, before he gently sucked it in between his lips.

The sight was downright sinful.

But even though you couldn’t get enough of it, you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling into the back of your head as his tongue slipped through your folds again.

He put your legs over his shoulders, his hands moving up your sides until they found your breasts again. He fondled them lightly, pinching your nipples in between his fingertips softly as his tongue worked wonders on your eager pussy.

“Mmm, Elvis!” you moaned out freely now, unable to contain yourself. The sounds leaving you, the way you were moaning out his name, made you feel so… slutty.

And yet, you were loving every second of it.

He groaned against your skin, his hands slipping down to your hips as his eyes shot open and stared up at you. He wanted to see your reactions to his actions and make a mental reminder of it – the way your teeth sunk into your lower lip, the way your eyebrows knitted together. And the added roll of your eyes as he sucked on your clit was very much appreciated.

You didn’t know what an orgasm felt like. Sure, you had touched yourself but when that pressure would start building in the pit of your stomach, you stopped.

Because truth be told, you were nervous about it – scared even. And now that Elvis was the one who was causing the muscles in your tummy to tense up like that, you felt as if you were about to crawl out of your own skin.

Tangling your fingers in his now messy hair, you tried to get him to stop, tried to get away from him, but the raven haired devil wouldn’t let you.

He’s been between enough girls’ legs to know that you were close to falling apart. Could feel it by the way your thighs were trembling on his shoulders, hear it in the way your moans turned a little more high pitched, a slight hint of panic hidden on the back of your tongue.

You could practically feel him smirking against your clit as he slipped in a finger, pumping it in and out of you in a steady pace. There was a slight sting, though it was barely noticeable due to the orgasm that had you on the verge of tears.

You clamped your hand over your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut, your other hand still in his hair as he just wouldn’t stop while you were falling over the edge. If it wasn’t for Elvis holding onto your hips to keep you down, you were sure your hips would’ve lifted off of the bed with the way they were bucking upwards and you were writhing in the sheets.

You could barely recognize your own voice as you moaned out, Elvis’ name falling off your tongue like a mantra.

Elvis slowly loosened his grip on your hips and let you spread your legs, raising his head to look at you with a smug grin spread across his face. You pushed some of his hair out of his face and then let out a breathless laugh, running your hands through your own hair.

Elvis loved the way you were looking at him with those half-lidded eyes that held stars in them, cheeks flushed the way he likes.

“Jus’ like I thought, Cherry,” his whisper is low, his voice a little raspy as he kisses your lower abdomen. “Jus’ downright teeth rottin’ sweet,”

Your cheeks heated up even more as he crawled his way back up, kissing you, letting you taste yourself. It made you moan softly in his mouth, allowing him to take the pyjama shirt you were still wearing completely off.

In a matter of seconds, Elvis’ clothing pieces flung across the room as well, thanks to your greedy hands.

Foreheads pressed together, moans exchanged into each others’ mouths, Elvis thrusted his hips forward slowly as your small hand wrapped around his hard cock. You figured if you would do something wrong, you would know by his reaction, but now he seemed to enjoy it with the way his tongue was dipping into your mouth now and then, eyes closed as he grunted and his jaw clenched.

Elvis had planned to take his time tonight, but he couldn’t take one more second of foreplay. He wanted, needed, to be buried inside of you.

“Can I put it in now, honey?” He whispered as his eyes flutter open, looking at you with a small smirk as he remembered how a year ago you were nearly pleading for him not to put it in.

But tonight he could see how much you wanted it, there was no way in hell you’d put a stop to it now.

At least, he prayed you wouldn’t.

A sense of relief washed over him when you bit your lip and nodded, yet he still wanted to hear you say it. “Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes,” you inhaled a shaky breath, squeezing his cock softly in your hand as you loosely wrapped your legs around his waist. “I want you to be my first.”

You felt vulnerable speaking those words and Elvis smiled, fingertips caressing some hair out of your face and gently tugging it behind your ear. He pressed a kiss onto your lips and nodded. “I’ll be real gentle, okay?”

Slowly letting go of his length and having your hand replaced by his own, you put your hands on his upper arms. He didn’t rush it – didn’t push it inside of you at once, instead caressing the tip of his cock through your folds and rubbing it onto your clit for a little bit.

But it was going to have to happen eventually and even though you’d anticipated it, the feeling of his tip finding home at your entrance still made your muscles tense up and your nails digging into his skin a little.

“Relax,” he whispered, looking into your eyes before kissing the corner of your mouth. “Jus’ try an’ relax, or it won’t feel good, cherry,”

Truth was, it wasn’t going to feel good either way. Emma had already warned you about this, even going as far as to say she had bled when she lost her virginity.

God, how embarrassing would that be… although you doubted Elvis would mind it, because he seemed like an understanding man, but you still didn’t want it to happen.

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded, trying as hard as you could to relax, but it was barely working when he pushed himself inside of you at a snail’s pace. Inch by inch his cock disappeared inside of you, stretching you the way his fingers, or your own, never could.

He let out a deep groan that came straight from his gut as he finally bottomed out, having missed someone so incredibly tight engulfing him.

“E-Elvis… It h-hurts..” you looked at him with wide eyes, nails pressed into his arms so firm you were sure small crescent moons were created in his flesh but he didn’t stop you.

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, leaning his elbows on the bed on either side of your head, slipping one arm underneath your head to keep you close to him. “But it’ll feel better in a little while, ‘lright? Jus’ relax..”

You trusted him and you really hoped he was right, because now you were so full you could barely speak. He could see the tears twinkling in your eyes and as he lovingly kissed your cheeks, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, you melted into his arms a little more.

He held still inside of you for quite a while, letting you get used to the feeling of being filled with something the size of his cock – which, for the record, was definitely not small.

Perhaps someone who’d been so blessed wasn’t the right person to lose your virginity to on a physical level, but then again… go big or go home.

Emma would be proud of you.

And all craziness aside, you were happy that you were losing your virginity to Elvis Presley. Not because he was famous, but because he was so gentle and sweet, taking his time with you and being patient. It was good to have someone older, someone with experience who knew how a woman’s body worked instead of taking what he wanted and calling it a day.

This was truly a special and intimate moment and you were losing yourself into it more and more.

As you felt you were relaxed enough, you whispered to Elvis that you were ready and boy, were you wrong. The second he slowly and softly started thrusting into you, those tears that had blurred your vision were starting to roll down your cheeks. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him closer into your embrace which made him hide his face in your neck – you didn’t want him to see your tears, nor did you want him to stop.

A million of girls have been through this for centuries.

If they could do it, so could you.

“Don’t cry, honey,” he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck. Damnit, why does he seem to know everything? “Jus’ relax… Give all of yourself to me..”

He kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear and they helped you relax and your muscles to lose that tension – must be witchcraft, you were positive of it.

Step by step, slowly but surely, Elvis picked up the pace as he heard your gasps and soft cries turn into soft moans. The sting was still very much present, but the burning sensation had subsided and you were sure that had everything to do with the grunts and deep moans leaving Elvis, and the sight of him on top of you. He had pulled his face out of your neck again, his eyes boring into yours and while you usually hated eye contact this intensely and for so long, now you couldn’t find it in you to look away.

You were lost in those oceanic blue orbs and when he smiled that sweet smile at you, you couldn’t deny the fact that you were sickly in love with Elvis Presley.

It wasn’t just idol infatuation.

You were totally, completely, irrevocably in love.

Sex was a tricky thing to human kind. Some people used it as a meaningless way to get what they want or to meet their needs, and other people view it as something sacred, something meant to be shared with only that person who you love more than anything in the world.

You had no idea it could be this good, never believing Emma when she said that once you’d done it, you would only want more and more. You’d turn greedy, goddamn near feral because it was such a raw and primal instinct… perhaps that was why it was considered a sin.

You’d never think you would turn into one of those girls that would crave sex and felt like they’d just die if they didn’t get it. But Elvis had that kind of effect on you.

The sun had long risen over Las Vegas but the suite was still dark due to Elvis’ dark curtains being drawn. It must’ve been around 6 or 7 in the morning, but neither of you had slept a wink.

When he’d popped your cherry a few hours earlier, it had hurt. The second time you did it, there was still a slight uncomfortable sting. But by the third time, you were a moaning mess as he turned you around and pressed your face in the pillow, the sound of his balls hitting your clit with every thrust filling the room.

If it wasn’t for the sex daze you were in, you’d be embarrassed by the way you were already crawling onto his lap again after the both of you had taken a shower. Your limbs felt weak and Elvis felt the same, but you couldn’t help yourself and Elvis couldn’t deny you.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned as you straddled him and sunk down onto his length, your hands on his chest, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I created a monster.”

You laughed softly at his words as your cheeks flushed crimson, although that could just as well be because you were so worked up. Elvis grabbed onto your hips and pulled you down a little more, gasping as you fept his tip grazing your g-spot.

“O-Oh… Elvis..” you moaned, biting your lower lip harshly. “S-So deep.. like this..”

He smirked, moving his hands to your ass to squeeze your cheeks in his palms before landing a soft slap on the left one. “That’s right, baby. Can’t get enough of bein’ filled, can ya?”

You giggled softly and started thrusting, slow at first but quickly working your way up to a faster and more steady pace. Didn’t take long for you two to become a bunch of moaning messes once more, going at it like damn rabbits.

It had felt like Elvis had taken a piece of your soul from the moment he’d entered you for the first time and you willingly gave it up for him to keep. You had blossomed into a new person tonight – broken out of your cocoon, going from girl to woman.

Elvis bent his knees a little, heels pressed into the mattress as he grabbed onto your hips and kept you from moving. Instead, he took over and thrusted up into you in such a pace that you had to grip onto his arms to keep steady.

“Oh, fuck!”

He was surprised by the profanity coming from you, but definitely not disappointed. He liked his ladies soft spoken in public, but inside these four walls it was a whole different story. Those rules didn’t apply and especially not to you, because he enjoyed this side of you.

Added more fuel to his fire.

“Shit, I fuckin’ love that pussy,” he growled as he clenched his jaw, his fingers most likely leaving marks on your skin. You threw your head back and Elvis took the opportunity to watch the softness of your skin, he could’ve sworn he could see your heartbeat pulsing underneath it, and the way your breasts bounced along with his thrusts.

He wasn’t going to last long and neither were you with the way he was pounding into you, hitting the right spot every time his hips came up. You were moaning so loud that you wouldn’t be surprised if the downstair neighbors could hear the whole thing.

Though before the two of you could reach climax, he wrapped one arm around your waist and switched positions so fast you barely noticed it until you were laying on your back and he was pounding into you like a mad man. The beads of sweat that formed on his forehead, the animalistic growl that left him when he pulled out of you after a few more thrusts to release strings of cum onto your breasts and stomach was a sight to behold. This man was extraordinary.

You’d fallen over the edge right before he’d pulled out and you were clenching pathetically around nothing, wrapping your arms around him to keep him somewhat close, careful not to mess up the masterpiece he’d created on your skin. His lips found yours, kissing you for a little bit until he hid his face in your neck.

“I think I’ll keep you… My personal little Cherry,” he grinned against your skin and you scoffed softly.

“What am I? A puppy?”

He pulled his head back to look at you and raise an eyebrow, playfully nudging your chin. “Oh, she’s been fucked a couple of times and immediately has an attitude, huh?”

You laughed softly at his words, cupping his face to playfully squeeze his cheeks together. He leans into your touch and softly bites down onto your thumb before kissing it.

“You ain’t a puppy,” he said as he smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You’re jus’ a little baby.”

“I’m not a baby!” You exclaimed, pretending to be offended as you gasp.

He nodded his head and leaned his face closer to you, pecking your lips while he talked against your mouth. “Uh-huh, you are. A baby with pretty little feet and little red cherry cheeks,”

Instantly, you blushed and pouted against his lips, which made him laugh softly. “As long as I’m your baby, I’ll take it.”

You didn’t mean to say those words. They felt too bold for you to be saying and you half expected him to turn serious and tell you not to get things in your head, but instead he looked into your eyes and smiled.

“Ofcourse,” he said, patting your hair. “You’re my little cherry and I don’t like sharin’..” his fingertip caressed across the black star sapphire diamond engraved into the ring you were still wearing around your neck.

For the whole past year, you had not taken it off once.

“We should clean up and sleep,” you whispered, ignoring how his words had sent your heart aflame.

“I wanna get ya ‘nother present,”

He was already getting up and pulling you off the bed, letting you wander off into the bathroom to clean his cum off of you. This time, you left the door unlocked and seconds later, Elvis came in with his jewelry box.

“Elvis, no.. Put that away. Let’s sleep..”

“Honey,” he said sternly, although you could hear he was playful at the same time. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you closer to him and grabbed a ring, slipping it into your finger, looking at it and when decided he didn’t like it, he took it off of you and rumbled through the box to find another piece. “We can sleep when we’re dead.”

You let out a laugh and shook your head at his antics. While he was putting jewelry on you, from rings to bracelets, your eyes were on him.

This magical, weird, funny, sweet man that had the world at the tip of his fingers and probably one of the richest people in the country, and yet he had no problem giving away his gold as if they were pieces of candy.

You didn’t care about the jewelry, though. Or about the money, or about any of the luxury. All you cared about was the man next to you, a child like smile of excitement rooted on his face.

You didn’t want to think about it all ending, so you forced yourself not to. Because all that mattered was right here and now, and this night (and morning) of two people’s souls connecting the way they’d done.

They say you never forget your first time and you wholeheartedly believed that statement. How in the world could you ever forget Elvis Presley?

Taglist: @peaceloveelvis @notstefaniepresley @jhoneybees

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #tamwrites

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kaleldobrev · 11 months

Text

Come Back Home

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a relationship ending argument that caused you to leave the Bunker, you and Dean haven’t heard from/seen each other in over a year. Are there still sparks between you two? The better question is: Did they ever truly leave in the first place?

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Cursing (1x), Mutual Pining, Fluff, A bit of angst

Authors Note: Flashbacks are in italics | I had such a hard time coming up with a summary for this | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

It’s been over a year since you’ve last heard from or have seen Dean Winchester. The two of you were together for several years before eventually an argument erupted between the two of you, which ended in the two of you breaking up, and you leaving the Bunker; the only permanent home you had since yours burned down when you were a teenager.

“Y/N, why are you moving out?” Jack asked, as you were in yours and Dean’s shared – now former – bedroom. You were currently packing up a single duffel bag; a bag that had your entire life in it, a bag that you had been lugging around with you for as long as you could remember since the house fire.

Taking one of your shirts, you folded it up and placed it into the bag. You turned to look at Jack, a slightly sorrowful look on your face. “You know why Jack.” You didn’t want to move out, but you had thought that it would be for the best; especially since one of the reasons you had moved into the Bunker in the first place is because you and Dean had started dating. Before you had made the decision, Sam had told you that you didn’t have to move out, because him, Cas, and Jack had liked having you here. Even Dean – although the two of you were no longer together. But you had told Sam that seeing Dean every day – at least for now – was a little bit too painful for you.

“But everything is so much better with you here.” The last thing that Jack had wanted was for you to go. Ever since you moved into the Bunker, Jack said that it seemed more like a home. You had added so many personal touches that the Winchester’s never would have thought of otherwise if it wasn’t for you. Making an actual effort to celebrate every holiday – even the minor ones, implementing family dinners every Sunday, decorating for the holidays, hanging up pictures, and even having various house plants throughout.

You reached out for Jack’s hand and took it in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know Jack but…” You sighed. “Dean and I aren’t together anymore and I thought that it would be best for me to leave.”

“Just because you aren’t together doesn’t mean you have to leave. Sam said –” Jack started to say but you cut them off, knowing exactly what they were going to say.

“I know what Sam said. But, just because I’m leaving the Bunker doesn’t mean you and me still can’t talk.” You gave him a small smile and placed your hand on their cheek. Jack smiled back in return; their smile trying to convey understanding but hurt at the same time.

“Okay.” Jack said. “Can I hug you?” They asked.

“Of course. You don’t have to ask.” You said.

Jack and you hugged for what seemed like a long time; neither of you wanting to let go.

“Thanks Sam. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You smiled, sitting crossed legged on the bed with your laptop in front of you. You had just received some photos of a book that you knew that had been in the Bunker for a case that you were currently working on and had asked Sam to send you some pictures. Although the Bunker was about an hours drive from where you were working the case and Sam had even offered to drop off the books, you had told him that it was best for him to just send you the pictures. You had felt that seeing him in person would make you start crying, even though you knew he had wanted to see you.

“I already know what you’re going to say but, I just wanted to ask. After you’re done there, did you…did you want to come over?” Sam already knew that you were going to say no, but he had wanted you to say yes. Even though he talked to you pretty regularly and the two of you sent photos back and forth, he still missed you. Seeing you physically was a lot different compared to FaceTiming you.

“I can’t Sam.” You sighed softly, closing the laptop in front of you and pushing it to the side. “I mean…I want to. But…I don’t want things to be awkward between me and Dean.” Although you had regularly kept in contact with Sam, Jack, and Cas, Dean on the other hand you didn’t. It wasn’t entirely his fault though, as communication went both ways. There were countless times over the year where you had wanted to call him, text him, something. But each and every time the thought had entered your mind you turned to the comfort of alcohol or a warm body instead.

Sam sighed, knowing that you were going to say no. But there was a small part of him that had hoped you would say yes, especially because of how close you were. “I had to give it a shot right?” Sam held the phone in his hands as he sat in the War Room, open to one of the pages he had sent you pictures of.

“I know.” You sighed too. You had wanted to go back to the Bunker, it was something that you had been thinking about a lot lately. As much as you loved when Jack sent you pictures of everything that was going on, it also made you sad. “How’s…How is he?” You didn’t have to specify, full well knowing that Sam would know who you meant.

Sam had wanted to lie to you, tell you that Dean was doing okay, but he knew that you would see right through the lie. At the same time, he didn’t want to tell you the truth either. Ever since you and Dean had broken up and you had moved out, he noticed such a huge change in him. When he wasn’t being a recluse hauled up in his room, drowning his pain in his alcohol of choice, he had wanted to work case after case to stay busy.

“You know, Y/N is only a few hours away. Maybe she would –” Sam began to say, but Dean quickly down him down.

“We’re not asking her.” Dean’s voice was hard and cold. “She wouldn’t come anyway.”

“Yeah…I guess you’re right.” Sam sighed, knowing that Dean was right. It had been a few months since you and Dean had broken up. The two of you had made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want to see each other. Well, the two of you had wanted to, but the two of you were too stubborn to admit it. Sam knew, that if you were in trouble or if Dean was in trouble, either of you would drop everything to go and help, despite how things had ended between you two. “I’m gonna call her. Ask if she knows anything about what we’re hunting.” He got up from his chair in the motel room and dialed your number, walking outside of the room.

Dean looked at the pages before him and eyed his phone, sighing quietly to himself. Picking it up he unlocked it with his passcode – your birthday – and stared at the homescreen wallpaper. It was a photo that you had taken of the two of you. You were lying in bed together; both of your hair messy and all over the place. He was kissing you on the cheek and you had the biggest smile on your face. He had no idea why he loved this picture so much but he did. He wished that he could go back to that moment more than anything.

Sam walked back into the room, Dean quickly closing his phone. “What’d she say?”

“She thinks we’re hunting a nuckelavee.” Sam sat down across from his older brother.

“A what?” That was something that Dean had never heard of, and he was pretty sure that Sam had never heard of it either.

“It’s a horse-like demon from Orcadian folklore. Apparently, its breath wilts crops, sickens livestock, is responsible for droughts. Three things that we have seen. But get this, it’s mainly a sea-dwelling creature.” Sam explained.

“So what’s a knocklevee –” Dean began, but Sam quickly interrupted.

“It’s nuckelavee. And, Y/N has a theory about that. A lot of Celtic people settled here in North Carolina. So, she’s thinking that since they brought their culture here –” Dean was the one to interrupt now.

“They brought the creature here with them.” Dean said, and Sam nodded. “Who knew her Celtic Folklore degree would come in handy.”

Sam gave Dean a puzzled look. “I didn’t know she had a Celtic Folklore degree.”

“He’s…He’s Dean.” Was the best thing that Sam could come up with to tell you. It was vague enough, but he also wasn’t lying to you.

“I uh…I gotta go Sam. I have an interview with a professor in about 30 minutes.” You got up from the bed and started making your way toward the motel bathroom. “I’ll call you later once the case is over.” You paused. “Thanks.”

“Bye Y/N. Be careful.” Sam responded, his voice sounding a bit too sad for your liking.

“Always am.” You reassured him before hanging up the phone. You looked at your phones wallpaper, a photo that you had wanted to change, but didn’t have the heart to do it, even though it’s been more than a year since you and Dean had ended things. It was a picture that you had taken while you were lying in bed with him; both of your hair messy from the night before. He was kissing your cheek, and you had the biggest smile on your face. You wished that you could go back to this moment because you remembered how happy you were here.

You woke up to the sounds of beeping and blinding lights; finding yourself squinting. Your mouth was dry, unable to recall the last time you had actually drank something. How long have you been here? Your eyes finally able to adjust to the brightness of the lights, you looked around and noticed that you were in the hospital; unsure of how you had ended up here in first place. The last thing you remembered happening was going to talk to the professor concerning the case that you were working on.

“Hi Professor Keating. I’m Agent Larkin. We talked on the phone.” You had knocked on the professors door, she was sitting at her desk and looked up at you with a soft smile on her face.

“Oh yes!” She quickly closed the book that was currently on her desk and got up from her chair. Walking over to you she held out her hand and you shook it. “You’re earlier than I was expecting.”

You looked down at your watch and noticed that you were about five minutes earlier than you’re scheduled interview time with her. “I can wait outside for a few minutes if need me to. But, I’d prefer not to. You understand that this incident is something that my office isn’t taking lightly.”

“Yes, of course.” The professor walked back over to her desk. “What do you need to know?”

When you turned to face the door to get more of a feel for your surroundings you noticed Dean slumped in the chair with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. You wondered how long he had been here. As if he knew you were looking in his direction he opened his eyes; the two of you making eye contact. He adjusted himself so he was now sitting upright in the chair. “Hey.” Dean said.

“Hey.” You said, unsure of what else to say to the man in front of you. There were in fact, a million different things that you had wanted to say to Dean, and there were a million things you had wanted to do. You had wanted to hug him, kiss him, tell him that you missed him. You felt tears start to well up in your eyes, no longer able to hold the composure that you were trying so hard to have. The last thing you had wanted was to cry in front of Dean. Not that you hadn’t cried in front of him before, but after not seeing each other in over a year, you didn’t want the first interaction between the two of you to be of you crying.

Dean got up from his chair without any kind of hesitation and walked over to the hospital bed. He took your hand – the one that didn’t have an IV stuck in it – and held it. For some reason, you weren’t expecting him to take your hand. Although you haven’t held his hand in over a year, the feeling of it felt like no time had passed, like you had just held it the same day or the day before. “How did you know I was here?” You asked.

“You still had John Bonham as your emergency contact.” You had forgotten that you had put Dean as your number one contact if something were to ever happen to you. You had meant to change it to someone else, but never got the chance to. With everything that had happened over the course of the last year, changing your emergency contact list was honestly the last thing that was on your mind.

“I’m surprised Sam didn’t come instead.” You replied, Dean went back to sitting in the chair that he had just been napping in.

“I told him not to.” Dean’s words caught you by surprise. A slightly confused expression must have formed on your face because of the next words Dean had said. “He offered to come in my place. But when I told him no,” he chuckled softly, “I swear he…” He looked at you, almost as if he was in some kind of disbelief. “He had the biggest smile on his face. Haven’t really seen him smile since…” Ever since you had left, the Bunker didn’t feel as warm. Sam, Jack, Cas, and even Dean himself, who despite everything that have gone through always had some kind of smile on their faces whenever you were around. But when you decided to leave, it was as if all the happiness had left the place. Dean hadn’t seen the three of them smile it seemed in almost a year; himself included.

“How long have you been here? Last thing I remember I was interviewing the professor. I don’t know if Sam told you or not.” As much as you had wanted to sit up, because of how awkward it was to be lying down in the position you were in to be talking to Dean, the slight pain that you were currently in was making it a little difficult to actually want to sit up.

“Haven’t been here that long. They called me about four hours ago. Arrived 30 minutes after that.”

Dean was lying in his bed, staring at the empty space next to him. It has been a year since you had slept in that spot next to him, and each and every day he had hoped that he would somehow wake up and you would be there lying next to him. That was one of the things that he had taken for granted while the two of you were together; waking up next to you. Each and every morning he would wake up to the scent of your body wash, that still lingered on your skin from your shower that night. He loved waking up to the smell of warm vanilla and honey; a scent that he thought used to be generic smelling – until he met you.

“I shouldn’t still be missing you.” He said to the empty space. The two of you ending things was one of the worst regrets of his life; and throughout his life, he had his fair share of regrets. So many times he had wanted to take back the things he said to you that night. So many times he had wanted to call you and tell you that he was sorry, that he was the one that was the jerk; not you. Over the course of the year he had forgotten what the argument even was about; but knew that it was probably something ridiculous, something that either of you could have easily gotten over.

His phone started to ring just then, unsure of who could possibly be calling him. Everyone that he had talked to was currently in the Bunker; besides you of course, but he knew for a fact that you wouldn’t be calling him. The number that came up was unknown, but he decided to answer it anyway just in case. He had somehow hoped that maybe you had changed your number and this was you calling. “Hello?” He asked.

“Hi. Is this...John Bonham?” An unfamiliar female voice asked. Definitely not you.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He was hesitant to say anything else.

“This is Nurse Julia from Republic County Hospital in Belleville, Kansas. I was calling in regard to a Joan Larkin.” Nurse Julia had said. For a moment, slight confusion washed over Dean as he didn’t know a Joan Larkin, well he did, that was the real name of Joan Jett; that’s when it clicked – Joan Larkin was you. Only you would have picked that name. “I’m calling because you’re her emergency contact.”

“Yes, she’s my…Is she okay?” He almost called you his girlfriend, something that you hadn’t been for such a long time. He almost slipped.

“Can you come in Mister Bonham? I would prefer not to talk about this over the phone.” Her voice was calm, and it was something that he needed, even though his heart was racing and his brain was coming up with worst case scenarios.

“Yeah. Yeah. I can be there.” He confirmed, before hanging up the phone. He had never put on his boots and grabbed his keys so fast in his life.

You smiled, not surprised that Dean had floored it to get here. You knew that the drive was supposed to be an hour, maybe a little bit more, but Dean had managed to make it a 30-minute drive. “Can’t believe you drove 30 minutes for me.” That’s not why you were impressed, you were impressed that he had driven here at all, given the fact that you two didn’t leave things on the best terms.

“I’d drive 30 hours straight for you.” The words that escaped Dean’s lips not only surprised you, but surprised him. The two of you hadn’t ended things on the best terms, and this was the first interaction that the two of you have had in over a year; only getting bits and pieces of each other’s lives through other people. Some of the information was reliable, some not; but in a weird way, it still felt like you were still in each other’s lives even if you didn’t talk to each other or see each other. He still cared for you, even if at times he couldn’t admit it to himself or other people. Deep down, he had hoped that you still cared about him too, but he wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t.

“The doctor said they would release you tonight. Your injuries weren’t that serious.” Dean said, not really giving you any time to respond to his previous comment. He wasn’t sure if he was protecting himself or you. There was a small part of him, that had wanted to know how you would have responded, but the part of him that won was the part that didn’t want to be rejected by you.

“What did the doctor say?” You asked. You wanted to respond to what he said previously, but he had quickly changed the subject too fast for you to.

“You had slight head trauma, but not a concussion. Not sure how you managed to pull that one off.” When Dean had talked to the doctor, they said that you had suffered a minor brain injury, but it wasn’t bad enough for you to get a concussion, which he was thankful for. Between you and him, you two have suffered plenty of concussions to last a lifetime.

“Brain injuries don’t always involve concussions.” You commented; remembering an article that you had read somewhat recently.

“Thank you Doctor Larkin.” He smirked. “Nice name by the way.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I learned from the best.” Before you had met the Winchester’s, using a rockstar alias is something that you would have never dreamed of using. Before you had met them, you always used some kind of generic name or a last name related to your childhood, almost as if you were filling out one of those security questions before you were able to log into your bank account. You had used your street name growing up, your favorite teacher’s last name, and even your mothers maiden name. You thought that using those names wouldn’t be as suspicious as using a famous one – like the Winchester’s had been doing for over 15 years.

“Shit.” You looked at Dean, a slight panic stricken look in your eyes. “My…my motel room. I have my case documents in there.”

“Don’t worry about it. I uh, while you were sleeping, I went and grabbed them for you. They’re in Baby along with the rest of your things.” After Dean made sure that you were safe and okay, he had left the hospital and went to your motel after calling Sam to see where you were staying.

Dean went up to the front desk, a slightly balding man was leaning up against the counter reading some kind of magazine that he’s never heard of. “Hey there. I was wondering if you could help me out.” Dean flashed the man a smile. The man looked up from the magazine he was reading; his expression bored.

“Yeah?” His bored expression matched his bored sounding voice.

“My girlfriend is staying at this motel, and I wanted to surprise her. Can you tell me what room she’s staying in? I think she’s here under the name Larkin.” Calling you his girlfriend felt so good sounding coming out of his mouth, it was something that he had missed saying.

“Why don’t you text your girlfriend buddy.” The man placed air quotes around girlfriend.

“Listen, buddy.” Dean reached into his back pocket and pulled out a 20 dollar bill, sliding it in front of the man. “Can you tell me what room she’s in?” The man looked at the 20 in front of him and grabbed it desperately.

“113.” The man replied, placing the 20 in the front pocket of his shirt.

“Thanks. How did you –” You stopped yourself from finishing the sentence. “Never mind. I think I already know.” You were about to ask how Dean had gotten into your room, but you knew how good he was when it came to breaking into rooms that he had no good reason being in. “You said, you said you have the rest of my things?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Everything that I could find that I knew was yours. Still have that same duffel bag uh?” When he saw that you were still carrying that duffel bag around, it had made him smile, because he had missed seeing that bag of yours. He had told you countless times that you had needed a new bag, but you had refused, because the bag had too much sentimental value for you to give up. Seeing this bag of yours, in all of its slightly tattered and stained glory, it had become sentimental for him too.

“You have your baby, I have mine.” You knew that you needed a new one, but you couldn’t part of it. That duffel bad, although tattered and stained, held a lot of sentimental value for you. “When I leave tonight, I’ll take it out of your hands. I have a case to finish.”

“No you don’t Sunshine.” The nickname that he had given you when you first met easily rolled off his tongue. “Sam got it handled. The professor you talked to? She was the big bad. She was the one that knocked you out too.”

You practically threw your head back onto the pillow. “Of course she was.” You didn’t know how you didn’t see it, but thinking back, it was rather obvious. All of the students that had been murdered were hers, she was the last one that had seen them all alive: she was the common denominator. “I feel so stupid.”

“I’ll cut you some slack. You did suffer a brain injury.” He grinned, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Well, I’ll still take my things back from you.” You saw his face drop slightly at your comment. You cocked your head, furrowing your brow. “What?”

“Would you…would you want to come back?” He was hesitant to ask.

“Come back where? The Bunker?” You asked, almost in disbelief that he would even ask. “Dean I don’t think –”

“Y/N, I want you to come back.” Yet another sentence that had surprised you. “The Bunker hasn’t been the same without you. I…I haven’t been the same without you.” His words started to crush you; you were speechless. You didn’t realize what kind of impact that you had had when you left. You knew that Jack, Cas, and Sam were going to miss you, they always told you how much they missed you and you did the same. They were like family to you, and you hated to leave your family. But you did what you thought was best, and clearly, that was a mistake. “I’m not blaming you. I’m, I’m blaming myself.”

“Dean, please don’t blame yourself.” There truly was no reason for him to blame himself, because you too were at fault. “We both said things that we probably shouldn’t have said to each other.” You sighed. “To be honest, I can’t even remember what the argument was even about. But I know it was something that we both should have gotten over.”

“To be honest, I can’t remember what the argument was about either. I just know it was about something stupid.” He got up from his chair, reaching into his front pocket and pulling out his phone, handing it to you.

“Why are you giving me your phone?” You were confused.

“Unlock it.” His response simple.

“Dean I don’t know your –”

“I never changed it.” With that, you typed in your birthday and his phone unlocked to reveal his wallpaper: it was the same photo of the two of you that was the wallpaper on yours.

“Dean…” You felt your eyes well up with tears again; Dean leaned down and kissed you on the top of your head. You didn’t realize how much you had missed the top of his head kisses. While you were with him, it was something that you had taken for granted because it was something he did all the time.

“Come back home.” Dean said; three words that he had wanted to tell you the second you walked out the doors of the Bunker over a year ago.

“Permanently?” You asked.

“Permanently.” He confirmed.

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