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macfrog · 5 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just –”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel miller #tw pregnancy

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gallusrostromegalus · 7 months

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hi i see that you have much smart dog experience. i may have accidentally purchased such a dog. she's only 10 weeks, and ive had her 1, and she's already outmatched every puzzle feeder i got or have made. to the point that she is morosely disappointed when her food comes in an actual food bowl. do you know where i can find like. "heres 100 enrichment toys you can make out of free trash so your dog stops eating fucking rocks for enrichment" lists. i only have so many paper towel tubes XD

Herschel now just disassembles puzzle feeders, so I've been focusing on "Toys that, even if he already knows how to operate them, will still take TIME for him to collect the treat from" to give him something to fuss with.

Herschel eats all his meals out of a Kong Wobbler, because he will otherwise eat so fast he will literally inhale and choke on his kibble and I do not need him developing pneumonia from aspiration. Even though it's a "Simple" toy it slows him down and he does have to think a bit to tip it in the most efficient manner possible. Kong's "Flipz", "Gyro" and "Rewards Wally" are also really good "dog needs to think/carefully manipulate the toy for food" toys that act as both mental stimulation and exercise and "give human a break for up to twelve minutes" toys.

I highly reccomend KONG as a brand- they're local to Denver and have an impeccable saftey record and all of the toys I have gotten from them have held up extremely well vs. the ravages of three entirely too smart and strong-jawed dogs at once.

Some more thoughts:

If she's not prone to shredding rubber, the kind of treat toys she has to chew are also good stimulation.

If you don't want to give her That Many treats, my vet said that dogs can have as many green beans as they want. Just make sure that the beans haven't had salt added to them- canned usually does, but frozen green beans usually don't, but always check the label.

You can make nearly any toy last longer, or make a cheap long-puzzle by freezing the treats so they take longer to eat AND provides hydration. Herschel's most favorite treat of all time is literally a wad of sliced green beans in a dixie cup, filled with water and frozen. Just peel off the cup and hand him the chunk of ice and he's good for up to half an hour and more chill afterwards.

You can also freeze lick mats

If your girl is like Charlie and doesn't like greenbeans, you can also try freezing paper cups of: Canned pumpkin, apple slices in water, putting some ice cubes in the bottom of the cup, a gob of peanut butter in the middle and then fill it with water to make a peanutbutter filled ice cube.

If your girl is REALLY like charlie who has figured out how to use labor negotiation and strike tactics for better treats: boiled chicken chunks frozen in some of the water you boiled them in.

Walkies are as much mental stimulation as they are physical exercise. Take her out and let her sniff to her heart's content.

Also Puppies in particular need like, SO MUCH exercise.

Let her participate in activities with you. Herschel and charlie sit in the kitchen and I narrate cooking dinner to them, which seems to interest them, even if I don't have spare veggie ends to give them. I also frequently bring them along in the car if I'm running errands when it's cold enough to do that, so they have something new to look at, and get to participate. I also am more likely to stop at a new park and give myself some exercise and mental stimulation.

Training her to do tasks is GREAT Smart Dog enrichment- esp if she's a herding or heeler, they LOVE being helpful. I taught the dogs they get a small treat if they come in from the yard without me having to go chase them down, which saved me a lot of hassle, and now I'm working on teaching herschel to pick things up off the floor for me if I drop them and alert for chickpeas, which my housemate is allergic to.

A lot of dogs like cat-type toys. Tie a stick or some fleece to some paracord and drag or flycast it around for her to chase/play tug with when she catches it. Toys that bounce unexpectedly were also a huge hit. or just wave the string around the cat and the corgi both like that.

If you live in farm country or know other people with pets, you can grab something with the scent of another animal on it and bring it home for her to smell. Charlie and Herschel spent the better part of three days investigating the wad of horse undercoat I brought home and put in the spare wobbler for them to smell.

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justtogetthrough · 2 years

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Coincidentally, I booked the movers for November 19th which is exactly 1 month after I started paying rent at the new place, October 19th. Means nothing really but it's interesting to me that's the day I had to book. It could have been a month plus or minus a few days. But it wasn't.

This time next week all my furniture and belongings are going to be loaded into an 800 sq ft apartment and I'm going to be ignoring all of it, watching TV in person together with my best friend instead of online over discord for a change.

Today we went to Toronto and when we got back to the carpool lot where we meet up when I'm in my old town, they gave me a hug. I don't know why, other than that they know I love when they hug me and probably because today I was more tired and withdrawn than usual from packing/stressing and I think they just wanted to cheer me up.

I love them more than words can describe and it's absolutely crazy to me that a mere year and a half after meeting them, I'm putting my whole trust in them and moving to their property. They are the centre of my world after being so lost and alone for the last 3 and a half years. They are the only light I've had in some real dark moments. I hope I can meet new people out there and not rely on them for everything soon like I've had to this past year because I'm scared to saddle them with this burden for any longer than need to. They met me at such a low point in my life and for some reason they have loved me through it all, despite having just met me, and they have done more for me than anyone else has ever been able to. They had a unique opportunity to help and they jumped at it when they could have just... not.

Packing up this house that was supposed to be home for my kid and me is so scary and emotional. Moving to a place where my friend and their family are the only people I know, and living on their property, being entirely vulnerable and dependent on them is so scary and emotional. But here I am. Alive because of this chance to leave where I am and escape so many of the things that haunt me. Going somewhere where I'm loved. Somewhere where my flaws are all very known and yet not once has my friend revoked their love and care or told me I'm being dramatic or that I'm too much.

It's so hard to wrap my head around.

#last month dnd got canceled so we had academic hour where my friend and another from our party did homework and i just sat in #cuz im a huge nerd and likr school #my friend made a comment about how theyd known the other person for 10 years and me for only 1.5 years #but that its been a ''very intense'' year and a half #and it made me laugh cuz yeah wow we got real intense real fast #april 29 is when they asked to add me to fb and then turned their phone off for the weekend #and i spent all weekend in a bpd euphoria and joking to my kid that im so gay i want to move out to that area already #we hadnt even started talking outside of work but i was dead infatuated 😂#then 11 months later they did ask me to move out there. not only to their region but to their actual farm #that will never not be funny to me. i mean the reason for moving is entirely diffrrent than it was that first weekend but.#here i go.#i dont really know how we got here or why things clicked like they did but yeah its been a short and intense friendship. thats fir sure #in 7 days im going to be there for good. my house will hit the market 3 days after that. theres no coming back. im all in.#i dont know if i have ever trusted anyone like this before. ive had multiple opportunities to move in with people i dated #one included moving to a new country. i just about went. backed out at the last minute bc i couldnt trust him.#all the times i had known the people longer than ive known this friend. but no one has ever felt as safe as this person.#so here i am.#its so scary and emotional.#personal #o

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gortash-did-nothing-wrong · 4 months

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Skin

Minors Do Not Interact.

Warnings: aftermath of childbirth, pregnancy, childbirth complications (not fatal), and hints of Feyd's abusive childhood.

Feyd holds his newborn baby as his wife rests. The birth had gone as smoothly as a first could be expected to go, but she had reacted poorly to the medications they gave her afterwards. She was quite out of it, mumbling and far too drugged up to hold the baby. She couldn't even touch her nose without smacking her own eye.

Feyd had refused to let the nurses hold his son. The idea of simply handing his child off to a stranger, whether servant or slave, felt wrong to him. The nurse had smiled, despite the glare Feyd wore on his face. "You'll want to remove your shirt."

Feyd frowned deeper. "Why?"

"Newborn babies need skin to skin contact. It helps with temperature regulation, digestion, heart rate, all manner of things. I can step out if you'd prefer."

Feyd waves his hand, gesturing for her to leave. It had been nearly six months since he had killed Vladimir Harkonnen, and yet he still felt uncomfortable being exposed in front of anyone. Anyone except his wife and his harpies, that is.

Feyd had shed his shirt, and then carefully picked up his baby from the bassinet the nurse had set him in. He cradled his son the way his wife had shown him. She had forced him to practice swaddling and cradling and all manner of actions with a stuffed toy. She had insisted he learn, in her words, in case she died. Something that he had hated hearing.

But now, as Feyd sat in a chair beside his wife's bed and held his baby boy, the heir of his kingdom, the pride of his heart, and quite recently, the thing he loved most in the world, he was beyond grateful his wife had insisted he learned. His son was silent, and Feyd knew that it would be some time before he could expect to communicate meaningfully with his son. Despite that, he whisper out a few words of explanation to his first born.

"Sorry, little one. Your mother would be much softer to rest against, but she's not feeling well. Bringing you into this world took a lot out of her. It's not your fault, of course not, don't think that. These things happen. The doctors checked her over three times, she'll be alright in a few hours. She's always been sensitive to medicine, she just needs to rest and let the IV help her clean out her system. Between you and me, she's quite the lightweight. I swear she got drunk off of half a glass of wine before. Harkonnen wine, but still. Don't repeat this to your mother, alright? It's alright for us to tease her on occasion, but she's been through hell these last few hours. It's not the time to tease."

Feyd stayed like that with his son for hours, whispering to him about everything and nothing. He explained to his son what time of day it was, how time was measured, how the sun worked on Giedi Prime, and how the evening was his wife's favorite time of day. The hours flew by, and by the time the sun rose, Feyd was certain his son was the most intelligent baby in history.

His wife stirred when the sun peeked over the horizon, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of Feyd, still shirtless, cradling the child she had labored for hours to bring into the world. "Feyd…"

Feyd leaned forward, scooting his chair closer to the bed. "Do you hurt, my darling? Do you thirst? Hunger?"

"Yes to all." His wife grumbled. "But before any of that," she held out her arms, smiling, "I'd like to hold my son."

Feyd set their boy in her arms, kissed her on the forehead, pulled his shirt back on, and left to call for the nurse. So many things left to do. His wife needed her health checked. She'd need to drink a lot of fluids. His son would need some things done as well. Foot prints, documents signed, shots perhaps. Feyd wasn't sure how long a baby needed to wait before getting vaccinated, but if it was to be done today, then it was another task. It seemed an endless list to him at the moment. A boring yet tiring list when all he truly wanted was to go back into his wife's bedroom and hold her in his arms while she held their baby. Oh well. Responsibilities first, desires second.

#feyd rautha #dad feyd #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader

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greywritesthings · 5 months

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None of that

Derek Morgan x Platonic!Reader

Warnings - meltdown, self harm stims

Spencer Reid Masterlist

Masterlist

Read on Ao3 instead!

A/N - IDK when the next update for the Autistic! reader series will be but hopefully soon! Decided to focus on Derek on this one as iv seen a lot of Spencer x autistic reader ( the main focus of the one shot series ) but who doesn't love some rep for the other characters, I may also do Emily, JJ etc x autistic reader as their own one shots :) Reblogs, comments & likes always appreciated!!

Today had started off bad and just seemed to be getting worse. You had woken up without Spencer as he had to go off to Louisville with Hotch to do a death row interview at the last minuet meaning your carefully planned out schedule for the week now had a wrench thrown in it, something you didn't deal with at the best of times, let alone without your boyfriend.

You had checked the weather when you were picking your outfit and it was supposed to be a mild but sunny day, so you picked a shirt and skirt with a sweater vest in case it went colder than expected but on your walk to the subway the skies suddenly opened and you got drenched to the bone before you could get under any decent form of shelter. You were lucky that your go bag was at the office but it meant spending your entire commute soaking wet.

By the time you reached the office you were nearly at the point of a meltdown so you text Rossi to say you were here just taking time to calm down after a hellish commute. Once you finally walked into the bullpen you nearly flinched at the amount of noise and lights in the space. You knew today was going to be a bad one and you would be lucky to escape it without a meltdown.

You took up Spencers desk for the day, a common occurrence when he was away as it brought you comfort, so you were next to Morgan and across from Emily, two people you adore on any given day aside from the fact that today you could hear the music coming from Morgans headphones just enough to the point it was driving you up the wall and combined with Emily's constant clicking of her pen as she did her paperwork and the buzzing of the various screens and lights around the room it was becoming too much but without Spencer here you were just frozen in place. You trusted the BAU with your life, literally more often than not but you still didn't want to have an outburst in the middle of your work day, especially when it was only another hour before Spencer was due back at work, the interview having been quicker than expected.

“Can you stop! Please!” you snap at no one in particular but both Emily and Morgan freeze. You clap your hands over your mouth and make a break for Hotch's currently vacant office, a place he had specifically told you to use when he wasn't in it and you had learnt to listen to him after a few meltdowns in the FBI parking lot. You’re only half sure the door closes behind you as you fall into the corner of the office Hotch had shifted around specifically for your meltdowns. He had kept it dark so it all blended in and didn’t overwhelm you but it was all soft, cushions on the floor and wall with some small fidget toys in a box to the side so you could grab them.

You can hear footsteps approaching the doorway and the door slowly creaking open and the footsteps slowly approach, it's not Hotch or Spencer. It can't be Emily, JJ or Garcia given they’re all in heels leaving it to be Morgan. “Hey baby girl, can you look at me?” he asks as he sits down cross legged in front of you, coming down to your level. “There you are, you gotta come back down to me okay sweetheart? I know you're overloaded right now” He keeps his voice low to try and encourage you to breathe. He didn't notice the fact that your hands are scratching at your arms until they were starting to bleed, “Hey hey hey mama none of that thank you okay, here grab my hands okay, you can squeeze as hard as you like, just no scratching yourself up okay?” He's not harsh about it, just firm. You grab onto his outstretched hands and he starts trying to guide your breathing. “There you go, see? You're doing it now. Do you want your fidgets? I can also go grab you a Hot chocolate or something, I don't have pretty boy on hand but he should be back in a half hour or so and Hotch has cleared you to go home when he's come back.” You smile at Morgan, reaching for the box of fidgets and grabbing one out. “I'm going to go grab you a Hot chocolate missy, behave while i'm gone okay?” You laugh as he leaves, settling back into the cushions with the fidget, nearly falling asleep.

Taglist - @reidstheyfriend , @oosnapitskat, @lover-of-books-and-tea

Add yourself here!

#greyswritings #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #derek morgan #derek morgan fluff #derek morgan fanfiction #derek morgan x autistic!reader #spencer reid x autistic!reader #x autistic reader

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anundyingfidelity · 6 months

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I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part VI)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.5k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: some suicide thoughts, very suggestive stuff, nudity, sexual tension barely starting, misogyny coming from you know who lol.

Notes: i was eager to drop this so here it is. hope i can make justice to the slow burn/slow sexual tension. aaaa as always thanks for reading!! ily all!

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @soldirboy @deans-spinster-witch

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part VI: Don't Lay Your Red Hand On Me

“Where the fuck are we going?” Ben asked, checking the picture outside the windshield.

The sun was already setting down, and there have been hours since you started driving. At least he had been able to see the damn sunset again after being caged for so long.

Despite his questioning look and not trusting you completely, both made it to your car in the middle of the mess of blood and headless corpses around the building, with him naked under the effects of your invisibility powers. Somehow, you still managed to reassure Soldier Boy it was to protect him. In fact, as you guided both out of the place, you were scared of your abilities not working properly to have him covered. The last thing you wanted was the cameras to have a look at him, escaping with your help.

Now, with Soldier Boy dressed in his clothes and you still wiping some of the dry blood from your skin, you drove without a destiny in mind. Just somewhere you could take him far away from Homelander and Vought. He was, in fact, your top priority and needed to be protected, even if you knew you were nothing compared to his strength and abilities, you still had the urgency of him trusting you, to feel like you really cared. And you did care, but for the wrong reasons and those, he didn’t have to know.

“Far away,” you responded, picking up your phone with one hand as you drove through the highway.

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” he insisted, looking at you switching your attention between the device in your hands and the road.

You dialed Grace, ignoring his voice. She didn’t answer immediately. You cursed under your breath and dialed again. No answer anew, just the ring and the automatic voicemail message. Well, fuck. You had to play with what you had.

“Hey, it’s me,” you began the message. “Please call me when you can, I have to inform you of something. It’s urgent, please call me back.”

Ben rolled his eyes, annoyed as fuck for your silence towards his demands. “You’re gonna tell me now what the fuck is going on? You’re a fucking supe and everyone is dead back there! And not ‘cause of me.”

“First, nothing to fear from me. Okay? You’re the one who’d kill me in a blink. Second, I don’t know!” you yelled as a response, clearly irritated. “I don’t know shit! I know we need to run and that’s all. So just shut up and let me drive.”

“Christ on a cross, you women are fucking irritating,” Ben fumed. He saw a cheap motel by the road and he would’ve guessed you were going there because you slowed down and pulled up in the parking lot. He sighed. “Home, shitty home.”

“Got any ideas? Because I’m all ears,” you stopped the engine and got down the car, taking the sports bag with you. The supe rolled his eyes and before he went out, you came right to his half open door. “Stay here, I'll check in.”

Ben shut his eyes, watching you closing the car door with a loud thud, and you left to get a room. He felt the need to storm behind and shout out what he really thought of your stupid ass bossing him around. If it wasn’t because he wasn’t really half the way out of the fucking car, he should have been arguing and insisting for some real answers. But for some reason he stayed back. When you came back after a short time he followed you to a double bed room you’d be using just for the night.

Once you entered, you decided a shower was first thing on the list, and then you had to communicate with Grace as soon as fucking possible. Checking around, you were thankful to find a couple of towels in the bathroom, while Ben settled on his own space, lying down on one of the beds.

He observed you thoroughly as you studied yourself in the dirty mirror hanging on the wall. The disgusting grimace you made told him you were looking for more blood to wipe off. And before he could speak again you turned to see him.

“I'm gonna take a shower,” you announced.

He raised a brow. “Mind some company, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes as you started to unbutton your blouse, his eyes checking shamelessly the little exposed skin didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Don't even think about it.”

And with that, you just disappeared inside the bathroom. The noise of water running compensated both of you for the silence. He turned on the cheap TV to have some noise for himself too, deciding he’d go for a shower after you. Probably if he was in a different mood would have just tried to get in your pants. Ben was getting so damn stressed out. First you took out his weed, then you announced he would have medication for his fucking stress disorder or some shit, and later, agents and employees of the facility just started to die violently without reason. He thought if any of you would be next while you walked him out.

It was too much to handle right now. He needed something to take it all out. Something, anything, somebody. Just to release it the only way he knew: with sexual pleasure. He didn't understand yet what the fuck was happening. Did you really care about him? You could just have left him there to handle everything by himself and run away. Yet, you took him out of the facility and he, once again, had a glimpse of your courage. Maybe a little. And he started to like that. Suddenly, he heard the shower being turned off and minutes later you came out of the bathroom sooner than he expected, dressed in the same clothing, drying the droplets on your face and wet hair.

“I’m gonna get some dinner, stay here” you announced, taking your phone and the room and car keys. “The door will be locked, don’t do anything stupid.”

Ben scoffed, standing up before making his way to take a shower himself. He faced you directly, just a couple of inches separating both of you. Your gaze challenged him to step closer. “I’m not a fucking animal.”

You hummed, without looking away from his eyes. “Sometimes I doubt you.”

“Locking the fucking door won’t do shit, why you keep doing this?” Ben asked, visible confusion on his features. He really looked tired as hell. Tired of your bullshit.

“It’s not because of you. I perfectly understand that, just wait for me here.”

With that, you turned on your heels and left the room. From the other side, you locked the door. Ben let out a deep breath. He knew it was easy to tear it apart, and again, run after you to have damn answers for once. But instead, he decided to calm himself a little and get rid of his clothes. Inside the shower, he let the warm water take care of the burdens he was carrying, without knowing, on his back. He wondered if he’d been better dead by now, if sleeping in a chamber was a greater choice than this, just running along with you, a woman, who just seemed to fuck him up even more instead of playing real like you had promised. If he knew how to kill himself, probably would’ve done it already. He was getting sick of hiding, of being a fucking experiment, to be under someone’s else’s orders… The worst part of it all is that he never had the right to choose on his own faith. Not even his own death.

Out of the room, you were a few feet away from the door you left behind when your phone started to ring softly. An unknown number appeared on the screen and cautiously you answered, making your way to the car, getting inside on the co-pilot seat.

“Hello?” a voice you knew too well started to speak after some seconds of silence.

“Grace?”

The woman on the other line breathed out. “Yeah, it’s me. Uhm, couldn’t attend earlier, sorry…”

“It’s okay,” you shook your head, as if she could see you face to face. “We’ve been compromised. My lab assistants, the nurses, scientists, guards… Everyone is dead.”

“Fuck,” Grace hissed. She sounded exhausted. “Where is Soldier Boy?”

“I took him out, checked us in at a motel. Can’t go back to my old place. Not yet.”

“You have the copies of the project, right?”

For a moment you felt she was doubting you, but you answered anyway, surprised she would even ask that. “I do.”

There was a little silence coming from her. You continued. “I don’t think I told you yet, but… Fuck, I received a visit from Homelander a couple of days ago. He crashed into my apartment… He knows.”

Grace cursed under her breath. “Y/N, we’re playing with fire here.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling your heartbeat raising. “What’s going on with you? Something happened back there?”

“Victoria Neuman came, saying she wanted to talk to me. She kinda threatened my life, and I’m on the run… Now I can make the puzzle.”

“You think they might be working together?”

“Probably. Senator Bishop was found dead, and guess who is running now with Robert Singer for vice president.”

You chuckled. The whole situation was so ironically clear. “Victoria, that stupid, smart bitch.”

“I’m gonna get some information on her, I know some people who’d know more than I do. I’ll call once I find something.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for that. Do you need me to do anything?”

“Just keep Soldier Boy busy. Work on that injection as soon as you can,” she ordered.

You nodded to yourself, taking a look around the empty lot. “Yes, ma’am.”

After a somewhat long time, Ben saw you entering the room and locking the door. You left a paper bag and water on the nightstand by his bed, where he laid down like he was having a nice day on the beach with only a towel around his hips. He noticed you looked down at him a little longer than usual, but he wasn’t going to let that slip. A sleazy smirk formed on his lips.

“My eyes are up here, sugar.”

You turned away your gaze for a moment before looking back up at him again, confident this time as you locked up your eyes with his half-lidded ones.

“Stop the pet names, Soldier Boy.”

Ben stood up on his feet slowly under your eyes following his moves. His muscular frame towering over your figure as the towel fell to the floor, revealing his bare figure to you. He was growing fond of the way you didn’t step back, ever, from him.

“Well, you never complained back there. Speaking of,” he took the bottle of water between his hands and took a sip from it before his green orbs focused on you anew. “I think you owe me an explanation.”

“I already told you. I don’t know shit.”

“Fucking lies,” the supe hissed. “Tell me now.”

You shrugged and crossed your arms on your chest, tired of him. “I have nothing.”

“Sweetheart, you never shut your piehole during our sessions. Don’t back up now,” he dared, stepping closer to you, eyelids narrowing.

Neither Ben or you dared to look away. You had to act like it, for your good. What if Soldier Boy found out that probably Homelander was behind all of it? It was going to be the end of him, his son; the fucking abusive experiment would be gone with a blast. But Vought was still around. It wasn’t just about Homelander or personal payback. It was more than that.

Homelander was barely the tip of the iceberg. And you were afraid Ben would never understand the mission. Would he say yes to use his blood to create even more experiments after all he went through, even if you explained everything? You knew his answer. The next step was getting it from him and it was going to be the hardest thing ever. But you could think of that later. There was nothing that a small cut accident couldn’t do.

“I’m not talking because I have nothing to tell you, Ben,” you lied, looking at him with your brows knitting together. “I wish I knew, but I’m just as scared as you might be.”

“I’m not scared,” he replied a little too fast. “I want to know why you took me out.”

“Why not?” you insisted. “You deserve another chance.”

And I need you alive to find a cure to this curse.

Ben scrutinized your face. This time, he couldn’t read through you. What did he know though, was that he was tired. A burning ache was forming inside him once again and he needed to release it. He was used to sensing your heartbeats, the blood running on your veins, and still now there was no glimpse of you reacting to his teasing. Any other woman would have thrown herself at him, he was used to it. Now, there wasn’t anyone. Just you, paying no attention to his perfectly sculpted body and his cock between his legs. It had to be the fact that you were a supe. Not as powerful, but still. A clear advantage in the cursed world you all lived in. He took in your body, thinking into luring you to give in and imagining how it would be to have you crying under him, moaning his name exactly like numerous women have. Just for the night.

“Don’t think about it, Soldier Boy,” you voiced out, like if you read his nasty mind. “I’m not gonna do that.”

His eyes went back to your face. “Y’know, I used to have lines of women like you during my days. Countless lines of rich whores, waiting to have a good fuck with me. Pretty ladies whose husbands would leave unattended, cute little secretaries, bombshell Hollywood actresses… All of them, just wet holes ready for me. I’d take them all.”

You chuckled at his pathetic little speech. If that was his way of getting you to bed, it wasn’t working. Not now, not never.

“I’m not just any rich whore, Ben. I don’t want to fuck you, you can use the bathroom to take care of your little problem down there.”

You saw how his jaw clenched as he held his eyes with yours.

He smirked. “Maybe not today, pretty thing. But you’ll see.”

“Be my guest.”

Ben turned around, giving you a clear view of his ass as he locked himself inside the bathroom. The sound of the shower running was not enough to cover his moans and grunts as he jerked himself off. You just decided to sleep. There was a long drive waiting for you in the morning.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy imagines #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys amazon prime #the boys series #the boys tv #jensen ackles fanfiction #soldier boy/ben

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goosefruit · 9 months

Text

underneath the christmas tree

vanessa shelly x fem!reader

tw: smut, sub!reader, praise kink, vanessa eats it from the back, fingering, sex toy/vibrator use

a/n: im sorry if this is ass ive had terrible writer's block for like the past two weeks help

Pressing down on the last piece of tape, you let out a little ‘aha!’ as you adjusted the material around your body. You took a long look in the mirror, admiring the result of your work.

Nothing except two pieces of wrapping paper covered your top and bottom halves, patterns of snowflakes on a red background. Of course, you made sure to cut away enough paper to show off your cleavage. A dainty pink bow was glued on the makeshift ‘bra’ to top it all off.

Everything was held together messily by cheap tape, but that didn’t really matter; the outfit was made to be torn apart anyways.

You looked like a real present.

For the past forty-five minutes, you had been working on this bizarre scheme that you had thought to be so hilarious. Vanessa was taking one of her hour-long showers, giving you a perfect period of time to take advantage of.

You heard the shower turn off and quickly rushed to take your place beneath the Christmas tree.

Though there were still a couple of days to go until Christmas Day, presents were already stacked in neat piles around the base of the tree. At least a quarter of them were from Vanessa to you, who loved to spoil you with her cop money.

Vanessa stepped out of the washroom in her bathrobe, damp hair draped across her shoulders.

“Woah! Did Santa come early this year?” A playful grin took over her face as she caught sight of you on your knees under the tree.

“This exactly what you wished for?” You asked her sweetly, feigning innocence despite being half-naked.

“Mhm,” she leaned down to kiss you. Fresh out of the shower, you could smell a combination of her shampoo, body wash, and lotion. You moaned softly against her lips and pulled her down so that she was on the ground with you.

Her hands began to wander on your body, nails lightly scratching your bare back. With that, you felt her tongue enter your mouth, and you knew that she was getting impatient for more.

“Unwrap me,” your voice was barely a whisper.

In one effortless motion, Vanessa ripped your top in half, letting it fall to the floor. She did not waste a second before cupping your breasts in her hands, squeezing and massaging them. You sucked on the tip of her tongue to let her know how much you were enjoying it.

Without breaking the kiss, she scooped you up in her arms and carried you to the rug in front of the fireplace. Here, you didn’t have to worry about knocking anything over.

Her mouth eventually found itself on your breast, licking a stripe up your cleavage. Squeals and whines spewed out of you as she sucked hickeys into your soft skin.

“So pretty, my love,” Her breath tickled against your collarbone. “Such perfect tits, and you wrapped them up so well for me.”

Fuck, her praises made you so wet.

“You sound so adorable too. All I want to do is make you whine and moan all day, touching those beautiful tits however you want me to. Think you can be louder for me?”

You nodded swiftly, meeting her lustful eyes.

“Good girl.”

An embarrassingly loud moan slipped out between your lips.

“Now, let’s see what else we got here.” She slipped her fingers under the remaining wrapping paper and pulled it off your hips, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it god knows where.

Your pussy practically gleamed in the light, folds slick with arousal. You couldn’t help but thrust your hips up in a desperate need for any kind of friction.

Vanessa gasped with mock-astonishment. “How did you know that this was at the top of my wishlist?”

You gave her a light slap on the arm for her sarcasm.

Now, you were in a position where you laid on your back with her on top of you. Her fingers brushed over the top of your pussy. Your sore, needy pussy.

“I can’t believe this pretty cunt is all mine. Did me playing with your tits get you this wet?” Her hands wrapped around the back of your calves and placed your legs over her shoulders. You shivered as her damp hair stuck to your sensitive inner thighs.

“Vanessa, touch me please,” you needed to feel her tongue before you passed out from arousal.

“Oh look sweetie, your pussy’s getting wetter, all for me! It’s practically gushing out of you, my needy girl,” she pressed kisses down your thighs, neglecting the part where you needed her most. “I wanna get a taste of that sweet nectar.”

“Just p-please, I need you. Please, please, please, Vanessa.”

“However, I do have a better idea. On all fours for me, sweetheart.”

You groaned at your pleasure being delayed for even a second longer, but obliged as you had no other choice. Vanessa went behind you, firmly gripping both of your thighs. “What a perfect view,” she sighed lovingly. Before you had time to process, she buried her face in your soaked heat, nails digging into your skin. She pulled you closer to her by the legs, and you yelped as you felt her tongue on your clit after that agonizing wait.

“Y-yes baby! Fuck— just like that.” You screamed at the top of your lungs. If losing your voice was what it took for her to keep going, you were gladly ready to make the sacrifice.

Vanessa slipped two fingers inside of you, then adding a third when she decided that you were turned on enough to easily take all three. She curled them rhythmically, alternating with strokes of her tongue against your throbbing clit. It was almost embarrassing how fast your orgasm was building up, but every move your girlfriend made brought you closer to the inevitable.

“Just like that, feels so good. God it feels so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You wailed, squeezing your eyes shut. You prayed with all your might that Vanessa was feeling generous enough to let you cum straight away tonight.

“What a good girl. You taste amazing, I can’t get enough.” She grabbed at your ass, leaving a red imprint. “Cum when you’re ready, m’kay my dear? ‘M not going to be mean tonight, you’ve been such a good girl.”

The “thank you” that you meant to say was lost amongst a long string of moans and profanities as you finally reached your climax. Thrusting your core onto her tongue, arousal gushed out into her mouth and all over her fingers. You didn’t know how long it was until your legs stopped shaking.

“You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you,” Vanessa scooped you up in her arms and held you against her chest, which was rising up and down quickly as she, too, tried to catch her breath.

After a brief moment, she set you down to grab something from the tree.

“Since I got to open an early present today, I thought it would only be fair for you to open one of your own too.”

She handed you a box, wrapped with blue paper and white ribbon.

You almost choked when you saw what was inside.

A light pink G-spot vibrator——it seemed rather expensive too, with various different settings built in.

Vanessa helped you take it out of its packaging, knowing your hands were still shaky from your orgasm. As you examined the toy, she untied her robe and threw it aside, leaving you with a breathtaking view of her naked body.

“Allow me to give you a demo.”

Taking the toy, she pressed herself against you irresistibly. Her nipples were hard and erect, toned abs flexing as she rolled her hips onto you. The stickiness on her lips tasted of your pleasure.

She lined the silicone up with your entrance, pushing half of it in before turning on the vibrations. You moaned as it found your sweet spot, throwing your head back in ecstasy.

“Feels good, hmm?” Vanessa hummed, slowly rocking the toy up and down inside of you. “Got some pretty friggin’ great reviews online. Maybe you could leave your own after.”

Her ability to talk so casually while fucking you never failed to turn you on. Your stomach flipped nonstop, a knot tightening in your core.

She turned the vibrator up a setting and positioned the handle along her slit.

The noises she let out as she ground her clit against the silicone were sinful, moans and whimpers laced with pure lust. She kept a hand on the toy, now drawing small circles on your g-spot.

“You gonna cum, baby? Is my princess gonna cum?” Her breathing was harsh and ragged as she began to seek her own high.

“Ye— turn it up another s-setting, please!”

She did what you asked, and was rewarded by a huge spurt of squirt splattering all over her thighs. You cried out her name hoarsely as you came, limbs spasming like crazy.

“You’re so fucking hot, good fucking girl. Squirting all over me like that, gonna make me cum, holy shit.”

Another roll of her hips, and Vanessa finished with a silent scream.

It was a rare sight, seeing her lose control like that—back arching, eyebrows knitted, eyes rolling back, and mouth wide open. You loved it.

When she was stable enough to stand, she got up to retrieve her bathrobe and covered the two of you with it. The fireplace softly crackled in the background, radiating heat.

You laid with your eyes closed as she spooned you from behind, feeling so warm, so loved, and so very grateful.

#fnaf x reader #vanessa afton #vanessa fnaf #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa monroe #vanessa shelly smut #wlw nsft #fnaf vanessa #christmas smut

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1d1195 · 9 months

Text

Dolcezza IV

Read Dolcezza here

A little fluffy, a little angsty; hope you like it! :)

~8.6k words

“Who’s Harry? He’s cute,” she smiled excitedly.

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Harry’s a friend.”

“A cute friend,” she whispered peeking over at him still chatting with her father and sister.

Her face warmed and she shook her head. “Stop.”

“Don’t know many boys who would drive them home to their crazy family and spend the day baking and running errands.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“Yes Mom, I know. I understand,” she listened to her mother at the other end of her phone. She piled her stuff in the back of her car and rubbed her forehead. Slamming the door shut, she continued listening to her mom ramble on and on. “I’ll be there in an hour and a half,” she assured her rolling her neck from side to side. A day off was rarely a day off for her. The peacefulness of her personal day was over. It was onto the chaotic portion which would no doubt leave her feeling unrested and anxious.

Thinking about her book, she heard her mom’s continued chatter. Her complaints of how no one helped her around the house and “did I tell you about who I ran into at the grocery store?”

“Mom! I have to go!” She longed for the book she was reading only an hour prior. Thought about the deep breathing from the online yoga class she followed from YouTube only two hours prior. Ending the call, she sighed heavily again, squared her shoulders, and fell into the driver’s seat.

With a frown, she looked at the empty restaurant, lights off, closed sign hanging in the window. She didn’t even get to see Harry before she left, and she really wanted to. Since Harry took care of her, she ached to see Harry more frequently but was trying to keep her distance so as not to overwhelm him. The last place she would ever want to see her stalker was at work (not to mention it would be worse since she mostly worked from home). For anyone, it was uncomfortable when someone was flirty and there was no escape (because it was their job to be there).

She should have just texted him. That’s what Harry gave her his number for right? To be friends?

To flirt, hopefully. She thought to herself.

But since he had given her number, she hadn’t been the first one to text. Call her ridiculous or playing hard to get. Part of her couldn’t believe someone as handsome and wonderful as Harry wanted to chat with her. She never wanted to bother him, and she imagined that if she started talking, she would never want to stop. Harry would need space and...

Well, it spiraled pretty quickly.

So, all their conversations over text had been through Harry sending the first message.

Since she helped that busy night a few months back, she made her way to the kitchen at least once a week. Antonio enjoyed her help and found her adorable and helpful in a way that he couldn’t find in many employees. “Don’t get me wrong tesorino, I love my employees. They’re family. But they’re also in high school and college and they don’t care nearly as much as I do about this place.” She overheard him tell Niall, “It’s nice to depend on her as a tenant, someone I can trust Leo with, and someone that cares for the restaurant like she’s worked here her whole life.”

It made her feel warm, and she loved helping. It had been nearly routine; working from home, going to the gym, running errands, eating eggplant and spaghetti, and smiling at Harry through the kitchen window. It was so nice to relax and be around people who liked her company. People who didn’t make her feel crazy like her family.

It was nice to relax and not worry about being followed for the first time in a really long time.

I could send a simple, “good morning, have a good day” text. She thought. It was harmless. She could do that.

Right?

Sighing, she decided against it. Maybe he was sleeping in. She tried to remember what day he had off that week but was coming up short. Maybe she would come say hello at the end of her long day if she wasn’t too exhausted. But it was unlikely that would be the case at the end of what would be a long, long day. There was always tomorrow.

Plus, if Harry ended up texting her back, she would probably crash her car to answer him. Shoving the key in the ignition, she was trying to be positive, but it was hard to do so when she was not going to see Harry and she was not looking forward to the rest of her day off.

The feeling was only amplified as her engine did not turn over. She groaned. “No, no, no…” she whined. She knew very little about cars. Every year she asked her parents to renew her AAA membership for her birthday. She was ever practical, and it was a huge joke among her extended family. It was something she hated paying for herself but wouldn’t be caught dead without.

Right when the car didn’t start, she should have just called AAA. But instead—maybe because she was already frustrated and anxious about dealing with her family—she got out of her car to look at the mechanical engineering, as if she even knew what she was doing. With her phone’s flashlight, she peered under the hood, like she would suddenly know what she was looking for. She readjusted the strap of her purse to keep it from falling into the greasy, mechanical things and getting disgusting. Always one to take the time to learn a new skill, her dad showed her how to change a battery, check her oil, and replace various things in her car once she got her license. She was praying the battery was somehow disconnected. Because even if she had called AAA right then and there, it would ruin her whole schedule. Her whole day. She would let her family down and that would...well that would be really bad for her psyche.

But at the heart of it, it really made no sense for her to look under the hood. The thought of seeing her family tended to wreak havoc on her mind and make her do things like this.

A gust of wind made it’s way down the road. It blew her hair in her face and as she tried to blow it back out of her mouth, she heard the thunk of her car door closing. She bounced at the sound because it scared her. Making her hit her head on the open hood. “FUCK!” She hissed, rubbing the sore spot. She hurried to look at the door that had betrayed her. “No, no, no,” she whined reaching for the handle, but her gut already told her it was too late.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” she groaned rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. After thirty seconds of silence and utter disbelief, she began smacking the window with the open palms of her hands repeatedly. She made grunting and grumpy noises and kicked the tire for good measure. “You stupid piece—!” She hissed and continued to beat up the inanimate object.

Harry saw her from his own car when he pulled into the parking space nearby. Niall looked up from the passenger seat while Harry checked to make sure he was safely and adequately in the spot.

“Oof, that doesn’t look too good,” Niall murmured, just as she began attacking her car.

Harry hurried to throw the car in park and get out of his vehicle.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Harry rushed seemingly from nowhere. He quickly raced to her, pulling her by the hips swiftly so there was small distance from her vehicle to keep her from hitting it and preventing her from self-injury. “Principessa,” his voice was so soothing. Even though she was livid and frustrated, she couldn’t help but feel like he was speaking directly into her soul, his voice warm and perfect.

The few times she ended up in Dolcezza’s kitchen, Harry was somehow kinder to her than when they were interacting elsewhere. His voice was gentle as he walked past her with a hot tray. “Behind y’principessa,” or “watch y’hands, kitten, this one’s hot.” Something of that nature. Even when it was busy as could be, he would gently place a hand on her lower back and walk by her making her stomach flutter.

Harry touching her and physically pulling her away from her vehicle, on top of that soothing warm voice, almost made her feel remorse for attacking her car. “The car is gonna win, every time, kitten.” His hands now gripped the top of her arms holding her in place even though she strained ever so slightly against his hold to return to her frustrated movements. Niall was close behind. He tried all her doors to see if they were unlocked. But no dice.

Her face crumpled and Harry thought he would cry if she did. “This is the worst day off in the history of days off,” she moaned.

Harry released the top of her arms, skimmed down the length of them and rotated her hands for injury. All the while she explained the awfulness of the last ten minutes, all the things she had to do and why she was upset that this was the time her car had chosen to break down. Niall frowned at her story, no doubt feeling bad for her, but Harry could see the delight in his eyes. “Well, tesorino, don’t count today out just yet. Harry also has the day off. I’m sure he would be happy to drive you to your mum’s,” he clapped Harry on the back of his shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on your car. Make sure they get your keys safely in my hands and your car to the dealership.”

Harry smirked awkwardly and coughed as Niall volunteered him. Of course, he would do it, but he knew that she would be upset.

It was evident by the way her skin pinked with the suggestion. The thought of Harry doing something kind for her without any return on his time investment? “No way,” she snorted almost bitterly. “This is an all-day expedition,” she shook her head. “I can’t ask you to give up your day off for me.”

This was great for Harry on fifty different levels, minimum. He would get to see her in her element, talk to her about a ton of stuff, meet her family, and see her hometown. There wasn’t a better day off to be had. Except she looked infuriated, and Harry wasn’t sure he was exempt from her frustration. She texted rapidly on her phone. “Could y’go another day, kitten?” Harry asked softly. She shook her head. Tears were definitely filling her eyes at the mere thought. “Okay, so let’s go,” Harry shrugged and walked toward his car. She frowned.

“You really... don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Harry,” she whispered so quietly, and he turned around as he held the passenger door open. Her heart nearly stopped. She forgot why she was so mad. She wasn’t sure anyone had held a door open for her like that. Ever. “It’s... a lot,” she told him.

He smiled looking back over his shoulder. “Then we better get moving.”

She stayed put and felt so utterly awful, but Harry was waiting. It felt wrong to keep him waiting. Especially when she could only imagine what the day would bring without him really knowing.

“Did you desperately need anything in your car?” Niall asked, trying the handle once more.

“Yeah, like all that baking stuff,” she rubbed her forehead not having any kind of backup plan for that scenario. Harry frowned and closed the door to the car and started for the restaurant. At least Harry could come up with a backup plan for her.

“Why are you bringing baking stuff?” Niall peered into the backseat to see a bag of groceries and three cupcake pans, ignoring Harry’s path to Dolcezza’s front door.

“Uhh…” she swallowed hard. Obviously, whatever the reason was not something she felt like sharing. At least not right then. Harry frowned.

“It doesn’t matter, Principessa, don’t worry. Ni, can y’help grab some stuff,” he said opening the door to the restaurant. In a matter of minutes, she had replaced the groceries and metal pans that she had brought from her apartment.

“Niall, can you give them to Antonio when you get the car open?” She asked her eyebrows pinched together in worry.

He nodded. “Course, tesorino,” he smiled. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I would wait and ask Antonio for his key, get my spare car key, everything...but—”

“Principessa,” Harry said pressing a hand on her lower back making her feel like she might pass out. It took every ounce of restraint to not let the shiver threatening to roll through her body viciously for him and Niall to see her completely lose her mind over Harry’s touch. “S’okay. He’ll understand. Let’s go,” he smiled opening his car door again for her to sit in the passenger seat.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully. Harry rolled down the window as he started his car.

“It’s what friends are for, tesorino,” Niall winked at her. She was only a half hour behind schedule. An easy comeback.

She nodded. Other than Eleanor and Louis, she wasn’t sure she knew what that was like. “Well, still,” she said softly. “I’ll make it up to you,” she promised.

Niall smiled gently at her and caught Harry’s gaze very briefly before he pulled away from the curb.

Once on the highway, she made a call to her sister, and explained the problem. At the same time, Harry called Niall and gave specific instructions not to let her keys out of his sight. Overcome, once more by the worry of someone stealing her keys and finding her apartment upstairs. Throwing that thought out of his mind, he told Niall that he had to pass the car one off to the tow truck driver and hold her other ones until they got back. He also left him in charge of making sure her car was properly taken care of, and he was to text Harry if there was an issue. She spent the first hour of the drive near silence. Instead, texting and scrolling on her phone. It didn’t upset Harry, but it did worry him. “Do y’need anything kitten? Wanna stop for coffee or...?”

She shook her head. “Maybe later,” she answered.

He nodded. “Alright.”

It very much seemed like she didn’t want to talk. But right as the GPS alerted her that they would arrive in half an hour she started to squirm ever so slightly.

“Y’okay, Principessa?”

She sighed and put her head in her hands. “My family is a lot,” she told him. “Like just chaotic and a little crazy; it’s embarrassing.”

He frowned. “Okay, I’m... I’m sorry that y’feel embarrassed. But... every family has something, y’know?” His voice was gentle and quiet. Encouraging. “M’not going t’like... say anything.”

She nodded. “Thank you,” she looked at her lap, inspecting her fingertips.

“Plus, if... if you came from them... they’re already the most wonderful people I’ll ever meet,” he shrugged as if that wasn’t the sweetest, kindest thing she’d ever heard. He didn’t get a good look because he didn’t want to take his eyes off the road, but he hoped her cheeks were that pretty pink color.

“They’re good people...but...” she sighed.

“Kitten,” he reached over and put his hand on her squirming fingers. He gave them a reassuring squeeze. “S’okay. I promise,” he whispered.

She took a deep breath and looked out the window. Harry glanced at her briefly. It was the safest he had ever driven in his life—and he was already a safe driver. But even though he was desperate to hold her hand the way he was right now; he couldn’t help but feel bad about removing his hand from the two-position. She was the most precious thing he had ever had in his car and wanted to keep her safe no matter what—even if he really wanted to keep holding her hand and assure her it would be alright.

She looked at Harry in her peripheral. “My sister is going to fall in love with you.”

He smirked. “M’a bit older than her, yeah?”

“She’s eighteen,” she sighed. “But we think she was born as a thirteen-year-old.”

“S’a bit young for me,” he winked. She squeezed his hand as she smiled softly. Harry wondered if she knew she did that but didn’t want to bring it to her attention.

“Also,” she took another deep breath. “They don’t... I’ve never told them about the person following me,” she mumbled. Harry very nearly stopped the car.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oh?”

“They would...” she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Isn’t y’brother a dispatcher? Does he want t’be a police officer?”

“Yeah...but...” she shrugged. “I don’t know. Please don’t mention it, not that I think you would but—”

“Kitten,” he frowned. “S’a pretty big thing t’hide from your family.”

“Well,” she was skimming her thumb along the back of Harry’s hand, and he had never enjoyed hand holding so much in his whole life. “It would just worry them,” her voice was quiet. Like she wanted to tell them. Maybe she wanted them to worry about her. “I don’t... they don’t need to worry about me,” she mumbled. “It’s not a big deal, really. You know?”

It was. Every time Harry saw her, there was the smallest part of his brain thinking about how someone was so obsessed with her that he watched her every movement for over a year. So much so that she had to move. It wasn’t a way to live, and she didn’t see it as a problem. Didn’t see it as something that people who cared about her should worry about. Harry wanted to cry about how sweet she was. She deserved... everything.

“I won’t say anything, Principessa,” he squeezed her hand. She smiled.

“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me... someone that isn’t Eleanor or Louis,” she explained.

“Eleanor...” he followed the GPS’s directions to get off the highway. It wasn’t quite a city, but not a small town either. There were lots of stores and restaurants right off the exit and Harry stopped at the red light. “El mentioned y’had an ex-boyfriend—”

“Course she did,” she rolled her eyes.

Harry ignored her comment. “—he must’ve... helped.”

She shrugged. “Yeah... but...” she looked at how her hands were holding Harry’s. It was so warm and somehow more intimate than every kiss she had with her ex. It felt like holding Harry’s hand was holding a piece of his heart and she didn’t necessarily think it was as simple as that... but she really liked it. “He... he complained a lot,” she mumbled. “I told you my family is a lot, and they are. But... they’re good people and I love them so it’s...” she sighed. “It’s complicated. I shouldn’t have dated him for as long as I did. Eleanor was probably right to not like him. By the end of it... it was like we lived two separate lives. I just did what I wanted and he...” she shrugged nonchalantly.

“You deserved more,” he finished.

“Well...I don’t know about—”

“No, Principessa,” he interrupted, cutting her off. “S’not a negotiation. You deserved more,” he promised squeezing her hand. They turned off the main road. Harry let her contemplate his statement in silence and continued following the GPS.

Her neighborhood was quaint and looked like a great place to grow up. It was the type of neighborhood little ones probably loved to Trick or Treat in. The kind where you could go to a neighbor’s house and ask for a cup of sugar and chat for so long you forgot to finish baking. Harry wondered if people sang Christmas carols or had block parties. But her grip had stiffened around Harry’s hand, and he could see her physically steeling herself. Her shoulders stiffened, everything about her seemed to be almost defensive. “If it’s too much for you,” she said getting out of the car and grabbing the baking items out of the back seat, “you can leave... there’s a cute mall with shops and restaurants back toward the highway if you need time to get away. I wouldn’t... I won’t blame you,” she turned her attention to the house she grew up in and looked at the Christmas lights still hanging from the gutter, draped on the shrubs.

It was February, now. Her heart felt heavy.

Harry had gotten screamed at during culinary school four and a half out of five days of the week. She was the kindest sweetest soul on the planet. There was no way her family could be so bad that he would feel the need to leave. “Thank you, kitten. M’going t’be fine,” he winked at her taking the bag of supplies and the pans from her, so she had free hands to open the front door. With a deep breath, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

It was loud. That was the first thing Harry noticed. There was yelling from one room to the other. In her defense, it wasn’t angry. It was as if they didn’t want to leave their rooms. The smoke detector was going off and a clang of pans coming from the kitchen. “She’s here!” A voice shouted from somewhere upstairs. Harry glanced around quickly catching pictures of when she was younger. He hoped he had a chance to look at them again later.

Harry watched her as she took in the scene. The living room and dining room were a bit cluttered. But it wasn’t as bad as she thought it was going to be. She hoped after she told them a friend was driving because of her car situation that they would clean up a bit. Maybe they did, or maybe her sister finally found better lighting in her room to do her makeup and skincare routine each morning instead of the living room. She pulled the items from Harry’s hands so he could take his coat off. He did so silently, and quickly took the items back from her so she could do the same.

Obviously, the smoke detector and kitchen were her first stop. “Mom,” she said evenly as she walked into the kitchen. Harry followed behind. It was a little more cluttered. Especially considering they knew she was coming over to bake cupcakes.

“Hey sweetie!” The woman turned. Harry could see his future. The sweet girl would grow up to be a pretty mom just like the woman in front of him. “Oh hello; I thought Eleanor was driving you.”

Harry saw her entire body flinch then, somehow, stiffen more. “Eleanor moved, Mom. I told you that.” The smoke detector was still going off and it somehow wasn’t fazing any of them and Harry found that rather funny and cute. But he was surprised that her mom didn’t remember her best friend had moved.

“Silly me, must have forgot,” she laughed and shrugged. She turned and took Harry’s items once more and set them on the little space left on the kitchen island.

“This is Harry,” she gestured to him.

Harry held his hand out. “Nice to meet you. You have a lovely home.”

She grinned and Harry could see every facial feature of the sweet girl had come directly from her mother. It was almost uncanny. “Thank you, Harry. Thanks for driving her,” she smiled. “Emma, honey! what are we doing with the smoke detector?”

“Nothing? Why?” The female voice responded.

Harry watched the girl’s face drop with exhaustion. The poor thing. They hadn’t been there longer than two minutes. Her mom rolled her eyes. “Can you turn it off?”

“I don’t know how!”

“I got it!” A male voice answered.

There was a clatter and a thud, but the alarm stopped. She felt the ringing of it still in her ears. “Honey, your daughter is here,” her mom sang.

After a moment, her father stepped into the kitchen joining them. “Hey sweetie,” he smiled. He nodded at Harry and gave his daughter a hug. She returned the hug, the light in her eyes seemed dead making her look stoic and tired. “No Eleanor?”

She nodded. “No Eleanor,” she sighed.

“Eleanor moved,” her mom answered pulling a casserole dish out of the oven. It smelled delicious.

“Really?” her dad said in surprise.

“M’Harry,” he said holding his hand out again for him to shake next. She was watching her mother with her casserole dish, she quickly moved things off the counter, so she had room to set it down. It wasn’t the most unusual thing, but it was very obvious that she was used to anticipating her family’s every movement. Maybe that’s why it was so nice to work with her in the kitchen at Dolcezza.

“What brings you here?” He asked.

“Emma’s bake sale,” she answered and began throwing used cooking utensils in the sink. She peeked into the dishwasher and noticed it was full. “Is this clean or dirty?” She asked.

“It’s clean. I asked Emma to empty it.”

“When?” she muttered under her breath looking at the stack of plates and dishes in the sink piling high enough that she thought she would have to run two loads while she was here. Harry was taking it all in, looking at the pictures on the fridge. “What’s she doing?”

“Who knows,” her mom smirked with an eyeroll. “Our princess is something else,” she explained to Harry with a smile.

Harry returned the smile but didn’t think Emma could be a princess. Not if she didn’t unload the dishwasher when she was asked. Nor if she knew how to handle a smoke detector. Harry got the sense that she was perhaps a bit spoiled—not through any fault of her own but ten years younger than her oldest sibling, she had to be waited on throughout her childhood.

Not to mention the only Prinicipessa in Harry’s life was the sweet girl he had spent an hour and a half with in the car. “Emma!” Her dad called.

“Coming!” She shouted and Harry heard a flutter of footfalls on the stairs coming from around the corner.

Her jaw dropped when she entered the kitchen. “You’re not Eleanor,” she said in surprise. Harry smirked. The poor girl looked ready to cry right there. Not one of them remembered. He wished he had her brother’s phone number just so he could warn him in advance. If he said Eleanor later Harry would lose it. He found it so unbearably sad, he thought she was going to cry. She flexed her jaw.

“Eleanor moved,” her dad explained.

“Huh,” she shrugged.

“M’Harry,” he said for the third time and held his hand out.

It seemed the genes she got from her mom were extremely strong. The three of them could have been mistaken for triplets. Her sister stared at him in surprise and nodded. “Emma,” she mumbled in surprise.

“Emma, can you empty the dishwasher since we have to make cupcakes and need space?” She asked.

Her sister rolled her eyes and Harry turned his attention again to the pictures on the fridge. Harry had his fair share of arguments with Gemma growing up. But he knew two sisters who argued could be on another level. “Did Mom ask you to ask me?”

Their mom opened her mouth, but she spoke before her mom uttered a syllable. “No Emma, but it’s courtesy to do what mom asks you to do, you know?”

“I was going to get to it after I finished my makeup.”

“Right because the dishes need you to be looking your best to get in the cabinet. Forget it. I’ll do it,” she sighed rubbing a hand on her forehead. “Why are the Christmas lights still up? I thought you were taking them down last week while James was home?” She wondered.

“James didn’t want to,” Emma shrugged. “Who cares? It’s pretty in the snow.”

She shared a look with her mom who once more looked so much like Harry’s sweet Principessa. She looked exhausted.

Oh.

Her mother’s genes were really strong. The exhaustion wasn’t something that just happened to her, it had been happening for longer than she had been alive.

“Alright,” she sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I will...manage that too.”

“Sweetie, you don’t need to do everything,” her dad said.

She turned to him briefly with an irritated expression. One that said, by all means, you do whatever you want. But it stopped as quickly as it started. After her expression returned to neutral, she began to unload the dishwasher. Harry wanted to keep a mental list of things to mention to her while he was here. The first being the look she gave her dad.

“Why are you making cupcakes?” Her mom asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” she sighed in frustration. “The winter carnival is expecting them or something...” she rolled her eyes. To her sister’s defense, she used to always make them when she was in high school. A “secret” recipe of hers (even if it was by all accounts a pretty standard cupcake recipe). But it had been talked about since she graduated. She made them for her brother and every year someone’s sibling of someone she knew from high school knew her and would ask.

Unlike her sister, everyone else had the courtesy to ask months in advance. Not a week like Emma. “I thought you knew!” She had exclaimed when she told her about it. “You always make them!”

“You didn’t ask!”

“I didn’t know I had to!” Emma was nearly hyperventilating on the phone thinking that she wasn’t going to make them because she had waited too long. But that was too much to explain to her mom. It was expected of her, and she should have known that she needed to make cupcakes. How could she not?

Harry was chatting with her father. Inquiring about how they had met and so forth. If Harry was into sports or if he liked fishing. She hoped Harry wouldn’t let it slip why she moved. “We haven’t seen her new place,” her dad admitted.

“S’nice. Y’should come by. We’ll make y’a delicious dinner too at the restaurant,” Harry promised.

She continued glancing over while the dishes were put in the correct cabinet, and she reloaded items from the sink to the machine. “Why don’t you make her do things, Mom?” She asked tiredly. Emma was inserting herself into the conversation with Harry and her dad. Her mom helped by clearing off the counters as quickly as possible.

She shrugged. “You know how Emma is,” she said.

“Kick her out,” she knew it was dramatic, but maybe even a threat would be helpful.

“Sweetie,” she rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You know that’s not how I operate. I could never kick out the three of you.” Plus, if she did kick her out, she would end up right at her doorstep. Right outside Dolcezza. “Who’s Harry? He’s cute,” she smiled excitedly.

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Harry’s a friend.”

“A cute friend,” she whispered peeking over at him still chatting with her father and sister.

Her face warmed and she shook her head. “Stop.”

“Don’t know many boys who would drive them home to their crazy family and spend the day baking and running errands.”

She nodded. “I know.”

Once the kitchen was mostly cleared, she was certain her dad loved Harry. To be fair, it was pretty easy to fall in love with him. She had done it about a thousand times. Emma was starstruck. She eyed his tattoos and his muscular arms. Harry had the best smile and the nicest eyes. Emma was going to be a giggly mess.

“Alright, I made shepherd’s pie for when you finish baking and before you go see James. What did he say he needed that you had to come?” Her mom asked.

Harry turned his attention back, wondering as well. She hadn’t said anything about the reason for her brother and added it to the list in his mind for when they headed to his off-campus apartment. “Just haven’t seen him in a while,” she shrugged.

“Probably needs money,” Emma snorted.

Her mom looked at her. “Sweetheart, don’t you dare give your brother money.”

She rolled her eyes. “Better me than you,” she mumbled.

Harry was starting to understand why this was going to be a long day.

Everyone left the kitchen and she got to work getting bowls, preheating the oven and all the other things she needed in a flurry of activity.

“M’not much of a baker, kitten. S’gonna have t’be all you. But m’really good at taking direction,” he promised with a smile. “Jus’ tell me what t’do.”

It was the cutest thing ever to see her put an apron on that was decorated with flowers on the print. She rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and twisted her hair back out of her face. She was adorable. “You’re sure?” She asked.

“S’all you, Principessa.”

“Okay, I just work really quick because I have to do other things so—”

“Okay,” he interrupted with a nod and a deeper smile. One that made the dimple in his cheek poke through. It poked right through her heart. “S’fine. I can do that,” he assured her with a head nod.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said gratefully.

“Course, kitten. M’happy t’help you. You’ve been helping so much in the kitchen. S’least I can do,” he squeezed her upper arm as he gazed at her hoping she would just see how much Harry liked her. They worked quickly, stirring all kinds of batter. They were making three different cupcakes: chocolate, vanilla, and red velvet. Her recipe was easy to follow. He liked her extra touches that made it her own and he thought that he would have to tell Antonio to hire her full time just to make cupcakes. “How come y’not a baker?” Harry was pulling the cupcakes out of the tins so he could place more paper cupcake holders to dole out more batter. He lined the cupcakes on every available surface. He insisted on this job since as he kept telling her, his fingertips were immune to the hot temperatures of the cupcakes right out of the oven.

“It’s a nice little hobby,” she smiled. “I don’t think I have enough good stuff just to open a little shop and sell cupcakes.”

“Would y’want to?” He wondered.

She shook her head. “No...I like my job. I’m good at it.”

“M’sure you are jus’ good at everything y’do, kitten,” he chuckled.

She smiled and put her hand on Harry’s arm as she walked behind him. In between rounds of trays going in and out of the oven, she was working on the pile of dishes and the dishwasher. It was almost done, and he was impressed (but not surprised) by how efficiently she worked. They chatted more about her job—she was a finance manager for a big company in the city near Dolcezza. She enjoyed it; her coworkers were nice, and people valued her skill. Not that that surprised Harry in the slightest. She found it nice to work from home as long as she maintained specific working hours.

“That was the hardest adjustment about working at home. I was worried I would just work all the time.” He nodded understandingly enjoying the passion she had for everything she did. “I think maybe if I wasn’t doing this, I would want to teach people about finance,” she shrugged.

“Y’would teach bratty teenagers?” Harry asked in surprise with a smile.

“I’m pretty good with them,” she winked and jutted her chin toward the empty hallway coming off the kitchen indicating Emma, of course. Harry laughed and shook his head at her.

After more chit chat, there were about 130 cupcakes cooling and waiting to be frosted after a while. “Do you mind helping with the lights?” She asked quietly. The last batch of cupcakes just went in, and all the cleaning was almost done.

Harry turned to see her pink cheeks. It was hard for her to ask for help, Harry could see that. But it was really exciting for him to hear her ask. It was a huge step. Even if it was already implied that he would help her with whatever. “Course, Principessa,” he smiled. “M’happy to.”

“This has to be the worst day off in the history of the world for you.”

“I don’t know. Cupcakes and a pretty girl?” She dropped her gaze to the sink and Harry smiled at her shyness. “S’better than me jus’ sleeping the day away,” he smiled.

“Don’t you have... a date or something?” She wondered, looking as far away from Harry’s face as possible. She didn’t want to catch his expression in her peripheral. “It’s Friday. I imagine you only get a Friday off once in a while.”

He smirked with a shake of his head. She was oblivious.

Or maybe she just didn’t want to see it because of who she was. Harry adored her and that probably scared some part of her, even he could recognize that. “It rotates,” he agreed. “But... no. M’not really interested in dating anyone,” he told her.

“No?” She frowned before she could stop herself. Immediately, she regretted saying it. But was desperate to know the answer.

His heart sped. He wondered if the strong, rhythmic beating would break one of his ribs. Closing the oven, he turned to see her still working on the dishes. But after a near silent moment, he stopped her movements, grabbed her by the wrists and turned her around from the sink. Her hands dripped water on the floor, and he shifted her so that her back was to the counter. His hands pressed on either side of her hips against it, and he put a breath of space between them. “I’d make an exception for you,” he promised and scanned her face. Her eyelashes fluttered and she swallowed hard.

“Yeah?” She whispered.

“Always, Principessa,” he murmured and dropped his gaze to her lips.

Her brain got the better of her again, making her mouth speak before she could comprehend what she was about to say. Her breath was airy, her mind spinning with the scent of vanilla cupcakes and Harry’s shampoo filling her nose as he leaned toward her. “You’re really going to kiss me in my parents’ house? When it’s crazy, and I’m crazy, and they’re—”

Harry chuckled, bringing a hand to the side of her face, and brushing his thumb against her cheek. As hard as his heart was beating, it felt so suddenly slow. Like this was normal and what he was supposed to do. It didn’t need a crazy heartbeat. It was simply what he was supposed to do. He glanced briefly around to see if her family was nearby—he wouldn’t want to intentionally embarrass her. “Yeah, kitten. Guess I am,” he shrugged and leaned the final distance to press his lips solidly between hers.

The moment his lips touched her, she felt her knees soften. Like she was going to fall over. All the blood in her body rushed from her extremities to her heart. It made her feel weak all over. His lips were so soft, like little down pillows. They weren’t chapped at all like she thought they’d be. Her whole body felt a rush of warmth, like the oven was open and brushing hot air over her. Her lashes fluttered, making her eyes close and she wished she dried her hands because she wanted to hold onto him, but didn’t want to get his shirt wet when he had nothing else to wear.

She sighed deeply. It was so sweet. It made his chest ache with want; he wanted to be closer. Wanted to kiss her longer. Wanted to wrap her in his arms and never ever let her go. Harry had never kissed anyone that had sighed so softly like that while kissing him. It was so very her and it made him feel like he was going to melt into the floor. Her lips tasted like chocolate from when she tested the batter. His hand kept hold of the side of her face while he nipped and pecked at her lips. The other pressed against the counter, the length of his body pressed to hers, the only two things keeping him upright and not bringing them down to the kitchen floor.

He released her lips after a moment causing a beautiful breathy sigh to leave her lips. His gaze was so intense she felt it in her stomach. It couldn’t have been more than forty-five seconds of kissing, but he would have taken an hour, and it wouldn’t have been enough. She wiped a hand on her apron and then brought it to her mouth to touch her tingly lips.

Harry’s breath was a little shallow and she was grateful he sounded a little worse for wear only because she was worried, she was going to pass out right in the middle of the kitchen. “Thanks,” she whispered.

He chuckled, shaking his head. That was very much a her thing to say at a time like this. It made his stomach flutter with excitement. “Pleasure was all mine, Principessa,” he mumbled pressing a kiss to her forehead and gently squeezing the side of her face as he held her cheek.

They stood for a moment staring at each other like they had never seen each other before. As awful as her day was, and as frustrated as her family could make her feel, this was infinitely better than what she thought it would be.

“We should... take care of the lights,” she whispered. Not that she wanted to, but kissing Harry with three quarters of her family one room away did not seem ideal.

He nodded. “Okay,” he released her cheek making her regret her choice because she felt utterly cold. She shivered and Harry sighed as he stepped away from her. Right as she turned back for the sink, the water still running, Harry caught her wrist again and pulled her so quickly to him her heart skipped a beat. “One more,” he mumbled and brought their mouths back together just as quick as he pulled her toward him, she hardly had time to react. His tongue gently tracing the length of her lip making her sigh again and he thought he would surely explode from how much he liked her.

“Where are the boxes?” She asked as she put her coat on. Harry pulled her hair from getting trapped and smoothed it softly on the back of her jacket. He found about a hundred excuses to touch her in the last half hour while they waited for the cupcakes to finish and for her to finish cleaning. The kitchen looked better now that she had been in there.

“In the attic,” her sister said looking up from her phone briefly. She sighed, frustrated that her siblings hadn’t even gotten the boxes down last week. Harry followed her upstairs. In the little hall between all the doors leading to what he assumed were bedrooms and at least one bathroom, was the ceiling door for the attic.

She pulled the cord to bring down the ladder, the hinges of the door groaning.

“Sweetie, wait!” Her mom shouted suddenly. Harry yanked her so hard around her waist as the door opened widely. He pulled her back toward the empty half of the hallway, causing them to fall in a heap right as the ladder half fell, dangling, unhinged to half of the frame of the opening. She would have gotten a serious smack to the face had Harry not pulled her out of the way. She felt so warm in his arms. Even if her falling on top of him with her full weight could not have felt good. She could feel her face burning in embarrassment.

“Emma, are you fucking serious?!” She screamed. She scrambled to get to her feet. She helped Harry back to her feet. “Are you okay?” she asked nervously, her eyes looking him over quickly and her mom had reached the top of the steps. Her eyebrows pinched together. She looked so emotionally hurt. The poor thing.

Harry shook his head looking at the ladder and then at her, still worried she hurt herself. He definitely yanked her really hard, and he did his best to take the brunt of the fall, but that couldn’t have felt good. “M’fine, Principessa, are you alri—”

“How is that my fault?!” Emma shouted.

“You knew it was broken and didn’t tell me?!” She hurried down half the steps to yell at her sister.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” her mother said.

“It’s okay. We’re alri—”

“Is that why you two didn’t do the decorations?” She was seething. From the top of the steps Harry could see her shoulders heaving with each breath. “Are you serious?”

“What?!”

“The ladder almost hit Harry and I!”

“Kitten,” he started down the couple steps and he touched her shoulder gently.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Her mom asked.

“I was going to fix it tomorrow,” her dad called from another room.

“I’m fine, I promise,” Harry smiled gently at her mother wondering how she could be ignoring the screaming match.

“Why are you even dealing with the decorations, you came to bake cupcakes!”

“Emma you’re being a selfish brat, not once did you say thank you—”

“Principessa,” Harry’s voice was low, and he moved his hand to her lower back.

“You always make cupcakes!”

“—you do nothing but make messes that Mom has to clean up you could have at least put the decorations away!”

The screaming was reaching levels Harry hadn’t heard before. Especially not from his sweet, pretty angel. He worried about how her throat would feel from yelling so loud and of course the anger that was rippling through her made him worry she would shake so much she would fall down the steps.

“Sweetie,” her mom said pushing past Harry very gently. “It’s okay—”

“Mom, it’s not okay. She is a lazy, spoiled brat and you don’t—”

“Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you get to come over and act like you run everything! You act so high and mighty! We’ve been fine without you living here and bossing all of us around. Can’t you just relax for two seconds and stop being a bitch?!” Emma did not once get up to look at her sister during this conversation.

She finally stopped. Her breathing no longer heaving, she stopped shaking. She flexed her jaw. “The cupcakes need to cool. We’re going to see James and I’ll be back to frost them when we get back,” she snapped and headed down the steps.

“Sweetie,” her mom said softly.

“Dad,” she called stiffly.

Harry followed as quickly as he could.

“Yeah?” His voice was quiet.

“Can you bring the ladder inside that will reach the attic while I’m gone?” She asked.

“Sure thing, sweetie,” he promised.

She walked right out the door and closed it behind her.

“I am so sorry, Harry,” her mom whispered.

“It’s alright. M’gonna make sure she’s alright. I have a sister,” he said encouragingly with a gentle smile. “I get it,” he shrugged. “We’ll be back,” he promised following after her.

They drove in silence to her brother’s apartment. Harry reached over and placed his hand on the top of her thigh, but she didn’t hold it the way she had when he drove earlier. She stared out the window the whole time. There wasn’t a word of discussion. Harry didn’t speak, he didn’t play music, just gently moved his index finger back and forth, trying to soothe her as much as possible from the small movement.

James was a half hour away from their house and when there was only ten minutes left of the drive, Harry cleared his throat. “That wasn’t nice of your sister,” he whispered.

“Can we do this later?” She answered.

He frowned. “Principessa.”

“Look, it was really bad and I’m so embarrassed that you saw that and heard that. I’m sad you gave up your day off to deal with my insane family. I feel bad you’re stuck with me for the remainder of the day so I would rather just have you tell me to leave you alone when we’re on the way home—”

Shaking his head quickly, Harry thought about pulling over because surely they had entered an alternate dimension. “Kitten, what on earth are y’talking about?”

“I don’t want to do this, Harry. I’m so close to crying, it’s not even funny.”

He was quiet for a full minute. “Y’don’t have t’be embarrassed around me, Principessa. M’not going anywhere. The only reason I wish we were on our way home is so I could walk y’upstairs and kiss y’outside your door for a lot longer than we did,” he squeezed her thigh gently.

Another silent minute. They were five minutes from James’ place. “Really?” She whispered.

He glanced at her. He could see her teary gaze. The one that broke his heart when she wasn’t feeling well. It broke his heart all over again. “Really, kitten,” he promised. “We can talk ‘bout it later. But y’family doesn’t make me like y’any less. Other than worrying ‘bout you, m’having a lot of fun,” he promised. “Got a new cupcake recipe, got to see cute baby pictures of you, and got to kiss you. So...this is pretty much the best day off I’ve had in years.”

Her heart felt splintered and broken by her sister’s mean words. She was certain Harry would hate her and wouldn’t want anything to do with her. “You still want to kiss me?” She asked.

“Always, Principessa,” he nodded. “I’d ‘ve kissed you the whole way here if it were possible,” he assured her.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “I’d like that,” she admitted.

He chuckled, smiling happier than he felt the last twenty-eight minutes worrying about her. “I really, like you Principessa,” she turned that pretty pink that Harry liked so much. He could see it in his peripheral. “I don’t think you’re bossy or mean. I think you are the kindest, most caring person ‘ve ever met,” he put his car in park outside the apartment building the GPS directed him to. He cupped her face again and kissed her forehead. It felt perfect. Like Harry had kissed her a hundred times before. He peered into her eyes with the same look he had right before he kissed her in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry. I think... we have to wait,” she whispered her breath catching in her throat. She felt dizzy with his breath filling her senses. He frowned.

“Don’t want to kiss?” he asked worried she was still going to push him away.

“No... no...” she shook her head her breath uneven. “I do. I very much do. But I won’t...” she sighed nodding quickly. “I won’t want to stop. And I—”

Harry chuckled dropping his lips to press a line of kisses from one cheek to the other over the bridge of her nose. “S’okay, kitten. I’ve waited nearly nine months t’kiss you. Can wait a few more hours,” he promised.

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 8 months

Text

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 2,212

Warnings | +18, Yandere , MC has devouring thoughts, Stockholm syndrome, smut, intense blowjob, manipulation, Jungkook is obsessed with her, she now thinks only of him

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Here is the seventh chapter of Happy Ending, the next one will be the last, but fear not, I have a surprise for you ❤

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @douknowbts, @aiiselle90210, @fewercascade , @mageprincess7, @m00njinnie

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

It was Jungkook, Y/N would have recognized the sound of his boots from miles away, she sensed the footsteps stop right in front of her door, her wide eyes waited, she wished Jungkook would enter the room, but that did not happen, to her disappointment the footsteps continued far beyond her room, and ended up inside Jungkook's master bedroom. The same room she should have shared with the boy long ago now. A worm took possession of her mind, undecided whether to listen to him or not, she waited ten minutes, then twenty, then half an hour, until she jerked up, jerking the covers away from herself. "That's enough, he was the one who wanted me here, he can't behave like this," she thought, coming barefoot into the hallway. She walked slowly on the carpet, looking for any excuse that would allow her to run back and return to her room, but she found no good excuse and finally found herself already in front of the boy's bedroom. She took a breath before lowering the brass doorknob, fortunately for her it did not creak and allowed her to enter in complete and deafening silence. The kidnapping was long forgotten in the girl's head; she would take her place in Jungkook's bed, even if it meant killing any other woman with her own hands.

She closed the door behind her and began to make her way to the vacant seat on the left side, Jungkook seemed to be sleeping soundly and consequently gained more self-confidence, slipped under the soft sheets and settled there. Now accustomed to the darkness, she scrutinized the sleeping face of the young man in every detail, the closed eyes gave an innocent air to the beautifully drawn face, the distended forehead had a few unruly strands on it, and only the lips were softly rippled in a pout that the girl found adorable. She licked her lips, feeling a desire to taste the boy's, so she got closer, so close that she could breathe the same air as Jungkook. With bright irises she descended to his pouty lips, where shortly afterwards she deposited hers in a very light, velvety caress. She found herself falling in love once more, now that she looked at him with different eyes even that small, chaste kiss pleased her, wishing she could give him another, and she did.

A dark and increasingly thirsty flower had finally bloomed, with gnarled roots firmly planted in her heart.

The girl did not know it, but Jungkook had been awake the whole time, silently accepting those attentions that gave him the proof he was looking for. He pretended that he was still in his sleep, stretched his arms out in the direction of the girl, who stiffened when she was enveloped by the boy, who held her loosely on his cozy chest, she feared that she had woken him up, but the boy gave no other sign, under Jungkook's warm breath and enveloped in his warmth, Y/N fell asleep, finally more serene.

The next morning Jungkook woke up pleasantly rested, he noticed after a few seconds the strange cluster of legs and arms crossed with his better half. Y/N was still sleeping, and this time it was his turn to study her relaxed and heedless face. He licked his lips, still feeling the young woman's lips joining his in chaste kisses, which had the effect of making them tingle, and thinking about it for a few seconds, Jungkook found it fitting to return the favor. He crawled slightly lower, coming up to the level of Y/N's face, and slowly teased her lips with his, feeling their softness before resting them completely, in a tender kiss that was soon followed by another, and another. Y/N's eyelids trembled slightly, before opening and fluttering a little to get used to the sunlight, astounded by the pressure she felt at her lips, she widened her eyes when she realized that Jungkook was kissing her, one of his strong hands was gripping her side, another was holding her head, and closing her eyes she let him.

"Good morning," he said, after giving her one last kiss, and at that point Y/N stared at him wordlessly, it had been a long time since she had heard his smooth, light voice, now arched with sleep, she felt her stomach squirm in butterflies. "G-Good morning to you," she replied, embarrassed. She tried to flinch, untangling their perfectly joined legs, but Jungkook would not let her. "Um... I should go to the bathroom," mumbled the girl. "Is it the truth or do you just want to run away?" That question froze Y/N, who turned her head away, Jungkook forced her to look at him. "You are in my bed and I did not force you...did you miss me, my love?" Those words were enough to break the levees, the girl burst into tears catching Jungkook unprepared, he lifted himself up so he could hold her better, stroking her hair. "Ah, so that's it, is it? My little girl needed company, my own?"

Y/N wrinkled her own face on Jungkook's smooth skin, soaking his neck with tears that made the boy smile sadistically, Taehyung was right, now his tender little flower depended entirely on the shade of the big tree not to burn under the sun's rays. "Why haven't you spoken to me these days?" she sobbed, "Not even a glance." Jungkook inhaled her sweet scent, "I did it for your needs, you didn't want me around, am I right?" he feigned a naiveté in his tone that did not belong to him, the young woman shook her head. "I-I thought you didn't want me around anymore, that you were spending time with another woman," her voice cracked on the last word, laying bare all her fears. Jungkook moved away just enough to take her face between his palms, wiped a scarlet cheek with his thumb and stared straight into her watery eyes, "Another woman?" he asked with an ever-widening smile, he had expected an increasing demand for attention, but he had not counted that jealousy would arise as well, he thought it was still too early, but he had to think again. Y/N was really perfect for him.

He kissed her with transport, licking away the salty tears that slid down the girl's face and immediately demanding access to her mouth, which she gladly allowed. Y/N accepted that kiss like a drug addict, let Jungkook settle between her legs and gave him permission to plunder her mouth as he saw fit, enjoying the softness of his hair that she squeezed between her fingers, causing the man to shudder as he pushed his chest against the girl's tender and modestly covered one. "How could I spend time with another woman, when in my thoughts only you exist?" he left a trail of wet kisses on the girl's jaw, following that line up to her neck, which he took care to mark with small bites and light suctions. "I didn't know what else to think," the woman sighed as she closed her eyelids, arching against his lips, which rubbed against her covered breasts. "Do you want to be mine forever?" he took a nipple into his mouth, moistening her blouse as well, "Do you want me, Y/N?" he asked with a bite more voracious than the previous ones. The girl had long forgotten all her fears and warnings not to give in, not to let him go that far. In her mind there was now only Jungkook. It was with a groan that she responded, sending the boy's brain into a frenzy as he pressed one of her thighs against his hip, pressing his boxer-covered hardness directly against the young girl's heated intimacy concealed by her panties.

"Yes! I want to be yours… I want you," she huffed in a whisper, Jungkook lifted his deep dark eyes to hers. "Why don't you show me, Y/N?" he asked in a voice full of desire. Y/N squared him with confusion, what did he mean? "I… what?" Jungkook's eyes shone with something the girl could not quite define. Jungkook took one of her hands, bringing it slowly between their bodies, Y/N flushed when her palm came in contact with his throbbing, stiff erection, she went into a daze, beginning to shake her head. "I've never done that, I don't know how..." she swallowed, unable to finish the sentence. Jungkook stole a kiss from her, "I'll teach you, that's what I'm here for, love," he whispered on her lips, gently accompanying her hand inside his boxers.

Y/N let herself be guided with curiosity, she had never had the opportunity to touch a man really, she had always had to settle for the racy videos, but this was on a whole other level. She touched surprised something very velvety but at the same time hard, Jungkook lifted himself up by removing his underwear completely to allow her more maneuvering and the girl's eyes widened, it was huge. The pinkish, shiny tip already had moist, pearly drops on the slit, drops that the boy pushed all over the rest of his veiny cock, holding just long enough to give each other a few strokes, "You have to do this, love, can you do it?" he asked affectionately, the girl nodded, enraptured by his movements. Her eyes did not detach for a moment from the glorious length, which made her clitoris quiver and throb, she got down on her knees on the bed and carefully and gently took his cock in her hands, it was heavy and thick, she began her tentative strokes all along his erection, finding the sensation pleasurable, as Jungkook's cock became moistened with the clear liquid, Y/N felt more and more proud and aroused, the boy's low, hoarse moans soon invaded the room, as did the sound of his hips pushing against her hand desperately.

She tightened her legs, trying to satisfy the continuous pleasurable throbbing of her intimacy, not without effort. Jungkook, on the other hand, was in heaven, he continued to thrust between Y/N's hands, tense and captive to a pleasure that started from his lower abdomen and spread throughout his body, with a firmer grip of the girl a small scream choked in his throat. God, she was driving him crazy. "Baby, concentrate on the tip," he moaned, collapsing lying on the bed, trembling at the fulfilled request, Y/N ran her thumb several times over the slit from which more and more precum was leaking. "Do you like it?" she asked with heavy breathing, Jungkook lost himself in those tremendously innocent eyes and a rush stronger than the others invaded him. "Do I like it?" laughed Jungkook breathlessly, "Fuck, I want to come in your mouth," he sighed without thinking. Y/N thought about it for a while, observed the increasingly swollen and hard cock, it had taken on a more scarlet and forbidden coloration, she found herself licking her lips. She could try it.

She lowered herself onto the tip, experimentally licking that sensitive and erogenous area, Jungkook's eyes widened, stiffening. Y/N continued to collect in her mouth the small beads of cum that his cock released with each stroke, it was not bad, only slightly salty and she decided to dare more, went down slightly on the length, encompassing a few more inches and sucked, careful not to touch that delicate skin with the tip of her teeth, Jungkook watched in shock as the girl began to move down and up on his cock with her mouth, his pelvis began to move reflexively, desperate for an orgasm, so it was that the girl had to fight to follow the boy's much faster pace, trying not to choke.

She licked his length over and over again, often concentrating on a very sensitive area just below the tip, lulled by the boy's increasingly lustful moans, she even helped herself with her hand where she could not reach. Suddenly a jet of cum hit her directly in the throat, she tried to take deep breaths with her nose so as not to run out of oxygen, but Jungkook grabbed her by the hair, quickly pushing between her soft lips that teased the now sensitive skin even more, Jungkook finished cumming through clenched teeth, holding his breath himself, stricken by a pleasure he could not remember ever feeling. He finally let loose Y/N, who rose up with bated breath, swallowed the last traces of cum on her tongue, and fell wearily into the exhausted sheets. She was tired, but the sight of Jungkook overwrought and sweating with one arm covering his glazed eyes filled her with joy, then everything slowly went black.

The boy turned toward her, he watched her slowly close her eyes, then fall asleep, tired and tried from that blowjob that Jungkook would never forget. He got up with no small effort, his legs were still trembling under the weight of his orgasm, but that did not stop him from taking his sweet and good girl in his arms, carrying her back to the soft pillows, and then covering her with the sheet, she deserved a few more hours of rest, he thought, placing a kiss on her forehead.

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #bts yandere smut #yandere bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere #yandere jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook x reader

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tremendum · 1 year

Note

okay hear me out…… a javi fic based on the song bad idea by girl in red…..

bad idea

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 5.7k requested: yes, based on the song bad idea! by girl in red as above as well as "can we have a javi p x fem!reader fic with a size kink PLLLSSSSS you'll fucking body that!!!" summary: "bottom line, now you're stuck at this sticky bar, nursing your whiskey ginger because there's only one other person here you know; and he is a bad idea. and he's walking over to you." warnings: probably the worst spanish ever (pls correct me!), tbh this is porn with feelings, established friendship, this ended up pretty fluffy, soft dom!javi, reader has a very loose job description, drinking, smoking, size kink, praise, minor self-doubt/insecurity from both, oral (f!receiving), smut (unprotected PiV), spitting, slight face riding, multiple orgasms. notes: cant BELIEVE this is my first javi fic??? bc ive been loving this request for a while and this finally came to me amidst a fever, ive written it in like just over an hour and a half and refuse to edit it. anyways, desperate Javi is so sexy to i had to throw it in there,,, please lmk if you enjoy it and leave a comment/reblog!! that's how writers are motivated!! :) lmk if you guys want more javi in the future bc hes soooo yummy

masterlist

★

it's as if the universe is calling on you to make bad decisions tonight.

you didn't intend on going to the bar and staying until last call - that notion had only just appeared to you around four-forty-five pm, when you were signing what was to likely be only halfway through the documents you had to sort and approve by today's deadline. or maybe it'd slipped into your head when Murphy and Peña strutted into their desks just across from yours in the bullpen, smirks on their faces and their words hushed.

you'd caught Javier's eye just as he laughed at something Steve muttered, his brows raising tauntingly as he glanced from his empty desk to your cluttered one. his shirt was unbuttoned and tie loosened, much too casual for the work day that'd yet to end; you'd rolled your eyes and resisted the urge for a cigarette. or the urge to climb over those desks and onto his lap right then and there.

so you'd told yourself as a reward for the overtime you'll be punching in this week, you'll grab a few drinks - maybe, maybe find someone pretty to go home with. it's been a few months since anything delicious came your way, and after your tortuous new reassignment to the west side of the office, you've been forced to stare at Javier Peña for close to forty hours a week while he furrows his brow, churning cigarettes and barking things on the phone.

it was a bad idea to let yourself find him attractive, and an even worse decision to become friendly - because once it started, it was an downhill sprint towards full-blown feelings.

he didn't make it easier, with his looks and his comments and how he walked you to your car every evening or invited you to drinks with him, Murphy and Connie every Friday.

Javi was trouble. so, here you were.

but fate is not on your side - it was simply a bad idea to come to this bar.

it's not like you didn't expect to see him here, either. Javi always frequents this bar, all DEA agents do - and you'd actually told him and Murphy this time that you'd planned your night around this exact barstool. another poor plan, because now you're stuck staring at Javier's chiseled profile as he smiles at the woman working the bar, sliding his empty glass across to her and running a hand over his jaw.

yes, you'd all but invited Javi to join you this evening, but you hadn't expected him to come alone - something about Connie and Murphy going to buy flowers on the way home - whatever. bottom line, now you're stuck at this sticky bar, nursing your whiskey ginger and poking at the ice with your cocktail straw because there's only one other person here you know; and he is a bad idea.

and he's walking over to you.

"what's got you so down, cariño?" his voice is smooth as silk - but something deeper, almost. barrel-aged, probably. you regret the smile that placates your expression when he pulls himself into the stool on your left, turning your body to face him slightly. he's smiling already - that fucking smile, damn him.

your head feels fuzzy as the smell of his cologne, muddled from the sweat of the day and the drink he'd enjoyed in the hour before deciding to come over to your side of the bar. you sigh, "trying to decide if I can walk home from here." you joke with a shrug, huffing a laugh through your nostrils as you cross your legs together.

your skirt always used to feel odd against the stools here - the juxtaposition of work attire in a dive like this sticking out like a sore thumb. but you're used to it, now, and it barely phases you that your work shirt is unbuttoned just a bit more than it'd been at work this evening.

Javi tuts gently, "should've considered that before last call." he mutters, raising his brows as he slides a cigarette between two plush lips, searching around his tight jeans for a light. your lips curl in a half-smile as you flick your own lighter, leaning forward to light it for him; his eyes, dark and swimming.

"guess so, but I've been prone to making bad decisions lately." you sigh, shrugging a shoulder.

he hums lowly as a puff of smoke plumes around your bodies, gently caressing you. his arms, exposed to the elbow by the carefree sleeve-rolling Javi did the moment he left the embassy, glow golden under the low light. "Leavitt." he mutters in recognition, and something within you blooms and sputters. you nod sheepishly - Leavitt had reamed you in the middle of the bullpen early this morning for incorrectly guessing on some of his paperwork and resulting him in a fine.

you wish Javi hadn't heard, but- well, it'd been hard not to hear.

you smile weakly, shrugging as you desperately try to chase the cherry at the bottom of your glass, not sure what to say. your eyes meet his when you finally fish the cherry up and bring it to your lips; the sweet flesh of the fruit breaks open and the juice slides over your lips and onto your tongue as you sigh.

his eyes follow you just as they've followed your figure around the office for months; dark, unspoken, wanting. screaming something at you, as you lift one brow towards his dark gaze.

"among other things," you sigh, tongue slipping out to gather the syrupy juice on your bottom lip, "yes."

Javi shrugs, "fuck him." he mutters it simply, fingers tapping lightly on the wood grain of the bar between you, and you crack a smile, "yeah, fuck him."

you swallow your last sip before humming, "so where's Murphy? didn't realize this'd be a party of two."

he tilts his head, "is that such a bad thing?"

you huff a short laugh, cheeks heating up as he stares down at you, eyes dipping low to the lowest button of your shirt before meeting your gaze. "I never said that, did I Javi?" you smile sweetly, balancing your head on your hand, leaning on your elbow. but you know better; this is a bad thing, you realize.

because the second Javi leans closer, you catch the woodsy musk and cigarettes that swirl around him, a deep amber scent. you're totally fucked.

there's something that's been dancing between the two of you for weeks now, too exciting and different and real to acknowledge yet; but now, with three drinks under your belt and his large eyes on you, you don't think you can resist.

you don't want to.

but something catches your eye behind his attentive frame, and you try to hide a laugh. "your admirer is staring." you smirk, eyes distracted by the woman tending bar who keeps glancing with a stare at the back of Javi's head.

he doesn't even turn his head, seemingly already knowing who you're talking about.

he shakes his head, "she's an old friend." he dismisses, eyes not leaving yours. you raise a brow, "friend?" you scoff lightheartedly - you know him, you know his reputation.

he smiles, "yes, a friend." he insists, though his pink cheeks suggest otherwise, and you laugh.

"it's been months since I've been with someone." you sigh, almost embarrassed to be admitting that to someone with such... high credentials in that arena. you honestly don't even know why you admitted it.

he doesn't seem phased, but his eyes seem to grow a shade darker as he flickers them back to you.

"why don't you change that?" he says with almost no hesitation.

you shake your head, "because I don't have a ride home." you tease, looking at him through your lashes.

his head tilts towards you microscopically, eyes flickering over your features in a way that has your thighs clenching together. "let's go." he decides, ghost of a grin falling on his lips as he moves to stand. you blink, setting the glass with a clink down on the bar, "you don't have to, Javi, I can-"

he waves you off with a dismissive hand, shaking his head as if offended, "I'm not leaving you here, cariño." he smiles gently, offering a hand to help you off your stool. something warm turns in your stomach as you take his hand - this is such a bad idea yet you can't help but dive in head-first.

he insists on walking you to your door.

you'd think it chivalrous, but with the way his hand falls on the small of your back, you're beginning to think it's anything but.

he leans against the wall just next to your door as you dig through your purse for your keys, cheeks hot under the scrutiny of his gaze. by the time you slide the key into the lock and open the door, he's standing just a foot away from you, hands in his pockets and an easy look on his face under the flickering fluorescent lights in the hall. you turn back, heart hammering, as he speaks.

"have a good night, cariño." he says with a gentle smile, about to turn around; you feel your opportunity slip through your fingers like the grains of time as you stutter, "w-wait!"

he can't hide the smirk as he turns back to you and you bite your lip, tilting your head inside, "Javi..." you murmur softly, embarrassed to even say it.

his brows raise in question, intrigue spreading over his face, but he says nothing.

in your impatience, you flush, sighing. "don't make me say it." you almost whine.

at your words, he takes a step towards you, your head tilting up to follow his eyes until he's directly in front of you.

there's a playful kind of desire that flickers through his features as he watches you're heaving breaths. his breath hits you warm and inviting as his glistening eyes search yours, "say it."

your throat dries as you take a breath, "please," you try instead, face heating in embarrassment. he shakes his head, one large hand rising to caress over your jaw, brushing a strand of hair back from your ear.

leaning into your ear, he whispers gently, "you can do better than that, can't you hermosa?" his voice rolls over your body, inciting goosebumps to travel the length of your skin.

you let out a stuttering breath, your whole body buzzing in anticipation as your eyes roll over the doors of your neighbors, hoping none of them can see the way this man crowds around you right now, how desperate you are as your hand slides over his own forearm. "Javi, I want you," you whisper, biting your lip.

the groan he lets out sends a rush of heat to your core; arousal slicks your underwear as you feel lips ghost over the junction of your neck and shoulder; "estoy seguro de que sí, niña bonita," he breathes against your hot skin, his hands grabbing your hip and hair, pushing you suddenly against the wall.

you gasp, a short whimper escaping your throat as his teeth scrape over your pressure point, one hand sliding into his hair, tugging at the thick locks. "fuck," you whimper as he presses fully against you, the pressure of his hardening cock against your stomach, "Javi-"

you mutter, hands frantically pulling him by the collar of his shirt towards your awaiting, desperate lips-

he tastes warmer than you'd imagined. like bourbon, some sort of sweet - licorice? - and desire as he licks into your mouth fervently, hand roaming down your sides to splay over your ass. you gasp against his mouth once his large hand squeezes your ass; seizing the opportunity, his teeth bite gently on your bottom lip. he leaves you breathless and dizzy.

yes, this was - this was a bad idea.

"look at you, hermosa." he mutters as he pulls away, hand splaying over your cheek and turning your head slightly, his eyes coursing over your aching body, searching his friction. something flickers in his eyes as he watches your hips move desperately, his hands squeezing over your waist, "so pretty."

you flush at his words, the adoration lacing his face as he takes in your mussed hair, stuttering chest.

"inside-" you start to suggest, breathless with desire, and he nods eagerly, "yes-" and then you're stumbling inside your apartment, a rush of cologne hitting your nose pleasantly as he crowds behind you, hands on your back, sliding low until he's squeezing your ass and groaning into your ear, "drive me fuckin' crazy with these skirts, baby."

you let out a moan when he's pushed you back against the wall, hands pulling to untuck your blouse from your skirt, lips trailing marks up and down the column of your neck. you scramble to help him undo your top, but he get's too impatient-

the buttons pop and clatter onto the ground as he rips the blouse open, exposing your lacy white bra; your eyes round as you gasp, "Peña!" you snap, swatting him on his shoulder as he laughs sheepishly, staring at his own mess then back to you.

"I'm sorry." he utters, trying desperately to conceal his smirk as you glare at him, trying to calm your thundering heart because Javier Peña wanted you so bad he just ripped open your blouse.

he sighs, pulling at your hips until you give in, melting against him, "I'm sorry, cariño, I'll buy you another." he sounds a little more sincere this time as his lips press against your neck again and you help him shuck off the shell of what remains; his hands mould against your breasts instantly, thumb brushing against the bud that peeks through the lace, hardened in arousal. "you're so pretty, baby, it hurts." he mutters, cheeks tinted as he leans in to kiss you again, a warm feeling coursing through you as he slowly undoes your bra. he's always been so dramatic.

you smile to yourself as you watch him lean down, placing kisses down your chest.

your stomach coils in desire as he hitches one of your thighs up against his hip, hand sliding down to the strap of your heels; you silently thank yourself for wearing your decent heels - sexy, but professional. his eyes eat you as his fingers slowly undo the buckle on the heel, dropping it to the floor while staring into your eyes.

your heart hammers as he drops your leg in favor of the other, slowly dragging his fingers down your legs to unclasp the other; as you fall down to your true height, he has to stoop over you to catch your lips to his, your teeth scraping as he groans into your lips. your hands hungrily shove his suit jacket off his broad shoulders, tongue pressing against his as he pushes you hard back against the wall.

you moan gently as he grabs your thigh and hitches it once again against his hip, pressing his length up against your core; the friction is delicious against your aching clit, dull but stimulating. you try to cover it up, "you better buy me two blouses, Javi." you joke. he smirks into your mouth, hand sliding below your skirt to toy with the ends of your stockings.

biting down on your throat as he snaps the stocking against the plush skin of your thighs, he groans, "fuck it- I'll buy you anything you want, just let me taste this pussy." he adds, voice low as he reaches around, fumbling with the zipper on your skirt.

oh, god.

you help him with frantic hands; soon he's down on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs, clad in your stockings and panties, his breath hitting your heat gently.

one hand rises up your abdomen to toy with your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple as he hums. you sigh shakily as you stare at him, body electric with arousal.

his eyes are blown wide as he stares up at you, tie loose, shirt unbuttoned and disheveled, hair mussed up from your fingers - the picture of an angel. your heart nearly stops as he leans forward, eyes still on you, and kisses just below your navel.

your heart pounds as you stand on shaky legs, watching with anticipation as Javi teases you, kissing just around where you want him: your thighs, down to your knees, back up- your waistline - as his lips flutter onto your skin, you have to close your eyes, trying to find your breath because your mouth is screaming at you to say something that could ruin this all.

(yeah, this was a bad idea).

but he slowly pulls at the edges of your underwear, you're aware of how hot everything is: you're sweaty, in need of a shower eventually. biting your lip, you mutter, "should- do you want me to shower, first? it was so hot out today-"

any self-doubts that had crossed your mind are thrown out your open window into the night's warm breeze when Javier looks up at you with a face almost offended; as if it were absurd to ask. his hands close possessively over the backs of your thighs as he growls.

he shakes his head, hands tightening on you so you stay against the wall, "you're not going anywhere. I've been dreaming of this pussy for ages. I'd live here between your legs, hermosa." he mutters, pressing his nose up against your panties, moaning at the damp seat, "so sé buena para mi y deja que te pruebe, si?"

swallowing dry as your face heats, you nod, fingers brushing hair from his eyes. "si, Javi."

he nods, "good."

his thumb rises to prod gently at your pussy, sliding over the damp fabric as you gasp sharply. he lets out a low hum just as his thumb slides to hook your panties to the side, revealing your glistening, aching cunt for him. you watch with a slack jaw as his tongue darts out; a bold, flat stripe up your heat sends shivers through your body, your throat letting out a quick gasp at the desire that rocks through your body.

"fuck, princesa, you taste so good." he groans, a desperation laced into his voice that you've never heard from him; one more lick spreading your arousal before he's swirling his tongue around your clit, holding your hips down hard into the wall to ensure you can't move away as he groans into you.

"feels so good, Javi-" you whimper, face hot as he hums, face moving between your thighs as you stand on shaky legs. "what was that?" he teases, biting your thigh softly. you yelp, hands falling to grip his hair, your head falling back against the wall. "sh-shut up," you breathe, grinning with hot cheeks as he chuckles against your heat.

but then he pulls your panties down your legs, tossing them behind him before he settles back between your thighs; suddenly one of his thumbs is spreading you open more, forcing your legs to spread just slightly, and he's spitting onto your wet heat.

your toes curl in pleasure as you gasp, one hand grasping your breast, thumbing your nipple. your stomach clenches as he leans back into you and works, tongue spreading over your cunt and gathering your arousal from your aching entrance before pulling your clit into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and sending shocks through you.

he groans when you tug on his hair; the vibrations from his throat sending a thrill up your spine and you can't help as your hips buck forward, smothering Javi's face and nudging your clit against the ridge of his nose.

"s-sorry," you mutter, face flushing as he pulls back and stares at you hungrily; he shakes his head, "fuck, do it again." he orders, lips falling back onto you, tongue coursing through your soaked cunt as you buck your hips, the feeling of your clit against the bridge of his nose pulling a sharp gasp from you.

your words fail you as Javi squeezes your ass, slapping you harshly and causing you to yelp. your hips don't cease their movements; riding his face, the nudge of his nose on your bundle of nerves hurtles you towards the edge of your orgasm, and you start to moan his name louder and louder.

his mouth works to wind you up, your legs twitching and hands grasping at yourself and at his shoulders, his hair. he eats you up like he's been starved for months, his mouth only leaving you to mutter words into your dripping pussy. it's mere minutes before you're writhing against the wall and Javi leans back, "I can feel you're close, hermosa," he breathes, thumb replacing his tongue as he speaks. your thighs start to close but he holds them open, blinking those large eyes up at you, "need to feel you cum on my tongue, baby. cum." he sounds more desperate than you've imagined even in your wildest of dreams and you nod, your stomach burning with the clench of nearing your orgasm.

you hit your high merely seconds after his mouth falls back onto you - your fingers in his hair, his name from your lips, chest heaving and back arching off the wall. he moans heavy into you as he laps you up, drinking you in and coaxing you through your orgasm with gentle hands and a silver tongue.

you're left breathless when he stands back up, your legs as weak as jelly as his hand pulls your jaw forward and into him.

your lips meet his in a sticky, passionate kiss; you can taste yourself on his tongue as you pull his hips against yours, his cock straining through his pants.

"do you need a minute-" he pulls back to ask as your hands slowly slither down to fumble with his belt; your heart thrums as your body rides the high of your orgasm, but all you want is more, more.

you don't think you'll ever stop wanting more of Javier Peña.

this was a really bad idea.

"-I can get you water-" he tries to offer and your heart thumps at how kind he is, so attentive and caring - but you shake your head, nipping at his lips as you push him backwards, further into the apartment, "no- need you now, Javi, please." you mutter, "water after." you insist, unable to fight the smile that grows as he chuckles against your lips.

"okay, señorita, whatever you say." he whispers, leaning slightly until he's picked you up and you wrap your legs around his hips, bare, sensitive cunt against the rough denim of his jeans. "but I don't want to hear any complaining, now." he teases, eyes sharp and shining with a playfulness that has you smirking.

"then you better give me what I want." you counter as he stumbles his way through the threshold of your bedroom, hand coming to the back of your head to make sure he doesn't bump you against the frame.

"I'll give you anything if you ask nicely." he whispers into your ear, biting your earlobe as you both tumble down onto your mattress, desperately clawing at his shirt and tugging his jeans off until he's splayed above you, arms caging you in as your stocking-clad legs wrap around his naked hips.

he pushes up, leaning back so he's got his cock in his hand, pumping slowly as he stares at your bare body, splayed out for him. his eyes look ravenous; slowly, he lets his cock rub up your slit, gathering all of your arousal and juices as he rolls his hips.

you hitch your breath, both of your sighs heavenly as they flow through the evening air. there's sweat sheened over his built chest and your fingers slide over his toned arms, lifting yourself slightly so you can look-

oh, fuck.

your eyes almost roll back at the sight of his swollen cock, thick and large and lying against the short hairs that curl just above your pussy; he's so big, splayed on your stomach - he's going to be so deep.

your eyes widen as you wonder briefly how he'll fit but then he's humming, "ready, princesa?"

you nod desperately, clawing at him until he's caged you once again, the tip of him prodding your entrance gently. "yes, Javi. fuck me, please."

he hums, "dirty mouth," he mutters, "for such a sweet girl." he kisses you just so, his hand brushing hair away from your forehead as he teases you.

you’re breathless; shivers cascade down your spine at the press of him, slowly breaching your hole and grinding sloooow and smooth into your dripping cunt, aching with desire.

he can’t slide into you, not fully- his cock is too thick, your cunt dripping but still so goddamn tight. the moan he lets out as he inches in slowly is fucking heavenly. "fuck, cariño, you weren't lying-" he mutters, almost shaking with restraint as he slowly eases himself into your tight walls, "-shit, so tight."

you grip his shoulder tight, "t-told you- it's been months," you gasp and he smirks, "thought that was just a line to get me back to your place," he mutters.

as he stills himself, nostrils flaring with focus, you lay a hand over his cheek - his eyes meet yours, something deep and truthful hidden in them. your eyes scream back at him.

oh, you're fucked for him. this may have been a horrible idea.

"well maybe I was just waiting for the right person," you speak before you can think- he freezes, you can feel his muscles tense. your mind reels. fuck, you hadn't even talked about what this was between the two of you- a quick fuck, stress relief, or something more- you're fucked.

but he smiles, suddenly, groaning through squeezed eyes as he shakes his head, "you're going to kill me, cariño." he mutters, one hand falling to your hip, "you're so fucking cute."

your stomach rolls with butterflies at his words and you hide your face. he has none of that, though, and peels one hand from your face and kisses you sweetly.

the kiss heats quickly as you slide your tongue against his; a strangled gasp leaves your lips when he starts to slide into you more, inch-by-inch, stretching you open and filling you full of him. his head falls heavy against your chest as he mutters, “you're tight, baby, so fucking perfect.”

his voice is starting to slur in pleasure as he soon slides into you fully, sheathed deep. you flutter around him as you accommodate to his size, the feeling of him nearly melting you as he starts to slowly thrust. his hips roll and grind against your clit; you gasp, nails raking down his bare back and pulling a moan from his lips.

you let out a loud moan, his thickness stretching you and sliding deeper than expected, the tip of his cock kissing against a spot that has you keening. your toes curl and your head falls back as he grinds into you slow, deep.

it's a feeling you've never felt before; you knew Javi had a... reputation, all the women talk about it at your girl's nights and at the water cooler. but you never imagined such bliss as his hands roam you, palming your tits, his lips tracing shapes of affirmation all over your face, chest, hairline.

his voice slips between english and spanish as he purrs praise after praise in your ear- dreamed of you for ages, baby... just like that, yes, take my cock... querida, so good for me...

all you can say is his name; it falls from your lips like it’s the only word you know, his hips soon pistoning into you with fervor, chasing the feeling which coils again in your abdomen.

suddenly he's grabbing at your hips, lifting you slightly as his legs slide under you and you're flipped up, straddling him, sitting on his cock as your legs wrap around his back.

you feel one of his own sturdy thighs prop up behind you as he lets you gather your breath; a whimper of his name has him nipping at your bottom lip.

"shh, querida I know, feels so deep, doesn't it?" he mutters, kissing your lips as you slowly start to rock your hips, bouncing slightly as Javier's hands roam up your spine, one squeezing your ass as the other tugs your hair.

"fuck," you moan, "you're so big, Javi-" he groans at your words, his own hips thrusting upwards and hitting a spot inside you that has you screaming; he leans back, staring up at you as you stare down at him with lust-filled eyes. his hand falls to lay against your stomach and your eyes follow his, where you can see the slight movements of him deep inside you-

christ.

you moan at the sight, the thought - he's so big all the way inside you - he's tugging you closer to him, until you're chest to chest, lips pressing hard against the other.

the sounds of you and Javi's bodies together echo through your apartment; your head lulls to the ceiling as you let out a languid moan, the spot he's hitting making your eyes roll back. you can feel your cheeks hot and heavy as you whimper in desire; you're so goddamn close again, you know he can feel it.

"shit-" he groans, "y'close?" he mutters and you nod frantically, the pleasure coiling dangerously fast.

"been months, hermosa?" he groans into your ear as he meets you halfway with his thrusts, your breath punched from you with every kiss to your g-spot, "this what you wanted, hm? this feel good?"

he’s always had you wrapped around his finger, and he fucking knows it.

you sigh in ecstasy, unable to form full sentences as he hits the delicious spot inside you that nearly makes you pass out: "yes, J-Javi- so good, so good-" your hands hold him as close as possible, his warm chest against yours.

the crest of your orgasm tingles your thighs, your toes curling and legs shaking as you start to stutter; he moans heavy- he's close, too. his thrusts are getting slower, sloppier. his movements are soon desperate and deep as yours are; his tip kisses your cervix and your body jolts up with each movement of his pubic bone against yours.

"you're perfect- fuck, need you to cum, baby-" he starts, desperate as one hand holds your neck, the other on your ass, tight enough to leave marks. "cum on my cock, hazlo ahora mismo mi amor, please-"

he's rushing, desperate as you moan, his words throttling you hard towards the edge.

you see colors when you hit your high. your orgasm explodes as you flutter around him, pulsing, moaning, your body shuddering as you slow your movements on his lap, unraveling around his touch. your voice is broken, mutters and whimpers of his name drifting through the room.

your thighs are soaked with your own spend and your cunt grips him like a vice; he can't help but kiss your open mouth as he milks you through your orgasm, muttering soft grunts in your ear. "that's it, baby. there y'go, so pretty, querida." he kisses the column of your throat as his thrusts slow to deep, long thrusts. "atta girl."

his slow thrusts are splintered by his voice, "sh-shit, 'm gonna cum." he sounds almost desperate, his body so close to yours it's almost like he's trying to smother you. he groans your name in a broken sound; his grip tugging your hair. as he lifts you slightly, pulling out just in time for him to paint you with his cum.

his seed covers your lower stomach, his groans deep and breaths quick as he moans, brows furrowed. your heart slams at the sight; Javi, pushing you down onto the mattress as he pumps his release onto your chest.

his head tilts back, a look of complete bliss on his face, brows tight as his abdomen muscles tense and flex. his arms, toned in the soft light of your bedroom, glow. christ.

okay, not a bad idea. a fucking dream.

he slumps onto you after a second, moving so that he doesn't crush your chest, pulling you tight against his own hot skin. you feel his smile grow against your neck and the butterflies that grow in your chest swirl out of control.

you smile, too.

you catch your breaths in silence while he places kisses sweetly over the marks he made earlier, your hand smoothing down his back, to the curve of his ass, and back up.

once his breath is back, he kisses your cheek and stands, stretching his bare body, unashamed of the open window across the room.

you smile, face hot as he smirks at you, his eyes raking over the cum that paints your skin, before walking towards the kitchen. you sigh, lighting a cigarette that you dig from his jeans as he comes back into the room to wipe you clean, handing you a glass of water.

you smile at that, shaking your head as you hold the cigarette up to his lips, watching as the ember lights up the dark of his mustache and the light in his eyes. there's smile lines around those eyes; it makes your stomach flip.

once you've both drained the glass of water, he pulls you back down to his chest, relaxing against the mattress.

"well, that was probably the worst decision you made all day, hermosa."

his voice is teasing, but there's a flicker of doubt that crosses his eyes that you know all too well. your heart flips as you shake your head gently, hands cupping his cheeks.

"this was the best idea I've had in weeks, Javi." you smile softly, pecking his lips gently.

when you pull away, his smile is so soft you almost want to photograph it. something in the air is sweet when the two of you silently realize that he's going to stay the night; he pulls you up into his chest, kissing your hair while you listen to his racing heart.

he doesn't say anything after that - he doesn't have to.

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taglist and requests for javi are open.

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