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undercoverpena · 2 days

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meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me you if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

#javier pena x reader #javi peña x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier pena smut #javi peña smut #narcos x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 days

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Love you writing, though i don't have a favorite Alfred's boy is in my current list to reread. I had an idea that i saw about Dick and his taste in partners and Jazz fits the type competent red heads. Anyway my prompt is Dick gathering his exes (Wally, Babs, and Kori) to meet help him woo his current crush Jazz Fenton. From there it could btanch off many different ways like Jazz showing off Wack Fenton shenanigans or maybe like midway he sees one of his brothers making more progress with their crush on Danny. Or adding a twist of a deaged Dani or Danny.

"Don't make it obvious, but she just walked in," Dick whispers to his friends. However, Babs is the only one who actually listens since both Wally and Kori nearly break their necks by how fast they turn around.

A woman with long, fiery hair walks in with an adorable pair of five-year-old twins. She again carries the books the teens had borrowed and makes a beeline for the return box.

Like clockwork, once the books are returned to the metal box, the twins tug her toward the astronomy section, babbling about star facts in perfect sync.

Her hair bounces with each step, swinging behind her like a waterfall made of sunsets.

It was her long smooth hair that had first captured Dick's attention (he has a type sue him) when the small family had first started appearing at Gotham's public library. He had been bringing Babs some lunch that day, hidden behind the counter so Babs' boss wouldn't see him, and had been in prime position to watch one of the twins flout up to reach a book on the top shelf.

He was intrigued by the boy's apparent meta abilities, but what really surprised him was how easily he used his powers. Maybe it was due to his young age or how the woman didn't discourage his powers.

She reminded him to use "Indoor flying" in the same tone he heard parents tell their kids to use their "indoor voice". Metas weren't as rare as people wanted them to be but to see someone so casual about them was.

It was honestly uplifting to see a family so open about it. The little girl with her also seems to be a meta, for not even minutes later, she phases through an aisle instead of walking around, and the woman doesn't even bat an eye.

She only sticks her hand out the aisle to tell the little girl to not walk away from the science fiction section.

Dick hadn't been able to take his eyes off her, even when she made the little girl blow her nose using tissue from her purse or when she had started lecturing the children for running around in a foreign language.

Since then, he has returned to visit Babs every Thursday at two. The woman would bring the twins every week at the same time and even thought Dick had attempted to walk over to her, it seemed as if the universe it self got in the way.

She would get a call. The kids would need the bathroom. She began reading to the children, or they would rush in and out. He didn't want to come off as creepy, so he didn't follow her around, only watching her when she wandered back into sight.

To avoid being a creep, he also refrained from asking Babs any information about her. He wanted to introduce himself to the Libary goddess himself.

He found himself daydreaming of her. Fantastic conversations and dates. Could even picture introducing her to Bruce and the others. It wasn't long before he let it slip about his fast-developing crush to his friends- and exes- who were excited to see the first civilian he's ever been interested in.

Walley and Kori had strong-armed him into bringing them along this week, insisting they could help him speak to her. It's not that Dick couldn't. It's been so long since he genuinely wanted to flirt with a civilian.

He long ago mastered the art of flirting, but it was to make a watered-down version of Brucie Wayne. It was nothing but a mask to keep his second life a secret. He was worried he had gotten too used to dating heroes and would scare her off before they could really be something.

"I said don't make it obvious!" He hisses as Babs chuckles. She is typing away on her laptop, not bothering to raise her eyes as she waves her hand.

"Relax, they aren't even looking at us."

"She's gorgeous!" Kori gasps.

"She's a redhead," Wally observes with a smirk. "Why am I not surprised? Who are the little ones?"

"Her younger siblings," Babs answers, surprising Dick. He had thought she was their mother by the way she behaved. He had been a bit worried she was married or already had a boyfriend, but if she had been a single mother, he would be happy and willing to step in as a father. "The whole family just moved to Gotham. Their parents are opening a new business here I think."

"What kind of business?" he asks, his eyes tracing the way her face lights up with a laugh. He can't hear what the little boy says, but it must have been humorous since she is chuckling for a while with him.

His heart flutters a little. He's never seen a smile so perfect and genuine before.

"Ecto-research and Ecto-defenses," Babs says with a straight face.

"What is that?" Kori asks, leaning on the counter to read over Bab's shoulder. Technically she shouldn't be sitting on the counter like this, nor should Dick or Wally be on the other side with Babs, but her boss was out for the day.

And Bruce owned the building.

"I'm not sure. I've been trying to look into it since Jazz told me about it on Monday." Babs replies, clicking between a webpage titled Fenton Works and Ectobeings. "It's not that they hidden the information, but it's a bit out there. The term ghost appears a lot, so I'm assuming they are ghost hunters and researchers."

"A daughter of ghost hunters.....almost as odd as a son of circus performers." Wally nudges Dick with his elbow, making the other smile, even if he blushes a little when the little girl snaps her gaze at them. "You have a change, Wonder Boy!"

"Please don't call me that. People are going to think I'm associated with Wonder Woman."

"Please, as if Wonder Woman would waste her time on you," Wally laughs, then leans closer. "I bet you could ask her about the family business over dinner."

"That would be a great opener," Kori agrees. "From my personal experience, men become much more attractive if they show interest in my family business."

"Your family business was being royal warlords," Babs tells her, which makes Kori stand up with pride.

"We had a long history of battle!"

Dick opens his mouth to answer, only to have a young voice cut him off. "You're royalty, too?"

In shock, he glances down, not realizing the little girl had sneaked up on them. She blinks large blue eyes at him with an innocent expression that only children this young can make. She is holding a book about the fictional Prince Dorathea and her tales of the Dragon necklace.

It was a new young adult novel by an anonymous author, taking the fantasy genre by storm. Dick should know since he was obsessed with reading the series too.

"I am. Princess Kori, heir to the throne." Kori tells her with a smile. She had never been that worried about her secret identity even though she appeared human right now- she was wearing a glamor necklace that Zatanna had whipped up for her so she could walk around like a regular person. She then winks, "Don't tell the government."

The little girl nods seriously as if she would take the secret to the grave. She's adorable. "I won't. I'm hiding from them too."

"Why's that?"

"I'm a princess." She says, lowering her voice into a stage whisper. Dick's heart melts. "My brother's the king."

"Danielle Fenton, what did I say about wandering around?" The goddess herself demands, striding over to them. Floating behind her is the little boy staring at the adults with wide, gleeful eyes.

Instead of becoming scared of a scolding like most children, Danielle throws a fist into the air. "I shall not be contained!"

The woman snorts. "I'll ground you."

"Let's not be too hasty," Danielle answers quickly as the little boy starts laughing, slowly turning in the air with his laughter. Dick watches, intrigued. It almost seems as if he was lying in an invisible hammock.

The redhead rolls her eyes, turning her gaze to the rest of the adults with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about her."

"No worries, Jazz. Danielle wasn't a bother, but you should listen to your sister and not walk around alone." The last part is directed at the little girl who starts to float upwards. "By the way, these are my friends. Wally, Kori, and Dick."

"Nice to meet you all." Jazz replies, and Dick can only offer her a wave as his tongue seems to have become lead. What is wrong with him?! "I'm Jasmine Fenton but call me Jazz. This is Danny and Danielle. Can we check these books out?"

"Sure. Guys, move out of the way for a bit." As Babs helps her, Wally yanks Dick to the side.

"Dude, are you okay?"

" I think I'm in love."

"Oh no." Says Kori with wide eyes. "We lost him.

None of the three notices the glowing blue eyes of a flouting little boy watching their huddle, nor do they notice the immense power resting behind such a youthful face.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #The one with Sunset hair #Part 1 #Night Birds #Dick/Jazz #The Fentons all fleed Amity Park together once Danny's secret was outed #Issues arose when Danny and Dani were deage #Clockwork hid the whole family in a different reality #Now they just living like they in a slice of life isekai #Dick develops a school boy crush on Jazz and panics #Dick's council of Exes have spoken #Ghost King Danny

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euthymiya · 2 days

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help me forget (until my only memories are you) ft. wriothesley

in which wriothesley is plagued with dreams of his past, tucked away in the quietest corner of the fortress until you find him. a thermos of tea, an ocean view, and a heartfelt conversation later, you both decide your memories only matter when they’re of each other

contains: 2.1k word count ; female reader ; established relationship ; hints at wriothesley’s backstory, including mentions of blood and murder ; nightmares and trauma (wrio) ; reverse comfort ; fluff and (cheesy) banter

“thought i’d find you here,” you say quietly as you walk up to wriothesley—it’s quiet enough that’s it’s almost as if you’re trying not to startle him.

(and yes, it’s a bit of a pointless gesture. you know he can hear your footsteps approaching him for a good distance before you even reach him, but, all things considered, you don’t think a little extra gentleness will hurt him.)

“well, looks like you found me,” he hums, legs spread out before him as he stares through the glass. he’s eyes the ocean, his pupils following the schools of fish and casts of crabs as they swim past the glass tunnel that separates you from the water.

the glass tunnel in the fortress is wriothesley’s favorite spot. for a number of reasons, really—first, the inmates aren’t allowed here without official permission, so he has the area to himself for the most part. second, there’s some sort of sign of life to witness, something breathing and moving apart from the rowdy bunch of prisoners he’s in charge of every day. and third, it’s nice to see colors, something vivid and lively outside of rusted metal and dingy lighting.

wriothesley loves this tunnel. it helps him appreciate his life, his home, when he’s especially regretful he doesn’t get to live up at the surface. that regret doesn’t come very often—he’s happy with the life he’s made for himself and the family he’s grown here, but he’s only human.

sometimes even the warden would like to know what it feels like to wake up under the sun, feeling the rays kiss the skin of his cheeks like a mother does her son, so warm and gentle and endlessly filled with love.

he supposes a mother’s love is as unreachable as the sun for him, a regretful conclusion he’s long come to since the tender age of early teen hood.

you plop down beside him, tucking yourself against his side as you hand him a small thermos, making him quirk a brow up.

“tea,” you explain, “i figured it would help.”

“aren’t you sweet?” he chuckles, unscrewing the top and pouring the warm, freshly brewed tea into the lid as he takes a slow sip. he turns, pressing the rim to your lips, letting you take your own sip before he sighs and wraps an arm around you. “did i wake you?”

“of course,” you huff theatrically, “i was so cold. do you have any idea how cold the fortress gets at night without a big, strong, muscled warden to keep you warm?”

he snorts, eyeing you with an amused glance as you bite back your own grin.

“well, my dear lady, i offer my sincerest apologies. you will never wake up cold again.” he indulges your banter with a tight grin.

wriothesley is good at that—good at pretending his feelings don’t exist, pretending he doesn’t feel them in favor of putting on a brave face. you see through the tiny cracks of his mask, though. you can see the tousled hair and bruised under eyes from his lack of sleep. you can see the sore knuckles of his hands from punching bags. you can see the distant, hazy look in his eyes as he stares off into the never ending sea ahead, not sparing you the usual soft gaze he sends your way.

wriothesley is good at pretending everything is okay. just as good as you are at knowing when it isn’t okay at all.

“i’d rather i don’t wake up alone,” you trace the scar along his chest with a finger, visible from the neckline of the tank top he wears to sleep. he doesn’t say anything, swallowing as he swirls the contents in his makeshift cup, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “wriothesley.”

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, “i figured i’d let you sleep.”

“you don’t need to apologize,” you furrow your brows, hooking a finger under his chin and gently coaxing him to turn and meet your eyes, “i’m not mad, baby. it’s okay.”

“i know,” is all he says.

“will you talk to me?” your head lays against his chest, grabbing one hand and fiddling with his fingers, lacing them with yours as you compare the size of his rough, rugged palm against yours while his other hand lifts the cup to take a long, slow sip of the tea.

it’s hot against his throat, soothing the raw, dryness that builds.

“don’t i talk to your ear off enough through the day?” he tries to tease, deflecting the topic that you try to breach. but you’re good at following just as he is at running—you bring his knuckles up to your lips as you kiss them one by one, so gentle, so feather like in touch, he can’t help but shiver.

“so you’re tired of talking to me?” you tease back, making his lips twitch fractionally.

“nah,” he breathes a small laugh, “never tired of you.”

“that’s good to know,” you exhale a relieved breath, still playful and lighthearted as you add, “i thought you were running away from me while i slept.”

“i’d have come back.” his voice is low, barely audible—you hear it anyway, feeling the rumble of his words through the vibrations in his chest. “you kick the blanket off. someone’s gotta tuck you in.”

“well you didn’t come back before i had to come find you,” you point out. “so tell me, what’s on that mind of yours? can’t be nothing if you leave me cold and alone in our bed.”

“just a silly old dream,” he shrugs off, laughing dryly as he says, “nothing a tough warden like me can’t handle.”

“oh yeah?” you press gently, leaning up to kiss his jaw with a delicate, warm press of your lips. it makes him swallow thickly, inhaling a shaky breath as he nods.

“yeah.”

“you don’t have to handle it,” you offer carefully, “not alone, at least. you know that, baby?”

“do i look that troubled?” he smiles weakly, but it drops as soon as your hand cups his cheek, pulling him to lean in until his forehead is pressed against yours and his eyes can’t leave their spot of looking directly at you.

“do you trust me?” you whisper. he nods, unable to speak. “i love you, you know.”

“i know,” he croaks. “i love you too.”

“so then talk to me.” your hand falls from his cheek to his chest, laying right on his heart while your other hand squeezes his as it keeps it in its hold.

so he does. with a shaky sigh, he tells you about them, the things he sees in his sleep.

sometimes, wriothesley has dreams. dreams of his mother brushing back his hair with her fingers as she wakes him for breakfast. dreams of his father patting his back as he throws a ball to one of his brothers. dreams of childlike, gleeful laughter ringing through his ears in a muffled, distant sound before it morphs into pained, horrified screams.

his legs carry him down the hallway of his childhood home, bare feet pounding against the hardwood until finally, he turns to corner into his living room. and there he stands—face to face with himself. one version of him in crumpled pajamas and another in oversized, scuffed up clothes like he’s drifted from street to street. he stares at himself, only he notices he looks older, more distant, more tired.

and then he notices the blood. it’s everywhere—on his hands, splattered on his face, dripped onto his clothes, pooled on the floor.

blood is everywhere. it coats the same floors he ran on, stains the same walls his height was marked against. it dirties every happy memory of this house of his, no longer a home.

w-what have you done? he asks his older self.

the boy—the one with his own face—glares down at him, so angry and betrayed, so unlike his happy self as he mutters, what had to be done.

and then he wakes up. he’s always covered in cold sweat, panting, and shuffled far, far away from your peaceful and beautiful sleeping figure. how can he wake you? how can he disrupt your pure, sweet state to wipe the blood spilt on his hands? how can he ask you to carry the heaviness of his sins when you’re so free and weightless from that darkness that plagues someone like him?

you listen as he spills his heart, quiet and unmoving against his side as your palm never leaves his chest. his eyes follow the movement of the fish outside of the glass while he speaks, and your eyes trace over the new red, angry marks on the back of his hand.

“just thought i’d come down here to clear my head,” he confesses, “you looked like you were tired.”

“i’d have woken you,” you admit, looking up at him. he meets your stare, furrowing his brows in confusion until you add, “if i had a bad dream, i mean. because you’re the only place i feel safe.”

he breathes out a soft chuckle, cheek laying on the crown of your head as he whispers, “it’s ’cause of the muscles, right? years of boxing will do that to a guy.”

“so what i’m gathering is that i have to take up boxing for you?” you grin, nudging him with your shoulder playfully as he bites his bottom lip to fight back his grin, shaking his head at your antics.

“i just don’t want to wake you every other night.”

“i want you to wake me every night if you have to,” you frown, reaching over and giving his forehead a reprimanding flick with your fingers, “it’s what i’m here for. what’s the point of being together if you’re going to be all alone, wriothesley?”

“i’m not alone,” he argues, lifting your joined hands before his warm lips press a lingering kiss to the back of an equally as warm hand. “i have you.”

you blink, staring at him blankly. “you just kissed your own hand, you fool.”

“right,” he nods, flushing a slight shade of pink before he twists his wrist to kiss the proper hand, “it was on purpose. it’s self love and all that good stuff, you know?”

“uh huh,” you lift a brow, snorting as you shake your head. he gives you a sly wink, leaning down to kiss your lips briefly as you shuffle closer against his side. “you know,” you breathe against his lips, “sometimes we dream about our pasts because our minds want to change something about them.”

“oh? i suppose i could think of a thing or two to change about mine. maybe a happy childhood. maybe the ability to trust people. that’d be nice, don’t you think?”

“i would change mine,” you admit, making him stare at you for a moment as he ponders over your words.

“would you now? and what would you change?”

“i’d meet you sooner,” you hum, “we could be like the cute stories, you know? childhood friends turned destined lovers. wouldn’t that be sweet?”

he looks at you quietly for a bit—dazed, awed, slightly bewildered. you couldn’t possibly want to know a guy like him in your youth, he thinks. how utterly foolish. but there’s no denying that unbearable, pressured clench of his heart, right where only you can reach to squeeze.

“of all stories,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “that’s what you want for yourself? childhood friends to lovers with a premeditated homicide convict that reforms a prison in his adulthood?”

“a traumatized homicide convict,” you correct, “that’s the part that gives it nuance, you know?”

“oh, you’re right,” he nods sarcastically, “how silly of me.”

“don’t laugh at me,” you huff, pouting at him as you poke his chest, “i’m serious. i’d meet you sooner if i could.”

“me too,” he murmurs, pecking your lips in a wordless apology. you accept with a soft kiss of your own in return. “i’d have met you way sooner too, sweetheart.”

“maybe you’ll dream it some day,” you wink cheekily.

“let’s hope i do,” he laughs, pulling you to sit between his legs, your back to his chest as he rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs in content. “you’re the only place too, by the way,” he adds after a few moments, breath tickling the shell of your ear as he whispers the words.

“hmm?” you tilt your head in confusion, gasping when his arms wrap tightly around you, his face burying into your neck as he presses a tickling kiss into your skin.

“where i feel safe.”

“oh,” you breathe, smiling slightly in wonder, “good. then you’ll wake me next time?”

“will it keep you warmer in this cold, unforgiving fortress of ours?”

“oh yes,” you nod, giggling lightly. “very warm.”

he smiles into your skin, replacing the vivid images of blood in his mind with the soft hues of your eyes. “then i suppose i have no choice but to wake you.”

childhood friends to lovers with wrio where reader flips neuvillette off and marches down to the fortress and drags wrio back up to the overworld by the wrist when he’s convicted bc she makes the rules around these parts

jk i love you neuvi my sweet angel dragon

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

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corroded-hellfire · 3 days

Note

AYW request where Reader graduates from college so Ryan, Luke, and Eddie come to her graduation. And then Eddie gives her a little graduation gift of his own...

+ Eddie eating Reader out under her gown right after her graduation ceremony. Like, the moment she walks across the stage, he’s dragging her to the bathroom and diving in.

I am dedicating this to Dr. Bug! I'm so proud of you @munson-blurbs 💚

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral f receiving, age gap

Words: 5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The polyester robe that hangs on your shoulders sways in the breeze as you fetch your cap out of the back seat. The cerulean regalia is a beautiful shade, but it was a pain in the ass to find something to wear beneath it that didn’t clash. The white floral summer dress peeking out now from your unzipped gown was a lucky find that caught your eye while out having lunch with Max one day.

Cap with a golden tassel securely in your hand, you shut the back door to your sister’s car and walk around the backside to stand next to her.

“I can’t wait to meet your boyfriend,” your sister teases, as if you’re twelve and not twenty-two.

You roll your eyes as you lift a hand to shade your face from the blazing sun above. It’s not even officially summer yet but Indiana is coming in hot with those high temperatures this year.

“Don’t be weird,” you say.

An exaggerated gasp leaves your older sister’s lips, and she presses a hand to her heart, fresh yellow nail polish glinting in the sunlight.

“Me? I’m never weird.”

“When I was fourteen you told Connor Donald–”

“But you were going to the bathroom!”

“You don’t tell that to a boy when he calls!” Somehow you feel like that teenage girl all over again.

“I just had this feeling about him,” she says with a shrug. Your sister crosses her arms over her chest. “And I was right.”

“Yeah, he was a creep,” you admit.

The smug smile on her pretty face is annoying enough to have you turning away from her. At the other end of the parking lot, you see a familiar group of men headed your way, and the littlest one breaks away from the herd and races your way, yelling your name. As he gets closer, you spy the hat perched atop his chocolate curls and the cuteness devastates you.

With a gleeful chuckle, you catch Luke as he flings himself into your arms. Using the momentum, you swoop the almost-seven-year-old up and hold him against your hip. Your back and arm muscles protest the effort, but you do your best to ignore them. Truthfully, Luke’s getting heavier and too big for this now, but you can’t bear to stop picking him up—he’s still that baby boy to you.

“Hey, you,” you greet him.

“You look so pretty!” he tells you as you begrudgingly set him down.

“Thank you!” you say. “You look pretty handsome yourself in that snazzy fedora.”

Luke giggles and adjusts the brim of the hat so he can see you better.

By now, the rest of the gang has made their way to you and Ryan is the next one to launch himself towards you for a hug. Wayne goes next and you can tell your boyfriend is purposefully waiting to be the last one. Indeed he was as he brings you into his arms and presses a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. His hands slip below the graduation robe and rest on the soft cotton of the dress that hugs your lower back.

“Hi,” he whispers against your lips.

“Hi,” you reply just as softly.

If it weren’t for your sister clearing her throat, you very well might have forgotten that you were at your graduation, let alone there were other people standing around you right now. Such is the power of Eddie and his touch.

“Oh,” you say, face heating up as you take a step back from your boyfriend. “Right. Um, everyone, this is my big sister, Gin. Gin, this is Eddie, Wayne, and the little monsters Luke and Ryan.”

Both boys make silly faces at you in retaliation for their introduction, which you have no problem doing right back to them.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Eddie says, extending his hand.

“Likewise,” Gin replies as she shakes it.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” Wayne greets your sister. They shake hands as Eddie comes closer to you again, standing behind you and resting his hands on your hips.

“Heard that if it weren’t for you, these two wouldn’t even know each other,” Wayne says, nodding to you and Eddie.

Ryan’s nose scrunches up in confusion. “Huh?”

“It’s true,” Gin tells the boy with a smile. “My old roommate is friends with your mom. One day I overheard something about someone needing a babysitter and I knew my little sister was available.”

Luke walks over and wraps his arms around your sister’s hips, giving her a big squeeze.

“Thank you for hearing that!”

The adults chuckle and you lean back into Eddie as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“I don’t wanna go in,” you say with a sigh.

“Where are you going?” Ryan asks.

“I have to go inside with everyone else who’s graduating,” you explain as Eddie’s arms wind their way around your waist. He isn’t making this any easier. “That way you guys get to watch me when I walk across the stage.”

“Ed, would you let the poor girl go?” Wayne says with a sigh, making Gin let out a tittering laugh.

“Don’t wanna,” he says like a petulant child. He presses a kiss to your shoulder before whispering in your ear. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” you hum softly.

Silently, Eddie presses his body flush up against yours and you feel his half-hard cock pressing up against the top of your ass. A strangled gasp leaves your lips and Eddie has to bury his face in your neck to hide his smirk.

“I really like it,” he mumbles against your skin.

Sitting in the small arena, in dark green retractable seats that are usually reserved for someone watching a school basketball or hockey game, Ryan and Luke start to grow restless as they wait for the graduation ceremony to begin. Eddie knows they won’t exactly be captivated once it starts either, but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

“Luke, can you please sit down? I don’t want to ask you again.”

“When is she coming out?” Luke asks, craning his neck to look around at the stage as he does as his father asked.

“When everybody else does,” Ryan says, also bored, but annoyed by his little brother as well.

“But when’s that?” the six-year-old whines.

“You know,” Gin says with a smile that looks suspiciously like one of Luke’s or Ryan’s when they’re up to something, “I have some pretty funny stories I could tell you about her.”

Eddie is also clearly intrigued by this, a spark of mischief gleaming in his own eyes.

“Ooh, like what?” Luke asks, already engrossed even though your sister hasn’t begun yet.

“Well, one time,” Gin starts, “she thought she could be like Mary Poppins and fly. She grabbed an umbrella and wanted to climb up to the roof. Our dad followed her into the garage and asked what she was looking for. When she said a ladder so she could go up to the roof, he put an end to her plan. She cried the whole day because she wasn’t allowed to try and fly like Mary Poppins could.”

Luke laughs, tilting sideways until he’s leaning against his big brother. Ryan’s chuckling as well, picturing you being mad because you can’t fly.

“Are you the big sister?” Ryan asks.

“I am,” Gin says.

“How many years?” Luke asks. “Ryan’s two years older than me. I’m the baby.”

“I’m six years older than her.”

“I’m six years old!” Luke shares excitedly.

“Do you have any more stories?” Ryan asks.

Eddie and Wayne share a smile between the two of them. Ryan is usually never so open with people he’s just met—he’s always been the shyest in the family. But there’s something about Gin being your sister that has Ryan feeling comfortable enough to be himself. The two of you aren’t identical, though it’s easy to tell that you are sisters. Gin is slightly shorter, and her face holds more roundness than yours does, but there’s a clear resemblance. Especially around the eyes, Eddie notices. They aren’t the exact same shade, but the shape of your eyes and arch of your eyebrows are very much alike.

“Hmm,” Gin hums as she thinks of another story to entertain the boys with. Eddie can’t help but notice she purses her lips when she’s thinking the same way that you do as well.

“Oh, okay. She used to make us watch her sing and dance all the time! Especially to New Kids on the Block.”

“Who?” Ryan asks.

Before the stab of feeling old has time to sink in for Eddie, Gin, or Wayne, the lights dim and a blanket of quiet falls over the crowd.

The faculty takes their places on stage and Pomp and Circumstance begins to play over the loudspeaker. Soon, a rolling wave enters the floor of the arena as all graduates file in towards the rows of chairs laid out for them.

Both Ryan and Luke stand, the younger Munson on his tippy toes as he tries to look as far and wide as he can to spot you in the crowd.

“Where is she?” Luke groans. “Everyone is so blue!”

“Ugh! I can’t find her!” Ryan follows up.

It takes Eddie a few moments to find you as well. Everyone is matching so he can’t go by what you’re wearing beneath your gown, and it’s even hard to see your beautiful hair with the cap restricting his view. But it doesn’t take your boyfriend very long to spot you, as he’d be able to find you anywhere—even if he was blindfolded.

“Look, look,” Eddie says, gesturing for his sons to step closer to him. “She’s right there. Next to Aunt Jess.”

Ryan and Luke do their best to follow the direction that their father is pointing in, but it’s hard–even when the graduates all stop walking once they reach their seats. But as Ryan wrinkles up his brow and really tries to examine his dad’s line of vision, his eyes catch on you.

“I see her!” A grin lights up Ryan’s face and it fills Eddie with a warmth that the outside sun could never hope to aspire to.

After a few more minutes, and once the speeches begin, Luke spies you as well and becomes just as excited as his big brother. Their joy quickly wears off as speaker after speaker comes up to the podium to give some of the most boring speeches Eddie has ever heard in his entire life. He can’t blame his boys for practically falling asleep slumped against one another.

Finally, the names of the graduates begin to get called and the boys muster up their energy reserves to wait for you. There’s a good chunk of graduates who have their moment before a name is called that the boys recognize.

“Jess Arnold.”

The boys excitedly cheer but become even giddier when they see you’re next up.

Nothing could have prepared you for the emotion of walking across the stage to receive your diploma. Hearing your name called over the loudspeaker was cool, being up on the jumbo screen for a moment was pretty surreal, but the sounds coming from one particular section of the audience have you choking up as you accept the rolled up piece of parchment from the Dean.

The claps of two small pairs of hands and cheers from those same boys send goosebumps shooting up and down your arms. Luke hadn’t even shouted that loud in excitement when he saw the real-life Hot Wheels cars. Wayne’s whistle joins the noise, that piercing sound making you chuckle as you try to swallow your emotions. Gin’s voice is unmistakable in her cheering—you heard that yelling every day growing up, you’d know it anywhere. But the sound in the cacophony that makes a few tears spill over your lash line is Eddie’s proud and happy “Woo!” that he repeats as you make your way across the platform. You just wish he was waiting for you as soon as you stepped off the stage so you could run into his arms. But as you step down and are about to head back to your seat, you look up and see where your family is up in the stands.

When they realize you’re looking at them, the boys wave excitedly, both hands flapping over their heads. Wayne and Gin both give you waves as well. Your eyes are glued to Eddie though, as he presses his hand to his mouth and then extends it towards you, blowing a kiss your way. A girlish giggle bubbles out of you at the gesture and you blow one right back to him.

It feels like ants scurrying out of an ant hill as you exit the arena and try to find familiar faces amongst the thousands of family members and friends who are here to support their loved ones today.

Jess comes up beside you and loops her arm through yours. You flash her a quick smile and the two of you fight your way through the crowd, searching for your people.

Your name catches your attention and your head whips to the left to see Luke’s small hands cupped around his mouth. It’s a swim upstream as you tug Jess in that direction, but you finally make it to find Eddie waiting with a bouquet of carnations in his hand.

More tears threaten to spill over as he hands them to you with a smile so full of admiration and pride on his face.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.”

The wrapper around the flowers crinkles in your hand and you make sure it’s held tight in your fist as you throw your arms around your boyfriend’s neck and hug him as close as you can manage. Eddie doesn’t hesitate for a moment, his arms encircling your waist and holding your body up against his.

“Thank you,” you say loud enough for him to hear over the crowd. “I love you so much.”

“They’re from us, too!” you hear Luke say.

With a soft chuckle, you pull away from Eddie who is raising an eyebrow at his boys.

“Are they, now? I must’ve missed the part where you chipped in,” he says.

“You must’ve,” Luke agrees with a shrug.

You laugh and hand the flowers to Eddie so you can pull both boys in for a big hug. Each of them gets squeezed in an arm but they cling to you just as tightly.

“You were on stage!” Ryan says when you let go.

“And I heard you cheering for me!” you tell him.

“Can I wear your hat?” Luke asks.

“Oh, I need a picture of that,” you say while nodding your head.

That leads to dozens of pictures being taken. You with everyone at once, you with everyone individually, you and Jess goofing off before she went off to find her family. Luke takes a handful while wearing your cap but Eddie plops it back on your head so he can take a few more with you.

Both boys make gagging noises as Gin snaps a picture of Eddie giving you a kiss. Their groans only grow as you wrap your arms around Eddie’s neck and sink further into the kiss, another snapshot being taken.

“Please tell me that one isn’t going to get hung up anywhere,” Luke gripes.

For the next picture, Eddie wraps his arm tightly around your waist and dips you, causing you to let out a mixture of a squeal and laughter as your hands cling to him for stability. You’re aware of the flash of the camera going off but it’s nothing compared to the brightness of Eddie’s grin as he looks down at you. It makes your heart pound faster than the adrenaline from the feeling of almost falling could ever do.

Once multiple roles of film have been used, the camera gets tucked away and it’s time to get going. Eddie offers to drive you back, just the two of you, since Gin drove you here and she’s headed straight back home. Wayne can take the boys back to give you and Eddie some time alone.

“Thank you for coming,” you say to your sister as you pull her in for a hug.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she tells you. “I’m so proud of you.” “Thank you.”

It makes you smile to see how the Munsons all hug her goodbye as well–even shy little Ryan. With one last wave, your sister heads towards the parking lot and Wayne ruffles the hair of the two boys.

“Ready, knuckleheads?” he asks.

“Can I wear your cap home?” Luke asks.

“Sure.” You hand the blue piece of regalia to him and instead of switching it out with his fedora like he did for the pictures, he just stacks it on top of his own hat.

“That’s a great look,” Eddie tells him, to which Luke winks in response.

“Will you take these for me, Ry?” you ask, offering the eight-year-old your bouquet of pastel-colored flowers.

“Of course!” The wrapper crinkles as the boy situates the long stems against his shorter frame.

You press a kiss to both boys’ cheeks before they head towards the parking lot with Wayne. Eddie laces his fingers with yours and you go to follow in the same direction the others just went, when Eddie tugs you back and smacks a kiss to the back of your hand.

“How about a little campus tour before we go?” he asks.

“Oh?” you ask, raising your eyebrows. “Anywhere in particular you want to see?”

Eddie shrugs. “Your favorite spots. Somewhere there’s no one else, maybe.”

“Right,” you say, a smirk tugging the corners of your lips. “Let’s see what we come across.”

Hand in hand, the two of you take a leisurely stroll through the quad of campus. Where there are usually people studying or picnicking during the semester, now there are graduates and families taking pictures and celebrating. The warm day outside leads you to the cool shelter of the student center at the far end of the yard, where you spent a lot of your college days having lunch. It’s mostly empty now, no one having any real need to be in here other than to escape the brutal sun.

An empty hallway catches Eddie’s eye, and he leads you by the hand to follow him in that direction. His boots squeak against the white linoleum tiles and your heels clack as you step behind in his wake. There isn’t much down this way except for a few offices that are now empty, a room full of vending machines, and some bathrooms.

Your boyfriend takes advantage of the latter, the empty hallway leading him to believe there will be no one in the men’s room. His gamble is correct as he pulls you in behind him. He moves quick as lightning to turn the lock on the bathroom door, assuring that no one will interrupt the two of you.

Eddie’s lips are on yours a heartbeat later, both his and your hands going to the zipper of your graduation gown. Neither of you can get it down blindly, but Eddie’s too impatient to make another go at it. Instead, he grips your hips and helps you sit on the peach granite counter behind you. The gown gets rucked up your body, the dress he’s so fond of joining it until they’re both up around your waist.

“Eddie,” you whimper.

“Shhh, shhh, baby,” Eddie croons as he sinks down to his knees. Soft, plush lips trail hot kisses from the inside of your left knee all the way up to the apex of your thighs. Large, strong hands massage up and down your legs as his lips never leave your skin, touching and teasing everywhere except where you need him the most.

Eddie lets his eyes slip closed not only to let himself enjoy the feeling of having his hands and lips worship your soft skin, but also because if he gets one more look at the wet patch on your purple lace panties, he’s going to rip them off of you and the fun will end far too soon.

“Eddie, please,” you beg.

“I’ve got you, princess,” he says softly.

Torturously slow, Eddie’s mouth comes closer to your center, the heat of his breath making you curl your toes before he even comes in contact with you. Brown doe eyes open to look at you, darkened by lust as he finally presses his mouth against your core, kissing against the wet patch of your panties that’s driving him so wild. Pleasure flutters in your pussy, your hole clenching around nothing as Eddie opens his mouth and grips the material of your panties with his teeth. As quick as he grabbed them, he lets them go, letting the wet lace smack back against your clit.

“God, I need you,” Eddie growls.

Calloused fingers work themselves up the outside of your thighs and grip the purple material at your hips. You arch your back, head resting against the bathroom mirror, to assist your boyfriend in ridding you of your underwear, which he shoves into the back pocket of his pants.

Now with nothing between him and your soaked pussy, Eddie eyes it greedily and the way he stares at your bare sex turns you on even more. You choke on a breath as he dives in, tongue instantly running from your hole up to your clit. He decides to keep his attention there, flicking the sensitive nub with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you moan. Eddie’s responding moan reverberates up your core, adding another layer of pleasure to his mouth on you.

He hitches your left leg over his shoulder to open you up even more for him, going in to devour you like his life depends on it. His hot, long tongue glides through your folds as he licks at you, not stopping even for a moment to catch his breath–not giving you a moment of reprieve as his mouth works against your pussy like it was made for this.

You never want this–him–to stop but Eddie’s too God damn good with his mouth for you to last long.

“E-Eddie, please.” You’re not sure what you’re pleading for as you reach down and grip the curls on the top of the older man’s head in your hand. It takes all of your control not to rut your hips against his sinful mouth.

Even though you’re not sure what you’re asking for, Eddie somehow knows what you need—he always does. He slips a finger inside of you, quickly followed by a second, as he keeps his mouth working on your clit. His eyes are trained on yours, not breaking contact for a second as his tongue laps at your clit and his fingers pump in and out of your greedy pussy.

If the feeling alone wasn’t about to bring you over the edge, the sight before you was.

“Oh, I’m gonna, I-I’m gonna–”

You don’t have time to finish your thought as your orgasm rushes over you, pleasure sparking throughout your body and leaving a tingle in your veins that only Eddie can give you. Thick fingers continue to work you through it, his tongue not giving up its assault on your clit until he’s wrung every ounce of ecstasy he can from you.

Once your muscles relax and you’re panting above him, Eddie slips his fingers from inside of you and stands up. He wastes no time slipping them into his mouth, moaning as he savors the taste of you. You’d come again just from that if you had the energy.

“Eddie,” you whisper between labored breaths.

“I love how much you say my name,” your boyfriend says as he leans over your body and presses his lips against yours.

The sound of Eddie’s zipper being pulled down shoots a thrill of excitement through you as the two of you exchange easy, lazy kisses. His hard cock nudging at your hole has you breaking your mouth away from his, a whimper tumbling from your lips.

“Yes,” you whine, the only word in your otherwise blank mind.

His initial push into you has you gripping at his shoulders, throwing your head back, which Eddie takes full advantage of and attaches his lips to your throat. The deeper he sinks into you, the harder your nails dig into the back of the button up shirt Eddie wore just for the occasion today.

“Shit,” Eddie huffs with a small laugh. “I’m not gonna last long, baby. Fuck, been hard since I saw you this afternoon. Couldn’t stop thinking about how bad I wanna fuck you since then. How bad I needed to taste you. Feel that tight, perfect pussy of yours squeezing me so fuckin’ good.”

You lift your head up to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Even though m’not your college girl anymore?” you ask through your shallow breathing.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie growls, gripping your hips tighter and adjusting the angle that he pushes into you. “You’re my college graduate. My smart girl. My smart girl who gets so dumb on my cock, doesn’t she?”

“Uh huh.” You nod, your head heavy as the familiar pressure builds up in your lower tummy.

“That’s my girl.”

“So close,” you whine.

“Me too, baby. Come on. Be my good girl and come with me.”

One of Eddie’s hands leaves your hips and his thumb presses against your clit, making tight circles just the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Fuck,” you groan.

“Let go, princess.”

“Shit, I-I’m coming!”

Eddie spilling into you, coating your walls with his warm seed elevates this orgasm as you hold onto your boyfriend for dear life. Lightning sparks everywhere his body touches yours and pure bliss washes over you like a wave on the surf.

It takes a few minutes for the two of you to catch your breath. Eddie’s body hovers over yours and, if you’re honest, you’d be fine if he never moved. Eventually, he has to though, which also means pulling out of you. Though you whine at the loss, Eddie is right there to help clean you up and press sweet kisses to your mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“Mmm, I would hope so,” you tease, throwing your arms around his neck.

Eddie has one arm draped around your shoulders as you walk down the hallway to his apartment door. He keeps pressing kisses to your temple and running the material of your graduation gown between his fingers.

“What’re the odds the boys will be asleep?” Eddie asks when you’re one door away.

“Slim to none,” you answer with a bark of laughter. “It’s still light out.”

“Details, details.” Eddie grabs the doorknob and tosses the front door open, allowing you to step inside first.

But you don’t even get one foot over the threshold before your eyes take in the sight before you. A large banner reading “Congratulations!” hangs in the archway that leads to the bedrooms and the apartment is crowded with people. Your jaw drops and it takes your brain a few moments to recalibrate. Once it does, you spin around to face Eddie and swat at his arm.

“I told you I didn’t want a party!”

Eddie shakes his head, a shit-eating grin on his face, as he leads you into the apartment and closes the door behind him. All six Harringtons are here, Max, Lucas, and their daughter Tiffany, and Wayne with both boys, who look more mischievous than ever.

“Oh no, this isn’t a graduation party,” Eddie says.

Nancy steps forward, a sly smile on her face, when you narrow your eyes at Eddie.

“Nope,” she echoes. “It’s an employee performance review.”

You stare at her for a moment, not comprehending her words.

“What?”

She can’t help but let out a small chuckle so Steve steps up to her side to help her out.

“You’re our employee, right? Watch the kids? So, we reviewed your performance and determined it was excellent.”

“Which of course calls for a party,” Nancy explains, gesturing to the living room full of people around her.

“And the fact that it happens to be on the day I graduated college?” you ask, tilting your head to look at Eddie.

“Complete coincidence,” he says with an innocent shrug.

“Look, look, look!” Luke bounds over and grabs your hand, leading you over to the counter that separates the kitchen and the living room.

A large sheet cake with vanilla icing and blue piping rests there, bearing the words “Congrats Grad!” in gold lettering.

It brings a smile to your face, but you smile even wider as you look down at Luke and then over at Ryan.

“Did you two know about this?” you ask.

“Maaaaybe,” Ryan drawls.

“I can’t believe you kept a secret from me!”

You pull Luke in against your chest and start to tickle his sides. He squirms, trying to get away from you as he howls in laughter.

“Ahh! Ryan! Help me!”

Ryan rushes over and tries to tug his little brother out of your grasp, but you’re quicker. You pull the older Munson brother into your clutches as well and he becomes another victim of your tickling. They both shriek and try to run, but you cease your tickling to wrap your arm around each boy and press a kiss to the top of their heads.

“You little sneaks,” you say.

“Can we have cake now?” is Luke’s only reply. He doesn’t wait for a response before posing another question. “Do you make a wish on graduation cakes?”

“What would you wish for, babe?” Eddie says as he walks over to you. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, and you furrow your brow. “Would it be to fly like Mary Poppins?”

Your eyes widen as all the heat in your body rushes to your face.

“I’m going to kill my sister.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS #request

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yumeboshi · 3 days

Note

Happy 100!! I’d love to see the nostalgic starfruit sundae :0

❝ THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER、 @cakeboxie .ᐟ ⟡ HERE IS YOUR RECEIPT FROM CAFÉ YUME ⟡．．

𐙚NOSTALGIC STARFRUIT SUNDAE：almost makes you feel younger。

𐙚 dish desc。．when you two were younger, he crushed on you even back then。

．。𝜗𝜚 labels。pure starry sweet fluff finally, a little non canon in aven, teen setting/late teens in aven’s, bittersweet

．。𝜗𝜚 ingredients。sunday and aven

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY

。before becoming what he is right now, he was a sweet and probably shy boy who, during your first meeting, could not utter a single word and unintentionally let Robin do all the talk 。he will feel so foreign, poor him; he has never felt such an influx of emotions. he’d stammer over his words, forgetting everything about what his family taught him about ‘etiquette’ and will always end up looking stupid because he really can’t do anything around you. 。“sunday, are you listening?” “….ah, yes. sorry, I was distracted. um, please continue.” 。i definitely see him stalking you, just like in a cute way. when you’re out doing your own business or hanging out in golden hour, he’d just stare at you from afar- probably from his estate’s window like some deprived owl, completely entranced by you- the way you smile, the way you laugh at someone’s jokes- the way your hair ripples with the wind like soothing waves— was he daydreaming again? 。it gets so bad. he’s obsessed, daydreaming, even robin knows her brother’s head is in the clouds. the dreammaster hereby then prohibited him from seeing you, because you were getting in his plans to educate him since all he’d ever talk about was you. you were his new priority- he doesn’t even care about the order anymore; making the dreammaster grumble about when he’d raised such a lovesick boy. 。but gopher wood did not foresee that the young boy would do anything daring at all, like rebuking his orders.

STARLIGHT is near and you’re already hiding under the Oak Family’s residential area where you’re probably not supposed to be inside one of the back garden’s bushes, patiently waiting for your romeo to come.

How could you refuse? He was the loveliest, the sweetest and the most handsome boy you ever met, albeit not meeting a lot of kids your age. His wings too, were so fluffy and so cozy to lean into. Your little heart could comprehend these foreign feelings as a crush.

And there he was- your young prince, quickly stepping out of the window that’s barely open, tipping to the floor like a dove that’s free from its cage. Every step he takes is already elegant and authoritative, it reminds you that you are not his class, and you should not be here.

When your face peeks out of the bushes, his expression immediately lights up as if someone had brought all the stars from the sky to his face, he immediately runs to you and laughs breathlessly. “You’re here.”

”Shhh!” You frown and put your small hand to his mouth. He looks around at that- his wings tickling your nose, and he shrugs- “—I don’t see anyone nearby.”

“But the scary old man might be—“ you break off, and your heart skips a beat when you hear footsteps. Without thinking, you quickly hug sunday and pull him into the bush out of terror.

A second has passed. Two; or three, maybe. You lose track of time because of his loud heartbeat thudding against your own. You were not sure if it was out of fright or out of this complex feeling neither one of you were knowledged in.

You snap out of it quickly, because it made your head spin as if a swarm of butterflies were invading it. The dreammaster was gone, but neither one of you were moving an inch.

It feels time has stopped. Maybe you are wishing it did, because you know all too well that this would become a fleeting memory.

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE

。one day, after facing a similar massacre in your own planet, you are thrown into captive under a shady man. 。you are not alone, but you are more annoyed by the fact that your cellmate is an avgin. you are pretty sure your parents had told you countless stories about their wicked ways. 。kakavasha, on the other hand, is enamored by you. the way you snap back at your captor, the way you are defiant- even in such stakes. it enchanted him. it even inspired him. 。when he’s still a little kid, he’d follow you around like a little puppy despite your annoyance. 。but when you grow a little older- maybe around your teens, he hits his growth spurt, and he grows almost unrecognizable- yes, those tantalizingly beautiful eyes of his stay the same; but he just becomes so.. manly. masculine, almost mature- it’s hard to believe the quiet and puppy-like boy grew up to be such a fair.. man. 。but one thing that did not change a bit with him was the way his usually bored and dead stare would light up when he sees you. he teases you a lot, he likes to practice his tricks on you, simply because it’s endearing how you snarl in frustration at his antics. 。you are his personal pair of sky blue shades. you changed the way he saw the world forever- looking at you, he could think that the world might not be that cruel, if it doesn’t take you away.

ALTHOUGH his long awaited freedom has arrived- to the hands of an unknown woman who calls herself jade, he felt as if his world was crumbling again, all too familiar to what he felt when he was younger.

What about you? You have no clue about his release. He’d sworn to you he’d stay with you forever whether you liked it or not- he still remembers how you snorted and dismissed it with a light blush across your cheeks, scoffing that all the avgins were liars anyway- he’d laughed and told you he wouldn’t ever lie to you, ever, which earned him a glare and an embarrassed slap.

He tried to deny it. He wanted to say no. He couldn’t leave you here, no. you were his wild card, the one chip he would never, ever gamble on; because he cherished you over himself. you are the one thing he’d never risk— his only love, you have his whole world, you’re like a diamond key to his closed and broken heart.

But life was truly cruel, because he knew right now that it was his last chance to break free from the burdens of his past. His heartache will perhaps be soothed a little, after leaving those memories behind. But it means he will have to leave you behind as well.

Although his heart screamed no, that he was your one and only and he had to stay with you, his rationality whispered a different tale- echoing the woman’s promises of freedom.

And here he was, selfishly walking to the cell that held all of himself. You were there, barely awake, looking up at the sky that is too beautiful for the words he is about to say to you.

He takes in your ethereal figure underneath the twilight, your eyes are the cosmos itself, reflecting the moon inside them. He always took pride in his eyes, but nothing could be more beautiful than yours. he’d fallen in love with them the first time you two met. they are almost deceptively exquisite enough to make someone like him lose his rationale.

He is about to say something but your finger presses against his lips- you don’t turn to look at him; your eyes are fixed somewhere afar. “I know,” you say quietly.

So you knew? He hid his surprise. He had thought he did a good job acting it up. He shakes his head with a laugh- of course. This was you. You knew his every expression, the faintest of creases on his face, you could see right through him.

“Then I suppose I don’t have to entertain you with any cheesy goodbyes. Do you wish to say any more words?” He asks with his playful smile, albeit he knows you know he’s trying his best not to break down.

You hesitate, and then hold his hand gently. “Take care, kakavasha.”

At that, he could not take it anymore. He leans forward to kiss you, for the last time, and he tastes like memories. He tastes like your annoyance, your laughs, your cries, you feel like you are experiencing your childhood all over again like a broken record. Something bitter graces your mouth and you realize it is his tears.

“Always trying to act tough, just don’t do that in the outside world.” You laugh into the kiss, and you feel him smile against your lips. He tilts his head away, glancing somewhere else to mask how vulnerable he is- but you stop him, you look into his eyes that are far too distinct- they are seas of magenta, wavering each time he blinks to conceal any tears.

As his lips part from yours, he feels himself slowly dissipate. Kakavasha was no more.

#𐙚．。articles #sunday by xxoimo on twt #honkai star rail x reader #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #honkai star rail #aventurine hsr #hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #sunday fluff #aventurine fluff

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latenightdaydreams · 22 hours

Note

https://twitter.com/adultvide/status/1789610054754378177?t=-uye80G6jPXsyPbYaGE5KQ&s=19

Can you please write about divorced!Konig with babysitter!reader. He has a three years old son and he has to go on a deployment so he hired a babysitter, allow her to stay in his house because she's still in university. After months he comes back from his deployment. When he opens the main door and sees the babysitter is playing with his son. That scene is so warm for him 😩

The link has been removed BUT I did get to watch it before.

(It was a guy thigh f-ing his baby sitter before accidently slipping in)

The Nanny (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, oral, p in v, thigh fucking, age gap

1.8k word count

🍷

König turns his key in the lock, opening the door. Once inside, he kicks off his boots, dropping his bags. In the distance, he can hear Jakob giggling, followed by the little pitter patter of his feet. He walks forward into the home more to see you hiding behind one of the chairs while Jakob runs around looking for you.

Your beautiful eyes meet König’s, putting your finger over your lips as if asking him to not give you away. A beautiful smile on your full lips as the sound of Jakob calling him draws his attention away.

“Were Momo at?” Jakob put his arms up in confusion.

“Momo?” König seemed confused until he realized that was what he was calling you. “Oh, I don’t know where Momo is.”

Jakob looks around the room before walking the opposite direction of you. König watches as you crouch, sneaking up behind Jakob, wrapping your arms around him and spinning him around. Loud laughter emanates from the both of you. He can’t help but to chuckle to himself as he watches how the two of you have bonded.

His eyes drift down to how your ass looks in your gray leggings before thinking about how perfect your stomach would look round with his child. You’ve already proven yourself as being a capable mother. He snaps out of it once he hears your voice.

“I was going to tuck him in if you wanted to say goodnight now.”

“Ja, Danke. Come here.” He wraps his arms around Jakob and kisses his face all over. “Have a goodnight and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Ich liebe dich.” Jakob kisses him back.

“I love you too.”

You grab Jakob's hand and walk him upstairs to his bedroom. He jumps into his bed as you grab his favorite book. Snuggling on the bed with him, you open to the first page and read. While reading, you can hear König moving around downstairs. As Jakob falls asleep, you close the book and kiss his forehead.

“Good night, Jakie.”

As Jakob sleeps on the bed, you quietly make your way out of his bedroom door. You make your way downstairs to clean up the mess left behind from the wild day of playing. Yet, once downstairs, you see everything is cleaned up already.

“Would you like a glass, Hase?” König holds up a glass of wine to you as he takes a sip from his own.

“Oh,” you look from the glass in his hands to his eyes. “No, thank you.” You politely reject.

“Come on, you’re old enough, no?”

“I am…” You blush and slowly accept the glass of wine.

König watches your lips apart and takes a small sip as he smirks. He takes a sip of his own and walks to the couch in the living room, leaning back, and stretches out his long legs on the coffee table. He pats the spot on the couch next to him.

You sit next to him, keeping a small space between the two of you. You’ve never been this close to him before, or really spent any time at all with him other than when he hired you.

“Thank you, for everything you do. Caring for Jakob, the house, my plants. I’d be lost without your help.” His Austrian accent is as smooth as butter.

“It’s no problem, really. Thank you for giving me a place to stay.” A nervous giggle in your voice.

“Not an issue at all, Hase.” He gently moves his hand to your knee and strokes the soft fabric of your leggings. “How are your classes going?”

“They’re all going well.” You look down at his hand on your knee before you take a bigger drink from your wine glass.

“Gut, I’m glad to hear that.” His thumb rubs back and forth, sliding his hand up to your thigh ever so slightly.

There is a lull in the conversation, causing you to turn your attention to your wine. König takes a moment to let his eyes drift over your body, taking in the way your body curves as you sit.

“Are you talking to any boys? I know Austrian men would love a woman like you.” His eyes drift from your breasts to your eyes.

“Uh, no boys.” Your nervous laughter only gets worse so you cover it up by drinking more.

“No? A beautiful young woman like yourself with no boyfriend?” His hand gently squeezes your thigh. He notices how you finish your wine quickly. “Are you wanting a refile, Hase?”

“No, I should get to bed. Jakob still likes to wake up before the sun rises.” I smile.

“Here, I’ll take your glass for you.”

“Thanks.” You hand it to him, standing up. “Good night, Herr. König.”

“Just König is fine, good night.”

He stands to walk to the kitchen, his eyes following you as you go upstairs. The way your hips sway is hypnotic. Continuing on, he lets out a sigh and leans against the counter. It’s been decades since he was single so he has no idea how to flirt with women anymore, let alone one as beautiful and young as you are.

In your room, you take off your leggings and shirt, tossing them into the laundry basket. You reach behind you to unhook your bra, placing it on the back of your desk chair. Since it was a warm night, you slip on a night gown. Just as you are about to get into bed you hear a knock on the door.

König waits for you to answer the door, his arm up and resting against the door frame. Once you open, his eyes instantly drop down to your breasts. Your nipples are hard and he can see them clearly. The dress barely reaches your mid-thigh, you look absolutely divine. He has forgotten everything he was going to say before seeing you.

The hand resting by his side comes up and cups your face, “You…are so…beautiful.” The words leave his lips slowly as if he is trying to be cautious with them. After all, you’re his son's Nanny and he doesn’t want to chase you away. He pulls you towards him as he leans in and kisses you deeply. His other arm comes down and wraps around your waist and lifts you up into his arms, your legs wrap around his waist causing your dress to come up even more.

As he walks into your room, he kicks the door closed with one of his feet. His mouth opens against yours, nipping at your bottom lips so you open your mouth. You do, and he shoves his tongue into your mouth. He swirls it around, taking in the way you taste as he groans.

König gently lays you on the bed, his heavy body pressing you into the mattress. Your hands caress his muscular arm as his hands pull up your nightgown, he is desperate to see what you look like underneath it all.

Once your dress is up enough, he breaks the kiss to pull it off of your body. Gently, he touches every inch of you as he drinks you in. His fingers run gently over your nipples. He leans in and begins to flick his tongue over one while rubbing circles over the other.

“You’re stunning, Hase.” He whispers into your tender flesh before he continues. Slowly, he undresses himself. Lips occasionally coming back up to kiss yours.

You stop him once he reaches for your panties, “I’m not on birth control.”

“Oh… I don’t have condoms.” König whispers, thinking for a moment. “I won’t fuck you tonight.”

König quickly gets back into kissing your down your neck, down your stomach, and to your thighs. He pulls down your underwear to expose your beautiful pussy. A groan escapes his lips once he sees you fully nude. It’s like a dream. Without realizing he began to play with his cock, he’s never seen such a beautiful woman before.

Small moans escape your lips as you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch his lips make their way to your pussy. After every sloppy kiss he gives you a small bite that makes you tremble every time. Once his mouth reaches between your legs, he wastes no time. He quickly wraps his lips around your clit and begins to suck.

You jerk forward as you begin to moan, his bright eyes looking up at you. Letting go he laps his fat tongue over your clip rapidly. He grabs your legs and folds them back, knees by your head, and begins to swirl his tongue around your tight asshole. You’ve never had this done before; a gasp escapes you as you watch him.

His eyes flicker from your pussy in front of him to your surprised face. He smirks and moves one of his hands to your clit and begins to rub it. Your face begins to turn into one of pleasure, his cock twitches wishing to be inside of you.

König lowers you again, moving his face to kiss your side and stomach as he slips two of his fingers into your pussy. His fingers are so big they feel better than your toy. Your moans get slightly louder so you grab the blanket to bite on to. A wet trail of kisses trails back down to your pussy, his tongue moving in circles around your clit.

“König! Too much!” You try to push his head away but he shakes it.

“Not until you cum.” He feels your fingers pull his hair as your moans slowly escalate. Your hips begin to rock into his tongue so he holds it still for you as his fingers curl up and rub back and forth on your g spot.

You close your eyes as a strong wave of ecstasy crashes over you, feeling the wetness of your orgasm on your thighs. The blanket in your mouth doing little to silence your moans as you cry out for König. He moves his face away, withdrawing his fingers and rubbing them on your wet thighs.

“Lay down on your stomach with your legs closed together.”

You do as he says without question, looking over your shoulder as he moves his body over yours. He slips his sensitive cock between his thighs, using your cum as his lube. A shaky breath leaves his lips as he thrust himself between your thick thighs. Your legs twitch when the tip of his cock rubs past your clit.

“Fuck you’re so soft.” He moans. He watches your ass jiggle with every movement, driving him wild. There is no way he will last very long.

“I’m going to cum.” König whimpers. Getting lost in the sensation of you, he begins to fuck your thighs in a quicker pace. His cock accidently slips into your tight little cunt, instantly wrapping around him as he thrust almost all the way in.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out from feeling your cunt stretched out suddenly. König’s cock throbs deeply inside of you. He doesn’t pull out, what’s done is done. Instead, with his knees he spreads your legs apart, grabbing you by your hips and pulls you to him.

#konig #konig x reader #könig #konig cod #konig x y/n #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x reader smut #x reader #konig x you #könig x you #könig x y/n #konig x female reader #smut #cod smut #könig call of duty

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14dayswithyou · 1 day

Note

Meowdy Saint! ^^ lolol hello hello o/ hope you are doing good!!

So this masterpiece of a game has been invading my mind with ZERO chill lately which directly translated to me coming up with a TON of questions orz I really didn't realize how many I ended up compiling lol

If you don't feel like answering this many please feel absolutely free to ignore this ask or only answer the ones you like the most, the last thing I want is for you to feel overwhelmed! ^^

ALRIGHT LET'S-A GO

-does he know how to give massages? :00

-during day 1, how did Ren come up with a book on the local flora?? It seems like such a random topic to pick when put on the spot without already having a genuine interest in it lmao

(I am not sure if this⬇️ questions falls under character deaths, if it does I really apologize and absolutely feel free to ignore it ^^)

-uuhh I know there is already a lot in this ask(im seriously sorry orz), but I was wondering if we will eventually get an SFW alphabet for Ren/[REDACTED] for the folks who don't care about the nasty 👉👈

-THIS IS THE LAST THING I PROMISE 👹 will there be a guide to get all the endings? I'm not sure if there is one already and in that case I missed it 100%

Also I find it ironic how the fandom is trying to find out every single aspect of Ren/[REDACTED]'s character the same way he must do with angel lmao

ALRIGHT THATS ALL IM SO SORRY FOR ASKING SO MUCH THE REN BRAINROT HOURS ARE SO REAL IM LOSING BRAINCELLS orz Remember to take care of yourself drink water and take breaks!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

(Also sorry if some phrases don't make sense, english isn't my first language as I am 🤌 lolol)

✦゜ANSWERED: Under da cut because this got long >:3

-do Rendacted's memories remain intact when he resets the day or do his wipe too with everyone else's? Also is there an in-universe answer for why he has these glitchy powers or is he just Built Different™? Ren's memories remain intact!! I mean... He remembers each time you get a bad end and sometimes says something different... >:3 There is also an in-universe reason as to why he has his abilities — I won't spoil anything, but his real name (along with River's and one other character) have a reeeeally big tell. But what this tell is is for me to know and you to find out >:3

-if angel made it VERY clear that they would be mad asf and prolly even start hating and leave Ren/[REDACTED] if he were to hurt their friends(or killing people bc this man needs to chill fr), would he listen to them? Bc I know that if he touches Violet, Elanor, Kiara or god forbid Moth I'm personally deleting his kneecaps 🥰 Ren (and by extension [REDACTED]) knows not to harm anyone if he knows you won't like it — and even then — he won't actively show that murderous side of him in the first place. To Angel, Ren is just a timid, normal guy.

-since it seems to me that Ren/[REDACTED] is only kinda meh at cooking I was wondering if he actually made the not burnt pancakes in day 3 or if he had some store bought ones that he passed off as his own lol Ren is actually good at cooking, he's just a bit out of touch since he doesn't normally cook for himself! It's normally microwave meals or takeout for him... ^^; And yes, Ren did burn and burn the pancakes in Day 3 — he was distracted by something on his phone :3

Bonus cut Day 3 content: I took out the scene where Ren started to profusely apologise for burning the pancake because he often had to cook when he was younger. Given the dynamic of his family and the environment he grew up in, Ren didn't have much room to make mistakes ;n; I cut this scene out because I felt bad ksgskd So y'all get to have flustered, happy Ren instead!!

-does he know how to give massages? :00 If that was one of Angel's interests or desires, then sure!! ^^

-during day 1, how did Ren come up with a book on the local flora?? It seems like such a random topic to pick when put on the spot without already having a genuine interest in it lmao Someone else likes flora too, and it sure would be funny if Ren (eventually) starts to mimic certain traits and interests of the person you have the highest affinity/relationship points with in order to make himself look more appealing… >:3c

-if I understood correctly Maple should be Jae's dog right?? Did you have a specific breed or age in mind when creating her? I got curious because in my head she automatically popped up as a young australian shepherd to match with Jae's hyperactive dumbass energy lol❀⸜(˶´ ˘ `˶)⸝❀ It was mentioned in Jae's lore post (I'll link it here once I find it), but Maple is a Labrador! (Leon would be Jae's Australian Shepherd hehe) In my mind, Maple is only 2 or 3 years old, but that wouldn't really fit the official timeframe... ^^; Jae adopted Maple during high school so he wouldn't feel lonely at home, and it's been over 6+ years since then.... hgdshjg

-staying on the dog topic lol, in day 1 when angel gets up from the couch to get Ren the inflatable mattress(iirc) and he follows right behind them i immediately thought he acted like a puppy lmao. So would he mind being called 'puppy' as a pet name? Angel affectionately calls Ren a puppy during the scene in Day 1 where they meet up after work, so that nickname definitely could work!

-from an ask from last year it seems [REDACTED] would ultimately kill angel if there was ultimately not way to enter in their life?? Gotta say I was very taken aback by this, would this still be the case after a year of building more to his character? (Ok I went back to check the ask again but I can't for the life of me find it anymore maybe I dreamt it up idk😭😭 im really sorry if that is the case jdkslajdl) aaa I think you might be mistaking that ask for something else? ;v; [REDACTED] would NEVER harm Angel in any capacity, and they're a very patient person. Even if it took decades for Angel to fall in love with him, they'll wait.

-THIS IS THE LAST THING I PROMISE 👹 will there be a guide to get all the endings? I'm not sure if there is one already and in that case I missed it 100% I've shared a spreadsheet that lists all the available choices, the points you earn from each of them, and the endings you can get — however it's only available on Discord and I don't really want to share it outside of the server and potentially put it in the hands of minors. Sorry!!

Also I find it ironic how the fandom is trying to find out every single aspect of Ren/[REDACTED]'s character the same way he must do with angel lmao Hehe >:3 There's a loooot of lore that won't ever be mentioned in the game (since it doesn't seem fitting/I don't see a reason to), so I'm happy to provide it here!

#💌 — answered.#💖 — 14 days with queue.#to be tagged later #icant-pickthenameiwant

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 3 days

Note

Covey, dearest Covey. I would love a Percy x fem!reader where they’re very Orpheus and Eurydice coded but with a happy ending please

✮⋆˙ what was there to complain of, but that she had been loved? - orpheus-coded! percy jackson x eurydice-coded! reader blurb

𝜗𝜚 content…orpheus-coded! percy jackson x eurydice-coded! reader blurb 𝜗𝜚 warning…references to orpheus and eurydice's depressing ass story lmao 𝜗𝜚 letters from the author…stole this from hadestown, sort of lmao. tbh, this prompt was kinda tricky bc like...they are in love now what, ya know???? but, i did the best i could and i like the concept so HA

────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

"i'm gonna marry that girl," percy breathed out, his gaze hazy and his smile droopy as he stared across the dining pavilion.

"huh?" grover asked, swallowing the last bit of his can before following percy's gaze, a frown settling over his lips as he raised a brow at percy, "dude, you've never even talked to that girl-"

"you're right, grover. i should go talk to her," mused percy, quickly rising from his seat despite grover's desperate reaching out for him.

"what- no, that's not- perce!" bleated grover, rising to follow him before sighing and sinking back into his seat, muttering prayers for the boy, certain he'd need them.

"hi," percy hummed as he walked up to you, smiling a dazzling smile and nearly buzzing at the way you looked up at him with a soft smile.

"hi?" you replied, tilting your head in intrigue at the new arrival to your table.

"so, you're like really pretty and i think we should get to know each other."

"oh, yeah?" you teased, sweetly, leaning forwards and resting your cheek against your fist.

"oh, yes! i think we'd make a great couple," offered percy, his smirk growing with how long you were willing to entertain his conversation.

"you know what? why not."

"i'm percy," the boy breathed out, holding his hand out grasp your own.

"hello, percy. i'm y/n."

and that was the begging of a love for the ages. again.

years from that day, long after the trails and tribulations, long after battles won and battles lost, long after the two of you hung up the armor and committed to a quiet life, you'd look back and laugh at the naive interaction. you guys were just two kids, unaware that the love of your life was awkwardly standing in front of you and asking your name, like in previous life times they hadn't sung it at the top of their lungs or whispered it as they turned, dooming themselves to never see each other again.

your souls loved each in ways that will be and has already been written down in myth, a love that transcends death and life and death once more.

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #hoo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson fandom #perseus jackson #perseus jackson x reader #pjo hoo toa #toa #heroes of olympus #perseus jackson fanfic

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unreliablesnake · 1 day

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MDNI, mention of sex, afab!reader

That son of a bitch shot him on their last mission. König was often in the way of bullets, but this was friendly fire. Ghost and him were on the same side, yet he managed to get a bullet in his side from the Brit. Maybe he was petty for not being able to forgive him. Yes, he did say it was okay, that there was no issue between them, but deep down he was mad at the lieutenant. So what was he supposed to do? Let it go? No, that wouldn’t be right. He hired a private investigator to find out more about him, to find his weak spot.

No one was allowed to see his face, but he heard his surname on the field, then he overheard a conversation about Manchester, and later Soap accidentally called him Simon in the pub during a conversation before making König promise not to tell anyone he said that. “Especially not the Lt, he would murder me if he knew,” the Scotsman slurred with a sheepish smile. He nodded, of course, then forwarded the now complete name and location to the PI.

That’s how he learned about you. Ghost’s pretty little ex, a precious porcelain doll he should have kept locked away to keep it safe. The PI was young, barely thirty and fairly handsome, so he had no issue getting close to your circle. According to one of the women you were friends with, you were the one who ended the relationship. “She said he was away a lot, but if you ask me, it’s the age difference. He was what? Thirty-four? Thirty-five? And he acted like he was over forty. She can do better. Too bad that asshole still bothers her to get her back,” she added with a roll of her eyes.

By the time his current mission ended, König had your address and some additional information about your daily routine on his phone. According to the report, you spent every Saturday with your friends in a pub near your apartment, so he went there and watched you from afar. Then he not-so-accidentally bumped into you, his hand falling on your shoulder as he checked if you were okay. “Careful, you wouldn’t want to waste that beer,” he said with a smile, then moved on towards the bar.

It didn’t take much time for you to find him, taking the empty bar stool next to him and flashing a disarming smile at him. “Your eyes are ridiculously blue,” you blurted out.

You were drunk, it was clear as day, but he didn’t mind. It would be easier to get close to you, to convince you to go to his hotel room with him and let him fuck you stupid. He would record the whole thing, making sure your cockdrunk expression was visible on the footage so Ghost could see what he took from him.

In his head he had everything planned out right to the very last tiny detail, because he wasn’t planning to stop at one night. No. Ghost has a good taste, he had to admit that, this is why he didn’t feel like letting go of a pretty thing like you too soon. He would have fun. Maybe he would marry you. Maybe he would put a baby in you to keep you near. Yes, he could surely turn you into a trophy wife, sitting home, looking pretty, raising your kid right, and of course taking care of the man of the house.

His fingers brushed your cheek as he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes fixed on your plump lips that shined so bright from the lip gloss. There was no way to fight the thought of having you on your knees in front of him, these shiny lips being wrapped around his cock as you tried to take more of him despite your gag reflex kicking in. He would talk you through it, whispering praises as he patted your head.

When you realized he wasn’t about to talk, you turned your head a little to kiss his hand and put a hand on his thigh. “Don’t you wanna buy me a drink, big guy?” you purred with a flirtatious smile.

He had a feeling it would be easy to pick you up, but this was almost too easy. You came to him yourself; all you needed was a touch of your arms as he bumped into you and now you were pretty much begging him to fuck you. Because König wasn’t stupid, he knew that’s what you wanted. And who was he to say no? So he flashed a smile at you then pulled you into a kiss, even slipping off the chair to trap you between the bar top and his body. You had your hands on his hips, thumbs moving under his shirt to draw circles into his skin.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t we go somewhere private, hm?” he asked as he leaned closer to the shell of your ear. One of your hands moved up to his back under the shirt, long fingernails scratching his skin in a way that made him shiver. You were truly something. No wonder Ghost still wasn’t over you. “Let’s go.”

#könig #könig x reader #konig #konig x reader #call of duty #modern warfare #mw2 #mw3 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

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zoeyuniverse · 2 days

Text

American pie [1/2]

Category : Caitlin C × !momreader

Summary : You and Caitlin have known each other since childhood, you love each other more than friends but the situation pushes you to live in hiding. While Caitlin suffers from this situation and lets you know it, an event changes everything.

4 months ago

It's a busy weekend for you and Caitlin, as local basketball teams compete in a three-day tournament.

The tournament itself has no stakes, and winning it won't affect the official championship standings. So it can be described as "friendly". But unofficially, it allows players and teams to get noticed. To stand out from the crowd and make a name for themselves.

So every team and every player has a little bit of anxiety before every game and tries to keep up as best they can.

You and Caitlin have known each other forever. Kindergarten was where you first met, where you first talked, and where your friendship began.

You've been through a lot with her, you've always been there for each other, and at the age of 21, you never doubted the trust and love you had for each other.

You've never played basketball, but you've always enjoyed encouraging her, supporting her, watching her grow in the sport, and becoming her number one fan. She couldn't get enough of you, and at every game, her eyes sought yours for comfort and courage.

In the eyes of everyone, especially those closest to you, you're the best of friends, like in typical American movies.

But you've both known for some time that this bond and these feelings are more than friendship. That's why you've been secretly dating for over a year now. You look forward to every moment you can get away from the world to kiss and cuddle.

If you've decided to keep this relationship a secret, it's because your parents couldn't bear to find out that you like women.

In fact, you come from a very conservative aristocratic family. And you're officially in a relationship with a boy your own age and, more importantly, from the same social class as you. Your parents introduced you to him about 10 months ago, and you quickly accepted, hoping that this relationship would make it easier to hide your relationship with Caitlin.

Of course, your girlfriend doesn't like the situation, but she accepts it out of respect for you, and you can never thank her enough.

Today is the penultimate day of the tournament, and Team Iowa is well on its way to winning its last game of the day. There's only one quarter left, but it won't be enough for the other team to come back from behind.

So this is the perfect opportunity for you to admire Caitlin on the field without the stress.

The tall brunette is as relaxed as she is smiling as she watches the clock tick away. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, which you did yourself before the game started. Her muscular shoulders gleam in the spotlight.

The crowd chants and screams Caitlin's name as she continues to put on a show, scoring more and more impressive baskets. She couldn't care less about the disappointment her opponents will feel when the final buzzer sounds.

Your heart races and a smile spreads across your face as you watch your friend blossom on the court. She's talented, beautiful, and popular. Many would give anything to be friends with her, if not more. And yet she reserves that privilege for you, and you alone.

And with only a few seconds left, you approach the edge of the field. With your "22 Clark" jersey on your back, you wait for another autograph.

This is your little ritual: Ever since her arrived in Iowa, you've proudly worn Caitlin's jersey to all of her games, and every time she wins, she adds a signature to it. That makes you the most autographed fan in the world.

- Hi ! she says, signing her name on a loose part of youre jersey.

- Hi! you say.

She hands you back your marker and you look into each other's eyes for a long time, her exploding with the joy of victory and you contemplating the stars shining in her eyes.

- I love it when you look at me like that Caitlin smile.

- I love looking at you, you're sublime, Caity.

Her eyes went to your lips as your boyfriend grabbed your hips and pulled you close.

- Don't look at my girlfriend like you're going to devour her, Clark, I'll end up thinking you're trying to steal her away from me. he joked falsely.

The player's smile vanished and her eyes filled with hatred at the sight of his hands on your hips.

- No risk, I'll leave you alone, my team is waiting for me, see you later Y/N.

You tried to smile at her before turning to your boyfriend.

- The game went well, didn't it? He smiled.

- Yeah, it was cool, but my stomach hurts. ....

- Shall we go home?

Of course, you didn't want to go home. That's why you bargained with him to let you spend the night with Caitlin.

He understood your little trick, but you made a deal that he wouldn't tell your parents your secret. So you agreed to having sex with him from time to time at first and the, after he met a girl, let him see her. Caitlin knows absolutely nothing about this, and you knew better than to tell her. You're doing this for you and her.

When he finally agreed, he left, saying goodbye to you and making you promise to spend the next evening with him, as you both had to go to dinner with his family.

So you waited in silence for Caitlin to come out of the dressing room, and when she finally did, after many minutes, her wet hair fell back on her shoulders. You were so impatient that you wanted to jump into her arms.

Strangely, she didn't respond to your embrace, gently pushing you away.

- You should have gone home with him.

You took the time to look at her and saw that her eyebrows were furrowed and her jaw clenched.

You grimaced as you felt the pain in your stomach suddenly intensify, then resumed the conversation:

- It's you I want to be with, it's you I love. I thought we were celebrating your victory!

- Because I don't love you?

- I didn't say that, Caity!

You grabbed her arm and forced her to stop. The pain became too much and you couldn't do it while walking.

- He knows Y/N. He deliberately puts his dirty hands on you, kisses you in front of me, holds you close. It destroys me, it hurts. Don't you know how many years I've spent waiting for you to realize how much I love you, and now that we're starting to create our story, for real, I have to share you with a guy out of nowhere and say nothing?

- I'm doing this for us...I...it's not easy for either of us...

- For us? But we're not going to live like this all our lives. I want to see us grow together, travel, why not get married or buy a coffee maker and have cats all over the house. Fucking Y/N, we're 21 and we're hiding like teenagers!

- I want to do all that with you and you know it. You're not being fair, Caitlin, I'm scared.

- Scared of what? Losing parents who never loved you for who you really are? Fine, if that's what you want, then be their sweet little girl, but I don't want to go through this anymore, I've sacrificed too much in this story, I'm going crazy!

You knew the situation wasn't easy for anyone, especially her. But to see her look at you with such contempt and anger, to hear those words, it's like a slap in the face. You were convinced you were doing what was best for you, but you were wrong, and it meant losing the one you love most in the world.

Your ears are ringing, your vision is clouded with tears, your heart is racing. You hate yourself, but the noise in your head prevents you from finding the words to answer her. The pain in your stomach seems to be worsened, becoming less and less manageable.

- I'm sorry, Y/N, you should go home... shall I call you a cab?

When she asked this question, her tone had softened and you could hear a hint of concern.

But not being able to think clearly, you let her drag you to her car and she took you home, in your room.

- I didn't want you to get into this state, but I'm suffering too.

That night she drove off, leaving you in bed after planting a kiss on your forehead. You writhed in pain for part of the night, and as she closed the door to your big house, she never imagined it would be the last time she'd see you for a long time, before everything between you and her changed forever.

______________________________________

Thanks for reading, remember that English is not my first language!

#wlw #fanfic #wcbb x reader #caitlin clark fic #caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader

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penkura · 1 day

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where you belong [1/10]

Summary: As Luffy's big sister, you've viewed it to be your job to see him become King of the Pirates in place of your absent parents, even as you try to find where it is you belong in the world. You never really expected to draw the attention of Trafalgar Law in the process.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!reader

Warnings: Discussion of feelings of abandonment, age gap relationship (four years), brief secret relationship, mentions and heavy refences to sex, mentions of alcohol, typical One Piece stuff. Other warnings to be added if needed.

Notes: Hi, it's me again! Another fanfic here for you all! When this goes up, I'll be on my last day of vacation before I fly home, so I hope that you'll enjoy this! I know Straw Hat Reader x Law is popular, and I wanted to write my own, but with the Reader being Luffy's biological older sister. So for this, Reader is three years older than Luffy, 20 at the start and 22 after the timeskip, making Law four years older. I personally like older men, and age gap fics are just delicious reading material for me (within reason, nothing illegal).

Note 2: This is NOT the Law with vitiligo series. That one is actively being planned but will be separate from this one.

“And I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!!”

Luffy standing your tiny dingy boat worries you a little, but you still grin at him and nod.

“Hell yeah you will be!”

“Your turn! What’re you gonna do while we sail??”

Rolling your eyes, you make Luffy sit down while you stand up.

“Easy. I’m gonna chronicle your journey and write the greatest story ever told!”

Your younger brother watches you, tilting his head when you don’t continue. He believes there has to be more you want out of life, and tries to make you say what else is in your plans, what you have on your mind.

“And?”

Taking a breath, you nod. Of course he knew you had more, it’s Luffy, he’s been by your since he was just a few weeks old. Things you’ve said over time, to him and Ace, they’d both known for a long time what you’ve always wanted to find once you went out to sea.

“And find where it is I belong.”

+!+

Your arrival in Sabaody was a trip, in more than one way. You'd been excited to explore the place, hoping you could pawn your younger brother off on Camie, Pappag, and the others so you could have some time on your own to shop the stalls, maybe with Nami and Robin, turn it into a girl’s day. Of course, though, nothing could be so easy when your brother is the captain of the Straw Hats. You all find yourselves at the human auction hall, Nami willing to spend all the money possible to save Camie, but it makes you itchy while being there. You cringe to think about the things that happened in this place, how many people had been sold to Celestial Dragons. Your and Luffy's loss of Sabo due to the actions of one had severely soured your opinions on them.

You scan the crowd in the auction house, scratching at your arms which never seem to calm down while the rest of your crew discusses their plan to save Camie, and you end up locking eyes with another pirate captain there, unknown to you at that moment but somehow familiar.

A furry white, spotted hat, dark hair you can barely see, oddly enough you think his facial hair is attractive, and those yellow eyes that you almost would believe see right through you.

Trafalgar Law simply stares at you, realizing you’re a Straw Hat when he recognizes the rest of your crewmates. After a moment of fidgeting slightly you give him a nervous smile and a wave, which he returns with a nod before turning back to the auction stage as they continue to call bids on people.

Weird girl.

Strange guy.

Although she’s busy watching for Camie to be brought out, Nami still leans into you when you pull on her sleeve and start to whisper. “You see that guy in the white spotted hat?”

“What about him?”

“I think he’s Trafalgar Law, captain of the Heart Pirates. He’s more attractive than his poster makes him.”

Rolling her eyes, Nami pulls her arm away from you. “I don’t have time for you to be horny about some guy.”

“Wha—Nami!! I’m not! I’m just saying.”

She doesn’t listen to you anymore, focusing back on waiting for Camie and sending you to watch for Luffy, just so you don’t get distracted by the attractive enemy captain and defect to another crew.

You swear you never will, but do as you’re told to watch for your brother. Maybe one day you’ll get to properly meet Law, you’re quite curious about the young man.

+!+

“Another one?! Are you kidding me, Dragon?!”

You’re three years old when you wake up to your grandfather yelling at someone in the middle of the night. Normally Garp is sure to keep things quiet so you, his sweet little princess angel granddaughter, can sleep peacefully. He’d leave early in the morning once your nanny showed up for the day, returning before dinner so he had the evenings with you before you had to be off to bed, to do the day over again the next morning. It’s rare for you to stay up late or wake up early, but the few mornings you’ve woken up before he left were some of Garp’s favorites.

You quietly slip out of your bed, blanket in your hand as you rub your eyes and go to the door, opening it just enough to see what’s happening. Garp is there with someone in a green cloak, you can’t see the other person’s face, but listen anyway.

“He’s the last one, there won’t be anymore.”

“You said [Y/N] was going to be the only one!”

“Things happened.”

“Obviously something happened, babies don’t appear out of thin air!’

You tilt your head, the man in the cloak catching your eye, which makes you shy away behind your doorway, glancing away before back to him as he looks to Garp again.

“Take care of them.” He goes to leave and is gone before Garp can even stop him.

“Dragon, wait--! That…damn idiot.”

“Grandpa?”

Garp is surprised to hear your voice, turning around once he closes the door, giving you a smile while you start to focus on the bundle he's holding.

“Hey there, princess, what are you doing up?”

“I heard yelling…”

Nodding, Garp apologizes as he picks you up, letting you settle on his free arm. “Sorry about that, angel. Just… an unexpected visitor.”

“Oh…”

Garp sees you staring more at the bundle of blankets in his arm than at him, and he sighs a bit, taking you to the living room and setting you on the couch, before showing you how to position your arms as he sets the now squirming bundle in your arms.

“[Y/N], this is your baby brother. His name is Luffy.”

How unexpected! You’ve never thought about having a sibling, just enjoying your childhood and life with your grandpa, but seeing this tiny little boy in your just as small arms makes you grin while you look at him. Dark black hair and just as dark eyes, scrunched up little face and tiny hands in fists while he starts to fuss and whine.

“Luffy…”

+!+

Luffy…

You hope your prayers aren’t going unheard, that Luffy will return to you safely. Ace’s death has long passed, but you’re more worried about your little brother than anything else right now. You’d both been sent off to Amazon Lily by Kuma, but after they’d all agreed to let you both stay, and Boa Hancock seems to have fallen in love with him, Luffy left you there to go rescue Ace, that was nearly three weeks ago now, you think. You want him back, both of them, but want to see Luffy more than anyone else.

“Luffy’s returned, [Y/N]-san!”

“He has?!”

Marguerite nods and you quickly get up from your seat and run after her to wherever Luffy is. The newspapers kept implying he was dead, you were terrified you’d lost him and Ace that day, no updates from anyone apart from the papers cheering for the Navy’s alleged victory, for the deaths of Ace and Whitebeard. The Amazons, all so kind to let you stay while Luffy went to try and rescue Ace, were unsure of how to help you the last two weeks once Ace’s vivre card burned to nothing in your hands and made you nearly inconsolable.

Despite that, your prayers hadn’t gone unheard.

Once you’re at the beach that Luffy should be at, you notice immediately the big yellow submarine with the word DEATH on it and it freaks you out more than anything. You don’t know who owns it, but when you catch sight of someone you’ve only seen in person once, you worry that he’s done something to Luffy. You don’t say a word, but someone in a jumpsuit (boiler suit you think?) calls out “captain” just in time for him to turn towards you as you shove the older boy to the ground, placing yourself on top of him and your knife to his neck.

Part of you wishes it was poisoned right now, just in case this Trafalgar Law has done something to your brother.

“Where’s Luffy?!”

The knife you have at his neck doesn’t phase Law even a tiny bit, it’s the fact that someone so much shorter and smaller than him was able to catch him off guard and shove him to the ground the way you did. You’re angry for some reason, giving him a nasty glare but look like you’re about to cry on top of it, as he just stares at you, his crewmembers shouting for you to get off their captain before he raises a hand to stop them.

“Who—”

“Tell me, where is my brother?!”

Oh so that’s what’s wrong, that’s who you are. Whether you’re related to Luffy by blood or by ritual cup like Ace was, Law doesn’t know, but he’s sure you want reassurance you haven’t lost two brothers in one day.

“Are you [Y/N]?”

You turn your head to look over your shoulder at Jinbei, still glaring. “Who’s asking?!”

“I was friends with your brother Ace, he told me about you and Luffy while we were in Impel Down.”

“He…did?”

You’ve calmed down so quickly hearing Ace’s name, retracting your knife just slightly, while Jinbei explains things to you. You don’t move off of Law though, listening quietly, fighting the desire to cry more. You’ve done enough of that, you don’t want to anymore today.

Law doesn’t even try to move you off, knowing, like Luffy, you’re emotionally hurting right now. He doesn’t want to risk you slicing his neck either, even as Jinbei finishes telling you everything Ace did, and you still don’t move or look at Law.

“Ace hopes you find what you’re looking for.”

You clench your jaw a bit at first, before smiling sadly and nodding, thanking Jinbei for the information before Law speaks up.

“If you get off me, I can take you to Straw Hat-ya.”

You blink, finally looking back to Law, and you feel your face burn with a blush when you realize your position and scramble to get off him, apologizing the whole way while he shakes his head. Once he’s on his feet, Law let’s you onto the Polar Tang and leads you down the hallway to the infirmary, updating you on Luffy’s condition the best he can with the knowledge he has.

“If he pulls through this, the most you’ll have to worry about is his mental health.”

“Mm.” You nod, grabbing Law’s arm as he stops to open a door, making him look back at you. “I apologize for shoving you down.”

“I’ve been through worse,” Law shrugs, you could tell just from looking at him, though he does smirk a bit at you, “Never had a girl push me down and hold a poisoned knife to my neck before though.”

“It wasn’t poisoned,” you almost shout, but keep your voice down to not wake Luffy, “…this time…”

He almost laughs, but when you see Luffy finally, you’re instantly but his side, taking his hand and trying to keep yourself from crying seeing him in such a state. He’d been injured badly before, but never like this, never this close to death.

“Luffy…oh Luffy, I’m here, Lu,” you brush his bangs away from his face before kissing his forehead, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, I should’ve come with you…”

Law doesn’t bother you for the next several minutes, stepping out so you have some privacy while you make sure Luffy is all right, your quiet prayers that he wakes soon and heals quickly don’t go unheard by the surgeon of death, who thinks back to his own sister and the prayers he’d once prayed for her health as a child.

As an older sibling, he gets it. While he still doesn’t know yet if you’re related by blood or sworn siblings, he does see how much you care for Luffy, and for your sake he hopes your captain wakes sooner rather than later.

+!+

You spend the next two weeks in and out of the Polar Tang, checking on Luffy and praying over him to wake soon, Law being the one to take you in and lead you back out most of the time, even though you’ve memorized the path already. The next time you leave Luffy to continue recovering, the friends you and Luffy have made from Amazon Lily have shown up in the time you’ve been with him, bringing food and drinks for you all. As you walk over to where he’s seated, Law offers you a drink that you reject with a shake of your head, sitting on the other side of the tree and bringing your knees up to your chest, hiding your face in them.

“Any signs he’s waking up?”

Shaking your head, you sigh and lean back, looking at the people around to distract yourself from worrying over Luffy.

“That your crew?”

“Yep. All twenty of them.”

You smile a bit, watching the Heart Pirates goof off while some have their meal and share drinks. It almost reminds you of the Straw Hats and makes your heart ache from missing them deeply.

“You have a nice group there.”

“They can be a handful.”

It makes you laugh a bit, nodding before you decide to stop wallowing and get back up, standing beside Law where he stays seated.

“Think you should hold this for now.”

Law tosses Luffy’s straw hat to you, and you grit your teeth a bit while you stare at it. You had wondered where it was, seeing it wasn’t around when you were with Luffy. You hold nothing but the highest regards for Shanks, he'd been an inspiration for you and Luffy when you were children, he helped end the war and helped Law save Luffy, but how you wish he’d shown up sooner. Maybe he could’ve helped Ace too.

“Thank you, for holding this.”

“Seems important to him, he’s not Straw Hat-ya without it.”

Smiling a bit, you nod. “He’s certainly not.”

“How do you—”

“I’m his big sister. I was three when our dad dropped him off with me and grandpa. We’ve been together almost every day since.”

“I see.”

You’re not entirely sure you trust Law, despite his saving Luffy, but you’re willing to give him a shot. At least let him know a bit about your history with Ace too, since he'd been there when you hadn’t been. Where Luffy asked you not to go.

“We met Ace and another boy when I was ten, and become sworn siblings with them soon after. The other boy died a few months later,” you grip the straw hat a bit tighter, but loosen your hold after being stabbed in the hand by sharp bits of straw, “a Celestial Dragon did it, we’ve not been fans of them since, so Luffy punching that one in Sabaody felt like some payback.”

“That makes sense.”

After a few minutes of silence, you finally realize something and turn to Law, sticking your hand out for him.

“Never introduced myself. Monkey D. [Y/N]. I don’t really use my last name though.”

Law takes your hand after a moment, nodding. “Trafalgar Law.”

“Thank you for saving my baby brother.”

“Don’t thank me until he wakes up.”

As if almost on cue, the door comes flying off the Polar Tang and you both whip your heads over, Law running ahead of you as you follow, and Luffy’s the next thing to almost fly out of the ship.

“Luffy!!”

You’re about to run to him before Law grabs hold of your arm, pulling you to himself and holding you still, even while you thrash around and listen to Luffy call for Ace. It breaks your heart to see him so upset, and you just want to console him, have him do the same for you, while you both continue to grieve for Ace. But Law won’t let you go to him, fear or concern your brother might hurt you while he fights through pain and raging emotions, before he disappears into the forest.

“Luffy, come back!!”

You barely register Jinbei asking what’ll happen if Luffy continues to flail and run off like that, before Law speaks and your heart almost drops to your stomach at the thought.

“If he continues to move around like that he could reopen his wound and bleed out. He’ll die.”

Quickly you turn around and Law isn’t at all shocked to see the tears welling up in your eyes as you grip his shirt, still holding Luffy’s straw hat.

“Don’t let that happen!! Please!! He’s all I have! Luffy is my whole world, I can’t lose him!!”

Unsure of what to do, especially once you lay your head on his chest while you cry, Law hesitantly wraps his arms around you and watches Jinbei go off to Luffy. Maybe he’ll be able to calm your brother down before he really hurts or kills himself.

You’ve both been through a lot the last few weeks, losing Luffy would break you more than losing Ace did to him.

+!+

“I’m sorry I got snot on your shirt.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll wash.”

You glance away and keep your eyes averted while Law changes shirts, having taken you onto the Polar Tang while Jinbei attempts to calm Luffy down. He didn’t fully mean to bring you into his room, but he never let go of your wrist while he led through the ship, making you sit down to hopefully calm you down. You do catch sight of his tattoos, wanting to say something but you don’t want to sound like a creep or a pervert at the same time.

“Why don’t you use your last name?”

Law surprises you once he’s changed shirts, this one almost the same as the yellow one he’d been wearing, but now a dark blue with a furry, feathery collar that you really want to pet, it looks soft. But again, you don’t want to seem like a creep.

For a moment you’re quiet, before you cross your arms and lean against the wall, shrugging.

“Why should I use the name of someone who abandoned me? I only have one memory of my father, and it was when he dropped off Luffy.”

“Your grandfather is Garp, isn’t he?”

“I love my grandpa like he’s my dad…but I don’t want to use my last name.”

Law nods a bit, seeming to understand. You felt abandoned, and wanted nothing to do with your biological father, instead viewing Garp in that light, which makes sense.

He'd viewed Corazon in the same light at one point.

“Your mother?”

“I know nothing about her. It’s like…” You start to bury your head in your knees again, almost digging your nails into your arms, “Like I don’t know who I am half the time…”

He gets that too, the same feelings after Flevance, after losing Corazon and leaving the Don Quixote family, leaving Doflamingo behind. Many times of looking in the mirror and asking “who the hell am I”.

Law is about to respond, before one of his crewmembers yells for you both that Luffy and Jinbei have returned to the beach, and you’re out the door so fast he isn’t able to believe it. He follows you out, not all surprised to see you and Luffy hugging each other tightly once he exits his ship.

Your bond with Luffy would be on full display the next few days, Law truthfully does wonder if he and Lammy would’ve been the same.

+!+

“I met some people who are friends with our dad.”

“You what?”

Luffy nods, giving you this information during dinner one evening, while you stare at him with such a blank look that Law thinks you’ve completely shut down. You didn’t say too much about your dad while you relayed some of your childhood to him earlier that day, apart from your perceived abandonment, but the look you have isn’t a very happy one.

“They’re were some cool people! They helped me escape that prison and…tried to help me save Ace.”

“So they were revolutionaries.”

“Yeah, they…they said they didn’t even know we existed.” Luffy scrunches up his face a bit while you frown, then pat his head.

“I’m not surprised, Lu.”

Luffy makes a face now, one that’s almost disgusted but annoyed but upset maybe. Law swears he isn’t trying to eavesdrop, you two are sitting too close to him anyway, you’re practically pressed up against his side. You both appear to have problems with your father, after the little bit you’ve told him and how you confessed to feeling abandoned by your parents. He wonders briefly is Luffy feels the same, even as your younger brother leans against you, pushing you fully into Law’s arm and making you glance up at him apologetically. He doesn’t move, once again doesn’t push you off, instead shifting his arm enough for you to be comfortable.

When Luffy falls asleep, you finally speak again.

“Luffy met our dad once, in Loguetown”

“Oh yeah?”

“Neither of us knew until grandpa told us…he didn’t even stop to say anything to me…”

“…I’m sorry.”

You shrug, watching Luffy. It still stung to know that, to know that Dragon didn’t even seek you out when he must’ve known you were on Luffy’s crew, that you’d never leave him to do this alone. When Garp told you he’d been in Loguetown that day, it felt like a knife in your heart that you didn’t even get to see or speak to your father.

Law, while he watches you start to drift off to sleep yourself, thinks about his own dad and Corazon at the same time. He had two fathers in the end, who both cared about and loved him deeply, both wanting to protect him as long as they could. He had his mother and Lammy too, you had Luffy and Garp, but it wasn’t enough for you, and it makes sense. To not have that connection with the people who gave you life, Law can’t even imagine how difficult that must be.

He ignores the slight snickers and comments from his crew when they see you leaned against him, even has he slightly tilts his head towards yours, not going all the way to lay his against your own. Even when Shachi makes a small comment about ‘love’ being in the air at Amazon Lily, Law doesn’t open his eyes to respond or even Shambles his friend away.

You won’t see each other again for a long time after this, most likely, so he’s willing to give you some comfort and allow his crew to see him a little softer than normal.

+!+

“Bye, thanks for your help, Traffy!”

Law tries not to grimace at the nickname Luffy’s given him over the last few days, nodding to you both as his crew also shouts goodbyes and wave to you both, you personally sad to see them leave. You’d spent so much time getting to know them while taking care of Luffy, that it felt like you were losing friends again. You’d probably see them one day, maybe as friends but maybe as foes, yet, you’d like to see more of Law and learn about him like he had you.

Luffy notices your face, the sad look it has, then looks back to the Heart Pirates as they start to disappear below deck. You’ve already chosen to stay on Amazon Lily the next two years and learn from the women there how to fight, but even watching you the last couple days, he could see your heart wasn’t in it. You more so loved using your knives and making poisons, he remembers the one he and Ace mistakenly drank thinking it was lavender tea from Makino. You weren’t an archer or a swordswoman, you much prefer close combat and paralyzing your enemies. Your work during Enies Lobby earned you your $25 million berri bounty, the Navy having trouble recreating antidotes from the one you’d left with a knocked out marine, they knew you’d be trouble one day.

With all that in mind, Luffy sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around you in what you first believe to be a hug, before he lifts you up and you look at him. He’s got a grin that concerns you greatly as the color drains from your face.

“Luffy.”

He giggles a bit, nodding at you to brace yourself.

“Luffy, don’t you dare.”

“Have fun with Traffy for two years!!!”

He doesn’t give you anymore room to argue, flinging you towards the Polar Tang, making you yell for Law to pay attention, and he barely does in time to catch you, knocking both of you to the ground, several Heart Pirates making sure both of you are all right and that Law didn’t hit his head on anything.

You’re up and holding onto the railing, yelling at Luffy, “You’re an idiot!!!”

He pretends he can’t hear you, waving widely and shouting another goodbye, but to you this time.

Once Law is sitting up, realizing what the hell has happened, he sighs a bit while you look back to him.

“I’m sorry, Trafalgar. You can turn back and I’ll beat some sense into him!”

One of his crewmembers, you’re pretty sure it’s Shachi, leans down to ask him, “Should we? Kinda seems like Straw Hat wants us to take her along.”

He sighs, taking his hat off and running his hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“You can stay.”

“…huh?”

You tilt your head in confusion, Law doesn’t think it’s cute at all no matter what that weird feeling in his chest is, while he stands up and nods at you.

“The Amazons might get angry if we return without permission, so we’ll just…take you along…and then bring you to Sabaody.”

Blinking several times, you’re still confused while some of his crew laugh, Penguin coming up to pat you on the back.

“You’re a temporary Heart Pirate! We’ll take care of you!”

Nodding, Law turns to go below deck.

“Say your goodbye, we’ll be going under shortly.”

While the rest of them follow after their captain, you turn back and see Luffy still waving at you, which makes you sigh and shake your head. You do smile though, you had wanted to continue getting to know Law and his crew, this was a perfect opportunity, and maybe he could help you with creating effective antidotes for your poisons.

“Luffy! Love you, see you in two years!”

“Okay!!!!”

Once you go below deck, Penguin being the one to wait for you in order to close the door properly, he starts to show you around a bit, the rest of the crew happy to see you’re staying with them for now, while Law keeps a slight distance unless he’s asked about something. You looking around and being so impressed by the submarine caused another weird feeling in his chest, and he fights to ignore it, especially when you thank him for letting you stay with a smile, which he waves off with an “It’s nothing”.

It's going to be an interesting two years.

#one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #where you belong #fem!reader

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bsof-maarav · 3 days

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it's good this is my only social media and that i've insulated myself from the worst of this place. i'm not watching that video. i understand the value in bearing witness. but for me, it's like this. i know what's been happening to the hostages already, i don't need to be convinced. i don't want to violate them further by watching the beginning of the worst part of their lives and i don't want to be even more secondhand traumatized either. it would make me less, not more, able to do what i can do to be of use to the hostages.

but even more than i'm not watching that video, i'm not watching the absolutely psychopathic response to it by the mobs who are indulging in an orgy of probably the two oldest forms of hatred in the world--misogyny and antisemitism.

when i heard this video would be released, i had that impulse to hope that maybe now my former friends and community would finally get it. but it's not the case. we've all known this whole time. there's been no mystery about what kind of violence the go-pro wearing terrorists are perpetrating. we've already seen enough to know, even without seeking it out. journalists have described it thoroughly as well. if someone says they need to see something more explicit for "proof," they're nothing but consumers of terrorist torture porn. it's pure רַע

i'm not even going to try writing any appeals about these womens' humanity because anyone who doesn't get it, that's because they don't want to get it and they probably never will. they're getting off on this dehumanizing violence and trying to join it as part of the virtual mob. they're empty people and they are not going to change.

we are looking directly at this hate, some of us for the first time, and it's a window through time, through which we can see what many generations of Jews, and particularly Jewish women, have seen before. the violence and hatred is unchanging. only the technology of the violence has changed. the violence itself has not. the hatred has not. we know more about every previous age now, more about how our ancestors' hearts felt when they were breaking, the fear and anger, the determination to survive and make something better.

it's unbearable to know how outnumbered we are, how much of the world is morally and ethically dead when it comes to us, and how many of them accept, deny, are indifferent to, or celebrate this violence against us. it always has been unbearable, untenable, and yet we're here: the latest in a long line of generations who move forward even when it feels impossible, and do what we can to make a better world for the next ones with the conviction that no one should be hurt like this. never again.

and now i'm going back to listening to Israeli music. because i try to experience some kind of peace and calm each day, whatever i can, so i will have some strength to send. through davening, i try to send strength to the hostages to help them survive. we're one family, and all deeply connected. i have to hope that it helps in some way.

if you want to say Mi Sheberach and Tehillim for these women and don't know how, please reach out. or just daven from the heart for them, dedicate it to their merit, say each of their names out loud. light an extra Shabbat candle for them. set an extra place at your table. put something about them in a public place to make their reality present there. you'll have to protect it from attack. but do it anyway.

and if you want to know what you can do to pressure your political representatives or organizations to do something to free these captives, and all of the captives, i'll be here to talk about that as well.

#jumblr #october 7 #israel #terrorism #frumblr #israeli women #antisemitism #misogyny #rape culture #violence against women and girls #me too unless ur a jew #rape apologists #רַע #every day i'm losing my mind #our daughters should never have to fear this

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jolieblack · 1 day

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Something finally came to me! (I usually can’t write to prompts to save my life.)

May Prompts 2024 by @calaisreno

May 24th: Imperfect

We've always done things the wrong way round.

We moved in together at a time when we knew no more than four or five facts about each other. Significant facts, granted, such as John being a war veteran and me having no patience with idiots, but neither of us could have claimed to have had anything even close to the full picture at the time. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if either of us had. Only on my really bad days, though.

I don’t have all that many of those any more, luckily. And when I do, I have plenty of good memories to help me pull myself up again. Take the ones of how we confessed our love to each other to a beautifully decorated room full of people in festive dress and in even more festive spirit, to much applause and cheering and well-wishing. Yes, you heard that plural right. Those are two separate memories, years apart and in two different places. I got to go first, and it wasn’t even me who was getting married at the time. That’s another thing that most couples would do differently. Coordinate it a bit better, at least.

The second time around, as a lot of you will remember well, it was John's turn to talk, and I‘d been told in no uncertain terms to keep my mouth shut and say nothing, not even to correct his grammar, till he was done. I can now attest that it is true that the groom never gets to have a say in anything at his own wedding. Someone got his late revenge there. And believe me, that doesn’t depend on whether it’s one groom or two. Yes, and I know there are still people out there even in this day and age who feel that it’s not normal to have two grooms at all. They can all go away and never show their ugly faces again where I can see them, or smell the foul breath of the bigoted filth they’re spouting. That’s not the wrong way around, that couldn’t be more right for both of us.

But we did other things the wrong way around, too. In most romantic stories, killing someone to save the person you love is usually the culmination of long mutual trust and dedication. It‘s supposed to be the crowning glory, the final sealing of a bond that has long been in the making. It’s not supposed to be the starting point. And John is usually the more patient of the two of us, but when it came to this, he could barely contain himself for 36 hours after our very first meeting before he did it. Ever heard of timing and pacing, Doctor, I hear you people wonder? And he’s supposed to be the one with the talent for good storytelling. The timing was good, though. The timing was excellent. There’s another 'what if' for you that is no fun to contemplate at all.

There is killing out of love, and - I have to say it, I can’t not, I‘d be lying by omission if I didn't - there's also dying out of love. I doubt, however, that there’s anyone out there who has ever put a more elaborate effort into pretending to die out of love than I have. As far as I‘m aware, that’s not really a romantic convention, either, and I sincerely hope I haven’t started a trend. I honestly can’t recommend it. Effort is well and good, and I dare say the execution in my case was flawless, but I can’t deny there was a certain lack of forethought as to the emotional impact on both parties concerned. Don‘t try this at home, folks.

People also usually date first, then start cohabiting, then get married, then raise children together. Please don’t ask me to define at what time in our lives exactly John and I were dating and when we weren’t yet. To this day we have never been able to agree on a definition for this mysterious activity that emphatically, according to John, for whatever reason, does not encompass two people who like each other going out together and having fun. But it is an undisputed fact that we had been raising a child together for a good while before we got married. And we have been going out together and having fun for years uncounted now. Crime scenes never fail to work that particular magic on us. Oh wait, no, that was another example I had on my list for what most other couples do differently. Hang on, do I see a certain Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard raise his hand in objection? Raising both hands, actually, showing us… what, seven fingers? Is that the number of couples working for the Metropolitan Police that you know personally who have met at crime scenes? Or are you reminding us of the number of times John and I were actually kicked off a crime scene because we were enjoying ourselves entirely too much, and were told not to come back till we could behave like adults? I could have sworn those were more than seven occasions, but I‘ll take your word for it.

Talking of raising a child together, I‘m sure Rosie will say a word or three about that herself later, but I have never understood why most of you had doubts about the practicability of that particular endeavour. Let me just tell you that a baby carrier is entirely compatible with a cashmere scarf, or didn’t you know cashmere can absorb up to a third of its own dry weight in liquid? And it got only easier from there when Rosie grew older and stopped affectionately drooling on whoever enjoyed the happy privilege of holding her and carrying her around. She hasn’t demanded being carried around in a good while now, and I don’t know what our poor old backs would say to that these days. But we were talking about happy memories, weren’t we, so there’s another. And at least in the metaphorical sense, I hope you know, Rosie, that you’ll be held and carried for as long as you want and need, as long as we both live. You were my daughter even before I was your father’s husband, and that has been one of the greatest honours bestowed on me in my life.

Because this is who we are, isn’t it, our crazy little family, where nothing is as you’d expect it to be. But we still wouldn’t have it any other way, topsy-turvy, weird, flawed and utterly imperfect, but also utterly us, unique, one of a kind. I don’t know if it was fate that threw us together, or if it really was just a whim on the part of the comfortable, corpulent, bespectacled gentleman sitting at this table over here, smirking with his trademark benevolence. But there’s a debt of gratitude to be paid there, and today is a good day to do it. In this at least, we’re doing the conventional thing, but who’s to say we’re not allowed to do that at least once in a quarter-century.

So, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends and family from far and wide, I give you: John Watson, the man of my life, the man at my side for over thirty years, and for exactly twenty-five years in the legal sense on this very day. Please raise your glasses with us to the next twenty-five. And for God’s sake stop snivelling like that, Mycroft. You’re embarrassing the whole room.

#bbc sherlock #may prompts 2024 #mayprompts2024 #jolie writes #imperfect #bbc sherlock fanfiction #johnlock #old married couple #johnlock fanfiction

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starry-eyes-love · 2 days

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Part 2 of Too Young to Die Mini Series

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Too Young to Die- Mini Series Part 2 out of 3.

Pairing | Massage Therapist Joel Miller x F!Reader with Autoimmune disease, no outbreak, AU.

Summary | Joel takes you on your first date, where you eat pizza and joke together. Quickly, Joel finds out what it looks like to deal with an unmanaged autoimmune disorder. Joel, never faltering, stays by your side the whole way. Fast-forward to three years later, and Joel still helps you deal with the complexities of your body as life changes forever.

Banner image by CAImages on Instagram, banners by @saradika-graphics

Word Count: 6.7K

Warnings | Series is: 18+, Smut, Minors DNI (but no smut in this part)

Language, joking, pizza eating with odd topping choices, hints of smut without any smut, kissing, illness, fainting, pregnancy, boyfriend! Joel, husband! Joel, age gap, no major descriptions of the reader except she is younger and has autoimmune disease.

A/N: This took me way too long to finish writing this part. I found that I kept adding more to the story. I love these two goofballs, so strap in for some fun and relaxing banter, with a few surprises along the way :)

Your first date with Joel went exceptionally well. Conversation flowed easily amongst you where there weren't any awkward moments. Joel teased you for liking pineapple on your pizza, and you teased him for liking anchovies.

“Darlin’, you just ruin perfectly good pizza if y’do all that.”

“Well, at least I don’t put dead fish on my pizza, Joel.”

“Look here. I don’t want to hear any more sass from you, considering you put pineapple on your pizza and add marinara sauce.”

Joel shook his head, clearly not thrilled with your pizza flavor choice. He also saw you dip your pizza into the ranch and then take a huge bite, humming to yourself at the flavor choice. Joel looked over at you, shocked like you were someone who had sprouted three heads.

“Darlin’, now you've gone and done it. Completely ruined the American way of eating pizza.” Joel was staring at you wide-eyed as you placed buffalo ranch sauce on top of your pizza. He was trying to figure out how a beautiful woman like yourself would have the oddest taste in food.

“Mr. Miller, I don't recall you being an expert at pizza toppings. If you were, the fact that you place anchovies on your pizza makes your entire argument invalid.”

Joel laughed out loud at your attitude and shook his head. He loved the easy banter between you two.

“You know, it's a good thing I find you cute, darlin', or I'd have to remind you just how much my argument has merit.”

“And what type of merit would that be, Mr. Miller, because there is none in this instance.”

“Well, baby, if you insist.” Joel sat up straight, placing his pizza slice down to continue. “Fish is healthy and nutritious; it gives you plenty of stamina for any extracurricular activities you want or need to do. Plus, it also makes certain things taste sweeter, too.”

“It doesn't make things taste sweeter, Joel; that's a lie. Pineapple is the one that makes things taste sweeter.”

“So, is that why you ordered pineapple on your pizza, darlin’? You wanted to make sure things tasted sweeter for me later?” Joel smirked at you, raising an eyebrow, knowing the offhanded sexual comment he had just made.

You sat in silence, feeling your cheeks flush a nice soft red. You had no idea that Joel was going to take it there, to a sexual place. You weren't mad at his flirtatious comment; you were just sexually flustered. It has been a long time since any man has given you any amount of attention. You found yourself shifting in your seat, trying to alleviate the slow throbbing that had started between your legs at the casual flirting and banter with Joel. When Joel saw this reaction, he knew that he had gotten under your skin, which was the purpose of his comment in the first place.

“Why ya squirming, baby?”

You just looked at Joel with a soft blush on your cheeks. You didn’t want to tell him that your stomach was in knots and that you were getting more and more turned on by him sitting in front of you.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, wondering if your discomfort was caused by his teasing or if you truly were in pain. The longer he looked at you, the more concerned he became. He could see that you were worrying your lip, eyes cast downward like you were focusing on something.

“Darlin', are you still with me?” Joel asked, seeing that you didn't answer his question, the one he just asked if your discomfort was due to feeling ill. You never heard him because you weren't listening. You were too focused on your hands, twirling your napkin between your fingers and fidgeting, overthinking things again. Will Joel even want me that way, or will he leave just like all the others?

“Hey, honey, I was just teasing about your pizza topping choice. Just joking, you can eat it any way you like, darlin’.” Joel touched your hand affectionately, trying to bring you back to the present.

“I know, it's just- what happens when all of this gets too hard?” You said, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“What? What do you mean, too hard?” Joel was now sitting back and looking at you with a puzzled expression. He was trying to figure out why you suddenly changed your mood. Two seconds ago, Joel was teasing you about your pizza topping choice. You both were relaxed, enjoying each other's company, teasing each other back and forth. But now, the confident woman that Joel had seen just a few seconds ago was gone. He frowned at your sudden change, finding it difficult to remain optimistic about the night's events.

Joel didn't tell or show you he was nervous about tonight's date. He thought that you were beautiful, even though you were much younger. You were on a different path in life. You were 29, looking at living life and planning for your future, while Joel was 47, divorced, and looking towards retirement and potentially becoming a grandfather in the next ten years with two kids that were almost entirely grown up.

Joel has never attempted to date a woman 18 years younger than him; you were the first. Joel didn't know if you could relate to him or if he could relate to you. But the longer you interacted with him, the more he felt at ease. That was until he heard your comment about something being too complicated. It was unsettling to him, especially when his love life and family life were the true definition of what complicated meant.

“Joel, I mean, you, me, and all of this. What happens when all of this gets too complicated?” You were waving your arms around, motioning at the two of you and your surroundings.

“Oh, yeah, I see. Uh, I can understand how this can all be difficult for you or complicated.” Joel felt his heart sink in his chest; he needed to end this before it got any further and before you got any more embedded into his life to hurt him. If you weren't looking for a relationship, he should cut his losses and end it with you. If you didn't like complicated, then you wouldn't like him. His entire life was complicated. Joel had baggage and a lot of it. He didn't want to lead you on if you weren't looking for some type of commitment because he wasn’t looking for anything casual.

“Look, darlin’, if you're not sure, then maybe we should just-”

“I like you a lot, ok? I haven't dated in a while, but you make me feel safe. And no one has done that in a long time. No one ever wants the complications of me being sick, so I get it if you don't, but I want this to work. I don't want you to hurt me, though, when you find out I'm not enough.” You raced the words out, feeling embarrassed for getting this out in the open, but from your past experiences, you knew that, eventually, this conversation would come up. You figured now was the best time to discuss this topic, especially before Joel embedded himself into your life. You didn't think Joel would want a serious relationship with you, being an older man. He probably wasn't looking for commitment, marriage, or kids. Those were things that you knew you wanted. What you didn't want was a one-night stand or a casual hookup. You can't separate sex from love, and you weren't about to start now, no matter how sexy the man was in front of you. You have always liked older men but never had anyone even care to look at you until now.

Joel was amazed at your admission and the guts it took to tell someone that, especially on the first date. But he was also frustrated at you cutting yourself down, saying that you weren't enough when you were. While Joel didn't diminish your feelings, being sick didn't count as a difficulty to him. Could it be a slight hindrance at times? It could, but it wasn't a deal breaker for him. Joel was more of a homebody now anyway, not really into the whole party scene and going out all the time. He didn't care if plans changed. He wasn’t a 20-year-old boy.

Joel reached across the table with a small smile and took your hand. He whispered, “Baby, that's never gonna happen,” as he gently kissed the top of your hand.

“No? How- how come?” You whispered. Your heart was beating fast in your chest as Joel slowly moved his fingertips lightly up and down the inside of your palm. The feather-light touches sent tingles down your spine, especially when he kissed and lightly nipped your wrist.

Joel needed to calm your and his nerves. While he didn't want to have this conversation now, he knew it was better to get these feelings out in the open so both parties could decide how to move forward. That was one thing he learned from his previous marriage: to speak your mind when something bothers you.

Joel stopped moving his hand and looked into your eyes. He could see a mixture of shyness, arousal, and what he thought was also fear; not fear of being with him, but fear of him leaving you. You both were broken inside from past relationships, wanting someone to see you for who you were. Joel didn't know how the future would evolve for the two of you; he just knew that his heart was beating fast in his chest, and butterflies were in his stomach because of the beautiful woman in front of him—someone he desperately wanted to get to know.

“You wanna know why I know that, honey?”

You gently nodded your head.

“It's because I like you a lot, too,” Joel confessed, intertwining his fingers with yours and gently stroking his thumb on your hand. “Honey, I know you're sick, but that won't stop me. We'll figure it out. I haven't felt like this in a long time with a woman, and I’d be a damn fool if I didn't continue seeing you because of it. I don't want casual honey; I want an honest-to-God, committed relationship.”

Joel slowly reached forward and tucked a strand of your hair that fell out of your ponytail behind your ear. He gently cupped your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “So stop fussin', ok? We'll figure it out; it's just you and me, alright?”

You nodded your head, exhaling the breath that you were holding. Joel squeezed your hand once more as he got up to go and throw away both of your trash. As you watched Joel walk away, you knew that you made an excellent decision by agreeing to go on this date with him. You just hoped he was telling you the truth.

After talking for the next hour, you decided to walk to a nearby park. As you slowly walked, Joel reached out and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together. It felt so good to have him hold your hand. You could see that he was trying and wanted this to work as much as you did. It made your heart race and your head feel dizzy at the thought that someone actually and truly cared about you and wanted to be with you.

The two of you talked about Joel's life before he became a massage therapist. He told you that he was a construction worker who owned his own business before he hurt his back. After a year of treatment, including painful back surgery to remove a few bulged disks, Joel had to leave that line of work and sell his business to Tommy, his younger brother, who still manages it today in Texas.

“How did you end up in Minnesota, then?” You had asked as you both sat on a bench, eating ice cream from the small ice cream truck nearby.

“Well, that’s kinda a funny story, really,” Joel commented as he stole a bite of your chocolate ice cream, and then you stole a bite from his plain vanilla one. “My daughters, Sarah and Ellie, live in lower Michigan with their mother, my ex-wife.” He paused, seeing if this admission of being divorced and having kids would be an issue for you. When you looked at him curiously, seeing that you wanted him to continue, he told you the rest of the story.

“Well, Tess, my ex-wife, took a job in Michigan when I was 28 when we got divorced. At the time, she had completely signed custody of the girls over to me. When I hurt my back when I was 32, she took me back to court and requested custody changes.”

“What kind of custody changes?” You slowly placed your spoon down from your ice cream. The cold was starting to give you a headache, and you began to feel sick again with your autoimmune.

“Well, she felt I couldn't care for the girls properly because I was injured and healing from back surgery. According to her, I wasn’t working, yet I still owned my business and received paychecks from it. But still, to her, I wasn’t a father who could provide well enough for our girls, which was untrue.”

When Joel looked up at you, he was immediately concerned. You were starting to look pale on your face, and you were beginning to sweat. “She felt she was a better-fit parent to raise our girls, and the court sided with her.”

“What? How?” You couldn't understand how a judge would find him unfit as a parent just because he had back surgery and was injured.

“Well, that’s where it gets interesting. The man she was dating at the time, secretly dating, was the judge who ruled in her favor.”

“Oh my God, Joel. That is- that’s fucking horrible.” You reached out and gently squeezed his hand. You were trying to stay focused, but you kept having moments of dizziness mixed with horrible pain in your back and joints. Your body was suddenly starting to give you a flare-up of your autoimmune symptoms. You always hated it when your body did this, but right now, you were embarrassed because this was not what you wanted on your first date with Joel.

Joel noticed that you were getting worse and more pale in the face. You had officially removed your sweater, and he could see that you were sweating profusely.

“Honey, are you ok? You're not looking good.”

“No, I'm fine. I just need some water, and then I'll be okay.”

Joel got up and bought two bottles of water from the ice cream stand where you two were sitting. When he returned, he handed you one of the bottles and told you to drink. You murmured, “Thanks,” and then asked him to continue his story.

He smiled slightly at you as you murmured you were feeling a little better to him.

“Well, one thing led to another, and I sold my business and returned to school to get my massage therapist license. I wanted to help people with injuries or chronic diseases that make it difficult for them. I had a few back surgeries again along the way, three to be exact, all here in Minnesota with a specialist. I had to live here for an entire year after my last surgery. Tess said that if I were willing to live here full time, she would be okay with letting the girls come every other weekend, during holiday breaks, and then stay with me every summer. So that’s what I did; I moved here to see my girls.”

“Is Tess still seeing that judge, then?” You took your sweater and wiped your forehead. You were now getting horrible hot flashes. You knew that if your body didn't quit, you'd have to end your date sooner with Joel than you wanted.

“No, Tess found out that the judge was married, and he said that he wasn’t leaving his wife for her. Kind of a perfect ending to a shitty situation, if you ask me.”

Joel knew something was wrong when he saw your face lose color and sweat dripping from your forehead.

“Darlin', you don't look well.” Joel knew your autoimmune was unmanaged and that you’d report getting these horrible symptoms when it flared up. But he didn’t expect this to come on so suddenly like this, and it worried him.

This was life with your autoimmune disease. You lived with this disease every day, and sometimes days were good. Other days, like today, made living life very difficult. You had been hoping this flare-up of symptoms would pass, but something was wrong; you could feel it.

“Joel, I'm sorry, I-I don't feel very well. I think I need to go home. I'm so sorry I-”

“No, darlin', don't apologize, it's okay. Come on, I'll take ya home.”

“No, I drove. I can-”

“Darlin', I'm not letting you drive home looking as sick as you are. Now come on honey, I'll drive ya, and we can pick up your car later, okay?”

Joel stood up and walked around the other side of the picnic table, where you were seated. You were mad, hating that your body did this to you. You mumbled, “Great, you blew it again, woman. Finally, get a nice guy, and this crap happens; good luck getting him to go out again with you.”

Joel heard what you said, and it upset him to think that your getting sick would bother him. Yes, it did bother him that you were ill. But not because it messed up the date you two were having, but because of how you looked; he wasn't comfortable just leaving you alone. You were so pale in the face, and you were struggling to stand that Joel was more concerned that you may need to go to the emergency room before the night was over.

As soon as Joel was by your side, he helped you stand. He took in your features and saw how suddenly weak you had become. Your hands had visible tremors, and you kept wincing and grabbing your back.

“Hey, honey, can you look at me briefly.” Joel gently took your hand and was looking at you in the eyes. “First, I don’t care what other people have done before me, darlin’. I’m telling you that I want another date with you, alright?”

When you nodded your head, he continued. “But, more importantly, I'm uncomfortable just dropping you off at home. Is there someone I can call that can stay with you?”

Shaking your head, you mumbled, “No, Joel, I don't have any family around.”

“What about friends? I'm sure you have some friends that care about you enough that they would come and sit with you tonight.”

When he watched you look down, lip trembling at his question, Joel knew that he had majorly fucked up. You, indeed, were alone. This illness took special people away from you at your age. You reminded Joel of a cancer patient going through treatment, especially with how fast the illness symptoms came on. He remembered his mom being like that before she died of cancer. It broke his heart to think that you were struggling through life with this illness and that no one in these moments cared enough about you. He knew you had friends, as you talked about them earlier. But apparently, those friends were only surface-level friends, and when difficult moments like this happened, they were nowhere around.

“Oh baby, c’mere.”

Joel pulled you into his chest and held you for a moment. “How about this, darlin’, I’ll take you home and stay the night with you. Don't worry. I'll sleep on the couch or the floor if you don't have a couch.”

You just nodded, but as you turned to leave, something in the world must have happened because it felt like the Earth tilted on its axis. As soon as you took a step, your vision went blurry, your face hit the ground hard, and you didn’t remember anything after that. You had fainted.

As you turned to leave, Joel grabbed your water bottles and sweater. As soon as he turned back around, it was like slow motion happened for him. Joel watched you take two steps towards the exit, and then all color left your face as your eyes rolled back into your head. You fell to the ground like a ton of bricks. As soon as he saw that you were collapsing, he mumbled “shit” under his breath and then was moving fast to get to your side.

“Baby, come on. Open your eyes for me. Come on, baby, can you open your eyes? Darlin', look at me.” Joel was kneeling on the ground, lightly tapping your cheek. He was trying to get you to wake up after your fainting episode. As soon as you started to come back around, you began coughing horribly. Joel quickly turned you on your side, rubbing your back as you kept coughing.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. I’m right here, slow breaths, come on now.” He was gently holding your head as you lay on your side, coughing and struggling to breathe after your fainting episode.

“Hey man- is she ok?” another man yelled, approaching the two of you.

“Yeah, maybe we need to call an ambulance,” a woman shouted as she quickly approached.

When he heard a third person add their two cents about the situation, Joel's patience had officially expired.

“Yeah, I saw the whole thing happen. She just collapsed, and her father rushed to her side,” another man yelled approaching.

“STOP,” Joel yelled. Glancing down, he saw you wince at everyone’s statements and try to hide your face. This was the last thing you needed: a crowd of people telling you what to do.

“I’m a medical professional, and I have it under control. I’m also her boyfriend, NOT her father, ok? She’s awake now, and she’s done coughing. She stated she didn’t feel well before she turned around. I was going to take her home, and then this happened.”

“Well, I still think she needs an ambulance called. I’m going to-”

“For the love of God, please leave me alone; I'm fine now,” you snapped, turning more on your side to cover your face. You were so embarrassed for fainting in front of Joel and for the crowd that was now gathering around you.

“We were just trying to help; no need to be rude,” one woman said, snapping at your comment.

“Thank you for your concern and help,” Joel said, looking at the woman who snapped at you. “I honestly thought for a moment that I may have needed to call an ambulance for her. But as you can see, she’s ok. I’ll look after her and take her in tonight if she needs to be seen. Is that alright, honey?”

You gently nodded your head, looking up at him. Joel was holding you close to him, helping you feel safe.

“Y’all go home now. We got it under control. Thanks for offerin’ to help.”

People were mumbling as they started to disperse. Joel and you never paid attention to what they were saying.

“Do you think that we can get you to sit up without you passing out on me again?”

Joel gently cupped your cheek, looking straight into your eyes with concern. He didn’t like seeing you sick like this. You gently nodded your head at him as you went to sit up.

“Easy. Nice and slow, sweetheart, don’t rush it.” When Joel saw your eyes start to cross again, he thought he should have let that lady call you an ambulance.

“Woah there honey, come on now, look at me. Do I gotta call an ambulance for you after all, 'cause I will darlin’?” Joel placed his hand on your cheek, looking at you in the eyes. He was shifting his eyes back and forth, looking to see how you were responding.

“I’m fine, Joel. Just give me a minute, ok. If I need an ambulance, I’ll call one myself.”

Joel shook his head, disagreeing with you. “Darlin’, I don’t think you’re qualified to make that determination and decision right now.”

You let out a long and exhausted sigh. To Joel's defense, he didn't know where you worked full-time when you were feeling ok.

“Joel, this is said with as much love and appreciation as I can right now, but fuck off, please. Believe it or not, I’m a Paramedic, and I know-”

“Paramedic or not, passing out and being dizzy doesn’t qualify you to treat yourself. You know this.” Joel hated reminding you of one of the biggest lessons in medicine: you don't treat yourself. He could see you were slightly annoyed and irritated with him and the other bystanders here. He decided that maybe a little humor might help lighten the tense mood.

“For the record, darlin’. I believe the proper term is ‘fuck me, please.’ And you say it when I’m doing just that.”

That made you smile and laugh at the ridiculous statement of telling off the one man still beside you. With a little bit of sass, you also added, “Yeah, and then when we’re finished, you'll moan; ah, fuck, my back.”

“Ah, there she is. There’s my sassy girl.” Joel was now laughing at your sassy attitude and statement that you just made.

Joel looked down at you tenderly. Even though you were ill, you were still so beautiful. Joel cupped your cheek, slowly running his thumb up and down your skin. He watched you bite your lip, looking from his eyes to his lips. Tension started to fill between you both. The air was thick with it. Joel moved his hand to the back of your head, gently cradling it. He placed his forehead against yours, exhaling slowly, trying to control himself. He envisioned you underneath him but knew he couldn't tonight, not with you feeling under the weather. But soon, he'd take you in his bed and show you how a real man cared about a woman. But right now, he could give you something else. Joel slowly leaned in and gently pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, soft, and passionate.

When your lips parted slightly, he deepened the kiss, licking into your mouth and massaging his tongue against yours. When the kiss picked up in intensity, soon, you both were wrestling your tongues together, fighting to hold yourselves back. You let out a little whimper, moaning slightly into his mouth as your tongues continued to dance together. Eventually, when he pulled back, you found that you both were gasping for air.

“Baby, I'll take pain in my back any day if it means that I get to kiss you and hear you moan like that when I fuck you.”

“Joel, please-”

“Later baby, later. I promise when you're feeling better. Now, come on, let's get you home.”

You didn’t know how you lucked out and won the lottery with the man standing before you. But goddamn, you were the richest girl in the world, especially when he kissed you like that. Joel wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you return to his truck to take you home. You didn't know then, but that would be the last first date you'd ever be on.

3 Years Later

Joel was sitting in his office, finishing up some much-overdue paperwork. He glanced up when he heard you enter, giving you a warm smile at seeing you. But when you didn't return it, he knew something was wrong. You looked exhausted, like you hadn't slept much, yet today was your day off.

“Are you ready to go, babe?” You were not trying to sound irritated, but you failed miserably.

You were uncomfortable, 32 weeks pregnant with Joel's child, a daughter, and she had spent all day kicking you hard in your internal organs. You were tired and frustrated, really not in the mood for grocery shopping with your husband. So when you got up to Joel's desk, you leaned back against it, placing your hand on your swelling stomach. You were trying to ease some of your discomfort. But as you did, you felt your daughter pick up with the constant kicks again. Usually, her kicks would give you comfort and joy, but not today. Today, your feet were aching, your back was hurting, and you were exhausted. You just wanted to lay down and rest today, but every time you attempted to, your daughter would give you hard, steady kicks against your internal organs.

“I’m almost done, sweetheart, then we'll go.” Joel smiled, quickly finishing up with his final notes from today.

Next week was Joel's 50th birthday, so this weekend, you wanted to throw him an outdoor barbeque with his closest friends and family to celebrate his birthday. You wanted to go shopping tonight for all the supplies for this weekend, and Joel agreed to go with you to help you pick out the items he wanted. He was looking forward to the barbeque, and you were too about three months ago when you first planned it. Now, you weren't too keen on the idea of hosting 30 people in your backyard when you were 32 weeks pregnant.

You let out another long sigh, feeling the weight of life once again kick the hell out of you. You reminded yourself that this is what you wanted, a baby to grow inside you. But right at this moment, you wanted to go back to the night Joel fucked you to conceive this little fire pistol and hit your husband right in the nuts.

“You know there, little one, you can stop kicking Mama so damn hard for once, and just quiet down, please.” You slowly rubbed your belly where you were feeling a fluttering of kicks. When Joel heard your discomfort, he immediately put his pen down and sat back in his chair.

“Baby, come here.”

You slowly shuffled over to your husband, standing between his widened legs, then gently leaned yourself back against his desk. As soon as you took up your proper standing position, Joel immediately took his hands and gently held each side of your belly, feeling his daughter kick both of you.

“Shh there, baby girl, don’t be so hard on your mama. Daddy missed you today.” Joel slowly leaned forward and kissed your belly several times while his daughter kicked.

You had a huge baby belly at 32 weeks pregnant and in your last trimester. If people looked at you from behind, they'd never know you were pregnant. But from the front, it looked like you swallowed a giant basketball. So, to put it mildly, you were exhausted.

Joel and you had been married for almost two years when you popped positive on a pregnancy test. You both weren’t trying for a baby. She came to you as a surprise, and you were so happy to have her. You had stopped your birth control the night of your wedding, hoping to get pregnant. But after two years and a lot of tests, you had given up on the ability to have kids. The doctors said that your body wasn’t accepting pregnancy because of your autoimmune disease. So you went on with life thinking that you couldn’t get pregnant at all. Then, by some miracle, the first night that you and Joel spent in the new house that you had built, he fucked you on every available surface, knocking you up somewhere between the kitchen counter and the coffee table. But now, as you rapidly approached your due date, you found yourself struggling with horrible exhaustion with the simple things in life like walking. You were lucky that your autoimmune disease had calmed down so much during pregnancy, a hidden fail-safe that most people didn’t know about. The problem was delivery day was rapidly approaching, and you were scared about what would happen with your autoimmune after your daughter came out. But today, you didn't concern yourself with those fears, as you were exhausted at the fact that she wouldn’t let you hardly sleep last night nor relax anytime today.

“Babe, what’s the matter?” Joel had stopped kissing your stomach and was now cautiously looking at his wife. You were breathing fast with your eyes closed.

“Honey, are you ok?” Again, you did not respond. Joel called your name, but you never opened your eyes. Your eyes were closed as your breathing became erratic.

“Hey, come on, look at me. Baby, open your eyes and look at me.”

“Jesus Joel, what?”

Joel's heart was in his throat at your lack of responding to him for a moment. He still didn't like how you were breathing, but at least now you were looking at him. He could see that you were frustrated, so he ignored that you snapped at him.

“Honey, talk to me, what's the matter?” Joel slowly rubbed your belly as he felt your daughter kick again. Tears welled up in your eyes, frustration and exhaustion being evident.

“I’m fine, it's just, it’s hard today, alright?” You placed your head in your hands as you felt your pregnancy hormones take over, and a light sob escaped your mouth.

Pregnancy hormones were complex every day, but today, they were awful. You hated the constant need of wanting your husband to be inside of you. You were horny for him, sex being something you haven't done in a few weeks again because of scheduling conflicts. But your daughter was constantly beating every organ inside of you, turning your need for your husband into something you couldn't do yet again. You were so exhausted today and just feeling so overwhelmed with life.

“Woah there, Angel, come on, talk to me. Baby, why are you crying? Are you getting contractions, honey?” Joel lowered his hand, trying to feel if contractions were starting anywhere on your belly.

“No, it's just she’s been kicking like this all day.”

When Joel realized your tears were out of the pain of kicks, and not contractions, and mostly frustration, he felt himself calm down. Joel gently rubbed your belly, trying to calm your daughter down.

“She's been kicking you all day like this, hasn't she?”

“Yes,” you winced as your daughter sucker punched the heck out of your ribs once again, causing you to wince and call out in pain.

“Woah, there, little lady, that was a powerful kick. How about we save those punches for when boys wanna come around later in life, huh? Give your mama a break and let her rest.”

Joel crouched down and kissed your belly again, talking to his daughter and trying to get her to quiet down for you. When he felt a strong kick against his mouth, he sat back and then scolded her.

“Excuse me there, Baby Miller, but kicking your daddy hard in the mouth isn't very nice. We'll have none of that behavior, young lady, ya hear me?”

“God, Joel, I love our daughter, but today, these kicks fucking hurt. I thought maybe you’d want me after shopping, but how do people do this?” You exhaled again as your daughter kicked your ribs on your other side, not as hard, but still a firm kick.

Joel slowly stood up and gently lifted your chin. When he spoke his next sentence, he wanted you to look at him straight in the eyes.

“Darlin’, don’t you ever question if I fucking want you, ya hear me. Baby, I always want you, day or night; it doesn't matter. And for the record, it isn’t me who needs any prep time to get in the mood; it's you. But with kicks like this, I’m assuming it’s a no again for any intimate time, which is okay.”

Joel raised his hands defensively, ensuring you understood that he didn’t expect anything from you. But when he turned to walk across the room to grab his raincoat, you mumbled sarcastically under your breath. “No, the real reason is I look like a stupid whale; that’s why you don’t want me.”

Hearing what you said, Joel immediately spun around and glared at you. He was upset you were talking down to yourself and how you looked. You were his wife, who was carrying his child, and god dammit, you weren't a whale, and he did want you. You were a sexy, beautiful, attractive woman, even while pregnant. Joel loved you, but your constant put-downs of yourself were starting to tick him off.

“What was that? What did y’say?”

“Nothin’,” you mumbled, knowing that Joel heard you criticize yourself. You knew you should have just kept your mouth shut.

Joel slowly approached you and placed his coat on the chair. You looked down, slowly biting your lip.

“No, little girl, eyes up here.” Joel gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head up. When your eyes met his, you saw that they were impossibly dark, pupils were blown wide with lust.

“First, darlin', you ain't a whale, so none of that. And second, you're my wife who's pregnant with my daughter; that's sexy by itself, baby. And for the record, I fucking want you.” Joel grabbed your ass and gave it a firm squeeze while slowly thrusting his hips against your closed heat. You could feel that he was already hard, but he didn’t rip off your clothes. That’s not what you needed right now, and you both knew that.

Joel slowly reached out and started stroking your belly lightly while gently tilting your head to give you a slow, tender kiss. However, very quickly you were the one to deepen the kiss, nipping his lower lip and shoving your tongue in his mouth. Joel growled at your heated kiss, struggling to keep his composure with you.

“Darlin', if we don't slow down, I won't be held responsible for what I will do. Do not tease me, baby,” he said through gritted teeth.

But you didn't want to listen, nipping Joel again on the lip, trying to provoke a heated reaction from him. As he went to give you a gentle tap on your ass and to rip your pants off, you let out a sudden cry in pain.

“Fuck, shit, ow.”

“Ok, darlin', enough horsing around, what's happening?” Joel snapped at you, no longer wanting to play this game of you not communicating with him when he could see your discomfort.

“It's your damn child kicking my freaking cervix Joel. God, why is she doing this today?”

“I don't know, baby, but how about we head home? I'll give you a massage and try to get her to calm down. You're stressed mama, and that's unhealthy for you and our daughter. Now come on, up we go.”

Joel made good on his promise to take you home and help you relax. About five minutes after he began massaging your belly, your daughter finally calmed down. Apparently, she just wanted a little attention from her daddy. About fifteen minutes after she settled in, you finally fell asleep, exhaustion winning. As Joel looked down at your resting form, all swollen and pregnant with his child, he smiled. Life was extraordinary, giving him the chance to have a family again, but this time when he was older and almost 50.

Joel made dinner and let you sleep the rest of the night. Later, as he lay next to your sleeping form, he felt his heart swell with affection and love for you. He reached out and gently touched your belly, feeling his daughter was finally calm and asleep. He stared at you in the dark, until his eyes felt heavy with sleep and he found himself drifting off to thoughts of you. Joel didn't care what people thought about whether he should be with you at such an older age. Joel was damn happy that you were in his life, and to believe that this all started because of a simple debate about pineapple on your pizza. And that was the best 50th birthday present ever: the chance to have happiness once again.

End Part 2

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