#THEY HAD A DOMESTIC LIFE FOR A FEW YEARS AND IT JUST GETS TAKEN AWAY

[sufferingbooknerd]

LOOK HOW HAPPY THEY ARE

We haven’t seen Joel so genuinely content since Austin and it’s making me sick AND ELLIE IS SO HAPPY TOO 🥹

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Dirty Laundry

Summary: Life with two toddlers has taken a toll on your sex life for the past few weeks, but after a surprisingly calm morning, you and Javi find a creative solution to solve your problem.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also, who am I to say?) vaginal fingering, paise kink, a breeding kink so dangerous that you may get pregnant just from reading, creampie, cum play, a loud washer and dryer, no actual laundry accomplished, domestic girl dad Javi, you'll always be famous

A/N: idk who unlocked my cell while I was ovulating, but once again I have escaped, and once again, we're makin' babies. I think I've convinced myself I don't know how to write anything else, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If wanting to give Javier Peña a football team worth of kids is a crime, then lock me up and throw away the goddamn key 🤠

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

For as much as you loved your daughters, it was safe to say that for the past two weeks, your pair of rambunctious toddlers had been doing very little for your sex life. 

Your 4 year old Lucy had been going through a phase of having nightmares every night, and somehow ending up in you and Javi’s bed no matter what you tried. That, combined with trying to potty train your 2 year old, Elliot, (who was nowhere close to being the breeze her older sister it was when it came to the matter), on top of preschool, work, and life in general, you and Javi had barely gotten so much as a kiss in, let alone some quality time together. 

It had been your hope to start trying for baby number three, but after 2 months of negative pregnancy tests and another month of complete chaos, despite your best intentions, “trying” had very much taken a backseat in your mental to-do list.  

But this morning when you woke up, it was almost as if a wave of calm had washed over your house to reset the state of disarray you had been in the past few weeks- Both girls had slept through the night in their own beds, had woken up in good spirits, Elliot asked to use the bathroom multiple times, and both had been happy to play in the living room together quietly as you worked on catching up on some much needed laundry. 

So calm, in fact, that Javi was almost worried when he came downstairs for work to hear near silence, apart from the occasional giggles from the girls as they arranged their Fisher Price Little People in their Play Barn and the washer running in the background. 

“Hi Daddy!” Lucy cooed, toddling over to her dad, wrapping her arms around his waist as Elliot quickly followed behind, perching on his leg like a koala. 

“Buenos días, niñas. (Good morning, girls).” Javi grinned, squatting down to kiss the wild, sleepy curls of his daughters’ heads, still slightly confused by the tranquil state of the house. “Where’s Momma?” 

“Washing stinky socks.” Lucy giggled, pinching her nose and scrunching her face, pretending to have smelled something bad. 

“Yeah, stinky socks.” Elliot echoed, sticking out her tongue. 

“Oh yeah? Is it because my pollitas (little chickens) have stinky, smelly feet?” Javi teased, wrapping his arms around the girls, pulling them close to his chest as he tickled their sides, the three erupting in laughter and giggles. 

“What’s goin’ on out here, huh?” You grinned, stepping out of the laundry room with your arms playfully crossed against your chest to see your husband and daughters in a tickle tackle pile on the living room floor. 

“Daddy said we have stinky feet! Daddy’s got stinky feet, not me and Elliot.” Lucy protested. 

“I think you and Daddy both have stinky feet, Lucy Lu, and your dirty laundry proves it.” You smiled, watching Javi give one last big kiss to each of the girls before pushing up off the floor with a grunt, making his way over to you. “Good morning, Mr. Stinky Feet.” 

“Hey, c’mon now. I can’t have you all gangin’ up on me.” Javi pouted through his smirk, wrapping his arm around your waist as his lips softly met yours, his words sweet and low as they danced against your skin. “Good morning, Hermosa.” 

His kiss lingered just long enough to send butterflies swirling through your stomach, biting down on your lip to try and keep your heart beating any faster than it already was. You stood there for another moment, eyes locking with his as the grip around your waist tightened just subtly enough to hint his mind was in the same place as yours. 

You were finding a way to finally have sex this morning. 

You could feel the arousal already beginning to pool in your core, swallowing hard as Javi tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at you while his hand slid further down your waist towards your ass, trying to devise a plan for the two of you to be alone long enough to do what you had both been so desperately craving these past few weeks. 

As you turned your head back over your shoulder in search of ideas, a devilish grin spread across your face, looking back to Javi to gently tug on the maroon tie dangling from his neck, twisting the end through your fingers. 

“I think I really need help with the laundry before you leave for work.” You mewled, leaning in to press another kiss to his plush lips, followed by another on his cheek and neck, Javi letting a soft groan rumble in his chest. 

“Oh Fuck, baby. What do we do about the girls?” He asked quietly, trying his best to keep his composure as the dark brown of his eyes grew hungrier with want. 

“Snack and a movie? There’s already a baby monitor out in the living room, and if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, it should buy us enough time.” You nodded in reassurance of your own idea, already growing antsy with anticipation. 

“God, I love you.” Javi smirked, giving you one more kiss and a firm squeeze of your ass before breaking away towards the kitchen so you could execute your plan. 

“Hey girls?” you called, making your way towards the living room where they were back to playing, “Daddy needs to help Mommy with some, um- laundry. So if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, can you show us what big girls you are and let you watch the movie all by yourselves?” You asked, doing your best to play up your request. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Elliot squealed, clapping and stomping her feet. “Wittle Mermaid!” 

“Okay, go get your blankets and sit on the couch and Daddy’s gonna bring you a snack to watch the movie with.” 

“Yay! Movie time, movie time!” Lucy shrieked as the girls ran to go grab their things, plopping themselves on to the respective corners of the couch. While you searched for the VHS in the entertainment center, Javi returned from the kitchen with two much bigger than needed bowls of Teddy Grahams, turning on the TV as you pushed the tape into the receiver and pressed play. 

With the bright blue Disney logo appearing across the screen and your daughters both happily snuggled with their snacks on the sofa, you and Javi gave each other the silent nod of approval, slowly backing away towards the laundry room while the girls sat in content and entranced silence. 

After one last peek, you carefully closed and locked the laundry room door behind you, quickly followed by turning on both the washing machine and the dryer, trying to do yourself any favors you could by drowning out any suspicious sounds.  

“Good?” Javi asked once more for reassurance, feeling his slacks get tighter and tighter around his crotch by the second as he waited for your response. 

Without a single word, your lips were crashing into his, a messy dance of tongues and teeth ensuing between you as your bodies bumped against the laundry room counter, limbs tangled together in a frantic race to remove clothes. 

“Fuck, I missed you. Missed this.” Javi groaned, helping you slide your top over your head and unclip your bra as he nipped at your neck, pushing your back against the dryer and caging your body under him. 

“I know, baby, me t-too.” You whimpered, reaching out to undo Javi’s belt buckle, shoving his pants down to his thighs, followed by his boxers, freeing his cock as it slapped against the dark hairs on the happy trail of his stomach. “Missed having your big dick inside me.” 

“Fuck.” Javi swore under his breath as you reached out to stroke him, swiping your thumb over his weeping tip to rub the precum up and down his shaft as he shoved your the waistband of your pants and underwear down your hips just far enough to let them fall to the floor around your ankles. 

As much as you both desperately wanted to take your time, worshiping every inch of each other’s bodies until you had nothing left to give, you knew time was not on your side. After a few more strokes, you pulled back, letting Javi snake his hand against your body to slide between your legs, the slightest graze of his fingertips already making you shutter with need. 

At this point, even after the few weeks it had been without Javi inside you, you were wet enough that you could have taken him without any warm up, your core dripping with your arousal to the point it was smearing the inside of your thighs with its shiny coating. But even with your cunt soaking wet and time working against you, Javi couldn’t help but drag his fingers through your folds, curling to push up into your tight hole and prod against your g-spot. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so wet. This all for me, Momma? Missed me fillin’ you up with my cock? Missed me fucking you full of my cum, huh baby?” Javi growled, his words shooting straight to your cunt, making you clamp down tighter around his fingers and your clit throb with intensity.  

It had been a minute since baby making had been at the forefront of your mind, but his question set off something animalistic in the both of you, knowing that right now could give you a chance at baby number three that you had been wishing for. 

“Y-yes, Javi, fuck- want you to fill me up, baby. Want you to fill me up until you fuck a baby into me.” 

It was then that Javi couldn’t have been more thankful that you had turned on the washer and dryer to try and drown out your noise, because the groan he let escape from his parted lips was much louder than he intended. 

But then again, there were few things in this world that turned him on more than you begging him to knock you up, so what did he expect? 

Scooping his arms under your thighs, Javi hoisted you on top of the dryer, your ass hitting the cold, vibrating metal with a thud as your lips collided again with desperate ferocity, muffled moans escaping from your mouths. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl. Want me to knock you up again, Momma? Give you another baby?” Javi smirked, reaching to line his cock up with your entrance, swiping his tip through your folds to collect your slick and coat it along his length before he pushed inside you, sinking deeper and deeper until he bottomed out, hips flush with yours. 

Words couldn’t describe how much you had missed the sweet stretch and sting of Javi’s fullness, each inch of him feeling better than the last, sobbing out as his tip kissed your cervix, all inhibitions of self-composure completely tossed out the window. Still sunk deep in your cunt, Javi’s hand shot over your mouth, stifling your cries in his palm. 

“Shhhhhh, I know, Osita. You gotta keep quiet though, baby.” 

You nodded frantically in compliance, Javi’s hand dropping to grip around your waist as you tried to catch your breath. “M-move, Javi, please.” Your whimpering request borderlining pathetic with how badly you needed him. 

“You promise you’re gonna be a good girl and keep quiet?” 

“Mhmmmm. I promise, baby, please.” 

With that, Javi’s hips began to snap, dragging his cock in and out of you at a dangerous pace, coating the walls with the sounds of the wet sounds of your cunt and slapping skin, muffled by the washer and dryer. 

“Oh my God, Javi. Fuck. Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, locking your legs behind the small of Javi’s back, keeping him as close to you as possible as he fucked in and out of you. You draped your arms around his shoulders, fingers burying themselves in the dark curls at the nape of his neck. 

The closeness had the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit, adding to the tension beginning to build at the base of your spine, both of you knowing it wouldn’t take long to get where you needed to go after weeks without being able to have each other like this. 

Javi could feel it too, his balls beginning to tense with each pump, using every ounce of self control to keep from preemptively spilling into you, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, holding on to you like his life depended on it. 

“Jesus, Fuck- Fuck, I missed this tight little pussy so much. Gonna cum so deep inside you. So deep it’s gotta fucking take. God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant. I swear I’ll give you as many babies as you want, Hermosa.” Javi babbled, biting down on his lip as he pounded into you, reaching one of his hands down to circle at your wet, puffy clit, aching to be relieved from all the built up tension. 

At this point, you were so drunk on pleasure that you could barely remember your own name, feeling your orgasm begin to build through every inch of your body in a way that had you seeing stars, digging your fingernails into Javi’s shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck to keep from crying out his name, forcing yourself to whisper incoherent sweet nothings against his skin. 

“P-please, Javi. F-fill me up. Oh shit- Fuck, baby, I’m so close.” 

Javi’s thrusts became sloppier and more erratic, fingers rubbing your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to coax your orgasm out of you before he followed suit, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow in intense concentration. 

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over me. Soak my fucking cock before I fuck you full of me and knock you up. C’mon, Momma.” 

Suddenly, your orgasm crashed through you, lighting your body up like a goddamn Christmas tree, every inch of your body radiating with bliss as you clamped down around Javi’s cock, biting down on his shoulder as you came to try and stifle your cries. 

Javi was only moments behind you, letting out a low grunt with the final sutter of his hips as he came, coating your walls with his warm spend, fucking it into with every ounce he had left until he had milked himself dry. 

Your bodies collapsed into each other, rising and falling in sync with heavy breaths like you had just finished the last mile of a marathon and collapsed at the finish line, damp and sticky with your sweat. 

As much as Javi didn’t want to pull out, he could feel his cock beginning to soften and the mixture of your spend leaking from your hole. Refusing to let a drop go to waste, he pulled out of you, a groan rumbling low in his chest as he wrapped his hand around his length, dragging his tip up through your folds and collecting the cum that had been dripping out. Taking the wet mess he had gathered with his cock, he pushed himself back into you, slowly thrusting in and out of you, a devilish smirk spreading across his face at the absolutely obscene sound coming from between your legs. 

“Promise me,” Javi gulped between pants, finally pulling out of you again, “Promise we never go this long without having sex again. Holy Fuck.” 

“Promise.” You couldn’t help but giggle in agreement, coming down from your blissed out high. “God, that was the longest two weeks ever. Don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner.” 

“Because we’ve been sleep deprived and exhausted, and our little monstros (monsters) have been giving us a run for our money.” Javi chuckled, reaching behind you to grab a towel from the cabinet above the dryer, quickly rinsing it in the sink before wiping you up and helping you find all of your clothes. 

“Are we crazy for wanting another one?” You asked, looking down at your stomach, thinking about the ramifications of what you had just done. 

“Maybe. But you drive me so fucking crazy, we may end up with 10 before you know it.” 

“Javi! Dear lord, we are not having 10 kids, you psycho.” You laughed, playfully slapping your husband on the shoulder. 

“Stop being so hot and I’ll stop knockin’ you up.” Javi smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as you rolled your eyes at him knowing damn well you’d have a whole army of his kids if he really wanted. 

“You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that. Alright, you need to get your ass to work and I need to feed the gremlins before I drop Lucy off at preschool. Let’s go, cowboy.” You grinned, playfully smacking Javi on the ass, giving him a quick kiss as you made your way towards the door. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Osita. I gotta remember to call my dad on the way into work.” 

“Call your dad? Why?” 

“To see if Abuelo can take the girls this weekend so you and I can catch up on a lot of laundry.” 

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

@purpleprincess75

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

CAN U DO JUDE BELLINGHAM FLUFF LIKE TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF... LIKE uh having a family with him and its all sweet

Pink Dress

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Your daughter takes after you, something that Jude both hates and loves.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Husband!Jude Bellingham x Wife!you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 1.2k

Warnings! FLUFF, cute kid, domestic fluff, sweetness, baby fever, dilfjude, he's such a good dad.

Jude had always loved that your daughter had taken your sassy side.

After all it was the thing that made him fall in love with you.

But right now, he was at his wit's end. The spirited retorts that once charmed him now echoed through the house like tiny thunderclaps. Your daughter, standing defiantly with her hands on her hips, mirrored the very stance you used to take when you challenged him.

The same fiery determination in her eyes, the same spark that had drawn him to you so many years ago.

He took a deep breath, and he knelt down to her level. "I'm sorry babygirl, but we have to hurry." Clearly, that was not the right thing to say.

Her lips pursed in that familiar way, a mini-him staring back at him with an unyielding resolve. "But Daddy, I not wanna wear the blue dwess. I wanna wear the pink one!" she insisted, her stubborness rivaling yours.

Why did the women in his life love to go against him.

Jude glanced at the clock, knowing they were already running late. He softened his tone, trying to channel the patience you always seemed to have in abundance. "I know you do, and the pink one is lovely. But remember, mommy picked out the blue dress for picture day. We don't have time to change now."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and for a moment, his heart ached at the sight. He could never say no to his little girl. Something she knew. And used to her advantage.

He pulled her into a gentle hug, her small frame trembling slightly. "Okay, okay," he whispered, stroking her hair. "How about this? After picture day, we'll have a special Daddy-Daughter day, and you can wear your favorite pink dress then. We can go to the park, get some ice cream, whatever you want. Deal?"

Nora sniffled, considering his offer. "Pwomise?" Her tiny voice was filled with hope, and Jude could see the wavering resolve in her eyes. He smiled and wiped away her tears with his thumb. "I promise, sweetheart. Pink dress, ice cream, and the park. Just the two of us."

She nodded slowly, her lips curving into a small smile. "Otay, Daddy."

Jude stood up, lifting her effortlessly placing her on his hip before giving her a big kiss on the cheek. "Let's go show Mommy how beautiful you look in your blue dress, huh?"

Her giggle was music to his ears, and as they made their way to the bedroom.

Jude felt a wave of relief wash over him. The crisis had been averted, and his little girl was smiling again. He would kill to keep that smile on her face. Forever.

He gently pushed the door open, and there you were, laying in bed with Klara laying on your chest. Jude felt his heart swell at the sight. She was fast asleep, her tiny hand clutching your shirt. And you looked as beautiful as ever.

Even though it had only been a few days since the baby had arrived, you seemed to radiate an otherworldly glow. Just like the goddess he knew you were. God, he was a lucky bastard.

Jude tiptoed into the room, not wanting to disturb the peaceful scene. You looked up at him with tired but loving eyes, and he could see the exhaustion etched into your face. Yet, there was an unmistakable serenity there too, a contentment that mirrored his own.

"Look who's ready for picture day," he whispered, turning slightly so you could see Nora perched on his hip, now beaming in her blue dress. You smiled, amusement swimming in your eyes. You knew how much of a hellion your daughter could be and you were thankful to Jude for volunteering to tame her. The cute adorable little beast.

"Well, don't you look absolutely stunning, my little princess," you cooed softly, careful not to wake the baby. Your daughter preened at the compliment, any earlier resistance forgotten in the face of your praise.

Jude carefully set her down and she immediately ran over to you, climbing onto the bed with the kind of energy only a young child possessed. She carefully snuggled up next to you, and you wrapped an arm around her, holding both your children close.

"Ready for your big day?" you asked her, brushing a stray curl away from her face. She nodded enthusiastically, her earlier tears now just a distant memory.

"Yeah!" she chirped, her excitement bubbling over. "Daddy said after pictures we can have a Daddy-Daughter day!"

You glanced at Jude, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Did he now? That sounds like a wonderful idea." The softie. This is how it went everytime.

Jude chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he shrugged. "What can I say? She's got me wrapped around her little finger." That she did.

You laughed softly, the sound a soothing balm to his soul. "I know the feeling," you said, looking down at Klara who was still peacefully asleep. The love the both of you had for your daughters was something that sometimes scared you. The way you would do anything for them. Anything.

He watched as you gently kissed the top of Nora's head, and sighed. Jude knew then and therre that he couldn't have picked a better mom for his precious little girls. You were everything he ever wanted, ever dreamed of. You've given him everything and he vowed everyday to reciprocate that.

He loves doing life with you.

Nora snuggled closer to you, her tiny fingers playing with the edge of your shirt. "Mommy, can you come too? To the park and ice cream?"

Your eyes met Jude's, a silent conversation passing between you. You knew how much he cherished these special moments alone with Nora, needed them.

What with his career taking up a lot of his time sometimes. He had often shared his fears with you. Fears of missing out on their lives. But you were always there to reassure him.

"I think Daddy and Nora should have their special day," you said softly, smoothing down her curls. "But maybe we can all go together another time. What do you think?"

Nora seemed to ponder this for a moment before nodding. "Okay, Mommy. We can do that."

Jude smiled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. "It's a deal then," he said, giving you a grateful look. "And maybe tonight, after picture day and our little adventure, we can all have dinner together. Just the four of us."

You nodded, your eyes shining with love and happiness. "I'd like that very much. Now you guys better get going so you're not late. I want good pictures." You squinted playfully at the two, causing Jude to get into a soldire stance.

"Ma'am! Yes ma'am!" Jude teased, saluting with a grin. Nora giggled, mimicking his salute with an exaggerated seriousness that melted into laughter. You chuckled softly, shaking your head at their antics.

With a final glance at Klara, still peacefully asleep in your arms, Jude gently scooped up Nora and headed for the door. She squealed in delight, waving enthusiastically at you as they made their way out of the room. You waved back, your heart swelling with love for your little tribe.

You were the luckiest woman in the world.

No one could convince you otherwise.

-Bianca🌻

[bamfkeeper]

SFW Alphabet: Nightcrawler

a/n: yayy I finally got around to writing again, as I said here's a Nightcrawler alphabet. It feels good to write for the first time in a few months. I plan on writing actual fics though, once I have more out I'll take requests. For now, enjoy a SFW Alphabet! A NSFW will come later hehe. I'm getting the feel of writing him so I'll work out any kinks of things I don't like as I write more of him. I'm going to try to mix the variants of him and not stick with a solid version, so there will be mixes from comics and other shows, etc in his characterization. I hope you enjoy <3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?):

Kurt is very affectionate, he's a lover, so he likes to be close to you at all times. He likes giving you hugs, kisses, or simply giving you gifts like flowers or chocolates.

He likes spending time with you too, and he will call you sweet things in German because he likes to see you blush.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?):

He'd be a great best friend, always making sure you're doing good and supporting you through bad times. He'd be a blast to hang out with, he'd teleport you around Genosha and show you all the lovely sights.

He'd always make sure you felt cared for, even as just a friend, he'd still ensure you were safe and sound. He likes to have fun, so anytime you wanted to do something, he'd be down.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?):

Kurt is a huge cuddler. He is so soft because of his velvet skin, so he is extra warm. He makes the best cuddle buddy for winter because he keeps you warm, like a heated stuffed animal.

He loves to hold you, he often will rub your back or play with your hair, he will also read to you in German, which almost always lulls you to sleep. He loves to have his tail wrapped around you as well, keeping you secure.

Sometimes he likes to be held though, his upbringing at the circus didn't offer him much affection that way, so he cherishes it when he can be more vulnerable with you. Sometimes he puts that goofy self away and he crawls into your chest and curls up.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?):

Settling down is always something Kurt has wanted to do, but with his lifestyle, it can be hard to determine when.

He's always wanted a family, and he values that at his core, he would talk about settling down a lot with his partner and together, you'd figure out a good time. I think he'd want to settle when Krakoa comes around, after the attack on Genosha, your plans to settle had to be pushed back.

Kurt is German so of course he can cook. He is an excellent cook at a lot of things, but some foods he doesn't normally eat are a bit rough for him. He learns from trial and error.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?):

If he had to, he'd do it in a way where your feelings would be taken into consideration. He'd be as gentle as possible, and he'd let you know that he still cares about you.

I don't think he'd want you out of his life, (unless you cheated or did something really bad), so even if you broke up, you'd still remain good friends.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?):

Being a religious man, commitment is important to him. If he were with you, it would only be you he'd loyal to and he would date in hopes to marry.

He would go off of you, but dating is a trial run for marriage, and he dates for that. He would imagine your lives together, and he would like to marry after a year or so.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?):

He is very gentle, he is sweet and tender and learned to be that way because of all the hatred he experienced in his life. Everyone was afraid of him growing up, so he learned to be extra sweet and gentle to make up for his 'scary' appearance. He doesn't want anyone to be afraid of him.

Physically, he is as tender as ever, his touch is so light and sweet. He loves to caress your back or cheek while you sleep beside him, even his tail will run gently up and down your body.

He is very in tune with his emotions and empathetic to those around him. He is understanding, and is always ready to help you if you feel overwhelmed or upset at all. He is very good at dealing with emotions, and will always do his best to make sure his partner is okay.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?):

Kurt loves hugs! He hugs friends, family, lovers. He does it all the time, and he is one of the best huggers out there. He can squeeze happily, hold tenderly, and spin playfully.

When he embraces you, you can feel the love radiating off of him. It is one of your favorite things to feel him hugging you, and of course his tail wraps around you!

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?):

He would be a little nervous, but he would say it first. He'd either randomly blurt it out to you, or he'd make sure you were having a special time together and he'd speak it tenderly to you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?):

Kurt can get pretty jealous, it stems from his insecurity. When he gets jealous, he will remain close to you with a hand on your hip or around you. He might kiss you on the cheek to tell whomever you're speaking to that you're taken. His tail will wrap around your arm or leg too.

He will grumble against you later on, he might feel a little more insecure after, but some reassurance and he will be okay again. If he got really jealous, he'd teleport you away and he'd take you somewhere so he could make sure you and everyone else knew you were taken.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?):

Oh his kisses...such sweet, amazing kisses. He has experience, so his kisses would be perfect. He'd learn what you like, and he'd make sure you were breathless every time.

His lips would gently graze over yours, he smiles that cheeky grin of his and he would press them fully into yours. The kiss might be tender, might be a little more passionate, but his soft lips would make you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close.

He loves lip kisses of course, but he also likes to kiss your wrists and the back of your hand if he's feeling playful. He likes getting his temple and neck kissed, even if it makes him blush.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?):

Kurt is excellent around kids. He knows how to handle them, and he is quite playful with them. He always tells you how he wants a few little ones in the future, and he hopes you do too.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?):

Kurt isn't a morning person, he is a little whiny and grumpy when he wakes up, and he is rather clingy. He doesn't like to get out of bed but will trudge after you and hold you from behind if you make breakfast.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?):

Kurt loves his sleep, he values it. In the circus growing up, his mistreatment went as far as being isolated to a cage with a thin layer of hay as cushioning. So, now that he can have an actual bed, he adores it.

He likes soft blankets and pillows, curling up in them like a nest, and holding you close to him. He buries his face in your hair, or he snuggles into your chest for safety.

He doesn't snore, he learned to be silent when he sleeps, you don't ask why. But he makes a tiny purring noise, and his tail stays wrapped around you to make sure you're still there when he wakes up.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?):

Kurt is a pretty open person. Some of the things of his past that are hard for him might take him a while before he tells you, but he just needs to work up the courage. You know that he was mistreated in the circus, so don't pressure him to tell you. He will tell you everything, it just takes time.

He might tell you something that he is uncomfortable with that reminds him of his past or childhood, his playfulness is more serious when he talks about it so you know he's not joking around. He is so grateful you take it seriously and it makes him love you even more.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?):

He is very patient, he learned to be growing up. He can handle quite a lot of shit before he might get a little riled up and upset. Even if he does get angry, he tries to be as reasonable as he can.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?):

He is like a safe, he locks away everything you tell him. Favorite flower, favorite color, little things you like and dislike. He remembers what seasonings you like best with what foods, how you like things cooked, literally everything.

He remembers important things like allergies and triggers, preferences, places to go, everything you say is so important to him. He surprises you with his knowledge too, even you forget you've told him things until he brings it up in conversation.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?):

Definitely when he said he loved you, it was such a special moment between you two and a defining day in your relationship. You grew so much closer, and it was a near perfect day. When he heard you say it back, he swore he died and went to heaven. His heart swelled so much and that day is definitely a core memory for him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?):

Kurt is protective to a degree. He knows you can handle yourself, but he absolutely won't hesitate to step up and defend you. If anyone speaks about you in a poor manner, he jumps to defend you, especially if you aren't there. He doesn't let anyone talk bad about you.

If you are hurt or can't defend yourself, expect him to be more agile and aggressive than you've ever seen. He will swing those swords and defend you like precious treasure. (Which you are to him).

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?):

Every single date you have, Kurt puts so much effort into. He makes sure things are perfect, he remembers all the little things, he makes sure that you are enjoying yourself and that you have a wonderful time.

Every gift is special and sentimental. Even if it's silly and small, like chocolate, it is always your favorite flavor and brand.

Kurt will adjust to your love language, and acts of service is something he does a lot for you. He will cook, clean, anything if you're too tired to do it. And he never complains, always doing it with a smile on his face.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?):

The only thing that might be perceived as bad is he might be too playful sometimes. He might be a little too light hearted and silly when things need to be more serious, but he gets better with this habit as your relationship develops.

Sometimes his insecurities about his appearance can fester and they can make him slightly more irritable because he feels like you can do so much better than him. Just be sure to reassure him and it usually helps a lot to hear you say sweet things.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?):

Kurt for the most part doesn't seem too concerned with his appearance, but he does have insecurities when it comes to his looks. Sometimes if he sees an attractive person speaking to you, he feels a little down when he thinks about his own looks.

Besides that, he is very aware of his hygiene because he is covered in velvety fuzz, so he washes himself every day and makes sure he is clean.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?):

Absolutely. Kurt loves you with all his heart, you are his everything. Without you, he would feel like a piece of himself is missing. One of his worst fears is losing you, he often has bad dreams about it and wakes you up at night to make sure you're still with him.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.):

Kurt was not a contortionist in the circus, but he might as well have been. Kurt is incredibly flexible, able to bend and twist in unnatural angles. He will show you all sorts of things he can do and loves to hear your praise.

He shakes off from the shower like a wet dog.

One of his favorite smells is fresh, buttery popcorn.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Kurt is a devout Catholic, so he wouldn't want anyone bad mouthing his beliefs. Kurt is very accepting and wouldn't try to convert you or make you believe in things you don't want, he keeps his religious beliefs to himself and only speaks if asked about it. However, if you bad mouth him or his beliefs, he will bristle and he won't like it.

He is open minded to hearing discussions or answering questions if you don't believe, but as long as they are respectful. If you talk poorly about it, he won't be interested in continuing the conversation.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?):

As mentioned before, Kurt loves to sleep. He didn't get a lot of good rest in the circus. So now that he is able, he tends to nest and curl up in a pile of soft blankets and pillows. He loves feeling secure and safe, which is something he never really got before.

If you rest with him, he's either holding you or snuggled into you. He likes to sleep in a dark place, it makes him feel more relaxed. Some nights when he has trouble, he listens to religious passages and he falls asleep quickly.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[cherryredstars]

would you write married life hcs with simon i need some domestic fluff paired with angst please🥺😢

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst 

Summary: Married life with Simon. 

Word Count: 745 (Not Edited)

The ring he proposes with is gorgeous. It fits your finger perfectly, not catching on your skin once. It’s fashioned from his mother’s ring. His mother’s ring was also the ring Tommy had used to propose to his own wife. You carry the memory of four lost Rileys with you, and it is a weight you are proud to hold. Simon cannot think of a better person to share the weight with. 

He spoils you rotten. Wants the best for his spouse and wants nothing less. He gives you random gifts. Brings you back souvenirs from his deployments. Takes you to your favorite restaurants. Stocks the kitchen with your favorite foods. Gives you access to all his bank accounts. He makes too much money from his high position and his long years of serving, the money might as well be spent on someone he loves. Someone who deserves the world. 

He truly believes that you’re an angel. Someone sent him to hold him together. Every second he spends at home is with you. Follows you around like a lovesick puppy. He’ll stand with you in the kitchen as he cooks. He’ll sit on the edge of the bathtub or on the toilet seat as you do your skincare or get ready for the day. Lays on the couch or on the bed doing his own thing. As long as he’s in the same room as you, he’s content. 

He wants to share your happiness. Wants to absorb everything good about you and have it stained into his soul. He feels that as long as you are in his hold, he can keep that sacred part of you safe. He worries whenever he hears a thump in the house, rushing into the room to find you hopping because you dropped something on your foot. It warms his heart, to have something so normal and domestic. He doesn’t know how he ever survived without you. 

He has never taken his ring off. Not once. Not since you had placed it on his finger. He doesn’t take it off when he’s cooking. Doesn't care that the shampoo from his shower is making it soapy. Doesn’t mind that there is a slight bulge in his glove from where the ring still sits on his finger despite being against code. You’d have to kill him to pry that finger off his ring. But even in death, you’ll have to fight him for it. 

Plans dates for the two of you. He wants you to know how much he truly cares for you. How grateful he is to announce to the world that he has a spouse waiting for him at home. Will never get tired of the privilege to have that. With all his time away from home, he wants to be able to spend that intimate, one-on-one time with you. Sometimes you wished he just stopped.

Marrying Simon means empty promises that he tries to apologize for by throwing money at it. It means excitedly texting him something and being disappointed when he replies two weeks later with a thumbs up emoji reaction. It means being suffocated when he’s here, and then drowning when he’s gone. It means being drained of everything within you because you keep giving it to a man who is never there. It means waiting in a restaurant in your best outfit for hours and going home with tears in your eyes and a message the next morning saying, Sorry, have to wrap some things up before returning home. See you in a few days. 

Having Simon as a husband is like being a widow. It is spending nights in a cold bed alone, in a large house devoid of life. It is yearning every day for something and clinging on to the love you have. It is full of being bitter and understanding and tired of an endless cycle. 

Being Simon’s spouse is full of debating and fighting with yourself. It is spending every day that he is away staring at the folder of divorce papers in your bedside drawer. It is wonder how you could ever think of divorcing him every day he is home. It is thinking that the Riley ring is a curse because everyday you feel like you are dying from its weight. 

Wearing Simon’s ring makes you feel like you’ll just be a memory of another Riley he has lost. Another Riley he has sacrificed for his job.

Join Cherry’s Discord Server

[nvirskies]

sand - c. la rue

idea taken from one of @star-girl69 's asks about married clarisse and immediately went to think about how the vast majority of greek demigods didn't get to live past their 20's or even teen years... and the survivor's guilt that would come with being one of the few lucky enough to live longer.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, traumatic nightmare flashbacks, descriptions of violence, descriptions of blood + war, spoilers for TLO, set after both reader and clarisse leave CHB about 6-8 years into the future, google translated Greek term of endearment, crying, survivor's guilt, platonic RueGard, ooc Clarisse, she's matured more over time and more articulate with her feelings and words

summary: clarisse wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare in the middle of the night, reader comforts her through a breakdown

wife!fem!demigod!reader x wife!clarisse la rue

word count: 2.2k

καρδιά μου (kardiá mou) - my heart

Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου (I kardiá mou eínai i kardiá sou) - my heart is your heart

"but you have more pieces of me than than desert has sand, and I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand" sand, alchemical: vol. 1, dove cameron

taglist: @lvrue @star-girl69 @azrielsdiary @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

Greek demigods fell in love hard and fast with an unmatched intensity. They normally didn’t live long enough to even envision themselves in their adult lives, and why would they? Every day was a struggle to stay alive with monsters coming in from all angles and quests most didn’t come back from.

And that was why, as soon as the two of you graduated high school, Clarisse got down on a knee and proposed with the knowledge that you were the one she would want to spend the rest of her life, however long or short, with.

When you two had graduated college, the next thing in the books was to make it official in the courthouse, and that was what you had done. No extravagant party or ceremony, just a quiet day in the courthouse and a night in to celebrate.

But no matter how far the two of you ran from Camp Half-Blood, the nightmares never went away, never got better. As the years passed, more of the people you had considered friends died. One after the other, falling like cursed dominos, helplessly standing by as they all tumbled down.

Soon, the nightmares became more about the people that were lost than the monsters themselves. Nightly plagues of searingly painful memories from watching the life drain from so many demigods’ eyes burned themselves in both of your psyches.

All you could do was hope Charon would be kind enough to ferry them across the Styx without his payment of a silver coin.

And tonight certainly hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary with the two of you and your limbs interlaced in a protective embrace while sleep claimed your minds, as if the both of you could protect each other from the monsters both in and outside.

Your head, nestled into her chest. Her deep, rhythmic breathing made your hair flutter ever so slightly as she exhaled. Her arms, wrapped loosely around your waist, hands not-so-sneakily under the baggy shirt of hers you had stolen to wear as pajamas for the night. It was all perfect. Too perfect.

You would be damned fools to think that peace would last for so long. Demigods didn’t get peace, they didn’t get tranquility, and they especially didn’t get uninterrupted domestic bliss.

Unbeknownst to you, Clarisse’s face contorted into one of distress. Her arms pulled you in closer subconsciously as the all too familiar face of Morpheus greeted her with a sly smirk on his face in her dreams.

In moments, she was transported back to the Battle of Manhattan.

She was seventeen again.

Blood was everywhere. Abandoned weapons lay on the floor, the hands that once gripped them tightly, now loose and limp. Shrill screams echoed throughout the air, all cut short by gut-wrenching sounds of fatal injury. Metal cut through flesh. Acid burnt through metal. Flames licked and greedily consumed anything and everything as fuel.

Her feet felt heavy, her hands numb. She could do nothing but stand and watch it all unfold before her own eyes, forced to relive the carnage and devastation that had ripped through Manhattan on that fateful day.

Morpheus’ voice whispered in her right ear, the sound of it sending an uneasy chill down her spine. “Daughter of Ares. A fitting dream, no? Your father must have been proud of you for the way you fought after… well, I’ll let you relive that, too.” Before she could blink, she was transported to the moment right after Silena had been sprayed by the Lydian Drakon.

Clarisse was too late. She had always been too late.

She was back on her knees, choking and weeping bitterly as Silena lay in her arms, watching as life slowly left her once-lively eyes.

What kind of a warrior even was she? So weak that she couldn’t even protect her friend? Too weak to protect the girl who had adorned her armor and led her siblings into battle?

Just as Clarisse reached out to touch Silena’s face to wipe away the one mark of smudged eyeliner that the Aphrodite girl normally would never have even allowed to happen in the past, she was jerked back to consciousness, eyes flying open and arms almost crushing your sleeping form momentarily as she came to.

No longer was she in Manhattan, instead sheltered in the familiarly adorned walls of your shared bedroom. Upon the walls hung framed pictures of joyous times past and her sword collection, among other things.

Familiar faces stared back at her, some faces that would never age again. Immortalized memories of times that would never happen again. Everyone was dead or scattered across the globe.

A particular picture caught Clarisse’s eye. It was a portrait of Silena that she had commissioned one of the Apollo kids to draw for the daughter of Aphrodite’s seventeenth birthday.

She never lived to see that day.

Her eyes locked with Silena’s in the drawing for a moment, and that moment was one too much as hot tears began to prick in the corners of her eyes.

She had inadvertently woken you up with the way her arms tightened around your waist in a near vice grip, slowly coming to your senses. No longer were her breaths slow and rhythmic, their steadfast pattern replaced by one that was erratic and shallow. The once-steady thumping cadence of her heart as it beat in her chest was now quickened, all of which you could hear with your head having been nestled into her chest.

Craning your head to look up at her, you were greeted with the sight of Clarisse desperately trying to silently blink back tears and control her own breathing.

Hurriedly, you pushed yourself up off her chest and tugged the blankets off the two of you before sitting down on her lap. You took note of the way her hands had never left your waist, holding onto you as if she were drowning and you were the last life ring thrown out.

It wasn’t anything you and Clarisse hadn’t dealt with before. The nightmares had been a part of your lives as far back as you could remember, it just came with the territory of being a demigod. But they never got any easier as time went on.

She watched silently with eyes brimming with unshed tears, pleading wordlessly with you to do something, anything to make it all go away.

“Let’s switch, yeah? You can lay on me and completely cover me if you want, love,” you offered up, a melancholy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Wordlessly, she nodded and you slipped off her lap, laying back where she had just been moments ago.

Gently patting your chest, you motioned for her to rest her head on it, knowing that the rest of her body would soon follow, completely engulfing your form with hers. After she had positioned herself, her arms snaked around your waist again as she simply held you for a few moments, her face pressed into your chest as tears slowly soaked into your shirt.

One hand reached out to gently run along the length of her back, the motion meant to soothe. A few beats passed in silence before you spoke in a hushed whisper, the bedroom devoid of sound beyond the two of you breathing in tandem with each other.

“You hear that, love? That’s my heart,” you murmured softly, craning your neck to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “It’s beating, beating for you. Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου.”

She didn’t respond beyond releasing another shaky sob into your chest and tightening her grip around your body, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t need her to talk just yet.

“You’re also η καρδιά μου, you know that, right? My heart, my wife, my love, my everything. And I’m yours. Entirely yours, and I”m not going anywhere.” You craned your neck again to press another kiss against the crown of her head, hand never stopping its path of running gently along the length of her back.

“I would go down to the depths of Tartarus for you. I would challenge Hades himself to a fight if it meant I had even a glimmer of a chance in getting you back.”

Never once did you try to rush her into talking or shushing her tears. You knew her better than you knew yourself, and giving her time to let everything out was the best thing you could do for her at the moment.

You were her safe space, the one woman that she could let her walls down around. She wasn’t Ares’ star daughter in your arms, she was just Clarisse. No expectations dangling over her head, just open arms and understanding.

After another few quiet moments, she finally spoke up in between half-choked sobs, whispering so quietly that her voice was nearly inaudible, “Silena… Manhattan… should have been able to save her,” before letting her face fall back down onto your chest, releasing another pained cry.

“She’s gone- a-and everyone else too- why me?”

Her question left you speechless, mouth partly opened in an attempt to come up with a reassuring response, but nothing seemed to come to mind immediately. It was rare for this to happen, as you normally had just the right words at the top of your tongue, weaving them as Arachne once wove tapestries on her loom.

“They’re all gone and- and- ”

“Shh, love…” you cut her off, gently pulling her head up to look her in the eyes, your other hand leaving her back to wipe the tears that were still streaming down her cheeks with the pad of your thumb. “Please, don’t go back into that self-sacrificial spiral. Talk to me, tell me what the dream was about?”

She only shook her head in response, unwilling to divulge details of the memory that had shattered your night of otherwise perfect proportions.

Deflating back on top of you, she whispered, “They’re all gone, and we’re one of the only ones remaining. It was like every time another one of them died, that small part of myself that I gave to them died as well.”

Her arms that were wrapped around your waist tightened for a moment before going limp along with the rest of her body as she lay atop you, her head pressed against your chest.

“Love…” you began softly as one of your hands found its way to her head and carded gently through her curls. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. None of it was your fault. We didn’t ask to be born, to be thrown into this mess of a world and tossed around like pawns in the gods’ game of chess with our lives.”

“We didn’t ask for this life, and we were so young at the time. For fuck’s sake, we were only seventeen- we hadn’t even made out yet. We hadn’t graduated high school yet, there were so many things we couldn’t control.

“None of it was your fault, I promise you. You were so brave, and you did everything you could.” She stayed silent as you spoke, the only sounds coming from her were the soft, shaky breaths as she sniffled and burrowed her face further into your shirt.

“I can’t explain to you why so many things had to happen, that’s up to the Fates. I can’t give you the pieces of yourself back that you lost when we kept losing everyone,” you murmured whilst your hands kept on with their idle motions.

It shattered your heart to give her such an incomplete answer when you knew it was tearing her apart inside to live with it all, but there was nothing you could do beyond offer solace and comfort. “And for that, I am so, so sorry. But the one thing I can do is keep the piece you’ve granted me to keep, safe and sound.”

She only nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak in fear of her own vulnerability. Her tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn’t care. All that was important was that Clarisse was here, in your arms, and slowly calming down.

Clarisse knew just as well as you did that everyone had done the best they could with the circumstances given, and that the loss affected you just as deeply. But she didn’t dig into that, it would be a can of worms to open for another time, another sleepless night where your own troubles caught up with you after running from them for so long.

And so, the rest of the night stretched on into early morning, the two of you half-awake, seeking silent solace in each other until sunlight crept into the bedroom through the cracks of the curtains the next day.

The two of you might have been running from your trauma like runners to a marathon, but at least you were running hand-in-hand with matching strides.

[lewmagoo]

to my heart, he carries the key | bob floyd

sequel to someone to watch over me (i recommend reading the first part beforehand so this makes more sense)

description: in which a threat is made against the president’s daughter’s life, and agent robert floyd is tasked with carrying out ‘operation hidden angel’

characters: secret service agent bob floyd x f!reader, pete mitchell, beau simpson, dagger squad as their own respective characters

warnings: 18+, mentions of domestic terrorism, military, secret service and us gov’t inaccuracies, smut, unprotected sex, forbidden love, gun violence, attempted kidnapping, hospitals, broken bones, angst, hopeful ending

Things had changed in The White House.

It had been three months since that fateful night during a charity event, where a man in the crowd targeted the First Daughter of the United States. Agents Robert Floyd, Jacob Seresin, and Reuben Fitch intercepted the perpetrator, and he was disarmed before he could harm anyone. He had been taken into custody, and after weeks of extensive questioning and investigation, The Department of Homeland Security had determined that this man was not working alone. He was a member of a homegrown terrorist organization.

The only thing they couldn’t get out of him was the location of the organization. He refused to give them up, but he was adamant that in a few short months, they were going to go through with their next act of violence. And this time, people were going to die. 

It was very calculated. Every last detail was planned out. How they would get the attention of the American public. How they would carry out their threat against the US government. And the way that they planned to do that? 

Why, kidnapping the president’s daughter, of course. 

During the time it took to obtain that information from the perpetrator, there was unrest in The White House. A changing of the guard, so to speak, was taking place. Tragedy had struck in the personal life of Pete Mitchell, head of White House security. 

His husband of over thirty years, Tom Kazansky, had passed away after a bout with cancer. Pete took it hard. Hard enough that after the funeral and the burial and everything in between, he decided that it was time to retire from his decade long position as head of security. 

It was not a decision that he took lightly. In fact, he’d agonized over it before finally biting the bullet and placing his letter of resignation upon the president’s desk.

“The truth is, I’m getting too old for this,” he told his team of agents, as he addressed them on the day he left. “I know, I know, it’s shocking to most of you,” he teased, as lighthearted chuckles filled the room. “But…it’s time for me to step down. Tom’s death showed me how fragile life is, and how much I should be cherishing it. I have grandchildren on the way, and I plan to be here to watch them grow up.” He glanced at Bradley Bradshaw, and the pair shared a silent understanding. Bradley’s wife was expecting. Pete didn’t want to miss a moment of that little one’s life.

“So, in my stead, Beau Simpson has agreed to take on the position as the new White House Head of Security.”

And thus, new leadership walked onto the stage. 

At first, things weren’t that much difference. Your personal security detail, with Bob as the head, remained the same. Everyone missed Agent Mitchell, but life had to go on. And go on, it did. 

Bob, for one, wasn’t the biggest fan of change. But change was part of the job, it was part of life, so he couldn’t make a big deal about it. When Simpson began to implement subtle changes into the way things were done, Bob bristled, but he didn’t speak out. He held his tongue, because he had a sneaking suspicion that if he were to rebel against Simpson’s leadership, he’d lose his job faster than he could even blink.

So he simply observed silently and waited to see just how many changes Simpson was going to make.

And then, one day, Bob was called into the president’s office, where he stood before Agent Simpson and POTUS himself. “Do you know why we’ve brought you in, Agent Floyd?” Beau asked.

“No sir,” came Bob’s simple response. He didn’t get the sense that he was losing his job, so he had no idea why he was standing here in the Oval Office. 

“I’m sure you recall three months ago, when a threat was made against the president’s daughter.”

“Yes sir, vividly.” He’d never forget that night. Never forget the terror in your voice as you called out for him. 

Then, the president interjected. “As Agent Mitchell previously briefed you, the perpetrator was part of a domestic terrorist organization here on our soil. Recently, he confessed to agents that this group will be carrying out an act of violence upon the American people. We aren’t sure where, or when exactly, but what we are sure of, is that they’re going to go after my daughter again.”

Agent Simpson picked up where the man left off. “Listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you. What we talk about here is strictly confidential. It is a matter of national security.” Then he leaned closer toward Bob. “I am going to give you a set of coordinates. No one else but you, me, and the president know them. Once I give them to you, I want you to be prepared for my signal. When I deem it necessary, you will go to the Residence, retrieve his daughter, and escort her to this location. You will not bring any other agents with you. Just you, and herself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir. But why am I being given coordinates contrary to the location of the safe house that was already put in place?”

“Because that location has been compromised. You must only escort her to the coordinates I give you. Her life depends on it.”

“And when we get there?”

“You wait for my all clear. It won’t be safe to bring her back home until the threat is neutralized. Can you carry out these orders?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now memorize these coordinates.” Agent Simpson recited the numbers twice. Bob had an excellent memory, and stored away the information easily. Once he confirmed the coordinates by reciting them back to the man, Beau nodded. “From here on out, you will be prepared at all times to carry out Operation Hidden Angel.”

Bob breathed in, then out. Then he nodded. “I will be standing by awaiting further orders.”

The president stood from behind his desk. “I trust you to do whatever it takes to protect my only child, Agent Floyd. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.”

He was dismissed from the office, and his head was spinning. Suddenly, he was burdened with a deep sense of pressure. The need to do his job well. Not because your father and the entire country was depending on him, but because you were depending on him. 

He had taken an oath to serve and protect. And he meant it. Even before he knew he loved you, he had made good on that oath. And now, even more so. You were infinitely precious to him, and he would do whatever it took to ensure your safety. 

Even if it meant giving his life to ensure it. He was fully prepared to go to that length if he needed to. 

That night, he couldn’t sleep. His mind kept drifting to you. To how much he loved you. How much he missed you. He saw you everyday. He escorted you to wherever you needed to go. But those moments did not allow him to be alone with you in the way that you both wanted. There were always prying eyes. Other members of your security detail. Cameras. Nosey reporters. Your relationship had remained secret all this time, and you couldn’t risk exposing it. 

So he would continue pining for you, desiring you, hoping for a private moment to at least hold you in his arms. Little did he know he was about to get that opportunity, just not in the way that he was expecting.

The orders came one Friday afternoon. The work day was coming to a close. At that moment, you were in your quarters getting ready. That evening, you had a dinner engagement with a friend from college. Bob had only just finished briefing the rest of your detail on what the itinerary was for the night. Everyone was prepped and on the same page.

And then, Agent Simpson’s voice spoke into his earpiece.

“Agent Floyd, it’s time to enact Operation Hidden Angel.”

He tensed, his heart seizing in his chest as a shock of dread shuddered down his spine. This was it. His worst fear was coming true. Your life had been directly threatened, and it was time to take you to the designated safe house deep in the Virginia mountains.

And when Bob received that command, he had no choice but to act on it. He touched his fingers to his earpiece and responded. “Copy that. Operation Hidden Angel commencing.”

And then he was off, his shoes tapping rhythmically against the polished wooden floors as he rushed down each hallway and corridor. Adrenaline drove him forward, and he soon came to the entrance to the residence. Breathing in deeply to steady himself, he knocked twice before he opened the doors. 

He knew where you were. He didn’t have to search. You were in your bedroom, readying yourself for the night ahead. For propriety’s sake, he knocked softly. If he hadn’t been afraid that someone might see him, he would’ve just burst into the room. 

He still had to keep up the appearance that you were not romantically involved. 

On the other side of the door, you were just setting out the outfit you would wear that night. You were entirely oblivious to the looming danger, eager for an eveningof catching up with an old friend. “Come in!” You called out as you debated which accessories to add to your outfit. 

You were surprised to see Bob in your doorway. You smiled at the unexpected visit, but your smile soon faded when you saw the urgent look on his face. “You need to grab your emergency bag and come with me. Now.”

Your stomach dropped. “Bobby, what—”

“Just come. It’s not safe for you to be here right now.”

Deciding it best not to ask any further questions in the moment, you rushed to your closet, trembling hands yanking out the bag of packed necessities  you kept for emergencies such as this. Then you shoved your feet into your shoes and rushed after him. 

“What’s happening?” You asked as you followed Bob out of your room and down the corridor that led out of the residence. 

“Can’t tell you the details. Just need to get you somewhere safe.”

“But-”

He turned, stopping you in your tracks. “Do you trust me?” He asked, blazing blue eyes locked with yours. 

“With my life,” you replied without hesitation. 

“Then stick with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

So you stopped asking questions. You followed Bob through the back hallways of the White House, allowing him to lead you, trusting in his guidance. You knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would protect you. He always had. When there was a threat against your safety, he was the first to run toward the danger. 

But now, you were both running from it. You knew it had to be serious if you were being removed from The White House. Someone had likely made a significant threat, and Agent Simpson had advised you be removed from the premises until the threat was neutralized. 

But would the danger ever be gone? Even if this particular instance was taken care of, others would come up in the future. You would never be safe, because that was just your life as the president’s one and only child. 

You did, however, feel safe with the man in front of you. His large, warm hand engulfed your own as he led you down beneath the building. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure your protection. Not only because it was his duty, but because he couldn’t live with himself if something happened to you. He loved you too much.

And that was the sticky part of the situation. No one knew about your secret love for one another. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Someone did know. Bradley Bradshaw, Bob’s secondhand man on your security detail, had silently put two and two together. He’d never outright told either of you that he knew, but there seemed to be a silent understanding between him and Bob. A way of communicating that had come with years of working alongside each other in the same military branch. Neither one of them had to say a word, but they knew what the other was thinking. 

Bradley had kept your secret all this time. You were often surprised that no one had found out, and both you and Bob lived in fear that one day, your father would find out. And if that were to happen, you would lose Bob. He would be dismissed from his duties and you would likely never see him again. The thought broke your heart. 

But for the time being, you were able to slip under the radar. Now, especially, because it was just the two of you. And for a moment, you wondered why the rest of your detail wasn’t with you. “Bob, where’s the rest of the team?” You asked as he pulled you to a stop outside a sleek black sedan. He grabbed your bag and threw it in the backseat before motioning for you to climb in alongside it.

“I’ll explain later.” He ushered you into your seat before he scurried to the driver’s side and slipped into the seat. The engine roared to life seconds later, and he glanced back at you. “Buckle up.”

You did.

Then he was taking off, headed out of the parking garage. As he hit the gas, he spoke into his earpiece. “Angel is flying.”

“Bob, why is it just the two of us?”  You reiterated your question from a few moments earlier.

He glanced at you through the rearview, debating just how much he should tell you. “The more people that know where we’re going, the more danger it puts you in. Only your dad and Agent Simpson know where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just…just don’t ask questions, okay, honey? The less you know, the safer you are.”

You heeded his words and settled back into your seat, your heart racing against your ribcage. This was more serious than you realized, wasn’t it? And as you thought about it, the more fearful you became. Your life was in danger, and it was an odd feeling. 

Who were you, that someone wanted to kill you? Your father’s decisions were not a reflection of your own morals or beliefs. You had no control over the way he chose to run the country. But there were times when his decisions put a target on his family’s back. Yours especially, because as his child, you were his biggest weakness. Remove you from the equation, and one would have the President of the United States in the palm of their hand, willing to do whatever they asked just to get you back. 

This was why proactive measures were being taken. You couldn’t be used as a bargaining chip if you were in hiding. But oh, how you hated it. This was your father’s second term. You had been living in the White House for much too long, and you were tired of it. Tired of the world’s eyes being on you at all times. Tired of the politics and the responsibility. You had never asked for this. This was your father’s endeavor, you were just along for the ride. 

But it had resulted in you being placed into the back of a bulletproof car and driven off to some top-secret location just to keep you safe. And from the back of that seat, your eyes observed the singular agent in charge of maintaining that safety. He wasn’t looking at you through the rearview, his eyes were on the road where they belonged. But you could see the conflict in those beautiful blues. You could see the fear. 

Whatever this threat was had scared him. And that was saying something, because Bob Floyd didn’t scare easily. But when it came to protecting you, he did get scared. Terrified, even. He just didn’t let you see it. He wanted you to trust him, to feel secure. And you did. In fact, no one else made you feel as secure as he did. Yes, the rest of your detail did a wonderful job. You knew you could trust them with your life. 

But because you loved Bob so much, you sought him out for shelter and protection. He was the first you turned to when you were frightened or felt unsafe. And he loved being that for you. Loved that you looked to him for those things. 

However, he sometimes thought about the day he might fail you. Would his feelings for you hinder his ability to protect you effectively? Would he be blinded by love? It hadn’t happened yet, but he knew if he was even a smidge off his game, Agent Simpson would be able to sniff it out. And he would not let Bob off the hook for it, either. He’d instruct him to end his relationship with you immediately. And there would be no second chance. Beau would tell the president, and Bob’s position would be terminated.

But it had not gotten to that point, and you prayed it never would. You much preferred sharing this intimate little secret. It did make maintaining your relationship a little difficult, because there were times when you wished you had the guts to tell your father, to tell the world. But the thought of the repercussions that would follow always made you decide against it. 

You wanted to relish in this secret for a little longer. If the time ever did come to reveal your relationship, you would know. Until then, you remained under the radar, stealing private moments when you could, and otherwise keeping your distance when it was appropriate. 

But now you were entirely alone. No prying eyes. No risk of being caught. You were alone, because Bob was the only one your father trusted to watch over you. Because some unhinged madman had made a threat against your life and Bob would sooner die than let any harm come to you. 

“You’re taking me to the safe house, aren’t you?” You spoke up. You had no idea where the house was located, but you had heard of presidents in the past utilizing safe houses. If you were being physically removed from The White House and taken elsewhere, a safe house was the only logical destination you could think of. 

Bob caught your eye through the rearview mirror. His expression was bleak, and he said nothing, but it confirmed what you were asking. 

The drive to the safe house was two hours. You left behind the bustling area of Washington, D.C. and headed into the mountains of Virginia. And as you went, the sun began to sink lower in the sky, allowing eventide to grace the land.

You and Bob hardly spoke, which was uncommon. But you could tell he was harrowed by this situation, and in turn, you were just as scared. It rendered you both silent for the rest of the ride. Instead, you stared out the window, watching the landscape go by, wondering how long you would have to stay here. A night? A week? A month? How serious was this threat made against you? How immediate was the danger? 

All these questions swirled in your mind as Bob drove up a winding, dirt drive. It seemed to go on forever, and the farther he went, the darker it got. But he kept going, until finally, he was pulling up outside a small cabin.

You stared in confusion. Surely this couldn’t be it, right? When thinking of a safe house, you imagined concrete walls and impenetrable security systems. This was just a cabin in the middle of nowhere. 

Bob was confused as well. An odd feeling churned to life in his gut. Something didn’t feel quite right about this, but these were the coordinates he was given. He had not made a mistake in his navigation. You were where you were supposed to be.

“Are you sure this is the place?” You asked as he pulled the car behind the house, intending to keep it hidden from view so as not to raise any suspicions if anyone were to happen upon the place.

“These are the coordinates I was given. I followed orders,” Bob replied, a little sharply, but his annoyance wasn’t directed at you. It was at whoever had designated this as a safe house. Surely the US government could afford something more than this, right?

“I just…was expecting something more grand. A fortress or something,” came your explanation.

Bob softened. “Honestly, me too. I didn’t know what to expect. They gave me the coordinates when I first took charge of your detail. I always assumed the safe house was a bunker.”

Both of you were wrong. Instead, it was a quaint cabin that looked like any normal cabin in the forest might look. However, when you got up to the porch, you found a keypad on the door. It had to be unlocked by a code.

Bob spoke into his mic. “Angel has landed safely.”

Seconds later, Agent Simpson’s voice crackled to life in his ear. “Copy that,” he said. And then, “zero one zero two nine three.”

Bob typed the numbers into the keypad, and the sound of a lock turning reached his ears. Seconds later, the door was unlocked. He opened the door and took a look inside, scoping out the place. 

It looked like a typical hunting cabin, except more well furnished. a seating area off to the left, complete with a bearskin rug. A small kitchen off to the right. An old oak dining table in the middle of the main room. 

“Let me see,” you spoke up from behind him. 

He stepped forward into the house and allowed you to follow suit. As soon as you were both safely inside, he shut the door, manually locking it. He was surprised at the addition of windows to the cabin. As you wandered around and explored the place, he parted the blackout curtain that hung upon one of the front windows, tapping the glass with his fingertips. It was bulletproof. 

He eyed the architecture of the house, assessing what it was made out of. It he had to guess, there was also bulletproof material within the wall panels. Although the cabin looked normal, it was anything but. It was designed to blend in, to not raise suspicion. 

And then his eyes traveled to the bearskin rug, and something told him to check it out. As you were rifling around in the kitchen, he stepped over to the seating area and kicked at the rug with his foot. It seemed to be fastened to the floor. So he knelt down and pulled at each edge until one gave way, lifting up to reveal a hiding space beneath the floor. 

He grabbed his small utility flashlight he kept on his belt and shined the light inside. This was the bunker he’d assumed he was taking you to. It was very clearly designed to withstand any sort of disaster. I hoped he wouldn’t have to utilize it. 

“What’s that?” You came up behind him, peering over his shoulder. 

“Bunker.” He slammed the door shut. With the rug overtop of it, it didn’t look out of place at all. Bob turned to you, his expression serious. “If anything happens, we go down there.”

You held his gaze, your own fearful. “Bobby…how bad is it?” You wanted to know the severity of the threat. You wanted to know if you’d be forced to hide in that bunker. 

Bob stepped closer to you, allowing himself the physical connection he’d deprived you both of in his haste to get you here safely. His hand came up to cup your cheek. “Bad enough that your dad was spooked. Bad enough that Simpson thought we should bring you to the safe house.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, lifting your hand to rest it gently overtop of his own. “I’m tired of this,” you whispered. 

“I know,” he whispered back. He wanted to assure you that he’d protect you. That you were safe with him. But the words felt so insignificant. Yes, he would protect you, but that didn’t change the fact that a threat had still been made to your life. You, the most precious soul he’d ever known. You, kind and giving and compassionate. You, the one who loved him. How could anyone target you?

You leaned in close, and his mind ceased its wandering. Your free hand was placed gently against his chest, over his heart. And then you spoke. “Do you think that maybe…we could pretend, just for a little bit, that life is normal? That we’re just two people living in their little cabin in the woods, who aren’t actually in danger of a terrorist trying to take their lives?”

Bob’s mouth curled into a halfhearted smile. “Yeah…yeah, we can do that, little love. Whatever you want.”

Little love. The endearing nickname always made your heart warm in your chest. You nestled yourself against him, lifting your head and seeking out his kiss. He gladly returned the affection, mouth fitting against yours like it was always meant to, lips meeting in a tender kiss. 

For a fleeting moment, everything felt alright. There was no looming danger. No president’s daughter and secret service agent. It was just two people, very much in love, sharing an impassioned kiss in their living room. 

And then you parted, and as Bob rested his forehead against yours, you said, “You hungry? I found a box of MREs stored away in the kitchen.”

He smiled, humming softly in amusement. “Mm, my favorite,” he teasingly replied. 

Your hands now rested on his chest. “I’ll get them ready.”

You shared one more kiss before you slipped away to saunter over to the kitchen. As you did so, Bob grabbed your duffel bag and carried it to what he assumed was a bedroom. When he opened the door, his assumption was confirmed. 

A double sized bed was positioned in the middle of the sparsely furnished room. There was a nightstand on one side of the bed and a dresser along the opposite wall, facing the bed. An empty closet was across the room. 

Bob set your bag down on the bed, and he assumed the two of you would be sharing this bed. His heart yearned for it. It had been a while since the two of you had shared a bed and spent the night snuggled up close. He missed it so. 

Although the situation that had brought you here was less than ideal, at least you would be able to spend time with each other, without having to sneak around. 

With a soft sigh, Bob stepped out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut before he quickly made his way back outside, with intentions of doing a perimeter sweep to make sure the area was secure. Once he was satisfied, he made his way back to the house, stopping only to grab his own overnight bag that had been stashed in the trunk of the sedan. 

Moments later, he was inside with you again, the door locked securely behind him. 

In the meantime, you were at work in the kitchen, reading the directions on your MRE packet. When he entered the room, you looked up, and then motioned to the bin of pre-packaged food kits you had found. 

“Take your pick. There’s macaroni in tomato sauce, chili, spaghetti, and some bean and cheese thing.”

He chose the macaroni in tomato sauce, assuming it would be the safest option. Together, you prepared your respective meals, and you couldn’t help but find it a little humorous that your first time cooking together consisted of making military grade survival meals. 

“I haven’t eaten one of these in years,” Bob mused, as he activated the heating element. A memory flashed in his mind. A not so happy one. “Last time I had one was when my plane went down during a mission. Natasha was flying with me then. We were stuck in the woods for days.”

You frowned softly at his admission. “How did you make it back?”

“Some nice farmer saw us along the road and we were able to hitch a ride with him into the nearest town. We radioed for help.”

“Why didn’t search and rescue come for you?”

“Partly because we went down in enemy territory. And because our plane literally exploded into a million pieces. We were presumed dead.”

Your previously chipper mood was dampened a bit as you imagined him and Natasha, yet another trusted agent in your security detail, lost and potentially injured  in unfamiliar territory. “Did you get hurt when the plane went down?” You asked. 

He nodded. “Got some nasty cuts. Some burns, too. You know the scar on my side?”

You hummed in realization. You did know it. You’d run your fingers over the six inch long scar many times while laying in bed with him. 

“That was shrapnel from the blow. Cut me pretty good. Nat stitched it up for me, actually. Kind of embarrassed to admit I passed out during it.”

You reached out, touching his arm gently. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. I can’t even imagine, Bobby. That must’ve been awful.”

He nodded. “But we got through it. Nat’s one determined gal. She told me she was gonna get me home safe. And she did. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Your hand moved from his arm, resting against his back, thumb stroking circles along his spine. Your touch grounded him. “Remind me to thank her.”

He smiled softly as he finished preparing his food. He was beyond grateful that the Fates had decided to spare him. Had they not, he never would have met you, the best thing to ever happen to him. 

Joining the Secret Service had never been part of Bob’s plan. He’d never even considered it. But Agent Mitchell had recommended him to the president, and after Bob had fulfilled his commitment of time to the Navy, he’d moved over to The White House, where he became part of security. 

In fact, the entirety of your personal security detail had been recommended to your father by Pete Mitchell. With you making more public appearances and doing charity work, it put you on the radar. Your father wanted the best security detail possible for you, and because he trusted Pete’s judgment, he brought them in to begin the interview process. In the end, all of them were hired. 

But only one was the head of your detail. Only Bob was entrusted with every minute detail of your safety. Not because the others couldn’t be trusted, or because they were incapable. Far from it. It was his sharpness and his ability to assess threats quickly. It was his respectfulness and penchant for following the rules (or so everyone thought). Out of the group of agents assigned to you, Bob stood out above the rest. 

In the words of your father, Seresin was too cocky, Bradshaw too aloof, and Trace too emotional. You strongly disagreed with his words. You didn’t like the assessments he’d made of each agent. You thought he was being unfair and harsh. Especially with Natasha. Calling her too emotional was crossing over into sexist territory, you felt. If anything, Bradley was the emotional one. But you didn’t argue with your dad. Whatever POTUS says, goes. 

None of the supposed “downfalls” your father saw in each agent affected their ability to protect you. All of them put their lives on the line every single day to ensure your safety. 

But in the end, they hadn’t been put solely in charge of your security team. Bob had. And now here you stood, in safe house in the middle of the Virginia wilderness, eating survival food and pretending everything was fine. Just you and him. 

Strangely enough, you were grateful. Grateful that he was the one you were with. And maybe it was for selfish reasons, but you didn’t care. You just hated that your only opportunity to be alone with him as of late was because of the imminent danger posed to your life. 

But you would cherish the time you were allotted. 

That night, in the quietness of that little cabin in the woods, the two of you sat at the oak dining table adjacent to the kitchen, with your feet resting in Bob’s lap. You drank the electrolyte drink mixes that were provided in your MREs, pretending they were some sort of fancy alcoholic cocktail, if only for your sanity’s sake. 

For the rest of the evening, you didn’t acknowledge the circumstances that had brought you here. Instead, you talked of anything and everything. It wasn’t often that you had a chance to have such meaningful conversations with one another. Your time together was usually short. Secret meetings under the cover of darkness. Stolen moments of passion in hotel rooms. Intimate embraces where no prying eyes could see. 

But flashes of reality still shocked you like a splash of cold water to the face. Such as the fact that Bob’s gun was still strapped to his hip. Or the fact that he went around the house making sure all the blackout curtains were drawn, and double checking the lock system on the door. 

You tried to ignore it. Focused on cleaning up your haphazard dinner instead. But there was still a feeling of unease in your gut. Bob seemed to notice your anxiety, ever observant, and he approached you as you wiped down the table with a dish cloth you’d found in one of the drawers. His arms encircled your waist, and you sighed, leaning back against him, letting your eyes flutter shut. 

“Hey,” he whispered, nuzzling his face against the back of your neck. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You turned around in his hold, placing your hands upon his chest. “I know. I just…I’m trying to pretend everything is fine but it’s hard when there’s a literal bunker beneath us, and you’re walking around with your gun on your hip, and checking the state of the art locking system on the door over there.”

Bob glanced down at the weapon in its holster. “Here,” he said. He stepped back, removing his belt, and taking the holster along with it. He took the gun and carried it into the bedroom, where he placed it on the singular nightstand beside the bed. Then he rejoined you in the main room. 

“Is that better?” He asked. 

“A little,” you replied with a nod, welcoming him into your arms again. 

He dipped his head low, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. “I love you, sweet girl.”

Your chest warmed. “I love you too.”

A large hand lifted up, fingers stroking your cheek. “You want to play pretend? We’ll play pretend.” His arm then came down to wrap around your waist, palm pressed into the small of your back. “This is our homestead, right? And you…you are my pretty little wife.” His free hand tapped your nose with his fingers. 

“Oh? I like the sound of that,” came your soft reply. 

His arm tightened around you. “Mhm. And I just came in from a long day of workin’ the land. Looks like we’re gonna have a good harvest, too. Won’t go hungry this winter.” 

Your mouth curved into a fond smile. His accent was coming through. Picked up from summers spent on his granddaddy’s ranch. “Take such good care of me,” you said. “My strong, handsome man.”

He kissed you again, this time more languidly. “Always gonna take care of my wife.”

That promise translated outside of this silly little roleplay, too. You knew he’d always look out for you. “What would I do without my Bobby?” You asked. 

He gently bumped noses with you, enjoying the closeness. It made you a little dizzy. You hadn’t been in his big, strong arms like this in a while. You’d missed it more than you realized. The close proximity of your bodies had you growing breathless, and your fingers grasped at the fabric of his button down. 

“I…can we…” You couldn’t get the words out. But he knew what you wanted. 

“You need me, honey?”

You nodded, caught off guard when tears welled in your eyes. “Please,” you whimpered pitifully. It hit you hard, like a blow to the chest. You hadn’t expected the feeling to be so intense, but now you were leaning into him for support, afraid your knees would give way if you tried to stand on your own. 

“I’ve got you. Let’s go to the bedroom, okay?”

With his arm secured around you, he led you to the room. There, he guided you to sit on the bed before he turned on the little beside lamp on the nightstand. It didn’t give off much light, but it did cast a soft, warm glow over the bed. 

And then he was in front of you again, but this time, he was kneeling, placing his hands on your knees as he looked up at you. “If you want to stop at any time, you tell me, alright?”

You nodded. 

“Words, lovey.”

“Yes sir.”

He wanted to be a little more careful with you in this moment. Not that he wasn’t careful with you all the time, but he had a feeling you needed a little more tenderness than usual. Having your life threatened was a harrowing experience. He wanted to give you the intimacy and closeness you needed. He wanted to be a comfort to you. 

As he rose to his feet, a big, gentle hand cupped your cheek. You lifted your head, gazing up at him. His thumb lovingly stroked your bottom lip, and you instinctively opened your mouth, wrapping your lips around the digit. 

He watched in awe as your eyes began to grow glassy, and your gaze softened. All it took was his thumb in your mouth to turn you pliant. He smiled fondly, his eyes twinkling. 

And what beautiful eyes they were. You gazed up into them, so clear and blue, but somehow dark in the lowlight, as if the bright blue had turned brown. You could feel the tension leaving your body as you suckled on his thumb. The taste of his skin was familiar and soothing. 

“Poor thing. Just needed to shut your brain off for a bit, huh?” He murmured. 

“Mhm,” you hummed around his thumb. 

“I’ve got you. Don’t have to do any thinking with me. I’ll do it all for you.”

You liked the sound of that. You could let go of the stressors. Your circumstances. Your position as daughter of the President of the United States. Your political commitments. All of it could be forgotten, if only for a little while. 

So you gave yourself to him. To your Bobby. You let him take care of you, because he knew what was best at that moment in time. 

“C’mere,” he said. He took a seat on the bed, his back leaning against the headboard. As you scrambled over to him, he caught you, pulling you into his lap so that you were straddling him. His hands rested at your hips. Your own fell to his broad shoulders. The muscles rippled beneath your touch. 

With your body slotted against his like this, you felt so warm and secure. Like you were meant to fit together. In the warm glow of the lamp, and in the softness of the bed, it all felt so domestic. As if you truly were husband and wife, living in your little cabin in the woods. 

And then your mind began to wander, and you considered what it might be like if he truly was your husband. If you were allowed to live out your relationship without fear of being found out. 

You wanted that, you realized. You wanted it so badly. But you couldn’t have it. Not yet. So instead, you played pretend. You dove forward, connecting your lips with his, kissing him deeply, pouring all the passion you had into it. And he kissed you back with just as much fervor. 

Your hands moved from his shoulders to rest upon the sides of his neck. Your fingers slipped through the hair at the nape of his neck, nails ever so lightly scraping at the skin, making him shiver against you and moan into your mouth. 

You rotated your hips downward in the process, and he gasped, his grip tightening on your waist. So you moved your hips again. And again. Soon, you were rutting against him, searching out that delicious friction. The seam of your shorts caught against you in just the right place, and the stimulation had his cock hardening beneath you. 

He let his head thunk back against the headboard, biting his lip and closing his eyes. “Oh, just like that, honey,” he encouraged, breathless. 

“Feels so good,” you whined. 

“I know. Been too long, hasn’t it?” he cooed, bringing you closer so your forehead was pressed to his. 

“H-how long?” you wondered, shivering as he lifted his hips to meet your own. 

He remembered. Of course he did. “Last month. When you visited that one university.”

Oh, yes. Now you remembered. You’d really gone an entire month without touching him? No wonder you ached so terribly inside. You needed him. 

“Bobby,” you whimpered then. 

“I know, baby. I know.”

He was kissing you again, except this time, he rotated you, gently easing you onto the bed so he could hover over you. Then he began the reverent undressing of your body. He pulled your shirt over your head, leaving a kiss against your clavicle as he easily rid you of your undergarments. Then came your shorts and panties, tossed aside carelessly. 

This left you entirely bare to him, and oh, how naked you felt. But he distracted you from any trepidation you felt. He took your hands in his own, lifting them to his shirt, prompting you to unbutton it. Those big hands hovered over yours as you did, there to help if you were trembling too much to do it. 

In no time, the shirt was unbuttoned, and he tossed it to the floor before he made quick work of removing his white undershirt. Immediately, your hands splayed across his chest. Well-defined because he worked his ass off staying fit. His job was not for the faint of heart or body. He had to stay on top of his game. 

“If ya can stop ogling my chest for a minute, I’ll get my pants off,” he teased. 

You looked up at him before turning your head away shyly. He couldn’t help but hum in gentle amusement. You were just the most precious thing. 

Quickly, he shoved his pants and boxers down his legs, kicking them asunder, leaving you both naked as the day you were born. As soon as his body was slotted against yours, you sighed in deep relief. Finally. 

His mouth was on yours again, and his arms were at either side of your head, effectively caging you in. He overwhelmed your every sense, and it was glorious. In such close proximity, you could smell his cologne, and that natural, heady scent that could only be described as him. 

“Pretty girl,” he whispered in awe, his mouth trailing down your jaw, across your neck, over your collarbone. Reverence. Worship. 

As he kissed your heated skin, he moved to slip his hand between your thighs. Deft fingers tenderly parted your delicate folds, prodding at your entrance. First one finger, slid in deep. Then two. You whined into his mouth as he crooked those fingers upward, intent on locating that spongey little spot that made you shiver. 

It didn’t take him long. He knew your body so well. Knew exactly what to do to have you purring for him. You were so responsive to his touch as it was. 

“Gotta open you up for me, lovey,” he soothed. “Been a while since you took all of me.” 

Those fingers pumped in and out of you, and his thumb came up to swirl around your clit as he did so. You were oversensitive. Not only had you not been touched by him in over a month, but you hadn’t touched yourself, either. You’d hardly had any downtime, and when you did, you spent it resting. Now, you were so pent up that Bob’s gentle stimulation of your neglected pussy was already beginning to overwhelm you. 

In the meantime, he continued to trail searing kisses across your skin. Over the softness of your breasts. Teeth gently tugging at your pebbled nipples. Tongue soothing the sting. 

In the meantime, you grew wetter around his fingers, your body opening up to him, welcoming him in. And then he added a third finger, and you squealed, jolting against him. You felt his mouth curl into a smile against you.

Then he lifted his head to gaze down at the way your cunt stretched around those fingers. “Oh, look at this sweet little pussy. My fingers barely fit. I don’t know if it’ll be able to take my cock.”

He was teasing you. But in your hazy state, you took him seriously. “No! No, I can take it! Please, I need it!” You gasped. 

This prompted him to place his thumb in your mouth again. “Shh, I know. I’m gonna give it to you, I promise.” A gentle kiss to your lips before he leaned back. He removed his fingers from you, and you watched as he used the slick of your arousal as lubricant for his cock, smearing it over the velvety skin. You whimpered at the sight. 

You so desperately needed that cock inside you. Thick and heavy, with a blushed tip that was dripping with his own desire. You found yourself reaching for it, wrapping your fingers around him, longing to feel the heaviness in your hand. 

He gasped softly as your grip tightened and your thumb brushed over that pretty pink head, gathering the wetness that had gathered at the slit. You found yourself salivating, suddenly wishing he was in your mouth, warm on your tongue. But at the same time, you wanted to be filled by him so badly. It made you ache. 

Gently, he lifted your hand away, replacing it with his own. He slid the underside of his cock through your slick, and you both moaned lowly when the plush head caught at your clit. Again, he thrust his hips forward, teasing you. When he pulled back, he positioned himself at your entrance, slipping in only ever so slightly, enough to pull a desirous whine from you before he pulled back. 

“D-don’t tease,” you squeaked out. 

“I know. Just tryin’ to savor it. Might not get to do this again for a while.”

You pulled him down, kissing him deeply. “Don’t think about that right now. Just fuck me, Bobby. Please.”

“Uh-huh.” With his mouth open against your own, he finally inched his hips forward, moving so his arms were at either side of your head again, and his chest was pressed to yours. Forward, forward, forward, until…

“Oh!”

He was fully sheathed inside you, every last inch. It was the thickness that took your breath away. He felt so big, yet at the same time, it felt as if he was made to fit inside you in this way. You would never tire of the feeling of his body connected to yours. 

Bob couldn’t help but glance down, marveling at the way you stretched around him. He allowed himself a moment to bask in the feeling of the snug warmth. He had missed it so much. Missed you so much. “I love you,” he said with conviction. It warmed you to your core.

“Love you too,” you sighed out blissfully, eyes fluttering shut as you wrapped your legs around his waist, and your arms around those broad shoulders of his.

His hand caressed your face as he began to move, nudging his hips into yours. He kept things slow to begin with, intending to build up to a glorious crescendo. All the while, he held you close, resting his weight upon your body, grounding you, surrounding you. He cherished it all. The feeling of your warmth, the beating of your heart. A reminder that you were safe, that you were alive, that you were here, with him.

His mouth found its way to yours again, trailing down further to lave his tongue against your pulse point. “You are everything to me,” he breathed against your feverish skin. You were his life, his love, his angel.

You couldn’t speak, for you were too overwhelmed. Your heart sang, and the true reason for being here in thise safe house seemed to fade into the background as white noise. Your Bobby was on the forefront, infiltrating every one of your senses, wrapping you up in his love and adoration. You never wanted it to end.

As he began to quicken his pace, you held onto him tightly, every inch of your bodies touching, warm and familiar, safe and secure. You let yourself be vulnerable, let him chip away at the armor you always protected herself with. Oh, how good it felt to let him be your protector. He encased you in his warmth, and that warmth began to radiate throughout your body, thrumming deep within your belly. He kissed yu repeatedly, lips ever brushing against yours, swallowing your precious whimpers and moans, holding onto those sounds, locking them away in his memory.

In the back of his mind, he partly wondered if this would be the last time you were able to make love to each other. What if he slipped up and was dismissed from his duties, effectively barring him from ever being with you again? He hated that his mind went to such a morbid place, but it was hard to ignore.

But then you were drawing him in again with those soft sounds, sighing out his name, and your sweet pussy was fluttering around him, and he was brought back to the present moment. How could he let himself be anywhere else but here, with you in his arms? How could he let himself be distracted when the love of his life sighed and shivered in pleasure beneath him? Because of him?

“Feel so good,” you squeaked. Your eyes were closed, your brow furrowed in utter bliss. You looked rather adorable this way. He was so in love.

You were so wet, and he realized that you were quickly growing wetter by the minute. He could feel you dripping down against his heavy balls, and onto the bed covers below, and it only urged him to change his pace. You tightened your legs around his waist, inviting him deeper inside. As he thrust particularly deeply into you, you cried out softly. He’d bumped into that wonderful spot within you, sending you tightening around him, arousal slicking down the base of his cock. 

“Oh, right there!” You exclaimed, fingernails pressing crescent shapes into the skin of his back. He ducked a hand between you then, stimulating your sensitive little clit in such a way that your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open. The way you clenched around him again had him growling lowly, the heat of impending release already beginning to warm in his pelvis. How was he already so close? And then he remembered how long it had been since he’d had you like this, and it made sense.

He applied more pressure with his fingers, driving his hips forward with more force. He was hit with a sudden wave of desperation, wanting, needing you to come before he did. He’d stave off his own pleasure for as long as possible if it meant making you feel good. Beneath him, you were on fire, arousal rushing through your very being like raw electricity, consuming every part of you in its wake. And you let yourself be swallowed up in the feeling, suddenly overcome with intense emotion as tears began sliding down your cheeks. 

Bob cradled you against his chest, though he didn’t slow down. You needed him to keep going, and he wasn’t going to stop until you fell apart. And it was so close you could taste it, building and building and building. A vibration that began in your core, a peak that you were hurtling towards but couldn’t quite reach yet. It was a height that only your lover could bring you to. 

Sweet, tender love making turned into something so much more primal. His chest heaved against yours, and he growled deeply, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he kissed you. Warmth blossomed between you both, growing into a wild flame. Your bodies fell into a desperate push and pull, faster and harder and deeper, chasing the pleasure high that you knew was inevitable. 

He could feel you tighten around him like a vice, and he knew you were close. He let his forehead rest against yours, though he never stopped his movements. “You’re close, I can feel it,” he spoke in a broken whisper. 

“I-I am,” you whimpered pathetically, clinging to him tightly. 

“Then come for me, my love. Just let go.”

He continued to work you over, carrying you toward that edge. You trembled fiercely, breathing labored, growing even more so. Pleasure began to fizz through you like a firework brought to life, or a pack of Pop Rocks sprinkled on the tongue. Starting at your core and bubbling all the way to your fingers and toes. 

Your body went taut against his as the first waves of it began to hit you. Almost there, almost there, almost there. And then, without warning, it hit you. Washing over you like an enormous wave, intense as could be. Seconds later, you came with a wail, convulsing beneath him as the fire of your orgasm ravaged you, surging through the entirety of your being. You cried out his name, and he was there, holding you in his arms as he watched you come apart, losing yourself because of him. 

And as you came down, you sobbed. You buried your face against his chest, crying openly, still wrapped tightly around him. And he let you cry, keeping you close. But he also needed to find his own release, you realized. Even in your state of emotion, she pulled back a little, looking into his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were blown, but there was still a tenderness in his gaze. He wouldn’t pressure you for more if you weren’t ready to move on yet.

“P-please, Bobby. Wan’ you to come in me.”

How could he ever say no when you asked so sweetly?

Satisfied with your plea, he began moving again, finding the rhythm that he needed to bring himself to his end. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up, lovey?” He breathlessly spoke. 

Glassy eyed, you nodded, bottom lip quivering. “Need it so bad,” you begged. 

His face contorted into a look of beautiful euphoria. His jaw went slack, his eyes fell shut, and he let his head fall to the crook of your neck as the climax began to overwhelm him entirely. It washed over him with great force, rendering him absolutely boneless as he keened, your name falling from his lips in a soft whimper. Beneath him, you relished in the feeling of his essence seeping into you, even as tears continued to stain your cheeks. 

His hips stuttered a few more times against yours as he made sure to fill you with everything he had to give. And as he came down, trying to catch his breath, you made no move to part from one another.

There you lay, holding each other, basking in the afterglow as the weight of his body settled atop yours. When your tears ceased, Bob very carefully slid out of you, soothing your mewl of protest with an open-mouthed kiss. As he moved to rest upon his back, he tucked you into his side, and you rested your head on his chest, right over his still racing heart. 

Gentle fingers traced circles along your arm. You hadn’t realized that you’d zoned out a little, still drunk off pleasure, until his touch brought it back down to earth. 

You placed your hand against his chest, eyeing the rise and fall of each breath he took. For a while, neither of you said anything. And when the silence finally did break, it was Bob who broke it. 

“Need to get you cleaned up, lovey. Can’t let you fall asleep like this.” 

Despite your murmur of protest, he gathered you into his arms and carried you out of the bedroom and into the bathroom just a few feet away. 

You were so sleepy, it seemed that the events of the day were finally catching up with you, paired with the romp in the sheets you’d just gone on with Bob. You were in a haze as he tenderly cleaned you up and urged you to use the restroom. 

“I’ve got you,” his low, comforting voice assured you. You could allow yourself to remain in that hazy state, because you knew he would take care of you. He always did. 

He led you back to the bedroom, where he helped you change into the pajamas you had brought. Once you were taken care of, he tucked you into bed and kissed you on the forehead before he proceeded to ready himself for bed. A shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Easy, in case he needed to jump out of bed and tend to a threat in the middle of the night. 

Then he slipped into bed beside you, and you immediately snuggled into him, content to be in his arms, enjoying his warmth. You would cherish every last moment you had with him. Safe and secure, your head on his chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart. Oh, how you loved him. 

You were lulled into a deep, comforting slumber. In fact, it was the best sleep you’d gotten in weeks. Just his presence alone gave you rest. 

But while you slept peacefully, Bob remained awake. He couldn’t sleep, not when he had to watch over you. He was tempted to get up and do a perimeter sweep outside, just to make sure everything was safe. But you were sleeping so peacefully in his arms that he didn’t want to disturb you. 

At some point during the night, he did drift off into a light slumber, still partially alert, always ready to address danger, should it come knocking on the door. 

And, unfortunately, it did. 

At around 0400 hours, Bob was alerted to movement outside. It wasn’t loud. But there was a strange rustling in the woods, and the snapping of twigs. Instantly, his eyes were open, and he held his breath, hoping he’d just dreamt the sounds. But then he heard it again, and his heart seized in his chest. 

Without hesitation, he eased you out of his arms, and you remained sleeping while he slipped out of bed, grabbing his gun from the nightstand and rushing to put his earpiece back in his ear so he could communicate with White House security if need be. 

There were no windows in the bedroom, so he quickly and quietly scrambled to the front of the house, where he stopped at the window and discreetly lifted the edge of the curtain to peer outside. Sure enough, he saw two figures dressed in black gear approaching from the tree line. 

And that’s when he realized one of them was already at the door, working on the security keypad. Bob knew, in that moment, that he should have trusted his gut feeling from the beginning. Where the hell had Agent Simpson sent the two of you? Because there was no way this was a safe house if it was this easy to get into.

But there was no time to debate the security of the house. Danger was right on the doorstep, and his first priority was protecting you. So he sprang into action, rushing back to the bedroom where you slept peacefully. 

“Safe house is compromised,” he reported into his mic, just before he leaned down to shake you awake. 

“Copy. Get into the bunker. Sending backup now,” Simpson’s voice crackled to life in his ear.

Bob didn’t reply. He was too focused on waking you. “Hey, hey, need you to wake up for me, honey.” He shook you vigorously until you stirred from your slumber.

You stared up at him in confusion, your eyes bleary. “Bobby? Wha-?”

“No time. Get up, we need to get under the house now. They found us.”

That woke you up. Your eyes widened, and you sat upright, throwing the covers from your body as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. “How?!”

“I don’t know! Just come with me!” He yanked you to your feet, hands tight on your arms, catching you when you stumbled. 

Adrenaline coursed through you, wiping away the sleep-induced fog that had been cast over your brain. Bob’s remained closed firmly around your wrist and he pulled you after him out of the bedroom, intending to take you down into the bunker. But in a split second, he stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back with a surprised gasp.

He could only just catch sight of the door coming open. There was no time to make it to the trap door that would lead you to safety beneath the house. Going for it would result in the two of you being spotted and killed instantly. He had a split second to make a decision. This was life or death.

He whirled around, and in the darkness, you could see the wildness in his eyes, and it sent an icy shock of terror through you. Without a word, he clamped his hand over your mouth, silencing you before he pushed you back toward the bedroom.

Your heart pounded against your chest, your entire body trembling with fear as he released you and turned to shut the bedroom door silently. Thank God there was a lock on it, which he promptly turned, careful to do it silently. Then he whirled back around to face you. “Get under the bed. No matter what happens, you do not come out unless I tell you to.” His voice was so low it was barely audible, but you heard every word. And then, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your eyes filled with tears. You didn’t hesitate to follow his instructions, sinking to your knees and maneuvering your body underneath the bed. Bob yanked the covers down so they were hanging from the edge of the mattress, effectively obscuring you from view. It was only a temporary solution, but it would do.

Then, his hand closed around the cool metal of his gun, which he pulled from his waistband and positioned himself a few feet away from the door, weapon drawn, hands steady as he flipped the safety off. He could hear Simpson’s voice in his earpiece, asking for confirmation that the two of you had made it down into the bunker. But Bob couldn’t answer. Silence was what was going to keep you alive at the moment.

He placed his finger against the trigger, ready to pull it at any second. Whoever was on the other side of the door was quiet, but he could still hear them. Creeping closer and closer, inch by inch. And then, the doorknob rattled, and Bob felt his breath catch in his throat.

You pressed your own hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut. Bob’s eyes never left that door. He counted down in his head. Five. The silence was broken as the person threw their weight against the door. Four. Again, their body thudded against the door. Three. Two steps backward. Two. Bob realized what was about to happen. One. He threw his body to the side just as the sound of a gunshot rang through the house. Wood splintered. Smoke curled through the air. 

Bob had moved aside just in time. A second too late and he would be suffering from a gunshot wound. But just as quickly as he moved, his gun was in the air again, held steadily in front of him. As soon as he had the assailant in his sights, he fired. 

Beneath the bed, your hands came up to your ears, protecting them from the awful sound. You couldn’t see around the quilt obscuring your vision. You prayed silently that Bob was unharmed. And he was. He’d just put one perpetrator down. You’d heard the thud of the body hitting the floor. 

But he had no idea how many more there were. 

He would soon find out.

Seconds later, more footsteps. Bob fired. But the second man was expecting it, and kept his body partially hidden by the doorway as he lifted his rifle and aimed it at Bob. The secret service agent ducked quickly, firing his own weapon in retaliation. 

He put up a good fight. Really, he did. Bob had always been seen as a pacifist, and by nature, he was. But that didn’t mean he shied away from a fight. And when he did have to utilize physical force, there was a calculated tenacity with which he fought. He was a worthy opponent. 

He disarmed the second man quickly. Grazed his cheek with a bullet and used that split-second distraction to dive for the gun that belonged to the dead man on the floor. But then, a voice stopped him. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Bob looked up to find three men pointing rifles at his head. He was cornered. 

“Drop the fuckin’ weapon.”

He did. He was severely outnumbered. If he tried anything, he’d be shot dead on the spot. That would leave you entirely vulnerable and alone. 

The one in the middle stepped forward. He was tall. Dark hair. Beard. couldn’t have been much older than Bob himself. Dark eyes stared murderously at the agent kneeling on the ground. He never lowered his rifle. 

“We’re just here for the girl. Tell us where she is.”

“She’s not here,” Bob lied through his teeth.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. We staked you out. We know you brought her here. Now where is she, huh?” Then, he called out into the room in a singsong voice that made your skin crawl, “come out, come out wherever you are!”

“She’s not going to come out, because she’s not here!”

The stranger rolled his eyes. “Alright, then you won’t mind if I fire a couple of precautionary shots, right? Just to make doubly sure?” He aimed his gun at the bed you were currently stowed beneath. 

Bob’s stomach dropped. “Hey, there’s no reason to waste ammunition on–”

“Ah! So she is here!”

And just like that, it all fell apart.

One of the assailants forced Bob into a prone position on the floor, his gun pressed to the back of his head. He reached down and ripped Bob’s earpiece out of his ear, tossing it to the hardwood floor and stomping on it, effectively cutting off any and all communication with The White House. And then, Bob watched helplessly as you were dragged from beneath the bed, kicking and screaming. 

And all he could think, was that he’d failed you. 

“Bobby!” You wailed.

“Hey! What is it that you want, huh?! Money?! We’ll give it to you, I can make a call to Washington, get it wired to–”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” the man above him snarled, smacking him square in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. Bob’s vision went white as searing pain radiated through his skull. 

“It’s not about money,” said the one who had wrestled you from beneath the bed. “It’s about sending a message to her daddy.”

You whimpered in fright as he grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks hard. His expression was full of hatred. It chilled you to your very core. “We’ll make him wish he’d never taken office.”

“Let her go!” Bob cried desperately from the floor, though he was in no position to be making demands.

“No, I don’t think we will.” The man began to haul you out of the room, his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your screams. He glanced at the one standing over Bob. “Make sure he can’t follow us.” 

As you were dragged into the hall, you heard the sound of a single shot ring out, and you sobbed behind the hand pressed to your mouth. No!

But Bob wasn’t dead. He was very much alive, his teeth clenched so hard he was sure he would break them, letting out a muffled, tormented scream behind them. White hot pain traveled up his thigh, and with it, a violent sense of nausea overwhelmed him. His assailant had shot him in the leg. 

And then he was left alone in that bedroom, helpless to do anything as you were carried away, putting up a fight despite being overpowered. Crying out in absolute agony, Bob fought to drag himself upright, though his head spun and his leg throbbed wickedly. He had to stop them. Had to get to you. 

It took every ounce of strength in his being to pull himself upright, but by that time, it was too late. They had taken you outside. He’d never reach you in time. After everything he had done to keep you safe, he had lost you in the end. He would never forgive himself as long as he lived. 

But then, hope. 

All of the sudden, the sound of a helicopter approaching could be heart, and not long after, blinding white light shone through the front door. Moments later, a magnified voice called out, “Homeland Security! We have you surrounded!”

What happened next was a blur. There was shouting. So much shouting. Outside, you were blinded by the lights, reaching your hands up to shield your eyes. The sounds around you were deafening. Someone fired a shot. Then another. Hands grabbed at you. You had no idea who they belonged to. But they pulled you away from the men who had taken you, guiding you to the sidelines, away from the danger. 

But you didn’t want to go to the sidelines. You wanted to run back to your Bobby. “Let go! I need to see if Bobby’s alright!”

“Miss, we can send someone to check on him, right now I need you to—”

“No! They shot him! I have to know that he’s okay!”

You argued back and forth for a moment before you got the drop on the agent trying to restrain you. You threw your weight downwards and she released you out of surprise. You didn’t feel bad when you elbowed your way past her. You probably should have, because after all, she was just trying to do her job. But nothing else mattered to you in that moment than knowing Bob’s fate. If he was dying, you needed to be by his side to say goodbye. You weren’t about to miss your last chance to be with him.

So you made a dash for the house, ducking back inside, frantic. 

“Bobby!” You cried out, scrambling toward the bedroom. Sickening dread coursed through you. What were you about to walk in on? Would you find the love of your life dead on the ground? 

But then, you heard it. “I-in here!”

As soon as you burst into the room, you saw him. He’d tried to stand, but had crumpled to the ground in severe pain, and was now leaning back against the side of the bed, injured leg stretched out in front of him. 

“Oh dear God.” You rushed to his aid, dropping to your knees beside him. “I’m here! I’m right here!”

His pant leg was soaked with crimson, and he’d placed his hand over the wound, in effort to slow the bleeding. “I-I’m okay,” he assured you, gazing into your frightened face. “Can you get my belt for me? It’s on the floor on the other side of the bed.” It sounded as if it took great labor for him to get the words out. 

You didn’t hesitate. You jumped up and ran around to the other side of the bed, grabbing his belt. As soon as you handed it to him, he got to work tightening it around his thigh as a makeshift tourniquet. 

Voices could be heard out in the main room of the cabin. You knew that you would soon be separated. It sent a terrible wave of dread through you, and you reached for Bob. 

“Bobby,” you tearfully spoke. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assured you, his tourniquet finished. His clean hand came up to cup your cheek. “You’ll be in good hands. I’ll see you again real soon.”

“But I don’t—”

“Honey, listen to me. Need you to be my brave girl, okay? I can’t go with you. They’re gonna take me to the hospital. And after that there’s a whole protocol I have to go through. But those agents out there, they’ll get you to safety. I promise you.”

Weeping, you wrapped your arms around his neck once more before you pulled back, just as none other than Agent Simpson walked into the room, his gun drawn. 

Bob protectively placed an arm in front of you. “It’s all clear!” He called out. The assailant on the floor a few feet away from you both had long since been dead and did not pose a threat. Simpson still turned him over with his foot just to make absolutely certain that he was dead. 

Beau approached you, kneeling so that he was eye level with you. His expression was neutral, but there was sympathy in his eyes. “I need you to come with me. I’ll see to it that you get back home safely. The threat to your life has been neutralized.”

“Agent Simpson, he’s been shot,” you whimpered, motioning to Bob. 

“I see it. I’ve got a medic chopper on the way. We’ll transport him to the hospital. Right now, you’ve got two parents who are worried sick about you. Let’s get you back to them.”

“But—”

“Go with him,” Bob gently coaxed. “There’s nothing else you can do for me here. I’ll be fine.”

You gazed into his face, tears blurring your vision. “O-okay,” you whispered. 

You wanted so badly to kiss him goodbye. But even now, you were hyper aware of Simpson’s presence and you knew you couldn’t openly show romantic affection to Bob in front of him. 

So you allowed Agent Simpson to escort you from the room. You cast one more glance over your shoulder at your injured lover, before you finally left him behind. It felt like your heart was being torn in two. You longed to stay by his side, to board that medical helicopter with him and wait at the hospital while they tended to his injury. 

But you supposed you did have one thing to be grateful for. At least he wasn’t dead. 

As you were led outside, the early morning light was just beginning to peek over the horizon. It illuminated the carnage that had taken place. You gasped as you realized that the three remaining men who had tried to take you were dead. But there were others. Others you hadn’t seen. They were in custody, ready to be taken in for questioning. In one night, Homeland Security had succeeded in taking down a homegrown terrorist organization. 

But that begged the question: why on earth had they been after you? It didn’t matter, because no one would answer your question, anyway. 

You were led to a waiting car, where you realized Bradley Bradshaw and Natasha Trace were waiting for you. After what you had been through, you were relieved to see them. 

“Hey kid,” Bradley greeted you. 

“I sure am glad to see you,” you breathed. 

“We’re glad to see you, too,” Natasha replied. 

Bradley opened the door, and Nat slid into the seat first before you took your place in the middle, while he brought up the rear and closed the door behind him. 

Javy Machado, who was driving, glanced back at you. “Good to see you safe and sound,” he said with a small smile. 

You didn’t feel safe and sound. You felt harrowed and anxious. 

The entire drive to The White House, you didn’t say a word. You stared out the window and fought to hold back your tears. What had gone wrong? How had those men found you? It seemed too easy. As if you and Bob had been nothing more than sitting ducks. 

You were fortunate that all he had sustained was a shot to the leg. And you were even more fortunate that you had not been physically harmed. You were more emotionally scarred than anything. You weren’t sure how long it would take you to recover, but you knew you needed time. And most of all, you needed Bob. 

But that was out of the question. 

Instead, you had to hold your head high as you climbed out of the car once you had arrived at The White House. Waiting for you were Jake, Reuben, and Mickey. They reported your safe arrival through their mics, and then carefully led you into the building.

“Glad you’re home safe,” Jake softly told you.

You didn’t say a word. You couldn’t muster one. You were already steeling yourself for being reunited with your parents. You knew your mother would be teetering toward hysterics, and your father would likely be stoic, as he often was. You loved them, but you were overwhelmed.

Your mind was elsewhere, longing for your Bobby.

Meanwhile, he was just arriving at the hospital, where a team of medical personnel had already been warned of his arrival. He was a little delirious from the blood loss and the pain, but he could hear the terms they were throwing back and forth. 

They were going to operate immediately. 

“Agent Floyd?” A woman’s voice filled his ears. She was strawberry blonde, with kind blue eyes that reminded him of his mother’s. “I’m Doctor Vitarella. We’re gonna get this bullet outta you as fast as we can, alright?”

He mumbled something in reply, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Then an oxygen mask was placed over his face, and he found himself slipping into a dark and dreamless slumber. The first thing he noticed when he woke a few hours later was the cast.

As consciousness washed over him, he gazed down at it, stretching from his foot to the top of his thigh. Still groggy, he glanced around the room, and saw a nurse walking into the room with a clipboard in hand. She looked up and realized that he was awake. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Floyd,” she said with a smile. “I’ll go get the doctor. She’ll want to talk to you.”

She scurried away before he could say anything. About five minutes later, the woman he vaguely remembered as Doctor Vitarella walked into the room. “You, sir, gave me a run for my money in the operating room,” she said.

Bob looked at her confusedly, still not fully out of his anesthesia-induced haze. 

“When the bullet entered your leg, it fractured your femur. I inserted a rod into your leg to provide solid support to the bone. But you should know that the second it came in contact with the bone, the bullet broke into a bunch of tiny little pieces. My team and I did the best that we could, but I must inform you that there are still leftover fragments in your leg. I could not get those out without causing more damage.”

As he mulled over her words, Bob only had one question. “Will I be able to use my leg again?”

“With proper physical therapy, yes. But you’ll likely live with lasting pain. I wish I had a better prognosis for you, but what matters is that we stopped the bleeding and set the bone.”

He nodded solemnly. There were still bullet fragments in his body. A constant reminder of what he had been through. He felt as if he hadn’t let it fully sink in yet. Everything had been such a blur. Being carried on a stretcher out of the safe house because he couldn’t walk. Being placed into a helicopter and then rushed into the hospital.

And now here he was, on his back in a hospital bed, his leg aching something fierce. No, not aching. Throbbing. As the fog began to clear from his brain, the pain set in, and he groaned softly. His head was pounding. His leg hurt enough to prompt him to clench his teeth.  “Could I get some, uh, pain meds?” He asked.

“I’ll have the nurse bring you some.”

A while later, he had been given his medicine, but it just barely took the edge off the pain. There was no distraction from it. He didn’t want to watch whatever mindless show that was playing on the television. He didn’t have his phone to scroll through. He had nothing. The only thing that made it even slightly bearable was the thought of you. 

He wondered how you were faring. He wondered if you even knew of his condition. Had anyone updated you? He imagined that you were demanding to know how he was. 

And you were. You had informed Agent Simpson yourself that you wanted a report of Bob’s health. You had to know that he was okay. Thankfully, as soon as Beau knew something, he called you right away.

“He’s gonna be okay, kid,” he said, “bullet fractured his femur, and they put him in a cast. But he’s gonna be okay.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, thanked Beau for the update, and hung up the phone. Seconds later, you burst into tears. Your Bobby was going to be okay.

But his worries were far from over. 

He was given a couple days to rest, but on his third day in the hospital, Agent Simpson walked through the door of his hospital room, and he knew it had begun. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, making courteous small talk. 

“Like hell,” Bob muttered in reply. 

Beau nodded. “Sorry to hear that.” And then, he brandished a folder from a briefcase. “I hate to jump right into business, but…I have no other choice.” He pulled up a chair and sat at Bob’s bedside. “There are a few things I need to clear up.”

“Go ahead.”

“First and foremost, why did you not utilize the bunker beneath the house? The two of you were sitting ducks where you were.”

Bob stared at his superior. “I tried. But they were in the house before I could get her there. So I hid her under the bed.”

“And why were you not aware of the threat before then? Did you not do a thorough enough perimeter sweep?”

His tone was slightly accusatory. At least, Bob took it as such. His eyes narrowed. “No disrespect, sir, but what the hell kind of safe house was that? They never should have been able to breach it that easily.” He paused for a beat, awaiting an explanation.

“I think you might already know the answer to that, agent.”

“It wasn’t a safe house at all, was it?”

Beau sighed, shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

Now Bob was angry. “Y’know, my gut told me that something wasn’t right, and I just brushed it off. But I should’ve listened. You used her as bait, didn’t you? And I went right along with it like a fool.”

“Floyd, this was a tricky situation we were dealing with here. We’ve been tracking this group for months. Our only chance at luring them out was to use her as a decoy. By doing that, we in turn saved her life.”

“How is that any better?! You can’t just use someone as live bait!”

“I didn’t like doing it either, in fact it was my absolute last resort. But it worked, didn’t it? President’s daughter is safe and sound. Terrorist group has been disbanded. We have the few remaining ones in custody. It’s over. The threat to her life and our government has been neutralized.”

“And what if it didn’t work? What if she’d been killed?”

“But she wasn’t. There’s no use thinking about the what ifs. What’s done is done.”

“Does she know she was used as bait?”

Simpson shook his head, his gaze hard. “No. And it’s going to stay that way.”

Several moments of silence passed. Bob processed what he’d just been told. This entire time, he had tried so hard to keep you safe. Tried so hard to keep the danger away. And yet, the danger had still found you, all because the very administration he worked for had led them right to you. 

A sick feeling churned in his gut. He felt dirty. He hadn’t been protecting you at all. He’d been offering you up to the very men who were after you, and he didn’t even know it. 

“What did the president think about his daughter being used to lure her potential killers in?” His tone was bitter. He couldn’t help it. 

“He was in agreement that it was the most effective way of eliminating the threat.”

“So I was the only one who wasn’t clued in to this plan?”

The agent looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Yes, because just from my own personal assessments and observations of you as an agent, I knew you wouldn’t go along with it otherwise. And she needed to be kept entirely in the dark. It was better that way.”

Bob’s head was spinning. “So really I was just used as a pawn?”

“You have to understand that this was a matter of national security. And sometimes you have to play dirty for the sake of the greater good.” He firmly believed that this had been the most effective course of action. 

“I…I’m gonna need a minute to sit with this,” Bob continued. 

“You don’t have a minute, Bob. I’m going to need you to fill out a report about what happened. You do not say one word about what I just shared with you. Just report what you saw, how you reacted, and nothing more or less.”

“So you want me to lie.”

“Some things are meant to be confidential. This is one of those things. Just report what you witnessed, agent. I’ll handle the rest.” He placed the folder, marked CONFIDENTIAL, onto Bob’s lap. Then he clicked a pen and set it on top.

Bob stared at it. Could he really do this? His superior expected him to. The president expected him to. But his mind wandered to you, and the senseless trauma you had endured because of it. In his heart, he knew that if Agent Mitchell was still in charge, this situation would have been handled differently. He would have done everything in his power to ensure you were not used as bait.

But Pete Mitchell’s days in The White House were over. Bob had no choice but to follow the new leadership put in place. So he went along with what was being asked of him, even though it went against everything he stood for, everything he believed.

He penned a lie on that report. Described what had happened, as if he had no idea about the plot to use you to lure your attackers straight to you. He dotted every i and crossed every t. And when he was done, he shoved the file back into Beau Simpson’s hands. 

“You got what you came for. Now get out.” Bob didn’t care that he was speaking disrespectfully to a superior. It didn’t matter anymore. 

Simpson left without a word. And Bob was alone again.

That interaction changed everything for Bob. It made him question his very morals. Could he really allow himself to be part of an administration that purposely put the very members it was supposed to be protecting in harm’s way? This left him with much to consider. He had a decision to make.

He finalized that decision the day you came to visit him.

Escorted by Bradley, Jake, and Natasha, who all respectfully waited outside the room once they brought you to it, you came through the door, so eager to see the man you loved. You shut the door behind you, allowing you both some privacy.

As you took in his form, tears sprang to your eyes. His left leg was in a full cast. There was a bandage around his head from the injury he’d sustained from being hit in the head with a gun. But what mattered was that he was alive, and he was going to be okay.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered as you approached him, unable to keep the tears from sliding down your cheeks. 

He mustered a smile. “Hey there, sweet girl.”

You leaned down, oh so carefully wrapping your arms around him in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about. I’m okay.”

You pulled back, looking into his face before you lovingly stroked his cheek. He let his eyes flutter shut, relishing in your touch, so comforting and familiar. It distracted him from his pain and made him feel less alone. 

“They told me the bullet fractured your femur?” You finally found your voice a few moments later. As you spoke, you took a seat on the edge of the bed. Bob’s hand lifted to rest in your lap, and you placed your own hands over top of it. 

“Yeah. They put a pin in me. Got a bionic leg now,” he teased. But then, he grew serious. “When the bullet hit my bone, it broke into a bunch of little fragments. They took out most of them, but I’ve still got some floating around in there.”

You frowned, wiping at your tear dampened cheeks with the back of your hand. “How does that work? Will they ever be able to get them out?”

“The doc told me she couldn’t. Said it would cause more damage if she tried. So I’ll just have them inside me forever.”

Your heart broke for him. “I’m sorry they did this to you. All because you were trying to protect me.”

“Hey,” he interjected, hand moving to tip your chin up. “Don’t you ever think of blaming yourself. I’d do it again a million times over as long as it meant that you were safe. You’re what matters most to me in this world. I don’t want to live in one without you in it.”

“And I don’t want to live in one without you in it, either,” came your reply. 

His fingers wiped away your tears. There was so much he longed to say. He wanted so badly to tell you the truth. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. What good would it do? It would only bring more grief upon your shoulders. He didn’t want to cause you anymore pain than you’d already been through. 

But, with his next words, he ended up hurting you anyway. 

“I need to tell you something.”

His tone gave you pause. He was serious. “What is it?” You cautiously asked. 

“I…I’ve decided to step down from my job.”

You stared at him. “What?”

He sighed softly. “This injury’s going to have me out for months. And honestly, by the time it does heal, I just have this feeling that it won’t ever be the same again. I won’t be as effective at my job as I was before. So I’m making the decision to resign.”

But you were shaking your head, a fresh wave of tears filling your eyes. “Bobby, no. You can’t leave. I need you.”

“Sweetheart, my mind is made up.”

“Why? Because I know this isn’t just because of your leg. What happened? Did my dad threaten you?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

He sighed, shaking his head. How could he word it in a way that wouldn’t expose what he’d just sworn to keep secret? “I…I was asked to do something that goes against everything I believe. And I just can’t remain with this administration while knowing I was asked to do it.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What—”

“That’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Then what? You’re just going to leave? What does that mean for us?”

“We’ll figure it out. I know we will.”

You paused for a moment, looking down at your intertwined hands. More tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t want you to leave,” you whimpered. “You’re the one I feel safest with. I-I know everyone else is just as capable of looking after me but I want you, Bobby.”

It broke his heart to do this to you. And it filled him with uncertainty, too. He wasn’t sure what this would mean for your relationship. But he knew he couldn’t keep going on in secret. And he couldn’t continue to serve an administration that could potentially put you in danger again in the name of national security. 

“I don’t want to leave, either. But I have to.”

You squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. You should be allowed to make this decision without me causing a fuss about it. Do what you feel is best. I’ll support you no matter what.”

He lovingly stroked your cheek. “That means the world to me, honey. I’m sorry to break the news to you like this, after everything you went through. But I just wanted you to know before anyone else. I haven’t even told your dad or Agent Simpson yet.”

“Well, thank you for telling me. But I don’t know what I’m gonna do with myself, not seeing you everyday. God, I’m going to miss you so much, Bobby.” Your voice wavered. You were barely holding it together.

“Hey, c’mere.” He pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you, letting you rest your head on his chest, over his heart. “We’re gonna be okay, you and me. We’ll figure it out. Somehow, some way.” He kissed the top of your head. 

You hoped he was right.

After that initial visit to the hospital, you tried to visit him as often as possible. Your security team was more than happy to tag along each day, because they loved Bob, too. And you cherished those quiet moments in that hospital room, without the eyes of the world on you.

Outside of that hospital, you had to face the public. Had to deliver statements about what happened that night in the safe house. Had to assure the American people that you were just fine, that the brave United States Secret Service and Homeland Security agents did their jobs well. Because of them, an entire domestic terrorist organization had been quashed. In America’s eyes, it was a great victory.

But you couldn’t help but feel like a spectacle. The girl who’d survived a harrowing attack on her life. You were made to relive that night over and over and over again. And finally, in the end, you’d had enough. In the following weeks, you came to terms with a lot of personal things. 

Namely, you came to terms with wanting to separate yourself from your family’s administration. You would never be able to erase the fact that you were the president’s daughter. And your life would never be normal. You would need a security detail for the rest of your life. But you were done living within the confines of The White House. 

The only time you had ever been away from it was when you were at college. After graduation, you came back to work as part of your father’s administration. But for your own sanity, you knew you needed to step down and find your own path. 

So you told your parents as much. You informed them that your mind was made up, that you were going to buy a home for yourself and live your life separate from them. You no longer wanted a foot in the door of politics. It was time to pursue your true passions.

And that was just what you did. 

You bought a house deep in Wyoming, of all places. A nice plot of land, spacious enough for owning horses or cows, and for planting a nice sized garden. It was quiet and secluded and the perfect respite after spending the last six years in The White House.

In the time leading up to your move, Bob was in the throes of physical therapy. His leg was healing well, and he was working hard to regain his strength. During those months, the two of you decided that it would be best to distance yourselves from one another, only because you did not want to raise suspicions about your relationship. You attending each one of his physical therapy sessions came across as suspicious, in your mind.

So you allowed him to focus on getting better, while you focused on starting your new life. You missed him so deeply, but your separation was only temporary. You planned to meet again, as soon as he was ready to travel, and you were situated in your new home. You also wanted the media attention on your safe house to die down.

Eventually, it did, and the world moved on to something else to panic about.

But you? You tuned it all out. You stayed out of the news, you stayed out of politics, and you tried to bring some sense of calm normalcy to your life. You no longer needed a full security detail. It was with a heavy heart that you bid farewell to a few of them, leaving only Natasha, Mickey, and Bradley as your remaining security. They helped ensure that your home was always safe, and that you were protected.

But there was still one part of your life that remained incomplete. A void that could only be filled by your Bobby.

And finally, after several months, the day came that you would be reunited. He was strong enough to travel again. He had officially resigned from his job in The White House. He returned to civilian life, and packed up the minimal amount of belongings he had, placing them in the trunk and backseat of his car.

He drove over fifteen hours just to get to you. And it was worth it to him. After not seeing you for months, all he wanted was to hold you in his arms and never let go. So he drove. And he drove. And he drove. Until finally, he was standing at your front door, his hands trembling as Natasha let him in, and informed him that you were out back, in the stable.

So he ran. Ignoring the residual ache in his bad leg, he dashed behind the house, where the stable was, and he kept going into he was standing in the wide doorway. His feet skidded against concrete and hay, and his eyes searched. There you were. Dressed in jeans, riding boots, and a t-shirt. One he recognized as an old shirt of his, which you had snagged from him in the early days of your secret relationship.

You heard him approaching. Heard his feet skid to a halt at the doorway. And your heart quickened in your chest. You turned in what felt like slow motion, your gaze falling upon the man you loved, standing at the entrance of your stable, breathless.

“Bobby,” you whispered.

You weren’t sure who moved first. But in an instant, you were both running toward each other. You met halfway, arms coming out to catch the other, to embrace the other. “You’re here! You’re really here!” Came your cry.

“I’m here.” And then he was kissing you. Arms secure around your body, lips soft and familiar. He kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. And you kissed back. Not even your mingled tears caused you to part. You didn’t want to. It was as if you were afraid this would all be a dream if you pulled away.

When you did part, he was smiling. That sweet smile that made his eyes disappear behind his cheeks. That sweet smile that made your heart sing. “Oh, I missed you!” you sobbed. 

“I missed you too, honey. So, so much.”

You embraced again. He spun you around in a circle, and you giggled musically, overjoyed. He was finally here, with you, where he belonged. After months of waiting, months of agony, months of uncertainty, he was in your arms. No longer as the head of your security detail, but as the man you loved.

“I just can’t believe this is real,” came your soft confession.

“Believe it. This couldn’t be more real,” he assured you.

You held his face in your hands. “Oh, my sweet, beautiful man. I’m never going to let you out of my sight again.”

“Good, because I’m here to stay.”

You shared several more moments in that stable, holding each other, still in disbelief that it was finally over. The years of secrecy, the sneaking around behind the scenes. You didn’t have to hide anymore. You were allowed to love each other freely and openly.

Together, you walked back to your house that night, arms around each other, swaying as you walked, happy and content and relieved. You enjoyed a wonderful dinner, just the two of you, as the three remaining members of your security team had excused themselves to their own quarters to allow you privacy.

A lot had changed in the time that you’d been apart. You told Bob all you’d been doing, and he informed you what stepping down from his job, and enduring all that physical therapy, had been like. 

He was no longer part of the secret service, and he never would be again. The fear of being found out and losing his position was no longer on the table. There were no superiors to appease. No presidents to serve. He was free to be his own man. To live his life. To love who he wanted.

To love you.

Things were not automatically perfect now that he was with you. But they were better. You would have to figure out some things. And eventually, you would have to tell your family that you were in a relationship with him. But for now, you could live in peace, if only for a brief moment in time. You were safe, on your little farm in Wyoming, with the man you loved. It was your own little slice of heaven. 

And after all the difficulty you had endured, you were more than content with that. You could figure everything else out later. For now, you would live in that domestic bliss for just a little while longer. You’d earned it, after all. 

Finally, it was your turn to live your life the way you wanted to, and not the way others dictated you should.

-

taglist (a mix of those already on the list/who might be interested):

@bradshawsbitch @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts @delopsia @milesmillergf @ohtobeleah @purelyfiction @honeymurdock @ihavealewproblem @high-speed-r @happyrebelruins @chasing-fics @roostersgirlfrxend @bradshawsbaby @whisperofsong @hangmanapologist @callsign-magnolia @callsignmedusa @withahappyrefrain @up-thereinthesky @peachystenbrough @damrlova @lovinglyeternal @laracrofted @bobfloydsbabe @nobody7102 @agentorange9595

[midnightsnyx]

girl at home | mat barzal | part 4

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader summary: you’re eighteen when you find yourself pregnant after Mat leaves for hockey. nearly eight years later, Mat finds out about your daughter and you have to deal with the consequences of not telling him about her.

warnings: not edited, angst, mentions of alcohol, pregnancy, food word count: 1.3k authors note: sorry it's late & short but i was sick and then had writers block. i hope u guys like it!! if u like it let me know but if you hate it also let me know. also HUGE thanks to @barzysbaby for the help with this chapter!! it probably wouldn't have been finished without your help! if anyone wants to be added or taken off the tag list, let me know! you can shoot me a dm, send an ask or fill out my tag list form.

requests are open 🫶🏻 masterlist masterpost ask box taglist form

After your unexpected heart-to-heart with Mat, you begin to realize that you’re starting to tread on some thin ice with your relationship with him. Letting those feelings you’d tucked away start to come back was a recipe for disaster because you had Nora to think about. If he really wanted to be a part of her life, the two of you couldn’t start a relationship because if it went wrong, it would ruin the opportunity for him to be in her life comfortably. 

However, the problem is how perceptive Nora can be. 

Letting yourself have ‘just one moment’ with Mat last night was a bad idea because you wake up on the couch the next morning, Mat holding you close, and a grumpy six-year-old demanding breakfast. 

“Eggs please,” Nora demands, curious eyes watching you and Mat. When you make no move to get up off the couch and get her breakfast, she stomps a foot and crosses her arms.

“Grandma said I could have eggs for breakfast,” she says and then pauses before adding: “and she said I could have pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes.”

“You’re not at grandma’s, are you?” you reply, watching her frown. 

“Well then can you bring me to grandma’s?” she replies without missing a beat.

You open your mouth to tell her no, you won’t be bringing her to grandmas with that attitude when Mat interrupts. 

“I’ll make some pancakes,” he mumbles sleepily, sitting up and pulling you with him. You turn to tell him no but your mouth goes dry because you forgot how good he looks in the morning. You’re staring long enough that he notices and a smirk tugs at his mouth but he doesn’t say anything, instead standing up and offering a hand to Nora. 

“Let’s go make mom some pancakes,” he says and she smiles up at him and it’s just so damn domestic that you want to cry.  

You watch them walk over to the kitchen and start preparing the ingredients while you sit there, trying to pull yourself together. He’s falling so seamlessly into being a parent that you can’t decide how to feel. His attentiveness and patience with her could be temporary and then when he realizes how hard being a parent really is, you’ll be left to clean up the mess he leaves behind. On the other hand, he might be serious about the entire thing and everything could work out.

Nora's giggles catch your attention and you look to see Mat cracking an egg on her forehead like the video he had sent you a few days ago, claiming that he would try it on Nora. Almost as if he can sense that you’re watching them, he looks up and catches your eye and grins, tilting his head slightly.

“You wanna help or just sit there all morning?” he teases so you stand up and make your way to the kitchen to stand next to Nora, kissing the forehead when she grins up at you. 

“How can I help?”

. . .

It was inevitable that the hockey world would catch wind that Mathew Barzal had a child. Whether it was his now ex-girlfriend, or just someone from home that spilled the beans, suddenly all the sports sites had articles up about it. They can't legally say Nora’s name or show photos of her because she’s still a minor, but they can definitely dig up old high school pictures and find your instagram.

It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together for people to realize that you were his baby mama. You had to turn your social media accounts private because you were suddenly having people comment on your photos, and sending DM’s. Most of them weren’t the nicest, accusing you of kid-trapping Mat and while you knew that it was useless to be upset over it, it was hard. They didn’t and would never know the details but it bothered you to no end, and unfortunately, you took your frustration out on Mat, who took whatever you threw at him. You said things you regretted the next morning and he would just smile and tell you it was fine. 

But it wasn’t, and everything crashed down about two weeks after the first article was posted. You woke up to your phone buzzing, calls and texts from your mom, Jax, some other friends and even Liana. 

And a single text from Mat that had just two words, and a link attached.  

baby daddy: I'm sorry. instagram.com/matbarzal 

It was a statement, clearly written by a PR Manager from the Islanders organization. The statement basically said that Mathew Barzal did not in fact have a child. It was just a rumor floating around that a disgruntled fan spread. A lot of people called it bullshit, saying that it was PR cleaning up a mess, which technically they were doing. Then, there were the fans and journalists who did believe the statement and tried to take back whatever they may have said that was mean. 

It wasn’t the things other people were saying about it though, it was what Mat wasn’t saying. After the post, he ghosted you for four days, ignoring all the texts and calls even when they were about Nora. Liana and Nadia still asked to see Nora on the weekend that she normally does so you dropped her off Friday evening, noticing that Mat’s car was nowhere to be seen. Nadia and Liana didn’t say anything about the situation, just thanking you for letting Nora stay over for the night and promising to call if anything came up. You didn’t have anything planned so you went back to your apartment, hoping to catch up on some overdue work you’d been letting pile up.

Halfway through writing a draft for a chapter, there’s a knock on your door. You’re once again suspecting it to be Nadia or Liana with Nora but you come face to face with Mat.

Again.

His eyes are trained on the ground, refusing to meet yours. There are a thousand things you want to say, most of them not nice at all but what comes out is: “beer?” 

His head shoots up, clearly not expecting that response from you but he nods his head and walks in when you step to the side. He toes off his shoes and walks straight towards the kitchen. By instinct, he opens the fridge to get himself a drink and then pauses, looking at you sheepishly.

“Beer?”

“Water,” you reply and he nods, passing you a bottle of water. You both sit at the kitchen island, drinking your respectable drinks in silence until he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know that they were going to write that. Our public relations manager wrote it and just told me to post it. My agent asked her to clean things up a little because it was getting out of hand. I didn’t want to hurt you or Nora, I swear.” 

“It’s too late for that,” you say sharply. “You said you want to be in Nora’s life but she can’t be a secret, Mat! You can’t say you want to try, and then turn around and tell the world that she’s not yours. If you’re not going to be in this one-hundred percent, then you shouldn’t be here at all.” 

He must take your last statement as a dismissal because he stands up, slips his shoes on and leaves, closing the door a little harder than necessary. 

You sit in silence far too long, part of you foolishly hoping that Mat will come back but you know he won’t. Not today at least. So, you go back to working on your draft but you can’t focus. Part of you wants to try and put yourself in his shoes, to try and understand why he didn’t fight harder against what public relations wanted but you can’t. You can’t imagine not being Nora’s mom and you wonder if maybe this is the way out he was hoping for. Maybe he decided that being a parent was fun for a little while, but when he understood the real consequences and struggles that come along with it, he realized he didn’t want it. That he didn’t want Nora.

Maybe this is his out.

tag list: @literatureluster @dasiysthings @barzyblogbabe @teapartydreams @diary-of-jj @heatherawoowoo @fallinallincurls @topguncultleader @shadowsndaisies @lovinbarzal

[fettuccin-e]

Angel Incarnate

Kinktober Day 7: Soft and Slow

Tags: Javier Peña x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv, slight breeding kink, really really light angst, domesticity, javi is finally happy guys okay (w/c: 1K)

A/N: Alright so this is so fluffy it hardly even feels like a kinktober prompt but y'know what javi has his dick out so it counts okay. anyway i had a really fun time writing this because i love it when sad characters are happy it brings me insurmountable joy (For the month I've been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)

Everything around him has always been so violent. His world has always been bloody and bruised and chaotic, and Javier had always supposed that it was just meant to be that way.

He didn’t deserve anything better than the angry pain of Bogatá. He’d hurt too many people, ripped apart too many lives to be redeemed, to deserve any kind of sweetness. His life boiled down to blood and tears, the endless race against the narcos too much to take anything slow. The only sex he had was rough and violent, just like his life, just like his soul.

Getting back to Laredo, to his father’s ranch, had been a kind of culture shock that he didn’t think he could experience anymore. The lack of gunfire, the lack of violence, day in and day out, had him reeling.

He’d tried burying himself in the work, fixing up his childhood home and tending to the cattle and the horses, hardly venturing into town at all. The people who knew Javi, the young man who left Laredo with a bride at the altar for a life as an agent, did not need to know Javier, the broken, hollow, shell of a man. He didn’t need their pity, their looks of confusion mixed with sympathy.

He regrets those first few months now, the ones that he spent hiding from the rest of the world. After all, the first time he went out into town, went into the only little library for miles, he found you.

And you, God, you’re so different. So kind and patient, even when he’s rough with you, even when he tries to push you away. It’s a kind of slow, soft sweetness that sings through his bones, that makes him feel human again. 

You’re slow with him, gentle in a way that he hasn’t been treated in years. He feels precious here, with you, between the soft sheets of your shared bed, as you roll your hips on top of him, taking him slow and so deep inside of you.

He wants to grip your hips so hard they bruise, roll you over and slam into you until you’re sobbing and writhing from the pleasure of it. He wants to press your face into the pillows and fuck you hard into the mattress. 

But he holds back, just like you want him to. Let yourself just feel, Javi, you had told him one day, after he’d taken control from you, just like he wants to right now. We don’t have to rush.

So he doesn’t. He brushes his hands along your waist, relishing in your soft skin as  you drop yourself down on his cock, over and over again. You gasp as he stretches you apart.

“That’s it, baby, so beautiful for me,” Javier murmurs. “That feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod, whining as he guides you down to grind deep into your g-spot. “It’s so- it’s so good, Javi. You feel so big like this.”

Javier groans as you clench around him, tight and wet and fucking perfect. The soft morning light filters through the curtains you put up last week, illuminating your skin and enshrining you like an angel. You are an angel, he thinks, as close to heaven as he’ll ever get.

He leans up, searching for a kiss that you gladly grant him. He loves kissing you, licking into your mouth and tasting you as you moan for him.

You curl your hands into his hair, grown longer with his time away from the DEA. The one time he’d asked you about cutting it, you’d protested so hard he’d laughed for thirty minutes straight. He’d started letting it grow after that.

You lean back up, undulating your hips in a way that has him groaning, pulling on your hips to help you along.

“You want to cum, Javi?” you murmur, pulling him in so fucking deep his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Por favor, nena, si,” he gasps, and God, you’re the only one that can make him beg like this. To make him desperate like this.

“Come on, honey, fill me up,” you coo, and Javi is lost to it. His hips jerk up of their own accord, pumping into you involuntarily with his orgasm. He spills into you without the fear of knocking you up, knowing that there’s no violence, no uncertainty with you. A small, not-so-secret part of him actually hopes it’ll take.

You whine above him, pushing your hips down on him over and over, frantic for your climax. He reaches a hand between you both and rubs slow, hard circles into your clit, and fuck, the way you cum will always steal the breath from his lungs. Your eyes clench shut, your mouth exhaling a beautiful, melodic little moan as you rock yourself on his cock, working yourself through it.

“That’s it, beautiful, so fucking good to me, so pretty for me,” he husks, and you curl yourself over him, meeting his lips in a sticky-wet kiss that has you both desperate for more. He palms his hands over your back, pulling you down to rest on top of him as you both breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

You both don’t move for a long time, content to bask in each other’s warmth as the morning sun rises, bringing another day to spend together. It’s a kind of peace, a kind of contentment, he’d thought was a pipe dream for so, so long.

“How did I ever find you?” He murmurs into the quiet of the room. You tilt your head up from where it rests on his chest to smile softly at him. He feels like he could drown in your gaze.

“I think we were always meant to find each other,” you whisper, and like always, he knows you’re right.

[pedrospatch]

a safe haven l four

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: After a few weeks, Joel finally realizes that he can’t stay away from you and he gives into his desires; Ellie and Dina start getting closer; you give Joel a special gift that once belonged to your father.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, EMOTIONAL AND VERBAL ABUSE. reader gets slapped. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. infidelity, implied infertility (reader), mutual pining and yearning, Ellie and Dina interaction.

Word Count: 7k

July, 2024

About twenty three and a half days.

That’s the longest that Joel Miller can stand to bear without seeing you again, and even then, he’d found that amount of time to be too goddamn fucking long for his liking—each and every single minute of those twenty three and a half days felt like an eternity to him. Joel had lost count of the number of times he had almost caved, almost scratched that overwhelming itch he had to seek you out, to satisfy his craving as if he were a recovering addict going through withdrawals and all he needed was a good fix to feel better again. Hell, the more he thought it over in his mind, the more he’d started to realize that wasn’t all that far off. You actually were something of a drug to him, and even though he’d only had a mere taste of what being with you could be like, he was already hooked on the feeling. One hit of you was all it had taken and now he’s a fiend and he wants more of you—he needs more of you or he’ll surely lose his mind.

Exhaling a labored breath, Joel reaches up as he wipes at his damp brow with the back of his hand. The sun is sweltering, beating down on him hard.

July had arrived, and with it came along the most unbearable and unforgiving heat. Winter had been cruel, but summer had decided she wouldn’t be all that much kinder. While Joel appreciated not having to trudge knee deep through the snow, he wasn’t too sure if he would prefer that over the way his denim shirt stuck to him uncomfortably, clinging to his skin like cellophane. He’d been used to it in his first life, having been born and raised in Texas—twenty one years later, he had discovered that he was no longer accustomed to these kind of blistering temperatures. 

After returning from his early morning patrol shift, Joel had stopped by Main Street, popping into the market to pick up some vegetables to make dinner—he’d also gotten some fruit for Ellie. As it turned out, she had quite the sweet tooth. She had gone through about a week’s worth of apples and berries in just a couple of days, but luckily he had enough food rations left over for the week to pick up some more for her. Once he’d finished and left the market, he found himself walking over towards the horse stables instead of heading back to the house like he should have. He really should have gone home, but after twenty three and a half days of fighting his temptation as best he could, Joel realized it was useless. 

Most, if not all, of his thoughts began and ended with you.

Sure, Ellie would mention you here and there over their shared meals together, and even though she had assured him that you seemed to be doing just fine, it wasn’t enough for Joel. It wasn’t even close to being enough. He had to see you for himself. He needed to talk to you, even if it meant running the risk of Tommy finding out. He wouldn’t be too happy about it, but if anything, Joel could use the excuse that he’d just stopped in to check up on Ellie. She had become something of your little helper, taking on the role of a stable hand after Maria had assigned one of the other hands to work in the mess hall. You’d needed the extra help and Ellie had been willing. She had to contribute and she liked being around you, so it worked out in everyone’s favor.

In reality, Joel trusted you with Ellie and he didn’t need to check up on her knowing she was in safe, capable hands—but the opportunity to use the kid as leverage presented itself and he’d be a fool not to take it.

He walks into the stables and starts making his way down along the open stalls, peeking into each one until he finds you—alone—in the second to last stall with his brother’s horse, Ranger. You’re leaning forward slightly, a look of complete concentration on your face as you firmly press the diaphragm of the stethoscope you’re using to the animal’s side and listen. After a minute, you hum and gently tug the earpieces, draping the instrument around your neck as you stand upright and pull out the wooden clipboard you’re holding underneath your arm. 

Joel’s breath audibly catches in the back of his throat, an intense, fiery blaze burning deep in his belly as he drinks the sight of you in. The heat isn’t being any kinder to you than it is to him—you’re sweating profusely and your pale pink camisole is drenched and clings to your body, accentuating each and every curve. Every inch of exposed skin is beaded with drops of perspiration that you’d all but given up on trying to wipe away. You let it drip freely, allow it to run down the sides of your face, neck—it trickles down your chest and between your soft, supple breasts. 

He swallows dryly, trying painfully to ignore the way his cock twitches against the zipper of his jeans as devilish thoughts begin creeping into his mind. Shoving them away, Joel enters the stall and says your name.

You look up at him, eyebrows raising.

Though you seem oddly surprised to see him, you still offer him a kind smile. “Well, hey there stranger. Long time no see.” You pause briefly, shifting your attention back down to your clipboard. Taking a pencil from the back pocket of your faded blue jeans, you start to scribble down your findings on the piece of paper attached to it. “You know, I was starting to think that maybe you were avoiding me or something, Miller.” Although you’d said it in a joking manner, he detects the hint of seriousness in your tone.

Joel shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a sheepish expression on his face. “M’real sorry ‘bout that, darlin’. I just had a lot goin’ on over the last couple weeks. Got real busy,” he fibs, feeling like nothing short of a complete jackass for lying to you. “I, uh—I had to do a whole lotta fixin’ up around the house, for starters. Between that, workin’ patrol, and takin’ care of Ellie, I had both my hands full for a minute there.”

“Well, if you’re here to check up on her, she’s outside in the paddock with Dina right now. They’re hand walking Luna for me,” you say, jabbing your pencil over towards the open stall window. Squinting, he sees the two teenagers out in the paddock, walking along on either side of a white horse, both girls observing the animal’s movements carefully with every step that she takes. You smile once again, though you keep your eyes fixed on your clipboard as you continue jotting down your notes. “Funny enough, if I weren’t so thrilled those two ended up being such good friends, I would actually feel kind of offended that Ellie’s spending a lot more of her time with Dina than she is with me. I guess I have officially been replaced.” You feign a look of hurt, causing him to chuckle. “She’s doing fine, but you’re more than welcome to go out there and check on her. I’m guessing that’s the reason you’re here.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Actually, I came down here ‘cause I wanted to see you,” Joel blurts without thinking. Heat suddenly prickles at his ears.

You stop writing and your head snaps up in slight shock as you repeat in disbelief, “You wanted to see me?”

He nods in admission. “Yeah. I did. Besides, the stables are on the way to the house from the market. Figured it would be the perfect time to stop in and say hello,” he explains, unable to hide the slight nervous edge to his tone as he steps closer towards you. Joel’s closeness prompts a curious little sniff from Ranger, whom he would borrow for patrol from time to time when Tommy was on a different rotation. His brother wasn’t all too fond of anyone taking his beloved horse, but he’d made an exception for Joel. He pats the stallion on his thick, muscular neck. “Hope that’s alright with you.”

Nibbling on your lower lip, a strange feeling blossoms inside your stomach, a fluttering feeling—as if a kaleidoscope of butterflies had just taken flight inside of you. “Of course that’s alright,” you finally reply. Peering at the canvas tote bag slung over his forearm, you ask, “Did you get anything good at the market today?”

He shrugs. “Just some carrots and potatoes for dinner. Oh, and some fruit for the kid. Apples, berries—even got some peaches for her to try.”

Your mouth falls open slightly and there’s an excited glimmer in your eyes. “They have peaches?”

Wyoming hadn’t really been known for its peaches due to the extreme frigid temperatures during the winter months that would often lead to what you’d learned from Martha was called a spring freeze. It didn’t affect all of the plants and trees in Jackson, but there were a few species that simply could not survive the damage caused by the cold, bitter frost—peach trees happened to be one of them. You had seen a couple of the trees that were planted around the community, but only once had you ever seen them come into fruition. The first and last time you had seen peaches available at the market had been three summers ago.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Martha mentioned a couple of the trees survived the freeze durin’ the bloom period. Pointed me towards the bin and said they were picked fresh earlier this afternoon.” Digging his hand into the bag, he pulls one out to show you. He then offers it to you, holding it out in the palm of his hand. “Here, darlin’.”

Shaking your head, you politely decline. “No, I couldn’t. I know they’re meant for Ellie—”

“Relax, peach.” A small grin tugs at Joel’s lips as he continues holding it out to you. “I got plenty for her. Go on, take it.”

You flash him an appreciative smile. Setting down the clipboard on the two step mounting block behind you, you turn back to him and accept it, your fingers brushing his open palm as you take it from him. You eagerly bite into the fruit, groaning loudly as the sweetness of it coats your tongue and sends your taste buds flying into the clouds. The peach is perfect, right in between being too firm and too ripe. “This is amazing,” you say incredulously through a mouthful, prompting Joel to laugh. “It’s so good.”

You take a second bite and gasp when it pops in your mouth, its sticky juice trickling out of the corner of your mouth and down the side of your chin. Before you even have the chance to lift a finger, Joel reaches out and he gingerly wipes the juice away with his thumb.

Freezing momentarily, your eyes widen as he continues to sweep his finger across your bottom lip. 

“Had a little somethin’ there,” Joel murmurs.

Nervously, you finish chewing your mouthful of peach and swallow harshly, as if the fruit had turned into glass. You thought he would withdraw his hand by now, but instead, he moves it and cradles the side of your face in his palm. You can’t help but wince—his touch is gentle, but you haven’t been touched there like this in a long, long time. In fact, any time that a hand met your cheek lately, it was in a rough and painful strike.

“Joel,” you shakily breathe out his name. Your eyes momentarily flutter closed and you tilt your head to the side, sinking right into his large hand.

Push him away, you silently urge yourself. Don’t be stupid. Push him away.

But you can’t bring yourself to do it.

You stand there and continue melting into his touch.

He echoes your thoughts. “Tell me to back off,” Joel whispers, grazing the soft, delicate skin of your cheekbone with his thumb.

Your eyes fly open, lips parting slightly when you meet his gaze. When you speak, you hardly recognize the timid little voice that comes out of you. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, darlin’. Tell me to back off.”

He’s standing closer, much too close. So close that you can count every single gray that’s speckled in his beard—so close that you finally notice the small scar on his right temple.

Your chest heaves as you struggle to take an even breath.

He waits, but you say nothing.

Joel leans down, bringing his face closer towards yours. Still cradling your cheek in his hand, he lightly starts skimming the other side of your face with the tip of his nose. He trails it down your jawline, drawing closer and closer to the corner of your mouth—that’s where he pauses. It’s only for a second, but to you, that one second feels like an eternity. He pulls back slightly, giving you one last chance to push him away, to tell him that you’re not okay with this—to tell him to stop. When he’s met with nothing but a small, needy whimper, he moves in to close the remaining gap of space between your bodies. Heart pounding, he takes the final leap and captures your mouth with his in a tentative kiss. 

He tastes the sweetness of the peach on your lips mixed together with the saltiness of sweat and you taste something else too—something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s heavenly. He yearns for more, nearly aches for a chance to explore every inch of that pretty little mouth of yours. He wants something deeper, something more, but when he remembers that you’re in a public space in broad fucking daylight, he has no other choice but to pull himself away from you.

“Joel,” you whisper his name, wanting nothing more than for him to kiss you again. You almost find the guts to ask him when the sound of Ellie and Dina calling out your name startles you both, causing you to jump apart and tear away from each other.

The girls enter the stall just a second later.

They’re both sweating, their faces flushed from the heat. 

“Joel? What are you doing here?” Ellie asks him, confused. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him around the stables.

Joel shrugs, nervously touching a hand to the back of his burning neck.

“Just came in to check on you, kiddo. S’all.”

Ellie glances between the two of you, arching an eyebrow. There’s a strange glint in her brown eyes that tells Joel she knows something had just happened and he’s certain the only reason she isn’t confronting you both about it is because Dina’s standing right beside her, seemingly oblivious to the air of tension in the stall.

“Did you girls need something?” you offer in the steadiest voice you can possibly muster.

“We just came to tell you that Luna is back in her stall. She did really well on her walk. Her back leg doesn’t seem to be bothering her anymore,” Dina informs you. “We also finished with all the grooming for today. All the horses on the list you gave us are all squeaky clean, at least for now.” She smiles. “Is it okay if we call it a day? Ellie wants to come over to my house and hang out for a while.”

“You know Talia likes for you to give her some kind of a heads up when you bring company over,” you remind Dina of her older sister’s house rule.

“Yeah, I know auntie. I asked her permission this morning and she said it was okay.”

You glance at Joel. “As long as it's alright with you.”

“‘Course it is.” He nods and points an index finger at Ellie. “Make sure you’re home in time for dinner, kiddo. That’s my only rule. Understood?”

Before Ellie can respond, Dina beams and takes her arm. “Great! Come on, let’s go!” she exclaims as she all but drags Ellie out of the stall.

Joel waits until he’s sure the girls are gone and turns to you, clearing his throat. “I should—I should probably get on home now.” Pausing, he asks, “I’ll see you around?”

All you can do is give him a tiny nod of your head.

“Okay,” he says, sounding relieved

He turns on the heel of his boot and leaves the stall. 

Joel was playing with fucking fire.

And so were you.

“So tell me, does this town have some kinda weird ass rule that says every teenaged girl’s bedroom has to be fucking pink?” Ellie questions as she takes a glimpse around Dina’s bedroom. Her small nose wrinkles in disgust. The walls are painted a light pink color and it looks similar to her own room—but at the very least the previous owner of her space had thrown some green accents in here and there that made it a little less horrendous.

“What? Is pink not your most favorite color?” Dina teases her with a giggle, shutting her door behind her. She kicks off her boots, setting them next to her closet door.

“Totally,” Ellie deadpans, rolling her eyes at her. She gestures to herself with her hand. “Isn’t it just so obvious?”

Throwing her head back, Dina laughs again.

Ellie’s stomach somersaults. Dina might have been nauseatingly girly, but hell, if she wasn’t one of the prettiest girls Ellie had ever met—smooth golden skin, wide brown eyes, and long black hair that falls all the way down to the small of her back. Ellie had noticed the way several boys around the town would stare at Dina and she couldn’t help but wonder if she had her eye on any of them. Of all the fucking things that Ellie didn’t have the fucking balls for, it was asking her friend if she had a boyfriend or not.

Not that it matters if she does or doesn’t.

Right?

“Make yourself comfortable,” Dina offers, waving a hand around. She grins. “Feel free to snoop.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” She turns towards her writing desk, noticing a yellow flower beside a pile of notebooks. “Well, well, well,” she says, picking it up. She gingerly pinches the stem between her fingers. “A flower, huh? Who’s it from?” Ellie inquires, her back still to her.

Sheepishly, Dina replies, “Oh. That. Um—my friend gave it to me the other day. His name is Jesse.”

Ellie feels a twinge of jealousy stir in her belly. “And who’s that? Your boyfriend or something?”

“No. I don’t have a boyfriend.” She briefly pauses before adding, “Or a girlfriend.”

Freezing on the spot, Ellie holds the flower in a deathgrip. “Oh,” is all she can get herself to say. Throat bobbing, Ellie sets the flower back down on the desk and then turns to look at Dina. The girl flashes her a small, shy smile, causing her stomach to flip again. Awkwardly, Ellie tears her gaze away from her and her eyes flit to the bookshelf in the far corner of her bedroom. “Can I check out your stash?”

“Go for it,” Dina encourages her.

Ellie nods in thanks and pads over to the bookshelf, their shoulders lightly brushing up against each other as she does so. She starts looking at all of her books and one title immediately stands out and catches her attention. “No fucking way!” she exclaims loudly as she plucks it from the shelf. “No Pun Intended: Volume Tree. I can’t believe there’s a third one! Are you fucking serious?”

“Ah, so you’re familiar with Will Livingston and his hilariously terrible puns?”

Ellie grins as she walks over and takes a seat at the foot of Dina’s bed. She flips to the first page and runs her index finger down the list of jokes until she finds one she likes best. “What did the grape say when it got crushed?”

“Nothing,” Dina replies with a casual shrug, taking a seat beside her. “It just let out a little wine.”

She cackles and turns to the next page. “I don’t trust stairs.” She pauses for a dramatic effect and then continues with the punchline. “Because they are always up to something.”

The girls lose themselves in a fit of giggles.

As Ellie continues thumbing through the pages of the joke book, her smile fades slightly—memories of everything that had happened to her in the last year, everything she had been through, the people that she’d lost, it all comes flooding back to her in a huge wave that would have drowned her had Dina and her sweet, gentle voice not come to the rescue.

“El? You alright?”

Ellie turns to her. “El?”

“Yeah.” Dina’s face flushes red. “Is it okay if I call you that?”

Riley used to call her that.

When she’d still been alive.

Realizing that she was still waiting for a reply, Ellie carefully nods her head. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

“By the way,” Dina starts to say, scooting to sit a little closer to her. “About what happened back in the mess hall all those months ago when you first got here—I feel bad about it and I just wanted to apologize for staring at you the way I did. I honestly didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m sorry too. You know, for snapping at you. I got an earful from my old man about it afterwards. He gave me a lecture on manners.” Ellie chuckles and shrugs, her shoulder brushing Dina’s again. She had to resist the sudden urge to lean into her, just like the way she would always lean into Riley. “It’s just that I was so fucking sick of everyone looking at me like I came from another planet. Maria told me it was because I wasn’t like the other kids. She said I was different.” She pauses, nervously chewing her lower lip before asking, “Is that why you were staring at me? Because I’m different?”

“Yeah,” Dina admits. She notices the expression on Ellie’s face and quickly adds, “But that’s not a bad thing, El. Sometimes different is good, you know?

“Nice save, but that still doesn’t make me feel any better,” she mutters sourly.

Dina nudges her in her ribs with her elbow. “Well, would it at least make you feel better to know that I was also staring because I thought that you were cute?”

Ellie’s eyes widen as they meet Dina’s. “You did?”

“I did,” she confirms. She then corrects herself, saying, “I do.”

Dina smiles and leans in, softly brushing a kiss against her lips. It’s gentle and it’s quick but still enough to make Ellie’s heart race inside of her chest.

“Sorry,” she murmurs shyly as soon as she pulls away. She clasps her hands together nervously in her lap as she fixes her gaze on the floor.

Ellie reaches out, placing her hand on both of hers, causing the girl to look back up at her. “Don’t be. I’m sure as fuck not sorry about it at all.”

Relieved, Dina smiles again. 

Ellie squeezes her hands and goes in for a second kiss. “I should probably get home before my old man gets too worried and sends out a fucking search and rescue team for me,” she mutters against her lips, causing her to giggle. She pulls back and stands up, handing the book back to Dina who shakes her head.

“Take it. It’s all yours.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “There’s just one catch to it. I expect you to tell me a joke every single day.”

Nodding, Ellie grins and says, “Fuck yeah, I can do that.”

Several hours later into the evening, you can still feel Joel’s lips on yours—his touch lingers on your skin. It had been burned right into you and it didn’t really matter how hard you tried not to think about it because you had crossed a line that there was no coming back from. His touch, his kiss. You would never find the ability to forget how Joel had made you feel. Not that you’d wanted to forget it.

You didn’t have any regrets about what happened back in the stables. There wasn’t a single ounce of guilt or shame in your bones over it. That terrified you. You had so easily and so willingly let a man who wasn’t your husband kiss you, and you found yourself wanting and needing so much more.

You stand in the shower, allowing the ice cold water to beat down against your back and shoulders. You’d normally prefer a scalding hot shower to help ease the soreness that came after a long day of tending to the horses, but after today, what you had found yourself needing was a frigid shower to cool off.

And it had nothing to do with the staggering summer temperatures.

You shut off the water and grab a towel from a steel towel rack mounted on the wall right next to the shower. Wrapping it around yourself, you carefully step out of the shower and then reach for a second towel from the rack. You dry yourself off before padding into the bedroom where you’d laid out your clothes at the foot of the bed. You tug on a cotton gray tank top, dark denim blue jeans that you’d cut off into shorts yourself, and a pair of old, faded black low top sneakers that were extremely worn out, but much too comfortable to throw away. After haphazardly towel drying your hair, you pull it back into a ponytail.

In a futile attempt to take your mind off Joel Miller and the feeling of his lips on yours, you decided to preoccupy yourself with menial tasks around the house until it was time to start cooking dinner. The fact that you always kept the place clean—damn near spotless—made finding chores to distract you from your thoughts a much bigger challenge than you’d anticipated. God forbid that Luke ever found an unwashed dish in the sink or a speck of dust on the counter—his perfect little wife just had to keep the perfect little home. He wouldn’t allow it to be any other way.

After gathering the load of laundry that you’d had drying out on the clothesline in the backyard, you dumped it all into the large, woven hamper basket and carried it inside and upstairs to the bedroom. Within ten minutes, it had all been folded and put away. Looking for the next thing you could do to keep yourself busy, you noticed a big cardboard box sitting over in a corner of the bedroom. It’s packed with the rest of your winter clothes—it had been several weeks since you’d asked Luke to take it down to the basement and he still hadn’t done it for you.

Rolling your eyes, you pick it up, a labored grunt escaping you when you find the box to be much heavier than you’d remembered it being before. It nearly slips out of your grasp a couple of times, but somehow you manage to make it downstairs without dropping it—or falling. You carefully make your way down into the basement, the old wooden staircase creaking underneath your sneakers with each and every step. Once you’d made it down to the bottom, you haul the box over to the corner of the basement where you set it down with about half a dozen others, most of which were filled with your late father’s belongings.

Luke had been nagging you to get rid of everything to clear up space in the basement, but the thought of getting rid of your father’s things made you sick to your stomach. They were all you had left of him, after all.

As you glance around the dimly lit basement, an object nestled against the pile of cardboard boxes catches your attention. It’s a black leather guitar case. Letting out a curious hum, you drop to one knee and lay it flat on the ground, opening it only to find your father’s brown, classical Gibson he’d been gifted the year before he’d died by members of the town. He’d always been fond of music, and before the outbreak happened, he would play his guitar for you and your younger brother almost every single night, right after supper. When word spread that his illness was terminal, the kind folks of Jackson surprised him with the instrument, hoping it would bring him at least a little bit of joy in the time he had left. And it truly had. Even as a woman nearing your thirties, you’d found yourself sitting cross legged on the floor of your dad’s living room staring up at him in wonder as he would play his old favorite songs for you on the acoustic guitar—in those moments, you had felt like a child again.

You’d felt happy. Safe.

You brush the guitar strings lightly with your fingertips.

Suddenly, you remember the night of the party and how Joel had told you he enjoyed singing and playing the guitar in his life before the outbreak.

You chew your bottom lip, thinking it over in your mind. The decision comes quickly, and you close the case and pick it up, ascending the basement stairs with it in hand. It’s half past five—you still had some spare time before you needed to get started on dinner. You figure you won’t be too long. Besides, Luke had mentioned to you earlier that morning before heading out that he’d be staying late at the clinic anyway—one of the women in the community had just given birth to a premature baby boy that he’d need to keep a close eye on for the next few days.

Leaving the house, you start down the road towards Joel and Ellie’s place, remembering it was the brown and green unit just a couple doors over from your own place. You make your way up the porch steps and knock lightly on the front door. You try holding the guitar case behind you, but it’s fairly obvious what you have in your hands.

As you wait, you shift nervously from foot to foot. A few more seconds pass by and Joel answers the door. His salt and pepper curls are damp, and the scent of clean soap wafts in the air around him, slowly making its way over to you. He’d traded in his dirty denim shirt from earlier for a navy blue t-shirt that fits snug over his broad chest and wide shoulders.

He says your name in surprise. “What are you doin’ here?” His dark eyes flicker to the guitar case behind your back. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“Oh, just a little surprise for you and Ellie.” You toss him a cheeky, mischiveous smile. “Do you mind if I come in for a minute?”

“‘Course not.” Joel steps aside. He shuts the door behind you and beckons for you with his hand to follow him down the hallway and into the living room. For essentially being a single father, he knows how to keep a nice, clean home. Knowing Ellie, she sure as hell isn’t the one who tidied up after eight hours of mucking out horse stalls.

“Where’s Ellie?” you ask him.

“Upstairs. She just got in the shower a minute ago, but she shouldn’t be too long,” he tells you. Placing his hands on his hips, he peers curiously at you. “I’d ask what the surprise is, but just by lookin’ at the shape of that case, I think I might already have a hunch.”

“Jeez Joel, you could have at least acted surprised, you know,” you remark with a giggle. You set the case down on the antique coffee table in the middle of his living room and open it, revealing the guitar to him. “Surprise!”

Walking over to the case, Joel delicately picks up the instrument by the neck and pulls it out, giving it a once over. He lets out a long, low whistle as his other hand runs down the smooth, cherrywood body. “This is fuckin’ gorgeous,” he states. A playful look flashes in his eyes as he asks you, “Now, who did you go and steal this from, darlin’?”

“It belonged to my dad,” you reply softly with a smile. “I thought you might like to have it.”

Joel’s jaw drops in shock as he hisses, “What?”

“Hey, I wasn’t lying when I said we’d have to find you a guitar,” you laugh. “I’m a woman of my word, Miller.”

“Darlin’ I can’t accept this, there’s no fuckin’ way—” He tries handing the instrument back to you, but you take a step back and hold your hands behind your back, shaking your head. He tries again. “Listen, I appreciate the thought, but I can’t take this. It was your dad’s and I really don’t think he’d want some stranger to have it.”

“Please take it,” you request, sweetly. “It would mean a lot to me if you would. He really loved this thing and I just know he would be devastated if he knew that it’s been sitting in my basement collecting dust for the last two years.”

Joel’s momentarily rendered speechless.

“Please,” you repeat, adding an innocent bat of your eyelashes to finish winning him over. “Do it as a favor to me, Joel.”

He sighs in defeat. “Jesus, darlin’. Why’s it so fuckin’ hard to say no to you?”

You shrug, trying to mask the look of sheer triumph on your face.

He takes a closer look at the guitar. “Gibson. Y’know, I always wanted one of these back in the day, but I just could never bring myself to drop that kinda cash. I wanted real bad and now here I am with one in my hand.” His gaze meets yours and he smiles softly. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Joel. But don’t you forget that we made a deal,” you remind him as a teasing grin spreads across your lips. “You owe me and Ellie a song.”

“Speakin’ of Ellie, she’s gonna lose her mind when she sees this thing,” Joel realizes, giving it a single test strum. “I’ve really been wantin’ to teach her to play for some time now. Guess now I can.” He shoots you a look of sincere gratitude. “Thanks, peach.”

Peach. 

As you recall what had happened in Ranger’s stall earlier that day, you let out a nervous, breathless laugh. “That my new nickname or what?”

“Only when I feel like it,” Joel replies jokingly as he carefully places the guitar back in its case. “Which might be all the time.” Closing the case, he turns to you. He hesitates for a second, but then takes a careful step closer towards you. He cups your face in his hand, just like before, his eyes flitting to your parted lips. 

Lifting your hand, your fingers curl around his wrist. 

You’d do just about anything for him to kiss you again—but the both of you had almost been caught by Ellie once already and you weren’t trying to make it two for two. It takes all the strength you have inside you to drop your hand away from him and step back.

You lightly clear your throat. “Um, I should probably get home and get dinner started before it gets too late. Will you say hello to Ellie for me?”

Nodding, Joel assures you, “‘Course I will.”

He walks you to the front door. He places a hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against the patch of smooth skin peeking from between the waist of your shorts and the lace hem of your tank top. Once he opens the door, Joel withdraws his hand from you to be safe. He doesn’t want anyone who might have been passing by the house to see any kind of physical contact between you and him and get any ideas. “Have a good night, peach.”

You smile at him. “Have a good night, Joel.”

You return home within seconds and head straight to the kitchen. When you walk in and unexpectedly find Luke standing there leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, you stop in your tracks and let out startled little gasp. “Luke,” you say his name, hoping he can’t detect the nervousness in your voice. “You’re home early.”

He stares you down from where he’s standing. 

“Where were you?”

You can tell by the expression on his face that now isn’t the time to even think about lying to him—not unless you wanted things to go a whole lot worse for you. “I, um—I was over at Joel and Ellie’s place,” you admit to him. “I was only there for a couple of minutes, though. That’s why I left the door unlocked.”

“What were you doing over there?”

Luke sounds calm, but you know him better than that.

The clouds are coming in—the storm is brewing.

You swallow, your throat dry. “Just talking.”

“To Ellie?” Pushing away from the counter, he slowly saunters over to you with a dangerous look in his eyes. “Or to Joel?”

“Luke, please. Let’s just talk about this calmly—”

“When I ask you a question, you fucking answer it,” Luke hisses as he grabs your arm, his fingers digging roughly into the soft flesh right above your elbow.

“Luke, stop. You’re hurting me,” you manage to tell him through gritted teeth. As you squirm, his grip only tightens. “Seriously, you’re hurting me. Please, let me go.”

The panic is beginning to creep in, your body ready to go into flight mode, but you will yourself to remain grounded, to stay as calm as possible—dealing with him and his temper is frightening, but becoming emotional and showing him that you’re afraid of him always makes things so much worse in the long run.

“What the hell is going on between you two?”

“What? Nothing! I hardly know him,” you try to tell him. You let out a small, painful yelp as he continues to dig his fingers deeper into your arm. “Luke, I need you to let me go. You’re really hurting me—”

Finally, you lose your nerve and look away from him, trying to avert his furious gaze. 

Letting go of your arm, Luke reaches out and takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him.

“Do you honestly think I’m fucking stupid? Or are you just that fucking stupid?” He spits out in a venomous tone that sends an unpleasant chill down the length of your spine. He squeezes your face, hard. “Do you really think that I didn’t notice how the two of you had come from behind the barn that night during the party? How you were out there alone together, with no one else around?” He lets out a loud, bitter laugh. “Do you really think that I didn’t notice how that man fucking looked at you even when you were at my side?”

Luke releases your face, shoving it away harshly.

Taking a moment to catch some wind, you look up at him and sputter out the most coherent explanation you can come up with “We don’t even know each other, Luke! I don’t know Joel—the only reason we talk to each other is because Ellie’s his daughter and she’s gotten really close to me since she started working down at the stables. He only talks to me when it has something to do with Ellie. His kid. That’s it.” You’re now lying straight through your teeth and all you can do is pray he won’t pick up on it. “Today was the first time I’ve talked to or even seen Joel in weeks. The night of the party, he’d told me that he wanted to teach Ellie how to play the guitar so I went over to give him dad’s old Gibson. You’ve been telling me to start getting rid of his stuff, so I started with his guitar. That’s all.”

It’s difficult to be certain whether or not he believes you. 

“Ellie,” he repeats her name with a scoff. “What, you couldn’t bear any of your own so you just go around adopting feral little strays now? Is that it?”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “Screw you, Luke.”

He smirks. “Hit a nerve, sweetheart?”

You know better than to shoot back at him.

Still, you foolishly do it anyway. 

“First of all, don’t talk about Ellie like that. In fact, I don’t ever want to hear you say her name again so keep it out of your mouth,” you warn him, your voice low, seething. “And second, don’t you pin our lack of a family all on me just to make yourself feel like a real fucking man.”

You see it coming before it even happens and brace yourself for the impact. 

The sound of his hand connecting with the side of your face bounces loudly off the kitchen walls.

“Listen and listen good because I won’t repeat myself,” Luke snarls. He backs you against the kitchen table and grabs a fistful of your hair at the nape of your neck, yanking your head back roughly as his face inches closer to yours. “Don’t you ever disrespect me like that again. You are my wife—you honor and you obey me, especially in our own home. The next time you run your fucking mouth like that, you’re going to be picking pieces of your jaw up off the floor. Do you understand me?”

Chest heaving, you nod meekly.

He pulls your head back further—harder. “Say it.”

“I understand,” you squeak, momentarily feeling like he might actually snap your neck. 

“Good.” Luke releases you and stalks out of the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I expect dinner to be on the table in an hour.”

[joelscruff]

one thing i'm missing (joel miller/reader) PART THREE

thank you so much for 100 followers and for all the kind replies/likes/reblogs on the previous parts!! yall have no idea how happy it makes me that you're enjoying this fic. things are finally getting a little smutty so i hope you enjoy this part too! PART ONE | PART TWO | ao3 summary: you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming. rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: (for this chapter) smut, age difference (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 50s), praise kink, thigh riding word count: about 4.3k

As luck would have it, the resort was completely devoid of any major threats. The three of you quietly and carefully searched the cabins and welcome centre, weapons at the ready in case you came across any infected or other people who'd had the same idea you did. There were no signs that anyone had been living here or had even come across the place in the past twenty years; the only evidence of previous life was in the one infected Ellie had discovered, already long gone and practically melded into the wall of the main kitchen. She'd knifed it for good measure, taking maybe a little too much enjoyment out of it while you and Joel watched from a few feet away, giving each other a quick look of concern.

The kitchen itself was disgusting but most of the cupboards and pantries were fully stocked. You watched as Ellie gleefully shoved as many cans of beef ravioli as she could into her pack while Joel grabbed a few cans of tomato sauce and dry pasta.

“Looks like spaghetti's on the menu tonight,” he'd said with a smile, shaking the box of pasta in Ellie's direction, “You ever had spaghetti?”

“Nope, it's just tomatoes and noodles, right?”

“Well I used to make it with more veggies, some green peppers, mushroo-” he cut himself off, making a face, “But this'll do just fine.”

You couldn't help but giggle and he froze for a second to look at you, rolling his eyes when you stifled your laugh and pretended to busy yourself with the box of cornflakes you'd been checking. It wasn't just the mushroom realization that had incited your reaction, but the image of Joel in an average kitchen on an average day cooking spaghetti, maybe singing along to a song on the radio with a dishtowel over his shoulder. The idea of Joel being all cute and domestic was enough to make your chest fill with warmth.

Joel managed to find some more ammo in a storage closet at the back of the welcome centre while you and Ellie searched the cabins more thoroughly. To your absolute joy, most of the cabin bathrooms were still stocked with shampoo and body wash, conditioner, toothpaste, razors, everything you could possibly need to actually give yourself a bit of a pamper session.

“Holy shit, pads!” Ellie had squealed excitedly, throwing the box of feminine hygiene products behind her in delight, “I'm so done with that cup Maria gave me, it's gross.”

“It wouldn't be gross if you actually boiled it like you're supposed to,” you'd replied with a laugh, opening the box to make sure they were usable, “Mine still works great.”

“Yeah but we have to boil them in front of Joel,” she'd groaned, “It's embarrassing.”

“Can't argue with you there,” you'd muttered, but you weren't sure if she heard you.

By the time everything had been checked and taken stock of, darkness had fallen. Ellie was pretty disappointed about not being able to take a bath until morning but you all decided it would ultimately be safer to wait. Joel cooked up his promised spaghetti on one of the many charcoal grills that surrounded the cabins, and that image of domesticity returned to your mind as you watched him stir the pasta, humming to himself. You helped him where you could, filling up a freshly cleaned pan with the tomato sauce and adding some of the spices Joel had picked out, though he'd said that their lack of smell probably indicated a lack of flavour. You really didn't care though, and neither did Ellie; food was food.

Speaking of Ellie, she'd come up with the “exciting” idea that you'd each get your own cabin for the night; there was eight of them, four on one side of a wide dirt path and four on the other side. Each one had a distinct sign outside with a picture of an animal on it – the pig cabin, the horse cabin, the cow cabin, etc. She was currently traipsing through each one, trying to decide where to settle for the night. Each cabin was equipped with two bedrooms and three beds, one queen and two twin. Your first instinct had been to suggest all of you sharing one cabin, but Ellie had shut it down immediately.

You could only assume that you and Joel would be sharing a cabin, but you also didn't want to say anything until it was absolutely necessary. The thought of him choosing a cabin by himself made your heart ache. You looked at him now, his attention focused on the task at hand as he continued to hum a familiar tune you'd heard him hum a few times before.

“I missed this feeling,” you said to him with a nostalgic smile, “I used to help my older sister cook all the time”

He returned your smile, though his eyes stayed on the pasta, “What kinda stuff did you make?”

“Oh, everything. Curry, soup, casseroles, pizza,” you nudged him playfully with your hip, “Spaghetti.”

He chuckled, “Well, nothing tops the Miller family recipe. Me and Sarah, we-” he stopped, biting down on his lip and inhaling sharply.

Slowly, you reached up and placed your hand on his shoulder, squeezing it with all the gentleness and care you could muster, “It's okay,” you murmured, fingers stroking tenderly at the base of his neck.

He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, head tilting down in a kind of surrender. You inched your hand upwards to cup his cheek, his beard pressing into your hand, and he opened his eyes again to meet yours. He'd done this a few times lately, mention his daughter. It was rarely directly by name and he usually only brought her up around Ellie, as if he was using it as a way to further his bond with her. You liked hearing him talk about the past, something neither of you rarely ever delved into, but it hurt to see the pain in his eyes when he thought of her. Right now it was as if all the lights had gone out, his gaze far away and dark.

“I want to... talk about her,” he whispered, “but it's so hard.”

“I know,” you breathed, watching the way his eyes softened at your voice, “It'll take time, like everything.”

“You'd think twenty years would be enough time.”

You shook your head, “Things are different now than they were. I see the way you're trying with Ellie, how you're opening up and being more vulnerable,” your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth involuntarily but neither of you flinched, “You love her, don't you?”

He closed his eyes again and nodded slowly, “I do,” he whispered, “It scares the hell outta me.”

“Of course it does. That's normal, Joel,” you reassured him softly, “And it doesn't make you weak either.”

He'd opened his eyes again and they'd drifted to Ellie, who was a fair distance away trying to readjust a cabin sign with a duck on it that had fallen over. He smiled fondly at her, staring in her direction for a few seconds before turning back to you.

“So which cabin are you gonna pick?” he asked, slowly pulling away from your touch and bringing his attention back to the food, “I hear the duck one is pretty popular.”

Your hand felt empty without his cheek under it but you understood; she was too close, if she looked in your direction she'd see the way you were standing together. You cleared your throat and started stirring the sauce as it began to simmer.

“I don't know, maybe the dog one. I miss my dog,” you frowned to yourself, “Or maybe the horse 'cause I miss Callus.”

“Now this conversation is just downright depressing,” he sighed dramatically, “How 'bout the sheep one? Reckon the bed'll be fluffier?” he grinned at you and you nudged him again, rolling your eyes playfully. “Or the pig one? Maybe the sheets'll smell like bacon.”

You made a face, “You're gross.”

“And you love it,” he said it with a flirtatious air that was palpable immediately and it stunned you momentarily, your eyes widening a bit as you felt your face get hot. At the same moment his smile faded and a look of recognition crossed his expression, like he realized he'd gone too far. He quickly picked up the pot with the pasta in it and walked a few steps away from you to drain it, pretending like he hadn't said anything.

You sighed to yourself and took the sauce off the heat, walking over to one of the picnic tables with your cheeks still burning.

I do love it, you idiot.

-

Joel stayed chipper during dinner despite his moment of sadness – and his moment of flirting. He ended up telling a story about the first time he'd visited a hot spring in his youth, both him and Ellie laughing through a particularly cheeky part about Tommy getting yelled at by their father for peeing in the water. You just sat there listening and watching the two of them, a smile practically plastered to your face. God... this was your family. This little trio of broken humans had become the most vital facet of your life, not only for your survival but your happiness, your joy, your love. Ellie had become your little pal; it made your heart feel like it was going to burst when you thought about how you'd taken on that older sister role that your own had left behind when she'd died. Relationships didn't disappear...they evolved, took on new forms.

And Joel had become... that, you weren't exactly sure. But he wasn't just your friend anymore, that much you knew from the way he looked at you, the way he surrendered to your touch, the way he touched you back. The way how every so often during his story his gaze would meet yours as a quiet reminder that he wasn't just trying to make Ellie laugh, he wanted to make you laugh too. You loved seeing him so animated, making faces and gesturing wildly while Ellie threw her head back and giggled with abandon. Part of you wanted to inch in beside him and lay your head against his shoulder while he talked, wanted to feel the vibration of his deep voice in your bones and feel the strength of his thick muscle against your temple. You just wanted him to hold you like he did when you were alone; you wanted him to always hold you.

“Well, I'm going to bed,” Ellie said with a yawn after the spaghetti was long gone and the fire had started to die down, “I'm in the duck cabin if you need me. I could take second watch if you want,” she looked at Joel expectantly, raising her eyebrows.

He chuckled, shaking his head, “We got that covered, you go on and get some sleep.”

“Night,” she called back to the both of you, already walking toward her cabin.

You both called back to her and watched as she disappeared behind the door of the cabin with the duck sign outside of it, which was no longer tilting to the side but firmly back in the ground. She'd fixed it.

“She loved that story,” you said with a smile, turning back to Joel, “She's gonna want you to tell it again tomorrow, guaranteed.”

“All good, it'll give me time to prep for my show in Vegas,” he replied cheekily, and you laughed.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you figured the time had come to ask about the cabin situation. Right before you were about to ask, Joel spoke.

“You get lost in thought a lot, you know,” he said quietly, and you looked up to see him staring at you tenderly, “Always wonder what you're thinkin' about.”

Suddenly feeling vulnerable, you hugged your legs to your chest and breathed deeply, breaking eye contact to look at the fire as you replied, “You, usually.”

He didn't say anything and you worried you shouldn't have said what you said, hugging yourself tighter. Figuring you couldn't dig yourself any deeper, you continued:

“I was thinking about which cabin we're gonna sleep in.”

When he didn't reply again you finally looked over at him, surprised to see that he was still looking at you. He didn't look angry or uncomfortable, but his expression wasn't unreadable either. He looked...content. He was giving you that familiar look that he did in the early mornings, blinking slowly, like he was savouring the little time he had left to just stare at you. You felt your face get warm and you broke eye contact, smiling down at your knees.

“Sheep, I think,” he finally broke the silence, voice coming out slightly breathless, “Let's see how fluffy that bed really is.”

-

This would be the first time you'd be sharing an actual bed with Joel, and in truth you were slightly terrified. The last time you'd been in a bed with a man it hadn't exactly been a quiet or comfortable experience, quiet being the operative word, and that's all you could think about now as you opened the cabin door and traipsed quietly through the living room, Joel walking behind you. You slipped your pack off your shoulders once you arrived in the master bedroom, laying your still-lit flashlight on the dresser so you both could see. You and Ellie had checked all the beds earlier and they actually weren't that bad, if not covered in a thick layer of dust that you'd had to shake out. You slowly made your way over to the bed, then looked over at Joel who was still standing in the doorway.

“We probably don't need our jackets,” you said to break the palpable tension, shrugging out of your heavy coat and laying it carefully on a chair in the corner, “There's a sheet, a duvet, and a quilt so it should be pretty warm.”

He nodded and removed his pack, then his coat, leaving him standing there in his plaid button-down and jeans. It was slightly comical that you were about to get in bed with a man who'd been wearing the same outfit for months, but it's not like you could talk – you'd been wearing the jeans, tank top, and sweater combo for almost the same length of time. Which reminded you...

“Oh, me and Ellie found some deodorant,” you reached into your bag and pulled out a lady speed stick, “It's not the manliest scent but I mean, it's a scent.”

He winced as he took it, and you were confused until he said, “I stink, don't I?”

“You actually don't,” you meant it too, smiling earnestly at him, “You kinda smell like pine needles most of the time, honestly.”

He huffed out a laugh and you watched as he reached the deodorant up into his shirt, exposing his stomach to you as he applied it. You caught a glimpse of his stitches, still holding up pretty good, but your eyes couldn't help but be drawn to the trail of hair that lead from his belly button to his belt buckle, dark but tinged with a few grays here and there that sparkled in the glow of the flashlight. You suddenly felt a slight throb in your jeans and you quickly broke your gaze, turning back toward the bed and pulling the sheets back to distract yourself.

Now is not the time, you thought aggressively, searching the bedding one more time for anything you and Ellie might have missed, you've spent two weeks sleeping next to this man and now you wanna feel horny? Stop.

“Bright side is we can actually get clean tomorrow,” he said, tossing the deodorant back into your pack and walking around to the other side of the bed, not before flicking off the flashlight and plunging you both into total darkness.

“God, I know, I'm so excited,” you climbed into bed, trying to sound normal as you felt the mattress sink on his side as he did the same thing, “Hot water, can you imagine? I might not leave.”

He chuckled and it made you smile. He wants you here, you reminded yourself, there's no need to be so nervous.

You inhaled deeply and, before you could think too much about it, you curled into his side, arms finding their usual place around his solid form. Without any hesitation you felt Joel's hand at your back, holding you there. Part of you wanted to say something else, to keep talking to him, but the immediate comfort of his embrace quickly made your eyes close in defeat.

“'Night,” he whispered to you softly, “I'll wake you when it's time to head for the springs.”

You hummed in response, the promise of a hot bath fresh in your mind as you drifted off. It was that very specific image, the idea of you and Joel bathing together in the hot spring, that gave you one of the best dreams you'd had in a long time.

-

You were suddenly awoken by some kind of weird mewling, a high pitched breathless sound that sounded oddly familiar but you were too sleepy to place it. Your eyes tightened and you tried to ignore it; you'd been having such a good dream. Mere seconds ago you'd been standing in the middle of the hot spring with Joel, clothes abandoned, his bare arms wrapped around you and holding you flush against his naked body, waist deep in steaming water.

Irritated, you tried to bring the image back, only to be interrupted by Joel's voice in your ear saying your name. Your brow furrowed, followed by that weird moan again.

“Wake up,” Joel said again, repeating your name.

You slowly blinked your eyes open in confusion, the keening sound reverberating in your ears again, only to realize mere seconds later that the sound was coming from you. You also realized that you were no longer tucked into Joel's side, but were instead practically on top of him with his thigh between your legs. Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull when you put two and two together.

You'd been riding his thigh. And moaning. In your sleep.

Your head snapped up and you immediately felt like you had to get away, yank yourself off of him and run out of the cabin as fast as humanly possible. You could survive in the woods by yourself, right? You didn't actually need to be going on this long trek with Joel and Ellie, right? You could just disappear and never have to face this humiliation, right?

“Oh my god,” you tried pulling back but felt his grip on your arms, keeping you from getting off of him, “Joel, I'm so sorry, this is so fucking embarrassing.”

“Shh,” he replied, and you wished you could see his expression in the darkness, “It's okay, don't be embarrassed, you're fine.”

“But I-”

“You've been doin' it for maybe fifteen seconds tops,” he reassured you, “I woke you up as soon as I realized. It's okay.” He was still holding you in place and your mind was too muddled to wonder why, so you just shoved your hands over your face, “Hey, it's alright, look at me.”

“I can't even see you,” you muttered into your hands. But god, you could feel him. His thick and strong thigh was tight between your legs, the material of his jeans pressing right against your centre in exactly the right place. You were pounding, beyond wet in your underwear and you were sure Joel could feel the heat you were radiating. Involuntarily, your hips bucked again and you shuddered out a breathless whimper at the sensation.

You felt his hands move from your arms and start to pry your fingers apart. When you opened your eyes and focused on what was in front of you, his face started to become slightly clearer in the darkness. His brow was furrowed and you could see that he was staring directly into your eyes, no signs of discomfort or embarrassment to be seen.

“I'm gonna ask you somethin' and I need you to answer me honestly,” he breathed, the sound travelling directly to your core. “I'm only gonna say it once, okay?”

You shivered, trying to focus on his voice, nodding in response to his words, “Okay.”

“You don't have to stop,” he stated, voice steady and sincere, “you can keep going. Do you want that?”

You stared, dumbstruck.

“Do you want to keep going?” he repeated softly, and without hesitation you buried your face in his warm neck, hands coming up to grip his shoulders as you bared down on him.

“Yes,” you practically moaned into his ear, “Please.”

“Okay,” he whispered, and you felt his arms wind around you, pulling you as close as possible to him, “C'mere.” The words practically set your nerve endings on fire and you groaned, pressing your face further against his skin and shutting your eyes tight, hips bucking under his arms.

Not even taking a second to think about what was happening, you started rubbing yourself against him again, this time fully aware of what you were doing. His arms held you tight to his body and helped you move into a rhythm, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips that had become exposed in the commotion. You whined into his neck, feeling the harsh prickles of his beard against your cheek as he helped you get off.

“Joel,” you whimpered, feeling one of his hands travel up the back of your shirt and press flush against your spine.

“I've got you,” he murmured, “Keep goin', don't think about it.”

You keened beneath his touch, hands coming up to thread through his hair as you turned your head slightly to nose against the heat of his throat. Him telling you not to think was laughable – you couldn't think of anything else other than the way your body felt entwined with his even if you'd wanted to. You could feel him everywhere, his hand still at your back, the other one travelling upwards to cradle the back of your head, holding you to his skin. The size of his palm against you, the wideness, it sent a wave of tingles throughout your entire being, causing you to emit another moan against his adam's apple. He was so large and solid compared to you and despite the heated desperation of your embrace, he still held you like you were precious, breakable. It made you that much wetter.

“There you go,” he breathed softly into your hair as you rutted against him, baring down on his thigh like your life depended on it, “Just feel it, take what you need.”

He'd never talked to you like this; the protectiveness was always there, the fondness, but the way he whispered to you now was special, private. He spoke to you like you were his, rotated your hips against his thigh like your body was an extension of his own. His hot breath was a steady presence at your ear, quickening in pace as he began to help you move faster, palming the bare flesh of your back and moving his hand upwards slightly so his fingers just barely brushed the skin of your breast. Part of you wanted to see his expression, see if he was just as turned on as you were, but the question was answered when you brushed against his crotch and felt the unmistakably hard length of him straining against his jeans. At your slight touch, he elicited a breathless groan in your ear.

It was enough to send you over the edge.

“I'm gonna come,” you practically sobbed, eyes still shut tight as you bucked wildly and moved your hands to grip his arms again, nails digging into the fabric of his button-down, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Good girl,” you heard him whisper into your hair, and you were gone, thighs clamping around him as your whole body began to shake. He just held you tightly and let you ride it out, murmuring “that's it,” and stroking his thumb against the skin of your back soothingly.

In any other circumstance you would have been ashamed at how quickly it took you to finish, but it had been years since you'd been this close to another person, and months since you'd had an actual orgasm. The fact that Joel had been the one to give it to you hadn't helped you hold out very long either. Your whole body suddenly felt like jelly, head heavy and eyes unable to open.

“Joel,” you moaned his name quietly, breathless as you lay spent on top of him, “I think I'm gonna pass out.”

He chuckled softly, stroking your hair, “Go ahead, I'm not goin' anywhere.”

“But you didn't...” you mumbled, feeling boneless as you felt yourself begin to drift, “What about you?”

“Shh,” he carefully adjusted you so you were sheltered against his side again, your hands immediately coming up to grip his button-down as you buried your face in his chest, “Don't worry 'bout me, you go back to sleep.”

“'Kay,” you whispered, sighing peacefully and winding your arms around his strong torso, smiling to yourself when you felt his hand in your hair again, thumb caressing the back of your head.

You swore you heard him say something else, but by then sleep had overtaken you. This time, you dreamed of sheep.

[maissafespace]

I know you.

Shigure Sohma x Reader

synopsis: Shigure Sohma, a complicated man with a lot of secrets, knowing him gave you everything, from love to happiness to frustration and pain. It can’t help that you cannot get away from him.

warnings: age gap relationship. angst. mean!shigure, domestic fluff, heartbreak, arguments, mentions of break up, mentions of cheating (not happening). nsfw. emotional s*x, doggy style, missionary, cream pies, mentions of pregnancy, breeding.

a/n: it’s a brief story for one of the men that has my heart, but unfortunately is in a unique situation with a person I loathe lmao. It’s something that I needed more than anything, I haven't written for some time so I hope it's decent. please like, comment, reblog, tip! thank you for reading!!!!

Masterpost • Masterlist

Living as a zodiac and as a Sohma, Shigure never saw anything beyond the walls of the clan when he was young, and he never thought about it either.

When he was kicked out after the whole thing with that woman and the other as well, he had no option but to. He had to find a house, find a job, a routine to follow, to live a life as a normal human and not one of the zodiac.

In that, he could not forget to fill his own release. How to pass time when he had the time to distract himself.

First, it was his few flees here and there, Mayu as well. But nothing and no one that made him feel less like the dog of the zodiac, only loyal to one woman in mind. No one was ever serious enough or enough in itself.

The appearance of the kids was a welcomed distraction but not ‘it’ yet, it was another failure. Their fights, their presence made him observing of what the zodiac was, therefore made her existence even worse and far more amplified.

When he met you, nothing changed at all at first. You were and are younger than him, just another woman, meeting him during your first year in uni in a random cafe in the city while he was 25.

It took you a bit of time to actually talk to him, to get the glances and looks to have an effect, to have him take you seriously at all beyond an 18-year-old looking at a slightly older man.

Maybe at that moment you were looking for a distraction from the workload as well, he doesn’t know really the motive behind your pursuing.

But he knew that neither of you were actually taking the situation seriously, it was all out of lust, for him to not think of Akito and the curse, for you to probably not think of family and your own problems.

Things weren't supposed to be taken seriously.

Yet, after three years, here he was, thrusting into you deep and hard, groaning into your mouth as he muffled your moans and made everything echo with the slick on your skin.

Your legs spread apart, feet planted on the futon while his hands pinned yours down. Chest against chest. Forehead against forehead.

You knew his secret.

His attraction grew even more after the discovery, you stayed and listened, you stayed and understood, you stayed and didn’t care.

You stayed.

He knew the difficulty in it though, you were a very affectionate person, for years you wanted to hold him, the man that was making your head go crazy but you couldn’t without ending up with the cute version of his dog.

Because while it was at least something, after years, and a title, it was still frustrating.

As he fucked you thoroughly, he could see the way your legs twitched every time to wrap around him and feel the most. He wanted it too, feel your legs tightly around himself, feel your arms around his back and leaving all the marks you wanted.

As he spilled into you, hands firmly on your waist, digging into your flesh as he pushed as deep as he could, he showed you the same amount of want and need. The marks perpetually being left on your skin, everyday you saw them, every time you remembered that none other would fit them as his hands would.

Panting against your chest, he was feeling your nails brushing through his hair, your lips leaving light pecks on the crown of his head.

It was an experience looking into your eyes every time. He never felt as overwhelmed as in those moments.

So much care and love that he probably shouldn’t deserve for who he truly was. He had told you things but not nearly as everything as he should have.

His head was still split into his zodiac and human, but now there was you, thinking of Akito felt like a betrayal each time, he felt shame that he still couldn’t figure out a way to break this curse and shame of feeling a pull that he would never feel with you. It was something unique with Akito, unfortunately and till then, when she called he would be with her as she wished.

While nothing physical had happened, that was the bare minimum. Just his thoughts were near enough awful for someone in a relationship, he couldn't do anything about the chain that tugged when she wished even in moments like these, where he had the only woman who truly loved him unconditionally with him, making love to her.

Much that he only snapped out of it when he felt you push him off your body. Scrambling around with the sheet covering yourself to find your clothes while he just closed his eyes with a sigh, knowing he had fucked up royally, his hand going to his face, eyes looking down with guilt and then at you, putting on his t-shirt and pants with your shoulders going up and down irregularly.

"I'm sorry." Is all he could say.

"It's not enough." You said with a crack in your voice. "I understand, okay? I do, I did for three years but I can't just ignore it every time. I know she's in your head but where am I? Are you wishing it was her? Are you just doing this out of pettiness? Are you just wasting my time? Am I wasting my time with a man that cannot stop thinking of his ex lover even when we are having sex? Did you cum because of her or me? These are all the questions that come to mind whenver this happens, I'm tired of it, Shigure." Tears were freely rolling down your cheeks, looking at him with sadness and disappointment as he just felt guilt. He couldn't even hug you.

"I know it's not enough but I'm trying. I don't want to think of her, I don't want to, I want to be with you. Why do you think we are where we are now? I want you, but I cannot stop that! I cannot break it." He said through frustration.

"And I get it! But you cannot expect me to not be hurt!" You said back to him.

The room fell in silence. When your breathing regulated, you started to walk off to the door, but he held you back by the wrist. "Where are you going?"

Snatching it back. "I will sleep with Tohru. I cannot be with you tonight."

You closed the door behind you. Shigure just fell back into bed, hunched over as he repressed the need to scream in frustration. He didn't want to admit defeat, unfortunately whenever this happens, he would lose you for three days at least.

He could not do anything, he had not found the way to break the curse yet. He was really trying, for you and for him to live a normal life. He was also sure that it will still take time for it to happen after he discovered a way.

He slept sporadically in the night, waking up every hour and hoping to find you back on the other side of the bed, but it was always empty. In the early morning he woke up and walked down to find the kids all up and about, you were with Tohru by her side wearing his long sleeved shirt and his sweatpants, with your hair wet after what he assumed was a relaxing shower whenever you felt stressed.

Tohru greeted him as gently and kindly as always, Kyo and Yuki doing the same with less enthusiasm, you stayed quiet, he only met your eyes briefly, recognizing the puffiness and the slight redness you tried to cover up, looking away as quickly as possible.

The kids knew to not ask. They ignored whatever had happened every time it happened. Breakfast happened as normally as it would've.

When the kids were gone, so were you, locked up in your shared room with him as you worked from your computer, he knew already he had to stay out of it, he stayed in his study room, writing when he could not do nothing but think to how fix things with you this time.

The first two days went exactly as he predicted, each of you staying in your own spaces, not a word said between you two. He felt anger that you got mad at something he could not control at all and frustration that he could understand it. He saw you each day with the same puffiness around your eyes.

The third was not as he imagined, after the kids went to school, he waited for you to walk up the stairs and disappear till they returned, instead you spoke to him. "We need to talk, Shigure."

Those words didn't inspire faith in him, just fear. Hearing his full name from your lips felt even worse, whatever it was, it was not something he probably wanted to hear.

You two sat in front of each other in his studio, in silence, heart racing in both your chests as you tried to find the right way to put it out. But there wasn't a right way, so you just said it.

"We should break up."

Your words felt like a bucket of ice poured onto him. His eyes widened and he spoke without even thinking. "No."

"I'm not asking, Shigure."

"I said no. I'm not breaking up with you, I don't care whatever you have to say about it, I am not ending my relationship with you." He said, anger visible in his eyes. "We are happy."

"If you think happy means having an argument every two weeks because of another woman, I doubt and am scared of your definition." You said with a chuckle.

"Are you unhappy?" He asked directly.

"I'm not happy entirely." You swallowed. "We have our happy moments, I know, everything apart from this is perfect. But I just can't overlook it every time. It hurts, Shigure, I feel it breaking me all the time physically and emtionally." You said to him. His jaw clenched.

"I'm trying, it's not something I asked for. I want to break it as much as you do and live a fucking normal life."

"And how much time is that going to take? A year? Two years? Five? Ten? Never?! I am 21, I am young and have time to start and build something with someone else, Shigure. I'm not wasting time being your second choice, I will want to get married and have children. What will happen then? Akito will have me end up like Kana and then what, Shigure?"

"You're not a second choice-"

"I am if there is another woman in your heart and mind. Because there shouldn't be. I do not have another man pop up every now and then to which I cannot say no, to which I cannot not accept advances from."

"You know, nothing ever happened. Don't start that shit with me, Y/N. You won't end up like Kana, I won't let Akito get close to you, I made sure of that for three years and Hatori knows he cannot. This conversation is over, I'm not breakiing up with you, forget it." He got up and started to walk away.

"Shigure. Shigure. Shigure!" You yelled following after him up till you were in your shared bedroom. "Stop behaving like this."

"I told you I'm done with the conversation."

"But I'm not. Can you not understand that I'm hurting and we have no way to know if this will end up in tragedy or will work out."

"Do you think I don't want that? I just want to have a fucking life, away from that, now that I'm with you. I did think of it, I want to get married and have a family with you, I just need time to figure this out and break it." Tears rolled down your cheeks at the thought of not having that.

You had fallen in the deep end with him.

"I'm not throwing away the best thing that happened to me." He said sincerely, with fear in his eyes as he looked at you. "I know things are not the best right now, but we endured it and I'm not giving up."

You sniffled, frusteation growing in you as well. "What if I want to get married right away?"

"Then we will get married, tomorrow if you want."

"First you'll have to get permission from the head of the family." You spit back at him.

"I don't care. I've been kicked out, despite being called back from time to time, I call all my choices. I'm marrying you, whether you want it or not, tomorrow or whenever you think it's right." He shrugged. Your jaw clenched.

"What if I was pregnant? What would happen then when you get called back, when she finally wants you openly because she will not want you with another? Where do we end up? Shigure, just understand, for once, things will not change." Your voice had some sincerity, his eyes narrowed at it. Looking at you up and down.

"Are you?" His voice was hoarse, in disbelief.

"I said if I was."

"And I'm asking if you actually are." He just looked at your frown, the veil of tears that was buidling up in your eyes as you shut your mouth in a thin line instead of giving him a proper answer. "You are." He said taking a step towards you, as you took a step back.

"I don't know if I'm keeping it, don't get your hopes up, I'm not raising a child in these conditions." Your words held bitterness. "You didn't even want anything when we started our relationship, you didn't want the committment, I'm sure a child was not in it as well."

"Things changed you know that. For fuck's sake we live together, how do I not want committment? With you? I just told you I'd marry you tomorrow if you want. I'm 28, a child is not going to scare me off and make me break up with you. It's just making me love you more."

Your breathing became visibly irregular from the anger or frustration he didn't know. But you had only given him a reason more to fight for you. "Gure, please." You just cried, breaking. "I am scared." Your head fell down, eyes shutting as you cried.

Despite it, he understood. He understood your fears, he understood that you were scared, you were young, pregnant and in a relationship with a man that it's chained to a woman he grew to despise, and that could not touch fully without becoming a dog.

His gaze softened, walking towards you and leaning his forehead down to the top of your head, the most intimacy he could give you, kissing your head. "I love you. I truly and incredibly am in love with you." His hand slid on top of your flat stomach. Your hand going on top of his. "I'm here with you, just hang with me a little more."

You faced him, lips colliding with yours as you locked in a burning kiss. Your hands quickly pulling down his yukata from his shoulders, pooling on his waist as your nails quickly dug into his skin as always giving him indication of your need for him.

It wasn't long after that you both found yourselves naked on the bed, his cock into you as he dug his fingers into your thighs to keep you down and yours in his shoulders in a position where it didn't trigger it.

His length going in and out of you deeply, whispering sweet things into your ears as you just moaned his name, making something snap in him, something he wasn't quite sure of.

"Mine, mine..." He repeated as changed and pounded from behind you, his hand keeping your head to the side, looking at you fucked out state as he erased any idea of breaking up from your mind.

He felt the pull, growing restless to have his attention, but he just couldn't, he was caught up, he had you, he had you forever, and with you he had a child that was enlarging his own proper family, that tied you in a way that he cannot be tied with anyone else, his dream of a normal life with you and away from everything else.

A tear fell down his cheek as you moaned out his name coming on his cock as he kept going in and out of you sloppily, reaching his own point of release as he came deep in you, spilling his seed in you once again, feeling the knot releasing and something completely breaking in him.

You both panted for air, crying silently and he fell on you, the urge in him to hug you tightly.

So he did, he hugged you.

[softdoctorreid]

warm hugs | spencer reid

summary: another agent makes a comment about spencer’s ‘dad-bod’, but how can he want to change that when being a dad is his favorite thing? anon requested platonic dad-bod spence whose kid says he’s comfy like a teddy bear 🥺🧸

• mentions of body image, food

+++     +++     +++

When your name lit up on his phone, it was a welcome sight in the midst of a day that had Spencer feeling down. “Spence, I’m so sorry,” you said. “I’m gonna be stuck at work a little later today. Could you pick Lily up from school?”

“Of course. Is everything okay?” he asked, leaning back against the wall of the empty office he’d taken refuge in.

“Yeah, just a last-minute meeting, it’s all good. How about I pick up some dinner and dessert on the way home as a treat?” He hesitated, and while he was the profiler in the relationship, you’d gotten good at reading him over the years. “Babe, is everything okay with you? You’ve never thought about turning down something sweet before.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, trying to backpedal. “I don’t know, it was just a stupid comment another agent made.”

“What did they say?”

“Just pointing out that I don’t look the way I did a few years ago. Something about domesticity and putting on weight.”

Agent Hill had once been an assistant agent around the BAU bullpen until his transfer up to the New York Office. A training seminar had him back in the area for the first time in years, and he’d popped by Quantico to make a round of reunions. While he was chatting with everyone and making quips, he’d locked eyes on Spencer. “SSA Reid,” he’d said. “Haven’t seen you in a while! Looks like there’s a little more of you to see, huh? Domestic life must be treating you well.”

Spencer knew it was meant to be some sort of joke, but it didn’t lessen the way he felt suddenly too much, too conscious of the little extra weight he’d been carrying around his midsection since their daughter Lily had been a baby. It wasn’t something that normally bothered him, but then again it wasn’t something other people normally commented on, outside of you resting your head on his tummy and waxing poetic about how comfortable he was.

Spencer pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he drove to the school. Lily was always a welcome distraction from whatever he was ruminating on, but the way the four-year old was frowning in the backseat demanded particular attention. Her answers about her day were short and vague, unlike her usual cheerful self. It wasn’t until they got home that he finally got her to admit what was on her mind.

“I just wanted to finish my book during nap time, but Teacher got mad at me and she said I wasn’t allowed. The she took it for the rest of the day. It wasn’t fair,” she grumbled. “I just wanted to read my book!”

Spencer would talk to her later about rules, and maybe try to get permission from her teacher to let her read instead, but that could wait. Right now he just needed to get his little girl out of this funk.

“So you had a bad day, huh? And you’ve got some bad feelings now?”

Lily nodded, sticking out her lip in a perfect pout.

“Then I guess it’s up to me to turn that frown…” - he snatched her up in his arms, maneuvering her over his shoulder - “upside down!” Holding tight to her he spun them around until she was giggling, her little feet flailing, hands clutching at his sweater.

The moment he dropped her back onto the couch he began to tickle her, ensuring her laughter had no chance to subside. When she seemed to have tired herself out from laughing he finally let up. “That’s much better, isn’t it?” he asked. “I like seeing your smile. So tell me, what would help make these bad feelings go away?”

Lily thought for a moment, pressing her lips together in a thin line the exact way her father did when he was deep in concentration. “Can we make brownies? And maybe watch the Elsa movie?”

“Of course we can.” Both tasks had once been a challenge for him, but he’d learned to make a box mix without burning the house down over the years, and had long since surrendered to the fact that he could not escape the endless loop of children’s movies. While Frozen was ingrained in his memory after the first watch, he learned to tolerate the repeat watches and soundtrack plays for the joy it brought to his daughter. She in fact treated him to her own rendition of the songs while they stirred the brownie mix, her energetic demeanor returning as he probed her with questions about the movie’s characters and what was happening in her favorite books. Just before he placed them in the oven, she insisted on adding handfuls of brightly colored sprinkles into the mix, saying it was a magic ingredient.

Lily insisted on changing into a pair of pajamas with Anna and Elsa on them while Spencer set up a cozy nest of blankets and pillows on the living room couch. He started the movie while the brownies baked, slipping away to take them out of the oven while Anna sang about the impending coronation. With one brownie on a plate and two cups of hot cocoa, he returned to her side on the couch. “Here you are, princess,” he said with a small bow, placing the plate in front of her.

“Where’s yours?” Lily asked.

“Oh, I’ll have one later,” he lied. “After all, princesses have first dibs.” The truth was he hadn’t stopped thinking about Agent Hill’s comment. Maybe it was time to get back in shape, shed the new-dad weight he’d never quite lost. That would mean cutting back on sugar - his favorite of the food groups - and the time he spent lying on the couch instead of hitting the gym.

Lily inched close to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, her head resting on the top of his tummy. Spencer pulled the blanket up over her and draped an arm around her. It was his job to make her feel better, but cuddling with her on the couch was helping to dispel his own sour mood as well.

 “I think Olaf would like your hugs, Papa,” she told him. “You give the best hugs.”

“Is that right?” he asked.

She nodded, the movement tugging his shirt. “Yeah. I like hugging you. You’re soft.” That kernel of shame swelled up again at the comment only a child could make with such innocent bluntness. “And warm. Good for snuggling. You’re like a teddy bear! I love teddies, but I love you better, Papa.” As if for emphasis, she squeezed him in a tighter hug.

That bit of shame immediately began to melt at her words. Lily continued, her eyes never leaving the screen. “Cuz you can do all the things a teddy can’t, and you make brownies with me and you carry me when I’m tired and you’re the most comfy ever. That’s why your hugs are magic.”

They sat on the couch, Lily enraptured by the movie on the screen, and Spencer ruminating over her words. Warm, soft, good for snuggling. Wasn’t that what you were always saying too?

“Papa, are you going to eat a brownie?” Lily asked. “I put the sprinkles in so they’d be extra good!” The puppy dog-eyed pout was another expression she’d picked up from him, and he just couldn’t resist this time. Maybe he didn’t need to. He ventured back into the kitchen, returning with three brownies on the plate. She watched as he took the first bite.

“You’re right!” he told her. “These are the best brownies I’ve ever had!” And they certainly were when saying so produced such a huge smile on Lily’s face. She returned to her position snuggling up with him and he was content to indulge in the sweet treats before them. So maybe it wouldn’t help with the problem of his tummy, but maybe it wasn’t such a problem after all. How could it be when that softness was something his daughter and partner found endearing? If his hugs could make Lily happier and eating desserts was a moment he could share with her, why would he want to change that?

His body was proof of the thing he was proudest of in his life - being a dad. A dad who was always there, who loved lazy weekends snuggled up with his family and treating Lily to sweets she always offered to share with him. He loved that he was someone his daughter felt safe with, that his arms could offer comfort on the bad days and the good days and all the days in-between. 

When you returned home, you found them like that on the couch watching the end of the movie, Spencer caught red-handed with a brownie in his hand. Lily rushed over to greet you with a hug, happily babbling about her day as Spencer quickly finished the brownie before walking over to join you.

Distracted by the closing credits, Lily wandered back to the couch to sing along while Spencer welcomed you home with a kiss.

“Mm, you taste like chocolate. So you’re not still upset about that comment today?” you asked.

Spencer shrugged. “I don’t want to cut out the things that make life sweeter. Lily says my tummy makes me good to hug. Like a teddy bear. How could I give that up?”

You smiled. “She’s right, of course. I mean, I liked hugging you even when you were practically a bean pole. But you are much more comfortable with a little extra padding.” You gave his belly an encouraging pat. “And it’s nice to have more of you to hold onto.”

So his cardigans were a size larger these days, and he had to buckle his belts a couple notches looser than he had before. But those were signs his life had changed, his world had grown, filled by the presence of so much love and sweetness. Maybe there was a little more of him now, but he didn’t care so long as he had a little more to love in his life.

+++

tell me what you think here!

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

Sealing the Deal | #LeviMonth2024 Fluff Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ ~1.1k ✧ notes ➼ post-war canonverse, fem!reader ✧ comments ➼ levi month entry for august 19! i may or may not have a part 2 in the works ✧ join my levi month taglist here!

{{ August 9 (Royalty + Soulmates Part 2) | August 22 (Love at First Sight + Neighbors Part 2) }} Masterlist

“Hey, do you wanna get married?”

Levi was caught a bit off-guard by your question, having not expected the sudden proposal. The two of you were already living together and regularly experienced the domestic life. Marriage wouldn’t have changed much.

“What?” you asked, with a subtle undertone of defensiveness present in your voice. “War’s over and restoration efforts are going smoothly. Why not?”

A few years had passed since the Rumbling, with the two of you having settled down in Marley. You had discussed marriage in the past, but the opportunity kept slipping away from you due to everything that was constantly popping up back on the island leading up to the Rumbling.

A small frown crept onto your face as you noticed that he had remained quiet the entire time.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” you added, slightly embarrassed at the idea of bringing it up if he wasn’t interested. “Was just a thought.”

“I didn’t say no,” he finally responded with a shrug. “Would like to not make it too big of a thing, though.”

Levi wasn’t too big of a fan of crowds, and neither were you. A lot of the friends that you would have originally invited had passed on, but the two of you would have likely eloped regardless. Having that exorbitant amount of attention placed on you for an entire day sounded like a nightmare.

You eventually decided on a garden wedding in the backyard of your home with a few close friends invited, primarily the remainder of the 104th that Levi had essentially raised, Gabi, Falco, Onyankopon, and a few others that you had kept in touch with post-war.

One of the first things you did upon settling down in Marley was building yourselves a house, which included a decently-sized backyard since the two of you liked sitting outside.

The ceremony was set to be simple—just a ring exchange and kiss, with some photos to keep for memories, and a potluck with friends afterwards. It’d feel significant enough, but you’d be able to keep it cozy and personalized in the way that made sense for the two of you.

You took a deep breath as you slipped into the dress that you had prepared for this special day. It was a simple white, flowery dress that flowed over your curves. You had found it at the market the other week while picking up some groceries and thought it was appropriate.

You weren’t sure why you were as taken aback as you were when you stepped out and landed your eyes on Levi. Similar to you, he had gotten a suit specifically for the occasion. He was beautiful as always, with his suit perfectly fitting his shoulders and hips. For a moment, the only thing going through your head was the thought of you ripping it off him later in the night.

Knowing that you wouldn’t be able to have dedicated alone time with him until much later into the evening, you shook your head as you felt yourself getting worked up. You took a deep breath, instead directing your attention towards the little jewelry box in your hand that contained his wedding band.

You found yourself feeling nervous as you walked up towards him, with your heart pounding in your chest as your hands grew cold. It was silly to be as nervous as you were. You had seen him a million times. He had seen you at your worst. There was very little that could happen that would actually embarrass you in front of him. Yet, you still felt anxious.

You were fine once you actually stepped up to him, with your pulse resetting back to its baseline the minute you looked into his eyes and recognized the softer look in them that he reserved only for you.

Levi ran his one good eye down your dress, wondering when you had even gotten the time to get it. He hadn’t even been aware that you went out to secure the dress. You looked gorgeous in it, but Levi and you both knew that you could’ve worn pajamas to this and he wouldn’t have cared, other than maybe a bit of discomfort at the idea of getting home clothes dirty by wearing them outside.

He cleared his throat as a way of gathering both his own and your attention back to the present task—presenting your rings.

“Shall we?”

You had been distracted as you were gazing into his eyes, but you quickly readjusted and nodded, bringing out the small box.

“You first?”

Upon seeing his nod, you began to open the box, finding yourself fumbling with the small container due to your nerves.

Once you finally got it open, you lifted the cover to reveal the simple, deep dark green, single-colored band.

You were overly cautious as you pulled it out and stepped towards him, your hands visibly shaking as you brought the small piece of jewelry towards his extended hand.

Having noticed your nerves, Levi placed his other hand on your forearm to help steady you.

The simple touch was enough. It was like a breath of fresh air as your movements stilled, and you were able to smoothly slide the ring onto his finger.

You kept your own hand extended, watching closely as he pulled out a thinner, but overall matching ring. You had picked the rings out together, so you knew what yours looked like and that it fit perfectly, but you still felt nervous as you watched him slide it on.

You couldn’t keep the smile from forming on your face as it finally hit you that you had “sealed the deal”, even though functionally, nothing had changed.

The two of you found yourselves just staring at each other in astonishment, the whole thing feeling surreal despite the fact that there wasn’t any form of a surprise factor to it.

“…you may now kiss the bride?”

Levi’s eyes widened ever so slightly before he scoffed at your cheesy joke.

“Smartass,” he muttered, before wrapping an arm around your waist, and pulling you in, your body pressing up flush against his. He gently pressed his lips against yours, and you shut your eyes, smiling into the kiss as you returned the affectionate gesture.

Functionally, nothing had changed. Yet, you still found yourself looking forward to experiencing a new chapter in your lives—one without war or violence, just each other, and weaving a life together that helped you encourage each other to keep moving forward.

#: @shayewrites @littlerequiem @mostlilo @humanitys-strongest-brat @dustbuniesworld @levisrations @ebechnasheim @moonchild-angel @jayteacups @bipolargatto @samackermaan @deepzombieyouth @pickledpedro @levisfavoriteteashop @ackermanswifee @ae-chidori @2dsimpomg

[katz-chow]

how time passes

a/n: domestic price is the only price i will take, thank you very much. my submission for @glitterypirateduck's christmas fics. song? "love to keep me warm” by dodie & laufey. why? you'll see :) merry christmas everyone 🎄

warnings: gn!reader, fluff, sfw, cold, snowy night, leading up to a smut ;)

For John, there’s a certain aspect of life that he isn’t all too familiar with. Domesticity seemed like a world away, hidden almost. Of course, he sees it all around him; in how young couples shop for decorations for their first Christmas, or how older couples shop for grandkid presents for their nth Christmas, how candles are rare to find nowadays, all the colorful ones taken by menorahs sitting on windowsills.

He remembers it clearly when he first realized how teasing a normal life can be. It was on the same cobblestone street that he finds himself on right now, right through the glass planes of a small cafe. In a way, domesticity found itself behind a China cabinet, displayed and just an inch away from his grasp, and yet the veil between them remained locked. The feeling of being a lover, a husband just right on the other side, staring back at him like window shopping. How frustratingly fleeting it is.

The wind blew a bit more wildly back then, snow caked upon the roofs of the many buildings that surrounded him, all occupied with families. He remembers the way his hands would go numb from the hours that he walked around the market square, just to avoid the rickety radiator in his flat.

But that was years ago and the heater of the cafe he’s sat in seems unbearably warm. John sat himself in the corner, two drinks on the table and a tiramisu that he knew he had to get as soon as he set his eyes on it. Unconsciously, he looked at the gold watch on his wrist, just to check the time instead of looking incredibly pitiful alone in a room of company. He cleared his throat, then looked around; a Christmas tree with paper ornaments of children’s drawings littered through its branches, the electric fireplace that changed colors, and the soft jazz that played through the speakers.

His phone buzzed next to him on the small round table. He looked at the notification with a dash of his brow, a storm’s approaching. More snow. A chuckle bubbles up in his throat as he thinks of the irony of his first Christmas back in town almost 5 years ago, the same cold but not the same emptiness.

Almost as if on cue, the jingle of the bell at the door rang out and there you were to greet him. Still in your work clothes but with a long overcoat and a much too big scarf around you. If John could say it to you, he would say you look swaddled up like a baby. But he’s a gentleman and he knew that if he did say that, you’d refuse to put on the much-needed layers and opt to freeze to death.

He waves you down when he sees the way you stand there, hands in your pockets as your eyes wander around. He sees your eyes land on him and you bright up as you waddle over in your snow boots. He stands to pull the chair out for you, scooting you in.

“You look toasty.” He compliments, sliding the warm mug of a mocha latte over to you. He smiles even more when he sees you take off your coat and scarf, quickly grabbing the mug and holding it close to your nose. “Don’t burn your nose off.”

You glare at him playfully as you take a whiff of the chocolate goodness presented to you. “Maybe then I don’t have to smell you and that detergent you accidentally bought.”

John throws his head back, exasperated. Did he buy the wrong detergent and does it smell so obnoxiously strong you have to dilute it with an unscented one? Yes. Will you let him love it down? No, unfortunately.

He watches as you take a sip, sinking your shoulders down as you let the warmth fill you up. “This is really good, I’m glad you picked this place.”

“Saw it a few years ago, thought it’d be nostalgic to be back.” He replies simply, taking a sip from his own.

You place the mug down and narrow your eyes at him, “Nostalgic? You took your ex here or something?” You say accusatively as you place your hand into his palm on the table.

He winces at how cold your hands are compared to him. “Something like that…”

The last time he was here, he ordered one tiramisu and one latte. He then stayed for hours, watching people walk in and out, taking advantage of the buy one get one half off promotion that the young cafe had to offer. He thought about how unfair it was that even drinks came in pairs during the holidays and he’s still painfully alone. So, something like an ex.

“Your hands are freezing, Baby. Where’d you put your mittens?” He asks as he holds your hand tightly, rubbing his thumb over your fingers.

You smile cheekily towards him, opting to stuff your mouth with a spoonful of tiramisu instead of answering. This caught his attention as he pressed on, a small chuckle following his words.

“I forgot them…” You mumbled, obviously, you did! You squeeze his hand back and look around the cafe, avoiding his gaze entirely.

You see him shake his head as he laughs, and you look back at him, laughing and smiling sheepishly along. The scene was unreal, music in the air, warmth filling every bone in your body, and your favorite person ever, holding your hand.

He lays out both his palms in front of you, signaling for you to take advantage and settle your own hands on his. You do and he cups them together, rubbing some heat into them. Softly as ever, his beard tickles your knuckles as he gives them a small kiss on his lips. You feel your cheeks heat up just a bit, stinging from the cold they were previously in. You slip your hands out from under him and place them on each side of his neck, he grumbles, annoyed.

“We’re so cringe…” You muttered quietly, now hyperaware of the public setting the two of you were seated in.

He grasps your hands again and holds them close. Deciding to completely ignore the comment you made, he switches over to pepper your knuckles in kisses instead. “Wanna get outta here then?”

You nod and he lets go off your cold hands, which you promptly stick in between your thighs to warm up. John waves to a barista, pointing out to the snowy scenery. She seems to understand as she gives the two of you two paper cups and a box for your cake.

The two of you link arms and he pulls you out of the cafe, bundled up even more than when you came in with his beanie on your head. His other hand holding the bag of your little treat.

Snowflakes gently and steadily fall on your shoulders and head as he leads you back to his car, you having taken a cab over from work. John looks around at the nearly empty streets, most people taking shelter within the shops or in the comfort of their homes. He looks at you, a content smile painted your face even if the tip of your nose was turning pink and your hands still cold in his coat pocket and in his own hands.

You didn’t seem to complain about the how Jack Frost nips at your cheeks. And even if you did, he knows it’s not all too serious as you still down the packed streets full of cars.

“You cold, Darling?” He leans down a bit to whisper in your ear.

You look at him, your eyebrows raises in the cutest way. You shake your head and continue to watch the way the two of you were headed.

John didn’t think much about anything else, just the way your thumb rubs over his hand in his pocket, the crunching of score under your boots. He didn’t even think about his movements as he turned and backed you into the nearest wall, his body shielding you away from the world as you felt his breath on the tip of your nose.

“You’re so beautiful…” He grins down at you. The to-go bag now hook onto your arm as your hands found solace in his pockets.

You giggle at him and kiss his nose, then both his cheeks. John’s hands find either sides of your face as he cups it. His thumbs rubs and pinches the apples of your flesh.

He leans down and gives you one good kiss on your lips, you quickly melt into it and your hands escape to wrap around his waist under his coat. The kiss rushes through your veins, your body not feeling so cold anymore.

He pushes your head back a bit more with the force of his kiss. Fingers sliding back into the locs of your hair and into the back of your head, cushioning it from the hard, cold bricks.

“I’m warm now…” You giggle as he pulls away from you. Your teeth makes in contact with your bottom lip and your eyes big and glossy to draw him in.

He laughs and gives you a kiss on your forehead for good measure. John gives out a shaky breath as he leans to the side of your face, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “How about we hurry home and I warm you up more effectively?”

A breath hitches in your throat as you nod just a bit. He chuckles and kisses your cheek, pulling you into a u-turn when he realized y’all meant to take a right at the cafe.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

When the bones are good

My third fic for @painlandweek is partially a belated fill for the domestic AU prompt, with a hint of a case fic. You can find it here on AO3 or read it below!

Prompt: Domestic AU/Casefic

Words: Approx. 3K

Rating: M

Warnings: none

Summary: Agents Edwin Payne and Charles Rowland of the Ministry of Supernatural Investigations have been sent to a quaint suburb to investigate a potential witch snatching little girls. It would be a straightforward undercover assignment, if only Edwin weren’t battling his entirely unprofessional feelings for his partner and friend.

***

In his nearly a decade working for the Ministry of Supernatural Investigations, Agent Edwin Payne has been led to all manner of unsavory places by cases: vampire dens, run-down old castles overrun with poltergeists, decadent Fae courts where human captives were treated as circus animals, slaughterhouses where it wasn’t just pigs and cows hanging from the hooks. Somehow, none of those gruesome cases left him feeling half as off-kilter as this one.

Director Nurse had told him that it would practically be a vacation. After all, Port Townsend, the quaint seaside town where little girls have been going missing for decades, is charming, as is the house where he’s staying with his partner. In the month he’s been undercover here, no one has tried to kill him once. It probably is the closest thing to a vacation Edwin has taken in years.

But he’s never had a case where he had to pretend to be married to Charles Rowland before and he’s finding that more terrifying than ravenous vampires or poltergeists.

“Love, I’m home!” Charles’s voice echoes from downstairs.

“Up here!” Edwin doesn’t know why Charles insists on keeping up the act when it’s just the two of them alone in the house. He says he’s just keeping in character, making sure their facade doesn’t slip when they’re in public. Edwin is wondering if Director Nurse has finally grown tired of him and if this is part of some kind of prolonged psychological torture.

He doesn’t turn around as he hears Charles’s footsteps striding into the office, watching the house across the street through the lens of a camera. Esther Finch—possible serial killer, probable witch, and definite piece of work—stands on her front porch, smoking her pipe and surveying the street with the lazy interest of a housecat deciding if it’s worth leaving its patch of sun to stalk an unsuspecting songbird. The Aspens’ little girl, Becky, is playing in her front yard, and Edwin doesn’t think he’s imagining how often Esther’s attention strays to her.

“Anything of interest happen today, mate?” Charles props his hips on the edge of the desk, leaning into Edwin’s space.

Edwin can’t help but look up at him. His partner looks every bit the part of Charles Raymond, a blissfully happy newlywed in his mid-to-late twenties with the kind of ordinary office job that does not involve investigating supernatural crimes. His tie is undone, hanging loosely around his neck, and he’s unbuttoned the top few buttons of his button-up shirt, giving him a rakish look that is far more affecting than it should be. He looks perfectly at ease here, as if he was born for this life.

Remembering that Charles asked him a question, Edwin clears his throat. “She has unfortunately not erected a gingerbread house in her front yard or taken to the skies on her broomstick. We need to get into that house, Charles. That’s the only way we’re going to prove she’s behind the disappearances.”

The Finches’ front door opens and Monty, Esther’s son, sticks his head outside. The two exchange words before Esther waves Monty away like one would an errant fly. With an eye roll, he vanishes back into the house.

“Monty asked me if I wanted to get coffee sometime,” Edwin adds. “Perhaps I can get him to invite me into his house afterwards.”

“He did what?” Far from being relieved at a potential breakthrough,  Charles looks outraged.

“Coffee, Charles,” Edwin says. “It is a brown beverage one can consume if they can ignore the taste. If I remember correctly, you’re overly fond of it.”

His partner isn’t mollified. “Doesn’t he know you’re married?”

“We aren’t actually married.”

“But he doesn’t know that, does he? Cheeky little prat.” Charles shakes his head. “No, you shouldn’t go anywhere alone with him. For all you know, he’s in on whatever Esther’s doing to those girls.”

“We don’t know if Monty knows of Esther’s activities.” Edwin rather likes Monty, who is sweet, even if his interest in astrology is a bit fanciful for his tastes. He has trouble picturing him as an accessory to multiple murders. Besides, he can’t be older than his early twenties, so the disappearances started decades before he was born.

“Can’t imagine he hasn’t noticed her ritually murdering little girls in the living room.”

“We don’t know for certain if she’s ritually murdering little girls at all. And if she is, it might not be in her house.” Edwin sighs, exasperated. “Besides, I’m not a girl under the age of twelve. I’m far from Esther’s usual victim, so I should be quite safe.”

“I’d rather not take any chances, yeah?”

Edwin rolls his eyes at the ceiling. Most of the time, he finds Charles’s protective nature charming. Occasionally, it’s infuriating. “Then you’ll need to find another way into Esther’s house, because I am at a loss.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Charles reaches down to squeeze his shoulders. “We always do, don’t we?”

Edwin resists the urge to lean into the touch. He and Charles have always made a good team, ever since the first case they were assigned together, only a few years before. Before Charles, Edwin consistently had trouble keeping a partner. He’d been through so many that Director Nurse was threatening to saddle him with a lifetime of desk duty. He didn’t expect the cheery, doe-eyed rookie agent to be any different, but Charles instantly proved him wrong.

The problem was that Edwin was always an odd duck, even before he was dragged into another dimension for nearly a century of torture and escaped into a strange new world without having aged a day. He has never been particularly good with people, has never been able to build the effortless rapport with strangers and colleagues alike that people like Charles are so adept with. But strangely enough, Charles has always seemed to find his prickly nature and sharp tongue charming rather than irritating. He’s become not just Edwin’s partner at the MSI, but the best friend he’s ever had.

Now, if only Edwin wouldn’t threaten it all with his inconvenient, childish feelings.

His eyes travel down to the thin gold band on his left ring finger. Of course, Charles made a big production of slipping it onto Edwin’s finger in the middle of the MSI offices while down on one knee, drawing claps and cheers from the watching agents, especially Crystal and Niko. Afterwards, Director Nurse gave them a sharp talking to about taking the case seriously, but even that hadn’t been able to dull the grin on Charles’s face.

“We should get a dog,” Charles says.

Edwin puts down the camera. “Why on earth would we do that?”

“Would give us an excuse to walk around the neighborhood, right? And we could, like, train it to run into Esther’s yard so we could chase it and poke around a bit.”

“Yes,” Edwin says slowly. “That all sounds much easier than me going out to coffee with Monty. We should certainly hinge the success of the mission on whether Fido listens to us and goes into Esther’s yard, or is distracted by a squirrel.”

“Come on, mate.” Charles grins that devastating grin of his, the smile that makes witnesses want to talk and puts frightened victims at ease. “Getting a dog is the kind of thing newlyweds do, isn’t it? We have to sell it.”

“We’re living together, wearing wedding rings, and introducing ourselves as husbands. I believe we’re selling it, as you say.” Not that Edwin knows what it’s like to sell a marriage. Two men couldn’t even get married before his kidnapping; he’d always assumed either a loveless marriage or a life of loneliness was his future, if he even survived the Great War.

However, Charles is constantly preoccupied with successfully convincing their neighbors that they’re a married couple. From Edwin’s observations, he doesn’t think any of their married neighbors are half as openly affectionate with each other as Charles is with him. But perhaps Charles knows what Edwin does—that no one will truly believe that beautiful, kind, charismatic Charles belongs with prickly, bookish, awkward Edwin. Maybe that’s why he’s so concerned with whether their neighbors buy them as Charles and Edwin Raymond, a blissfully married couple.

Charles’s smile widens, growing truly heart-stopping. He should need a permit for it, Edwin thinks grimly. Surely it counts as a compulsion of some kind.

Edwin sighs. “We can discuss the dog after I see if I can ingratiate myself with Monty. If that fails, Fido can be Plan B.”

“Cheers, mate.” Charles squeezes his shoulder, his thumb brushing Edwin’s collarbone in a way that makes his insides feel fluttery. “How do you feel about curry for dinner?”

***

As usual, Charles manages to dirty every pan in the kitchen while preparing dinner, but Edwin can’t really complain, because his curry is exceptional. Edwin cleans the kitchen while Charles plays the music from the 1980s he’s so fond of. It’s the kind of warm, domestic scene Edwin never had as a child. When he was brought down from the nursery to join his parents for dinner, he was expected to sit silently while his parents conversed. There was no easy conversation, no laughter, no squabbling over the last piece of naan.

Edwin doesn’t know for sure, but he doubts this was the kind of dinner Charles had growing up either. Charles doesn’t like to talk about his life before coming to the MSI, beyond vague allusions to his father not having been a particularly warm, loving presence in his life. But Edwin has seen the scars on his back, the ones that look like they were left there by a belt. He can fill in the rest of the details. Perhaps that’s why Charles has thrown himself into this lie with such gusto, to give himself the illusion of the quiet, domestic life he never had.

Over the running water, he can hear Charles singing along to the music, loud and off-key. It fills Edwin’s chest with something warm and unbearably tender. It would be so easy to let himself sink into the fantasy that this is their real home and that it’s his real husband butchering Bohemian Rhapsody in the other room. But if Edwin gets too comfortable, he could lose the only person who has ever truly loved him. He can’t risk that.

A hand touches his hip and he startles, sloshing soapy water all over the counter. “Charles!”

“Sorry, love.” Charles loops his arm around Edwin’s waist, nuzzling the back of his neck in a way that makes Edwin’s knees feel a bit wobbly. “We’ve got an audience.”

While he puts a pan in the dish drainer, Edwin flicks his gaze out the big window in the breakfast nook. Across the street, Esther Finch’s house is lit up bright, like she’s turned on every single light. He can see the shape of her standing in her bay window, her blond hair glowing gold. She’s facing the street and while Edwin can’t make out her features from here, he can’t shake the disconcerting feeling that she’s staring right at them.

A shudder travels up his spine and Charles’s grip tightens on his waist. “I see.”

“Dance with me,” Charles says in his ear as the song changes to something low and crooning.

“I’m cleaning up.”

“The dishes can wait. Dance with me, love. Got to sell it, don’t we?”

Of course they do. Reluctantly, Edwin turns off the water, takes off his rubber gloves, and turns to face Charles. His partner is smiling softly at him, looking warm and far too touchable in the soft lights of the kitchen. It makes Edwin shiver for a whole new reason. He steps into Charles’s arms, putting his hands on his shoulders, and sways with him.

Edwin didn’t particularly care for dancing before he was taken, but this is nothing like the dancing he learned as a child. Instead of rigid steps and rules, it’s just bodies moving together, his cheek pressed to Charles’s and Charles’s arms around him, holding him close like he’s something precious. Edwin closes his eyes and gives into the fantasy for one, blissful moment. 

This is real. His name is Edwin Raymond, Charles is his husband, and they met three years ago on the tube when Charles asked him what he was reading, then fumbled his way through pretending he’d read it too, making such an ass of himself that Edwin was charmed despite his better judgment. Charles knew right away it was love, while Edwin didn’t realize the depth of his feelings for months. They eloped in the spring, a small ceremony with just them and their officiant.

“Edwin,” Charles whispers and Edwin opens his eyes, feeling almost drunk on the dream of this being real. “She’s still watching.”

Right, because they’re doing this for a reason. Edwin blinks and nods. Slowly, Charles turns them, so that his body is between Edwin’s and the window. It’s such a small, instinctual moment of protectiveness that it makes Edwin’s throat feel a little tight. Charles never seems to think twice about putting himself between Edwin and potential danger. He has no doubt that if he’d had Charles Rowland in his life in 1916, he’d never have been dragged off by an abomination that fed on his pain and terror for decades.

“Still watching?” Charles asks in a low voice and Edwin flicks a glance over his shoulder to see Esther still standing at the window.

He nods into Charles’s shoulder. “Do you think she suspects something?”

“Don’t know how she could. She might just be being creepy. Seems to do that a lot, doesn’t she?” Charles presses a feather-light kiss to the corner of Edwin’s mouth. “I have a plan.”

“And what’s—” But Edwin is cut off when Charles kisses him, full on the mouth. They’ve kissed a handful of times during this charade, dry, chaste brushes of lips when Edwin says goodbye to Charles in the morning. There’s nothing chaste about this kiss; it’s all lips, tongue, and hunger. Edwin can count on one hand the number of times he’s been kissed before and none of those times have been like this, like the other person would sooner stop breathing than stop kissing him. 

There’s a soft, moaning noise and Edwin realizes belatedly that he’s the one making it. He should pull away, but instead his hands are fisting in the front of Charles’s shirt, pulling him closer, and Charles’s hands are running over his shoulders, down his chest and arms, like he wants to memorize every inch of Edwin. There are quite a few inches of Edwin that desperately want Charles’s hands on them; the front of Edwin’s trousers is becoming painfully tight.

“Edwin,” Charles whispers against his mouth and somehow, it’s the sound of his name that jerks Edwin back to reality.

This is not real. This is an undercover assignment, and Edwin is seconds away from climbing his partner—his friend—like a tree.

His eyes snap open and he finds the window across the street empty, Esther Finch nowhere to be found.

Edwin pulls back, breathing heavily. “She’s gone.”

Charles blinks at him, mouth puffy and red and eyes hazy with something that Edwin wishes was want. “What?”

“Esther Finch.” With every ounce of self-control Edwin has, he steps back, out of Charles’s embrace. “She’s no longer watching. Excellent plan, Charles.”

Charles blinks several times, then his usual irrepressible grin spreads across his face. “Right, aces. Think we really sold it.”

“I would say.” Edwin smooths down the front of his shirt. “That was very… convincing.”

Charles nods. “Course it was. We’re professionals, aren’t we?”

“Entirely professional.” Edwin clears his throat. “Which is really why I should finish cleaning this kitchen. I cannot leave it like this overnight.”

“You know Nursie’s not going to show up and check to make sure we’re making our beds and keeping our desks tidy?”

With an exasperated huff, Edwin turns back to the sink, hoping Charles hasn’t noticed the continuing tightness of his pants. He’s not a horny teenager making out with Thomas King in the file room; he needs to get a hold of himself.

“Right,” Charles says. “I’m going to go… yeah.”

Edwin hears his footsteps retreat, a shade too quickly to be casual. He stands at the sink, heart still pounding and face still flushed. He’s imagined kissing Charles a thousand times and that was everything he ever hoped for and more. And it was all so they could convince their possibly homicidal neighbor that they're nothing but a canoodling couple in love.

Charles is an excellent agent, one of MSI’s best. He gives every case his all. Of course this case wouldn’t be any different. If Edwin is getting tangled up in his own feelings, that’s entirely his fault, not Charles’s.

They’ll wrap up this case. If Esther Finch is the one who has been kidnapping and most likely killing little girls, they’ll bring her to justice. If they’re wrong and there’s another culprit, they’ll find them. And then, they’ll leave this house to go back to their real lives in London and this will just be a funny story that they tell in the future. The time Charles and Edwin pretended to be a married couple for a month and Edwin was certainly able to not lose his head about it.

Because Charles is right, they’re professionals. Edwin can be professional, even if it bloody kills him.

***

If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving comments and/or kudos on AO3! I'm considering turning this into an expanded fic where these boys finally get their shit together if there's enough interest.