#don’t know if she’s still in the opening but

[pucksandpower]

Car Trouble

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which it starts with Max insisting that you borrow one of his many cars while yours is in the shop and somehow turns into you being dragged away in handcuffs because (according to your jealous housemates) the only way you could ever afford a car like that is by having stolen it … suffice to say, your protective boyfriend is less than amused

Warnings: law enforcement abuse of power

The thing is, you know it’s a gamble the moment you put the key in the ignition. Your little car, a 2004 Fiat Panda with a chipped paint job and a suspiciously rattling exhaust, has been teetering on the edge for months. But it’s all you have, and it’s gotten you this far.

Except now, as you sit in Max’s driveway, the dashboard flickers ominously, a banner of orange warning lights. You groan, lean your head against the steering wheel, and curse under your breath. Maybe it’s the alternator. Or the battery. Or the car’s just finally decided it’s had enough.

Max is at his kitchen window, a mug of coffee in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. He steps out, still in his Red Bull Racing hoodie, hair a mess, and jogs over. You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth before he’s leaning down, peering through your open window.

“Car trouble?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Take a wild guess,” you mutter, throwing your hands up.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Let me have a look.”

He gestures for you to pop the hood, and you do, reluctantly. Max circles around, lifting it with a practiced ease, his brow furrowing as he inspects the engine. You know he’s not a mechanic, but he knows enough to recognize that it’s bad news.

“I think it’s, um, all of it,” he says, voice laced with amusement. He looks up at you. “You really drove all the way here like this?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say defensively. “It was fine when I left. Mostly.”

Max gives you a pointed look but lets it slide. He straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and nods toward the house. “Come on. I’ll call someone to get it towed.”

You hesitate. “Max, I can-”

“I know you can,” he interrupts gently, eyes locking with yours. “But why should you?”

He has this way of cutting through your defenses with a single look, and it’s infuriating. You sigh, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. Max winces, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. I think she’s suffered enough,” he teases.

You glare at him, but he’s already dialing a number, one hand braced on his hip, the other holding the phone to his ear. He’s so calm, so unbothered, like this is just another Friday, and your car isn’t smoking in his driveway. It makes you feel small, somehow, and a little embarrassed.

“Hey, mate. Got a Fiat here that needs towing. Yeah, looks pretty bad. Can you get someone here today?” Max pauses, glancing at you, then back to the ground. “Nah, it’s not mine. It’s my girlfriend’s.”

The word hangs in the air, filling the space between you. It’s not the first time he’s called you that, but every time he does, it sends a little thrill through you. You shove your hands into your pockets, kicking at the gravel with the toe of your shoe as he finishes up the call.

“Right,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “They’ll be here in an hour or so. Want to come inside?”

You nod, following him up the steps and into the house. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. Max leads you to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. He pours you a cup without asking, handing it to you as you sink into a chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s your plan?”

You shrug. “Get it fixed, I guess. If it’s even worth fixing.”

“It’s not,” he says bluntly. “That thing’s a death trap.”

You know he’s right, but hearing it out loud stings. “I can’t just buy a new car, Max.”

“I’m not saying you should,” he replies, voice softening. “But you can’t keep driving that. It’s not safe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that makes you feel like you should say something, but you don’t know what. Max watches you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in your head. He always does that — wants to fix everything, make it all better. And it’s sweet, but sometimes, it’s exhausting.

“Look, I have an idea,” he says finally, pushing off the counter and walking over to you. “You can use one of my cars until yours is sorted.”

You blink up at him. “Max, I can’t-”

“You can,” he insists, a determined edge to his voice. “And you will. You need a car, and I have plenty. It makes sense.”

“It’s too much,” you protest, shaking your head. “I can’t just borrow one of your cars like it’s no big deal.”

“It is no big deal,” he counters, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s a car. I have, like, a dozen of them. And I want you to be safe.”

The logic is sound, but it still feels wrong. You open your mouth to argue, but Max holds up a hand.

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re here for the weekend, right? We’ll get your car towed to a shop, see what they say. In the meantime, you use one of mine. If they can’t fix it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Max-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts again, smiling faintly. “Please. For me.”

You huff, staring down at your coffee like it might provide some kind of answer. When you look up, Max is still watching you, his expression soft and earnest. He’s not going to let this go, you realize. And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Which one?” You ask, finally relenting.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “The DBS.”

Your eyes widen. “The Aston Martin?”

He nods, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yep.”

“You’re insane,” you say flatly. “I can’t drive that.”

“Sure, you can. I’ll teach you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” He steps closer, dropping to a crouch in front of you so you’re eye to eye. “That you don’t want to accept help from your boyfriend? Because, if that’s it, we’re going to have a problem.”

His words catch you off guard, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want you to have it. Just until you’re sorted.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders sagging as the fight leaves you. “Fine. But I’m not keeping it.”

“Deal,” he says instantly, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

There’s a beat of quiet as he stands, pulling out his phone again. He’s about to dial when you speak up.

“Wait.”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

You chew on your bottom lip, considering your next words carefully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to scratch it or-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, voice gentle. “It’s a car not a piece of priceless china. It’ll be fine.”

His nonchalance is almost infuriating, but you can’t help the way your heart swells at his unwavering confidence in you. He believes in you, even when you don’t.

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s like something shifts in the air between you. Max’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, squeezing your hand.

“Good. Now, let’s go get the keys.”

***

It’s raining, and the house smells like damp clothes and stale toast. Chloe stands by the living room window, holding her cup of tea, her gaze idly drifting over the dreary street. The drizzling rain matches her mood, which is sour on a good day and worse now that she’s been stuck inside with a mountain of uni work she has no interest in.

A sigh escapes her lips, louder than she means it to, but no one’s around to hear. Her housemates — well, most of them — are scattered across campus, probably doing something useful with their lives. And then there’s you. Always flitting in and out with your head held high, like you’re too good for this dump of a house.

Chloe rolls her eyes at the thought of you. She’s been harboring this quiet disdain ever since you moved in. It’s irrational, she knows that. You haven’t done anything to her, not really. But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, always so composed, so put together, that grates on her nerves. And lately, you’ve been acting … different. Happier, even. Chloe’s seen you, the way you disappear for the weekends, only to return with that smug smile. It’s not hard to guess why.

Chloe knows you have a boyfriend, though you’ve been annoyingly tight-lipped about it. She’s overheard snippets of conversation, seen the texts you try to hide when someone else walks into the room. But still, she can’t figure out why you’re with someone who clearly has money. A lot of money. The kind of money girls like you — girls like them — don’t get near unless there’s some major luck involved.

As she stares out the window, she suddenly sees something that makes her pause. Her tea sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the mug as her hand freezes. There, pulling into the lot, is an Aston Martin. Glossy, sleek, and roaring like a mechanical beast as it glides through the rain. The headlights cut through the fog, and the car comes to a slow, calculated stop directly in front of their house.

Chloe’s brow furrows, her pulse quickening. What in the world …

She watches, transfixed, as the driver’s door opens, and you step out, closing the door behind you like it’s no big deal. You glance around the street, pulling the collar of your jacket higher against the rain, completely oblivious to the fact that Chloe is practically burning a hole through the window with her gaze.

“What the hell?” Chloe breathes, her voice sharp in the stillness of the room.

Her eyes narrow as you cross the street, keys jingling in your hand, moving with an air of confidence that has no right to belong to someone pulling up in a car like that. Chloe watches every step, every casual flick of your wrist as you lock the car and walk toward the front door.

She should turn away, pretend she didn’t see anything, but her brain is spinning, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. That’s a three-hundred-thousand-pound car. You can barely afford rent, let alone something like that. Her mind races with the only plausible explanation — there’s no way in hell that car belongs to you.

Chloe slams her cup down on the coffee table, not caring that it splashes tea everywhere, and darts toward the stairs. She takes them two at a time, bursting into her flatmate Amelia’s room without knocking.

“Amelia! You won’t believe this.”

Amelia looks up from her laptop, startled. “Chloe, what the-”

“Come here. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel and rushing back down the stairs, Amelia reluctantly trailing after her. Chloe pulls her toward the window, jabbing a finger in the direction of the car still parked outside.

“Look,” she says breathlessly, her words tumbling out too fast. “Look at that.”

Amelia leans closer to the window, blinking at the car through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that an Aston Martin?”

“Exactly.” Chloe’s voice is a mix of disbelief and something darker. “And guess who just stepped out of it?”

Amelia frowns, her brow creasing. “No way. You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious. She just parked it like she owns the place. What the hell is going on?”

Amelia lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, that’s … that’s not normal.”

Chloe folds her arms, pacing the length of the room now. “She’s probably stolen it. I mean, there’s no way she could afford something like that. Do you know how much that car’s worth?”

Amelia shakes her head slowly, eyes still glued to the car outside. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s her boyfriend’s?”

“That’s what I thought,” Chloe snaps, “but come on, who does she know that has that kind of money? I don’t care who her boyfriend is, something’s off.”

They both fall silent for a moment, the only sound the rain tapping against the window. Chloe’s mind races, jumping to conclusions faster than she can keep up. Everything about this feels wrong. She’s always suspected there was something up with you, but this? This is something else entirely.

Amelia breaks the silence, her voice hesitant. “Maybe she’s just lucky? I mean, maybe he’s, like, rich-rich. You know?”

Chloe scoffs. “No one gets that lucky. And she’s been acting so secretive lately. What if she’s involved in something shady? I mean, who just pulls up in a car like that?”

Amelia shrugs, clearly unsure how to respond. But Chloe’s not done. There’s a fire in her now, a burning need to know what’s going on. You’ve always been too quiet, too private, and now it’s all starting to make sense. There’s no way you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.

She whirls back around to Amelia, eyes blazing. “You know what? I’m going to call the police.”

“What?” Amelia’s eyes widen in shock. “Chloe, are you serious? You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can,” Chloe cuts her off, already reaching for her phone. “She’s clearly up to something, and I’m not going to sit here and let her get away with it.”

Amelia tries to protest, but Chloe’s mind is already made up. Her fingers fly across her phone screen, dialing the non-emergency number. Her heart pounds in her chest as the call connects, and she presses the phone to her ear, pacing as she waits for someone to pick up.

“Chloe, this is crazy,” Amelia says again, her voice laced with anxiety. “You don’t even know-”

“Shh!” Chloe hisses, waving a hand to silence her.

Finally, the line clicks, and a calm voice greets her. “Thames Valley Police, how can I help you?”

Chloe takes a deep breath, her voice steady as she launches into her story. “Hi, I’m calling to report a suspicious vehicle. It’s parked outside my house, and I’m pretty sure it’s been stolen.”

The operator asks for details, and Chloe rattles off the make and model of the car, her eyes never leaving the Aston Martin still parked outside. She glances at Amelia, who’s biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but Chloe’s too far gone to care.

“I just … I know the girl who’s driving it, and there’s no way she could afford a car like that,” Chloe explains, her tone sharp. “I think she might have stolen it.”

The operator asks a few more questions, and Chloe answers each one with growing confidence. She can feel it in her bones — something’s off, and she’s not about to let it slide.

When the call ends, Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her hands shaking slightly as she lowers her phone.

“Chloe, you didn’t have to do that,” Amelia says quietly, her voice full of worry. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong,” Chloe insists, her jaw clenched. “You’ll see. The police will sort it out.”

She turns back to the window, her eyes narrowing as she watches the car, half-expecting something to happen. But nothing does. The car sits there, pristine and out of place, mocking her with its sheer audacity.

And you? You have no idea what’s coming.

***

It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon — one of those rare breaks between classes when you can actually catch your breath. The rain’s let up, and a misty sun filters through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the pavement outside. You’re halfway up the stairs to your room, your backpack slung over one shoulder, when there’s a loud knock on the door.

The sound is sharp, authoritative, and it echoes through the house, stopping you in your tracks. You glance down, frowning slightly. It’s not like you’re expecting anyone, and the others aren’t home yet. Maybe it’s just a delivery.

But then the knocking comes again — louder, more insistent. Your unease deepens as you drop your bag and head back down the stairs. By the time you reach the door, a faint prickle of anxiety is buzzing under your skin.

You pull the door open, and there they are — two uniformed officers standing on the doorstep. They look serious, their expressions neutral but firm, and you feel your heart sink. This isn’t a casual visit.

“Can I help you?” Your voice is steady, though confusion laces each word.

One of the officers, a tall woman with cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense gaze, steps forward. “Are you the owner of the Aston Martin parked outside?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Um, no,” you say, blinking at them. “It’s not mine, but-”

“We’re going to have to ask you to step outside, please,” the other officer, a man with a stern jawline and dark eyes, interrupts. He glances over your shoulder, as if assessing whether you’re alone.

“What’s this about?” You can hear the uncertainty in your voice now, a sharp edge creeping in. “The car belongs to my boyfriend. I’m just borrowing it-”

“Step outside, miss,” the woman repeats, her tone brooking no argument.

Swallowing hard, you do as you’re told, stepping out onto the front stoop. The chill of the autumn air hits you, and you wrap your arms around yourself instinctively. This isn’t making any sense.

“I don’t understand,” you say again, a little louder this time. “What’s going on?”

The officers exchange a look, and then the man speaks. “We received a report that the vehicle may have been stolen. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Stolen?” The word feels foreign on your tongue. “No, it’s not stolen! I told you, it belongs to my boyfriend-”

“Do you have any proof of ownership?” the woman asks sharply, cutting you off. “Registration documents, anything like that?”

You open your mouth, then close it, frustration building. “The registration is in the glove compartment. If you just let me get it-”

“Stay where you are,” the man says firmly, holding up a hand to stop you. “We’ll check it ourselves.”

“Can’t you just let me show you?” You take a step forward, but both officers tense, their hands hovering near their belts. Your heart stutters in your chest, a cold trickle of fear sliding down your spine. “I’m telling the truth! I can unlock the car and show you. Please, just let me-”

“Miss, please calm down,” the woman says, her tone laced with a warning. “We’re following protocol here. If you cooperate, this will go much smoother.”

“But I am cooperating!” The words burst out, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m not lying. It’s my boyfriend’s car, he let me borrow it while mine is in the shop-”

“Miss, we need you to step away from the vehicle,” the man says again, more forcefully this time. He pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

You hesitate, caught off guard. “Max,” you say finally, your voice faltering slightly. “Max Verstappen.”

There’s a pause — one that stretches uncomfortably long. The officers exchange another look, something almost skeptical passing between them.

“Right,” the woman says slowly, like she’s testing the words in her mouth. “And you expect us to believe that Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 driver, lent you his Aston Martin?”

“Yes!” Your hands are shaking now, anger and disbelief mixing with fear in a volatile cocktail. “Why would I lie about that? Just let me-”

“Miss,” the man interrupts, his tone hardening. “We need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words hit you like a slap, knocking the breath from your lungs. “What? No, you can’t-”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” he repeats, each word clipped and precise.

You look from him to the woman, desperation clawing at your throat. “Please, just let me open the car. I can prove it’s not stolen. Please-”

But they’re not listening. Before you can say another word, the woman steps forward, reaching for your arm. You flinch back instinctively, panic flaring in your chest.

“Don’t-”

“Miss, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the woman says sharply, grabbing your wrist with practiced ease. She spins you around, her grip firm but not painful, and then you feel the cold, unforgiving bite of metal as she snaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists.

“No, wait-” You twist, struggling against her hold, but it’s useless. The cuffs dig into your skin, and you can’t breathe, can’t think.

“Please, I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!”

The man steps closer, his face impassive. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence …”

His voice blurs, the words running together in a nauseating hum. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No, no, please, I didn’t steal anything! Just call Max, he’ll explain-”

“Miss, we’re taking you down to the station,” the woman says, steering you away from the house and toward their patrol car parked at the curb. “We’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” You stumble, the cuffs biting into your wrists as they push you forward. “You’re not listening! The car isn’t stolen! If you just let me get the registration-”

But they ignore you, their grips unyielding. The street seems to tilt and blur as they guide you toward the back of the car, your shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. Everything feels surreal, like you’ve been dropped into a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

The woman opens the back door, and the man gives you a gentle but firm shove. You fall into the seat, the leather cold against your legs. They close the door with a solid thunk, the sound reverberating through your bones.

“Please,” you whisper, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. “You’re making a mistake. I’m telling the truth …”

But they’re already walking away, their voices low as they talk to each other. You catch fragments of their conversation — words like “protocol” and “standard procedure” — but it all feels distant, unreal.

You slump back in the seat, staring blankly out the window as the patrol car starts up, the engine a low, steady hum. The world outside blurs into a swirl of gray and green as they pull away from the curb, and your mind races, panic and disbelief tangling together in a messy knot.

How did this happen? One minute you were heading to your room, and now you’re being carted off to a police station like some sort of criminal. It doesn’t make any sense.

You try to replay the last few minutes in your head, searching for something — anything — you could have said or done differently. But there’s nothing. They weren’t listening to you. They didn’t care about your explanation. They just saw a girl with an expensive car and decided you must be guilty of something.

Tears prick your eyes again, and you blink them back furiously. You can’t fall apart now. You have to think, to figure out what to do next.

Max. You need to call Max. He’ll sort this out. He’ll tell them the truth, and they’ll have to let you go. But how are you supposed to do that when they’ve got you locked up in the back of a patrol car?

The drive to the station feels like it takes forever, each second dragging out in painful clarity. You try to keep calm, to breathe through the panic tightening in your chest, but it’s hard when every bump in the road makes the cuffs dig deeper into your skin.

Finally, they pull up in front of the station, and the officers get out, coming around to your side. The door opens, and the woman leans down, her expression unreadable.

“Come on, miss. Let’s get this sorted out.”

You nod numbly, letting them help you out of the car. Your legs feel shaky, your whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. They lead you up the steps, through the front doors, and into a small, sterile room that smells faintly of disinfectant.

“Please,” you say one last time, your voice breaking. “Please, just call him. He’ll explain everything.”

But they only exchange another glance, and the woman shakes her head slightly. “Let’s get your statement first, miss.”

And then they’re sitting you down, the lights glaring down from above, the cuffs still biting into your wrists. And all you can do is sit there, your heart pounding in your chest, as the nightmare continues to unfold around you.

***

The fluorescent lights above hum softly, the cold, sterile environment of the police station pressing down on you from every angle. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, your wrists still red from the handcuffs, a dull ache in your joints from sitting on the hard chair. Every second stretches, torturing you with the weight of waiting.

You're trying to stay calm, but your thoughts keep spiraling — back to the car, back to the police showing up at your doorstep, back to the way they refused to listen. Your voice shakes every time you try to explain, but it’s like they can’t hear you. It’s suffocating.

Across the room, the officer — her name’s Thompson, you think — sits at her desk, flipping through some paperwork. The sound of pages turning feels louder than it should. Every time you shift in your seat, she gives you this look, like she’s annoyed by your very presence. Like she’s waiting for you to break.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I want to make a phone call,” you say, your voice cutting through the stillness. You sit up straighter, your hands balled into fists on your lap.

Thompson doesn’t even look up. “You’ll get your chance,” she says dismissively, still flipping through the file.

“No,” you say, firmer this time. “I want to make it now. I have the right to make a phone call.”

This time, she looks up, her expression flat. “You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you snap, surprising yourself with the force in your voice. Your patience is gone, the fear of being trapped in this nightmare pushing you into desperation. “I know my rights. I’m allowed one phone call, and I want to make it.”

Thompson raises an eyebrow, like she’s weighing whether or not you’re serious. After a beat, she sighs, pushing the stack of papers aside and standing. “Fine,” she says curtly. “One phone call.”

She leads you to a small side room — bare, with only a table, a chair, and a landline phone sitting in the middle. You sit down, and Thompson places the phone in front of you like it’s some kind of offering.

“One call,” she says again, her eyes narrowing. “Make it count.”

You don’t hesitate. You dial Max’s number, your fingers trembling slightly as you press the buttons. The ring tone fills the room, each ring stretching out the time between your breaths. You press the phone closer to your ear, your heart pounding.

It rings once. Twice. And then-

“Hello?”

Max’s voice comes through the line, smooth and steady, as if he’s just woken up from a nap and isn’t even remotely phased by the sudden call. But you know him better than that — there’s a sharp edge beneath the surface, a protective tension that’s always there when it comes to you.

You swallow hard, fighting back the lump in your throat. “Max …”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts — serious, focused. “What’s wrong?”

“They arrested me,” you say, the words rushing out before you can stop them. “The police — they think I stole your car.”

There’s silence on the other end, just for a second. Then his voice drops, low and dangerous. “What?”

You feel the weight of his anger through the phone, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you feel a flicker of relief. He’s going to fix this. He’s not going to let them treat you like this.

“They showed up at the house,” you explain, your voice trembling slightly. “They wouldn’t let me get the registration. They didn’t believe me when I said the car was yours. They just-”

“Where are you?” His voice cuts through your explanation, sharp and commanding. “Which station?”

You glance around the room. “Bedfordshire Police Station. They won’t let me-”

“Stay where you are,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. “Don’t talk to anyone else. I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead before you can respond, the dial tone ringing in your ears. You stare at the phone for a moment, your heart racing. You know Max is angry — no, furious — but that anger isn’t directed at you. It’s for them, the people who put you in this position.

Thompson steps back into the room, her expression unreadable. “Finished?”

You nod, handing the phone back. She doesn’t say anything as she leads you back to the main room, but you can feel her eyes on you, judging, assessing.

You sit down again, your legs shaky, but now there’s a quiet fire burning in your chest. Max is coming. He’s going to make this right.

The minutes tick by, painfully slow. Thompson goes back to her paperwork, the other officers moving around the station like it’s just another day. But for you, every second is excruciating, the tension building in your chest like a storm.

Then, finally, the door to the station swings open with a heavy thud, and you hear the low murmur of voices — followed by a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

Max.

You can’t see him from where you’re sitting, but you can feel the shift in the room. There’s a sudden stillness, the officers glancing up from their desks, their postures stiffening. Even Thompson’s face changes, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she composes herself.

You strain to hear the conversation at the front desk, but it’s muffled. Still, you catch bits and pieces — his name, the car, your name. And then there’s the sharp, unmistakable edge of authority in Max’s voice as he says something that makes the desk officer sit up a little straighter.

Moments later, the door to the holding area swings open, and there he is. Max strides in, every movement purposeful, his eyes locking onto you immediately. There’s a fire in his gaze — controlled, but fierce — and the tension in his jaw tells you everything you need to know.

He’s not just angry. He’s livid.

“Max …” Your voice is small, a mixture of relief and shame. You hadn’t wanted to drag him into this mess, but you also know that no one else could’ve handled it the way he can.

He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his hand reaching for yours. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, steady, but you can hear the tightness underneath it.

You nod, but tears prick at your eyes. “I-I didn’t know what to do. They wouldn’t listen to me …”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve got it from here.” His tone is resolute, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, without another word to you, Max turns to face the officers. His entire demeanor shifts, his posture straightening, his presence filling the room with an air of control that demands respect.

“Who’s in charge here?” He asks, his voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.

Thompson steps forward, though there’s a flicker of hesitation in her movements. “I am,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “Officer Thompson.”

Max doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You arrested my girlfriend under suspicion of theft. I’d like to see the evidence you have for that.”

Thompson falters, her eyes flicking over to the other officers. “We … we received a report of a stolen vehicle, and-”

“And instead of verifying the ownership, you decided to arrest her?” Max’s voice is cold, each word measured. “Did you even check the registration in the glove compartment?”

Thompson’s jaw tightens. “We were following standard procedure. She became agitated and-”

“She was agitated because you were treating her like a criminal,” Max cuts in, his tone sharp. “You had no reason to arrest her. If you had checked the registration, you would’ve seen my name on it.”

He takes a step closer, his presence towering over Thompson, making her shift uneasily on her feet. “Do you know who I am?”

There’s a beat of silence. The room feels like it’s holding its breath.

Thompson nods slowly. “Yes. Mr. Verstappen, we-”

“Then you know how much trouble you’re in,” Max says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re going to release her. Now. And then you’re going to issue a formal apology.”

Thompson blinks, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. “Mr. Verstappen, I understand your frustration, but we were simply-”

“Don’t patronize me,” Max interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “You’ve already made a mess of this situation. Don’t make it worse by pretending this was some kind of mistake. You arrested her because you assumed she didn’t belong in that car. Because you didn’t bother to listen.”

Thompson opens her mouth to argue, but Max doesn’t give her the chance. “I’ll be contacting my legal team,” he says, his tone firm. “And if you don’t release her immediately, I’ll make sure this becomes a very public issue.”

The threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Thompson hesitates for a moment longer, and then — finally — she nods.

“Release her,” she says quietly, signaling to one of the other officers.

The relief that washes over you is immediate, your heart pounding in your chest as the handcuffs are removed. Max’s hand is on your shoulder in an instant, grounding you, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he looks down at you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You nod, letting him guide you out of the station. But before you step through the door, you glance back at Thompson, who’s still standing there, her expression strained.

Max pauses, following your gaze. He meets Thompson’s eyes, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ever treat her like that again,” he says quietly, the words carrying more weight than any threat could.

And with that, he leads you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you step outside.

***

Max’s fingers are wrapped tightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, as he guides you toward his car in the station’s dimly lit parking lot. It’s quieter out here, the cool air thick with the scent of autumn leaves and something sharper — the lingering smell of petrol. The night is still, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos you’ve just been dragged through.

But Max’s silence is unnerving. He’s holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

He stops in front of a sleek, black Porsche 911 GT3 RS, the kind of car that turns heads and raises eyebrows. It’s an aggressive machine, all sharp edges and raw power — just like Max right now.

“Get in,” he says, his voice low and controlled, as if he’s holding back a storm. He opens the passenger side door for you, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You hesitate for a second, looking up at him, trying to gauge his mood. “Max-”

“Get. In,” he repeats, enunciating each word with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You slip into the passenger seat without another word, the leather cool against your skin. The car’s interior is immaculate, everything in its place, the faint smell of new leather lingering in the air. Max rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, his movements tight and controlled. He doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine, the car roaring to life with a low, throaty growl.

He peels out of the parking lot with a precision that feels almost surgical, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his jaw clenched. The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Max-”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and accusing. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Tell you what?”

“That they arrested you,” he says, each word bitten off like it’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “That they-” He breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I-I didn’t want to worry you. You were probably busy, and-”

“Busy?” He lets out a short, humorless laugh, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. “You think I care about being busy when something like this happens? When you’re involved?”

“Max, I didn’t want you to-”

“To what? Be pissed off? Too late for that,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. He takes a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel loosening slightly. “What happened, exactly?”

You tell him, your voice halting at first but gaining strength as you recount every detail — the officers showing up, the handcuffs, the questions, the disbelief when you tried to explain the car belonged to him. Max’s expression darkens with each word, his jaw set in a hard line.

“They just … wouldn’t listen,” you finish softly, staring down at your hands. “I told them it was yours. I even tried to show them the registration, but they didn’t care.”

“They didn’t care because they had already made up their minds,” Max growls, his voice a dangerous rumble. “They saw you and assumed you didn’t belong in that car.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to keep his temper in check.

“Why would they think the car was stolen in the first place?” He mutters, more to himself than to you. His fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel, his mind clearly racing.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Someone must have reported it,” you say slowly, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “Someone must have seen me with it and assumed …”

Max’s gaze snaps to you, sharp and focused. “Who would do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “It could’ve been anyone. The car … it stands out. Maybe someone thought it looked out of place at the house.”

Max’s frown deepens. “No,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “No, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone who knows you. Someone who knew that wasn’t your car.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and damning. Someone who knew you. Someone who saw you with the Aston Martin. Someone who-

“One of your housemates,” Max says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

You open your mouth to protest, but then you stop, the pieces falling into place in your mind. One of your housemates. One of the people who knows you can’t afford a car like that, who might have thought — wrongly, jealously — that you had gotten your hands on it through some shady means.

Max’s eyes are hard, unyielding. “It has to be,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone saw you with the car and called the police. There’s no other explanation.”

You take a deep breath, the realization settling in your chest like a lead weight. “But … why would they do that? Why would they assume I stole it?”

“Because people are idiots,” Max mutters, his gaze flicking back to the road. “Because people are jealous. And because they didn’t like seeing you with something they thought you shouldn’t have.”

There’s a bitter edge to his words, and it makes your heart ache. Max has dealt with his share of jealousy, of people looking at him like he doesn’t deserve what he’s earned. He knows what it’s like to be judged, to have assumptions made about him based on nothing but surface impressions.

But this is different. This is personal.

“Whoever did this,” Max says, his voice low and controlled, “is going to regret it.”

Your eyes widen, a pang of fear and something else — something almost like excitement — flaring in your chest. “Max, wait-”

“We’re going to your house,” he continues, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re going to find out who made that call, and I’m going to make sure they understand exactly what kind of trouble they’ve caused.”

“Max, no,” you protest, your voice rising. “You don’t have to do that. I-I can handle it. I’ll talk to them, I’ll-”

“No, you won’t.” He glances at you, his eyes blazing. “You’ve been through enough tonight. I’m handling this.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops you cold. There’s a steely determination in his eyes, an unshakeable resolve that tells you there’s no point in fighting him on this.

He’s already made up his mind.

“Max, please-”

“Enough,” he says softly, but there’s no gentleness in his tone. “I’m not letting them get away with this.”

You fall silent, your heart racing as the car speeds down the quiet, empty streets. The tension in the car is suffocating, but there’s also a strange sense of relief. Relief that he’s here, that he’s taking control, that he’s going to make this right.

You know you should feel bad, should feel guilty for dragging him into this mess. But right now, all you feel is a fierce, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Max’s hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing through yours, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m going to take care of it.”

You nod, swallowing back the words you want to say — the apologies, the pleas for him not to do anything reckless. Because you know it won’t make a difference. Max is stubborn, determined, protective to a fault. And when it comes to you, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

The drive to your house feels both too long and too short, every second charged with anticipation. When Max finally pulls up outside your shared house, he cuts the engine and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stay in the car,” he says firmly.

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” He enunciates each word with that same controlled intensity, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m going inside.”

“Max, you can’t-”

“I can and I will,” he interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you go in there and face them after everything that’s happened tonight.”

He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing gesture. “Just stay here, okay? Let me handle it.”

You want to argue, to tell him it’s not necessary, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s a fierce protectiveness there, a determination that makes your chest tighten.

“Max …”

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “Just this once. Let me take care of it.”

You hesitate, then nod slowly. “Okay.”

He leans forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before pulling back. “Good.”

And with that, he steps out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. You watch as he strides toward the front door of your house, his shoulders squared, his posture radiating confidence and control.

But the second he disappears from view, you find yourself reaching for the door handle. You know he told you to stay in the car. You know he wants to protect you.

But you can’t just sit here and let him fight your battles for you.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the cool night air, following him up the path toward the house.

***

The door swings open with a resounding bang, ricocheting with enough force to make the picture frames on the adjacent wall rattle. Every head in the common room snaps up, eyes wide and startled as they turn toward the unexpected intrusion.

Max stands in the doorway, the very picture of barely restrained fury, his presence so commanding it seems to suck the air out of the room. His gaze sweeps over the small group of people lounging on the mismatched sofas, taking in their shocked expressions and slack-jawed stares with a level of disdain that’s almost palpable.

“What the hell is going on?” He demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through the room.

No one answers immediately. They’re all too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered stranger radiating aggression. It’s Chloe who finally finds her voice, pushing herself up from her seat on the sofa and taking a hesitant step forward.

“Um, excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice wavers slightly, but she lifts her chin defiantly, trying to project an air of authority. “You can’t just barge in here like this.”

Max’s eyes lock onto her, and something in his gaze makes her flinch back, the confidence in her stance faltering. He doesn’t bother answering her question. Instead, he turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder.

“Come in here,” he says, his tone softer but no less commanding.

You step into the doorway behind him, hesitant and unsure, your gaze flicking nervously between Max and your housemates. You don’t miss the way their expressions shift when they see you — surprise, confusion, and something darker, more judgmental, flickering across their faces.

“Y/N?” It’s Amelia who speaks this time, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on? Who is this guy?”

Max’s jaw tightens, his gaze still fixed on Chloe. “I’m Max,” he says curtly, as if the name alone should explain everything.

It clearly doesn’t. The blank stares from around the room make that abundantly clear.

“Max Verstappen,” he adds, impatience lacing his tone. Still no recognition. “Formula 1 driver? Y/N’s boyfriend?” He tries again, a hint of disbelief in his voice now.

A flicker of something like realization crosses a few faces, but Chloe just scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, sure,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “And I’m Lewis Hamilton.”

Max’s lips curl into a cold, humorless smile. “Trust me, I would never want to be him.”

The comment flies over Chloe’s head, but it’s enough to send a ripple of laughter through the room. Max’s smile fades as quickly as it came, his expression hardening once more.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he says again flatly, jerking his head in your direction. “And I’m here to find out which one of you decided it was a good idea to call the police and have her arrested.”

The laughter dies instantly. The air in the room thickens with tension, eyes darting from Max to you and back again.

“Arrested?” Amelia repeats, her voice rising in pitch. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Max snaps, his gaze still boring into Chloe, like he can see straight through her. “One of you called the cops and reported her for driving a stolen car. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

A murmur of confusion ripples through the group, genuine bewilderment on most faces. But Chloe’s eyes dart away, a flicker of guilt crossing her expression before she schools it back into one of indifference.

“What — no, that’s ridiculous!” She says, her voice a touch too high-pitched. “Why would any of us do that?”

Max’s gaze narrows, his eyes zeroing in on her like a hawk spotting prey. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, her gaze flickering toward the others as if searching for support. But no one says anything. No one moves.

“Look,” Chloe finally says, trying for a breezy tone that falls flat. “If she got arrested, that’s … that’s not our fault, okay? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something.”

Max’s eyes flash, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“A misunderstanding?” He repeats, his voice deceptively calm. “Yeah, I’d say there was a huge misunderstanding. Like the fact that you assumed she couldn’t possibly be driving that car legitimately. Like the fact that you assumed she’d have to steal it to have something that nice.”

He takes a step closer to Chloe, and she instinctively steps back, her expression faltering. “Whoever made that call didn’t just cause a ‘misunderstanding.’ They caused a whole lot of trouble for no reason other than pettiness and jealousy.”

“Hey, wait a minute-” One of the other housemates tries to interject, but Max doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you know what it’s like to get a phone call telling you the person you love is sitting in a cell?” He asks, his gaze never leaving Chloe’s face. “Do you know what it’s like to hear that they were treated like a criminal just because someone here,” — he practically spits the word — “decided to be a self-righteous, vindictive bitch?”

The room goes deathly silent. Chloe’s face has gone pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, no words forthcoming.

“Max, maybe we should-” you start, reaching out to touch his arm.

He cuts you off with a quick shake of his head, his eyes still locked on Chloe. “No. She needs to hear this.”

You shrink back slightly, your stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and something else — something like relief. Because as harsh as Max is being, there’s a part of you that’s grateful. Grateful that he’s standing up for you, that he’s putting words to all the anger and frustration you’ve been bottling up since this whole nightmare began.

“You don’t get to treat people like that,” Max continues, his voice low and cold. “You don’t get to make snap judgments about someone based on what you think they deserve. And you sure as hell don’t get to sic the cops on them just because you’re too insecure to handle seeing someone else with something you want.”

Chloe’s lips tremble, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. “I … I didn’t …”

“Didn’t what?” Max demands, his voice rising. “Didn’t think it would matter? Didn’t think about the consequences? Or didn’t think you’d get caught?”

The accusation hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. No one moves. No one breathes.

“I didn’t think-” Chloe starts, but the words catch in her throat. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just — I thought …”

Max lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah, you thought. That’s the problem.”

He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, steadier, but no less cutting.

“You know what? I don’t even care what your excuse is,” he says quietly. “Because there is no excuse. Nothing you say is going to change what you did. Nothing is going to make up for the fact that you had her dragged off in handcuffs for no reason other than your own messed-up assumptions.”

Chloe flinches at the words, her shoulders hunching as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. You almost feel a pang of sympathy for her — almost. But then you remember the cold metal of the handcuffs around your wrists, the humiliating feeling of being treated like a criminal, and the sympathy evaporates.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Max says, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to apologize. Right now. To her.”

He steps back slightly, giving Chloe a clear line of sight to you. She hesitates, her gaze flicking up to yours, and for a moment, she just stares at you, her eyes wide and fearful.

“I … I’m sorry,” she finally mutters, the words barely audible.

Max’s gaze hardens. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, her voice trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. I just … I thought the car was … that it wasn’t …”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish. But she trails off, her face crumpling with guilt and shame. It’s not much of an apology, but it’s more than you expected.

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Max nods once, satisfied. “Good. Now, if I ever hear about you pulling something like this again,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Chloe nods frantically, her face ashen. “Y-Yes, I understand.”

“Great.” Max turns away from her, his gaze softening as it lands on you. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The Porsche purrs along the quiet stretch of motorway, the engine’s deep growl a steady undercurrent to the conversation hanging in the air. It’s late — well past midnight — but neither of you seem in any hurry to get home. There’s a lingering tension, a heaviness that neither of you know quite how to disperse.

Max’s hand grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles stark against the leather. You watch him from the corner of your eye, the faint glow of the dashboard casting shadows across his face. His jaw is set, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that betrays the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

He hasn’t said much since leaving your house. Just a few clipped sentences, terse reassurances that he’s not mad at you, that you didn’t do anything wrong. But the words feel hollow, inadequate against the weight of what happened tonight.

After a few more minutes of silence, Max finally speaks, his voice low and controlled. “I talked to the mechanics earlier today.”

You blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “The mechanics?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “About your car.”

Oh. You feel a pang of anxiety, your stomach twisting unpleasantly. You’d almost forgotten about your poor, beat-up little car, abandoned at some garage in Milton Keynes. “What did they say?”

Max hesitates, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “It’s … not good.”

You swallow hard, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?”

“They think it’s beyond saving.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying to break the news gently. “There’s too much damage. The engine’s shot, the transmission’s on its last legs … basically, it’d cost more to repair it than it’s worth.”

You stare at him, uncomprehending. “But … but I just had it serviced a few months ago,” you protest weakly. “It shouldn’t be that bad-”

“It’s not your fault,” Max interrupts gently. “That car’s been through hell. It’s a miracle it’s lasted as long as it has.”

“But I can’t just … give up on it,” you say, a note of desperation creeping into your voice. “It’s my car, Max. I need it.”

“You need a car,” Max corrects softly. “Not that car. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I can’t afford a new one right now. I still have to pay for-”

“Hey, hey.” Max’s hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your knee, squeezing gently. “I’m not saying you have to buy a new car.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flaring. “What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying,” Max begins, his tone careful, measured, “that I’ll get you a new one.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’s suggesting.

“No,” you say finally, shaking your head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Max’s brow furrows, his gaze flickering to yours. “Why not?”

“Because … because that’s ridiculous!” You sputter. “I’m not letting you buy me a car. That’s way too much.”

“It’s not too much if you need it,” he argues calmly.

“Yes, it is!” You insist, your voice rising. “It’s too much, and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll figure something out-”

“Like what?” Max challenges, his voice sharpening. “What are you going to do, keep borrowing cars you’re hesitant to actually use? Take public transport everywhere? What happens when you need to get somewhere and you don’t have a ride?”

“I’ll manage,” you say stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I always have.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to anymore,” Max snaps, his frustration breaking through. “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“Because it’s not your problem to solve!” You shout back, the words bursting out before you can stop them.

Max goes silent, his gaze turning stony. For a few long moments, the only sound in the car is the steady thrum of the engine and your own harsh breathing.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist. “You’re my girlfriend. That means if you have a problem, it is my problem to solve.”

The certainty in his tone makes your breath catch in your throat. You look at him, really look at him, and see the determination blazing in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Max …” you begin softly, but he cuts you off with a quick shake of his head.

“No, listen to me.” He takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on your knee. “I know you’re independent. I know you’re used to handling things on your own. But this isn’t about money, or pride, or any of that. It’s about making sure you’re safe, that you have what you need to get around. And right now, that means getting you a new car.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he presses on, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Let me do this for you,” he says quietly, almost pleadingly. “Please.”

His sincerity takes the wind out of your sails, your protests dying on your lips. You stare at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders.

“But … it’s just … too much,” you say weakly, your resolve crumbling.

Max’s expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. And even if it is, I don’t care. You’re worth it.”

The simple, earnest declaration sends a rush of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling in your chest. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back furiously, refusing to let them fall.

“Why do you have to be so damn convincing?” You mutter, half exasperated, half amused.

Max’s smile widens slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your knee. “It’s a gift.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says dryly, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor. “So … you’ll let me do this?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. It still feels like too much, like accepting would be crossing some invisible line. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right — that trying to handle this on your own would be stubborn and impractical and would probably end up causing more problems than it’s worth.

And more than that, you can see how much it means to him. How much he wants to do this for you.

“Fine,” you say finally, letting out a long sigh. “But only because you’re so damn insistent.”

Max’s grin is dazzling, the relief and joy in his eyes almost overwhelming. “Good. I’ll start looking for something first thing tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he counters smoothly, his grin widening at your soft, exasperated laugh.

“Cheesy,” you accuse, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a shrug. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “I’m still not letting you get me something ridiculously expensive,” you warn, trying to sound stern.

“We’ll see,” Max says noncommittally, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Max-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says quickly, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. “We’ll get something practical, okay? Something that’s safe and reliable and not … ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Promise?”

Max’s smile softens, and he nods, his gaze holding yours steadily. “Promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a sense of peace settling over you. Maybe it’s not ideal, accepting something so big from him, but … maybe it’s okay to let him take care of you, just this once.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Max’s smile is soft and warm and full of so much affection it makes your chest ache. He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. “No, thank you.”

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

It’s You

Where Y/N’s chaotic energy clashes with her grumpy, tattooed neighbor, her mission to get on his good side turns into stolen glances, quiet moments, and a connection she never expected.

Au Harry

Word count: 13,395

Content warning: Cursing, smut, alcohol.

The warm glow of string lights illuminated Y/N’s cozy Los Angeles apartment as the sound of laughter filled the air. The small space was a mix of bohemian chic and personal touches—a gallery wall of polaroids, a cluttered coffee table covered with open bags of snacks, and a few empty wine bottles standing like trophies from their earlier indulgence.

Y/N flopped back onto the couch, a glass of red wine in hand, her cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and nonstop giggling. Her two best friends, Harper and Lila, sat cross-legged on the floor, snacking on popcorn and chips, fully embracing the childlike joy of their adult sleepover.

“This feels so right,” Y/N said, her voice slightly tipsy. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Because we’re responsible adults now, remember?” Harper teased, adjusting her oversized hoodie. “Nine-to-five, bills, and pretending we know what we’re doing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lila quipped, popping a gummy bear into her mouth. “I’m thriving in my chaos era.”

Y/N snorted, and Harper rolled her eyes with an affectionate grin. Lila was the wild card of the group, always coming up with unpredictable ideas. And she didn’t disappoint tonight.

“You know what we should do?” Lila suddenly said, sitting up straighter. “Karaoke.”

“Yes!” Harper exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh my God, yes. Do you still have that mic we bought for New Year’s Eve?”

Y/N groaned dramatically, but her smile betrayed her fake reluctance. “You mean the mic that nearly got us evicted? Of course, I still have it.”

Lila grinned wickedly. “Perfect. Let’s wake up the entire building with our stunning renditions of 2000s throwbacks.”

Without waiting for further approval, Lila dashed to the hall closet and pulled out the karaoke mic, triumphantly waving it in the air. Harper grabbed her phone, already scrolling through a playlist.

“You’re starting,” Harper declared, pointing the mic at Y/N.

“What? No!” Y/N laughed, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m not ready!”

“Too bad,” Lila said, shoving the mic into Y/N’s hands. “You can’t escape destiny. Pick your song.”

Y/N sighed theatrically before smirking. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when your ears bleed.”

As Y/N queued up Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson, the room erupted in cheers. The first few notes played, and soon enough, Y/N was belting out the lyrics with unrestrained enthusiasm, her friends joining in for the chorus. It didn’t matter that they were slightly off-key; in that moment, they were superstars in their own private concert.

Wine glasses were forgotten, snacks spilled, and every lyric was sung at full volume. It was the kind of night they’d remember for years—a reminder that no matter how grown-up they pretended to be, some things never lost their magic.

The girls were in full swing, harmonizing (poorly) to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. Lila stood on the couch holding the mic as if she were performing at Madison Square Garden, while Harper played air guitar with a half-empty wine bottle. Y/N was doubled over in laughter, her cheeks aching from smiling so much.

Just as they hit the iconic, “Tell me why—” part, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, cutting through their drunken fun like a record scratch. The girls froze, their voices trailing off mid-note. Y/N straightened up, exchanging wide-eyed looks with Harper and Lila.

“Uh… did someone order pizza?” Lila whispered, her voice unsure.

“Nope,” Y/N said, setting her wine glass on the coffee table. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

With a mix of nerves and annoyance, Y/N padded to the door. She peered through the peephole and groaned. It was her new neighbor, Harry. She’d only exchanged a polite “hello” with him in passing, but he’d already struck her as the brooding, grumpy type.

Bracing herself, she opened the door.

There he stood: tall, disheveled hair pushed back in a lazy attempt at taming it, wearing a faded gray hoodie and black joggers. His sharp green eyes narrowed as he took in her flushed face and the muffled chaos behind her.

“Good evening,” he started, his British accent dripping with sarcasm. “I just wanted to say how much I’ve been enjoying your concert tonight. It’s like living next door to a live music venue. Only… worse.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by his dry humor. “Oh. Uh, sorry about that. We didn’t realize how loud we were being.”

Harry crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I figured. Thought I’d come over before I lost the ability to hear entirely.”

From behind her, Lila’s voice chimed in drunkenly. “Is it a noise complaint? Tell him to sing with us!”

Y/N turned and shot Lila a glare. Harper muffled a laugh.

Y/N sighed and looked back at Harry. “We’ll keep it down. Promise.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk, though his tone remained gruff. “Appreciated. Just… try not to turn it into a full-on festival.”

With that, he turned to leave, but Y/N couldn’t help herself. “You know, you could’ve just sent a passive-aggressive text or something.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, one brow arched. “I thought this had more impact.”

And then he was gone.

Y/N closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment. When she turned around, Lila and Harper were staring at her like she’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.

“Um, who was that?” Lila asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Harry. My new neighbor,” Y/N replied, walking back to the couch.

“And Mr. Grumpy Pants is cute,” Harper added, grinning.

Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up her wine glass. “Yeah, yeah. He’s cute and cranky. Now can we please move on before you two start planning a love story?”

But the mischievous glint in her friends’ eyes told her they weren’t letting this go anytime soon.

The karaoke mic had been put away, and the girls now lounged in the cozy living room, passing a bottle of wine between them. The earlier buzz of excitement had mellowed, but the energy was still warm and lively. Lila was sprawled on the couch with her legs dangling over Harper’s lap, while Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from her glass.

“I mean, let’s just talk about him for a second,” Lila began, her voice dramatic. “The mopey neighbor with the accent? And did you see those tattoos? They were peeking out, Y/N. He’s giving mysterious bad boy energy.”

Y/N groaned, her cheeks warming instantly. “Oh my God, Lila. He was literally just here to tell us to shut up.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not hot,” Harper chimed in, grinning. “He has that whole ‘I’m grumpy but secretly charming’ vibe. Like, did you see the way he smirked when he made that little joke?”

Y/N tried to hide her flustered reaction by taking another sip of wine, but she couldn’t stop the blush creeping up her neck. She’d noticed too—his smirk, his sharp jawline, the tattoos curling up his forearm, just barely visible under his hoodie sleeves. She’d noticed everything.

“I mean, he’s okay, I guess,” Y/N mumbled, keeping her tone nonchalant.

“Okay?” Lila shot up, nearly spilling her wine. “You’re lying. You’re the worst liar ever.”

“Shut up,” Y/N said, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “Fine, he’s cute. So what? He’s also my neighbor, and he’s probably annoyed with me forever now.”

“He’s not annoyed,” Harper said, nudging her with her foot. “If he were, he wouldn’t have made the effort to come over himself. He would’ve sent an email to management or something. He wanted an excuse to see you.”

“Right,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “Because nothing’s more attractive than a drunk girl singing Backstreet Boys at full volume.”

“Exactly!” Lila exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “You’re memorable. He’ll never forget you now.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Harper said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “But I bet he thinks you’re cute too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed deeper, and she quickly changed the subject. But as the night went on, she couldn’t shake the image of Harry standing in her doorway, his messy hair, his smirk, and those tattoos. Maybe her friends weren’t entirely wrong.

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Y/N’s apartment, illuminating the chaos left behind from the night before. Wine glasses, half-eaten snacks, and the abandoned karaoke mic were scattered around the living room. The girls were tangled up in blankets, sprawled across the couch and the floor like a scene from a sitcom.

Y/N was the first to stir, groaning as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. Harper was curled up on the couch with a throw pillow over her head, while Lila lay on the floor in a makeshift nest of cushions, one arm dramatically draped over her face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Y/N teased, nudging Lila with her foot.

Lila groaned. “Why are you awake? It’s illegal to be this alive right now.”

Harper peeked out from under her pillow, her voice muffled. “What time is it? Do we even have the energy to exist today?”

“Barely,” Y/N replied, standing and stretching. “But I’m starving, so I’m making breakfast. Come help me.”

Harper and Lila grumbled but eventually dragged themselves up and into the kitchen, where Y/N was already cracking eggs into a bowl. Together, they whipped up a chaotic but delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a mountain of coffee.

The girls sat around the small dining table, eating in comfortable silence at first. Then Lila broke the quiet with a wicked grin.

“So… Harry.”

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “Not again.”

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Lila said, smirking. “Next time we do this, we should make it even louder. Really make him come back over.”

Harper snorted into her coffee. “Yes! Like, full-blown karaoke night but with amps and disco lights.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. “You two are the worst.”

“But you love us,” Harper said, nudging her with an elbow.

After breakfast, the girls cleaned up and packed their things before heading out. Harper hugged Y/N tightly. “We definitely need to do this again.”

Lila nodded enthusiastically. “Louder next time. You know, for research purposes.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing as she walked them to the door. “You’re both insane, but I love you. Drive safe.”

Once they were gone, Y/N flopped onto the couch and opened their group chat. Almost immediately, messages started flooding in.

Lila: Next sleepover, let’s bring a fog machine. If Harry shows up, we’ll just act like it’s a concert.

Harper: Or we could rent a spotlight. Make it an event

Y/N: You guys are unbelievable. No more wine for you next time.

Lila: Admit it, you want him to show up again.

Y/N: …maybe.

Harper: KNEW IT.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at her phone, her cheeks warming yet again. As ridiculous as her friends were, they weren’t entirely wrong.

The day passed in a blur of cleaning and tidying as Y/N tried to get her apartment back to its usual organized state. By the time the sun started to dip low in the sky, the chaos from the night before had been erased, leaving her apartment looking like a picture of calm domesticity. Feeling accomplished, Y/N decided to check her mailbox before settling in for a quiet evening.

She padded down to the mailroom in her building, dressed in a casual but presentable outfit—high-waisted jeans and a simple white top. As she rifled through the usual junk mail and a couple of bills, the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention.

Glancing to the side, she saw Harry walking in, his hoodie replaced by a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. His tattoos were on full display now—intricate designs that wound up his forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt. He barely glanced at her as he moved to his mailbox, unlocking it with practiced ease.

Y/N swallowed her nerves and decided to seize the moment. It was better to make a proper introduction now than to let the awkwardness from last night linger. Turning slightly toward him, she cleared her throat.

“Hey, neighbor,” she began, keeping her tone light. “Figured I should introduce myself officially now that I’m not, you know, half-drunk and screaming karaoke at midnight. I’m Y/N.”

Harry turned his head, his green eyes locking onto hers. His expression was neutral, almost unreadable, as he gave her a quick once-over. “Harry,” he said simply, his voice low and clipped.

Y/N bit back a grin, determined not to let his gruff demeanor throw her off. “Nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry again about last night. I promise we don’t usually host impromptu concerts. Unless, of course, you’re a fan of boy band throwbacks.”

Harry let out a soft exhale that could’ve been a laugh—or just a sigh. “I’ll survive.”

Encouraged by the hint of amusement, Y/N decided to keep the conversation going. “You know, if you’re ever feeling nostalgic, you’re welcome to join us. We could use a fourth member for our extremely off-key girl group.”

Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but his expression remained mostly stoic. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Y/N tilted her head, giving him a mock-serious look. “You’re really hard to read, you know that? Most people at least chuckle at my jokes.”

Harry glanced at her, his gaze steady and calm. “Maybe I’m just not most people.”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t know how to respond. There was something almost challenging in his tone, but it wasn’t harsh. If anything, it piqued her curiosity even more.

“Well, Harry,” she said finally, flashing him a bright smile. “Challenge accepted. I’ll make you laugh one of these days.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead closing his mailbox and tucking the letters under his arm. As he moved to leave, he paused, looking over his shoulder.

“We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her stack of mail and a strange mix of frustration and intrigue swirling in her chest. One thing was for sure—Harry might be grumpy, but he was far from boring.

As soon as Y/N got back to her apartment, she tossed her mail onto the counter and grabbed her phone, already smirking to herself. She opened the group chat with Harper and Lila, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N:

Guess who I just ran into in the mailroom?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with replies.

Lila:

Was it… oh, I don’t know… Mr. Grumpy Hot Neighbor?

Harper:

Harry! Tell us everything right now.

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, typing out her reply.

Y/N:

Yes, it was Harry. I introduced myself properly. You know, as a fully functional adult and not a drunken mess.

Lila:

And? Did he swoon? Did he drop all his mail and propose on the spot?

Harper:

Or at least crack a smile?

Y/N sighed and leaned back against the counter, smirking to herself as she typed.

Y/N:

Absolutely not. He was… well, Harry. Polite but distant. He might’ve almost smiled, but I can’t be sure.

Lila:

Ugh, he’s really sticking to the mysterious moody thing. It’s so hot. What did you say to him?

Y/N:

I told him he was hard to read and said I’d make him laugh one day.

Harper:

Bold move, I love it. What did he say?

Y/N:

He said, ‘We’ll see about that.’

Lila:

STOP. That’s basically flirting.

Harper:

Right? That’s flirty! Subtle, broody flirting.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting. He’s just… like that.

Lila:

Y/N, this is your rom-com moment, and you’re living in denial. Grumpy guy + sunshine girl is literally a trope for a reason.

Harper:

Exactly. Next step: get him to join us for karaoke.

Y/N:

Oh, sure, because he definitely seems like the kind of guy who wants to sing ‘Toxic’ with us.

Lila:

You never know. Maybe he has a secret karaoke voice that’ll blow us all away.

Y/N laughed to herself, shaking her head. Her friends were relentless, but she couldn’t deny that their enthusiasm made her smile. As much as she tried to brush off the encounter, she couldn’t stop replaying it in her head—the way Harry’s green eyes lingered just a second too long, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. 

It had been a couple of weeks since Y/N’s encounter with Harry in the mailroom, and she’d managed to push him to the back of her mind. Between work, friends, and her usual routine, she hadn’t bumped into him in the halls or around the building. Life went on, and the memory of his grumpy smirk became just another amusing anecdote to share with Harper and Lila.

Until one night.

Y/N was jolted awake by the blaring sound of the fire alarm. Disoriented and groggy, she stumbled out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt, pulling it over her pajama tank top. She shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed her phone, and headed for the door. The hallway was chaotic, filled with neighbors in various states of sleepiness and confusion, all heading for the exits.

Once outside, Y/N joined the crowd of residents gathering on the sidewalk. The chilly night air bit at her skin, and she crossed her arms to keep warm. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone she knew—until her eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost.

It was Harry. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and he wore a hoodie over loose sweatpants. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which, to be fair, he probably had. His expression was pure exhaustion, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he yawned.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She made her way over, her footsteps crunching on the gravel. “Hey, neighbor,” she said, coming to a stop next to him.

Harry turned his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he registered her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “This is… unexpected.” He waved his hand around. 

She grinned, shifting her weight to one foot. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But hey, at least it’s the fire alarms being obnoxiously loud this time and not me.”

Harry’s lips twitched, and for a second, she thought she’d finally gotten him to crack a smile. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” he asked dryly.

“Never,” Y/N replied, a teasing lilt in her voice. “It’s too good of a story.”

Harry exhaled softly, almost like a laugh, and shook his head. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as a fire truck pulled up and a couple of firefighters headed inside to investigate. The air was crisp and carried a faint chill, but Y/N barely noticed. She glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you think it’s an actual fire?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Probably just someone burning their midnight snack.”

“Sounds like a riveting Saturday night,” Y/N joked, earning another small exhale from him.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, glancing down at her. His gaze lingered for a moment, and Y/N could feel her cheeks warm, though she tried to play it cool.

“Well,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “If it turns out to be a drill, I’m demanding a formal apology from management for ruining my beauty sleep.”

Harry’s lips quirked, just enough for her to notice. “I’m sure they’ll get right on that.”

For the first time, standing outside in the middle of the night with Harry didn’t feel awkward or forced. It was easy, natural even, despite his perpetually tired and broody demeanor. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation, or maybe her persistence was finally wearing him down.

Before either of them could say more, a firefighter emerged from the building, shouting to the crowd that it was a false alarm. People groaned, some laughing as they shuffled back toward the entrance.

Harry pushed off the lamppost and looked at Y/N. “Guess that’s our cue.”

“Looks like it,” she said. “Catch you later, Harry.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Night, Y/N.”

As she headed back to her apartment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. Sure, he was still grumpy, but she was getting closer to breaking through. And honestly, she didn’t mind the challenge.

By the time Y/N woke up the next morning, she had already drafted the text she knew Harper and Lila would demand. Still half-asleep, she grabbed her phone and opened their group chat, typing out the full story in detail.

Y/N:

So… guess who I bumped into at 3 a.m. when the fire alarm went off?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with rapid-fire responses.

Harper:

Oh my God. HARRY?

Lila:

Please tell me you were both standing there in your PJs like the meet-cute of the century.

Y/N:

 No, it wasn’t a meet-cute. We just talked. Very normal. Nothing groundbreaking.

Harper:

What did you talk about?

Y/N:

I made a joke about how this time it wasn’t me being loud, it was the fire alarm.

Lila:

YES. Classic Y/N. What did he say?

Y/N:

He just… smirked. Or sighed. I’m honestly not sure anymore. He’s so hard to read.

Harper:

Smirking counts as flirting. I’m logging it.

Lila:

Definitely flirting. He wouldn’t have smirked if he wasn’t secretly interested. Men don’t waste smirks on people they don’t like.

Y/N:

Or he was just tired and didn’t care enough to argue.

Harper:

Nope. Not buying it. He’s interested. He’s just grumpy interested.

Lila:

Exactly! Brooding types like him don’t wear their feelings on their sleeves, but trust me, he’s intrigued. You just need to keep working on him.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile.

Y/N:

You two are absolutely ridiculous. We talked for five minutes, tops. Nothing more, nothing less.

Harper:

Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Lila:

Face it, Y/N. This is your slow-burn romance, and we are here for it. We’re already planning the playlist for your wedding.

Y/N:

Oh my God. I can’t with you two.

Despite her protests, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in her mind—the way his eyes lingered on her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Harper and Lila were reading too much into it… weren’t they?

Shaking her head, Y/N tossed her phone onto the couch. She had no intention of indulging their wild theories. But deep down, a small, stubborn part of her couldn’t help but wonder. 

Y/N lay in bed, staring at the faint shadows cast by her bedside lamp on the ceiling. The city sounds outside her window were faint but constant—cars in the distance, the occasional murmur of voices. She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, her brain refusing to shut off.

It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was Harry.

It wasn’t intentional, or at least that’s what she told herself. She’d been trying to push him out of her mind all day, but now, in the stillness of the night, his image seemed to surface unbidden. The way his messy hair stuck out when she’d seen him by the mailboxes. The tattoos peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, the intricate designs winding across his arms like a story she desperately wanted to read.

And then there was his face—sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to pierce through her defenses, and that faint smirk he’d given her last night when she’d cracked her fire alarm joke. It wasn’t a full smile, but it had been enough to spark something in her. Something she couldn’t quite shake.

She groaned, rolling onto her side and burying her face in her pillow. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself.

But it was no use. She kept thinking about the way his voice sounded—low, calm, almost soothing in its quiet confidence. The way he seemed perpetually unimpressed but not unkind, like he was holding back a part of himself from the world. And the way, despite all that grumpiness, she felt drawn to him.

The worst part was that she barely even knew him. A few brief encounters, a handful of words exchanged—it wasn’t enough to warrant this level of overthinking. And yet, here she was, wide awake at 2 a.m., her thoughts spinning in circles around a guy who probably wasn’t thinking about her at all.

She sighed, flipping onto her back again and staring at the ceiling. “You’re losing it, Y/N,” she whispered into the dark.

But no matter how hard she tried to distract herself—counting sheep, replaying her favorite movie in her head, anything—her mind kept drifting back to Harry. How frustratingly attractive he was. How much she wanted to figure him out. And how, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she kind of liked the challenge.

The next afternoon, Y/N tied her apron around her waist and stepped onto the floor of the bustling Italian restaurant where she worked. The warm scent of garlic, fresh basil, and baking bread filled the air as the sounds of clinking silverware and cheerful conversations hummed around her. It was her favorite kind of shift—steady but not overwhelming, just busy enough to keep her energized.

She loved being a server. There was something satisfying about knowing the menu by heart, from the way the chef perfectly folded the handmade ravioli to the rich, velvety tiramisu that always left customers raving. She enjoyed the rhythm of it all: taking orders, making guests laugh, weaving between tables like she was part of a well-rehearsed dance.

By the time her shift ended, the sun was low in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the city streets. Y/N slipped her bag over her shoulder, said goodbye to her coworkers, and began her short walk home.

The evening was warm, the kind of weather that made her glad she’d chosen this neighborhood to live in. She liked the convenience of being close to work, the charm of the old brick buildings, and the occasional vendor selling flowers or roasted nuts on the sidewalk.

But as she rounded the last corner toward her apartment building, the sky darkened suddenly. Heavy clouds rolled in overhead, and before she could process what was happening, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

“Seriously?” Y/N muttered, looking up at the sky as if it might offer her an explanation. Within seconds, the light drizzle turned into a full-on downpour. She didn’t have an umbrella, of course—it had been sunny when she left for work—and now she was too far from the restaurant to go back.

She quickened her pace, pulling her bag closer to her body to shield it from the rain. Her hair was already plastered to her forehead, and her clothes clung to her as the rain soaked through. She groaned in frustration but couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

By the time her apartment building came into view, she was drenched. She jogged the last stretch, her sneakers splashing in puddles, and darted toward the lobby entrance. As she reached for the door, it opened from the inside—and there, standing in the doorway, was Harry.

Of course, it was Harry.

He was holding a takeout bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. His green eyes widened slightly when he saw her, taking in her rain-soaked appearance.

“Rough night?” he asked, his voice dry but laced with faint amusement.

Y/N brushed a wet strand of hair out of her face, shaking water from her arms. “You could say that. Apparently, the weather decided I needed a shower.”

Harry stepped back, holding the door open for her. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Thanks for the observation,” Y/N said with a wry smile as she stepped inside, water pooling around her feet. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He smirked, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded toward the elevators. “You should probably get upstairs before you flood the lobby.”

“Wow, you’re so thoughtful,” she teased, her sarcasm barely masking the warmth in her voice.

Harry didn’t reply, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a comment. He stepped aside, letting her pass, and as Y/N headed toward the elevator, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. He was still standing by the door, his attention now on the rain outside, but she could’ve sworn she caught him sneaking a glance at her as she walked away.

Y/N stepped into her apartment, water dripping onto the floor as she kicked off her soaked sneakers. She stripped off her rain-soaked clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket before heading straight to the bathroom. The hot water of the shower was bliss, washing away the chill of the rain and the lingering frustration of getting caught in it. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, her skin was warm and her mind was clearer.

Slipping into her favorite pair of soft pajamas—shorts and an oversized t-shirt—she towel-dried her hair and grabbed her phone from the counter. She hadn’t checked it since leaving work, and the screen lit up with a few notifications. Most were unimportant, but one text made her freeze.

Unknown Number:

Hey, it’s Harry. Got your number from the resident book. Hope that’s okay. I, uh, ordered way too much food. If you’re not busy and don’t mind eating with someone who’s terrible at small talk, you’re welcome to join me.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had texted her? She stared at the message, rereading it a couple of times, unsure what to make of it. The grumpy, brooding neighbor had gone out of his way to invite her over for dinner?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought about what to say. She could easily come up with an excuse, blame the rain, or even politely decline. But something about his message—how he’d gone through the trouble of looking up her number and even made a self-deprecating joke—made her hesitate.

Finally, she started typing.

Y/N:

Hey! I’m surprised you didn’t mention how loud I was running through the lobby earlier. I’d love to join, but fair warning: I’m in my pajamas. I’ll bring wine to make up for it.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself and immediately got up to rummage through her small wine rack. She picked out a bottle of red, grabbed her favorite corkscrew, and texted him again.

Y/N:

Give me five minutes to make myself look less like a wet dog.

His response came almost instantly.

Harry:

I wouldn’t have said anything about the lobby, but now that you’ve brought it up… five minutes works. Apartment 4D.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. She quickly towel-dried her hair a little more, tossed it into a loose bun, and grabbed the wine. As she stood by her door, nerves fluttered in her stomach, but she pushed them aside.

Whatever this was—neighborly dinner, an olive branch, or something else—she was curious enough to find out.

Y/N stepped out of her apartment, the bottle of wine in hand, and made her way to the elevator. As she descended a floor, her nerves started to tingle, though she shook them off. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just dinner with her neighbor. Her very attractive, grumpy neighbor with tattoos and a British accent. Nothing to overthink at all.

When she reached Harry’s door, she raised her hand to knock—but before she could, the door swung open. Harry stood there, leaning casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised.

“I could hear you coming down the hall,” he said, his tone dry but his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

Y/N let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’ll take that as your way of saying you’re happy to see me.”

“Something like that,” he replied, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N walked in, glancing around as she entered. Harry’s apartment was similar in layout to hers but had an entirely different vibe. The walls were painted a deep, moody gray, with shelves lined with books, records, and a few small plants that looked suspiciously well cared for. A guitar rested in the corner by the window, and the faint smell of takeout wafted from the small kitchen.

“Nice place,” she said, setting the wine on the counter. “Very… broody chic. Fits you.”

Harry arched a brow as he closed the door. “Broody chic? Is that a compliment?”

“Depends how you take it,” Y/N shot back with a grin.

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he moved toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I may have overestimated how much I can eat on my own.”

She followed him, glancing at the spread on the counter. There were containers of what looked like Thai food—pad thai, green curry, fried rice, and spring rolls. Definitely enough for two, if not three.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said, grabbing a spring roll. “Planning on feeding the whole building?”

“Only the loudest resident,” he said, smirking again.

She gave him a playful glare before grabbing plates from the counter and handing him one. “Lucky for you, I came prepared,” she said, holding up the wine. “This should balance things out.”

As they settled at the small table, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how relaxed Harry seemed. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but there was something softer about him tonight. Less guarded. And as they started eating, trading sarcastic comments and occasional small talk, she realized she didn’t mind the challenge of cracking through his tough exterior one bit.

Harry handed Y/N two wine glasses, their fingers brushing briefly as she took them. He didn’t say anything, but his lips moved slightly as if he was trying not to smirk. Y/N poured the wine, filling each glass just enough before sliding one over to him.

Meanwhile, he plated the food, carefully dividing the dishes between two plates. His movements were deliberate, almost methodical, and Y/N found herself watching him for a moment before realizing what she was doing. Shaking herself out of it, she grabbed her glass and followed him to the bar counter.

They sat side by side, the warm glow of the pendant light above them casting a cozy atmosphere. Y/N took a sip of her wine, her gaze flicking to Harry as he started eating in silence.

For a while, she stayed quiet, enjoying the food and the unspoken rhythm of their shared meal. But her curiosity got the better of her. Setting her glass down, she turned toward him slightly, resting her elbow on the counter.

“So,” she began, her tone light but probing, “why are you always so grumpy?”

Harry paused mid-bite, his fork hovering over his plate as he looked at her. His green eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but as if he were trying to decide how serious she was.

“Grumpy?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, grumpy,” she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You know, the whole emo, barely-smiling, ‘I don’t have time for your nonsense’ vibe you’ve got going on. Is it like… your thing?”

Harry leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of his wine as he considered her question. “Maybe I’m not grumpy,” he said finally, his voice calm. “Maybe you’re just too… cheerful.”

“Cheerful?” she echoed, laughing softly. “That’s your explanation? I’m cheerful, so that automatically makes you grumpy?”

“Something like that,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re deflecting.”

He raised his glass, meeting her gaze over the rim as he took another sip. “Maybe.”

“Come on,” she pressed, leaning in slightly. “There’s got to be a reason. I mean, you’re not actuallymiserable all the time, are you?”

Harry sighed, setting his glass down and leaning his forearms on the counter. For a moment, he seemed to be debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he shrugged.

“I’m not grumpy,” he said, his voice quieter. “I just… don’t see the point in pretending all the time. People put on this front like everything’s great, but most of the time, it’s not. I’m just… honest about it.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. There was something in his tone—something unspoken but heavy, like he was revealing more than he intended.

“Well,” she said softly, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think being happy is the same as pretending. And I’m not pretending.”

Harry glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I noticed,” he said simply.

Her cheeks warmed, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then Y/N picked up her glass and raised it toward him.

“To being honest,” she said with a small smile.

Harry’s eyes flicked to her glass before he picked up his own, clinking it against hers. “To being honest,” he echoed.

And for the first time that evening, his smirk softened into something closer to a smile.

Harry swirled the wine in his glass, staring at the deep red liquid for a moment before setting it down and looking at Y/N. His expression was more open now, his usual guarded demeanor softened.

“You seem nice enough,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I could use a friend around here.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the admission. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Then a warm smile spread across her face.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” she said, her voice light with humor. “I thought for sure you hated me after the whole karaoke fiasco.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching in amusement. “Hated you? No. Annoyed, maybe. But hate’s a strong word.”

“Good to know,” Y/N said, laughing softly. “Because I was convinced you’d written me off as the world’s loudest neighbor.”

“I’ll admit,” Harry said, smirking now, “the karaoke was… a lot. But it’s hard to hate someone who sings ‘I Want It That Way’ with that much enthusiasm.”

Y/N covered her face with her hands, laughing harder. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember the song. That’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s unforgettable,” he said with mock seriousness, taking another sip of wine.

When her laughter died down, Y/N looked at him, her expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I’d be happy to be your friend. You don’t seem as scary as you pretend to be.”

“Scary?” Harry echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” she teased. “You’ve got the whole ‘grumpy lone wolf’ thing going on. It’s a little intimidating.”

Harry shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. “I’m not scary.”

“No,” Y/N said, grinning. “You’re not. You’re just… Harry.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Finally, he nodded, his tone soft but certain. “Yeah. Just Harry.”

As they continued eating, the conversation grew lighter, the initial tension between them fading into something comfortable. By the time they finished their meal, Y/N realized that beneath Harry’s gruff exterior was someone she genuinely wanted to know better. And judging by the way his smirk had softened into something warmer, she suspected he felt the same.

After finishing their plates, Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his forearm on the bar counter as he glanced at Y/N. There was a comfortable silence between them, one she hadn’t expected when she first showed up at his door.

“Thanks for coming over,” he said finally, his tone quieter but sincere. “I don’t usually… do this.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, swirling her wine in her glass. “What? Order too much food or invite people over?”

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “The second one. I’m not exactly the ‘neighborly dinner’ type.”

“Well, I feel special then,” she teased, tilting her head at him. “Although, if you’re not usually this social, why’d you invite me? I mean, not that I’m complaining.”

Harry shrugged, glancing down at his glass. “You seemed… different. I don’t know. Most people I meet just seem fake, like they’re putting on a show. But you’re…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Real.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty of his words. “Oh,” she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, thanks. I think.”

“I mean it,” Harry added, looking at her directly now. “You’re… not what I expected when I moved here. In a good way.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, and she tried to play it off with humor. “Careful, Harry. You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”

“Don’t push it,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes were softer than usual.

They fell into another comfortable silence, sipping their wine and letting the moment stretch out. Y/N felt herself relax more with each passing second, realizing how easy it was to be around him now that some of his walls had come down.

After a moment, she broke the quiet. “You know, for someone who claims not to be social, you’re pretty good company.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” she said, her grin widening. “You should let yourself be social more often. You might surprise yourself.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “One step at a time.”

They shared a small laugh, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like this was a turning point. Whatever Harry had been holding back before, he was letting her in now, even if only a little. It felt… nice.

Eventually, she glanced at her phone and realized how late it had gotten. “I should probably head back,” she said, setting her empty wine glass down. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

Harry stood as she got up, shaking his head. “You haven’t. But… thanks for coming. I mean it.”

She smiled, grabbing the bottle of wine. “Anytime, Harry.”

As she walked to the door, he followed her, leaning casually against the frame as she turned back to face him. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, a softness she wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice lighter now.

“Night, Y/N,” he replied, his smirk returning.

She headed back to her apartment, her heart unexpectedly lighter. Maybe Harry wasn’t as grumpy as he seemed—or maybe she was just getting used to it. Either way, she found herself smiling as she closed her door behind her. And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t overthinking anything.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sunlight filtering through her blinds and a faint smile lingering on her lips. The night before with Harry had been… unexpected, but not in a bad way. She stretched, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and immediately opened her group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

So, guess what? Harry invited me over for dinner last night.

It didn’t take long for her phone to explode with notifications.

Lila:

WHAT. DETAILS NOW.

Harper:

DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?!

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming despite being alone.

Y/N:

No, I didn’t sleep with him. Calm down.

Lila:

Boring. But continue.

Harper:

Okay, but like, did it feel like it was going there?

Y/N:

No! It wasn’t like that. He said he had too much food and could use a friend, so I brought wine, and we had dinner. That’s it.

Lila:

You brought wine. That’s a date move.

Harper:

Right? Totally a date.

Y/N:

It wasn’t a date. We ate at his bar counter, talked a little, and that’s all. But…

Lila:

BUT WHAT?!

Harper:

Spill, Y/N. Don’t make us beg.

Y/N sighed, biting her lip as she typed out her next message.

Y/N:

Okay, fine. I wouldn’t mind if something happened, but it’s not like I know much about him. I don’t even know what he does for work.

Lila:

Oh my God. You want to bang the mysterious, tattooed neighbor. I KNEW IT.

Harper:

This is your grumpy/sunshine romance, and we are living for it.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. I’m just saying he’s attractive, okay? That doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.

Lila:

It’ll happen. The sexual tension alone is probably unbearable.

Harper:

Agreed. You just need to ask him questions about himself. What he does for work, what his favorite food is, if he’s single—

Lila:

Definitely ask the last one. For research purposes.

Y/N groaned, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.

Y/N:

You two are impossible. But fine, if the opportunity comes up, I’ll try to find out more about him. Happy?

Harper:

Ecstatic.

Lila:

Can’t wait to hear how this unfolds. We’re already planning the wedding playlist.

Y/N laughed, tossing her phone onto the bed. Her friends were relentless, but they weren’t wrong about one thing—she was curious about Harry. And as much as she tried to deny it, she wouldn’t mind getting to know him better… or seeing where this strange connection between them might lead.

Later that month Y/N walked into her apartment after a long day, expecting the usual cozy warmth to greet her. Instead, an icy chill hit her the moment she stepped inside. She frowned, rubbing her arms and heading straight for the thermostat. She fiddled with it for a minute, but no matter what she did, the heater refused to turn on.

“Great,” she muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t unbearably cold outside, but inside her apartment, it felt like a freezer.

With no other options, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She didn’t know many people in the building—just Harry, really. And as much as she hesitated, her fingers hovered over his name before she finally sent a text.

Y/N:

Hey, random question. Do you happen to have a small heater or something I can borrow? My heater’s broken, and it’s freezing in here.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Harry:

Why don’t you just stay here tonight? I’ve got heat, and I don’t own a portable heater.

Y/N stared at the message, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected that. Borrowing something was one thing, but staying at his place? She hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against the screen. Before she could overthink it, she typed out a response.

Y/N:

Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

His reply was quick.

Harry:

You’re not intruding. Besides, it’s better than you freezing to death in your apartment. Bring whatever you need.

She bit her lip, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in her chest. Finally, she grabbed a bag and threw in some essentials—pajamas, a toothbrush, and a few other things—before bundling up and heading out.

When she reached his door, she knocked softly. It opened almost immediately, and there was Harry, leaning against the frame with his usual calm demeanor.

“Figured you’d take me up on the offer,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Yeah, well, hypothermia didn’t sound appealing,” Y/N replied with a small smile, brushing past him into the warmth of his apartment.

As she set her bag down by the couch, she glanced at him. “Thanks for this, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

He shrugged, closing the door. “No problem. It’s just one night.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Wow, Harry. That almost sounded like you’re happy to have me here.”

He gave her a dry look but didn’t respond, instead gesturing toward the couch. “You can take the couch if you want, or I can grab some extra blankets for the guest room.”

She looked at the couch, then back at him. “Guest room? You have a guest room?”

“Barely,” he said with a shrug. “It’s more of a storage room, but there’s a bed in there.”

“Well, as long as it’s warmer than my apartment, I’ll take it.”

Harry nodded, heading toward the hallway. “I’ll grab some blankets.”

As Harry disappeared down the hallway to grab blankets, Y/N called after him, her voice light and teasing. “By the way, I brought some wine as a thank-you! You know, for saving me from my frozen wasteland of an apartment.”

She heard him chuckle faintly, his voice drifting back from the other room. “Thoughtful of you. What kind?”

“Red. A classic, nothing too fancy,” she replied, smirking as she started to take the bottle out of her bag. “Figured you’d prefer something a little understated, given your whole ‘mysterious and broody’ vibe.”

Harry reappeared in the doorway, carrying a thick blanket over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I think you enjoy calling me broody a little too much.”

“Well, it fits,” she shot back, grinning. “Speaking of which, I realized something earlier—I don’t even know what you do for work. So, enlighten me, oh mysterious one. What is it that you do?”

Harry paused for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I own an art gallery,” he said simply, setting the blanket on the couch.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “You own an art gallery?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “Small place over in Silver Lake. Nothing flashy, just local artists and smaller exhibitions.”

She stared at him, her curiosity piqued. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What did you see coming?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, laughing softly. “Something more… I don’t know, corporate? Like sitting at a desk all day and brooding at spreadsheets.”

Harry actually laughed at that, a low, warm sound that surprised her. “Sorry to disappoint. No spreadsheets involved.”

“No, it’s not disappointing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just… unexpected. I mean, you own an art gallery. That’s cool. Artistic and grumpy? You’re full of surprises, Harry.”

He shook his head, but there was a faint warmth in his expression, like her enthusiasm had caught him off guard. “It’s just a business.”

“Just a business?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Don’t undersell yourself. That’s impressive.”

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze steady. “Thanks.”

They fell into a brief silence, and Y/N felt the air shift slightly. It wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt… comfortable. She gestured to the wine. “So, should we open this or what?”

Harry nodded, stepping into the kitchen to grab two glasses. “Why not? You’re my guest, after all.”

As he poured the wine, Y/N couldn’t help but think that for someone who seemed so guarded at first, Harry was slowly becoming an open book—one she was eager to keep reading.

Y/N leaned against the counter, swirling her glass of wine as she watched Harry pour his own. “So, how did you end up owning an art gallery?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean, that’s not exactly the most common career path.”

Harry took a sip of his wine, his gaze thoughtful as he set the glass down. “I’ve always loved art. Painting, sketching… that sort of thing. But it’s not exactly the easiest way to make a living.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the struggle. “So, the gallery was a way to stay involved in the art world?”

“Something like that,” he said, leaning his hip against the counter. “I came into some money after my mom passed a few years ago. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to make me think about what I really wanted to do. I didn’t want to sit in an office or work for someone else. I wanted something that felt… personal. The gallery felt like the right choice.”

“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I mean, turning something you love into a business? Not many people can say they’ve done that.”

Harry shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “It has its challenges, but I don’t regret it.”

Y/N smiled at him, feeling a new layer of respect for her neighbor. After a moment, he tilted his head, his eyes flicking to her. “What about you? What do you do?”

She hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Oh, nothing nearly as impressive as you,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just a server. I work at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from here.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, frowning.

“Like it’s nothing. You said you’re ‘just’ a server,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “You’re in food service, right? That’s an art in itself. Just… a different kind.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his perspective. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

He nodded, gesturing with his glass. “Think about it. You’re part of creating an experience for people. The way the food’s presented, the way you interact with customers—it’s all part of the artistry. Doesn’t matter if it’s a painting on a wall or a plate of pasta. It’s still something people connect with.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over her. “That’s… actually really nice of you to say.”

“It’s true,” Harry said simply, his green eyes meeting hers. “Stop selling yourself short.”

She smiled, feeling unexpectedly lighter. “Thanks, Harry. I guess I’ll try to keep that in mind the next time someone complains about their breadsticks not being warm enough.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Breadsticks or not, it sounds like you’re good at what you do.”

Y/N sipped her wine, the corners of her lips curving up. 

Y/N swirled the wine in her glass, glancing at Harry over the rim. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to push the conversation a little further. “You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “you have a really nice way of thinking about things. The way you look at art, even food… it’s kind of impressive.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with an amused expression. “Is that your way of saying I’m not just a grumpy neighbor?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small grin, her tone almost teasing. “But seriously, you’ve got a smart mind, Harry. You see things in a way most people don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes studying her as if trying to figure out her angle. “Are you flirting with me, Y/N?”

She laughed, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “And if I was?”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then I’d say it’s about time you stopped pretending you find me intimidating.”

“I never said you intimidate me,” she shot back, her grin widening. “I said you have a grumpy vibe. Totally different.”

“Right,” he said, his tone dry but his smirk giving him away. “Good to know I’m not scaring you off.”

“Not even close,” Y/N replied, her voice confident now. She leaned her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at him. “You’re not as scary as you think, Harry. In fact, I think you’re kind of… interesting.”

Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Right back at you,” she said, her gaze warm.

For a moment, the air between them shifted. The playful banter was still there, but beneath it was something quieter, something unspoken. Y/N didn’t know what exactly was happening, but she wasn’t in a hurry to break the moment.

Harry finally set his glass down, his expression softening just slightly. “Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but with a hint of amusement. “You keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

“Maybe I do,” she said simply, holding his gaze.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and for the first time, he didn’t deflect her comment. Instead, he just looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his green eyes. Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken, but she didn’t look away.

The mood in the room shifted as Harry leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. 

He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and teasing as he said, "You wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her breath caught, but she wasn't about to let him have the last word.

 "Try me," she challenged, her voice steady but laced with anticipation.

Harry's eyes darkened, the playful smirk on his lips giving way to something deeper, something more raw. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and placed his hand lightly on her throat-not gripping, just resting, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. The warmth of his touch made her heart race, and she felt her breath hitch as he leaned in closer.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear, the only sound her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then, without another word, Harry closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss.

It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rushed either-it was deliberate, like he'd been holding himself back and was finally letting go. His lips moved against hers with a confidence that left no room for hesitation, and Y/N melted into the kiss, her hand instinctively reaching out to grip the edge of the counter for balance.

She kissed him back just as fervently, tilting her head to deepen the connection. His fingers slid from her throat to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as though he couldn't get enough of her. The heat between them was undeniable, and in that moment, nothing else mattered-not the chill of her broken heater, not the wine, not the playful banter that had led them here.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads nearly touching. Harry's green eyes searched hers, and for once, his usual guarded expression was nowhere to be found.

"Still think I can't handle you?" Y/N whispered, her voice a little breathless but tinged with humor.

Harry smirked, his hand still lingering at the nape of her neck. 

"Guess I underestimated you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But l'm not done yet.”

Harry's hand slid down from Y/N's neck to her wrist, his grip firm but careful as he led her through his apartment toward his bedroom.

Her heart pounded in anticipation, her breath catching when he opened the door and gently but deliberately pushed her onto the bed.

Y/N gasped softly, propping herself up on her elbows as she looked up at him. The intensity in his green eyes made her pulse race, and the energy between them was electric, the room feeling heavier with every passing second.

Harry stepped closer, his movements slow and controlled, like he was savoring the moment.

He placed a hand on her throat again, this time with a gentle but deliberate squeeze that sent a shiver down her spine. His thumb brushed along her jawline as he leaned in, his voice low and commanding.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asked, his tone dripping with authority and heat.

Y/N's breath hitched as she nodded slowly, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.

Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat, so she let her actions speak for her, tilting her head slightly into his touch.

Harry smirked, leaning down until his lips were just a breath away from her ear. His voice dropped even lower, a whisper that made her skin prickle with anticipation.

"I knew you would be," he murmured, his tone both teasing and possessive.

The words sent a jolt through her, and she felt her body react instinctively, her cheeks flushing as she surrendered to the moment.

Harry's lips brushed against the corner of her jaw, trailing down her neck as his hand stayed firmly but gently in place. Every movement felt deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every second of his attention.

Whatever control Y/N thought she had going into this was slipping fast, and the way Harry's touch consumed her made it clear—he knew it, too.

Harry paused, his intense green eyes meeting Y/N’s as he leaned over her. His hand lingered on her throat, his grip light but enough to hold her attention completely. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move any closer. He just looked at her, his gaze softening slightly, as if he were silently asking her a question.

It wasn’t just a look—it was a pause, a chance for her to stop him if she wanted to. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and searching, silently asking for her consent.

Y/N’s heart raced as she looked back at him, feeling the weight of his unspoken question. She swallowed, her breath shallow as she gave him the answer he was waiting for. Slowly, purposely, she nodded.

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an edge of tenderness.

He leaned down again, his lips brushing hers as his hand on her throat tightened just slightly, enough to make her feel both safe and completely at his mercy. And as the space between them disappeared, Y/N felt herself giving in fully, her trust in him unwavering.

Harry's piercing gaze never left Y/N's face, his touch as light as a butterfly's wings. He slowly pulled her to the edge, his hands on her hips. The soft rustle of sheets filled the room as she sank into the bedding, eyes darting up to meet his.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him undoing his pants, revealing his hardness beneath. She gulped audibly as he climbed onto the bed with her, their bodies pressed together from chest to knees. His hand trailed down her side, stopping just above her thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. His touch sent shivers of anticipation up and down her spine.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered against her earlobe, his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on her skin.

She bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before whispering back, "I want you to take control."

Harry's smirk was both predatory and reassuring as he nodded once in understanding. His hand slid underneath her shirt, tracing patterns across her stomach before moving higher till it reached its destination: her lacy black bra. He palmed one of her breasts through the fabric, eliciting a moan from deep within her throat that echoed around them. His thumb circled her nipple roughly, making it harden into a tight bud underneath his touch.

His lips followed suit, kissing along her jawline and trailing down towards that erect nipple. He flicked it with his tongue teasingly while simultaneously tug

His smile was wicked as he leaned back, a glint in his eye. "Is that so?" He trailed kisses down her neck, his stubble grazing against her sensitive skin, making her shudder with pleasure. His hand slid between their bodies and brushed against her center, indulging in the wetness there. She gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"You're so ready for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pushed her shorts aside and slid one finger inside her slowly, feeling the tightness surrounding him. Y/N moaned softly, her hips grinding against his hand in encouragement.

Harry removed his finger, teasing her as he lowered his head to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. He growled softly against her skin, sucking gently as he began to thrust two fingers inside her in short, quick motions that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She cried out softly, gripping the sheets beneath her as he continued his ministrations. He quickly undressed her and stared at her body. Y/N felt hot under his eyes. 

They quickly lost themselves in each other's touches. The squeak of the bedframe echoed in the room as Harry positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside her slowly. She gasped at the fullness but welcomed it, urging him on with a nod of encouragement.

He slowed down, taking deep breaths to regain control as he braced himself above her. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked hoarsely, gaze locked onto hers.

Y/N nodded fiercely, signaling him to continue. With a low growl of approval, he began moving inside her slowly but steadily, their 

bodies meeting in a dance of desire. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through them both, their skin slick with sweat under the dim light of the bedside lamp. The air was thick with an almost palpable tension as they moved together, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.

Harry's grip on her hips tightened, his rhythm becoming faster and harder, mirroring the desire that flared in his eyes. Y/N met him stroke for stroke, their eyes locked on each other as if they were the only two people in the room. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the silence beneath the duvet, broken only by their heavy breathing and soft moans.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she neared her climax, his name falling from her lips in a whispered plea. Without missing a beat, he quickened his pace, his cock driving into her with urgency. Their connection was intense, overwhelming, everything she could have asked for and more.

As she cried out in ecstasy beneath him, feeling her orgasm wash over her like a wave, Harry followed close behind. His body tensed as he groaned loudly, filling her with his warmth and love. Their hearts raced in unison as they finally collapsed onto each other, panting heavily but content.

He rolled off her slowly, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back beside her. 

Harry lay on his side, propped up on one elbow as he looked down at Y/N. His green eyes were softer now, a flicker of mischief dancing in them as he smirked. 

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "are you going to text your little girl chat and tell them we fucked?" Y/N let out a surprised laugh, turning her head to look at him. 

"What? No! They'd never let me live it down."

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. 

"You should. Tell them the hot, mysterious guy was really grumpy the whole time."Y/N laughed even harder, covering her face with her hand. 

"Oh, right. That'll really sell it. 'Hey, girls, just an FYl, my grumpy neighbor is not only hot but also excellent in bed. Highly recommend.'"

Harry chuckled, his grin widening. "Not bad. Make sure you add in the part about how I stayed in character the whole time-grumpy and all."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling as she nudged him playfully. "Fine. I'll throw in that your scowl is even sexier up close. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he said dryly, though the amused glint in his eyes gave him away. YN shook her head, the laughter subsiding into a warm smile.

 "You know," she said, her tone softening, "you might be mysterious and grumpy, but you're also a little cocky. Just saying."

Harry leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Maybe," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "But I think you like it."

Her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him, biting back a grin. "Maybe I do."

"Good," he said simply, before capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that made her forget about everything else-including her friends waiting for updates in the group chat.

The week passed in a blur of near-misses and brief encounters between Y/N and Harry. She saw him in the mailroom once, where he gave her a small nod and the faintest hint of a smirk before disappearing upstairs. Another time, they crossed paths in the hallway, exchanging quick hellos but nothing more.

Neither of them brought up the night they spent together, and while Y/N tried to brush it off as a casual hookup, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the topic. She didn’t want to push, figuring Harry would open up if and when he was ready.

Then, one evening, as she was curled up on her couch with a glass of wine and her laptop, her phone buzzed with a text.

Harry:

Hey. Sorry I’ve been so distant this week. The gallery is getting ready for a new showing, and it’s been… a lot.

Y/N stared at the message for a moment, her stomach fluttering. She hadn’t expected him to reach out, let alone apologize.

Y/N:

Hey, no worries. I figured you were busy. New showing sounds exciting though!

A moment later, her phone buzzed again.

Harry:

It is. Stressful, but worth it. You should come by. It’s this Saturday night. Bring your friends if you want.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry inviting her to his gallery? That felt… significant.

Y/N:

I’d love to. Are you sure you want me to bring my friends? They’re a little… loud.

Harry:

If they’re anything like you, I’m already prepared for chaos.

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

Y/N:

Fair warning: chaos is guaranteed. But I’ll be there.

Harry:

Good. I’ll send you the details tomorrow.

Y/N set her phone down, a small smile tugging at her lips. For all of Harry’s grumpiness and guarded demeanor, this felt like his way of extending an olive branch—a step toward something more. And she couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing him in his element, at the gallery, intrigued her.

She grabbed her phone again and opened the group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

Ladies, clear your schedules for Saturday night. We’re going to an art gallery.

Predictably, her phone exploded with responses almost immediately.

Lila:

Wait, is this Harry’s gallery?

Harper:

The grumpy tattooed neighbor has an art gallery?

Y/N:

Yes. He invited me. And before you ask—no, we’re not talking about the other night.

Lila:

Boring. But fine, we’re in. Is there wine?

Harper:

And snacks?

Y/N:

I’ll ask. But behave yourselves. He already thinks I’m loud.

Lila:

Oh, honey, we’re just getting started.

Y/N laughed, already imagining the chaos her friends would inevitably bring. But deep down, she was looking forward to Saturday more than she cared to admit. 

The week crawled by as Saturday approached, each day slower than the last. Y/N found herself obsessing over small details—whether Harry would be too busy to notice her, what kind of people attended art gallery showings, and most importantly, what to wear. She wanted to look effortlessly put-together, like someone who appreciated art but wasn’t trying too hard.

By Saturday afternoon, her room was a battlefield of discarded outfits. Finally, she settled on a sleek black jumpsuit paired with a cropped denim jacket and ankle boots—stylish but not over the top. She added a few gold accessories and a swipe of lipstick before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

On the way to Silver Lake, she picked up Harper and Lila, who were already buzzing with excitement when they climbed into the car.

“You look hot,” Lila said, eyeing her outfit. “Very ‘I like art but I’m too cool to talk about it.’”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, laughing as she started the car. “I’m going for low-key, not intimidating.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Harper chimed in, adjusting her blazer. 

Y/N glanced at them in the rearview mirror, grinning. Harper wore a bold red jumpsuit, while Lila had opted for a metallic skirt and leather jacket. 

By the time they pulled into Silver Lake, the sun had set, and the neighborhood was alive with energy. The gallery came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the evening sky. People were milling about on the sidewalk, chatting in small groups with glasses of wine in hand, while others filtered in and out of the bustling space.

“This is it,” Y/N said, parking the car and taking a deep breath.

“It’s so fancy,” Lila said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Look at all these people!”

Harper leaned forward, peering out the window. “I’m already picturing Harry brooding in a corner, glaring at anyone who talks too loud.”

“Probably,” Y/N muttered, her heart fluttering as she got out of the car. She grabbed her bag and adjusted her jacket before turning to her friends. “Okay, let’s not embarrass me too much, yeah?”

“No promises,” Harper said with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s as they headed toward the gallery entrance.

Inside, the space was even more vibrant. The walls were adorned with bold, eclectic pieces of art—paintings, sculptures, and mixed-media pieces that immediately drew attention. Soft music played in the background, and servers wove through the crowd with trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres. The hum of conversation filled the air, blending with the occasional burst of laughter.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room, searching for Harry. She didn’t spot him right away, but she noticed how carefully curated the space felt—each piece arranged with intention. It was a reflection of him, she realized, meticulous and thoughtful.

“This is amazing,” Harper said, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing server. “He really knows what he’s doing.”

Lila nudged Y/N. “Speaking of, where is Mr. Grumpy Art Dealer? I want to see him in his element.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, glancing around again. “He’s probably—”

Before she could finish, her gaze landed on him. Harry stood near the back of the room, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing his tattoos. He was talking to a small group of people, but his eyes flicked toward her as if he could feel her presence.

Their gazes locked for a moment, and he gave her a subtle nod before turning back to his conversation. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt Lila squeeze her arm.

“Oh, he definitely saw you,” Lila said, grinning. “And I’m not imagining the way he looked at you.”

“Stop,” Y/N hissed, her cheeks flushing. But she couldn’t deny it—there was something in his gaze that felt personal, even in the middle of the crowd.

“Go say hi,” Harper urged, giving her a nudge.

“Not yet,” Y/N said, grabbing a glass of wine for herself. “I’ll wait until he’s free. Let’s just look around first.”

As they wandered through the gallery, admiring the artwork, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Harry’s eyes were on her—even when she wasn’t looking his way.

Y/N wandered through the gallery, sipping her wine as she admired the artwork. Each piece was so different—some abstract, others intricate and detailed—but all of them carried a sense of purpose. It was easy to see that Harry had a good eye for curating.

She glanced across the room and saw Harper and Lila chatting animatedly with a group of women, likely bonding over their outfits or the wine. Typical, she thought with a smile, shaking her head.

As she moved to the next painting—a striking piece of layered colors and textures—she felt someone step up beside her. There was a shift in the air, a quiet presence that made her turn her head.

It was Harry.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the painting. His black shirt, with the sleeves still rolled up, contrasted sharply against the warm tones of the art, and his tattoos seemed to blend seamlessly into the aesthetic of the space.

“It’s acrylic and resin,” he said, his voice low but steady. “The artist used palette knives for the texture and then poured resin over it to give it that shine. Took weeks to cure properly.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard for a moment before she found her words. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, turning her attention back to the piece. “I love the depth in it. It feels like you could reach in and get lost.”

Harry glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the idea. The artist wanted it to feel immersive, like stepping into an emotional landscape.”

She looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know all the details of every piece in here?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, his smirk growing. “Part of the job. I like to understand the process—it helps me connect with the artists and explain it to people who come through.”

Y/N smiled, sipping her wine. “It’s impressive. You’ve created something really special here.”

Harry looked at her again, his green eyes studying her for a moment. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

She tilted her head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Why me?”

He shrugged slightly, his gaze flicking back to the painting. “Because you actually look at the art. Most people just see it, but you’re trying to understand it.”

Her cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, and she turned back to the painting to hide her flustered expression. “Well, you make it hard not to appreciate it. The way you talk about it… it’s obvious how much you care.”

He didn’t respond right away, and the silence between them felt comfortable, almost intimate. Finally, he leaned in just slightly, his voice softer now.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

Y/N turned to look at him again, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness between them. “Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the bustling crowd around them faded into the background, leaving just the two of them standing there, the art surrounding them as if it were part of their story.

Harry slipped his hand into Y/N’s, his fingers warm and steady as he gently tugged her through the gallery. She followed without question, her curiosity mounting as they weaved between groups of people. He didn’t say a word, just led her down a quieter section of the space where fewer people were lingering.

When they stopped, Y/N noticed the piece in front of them was a painting—bold yet delicate, with strokes that somehow conveyed both strength and softness. She tilted her head, studying it, drawn to the way the light and shadows played across the figure in the painting. There was something familiar about it, something that tugged at her memory.

She took a step closer, her heart beating faster as the realization slowly dawned on her. The painting wasn’t just beautiful—it was her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned to Harry, her eyes wide. “Is this…?”

He nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable. “It’s you.”

Y/N stared at the painting again, her mind racing. The details were unmistakable—the way her hair fell, the soft curve of her face, the hint of a thoughtful expression she’d never realized she wore. But it wasn’t just her likeness; it was the way the he had captured something deeper, something vulnerable and raw.

“How?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I started it a few weeks after I moved in. I didn’t even know your name then. I just… saw you.”

Her chest tightened as she turned to him again. “You saw me?”

He nodded, his green eyes softer now. “In the mailroom. In the hallway. On your balcony once, drinking coffee. I didn’t know why, but there was something about you that I couldn’t get out of my head. So, I painted.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—flattery, disbelief, and something she couldn’t quite name. “Harry, this is… incredible. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I just thought you should see it. This is the first time I’ve shown it to anyone.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she took a step closer to him, her voice soft. “Why me?”

Harry’s gaze locked on hers, his expression open and sincere. “Because it’s you, Y/N. I couldn’t have painted this if it wasn’t.”

The noise of the gallery faded around them as she stood there, her hand still in his, staring up at the painting of herself. For the first time, she saw herself through someone else’s eyes—not as the loud, chaotic neighbor, but as something worthy of being captured in art.

And Harry, the grumpy, mysterious neighbor, was the one who had done it.

[yandere-wishes]

Idea, what if Catgirl!Darling/Reader was called Stray at some point or something and was like Selina’s sidekick at some point, so like Damian can tell Bruce he found a stray and oh it’s just another cat- that is a human

I don’t know, I’m on cough syrup cause I’m sick rn and my thoughts are all wonky

≽^•⩊•^≼≽^•⩊•^≼≽^•⩊•^≼≽^•⩊•^≼≽^•⩊•^≼

Bruce doesn't think much of it at first, after all his son has always had a penchant for taking in lost, stray, things.

He ascribes it, to genetics, to lineal impulses, to the macabre compassion pumping in his blood.

It's all very Wayne to bring home anguished, ferocious, things. To devote slivers of your soul to every hopeless little thing prowling the Gotham streets.

Bruce doesn't think much of it at first.

Damian had said he had brought home a stray

There was nothing unusual to think about.

But then he sees her, really sees her, the mangled girl with hellfire dancing in her sunken eyes. More cat than girl, more feline than human.

He notices the limp in her leg when she lunges for Damian. Notices her shaking hands when she tries to strangle the boy who only kisses her back. Licking at her lips as his nails dig into the back of her thighs. She claws at his chest. Little kitten trying to kill the robin. So Selina in every way.

Bruce didn't think much of it at first,

He's beginning to realize that was a mistake.

Damian kisses your neck, biting into the crux, nestling your sweet flesh between his teeth, he laps at the skin as you mewl in pain, claw-like nails raking at what little skin is exposed at the base of his neck. A dark chuckle escapes Damian's mouth, it sounds like the chirping of an arrogant robin upon first snowfall. It rings bitterly in your ears. He's enjoying this, isn't he? The little assassin boy may play noble hero, but he'll never escape his roots, his love for the pain, the thrill.

You curse silently at the monstrosity born from the unholy union between the dragon's heir and the bat. Curse at the characters from the stories your mentor, your big sister, used to tell you. When did they become so real? When did fairy tales marry epics and birth horror stories? When did the bird catch the cat?

Damian has your arms pinned painfully behind you, shoulders pulled back unnaturally, bones slipping from their sockets. His lips lower to your chest, kissing, biting, marring.

"Damian, when you said 'stray' I had thought you meant a hungry kitten you found in a back ally or a limping pup from the Narrows. Not Stray, as in the cat burglar."

Damian's emerald eyes lightened in confusion "What part was not clear Father?" his inquiry all too innocent for the boy who had been knawing on your sore lips moments prior. There's a moment of silence, as Bruce looks at you, studying you like a case file, like a cold case cracked open. You wonder if he sees her inside you. The traces of your mentor linger along your body like a second skin. Has he done the same for his sons? Left traces of himself amongst their flesh and bones.

You think it funny for a second, the cartoonish vision that blooms within your mind. That of a bat harboring four little chicks under its midnight wings, atop a mighty oak tree. Whilst underneath a black cat licks her kittens, fussing over their matted fur.

"I see the chemistry brewing between you two," Bruce says his voice carrying the stern baritone of a father, yet awkward and uncertain all in the same breath. "This isn't chemistry" you squeal, voice hoarse from all the screaming, all the uncomfortable vocalizations of pain. "This is phosphorous meeting ozone!"

"That's still technically chemistry" Damian corrects, hands clasped behind his back. Perfect little soldier boy, standing in attention. Waiting for a medal from his general.

Bruce sighs, a microscopic smile dancing across his plump lips.

"I'll let Selina know you're here, she must be worried." Your face lights up in joy, she'll be here soon to rescue you. To save you from the bat's nest. But as Damian pushes you to the nearest wall, caging you between his body and the cement, you think it all too impossible to be saved.

Bruce doesn't think much of it at first.

But he sees it all now.

Damian has always had a weakness for stray things.

He gets it from his father.

I feel like I can make this just a tiny bit darker if I really wanted to...

On a lighter note, Fancy you are my bestie so Imma rant to you for a bit (please don't mind this has been on my mind FOREVER and I need an outlet!!) But lately -in between train rides to school- I've been daydreaming SO hard about a "Catwoman Family" (and a "Batwoman family" cause Kate is the love of my life, but that's irrelevant for now!!)

Like we all know Batman has 4 sons and 3 daughters (I count barbara as his first daughter) but what about Catwoman? Doesn't she deserve a family of her own? Catgirl is my running idea for her sidekick BUT when you mentioned Stray!! I was like "Why not give the woman two daughters!!".

I'm really trying to carve out some time this weekend for drawing. And just sketch out my ideas for Catwoman and Batwoman's sidekicks!!

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 2

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4705

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you so much for the response to part 1! And thank you to everyone who was so patient and understanding for this part taking a while to write. I hope you all like it.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Wanda seems to be in a better mood lately, Natasha notices, probably because the two of you rekindled whatever complicated romance you had going on. And as sad and lonely as it had made Natasha feel, at least Wanda was being less rude to her, and that would always be a win in her book.

The grocery trips and errands she sends Natasha on are less demanding, although Natasha’s unsure if she’s becoming more comfortable or Wanda’s gotten less picky. Wanda still requests Natasha’s help for her weekly meetings, and Natasha cannot understand why someone who is unemployed goes so out of her way to find the most mundane, meaningless things to participate in. But it keeps Natasha paid and busy, and she still gets to see you a few times a week.

“What are you doing this weekend, Natasha?” Wanda asks while the two of them are in the kitchen. Wanda is on her laptop while Natasha stands at the counter, cutting vegetables for dinner.

“Um…” Natasha knows better than to tell Wanda the truth, which is that she’ll be sitting alone in her apartment for the next two days and eating ice cream on her couch. “Some friends invited me to go shopping with them at the mall,” she lies. She doesn’t have friends and she certainly doesn’t have the budget to shop at a mall after all the debt she still owes.

“I’ll be gone all weekend with some girlfriends,” Wanda says, not even acknowledging Natasha’s plans, which makes her wonder why she had even bothered to ask in the first place. “I’m not into wine tasting much, but the girls go nuts for it. I’m just going for the spa at the resort, between you and me.”

Natasha has no idea what to do with this information. But she’s spared from answering when the garage door rumbles open.

Wanda slams her laptop shut. “Oh, Y/N is home early.” She gets up to greet you. Natasha can hear your voices carry through the hall.

“You’re early tonight,” Wanda says. “I was just telling Natasha about my weekend plans to Vermont with the girls–”

“Your weekend plans?” you interrupt. “Since when did you have plans to go to Vermont?” Natasha has never heard you sound genuinely angry before. She stops cutting the carrots to focus on eavesdropping.

“Carol wanted to go for her birthday!” your wife says.

“Wanda,” you say, your voice lowering. “Our anniversary is this weekend. I booked us a stay at the Ritz and got us tickets to see Wicked–”

“Well, just ask for a refund!” Wanda hisses. Natasha is stunned that this is her first response to forgetting about her entire anniversary with you. “And we can celebrate when I get back–”

“‘Get back?’” you repeat. “That’s not the point, Wanda. Why don’t you ask for a refund for your trip–”

“I can’t do that to the girls,” Wanda says. “Carol’s been looking forward to this for months!”

You mumble something that Natasha can’t hear. She feels awful for you. Clearly, you had spent a lot of money and time planning a nice outing, and your wife didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, she tried to put the blame on you for intruding on her plans. Natasha felt herself shaking with rage for you. You deserved so much better.

The two of you trudge into the kitchen and Natasha hastily goes back to cutting the carrots. Wanda is hanging onto your arm, tiptoeing to whisper into your ear but you shake her off and walk through the kitchen to the staircase. Natasha knows that Wanda is glaring at the back of her head, probably upset that she had overheard, but for once she doesn’t say anything and disappears after you.

The mood is particularly subdued when Natasha serves up roasted salmon with a colorful vegetable medley and mashed potatoes. 

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say as she hands you a loaded plate. 

Wanda doesn’t say anything when Natasha gives her a plate.

While the two of you eat in awkward silence, Natasha cleans up the kitchen, her final task of the day. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.

It’s you.

“Can I walk you out to your car?” you ask. “I know it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t want you walking out in the dark by yourself.”

Natasha is so flattered by your offer she doesn’t stop to consider how Wanda might feel about this.

“Sure, I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She leads the way out of your house.

“Sorry you always have to park around the corner,” you add, maintaining a respectful distance from her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told Wanda the whole neighborhood knows you work for us. But she’s…” you trail off, clearly not wanting to speak ill of your wife.

“I’m sorry she forgot your anniversary,” Natasha blurts out. 

You seem startled that Natasha had been eavesdropping, but quickly recover. “Well, it’s…it’s not the first time she’s done it,” you admit in a soft voice. “I don’t know why I bother trying to do anything special anymore. It’s just another day to her. And it seems like she’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”

“She’s missing out,” Natasha says, surprised by her own confidence. “You’re a wonderful person and you deserve someone who will appreciate the efforts you go to celebrate important milestones like that.” She stops before she can offer herself up.

“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” 

The two of you stop at Natasha’s beat-up Nissan. 

“Thanks for walking me to my car–” she starts.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you ask suddenly, in a rushed whisper as if Wanda is around the corner listening. “If you’re not, would you like to see Wicked with me at the Gershwin Theater? I told Wanda I could probably get a credit with the Ritz, but I don’t want to deal with the hassle of exchanging the tickets, too. You can come over Saturday night and I’ll drive us?”

Natasha is so shocked by your proposal she doesn’t even have the words to agree at first. Growing up, she had loved watching musical movies until the VHS tapes wore out, but she had never had the opportunity to see a live performance. Even now as an adult, she still didn’t have the time nor the budget to see a show. To hear you ask that you wanted her to join you, when you had bought the tickets for you and your wife to enjoy on your anniversary she had forgotten, sounded almost too good to be true.

But if Wanda found out you had taken Natasha instead of her…Natasha shuddered at the thought. Maybe this was stepping over the line of professionalism. Natasha wanted to keep her job (and her head), and as much as the opportunity was a dream come true for her, she didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness or weakness.

“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping at the mall with some friends on Saturday,” Natasha says, cringing at the patheticness of her life. “But really–thank you for inviting me. I’m sure you have friends you’d rather take over your maid.”

“I don’t have any friends,” you say, so deadpan that Natasha almost laughs but quickly turns it into a cough when she realizes you’re being serious. While you seemed more reserved than your wife, Natasha refused to believe you didn’t have a strong social network. You were in charge of your own company and clearly doing well if you lived in this neighborhood and could afford a personal housemaid like her.

“Good evening!” The two of you startle when a cheery voice comes out of nowhere.

“Hello, Mr. Vision,” Natasha says, spotting the eccentric man first as he walks by at a rapid pace.

“Late night walk, Vis?” you call out, and he nods with a wave, pumping his arms faster and milling away. The only thing Natasha knew about Vision was that he lived by himself at the end of the street. He had no wife or kids that she knew of, not even a job as he was constantly seen walking around the neighborhood at odd hours. But he never approached Natasha or made her feel uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for most of the people living here, so she was happy to ignore him.

When Vision moves out of sight, you say, “Well, if your plans happen to change…” You fumble in your pockets awkwardly, pulling out a bent business card and handing it to Natasha. “My cell number is on there. Text me before Saturday if you’re still interested.”  

“Okay.” Natasha doesn’t want to get your hopes (or hers) up, but she still isn’t convinced this is a good idea. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Natasha.”

She loves the way her name sounds coming out of your mouth.

***********************************************************************

Natasha is still unsure she made the right decision to turn down your offer to see Wicked. She even called her only friend, Clint, to ask if she should’ve said yes.

“Well, you’re just seeing a show together. Think of it like a work bonus or something. Bosses give their employees nice stuff like that all the time,” Clint says as Natasha picks at a box of takeout in front of the television. Cooking at home was not her favorite chore after doing it all day for her clients.

“Yes, but it’s just the two of us,” Natasha stresses. “Y/N got the tickets to celebrate an anniversary and Wanda already hates me as it is–”

“Nah, she doesn’t hate you,” Clint says.

“You haven’t met her! You don’t see the way she treats me.”

“Exactly. Maybe this is Y/N’s way of apologizing for her behavior,” Clint says.

“I don’t know…” It was already Friday night. Natasha didn’t have much time now to change her mind if she was going to.

“Be nice to yourself, Nat. Let someone do something for you,” Clint goes on. “You work so hard for these people all the time. And I know how much you’ve always wanted to see a live performance.” Natasha feels tears well up in her eyes. She wishes Clint was here in person so she could give him a hug. “Nothing bad will happen. Just tell Y/N you want to go before someone else takes your spot.”

Natasha takes a steely breath. Clint is right. It wasn’t a date. It just was her nice boss treating her out to a Broadway show. Never mind the fact that you had intended to take your wife initially. Wanda would never have to know, right?

“Okay. Thanks, Clint.”

“Enjoy!”

As soon as she hangs up, Natasha goes into her texts. She already created a contact for you the night you gave her your business card. Her anxiety is through the roof as she types out a message to you, then deletes it and starts over. She gets more and more frustrated trying to find the right words, before she finally throws in the towel and clicks “Send.”

Less than a minute later, you respond.

Happiness explodes inside of Natasha. She can hardly believe her luck. Not only does she get to see her first Broadway show, but she gets to see it with you, and have dinner on top of it. She darts over to her closet, looking for the nicest dress she owns.

Wanda be damned. Natasha was going to have a great night with you. 

***********************************************************************

“Table for two, please.”

“Did you have a reservation?” the blonde woman at the podium asks.

“No,” you respond.

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked out for the evening,” she apologizes. 

Natasha stands behind you meekly. She can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant and doesn’t know what kind of food they serve, but it’s probably far beyond anything she could ever afford. She’s wearing a dark green dress that almost reaches her ankles and is conservative in protecting her assets, and spent over an hour doing her makeup, and she wonders if strangers will look at the two of you and assume you’re a couple. She wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them.   

“That’s okay. This was a last-minute plan for us,” you explain. “If Tony is working tonight, can you please tell him Y/N stopped by to say hello?”

“Wait, you know Mr. Stark?” the woman pales. “Don’t go anywhere. You said your name is Y/N?”

You smile and nod. The woman steps down from her podium and dashes into the back. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Natasha boldly teases. 

You turn and wink at her. 

“Tony and I went to college together,” you explain, although this implies you shared a friendship of some kind. “And clearly, his business is doing better than mine–”

The woman quickly returns with a short bearded man wearing a gray suit with red-tinted glasses that match his tie. 

“Y/N!” Tony shouts, embracing you in a dramatic hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming tonight! I could’ve put together a private booth in the back–”

“It was last-minute,” you say. “This is Natasha, by the way. She’s a friend.” Natasha is thrilled at the way you associate her with you.

“Hello, Natasha, I’m Tony.” He takes her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. He doesn’t seem surprised you haven’t brought Wanda along instead. “I take it you haven’t been here before, Miss Natasha? You won’t need a menu, I’ll have the chef bring out the best dishes we have tonight.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you say. 

“Follow me! You can have a table in our east wing. Where’s Wanda?” Tony says rapid-fire, turning around and leading them deeper into the restaurant. You step out of the way and motion to let Natasha go first, and she feels your hand graze her back as she walks past you. 

“She’s out with her girlfriends for the weekend,” you answer from behind Natasha. 

“Your anniversary is coming up, right?” Tony asks.

“Yes,” you respond, your voice suddenly tense.

The restaurant is packed, every visible table filled with customers, until they turn around a corner to a quiet, completely empty area.

“Pick any table. I’ll have a waiter come out with some drinks shortly,” Tony says.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha echoes, unsure if she likes this special treatment. You pick a table near the corner and pull her chair out for her. As soon as the two of you are seated, a waiter in a vested suit appears with a few bottles of wine, making suggestions and pouring samples into the glasses. Natasha doesn’t have enough knowledge to understand what he’s saying or differentiate the tastes, but she enjoys the experience. It feels strange to have someone serve her, when she’s normally the one waiting on people’s every demand. 

The two of you share several appetizers together. Natasha feels like she’s floating in a dream. You have been nothing but generous and respectful to her, but every time your left hand reaches across the table for the caviar, the wedding ring on your finger taunts her. 

The dinner itself is a four-course affair, including a rich chocolate cake that Natasha devours faster than she can fully enjoy. When the bill arrives (which Tony has already chopped in half), Natasha still asks if she can chip in (despite knowing full well she doesn’t have the money to cover even her portion), but you push her card away and give the waiter your black card.

The theater is three blocks from Tony’s restaurant, so you leave your car in valet parking and ask Natasha if she’s okay walking. She had not planned ahead very well, so she only has a thin cardigan to cover her shoulders. You notice her shivering and offer her your heavy black jacket that completely engulfs her frame. Your scent completely surrounds her now and Natasha swears she won’t wash this dress ever again.

The line into the theater moves quickly and Natasha follows you all the way down to the front, where your seats are perfectly center to the stage. She crawls over a few people, feeling a little smug about getting some of the best seats in the house. You had truly spoiled her tonight and she was never going to forget this. 

She leans over to whisper to you before the show begins. “Thank you for everything tonight. I’ve already had so much fun and the dinner was amazing.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for joining me, and thank you for all the hard work you do for my family,” you say and Natasha beams. “Me and Wanda really appreciate it.” Natasha deflates a little at the mention of your wife, but she pushes her out of her mind to focus on her time with you. 

As they wait, Natasha props her arm up on the armrest between you two so she can hold the playbill at a comfortable angle to read. Suddenly, your arm drops heavily on hers and she looks at you in confusion. You’re reading your own playbill and don’t seem to notice that your massive arm is practically crushing hers.

“Um, Y/N?” she prompts, clearing her throat.

“Hmm? Oh!” You quickly move your arm off hers. “I’m so sorry, I thought that was Wanda’s arm,” you explain with a nervous chuckle. Natasha laughs too, although she isn’t sure if she should be happy or worried that she reminds you of your wife. She’d be happy to take Wanda’s place any day, though. 

The musical is amazing, impressive beyond anything Natasha had ever expected. She cries when Elphaba defies gravity, and after the whirlwind of the second act, she is among the first to give a standing ovation. She’s floating on cloud nine as she walks with you out of the theater back to the car.

The drive back to your home is quick at the late hour. Just as you're about to pull into the driveway, you slam hard on the brakes, jolting everyone forward. Vision power walks past the beams of your headlights, only breaking the pump of his arms to wave in thanks.

“What is he doing out so late?” you ask, and Natasha is relieved to know she’s not the only one who thinks his habits are a bit odd.

“No idea,” she mumbles, watching you pull onto the driveway and stop.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Natasha says, still giddy with excitement.“This was the best night of my life. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show, ever since I was a little girl. I never thought I’d get the chance, even after I moved here–”

“You’re very welcome,” you interrupt, seeming almost shy with the praise.

“I’m sorry Wanda wasn’t able to join you for your own anniversary,” she adds, although she’s not sure why.

You shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Besides, I’m glad you were able to join me and had such a fun night. I don’t think this would have been nearly as fun by myself.”

There is a pause and Natasha has to force herself to stop looking at your lips. If she had no self-restraint, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lean over the center console and kiss you.

“Have a good night, Natasha. Drive home safely,” you say as the two of you get out of the car.

“Thank you again!” Natasha doesn’t even listen to music on her way home, riding out the high of what was easily one of the most memorable nights of her life in over a decade.

***********************************************************************

A few weeks later, Natasha is working a double shift: the first one at Steve’s house, and the second at yours. You’re away at work, as usual, but she knows you’ll be home before she leaves for the day, and she never takes any glimpse of you for granted. Wanda is also back to being demanding and cranky, and Natasha has no idea if you told her about the night the two of you had together. She had felt the silent instruction from you not to blab about her taking Wanda’s place and was happy to keep the memories to herself.

She’s in the front hall, mopping while quietly humming “Defying Gravity” to herself, when Wanda clacks by in high-heels.

“Natasha!” she hisses. “Didn’t I tell you to start in the kitchen? If I slip out here because the floor is wet–”

“So sorry!” Natasha apologizes, hoping that she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll put a fan on.” She rests her mop against the wall and darts off for the $300 Dyson fan in the closet. After pointing it towards the gleaming floor, she pushes her cart into the kitchen and continues mopping. She makes sure to open the window to air out the smell, and notices Steve across the street mowing his lawn. 

She stares at him, wondering if he can see her, and her question is quickly answered when Steve waves to her. She returns his wave with a smile, then goes back to her task before Wanda can complain she isn’t working hard enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him back away from his lawn mower and answer his phone; he disappears into his house hurriedly. 

“Natasha! Always make sure you open a window when you mop!” Wanda’s screech comes out of nowhere. “The chemicals you use give me a headache!”

“Oh, but the window is open–” Natasha tries to explain, but Wanda silences her with a wave of her hand.

“I’m on the phone!” she says, pointing to the cell phone held up to her ear. Natasha bites her lip, but holds her tongue. “Sorry, honey, what was that? No, I was talking to the maid,” she says. Natasha perks up despite the way Wanda titles her. You’re clearly on the other line, and maybe you’ll be home sooner than expected.

But Wanda disappears into a guest room (your house had so many of those), and Natasha can no longer hear her conversation. She dutifully continues to mop the floor, careful to fan the mop in a semi-circle pattern so as not to trap herself in a corner. She moves the chairs to the hallway one at a time, cursing their awkward shape that makes them difficult to carry and taking special care not to scrape the feet along the floor. 

Wanda’s shrill voice carries through the house again, this time covering a topic that makes Natasha’s cheeks heat up.

“Oh my God, yes, I’m still thinking about last night,” Wanda says. “When you had my legs behind my head–”

Natasha tries not to picture Wanda folded up like a pretzel while you plow into her. But she can imagine herself in a similar position (she’s not so confident in her own flexibility, but she’d make it work for you). Your hands could probably fit around her whole thighs as you push her legs apart wider, thrusting your hips in long strokes to fit your big dick into her. Natasha is embarrassed to admit that the last time she had masturbated, she had thought of you the whole time.

How much more you’d fill her compared to the flimsy toy she was using. How you would feel throbbing inside her, your body pressed hot and heavy against hers as you beg for her permission to finish. Imagining having you like that, with that kind of control, brought Natasha to the most amazing orgasm of her life. If only you had been there to share it with her. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be able to go another round, but you proved me wrong,” Wanda continues, and Natasha picks up on how breathless she sounds. She wonders if she’s touching herself right now, with Natasha mopping in the kitchen. Somehow, that wouldn’t be shocking to her. “You were still so hard when I put you down my throat.”

A lightning bolt of arousal strikes Natasha’s core. She can’t focus on mopping anymore, staring blankly out the kitchen window, lost in the new filthy fantasy playing in her head, guided by Wanda’s narration. 

Natasha lies between your legs, her lips barely brushing your hips as she takes your cock down her throat. She prays her gag reflex doesn’t protest at the obstruction in her airway, but despite the slight discomfort, she wants to do this all day. Your pants and moans are like music in her ears, urging her on to suck harder and take you deeper.

“Please Nat,” your voice wavers. The muscle fibers in your thighs are visibly tensed and your back arches off the bed when Natasha pushes your hips down, trying to maintain some kind of control over you. But your body seems to have a mind of its own, with only one goal in mind. 

“It’s almost like I can still taste you.”

You poke at the back of her throat and Natasha can feel the hot throbbing of your cock in her mouth. She’s so eager to swallow anything you’ll give her, she’s almost embarrassed in her desperation, but when your hands cup the back of her head, pushing her down so she can fit the last inch down her throat, she knows the two of you are on equal planes of passion.

Your entire body flexes and the anticipation for Natasha is overwhelming. You finally inhale sharply as the first hot spurt lands on her tongue. 

“Being on your knees for me is a good look for you.”

Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her fingers tangling in your hair. One of her legs rests on your shoulder while the other is spread far apart so you can kneel between them, your mouth pressed against her heat. Your tongue swirls around her clit and Natasha fears she won’t be able to stay standing much longer. 

“Y/N,” she pants, clutching your head tighter and rocking her hips forward. “I need you.”

Your fingernails dig harder into her thigh to still her. You look up into her eyes and Natasha thinks she’s going to finish right there. “You have me, baby. I’m all yours.”

“But there’s really only one place you belong.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you grunt, almost sending Natasha headfirst into the headboard with every one of your thrusts. “I could stay inside you forever.”

Natasha hums at the praise. She’s holding on the bedsheets for life, spasming and clenching around you, trying to pull you in deeper. You fill her so perfectly, she’s convinced her body was made for yours. 

“Tell me I’m better than her,” Natasha gasps, fighting to delay her own release.

“Fuck Wanda,” you grunt, pulling back on Natasha’s hips at the same time you thrust forward, burying your entire length into her. “I love you, Natasha. You’re the only one I ever want to be with.”

A noisy car engine pulls Natasha out of her head. Her face feels flushed with arousal, and she knows what she’s doing the second she goes home. Your green car suddenly pulls into the driveway but stops. You get out and walk to the street, grabbing one of the trash bins and pulling it towards the house.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” Wanda says in the background.

The realization crashes down on Natasha’s head like a cold shower. She watches you grab the second bin with both hands, carefully walking backwards with it.

You’re not on the phone and you’re standing 30 feet away from Natasha. If Wanda’s not on the phone with you, then who is she talking to?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Who do you think Wanda was talking to? 👀

To be continued...(hopefully)

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[crowsghosts]

Crow’s shrines were never elaborate, nor would they like it that way. All he needed was a simple, golden scale with whatever trinkets their worshippers thought were best to offer. Justice would answer their prayers.

And yet, for a hundred and fifty years, Crow left the prayers unanswered.

Their grief over the sudden death of two friends left the god shattered into pieces. All the prayers they had received were nothing more than whispers in the night, and even an outcry could not overpower the flood of Crow’s own tears. As the years past, the offerings slowly trickled down until Crow received nothing more than an old candy wrapper.

And yet, a young girl persisted in making offerings. At first, Justice didn’t pay much attention to the efforts, but turned his head out of curiosity as the girl grew older. Why was she doing this? Was anyone telling her that there wasn’t a point anymore? That the god had abandoned them?

Crow watched as with each passing year, the girl continued to bring trinkets to any one of his shrines without a prayer asking for their help.

And maybe this was the push that had gotten the god out of their rut and back into fighting tyrants, just as they always done before.

As more decades passed, Crow could hear the old prayers grow past the once-tiny whispers, answering each plea for help. The number of trinkets amassed from their shrine offerings slowly returned to its usual numbers, but he could distinguish the girl’s offerings from the rest. She didn’t miss a single year, either.

By the time the now elderly woman was reaching her end, she noticed someone knocking on her door, and opened it.

“May I help you, sir?” She asked warmly.

“No, no. I’m just briefly passing by, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, dear. Have a seat.”

Crow slowly moved inside, observing the room around them until he spotted his shrine: the simple, golden scale, as the old lady placed a small chocolate in front of it.

“Don’t mind this. I’ve had this tradition since I was a little girl,” she explained, “I’ve been told only to gift to Justice’s shrine if I needed help from him, but I’m sure they don’t mind a normal offering.”

So that was why she left trinkets without a prayer. Crow tilted their head with mild curiosity and content.

“How did you find out about him? Didn’t they vanish for a while?”

“Oh, yes, that’s what everyone else kept saying!” The lady chuckled, “But even if he were gone forever, it still wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

There was a moment of silence from Crow. The god wasn’t expecting such an answer.

“… and what would you do if they were sitting here with you at this moment?”

“Oh, just treat him like any other guest! Why do you ask?”

“Well…”

Crow stood and took an object out of his pocket, revealing an old candy wrapper.

“I don’t know if this is enough proof to show that I am Justice, but I wanted to swing by and say thanks. I was in a rough spot when I noticed you were leaving offerings at my shrines.”

The god placed the wrapper back in his pocket before slowly clasping his hands around the old woman’s.

“From this moment forward, you and your family have my protection and blessing. No tyrant or bully can harm you as long as your bloodline lasts.”

The old lady stood in stunned silence, processing what she had just heard. From what she heard, Justice rarely, if ever, gave anyone his blessing, so to even be gifted it herself…

The woman simply smiled in gratitude.

“It’s an honour, sir.”

While other god's shrines are magnificent, yours is a bit too humbling. And yet a little girl visits you every year after stumbling upon it, never missing a year even as she grows old. Deeply moved, you decide to give her a parting gift greater than what any other God would dare to give.

[bloatedandalone04]

The Unholy Three

Summary: You are the lucky girl who gets to be in between the two hottest men that are from opposite sides of the island.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, threesome, mmf, rafe x reader, jj x reader, oral (m receiving), coarse language, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, dirty talk, this is just absolutely filthy and I can’t believe I wrote it, enjoy.

If someone had told Rafe that one day he’d be sitting across from JJ fucking Maybank on his bed with you in between, he would’ve laughed his ass off. But he wasn’t laughing. He was sporting a painful fucking boner as he watched you kiss JJ’s neck. 

“What’s the matter, Cameron?” JJ teased, threading his fingers through your hair as you giggled against his neck. “Thought you wanted her as bad as I did.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, reaching down to palm his hard cock through his jeans for a bit of relief. “I do,” he muttered, reaching out and grabbing onto your hips as he pulled you away from JJ and towards him, his greedy hands squeezing your waist as he buried his face against your shoulder. “Just didn’t expect that you’d be here too.”

You giggled again, willingly going when Rafe tugged you onto his lap so you were straddling his waist, and you draped your arms around his shoulders. “I don’t know why you two don’t get along,” you laughed, threading your fingers through Rafe’s hair as you glance back at JJ. “You’re both hot as fuck. I can’t believe I actually get both of you. I feel like the luckiest girl ever.” 

Reaching behind you and grabbing onto JJ’s arm, you pull him towards you, encouraging him to touch you as Rafe places hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck. 

JJ laughed, moving closer to you as he pressed his erection against your lower back and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Yeah, you’re a lot luckier than we are,” he muttered, gently nipping your ear before his tongue darted out and traced the shell of it. 

Rafe grunted, glaring at the blond before he leaned in and kissed you deeply and dominantly as his hands gripped your hips a bit possessively. You moaned against his lips when his tongue slipped inside your mouth and tasted your own, and you whined when he pulled away to look at the man behind you. “This doesn’t change anything, Pogue,” he mumbled, “You still don’t deserve her.”

JJ laughed again, finding Rafe’s possessiveness amusing since both men were equally claiming you right now. “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots,” he teased, his fingers tangling in your hair before he tugged your head back and kissed you as well. You moaned into his mouth, missing the way Rafe’s heated gaze lingered on the deep kiss before JJ pulled away. “She wants both of us…guess we’ll just have to share.”

When JJ groped your breast through your shirt, Rafe grunted and bucked his hips up against you. “Fine,” he muttered, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he guided you to grind against him. 

“I guess this means I won’t be able to get you two to kiss, huh?” you teased, letting JJ pull your shirt off your body. “I can be both of yours…and pulling the hottest guys on the island is such a big flex, you don’t even know.”

JJ grinned, tossing your shirt aside as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, his hands covering your tits as he nuzzled his face against your neck. “We’ll take turns. I’m a very patient guy, sweetheart,” he promised, pressing softer kisses along your shoulder. 

He was definitely the sweeter and softer one out of the two men, and that fact was only proven further when you met Rafe’s intense gaze before he pushed one of JJ’s hands away from your chest so he could lean down and wrap his lips around your nipple. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he muttered against your breast as he flicked your senstive bud with his tongue. “I’ve wanted to taste you since the second I first saw you.”

A loud moan left your lip as you wiggled your body against his, your hands tangling in his hair as you leaned back against JJ. “Yeah?” you breathe, biting your lip when you feel JJ’s hand slide into your shorts and his fingers brush along your wet folds. “How do I taste?” you asked, leaning in to press your forehead against Rafe’s when he pulled away from your chest. 

Rafe smirked up at you, his fingers continuing to pinch and pull at your hard nipples. “Like fucking heaven, baby,” he answered, his hips jerking a bit when you reached down and unzipped his jeans. 

“I think you taste like a fucking dream come true,” JJ added, his fingers gathering up your wetness before he slid them inside you, making you gasp. “So fucking sweet and tight.” he muttered, curling his fingers inside you as best as he could from the awkward angle. 

You moaned when Rafe leaned in and kissed you, his tongue brushing against yours while JJ worked you open. “I want to taste you all over,” he muttered against your mouth, his big hands holding onto your hips as he guided you to grind against the other man’s hand. 

Another loud moan escapes you as you lean your head back on JJ’s shoulder, your hands freeing Rafe’s hard cock. “You can taste me everywhere you want to,” you promised, tugging on the older guy’s hair. “But I need one of you inside me. I need to feel you.”

JJ and Rafe shared a look over the top of your head, and a few seconds later, a smirk formed on JJ’s face as he turned you around so you are facing him, and his thumb came up to tug on your lower lip. “Looks like I get to see the pretty faces you make while he fucks you,” he mumured and then leaned in to kiss you while Rafe kicked his jeans and boxers the rest of the way off before stripping out of his shirt as well. 

He helps guide your shorts and soaked panties down your legs while you kiss JJ before positioning himself behind you, one hand on your thigh while the other grips the base of his cock. Rafe nudged your thighs apart with his knee as he ran the head of his dick along your folds, reveling in the way your body trembled in anticipation. “Fuck yes,” he grunted when he slid inside you, your tight walls instantly welcoming him. 

You whined, your eyes hooded when you looked up at JJ as Rafe started fucking you from behind. “Oh fuck, you’re so big,” you moaned, looking over your shoulder at Rafe before you turned back to JJ and unzipped his shorts, pushing them down his legs along side his boxers. 

JJ leaned back against the headboard as you grasped his cock in your hand before dipping your head down to taste the white beads of pre-cum that had formed on the tip of his dick. His head tipped forward as he looked down at you, his teeth sinking into his lip as you took him into your mouth fully. “Just like that, sweetheart,” he praised, already breathless from how turned on he was. 

Rafe’s eyes darkened as he watched you worship JJ with your mouth, and he felt his own cock grow impossibly harder inside of you. “Look at you, taking us both so well,” he mumbled, his hands sliding along your ass as he pulled you back to meet his thrusts. “So fucking pretty.”

You moaned loudly around JJ, your eyes fluttering a bit at Rafe’s sweet yet sexy praise, and you clenched tightly around him as he pounded into you from behind. His big hands gripped your hips tightly, his body rolling in a way that had him inching even deeper inside of you. 

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, tipping his head back as he held you in place so he could fuck you a bit harder. “You feel so fucking good.”

Meanwhile JJ fisted your hair and tugged on it a little harshly, but he was still the more gentle one of the two as he urged you to take him deeper. “Suck harder, sweetheart,” he breathed, his other hand sliding down to grope your sensitive breasts. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as you took him a bit deeper, and you moaned at the heavy weight of him on your tongue. You took him all the way down your throat and held him there for a few seconds until you needed air, and when you pulled off his messy cock, a string of spit still connected you to his tip. “Fuck, it’s so good,” you whimpered as Rafe’s thrusts send your body jolting forward every time his hips met your ass. 

As you took JJ back inside your mouth, you could feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter, the combined sounds of both guys turning you on more than anything else ever had. 

Rafe locked his jaw, his words coming out as a harsh pant as his fingers dug into your skin. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby,” he grunted through his teeth, his cock throbbing deep inside of you. 

You moaned and looked up at JJ through your lashes, and he let out a deep groan as he held your intense gaze with one of his own. “I’m gonna cum too,” he rasped, tugging a little harder on your hair as he gently thrust into your mouth.

Rafe came first, his warmth flooding you from the inside out as he let out a loud groan that was followed by a string of muttered curses. You could feel all of him as he filled you up, and when his hand slipped around you and started rubbing your clit as his hips jerked a bit unevenly, you were there too. 

Your cry of relief was muffled by JJ’s cock, and the vibrations had his fingers tightening in your hair as he bucked his hips shallowly a few times before he came as well. His cum filled your mouth and dripped down your throat as you tried to swallow as much as you could before you pulled off his cock, a few beads of white slipping from between your lips. 

Rafe slowly pulled out of you, his softening dick twitching as he fell down onto the bed beside you, one of his arms covering his eyes as he let out uneven breaths. “Fuck, that was intense,” he muttered, a sated smirk ghosting over his lips.

You hummed in agreement as JJ brushed your messy hair away from your face. “Are you good?” he asked, his thumb collecting his cum from your lips until you were clean. “We weren’t too rough, were we?” 

Rafe peeked at the two of you from under his arm, and he felt a possessive feeling surge through him at the sweet display of affection you were receiving from the other man, but he didn’t say or do anything about it. “No, you weren’t too rough. You were amazing,” you answered, then looked over at Rafe as you settled onto your stomach between them. “You both were.” 

Rafe grunted again and rolled onto his side, his hand tangling in the hair on the back of your neck as he pressed a searing kiss to your mouth. You moaned softly against his mouth, refraining from deepening it since you could still taste JJ on your tongue, and you wanted this afterglow to last a long time. 

“We should’ve done this sooner,” he mumbled against your lips when he pulled away and draped his arm around your waist. “You think you’re gonna want us again in the future?”

JJ laughed breathlessly, leaning back against the headboard as he ran his fingers through your hair. “Maybe this can become a regular thing,” he suggested, glancing warily at Rafe, who he still didn’t like. At all. But he liked you, and you liked them both, so he’d put up with the other guy if he had to. 

You grinned, nodding slowly as you leaned into both their touches. “I think we’re just getting started, no?” you murmured, and the smirks on both their faces told you all you needed to know.

This would definitely become a regular thing.

-

Trying a new theme, we shall see how it goes. Thanks for reading x

[siriuslylantsov]

morning glory

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: following the events of drunken confessions. the next morning after spencer tells you he loves you, albeit drunk and half asleep, you don't know if he means it.

tags: fluff, gn!reader, hangover but i dont dwell on it, whiny!spencer (lol), so so soft, r is so unsure but she just needs reassurance.

a/n: omg my first pt 2 as per popular demand (3 people asked), happy reading!

wc: 1.6k

i love you. 

three words that bounce from one end to the other in your head, like a pendulum, reverberating across the hard surface of your skull. it echoes through the small space of your ear canal, taking up entirely too much space. it repeats with the beat of your pulse, heart thudding in a steady rhythm. 

suffice it to say, you barely slept. running the words over and over for some kind of clarity. instead you preoccupied yourself with watching spencer sleep, like you are now.

with the sunrise, came light. light that filtered through the curtains just enough that you could see his face. his lips are slightly parted, soft puffs of air that don’t quite reach you. they’re pulled down minutely, in a little frown, seemingly how his face falls when he's unconscious. it's sweet. his eyebrows twitch, creasing momentarily, you wonder if he’s dreaming, or if it's a nightmare. 

your fingers itch to reach out and touch him, soothe the line. but he's so peaceful, you don't know if you want to wake him up. you never get to see him like this, without the weight of the world on his shoulders, unthinking. so you stall a bit, let the wave of serenity pass before it comes crashing down in the form of a violent hangover. 

you probably stay like that for an hour, an hour spent admiring his features. it's easier than confronting what he said. he’d stayed in the same position all night, curled up on his side, facing you. you’re leaning on your elbow now, looking down at him from above. his face moves, nuzzling into the pillow beneath his head. it causes that same stubborn strand of hair to fall loose. 

you give in and touch him this time, tucking the piece behind his ear. you trace a finger over his brow bone and then down the slope of his perfect nose. this causes him to stir, eyes fluttering open as he takes in his surroundings before they land on you. they instantly soften.

“morning,” you whisper, wary of your volume.

“hey,” he croaks, voice riddled in sleep. all his features pull up, twisted in a grimace as his head throbs. he rolls onto his back, bringing his fingers up to his temple, rubbing the pads of them in between his eyebrows. 

“where's your aspirin?” 

he hums in thought, or in pain, it's uncertain. “the um- drawer,” he points beside him aimlessly, eyes still closed. he's about to move to get it but you stop him, leaning over his body to reach the bedside table next to him. you reach over him, hovering awkwardly over his body. you shiver imperceptibly when his hand settles on your waist for support, an unconscious action, you suppose. when you find it, you give him a pill and he swallows, his hand falls back to his side.

“what time is it?” he grumbles.

“quarter to twelve,” you respond, barring a quick look at the analog clock that sat on his dresser. 

he harrumphs, something of acknowledgement. you didn’t think he’d be this grumpy waking up but you don't mind, it's awfully cute.

“it’s so bright,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut further, if possible. 

“your eyes are closed.”

“my retinas are burning,” he whines, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield him from the sunlight in a thespian flourish. 

“so dramatic,” you huff as you get up to close the curtains, the smile in your voice irrefutably evident. you peek out the window first, your car is still parked outside, you stayed the night!

when you sit back down on the bed, his head seeks you out, laying gently on your lap. you card a hand through his hair, the action seemingly appropriate. he lets out a hum, satisfied.

“do you remember much from last night?” you ask, trying to come off casual, the question is loaded to say the least. plus, you don't know if alcohol affects an eidetic memory the same way. maybe he remembers everything, like always.

“no,” he says with a little shrug. “well, i remember going to the bar and morgan spilling a shot on his shirt but that's it.”

oh. so not that differently.

“well, i'm sure he’ll appreciate you remembering that,” you chuckle, ruffling his hair. with a long sigh, you decide to not bring it up. it’ll come back to him, surely. you’ll wait for him to come to you about it. 

you lift his head off your lap and let him sink back into the pillows. “how about you freshen up and i’ll make you some toast?”

his eyes peek open, barely. “yes please,” he replies meekly, a small smile in tow.

-

you put slices of bread into the toaster on his counter, leaning against it as you wait. what happens if he doesn't remember? will you tell him? how do you even bring that up?

hey spencer! last night you told me you love me. do you?

the loud spring of the toaster startles you back to the moment. behind his bedroom door, you can hear the faint sound of his shower running and you remember you’re still in his clothes. god, you're gonna have to wear yesterday's clothes back home. you mindlessly take the hot toast out and set it on a plate, wincing when you hold them for too long. you put 2 more slices of bread in, for you of course. 

you decide to make some eggs too, pulling the carton out of the fridge and getting a pan from beside his sink. you move with surprising ease through his kitchen, like you’d been there before. you haven't, but again, it's so easy with spencer, it apparently extends to his home too. you hum absentmindedly, cracking an egg into a bowl and beating it with a fork. you don’t know it yet but spencer's watching you, having finished his shower.

-

it all comes back to him slowly, as he puts on a new change of clothes, skin still a little damp.

asking penelope for a drink, drinking it, thinking, thinking about you, you showing up? maybe he was magic. you sitting with him, talking to him, taking him home. he remembers stumbling up the stairs, his arm thrown haphazardly over your shoulders and yours hooked around his waist.

“you're so nice, y’know?” 

“yeah? you won't think so tomorrow morning.”

you tucked him in, stayed when he asked you to. you told him about your breakup and he told you, oh, he told you he loved you.

shit. 

he has to make this right. he's quick to feed his arm into the last sleeve and walk out of his room. however, he stops when he sees you. swaying lightly, humming a tune he recognises from last night, standing there in his clothes. he thinks he might die. clearly, he wasn’t paying much at all when he woke up earlier. damn headache. 

-

“i told you i loved you.”

your head snaps in his direction, unaware of his presence. you jump a little before calming. “yeah... you did,” you confirm, trying to keep your tone light. it wasn't a question but you still answer. he remembers.

“and you told me to tell you again when i wake up,” he recalls.

you chuckle quietly, “i didn't realise you heard that.”

“i did.”

you nod, slowly, expectantly, for him to say something else, anything else. 

“i love you.” there it is.

“you mean that?” your voice comes out way smaller than you intended. he still hasn't moved.

“of course i do,” he says with a sigh, inching his way closer. you look like you're going to spook.

“okay,” you breathe, looking down at your fingers, you begin to ramble. “it's just, last night- you were drunk and sleepy and well, tired and i didnt know if you were being honest or just saying it on whim.” 

he's suddenly in front of you and you can't look at him. he's fine with that, it makes it slightly easier.

“hey, i mean it. i love you. i’m sorry i said it how i did, it wasn't fair. and you don't have to say anything back, i just- want you to know.”

you look up at him now, eyes searching, and when you find sincerity in his eyes, you soften, muttering out a quiet “okay.” your lips twist to the side, trying not to smile, but glee fills out every nook and cranny of your body. he takes this as a good sign and lets out the breath he didn't realise he was holding, smiling back at you.

“so,” you start, seemingly casual. “how do you take your eggs?”

spencer laughs, amused by your change in topic. he nods toward the bowl of already beaten eggs, “scrambled.”

you nod, firmly. you pick up the bowl and move to the stovetop, but not before grabbing his fingers with your free hand and pulling him with you. 

your thumb glides along the curve of his forefinger as you hold it between your bodies, waiting for the pan to heat up. you’re biting your lip so much, you think you might draw blood. you’re unbearably happy. and you think you’re doing a good job of hiding it but you’re not. spencer can see the way you giddily twitch by his side, opting on not saying anything about it as he smiles softly.

“you love me,” you tease, singsong, dragging out the ‘love’. your head leans against his shoulder. 

“mhm,” he confirms. ”you’re never gonna let me live this down, huh?”

“nope,” you chirp, pressing a chaste kiss to his shirt.

reblogs and replies are appreciated | m.list

[siilent-wanderer]

The Things You Do To Me

Summary: A bold change leaves Jimin glowing in confidence and Y/N hopelessly distracted. Between playful teasing and quiet moments, it’s clear some things are impossible to resist.

Genre: contains suggestive themes, lowkey fluff

Word Count: 2.3k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x aespa 5th member! reader

A/N: song recos while reading telepatía & earned it

Y/N was lying on the couch, aimlessly scrolling through her phone when her screen lit up with an incoming call from Jimin. She sat up quickly, smiling at the sight of her girlfriend’s name.

“Hey, unnie,” Y/N greeted, already imagining the sweet, soft tone she always associated with Jimin.

“Hi, baby,” Jimin replied, her voice warm and slightly playful. “So, don’t be mad…”

Y/N furrowed her brows. “Why would I be mad? What did you do?”

There was a pause, and Y/N could almost hear Jimin’s sheepish smile through the phone. “I’m getting a haircut.”

“A haircut?” Y/N repeated, her tone dropping slightly. She loved Jimin’s long, silky hair. It was one of the first things she noticed about her when they met — how it fell perfectly down her back and framed her face so delicately.

“Yeah,” Jimin said cautiously. “I thought it was time for a change.”

Y/N huffed, flopping back against the couch. “You’re cutting it without me? I would’ve gone with you!”

“I know, I know,” Jimin said, laughing softly. “But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Y/N’s pout deepened. “What kind of haircut?”

“You’ll see when I get home,” Jimin replied, clearly enjoying Y/N’s sulking.

“Fine,” Y/N mumbled, trying to hide her disappointment. “But it better not be too short.”

Jimin chuckled. “Just wait. You might like it more than you think.”

An hour later, Y/N heard the sound of the front door opening. She quickly sat up, half-expecting Jimin to walk in with her long hair still intact, perhaps just trimmed at the ends. But when Jimin appeared, Y/N froze.

Her girlfriend’s long, flowing hair was gone, replaced by an edgy, layered wolf cut that framed her face perfectly. The soft, natural waves added texture, and the shorter pieces at the front highlighted Jimin’s sharp jawline and high cheekbones.

Jimin ran a hand through her hair, her lips curling into a slight smirk when she saw Y/N’s stunned expression. “So? What do you think?”

Y/N blinked, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find the words. “You… look…” She trailed off, her cheeks heating up.

“Is that a good speechless or a bad speechless?” Jimin teased, stepping closer.

“It’s…” Y/N swallowed, her heart racing as she took in the sight of her girlfriend. “It’s unfair. You look too good, babe.”

Jimin laughed, tilting her head. “Too good?”

Y/N stood up, her hands instinctively reaching for Jimin’s hair. She ran her fingers through the soft layers, marveling at how effortlessly the new style suited her. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d look this… hot?”

Jimin’s smirk widened. “You were sulking about me cutting it. I didn’t think you’d notice anything else.”

“I’m still sulking,” Y/N muttered, her hands dropping to her sides. “But you look so good I can’t even be mad.”

Jimin stepped closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Oh? Not mad, but you’re blushing.”

“I am not,” Y/N protested, though the pink tint on her cheeks betrayed her.

Jimin leaned in, her face inches away, her smirk growing as her eyes flicked between Y/N’s flustered expression and the way her lips parted, ready to counter with another excuse. “You sure about that?” she asked, her voice soft but undeniably teasing.

Y/N tried to glare at her, but Jimin’s proximity made it impossible to think straight. “Stop teasing me, unnie. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” Jimin murmured, her hand brushing lightly against Y/N’s arm before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers lingered, grazing Y/N’s cheek as her smirk deepened. “Maybe I do,” she admitted softly, her tone playful yet sincere. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, “Or maybe I just like seeing you like this. All shy and cute. What are you going to do about it?”

Y/N took a step back instinctively, trying to create space, but her back hit the wall. Jimin followed without hesitation, closing the distance and resting one hand on the wall beside Y/N’s head. Trapped between her girlfriend and the solid surface, Y/N’s breath hitched, and she felt her knees go weak under Jimin’s piercing gaze.

“You’re impossible,” Y/N muttered, her voice shaky but soft, her hands lifting as if to push her girlfriend away but instead finding their way to the hem of her shirt.

Jimin chuckled, leaning even closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “And yet, here you are,” she whispered, her voice low and teasing.

Before Y/N could respond, Jimin took full advantage of their proximity, closing the gap and capturing Y/N’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. The softness of the kiss contrasted the intensity of the moment, and Y/N melted into it, her hands tugging lightly on her girlfriend’s shirt as her resolve crumbled entirely. Jimin’s hands slid to Y/N’s hips, pulling her closer, their bodies pressed together as the kiss grew more heated.

When Jimin finally pulled back, her forehead rested lightly against Y/N’s, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. “Still think I’m impossible?”

Y/N laughed breathlessly, her cheeks flushed as she whispered, “Completely impossible.” Her fingers moved up, combing through the layers of Jimin’s hair. “Seriously, babe. This haircut should come with a warning label.”

Jimin grinned, her thumb brushing over Y/N’s jaw. “You’re the only one it’s meant to distract, so I guess it’s working.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in Jimin’s shoulder to hide her flushed cheeks. “You’re so unfair.”

Jimin tilted Y/N’s chin up, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Unfair?” she echoed, her smirk turning playful. “You’re the one who started playing with my hair.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retort, but Jimin silenced her with another kiss — this one slower, more deliberate, leaving no room for argument.

When they finally broke apart, Jimin’s smile was soft but mischievous. “You can sulk all you want, but you’re stuck with me. And this haircut.”

“Thank God,” Y/N muttered, pulling her back in for another kiss.

Later that night, as Y/N lay on the couch with Jimin curled up against her, her fingers lazily running through Jimin’s hair, she sighed softly. “You really do look too good, you know.”

Jimin chuckled, her voice sleepy but affectionate. “And you really need to stop looking at me like that unless you want round two.”

Y/N blushed furiously but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face. “Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you love me,” Jimin teased, nuzzling closer.

Y/N pressed a kiss to her girlfriend’s temple, her voice soft. “I really do.”

Jimin tilted her head up to look at Y/N, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Uh… baby?”

“Hm?” Y/N murmured, still lost in the feel of Jimin’s hair between her fingers.

Jimin’s smile grew as she lightly traced her thumb along Y/N’s neck. “You might want to, uh, check this out in the mirror later.”

Y/N froze for a moment before realizing what Jimin meant. Her hand flew to her neck, her cheeks burning as she stammered, “You didn’t…”

Jimin laughed softly, burying her face against Y/N’s shoulder to muffle the sound. “Sorry, but… you didn’t exactly stop me.”

Y/N groaned, tilting her head back against the couch. “Unnie, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Jimin peeked up at her, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “At least you’ll have an excuse to use the turtleneck sweater we bought the other day,” she teased, her voice light and playful.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at her, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Oh, you’re so smug right now.”

Jimin grinned, resting her chin on Y/N’s shoulder as her arms tightened around her. “Because I know you’ll forgive me.”

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, but her fingers gently resumed combing through Jimin’s hair. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Jimin replied smugly, her voice laced with affection.

As the room fell quiet again, Y/N tightened her hold around Jimin, her lips brushing against the top of her girlfriend’s head. “You’re still apologizing for this tomorrow,” she muttered.

Jimin just grinned, her eyes fluttering shut. “We’ll see, baby.”

The next morning, the dorm was unusually quiet. Y/N was still half-asleep when she shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Jimin was already there, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, looking impossibly gorgeous with her freshly styled wolf cut.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, blinking at the sight before letting out a soft groan. “You’re seriously starting the day like this?”

Jimin smirked over the rim of her mug. “Good morning to you, too, baby.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grabbing a mug of her own. “You’re going to make it really hard to focus at practice, you know that?”

“Not my fault you’re easily distracted,” Jimin teased, walking over to plant a kiss on Y/N’s temple.

By the time they arrived at the practice room, the rest of aespa was already stretching and warming up. As soon as Jimin stepped through the door, all heads turned in her direction.

“Oh my God, unnie!” Yizhuo exclaimed, practically dropping her water bottle. “When did you get a haircut? You look like a model!”

Minjeong’s jaw dropped as she hurried over for a closer look. “Wait, when did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Aeri grinned, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re really rocking that wolf cut. Definitely girl crush material.”

Jimin chuckled, clearly amused by their reactions. “I figured it was time for a change,” she said simply, running a hand through her hair.

Y/N stood slightly off to the side, her arms crossed and lips pressed into a tight line. She watched as the other girls crowded around Jimin, showering her with compliments and admiration.

“Unnie, you look so cool,” Yizhuo gushed, tugging at Jimin’s sleeve. “You’re going to drive the fans crazy with this look.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t let us come with you,” Minjeong added, mock-pouting. “We could’ve helped you pick it out!”

Aeri smirked knowingly, her sharp eyes catching Y/N’s sulky expression. “What do you think, Y/N? Isn’t Jimin’s haircut amazing?”

Y/N forced a smile, though her tone came out more curt than intended. “It’s fine.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, turning to look at her girlfriend. “Just fine?”

Y/N shrugged, trying to keep her composure. “You already know what I think, unnie.”

Minjeong and Ningning exchanged a glance, clearly intrigued by Y/N’s uncharacteristic tone.

Aeri, ever the instigator, leaned closer to Jimin. “Don’t worry, Jimin. If Y/N doesn’t appreciate how amazing you look, the rest of us definitely will.”

That was the final straw. Y/N uncrossed her arms and stepped forward, slipping an arm around Jimin’s waist. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said, her voice firm but not unfriendly.

Jimin blinked in surprise but didn’t pull away, a small smile tugging at her lips as she glanced at her girlfriend.

Yizhuo stifled a giggle. “Ohhh, someone’s feeling possessive.”

Y/N shot her a glare, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I’m just saying, we’ve got a lot of work to do today. Let’s focus on practice.”

“Right,” Minjeong said, smirking as she nudged the maknae. “Totally about practice.”

Aeri grinned but didn’t push further, knowing when to let up.

As the group moved into position, the music started, and they began running through the choreography for their upcoming performance. But it didn’t take long for Y/N’s focus to slip.

In the middle of their second run-through, Y/N completely blanked on her next move, her feet halting awkwardly as the others continued. She quickly recovered, but not before Yizhuo caught it.

“Oh, are you okay?” Yizhuo asked, her grin all too knowing.

“I’m fine!” Y/N replied quickly, avoiding Jimin’s amused gaze.

But it happened again during their vocal rehearsal. Y/N was supposed to sing her part of the harmony, but she was so distracted by the way Jimin absentmindedly pushed her hair back that she completely missed her cue.

“Y/N!” Aeri called out, stifling a laugh. “Where’d you go just now?”

“I—I zoned out for a second,” Y/N muttered, her cheeks burning as the girls burst into laughter.

“Zoned out?” Minjeong teased. “Or were you too busy staring at a certain someone?”

“I wasn’t staring!” Y/N protested, though her voice cracked slightly, making Yizhuo laugh even harder.

Jimin, who had been watching the chaos unfold from the corner with a faint smirk, finally stepped forward. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said, her tone calm but firm.

The teasing immediately subsided, though Yizhuo still giggled softly behind her hand.

Jimin turned to Y/N, her expression softening as she placed a hand on her shoulder. “You okay, baby?” she asked quietly, her voice just for Y/N to hear.

Y/N nodded, her cheeks still pink. “I’m fine. Just… distracted.”

Jimin chuckled, leaning in to whisper, “By me, I hope?”

Y/N groaned, playfully swatting at her arm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mhmm,” Jimin teased, giving her shoulder a light squeeze before returning to her spot.

When practice wrapped up, the girls gathered their things, still chatting animatedly about Jimin’s haircut.

“You really do look like you stepped out of a magazine,” Minjeong said, giving Jimin a once-over.

“Maybe we should all get wolf cuts,” Yizhuo joked, tossing her hair dramatically.

“Please don’t,” Y/N muttered under her breath, earning a sly grin from Aeri.

As they left the practice room, Jimin lingered behind with Y/N, her hand slipping into hers. “You were cute today,” she said, her voice teasing but warm.

Y/N shot her a look. “I was a mess, and you know it.”

Jimin laughed softly, pulling her closer. “Maybe, but you’re my mess.”

Y/N’s pout melted into a smile as she leaned into Jimin’s side. “You’re lucky I love you, Yu Jimin.”

“I know,” Jimin replied, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “And I love you more.”

As they walked down the hallway together, hand in hand, Y/N couldn’t help but think that Jimin’s wolf cut wasn’t just distracting — it was absolutely worth it.

A/N: oops hehe this was def self-indulgent

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill to Die On ch2 (mostly)

ch1(ish) this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

This is most of Chapter 21, cutting out the smut. IT DOES SPICY🌶️⚠️: alludes to smut the night before and blatant talk leading into more.

Tim wasn’t in his own bed. He wasn’t in his Manner bed either. He was pretty sure it also wasn’t the spare bed at Jason’s or Kon’s bed. It wasn’t Stephanie’s or Bart’s or one of the Titan Tower beds. No, this was a stranger’s bed. That should worry him, Tim knew that, but the worry didn’t come.

Instead of worry, Tim felt calm, pleasantly satiated, and sore.

Tim knew why.

Caroline clung to him, like the heavy remnants of a dream. She was right there, pressing against the back of his mind and assuring him that this was all fine. More than fine even; she was quite pleased.

Grudgingly, Tim opened his eyes and blinked up at the nondescript ceiling. Trying to remember what had happened last night was like watching through low resolution clips of time. Things were rather clear at the start and became less clear as time went on. But he very much understood why he was sore and just how much Caroline had enjoyed himself.

Tim was sure he was blushing an embarrassing amount as he carefully sat and swung his legs over the edge of the side of the bed. Yep, sore. Right, well. Tim cleared his throat as if that would also clear up his embarrassment. How was he supposed to act after sleeping with a complete stranger?

“I thought I heard you awake, gorgeous,” the guy—Danny, his name was Danny—drawled from behind Tim. “I know it’s not the right sort of thing for you, but I put some lounge pants and a shirt in the bathroom for you if you want to shower. Pancakes will be up in about fifteen or so, but take your time.”

“Ah, thanks, that’s nice of you,” Tim said.

He waited until he heard Danny walk back off to wherever the kitchen was before he got up and slipped into the bathroom. All of Caroline’s clothing had been folded into a neat pile, other than the lacy underwear, which were washed and drying on the towel rack. Which was rather sweet.

Tim added the bra to the pile, stretching out the feeling of having worn that all night.

Figuring out how to get the shower turned on and hot was a puzzle, showers always were, but Tim managed it smoothly enough. Danny’s shower actually got decently hot too, and Tim took advantage of that to stand under the spray and just try to center himself.

Should he pretend to be Caroline?

Should he come clean?

He didn’t know what was best… or safest.

But Danny was safe. Tim hated that the certainty of that lingered in his mind, but it did. Caroline was convinced that Danny was safe, at least in these regards. He supposed she must have to lingered like this and still be at Danny’s place in the morning. Tim took a deep breath, breathing in the citrus scent of Danny’s shampoo he as using, and let it out slowly.

Okay, truth it was.

The shower had washed away the last of Caroline, which meant it was only Tim standing in the kitchen, trying not to fidget. He was better than fidgeting, he had been a Robin. But he really wanted to right then as he waited for Danny to turn from the stove.

Danny dished up some bacon onto a plate and turned the stove off before turning. “Turkey bacon,” Danny explained with a little raise of the plate before he set it on the little table which was rather full, “and we have scrambled eggs and, of course, pancakes. Take a seat and dig in.”

“That all sounds great.” Tim didn’t move.

Danny tilted his head with a little frown. “Is everything alright? If, ah, this is too much it’s okay if you just want to leave. I don’t usually… do one nightstands so if I’m breaking some sort of taboo with this I’m sorry.”

“No,” Tim said quickly, “it’s not you, it’s me. Wow, not like that. Sorry. I guess I’m just a little awkward about this. I don’t really do this either. Well, that’s not—I don’t do this. I’m sorry, I’m making an absolute mess of this. I guess, just, okay. I guess I should start by saying you should call me Lin. I’m not… exactly Caroline right now.”

He wasn’t ‘Lin’ either, but no matter what Caroline thought he wasn’t going to give Danny his real name. He was too recognizable for that.

Danny sat down slowly in the chair closest to him. “Are you… not Caroline right now because of how you’re dressed or because you’re not Caroline because you’re someone else now?”

“Oh,” Tim wiggled a handy. “Both but more of the second?”

“Okay,” Danny said, his tone careful in a way that made Tim tilt his head curiously. “Are you… freaked out by waking up somewhere different? Do we need to talk about… anything that happened last night?”

“Oh, oh no,” Tim replied quickly. “I’m mostly aware of what happens when I’m Caroline. Besides I was sort of… in between when I woke up this morning. We’re good.”

Danny shoulder’s slumped and he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “Okay, good. I really didn’t want—because everything last night was very, enthusiastically consensual and—”

“We’re good, really,” Tim reassured Danny. It was actually pretty sweet how worked up Danny was about this. “Caroline didn’t do anything—okay, well she does it more freely than me, but, ah, let’s just say we’re in agreement about you.”

Danny looked surprised before a frankly adorable smile curled his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, though maybe don’t get too smug about it,” Tim said with a little shrug and finally took a seat at the table. “I never said either of us had good taste.”

Danny’s surprised laughter was a nice sound. “Don’t worry, I know I’m not hot stuff. The attention is still flattering. I spent most of the night not sure how I ended up with Caroline in my bed.”

Tim rested his chin on his hand, watching Danny curiously. “Even though she’s not what she looks like?”

“Like I said last night, any combination of bits is a good combination.”

“That usually doesn’t mean… personalities,” Tim pointed out.

Danny just gave a little shrug. “Nope. But as long as I haven’t hurt her, or you, then I don’t mind this either. Is it different? Sure. And it has me curious about things, but I’m curious by nature.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Tim quipped.

“But boredom killed it quicker,” Danny replied, finishing the verse.

It was Tim’s turn to smile. “I can’t say I’ll want to or can answer everything, but you can feel free to ask a few questions.”

After a considering noise, Danny took a few bites of breakfast as he obviously thought about what to ask. “So since you know things that happened as Caroline, does that mean you have the same preferences about things?”

“Nope. Caroline’s go to drink is a martini. I like whiskey better,” Tim said, thinking to last night. “Or she likes eggs that are runny but I hate that.”

“Huh, okay. Does that keep going to more serious things too?”

Tim tilted his head and took a bite of the rolled up pancake he had just buttered. As far as morning after breakfasts went, this was pretty nice. “Serious like what?”

“Well, like, last night. Take… a blow job. How would Caroline like one?”

“She wouldn’t,” Tim said easily. “She might give one, but mostly to get someone worked up to fuck her.”

Danny chuckled, a low sound that made Tim want to lean in closer to where Danny lounged in the other chair. “Okay. So you know that pretty easily. But what about you? What about Lin?”

Tim tilted his head. “Lin, I mean I like blow jobs, yeah.”

At least he was pretty sure he did. He didn’t do this sort of thing much as him.

Danny smiled like he was amused. “Okay. And any preference? Leaning against a wall? Pressing me against a wall? In bed? Sitting on the couch. Right here in the kitchen with your legs thrown over my shoulders?”

Tim swallowed reflexively. If Tim was Alvin right then, he’d want Danny on his knees, back pressed against the wall while Alvin held his jaw open and fucked his face. But for Tim… “That last one, please.”

“Please as in now?” Danny asked.

“Yes, please,” Tim said, the words much more blatant begging than he had intended.

“Okay, sweetheart.” Danny drawled the pet name in a slow, easy way that reminded Tim of whipped honey. “But you gotta be good for me and let me hear you.”

-

[Smut goes here. Tim has a very good time.]

-

“No pressure, but here’s my number,” Danny said. He was holding out an actual slip of paper folded in half. He ducked his head a little. “You know, if you or Caroline or you and Caroline want to reach out.”

Tim took the slip of scrap paper, the back of some cut up sales sheet and tapped it against his fingers. “You’d want to hear from both of us?”

“Yes, of course! As long as that won’t cause any issues between you and Caroline. And, I mean, obviously I’d like a heads up who I was talking to,” he said with a shy, crooked smile.

It made Tim give a little laugh. “I bet, it would get real confusing otherwise. I can get another number for her and use it through an app. It keeps everything nice and separate for all of us.”

“Yeah? That sounds good,” Danny agreed. “And you’re sure you don’t want me to get you a cab or walk you to the station?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine. I’ve been running around Gotham my whole life.” Or close enough, anyways. “Besides, one of Caroline’s bracelets is a low level tazer.”

“Really? But to fit all of that in—sorry, off topic,” Danny said sheepishly. He leaned in and kissed Tim lightly on the edge of his lips. “Thank you for staying, and telling me who you were.”

“Thanks for being so great about,” Tim said. He stole a quick kiss himself before he slipped out the door. He was too tired for things to descend into another round of sex, not matter the position.

Just before he got outside Danny’s apartment building, he took the time to put Danny’s number in his phone and sent of a quick ‘and thank you for the pancakes’.

[amb3r-saurus]

hii,Can you make a one shot of bf!rafe x reader where she is very good friends with sarah and tells her that she is her favorite Cameron and rafe gets jealousplease,and thank you! ୨♡୧

FAVORITE CAMERON

pairing; rafe x gf!reader, sarah x bsf!reader

warnings: none

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 : I’m so sorry for the late upload 😭. Currently going through hell week at school and I’m on the brink of death. Anw I hope you enjoy this!!!

You were sitting on the deck at Tannyhill, the golden glow of the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the well-kept garden. Sarah had convinced you to come over for an impromptu catch-up, and the two of you were sipping iced tea while chatting about everything and nothing at once.

“Honestly, Y/N, I don’t know how you put up with Rafe sometimes,” Sarah said, playfully rolling her eyes. You laughed, swishing your straw around your glass. “He has his moments,” you teased, the corner of your lips curling.

The backdoor swung open with a creak, and speak of the devil: Rafe Cameron strolled out, hands in the pockets of his shorts, clearly fresh from whatever he’d been doing. His sharp blue eyes landed on you instantly, a small grin appearing at the sight.

“There you are,” he said, voice dripping with lazy amusement. “I wondered why it was so quiet inside.” Sarah groaned. “We were having a girls’ moment, Rafe. Take a hint!”

Ignoring her, Rafe crossed over to where you were sitting. He placed both hands on the back of your chair, leaning in closer than he needed to. His cologne mixed with the salty sea breeze made your head spin.

“What are you two talking about?” Rafe asked, his lips grazing your ear just enough to send goosebumps down your arms. “Nothing involving you, Cameron,” Sarah quipped, flicking her brother a disapproving look.

“Relax,” you joked, glancing at Sarah before looking back at Rafe. “She’s still my favorite Cameron.”

Your words hung in the air for a split second before Sarah laughed, making a dramatic fist pump. “Finally, some recognition!”

But Rafe? His reaction was priceless. His jaw visibly tensed, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped around the chair to plop down beside you. “Excuse me?” he demanded, though there was a playful edge to his tone.

“Oh, don’t be so offended,” you teased, taking a sip from your drink, deliberately keeping your eyes forward. “Sarah is amazing.”

“And I’m not?” Rafe leaned closer, his nose nearly brushing yours. “You have your moments,” you admitted with a sly grin.

“Moments?” His voice was low and faux-wounded, though his smirk was starting to break through. “Okay, fine,” you relented, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re… second best.”

“Second best,” he repeated flatly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, feigning deep betrayal. “Aw, poor baby,” you cooed, reaching over to lightly pinch his cheek. “You’ll live.”

Sarah cackled, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to see her brother knocked down a peg. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger, Rafe. Just admit it.” Rafe shot his sister a glare but quickly turned his attention back to you. He leaned in, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, and whispered just loud enough for you to hear:

“You know I’m your favorite,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence that had your heart skipping.

Your cheeks warmed, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of an immediate answer. “We’ll see,” you replied airily, taking another sip of your drink while trying to hide your flustered expression. But judging by Rafe’s satisfied grin, he already knew the truth.

[gpcwsl]

would love an enemies to lovers with leah!!

Warnings: suggestive (if you squint), kissing.

Leah Williamson x Reader

- Under the same sky -

MasterList

The animosity between you and Leah Williamson was palpable from the moment you signed for Arsenal. As one of the top midfielders in the league, you came in with a stellar reputation, but Leah didn’t seem to care. The captain’s icy reception caught you off guard, especially since you had idolized her for years. She was the epitome of leadership and grace—at least on the outside.

On the pitch, you two clashed constantly. If you pressed too high, she’d snap at you to drop back. If she misplaced a pass, she’d glare at you as if it were your fault. Training sessions felt like a battlefield, and the tension between you was undeniable.

“Are you two ever going to get along?” Katie McCabe joked one afternoon after another heated exchange during a practice match.

“Doubt it,” Leah muttered under her breath, her sharp tone cutting through you like a knife.

The worst part was, no matter how much she irritated you, you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull she had. Leah was effortlessly stunning, her sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes only adding to her intimidating presence. But every time you thought about how beautiful she was, you’d quickly remind yourself of how insufferable she could be.

The rivalry between you and Leah escalated during a crucial league game. A miscommunication in the backline—one you both were partially responsible for—led to the opposition scoring.

“What the hell was that?” Leah shouted, storming toward you as the ball hit the net.

“Maybe if you actually listened instead of trying to control everything, that wouldn’t have happened!” you snapped back, chest heaving.

The referee intervened before it could escalate further, but the damage was done. Fans, teammates, and even the media started noticing the friction.

Post-match, Jonas Eidevall called both of you into his office. “This stops now,” he said sternly. “Whatever’s going on between you two, sort it out. I don’t care how. The team comes first.”

Forced to spend extra time together in team-building exercises, you and Leah were paired up for a drill designed to improve communication. At first, it was awkward—stilted conversations and passive-aggressive comments—but gradually, something shifted.

“You know,” Leah said one afternoon as you worked on passing drills, “you’re not half bad when you’re not trying to get on my nerves.”

You smirked. “Funny, I was about to say the same about you.”

The banter became less hostile, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of the Leah you’d admired from afar. She was witty, fiercely intelligent, and, when she wasn’t scowling at you, surprisingly kind.

One evening after training, you found yourselves the last two in the locker room. The conversation turned personal, and Leah opened up about the pressure of being captain, about the expectations and the weight of responsibility.

“You make it look easy,” you admitted.

She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “It’s anything but.”

There was a vulnerability in her eyes that made your heart ache. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand brushing hers. The contact was brief, but it lingered in the air between you, unspoken but undeniable.

The first time Leah kissed you, it was an accident—or at least, that’s what you told yourselves.

It was after a particularly heated training match. You’d scored the winning goal, and Leah had begrudgingly come over to congratulate you. The adrenaline was still pumping, your bodies mere inches apart as you exchanged barbs laced with amusement.

And then it happened.

Her lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, she deepened the kiss, her hands finding your waist. It was fiery and desperate, a culmination of months of tension and unspoken desire.

When she finally pulled back, her breath was ragged. “We probably shouldn’t have done that,” she murmured, but the way her thumb grazed your cheek told a different story.

“Probably not,” you whispered, though you were already leaning in for another taste.

What followed was a whirlwind of stolen moments—kisses shared in the shadows of the locker room, lingering touches on the bus ride to away games, whispered conversations late at night.

It wasn’t easy. You still bickered on the pitch, but now there was a playful edge to your arguments. Your teammates noticed the change, though no one dared to comment outright.

One evening, after a particularly grueling match, Leah showed up at your apartment. You were exhausted, but the sight of her standing in your doorway, a bottle of wine in hand, made your heart skip a beat.

“I thought we could celebrate,” she said, a rare smile gracing her lips.

The night blurred into soft laughter and stolen kisses. By the time the bottle was empty, you found yourselves tangled together on your couch, her lips trailing down your neck as your fingers threaded through her hair.

“Stay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Leah paused, her eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, pulling her closer. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Keeping your relationship a secret proved increasingly difficult. The team’s sharpest players—Katie, Viv, and Beth—figured it out first.

“You two are terrible at hiding it, you know,” Katie teased after catching you and Leah exchanging a lingering glance during training.

Eventually, the entire team knew, and to your surprise, they were nothing but supportive. Jonas even pulled you aside one day to assure you that as long as it didn’t affect your performance, he had no issues.

But the media was another story. When photos of you and Leah sharing a kiss after a hard-fought win surfaced online, the headlines exploded.

Leah handled the scrutiny with her usual grace, releasing a statement that was equal parts defiant and heartfelt:

“Love isn’t a distraction; it’s a strength. I’m proud to have someone by my side who challenges me, supports me, and makes me better—on and off the pitch.”

The backlash was minimal, and soon the focus shifted back to football, where it belonged.

One night, months into your relationship, you and Leah lay on the grass in her backyard, staring up at the stars.

“It’s funny,” Leah said, her voice soft. “I used to think you were the most infuriating person I’d ever met.”

You laughed, turning to face her. “And now?”

“Now you’re still infuriating,” she teased, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.”

You smiled, your hand finding hers. “I wouldn’t either.”

Under the same sky, with the stars as your witnesses, you knew you’d found something worth fighting for.

[almostfoxglove]

ALI FAKHSDJGKH okay it's taken me 100 years to reblog this but I WANTED TO QUOTE SO MANY PARTS IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO NARROW THEM DOWN. holy shit. this was??? EVERYTHING. like, this is the canon I needed - redemption for what could have been with Helena and fulfillment of every delusion I've ever had about this man. it felt so true to the world of the show and to javi I'm actually announcing this as Canon. sorry folks!! I don't make the rules!!

gonna pop some favorite bits under the cut :,) AH

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

lord help me I would not survive this I am NOT god's strongest warrior I am a puddle on the FLOOR this is him holding the secretary's finger and complimenting her nail polish all over again DSDKFHJK

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

this is SO HEARTBREAKING ALI like what the FUCK oh my god. I feel like I can hear her and see her scared face and I'm going to cRY ABOUT IT

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys. “Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

sdhkfjhaskjhgfa

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

OHHHHH, to take javier pena apart with a massage!! HOW I YEAAARRRN

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

I love them so much. she's so charming and brings out the CRINKLY EYES and I would die for them both ok ANY DAY ANY TIME

“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately.

this is so !!!!! JAVI. saying it without saying it, ya know? that he sees her. I'm gonna cry brb

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently. “There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

MY HEART POUNDED SO HARD AT THIS PART I DONT THINK YOU UNDERSTAND

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely. Tell me where he touched you.

*screams heard in the distance* *more wailing* *barking* *hollering*

“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”

THE URGENT IN THE MOMENT NOT THINKING "BABY"??? MY PERSONAL KRYPTONITE?? ALI THIS WAS AN ATTEMPT ON MY LIFE

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

oh my god the pain of this realization fucking SLAPPED ME I just!! was there!! feeling her fear!! my chest is so TIGHT the angst is so GOOD

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special. A code, a message. A lifeline.

this was such a perfect ending. hopeful and soft but also still so javi!! and I'm obsessed with it. I've read this three times, oops. AND WILL DO IT AGAIN <3 all the ways you wove in the moodboard (THEIR LITTLE CODE PHRASE AHHHHH) are so fucking perfect and seamless. ugh. so good. thank you soso much for joining the challenge and sharing this fucking masterpiece with us, WE HAVE BEEN BLESSED. you are a talent and a gem and I adore you <3

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 | Javier Pena x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Javier's a creature of habit, a man of opportunity, and you were unlucky enough to find him when he's at his most desperate.

author's note | written for @almostfoxglove angst challenge, i really hope i did this moodboard justice ghjfkd. thank you @amanitacowboy for reassuring me while writing this behemoth + translations are at the end.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, informant!reader, set through beginning of season 3 narcos to end, angst, smut, involvement with the cali cartel, paying for info and sex, javier's a gentleman i swear, gratuitous smut, jealous!javi, protected/unprotected piv, creampies, oral (f receiving), some vague violence toward the end, happy ending

word count — 10k

The new influx of customers has been an adjustment, used to the elder regulars with orders that never changed and people who were grabbing a bite after a late night shift, it left you flustered as you reached for the pen and paper shoved into your apron, smoothing out the cloth as you approach the group of men, carrying on their conversation without a care.

“El envío llega el domingo,” It was Friday, which meant whatever was coming in would be here in a couple days—they never said what, but it was always something.

And their eyes always eat you up, hair pulled back loosely as you greet them with a smile, taking down their order as they keep their sights locked on you and commenting on the swing of your hips and the curve of your ass as you depart. 

Like rabid dogs, feral and hungry.

You’ve learned to catalog their conversation, catching onto a regular pattern of when things were coming in and out, knowing that whatever nefarious business they are involved in couldn’t be good—but they tipped well and that wasn’t lost on you.

It was almost a month of daily interaction when a new customer pops in, nearing midnight as he settles into his booth quietly, thin button-up stretching over his shoulders as he removed his jacket and tossed it into the space beside him, yellow tinted sunglasses tucked into his shirt, catching the ashtray with a single finger and lighting the cigarette already settled between his lips.

You attempt to greet him, lips parting before he interrupts you, barely acknowledging your presence as he spits out the order for a coffee, black. Dickhead, you think. The pen and paper is shoved away in your pocket and you swing your hips around the counter to fulfill his order with a side of spitefulness.

When you approached again, it was with a nauseatingly sweet smile.

“Can I get you anything else?” You ask, catching his eyes briefly as they flicker up before he shakes his head, a roar of laughter and slaps coming from the booth a few feet away, perking your eyes up at the subtle information they were sharing, scooting out of the both as they slapped a bill on the table, passing by with a vicious smirk that had your blood running cold, the graze of fingertips brushing against your ass that had you biting down on the inside of your cheek to steady yourself, nearly falling into the table as they pushed by.

The stranger perks up at that, his eyes trailing over your body with the same robotic motion as them, but with an air of curiosity, like he was examining you and your reaction. 

“No—no, just the coffee,” He assures you, both of you watch as the group of men climb into their shared truck, “those your regulars?”

“Unfortunately,” You let slip without thinking, “I’m sure their boss would hate to hear how loud they talk about all transfers and shipments—can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

His eyes drag to your breasts, more pointedly toward the nametag pinned in your shirt. 

He speaks your name before introducing himself, “Javier,” He addresses, turning to dig into his jacket before he pulls out a leather wallet, opening it to flash off his credentials, “DEA.”

“Oh–I’m…I’m not…involved with them, if that’s what you think…” You don’t know why the revelation has your nerves shot, but the fingers that wrap around your wrist ground you.

Javier has spent weeks—not a single lead or piece of evidence to follow. You were his saving grace, a goddamn miracle. He tugs lightly, pulling your attention to him.

“How often do they come in here?”

“Uh,” You blink rapidly, trying to think, “Um—three or four times a week, usually every other day.”

He speaks your name gently, his demeanor changing as he releases his hold on your wrist before he motions for you to sit, looking around briefly to assess how busy the restaurant was.

At this hour, it was only you and him.

You slide into the booth and place your palms against the table, fiddling nervously with your fingers, watching as he puffed at the cigarette a few times before placing it in the ashtray, followed by a generous sip of his coffee. 

“Everything they’ve told you,” Javier begins, pointing his finger vaguely in your direction before he points down, fingertip pressing against the table, “tell me—not a detail spared.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as your mouth opens, tongue dragging against your bottom lip as you try to access the memory stored in the back of your brain before you remember the small, mostly indecipherable notes you had been taking.

You rip the wrinkled paper from your notepad and pass it over, his brow furrowing as he attempts to decipher the information and to your surprise, he does.

Unknowingly, you had captured a loose schedule they seemed to follow when they shipped things in and out, the day trading off as weeks passed, constantly changing to throw off suspicion, but eventually things overlapped and repeated.

Quietly, Javier pulls his wallet from his pocket and tosses over a wad of bills in your direction.

You stare at it blankly, eyes dragging up to his face as he nods toward the money.

“Should cover the coffee—and a tip.”

You reach for the money, pulling it apart to count, suspicious of the amount.

Prying the bills apart you count, eyes widening as the number rises.

“Sir—uh, Javier. This is…too much.”

“Not for the information,” He clarifies, peering cautiously over his shoulder, “If I come back every week can you promise more?”

You scoff lightly, pocketing the money regardless, “I can’t promise anything—besides, it’s always the same stuff. Just when things are coming and going, nothing more.”

“Can you get more?” Javier asks curiously, an eyebrow raising as he taps the ash off the cigarette and brings it to his lips, “Like, names—anything?”

“I can try, but—”

“I’ll pay.”

Unfortunately, waitressing was a shitty job.

And you were more than willing to allow Javier to turn you into his little informant.

You nod quietly.

-

His order changes depending on his mood.

He never orders food, usually coffee or whiskey.

Nothing less, nothing more.

And you do dig deeper, giving in to the absurd attempts at flirting and playing it up, allowing the occasional touches that make your skin crawl, returning them with fervor. Luckily, you had a strong stomach and handled it with ease, catching the names of the four that frequented the restaurant often, curiously asking about work and life, giving them vague or fake answers for your own when they pried.

“Three are single,” You tell Javier as you slide him a glass of whiskey neat, “desperately.”

Surprisingly, he chuckles at that. You’ve never heard it before.

It’s a nice sound.

“One is married, two kids.” 

You pass him a piece of paper with names and information, trading off for the cash he transfers in return, pocketing it inconspicuously. He’s never there at the same time as them, so the weight on your shoulders is lifted, but the creeping feeling of being watched stays put.

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

“They like it down,” You retort with a forced smile as a customer passes by with a nod, “so—up it is.”

Conversation was always easy with Javier, his charisma oozes out without even trying. It was natural for him, casually taking your hand into his during a slow shift, examining the lack of jewelry.

“Could get you a fake one, if it would help,” Javier suggests.

Unless you already had one, of course. His eyes flick up in a silent question.

“I don’t think it would matter,” You admit, “If they want something, they’re going to get it.”

The routine continues like this for a while, until eventually, it doesn’t.

A new group of men come in one Friday, the other, and another, throwing you off kilter.

They started rotating them, keeping you on edge as the information is becoming harder to obtain despite your attempts to dig and frustrations arise in Javier, but never with you.

Sometimes they don’t even speak at all, hushed tones at the table unless you’re needed—but, occasionally they get messy. It’s usually the younger guys, inexperienced, fresh-faced, eager to please the big boss but riding on an uncapped power high.

One of the men gets particularly ostentatious, always coming in on a drunken stupor and slurred words, eyeing you like a piece of meat that he was eager to sink his teeth into. He slips you his number more than once, ignores your polite attempts at a subject change when the rest of the men are hyping him up, and rarely takes your refusal into consideration. 

Eventually the fear that has built in you overflows, suspicion arising when you leave work a night after Javier had long departed, a night of very little information exchange outside of casual talk—and even that was forced, understanding how frustrated Javier had become. 

One of the men had stuck around, only a brief crossover as Javier had stepped into the restaurant, his eyes tracking you the entire way out before you’re pulled in by Javier’s voice ordering his drink of the night, squeezing his shoulder gently in response.

You should have known better, you should have spoken up.

Javier would’ve done something then, but instead, you convince yourself to forget about that uncomfortable feeling that crept in. You knew what would help, biding your time until Javier left for the night, ignoring how he seemed to eye you too, but with a glazed over expression of worry.

There was a car you barely noticed, swallowed up by shadows and turning on as you drove down the road when you finally clocked out, the minutes dragging before you pulled into the parking lot of the chapel you had sped towards with a weight on your chest and a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You couldn’t recall that last time you had visited, but you were desperate now more than ever.

You needed solace.

Prayer comes naturally, dedicated to begging for protection over yourself, allowing the silence of the space to consume you as soft footsteps of other patrons walked by, just raising your chin as a hand clasps over your shoulder, nearly falling to your ass as you turn to connect the owner of the hand to a body. 

“Javier?” You ask quizzically, “Did you follow me?”

“No?” He looks confused, answering with full honesty.

That twisting feeling in your gut sinks further, looking around briefly.

“I can provide protection,” Javier tells you, “if you need it.”

You stay quiet, chewing gently at your bottom lip, scanning the room for familiar faces.

“Something is wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it, back at the diner.”

There was only Javier, still mostly a stranger.

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

“I spent a long time trying to take down Escobar, I find that kind of insulting, chiquita.”

He’s met with silence, understanding your need for reassurance. 

“Yes, I am,” He tells you, his gaze unwavering, “I should’ve offered a protection detail to you from the jump, but I figured me being around often enough would work—did someone follow you here?”

“I don’t know, I kinda lost sight of them.”

You fall silent, staring at a crease in the denim of his jeans as you speak. 

“Should I be worried?” You ask quietly, turning your body toward him, “Like—are they going to kill me?”

“They’re getting uneasy,” Javier responds vaguely, before assuring, “Not because of you.”

“I should…I should tell you,” You take a breath, “One of them invited me to a party, I have his number. I told him I would have to work some things out, but I never…”

“Was it this weekend?” Javier asks suddenly, the lines in his forehead creasing at the mention.

“Yeah—yeah, why—”

“Say yes,” Javier urges, “I’ll keep you safe.”

It was a big promise, but Javier’s pleading eyes worked like a spell.

“This is gonna cost, Javier.”

“Name your price, hermosa.”

–

Javier’s touch is white-hot, cigarette tucked between his lips as he brushes your hair behind your ear and presses the in-ear monitor inside, hiding it behind the gaudy jewelry attached to your ear and adjusts your hair back over, stepping back and raking his eyes over your frame casually, pinching the cigarette from his lips with his thumb and pointer finger as he blows the smoke out.

“It’s small enough they won’t notice but try and keep it covered,” He tells you, his free hand shoved into his front pocket as his presence fills your apartment, moving around sheepishly under his gaze, “I’ll be a few minutes away, if anything goes south I’ll get you out.”

You stumble slightly slipping on your heels, caught by his tight grip as he steadies you. 

“Sorry—I’m freaking out,” You admit, looking away nervously as his grip loosens but doesn’t leave, firm around your bicep as you sleep your other foot inside the hell, “Th—thank you.”

“You smoke?” Javier asks causally as you stand.

“Not really,” You respond, “Occasionally, I guess. It’s probably more social, if I’m being honest.”

He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and offers it to you, placing it between your lips as you take a small puff without thinking or being told, an effective way to calm your nerves as you focused on the action as he points toward the cigarette, “Don’t drink or smoke anything they give you tonight,” Javier warns, “communication works both ways, I need you coherent.”

He pulls the cigarette away and places it between his own lips again.

The nicotine stings your throat and chest, giving you a noticeable distraction that calms your mind. “How do I look?” You force a tight smile, twirling on your feet as the dress clung to your curves, a soft, velvet red, “Fuckable, I hope. Otherwise I’m not getting anything out of them.”

Javier snorts at that, brow creasing at your crudeness.

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys.

“Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

“Yeah, sure,” He mumbles around the cigarette between his lips, “fuckable.”

The way the word rolls of his tongue is visceral, ignoring the pulse between your legs at the vibrato in his voice and the chuckle that follows—regardless, it helped ease your nerves. 

–

It’s loud, sweaty, and overwhelming.

You thought they would choose something less…obvious.

But, it was becoming more and more clear how much of the town was under the Cali Cartel’s payroll, learning more and more information as Javier shared it with you in bits and pieces, your curiosity getting the better of you.

The idea was to mingle, drifting far enough away from your date that you might happen upon one of Javier’s more meaningful targets, not going as far as to infiltrate the heads, but someone damaging if you sunk your teeth in. 

You quickly come upon the realization that most of the men are confusing you with entertainment, rather than being a guest, quickly side-stepping the hands that reach for you as you squeeze your way toward the bar, sliding into an empty seat with a breath of relief.

“They are animals,” The voice beside you speaks—belonging to a man who was scientifically handsome; oddly perfect, hair perfectly coiffed and mused into place, a perfect set of teeth hidden behind plush lips and piercing green eyes—you had memorized the face in the picture Javier had shown you, “¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?”

You almost forget he’s talking to you for a moment, staring up at him distractedly before Javier’s voice speaks softly in your ear, “Answer him, chiquita. He’ll get suspicious.”

“Oh, yes,” You answer quickly, moving in closer to converse over the roar of music and the heavy buzz of strobe lights flashing overhead, “I seem to have lost my date, though.”

“Don’t worry,” He smirks, “I will keep you company.”

It does take a few drinks and you nursing your own, but you play into the act of being a mere accessory on the mysterious man’s arm, allowing him to drag you around the club with no real path to follow, eventually ending up with a smaller group of men huddled away in a corner, standing dutiful and quiet as the men talk amongst themselves in obscure words, almost like a code. 

“I can’t—I can’t hear them,” Javier’s speech is garbled, drown out by the music as you squint at the pain of the feedback in your ear, “can’t—hurry—”

Eventually, you find an opening to excuse yourself.

“Hermosa,” The voice freezes you in place, but the touch is gentle, surprisingly, “I would like to see you again, outside of here—”

You quickly ramble off the name of the diner, attempting to pull away, but not before a kiss is pressed against the front of your hand, feeling the heat burn through your skin like a brand before you’re slipping through the crowd, unable to take a deep breath until you’re outside.

You walk the distance to where Javier had parked originally, finding him buried deep in a conversation with someone who had pulled up in another car, hands curled around the driver’s side window, his head turning as he heard the distinct click of your heels.

“Fuck,” He curses, approaching you with his hands hovering around you—not touch or prodding, almost hesitant to cross that boundary unless it was absolutely needed, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” You answer confused, nose scrunching up as you peered around him at the unknown agent, his window rolling up before he drove off, “what’s that about?”

“We think someone might have jammed the comms—there’s no way to know, it could have been the club itself, one of the agents is going to look into it—”

“Can you drive me home?” You interrupt suddenly, rubbing at the spot on your hand that the man had kissed, feeling dirty, “I’m full up on being felt up tonight and I want to change.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Javier replies after a moment of hesitation, “let’s go.”

You rip the device from your ear the moment the passenger door closes.

–

Javier places your heels against the floor as you walk barefoot into your apartment, a simple but kind gesture as your belongings scattered against your kitchen counter, fingers dragging through the front of your hair and back as you smeared your makeup in the process.

“Oh, the uh—the code,” You remember suddenly, “something about a bridge, as the sun rises…something with water. The guy, the picture you showed me. He approached the four you told me were important. I don’t think they liked me being there, but I also think they assumed I was too ignorant to remember a few words.”

Javier pauses, hands digging into his hips as he paces near your door.

“Do you want a beer?” You ask curiously, the furrow in his brow sinking deep as he attempts to decipher the code, he nods silently.

You figured with the information bestowed he would leave, but instead he stays, sipping at his beer for over an hour as you watch him move, his brain working things out in real time.

He’s beside you know, hands pressed into the counter as he pushed his body away, staring down at his feet as he repeated the words aloud, but quietly, like a murmur. 

“Are you sure they aren’t distributing right under your nose?”

Javier’s head tilts to the side as he looks at you, confused by your analogy.

You stare out your window for a moment, curtains pushed open, the gray luminescence of the moon illuminating the inky night sky, “I mean, they’re obviously paying people off, always partying at clubs—wait, the bridge and water,” A thought pops into your head, grabbing Javier by the hand before you’re pulling him to your apartment window, “what if they’re meeting on boats? I mean, not to say that’s how it’s getting it in, but—”

“That…makes sense,” Javier says, void of any distinct emotion as he takes a long chug of his beer before placing it on the ledge of the window, rubbing at the shoulder of his opposite arm.

“Annoyed you didn’t think about it first?” You tease, turning to tilt your head at him like he had earlier.

“Hadn’t gotten that far yet, we’re still trying to put the pieces together,” He grimaces at the tightened muscles, rolling his neck as his hands settle back against his hips, “that’ll help, though.”

“Sit down,” You urge him, pointing toward your couch and Javier looks at you with dull amusement before you’re urging him again with your insistent finger, eventually he relents.

Immediately, you round the back of the couch and allow your fingers to dig into his shoulder, working out the soreness with deft fingers, “Shit—you don’t have to,” Javier begins to protest before your hand is curling around the back of his head and pushing it forward, molding him to how you needed him positioned as your fingers dig in deep, “that’s, fuck, that’s…shit, right there.”

His voice is pure erotica, but it makes your lips curl in amusement. It was that pathetic desperation you heard so often from the men you served daily—that slight pitch to their tone as they tried to grab your attention, but with Javier, he’s completely detached.

His hands were tucked between his legs, head resting forward as you dug in with a strong, pointed touch, his groan reverberating down his spine. 

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

“Oh, come on,” You tease, “I was just getting started.”

Javier shakes his head and stifles the laughter in his chest, resting against your couch as his hands circle the beer in his grasp, looking up at your face, tilted down toward his own as your fingers curl around the back of the couch, straps slipping down your shoulders in your relaxed state.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Javier checks, given you’ve had a proper amount of time to wind down from the adrenaline of being inside the club surrounded by dealers and potential kingpins.

He’s worried. He barely knows you and he’s still worried.

“It’s a rush,” You admit candidly, “But, I’m pretty resilient, Javier. Work is work. I’ve dealt with worse assholes on the job, I’m good at putting on a face when I need to.”

“What about now?” Javier asks curiously, eyes exploring your morphing expression of amusement to bashfulness, the way he’s staring at you outright, words unspoken.

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

He doesn’t like the way this job winds him up, the tension taught in his spine and unrelenting, staring up at you with a tinge of a buzz from the alcohol and the sight of your sloping breasts spilling out of your dress.

He’s used to driving miles and miles for peace of mind and a nice body to sink into, but you’re here, you’re smiling at him and he’d be damned to refuse the opportunity you’re presenting to him, leaning down as his hand comes up without thinking, twisting in your hair as his head turns to meet yours at the same angle, placing his beer down in the same instance.

“The fucking worst,” He echoes, his hands crawling up the edge of your dress as you climb over the couch with his guidance, speaking through rushed exchanges of lips, his hot, beer-tainted breath against your skin as he situates the dress up at your hips, straddling him without a second thought, “you were right about the dress—”

“Fuckable,” You both agree in unison, sighing audibly at the kiss he places to your chin, neck, shoving his face between the valley of your breasts as you work silently at his jeans, the clang of his buckle, metal against metal as you loosen it enough to free his straining cock, his breath catching as you wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his shaft.

“M-My wallet,” He chokes out, muffled as your tongue dips into his mouth, stop briefly to savor the touch as his hands cups your face, eventually drifting into your hair in a similar manner to earlier but then he’s tugging, “got—got a condom.”

“Of course you do,” You snort in merriment, “is that—is that what we’re doing?”

Javier nods eagerly, never separating more than a millimeter from your lips as you stare at him, his eyes staring right back, searching your expression for any minute twitch of deception.

When Javier fits himself inside of you it is with a broken grunt, a curse under his breath, and a hand squeezing tight at your hip, fingers digging into the bunched up cloth as he wraps his opposite arm around your back, pulling you toward him with a sharp snap of his hips.

You gasp, falling over the back of the couch as your hands grasped at the surface in desperation, the start of a quick but all consuming pace of his hips, his lips mouthing at your skin; arms, fingers, even over your ribs, biting gently through the velvety fabric of your dress, stifling his shaky moans, attempting to avoid the glaringly obvious fact that he hasn’t been able to release his stress like this in weeks.

A willing participant, a body, convenience. 

Deep down, you know. 

But, you found yourself in the same mix of issues.

Regardless, you both ignore it.

–

Javier is gone by morning—or, what is left of it. 

The exhaustion of the night and the sex catching up to you, coming undone on his cock as he gripped your ass, feeling the bruises he’d left in the process and remembering the soft, filthy words of encouragement he had whispered against your skin as you came.

He even locked your apartment and slipped the key under the crack in the door, stumbling toward the glinting gold piece on the ground and the folded up note on the ground, eyebrow creasing at the sight as you kneel to the ground, adjusting your dress hastily. You squint to read the hastily written note.

Got a lead. Money is for last night.

You peel the paper open and spot the money inside, eyes widening as you slowly realize that this was far more than he’s given you before, nearly double the first time, slowly you fold the paper back over and check the back, inspecting the item as a whole before you notice the writing on the back.

We should do it again sometime, chiquita. 

You look up at the door slowly, at the cash, before peering over your shoulder at the couch, still indented with sleep and a blanket strewn carelessly over the cushions.

He paid you for sex. He’d made it transactional. 

There’s a brief moment where you’re stricken with offense, half the mind to track him down and chew him out, but you remember how your exchange started and ultimately how it would end.

Plus, it was half your rent paid for from the result of the type of sex you haven’t allowed yourself to have in far too long, disconnected from feeling and fully freeing. 

Besides, it must be a regular thing for Javier and you couldn’t even blame him.

He was only doing his job.

–

A protection detail does work for a brief time, at least, it eases some of your worry.

It was a younger agent, Javier had told you, little to no responsibility outside of keeping his eyes on you and reporting back when necessary. As some of the leads start to blossom, Javier appears less and less, but still follows through on his payments when you have information to exchange, even if it’s only a name or time of day for something.

You do find the boldness to ask him about the money he’d forked over for sex, flowing lightly into conversation as he gives you a recount of his time with Escobar after a night of curiosity and lacking customers drags you into the booth beside him.

Always taking careful note of any personal tidbits he would offer. You knew he wasn’t married or that, at the very least, he was an expert at hiding it. No kids, no spouse, no baggage.

“Is it hush money?” You ask bravely, counting through your tips for the night as he sips gingerly at the glass half full of whiskey, “Because if so, I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyways.”

His brow creases, confused for a brief second before you mouth the words.

My couch, the sex.

“Didn’t want things getting confusing,” Javier admits, “If it’s any consolation, the sex was good.”

“You’re too complicated for me anyways,” You snort softly, separating the bills accordingly as you glance over at him briefly, a soft hum in his throat as his lips wrap around the edge of his glass as he downs the rest of the liquor, “Was it a one time thing?”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Javier admits, “figured I should draw the line early—you aren’t offended are you? Because if you need me to remind you how good it—”

As you finish, dragging the money into one pile, you shrug, “I’m off in thirty.”

The sway of your hips as you exit the booth and head toward the back of the restaurant is enough to have Javier suffering half-hard in his jeans, legs widening as he inconspicuously rubs his palm over the denim to adjust himself, awaiting the small nod of your head around the corner that comes half an hour later. 

–

Javier is efficient, you learn.

What first starts off as a casual trade turns into pure, unrestrained stress relief. 

It bleeds into work for both of you, finding time to drag him off into the back office when you knew it was available, fucking over the desk with any empty kitchen and diner as the hours waned into the early morning and everyone was either on break or asleep.

You never offer up much about yourself, very little about your life before moving to Colombia or why you’ve stuck around for so long—but he does know you’re disconnected from your family almost entirely, completely alone.

He has a huge family back in Laredo, people that clearly care about him, catching him on the phone with his father one night as they bickered lightheartedly, something about Javier needing to find time to vacation sooner rather than later.

When you have sex at your apartment, he always smokes afterwards, whether in your bed or by the open window in your living room, always careful about the barrier of clothing that remains, never entirely naked in front of one another.

He doesn’t look at you either, won’t kiss you further than something quick—a wet, sloppy exchange of tongues as he fucks into you from behind, pulled back tight to his chest as his hand strains and squeezes around your neck to turn your head toward him.

And he never stays, doesn’t stay hung up on goodbyes. 

He waits until you’re asleep, places the money at your bedside, and leaves.

But, there is a moment when you hear the tone in his voice switch, almost offended.

You’re both naked from the waist down and he’s thrusting into you lazily as his lips latch onto the section where your neck meets your shoulder, recounting the details that you’ve learned today, easily killing two birds with one stone.

He mentioned something earlier that night about a bust gone wrong, chewing frustratedly at his bottom lip as he spoke more with his eyes than his words before you had dragged him toward the back.

“Benny offered to take me on a date,” You address lightly, voice hitched as Javier used his palm against the inside of your thigh to spread it wider before it curls around the back of your knee and pulls up high over his lip, “he bought me an outfit and everything.”

He racks through the catalog of names in his brain.

Benny. Benny…Benito?

He wasn’t aware he’d spoked the name out loud until you’re responding with a soft acknowledgement as the desk bangs against the wall, your hand flattening out behind you for support, “Yes—same thing. I’m sure it’s for the—”

“The gala, yeah.”

He had spent the past few weeks trying to approach a way to get inside, knowing that this would be an opportunity to track the ever-expanding tree of sellers and suppliers, a front for the obvious drug trade that was happening, as you phrased it, right under his nose. 

The boat lead had only gotten them so far, knowing that there was much more nefarious shit going on that he was grasping at straws to collect off of, using you as his main source of information.

He knows it’s dangerous, but damn were you good at it.

“When did that c—come up?” Javier asks, grunting into your neck as his orgasm creeped in, his fingers drifting expertly over your clit as they had a dozen times before.

“Couple weeks ago,” You reply casually, both you falling into your eventual orgasms and only hearing him speak as he’s already disposed of his condom and was buttoning his jeans up.

“When were you gonna tell me that?”

It feels like a heavy weight on your chest, the clear betrayal in his voice coming from absolutely nowhere, immediately forcing you into defense mode as you sneer at him, adjusting your top back into your jeans as you tie your apron around your waist.

“I’m telling you now,” You retort, “I wasn’t even sure he dropped the clothes off here yesterday.”

It couldn’t have been that crucial of a detail, given that the gala wasn’t happening for another week according to the information that had been figured out.

Javier looks stiff suddenly, shoving his wallet into his back pocket before your hand is twisting around his bicep and shoving him back until he faces you.

“Is there something you need to say?” Your eyebrows raise slightly, expectant of the harsh words that were bound to be slung your way.

“I’m paying for information—honesty, too.”

“Yeah, well, you’re also paying to have sex with me.”

Javier isn’t sure why he feels it—it isn’t jealousy, necessarily. Just betrayal, that over the last few months you didn’t feel comfortable enough to share the information with him immediately, weary of the temptations of the cartel and the idea that they could pull you in, flip you against him.

He worries for your safety and well-being, knowing that he would be the one living with that guilt if anything happened to you. You were a friend at the very least, something few and far between for Javier after Steve had left. If he wasn’t at work or his own apartment, he was with you.

Javier forces a breath through his nose and huffs, eyes flicking toward you intensely. 

“It’s important to know this shit, so we can prepare.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, alright? It’s not like I’m keeping secrets. I’m sure you could do your research on me if you wanted, if you haven’t already. I have nothing to hide and nothing to gain, Javier.”

His shoulders relax slightly, widening as he puffs his chest out and takes a breath, “Yeah, but they have plenty to gain from you—we have to stay ahead.”

Always one step ahead.

–

The gala comes and goes without much preamble—and you know you’re serving as mostly arm candy, dressed scantily as you hand on the arm of a man you barely know, paraded around as a prize he’s won and showing off to his friends, but he’s surprisingly respectful.

Or, biding his time. You couldn’t tell. 

You don’t force off his small advances, a gentle touch or something too close for comfort as he lips pressing against the shell of your ear, whispering something you don’t pay much attention to as you survey the event, spotting a flurry of faces familiar and unfamiliar, picking up on names and information as it arises.

Javier could still hear everything on his end with the small, nearly invisible communication device shoved into your ear, hidden underneath your hair similar to last time, careful of which side you allowed Benny on.

“My boss is sending us on vacation soon,” You didn’t pay much attention, but Javier was, “could be fun, if you wanted to go—I could talk to him, he’d like you.”

Perfect. Useful. You can already hear the words that would float around if the opportunity arises. You prayed it would never get that far.

“Change the subject,” Javier says tensely, knowing you were traversing into dangerous territory.

“I’m sure your boss won’t mind, I’ll talk to him, too,” You can feel the smirk over your shoulder before you turn, wondering if he had ever met the owner of the diner or he was purely assuming, regardless, you laugh it off quietly.

“I have to stick around and keep things going, they wouldn’t survive without me,” You switch gears easily, “I don’t see you often, just your friends—why don’t you come around more?”

He’s only appeared a couple times and both were brief, first to ask you to the gala and then to give you the dress, almost like he’d rather avoid the place entirely. You were careful of giving him any personal information outside of where you worked, knowing that it wasn’t already accessible information.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t think it’s about what I want, is it?” You retort playfully, a smirk growing on his face as his thumb slides over your chin, careful how deep of a jab you make, “It’s up to you.”

Benito’s hand rubs over the back of your dress and down, fingers modeling against the loose wrinkles in the fabric as he moves over the curve of your ass and squeezes, a small squeak escaping your lips as you bite down at the inside of your cheek, ignoring the knee-jerk reaction to elbow him in the stomach.

“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately. 

The next hour drags painstakingly slowly, but eventually Benito drops you off at the diner at your insistent request, despite his pressuring you to invite him back to your apartment.

When you step into the threshold of your living room, Javier is already opening up the dinner had ordered at your subtle request earlier that evening, a smug smile on his face as you shake your head in exhaustion, sleeping over you hills in and instant and half-way stripping out of your dress before you even make it to your bedroom.

Javier grins in amusement as you thrust the device that you rip out of your ear into his chest, quietly tucking it away on the table as he prepares the food.

You’re dressed for comfort when you return, a shirt reaching beyond your thighs as you settle the bare skin against the barstool, underwear peeking out as you sit, immediately shoveling the food into your mouth.

You ramble out the names you caught onto, watching as Javier scribbled them down, rubbing at your temples to soothe the growing headache as you finish up your food and shove it aside, eventually slumping against the counter as you groan weakly.

You can feel Javier’s hand graze your knee, squeezing gently at your thigh, a silent invitation.

“I’m so tired, Javi,” You admit, “You can keep your cash, don’t worry. The whole thing was a bust, anyways.”

The chair creaks as Javier leans toward you, whispering against your ear, “Ven aqui,” He beckons as he pulls at your arm, guiding you silently to your room, half-expecting him to tuck you into bed and leave, but then he’s guiding you backwards toward the mattress and spreading out between your legs on the duvet as he removes your underwear, your lips forming into a subtle pout until he’s splitting you open with his tongue, a gasp escaping at the sudden sensation, fingers twisting into his hair roughly.

“Javi, what are you doing?” You inquire—it was new, a careful line drawn between you both earlier on that it was strictly sex, disconnection, but now he was trying to leave the impression of his tongue against your cunt as he devoured you all at once, squeezing at your thighs to spread them open further, a sated expression on his face that had to be a mix of his own exhaustion, delirious with want.

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently.

“There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,” You squeeze down tightly as your eyes fall shut, his mouth sucking over your clit as your back arches off the bed.

You come faster than you expect and had you known his mouth was so talented, you would have suggested this earlier, but through the waning of your orgasm you feel his tongue drifting over your skin in the wake of his previous touches, lapping at the salty skin before his tongue eventually finds the way toward your breast, swirling around the sensitive skin as your nipple hardens against his mouth, innately curious of his actions but not voicing them.

There was never any predicting with Javier, figuring that maybe he needed a little more distraction tonight, but as your orgasm dissipates and the hand in his hair stays, he never moves, only a low rumble to his breathing as you attempt to catch your own breath before you’re slowly leaning up and realizing his eyes were shut and he had fallen asleep.

Whatever was ailing him had finally taken hold, able to squirm away through his heavy sleep before you’re draping a blanket over his frame, still dressed from the day.

You can’t find the courage inside yourself to disturb him as he took up half of your bed, opting for the couch in the off-chance he woke up in the middle of the night to you beside him, stirring up another list of issues you didn’t feel like dealing with.

–

Surprisingly, you wake before him. The sky barely fading out of night as you stir, rising from the couch as the bulky phone on the counter—it was Javier’s, you knew that.

But still, you answer it. It couldn’t hurt, just tell them to leave a message.

Instead, as you hear the familiar voice on the other end, you find yourself pulled into an unsuspecting conversation with his father that drags into the morning hours as the sun rises, meandering over breakfast before you here him stirring in the other room, trying to ignore how pleasant but telling the conversation with Javier’s father was as you place the phone down on the counter and begin cooking breakfast, silently, still half-dressed in the clothes from the night prior, minus your underwear strewn somewhere on your bedroom floor.

He’d asked how Javier was doing when you told him your name, surprised that he was familiar with you, learning that Javier had spoken about you to him, though briefly.

Probably in passing, maybe. You try not to dwell on it.

“He seems fine,” You told him, “Busy, though.”

He’s always busy, he tells you. Cuidar a mi hijo.

He was worried, rightfully so. But, Javier was an adult, his own person. 

He wasn’t your responsibility and you weren’t his.

And you try to ignore the strange sensation in your chest at the immediate elation from his father hearing your name, like an old family friend hearing from you for the first time in years, even though you knew very little of his father.

You’ve learned enough about Javier, at least. His likes and dislikes, vague interests that he commented on, the grimace in his face that would grow deeper the harder he got stuck on something, a thought or idea.

Javier clears his throat as he enters the kitchen, avoiding your gaze as you slide the meat and eggs onto two separate plates before passing it to him.

“You could have woke me up,” He said, looking up at you briefly with mused hair, his shirt wrinkled from sleep.

“Your father called,” You ignored his comment, “you should call him back.”

“You talked to him?” Javier asks blankly, no distinct emotion shining through.

“For, like, half a second,” You lie, “I just told him you were asleep.”

He didn’t need to know his father’s worry or how much he’d given away about what he knew of you, secrets that were obviously meant to be kept between them, but as Javier chews with thought, eager to break the lingering silence, he asks.

“He mentioned it, didn’t he?”

You shrug your shoulders cluelessly, “I think you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“That I’ve talked about you, or at least, he knows who you are.”

“It’s none of my business, really.”

“He hears you, at the diner—he’s nosey. I’ve mentioned you in passing. I just…I know how he gets, I don’t want you thinking anything is going on,”

“I’m not paid to think, Javier,” You tell him.

It’s disparaging, his nose scrunching up slightly at your words and the emptiness with which you throw them. This is where he always seemed to fuck up, distinguishing work from his life but somehow maintaining the balance of peace and humanity.

Do you want to explain last night? You mind screamed, but instead you offer him his coffee, the usual black with minimal or no sugar, giving him the option as you slide the mug and container in his direction. He fishes blindly for his wallet but your hand stops him.

You sigh, “That’s not—I wasn’t implying you need to now. I—I just think we should maybe reframe what we’re doing, given that things have…progressed,” The word lingers on your tongue while you bite at your bottom lip. “I’m worried they might find out where I live or about you—or the fact that I’m literally helping the DEA catch them and praying can only do so much and I’m here alone—”

“Hermosa, slow down,” Javier urges, shoving his wallet back into his pocket at your guidance and avoiding the obvious domesticity of having slept overnight in your apartment and ate the breakfast you cooked him. 

It was in his nature to care, to a degree. It was his downfall sometimes, to a devastating fault. He striked while you were vulnerable and roped you into his own mess, now paying for it with guilt that had seeped into his personal life, spending the entire night prior picturing how Benito was handling you, how he could step in—how it could have been him instead.

“She doesn’t sound like work,” His father had told him a week ago, returning a flirtatious quip as you had passed him his usual coffee and offered him a light for his cigarette after his hadn’t worked, that sort of boyish tone in his voice that his father picked up on in a second.

The lines had blurred with Helena after a while, a similar circumstance that he continued to find himself in—paying for info, paying for sex, attempting to make it impersonal. But, here you were, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, and he didn’t know how to fix the mess he had made. 

He couldn’t see you hurt or send you into danger like he had with Helena, the helpness he’d felt as he discovered her near lifeless body, covered in blood and bruises after she had been beaten and traded around—it couldn’t happen, it wouldn’t.

–

Javier returns with a phone later that day, similar to his with his number attached to a piece of paper he shoves into your hand as he directs you to pack a bag in the case of an actual emergency, something quick to grab that you wouldn’t have to second guess about. 

“You’re making it seem like I should be leaving now,” You tell him, taking the items he passes into your hand as you fold a stack of clothes and toiletries into the bag.

Javier shakes his head, “It’s better be safe,” He explains, “I…doubt—I don’t think they would be. We have someone listening around the clock, people on the inside, there haven't been any red flags.”

“What if something does? What if I can’t reach you?”

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” He tells you simply, your face contorting in confusion. “It’s a code—a phrase only you and I know. If you use that, it means danger. Through a note, or that phone. I just have to hear it.”

You zip the bag up in silence, feeling the weight of the web you had tangled yourself in finally settling, curious if you would be back at square one, fleeing to a different country to escape your problems.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

You nod, a subtle motion but Javier sees it.

“Javier, we should talk,” You echo once more, though with different meaning, “about last night.”

“I’ll still pay, hermosa—that isn’t a problem.”

You could handle the way it was eating at you.

“No, I mean—I mean why did last night happen? Why is your dad telling me to keep you safe?”

His face hardens at the mention of his father.

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely.

Tell me where he touched you.

“You started this, you know?” You remind him, “You made this transactional.”

Was he scared of you?

Eerily silent he remains, you speak for him.

“I’m not a whore either, so if that is how you view me—I really don’t want your help at all.”

The keys in hand are gripped tight as you chance a glance toward the floor, his body entirely unmoving, his eyes downturned and staring in a similar direction, almost like he couldn’t find the words.

I”m not asking you to give a shit about me, but—”

His answer is a kiss, searing and intense, keys tossed to your bed as his fingers dive into your hair, curling around your head as you make a sound of surprise, steadying yourself as you grip his biceps and stumble backwards, tripping over the dress you had stripped yourself of last night.

You still hadn’t dressed from earlier, his hands flattening against your hips as he molds the soft flesh under his grip, his teething biting into your bottom lip as he murmurs, “Belt, get my belt,” without question, your fingers go to work, ripping the leather away in a practiced motion as you continue to unbutton his jeans, “—think I don’t give a shit, are you fucking insane?”

“A little,” You jest, “I mean—I’m helping you, aren’t I?”

This felt strangely vulnerable, his fingers pulling at your shirt with a deliberate endgame.

Naked in the natural lighting of your room, his fingers reaching for his own shirt as you work his jeans down his hips, appreciating his tanned skin as it shines with a thin layer of sweat. Despite the sticky heat that permeated throughout your apartment, his touch is cooling, comforting even.

“Another freebie?” You tease him further, hearing him snort as he reaches for his wallet and crowded you on the mattress, opening the tight leather before he grabs a wad of cash and shoves it into the sheets before tossing his wallet aside and diving between your breasts.

“Making me a poor man,” Javier retorts, peeking up through your tits as he squeezed them in his grip, mouthing delicately along the skin, “shit—but this, s’fuckin’ priceless.”

“I’m—fuck, I’m kidding, Javier. I don’t want your money. Never wanted it.”

It had always been about convenience, never expecting things to end up like this.

It was a mess, both of you were.

He’s seeing all of you, for once, and you him. 

And you know he needs, wants, without saying.

He fucks you slow, legs hitched around his hips as buries his head into the space beside yours, only rising as your noises grow with intensity, the bluntness of your nails digging into his skin.

“Inside,” You beg, “inside of me, Javi.”

He moans pathetically, lips squished against your cheek as his hips falter.

“Yeah?” He grunts, “Can I?”

You giggle airly at his question, nodding fervently.

“Mierda,” He curses brokenly, groaning softly into your skin as he pumps himself inside of you, the warmth of his cum filling you to the brim, oozing out as his hips slow, his hands kneading into your skin as he rests, breathing rapidly against your chest.

“We should—should talk, Javier.” You tell him again, after a moment of silence. “Like, really talk—you know?”

Javier hums in acknowledgment, “Tonight—give me until tonight, okay?”

Tonight was good enough, for now.

–

The first thing you feel when you rouse from sleep is pain.

White-hot and persistent, restrained by your hand as they’re tucked behind your back. You feel more hands, the sound of stiff leather and the smell, overwhelming as it invades your senses.

“I see why he keeps you around,” The voice comes from behind, eyes bleary as you blink before the hand in your hair grips tight, only catching the fist coming at you from your peripheral before your world goes dark.

When you wake again, you’re upright and in a chair, head slung back uncomfortable as you attempt to stretch, feeling heavy and groggy as you move, remembering the moment from earlier you become alert within seconds, eyes searching around frantically as you spot two men.

They were strangers, faces covered, but obviously sent here for a reason.

“Benny thought he could get it out of you,” The man says dismissively, “you foreigners—stupid, messy, predictable.” He grabs the fabric of your dress and plucks the small, miniscule device from the fabric that you missed, squinting to see it before the man breaks it between two fingers and tosses the dirtied fabric aside.

“We got her to ourselves, plenty of time to—”

“No,” The other man replies sternly to the obvious subservient man, “her boss—that’s what we came here for.”

“My boss?” You croak eventually, “At the diner? What do you want with—”

The gun he pulls from his back silences you in an instant. He reaches for the phone on the counter, the yellow sticky note still attached, “That him?”

“It’s mine,” You reply with ease, “I’m forgetful and—”

Your throat swells as he ignores you, dialing the number.

You hadn’t let the reality of the situation settle until you heard Javier’s voice on the other end, careful to not give anything away as his voice comes across more energetic than usual. They didn’t seem upset at the lie, but the finger on the trigger squeezed slightly as his voice came through, a silent order to play along.

“Hola, chiquita,” Javier greets smoothly, “¿Todo bien?”

You laugh softly, “Yes—yeah.”

You know what they want, what they need.

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” You beg, voice unwavering as you stare the two men down, both of them seeming satisfied by your ploy to get Javier to the apartment without much argument.

The line falls dead without a response, the phone tosses aside to the floor as it shatters into pieces. 

Unfortunately, they weren’t going to get it easily.

–

You wished you could warn him.

One wrong move and the blade at your throat, the gun to your head—they would be your undoing.

You stared blankly at the broken lock and hinge of your door, footsteps approaching as you whimpered, the sharpness of the knife pressing against your skin as Javier whips around the corner and into the apartment.

The white-hot pain returns as you’re met with the butt of the gun, slumping from the chair as chaos whirls around you, curled up on the floor and crawling desperately away from danger as someone screams, gargling as it sounds, probably on their own blood. 

You couldn’t look back, breathing panickedly as you hid behind the couch and huddled in on yourself, a gun going off unexpectedly as your ears ring, gasping as you hear the sound of a blade puncturing skin once, twice, before it clamers to the floor.

You wait a moment, although it feels like eternity, expecting the cold press of a gun against the back of your skull, but instead it was a hand and eventually another, the faint smell of a familiar cologne that brought you comfort and warmth.

“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”

Out?

You look up, his eyes wild but lacking any indicators of violence.

“It isn’t safe here.” He reiterates, “Can you walk?”

You nod weakly, feeling his hand wrap around your waist as he assists you in rising to your feet, still discombobulated and wobbly, he sticks by your side as you grab your things, silent as he eventually, alongside the crowd of presumably agents and police that pass by, invading your apartment, Javier is a guiding light of reassurance before you’re barricaded in the safety of his car.

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

You blink, feeling the sting of tears as you look up at Javier.

“Things are getting worse. It isn’t safe for you here, not anymore.”

“Here? What—what do you mean?”

–

Here meant Colombia.

Which is how you ended up in Texas two weeks later. Laredo to be specific. 

Javier had a place close to home. His family.

And you had talked extensively, it was the only thing that kept the panic from consuming you that night as he drove you to the embassy, tying up some loose ends before he drove you to the airport without any explanation until he was shoving the ticket into your hand.

His father had been waiting for you, as somber in expression as his son. 

They were so similar it made your heart swell, an unfamiliar feeling. 

Javier couldn’t explain what he was feeling for you and you could accept that, but he was careful and adamant in the idea that you would spend your time at his home, already setting you up with a similar job in town, a seamless transition that felt strange, but oddly easy to settle into.

“What if I just left?” You tease him one night, hearing his desk creek as he head slumps into his unoccupied hand, “Would that be easier for you?”

“No,” Javier says sternly, “I’m—this…I think I might be done. Feels like I��m fighting a battle that I’ll never win, feelings fucking pointless.”

It had been months now, curled up on his couch as you stared out the window and toward the empty road, wondering if the chill of fall was creeping in as the cool breeze hit your skin, “No more waitresses to help you out down there, huh?”

Javier snickers at that, though it was quiet.

“Stop that,” He chastises, “It’s not funny.”

You giggle in return, “I know, I know—just remember who’s keeping your bed warm every night, yeah? Oh—and your dad, he keeps asking when you’re gonna call.”

You hear him huff at that, clearing his throat awkwardly as he mumbles an apology to someone on the other end, the faint hum of the office around him feeding through the receiver. 

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.”

It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special.

A code, a message. A lifeline.

Javier was barely surviving amongst the cartel as tensions had pulled taut and drug trade seemed at an all-time high, nearly unstoppable anymore. 

It was beyond him, out of his control.

And for the first time in a long time, he has a reason, a want, to come home.

“Soon, chiquita. Soon.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice and it worried you immensely. 

“Don’t let it consume you, Javi. You’ve done enough.”

On the other end, his brow furrows. Disgruntled and annoyed at how right you were, echoing the similar sentiment his dad had told him a thousand times. 

He was done, he wanted out.

-

"El envío llega el domingo." / The shipment arrives on Sunday.

"¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?” / How are you doing? Are you having a good time?

"Cuidar a mi hijo." / Take care of my son.

[absurdthirst]

The Photo Booth {Javier Peña x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.9k

Warnings: Hook ups, fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), public sex, explicit photos, chauvinism, cheating, derogatory language, slight emotional manipulation and abuse?, domestic violence, bodily threats

Comments: A trip to Colombia, a fling that changes your life. Javier Peña returns to the DEA after retiring only to find that the one woman he couldn't get off his mind is now dating a co-worker.

**Based off this NSFW Post

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Javier Peña MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Sitting in a dive bar in Cali, Colombia, you didn’t know what to expect in the smoky haze of the bar. The cold beer sitting in front of you is sweating and you look around, the interior of the bar making it seem like it was midnight rather than the evening. The only time natural light snuck in was when the doors swung open or closed to admit a new patron. You’ve been here for a week, learning the area and this little bar has become a favorite spot. It’s not touristy and you like that, able to sit and enjoy a beer or shot without judgment. The curse from the man next to you catches your attention, turning to again think that he’s handsome as he searches his pockets quickly, a cigarette dangling from his lips, obviously looking for a lighter. You reach into your pocket and pull out your zippo, flicking it opened and firing it up to hold in front of his smoke. “Here.”  

“Thanks.” He murmurs, leaning in to light his smoke and he inhales as the end of his smoke lights up orange. He exhales the smoke and removes it from his mouth, positioning it between his fingers over the ashtray on the bar. You’re pretty and American from the sounds of it. “Thanks.” He says again and gestures for the bartender to come over and refill his whiskey. “And whatever the lady is drinking.” He tells the bartender in Spanish.

You order another beer in Spanish and turn back to him as he takes another long drag off his cigarette like it needs it more than air. “Rough morning?” You ask playfully, picking up your beer and taking a long swing to finish it so you can start drinking the fresh one. He’s handsome and also American if his accent is anything to go by. His clean jawline is marred by one little patch that he missed shaving this morning and his mustache is in need of a slight trim, along with his gorgeous dark hair. It compliments the sharp nose and dark eyes. 

Javier snorts, “rough day.” He admits, tapping his smoke on the side of the ashtray and he nods at the bartender in thanks, picking up his glass to take a sip. “So what are you doing here in Colombia?” He asks, curious about why a beautiful woman is alone in Cali. It’s safer than when Pablo was around but it’s still dangerous. 

“Vacation. I’m here to visit my friend from college. She’s out with her new boyfriend tonight so I offered to entertain myself and here I am…looking for entertainment.” You smirk slightly and take a sip of your fresh beer. 

“Is that so?” Javier chuckles softly, “and what kind of entertainment are you looking for?” He asks and you hum, “l don’t know yet. Waiting to see what finds me.” You look at him and then back down the bar to an old man who is sipping his drink.

You watch as his brow lifts and there’s a moment where you think that he’s going to ask you another question and then he doesn’t. It’s as if he remembers something that causes him to straighten up slightly and he picks up his whiskey and tosses it back. You bite your lip, wondering if the spark of interest you had seen in his eyes was just a fluke. You lean back and sigh softly. 

Javier smirks after a moment, “so you’re looking for entertainment. You know, it’s been a while since I entertained.” Javi confesses. Apart from that first night back in Colombia, he hasn’t had sex and that’s not the norm for a man who processes everything in a woman’s body. He sighs and takes another drag of his smoke, his dark eyes dipping down to your lips before he lifts them back to your gaze.

“You?” Your eyes widen slightly in disbelief as you wonder if all the women in Colombia were crazy or if there was something wrong with him. You’re a pretty good judge of a good time and he looks like he’s damn fun. Reaching out, you pluck the cigarette out from between his fingers and take a drag from it. “Why?” You ask, blowing out the smoke and smirking at him, leaning forward to give him a glimpse of your tits in your low cut shirt.

Javier shrugs, his eyes dipping down to your cleavage before you exhale a cloud of smoke and his eyes flick up to your mouth. “Been busy working. Late nights in the office and tonight is one of the few nights I’m in a bar and not drinking at home while looking over paperwork. Plus no one has really caught my attention…until now.” He admits, his eyes dipping back down to your cleavage to make his intentions known.

You hum in approval and hand the cigarette back to him to pick up your beer to take a large swallow. “Good to know.” You tell him after you set it back down. “I was thinking that maybe you weren’t interested. Which is a damn shame, because I just know that you have a fantastic cock.” You can tell from the nonchalant self confidence he possesses, this man can fuck. 

If Javier wasn’t as experienced as he was, he’d be spitting out his whiskey, but that isn’t him. He smirks and leans a little closer after he snubs his cigarette out in the ashtray. “You just know?” He asks, tilting his head, “and if I just know you have a fantastic pussy?” He counters, his leg pressing against yours as he turns his body towards you.

“Then I think we need to find someplace to let you get a taste of it.” You tease, winking playfully. “You might get addicted to it.” Leaning forward, you lay your hand on his knee and slide it up his thigh. “Bet I could change that rough day into a better one. My fantastic pussy squeezing your fantastic cock? Sounds like a good time to me.” You’ve always been bold when you wanted someone and this is no exception. His suit shirt and tie are decent and fit him well, but you can tell the man prefers a pair of jeans over the trapping of a suit.

Javier has always loved a woman who knows what she wants. It saves on the “will they? Won’t they?” nonsense and he isn’t one to fuck around. Once he’s in, he’s in. His smirk turns into a devilish grin and his hand covers yours, dragging it higher until your palm is on his crotch, “my place or yours?” He suggests, tilting his head and his eyes flick down to your lips, “and I can discover just how fucking fantastic that pussy is and make my rough day into a good night.”

“My place is a hotel about four blocks from here.” You admit breathlessly, pressing your palm against the thick hardness that is growing under his slacks. “How far away do you live?”

“My apartment is about twenty minutes away so your place wins.” He groans softly when you rub his cock a little harder. He gestures for the bartender to come over and he shifts to pull his wallet out of his pants. He tosses some bills down to cover your drinks and he downs the rest of his whiskey. “You ready to go, hermosa, or you wanna finish your beer?”

You stand up and pluck the glass off the bar. “I’ll take it with me.” You tell him, sauntering towards the door, making sure that your ass sways invitingly with every step you take. Looking over your shoulder, you grin at the handsome man. “Hey, before we leave, what’s your name?” 

Javier grabs his jacket from the back of the bar stool and waves to the bartender before he follows you out the door, his hand pushing into the back pocket of your jeans to squeeze your ass. “You’re gonna be fun. I can already tell.” He smirks and he pulls his hand out to smack your ass. “Lead the way, hermosa.” He demands, cock pressing against the zipper of his slacks.

You smirk when he murmurs his name and you introduce yourself. You take another drink of the beer as you amble down the street to your hotel. “Want a sip?” You offer, holding it out to him and you like the way he still is touching your ass.

Javier takes the beer and tilts his head back to have a gulp, handing it back to you as his hand slides up to your waist. “You are fucking gorgeous.” Javier declares, “you don’t have a fella waiting for you back home?” He asks, wanting to make sure he’s not stepping on some poor guy’s toes when his beautiful girlfriend is on vacation.

“No.” You scoff and shake your head. “My ex told me that I was the type someone had fun with but didn’t marry.” It had hurt at the time, but fuck him. You didn’t want to marry into his prissy family anyway. “So I dumped him and said fuck it, I’ll just do what I want.”

He can’t help but snort, “I left my fiancé at the altar the day before I left to come to Colombia. Was about 8 years ago now but yeah, she’s still pretty pissed.” He confesses, “even though she’s married with kids. Fuck that guy, good for you for not giving in to his bullshit.”

“People want to change you.” You shake your head and shrug. “If you want to change for someone, you do. But it’s not actually love if someone wants you to change everything about yourself.” You tell him. “At least that’s my opinion. I mean, you don’t cheat, but if you love someone you don’t want to fuck someone else.”

"Exactly. I don't cheat. My pa would fucking kill me if he found out I cheated but having fun? That's something that's on the table. Tonight, I want you." He smirks, spinning you around to press you against the wall of a shop that's shut up. His hand caresses your waist and he leans in to press his lips to yours under the streetlight.

The first kiss is perfect. The taste of whiskey, beer and cigarettes makes a unique flavor that isn’t unpleasant on his tongue. Your arms wind around his neck, still holding your beer and you waste no time sliding your tongue into his mouth. Moaning slightly when he immediately responds and presses you harder into the wall, his cock already hard and digging into your hip.

He groans, pushing you up against the wall and his cock presses against your hip, his hands sliding up to squeeze your tits. He's hungry for you and after all the bullshit he's been handling with work, he wants to lose his mind in your body.

The fire between you ignites and you can tell that this man is going to leave you a sweaty, exhausted mess when he’s done with you. The hand not holding your beer slides down his side and pushes between your bodies to squeeze his cock as you pull your lips away from his. “Next block is my hotel.” You gasp breathlessly.

He pulls back reluctantly, knowing nothing more can happen in the street. A cat knocks over a beer bottle on the wall and he flinches, knowing it's not safe to hang around so he takes your hand from his crotch and guides you back onto the sidewalk to continue walking to your hotel.

You quickly enter the hotel and guide him towards your door. Pulling out your key from your pocket, the door swings open and you shrug. “It’s small, but the hotel is pretty safe so that is why I chose it.” You explain, aware that it might be smaller than some hotels in the city.

"Smart girl." He hums, following you through the door into your room. It's a little messy but he doesn't give a fuck. You set the beer bottle down and he kicks off his shoes, shrugging off his jacket. "How long are you in Colombia for?" He asks as he sits down on the foot of your bed.

“Month or so.” You shrug slightly. “I hadn’t really decided when I was going back.” You smirk. “Might stick around if the sex is good.” You tease, reaching for your shirt and pulling it over your head to reveal your lacy bra.

He watches you strip off with lust in his eyes and he groans when you push your jeans down to expose your panties. “Christ, you’re gorgeous.” He murmurs, his dark gaze trailing along your body. “I’ll make sure you stick around.” He promises, reaching for you to pull you between his spread legs. His hands sliding along the back of your thighs until he’s squeezing your ass clad in lace.

He looks good, sitting on the edge of your bed and you quickly pull his loose tie out from its knot and slip it out from around his neck. “You need a condom, handsome?” You’re on the pill, but while you know your own STD test, you won’t just assume he’s clean.

"I have one in my wallet." He assures you, loving the way you toss his tie to the floor before you start working on the buttons of his shirt. His hands slide under your panties, wanting them off, so he pushes them down when you are working on the last buttons of his shirt. You push it off his shoulders and step out of your panties, making him moan at the sight of the curls at the apex of your thighs. His hands slide up your thighs again and he spreads your ass so he can slide his fingers through your folds, groaning at how wet you are.

“I’m sure plenty of women tell you that you’re sexy, but I’ll just tell you I wasn’t wet before you sat down next to me.” You pant, head rolling back and you reach for his broad shoulders to keep you anchored. His fingers are quick and skilled as he finds your clit and starts to stroke it. “Fuck- Javi…” you pant, walls clenching around nothing as he touches you.

Javier loves the way you lean into him, your hands on his shoulders, and he slides his fingers back to push two inside of you. His foot nudges your ankle to spread you a little wider and you whimper when he curls his fingers inside of you. His other hand sliding up to work on the clasp of your bra.

“Shit.” You moan, your eyes fluttering closed while he manages to unhook your bra with one hand. He’s obviously good at that, practicing a few times. He grunts in pleasure when he gets it on the first try and you have to pull your arms away to let the straps slide down your limbs and you toss it away without even looking. You are naked in front of him and he’s still wearing his pants, the contrast between you exciting.

His eyes dart up to find yours and he leans in to take your nipple in his mouth. Your hand tangles in his hair and he groans at the slight tug. His fingers push deeper, pressing against the spongy wall to find that spot that makes your knees buckle while he bites down on the bud of your breast.

You whimper quietly, walls fluttering around his fingers and you want to touch him. “Javi- fuck baby.” You moan, rocking your hips towards him. “More.” You beg, cupping his head to your breast and loving his tongue laps at the aching nipple.

His fingers continue to pump into you, groaning your name against your breast, his tongue lathing your nipple until he kisses across to your other breast. Your hands caress his head and he wants you to cum on his fingers.

“Fuck.” It’s been a long time since someone has paid attention to you like this. Most of your previous lovers would rather get right to the sex and enjoy your uninhibited nature. Preferring getting a blow job over making sure you cum. “Javi.” You bite your lip and then let out another moan, telling yourself you have no reason to hold back.

Javier loves hearing you moan his name. He pushes his fingers a little faster, wanting to feel you clamp down on his digits, and he groans when you give him what he wants. His lips press against your sternum as you tug on his hair and you soak his fingers. “That’s it, baby. Fuck. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” He murmurs against your chest as he works you through it.

He slides his tongue into your mouth, slowly withdrawing his wet digits from your pussy and his wet fingers squeeze your breast before he grabs your waist to pull you into his lap and his cock is aching for you. His tongue slides against yours and his hands squeeze your ass as you grind down onto him.

You roll your hips and your fingers reach for his belt buckle. You want to see his cock, to touch him. Moaning into his mouth as you flick it open as you kiss him. You’re eager for him, wanting to see what he can do when he has more than his fingers inside you.

He loves how eager you are, fumbling to open his pants, and he groans when you finally manage to take his cock out, squeezing him in your hand. "Fuck, hermosa." He hisses, his fingers digging into your ass.

You look between you and groan in appreciation of the thick, uncut cock in your hand. Twisting your wrist so you can pump him lightly as you slide off his lap and drop to your knees between his thighs. You are salivating at how gorgeous he is and your already wet cunt is dripping as you roll the foreskin back to take the head between your lips as you dip your head down. 

His dark eyes drink in the sight of you on your knees for him, your lips wrapped around his cock. He can’t help but reach down to caress your cheek, “you’re fucking gorgeous.” He murmurs, watching you with hungry eyes and he twitches when you take him deeper into your mouth.

You moan in approval at his praises, always loving when someone heaps compliments on you. It makes you eager for more and willing to do almost anything. Sure that someone would say it has to do with your daddy issues, all you care about is this man right now and making sure that he wants more of you. Bobbing your head on his cock as you try to take as much of him as you can before you are choking and sputtering around him. 

“Cuidado.” He murmurs, not wanting you to hurt yourself. He strokes your cheek, feeling his cock bulge under your skin. “Fuck, you’re so good. I don’t - I don’t want to cum down your throat.” He warns you, enjoying your mouth but he wants your pussy.

You suck on the length, your tongue running up the side before you pull off his cock one last time. “Do you want my pussy or ass?” You ask, smirking slightly and lifting a brow in question as he twitches at the thought. 

He knows you’d need a lot of prep to take him in your ass. “Pussy.” He declares, “you would need more prep to open your ass for me and we just met. I want to feel that tight little cunt squeeze my cock.” He reaches for you and pulls you into his lap once more, pressing his lips to yours.

You whimper as his hands slide down your back and over your ass as he rocks you against his cock. The fabric of his pants is probably soaked with your juices but you don’t care and he doesn’t seem to mind. Breaking away from his lips, you start to kiss along his jaw. “Fuck me, Javier.” You beg. “I want you to wreck me and make me scream.” 

He nods, shifting to lay you down on the bed and he pushes his pants down, bending down to take his wallet out so he can get the condom from inside and he tosses his wallet down. “Spread your legs, baby. Show me that wet pussy.” He demands as he ríos the packet open and he rolls the latex down his length, standing before you fully nude as he admires your cunt.

You squirm and spread your legs wider, inviting him to come fuck you as he watches you with dark eyes. There’s something simmering beneath the surface of this calm man, a volatile nature that could be unleashed and it excites you. Reaching up, you cup your tits and pinch your nipples. “Fuck Javi.” You whine when he doesn’t pounce on you right away. “You gonna leave me hanging?”   

He chuckles, caressing your ankle up to your thigh and he shuffles closer, squeezing his covered cock. He notches himself at your entrance and pushes into you steadily but not quickly. “You are so goddamn tight. Mierda.” He hisses as he pushes deeper and keeps himself up on his forearms to hover over you.

Your mouth opens in a silent moan as he stretches you out, even his fingers were not enough to escape the slight pinch of his cock splitting you open. It’s incredible. You want to say something witty but you just pull your legs back to let him sink in deeper, loving how he feels. Sliding your hands up his arms and caressing the straining muscles as you admire how handsome he is over you.

Javier clenches his jaw as you squeeze him inside of you. The walls are gripping him like a vice and it’s been too long since he had sex. He hisses and leans down to press his lips to yours, giving both of you a moment when he’s fully seated inside of you.

You kiss him eagerly, your tongues sliding against one another and groaning into the other’s mouth. You love how physical he is, most men would just be hammering into you by now, but he is kissing you like there is nothing that exists but right now.

He starts to rock into you, slow and steady, while his tongue caresses yours until he pulls away so he can kiss along your jaw. "Hermosa." He murmurs, sliding his hand along your thigh as you moan when he pushes deep inside of you again.

The pace starts off slow, building up a rhythm that takes your breath away and makes you gasp out his name every time he plunges deep into your cunt. Your hands sliding along his back and feeling the muscles move as he fucks you. It’s intimate, even for a one night stand and you love it.

Javier has never been the rut and nut kind of guy. He loves women. Loves making them moan and writhe beneath him and you are not an exception. He wants to feel you cum around him before he spills into the condom. He kisses down your neck, hunched over you as he rocks into you a little faster.

“Fuck, fuck.” You pant, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist and you love how he is cradled between your thighs so perfectly. “Javi- more, fuck, it’s soooo goood.” You whine, your teeth nipping his shoulder and you lunge up to bite his cute little earlobe.

He groans when you bite his ear, “fuckkk.” He pants into your neck, his cock twitching violently inside of you. He loves that. He keeps his pace, adjusting his hips to find that spot that makes you cry out his name.

It’s distracting, the way he’s shredding up into you, making your whole body respond to the drive of your hips. “Fuck!” You squeal when he hits that perfect spot, making him chuckle. “There, hermosa?” He growls, making you whimper again when he hits that spot again. “There! Right fucking there. Oooooh, you’re gonna make me cum, Javi!” You cry when he seemingly targets your sweet spot and hammers against it again and again.

Javier loves the way you cry out and he focuses on that spot, pushing into you over and over again. He wants you to fall apart for him and it doesn’t take long for you to clamp down on his cock. His name is a cry for the hotel residents to hear as you shake beneath him.

Your entire body is blissed out, flooded with pleasure as your walls flutter around him. Making you encourage him to cum. “Cum for me baby, want you to feel so good.” You moan in his ear. “Let me see you cum.”

Javier grunts, wanting to last longer than one orgasm so he pulls out of you, shifting down your body so he can bury his face in your cunt. You taste like latex but he doesn’t care as he flicks his tongue over your clit.

You gasp in surprise, not expecting him to shift tracks like that and you are completely obsessed by this man that you picked up in a bar. More willing to focus on your pleasure than some of your exes. “Oh my fucking God.” You pant, looking up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily and counting your lucky stars. “How- how are you not married?” You huff. “Your ex was an idiot to not do whatever it took to keep you in her bed.”

Javier chuckles against your folds and he slides his hands up to squeeze your tits, pinching your nipples. “Not marriage material.” He admits as he pulls back for a second and he spits on your folds, wanting to watch it slide down to your ass and he groans, surging forward to lap your clit.

“Oh fuck…” you whine, loving how filthy he is. You grind your hips down, demanding more as you moan and whimper in pleasure. “Fuck - tell me you’re clean.” You demand. “Tell me you can fuck me raw and fill me up. Fuck, I’m on that birth control shot.”

His cock twitches against the mattress and he lifts his head. His hand sliding down to rub your clit. “I’m clean. Got tested a few weeks ago and I always use a condom. You really want me to cum inside of you?” He asks, eyebrows raised. Unsure if this is a heat of the moment and he doesn’t want to take advantage. The women he’s fucked…he’s always had a condom on because they are prostitutes and it was required.

“Fuck yesssss.” You moan, clenching around nothing at the thought. “I’m clean, I’ve got my papers on the table over there, along with my shot record.” You pant, squirming as you imagine dripping his cum. “I want- I’ve never done that before, unless it was anal.”

Javier won’t dent you when you’re begging. He groans your name and sucks your clit into his mouth, wanting you to fall over the edge again before he fucks you raw. “I’ll fuck your ass another time.” He promises and sucks on your clit harder than before.

You whine, stomach clenching as your fingers twist in his hair. Tugging on it while he devours your cunt. “Fuck, Javi!” You feel yourself stiffen, crying out again for the entire hotel to hear when your cunt clenches down around nothing and you soak his chin.

He hisses when you tug on his hair and he groans into your flesh before he abruptly pulls back, shifting back onto his knees. He pulls the condom off and grips his cock, positioning himself at your entrance and he pushes into you while your walls are still fluttering from your orgasm.

All you can do is moan, rolling your hips down and wrapping your arms around him. Dragging him down onto you to feel his weight pressing you into the bed. “Fuck- you feel….amazing.”

You feel incredible around his cock, so wet and hot, and he starts to rock into you, harder than before. “Fuck baby. You’re beautiful. Fucking gorgeous.” He hisses, his hands sliding under your body.

“You’re gorgeous.” You groan, kissing up his jaw to his lips. Not caring that your juices are still on his tongue. You just want to kiss him. “So goddamn good to me. Fucking me right. Now I want you to wear yourself out.”

Javier grunts, shifting onto his calves and he grabs your waist, dragging you up and he shifts to hold your thighs. The new angle has his eyes rolling into the back of his head and he hisses your name when you brace your feet and rock down onto him.

“Fuck, you want me on top?” You pant, starting to roll your hips and bounce on his cock. “I can do that.” You hang onto him and still want more as he leans in and takes your nipple in his mouth. “Oh fuck.”

“Take what you need, hermosa.” He demands, squeezing your ass, and he loves the way you take him inside of you with every rock of your hips. “That’s it, baby. Shit.” He hisses and bites down on your breast.

Your fingers run through his hair and you moan his name again. Wondering how the hell you got so lucky to be able to take this man to bed. “Oh fuck, that’s so good. You’re so good.”

Javier loves how much you are enjoying this. Genuinely loving every second and he hasn’t had a lover like that in so long. “Fuck hermosa. Tu coño es mi cielo.” He murmurs against your skin.

Your pussy is my heaven. You moan, clenching down around him tight as his words throw you over the edge again. You’ve never cum as much as you have tonight and it’s amazing that you found the perfect lover in a little bar in Colombia. “Javi!” Your voice breaks and you choke out a sob as you come apart again.

When you cum again, he doesn’t hold back. He groans and rocks up into you, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you upright as he works himself towards his orgasm. “Mierda.” He hisses and he’s falling over the edge within a half dozen thrusts. Your name on his lips as his cock twitches while filling you with his hot cum.

You close your eyes, forehead resting against his shoulder and you pant softly. “Fuck.” You whimper, feeling him rock through his orgasm until he finally stops moving underneath you.

He bites down on your shoulder and kisses along your neck, loving the way you relax against him. He murmurs your name against your skin and sighs, feeling so good after you let him fuck you and he’s so happy he met you in that bar. He pulls out a few moments later, shifting to lay down on the bed.

You roll over to your back and give a tired giggle. “You want a cigarette?” You ask, knowing you have a pack in the drawer next to him. “I think after that performance, you deserve one.”

“Fuck yes.” Javier nods, his fingers twitching for a smoke and when you hand it to him, he keeps his lips pursed so you can light it before he inhales and opens his other arm for you to curl into him. “How long are you here for again?” He asks, having forgotten in the haze of sex.

You bite your lip, smiling lazily as you steal the cigarette and take a puff. “As long as I want to stick around.” You laugh, handing the smoke back to him and caressing his chest. “Might be at least an another month or so if you want to fuck me like that again.” You tease playfully.

He chuckles, “sounds like a good deal to me, baby.” He kisses your hair and takes another drag of the cigarette while you curl around him.

****

“Fuck. Jesus Christ.” Javier hisses as you take his cock into your mouth in the front seat of his Jeep. Your ass in the air clad in daisy dukes and his aviators on his eyes as he watches you take his cock into your mouth. You’ve been having sex for the past two weeks every night Javier can get away from the Embassy and tonight, he told you he’d take you to his favorite lookout in the mountains but you decided the better view was in his lap.

You moan around him. Eager as you bob up and down on his cock. You know that he’s DEA, you have learned a little about his job and how much stress he is under on the day to day and you want to make him forget about everything but the way your mouth feels around his cock. Your fingers wrap about the base and you pump it and then roll his balls around gently in your hand.

Javier caresses your head as you suck his cock and he hisses when you gently squeeze his balls. The moon is shining above and there’s no one else around, his headlights turned off so you can see the stars but he doesn’t give a shit about the sky when you’re causing stars behind his eyelids with the way you’re sucking his cock. “Fuckkk hermosa.” He groans, tilting his head back against the headrest, “gonna make me cum.” He warns, not wanting you to have him cum if you want to fuck him.

You hum, knowing how much he love that and while you would love for him to fuck you, you want him to cum down your throat. Knowing how stressed he is, you want to make him relax and thank him for being so sweet to plan a romantic drive up here. It’s thoughtful and when he’s ready to go again, you’ll bounce on his cock. Instead of pulling off, you press deeper, letting go of the base and taking him all the way until your nose is pressed against his groin, swallowing around him.

He chokes when you take him deeper, your nose pressed against the coarse but trimmed hair at the base of his cock. “Holy fucking shit.” He growls, unable to hold back and his cock twitches as he starts to cum. His balls pull tight in your hand and you moan around him as you start to swallow every drop of hot cum down your throat. “Mierda, hermosa. Fuck.” He pants, his hand slamming on the steering wheel and he honks the horn by accident.

You jump in surprise, gasping slightly and it makes you dribble out some of the cum you are trying to swallow. Making you giggle as you swallow harder and cup your hand over his pants so none of the cum spills on to the fabric and stains them. Still, you keep sucking, waiting until his cock stops pulsing before you pull off and make sure you get every drop. Your grin is self satisfied when you sit up. “Enjoy that?”

Javier doesn’t answer. He reaches down to cup your cheek and you let him drag you up from his lap. “You’re so fucking perfect.” He groans and presses his lips to yours, uncaring about the saltiness on your tongue from his cum. His hand cups the back of your neck, needing you closer.

You love that he doesn’t care about his cum, or yours. You kiss him back eagerly and you sigh into his mouth softly. Everyday you spend with Javi is special and it’s almost a damn shame that neither one of you are in a position to have a relationship. It would be amazing. One last peck and you shift to his side and look up at the stars. “It is pretty up here.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders after he tucks his cock away but doesn’t bother buttoning his pants. He nods, “it is. I like to come up here when I’m having a hard time at work. Had some fucking revelations up here. I- I don’t really bring anyone here. It’s always been my place but I wanted to bring you somewhere special since I haven’t exactly taken you on a date.”

Your heart melts at his revelation, honored that he would share someplace meaningful to him. Turning your face up, you place a kiss on his jaw, loving the little bare patch where his five o’clock shadow refuses to grow in. “Thank you.” You murmur softly. “This is wonderful, but don’t feel guilty. I love our nights in my hotel room.” Javi had told you that it was too dangerous to bring you back to his apartment, and while that could be a lie, you feel like he’s telling the truth.

Javier knows that this is veering too close to a relationship but he can’t stop it. With the knowledge that you’ll be leaving soon, he feels greedy to get every second he can with you. The whorehouses have definitely missed his presence during this stint in Colombia but he was determined to change his reputation. He has to redeem himself after what happened with Los Pepes. He has to make it right.  “I know, I just - I want to keep you safe. You have to return home to the States.” He insists, knowing that every day you spend here puts your life in danger, multiplied tenfold by being with him.

“I know.” You caress his chest over his shirt gently, trying to soothe him. He doesn’t talk about the things that he’s seen, but you sometimes catch a haunted look on his face. Or the nights when he stays over, he will abandon the pillow he hugs while he sleeps to cling to you as if he’s afraid of you slipping away at night. It makes your heart ache. “You will see me off at the airport, giving you a kiss and slipping a twenty in your pocket for all the great sex.” You tease.

Javier smirks, “I think at least a hundred considering you’ve cum every time since we met.” He raises his eyebrows at you and his hand slides down to squeeze your breast. “And there’s plenty more where that came from.” He promises with a chuckle.

You laugh with him, the sound turning into a moan when he pinches your nipple and you lean in to kiss him again. You know you are playing such a dangerous game, but Javier Peña is so much better than he ever gives himself credit for and you have fallen in love with you, you just can’t let him know that. “A hundred.” You agree breathlessly. “As long as you make me cum tonight too.” He hums, smirking at you devilishly, “oh that’s gonna happen, hermosa.”

*****

Javier holds your hand as you walk through the shopping center, his eyes constantly looking for anyone suspicious. Ever since Escobar would bomb shops and streets, he's been anxious about the Gentlemen of Cali following his example as they get more desperate. He glances around and spots a photo booth. It's ridiculous but he wants something to remember you by once you leave. "Let's take a photo, hermosa." He says, dragging you over to the booth.

Giggling quietly, you let him pull you into the booth and drag the flimsy curtain closed while he fishes his wallet out of his back pocket to feed money into the machine. He had a hard time because you turn your head and start kissing him, grinding your ass against his lap suggestively as a wild idea comes to mind. “Let’s take pictures fucking.” You whisper in his ear, wanting something crazy to remember your time with Javier by.

His eyebrows raise but he doesn’t deny you. His hands immediately reach up to drag your tank top down. “Wanna keep a photo of your tits.” He declares, hardening immediately beneath you. “You’re fucking perfect.” He groans as the camera flashes.

You twist around and kiss him again, laughing as he starts to rush to unbuckle his belt and pull his cock out. Your own fingers pushing your panties down under your skirt and as soon as his cock is in his hand, the camera goes off again. “We will have to do another round.” You tell him, quickly sinking down on his length with your skirt around your waist and your tits out in the middle of a Photo Booth.

“I got more money. We will stay in here as long as we want.” Javier promises, groaning at the way you grip his cock inside of you. Your cunt is always so wet and hot. He hisses as you clench down around him, your giggle echoing in the booth as the camera flashes again. He turns your head to press his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

The next time the camera flashes, you are bouncing on his cock and his hands are cupping your tits. You’re still kissing, your tongues tangled together and you moan into his mouth. It’s exciting and naughty, making you clench down around him because you know that you are out in public taking his cock.

He fucking loves how filthy you can be. His cock twitching inside of you as you rock your hips and he shifts to stand up, turning you around so you can brace yourself on the wall and he fucks into you, the camera flashing again and he knows it picked up his cock glistening with your arousal.

You bite down on your lip, not wanting to be too loud as he rocks into you from behind. Eyes rolling back, your head drops back on a low sigh, loving the way he shreds into you. Javi has a perfect cock and it hits all the right angles as your tits shake.

The machine starts to print the photos and Javier scrambles to pull his wallet out again, feeding the machine another bill while he’s still inside you. He rocks into you as he feeds the money and the machine whirls to life again. His hands come up to squeeze your tits and he groans when you grind back onto him.

“Fuck Javi, fuck.” You whimper quietly, eyes fluttering closed as he fucks you. You turn your head and kiss along his jaw until he tilts his head enough for you to kiss him again. You’ve never felt like this with anyone and you are going to be sad when you go back home.

The camera keeps flashing and Javier shifts to sit down again, wanting your face in the photos and he groans when you settle on top of him, facing the camera. Your tits sway as you rock on top of him and he wants you to cum on camera. His hand slides down to rub your clit, wanting you to fall over the edge for him.

Leaning back against his shoulder is so natural to you. In the time that you’ve been fucking, you’ve developed a natural rhythm that is so easy. You are uninhibited with him. “Javi.” You pant, stomach clenching when you feel his thick fingers expertly rub your clit. “Fuck I’m going to cum!” You squeal, mouth dropping open as you fall over the edge, right as the flash bursts again.

He loves the way you cum for him. His cock pushes up into you and he groans at the way you arch your back. His other hand squeezes your breast as he continues rubbing your clit until you push his hand away. “Good girl, hermosa. So fucking good for me.” He grunts, thrusting up into you a few more times before he cums, painting your walls with his hot seed and it’s captured on camera.

You continue to move, feeling his hands holding your hips tight as he floods your pussy with his cum. A feeling you have become completely addicted to. “God.” You giggle quietly, turning and pressing your lips to his. “I can’t wait to see how these turn out.” The first set of prints have been spit out and are developed, making you reach forward to snatch it up to look at while he’s still buried inside you.

He groans when you rock on his cock, the strip of photos in his hand and he smirks when he sees the different positions of your body and his. “Fuck, those are hot. You look so fucking sexy.” He murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Me, look at you.” You huff, biting your lip at the eroticism of it all. “I’m keeping this one. You can have the other one.” The machine spits out another strip of pictures and you snatch them up to compare. “This is great.” You clench down around him playfully. “Something to remember the amazing sex by.” You tease. “I’m going to have to pull these out and show my friends when I talk about the amazing cock of Javier Peña.”

Javier chuckles and kisses your shoulder, “I’ll keep it in my wallet. Jerk off to it when you’re gone.” He promises and his hands caress your sides until he sighs, “we better get dressed in case someone wants to come in here.” He chuckles, “come on baby.” He smacks your ass when you stand up.

You hiss in pleasure, pulling your panties back up and it will be a little experiment to see how much of his cum you can keep inside you while you are walking around. You tuck the strip of pictures you are keeping into your purse and take his wallet from where it’s sitting on the cash inserted to put it in with his money. “Nice and safe, babe.”

He turns your head to kiss you, sliding his tongue into your mouth and he caresses your side. You’ll be heading home soon and he doesn’t know how he’s gonna handle it but he will. He will love looking at those photos when you’re gone.

****

“So, I guess this is it.” Your carry on is slung over your shoulder and you bite your lip as you turn towards Javier at your gate. “You didn’t have to bring me to the airport.” True to his word, he had made sure you were safe the entire time you were in Colombia and had shown up this morning at your hotel to drive you to the airport. “Ready to make sure I’m gone, huh?” You tease. “Not causing trouble?”

Javier snorts, pulling you into his chest. “Yeah. Can’t wait to get rid of you.” He chuckles and presses his lips to your hair. It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker to let you go but what can he do? He sighs and slides his hands down to squeeze your ass, his lips finding yours after he nudges your nose.

You sigh softly, your hands sinking into the hair at the base of his neck one last time. You hate leaving, wanting him to ask you to stay. You would. You’ve fallen completely in love with him, but love wasn’t what you two had anticipated and you wouldn’t make him feel guilty. Despite your fun ways, you wanted a family one day and he readily admits he’s not the marrying kind. “Thank you.” You murmur softly. “I had a hell of a time and I want you to be safe.”

“Where’s my hundred bucks?” He teases and you snort, “I left it in your Jeep.” You reveal and he rolls his eyes, “I was only joking, hermosa.” You caress his chest and he kisses you softly again just as your gate is called. “Go, baby. I’ll see you around.” He pats your ass and winks at you. He knows he can’t say goodbye when you’re taking his goddamn heart with you so for now, he will say see you later and pray it’s not too rough when he’s alone in bed.

You give your ticket to the gate agent and you turn back to look at Javier one last time. His eyes are so damn expressive but you know he wants you to go. Instead of making a scene or declaring your love, you give him a saucy wink and a smile before you disappear onto the gangway. You haven’t exchanged numbers and you know you will never see Javier Peña again.

**** 

“Hey man. Thanks for buying lunch.” Chris says to his boss after he pulls out his wallet. “Sure.” Javier grunts, pulling out some cash and the photo strip you’d put in there falls out. 

Chris ducks down to get it and whistles as he sees the photos. “Goddamn. Nice set of tits.” He declares as he holds the strip and Javier growls, snatching it back from him. “Who was that?” Chris asks and Javier huffs, shoving his wallet back into his pants, “none of your fucking business.” 

**** 

“Who is that?” Walter asks his boss who smirks, “Javier Peña. Caught Cali. Fought to get Escobar. Big deal around here, man. He transferred to our office last week and he knows his shit. Tried to retire but apparently got bored and wanted back in. The higher ups in D.C let him have his choice and he chose to come here to be close to his dad. We are lucky as shit to have him here.” The boss announces even though Javier will be his boss. 

Walter nods, “what a legend. You think he’d want to have lunch with me? I could pick his brain about my case.” The boss shrugs, “worst he could do is tell you to fuck off.” Walter chuckles nervously and his boss walks off then Walter waits until just before lunch and finds Javier in his office, cigarette in hand. 

“Hey. I, uh, my name is Walter. You maybe wanna get some lunch? I have a case and I need some insight.” Javier looks up at the man who seems a little too green to be a DEA agent but he nods, knowing that he will sit in his office and have coffee and smokes for lunch unless he goes out. “Sure.” Javier nods and Walter beams, excited to speak to the legend that is Agent Peña. Lunch went well and Javier finds himself liking Walter. He reminds him of Steve and he finds himself going to lunch with him most days, discussing his case and Javier tries to assist with his experience as much as he can. 

“Listen, I really appreciate all your help. I wondered if you wanted to come for dinner. My lady makes an awesome pot roast and I’d like to thank you for all your help.” Javier hesitates, knowing that he’s stepping over the line to go to the guy’s house but he doesn’t have a lot of friends in Houston so he nods, agreeing and reminding himself that he needs to make friends otherwise he will be a lonely fucker.

“Sweetheart, it’s really important.” You try to suppress a sigh as you add running to the store to the ingredients to make a pot roast for dinner to your list of chores. Walter is great, but sometimes he does things without talking to you, when it adds more work to your already full plate. You feel slightly ungrateful, since you just moved in with him, out of the older, rough neighborhood where you lived and it has been a wonderful thing - you just feel like he’s trying to push you into being a perfect suburban housewife. Something you honestly weren’t. 

“Mooooooom!” You nod when your son starts to call for you, needing help with his toy again, you hate that Walter had brought that damn thing home, but you get that he was trying to bond with your son. “Sure.” You agree, setting down the t-shirt you had been folding. “I’ll go to the store in the morning. I’m off anyway.” 

Javier rubs his hands on his jeans as he stands outside the perfect little suburban house. It’s cute and makes Javier wonder for a brief moment if this is what his life with Lorraine would’ve looked like. He hesitates for a second, glancing down the street and he knows he needs to socialize more. He clears his throat and rings the doorbell. He hears footsteps and the door opens and he looks down, his eyes wide when he sees a little boy. “Hi mister.” He says and Javier chuckles, looking up and he asks, “is your dad home?” The boy shakes his head, “he’s not my daddy.” Javier nods and he smiles because the little boy looks like he did at that age. 

Walter appears a moment later, “hey man. Sorry about him.” He says and ushers the little boy away, “come in.” Javier chuckles again, stepping into the house. Walter shouts your name and Javier pauses briefly at the name that’s haunted him for years. He knows it can’t be you but he freezes when you walk out of the kitchen and Walter wraps his arm around your waist.

Your heart stops, the man you’ve thought about every day for nearly six years. The one you think of every time you look in your son’s face. Your stomach churning, you realize that Walter is introducing you and you plaster a slightly sick, polite smile on your face. When you had come back to the states, you had realized that you were pregnant and by the time you had gathered the courage to call the embassy in Colombia to tell Javier, he had left. You had kicked yourself for not exchanging information, but you had taken it as a sign that you were supposed to be a single mother and had persevered. It was hard, damn hard, and you had always wondered if Walter had ever heard of the father of your child since he was DEA, but you had never talked about him with your boyfriend. Keeping the memory of Colombia to yourself beyond telling him that you had been when you were younger.

Javier feels like he’s been kicked in the gut. He’s thought about you damn near every day for six years. The woman he let go and he never got her phone number. He kicked himself every fucking day and here you are in front of him with his coworker and a little boy that looks just like him who’s about 5. He swallows harshly, stepping forward to shake your hand, and he is certain that Walter doesn’t know. He wouldn’t invite Javier to dinner to read him the riot act for abandoning a child he never knew about. Your hand is soft and Javier hates the spark that travels up his arm when he touches you. You’ve changed your hair and you look a little older but no less beautiful than the day you left Colombia. “It’s nice to meet you.” He manages to choke out, hating that he can't just pull you into his chest.

Swallowing harshly, your voice cracks slightly when you speak. “Ni-nice to meet you.” He’s going along like you’ve never met and while you are grateful because you don’t know how you will explain this to Walter, it also hurts. You wonder if he’s as shaken as you are. “Walter - he said you work together?” You ask, wondering why the hell he didn’t at least tell you Javier’s name. “He doesn’t talk about work much.” You confide. “Too much of it is classified.”

Javier nods, “yeah. I just transferred to the Houston office. I was down in Cali Colombia for a few years, Medellín before that. Came back home to retire and got restless so I’m here in Houston. No family to keep me busy so Walter took pity on me and invited me for dinner.” He explains, rubbing his cheek for a second and your son rushes off to get the new toy Walter bought him. 

“Do you like my car?” He asks Javier who kneels down, knowing in his heart that this is his son. He always knew it would happen one day, that he’d accidentally get someone pregnant.

You bite your lip when you see Javi with your son. You see the silent confirmation in his eyes when he looks up. He knows that your son is his. “I’ll go get some drinks.” You offer, needing a moment to compose yourself and you rush off to the kitchen, knowing you will pour yourself one to drink before  making anyone else’s.

Javier is still kneeling down admiring the car and he asks the little boy his name, “it’s Diego.” He declares proudly and Javier can’t help but smile, “Diego.” He repeats the boy’s name and he lets him talk about the car until Walter interrupts. “Enough with the damn car, kid. Go to your room until dinner is ready.” Javier clenches his jaw but knows it would be wrong for him to say anything and he stands up, winking at the little boy, “I wanna see the rest of your collection before I leave.” Diego grins and rushes off just as you bring a tray of drinks into the living room. “Thanks, her- thanks.” Javier corrects himself as he takes the drink from your tray.

You nod and Walter kisses your cheek as he takes his own drink. “Thanks, babe.” He takes a sip of his whiskey and chuckles. “This is the first time we’ve entertained since you’ve moved in.” He realizes before he looks at Javi. “She wasn’t living in the best neighborhood when we met. It’s actually how we met.”

That rubs Javier wrong, knowing that you lived in a shitty neighborhood with his son. He looks at you and you avert your gaze, smiling at Walter. “It wasn’t that bad.” You argue and Walter scoffs, “they had fucking gunshots every night.” Javier grips his glass a little tighter. “It’s a good thing you live in such a perfect suburb now.” Javier offers Walter a smile.

“Yeah, I wanted to get her out of there.” He boasts. “She was too good to be there wasting away and the kid is in a better school.” You feel uneasy about the conversation, because you had seriously looked at all the aspects when you were debating moving in with Walter. “We met because I called in about some drug houses nearby.” You explain. “Walter was the agent who came out to investigate.”

Javier nods in understanding and wishes he had been the agent to respond to that call but that’s below his rank and he wasn’t in town at that stage. “Meth house. Luckily she called in, because that place was moments away from exploding.” Walter declares and Javier snorts, “idiots trying to make shit they don’t understand. They always try to do it on the cheap. Best meth houses I’ve seen are in nice houses.” Javier explains, “I’m glad you’re in a better place.” Javier says to you with sincerity.

You smile quickly, conflicted even more now that you see Javier again. All the feelings you had sworn were faded to a bittersweet memory are rushing back and you feel guilty about that. “Thank you.” You murmur softly. “I just want the best for Diego.”

Javier nods, glad that you seem to have been handling being a single mother. The guilt feels like rocks settled in his stomach but he can’t talk to you about it right now. Obviously Walter doesn’t know who the father is and you aren’t volunteering the news. “I can’t believe you took down Cali. What was it like? Your time there?” Walter asks and Javier sighs, “it was difficult. The men that commit those kinds of crimes have no empathy, no emotion. They just do what they please. No rules and that makes it difficult to handle. Imagine fighting an enemy that doesn’t care if women and children are killed. It’s hard to fight an endless war. I was lonely. It’s hard, you can’t make connections because those people are at risk. I fought hard but I’m glad to be back home.”

You bite your lip, remembering the almost desperate ways Javi would hold onto you, especially while he was inside you. Like he was afraid of losing you. You wish you had stayed, despite the danger, giving him a refuge. “Hopefully you had someone?” You probe, making it seem innocent, but really asking if he had moved on to someone else after you had left.

“For about a month or so but she had to leave. After that…I was alone. Didn’t want to put anyone in danger.” He reveals to you with a soft smile and Walter chuckles, “I heard you were in whorehouses every night.” Javier shakes his head, “not when I was in Cali. During the Escobar years, yeah. I did what it took to get the job done and men like to spill their secrets while inside a woman.” He says, “it’s what we had to do.”

The timer in the kitchen buzzes and you jump slightly, caught up in the memories of Cali. “That’s dinner.” You huff with a small laugh. “Let me get it on the table while you two talk.” Your cheeks burn, feeling his eyes watching as you escape back to the kitchen. Unable to believe that Javier is back in your life.

Javier sits down at the table and Diego comes rushing in, hungry for his dinner, and Javi finds he can’t take his eyes off of the young boy. He’s missed so much of his life and he needs to speak to you because he doesn’t want to miss anything else. Walter occupies the dinner with his stories about his cases and Javier hums and nods in the right spots while you and Diego talk about his school day. Javier would rather listen to the little boy but he forces himself to listen to Walter. “That was incredible.” Javier declares, his plate clean, and you offer him that smile that seemingly still makes his heart flutter.

“I made a cake for dessert.” You offer. “Tres leche, it’s Diego’s favorite.” You explain, ignoring the way Walter rolls his eyes. He sometimes accuses you of spoiling your son, but in your defense, he’s entitled to have special treats because for so long they were luxuries you couldn’t routinely provide. “And I made some coffee?”

Javier smiles, “sounds delicious. Let me help with the plates.” He offers and Walter shakes his head, “the boy can do it.” Javier clenches his jaw and looks at his coworker. “I’ll handle it. He is still a little kid.” Javier stands up and grabs the plates, stacking them while Diego glances across the room to his pile of toys with longing. “He needs to learn some manners.” Walter scoffs and Javier refrains from punching the prick talking about his son like that. He doesn’t respond and makes his way into the kitchen, “were you ever gonna tell me? Why didn’t you call?” Javier whispers, pissed off that you didn’t let him know he has a kid.

Glancing towards the door, you motion for him to be quiet. “I did.” You murmur quietly. “You had already left Colombia.” You know you could have tried harder, but you were just trying to focus on your pregnancy at the time.

Javier stares at you, his chest tightening and he feels a little sick. “Jesus. I- I had left and I didn’t even - I didn’t have your number otherwise I would’ve called you. I’ve missed out on so much. I’m so sorry.” He chokes, closing his eyes for a second.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” You murmur softly. “It’s not your fault. It just….happened.” You know Walter will be expecting cake and coffee, so you pull the cake out of the fridge and start slicing it.

Javier doesn’t like the way you seem to jump to whatever Walter wants but it’s not his place to say anything. “Can I - I want to get to know him. To be his father. Can we have a time where I’m introduced to him officially?” Javier asks, wanting to make sure you’d be okay with that.

“I- I don’t know-“ you hesitate to say no because you know that Javier would be a good father. “Let me think about it.” You decide, knowing that would have to be good enough for right now. You plate up the slices of cake and pour the coffee. “Alright! Who’s ready for cake?” You call out, making Diego cheer.

Javier’s chest tightens and he knows he has no right to demand access to his son after you’ve raised him alone but he desperately wants the chance to be the father his son should’ve had from birth. He sighs and follows you out to the dining room where Diego has his toy car and Walter is staring at the TV in the corner of the room that is on mute.

“Here you go, mijo.” You smooth his hair down, pressing a kiss to his head and Diego ducks in embarrassment. “Moooom.” He huffs, even if he’s excited for cake. You chuckle and serve Walter his cake as well, going back to the kitchen for the coffee.

Javier watches you walk into the kitchen for a second before Walter clears his throat and asks Javier about the latest case against some thugs from the city that just got busted in the biggest drug seizure in the U.S. Javier shrugs, “even the biggest operations mess up. It’s about timing and tenacity.”

Walter shrugs. “They are all stupid, they are dealing drugs.” He tells Javi. “I don’t know how they think they can outsmart us.”

Javier snorts, “a lot do. They have one thing we don’t have: no rules. They can do whatever they want. They don’t have red tape and paperwork and warrants. They don’t care about innocents getting hurt. They only care about their money and they will do whatever it takes to get it. A lot slip under the radar because of it.” Javier shrugs and takes a bite of the cake, moaning at the taste. “This is just like my mama used to make.”

Walter snorts at his answer while you beam, bringing the cups of coffee back into the room, a cup of milk for Diego. “Thank you.” You set his coffee down and hand Walter his. “Diego, when you finish your cake, it’s bath time.” The boy groans and huffs quietly but he nods. “Yes mama.”

The boy digs back into his cake but is slower this time, making Javier chuckle and Walter huffs, “when he’s in bed, we can have a smoke and talk about that case down on the border.” Javier nods and you set his coffee down, just like he used to have it. “Thank you.” He says, his eyes lingering on you for a second too long.

Walter lifts a brow, but he doesn’t say anything, patting you on the ass as you walk by to your chair. You bite your lip, not looking over at Javi as you pick up your fork. “I’ll let you two talk while I clean up then.”

Javier watches you gather Diego to get him ready for bed. The five year old whines in protest which makes Javier chuckle because he used to do the same to his mama and he ignores the way Walter looks at him with curiosity.

“Didn’t take you for a man who likes kids.” Walter snorts after making sure that you are in the hall bathroom and the water is turned on. “I’m not really either, but mom is worth it.” He brags. “Plus the little snot isn’t so bad. Not like he has a dad to run to when he doesn’t like me.”

Javier taps his fingers on the table, “he’s a cute kid. Seems like she’s raised him well. As for the dad…well, you never know. He could show up one day.” Javier says and Walter snorts, “unlikely. She said it was a one night stand.” Walter says and Javier’s heart aches at that. He knows he didn’t call you but you spent a lot of time together during your stint in Colombia.

In the bathroom, you are playing with Diego, laughing as he scrubs the bubble through his hair and barely manages not to get too soaked as he splashes with his toys. Javier is here. He knows about your son. You look at the boy you had created with him and you sigh softly. Wondering if you are doing the right thing. The same worry you’ve had since you found out you were pregnant with your son.

Javier and Walter talk about the case down on the border with the drug mules and he finally takes his leave just as you come out from getting Diego in bed. “I’m heading out. I have a meeting early in the morning.” Javier says, “thank you for dinner. It was, uh, great to meet you.” He says and you nod, “yeah. You too.” You respond and Walter slaps Javier on the back as he guides him to the front door. Javier glances back at you before he steps out of the house, reeling from the fact that he has a son. The question is if you are going to let him be involved.

****

The phone rings as you open the door, Diego rushing in with his school bag to drop it and play with his toys and you hurry to where the phone is hanging on the wall. “Hello?” You answer breathlessly, wondering if it’s Walter since he’s supposed to be working late tonight.

Javier hesitates for a second before he says your name, “it’s Javier. I- I wanted to talk to you while Walter isn’t there. I want…I want to meet my son. Officially.” He declares, knowing he has a right even if he hasn’t been there for the past five years. He didn’t know about his existence.

“Javi….” You grip the phone tight and turn around so Diego won’t see you, he’s busy with his toys but you don’t want him to see you upset. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You admit. “Walter doesn’t- he doesn’t know who Diego’s father is. I don’t want to complicate things.”

“I won’t tell him. If you don’t want him to know. I just - I need to meet him. See him. I can’t carry on and pretend like I don’t have a son.” He runs his fingers through his hair, his fingers flexing around the phone.

His plea tugs on your heart and it makes you feel even more guilty about not calling the embassy sooner. How would things have been different if you had told him? He had been firmly of the opinion he wasn’t a family man, and yet he is wanting to know Diego. “I- Walter is working late tonight.” You tell Javi. “So I had planned on taking Diego to the park in about an hour.”

“What park?” Javier asks, reaching for a notepad to write down the park name. He’s determined to be there for his son. He won’t be an absent father even if Walter doesn’t like it. You tell him the name and he nods, telling you he will see you there in an hour.

Sighing softly, you hang up the phone and turn to your son. “Mijo, you want to go to the park?” Your energetic five year old is always ready for the park and he jumps up from his toys with an excited cry. “Yeah!” The pure joy on his face makes you smile. “Come on then. Dinner first okay?”

Javier pulls into the park and he’s thankful when he spots you and Diego already there so he doesn’t have to hang around the parking lot like a creepy old man. He gets out and makes his way over to the bench where you are sitting. “Thanks for meeting me.” He says as he sits down beside you.

“You’re welcome.” You are nervous, something that is so odd considering you were so open and free with Javier at one point in time. You take a deep breath. “Okay….let's hear it.”

Javier watches Diego from across the park, his smile wide as he plays with another kid. “I get it. I told you one night that I wasn’t the guy who got married and had kids. Told you about Lorraine and all that shit. I get why you wouldn’t tell me. I’m not gonna win father of the year but I’d at least like to try. I’ve missed out on so much with him and I want to be there for my son. Even if…even if you don’t want him to know I’m his dad.”

“I tried to call.” You remind him, reaching out and touching his arm before you remember that you shouldn’t be reaching for the man who isn’t your boyfriend. “I didn’t want to call the DEA and ask about you. And when I met Walter….” You sigh. “I was afraid it would be wrong of me to use him to find you. I don’t regret keeping Diego.” You promise, turning and smiling as he runs for the slide. “He’s the light of my life.”

Javier smiles, wishing he could reach for your hand but you’re not his, you never were. “Walter doesn’t seem to be all in on being a stepfather.” Javier observes and he sighs, “sorry. That was - that was out of line. It’s not my place.” He shakes his head, “you’re with Walter. I just - I want the best for my son. Even if that means me stepping away.”

You frown, hearing him voice your own private worries. You’ve noticed that the friendliness of your boyfriend had worn off, but you had assumed that it was just the growing pains of moving in together. He wasn’t used to kids. “If I had- if you knew, would you have wanted to be involved?” You ask curiously.

Javier nods without hesitation. “I would have been involved. I was raised to take responsibility and I would’ve absolutely been there for you and our son.” He promises, glancing at you.

You had known that he would, but you lean a little closer. “Would you have resented me for it?” You press. “I don’t want Diego to just be a responsibility to you, you don’t owe me anything.”

Javier shakes his head, “I would’ve never resented you for getting pregnant. I was - I was surprised it had never happened by accident when I was in Colombia before during Escobar. Always mentally prepared for it to happen. I’m back home now and I tried to retire, to stay on my Pa’s farm and relax but I didn’t have any purpose. I need a purpose and my purpose now is my son. I want to know him. I want to be there for him. Not out of obligation but out of want.”

His words make your heart melt and you bite your lip. “I think you should get to know him.” You admit. “I would love that. I just- I need to figure out how to tell Walter at some point.” You know you can’t keep it a secret, but you are dreading the conversation.

Javier nods, “whenever you’re ready. I’m not going to rush you on that. I do want to be there for our son but I’m not here to mess with the life you’ve created.” He promises just as Diego rushes over. “Mom. Mom. Look what I found.” He holds out his hand towards you and shows you the shell he found in the sandpit.

“It’s so pretty, mijo.” You coo over the shell, knowing how much he loves finding pretty little things and you pull him close. “Do you remember mister Javi, from dinner the other night?” You ask, making him look over at Javier with a quick nod. “He wants to see all my cars!” He nearly shouts it with excitement, always eager to show off his toys and talk about them. It makes you smile. “Uh huh he does, but, there’s a big surprise that we want to tell you about.” You explain. “I’ve met mister Javi before. He’s your daddy.”

Diego's eyes widen as he looks at Javier who offers him his soft smile, "hey buddy. I'm your dad." He says quietly and Diego stares at him before his brow furrows and he says "I'm five. Where were you?" The little boy asks Javier who shifts awkwardly on the bench but leans closer. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I was fighting bad guys and it wasn't safe for your mommy and you. I am back home now and it's safe."

“He didn’t know, baby.” You promise him. “He was doing things to fight the bad guys and it was scary. So I didn’t tell him.” You are willing to take the blame. “But he wants to know you.”

Diego's lip trembles slightly as he looks between his parents until he surges forward to wrap his arms around Javier's neck, dragging him down until Javier shifts onto his knees on the gravel and wraps his arms around the little boy. His eyes sting with unshed tears and he closes his eyes, unable to believe that he's holding his son.

Tears slip down your cheeks as you watch Javi hold his son close. Pressing your hand to your mouth to keep from making a sound, you know you were so wrong to keep Javi from his son. You wish you had your camera with you to take a picture of the sweet moment.

Javier rubs his back and pulls back after a moment to look at Diego. He cups his cheek and smiles at him, "I'm here now, mijo." He murmurs, stroking his cheek. "You wanna go on the swings?" He asks, wanting to have a bonding moment with him.

You don’t offer to go with them, wanting them to have a moment to themselves. You had wondered what Javi would ever do if he found out you had his child and now you have your answer. He might not ever have felt anything more than causal affection and lust, but it’s obvious he wants a connection with his child. You just wonder how this will complicate things for him at work with Walter. You’ll have to tell him at some point.

Javier grins as he pushes Diego on the swings, enjoying the way his son laughs and squeals. He cannot believe how much he's missed out on but he's determined to be there now for his son. Diego escorts him around the playground and Javier follows him until you call out that it's getting late. Javier is disappointed but understands as he guides Diego over to you. "Time to go buddy." Javier announces, his hand on the little boy's shoulder squeezes to reassure him.

“We will play again, right?” Diego demands and you quickly nod. “We will, sweetheart. I promise.” You glance from him to Javier and bite your lip. “Soon. As soon as we can, alright? Your daddy and I will work something out.”

Diego nods and Javier bends down to give him another hug. “You listen to your mom, okay? And I’ll see you soon.” He promises the little boy who grins at his father. “Call me when you can.” Javier says, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket. “My number is on there.”

You look at the scrap of paper and wonder how different things would be if you had given him your number so long ago, or if you had a number for him in the states. Nodding, you tuck it into your pocket and take Diego’s hand. “We should get back. I’m sure Walter will be home in a few hours.” You tilt your head. “You must not be working on the same case, since you’re here. He said he’s going to have a busy week this week.”

Javier frowns, "I didn't hear about a case but Walter might be working on something new. Things can move fast sometimes." Javier says and he is confused because there hasn't been a meeting about anything other than the border issue, which is still ongoing.

You smile and shrug. “Like I said, he doesn’t discuss much with me.” It’s completely different than when you and Javi were tangled together, sweaty and satiated in your little hotel room. That was when he was the most talkative, sometimes confiding in you and sounding things out. You miss that. “How are you sleeping?” You ask, wondering if he’s still plagued with sleepless nights. He had claimed that sleeping beside you had been peaceful and hopefully he had learned what made that so good.

He shrugs one shoulder, “some nights are good. Some…well, whiskey is a good companion.” He snorts, “only have it on nights I really can’t sleep.” He admits and knows he shouldn’t drink as much as he does but it’s how he quells the nightmares. Sex hasn’t really been an option since he came home. Well, since you.

You sigh softly and Diego tugs on your hand, impatient to not be standing around and talking. Bored now that he’s not playing. “I-I’ll call you, okay?” You offer. “To set something up, and….talk.” You know he had a million questions that need to be asked when Diego isn’t around and you owe him that.

Javier nods, “thanks, hermosa.” He says without even thinking about the nickname. “I- I appreciate this more than you’d ever know.” He promises and looks down at Diego. “See you soon, buddy.” He winks and Diego waves at him. Javier makes his way back to his truck and gets in, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel as he watches you get Diego into the car. He’s missed you and to know that you are with someone is killing him but he has to accept it.

****

“It’s just a bowling party.” You feel guilty for lying to Walter, but he’s been busy anyway. Coming home late for the past two weeks since he’s been putting in a lot of overtime on his new case. There hasn’t been time to sit down and have a serious talk with him about Javi being Diego’s father. Still, your stomach churns and you wish you had just been honest in the beginning instead of sneaking around to meet Javi so he can spend time with his son. They’ve met nearly every other day and you’ve always been along, trusting Javi, but wanting to be there for Diego. You clutch the phone in your hand and turn to look at the clock. “We’ve got to go if we are going to make it on time. You’re working late again?”

Walter hums down the line as he shuffles his papers. “Yeah. Late night again. Trying to catch these bastards.” Walter says and you move around the house with the cordless phone at your ear, gathering Diego’s things. “We will see you later then.” You say and Walter just grunts and ends the call. When you arrive at the bowling alley, Javier is already there. He bought the lane and got some shoes for himself but didn’t know about your size and Diego’s. He shifts awkwardly but smiles when you walk in. “Hey.” He waves after he stands up.

“Daddy!” Diego breaks away from you and rushes towards Javier, obviously excited to see him. Every interaction has shown you what a good man, a good father Javier is. You had known he would be, but you find yourself dangerously comparing the men in your life and you know that it’s not fair to Walter. You owe him your heart because you are with him and he’s been so good to you. However, Javier is just so natural with your son. “Hey.” You follow behind, greeting him when he’s holding Diego up and hugging him tight. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

Javier shakes his head, “no. Not long. I ordered some drinks. Juice for Diego. Got you a beer.” He smiles and gestures to the lane, “and I had them put the guards up and got a slide so Diego can get a strike.” He winks at his son who beams back, excited to do this with his dad.

“Thanks.” You know you shouldn’t accept it, but it’s been a long week and a beer will be nice. “I’ll go get him some shoes.” You tell Javi and he hands you two tickets. “I want you to play too.” He murmurs. “Do this together.” You feel your stomach churn in pleasure at him thinking about you and nod. “Sure.” You smile and nod, taking the tickets and turning towards the booth that has all the bowling shoes.

Once you and Diego have your shoes, Javier helps his son line up the ladder and he lifts the ball onto the top, holding on. "You ready, mijo? On the count of three. One...two...three!" Javier says and Diego lets go of the wall, watching it roll down the lane in the middle until it hits the pins and takes all ten down. "Good job!" Javier cheers, lifting Diego up and he grins, looking up at his father.

Another moment you know they deserve. You clap happily for Diego and cheer, knowing he will be proud of himself and in turn, love Javi even more. “Way to go!” You are completely taken aback when they turn to you, their grins are the exact same and you shake your head in awe of it.

Javier plays the next bowl and gets his own strike, Diego eagerly high fiving him for his success and Javier comes over to you. “You turn, hermosa.” He says, writing down his score on the card.

“Sooo much pressure.” You huff, grinning at the way Diego is perched between Javi’s legs the second his dad sits down. It’s as if this is a normal family outing, the three of you never being apart. “Let me seeeee.” You walk over to the ball return and pick up the red ball Diego had used. “Can I use this for luck?” You ask and turn when your son says it’s okay. You spin the ball down the lane and only manage to knock down one pin. “Well….darn.” You huff, having cut down on your cursing around your son.

Javier tuts, patting Diego's shoulders as he stands up. "You can do it, hermosa." He says and walks over to you, grabbing the same ball when it returns. He reaches for you, showing you how to position your feet and he stands behind you, helping you pull your arm back to throw the ball down the lane.

You aren’t paying attention to a word he says. Too busy inhaling the smell of his cologne, the same one he wore in Colombia, so it’s a familiar scent. You shiver slightly and bite your lip as you stumble forward to let the ball go down the lane.

Javier holds your waist as you watch the ball roll down the lane until it hits right in the middle and the pins all fall down. “Yeah! Mommy!” Diego cheers and Javier pulls you into his arms to hug you. “Good job, hermosa.” He cheers and you embrace him for a second until he’s pulling back, clearing his throat when he realizes he overstepped. “Uh, I’ll write down the score.” He says, stepping back to the podium while Diego rushes to hug you.

You hate how your entire body reacts to Javi’s touch and it’s clear to you that you still have feelings for him. You’ve never stopped having feelings, but the physical attraction is still there. You concentrate on Diego and let him praise you for the turn before you busy yourself helping him with his next roll.

Javier realizes that he’s overstepped and he knows that if Walter were there, he’d be rightfully punching his lights out. Javier takes a gulp of his beer and Diego rushes over, asking for his help to line up his ball. Javier nods and stands, his eyes glancing at you for a moment until he’s helping Diego line up the slide for the ball. When you finish bowling, Diego is whining about leaving his dad. “We will go to the movies soon, buddy.” He promises and ruffles Diego’s hair.

“I wish I could sleep over at your house.” He tells his dad and turns his big eyes over to you. “Johnny has sleepovers at his dad’s house on the weekends. They go eat breakfast together and sometimes his mommy comes too.” You bite your lip and look up at Javi. “We will have to talk about that.” You tell your son, not wanting to say no, but not sure if Javi actually wanted the responsibility of taking care of Diego without you.

Javier wants that. He wants more time with his son. With you. He can’t have that though so he has to settle for seeing his son now and then and wanting you when he’s alone in bed thinking about those precious weeks in Colombia. Looking back, he fell in love with you at that time and refused to acknowledge it, but those feelings apparently never left because it’s like a punch in the gut when he sees your smile. “Me and your mom will talk, buddy.” He promises and you glance at your watch. “We better be heading home.” You announce and Diego pouts just like you do, making Javier smile. “We will check the movies in the newspaper soon, mijo. Go see something.” Javier promises and Diego nods. You get your shoes on after handing the bowling ones to the desk and when you’re ready, Diego rushes over to hug his daddy goodbye. Javier kisses his hair and rubs his back, “see you later.” Javier stands up and smiles at you, stepping forward to kiss your cheek, “see you later, hermosa.” He murmurs, resisting the urge to kiss you to see how you’d react but he can’t overstep and ruin this for this son.

Your eyes flutter closed and if you just turned your head a few inches to the left, your lips would be against his again. You��ve imagined it a thousand times, as guilty as that makes you feel. You need to talk to Walter and you need to be honest with yourself about what you want. Your future seemed so easy before Javier showed back up in your life, but now…. Now, you dream about a dark haired man that had been the best lover of your life and is the father of your son. You are so screwed.

**** 

Javier rubs his forehead, the cigarette in his hand as he looks over the file to sign off on the latest case. He sighs and taps his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and glances at the clock. It’s late. Everyone should be gone from the office but he hears a scream. Standing up in shock, Javier rushes through the office, wanting to make sure no one has been hurt. He’s confused why anyone is here. Most people leave as soon as the day is done. The scream happens again and he rushes through the office until he comes to an open door. Walter’s office. He stands there, taking in the scene. Walter has a woman on his desk, her legs around his waist as he fucks into her and Javier clenches his jaw. 

The bastard is cheating on you. He doesn’t confront him, not wanting to let him get ahead on his story with you even if Walter doesn’t know that Javier has seen you since that dinner at his house. Javier turns and heads back to his office, knowing he needs to tell you but he doesn’t know how or when. He doesn’t want you to think he’s trying to intentionally ruin your relationship.

Looking at the clock, you sigh softly when the phone rings. It’s probably Walter, telling you that he’s working late again, even though you’ve already figured that out when he didn’t come home for dinner. Diego is asleep, you are watching tv and pondering what you are going to do. Since moving in with Walter, you’ve managed to save up some money, but it isn’t much. Still, you feel so disconnected from the man you are living with, you know that it’s not right to continue living here. You’re using him, since all your thoughts are focused on Javier Peña. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me.” Javier says and you lean against the wall, holding the phone. “Javi.” You murmur and he isn’t sure how to tell you. “I need to talk to you. Can I come over?” He asks, knowing that Walter isn’t done yet. He’s usually gone for hours from what you said in the past.

It’s late and you almost say no. It’s a bad idea to have Javi here, but there’s an urgency to his voice that makes you hesitate. “Is everything okay?” You ask, but he just asks if he can come over again and you bite your lip. “Sure. How long will it take you to get here?”

“I’m about to leave the office.” He says, “I’ll be there in ten.” He tells you and puts the phone down, grabbing his jacket. He strides out to his truck, knowing that Walter is still in his office with his secret lover, and Javier speeds to your house, getting out and ringing the doorbell.

You had just checked on Diego and when the doorbell rings, you rush to the door. “That was quicker than ten minutes.” You joke as he shuffles into the house and you close the door behind him. “Is everything alright? I- I made coffee.”

Javier nods, “yeah. I, uh, I - shit. I don’t know how to say this without sounding like the biggest asshole in the world because you could take it the wrong way but I was working late and I saw - I saw Walter fucking one of the secretaries.” He reveals, chest heaving slightly and he prays you don’t reject his claim.

You stop short, immediately furrowing your brows together. Javier has never lied to you, ever. He’s always been upfront and honest and you don’t see why he would lie now. “He’s what?” Your stomach twists and you wonder if this is the sign you needed to make your decision. “He’s supposed to be- are you sure?” You ask, shaking your head as a million different questions and thoughts jumble around in your brain.

“Call his office. He’s there. He was - he was in there with her and I- I’m so sorry.” He chokes, hoping you don’t hate him and he shakes his head, “call him. He’s at work, but he’s with her. I wouldn’t lie to you, cariño.” He promises and his eyes widen as you shake your head.

“I don’t believe it.” You fume, not mad at him, but at the audacity of your boyfriend. Why would he ever move you in and want to commit when he was cheating? Picking up the phone, you quickly dial his office phone.

Javier wipes his hands on his jeans, feeling guilty for coming to you to give you this news but he doesn’t want you or his son around a man that would cheat on you. He shakes his head and waits as you listen to the phone ring.

Your hands shake as you wait, the phone ringing nearly four times before you hear Walter answer. “Hey babe.” You coo, even though you want to scream at him. He’s breathless and panting as he greets you and asks what you want. Reminding you that he’s busy. “I just wanted to see what time you are coming home tonight.” You tell him. “You’ve been working a lot of late nights.” You hum, turning around and glaring at Javi as you listen to him lie to you and talk about how the case is kicking his ass. You hear a woman giggle in the background. Walter must think you are stupid. “Okay. Well, you be careful and I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”

Walter hums and says goodbye before the line goes dead and you stare at it before placing it back on the wall. “You’re right.” You tell Javier and he doesn’t say anything, “I’m sorry. I didn’t - I can’t stand by and watch him do that to you and our son.” He says and you nod, still shocked by the revelation.

“I have to leave him.” You murmur quietly, shaking your head again and feeling ashamed that you aren’t more upset. You don’t love him. You had been starting to realize that and when you heard that quiet giggle, it’s like every ounce of affection you had for him had died. “I have to pack.” You won’t stay here another night, you can’t. “God…okay, I need to pack.”

“You can come stay with me.” He volunteers, “I have a spare room and I- I don’t want you staying here if that’s the kind of guy he is. Or I can get you guys a hotel room and help you find an apartment. I don’t want to think about you and him here when he’s fucking some other woman. I’m so sorry.”

“God, I’m so stupid.” You blame yourself, you jumped in too soon. Taken in by his charm and wanting to get Diego out of the neighborhood you were raising him in. You wrap your arms around yourself and close your eyes. “I don’t know if you want us with you. You never signed up for this. I should get a hotel. I can manage one for a few days until I find something.” You know you will have to find a place quickly and even if you have some savings, it won’t be a great house in a nice neighborhood.

Javier shakes his head at you, “don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t going into a hotel. You’re coming home with me.” He says with command, not wanting his son and the mother of his son in some shitty motel. “Go pack your things, baby. Get everything important and we will come back for the rest.” He says, glancing around the house.

You blow out a breath, secretly relieved that he is insisting that you stay with him. “Okay.” You agree. “I won’t be too long. We sold most of my things to move in here with Walter.” You admit. “Mostly just our clothes and Diego’s toys.”

“Go get what you need. Then we will wake Diego and go.” He says, anxious to get you out of this house and away from a cheating asshole. He watches you grab a duffel bag and he walks over to the window to keep a watch in case Walter decides to arrive home early.

You quickly pack several outfits for you and your toiletries before sneaking into Diego’s room to do the same. It’s honestly a little sad how much of this home isn’t yours, but you hadn’t really thought about it before. Walter had just encouraged you to get rid of your old, secondhand things and promised to give you the best of everything. Apparently it was the price of him being unfaithful. You bring the bags out, the folder with your important papers in your bags and grab a laundry basket for your son’s toys.

Javier takes the bags, carrying them out to your car and he watches as you wake Diego up, gathering him into your arms after he complains about being woken up. “You want to follow me in your car?” Javier asks softly even if Diego snuggles into your neck.

“Yes.” You should leave a note for Walter, but honestly, what would you say? You grab his blanket, the one he’s had since he was a baby and wrap it around him. “Come on, baby.” You murmur softly. “We are going to have a sleepover at Daddy’s tonight.”

Diego grins, “daddy’s?” He asks and you nod, carrying him to your car. “Yes, sleepover.” Diego wakes up at that as you strap him in and Javier carries the last of your things into the car to get ready to leave Walter’s. “You ready, baby?” He asks after you shut the car door.

“Thank you.” You murmur quietly. “I know this isn’t at all what you wanted to do with your Friday night.” You blow out a small sigh. “Let’s get out of here before that asshole gets home. I want him to fucking worry about what the hell is going on.”

Javier chuckles, loving that you are fighting back against this asshole. “Good. Let’s go, hermosa.” He says and makes sure you’re in your car before he makes his way over to his truck so he can show you the way to his place. He pulls away from Walter’s and watches in the mirror to make sure you’re behind him as he drives.

You follow Javi and find that he lives in a nice little apartment complex, parking next to him when he pulls in and Diego is already asleep in the back of the car again. “We should probably get him in first.” You murmur quickly. “Do you want to carry him?”

Javier nods, “absolutely. Take my keys.” He offers his keys and you take them. He opens the car door and carefully unbuckles Diego before he carries him to his front door, watching you unlock it and he’s glad he cleaned up earlier. He carries him through to the spare bedroom and you pull the covers back so you can lay the little boy down before you cover him back up. “You get settled in. I’ll get your things.” Javier says and makes his way back out to get your bags.

You sigh softly and sit down beside Diego, brushing his hair back from his forehead and watching him as he flops over and starts to hug his pillow. He looks like Javi when he sleeps, even more than he does just existing. It makes you smile, even with the turmoil currently upending your life.

Javier carries your things into the spare room and locks your car so you have all your bags. “You want something to eat?” He asks, “or drink?” You snort, “a drink for sure.” He chuckles and gets you a glass of whiskey from his bar. “Here you go, hermosa.” He says, holding the glass in his hand.

You take the glass, reminding yourself that you just found out that your boyfriend - ex boyfriend - was cheating on you. The urge to lunge at Javi and fuck him isn’t right. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to Diego when he realizes he’s not the type to play happy family. He wants to be a father to the son you made, not be with you. “Thanks.” You sigh and take a large drink of the whiskey. “Fuck,” you chuckle to yourself and huff. “This was a hell of a way to make my decision.”

Javier watches you take a large gulp and he wishes you weren’t in his home under these circumstances. “Come sit down, hermosa.” He says, heading over to his sofa. He pats the space next to him and looks down at his own drink. “I’m sorry Walter is a fucking prick. I hate cheaters.” He shakes his head, “my Pa would kill me if I ever cheated.”

You snort and have to appreciate the honesty. “But it’s hard to cheat when you aren’t in a relationship.” You remind him. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe no one is relationship material. I didn’t love Walter, I know that now, but I was faithful. I tried to be a good girlfriend.”

Javier huffs, “don’t blame yourself. You did nothing wrong. He was a pig. Had you running around after him all the damn time. When I came over for dinner, he was…he was not good enough for you. You deserve more. You deserve to have an equal partner. A good relationship. Someone who loves you and cares for you and for Diego. He deserved better.” Javier says and you nod, taking another sip of your whiskey. “I’m sorry, hermosa.” He murmurs, glancing across the living room.

“It’s not your fault.” You are actually grateful that he let you know. You could have continued being oblivious to the facts. “I need to make a doctor’s appointment. Get tested because I know that fucker didn’t use a condom.”

Javier nods, “you are welcome to stay here as long as you want.” He wishes you would be here permanently but he can’t force his feelings on you when you just left Walter. There’s a knock on his door and Javier frowns, standing up. He makes his way over to it and checks the peephole, his jaw clenching when he sees Walter and he swings the door open and says “what the fuck are you doing here?”

You can tell by the tone that it’s Walter, although where you are sitting on the couch, he can’t see you. But you know that he might have seen your car in the parking lot. “I want to know why the fuck I come home and my house is empty, no note and I come over here to find my girlfriend’s car in the parking lot.” Walter spits, pushing into the apartment and snorting when he sees you on the couch. “What the fuck are you doing here? I introduced you to my co-worker. I didn’t expect you to fuck him.”

Javier shakes his head, “she called me to collect her for somewhere to stay because she found out you’re fucking Sally from the office.” Javier crosses his arms and you come to stand behind Javier. “You’re fucking kidding me?” Walter scoffs, “I took you and your little bastard into my house, took you out of that shithole apartment in the goddamn ghetto and you won’t allow me to have a little fun?” Walter growls and Javier hisses, “you need to get the fuck out.”

“No,” Walter shakes his head and steps towards you but Javi shuffles in front of him. “Stay out of this Peña.” The younger agent growls. “I know you’re thinking about getting some pussy from her, going for the easy lay, but the only reason I was fucking Sally was because she wasn’t satisfying me.” You choke out a huff and he smirks. “That’s right. You’re like a cold fucking fish in bed and I got tired of it.”

Javier grabs Walter’s collar, pulling him close. “You need to shut your fucking mouth.” He growls and Walter scoffs, “I’m not gonna put up with bad sex just to deal with a fucking bastard kid.” Walter chuckles and Javier pulls his fist back to punch Walter in the face. “That’s my goddamn kid you’re talking about.” He reveals as Walter stumbles back.

You gape in horror and arousal as Javi defends you and your son. If you didn’t know that you made the right decision to leave Walter, you know now. Calling your son a bastard has you seething. Walter shakes his head and sneers as he glances between you and Javi. “Colombia?” He remembers when you told him you had been to the country when you were younger, before you had Diego. “Fuck, Peña, you really did fuck anything, didn’t you?” He spits on the floor and shakes his head before tossing his hands up. “Fucking have her. You can deal with the little bastard and his worthless mother.”

The urge to punch him again is strong but Javier withholds it and grabs Walter by the shirt, pushing him towards the open door. “Get the fuck out. Now. Before I fucking kill you.” He warns and Walter scoffs but steps outside. He doesn’t argue as he leaves Javier’s apartment. Javier’s chest heaves after the door closes and he turns to look at you, “are you okay?”

Your chin trembles and you close your eyes to keep from crying. You can’t speak or you’re going to break down. Everything was nothing more than a shame. Some kind of sick game to Walter. Take you and your son out of a bad situation and make you the little housewife who would look the other way while he did whatever he wanted. It makes you sick.

Tears well in your eyes and Javier wastes no time in gathering you into his arms, his head resting on top of yours and he rubs your back, “it’s okay. I’m sorry. He was an asshole.” He murmurs, wanting you to know he’s sympathetic to your situation.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” You murmur softly. “I was trying to- I wanted a better life for our son. I wasn’t- I didn’t see what Walter was really like.” You babble as you cling to Javi.

Javier rubs your back as you murmur until you shock him by tilting your head to press your lips to his. He pulls back immediately, knowing you aren’t in the emotional state to make a sound decision. “Baby, I - not like this.” He says, cupping your cheek, “not because that asshole was a prick to you.”

You pull away, horrified by the emotional reaction and how you’ve been rejected. “I- sure. Yeah.” You swallow harshly and feel like you’re going to throw up. “I get it. It’s- I should just go to bed.” You turn around to pick up the glass and rush towards the spare room you will share with Diego. Embarrassed and kicking yourself for thinking that you could forget about everything in Javi’s arms. He doesn’t want you, why would he? The only reason he is doing any of this is for Diego, not you.

Javier lets you go, watching you as you head into the spare room and he rubs his cheek, knowing he has hurt your feelings but he can’t take advantage, he can’t touch you or kiss you without knowing that you want him, love him as much as he loves you.

Retreating to the bedroom with Diego is a little bit like licking your wounds, but you use the bathroom right across the hall to wash your face and brush your teeth. Knowing that you will spend countless hours in bed staring at the ceiling. Wondering what is wrong with you. Javi had a chance to have you years ago and he let you go, why would he want a worse version of the one he had years ago? You sigh as you slip under the sheets and cut off the lamp. Your life is completely changed and you need to figure out a place to live quickly. To stand on your own two feet again.

Javier rubs his eyes as he prepares the coffee pot. He had been awake all night staring at the ceiling and wondering how the hell he’s going to tell you he loves you without you thinking he’s taking advantage of you after you’ve left Walter. He sighs and walks over to the fridge, opening it, and he wishes he had eggs or anything for breakfast but his breakfast usually consists of a cigarette and a cup of coffee. He will take you and Diego to that diner down the street.

Your son is still sleeping, sprawled in the bed and completely content as you slip out of it. Hearing movement from the main area tells you that Javi is awake and you quickly dress. You don’t think that he wants you walking around his apartment in your tank top and shorts, and it helps add a layer of armor to your tattered emotions. You need to ask him if he can watch Diego while you look for a place to live.

Javier turns as you walk into the kitchen and he offers you a soft smile, “morning, hermosa. You want a coffee? I- I’d offer breakfast but I don’t have any food. I thought we could go to the diner down the street. Diego can get pancakes.” Javier smiles, feeling hopeful and happy to have his son under his roof.

“Thanks.” You need coffee, so you gratefully accept a cup. “I’m going to find a place as quickly as possible.” You promise as he opens a cabinet and gets out a mug. “Get out of your hair. I know you didn’t expect to have me and Diego here. Diego, sure, but not the baby momma.” You huff a sarcastic chuckle at your own attempt at a joke and sigh. “I was thinking of looking today? If you wouldn’t mind watching D?”

Javier frowns, “you - you don’t have to leave so soon. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, baby. I didn’t expect to have you here because you were with Walter but I want you here, you and Diego. You don’t have to look today. Let’s go have breakfast.” Javier insists, feeling anxious about you leaving so soon.

You sigh softly. “It’s not a good idea.” You admit quietly. “I’ve been….I had been thinking about how to move out of Walter’s anyway, because I realized that I didn’t feel like I should for him.” You look away from him, not wanting to see the rejection on his face. “I never actually got over the man who is the love of my life, and if I stay, you’ll just be annoyed.”

Javier frowns, wondering who you had met that was the love of your life. It wasn’t Walter and it’s clearly not him. “I- you must - I’m sorry. I hope you find that man and tell him how you feel. All I want is for you to be happy.” He promises, “even if that means you leaving here.”

You chuckle, the sound slightly harsh against your ears. “It’s my fault.” You admit quietly with a small shrug. As if it was nothing important. “We had fun, I knew it was only ever going to be fun because he told me that.” You glance back over at him. “He put me on a plane, and I left my heart behind, but he gave me the best gift imaginable.”

Javier stares at you in shock, putting two and two together, and he can’t help himself. He cups your cheeks and surges forward to press his lips to yours. His heart pounding in his chest as he kisses you to show you how he feels about you.

You close your eyes. The feeling of him kissing you makes you sigh happily. Years of love for him aching in your heart and you know that even if Walter hadn’t been a cheating bastard, you would have had to break up with him. Now, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer.

You kiss him back and his heart feels like it's about to burst. He sighs and pulls back, nudging his nose against yours as he takes the moment in. "I love you, hermosa." He murmurs, wanting you to know how he feels. "I did then. I was too scared to say it because you had to leave but seeing you again, it all came back to me. I love you." He declares again, kissing your forehead.

“I love you too.” You promise. “I just don’t want you to say that because of Diego.” You murmur. “I know I was hesitant in the beginning, but you love your son and he adores you.”

He shakes his head, caressing your cheeks, "not going to say it because of Diego. It's because of you. I love you, have for so many fucking years. I love you." He repeats, "I love Diego. I want you and our son. I want our family."

Closing your eyes, you lean into Javi and smile. Resting your forehead against his chest and huff out a laugh. “I suppose we should be grateful to Walter, for bringing us back together.”

Javier snorts, “yeah. Exactly. Asshole. I- I didn’t like him when I met him at work.” He confesses, rubbing his hands along your back after he lets go of your cheeks. “Let’s go get breakfast. I don’t want to make you stay here if you want to go slow but you are welcome to stay. I want you to stay.”

You huff and shrug. “I’m technically homeless right now.” You remind him. “I never want you to feel like I’m just using you though.”

Javier shakes his head, “never. Never think that. I just want you and our son with me. I want you. I want to protect you and our child.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss you again, “I love you.” He still can’t believe you feel the same way.

“I love you too.” You groan, hating how you have been so stupid. You should have immediately left Walter after you realized you had feelings for Javi and you would have already had a screening to make sure you were safe. “Fuck, I need to make a doctor’s appointment.”

Javi chuckles quietly, hearing your frustrations and he nods. “That’s okay. We can wait.” He promises as you hear Diego cry out from the spare room, obviously scared because of waking up in a strange place. 

You rush back to the bedroom and quickly bundle him into your arms. “It’s okay, baby.” You reassure him. “We spent the night at daddy’s house, remember?” He had been tired when you moved him, so you don’t expect him to remember that. “Do you want to get dressed and go to breakfast?”

“Yeah. Mommy. I- we are in daddy’s house?” Diego asks, blinking rapidly and you nod, brushing his hair back, “yeah. We are.” Javier stands in the doorway, offering his son a smile. “Hey, mijo.” He greets the little boy who grins and scrambles out of bed to hug his father.

You smile as you watch Javi pick up Diego and hug him back just as fiercely. Over the last few weeks, the two of them have formed a bond that is unbreakable and you know that being here is the right choice. Walter didn’t love your son, apparently he didn’t even like him, but Javi loves Diego with everything he has. “I’ll get your clothes.” You tell him, standing up and moving over to your bags.

**** 

The three of you went for breakfast that day and Javier has never felt so complete. You stayed in bed with Diego for the last week since you wanted to get tested before anything happened between you and Javier was happy with that, he wanted to do this right so he went and got his own test done. He got the results today so he will tell you after Diego is in bed. He loves you so much and having you in his home this past week has made him realize that this was his purpose. Not chasing drug lords. His family is his purpose. Diego yawns as you watch TV with him and you smile, “time for bed, baby.” Diego doesn’t argue and you guide him into the spare room that is now his. “I’ll get him some water.” Javier says while you get Diego into bed and you are telling him goodnight when Javi returns with the glass of water and he sets it down on the nightstand. “Night, mijo.” Javier murmurs, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

You are so proud when Diego smiles sleepily at his father. “Night daddy.” He decided he liked ‘daddy’ over ‘papa’ and neither you or Javi have an issue with that. His night light is on and you smile as Javi tucks the cover up higher and walks back to the door so you can pull it closed. “He’s so happy to see you everyday.” You tell Javi as you both walk to the living room. “This was the right choice. You’ve both missed out on so much time together.”

Javier smiles, “I know. I want to make it up to you and him. I don’t want to miss another moment with our son.” He says and makes his way over to the sofa. The test results from his doctor on the coffee table. “I got my test results today. I’m clean. I don’t want to rush you but I wanted you to know I’m clean when you’re ready because I want to show you how I feel about you.”

You smirk at the paper as you pick it up. “I got a call from my doctor today.” You admit. “I’m clean. He should be emailing my results if you want to see.” You don’t want to wait anymore, but this needs to be a decision you make together. “And my birth control is expired, but I didn’t re-do it. I wanted to talk to you about the options first.” You don’t think Javi wants more kids, but your last birth control failed so you want him to be comfortable with what you choose.

Javier doesn’t need to see your results. He trusts you implicitly. “What do you want?” Javier asks you, reaching for your hands as you come to sit down beside him after he sets the paper down on the table. “I- I have condoms. I think I want us to enjoy being together before we make the decision to have another kid. And I’d like to buy a house. Create our space together. A room for Diego. Another room for a new baby.” He declares what he wants, “and I’d like to marry you before we have another.”

Your eyes widen when you hear him say he wants to marry you and have another baby. “I want you. You promise, pulling his hand up to kiss the back of it. “I’ve always wanted you. Even if you don’t want more kids or marriage or anything. I just want you. I love you. I love Diego. I want us to be a family.”

Javier grins, surging forward to press his lips to yours. He wants to show you how he feels. He drags you into his lap, his hands immediately finding your ass and he groans when you grind down onto him and he starts to harden beneath you. He’s jerked off to thoughts of you way too many times to count so he’s eager to touch you again.

“Javi.” You moan at the feel of his hands on your skin. You’ve dreamed of it for so long. Your fingers sink into his hair and all your inhibitions fade away. Walter’s comments about being a cold fish had hurt, but you’ve realized over the last few weeks that it was because you have never felt as free and comfortable with him as you do Javi.

Javier slides his tongue into your mouth and he playfully smacks your ass as you grind down onto him again. “Baby, baby.” He murmurs, kissing along your jaw after a moment. “Let me take you to bed.”

“Fuck, I want that.” You whine softly. “Javi- I need you. I’ve been so lonely. And no one was ever as good as you.” You murmur quietly. You’ve only had two lovers since coming back from Colombia, you had put Diego first, but they’ve not been as good as he is.

He grabs the back of your thighs, grunting as he shifts to stand up and he chuckles as he stumbles and turns fast to drop you onto the sofa. “I’m getting too fucking old to pick you up.” He confesses, “come on baby.” He holds his hand out to you. “Walk to my room with me?”

You huff in amusement and take his hand. “Old man.” You tease as you squeeze his hand. “Maybe you can’t fuck me like I remember.”

Javier scoffs, “never said I couldn’t fuck.” He assures you, escorting you into his bedroom and once you’re inside, he grabs your waist to pull you close, his lips finding yours once more.

You lean into the kiss, giving over to the feelings that have been there from the very beginning and denied while you were with Walter. Then tempered by the need to make sure that you both were safe. Now you are able to take what you want and touch him again.

His hands find the bottom of your shirt, parting from your lips as he lifts it over your head and he tosses it to the floor as he slides his hands up to your back to unclip your bra. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss your neck.

You hum and your hands drift down to the buttons on the shirt. “I’ve missed you so much.” You grind your hips down and whimper quietly when he throbs against you. “So fucking much.”

He groans, pulling the straps of your bra down your arms. He tosses it on the floor and his hands immediately cup your tits, squeezing them. “I’ve missed these.” He groans, bending down to take your nipple into his mouth.

“Javi!” You gasp his name and cup his head on your chest as he suckles harshly. “Fuck, oh god, I’ve always loved that mouth of yours on me. No one ever made me feel like you do.”

He loves hearing you say that and he bites on your nipple, soothing it with his tongue and he groans as you tangle your fingers in his hair. He loves the way you moan when he switches to the other breast and he squeezes your breast.

Walter’s comments about how boring you are had hit a nerve and you guess you had become boring. You don’t want Javi to think that as well and push him away to slide down to your knees and reach for his belt buckle.

Javier watches you, his eyelashes fluttering as he lets you touch him how you want. He’s anxious to see you naked and see how you’ve changed. His stomach isn’t as slim as it used to be. “Fuck, baby.” He murmurs, lifting his hips when you pull his belt out of his pants.

“You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” You tease, popping the button of his jeans open and dragging the zipper down. It’s surprising to see him actually wearing underwear and you smirk as he drags his hips up again so you can pull everything down. Freeing his cock to slap against your stomach. “That cock.” You moan, mouth watering as you wrap your fingers around his girth. “Fuck, I’ve dreamed about sucking you off again.” You admit before you duck your head down and take him into your mouth.

“Mierda, tu boca es mi cielo.” He murmurs, caressing your cheek and he closes his eyes for a second before he opens them to watch you take his cock deeper. “Jesus Christ.” He hisses, “I thought about this a shit ton after you left. Jerked off so many times thinking about you.” He confesses, lost in the pleasure.

Your cunt flutters around nothing, stretching your lips around him and loving the way that he pushes against the back of your throat. Taking him deep had been your utter obsession and you’ve not had a lot of practice since him but you want this. You’re getting wetter by the second and you let some of your spit slide down the shaft so you can twist your fingers around the base.

“Baby. I don’t - hermosa. I don’t want to cum yet.” He warns you, “been a while since I’ve done anything but jerk off and I want to be inside you when I cum.” He warns you, moaning when you take him deeper but you choke and he caresses your cheek. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

You hum, smirking slightly as you remember him saying that over six years ago, in that little hotel room in Colombia. You pull off of him and press a kiss to the tip. “You want to be inside me, baby?” You coo, confident in his lust but you are a little worried that you might not live up to his memory.

He nods, reaching for you to pull you into his lap. He doesn’t want to hurt you so he shifts to lay you down in the bed, reaching for your leggings to pull them down your legs along with your panties. When you’re naked beneath him, he wastes no time sliding his hand along your thigh so he can push his fingers between your folds to rub your clit.

You whine, your body arching to his touch and gasping out his name. “Javi!” Your hand slides down his side and you try to touch him as much as you can. “I want- I thought you wanted to be inside me?”

“Not yet. Gotta stretch you out, baby.” He murmurs, sliding his hand back to push two thick digits inside of you. “So goddamn tight and wet.” He groans, leaning in to kiss along your neck while he starts to move his fingers inside of you.

You shudder in pleasure, shifting your hips to roll up to meet his hand. You had forgotten what it was like with Javi. He had always paid close attention to make sure you were ready for him. Your fingers grip his ass and you close your eyes. “Oh god. That feels so good.”

He loves the way you react as he pumps his fingers into your pussy, loving the way you squelch around his fingers. He wants you to cum for him before he fucks you. “Jesus, you’re so fucking gorgeous baby.” He murmurs, his cock aching for you.

His praises have always been so raw and earnest. It makes you clench down on his fingers and hiss his name in pleasure. The slick pressure of his fingers working you open is wonderful, quickly working you up until you are so close to cumming.

Javier loves it when you clamp down on his digits, soaking them and he scissors his fingers to make sure you are ready to take him. When you whine, he withdraws his fingers and looks at you, loving the hazy look in your eyes as you relax beneath him. “You ready for me baby?” He asks, caressing your side with wet fingers until he’s squeezing your tit.

“Yes.” You pant breathlessly. “I’ve been ready for six years. I’ve missed you, missed our connection.” It had always been more than sex, the easy relationship had been so freeing for you. The idealized goal that no matter what, Walter could have never lived up to. “Fuck me, Javi.”

He nods, leaning in to kiss you softly before he shifts to grab a condom from the nightstand. He shoves his pants and briefs down after he stands up, his cock throbbing as he looks at you on his bed. “So fucking gorgeous.” He murmurs, ripping the packet open so he can roll the condom down his cock. “You ready for me?” He asks, shifting to kneel on the bed and he runs his hands along the length of your legs.

“Yes.” You moan, spreading your legs wider in anticipation. You’re eager to feel him again, wanting the drag is his cock scraping your walls as you gasp his name. “You look so good hovering over me.” Your hand curls behind his neck and you urge him forward to kiss you. “I love you.”

“Te amo.” He murmurs, shifting onto his forearms and he reaches between you to grip his cock, shuffling closer so he can position his cock at your entrance, pushing into you with a groan and he turns his head to kiss you deeper.

It’s probably the best feeling in the entire world. You are stretched out by him, broken open as he pushes deep. Feeling so full that you moan into his mouth and lock your legs around his waist. Both of you panting at the overwhelming moment as he is buried to the hilt inside you.

He rests his forehead against yours, watching you for several moments, and he sighs, nudging your nose while he lets you adjust to him. “I’ve missed this so much. Thought about it way too many times. I fucking love you.” He declares breathlessly and grabs your hip to lift your thigh higher before he starts to rock inside of you.

It’s not nearly as frantic as the first time you had sex. There’s more of a hunger in the pace of his thrusts that has him pushing deeper and waiting before pulling his hips back. As if he hates leaving your body for even a few moments. You love it, head tilting back, you cry out when he hits that sweet spot, nails biting into his skin as he wrecks you for anyone else once again.

He loves the way you feel around him, beneath him, it’s more than he can handle but he inhales deeply and slows down a little more so he doesn’t finish too soon. He hasn’t had sex for a while and it’s you, the woman he loves beneath him. He rocks into you, swiveling his hips to grind deep, and he loves the way you moan his name.

You caress his back, urging him on with your own hips moving. Meeting his deep thrusts and as you kiss along his jaw. You’re complete. You and Javi together, your son safe and happy as he sleeps in his new room. It’s all you want and what you dreamed about when you were lonely during those hard years where you struggled. “Te amo.” You whimper, closing your eyes and sighing happily.

Javier needs you to cum, his hand snaking between you to rub your clit and he kisses along your neck, urging you to fall apart for him. “Cum for me baby.” He orders, biting down on your neck and he rubs your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, Javi!” You whine his name, your body shutters at the simple, yet effective touch and you can feel your body start to tense. “I’m going cum baby, fuck!” It takes another half dozen swipes of his thumb and three more deep pumps of his cock before you are stiffening underneath him, crying out his name again as you come apart.

“Mierda.” He hisses as you clamp down on his cock. You’re so fucking beautiful and he loves it. Loves every day second of the way you squeeze his cock. He works you through it until you’re pushing his hand away and he groans as he rocks a little faster and harder into you. “I’m gonna cum.” He warns you, burying his face in your neck.

“Do it.” You whimper, wishing you had your birth control figured out so you could feel him inside you again. You understand, the risk is too much right now, but you always loved the feeling of him filling you up. “Cum for me baby.”

He groans as his thrusts stutter, pushing deep until he’s filling the condom with hot cum and your name is a groan on his lips. “Fuckkk.” He pants, closing his eyes as he lets the euphoria wash over him. His heart pounding in his chest while his cock twitches inside you.

You love the way the collapses on top of you. Pressed down into the bed by his body, you pant and start to slowly caress his back. “Fuck, I love you.” You murmur quietly. “I never should have left Colombia.”

He shakes his head, "you made the right choice. It was a shit show down there. I always knew you'd be walking onto the plane. I would've never let you stay there." He murmurs, shifting to pull out of you and he grips the condom, moving fast to tie it off and toss it onto the nightstand so he can curl around you. "I loved you then and I love you now. That never changed. We are here and I plan to make up for every second we were apart." He smiles, kissing your shoulder.

“Diego will hold you to that.” You joke, curling into his embrace even more. “He loves having his daddy with him and you love him too. I can tell. For a man who never wanted a family, you are really good at it.”

Javier smiles, kissing your hair, "I didn't live a life that was appropriate for a family. I have stability now and I am ready for this, for you, for Diego. I am all in." He promises you and closes his eyes, "I meant what I said. I want to marry you. Have more kids."

“I want that too.” You murmur softly. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to experience Diego as a baby.” You apologize, shifting to turn to face him. Reaching up, you caress his cheek. “I want you with me for the rest of our lives, Javi. I love you. I loved you in Colombia and that’s never gone away.”

Javier hums, reaching for your hand to kiss the back of it, “we have the rest of our lives.” He murmurs and you kiss his cheek. He is so happy right now. He has you and Diego and he will take you both to meet his Pa and get his mother’s engagement ring to ask you to marry him. He’s ready to enjoy the rest of his life with his family. All thanks to meeting you in that bar and the strip of photos still in his wallet from the photo booth.

[writer-with-jazz]

Bad nights (part one)

poly marauders x reader

summary: Remus got clingy cuz of the full moon, James lost a match, Sirius has problems with his parents and you aren’t well. How Will this situation turn out?

warnings: I did re read for any mistakes but forgive me if there are still any, English isn’t my first language. Mentions of cramps. *************

The night had been long. The full moon had crept across the sky like a bloodstain, pulling Remus into his darker self. You hadn’t slept much, instead staying by his side, calming him through the transformation, holding him when the worst was ovre. You'd always been there for him during the full moon, to comfort him when he was at the lowest. But the aftermath was always the hardest.

As you slipped out of bed that morning, the sharp ache in your lower stomach was already making itself known. A quick hand to your forehead confirmed the faint but persistent headache you could feel creeping in. But it was nothing you couldn’t handle. You had always hated when your fate overlapped with the moon, but you were persistent and keen on keeping Remus comforted.

Remus was still in a haze, soft curls sticking to his forehead as he lay sprawled across the bed, his breathing slow but steady. You gently stroked his hair, making sure he was comfortable before slipping out of the room.

James was already up, in fact he hadn’t slept at all, pacing in front of the common room window, his Quidditch robes hanging loosely over his frame. His shoulders were slumped, and his usually bright eyes were shadowed with the frustration of the previous day’s loss. g his  competitive nature had been bruised, and you could see it in every frustrated sigh he let out, each muttered curse under his breath.

he grumbled as you entered the room, his gaze briefly flicking to you before returning to the window, "Can't believe we lost. We should’ve had that match. I—I don’t know what happened out there."

You let out a sigh, crossing the room to where he stood. The air between you was thick with the unspoken tension of a day that was already setting itself up to be difficult. 

"James, you played well," you offered quietly, your voice softer than usual. You needed to conserve your energy today. The last thing you wanted was to get caught in his spiral of selfloathing.

James shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair. "No, I didn't. Not good enough. I'm supposed to be team captain. I’m supposed to—" He cut himself off with an exasperated sound, turning to face you, his eyes wide and hurt. "I let everyone down."

The words were biting,and you could see his frustration beginning to shift into anger, an energy that was heavy and stormy. You stepped closer, reaching up to place a hand gently on his arm, trying to soothe him, but before you could speak again, the door slammed open, and sirius came in looking angry. He stormed into the room, his black hair wild and his eyes full of anger. His jaw was clenched tight, and there was a harshness to his posture that you hadn’t seen in a while.

"Merlin’s bloody beard!" he snapped, throwing his robes down on the nearest chair. "She’s done it again. That vile, disgusting woman." He glared at the empty space as though it had personally offended him, his voice low but full of venom. "I swear I’ll hex her into next week if she don’t  stop—"

"Sirius, you interrupted, your voice breaking through the tension. "What’s happened? Who’s did what?"

He turned toward you, frustration written all over his face. "My mother," he spat the words like they were poison. "She—" He broke off with a frustrated growl. "She's spreading more of her lies. Calling me a disgrace. I don't care what she says about me, but it's the way she talks about you, about all of us. She doesn’t know when to keep her damn mouth shut." 

You could see the frustration etched in every line of his face, the fury he was barely containing. 

"She doesn't get to say those things about us, not about you—" Sirius began again, but before he could continue, Remus appeared in the doorway, a little disoriented but still with that familiar, warm look in his eyes. The transformation had left him weak, but the gentle way he looked at you was a comfort.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice still rough from the remnants of the full moon, his body swaying slightly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Are you okay?”

You smiled softly at him, but the heaviness of the room was starting to press in on you. "I'm fine, Remus. Just dealing with everything." You gestured to the others, who were now standing near each other, the tension between them palpable. Sirius, full angery, James, sulking and looking down at the floor, and Remus, who was still far too clingy for your liking, though you loved him, the constant need for contact, for reassurance, was draining, especially when there was sm going on 

Remus slowly shuffled over to you, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. “I know you’ve been up all night,” he murmured, his touch warm and familiar as he leaned his head against your shoulder. "But I'm... I just need you close."

You felt the weight of his need, the way his exhaustion made him cling to you even more than usual. Remus, after the full moon, was always a little more fragile—more in need of comfort, You didn’t have the energy to refuse him, so you let him rest his head on your shoulder, but the pressure of his presence felt like an anchor, keeping you stuck in the moment. His body heat radiated against yours, a contrast to the coldness that was between the others.

Sirius scoffed, his eyes flashing as he watched the scene unfold. "Do you really have to do that now, Remus?" he bit out, his voice sharp. "She’s already dealing with James’s little pity party and now you're draping yourself all over her like a bloody blanket."

James shot Sirius a dark look. "Sirius, not now. We’re already having a bad enough day without you making things worse."

But Sirius, already on edge from his mother’s words, wasn’t about to let it slide. “And you,” he snarled at James, "stop blaming yourself. You lost. Fine. So what? You don’t see me running around crying like a bloody baby." He turned back to Remus, his voice rising. "You’ve been through worse too, mate, but that doesn’t mean you get to turn her into your personal cushion!", 

Remus pulled away slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion, but the words struck hard. He looked between the two of them, his hand still resting on your arm but his face now drawn tight with exhaustion and hurt. “I just—I don’t know what you want from me, Sirius,” he said softly, a bit too emotionally raw for his own liking. "I’m just trying to get through the damn day."  His emotions all over the place from the exhaustion and pain.

You could feel it—everyone was breaking at the seams, and you were stuck in the middle, trying to pick up the pieces without anyone knowing just how much you were struggling too. The ache in your stomach intensified, but you bit your lip, trying to hide it, not wanting to add another layer of complication to everything already unraveling around you.

You caught James’s eyes as he stood there, his expression distant and hurt. He was disappointedt in the situation, in the way everything had turned out. The way the room felt as if it were closing in around you.

Sirius was still glaring at Remus, and James was still looking at you like you were the one thing left in the world that made sense.

And for the first time, you didn’t know how to fix it.

do you want to be added in the tag list for the next part? Comment or dm or send in an ask <3

[astrcmoni]

ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller II ☆ᯓ

MASTERLIST

☆ series masterpost: I II III

pairing: billie eilish x sex-hotline-operator!fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst (if you squint)

synopsis: in the quiet of the night, you answer a call that pulls you into a world of mystery and intrigue. what starts as a simple conversation with a stranger turns into a connection you never expected, leaving you craving more with each ring.

wc: 19.8k…..chat

warnings: top!billie, bottom!reader, phone sex, guided masturbation (r!receiving), dirty talking, fingering(r!receiving), cunnilingus (r!receiving), r! is described to have tattoos and nipple piercings, cussing, let me know if i’ve forgotten anything.

authors note: if you haven’t read pt 1 i suggest you do to understand what’s going on, it’s linked up above. but y’all don’t understand how long this took me. never doing this again (i say as pt 3 brews in my notes app🧍🏾‍♀️) ☆

phone call style story — reader is in bold italics, billie is in blue italics.

————

thursday 2:25 pm

the room is enveloped in near-darkness, save for the faint glow of the projector casting moving shadows on the walls, the images dancing faintly before fading into obscurity. a grainy forensics case study plays on the screen, the narrator’s monotone voice threading through the silence like a low hum. images of crime scenes flicker: shoeprints etched into mud, a blood-streaked knife gleaming under harsh light, diagrams of trajectories drawn with meticulous precision. the air is thick with a strange stillness, broken only by the whir of the projector.

you’re seated at a lecture table in the middle of the room, the glossy surface cool against your forearms. your notebook lies open, pages crisp and lined with the neat curves of your handwriting—cornell notes style, each section meticulously labeled. the ballpoint pen you’ve been gripping bears faint smudges of ink, a quiet testament to earlier focus. your belongings are arranged with an almost obsessive precision, each item carefully placed to avoid encroaching on your classmates’ space.

but your mind drifts, untethered, as if caught on the hook of a voice that lingers in the back of your thoughts. a certain caller has been invading the quiet hours of your nights, her words weaving themselves into the fabric of your mind. the way she asks questions—casual but deliberate, coaxing details about your life with a quiet intensity. she tells you about herself too, the cadence of her voice shifting when she delves into stories or spirals into laughter, the kind that leaves you grinning like a fool. sometimes the conversations are light, like skipping stones across water, but often they sink deeper, pulling you both into rabbit holes of thought. and then there’s the flirting—her tone dipping just enough to leave you wondering if it’s intentional or simply her nature. either way, it stirs something in you, a warmth that unfurls in your chest, spreading through your limbs like the first sip of hot tea on a cold morning.

subconsciously, your fingers begin to wag the pen back and forth. the faint tapping against the notebook creates an uneven rhythm, a soft staccato that fills the empty spaces of your wandering mind. the sound is muted, almost soothing—the thwack of plastic meeting paper, the rustle of shifting pages. it’s erratic, mirroring the restless energy simmering beneath your surface, your thoughts leaping from one idea to the next before circling back to her voice.

your eyes stray from the projection, sweeping across the dimly lit room. your classmates sit scattered like statues in varying states of engagement—some scribbling notes with mechanical precision, others half-hidden behind their desks, their faces lit faintly by the glow of their phones. the soft rustle of pages and the occasional stifled yawn add texture to the quiet. your gaze drifts to professor talis, who sits at her desk, bathed in the soft glow of her computer screen. the light highlights the contours of her smooth, golden-brown skin, her curls tumbling gracefully over her shoulders. her thick glasses perch neatly on her nose, catching the faint reflections of the video playing on the board. the snug burgundy sweater she wears looks like it holds warmth, hugging her frame in a way that seems almost comforting.

your attention slides to the clock hanging on the wall, its face faintly illuminated by the dim light. the second hand trudges forward in slow, deliberate ticks, each movement stretching time until it feels infinite. the soft hum of distant chatter blends with the faint scratching of pencils, a quiet symphony of distraction. the pen in your hand wavers, the motion gradually slowing as your focus narrows. the countdown begins—seconds trickling away like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. freedom feels close but distant, just out of reach, and all you can do is wait.

suddenly, the vibrations of your phone ripple through the table, a faint hum cutting through the quiet. a few heads turn toward you, their eyes glinting with muted curiosity in the dim light. the attention feels sharper than it should, and you arch a brow, your head jerking slightly forward in disbelief.

“what?” you mutter under your breath, the word laced with a sharpness you didn’t bother to hide. your gaze flicks to the nearest onlookers, daring them to explain their sudden fascination. it’s not like you’re in middle school—and honestly, have they never heard a phone vibrate before?

ignoring their stares, you reach for the device, its smooth surface cool against your fingertips. unlocking it, you glance at the screen, squinting slightly as the glow cuts through the dimness. one notification stands out, breaking through the shield of your do not disturb focus mode:

1 new email notification from: Maggie Baird

tapping on the alert, you’re directed to the email, the words staring back at you in bold clarity.

hello,

i hope you’re doing well! i just wanted to send a reminder about our appointment today at 2:45. please let me know if you’re still able to stop in or not.

have a great day!

best regards,

maggie baird—guidance counselor

your fingers move automatically, the soft taps of your typing blending into the faint rustle of papers and distant murmurs.

hi!

yes, i will still be stopping by your office today to finish our discussion. see you then.

as you hit send, a voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, calling your name. your head snaps up, eyes scanning the room for the source. the voice echoes faintly, too soft to pinpoint, and you find yourself searching faces, your gaze darting from one corner to the next. then it happens—an unexpected thud against your cheek, rough paper colliding with your skin. your nose scrunches instinctively as your eyes flutter shut, the crumpled projectile falling to the desk with a dull plop.

turning around, you lock eyes with carson, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. her dark curls frame her face, slightly tousled, her sharp green eyes narrowing as if to say, really?

pushing your chair back, you scoot closer to the table behind you, leaning into the shared space until her whisper reaches your ear. the cool touch of her necklace brushes your skin, a fleeting sensation that sends a shiver down your spine.

“why the fuck was that so hard when i’m right here?” she whisper-shouts, her voice edged with teasing indignation.

“shut up,” you reply, your voice low and tinged with amusement despite yourself. “what do you want?”

carson shakes her head, her grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. the familiarity of the moment settles between you, warm and grounding. memories flicker to life—move-in day, your freshman year, the sterile air of the dorm buzzing with unfamiliarity. you still remember walking into the shared space, anxiety twisting in your stomach, only to find her already there. her stuff was unpacked, books stacked neatly on the desk, posters pinned haphazardly to the walls. she sat cross-legged on her bed, her bright green eyes meeting yours with a warmth that immediately put you at ease.

“hey,” she had said back then, her voice steady and inviting. “welcome home.”

something between you clicked that day, an invisible thread tying you together in a way you never questioned. even now, years later, the bond feels effortless—natural, like it’s always been there. you don’t say it often, maybe not as often as you should, but you’re grateful. her presence is an anchor, a quiet reassurance in a world that so often feels unsteady.

“seriously, though,” she whispers, her grin softening. “you’re so dramatic.”

“you’re the one throwing shit,” you counter, your lips twitching into a smirk.

the moment feels suspended, a pocket of light in the dimness of the room, the weight of everything else temporarily forgotten.

it made sense that she was at school on a basketball scholarship. carson had shown you her highlight reels more times than you could count, pulling them up on her cracked phone screen with that same smug grin she always wore when she knew she’d impressed you. her stats were insane—double-doubles, clutch shots, and a level of confidence that could light up any court she stepped on. she was damn good, and she knew it. but it wasn’t just her skill that kept you showing up to every game—it was the way she played, like every shot, every layup, every defensive steal was a conversation she was having with the universe. it was impossible not to get pulled into her orbit.

since the day you two met, you’d been inseparable. carson’s energy was magnetic, and from the moment she greeted you in that shared dorm room, you knew she’d be the kind of friend you could count on for anything. you became her shadow, and she became yours—whether it was late-night study sessions fueled by vending machine snacks or impromptu karaoke performances in your tiny dorm bathroom. you showed up to every one of her games, screaming your lungs out from the bleachers, your voice blending into the roar of the crowd. it wasn’t long before you decided to join the university’s cheer team, if only to have an excuse to be closer to the action—and closer to her.

but it wasn’t all fun and games. you were there when she tore her ACL sophomore year, the anguish etched across her face as she sat on the bench, the season slipping through her fingers. you’d sat with her in the hospital waiting room, holding her hand while she blinked back tears, offering nothing but your quiet presence. and when things got hard for you—when the weight of school, life, and your own fears felt too heavy—carson was there, cracking jokes, pulling you out of bed, and reminding you that it was okay to stumble as long as you kept going.

“so basically after the banquet tomorrow—”

“—seminar,��� you interrupt, the corner of your lips twitching into a smirk.

“whatever, same thing. they both serve free food, do they not?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. “anyways, before you rudely interrupted me, are you going to the thing tomorrow?”

“what thing?” you ask, your curiosity piqued as you shift slightly in your seat.

“do you not check the gc?”

“oh… no. i muted y’all forever ago,” you admit, stifling a laugh and keeping your voice low to avoid disturbing the rest of the class.

“my god,” she groans, dragging the words out like a dramatic sigh. “anyway, they wanna go out tomorrow—to some club or whatever—after we get back from it.”

“um… i’ll let you know,” you say, turning back toward the front of the room. “i’m supposed to meet with my counselor today about some ta thing, so i’m not too sure just yet.”

before she can respond, your attention is drawn back to the projector screen. the narrator’s voice cuts through the background noise, monotone but heavy with implication.

“this pattern of blood spatter indicates a medium-velocity impact, likely from a blunt object. note the size and direction of the droplets.”

the words sink into the stillness of the room, the imagery vivid and clinical. you feel a strange sense of detachment as your eyes flicker between the screen and your notebook. the notes in front of you blur slightly, your thoughts wandering back to carson’s offer, the muted buzz of her words still lingering in your mind.

you pause, underlining a key phrase in your notes, the ink dragging softly against the page. your eyes flick back to the screen, narrowing as you try to absorb the image—splatter lines branching out like veins, chaotic but telling a story if you looked closely enough. you force yourself to focus, blocking out the creeping edges of distraction that threaten to pull you under.

outside, a low rumble of thunder rolls, faint but steady, like a distant warning. someone shifts behind you, their chair letting out a sharp squeak that pierces the silence.

“pause the video.”

the screen freezes on an intricate diagram of blood spatter. the jagged pattern is unsettling in its precision, almost artistic in a morbid way.

professor talis speaks up, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “alright, let’s take a moment. can anyone tell me why this particular pattern rules out a high-velocity impact?”

the room falls into an uneasy quiet, the kind that stretches too long and grows heavy. a few students drop their gazes to their desks, avoiding eye contact like the answer might leap off their notebooks and save them. someone in the back coughs, the sound echoing faintly.

your pen stills in your hand. you know the answer; it’s on the tip of your tongue, almost reflexive. and you know she knows you know it. but the thought of speaking aloud—the weight of all those eyes on you—makes your throat tighten. you drop your gaze to your notebook, hoping the moment passes.

professor talis lets out a soft sigh, laced with disappointment. “no one? fine. look at the size of the droplets. high-velocity impacts—like from a gunshot—create a fine mist. what you’re seeing here is much larger, which tells us—”

“—that it’s medium-velocity, probably from something like a bat or a pipe,” you mutter under your breath, the words escaping before you can stop them.

the professor’s head snaps toward you, her sharp gaze locking onto yours. “exactly. speak up next time, ms. you know this stuff.”

you nod faintly, a flicker of heat rising to your cheeks. you glance at carson, who’s leaning back in her chair with an amused smirk, mouthing the word ‘damn.’ you roll your eyes at her, the corner of your lips twitching.

“alright, class dismissed,” professor talis announces, motioning for someone near the door to flip on the light switch. the room is suddenly bathed in a harsh, sterile glow, and a collective groan ripples through the class as everyone shields their eyes. you squint, blinking repeatedly, trying to adjust as the light burns away the comfortable dimness.

“don’t forget your assignments are due next monday. no excuses,” she continues, her tone firm, no room for negotiation. “you’ll thank me when you’re out there solving cases. also, remember that class is canceled tomorrow, and for those of you attending the seminar, be there no later than 11:00 a.m. sharp. dress in business attire. i’ll email your tickets tonight. have a good rest of your day, and i’ll see some of you tomorrow.”

the room erupts into the familiar chaos of end-of-class. chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and faint murmurs of conversation fill the space. you shut your notebook with a soft thud, sliding it into your bag. as you reach for your phone, the screen lights up with a notification: final notice: payment overdue.

your stomach twists, a sharp pang cutting through you, but you swipe the notification away quickly, jaw tightening. you pull on your zip-up jacket, the hood going over your head almost instinctively, a flimsy barrier against the world. slinging your bag over your shoulder, you make your way down the lecture stairs, your sneakers scuffing lightly against the floor.

as you push open the heavy door, the rumble of thunder outside greets you again, this time closer, louder, like a promise waiting to unfold.

you push open the heavy door of the building, stepping into the dimly lit hallway, your hood falling as you cross the threshold. the rain that had soaked through your jacket still clings to you, a cold, damp reminder of the storm outside. you glance down, swiping your shoes against the coarse floor mat, the sound scratching faintly against the quiet. the hallways stretch out before you, dim and hushed, the flicker of old fluorescent lights overhead casting a muted glow. the rain outside drums steadily against the roof and windows, the rhythm echoing down the empty corridors like a distant heartbeat.

your sneakers squeak softly with each step as you navigate the polished floors, leaving faint wet prints in your wake. the air smells faintly of books and wood polish, mingling with the crisp, metallic tang of rain. as you approach the office, warm light spills into the hallway from the narrow opening of the door, a soft beacon in the otherwise subdued space.

you pause, lifting your hand to knock lightly against the wood, the sound barely audible over the rain outside.

“come on in!”

the voice is cheerful, familiar. pushing the door open, you step inside.

maggie sits behind her desk, her silver hair pulled into a loose bun, strands escaping to frame her kind, lined face. the desk is cluttered with papers, framed photos, and a half-empty mug of coffee, the scent faintly mingling with the room’s warmth. she looks up as you enter, her smile bright and inviting.

“ah, just the person i wanted to see. please, sit down.”

you ease into the chair across from her, the worn leather creaking slightly under your weight. “thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

she waves a hand dismissively, leaning back in her chair. “you’re fine. i heard you’re looking for a teacher’s assistant position?”

“yeah,” you say, adjusting your bag on your lap. “something flexible, if possible. my schedule’s already packed, but i really need the extra money.”

maggie hums thoughtfully, her fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard as she scrolls through files on her screen. “well, i think i have something that might work. the music department is looking for a t.a. it’s mostly administrative—grading papers, organizing lesson plans. nothing too heavy.”

your brows furrow slightly at the mention of music, a faint unease creeping in. “music? i’m a forensics major.”

maggie lets out a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling. “relax. you don’t need to be a musical prodigy. besides, the professor is great. my daughter, actually.”

you blink, her words catching you off guard. “your…daughter?”

she nods, the pride evident in her smile. “yeah. billie eilish—well, i guess she goes by professor o’connell now. now listen, she’s a bit unconventional, but she’s brilliant and easy to work with. i think you’ll like her.”

your thoughts race, uncertainty tugging at you, but you nod slowly, chewing the inside of your cheek. “well…i mean, if you’re sure…”

“i am,” she says confidently, leaning forward. “trust me, you’ll be fine. she’s expecting you in, oh, about ten minutes.”

maggie scoots her chair back, bending slightly to pull open a drawer. she rummages for a moment before withdrawing a manila folder, sliding it across the desk toward you. “here are all the details of the position. you’ll go over them with billie and make any changes where you see fit. just remember to keep an open mind. and don’t be late—billie’s not a fan of tardiness.”

you take the folder, the paper cool and smooth beneath your fingertips, and slip it into your bag. “thank you so much, maggie.”

“anytime, sweetheart. good luck.”

you offer a small smile before stepping back into the hallway, the warmth of the office fading as the cool air of the corridor greets you.

wandering through the halls, your eyes scan the doors, searching for the name. the polished brass plaque catches your attention, glinting faintly under the dull light: o’connell. the name sits bold and formal in black lettering, an unassuming prelude to whatever waits behind the door.

you hesitate for a moment, fingers brushing over the strap of your bag, before finally reaching for the handle.

you take a deep breath, the cool air of the hallway settling in your lungs before you raise your hand to knock. the sound echoes faintly in the quiet, the weight of anticipation tightening in your chest.

“come in,” her voice calls out, smooth and measured, carrying an edge of curiosity. your stomach flips as you push the door open, stepping inside.

she stands at the front of the room, her back partially turned as she writes on the whiteboard, her movements fluid and precise. a black pen is tucked behind her ear, and a neat stack of sheet music rests on the table beside her. the room feels alive despite its simplicity—soft natural light pours in through tall windows, painting golden streaks across the floor. a piano sits in the far corner, its polished surface reflecting the greenery of several plants scattered throughout the space.

then she looks up.

blue eyes meet yours, bright and clear, framed by gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. her gaze is steady, assessing, but there’s warmth there too—a smile softens her expression as if she’s welcoming you into her orbit. “hello. you must be the new t.a.”

your tongue feels thick in your mouth as you nod, your voice barely audible. “yeah. that’s me.”

it hits you like a tidal wave—her voice. it’s her. you freeze, the realization flooding through you in a dizzying rush. she doesn’t seem to recognize you, doesn’t give even the faintest indication that your paths have crossed before, but that only makes it stranger. surreal, almost, to stand here in front of her.

you’d always wondered what she looked like, your mind crafting endless versions of her face over the past weeks to fill the blank spaces in your memory. but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for this.

she’s beautiful in a way that words can’t quite hold, like trying to capture sunlight in your hands. her oversized tan button-up hangs loosely on her frame, paired with dark wash jeans that sit low on her hips, the fabric pooling slightly around her ankles. her hair falls in soft, dark brown waves down her back, glinting faintly in the sunlight. she’s both effortless and breathtaking, a contradiction you can’t help but admire.

and her eyes—sharp, yet gentle—trail over you, taking in every detail. they seem to glow, crystalline and piercing, cutting through your casual exterior. suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of your own appearance, of the worn sweater and faded jeans you’d thrown on without a second thought. you feel exposed, wishing you’d cared a little more about how you looked.

“have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk as she moves to sit down. her voice is soft, but there’s a firmness to it that tells you she’s used to being listened to.

you slide into the chair, your movements careful, and pull the folder from your bag. placing it on the desk, you watch as she flips it open, her fingers brushing lightly against the papers. the motion draws your attention to the ink scrawled across the back of her hand—delicate lines of black, faint smudges at the edges, as if she’d been too focused to stop and wash it off.

as she begins to explain your responsibilities, you try to focus on her words, but your eyes betray you. they wander over her face, lingering on her lips. they’re full and soft, a natural pink like the petals of a plumeria flower, and you can’t help but wonder what they might feel like against your own. the thought startles you, heat creeping up your neck.

her voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, pulling you back to reality. “is everything okay?” she asks, her brows knitting together in light concern.

you blink, shaking off the haze. “yeah, sorry about that. can you repeat that?” you force a small, nervous laugh, rubbing your palms against the rough fabric of your jeans before leaning in slightly, hoping to seem more attentive.

she doesn’t answer immediately. instead, she watches you, her fingers idly tracing the edges of the papers in the folder. her head tilts to the side, the movement subtle but thoughtful, her gaze narrowing slightly.

her tongue darts out briefly to wet her bottom lip before she pulls it in, biting gently on the skin as if she’s considering something. the moment feels heavier than it should, the silence stretching thin between you. you shift under her gaze, the weight of it pressing into you, as if she’s trying to read something just beneath the surface.

“what?” your brows knit together as confusion flashes across your face, your eyes darting around the room in search of some unseen answer.

“nothing,” she huffs softly, amusement laced in her tone, though her gaze remains sharp. she leans forward, closing the distance slightly, her arms resting on the desk. her presence is magnetic, drawing you in even as her words send a ripple of unease through your chest. “i’m just wondering… do i know you from somewhere?”

you freeze, the air seeming to still around you. her question hits you like a sudden drop, the ground vanishing beneath your feet. a chill skates down your spine, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. you inhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to collect the fragments of your composure. your voice feels foreign when it finally escapes, a careful balance between indifference and denial.

“no, i don’t think you do. i’m sorry.”

silence unfurls in the space between you, thick and palpable. billie doesn’t move, her blue eyes narrowing slightly as they search yours. there’s a quiet intensity in the way she looks at you, as though she’s trying to piece together a memory just out of reach. her lashes frame her gaze, softening its sharpness, but the weight of it is almost too much to bear.

her eyes shift, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your jaw, the slope of your neck. they linger there for a moment too long, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. then, like a current, her gaze flows down your arm, pausing briefly as if something there caught her attention. her movements are so fluid, so unassuming, you barely register them before she straightens, her focus shifting back to the file in front of her.

“hm… well then,” she murmurs, her tone light but her expression unreadable. she leans back in her chair, the black leather creaking softly beneath her. a beat passes, the air taut with unspoken tension, before she continues. “does every monday, wednesday, and friday at five pm work for you?”

you nod quickly, your movements stiff and mechanical, and she doesn’t press further.

she begins listing your responsibilities, her voice smooth and measured as she explains your duties. you force yourself to focus on her words, but it’s a losing battle. your responses are clipped, your gaze fixed firmly on the desk in front of you. if you keep it brief, keep it distant, maybe she won’t look too closely. maybe she won’t connect the threads dangling between you.

by the time the meeting wraps up, your nerves are frayed, each passing second an exercise in restraint. billie leans forward again, extending a hand across the desk. “looking forward to working with you.”

for a moment, you just stare at her hand, your heart pounding in your ears. then, slowly, you reach out, your fingers meeting hers. her hand is warm, her skin smooth but not without the rough edges of callouses. the contrast between your hands strikes you—her strength tempered by an understated softness, your own fingers trembling slightly as you fight to maintain control.

her thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles, whether intentional or not, and the contact sends a jolt through you. goosebumps rise along her arm where your nails graze her skin, the faint gleam of your top coat catching the light.

“thank you,” you mumble, your voice barely audible. you pull your hand back quickly, tucking it close to your side like it might betray you.

with a hurried goodbye, you slip out of the room, your chest tight and your thoughts in chaos. the hallway feels too quiet, the walls pressing in as you all but sprint away. each step echoes, a reminder of what you’ve left behind and the weight of what you can’t seem to outrun.

back in your apartment, billie’s voice lingers like a song you can’t get out of your head, looping endlessly in your mind. you toss your bag onto the couch and make your way to the bathroom, craving the solitude and stillness that only a hot shower can bring.

you tie your hair back loosely, fingers trembling slightly as you strip off your clothes. stepping into the steam, the water cascades over your skin, scalding but grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaos in your chest. the scent of your lavender body wash fills the air, soft and calming, like a fleeting embrace in the midst of a storm. you close your eyes and focus on the sound of the droplets hitting the tiles, willing the tension in your shoulders to dissolve, willing your nerves to spiral down the drain along with the suds.

after a few long moments, you twist the knob, and the water stops, leaving behind silence and steam. wrapping yourself in a towel, you step out, the cool air prickling against your damp skin. you move to your bedroom, the ritual of moisturizing your skin a temporary comfort. your favorite lotion, thick and sweet like vanilla and brown sugar, lingers on your fingertips as you rub it into your arms and legs.

the clock on your nightstand glows 3:47 in vivid red, mocking you with the hours left until your hotline shift begins. you sigh, pulling on a pair of soft, worn pajamas, their familiarity soothing. the silence presses against your ears, heavy and unrelenting, so you turn on your tv, letting the hum of your favorite show fill the void. but even with the characters’ voices playing in the background, your thoughts are loud, relentless.

you drag yourself into the bathroom to begin your hair routine. from under the sink, you gather your tools: the flat iron, heat protectant, parting comb, rollers, and duck clips. the motions are automatic, practiced, almost meditative.

your thumb brushes against the flat iron’s switch, flicking it on. the red light blinks steadily as it warms up. you spray heat protectant onto your hair, the mist clinging to the strands, giving them a subtle sheen. when the iron’s light turns green, you pick it up and run it carefully down each section of hair. the heat transforms your coils into glossy, silken strands, the steam curling in the air like whispered secrets. you follow each pass with your comb before rolling the ends of your hair up to the roots and clipping them in place with a metallic duck clip.

the process repeats, your hands moving on autopilot, but your mind drifts elsewhere. you replay the meeting over and over, analyzing every glance, every word. the way her eyes lingered on you, searching for something just out of reach. does she know? or is this all some cruel coincidence?

your alarm buzzes sharply, jolting you from your thoughts. the clock now blares 6:20. you finish the last section of your hair, securing the roller in place, before turning off the alarm. as you set the flat iron down, another sound cuts through the room—the sharp trill of the phone. it’s the hotline.

your stomach flips as you hesitate, staring at the flashing light. finally, you take a deep breath, slip on your headset, and settle into the familiar rhythm of your persona.

thursday 6:32 pm — incoming call from +1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, california)

“hello, and thank you for calling the pulse network. this is star speaking.”

“star,” billie’s voice flows through the receiver, warm and honey-smooth. “how’s my favorite voice tonight?”

your heart clenches. it’s always like this when she calls, the way her voice sinks into your skin and leaves you aching for more.

“i’m good,” you reply, fighting to keep your tone steady. “you?”

“exhausted,” she admits, a soft chuckle following her words. “it’s been a day. i just got a new t.a., which i’m so grateful for, but she was so quiet. i think i scared her off.”

your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t speak. she’s talking about me.

“maybe she’s just shy,” you manage, your voice careful, measured.

the conversation flows, her voice a melody you know too well. she talks about her day, her words curling around you like smoke, hazy and intoxicating. you fall into the rhythm of your usual calls, her laughter tugging a small smile from your lips despite the weight in your chest.

when you mention your new nails, she perks up, her tone playful and teasing.

“tell me everything. what color? shape? i need details, star.”

her curiosity pulls you in, her warmth easing the tension in your shoulders just enough to let you breathe. for a moment, it feels normal—like it always has, like she’s just a voice on the other end of the line. but beneath the surface, you can feel the cracks forming, the weight of your secret threatening to shatter everything.

“baby?” she calls out, her voice soft, low, and dripping with a kind of warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

the little nickname stirs something in you, a flutter of wings in the pit of your stomach, delicate and chaotic.

“hm?” you hum, your tone nonchalant, though your pulse skips just slightly.

“i’ve always wondered if you had any tattoos or anything.”

her question catches you off guard, and you smile faintly, letting out a soft breath as you lean back in your chair.

“yeah, i have a couple.”

“oh? where?”

her tone shifts—curious but edged with something playful. it pulls a light laugh from you, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your desk.

“um… i have one on my spine, another in the middle of my boobs, like, on my sternum. there’s a few others, but i always forget about them. they’re mostly in places you can’t really see unless… you know.”

“unless what?” her voice takes on a teasing lilt, and you can hear the smirk tugging at her lips, even through the line.

your own lips curl as you lean forward slightly, your tone dipping into something slower, smoother, deliberate.

“unless i’m having sex or something”

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric. you hear her breath hitch faintly before she responds, her voice low, sultry, matching your energy effortlessly.

“just might have to take you up on that offer.”

your side of the line goes quiet for a beat, her words lingering in your head like smoke. you swallow hard, the heat blooming in your chest spreading lower. ever since this afternoon, your thoughts have been consumed by her. seeing her for the first time—her sharp blue eyes, the casual confidence in the way she moved—was enough to get your mind reeling and your body betraying you in ways you hadn’t expected.

you sigh softly, the sound escaping without permission, and lean back in your chair.

“you okay over there?” her voice breaks through your haze, tinged with genuine concern.

“yeah,” you say quickly, then pivot. “do you have any tattoos?”

“just six,” she says, her tone easing back into its usual calm rhythm. “not a lot. i have a back tattoo, one on my hip, two on my thigh, one on my sternum, and then everyone’s favorite—the one on my hand.”

she describes them casually, but her voice is warm, soft around the edges, and it paints vivid images in your mind. your thoughts immediately flash to the tattoo on her hand. you’d seen it earlier, the intricate details trailing over her skin. it had you thinking thoughts you shouldn’t, imagining her hands tracing over your body, exploring every sacred inch of you.

a low sound escapes your throat—something between a groan and a hum—and you don’t even realize it until the silence stretches between you.

“what was that?” her voice is teasing now, a quiet laugh slipping through, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“nothing,” you murmur, shifting in your seat. as you adjust, your elbow brushes against the desk, and the edge presses uncomfortably into your chest. a sharp pain shoots through you as it hits your nipple piercing, and you wince, sucking in a breath.

“what’s going on over there?” she asks, half-laughing, half-curious.

“nothing,” you say again, trying to brush it off, though your voice is tight. you bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as the sting subsides, but your thoughts remain tangled in her—her voice, her hands, her presence.

this is dangerous, you think. and yet, you can’t seem to pull yourself away.

“i just bruised my fucking piercing.”

“what piercing?” her voice perks up, curiosity spilling through the line. there’s something in her tone—teasing, intrigued—that makes your stomach twist, heat curling under your skin.

you hesitate for a moment, then let it slip. “this damn nipple piercing. don’t even know why i got it.”

you didn’t, really. it was one of those impulsive decisions—your freshman year of college, sitting cross-legged on your dorm bed while your ex convinced you it’d be fun and cute. you remember the way she had grinned, her enthusiasm contagious, and before you knew it, you were booking an appointment. carson came with you, holding your hand and laughing the entire time, but she didn’t stop you either.

“you’re full of surprises, star,” billie says, a soft laugh weaving into her words. it’s a laugh that warms you, but it also disarms you, makes you feel more exposed than you intended. “but seriously, take care of yourself. that sounds painful.”

her concern lingers in the air, brushing against you in a way that feels intimate, like a hand on your shoulder or the press of her fingers tracing over your skin. you shift in your chair, biting your lip as her words replay in your mind.

“and how do you suggest i do that?” the question leaves your mouth before you can catch it, hanging there like a thread pulled loose.

there’s a pause on the line, just long enough for your heart to stutter, and then she speaks. her voice drops, soft and deliberate.

“do you trust me?”

your throat tightens, and you nod instinctively, even though she can’t see you. “yeah.”

your voice is quiet, a little unsteady, but honest. and in that moment, the walls of your room feel smaller, the distance between you and billie shrinking with every word exchanged.

“i’mma need you to say it, babe.”

her voice is steady, low, and commanding, the kind of tone that roots itself in your chest and refuses to let go. even though she isn’t physically there, you feel her presence like a weight, tangible and pressing. the air around you thickens, charged with an unspoken tension.

you hesitate, your pulse thrumming wildly against your throat. “i—” the words catch, sticking to your tongue. then you swallow hard and try again. “i trust you, billie.”

“just wanna help you out, okay?”

there’s a softness in her words now, a reassurance that wraps around you like a warm blanket. you nod before realizing she can’t see you. “okay.”

“good. what are you wearing?”

her question catches you off guard, even though deep down you already sensed where this was headed. your fingers toy with the edge of your desk, and your heart kicks up a notch.

“just a t-shirt and some sleep shorts.”

the admission feels simple enough, but the way her pause lingers on the line makes your skin prickle with anticipation.

“can you lift your shirt for me?”

her words come out smooth, velvet-coated, and they sink into you like the slow pull of a tide. the apprehension you’ve been holding onto tightens, coiling low in your belly. but there’s something magnetic in her voice, something that compels you to follow.

“mhm.” your response is soft, barely audible, but you know she hears it.

your hands find the hem of your shirt, your fingers grazing the fabric. the motion is slow, deliberate, like the weight of her voice has made everything else move in molasses. you pull the shirt over your head, the cool air hitting your skin in contrast to the heat that’s creeping up your neck and chest. carefully, you fold it, laying it down on the desk beside you like it’s something sacred.

the room feels quieter now, more intimate somehow. the faint hum of the tv in the background, the occasional creak of the apartment settling—all of it fades as you wait for her voice to return.

“now i want you to rub your tits for me, be nice and gentle to them. touch your nipples and tell me what kind of jewelry you got, baby.”

her voice is like a current, slow and unrelenting, pulling you into its depths. your body responds before your mind catches up, your hands moving instinctively to the soft curve of your chest.

your fingers skim along your skin, warm and pliant, before you focus on the sensitive peaks. a sharp inhale escapes your lips as your fingertips brush over the hardened buds, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. you tease yourself, tugging lightly, your movements deliberate yet tender.

“they’re, um—” your breath hitches, the words tumbling out unsteady. “they’re hearts, silver diamond hearts.”

you let the image sink in, your hands still working against your skin, and it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something unspoken.

“mm—i just know they’re so pretty, how does it feel?”

her voice is low, almost a whisper, and yet it feels like it’s wrapped around you, coaxing you to give in.

“feels good, billie.” your voice is barely audible, your words coming out in a soft, breathless rush.

“i know it does, mama.”

the way she says it, smooth and confident, sends a warm flush through your body. it’s intimate, intoxicating, the kind of connection that feels like it exists in its own universe.

your hands falter slightly, your touch growing lighter as you bask in the way her words linger. the heat building under your skin seems to sync with the cadence of her voice, every syllable pressing against you like a soft, unseen touch.

you let out a quiet sigh, feeling the tension ebb and flow like waves against the shore, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

before you know it, her voice shifts, becoming softer, more intimate, like a low hum in the quiet night. her words settle over you, warm and heavy, weaving a haze you can’t escape—not that you want to. the rhythm of her voice is hypnotic, each syllable pulling you deeper into the moment, blurring the edges of your thoughts.

you let your head rest against the cool wood of your desk, eyes fluttering shut as her tone wraps around you like a secret only the two of you share.

billie’s breath hitches on her end of the line. the image of you—at your desk, bare skin glowing in the dim light, your hands exploring what she so desperately wishes she could—floods her mind. it consumes her, making her ache with a longing she’s unprepared for. her free hand trails absentmindedly to her chest, pressing lightly against her own skin as her voice dips lower.

“now i want you to touch the most sensitive parts of yourself,” she murmurs, the words rolling off her tongue like honey. “your lips, your neck. go slow, baby, there’s no rush.”

“okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, caught between hesitation and desire.

you start at your lips, your thumb brushing over the softness, tracing their shape as if committing them to memory. the sensation is subtle but electric, and you can’t help but imagine her doing the same—her hands, her mouth, leaving trails of warmth across your skin.

your fingers drift downward, grazing the curve of your neck, lingering where your pulse flutters beneath your skin. your breath catches as you press lightly, letting the heat of the moment seep into every nerve.

you let your hands travel further, down to the valley of your chest, the softness of your skin against your fingertips grounding you even as it sets you alight. every motion feels deliberate, each touch sending ripples of warmth through you. your fingers tease the edge of your waistband, a small gasp escaping your lips as you hover there, caught between restraint and surrender.

“you’re doing so good, mama,” billie murmurs, her voice rough around the edges now, her own breathing heavier than before. “how does it feel?”

you hesitate, swallowing hard before replying. “it feels—good. it feels so good.”

her voice comes again, softer, more urgent, like she’s right there, close enough to touch. “keep going for me, yeah? take your time.”

her words push you forward, her presence on the line the only tether you need. it’s electric, raw, and completely hers.

“take off your panties for me, love.”

her words wrap around you like a velvet ribbon, smooth and enticing, tugging at something deep within you. your teeth catch your bottom lip, nerves and anticipation tangling into one as her voice lingers in your ear, low and commanding.

“oh, well, you see, i’m not wearing…any.”

you pause, letting the words hang in the air, the silence heavy with implication.

“oh?” her response is slow, deliberate, and laced with a smirk you can practically hear. “that makes everything easier then. go ahead and slide your shorts off for me.”

your hands tremble slightly as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. you peel the fabric away from your skin, the motion slow, deliberate, almost reverent. the dampness at the center is undeniable, the evidence of your arousal making your cheeks flush. you’re thankful for the black fabric, a small mercy in an otherwise vulnerable moment.

as the shorts fall away, the cool air in the room caresses your exposed skin, sending a shiver through you. it’s like the atmosphere itself is alive, charged with the tension billie’s voice weaves around you.

“are they off?” her voice is soft but insistent, each word settling deep into your core.

“yeah, yes, they’re off,” you exhale, the words barely audible, your breath catching as you shift slightly in your chair. the air presses against your skin, the sensitivity almost too much.

“look at you,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with praise. “being such a good girl for me.”

her words hit you like a warm rush, the praise melting into your chest and pooling low in your belly. a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, the sound vulnerable and raw.

the line crackles with a silence that feels anything but empty, the connection between you tangible even through the phone. it’s as if she’s right there with you, her presence wrapping around you, guiding you, pulling you closer to a kind of surrender you hadn’t anticipated.

“i want you to slowly feel the skin on your legs. stroke your inner thighs, tease yourself a little,” she whispers, her voice like silk unraveling across your skin.

you don’t hesitate, your hands gliding downward, fingers skimming over the smooth expanse of your thighs. the touch is light, tentative, as if testing the waters of your own restraint. goosebumps ripple in the wake of your movements, the coolness of the air mixing with the warmth pooling inside you.

your breath comes out uneven, a shaky exhale that echoes in the quiet room. the ache low in your stomach intensifies, spreading like a slow burn, and you can’t help but press your thighs together for even the smallest semblance of relief.

“like this?” your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but the need in it is unmistakable.

“just like that,” billie purrs, her tone soothing yet commanding, each word pushing you further into the haze she’s crafted. “take your time. let your fingers linger. don’t rush it, love.”

your hands obey without thought, fingertips trailing along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. the sensation is electric, every nerve ending alive and sparking under your touch. you let your fingers wander, brushing higher, closer, teasing yourself with a deliberate slowness that borders on torture.

the tension in your body coils tighter with every passing second, and a small whimper escapes your lips. it feels as though the distance between you and billie is nonexistent, her presence palpable even through the thin crackle of the phone line.

“you feel good, don’t you?” her voice dips lower, rich and smoky. “i bet you’re dripping for me already.”

her words make you gasp softly, your body arching involuntarily as her confidence washes over you. she knows exactly what she’s doing, her tone laced with equal parts encouragement and command, pulling you deeper into the moment.

your fingers falter for a second, trembling as the ache inside you becomes almost unbearable. you bite your lip, the metallic taste grounding you briefly as your mind swims in the intoxicating warmth of her guidance.

“god, i wish i could see you right now. i know you look so good, thighs spread apart, pussy all glistening and wet— all because of me.”

her voice is molten, dripping with desire, and it feels like it wraps around you, constricting and coaxing you all at once. her words settle low in your stomach, feeding the fire that’s been building steadily, threatening to consume you.

“billie, please…” the plea escapes your lips in a shaky breath, barely audible, as your body trembles under the weight of her voice.

“want me to fuck you?” she asks, her tone soft yet firm, a tease wrapped in promise.

“mhm.” the sound is a desperate whimper, raw and unfiltered, and your nails dig into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, an attempt to anchor yourself as your mind spirals deeper into the heat of her words.

the room feels smaller, the air heavier. every sound, every creak of the chair, every whisper of breath feels amplified, blending into the symphony of your need. your thighs ache from the tension, the pressure of your own touch almost unbearable as your body responds to her commands.

you can picture her smirk on the other end of the line, that knowing, cocky curve of her lips, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. it’s maddening how her presence can fill a space she isn’t even in, how her voice alone can undo you piece by piece.

“good girl,” she murmurs, her praise sending a jolt through your chest, straight to the core of you. “keep going, don’t stop now. i want to hear all those pretty little sounds you make.”

her words feel like a tether and a push all at once, keeping you grounded even as they push you further out of control. your breath hitches, a quiet moan slipping past your lips, your body moving instinctively, chasing the release she’s guiding you toward.

the way she says ‘good girl’ loops in your mind, a mantra that fuels every movement of your hands, every desperate whimper that escapes your lips. the ache inside you grows sharper, an unbearable tension building and building, and all you can think about is her.

“shit- go ahead and touch yourself baby, wanna hear how wet you are.”

taking your index and your middle finger, you spread your folds apart, before you dip your middle finger to touch your slit. coating your finger in your salivating ecstasy, you swipe up and down on your pussy. the sound of your slick wetness echoing throughout the room. touching your bundle of nerves your rub it in circle motions, pushing down on it just slightly to get the right amount of friction.

billie closed her eyes and tries to steady her breathing as she hears you on the other end, practically begging her to fuck you. and she wish she could do it too, take her time with you to touch you properly and to make you come undone as many times as she wanted to.

“oh my, fuck babe.” a string of curse words slips from billie’s lips, and you can feel her breath hitch through the line. there’s something about hearing her react that sends a shiver down your spine, and you can tell that the sound of your moans and the atmosphere in the room have her completely captivated. every sound you make, every little shift, she’s there with you in it, even if it’s through the phone.

billie shifts, her voice quieter now, like she’s trying to keep herself steady. “i want to feel you so bad… but for now, this will have to do,” she murmurs, her words trailing off with longing. lying on her bed she sat up against her head board, shoving her hands down her sweats and playing with her own clit, the pads of her pointer and middle finger gently rub steady, figure 8's against her nub as she tried to match your pace.

you imagine her lying back, the soft glow of her room casting faint shadows, just the sound of her voice filling the space. you know she’s doing the same thing you are — wanting to be closer, but for now, savoring the distance in the only way she can.

your eyes squeeze shut at the thought, the image of billie crystal clear in your mind. she’s on her knees, her lips slightly parted, her tongue teasing and deliberate. her thumb would press against your most sensitive spot, slow circles coaxing pleasure from you as her eyes stay fixed on yours, sharp and unwavering, like she’s committing every flicker of your expression to memory. you’d tangle your fingers in her soft hair, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her breath against your skin, every moment searing itself into your mind.

a low moan slips past your lips, involuntary and raw, as you shift in place, letting the image take over. the ache inside you grows, pressing against the edges of your composure, and you can’t help but imagine how her touch would feel—how every word she’s murmured would finally come to life under her fingertips.

“you’re so perfect,” billie’s voice hums through the speaker, her tone soft but rough around the edges, laced with the kind of restraint that makes your heart pound harder. “keep going, baby. let me hear you.”

her own breathing hitches slightly on the other end, breaking the rhythm of her steady voice. it’s as if she’s right there with you, matching the pace, letting the connection between you stretch taut like a thread pulled to its breaking point. the sound of her—soft curses under her breath, the quiet rasp of her voice—sends shivers along your skin, and it’s almost too much.

the room feels charged, the air thick with a tension you can’t name but don’t want to escape from. every word she says pulls you deeper, every second on the line feels like a lifetime wrapped in her presence, and for now, that’s enough.

“holy shit. you sound so fucking good for me. so fucking perfect.”

her words spill through the phone, low and gravelly, threading through the quiet of your room. each syllable feels like a caress against your skin, pulling you deeper into the moment, and your fingers obey without hesitation, working in rhythm with her praise.

“feels so good, billie, fuck. you feel so good.” the words tumble out of you, shaky and raw, your voice catching on the edges of your breath.

“wish i was there so i could help you, baby.”

it’s then you notice it—her breathing, uneven and rushed, broken by faint, muffled sounds. you hadn’t really picked up on it before, but now it’s all you can focus on. the soft, rhythmic moans slipping through the line, the faint wet sounds beneath her breath, as if she’s right there with you, mirroring your every movement.

your chest tightens at the thought, a spark of heat running through you. the ache builds, sharp and unrelenting, driving your fingers to move faster, each motion more desperate than the last. the air around you feels heavy, charged with anticipation, and every inhale is shallow, quick, feeding the fire that billie’s voice has set ablaze.

“oh baby, billie—i’m gonna—please—just—fuck,” you whine, your voice breaking with the force of it all, your words spilling over each other in a rush. they don’t make sense, but nothing does in this moment except the way she makes you feel.

“that’s it, baby,” her voice trembles, heavy with want and barely contained restraint. “let go for me, love.”

and that was it. the sharp edge of release tore through you, pulling a low, penetrating moan from your lips. your body trembled as waves of heat rolled over you, your fingers working instinctively to draw out every last ounce of pleasure. billie’s name fell from your mouth like a prayer, soft yet desperate, as you made a mess of yourself, utterly unraveled.

your chest heaved, the rise and fall rapid as you tried to steady your breath. the world around you felt hazy, distant, like everything had faded into the background except for the sound of her voice spilling through the line.

“good job, baby, you did so good for me,” she murmured, her tone soft and full of pride. on the other end, you could hear her breathing too, uneven and ragged, her words laced with the remnants of her own high. her praise wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you, until—

she says your name. not just your name but the one that feels heavy, official. the one you thought she didn’t know. it rolls off her tongue like it belongs there, smooth and deliberate, shattering the fragile bubble you’d built between the two of you.

your heart stops. your breath catches. a chill races up your spine. “what did you just say?”

silence follows, thick and suffocating, stretching out like a chasm between you.

“nothing,” she quips, too quickly, the edge of something unreadable in her voice.

your tone sharpens, cutting through the quiet. “billie.” it’s a warning, low and steady, but laced with an undercurrent of unease.

her next words are quiet, almost hesitant, yet certain in a way that makes the floor feel like it’s slipping out from under you.

“i know it’s you.”

the world tilts, panic surging in your chest like a tidal wave. heat floods your face, and suddenly the room feels too small, too suffocating. “i—i have to go,” you stammer, the words spilling from your lips without thought. with shaking hands, you rip the headset off, your pulse thundering in your ears as you end the call.

the silence that follows is deafening, but your heart continues to pound, the realization settling over you like a weight.

you sit there, frozen, staring blankly at the wall as your mind races in a chaotic loop. how could she know? what does this mean? the questions tumble over each other, relentless, leaving no room for answers. leaning back in your chair, your eyes dart around the room, searching for anything to ground you, but instead, they land on the vanity mirror across from you.

your breath catches. there it is. that damn butterfly tattoo etched delicately behind your ear, its wings trailing faintly onto the side of your neck—a design you often forget about until moments like this. the same tattoo she had been staring at earlier today, her gaze lingering just a beat too long.

with an aggravated huff, you reach out and spin the mirror around, unable to look at it any longer. the sight feels accusatory now, a reminder of your slip, your vulnerability. you shove the chair back with a screech and hurry to the bathroom, the need to cleanse yourself and your space overwhelming. the cool water against your skin is sharp, but it doesn’t quiet your spiraling thoughts.

as you clean the chair and pull your clothes back on, the fog in your mind thickens. panic churns in your chest, mingling with an odd cocktail of shame and unease. you know she didn’t mean to make you feel this way, but the weight of it lingers all the same.

then, your phone buzzes, yanking you from the haze. the screen lights up with another call, but your focus is fractured. with trembling fingers, you force yourself to answer, masking your nerves with the practiced ease of someone who knows how to play their role.

meanwhile, across the city, billie is pacing her room, her hands raking through her hair, disheveling the strands until they’re as chaotic as her thoughts. she knows she’s messed up—badly—and the regret is gnawing at her. she grabs her phone and dials the hotline again, but there’s no answer, only an echoing silence that fuels her desperation.

unable to sit with her guilt, she opens the app and sends a payment—your expected earnings for the session she interrupted, plus a tip. the amount is significant, but it feels insignificant compared to the words she can’t seem to say. she types out a brief note to accompany it: “i’m sorry. can we talk tomorrow?” her finger hovers over the send button before she taps it, watching the transaction disappear into the void.

you, however, keep moving through the night, each call leaving you feeling more drained than the last. panic still lingers in the corners of your mind, intertwined with the sting of dejection and the unsettling sense of vulnerability. though you remind yourself that her intentions weren’t malicious, the leftover shock clings stubbornly, refusing to fade.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide you’ve made enough for the night. with an exhausted sigh, you shut down the hotline, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. the room falls into darkness as you flick off the lights, retreating to your bed and mindlessly flipping through channels, hoping for distraction.

but then, the soft chime of your phone breaks the silence.

new transactions — 3:15 am

+1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, ca) - $350.00 + $550 tip, notes: “i’m sorry. can we talk tomorrow?”

+1 (254) 783-0184 (dallas, TX) - $79.72

+1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC) - $153.68

+1 (201) 508-3416 (bayonne, NJ) - $220.65

+1 (216) 347-0517 (cleveland, OH) - $37.54 + $35 tip

your eyes skim over the notifications, your attention halting at the first one. you know it’s her. your chest tightens, a mix of gratitude and hesitation washing over you. the tip is generous, overly so, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. not now.

with a sigh, you lock your phone and set it face down on the nightstand, the screen now dark and unyielding. rolling onto your side, you close your eyes and try to will yourself to sleep, but the thoughts keep creeping back in, tangled and persistent.

the night stretches on, heavy and endless.

friday 8:45 am —

the next morning drifts by in a haze, the weight of the night before pressing into your chest like a stone. billie’s slip-up loops endlessly in your mind, her voice saying your name with the kind of familiarity that shouldn’t exist. it feels like a quiet earthquake, shifting everything beneath your feet and leaving you unsteady.

but the day doesn’t care about your turmoil. you have a packed schedule: the forensics seminar in san diego is a top priority, and you can’t afford to let your personal life bleed into your professional one.

the seminar stretches on far longer than expected, the clock’s hands spinning faster than they should. presentations drone, conversations pile up, and you lose track of time between networking and handshakes. by the time you finally make it to your car, you’re already behind. your first day as billie’s ta looms, and you’re cutting it dangerously close.

frustration bubbles in your chest as you toss your heels onto the passenger seat and swap them for your sneakers. the drive back to los angeles feels like a blur, the highway unwinding like a taut ribbon, city lights flickering in your periphery.

when you arrive on campus, you’re out of breath, your sneakers tightly laced, your bag slung over one shoulder. the music department’s doors creak as you push them open, the sound echoing in the stillness of the hallway. billie’s office waits at the end, her name etched on the placard beside the door.

you steel yourself as you approach, forcing your posture to straighten and your expression to settle into something neutral. you can’t afford to let last night’s mess seep into today.

when you step inside, billie looks up from her desk, a polite but cautious smile flickering across her face. she cradles a mug of tea in her hands, the steam curling up in soft tendrils.

“you made it,” she says softly, her voice careful, like she’s testing the waters.

“yeah,” you mumble, your voice flat as you drop your bag onto the chair nearest the door.

she gestures toward the kettle on a side table. “i made some tea if you want.”

you shake your head. “no, thanks.”

the silence that follows is thick and awkward, settling over the room like a dense fog. you take a seat and reach for the stack of papers she’s prepared, diving into the grading without so much as a glance in her direction. your pen moves methodically, the scratching of ink against paper the only sound breaking the stillness.

billie tries to bridge the gap with small talk, her tone light but tentative. “how was the seminar?”

“fine,” you reply curtly, not looking up.

“did you learn anything new?”

“not really.”

then she says something that makes your hand pause mid-motion, the words slipping out so softly they almost disappear into the air between you.

“you look pretty.”

the warmth of her voice lingers, curling around you like smoke, uninvited but hard to ignore. for a moment, your resolve falters, heat rising unbidden to your cheeks.

“thanks,” you murmur, forcing the words out before returning to the papers in front of you. your hand moves faster now, as if the quicker you work, the less you’ll feel.

the air grows heavier with every clipped response, every wall you put up. you feel her eyes on you—watching, waiting—but you refuse to meet her gaze. instead, you pull out your phone, scrolling aimlessly through instagram, letting the stream of curated stories and fleeting glimpses into other people’s lives distract you from the weight of your own.

you wish you’d said yes to carson yesterday. you imagine yourself anywhere but here, laughing over drinks or walking aimlessly through the city, free from this suffocating room and its unspoken tension.

your phone finds its way back to the desk, face down, the screen going dark like the mood in the room. you shuffle through the stack of papers, forcing your focus back to the words in front of you, but your mind keeps drifting. billie’s presence sits heavy, her silence louder than anything she could say.

the papers in front of you blur, the words melting into indistinguishable smudges as your pen moves mindlessly across the page. the ticking clock on the wall grows louder with each second, the steady rhythm grating against your nerves. billie’s presence feels suffocating, her quiet, measured breaths and those occasional glances prickling at your skin like needles. no matter how much you try, you can’t shake the feeling of her eyes on you. still, you keep yours trained on the stack of papers, determined to maintain a veneer of professionalism.

the silence between you is brittle, threatening to crack. it’s billie who finally breaks it, her voice soft but resolute. “are we going to talk about it?”

“talk about what?” you respond, keeping your tone as even as you can, your gaze fixed on the paper beneath your pen.

“you know what i mean.”

your fingers tighten around the pen, and you press it harder against the page, the words blurring even more. “there’s nothing to talk about.”

she exhales, and the sound carries frustration, an edge you’re not sure you’re ready to face. “you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“i can, actually,” you reply sharply, the bitterness in your tone slipping out before you can stop it.

“no, you don’t,” you say, louder this time, your voice firm, unyielding.

the next words that leave her mouth hit like a slap. “quit acting like a dick.”

your pen freezes mid-stroke, the ink bleeding into the paper. your head snaps up, and you glare at her, the tension between you thick enough to choke on. “excuse me?”

billie doesn’t back down. she crosses her arms, leaning slightly forward, her posture tense. “you heard me. we’ve been talking for weeks, and now, after one awkward call, you’re acting like i don’t exist.”

a bitter laugh escapes your lips as you scoff, shaking your head. “it’s not that simple.”

her gaze sharpens, her blue eyes piercing through your defenses. “then explain it to me,” she presses, her tone walking the tightrope between firm and gentle. “because from where i’m sitting, it looks like you’re punishing me for something that caught both of us off guard.”

her words dig under your skin, unearthing emotions you’ve tried to bury since last night. frustration bubbles over, spilling into your voice. “it’s not just that, billie,” you snap, the pen slipping from your fingers as you lean back in your chair. “you called me by my name. my name. you knew who i was this whole time, and you didn’t say anything. do you even understand how messed up that feels?”

her shoulders slump slightly, and her expression shifts, guilt softening the sharp lines of her face. “look,” she starts, her voice quiet now, tinged with regret. “i know it’s weird. i know i screwed up. and i’m sorry for what i did—how i handled it. i should’ve told you the moment i recognized you, but i didn’t know how. i didn’t want to scare you off. but can we stop pretending like this is something it’s not?”

you blink, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air between you. her gaze is steady, unwavering, and there’s something vulnerable in the way she looks at you, like she’s peeling back layers she’d rather keep hidden.

she shifts forward, resting her arms on the desk, the smallest flicker of hope breaking through her hesitation. “let me make it up to you. dinner, my place, my treat. no games. just you and me talking. figuring this out.”

you hesitate, her voice hanging in the space between you like an open door. her sincerity wraps around you, tugging at the edges of your resolve.

your lips part as if to respond, but the words stall in your throat. the clock ticks on, and for a moment, the room is silent again, the kind of silence that feels like it could break at any second.

“dinner?” you repeat, your voice laced with skepticism, narrowing your eyes as if the word itself might betray some hidden meaning.

“yes, dinner,” she replies, her voice softer now, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, delicate like a promise hanging in the air.

you study her, eyes tracing the lines of her face, the subtle shift in her posture as she waits for your response. it’s a soft invitation, yet you can’t shake the weight of everything that’s been unsaid. after a long, pregnant pause, you finally sigh, the tension in your chest letting out with the exhale. you push back your chair, the screech of it against the floor sharp in the quiet room. “fine. but this doesn’t mean we’re good.”

billie’s smile falters for a moment but quickly steadies, her nodding serious and thoughtful. “fair enough. but it’s a start.”

the silence settles between you, a thick, almost tangible thing as you gather your things. her presence lingers in the room, and though she tries to mask it with the faintest smile, the tension that hangs between you is nearly suffocating. you sling your bag over your shoulder, your hand brushing against your phone before you glance at it absentmindedly, letting it slip back into your bag as you head for the door.

the rain greets you before you’ve even stepped outside—a heavy, relentless downpour that blurs the view through the glass doors, transforming the world into a watery smear. you pause, groaning softly, the cold air that seeps through the doorframe making your skin prickle. you glance at your car parked on the far side of the lot, the distance mocking you. of course, it had to rain today.

“you’re not seriously planning to drive in this, are you?” billie’s voice drifts toward you, a note of concern threading through her words as she steps closer.

“i’ll be fine,” you respond quickly, clutching your bag tighter as if it could shield you from the storm that’s waiting to soak you through.

billie steps into your space, the jangle of her keys cutting through the tension between you like a knife. “i’ll drive you.”

you turn to face her, shaking your head in reflex. “that’s not necessary—”

“it’s pouring out there,” she interrupts, her voice more insistent now, the firm edge of authority slipping through. “you can barely see five feet ahead. i’m driving.”

you hesitate, biting back a retort as the sound of the rain intensifies, slamming against the roof like a million tiny fists. it’s a losing battle. the rain’s not letting up, and as much as you hate the thought of being trapped in a confined space with her, you know she’s right.

“okay,” you mutter, your voice thick with reluctant acceptance. “but this doesn’t mean anything.”

billie chuckles, a low, quiet sound that wraps around the words you’d just said. she shakes her head as she opens the door for you, the soft creak of it almost drowned out by the rain. “whatever you say.”

the ride to billie’s house is quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the roof, the sound almost hypnotic in its repetition. the low hum of the heater fills the car, but it can’t seem to chase the chill away. you keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching as the city lights smear into streaks, the glow of them soft and distant against the blackened night. billie’s hands rest on the steering wheel, her fingers tapping lightly, a subtle movement that betrays the rhythm she’s hearing in her head.

“you okay over there?” her voice cuts through the silence, soft and tentative.

“i’m fine,” you reply curtly, your gaze never leaving the blurred world outside, unwilling to meet her eyes.

billie doesn’t push, her focus shifting back to the road ahead. you can feel the weight of her unspoken words pressing in the space between you, but she doesn’t say anything more. when she finally pulls into the driveway of her house, the rain is still coming down in sheets, relentless, unforgiving. she parks the car, the engine’s hum dying as she cuts it off. for a beat, there’s only the sound of the rain, a quiet, natural backdrop to the tension that clings to both of you.

she turns to face you, her eyes steady, searching, but she doesn’t speak.

“wait here,” she says, her voice a quiet command as she grabs an umbrella from the backseat. with a swift motion, she steps into the downpour, her silhouette swallowed by the rain for a brief moment before she circles around the car, opening your door. the umbrella hovers above you, a delicate shield against the storm. the gesture catches you off guard, something soft in it that you hadn’t expected, but you mumble a quiet thanks, stepping out and letting her guide you, her presence warm against the cold night, toward the front door.

inside, you take in your surroundings, your eyes tracing the clean lines of the sleek, modern design of billie’s home. every corner seems intentional, every surface polished. the walls are lined with awards, their golden surfaces catching the soft, ambient light, gleaming proudly like trophies of a life lived in the spotlight. you swallow a quiet surprise, suddenly feeling out of place.

“so, you are rich,” you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them, the weight of them hanging in the air.

billie’s soft laugh meets your ears, a musical sound that feels oddly comforting in this unfamiliar space. “i wouldn’t say rich,” she replies with a shrug, leading you further inside. “comfortable, maybe.”

before you can muster a response, the soft pattering of paws against the hardwood floor catches your attention. a gray pit bull pads over, his tail wagging enthusiastically, his nose already working overtime as he sniffs at you curiously, his eyes bright and welcoming.

“shark,” billie says with affection, her voice warm as she crouches down to scratch behind his ears, the bond between them clear in the way she speaks. “he’s friendly.”

you lower yourself to the dog’s level, extending your hand so he can get a proper sniff. when he finally accepts you, his head tilts slightly, and you give him a gentle scratch behind the ears. “hey, big guy,” you murmur, the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as his tail wags harder, thumping against the floor in a rhythm that feels oddly like approval.

when you stand, you catch billie watching you. her gaze is intense, but there’s something there—something unreadable—that makes your chest tighten. she quickly looks away, clearing her throat as if trying to shake off a thought. “wine?” she offers, her voice casual, though there’s a subtle vulnerability in the gesture, as if the invitation is both a question and a subtle apology.

you nod, and she pours two glasses of deep burgundy red wine, the liquid catching the light as it fills the glasses, a dark promise in each drop. she hands you one before moving toward the kitchen. “i was thinking we could cook something simple. nothing fancy,” she adds, her voice laced with an easy kind of familiarity.

you follow her into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she opens the fridge. she stares at its contents for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as if the answer to some silent question isn’t immediately obvious. a defeated sigh escapes her, the vulnerability in it making you pause.

“i honestly don’t know what i’m doing,” she admits, the words tinged with an unexpected embarrassment, her voice soft but sincere.

you smirk, your gaze fixed on her for a beat, before you set your glass down with a quiet clink. “need some help?” you ask, the playful edge to your voice masking the way her admission makes you feel, like you’ve just uncovered something real.

she glances at you, her eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place, before a faint look of relief spreads across her features. “yeah,” she says with a small, shy smile. “that’d be great.”

you gesture to your outfit, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the space. “do you have something i can change into?” you ask, your voice quiet. “i don’t want to ruin this.”

she blinks in surprise, then nods. “oh, yeah, of course,” she says quickly, before disappearing down a hallway. when she returns, she’s holding a pair of sweats and a hoodie, the soft fabric a far cry from the sleek, polished atmosphere of her home. “here,” she offers, her voice gentle, but there’s a warmth in the way she looks at you as if she’s seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time tonight.

you change in the guest bathroom, the soft fabric of billie’s sweats and hoodie carrying the faint, comforting scent of her detergent. it lingers around you, mixing with the quiet hum of the house as you slip back into the kitchen. when you re-enter, billie’s eyes flicker over to you, a fleeting moment of something unreadable in her gaze, but it lingers just a second too long.

“you clean up nice,” she teases, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her voice light but edged with something you can’t quite place.

you shrug, rolling up your sleeves, the fabric brushing your forearms. “shut up and start chopping those veggies,” you reply, a hint of challenge in your voice, but there’s a softness to it, too.

as the two of you work, the tension from earlier seems to dissolve, like fog lifting under the morning sun. easy conversation flows between you, and the kitchen, with its warm lighting and rhythmic sounds of chopping, feels more like home with each passing moment. you tell her about your ups and downs as a college student—the late-night study sessions, the sneaky runs past your RA’s when you had to hide things you weren’t supposed to have. you share how you were a cheerleader only because of your best friend, and how, despite your excitement to graduate, there’s a gnawing fear deep down—because school, for all its stress and chaos, is all you’ve ever known.

billie listens intently, her eyes fixed on you, absorbing every word as she watches you bring a pot of water to a boil, adding a pinch of salt, and then sprinkling in the penne noodles with practiced ease. her gaze flickers from your eyes down the line of your nose, tracing the curve to your lips—glossy, slightly parted as you speak—and then to the tattoo peeking out from behind your ear. she finally makes out the design—a swirl of blue and black butterflies etched into your skin, delicate and intricate.

it’s funny, but in that moment, she realizes she’s feeling like those butterflies—fluttering around in her chest, her stomach tight with something she can’t name. watching you in her kitchen, making dinner in her clothes, feeling like you belonged in this space, made her feel… domesticated. it was a feeling she wasn’t used to, something scary but good.

“are you just gonna watch, or are you gonna help too?” your voice breaks the quiet as you turn to look at her. your eyes catch hers, a spark of mischief in the air between you, before she crosses her arms over her chest, leaning casually against the corner countertop to the right of you.

“nah,” she smirks, her gaze flickering over you with a softness that doesn’t quite match the playful tone of her words. “you seem to be doing just fine.”

her hand reaches for her glass, bringing the wine to her lips. it’s a moment of indulgence, a slow sip that fills her senses with its velvety smoothness. there’s a burst of ripe, dark fruit on her tongue—blackberries, plums, black cherries—interwoven with subtle notes of red currants and raspberries. the taste, rich and elegant, almost too perfect for this moment, feels like it’s been made for her.

with a dramatic roll of your eyes, you grab a knife, holding it out playfully. the tip points at her, aimed at her stomach. “chop,” you say, a teasing edge to your voice as you wave the knife between her and the cutting board sitting on your left. “go on.”

with an exaggerated huff, billie snatches the knife from your hand and moves over to the chopping board, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. you turn your attention back to the sauce, rifling through her spice cabinet with a sense of purpose until you find the seasonings you need. you set them on the counter, the familiar weight of the bottles grounding you in the task at hand, but you can still feel her presence—like a quiet hum in the room.

turning on the burner, you grab a smaller pot and set it on the stove, tossing in the ingredients for the pasta sauce, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the air as you give it a gentle stir.

“shit—” you hear billie say, her voice tinged with frustration. glancing over, you see her holding a knife the wrong way, hovering over a green bell pepper like it’s some sort of adversary she’s unsure how to defeat.

“okay, stop,” you say, setting your spoon down and walking over to her. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”

billie chuckles, stepping back with her hands up in mock surrender. “i told you i don’t know what i’m doing. you’re the one who offered to help.”

you roll your eyes, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrays the irritation you’re trying to suppress. “hand me the knife.”

she obliges, her fingers releasing the blade with a soft sigh as she leans back against the counter. you take it from her, the cool handle fitting easily in your hand, and begin slicing the bell pepper with practiced ease. her gaze is unwavering, like she’s studying you—watching every movement you make, as though your hands hold some kind of secret she’s trying to unravel.

“stop staring at me,” you mutter, without looking up from your work.

“can’t help it,” billie replies lightly, her voice almost like a tease. “you’re kind of fascinating.”

you pause mid-slice, glancing up at her. the look in her eyes is softer now, less playful, more… something else. something that makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not sure you like, a fluttering feeling that you can’t quite place.

“focus,” you murmur, turning your attention back to the vegetables, hoping the distraction will keep your mind from wandering.

billie chuckles softly, her presence like a quiet hum behind you. she moves closer, her body edging up to yours until she’s standing just behind you. her hand brushes against your waist—delicate, light, but enough to send a small shock through you as she leans in closer to watch you work. you slice the pepper into thin, even pieces, the knife gliding through with ease. you reach for a piece and turn slightly, offering it to her.

instead of taking it from your hand, like you expect, billie angles her head down. her lips brush against the tips of your fingers as she slides the pepper into her mouth, her eyes holding yours in a quiet challenge. you freeze, heart skipping a beat, watching the way she lingers just a second too long.

“is it good?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“yeah, thank you.” her voice is soft, a low hum that sends a thrill down your spine. at this point, her hands have found their place on your waist, steadying herself as she lingers close. before you can process it, she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, the brush of her lips light but warm. the world seems to slow, and you freeze, the knife hovering mid-air over the cutting board.

“i—” billie starts, pulling back quickly, her breath catching as she realizes what she’s done. “shit, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean—”

“no, it’s okay,” you interrupt, your voice soft, almost a whisper. the words come out before you can stop them, and there’s an honesty in your tone that surprises you. “i… kinda liked it.”

billie’s eyes search yours, her gaze searching for something you’re not sure you’re ready to give. there’s hesitation there, a quiet storm of uncertainty in her expression. after a beat, she nods, her hands lingering on your waist for just a moment longer before she steps back, her touch slipping away like water through your fingers.

you continue making dinner, the soft sizzle of the sauce simmering filling the kitchen as you stir occasionally. the rhythm of the task is soothing, the casual clink of utensils against the pan blending with the low hum of conversation. you find yourself laughing at billie’s dry wit, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel forced, just two people sharing space and time.

dinner is served shortly after, and the two of you settle at the small dining table, the warm light overhead casting soft shadows around the room. the atmosphere is relaxed, easy—surprisingly so. billie is funny, her sarcastic quips balanced by moments of genuine curiosity about you. her questions are casual, but there’s something deeper beneath them, an earnestness that feels refreshing.

“so,” she says, taking a sip of her wine, “why forensics?”

you shrug, twirling a piece of meat on your fork, contemplating your answer. “i’ve always liked puzzles. figuring things out, piecing them together. plus, it’s practical. there’s always work for someone who can solve problems.”

billie nods thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considers your words. “makes sense. seems like you’re good at that—figuring things out.”

her words hang in the air for a moment, and you can’t tell if she’s talking about more than just your career. her gaze softens, and you look down, focusing on your plate, suddenly aware of how close she is, how much weight is in that quiet compliment.

“what about you?” you ask, finally breaking the silence, your voice steady but curious.

“what about me?” billie tilts her head, a playful edge to her tone.

“why did you become a teacher? you clearly don’t need the money, so tell me.” you pause, laying your fork down and resting your elbows on the table, folding your hands together and propping your head up on them. “don’t hold back.”

billie huffs out a light laugh, twirling her fork slowly on her plate, the motion almost absentminded as she takes her time answering. “uh… well, music’s always been something i’ve loved. and i will love it till the day i die. but the fame that came along with it…” she trails off with a deep sigh, her eyes flicking down to her plate. “that wasn’t something i necessarily loved. don’t get me wrong, i love my supporters and i’m forever grateful for them, but at times it would get overwhelming. i suppose…”

her gaze shifts away from you, her focus distant as she stirs the food on her plate. it’s as though she’s not just talking to you but to herself, too. her words are soft, laced with a kind of exhaustion that speaks of a life lived too quickly. “just kinda got burned out too quick and i wanted to disappear for a while. but i still wanted to actively share music with others—besides, you know, my friends and family and such. so i took some online classes, got my teaching license, and my mom told me a job was open at the university, so i took it.”

a beat passes as you take in her words, and you can’t help but wonder what it must be like, having to leave behind something that once lit you up because the world took too much from you. it’s hard to imagine, but you get it, in a way.

“would you ever publish music again?” you ask, the question floating between you two like a breath.

billie leans in slightly, her voice dropping as if she’s about to reveal a secret. “i’ve actually been working on something,” she says, her smile contagious, her eyes lighting up. “i can show you later.” she clears her throat, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms, trying to play it off as no big deal. “i mean, if you want. it doesn’t matter.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “i would like that. a lot.”

the conversation moves easily after that, with billie washing the dishes while you dry them, not letting her refuse your offer. you laugh at her protests, the rhythm of it a kind of unspoken dance you both slip into. there’s a comfortable silence between you, broken only by the occasional clink of glass or the soft hum of the running water.

once the dishes are done, billie suggests watching a movie. you hesitate, glancing at the clock, but ultimately agree. you settle onto the couch with a glass of wine in hand, the cool glass offering a little relief as you sip and settle into the cushions. the movie plays in the background, but neither of you is really paying attention. the sound of the film blends with the quiet, comfortable hum of each other’s presence, and it feels as though the world outside could just slip away for a while.

billie sits close—closer than she needs to. her arm rests casually on the back of the couch, her fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. you try to ignore it, focusing on the screen, but it’s impossible not to feel the heat radiating from her, a subtle electricity in the air between you.

“can i ask you something?” she says suddenly, her voice low and quiet, barely above the hum of the movie.

you glance at her, your heart skipping a beat. “what?”

“can i kiss you?”

the question catches you off guard, like a breath you didn’t know you were holding. you blink, your mind racing. “i—”

“it’s okay if you don’t want to,” billie adds quickly, her voice softer now, pulling back just slightly. “i just… i wanted to ask.”

you don’t know why, but you nod. maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you—her blue eyes soft, earnest, like she’s searching for something in you that she’s not sure of. it feels like the right thing to do, even if your heart is suddenly pounding in your chest.

billie leans in slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, her movements deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. when her lips finally meet yours, it’s soft, tentative—like she’s testing the waters, unsure but hopeful. your breath hitches, caught in the moment, and for a brief second, you forget how to move.

but then you’re kissing her back, your hands finding their way to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, soft and searching. it’s like the world narrows to just the two of you, everything else fading into the background.

one kiss turns into two, then three, until you’re both breathless, tangled in each other. billie pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

“come with me,” she murmurs, her voice a low, coaxing whisper, her hand finding yours and gently leading you down the hall.

her bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. everything in here feels like an extension of her—a chaotic yet comfortable blend of soft fabrics, scattered music sheets, and mismatched furniture that somehow all comes together. a record player hums quietly in the corner, its melody filling the space with a quiet intimacy.

she turns to you, her hands resting on your waist as she searches your face for any sign of hesitation. you reach up, your fingers grazing her cheek gently, hoping to ease the worry that flickers in her eyes. leaning close, your breath ghosts over her lips, your nose brushing against her own, the air warm between you two. your eyes flicker to hers, a silent question hanging there—are you sure?

her left hand slides to the side of your neck, her thumb tracing the curve of your jaw before she pulls you closer, her lips brushing against yours again. this kiss is deeper, more insistent. her tongue swipes over your bottom lip, soft and teasing, before gently nipping at the skin, asking for permission. you open your mouth slightly, giving her access, and she takes it, her kiss hungry and tender all at once.

she trails soft kisses from the corner of your lips down your throat, each one sending a shiver through you. your hands find their way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingers. her hand leaves your neck, moving to rest on your hip as she begins to trail her lips down, marking your skin with slow, wet kisses.

you gasp softly as she moves, her lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. she pulls back just slightly, meeting your lips again in another kiss, this one more urgent, as if the world outside has ceased to exist. her hands slide beneath your hoodie, the cold metal of her rings brushing against your side, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her touch. your breath catches as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours, each touch feeling like it has a life of its own.

she grabs the hem of your hoodie, lifting the fabric slowly, her fingers grazing the skin of your abdomen as it slips over your head, leaving you in just your bra. the cold air of her room nips at your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“so beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, reverence in every word. her hands are back on you in an instant, sliding up your back until they rest just beneath the band of your bra, her touch tender and warm.

her compliment stirs something inside you, a small, involuntary smile curling on your lips. you reach for the collar of her shirt, fingers trembling ever so slightly as you gently undo the buttons one by one, taking your time.

billie watches you, her gaze softening as you brush your thumb across her collarbones. she feels a warmth in her chest that’s unfamiliar yet comforting. you let your hands trail over her chest, down her stomach, stopping at the hem of her blue shirt. your eyes meet hers, a silent question in the softness of your gaze, asking for permission. she nods, her eyes flickering with something deeper.

her breath catches in her throat as you move, tender and deliberate, as though each movement is a quiet reverence for her. you reach for her chains, your fingers sliding beneath them to tuck the necklaces inside her shirt, and then you lift her blue polo over her head, the fabric sliding against her skin. you toss it to the side, leaving her in only a simple white undershirt.

a soft smile plays at her lips, one that’s almost shy, before she presses her palm gently to your cheek. without thinking, you lean into her touch, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. she leans in again, her lips finding yours, and a low groan escapes her as she feels the softness of your lips against hers, the warmth between you two pulsing.

her hand slides down to the drawstring of your sweats, tugging them gently as she guides you toward her bed. she sits down on the edge, pulling you on top of her, your legs straddling her lap. her hands move instinctively to your thighs, rubbing them gently through the thick fabric, grounding herself in the feel of you beneath her.

you press your lips to her neck, starting just behind her ear, then trailing down, each kiss lingering softly against her skin. the wet sound of your kisses fills the air, each one leaving its mark. billie’s hands move slowly, exploring the curve of your lower back, her fingers grazing over the tattoo you spoke of the night before. the intricate design sends a shiver through you as her touch leaves goosebumps in its wake, her fingertips tracing its path upwards.

her hands reach the clasp of your bra, the delicate touch of her fingers working to undo each hook, slowly and carefully. when it finally comes undone, the cool air meets your skin, and your nipples pebble slightly in the change of temperature. a small breath escapes you, the sensation both electric and tender.

your kisses on billie’s neck slow to a languid pace as her fingers toy with the bars piercing your nipples. a soft gasp escapes your lips, your breath hitching as you angle your face into the curve of her neck. your nose grazes the damp trail left by your earlier kisses, and the air feels thick, charged with her presence.

“that feel good, huh?” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, tinged with a laugh as she feels your body respond to her touch. “been wanting to play with these since yesterday.”

her words send a flush coursing through you, the confession settling warm in your chest. gently, she shifts you, her hands firm yet careful as she turns you over and lays you on your back. the comforter beneath you gives way, soft and cool against your heated skin, and your body trembles just slightly at the sensation.

you look up at her, through the fringe of your lashes, her face framed by the golden glow of the bedside lamp. her blue eyes are soft yet intense, locking onto yours as a warm smile spreads across her face. her hair falls like a curtain around you, strands brushing your cheeks, shielding you from anything that exists outside this moment.

“is this okay?” she asks, her voice gentle, careful, as though one wrong move could shatter the sacredness of the moment.

you nod lightly, your throat tight with anticipation.

“remember, i need you to say it for me, mama,” she presses, her tone dipping lower, melting into the air between you.

“yes,” you whisper, your voice steady but barely audible. “it’s more than okay, billie.” your arm lifts, delicate yet sure, wrapping around her neck to pull her closer. your lips meet hers, the kiss slow and deliberate, an exchange that speaks louder than anything you could say.

she hums against your lips, a sound that vibrates through you, before trailing her mouth back to your neck. she kisses you there, leaving traces of herself as she moves lower, her lips ghosting down to your chest. when she reaches the curve of your breasts, she pauses. her breath fans over your skin, sending a shiver through you. the peaks of your nipples stiffen under the coolness of her breath, a soft gasp slipping past your lips.

darting her tongue out, she licks at your right nipple, her tongue circling the bar before pulling it between her lips. her left hand moves to your other breast, her fingers pinching and rolling the sensitive bud. the push and pull of her attention leaves you breathless, and when she releases your nipple with a soft, wet pop, her saliva glistens against your skin in the dim light.

her mouth finds its way to your other breast, mirroring the same motions—sucking, licking, teasing, until your body arches toward her involuntarily. the noises escaping you feel foreign, unbidden, like they’re pulled from some deep, hidden part of you.

her lips trail further downward, leaving a line of kisses over your navel, her hands pressing into your sides to hold you steady. as her lips pause between the valley of your breasts, her gaze lifts to yours, a soft flicker of recognition crossing her face when she notices the small tattoo etched there. she presses a kiss to it, reverent and unhurried, before pulling back slightly to take you in.

she sits up, her eyes never leaving your face as she watches the way your body writhes beneath her, your chest heaving, your lips parted in a series of soft moans that sound like a melody only she gets to hear. her hands move deliberately, halting at the waistband of your sweatpants. her fingers brush against the material, teasing, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger.

her lips curve into a smile as she leans down, her voice low and teasing, warm against your ear. “can i keep going?”

her question lingers, patient, unhurried. her fingers hover at the edge of your waistband, waiting for your answer. and in her eyes, you see nothing but care, nothing but quiet, consuming need.

sitting back up, she watches you beneath her, your body writhing against the comforter, each movement punctuated by soft, needy moans that flood her ears like a song she never wants to end. her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as her fingers toy with the band of your sweatpants, rubbing the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, dragging the moment out.

“can i?” her voice is soft, low, like a secret meant only for you.

your chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, your voice trembling as you whisper, “yes, please, baby.”

the grin that spreads across billie’s face is equal parts wicked and tender, her eyes never leaving yours as she hooks her fingers into the waistband. she drags them down, her movements slow, deliberate, as if unwrapping a gift she’s been waiting too long to open. inch by inch, she bares you to her until your sweatpants are discarded, tossed carelessly to the side. all that’s left is the thin barrier of your underwear, and the wet patch at the center betrays the need pulsing through you.

“shit—someone’s getting worked up,” she teases, her voice thick with amusement as her fingers brush against the damp fabric, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“shut up,” you mumble, heat rushing to your face as you squirm beneath her. your legs instinctively press together, your core aching for more as she continues her tormenting touches. “just take it off already,” you whine, your voice dripping with impatience.

a cruel smirk tugs at her lips as her fingers curl around the waistband of your panties. “what? i can’t take my time with you?” her words are taunting, dripping with feigned innocence as she slides the fabric down even slower than before.

“no, just—fuck,” you hiss as the cool air hits your bare skin, your body arching slightly at the sudden contrast. unable to take it anymore, you grab her by the neck, pulling her down into a kiss that’s harder, more desperate than any of the ones before. her lips crash against yours, and for a moment, all you can feel is her—her weight, her warmth, the way her body presses into yours.

her hands plant firmly on either side of you, her fists digging into the mattress to steady herself. as the kiss deepens, your hips rut upward, the heat of your bare skin grinding against the rough denim of her jeans. the friction sends a jolt of pleasure through you, a muffled whine escaping into the kiss as you seek more.

billie pulls back, her breathing uneven as her hand slides to your side, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ass. her other hand presses gently against your hips, pinning you back to the bed with a firm but gentle touch.

“have patience,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your cheek as she peppers it with soft, lingering kisses.

“i can’t,” you groan, your voice cracking under the weight of your need.

“you can,” she counters, her tone firm but laced with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, “and you will.”

her eyes meet yours, a silent promise shining in the blue depths. billie wants nothing more than to give in, to lose herself in you completely, but she holds back. she wants this to last, wants to savor every second, every sound, every tremble of your body beneath hers. you deserve that much—more than that.

she dips her head, her lips finding the crook of your neck as she resumes her journey downward. every kiss is purposeful, unhurried, as she maps your body with her mouth. her lips trace the delicate line of your collarbones, pausing to place a lingering kiss at the hollow of your throat before moving lower. she trails kisses down the swell of your breasts, her hands sliding over your sides as she presses soft, reverent kisses to each nipple.

she continues downward, her lips brushing over your ribs, your belly, the dip of your navel. her hands smooth over the curve of your hips, grounding you as she moves lower still. when she finally reaches the soft mound of your cunt, she pauses.

her chin grazes you lightly as she hovers there, her breath warm against your skin. the anticipation hangs heavy in the air, your body taut beneath her, every nerve alive and waiting. her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her lips curving into a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“so fucking beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible, like a prayer spoken only for you.

“well hello there,” she murmurs, her voice low and dripping with mischief, her blue eyes flicking down to where your core glistens, wet and aching for her touch. the sight alone seems to mesmerize her, her lips twitching into a crooked grin as she drinks you in. leaning forward, she presses slow, deliberate kisses to the inside of your thighs, her lips soft but her teeth sharp as they leave faint marks in their wake. her thumbs brush tender circles on the sensitive skin, grounding you and setting every nerve alight all at once.

“you’re so mean, making me wait like this,” you mutter, your voice shaky with anticipation as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch her. the sight of her there—her head between your thighs, her hair messy, her lips swollen—sends a shiver down your spine.

“no, i’m not,” she counters with a sly smirk, sitting back just enough to pull her shirt over her head. her bra follows, tossed aside carelessly, leaving her bare before you. her tattoos catch the soft glow of the light, a stark contrast against her pale skin. “i’m just taking my time with you, that’s all.”

you let out a frustrated whine, your eyes raking over her now-exposed chest. “exactly, and that’s so—fuck,” your words cut off in a sharp gasp as her lips finally make contact with your pussy. her tongue brushes over your clit in a fleeting touch, just enough to send a jolt through your body.

she doesn’t stop there. her mouth moves with intent, her lips pressing kisses all over, her tongue darting out to taste you. it’s not rushed; it’s sensual, almost like she’s savoring you. she moans against you as her tongue flicks over your entrance, dipping in briefly before sliding up through your folds. the vibration of her voice sends waves of pleasure through you, and you can’t help but arch your back, chasing the sensation.

“billie,” you whimper, your voice breathy and desperate, as her nose grazes your clit with every movement. she doesn’t respond with words, just another moan as she pulls you closer, her hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging at the roots as you rock your hips against her face. “oh my god,” you gasp, your thighs trembling as her tongue flicks in a way that leaves you breathless. her nails dig into your skin just slightly, a grounding sensation amidst the overwhelming pleasure.

she pulls back, her lips shiny and swollen, her chest heaving as she looks up at you. “you taste so good,” she mutters, her voice husky and dripping with want. without breaking eye contact, she lets her tatted hand slide down, her fingers taking over where her tongue left off.

her fingers tease your slit, slick and warm, before sliding one inside you with ease. the stretch is slow, deliberate, as her thumb brushes over your clit in lazy circles. “feel good, baby?” she asks, her voice soft but commanding, her eyes watching every little twitch of your body as she works you open.

“yes,” you gasp, your head falling back against the pillows. your walls clench around her finger as she curls it inside you, brushing against that perfect spot that makes your breath hitch. she smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction, and leans back in to press a kiss to your thigh, murmuring, “good girl.”

“this okay?” she whispers, her voice gentle, almost reverent, as her movements still for a moment. her other hand glides over the curve of your stomach, her thumb tracing soft circles on your skin. her blue eyes, vast as oceans, hold yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

you nod, breath hitching as you adjust to the fullness of her. “yes,” you murmur, your voice trembling, and it’s all the confirmation she needs. she slides another finger inside you, slow and deliberate, the stretch sending sparks of pleasure rippling through you. her pace is unhurried, her focus solely on the way your body reacts to her, the way you fit around her fingers like she was made for this—for you.

“oh, fuck, billie,” you gasp, your head falling back as you watch her fingers disappear inside you, coated in your slick. she groans softly at the sound of her name falling from your lips, her pupils dilating with a mix of desire and awe. she’s certain she could fall apart right here, just from the melody of your voice and the way you tremble beneath her.

your moans grow louder, mingling with the obscene, wet sounds of her fingers working you, the rhythm steady but maddening. her sheets are damp beneath you, the evidence of your ecstasy pooling there as her pace quickens. “so pretty, baby,” she breathes, her voice thick with affection and hunger. “everything about you… so fucking beautiful.” her free hand slides down, gripping your thigh to hold you in place as you buck against her touch, desperate for more.

your hands find their way to her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pull her closer. the kiss you give her is fierce, messy, and desperate, your lips crashing into hers like waves against the shore. her teeth graze your bottom lip, and the sensation pulls a whimper from you, the sound only spurring her on. her fingers drive into you faster, her palm brushing against your clit with each stroke, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

you break the kiss, your lips still brushing hers, your breath mingling as you struggle to form words. “billie… i—mmm…” your voice is a broken whine, your brows knitting together as you feel the knot in your core tightening, threatening to snap.

her gaze locks onto yours, and you try to shield your face, embarrassed by how undone you’ve become under her touch. your hand flies to her face, an attempt to cover her eyes, but she’s quicker. she grabs your wrist, gently pulling it away and lacing her fingers with yours. she presses a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your hand, her voice like a balm as she whispers, “don’t hide from me, mama. i want to see all of you.”

her words unravel something deep inside you, and the knot in your belly finally snaps. your climax crashes over you in waves, your body shaking as she guides you through it, her fingers never faltering. “that’s it,” she coos, her lips brushing against your temple as your hips jerk against her hand. “so good for me, baby. just like that.”

your head falls against her chest, your body pliant and trembling as you come down, your breath ragged and uneven. she slows her movements before withdrawing her fingers, careful not to overstimulate you. you shudder at the loss, but the sight of her lifting her hand to her lips makes your breath hitch all over again.

billie closes her eyes as her tongue flicks out, wrapping around her fingers and savoring the taste of you. a low moan escapes her throat as she licks them clean, her expression one of pure satisfaction. “you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with affection, and the words settle deep in your chest, grounding you in this moment with her.

your back hits the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin as you stare blankly at the ceiling, the swirl of your thoughts almost deafening. the quiet hum of the night fills the space, but all you can focus on is the weight of the moment, heavy and impossible to ignore. billie’s eyes flick over to you, her thumbs brushing lazy circles into your sides as her brows knit together, concern softening her features.

“you okay?” her voice is gentle, like the question might break you.

truthfully, you don’t know. you had crossed a line you swore you’d never even approach—crossed it, leapt over it, and now here you were, tangled in the aftermath. you had met, and fucked, one of your clients. and god, the worst part wasn’t even that. the worst part was the undeniable truth humming beneath your skin—you wanted to do it again. and again. and again.

“mhm,” you hum, but it’s weak, barely audible. your voice doesn’t carry the conviction you need it to, and the room falls silent again, thick with tension. your mind races, spiraling through a maze of scenarios, consequences, and excuses until her voice cuts through the noise.

“it’s getting late.” her words are quiet but pointed, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. your eyes dart around the dim room, finally landing on the clock glowing faintly on the bedside table. 2:57 a.m.

“shit—i’m sorry,” you stammer, bolting upright, scrambling for your clothes like an instinctive reaction. but before you can even find your shirt, her hand presses softly against your back, grounding you.

“no, i—i was going to ask if you’d like to stay. for the night.” her voice wavers slightly, and she looks away for a moment, her vulnerability showing in the flicker of hesitation in her gaze. when her eyes meet yours again, there’s something there—hope, maybe? or just a simple longing.

you hesitate, your heart thundering in your chest. everything about this feels complicated, feels wrong, and yet, there’s a pull in her voice, in her gaze, that makes you want to say yes despite all the reasons you shouldn’t. you search for excuses—she’d have to drive you back to your car; it’s late; it doesn’t mean anything—but none of them feel convincing enough to leave.

“okay,” you whisper, the word hanging in the air like a secret. her lips curve into a soft smile, and she moves quickly to grab you extra clothes and swap out the bedding. “thanks,” you murmur, and something in her expression softens even more.

the pillow feels too soft under your head, your back turned to her as you try to steady the rhythm of your breathing. you hear her moving around the room—shutting off the television, switching off the lights. the quiet returns as she slips into bed beside you, and for a moment, you feel the faintest brush of her arm, hesitant, like she wants to reach for you but stops herself just short. the space between you feels heavy, unspoken words hanging in the air.

“goodnight, billie,” you whisper into the quiet, your voice barely carrying. your eyes close, but your thoughts don’t stop—they churn and twist, loud and relentless.

“goodnight, star.” her voice is soft, like the nickname itself is fragile and intimate, and it’s the last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under.

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